When Shadows Fall



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


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

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    Part 81

    Nathan stepped back from having set a neat four-in-hand in Marse Sterling's cravat, and picked up the grey cutaway coat the man had decided to change into for the formal luncheon. It had been moved up from one p.m. to noon so that Michaels could take a visiting business man on a tour of the mine facilities later, but the change had pressed a bit closely on his preparations. Nathan tried not to think about how much it reminded him of Ezra as he held the expensive fabric for Michaels to put his arms into, and then slid the well-tailored garment onto the man's powerful shoulders.

    "What time is it?" Michaels was straightening his cuffs.

    "Nearly noon, Sir."

    "Very well. Please inform Miss Belle of the approaching hour," said Michaels. He started for the door and hesitated a beat, to indicate that Nathan should open it for him. The healer did just that, then pressed his lips together and went down the hall to the door of Miss Belle's suite. He rapped very lightly, and was enveloped by lavender when the door opened and the petite woman looked at him.

    "Marse Sterlin' wishes me to inform you that it's nearly noon," said Nathan. He was careful to look slightly away rather than into the woman's eyes.

    "Thank you, Nathaniel." Miss Belle reached out quickly to catch the edge of his coat sleeve in one of her small white hands. "Just a moment, however."

    The healer lifted his eyes to regard hers with trepidation. She smiled disingenuously and turned around so that he saw the top row of pearl buttons on her dress was still undone, her white back laying exposed beneath it like a satin pillow, and her dark hair swept up above it in a glistening pile of curls and pins.

    "Please do me up," the woman simpered, "I can't find that lazy Bitsy anywhere."

    Nathan thought about the way Bitsy was at that very moment flying from kitchen to dining room and back again, and sighed as he came close enough to the woman to fasten the buttons into their loops. He bit the inside of his cheek and made his fingers stay steady even though he feared the woman would suddenly spin around beneath his hands and confront him in a more brazen fashion. But he finished without incident and was able to take a good step away and put space between her and himself by the time she did turn around. Belle cocked her head to one side and looked up at Nathan languidly from beneath long eyelashes.

    "I am ready," she said. "You may go for now."

    "Yes'm." Nathan started breathing again and took another step backward.

    "But. . ." added Belle. She raised a small fan that Nathan had not seen in her hand and lifted it towards his face, coming forward to tap him lightly on the chin with it. ". . . you will, perhaps, see to it that I am not wanting for something sweet and warm tonight, at bed time. You know . . . to help me sleep well."

    Nathan remained silent, and somehow he kept his hands from making fists. Belle looked at him another long moment, then laughed lightly and turned away to bustle across the sitting room, flashing a quick and appraising glance over her shoulder at him as she did so.

    "Sterling will be delighted by your loyalty," she said. "Both his last two 'boys' failed that particular little test."

    Nathan inclined his head to the woman very slightly, backed farther into the hall, and took his leave. He doubted very much that Michaels had ever known of the "failures" of the two previous men who'd served him. Nathan had known too many women like Belle to think her words meant anything more than an effort to recover her superior position when faced with even the slight hint of rejection he'd posed by not responding to her comment. He cleared his throat softly and hurried to the kitchen. Pedro ran past him on determined feet as he got to the doorway, the boy's arms loaded with cut flowers. Miz Ruby's voice trailed out of the kitchen behind him.

    "Get 'em in that vase QUICK, Pedro! They's gonna' be down any minute!"

    "What can I do to help?" The steamy heat of the kitchen engulfed Nathan in air too thick to breathe as he walked in. Pedro raced past him going the other way, snatched a silver basket of bread from the table, and turned to race out again.

    "Wait!" called Miz Ruby after him. "Fol' shut that linen cov-" She threw her hands up in the air when she saw the boy was already gone, and turned back to the oven. "Help me git this roast on that platter, Nathaniel," she grunted. She had lowered the cast iron and silver door, and was tugging out a roasting pan the size of a hog's head. Nathan grabbed several cloths and bent next to the woman to grab the pan's other side, and then lifted it by himself as she saw he had it and stepped aside to give him room for leverage. She pointed to the top of the stove. "Right there," she said. "Set it there quick, Nathaniel."

    Bitsy ran in and slid across the tiled floor on sandaled feet as Nathan lifted the lid on the roaster and set it aside. He glanced over to see the girl snatch up a tall water pitcher and dart out the other doorway, into the dining room.

    "Here. Here." Miz Ruby was lifting a platter towards him. "Set that roast here."

    Nathan obliged, his mind spinning and the air growing even thicker with the scent of the beef and the herbs it has been roasted in rising to cloud his nostrils. His stomach squeezed suddenly with hunger as he lowered the meat to the platter carefully and then put the lid back on the roasting pan.

    "No," chided Miz Ruby, "gots t' make gravy outta that." She took the lid back off and began to sprinkle in flour with one hand as she stirred the drippings with a broad wooden spoon. Pedro flashed past again, grabbed a covered china dish from the table, and was gone before Nathan could even move. Coco ran in from the back porch through the wooden door, banging it behind her, her hands full of fresh aprons she'd just taken from the line. She stuffed one into Bitsy's hands as the girl ran in again from the dining room, and Bitsy quickly fastened it over her smock. Another went to Miz Ruby, who lifted her arms so Coco could reach around her waist from behind to tie it around over the top of the larger house-apron the woman wore. Nathan took a cue from this to pick up the fresh apron Coco had thrown over her own shoulder, to slip it around her waist and tie it from behind as she did Miz Ruby's. The clock began to strike twelve.

    "Oh Gawd!" cried Miz Ruby. She shoved the meat platter into Nathan's hands. "Set this on quick, an' announce supper's done. Ah means, 'dinner's served.' Wal, ya' knows. But RUN!"

    The clock was measuring out the third beat as Nathan set the platter on the loaded sideboard and straightened his cuffs and jacket. He arrived at the study and opened the door just as the final stroke died away in the silence of this end of the house. Six pairs of eyes looked up at him as he entered the room, and one of the pairs was sharp with irritation.

    "Luncheon is served," announced Nathan.

    Sterling Michaels rose and offered his arm to Belle, who wrapped a gloved hand through it and threw a disdainful look at Nathan as he held the door for the party to go through. They were followed by a couple Nathan had not see before, the woman clearly a "new money" extravagance for the well-heeled "old money" man she hung against. Behind them strolled Sullivan and . . . Nathan's heart skipped as he recognized yet another person he'd seen in town recently. What was it he'd heard the man say his name was? He'd introduced himself to Mrs. Potter when Nathan was in her store, maybe a week ago. Yeah: Bland. He drew the doors closed as the last person left the room, still turning the man's name over in his mind, then darted through a side passage so he could arrive at the dining room only a fraction of a moment after Michaels and Belle did. He drew out Belle's chair for her just as the woman reached it, and she threw him an appraising glance that mixed coquetry and archness in equal measures. Nathan moved silently to do the same office for the other woman present, and she giggled and blushed, then laid a jeweled hand on her companion's arm.

    "I'd like me one a' them someday, Charlie," she whispered. Her voice was loud enough that everyone overheard her, though, and Michaels leaned towards her across the snow-white table linen and smiled graciously.

    "You would have to look a long time to find a boy as well trained as Nathaniel," he said. "But perhaps when you are ready, Rosie, I can send him to train someone for you. Briefly, of course."

    "Of course," said the woman breathlessly. She looked at Nathan again as the man moved to a position between Michaels' and Belle's seats and two steps behind. "I can see where you wouldn't wanta' be without 'im very long."

    "It is the finer things in life that make hard work worthwhile." Michaels nodded to the woman and inclined his head almost imperceptibly towards the linen napkin in a silver ring on his plate. Nathan leaned forward to slide it free, shook the napkin opened, and laid it on Michaels' lap. Then he did the same for Belle, being exceedingly careful not to touch her in any way as he did so. The napkin practically floated the last few inches to the red brocade fabric of the woman's dress, and she looked up at Nathan again with a look of slight and hidden petulance.

    The kitchen door had swung opened silently during this exchange, and Bitsy had entered with noble carriage and bearing, and an enormous tray in her hands on which were six china bowls swimming with soup. She approached the master's seat, and Nathan smiled covertly at the girl and leaned in to take a bowl of soup from the tray and set it in front of Michaels, on top of his dinner plate. He did the same at every other place as Bitsy moved slowly around the table from one to another of the people, and when the tray was emptied she flashed a grateful look to the healer and stepped backwards and through the doorway, to vanish.

    "Go on with your story about the poison thing," said Charlie to Bland. "I'd like to hear the end of that."

    Belle made a face, and lifted her soup spoon. "Just don't be too graphic, John," she cautioned.

    Bland beamed. He looked around the table at the circle of faces that were all regarding him and listening to him with interest, and felt his chest rising with pride. He laid his soup spoon back down, dinner suddenly forgotten. "Well," he said, "the idea was to make enough people sick that it would cause real trouble for the darkie that parades around there, pretending he's some kinda' doctor or somethin'."

    "Imagine!" Rosie sipped soup from her spoon and looked rewardingly enthralled.

    "I've heard a' him," said Charlie, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. "Fact is, people like that need a comeuppance. Need to learn their place."

    "Damn straight!" Bland nodded vigorously, then looked up sharply at Michaels as the latter coughed and eyed him with a warning look. Bland looked at the two women present and colored. "Sorry," he said. "I mean 'darned' straight."

    "Go on," said Michaels shortly.

    "So I had this pretty little vial a' stuff I put in a pot a' fancy stew at a restaurant. Only the chef tasted a bit of it an' threw it out for some reason. I don't know why; you can't taste this stuff. And so only one person ate it and got sick." He looked around the table triumphantly. "But you want to guess who it was?"

    "No!" Rosie laughed and clapped her hands together, squealing, and Bland nodded proudly as Michaels beamed genially on the proceedings. "I got the phony doctor himself. He's probably dead by now, I bet! Did you ever hear anything so perfect?"

    The men's heavy laughing rumbled beneath the lighter rippling of the women's soft chuckling, and Nathan set one hand on the very edge of the sideboard to steady himself. It wouldn't do at all for him to collapse just at this moment, he told himself. Not at all.

    "So how'd you get rid a' the gambler, then? I take it he's still playing cards with Vincent?" Charlie lifted his water glass towards Nathan, who suddenly realized he hadn't completed his duties. It was with a flush of sudden and long-forgotten fear that he picked up the pitcher and refilled the glasses to their tops again.

    "Naw," said Bland. He waved his hand dismissively, and Belle interrupted.

    "Oh, _do_ let me tell this part," she said. "Please."

    Bland scowled, but picked up his soup spoon and attacked the meal's first course. He exchanged an angry glance with Sullivan, who had not even unrolled his napkin.

    "The gambler, who I will remind you is from the Ol' Dominion," she said, and at this point she began to laugh in a way that choked her voice, "ended up . . . " She wiped tears from her eyes and looked merrily around the table. "NURSING the darkie!"

    At this revelation, the entire table burst into ribald laughter that shook the crystal and made the candle flames dance.

    "I heard he scrubbed floors and gave him a bath and EVERYTHING!" crowed Belle.

    They all dabbed at their eyes with their forefingers and the corners of their napkins as the kitchen door opened again and Bitsy came back in. She slipped carefully around the places taking up the soup bowls, glancing once at Nathan when she sensed his well-contained anger, and then went back into the kitchen. She returned in another moment with carving utensils, which she handed to Nathan. He understood by this that he was to carve the beef, and did so. Bitsy took up the master's plate and came to stand next to him, then ladled vegetables and gravy onto the plate after Nathan set several slices of beef on it, and set it in front of Michaels. She picked up Belle's plate and came back.

    "I've never met anyone who has as much fun doing business as you do, Michaels," said Charlie. He was shaking his head and still laughing from time to time. "You manage to strike so many important blows at once."

    Michaels exchanged a sly glance with Belle, and then folded his fingers together and rested his hands on the edge of the table as he waited for the others to be served. "Well," he said softly. "Would you like to hear the latest?"

    A chorus of answering "oh do, Sterling!" rose from Belle, Rosie, and Charlie, and Michaels smiled indulgently. If he noticed the dark look exchanged by Sullivan and Bland, he showed no sign.

    "You know, of course, that all this was to get these men out of my way so we could . . . well, create a small conflagration between the town yokels and the redskins. Now the match that will set it off is--"

    Sullivan suddenly leaned forward and looked hard at Michaels. "What are you doing?" he said. His voice was low but harsh, and every face at the table turned to his in shock at the rough intrusion into the gay atmosphere. Michaels' eyes hardened into dark, brittle diamonds.

    "I am entertaining my guests," he said evenly. The silence in the room was heavy, as the air before a thunderstorm. Nathan saw Bitsy's hands shake as she held Bland's plate for filling.

    "I don't know this man." Sullivan gestured dismissively at Charlie without looking at him, his eyes fixed on Michaels'. "Why the hell should I sit here and let you spill--"

    "That's enough." Michaels' voice cut off Sullivan's words like a meat cleaver. Bland's plate clattered to the table as Bitsy set it in front of him and reached around for Sullivan's. The man shoved his chair back instead, slapping the girl's hand away from him. Bitsy took in her breath in a frightened gasp, and stepped back. Sullivan rose to his feet. Michaels watched him rise. "You can be served later, in the kitchen," he said coldly.

    "I can find grub down at the mine kitchen," corrected Sullivan. "I don't need this." He stalked to the doorway.

    "Hold it." Michaels had stood up, too, and set his napkin on the table. He was staring at Sullivan's back. The man in buckskin turned around slowly. Charlie put his hand over Rosie's, and shook his head very slightly to her to stay still. "You have not been excused," said Michaels.

    Sullivan's frame jerked, and Nathan surreptitiously reached to take Bitsy's slender arm and pull her back so that she was partially behind him. The man in buckskin locked eyes with Michaels for a long, tense moment, and then shuddered. He took half a step back.

    "I have the power here," said Michaels, "and you would do well to remember that. You work for _me_."

    Sullivan's eyes flashed with anger and resentment, and he vanished from the dining room in a single movement. The silence he left behind him hung over the group several moments, and then was broken by Bitsy leaning in to lift Sullivan's service and remove it from the table. Michaels smiled, and raised his fork and knife to his plate.

    "So!" he said heartily, "As I was saying before that little interruption, I have learned that redskins plan to attack the stage between Eagle Bend and Four Corners, day after tomorrow. I imagine one passenger will survive, of course, since they always do . . . to inform the town in complete horror about who attacked them."

    "Indians?" Rosie looked confused, and Charlie patted her hand.

    "Rosie dear, you are so sweet but your mind is so feminine." Charlie exchanged an expression of amusement with Michaels. "The Indians will be people Sterling _knows_. Men who are perhaps savages otherwise, but not redskins. You understand?"

    "Ohhhhhh." Rosie's eyes lit up as realization dawned on her, and then she laughed. "Oh _I_ see! Like the Boston tea party!"

    "Yes!" Michaels nodded towards the wine on the sideboard and Nathan began to uncork it to pour. "Exactly!" He looked around the table. "I always did say I was patriotic!"

    "That's the slogan you can use when you run for governor, after we're a state," said Belle. She lifted her glass of wine as Nathan poured it, and the others raised theirs as well. "To the future Governor Michaels," she said.

    "And _Missus_ Governor Michaels," added Rosie, blushing and looking at Belle with envy.

    The men laughed again, and Nathan refilled their plates.

    Sullivan stood in the hallway long enough to hear the return of festivity to the meal, and felt a surge of hot fury race through his veins. How DARE Michaels?! How DARE he treat Sullivan that way! To risk everything just to impress some little nothing of a business associate. He balled one hand into a fist and thought for a long moment -- a very long moment full of enticing images -- of returning to the dining room and exacting the sort of respect from the people there that was due him. He could do it, too. He slid the enormous bowie knife from the sheath at his waist and touched a finger to its tip. Michaels wasn't even armed.

    But Michaels was paying him. Or would, when the job was done. If he killed Michaels now. . . Sullivan's eyes darkened as he let the hate twist idly in his gut, looking for a way out. Then he remembered.

    Those men in the cellar. Michaels wanted them alive, but he didn't much care what Michaels wanted right now. And he could kill that one real easy at this point. He smirked, thinking about how close that bullet hole was to some major blood vessels a person might just "accidentally" nick if they were to try to remove the slug buried in the man's upper chest. Of course, he thought, turning his steps towards the cellar door, that probably wouldn't happen until the man had screamed and writhed and finally passed out from the agony of what Sullivan would do to him in the meantime. And the one with the moustache would finally lose his head when that happened, and let the hate consume him like it had been threatening to all along. And then he'd attack Sullivan in a way that would require Sullivan to kill him . . . in self defense, of course. Yes.

    "We'll see who has the power, Michaels," Sullivan thought. He opened the door to the cellar and felt the hate and fury and hunger surge through him like a black tornado wind. "We'll just see."

    Part 82

    Night? Vin blinked slowly, his mind unable to catch any recent memory to grab hold of. Maybe day, he thought. His head ached, and his legs. And his chest and shoulder throbbed. Why? He was so thirsty. And hot. His eyes drifted closed again, and he lay still listening to the silence around him, wondering why it seemed like he was cut off from himself, unable to connect to anything but right here and right now: a place that he'd really like to find his way out of. He felt something move next to him, a coolness on his forehead, and he dragged his eyes opened just a little bit again. Someone or something was moving above him, maybe hands, he wasn't sure, and he squinted trying to see better. A voice spoke, then, low and reassuring, and it was a voice Vin thought he knew somehow, from somewhere. Almost he could catch it, hold it, use it as a rope to pull himself from wherever he was drifting. But then he was sinking backwards into the dimness again, and the voice got farther away, and the feeling of the coolness on his face disappeared.

    Chris sighed, and frowned. "I don't think he heard me," he said softly.

    "He will." Buck leaned back against the crate behind him again, and studied Chris's face in the semi-darkness. The man had been trying to bring Vin's fever down since Nathan had left the night before, and it was starting to look like it might be working. Vin had seemed to come to twice, but each time he'd drifted back into whatever it was that was more than sleep but less than unconsciousness.

    The heavy sound of the door being unlocked at the top of the stairs made both men look up suddenly. Maybe Nathan, they thought . . . But it was Sullivan who sauntered to the foot of the staircase to lean against the railing and stare at Buck. He had a bowie knife in one hand, and he was turning the blade of it back and forth so it caught the light from the oil lamp in various ways and threw flame-colored reflections on the walls of the cellar.

    "Afternoon, Wilmington," he said. He ran his gaze over to Chris and his sharp eyes narrowed. "You," he said, "get over there." He pointed with the tip of the knife to a far corner of the cellar, and Chris exchanged a quick glance with Buck before he stood up.

    "You got a problem with me sittin' here?" he asked.

    "Yeah." Sullivan tipped his head back so he was looking at Chris from beneath hooded lids. "I got a problem with anyone who doesn't do what I tell 'em to do. And you can ask your friend what happens when I got a problem. And who it happens to." His voice was smooth and slick with threat, and Chris drew himself together. Buck stood up and put a hand on Chris's arm.

    "Do what he says," he said softly.

    Chris threw a surprised look at Buck.

    "You don't understand," said Buck in a low voice. "You don't know what he'll do." He was shaking his head, and Chris frowned slightly.

    "Tell 'im," said Sullivan. "Tell Larabee what I do." He turned the knife against the tip of his index finger, and shifted his weight to push one hip against the wall beside the stairs.

    "Go t' hell," growled Buck. He curled his hands into fists, and thought for a brief moment about throwing himself across the space between himself and Sullivan, but the man seemingly read the idea as it formed in his mind. He leaped erect on the instant and snatched up the water pail that was sitting close by, took the ladle out and threw it to the floor, then looked at Buck. And then at Vin.

    "Go where he told you to go, Chris." Buck's voice was low.

    "Oh, not just him," said Sullivan smoothly. He took a casual step closer to Vin, the pail in his hands. "You, too."

    "You bas--"

    "You know, Wilmington." Sullivan paused, swirling the water gently in the pail. "Tanner still looks pretty feverish to me. Maybe he needs some coolin' off, eh?" His eyes were hard, almost brittle. Buck stayed where he was. "'Course," said Sullivan, it's kinda' cold down here. Damp. A man with a fever whose clothes got all wet, he'd probably catch pneumonia. Especially if he was weak to begin with." He took another step closer, still swirling the water in the pail, and Buck swallowed. He started edging away from Vin and Sullivan, pushing Chris as he did so.

    Sullivan stepped closer to Vin, glanced down at him disdainfully, and continued to swirl the water in the pail. A feral light grew in his eyes, and he looked up at Buck. The tall man felt a shock of fury leap through his system when he saw that gleam. Over and over he'd seen it, and this time by God his hands weren't tied.

    "You wanna' fight?" His voice was low and deadly. "You come on and fight _me_, you bastard. Leave him out of it."

    "Ah." Sullivan's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Finally. You hate me."

    "Yeah. Yeah, if that's what you want, you've _got_ it." Buck felt like he was being shaken by rage, trying to hold it down, trying to keep it from exploding.

    "It's not him I want to fight with anyway. You know that." Sullivan set down the bucket and raised the bowie knife towards Buck. Buck took a step forward, felt himself starting to sink into a crouch to receive the blow Sullivan was obviously going to launch at him . . . And then Sullivan laughed. He knelt in a single swift move and set the tip of the knife against Vin's throat, the tracker between him and the other two men, and flipped opened the man's shirt with his eyes locked on Buck's.

    "I changed my mind," he said. "I'm gonna' fix your friend first, before I give you that fight you want. You're gonna' thank me. I'm gonna' dig out that slug Thompson put in 'im." But the gloat on Sullivan's face rewrote itself into shock and then rage when he glanced down and saw the neat bandages Nathan had wrapped in place. His free hand flashed out to jerk the bandages aside so he could see the wound, and Vin groaned at the rough contact. Chris and Buck both started towards Sullivan immediately, but the man was standing over Vin with his boot on the reopened and bleeding wound before they could do anything. Sullivan leveled the bowie knife at them.

    "Who did this?" His voice was hoarse with hatred and rage. Neither of the other men spoke, and Sullivan ground his heel down harder on Vin's shoulder, causing the tracker to cry out hoarsely and try to shift out from under him. "Who did this!!? Who was down here?!?! ANSWER ME!!"

    Vin was aware of one thing, and one thing only: the bright flame of agony that suddenly exploded in his shoulder. He felt himself trying to struggle away from it, but pinned somehow. Heard a hoarse yelling, then what sounded like Buck's voice far away. He wasn't sure, gasped as he tried to pull himself up out of the pain enough to figure it out, heard himself groan sharply as a fresh burst of fire blew through his shoulder and chest, and struggled high enough finally to open his eyes and look up. He couldn't figure out what he was looking at, it didn't make sense. But he could hear a voice, and it was coming from a man who seemed to be standing over him, and now the man was doing something again that made everything turn inside out somehow and crash against Vin so hard that he couldn't catch his breath and could only hold himself tighter, try to keep from being torn into long shreds that were red and black and trailing out into the air somehow . . . Vin felt himself sliding suddenly, another burst of pain crashing over him and pulling him even farther away, making it harder to breathe. He felt himself starting to come apart, spreading out into long streamers, unraveling, the pain like a filet knife slicing him into long thin strips that were dissipating, evaporating . . . With his last ounce of strength, Vin raised one hand blindly, desperately, struck out at whatever was killing him, found something, and grabbed onto it.

    Sullivan felt the light tug on the fringe of his buckskin pants, a tug that threatened to unbalance him because of his precarious stance with one foot on the body of man who was thrashing involuntarily in pain. He looked down briefly, just for a fraction of a second, to make sure that it was the accidental contact he assumed it was, rather than Tanner coming to and making a real effort to pull him down. Even as he looked down, the tracker's hand released the fringe and fell limply to the floor. At the same instant, Sullivan felt, rather than heard, the rush of a presence as he started to look up again, bringing up the bowie knife that had lowered automatically when he'd looked down and behind him.

    He wasn't fast enough.

    Buck drove the little knife Nathan had left behind into Sullivan's chest with every last ounce of his 190 pounds behind it, as hard as he could. He hit Sullivan with such force that it drove the knife in past the hilt, and Sullivan's eyes widened as the the impact shoved him back from Buck, off of Vin. He looked down to see the little knife handle sticking out of the center of his chest and looked back at Buck even as he was still falling from the momentum of Buck's impact, and then he dropped to hit the edge of a crate and rolled off it heavily to the floor, and lay still.

    Buck stood panting in the sudden silence. He looked down at Vin, and knelt to make sure he was still alive. He was. Buck closed his eyes, still having a hard time getting enough air in his lungs, as if they wouldn't open enough or something.

    Chris was there, then. He looked at Buck a moment, then silently went over to Vin, washed off the wounded man's injury and rebound it. He stood up and began moving things around, and there were scraping sounds as he dragged Sullivan's body behind the crates and restacked them, and then Chris was back and facing Buck.

    "Well, you got your way," he said in a tight voice. Buck looked up, puzzled. Chris's eyes snapped like hot embers in the low light. "You used Vin as bait after all, and killed Sullivan. And damn near got Vin killed in the process. But the door is unlocked now." He gestured angrily towards the stairs. "You can just walk on outta' here."

    Buck squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. He shuddered and thought for a moment he might pass out, but put his head down a little instead and then shivered. "It's not like that," he whispered.

    "That's what it looked like to me." Chris stood up, and Buck felt the man's hard eyes boring into him, but he couldn't look up just yet. He'd thought it would feel better than this, killing Sullivan. But he hadn't expected the man to be trying to crush the life out of Vin at the time, either. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe that's what _would_ have happened if his plan hadn't been broken up by Chris coming down the stairs. But Chris didn't know what it had been like all this time, what Sullivan was capable of doing. Finally he shook his head, and looked up into Chris's face with a sudden feeling of deep weariness.

    "It's been a long five days," he said bitterly, "An' you ain't been here for the half of it." He stood up, shaky, went over to the steps, and started to sit down on them. But he laid his head down, instead, on the step above the one he sat on, and closed his eyes, and tried to just get his breath to work right again.

    Chris stood looking at Buck, who seemed to have fallen asleep, and then at Vin. He felt how tightly he was clenching his teeth and his hands, and tried to relax. He sat down and leaned back against the crate next to Vin and closed his eyes. They _had_ to leave now, he thought, and soon. It wouldn't be long until Sullivan was missed, and even in a cool basement he would start to make his presence known in a few days. And once Michaels found out what had happened to Sullivan, the game was over.

    Part 83

    "Jus' me, Boys." Miz Ruby's tired voice floated down hollowly from the darkness at the top of the stairs as she shut the door behind her and started down with a heavy tread. Chris looked up from where he sat next to Vin, and then rose to his feet to go help her when he saw that her hands were as full this trip as they had been the night before. He took the small, hot kettle that was wrapped in several cloths and set it on the crate they'd been using as a makeshift table, and Buck grabbed the pot of hot coffee that both men had been able to smell the moment she'd opened the door. She hadn't needed to announce who it was; the aroma of the food and coffee she'd brought had beaten her to it. As the two men emptied Miz Ruby's hands, she began to reach into her apron pockets to pull out cups, spoons, and large parcels of food wrapped in heavy paper. These proved to be cold roast beef sandwiches on thick slices of bread, and two enormous wedges of apple pie.

    "Y'all sit down an' eat," she said. "Nathan said Ah's t' tell ya' it's 'doctor's orders.'" She grinned at the two men and then peered into the darkness where Vin was, craning her neck to see if she could see how he was doing. "He had me bring some broth for that'n," she added, "if'n he's awake." She looked back at Chris, who continued to stand by the crate with his hands loosely at his sides. "Wal?" she asked. "Is he?"

    Chris blinked slowly, and rubbed his face as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the crate, near the things Miz Ruby had set there. "Sort of," he said.

    "Sorta!?" Miz Ruby snorted. "Men jus' ain't all that good at carin' for sick folk. 'Ceptin' Nathan. He's a reg'lar saint, that'n is."

    Buck smiled tiredly from the step he'd dropped onto as soon as he'd discovered the enormous sandwiches that were in the paper parcels she'd brought. He'd never tasted anything so good in his life, and it was written all over his face. "The saint is you," he corrected her. "This is . . . unbelievable."

    "Wal, y'all kin thank Nathan for it," she said. "He tol' me ya' gots t' get some meat an' bread in ya'." She bent to pick up one of the cups she'd brought down, and took the lid off the little pot. "Ah'm gonna' see if'n Ah kin get some broth inta' that'n over there," she added, "'cause Nathan said he gots t' get his stren'th up, too, b'fore y'all tries t' . . . y'know." She cast a furtive glance at Chris and then looked him up and down. "Nathan said y'all's to eat. So EAT." Her eyes snapped suddenly, and Chris lowered his face as a twinge of a smile played at the edges of his lips. He picked up the parcel that was the twin of Buck's and began to unwrap it. Miz Ruby nodded, satisfied, spooned some broth into the cup she held, then bustled over to where Vin lay on the floor and lowered herself with a sigh. She saw that his eyes were opened but dull and expressionless. She felt of his fever with her palm to his face, and then smiled kindly at him.

    "Wal, boy," she said softly, "Ah's ol' enough mah joints don' bend like they use t', but ah's gots some good beef broth here for ya', that yo' frien' Nathan done sent." She set the cup on the floor, the spoon inside it, and scooted around so that she could draw Vin's head and shoulders onto her ample lap and up against her bosom. He tipped his head back slightly to look up at her face without saying a word, and she smiled down at him reassuringly. "Ah knows y'all cain't rightly figger out what's goin' on yet," she said, "but all ya' gots to do right this minute is take some a' this broth."

    Pulling the cup of broth closer to her, Miz Ruby wrapped one arm firmly around Vin's chest, and carefully lifted a half a spoon of broth to his mouth. He didn't look at it, though, but instead seemed to tire and laid his head back so that it fell against her chest, and he closed his eyes.

    "Now, now; cain't letcha' go back asleep jus' yet, young fellah." Miz Ruby touched the spoon to Vin's lips and pushed gently against the space between them. "Jus' open up a little bit an' let Miz Ruby slip this in. Jus' a little bit, now. C'mon." Prodding and coaxing, she finally got the man to open his lips very slightly, upon which she immediately tipped the spoon to run the broth into his mouth. Vin rolled his head to one side when she did, and she put her hand quickly on his chin and shut his mouth so the broth would stay in. "Swallah' that, honey-chil'," she murmured. "C'mon. Swallah that for Miz Ruby."

    "Looks like you've done that a lot," observed Chris. Miz Ruby looked up from putting more broth in the spoon, and then started coaxing the second bit into the semi-conscious man's mouth. She replied as she was looking at Vin's face.

    "Raised six chil'ren," she said, "none of 'em mah own. An' took care a' lotsa' sick folk in mah day. Open up agin' for Miz Ruby, now Vin. C'mon honey-chil'. Open up 'n' take this nice broth yo' frien' Nathan done sent ya'." She got it in, gently pressed his lips shut, and glanced again at Chris as she refilled the spoon.

    "Ah owes y'an apology, Ah does. Here's some more broth, Vin. C'mon now an' take this so's ya' kin git y'all's stren'th back an' git on outta' this place." She sighed as Vin's head rolled farther to one side and he slid slightly from her grasp, then grunted as she repositioned him and refilled the spoon that had spilled in the process. "Ah thought," she said to Chris again, her eyes on Vin's mouth and the spoon, "that y'all weren't no good. Ah's sorry t'admit that, but it's so. Nathan done put me straight on the matter, though. Ah, _that's_ it, honey-chil'. That'll put cha' right." Patiently she dipped up yet another spoon of the broth and lifted it to the sick man's mouth as Chris watched. "He done tol' me how y'all kep' 'im from bein' lynched. Dad-blast them nohow, lynchin' a fine man like that'n." She looked up at Chris and fixed him with dark eyes that had seen far too much, for far too long. "Ah'm beholden to ya' for it."

    Chris shook his head gently. "You've got it wrong," he said. "It's us who are beholden to Nathan. All the time."

    "Wal, a man's frien's says lots 'bout the man. Ya' gots t' take this broth, though, Vin honey. C'mon an' swallah that for Miz Ruby. Git yo' stren'th up, chil'." Her dark eyes flitted quickly to Buck's face as Vin passively let her slide another sip of the broth into his mouth. "That how y'all met these fellahs?" she asked him. "Was ya' there that day, too?"

    "No." Buck's voice was soft, and almost sad. He looked sideways at Chris, then away from him. "Chris an' I know each other from way back," he said.

    "Frien's a long time, eh?" Miz Ruby sighed as Vin slid silently from consciousness, going completely limp in her arms as he did so. Chris rose to help her lower him back to the floor. "Ah didn' get much broth in 'im a-tall," she said in a worried voice. "An' he's still _so_ fevered." She was looking down at Vin's face as Chris gently slid him from her lap. The gunman pressed his lips together, and then glanced at Buck, who was sitting on the step, his sandwich eaten, his elbows on his knees and his eyes set deeply with fatigue. He had been quiet, watching the woman as she tried to get some nourishment into Vin, and worrying about how in the world they would ever get him out of the house like he was. But now he spoke in a weary voice.

    "Miz Ruby, did Nathan say anything about . . . anything we need to know?"

    The woman picked up the little cup of broth and Chris helped her stand. She dusted off the back of her skirt and hobbled stiffly to the crate to set down the cup, picked up a parcel of pie, and unwrapped it. Thrusting it into Buck's hands, she smiled. "He said t' be sure an' tell y'all t' eat up, 'cause it might be nigh ont' mornin' but he's gonna' gitcha'll out." She picked up the other parcel and unwrapped it to hand to Chris. "Ya' gots t' eat," she said. "He was real partic'lar about it. He's worried 'bout y'all down here. Worried that he ain't been able to 'scape from Marse Sterlin' or that Miss Belle long enough today t'--"

    "Miss Belle." Chris's eyes sharpened in a way that reminded Miz Ruby of why she hadn't trusted him at first.

    "Yessir." Miz Ruby sat on the bottom step next to Buck and smiled at him, patting his good knee. "Now," she said, "lemme tell y'all what Nathan done tol' me Ah was t' say." She knew she was ignoring Chris, and frankly she wasn't the least bit concerned about it. Friend of Nathan's or not, he seemed really not as nice as this man, Buck, who was clearly a good boy and loved his mother. Chris scowled when he saw that Buck had pulled his charms on another woman, and went to sit down on the crate to eat his piece of pie while he listened.

    "He tol' me t' tell y'all that soon's he kin git away by hisself -- an' that'll be in a hour 'r so -- he's got a signal he'll use t' meet with yo' other frien's. They's got that set up already."

    "What time is it now?" Chris was chewing on pie, and Miz Ruby looked over at him.

    "'Twas about 7 o'clock when Ah come down," she replied. She looked back at Buck. "At any rate, he said they'll make 'rrangements an' then he'll come down an' git y'all 'long 'bout 2 o'clock in th' mornin' or so, to leave outta' here. He said t' tell ya' that y'all are gonna' hafta' walk a ways, an' that's why he wants y'all t' eat good. He said if'n anythin' goes wrong, he'll make it so it happens t'morrah night, but he wants t' get Mister Vin--"

    "That won't work," Chris interrupted, shortly. "You need to tell Nathan something's changed."

    "What?" The woman looked from one man to the other with a worried expression as she felt both men grow suddenly tense.

    "Sullivan," said Buck softly.

    "What 'bout 'im?"

    "He tried to kill Vin a few hours ago. I killed him, instead."

    Miz Ruby rubbed her face and shook her head. "Wal, that do put a crimp in the pie crust," she said. "Where is 'e?"

    "Behind the crate over there." Buck pointed and Miz Ruby got up to walk there slowly and peer over the edge of the crate Buck had indicated. She looked at the dead man for a long time, then said without turning away, "Ah shore am hopin' that's not mah good kitchen knife Ah sees stickin' outta' that evil man."

    "Yes ma'am, I'm afraid it is." Buck thought it should have seemed funny to him somehow, but it didn't. He couldn't remember the last time something had been funny. Maybe when Vin had threatened to "force" him to lay down. Miz Ruby turned around and came back to the stairway, pausing to look at Vin for a moment as she did.

    "Wal, Ah ain't gonna' use it no more, nohow." She didn't add that it was because she wouldn't be at the big house much longer. She didn't know where she'd be, but not here. Not this kitchen, not that knife. Not any more.

    Miz Ruby put her hand on the stair railing and looked at Buck and then Chris very steadily. "Ah'll make shore Nathan un'erstands how things've got," she said. "Y'all rest. Ain't gonna' be easy." She patted Buck a final time, on the back, as she went past him on her way up the stairs. "An' finish up the broth that po' fellah Vin cain't eat," she said. "Y'all's jus' too skinny for such doin's as what'll be goin' on t'night."

    Chris and Buck watched as the darkness swallowed the woman from the top down, until only her slippered feet could be seen dragging slowly up the steps. And then she vanished, and the door opened and shut once more, and they sat down in the dim light of the cellar to wait.

    Part 84

    Nathan shook out the match and looked around the otherwise dark parlor to make sure no one had seen him light the candle in the window. It was full dark outside, and he knew that whoever was on watch for the signal should be able to see it clearly. Nathan closed his eyes for a moment and told himself that nothing could have happened since he'd separated from his friends to prevent their meeting him now. He'd have heard about it, he was sure, if they'd been discovered. They had to be all right. They had to.

    He'd told Marse Sterling that he had to look over some account books for Miz Ruby and that he'd be back in later to check on things before the Master and Missus turned in for the night. The man had smiled a gratified smile, surprised around the edges, and readily agreed. Check for any signs of missing funds, he'd admonished Nathan. You never knew who might be stealing from the household accounts. Nathan had nodded his agreement and taken his leave, finding it hard to keep contempt from showing on his face. He'd lit the candle, then, and waited for a long five minutes before gently blowing it out so that the hot wax wouldn't go onto the sill. Setting the candle back on the mantle, he slipped into his room on the side porch and quickly removed jacket and vest, and put on his own coat and boots. He rolled up his pants enough to keep the brush from tearing them, and slipped out into the cool night, standing in the dark that was noisy with distant sounds of mining for a long moment more, as he got his bearings.

    He was so damned tired.

    He started trudging up the long hill north of the house, head down. That he had been in the big house only a little over 30 hours was almost inconceivable. Such a short space of time, such a rapid journey back down the long road to his previous life. The memories had reached out to snatch him short by the collar with unexpected force, and Nathan shivered at the thought of all that had happened. Then he shook himself roughly. What was important was _now_, was Vin and Buck and Chris in that cellar, Sullivan's body somewhere down there with them. Michaels would never let them live if he knew they'd killed Sullivan; they would be dead within minutes of the discovery. Nathan had felt his blood run cold when Miz Ruby had whispered the word to him from Chris and Buck, and known that time had indeed run out for all of them, not just for Vin.

    The healer looked up as he slowed on the steep uphill grade, approaching the grove of trees at the base of a sandstone cliff where they'd agreed to meet at his signal. No one was visible in the darkness, and Nathan's heart leaped up to hammer in his throat. Perhaps something HAD happened. If so, then how would he get the others out of the cellar safely? How long would it be until Vin died of blood poisoning even with the slug removed? What would happen when Michaels realized Sullivan was missing, and had been going down to the cellar? Then a soft voice floated to him on the night breeze, saying his name, and he closed his eyes and thought it was a miracle he didn't just fall flat down in his relief.

    "Who is it?" He opened his eyes and looked around cautiously, still seeing no one.

    "Only a day and a half, and you've forgotten me already? Tsk, tsk, Mr. Jackson."

    "Ezra!" Nathan relaxed and grinned. He felt more than saw the gambler's dim form step out from the trees towards him, and saw his eyes gleam in the starlight.

    "Indeed. I seem to be the one designated to communicate with you. What word do you bring us?" Ezra drew close enough to Nathan to take his arm and gently propel him to a seat on the rough stone where they could not be easily seen. His voice remained low.

    "They're in the big house," said Nathan, "jus' like JD figured. In the cellar. An' Chris--"

    "We saw him arrive earlier today," cut in Ezra, shaking his head sharply. "But you said 'they' -- that 'they're' in the big house. Dare I ask . . . "

    Nathan was nodding. "Yeah," he said, "both of 'em. Buck an' Vin. They're alive."

    "Thank God!" Even in the dark, Nathan could sense Ezra's overwhelming joy at that news. He frowned, suddenly worried.

    "Somethin' happen I don' know about?"

    "We'd found . . ." Ezra breathed out suddenly, shaking, and then continued. ". . . two unmarked graves in the mine's cemetery. We were tryin' not to believe it, but . . . well . . ." His voice trailed off and he regarded Nathan with an expression that made the healer's blood chill.

    "God," said Nathan softly, his eyes filling with regret, "If I coulda' got word to y'all sooner. . ." Then he suddenly drew himself up, and glanced over his shoulder down the slope towards the house. A furtive look ran across his face, and he shuddered and then looked back at Ezra. "Well, they're all three in there," he repeated. "But we gotta' get 'em out tonight. No delay." He paused again, and Ezra was silent, waiting for him to continue. He realized suddenly that Nathan was lacing and unlacing his fingers, and that he had glanced down the slope behind him again, unsettled. Ezra reached out abruptly and laid a reassuring hand on his friend's forearm. Nathan looked up, startled, his eyes shining in the low light. He swallowed, then, and continued.

    "First, if anythin' happens tonight, tell the others there's some kinda' attack planned on the stage into Four Corners, for day after tomorra'. White men, dressed up like Indians." He looked at Ezra's face to see what his reaction would be, but the Southerner just sat there looking back at Nathan with his best poker face.

    "Now," said Nathan, his voice shifting into a more brusque cadence, "Buck's been hurt like we thought, but seems to be doin' more or less all right now." He paused a moment, an image of Buck flashing through his mind as he'd seen him in the cellar: pale, limping, one pants' leg soaked with old blood. Then he shook his head to himself; he had to be all right. Had to be. There was no way he and Chris could get two men out of that house who needed help. Vin was going to be hard enough to transport; Buck hadn't said a word, and if he hadn't recovered enough to at least walk outta' there he would've let them know. Nathan nodded to himself and went on. "We got a problem with Vin, though; he's in a bad way. I got the slug out last night, but he's runnin' a high fever an' needs t' get outta' there. The worst thing is they killed a fella' today, one a' Michaels' men, an' hid his body in the cellar."

    "Great." Ezra withdrew his hand and shook his head. "How long do we have until this is discovered?"

    "Hard t' say." Nathan squinted up at the sky, looking at the stars. "I doubt anyone'll go down there before mornin', but I don' know. There's some pretty sharp folks aroun' that house. They're liable to realize this fella' Sullivan is missin'." He looked back at Ezra. "Fixin' to storm, it looks like."

    "Could be." Ezra was thinking, slapping one hand idly against his thigh and not listening to Nathan's weather report very closely. "So what do you want to do?"

    Nathan stood up. "I'll get 'em outta' the cellar at about 2 in the mornin', head 'em up here."

    Ezra rose as well. "About 5 or 6 hours from now?"

    "Close as I can get it, yeah."

    "We'll be here, with the horses. JD has located those of our companions and he and Josiah will liberate them from their own incarceration in time to ferry their owners to safety."

    "I hope so." Nathan looked back down the long slope through the dark trees to the tiny squares of light that marked the location of the house. The patchwork of lights that was the mine operation spread down the slope beyond it, shining almost as brightly as the stars themselves. He looked back at Ezra. "Tell 'em to be careful," he said softly. "I'm countin' on y'all. We're gonna' have a hard time gettin' Vin even this far."

    Ezra placed his hand on Nathan's shoulder.

    "We'll be here. You have my word on it, as a gentleman."

    "Your word as a frien' will do it."

    "As a friend then. As _your_ friend." Ezra let go of Nathan's shoulder and shook his hand solemnly. "In four and a half hours we will be here waitin', in case you have to leave sooner than you've planned. We will not leave without you four, even if we have to ride down into that house through the God-damned front door, and rip the cellar apart with our bare hands. I swear it."

    Then as Ezra's words hung in the air between the two men, he heard them echo and felt suddenly embarrassed by the bravado of what he'd said. For a long and miserable moment he thought Nathan was going to laugh at him, despite the earnestness with which he'd spoken. But instead the healer grasped Ezra's hands tightly in his own, made a deep choking sound, and then took one step back.

    "I'll light the candle again, to let you know we're leavin'," he said in a husky, broken voice. "Hasta luego."

    "Soon, indeed," said Ezra softly.

    Nathan turned and vanished into the darkness, and Ezra stood watching the long slope for several moments to make sure that no alarm was raised. Finally he turned and climbed the slope to his horse, mounted up, and legged the animal into a lope.

    He was in a hurry to deliver some damned good news: There were four in the house, not two. Buck and Vin were alive!

    Part 85

    Night was falling. It surprised JD after the heat of the days how cold the desert mountain nights were. But there was no warming JD, he was in mourning. Two of his friends were dead, his best friends. Josiah had kept saying it might not be them and throughout the day, JD had looked over and over again for some sign that he was right. There was none. No sighting. No loose talk. Nothing.

    JD had arrived for his job at the livery in the Apex Mining Compound before daylight. No one had been around so JD started to muck out the stalls. He knew the routine by rout. He had been a stablehand when just a small boy. So JD had worked using the routine to just cope.

    Shortly after dawn when the livery manager had walked up from dining hall with the rest of the workers, JD had almost finished cleaning the barn. He barely acknowledged the liveryman as he rolled a wheelbarrow of muck out of the barn.

    "Good work, John." The liveryman praised JD as he returned to the barn. JD didn't care what the liveryman thought of his work. He cared about Mr. Larabee's opinion -- it only mattered if he thought JD did good work.

    JD was set to grooming horses the rest of the morning. Fortunately, it provided an opportunity to get a good look at Chris's, Buck's, and Vin's horses to see if they had any problems that would prevent their use in any escape attempt. JD was pleased to see they were in good shape. There would be an escape for Chris and Nathan. It was just a matter of time and no matter what, Buck's and Vin's horses would come with them. JD would see to that.

    Shortly after high noon, a little Mexican boy scampered into the barns. He moved so stealthily that he would have surprised JD if he hadn't been alert. Even though the boy's breaths came in short pants, the boy tried to immediately relay his message to the livery boss, "Senor Sterling going riding with a guest. The men will ride those two horses," -- the boy nodded his head to Buck's grey and Vin's gelding.

    JD froze. The bastard was going to ride Buck's and Vin's horses. JD felt the livery boss look at him and JD controlled his emotions.

    The livery boss turned his attention back to the little boy. "You sure, boy?" yanking at the boy's ear.

    JD stepped between them forcing the livery boss to release the boy. "No need for that," JD commented quietly.

    The boy was nodding his head frantically, "si, si." Before the livery boss could grab him again, the boy ran from the barn giving JD a quick look of thanks as he left the barn.

    "John, get those horses ready. Just in case, also saddle Mr. Michael's black."

    JD nodded his head and turned to carry out the liveryman's orders only to find himself brought up short when his ear was yanked. The livery boss wagged his finger at JD, "don't ever get between me and any other worker again," he ordered JD tightly.

    JD looked up into the liveryman's eyes and held the boss's gaze with bitter eyes for a long moment, before jerking his head in acknowledgement.

    The livery boss was startled by the bitterness reflected back. Good worker but he'd be one to watch.

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

    Josiah had returned to the cabin with Ezra. Ezra was so exhausted that after he pulled the saddle from his horse, he just stopped and dropped his head right there to fall asleep leaning against the wall. Josiah dragged him into the cabin and saw him fed and put to bed before he hurried back to keep watch over The Compound. Ezra would relieve him at nightfall. They had decided on 12-hour shifts with JD working the stables.

    Josiah picked up the binoculars to survey the mining compound. He systematically surveyed every building in the valley cataloging their apparent function and looking for any sign of posting of guards. None was apparent. That confirmed Ezra's finding from the night before, that Chris was being held at the big house and that was probably where Buck and Vin were.

    Buck and Vin.

    Josiah carefully withdrew the glasses from his eyes. Two graves. He had stopped with Ezra at the cemetery. Ezra didn't dismount. He had glanced at them and rode on. Ezra had been deeply shaken from the sight. Josiah refrained from talking to him about it. Ezra had been right, at the very least, they had two men to back up in the big house. There would be plenty of time to mourn, so by mutual consent, the loss was not discussed.

    Josiah had returned by noon to see the workers marching to the dining hall. A short while later they exited, obviously not having the opportunity to savor the meal served. As opposed to Ezra's report of unusual activity during the night, the day seemed to have settled into a regular work routine that ended up being shattered when the boss man stepped out the front door. The whole atmosphere of the compound changed. There seemed a tenseness to the men. As Sterling Michaels passed by his workers, most made a point to avoid contact or kept their eyes deferentially down. Josiah reflected on his visits to the Delano Mine and the obvious differences between the two boss men. JD had mentioned Delano was finding it tough to hire men, Josiah couldn't imagine why after this display.

    Josiah raised the binoculars again to monitor Sterling Michaels. There were actually two men. Both obviously wealthy by the fine cut and material of their clothes. Sterling Michaels was a big man, tall and husky. He exuded strength and power in his carriage and seemed to take pleasure at his hold over the men and women in the mining compound. The other man was much slighter in build and he obviously deferred to Michaels. Josiah had no doubt that Michaels was a formidable enemy.

    Josiah's breath held as he noticed JD was holding Buck's and Vin's horses for the two men. There was apparent ribald laughter as the men mounted and Josiah could feel JD's furor from his perch. 'Take it easy, son. Take it easy.'

    Josiah felt relief as he saw the two dandies ride off with JD apparently causing no problem. Josiah let a shuddering breath out. It was a dangerous game they were playing and not only Nathan, but also JD right in the middle of it. The margin for safety was almost nil. They needed to get Chris and Nathan out of there. And soon.

    Ezra relieved Josiah at dusk. Josiah waited on JD and rode back to the lumber camp, neither had much to say -- be time for that when they got home. Hmmm, what home? Josiah had forsaken that place -- he doubted he could stay in Four Corners when this was all done. Josiah felt it would have to be Chris that saw JD through this and wondered if their leader would realize that. It would be on him to tell him that. He wondered if Chris would listen.

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

    Ezra mounted his horse with alacrity. When he saw the candle Nathan had lit, it was like a beacon proclaiming the news -- they were alive, they were alive.

    The distance eating pace back to the lumber camp could not be fast enough. Josiah was out front when he pulled up.

    "They're alive," Ezra choked out, "Alive."

    "JD," Josiah called out.

    JD came to the door, guns drawn. Upon seeing Ezra, he quickly lowered his weapons. "Vin and Buck are alive," Ezra repeated.

    JD clapped Josiah on the back in obvious joy and relief. The celebration was short-lived when Ezra conveyed the seriousness of their situation.

    "They're hurt bad and Nathan says we've got to get them out of there tonight. It has to be tonight. They killed a man. We must prepare quickly, I told Nathan we would be on station standing by with the horses in four and a half hours."

    Josiah assumed control. "Ezra get off that horse. JD walk him out, then get our horses ready to go, including Nathan's. Ezra help me get the supplies we need and bank the fire." No one needed to be told twice to hurry.

    Ezra rode Nathan's horse to the rendezvous, letting his horse rest up as much as possible for the coming action. As the men returned to their perch above the compound, it had been about four hours since Ezra had met up with Nathan. It was a relief to find the compound relatively quiet and obviously operating in normal fashion.

    "I'll get the horses," JD had started to hurry toward the stables when Josiah held him up.

    "I'll back you up. Ezra if it goes bad down there -- well, you need to stay out of it," Josiah paused and could sense the protest welling in Ezra, "you must. We have to have one man on the outside. You are that man."

    Ezra started at Josiah's words. The man. I'm the one you will all have to depend on. Ezra felt panic well and a stunning sense of inadequacy having these six men depending on him. He wondered if Josiah remembered the last time they had all depended on him -- he had failed them. Ezra looked hard at Josiah who conveyed utter confidence in his ability to do this job. That was even more stunning to Ezra -- utter confidence.

    Josiah didn't say anything more. He would have laughed out loud because he knew exactly what Ezra was thinking but then Ezra would run -- not from fear, or selfishness, but from embarrassment. Josiah nodded at Ezra firmly -- confidently.

    Ezra touched two fingers to the brim of his hat in acknowledgement. The gesture lacked its usual jaunty flourish.

    JD sprinted down the hill to the corral. Fortunately, with Michaels riding Buck's and Vin's horses earlier in the afternoon, it wasn't considered unusual that JD put them out after brushing them down. Just short of the compound, JD drew up with Josiah beside him. "Josiah you lead the horses to that treeline." JD pointed to where he meant. "I'll go into the barn and get the tack and the boys' saddlebags."

    Josiah didn't say anything but he couldn't help but be impressed with JD's confidence and planning.

    Josiah approached the horses as JD soundlessly slipped away. JD had been there one moment, gone the next. The horses obviously recognized Josiah pressing their heads against his palm as he grabbed their halters and led them away from the compound one at a time. Each horse's familiarity with Josiah worked in his favor because not once did the horses snort or whinny announcing their departure from the compound. As he drew up with the final horse into the treeline, Josiah noted two saddles tucked by a bush. If he didn't know this was the meeting spot, he would have never seen them, but the silver conchos from Chris's saddle were so briefly lit by a streak of lightning. Josiah started to saddle the horses impressed with their discipline despite the wind gusting and lightning streaking the sky to the west followed by ever increasing rumbles of thunder.

    He had saddled Buck's and Chris's horses and realized JD had yet to return. Where the hell was he?

    JD had slipped in and out of the livery barn carrying the saddles to the treeline. He hadn't seen Josiah but their paths were on different tangents. After his second trip, he saw Chris's horse in the shadows and knew Josiah had been there. It couldn't be going better.

    JD bent over for Vin's saddle -- the last to be carried out when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "What 'er doin' boy?" The livery boss's voice rasped in JD's ear, low and quiet.

    JD straightened slowly and turned to face the livery boss. JD looked the man over slowly, almost insolently.

    The liveryman startled at JD's bravado and backed up two steps. He was unarmed and he noted the Colt's slung low on the boy's hips. 'No, not a boy, a man.' There was no doubt in the liveryman's mind that John could use them guns -- would use those guns if he gave him cause to.

    The liveryman raised his hands in surrender.

    JD didn't say a word, didn't draw a gun. He grabbed a rope and secured one wrist and brought it behind the liveryman's back and then pulled the other hand down and tightly secured it. JD used the liveryman's bandana to gag him and then led him deep into the tack room before assisting him to seat before tying his ankles with rope also. JD then stacked boxes and saddles to hide the liveryman from view. He'd be found. Just not soon.

    JD picked up Vin's saddle and quickly exited the barn.

    JD slung the saddle onto Vin's horse.

    Josiah touched JD's arm. "Trouble?"

    "A little. I took care of it." JD continued quickly with his task.

    Josiah retrieved the reins from Buck's and Chris's horses.

    Josiah and JD guided the horses back up the hill to where Ezra was watching and waiting.

    Lightning flashed across the sky, the wind howled, and rain started to spot. Josiah couldn't figure if that was good or bad. Provided great cover but it'd be hard on the injured men.

    It'd be hard on the men who were anxiously waiting.

    And waiting.

    Part 86

    Chris sat on the dank dirt floor of the cellar next to Vin and tried to figure out how everything had gotten so out of hand. He looked over at Buck who was sitting a little way away on a packing crate. His head was buried in his hands and he hadn't even looked over at Chris in the last twenty minutes. 'Damn you, Buck,' Chris thought, but there wasn't much heat behind the words. He had to save his energy for what lay ahead yet tonight. And he had to figure that there would be time afterward to get to the bottom of things.

    He watched Buck stretch his right leg out in front of him and even in the dim light from the lantern hanging overhead, Chris could see him grimace at the pain the movement caused him. Chris watched him and looked at Vin, resting easier since last night when the slug had been removed, but still weak and pretty much out of it. Chris hadn't gotten any kind of look at the mining facility when he'd been brought in, but he had to figure, thinking about what Michaels had said and what Miz Ruby had told them, that they were going to have to travel on foot for a ways to get to their horses. It would take both him and Nathan to help Vin. And if Buck couldn't make it...

    Chris had offered twice more to look at Buck's leg after Nathan had been called away. The last time Buck hadn't even answered him, just looked at him through eyes gone narrow, clearly warning him without a single spoken word to back off. And Chris had, though he had to admit he'd mostly done it out of anger at Buck's stubbornness. And now, he was left wondering just how bad off Buck was. Chris had seen him walk and he knew that he was limping badly and there was a tightness in him that Chris could spot even in the darkness. His pant leg was covered with blood where it had spread and dried and spread again. He'd rested some while he'd been locked up in the cellar, Chris figured, but still....Maybe he should offer--

    Just then, Buck looked up and over at Vin and Chris's lips tightened as he watched the line of his gaze. 'Damn you, Buck,' he thought. 'Somehow this is your fault.' His thoughts turned to the people in the house above them. Miss Belle. Miss Belle was right here in this house. And the only thing Chris could figure was that everything was connected. That somehow they were trapped here and Vin was injured because Buck hadn't been able to keep his hands off a woman. Maybe he hadn't raped her. Angry as he was, Chris still couldn't quite make sense of that, but something had gone on. That much was just so clear to him. And then, when he'd arrived, when he'd clearly interrupted Buck doing whatever fool thing he'd decided to do....he'd laid Vin's life right out, like it didn't mean much. And why? Nathan had already been just a floor away. If Buck had waited...But then, that was always it, Chris thought. Buck could never wait. Not for a woman, not for a fight. Nothing. There was a lot for the two of them to settle. But now was not the place or time. All that Chris could do right now was worry about Vin and about Nathan in the house above them engaged in a dangerous, precarious masquerade and wait.

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

    All Buck wanted in the world at that moment was a warm clean bed that he could sink into and close his eyes and never have to open them again.

    ...and he wanted Vin safe. And he wanted Nathan out of whatever mess he was in upstairs. And he even...he opened his eyes and looked down at the dark dirt floor, he even wanted Chris to come out of this intact.

    Buck stretched out his injured leg, trying to keep it from stiffening up too much. It ached constantly now, something he was more or less used to, but when he moved it this time a sharp flash of pain arrowed up it and stabbed him square in the chest. Blue sparks danced across his vision. Damn! He'd figured it would be better by now. It'd been...hell! He didn't know how long it'd been, but it'd been a damned long time locked up in this cellar. And in all that time he hadn't been doing a damned thing--if you didn't count doctoring Vin, fighting with Chris, and killing Sullivan--which, of course, Buck didn't. It'd be all right, though. Had to be. He'd been walking on it every day and he hadn't lost any blood in a couple of days. If all it did was hurt, well, he could handle that.

    He thought about what might likely lie ahead tonight. He had no idea what this place they were trapped in might look like outside the cellar. It was all a dark mystery to him. He'd been in a sunlit meadow one minute, desperately trying to escape and the next minute he'd been here, in this dark cold cellar. He lifted his head and looked over at Vin. Chris noticed him and as Buck watched him, Chris's face took on a hard, tight cast and his eyes narrowed and grew cold. Buck straightened unconsciously and looked straight back at him for a minute before slowly turning away. He thought about all the years he'd stood up for Chris, backed him in one fight after another, not even asking Chris to do the same for him--not every time anyway--just when it was important.

    And now, here they were, and it was as if they'd never been friends at all. It had started, maybe, when Chris hadn't backed him with Josiah. But it had ended right here in this cellar when Chris accused him of using Vin to buy his own freedom. As if he would. As if Chris shouldn't damn well know. But Chris hadn't known. And he hadn't known what was important back in Four Corners either. And if he didn't know those things, then Buck had to figure that he didn't know anything at all.

    He rubbed a tired hand across his face. He'd lost weight in the last week and his face was thinner and still really pale. There were dark smudges etched almost permanently under his eyes, eyes that had long ago lost their spark. The way Buck figured it, he'd help get Vin out of here tonight. And he'd hang with the others until they got to the bottom of this and stopped it. But after that...well, nothing had changed. The reason he'd left town in the first place was still right there, same as it had been. When this was all over, no matter how it turned out, there would be no place for Buck back in Four Corners. And that was something, things being how they were, that was important to know.

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

    Vin kept thinking there was something important he'd forgotten. As a matter of fact, he'd forgotten just what it was he was doing. On his horse? Just outside town? And something didn't look right. Didn't feel right. But he couldn't figure it. Like his brain wasn't quite working and it took a really long time before anything made sense.

    Evening was approaching as he rode into town, that much seemed clear. And it was like he'd been away a long time, but he couldn't remember why. Then, he looked down at the horse he was riding and realized it wasn't his horse at all. It was Buck's. That didn't make any sense. Why was he riding Buck's horse? Where was Buck? Where was anyone, come to that? The streets of Four Corners were deserted. Vin saw no one. There were no lanterns in windows. A few street fires were lit, but not all of them by any means. And the night darkness had come on fast, almost unbelievably fast. In the length of one footstep it had barely been dusk, and in the next full night was upon him.

    Vin didn't even see Chris stride out of the darkened saloon until he'd grabbed him by the front of his coat and dragged him off Buck's horse. "Where is he?" Chris demanded. "You were supposed to bring him back with you. Son of a whore." And he said it like he was swearing. "Where is he?"

    Vin tried to speak, tried to tell Chris that it wasn't right to say that about a man, not about a friend, but the words wouldn't come out. He opened his mouth and he tried to speak, but there was no sound.

    Chris shook him. "Tell me!" he said, practically spitting the words. "Tell me! Tell me where he is!"

    Vin opened his mouth again and this time the words came. "He's gone," Vin said.

    For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Chris stopped shaking him and there was only dead silence, like a wall surrounding them. Then, as if none of it mattered or was quite real anyway, the whole town started to shimmer and slowly it all began to fade. When, after what seemed like a very long time, Vin finally stood all alone in a kind of faded-blue darkness, he heard Chris's voice coming to him from someplace really far away. "Take it easy, Vin," Chris said softly. "It's all right."

    But Vin knew it wasn't all right at all.

    Part 87

    Striker was a man who enjoyed sitting silently in the dark, watching, every sense alert. He'd let himself into the big house shortly after midnight and thought briefly of slipping up the stairs to see if Belle had any visitors it might suit him to know about, but then opted instead for a seat deep in shadows in a far corner of the library. Michaels kept important papers there, and maps. And he had a house full of people right now. It was as good, thought Striker, as sitting at a water hole to wait for prey. Sure enough, not two hours had passed before he heard the knob to the library door turning slowly and saw the tall shadow of a man slip quietly into the room.

    Striker smiled very, very slightly to himself, watching, enjoying the sense of power from seeing but being, himself, unseen. Hearing, but being unheard. Only his eyes moved, tracking the stealthy figure as the man moved cautiously to the cabinets beneath the book shelves and opened one after another of them with care. Striker saw a flash of white cuff as the man ran a searching hand in the darkness of the cabinets, and then caught another flash of white at the collar as the man moved from the cabinets to the desk and began to quietly open the drawers and search through them. A distant flare of silent lightning from outside provided just enough light for a fraction of a moment that Striker saw his guess was correct: judging by the uniform, it was Michaels' new colored boy who was searching the library with such care.

    And skill.

    Striker frowned very slightly. The man he was watching moved with way too much confidence for a colored butler going through his master's belongings. This wasn't just a dishonest domestic looking for something easy to pawn. He felt his muscles cord into taut readiness when a soft, sharp intake of breath from the man was followed by the muffled thump of heavy guns being set on Michaels' desk. Striker saw silver conchos gleam briefly in another dim and distant flash of lightning, and knew exactly whose rigs had been lifted from the desk. The question was: why?

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

    Voices. They'd woven in and out of his awareness in broken threads for -- well, he wasn't sure how long. The words had been isolated and distant and hadn't made much sense. They'd swirled like a cloud of barn swallows around sensations of touch to his face, his chest, his shoulder. He'd lain in it inert, let it all go past. But this time, something was different. The voices wouldn't stop. They kept darting and swooping closer, and the touching was more insistent, and he started to feel annoyed by it.

    "Go 'way," he said finally, his own voice thick and slurred and rough. But the voice nearest him just grew more insistent.

    "Can't do that, Vin," it said. "Sorry. You need to wake up now. Come on."

    Vin sighed and felt cross. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to be left alone. He was so tired. And everything hurt so damned bad. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Why not?

    "No," he mumbled. "No." He felt himself relax as he started sliding again into the dark place he'd been before, the annoying voices receeding. Suddenly there was something cold on his face, and it jerked him back from the place he was sinking into, and he struggled his eyes opened, mad this time.

    "I'm sorry, Vin." It was Chris. Good God. Chris. "I know you need to rest. But we gotta' get you out of here."

    Vin sighed and felt part of himself shove the rest of him physically up out of his dark refuge, and groaned as its support fell away from him and left him stranded and panting on a beach that was a dim basement and a deep ache in every inch of his body.

    "Hell," he complained softly.

    "No doubt," said Chris. Vin's eyes began to bring his friend's face into focus as he blinked and squinted. The man in black looked tired. Really tired. "How about a little water?" he asked Vin.

    Vin shook his head silently, very slightly, but Chris seemed to understand. "In a few more minutes, then." His face got a tight, pinched look to it and he leaned a little closer. "I'm still not sure you're awake, Vin. Can you hear me?"

    "Yeah." It was a breath more than a spoken word, but Chris heard it and sat back on his heels, satisfied. Vin swallowed against the dryness in his throat several times as he struggled up a little higher into consciousness. Damn, he felt bad. He heard his own breathing change, grow heavier and rougher as he saw more and heard more and felt more. Shit. _Really_ bad. He looked at Chris, unable to speak but wanting that water now, and his friend read it somehow in his eyes and lifted a dipper to his lips and oh my it was good, sliding down his throat. It made him want to close his eyes and drift away again, but he didn't. He couldn't.

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

    Nathan thought briefly, seriously, of taking the suit with him so he could burn it. But instead he laid it back over the cot as it had been laid out for him to begin with. His own clothes felt so good against his skin that it made him almost dizzy -- and then suddenly he _was_ dizzy, and he sat down for a moment and put his head between his knees, and focused on his breathing. Too many hours working, not enough hours sleeping -- at least, not enough to finish getting his strength back from having been so sick. And all of it was catching up with him in a deep bone-weary sort of way. He sat up slowly again as his head stopped spinning, and rubbed a hand across his face and wished this whole nightmare could just come to a screeching halt. At least for one, long, uninterrupted night of sound sleep.

    "Nathan?" Miz Ruby's soft whisper at the porch door made the healer get up and open it. He drew the woman out onto the porch and sat her in the wicker chair, then knelt in front of her and took her hands in his, to study her face in silence. The woman returned his gaze, and then looked down at Nathan's hands. "Y'all 'bouts t' leave?"

    "Yes'm." Nathan felt the woman tremble at his word, and then she sighed heavily.

    "Ah hopes y'all makes it, Son. Ah hopes yo' frien' gits well agin, too. Here." She reached into one of her enormous apron pockets and pulled out a worn napkin that was tied together at the corners. "Ah putsed a bunch a' slipp'ry-root leaf an' willa' bark in this here. An' some feverfew, too. Ah hopes it'll--" The woman broke off as her voice caught.

    "I'll be back for ya', Miz Ruby. An' for Bitsy an' Coco an' Pedro."

    The woman shook her head slowly, sadly, pressing the packet into Nathan's hands. "Cain't takes a chance like that'n, Son. We be fine here. Ah's always fine."

    "I'll be back," repeated Nathan. "I'm not leavin' you here. Michaels will figure it was me that got Buck an' Vin out, but he might suspect you a' helpin' me an' watch ya' more closely now. I'm not gonna' let 'im do anythin' to hurt you or the others. I'm comin' back for ya' just as soon as I get Vin squared away an' safe." Miz Ruby's eyes grew dark with fear, and she clutched Nathan's hands at his words.

    "He'd likely kill ya', Nathan. Please, please don' do that. Don' come back never. Ah cain't bear it if--"

    "I don't think you understand." Nathan was shaking his head, smiling slightly, sadly. "I heal folks, but I've done my share a' killin', too. I ain't proud of it, but he won't be able to just come at me like he thinks he can. An' if he tries, I'll teach 'im otherwise. I _am_ comin' back for you an' the others. Soon." The man stood up, drawing Miz Ruby with him, and she suddenly grabbed him around the waist and pressed him to her in a tight embrace, then turned and fled silently. Nathan stood in the darkness, heard the hall clock strike two, and shook himself all over lightly. Time to go.

    He picked up the three gun rigs, that he'd located an hour earlier in a bottom drawer of the oversized desk in Michaels' library, and headed for the cellar door. He heard thunder rumble distantly from one side of the sky to the other as he did.

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

    Striker was outside, walking a circuit around the house. The wind was rising, carrying rain smell, and it blew up puffs of dust as he came to a halt in the deep shadows near the linden trees on the north side of the structure, beneath the parlor windows. There was a single candle set there, its flame visible a long way in the expanse of open country that lay in that direction, with no other buildings to block it. The light would be visible for a very long way, indeed. A slight creak from farther around the house caused him to move that direction cautiously, and he caught a glimpse of the woman Miz Ruby as she tossed out a pan of wash water and went back into the kitchen, letting the door bang softly behind her. Striker leaned back. Nearly two am. The woman got up at 4:00 on baking days, but he'd never seen her working at this hour. Could be coincidence, but . . . He leaned against the wall in the dark, and started trying to remember where he'd seen Michaels' butler before tonight.

    Because he was certain he had.

    Part 88

    "You think if we help you, you can sit up a little bit, against this crate behind you?" Chris was pushing him again, and Vin knew there had to be a reason. He nodded, deciding not to spend any energy on talking if he was going to have to sit up. They were careful, and the slug in his shoulder didn't move as they lifted him up at least, but the room still spun and black spots danced at the edge of his vision, and he heard himself panting and thought for a long minute that he wasn't going to have any say in the matter of staying with it or not. But slowly things settled down again, and Chris gave him a little more water, and someone touched a cool cloth to his face again. He realized his eyes were closed, and reopened them wearily. He saw Buck this time, regarding him with a somber face, and Vin smiled weakly.

    "Y'ok, Bucklin?" he whispered.

    "Better'n you." Buck's face relaxed at Vin's words, and he put one hand on the tracker's knee. "Nathan's been down here an' got the bullet out. Did it help with the pain? Is it any better?"

    Oh. That explained it. Vin nodded. "Yeah," he rasped. "I wondered . . ." He broke off as his mind started to drift and knit his brows.

    "Don't try to go too fast, Vin," said Chris. "Take it slow. That's why we woke you up now, is so you'd have time."

    "Time?" His voice was soft and almost hollow, but he slid his gaze to Chris's face, asking a question.

    "Nathan got into the house, here. Without them knowing who he is." Chris's voice was too gentle, Vin thought. It had the reassuring quality it got sometimes when things were really bad and he didn't want someone to know it. What was going on? "He's coming down soon to help us get out. The others will be waiting outside with the horses."

    Vin thought a moment, his mind turning the information over far too slowly. He looked at Buck, who hadn't moved and who was still looking steadily and with some concern at Vin.

    "How'd . . . you . . .?" Vin licked his lips, suddenly realizing how hot he was, how thirsty. Chris gave him more water, and then he realized that someone was wiping his face with a wet cloth again. When had that happened? He must have drifted. Open eyes again, he thought. Ah. It's Buck. Vin sighed, swallowed. He felt so tired. He just wanted to sleep, suddenly. Please. Just let me sleep, he thought.

    "Come on, Vin." It was Chris again. "I'm sorry. Nathan will be here soon. You have to stay awake."

    Vin opened his eyes once more. Damn.

    "Let's get you sitting up a little more," said Chris. "You've gotta' get your feet under you pretty soon here."

    They were dragging him higher, and Vin heard himself gasp as someone touched the place on his shoulder that still felt like hell. But then he was sitting nearly upright, dizzy again, and he started to fall over sideways but someone caught him, and it started all over again for a while: in and out, and a sip of water, and the cloth on his face. And then he blinked himself back aware again and looked again at Chris and frowned.

    Vin panted, his face cross. "I'm gonna' . . . shoot . . . you."

    Buck laughed shortly. "I'll give you the gun, Pard!"

    Vin smiled a little at that, and looked from Buck's face to Chris's dark one. Chris's dark face, he thought. Chris's face was dark? Well damn. He looked back at Buck. Saw tension there. Double damn.

    Suddenly he was just so tired. Vin thought seriously of asking them to just leave him behind. He didn't even want to be awake, much less caught between Buck and Chris. He didn't want to be sitting up or drinking water or anything. His head hurt, and his legs and back ached like he'd been beaten, and he was hot, and his chest and shoulder still throbbed like hell even though at least he could stand it now. He didn't want to go wherever it was they wanted him to go, and he _sure_ as hell didn't want to do any riding. He didn't much care where they were or what might happen next. They could all leave, and welcome to it, but he--

    "Whoa. Stay with me, Vin." It was Chris again, and Vin sighed and heard it turn into a low moan, and he opened weary eyes to look at his friend again. "Try to hang on," said Chris softly. "Just a little while. It won't be long and we'll have you out of here."

    "Buck," said Vin, realizing what thought it was that had been jiggling his elbow all this time. "Buck?"

    "Right here, Pard."

    Vin studied the man's face, saw that he was still pale. Really pale. He pushed himself against the crate behind him, straightening up, coming more to himself. It would be like Buck not to say anything to Chris about his leg if he was mad, not to let on that he had about half the blood in him a man needed if he was going to walk around doing things. And Vin remembered, suddenly, the way Buck had looked way back whenever the hell it was, when Vin had first found him. Mad and hurt inside, in ways that would make him take dangerous risks. That had made him take them in the past.

    "Buck," said Vin, reaching out his good hand to his friend. Chris didn't know. He was sure of it. And that damn Buck wasn't going to say anything. "You-"

    "Here we go," said Chris.

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

    Nathan pulled the door shut behind him gently, and hurried down the steps into the cellar. Chris twisted part-way around and looked up from where he sat to one side of Vin and facing him, a wet cloth in his hand. They'd propped the sick man up and he was awake, even if his eyes were still fever-dull. Nathan felt relief flood him at the sight; he'd spent too many long years as a stretcher-bearer to underestimate the difficulty of carrying an unconscious man a long distance. Buck was on Vin's other side, and he stood up with sharp eyes when he saw Nathan, and that Nathan had his guns.

    "No shells," said Nathan briefly. But Chris and Buck both buckled on their holsters, and Buck smiled.

    "Still makes me feel better," he said softly. "Maybe if we get in trouble, I'll THROW it at someone. And besides," Buck fingered the knife that he kept in a scabbard on the gunbelt, and smiled rakishly, "I can still give someone a surprise if he gets too close."

    Nathan moved closer to Vin, and bent down to pull the man's good arm over his neck and shoulders. Buck stepped back suddenly, for Nathan to go between him and Vin, and left Vin's field of view. The tracker shook his head, and seemed to be searching for Buck again.

    "No," he said softly. "Buck--"

    "It's ok, Vin." Nathan was reassuring him now, not understanding, drawing Vin's good arm over his shoulder and helping him to his feet. Vin shook his head again, looked to his side at Nathan, then gasped as Chris lifted his bad arm to support him on that side. He seemed about to protest once more, but then drew in a sharp breath when the men began to move him to the base of the stairs.

    Nathan paused to let Buck squeeze by to go up ahead of them; the tall man paused at the landing to listen carefully before opening the door wide enough to let them all pass through. Then he pulled it shut behind them and lowered the bar back in place, and reset the lock. Nathan and Chris were walking as quickly as they could down the hall and into the kitchen, to go out the kitchen door. Vin's feet were moving, taking one step for every three of theirs, but he wasn't totally a dead weight on them and seemed to be aware of the situation even though not alert.

    Buck passed the three again, this time to survey the back of the house before he opened the kitchen door. He slipped completely outside and stood in the rising gusts of thunderstorm wind, his head up and alert, his eyes gleaming, then turned to look back up the little flight of steps to the kitchen door and nod. Nathan and Chris came out immediately, easing Vin down the steps he couldn't really navigate, and then Buck fell in behind them again as they started across the yard towards the mountains north of the compound. Towards their waiting friends.

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

    Striker had gone back inside the house, straight to the side porch where the butler slept. He was about ready for some answers.

    But the cot was empty, the butler's uniform laid neatly across it.

    Which meant the butler had fled.

    Striker bit his lips in sudden understanding that the impossible might actually have happened, and raced to the cellar door on silent feet. He knew the moment he opened it that they were gone. But he went down anyway to pick up their scent, and stood in the dim light at the bottom of the stairs looking all around into the shadows. He smelled blood. Fresh blood. Too fresh to be that of either Wilmington or Tanner.

    When he found Sullivan's body, he sprinted up the stairs and all the way to the front hallway, around the balustrade, and up the main staircase to the second floor.

    "Michaels!! MICHAELS!! OUT! NOW!! Larabee and the others have ESCAPED!!!!"

    The mine owner's bedroom door flew opened as he burst from it, his hair disheveled and Belle's pale face shining from the bed behind him. Thunder rumbled again, and then a new flash of lightning lit up the fury of his face. "Grab my gun!" he was yelling, "Get my boots and pants!"

    Striker collared Michaels and pressed him against the hallway wall.

    "Your colored boy ain't here," he growled, "so stop that."

    "Natha--?"

    "He's the one that got 'em out. His name is Jackson. He's that damned healer from Four Corners."

    "WHAT!?!" Michaels shook as rage exploded in his veins.

    "He stole their gun rigs from your desk, an' they killed Sullivan sometime earlier today. His body's in the cellar." Striker backed away from Michaels when he saw his boss was finally getting a clear picture of the situation. "I'll get the dogs while you throw on some clothes," he said. "They can't get far."

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

    Nathan could feel the heat from Vin's body pouring from his arm and side where they were pressed against the man supporting him. He was still moving his legs and taking some of his own weight on them, but his breathing was becoming more and more ragged. It was pitch dark beneath the heavy cloud cover, and Chris suddenly stumbled on the other side, jerking Vin's arm unavoidably. The tracker gasped, and his head snapped back on his neck as he recoiled from the shock of the jarring. Nathan glanced over his shoulder to see that Buck was still coming behind them, limping heavily and only barely visible in the darkness. Just then, lightning ripped a long trail across the sky overhead and a loud peal of thunder echoed off the surrounding hills and mountains. The wind rose, cold, and lifted Vin's hair from his face. Nathan started to pant, and he could hear Chris's breathing getting shorter, too.

    It hadn't seemed so far when he'd walked it earlier. Come on, Ezra! JD, Josiah, where are you guys?

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

    The dog handler leaned down in the circle of yellow lamplight, holding the damp and bloody bandanna they'd found in the cellar. The bloodhound pressed its muzzle to the fabric, sniffed deeply, shook itself, and raised its face onto the wind.

    "Turn 'em loose," said Michaels softly.

    The handler snapped off the chains on the hounds' collars, and they ran off into the darkness on silent feet, the one in the lead already tonguing a bay as it struck the fresh scent still on the very air itself.

    "Now those," said Michaels.

    The handler looked at his boss and shrugged. Not his business, he thought. The sharp-faced black dogs strained at their leashes to follow the hounds, and they bounded like specters into the night-storm and vanished the moment the handler set them loose.

    They didn't bay. That wasn't their purpose.

    Michaels picked up his shotgun and strode out after the bloodhounds, following the sound of their baying. Striker, armed with both pistols and rifle, was at his side. Bland trotted at his heels, his face livid and a rifle held across his chest. Ten more men followed closely.

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

    Nathan felt his blood freeze in his belly when he heard them. Dear God, how many times had he dreaded he would hear that very sound, when he'd run away and spent so many days and weeks hiding, slipping along ditches and through abandoned fields? And now here it was, when it shouldn't even be any more: the wavering, hollow sound of bloodhounds on his trail, rising on the storm wind and then dropping, but clear and certain and not shifting.

    They had the trail. They had the scent, in the air, or they wouldn't give tongue like that.

    Nathan fought to keep moving, fear suddenly rising out of the night to sock him in the gut so hard that he thought he'd go down. Elemental, deep, primitive: the fear of a runaway slave being hunted by dogs.

    Josiah, JD, Ezra . . . dear God where are you? Where are you?

    Part 89

    Damn! Vin's breath caught in his throat like it was strangled there and wouldn't come out again. He felt his back and neck arch as the lightning bolt of pain ripped through his arm and shoulder and chest, ran down his back into the ground and exploded in a crash of thunder. Damn!

    He was dimly aware of Nathan to one side of him and Chris on the other. He knew he was moving a lot faster than he wanted to, couldn't keep up and wanted only to stop, to sit down, to put his head down . . . but that the men supporting him weren't slowing down. They were running somewhere, dragging Vin with them, and where the hell had Buck gotten? He tried to turn his head around, to see in the darkness. Buck. The memory swam back through his mind and right in front of his face again for a moment: Buck had lost too much blood. He couldn't possibly keep up this pace. Where was he? What was he doing?

    Another brighter flare of lightning burst, this one so brilliant that for the first time Vin wondered if it was real honest-to-God storm lightning instead of the hot flames of pain that had hit him over and over again for what seemed like weeks. The cold wind that fanned into his face on the ensuing crash of thunder made him nod in relieved understanding that it was. Thank God, he thought. That'll cool it off, at least. He was so hot, and even the cool wind felt good on his face.

    An hour went by, that they kept running. Two hours. Six. A night that stretched out into a second night, and a third, and a fourth. Vin wanted to tell them to stop, to let him go, to let him down, to leave him behind. He couldn't keep up, he couldn't run any more, he couldn't think or breathe or move his legs any more. But his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, too dry to move it. And his voice was stuck with it. He tried to look at Nathan, then at Chris, to stare at their earnest, weary profiles long enough that they would feel his gaze on them and turn their faces and look at him, and read the desperation in his eyes and let him go.

    But they didn't. They just kept running. Vin squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on the cool wind, and on the rolling of the thunder, and then on the wavering sound that began to rise around him on all sides . . . asound like giant, hungry, rabid wolf spirits loose in the storm, racing the thunder beings, chasing him and Chris and Nathan and Buck. Nathan was saying something, then, shouting to be heard over the rising wind, and then there were other hands, other voices. He heard horses milling around and there was a sense of quiet urgency and dark confusion and he felt himself being lifted from the ground, his breath catching once more as the pain flashed over him and echoed through his body, rippling out in deep waves from his shoulder and chest.

    Vin began to shiver as a chill swept through him, and he caught at a saddle horn and leaned over it as someone swung up behind him. Oh God, he thought, oh no. But even as he thought it, the horse moved out at a gallop, and Vin heard himself cry out as the momentum shoved him back against the man behind him, and there was another enormous crash of thunder and the sky turned inside-out and fat cold drops of rain hit him in the face.

    "Hang on!" Someone was yelling at his ear, had wrapped a strong arm around his waist, was urging the horse to go even faster. Vin felt himself losing consciousness, swaying precariously, being caught and held more firmly. "Hang on, Vin!" The voice again, right at his ear, saying his name. The rain started to fall harder, cold and sharp and driven by a furious wind, and Vin tried to hang on. The rain was cold, and the wind was colder. He felt the shivering grow and expand until it shook him so hard that his teeth chattered. More yelling, and then gunshots behind him. Screams of something hit, something dying.

    Where was Buck? Hang on, Vin thought, hang on.

    "You can let go, now, Vin. Come on. Let go."

    The injured man slowly realized that things had changed. No more lightning. No thunder. No wind. Only steady, cold rain. He could hear it hitting the ground all around him in what was otherwise pitch-black silence. He let whoever had spoken to him lift his fingers from the saddle horn, pry them cold and stiff from the leather he'd clung to for God only knew how long. If they wanted to do that, why not? Vin opened his eyes dully, saw that it was Chris talking to him, but he couldn't hear the words so he closed his eyes again. He felt the slickness of the wet saddle under his legs as he slipped from it sideways, wondering why he didn't seem to hit the ground, and then it wasn't raining on him any more and he felt how clammy his clothes were and wished they would just please, please leave him the hell alone.

    "Get a fire goin'," someone said. There was a sound of wood being knocked against something. He felt the cold air strike his skin as his wet clothing was tugged off, and heard someone swear softly about something, and then fingers were pulling at his shoulder somehow, and he moaned and tried to move away from them.

    "Hold on, Vin. It's ok. Jus' need t' get off this wet dressin'."

    Vin didn't care; he just wanted to be left alone, to stop hurting, to stop being too hot or too cold. He started to say so, but something warm and dry settled around him just at that moment, and it surprised him so much to feel suddenly better that he opened his eyes in surprise. Nathan was peering at his shoulder with a grim expression, Chris behind him, and Vin licked his lips and wished he had water. As if Chris had read his mind, there was a cup to his lips almost the next thing he knew, but then he saw that the bandages were all off his shoulder and that Nathan was stirring something at a pot-bellied stove, and he knew he'd lost time again.

    Where was Buck?

    He looked into Chris's eyes and saw fatigue and pain and grief, and Vin got scared. Really scared, for the first time. He raised his good hand, and it was shaky, but he reached for Chris and a blanket fell from him as he did. Chris caught his arm, laid it back down beside him, and pulled the blanket back up.

    "Rest easy," he said softly. "It's all right."

    It's not all right, thought Vin. It's not. He struggled harder, and heard his own voice, harsh and faint and breathless then:

    "Buck?"

    Chris's face darkened, and he didn't answer. Instead, he pressed the palm of his hand to the center of Vin's chest and turned to Nathan.

    "You'd better hurry," he said. "I think his fever's gettin' worse again."

    "No." Vin was starting to feel really mad. Why wouldn't Chris listen to him? "Where's . . . Buck?" He panted, suddenly dizzy. Other voices started speaking, and Nathan came over and his face got closer to Vin's, and he put his hand to Vin's face and said something. Vin shook his head. He didn't know what Nathan was saying. He didn't care. He raised his head a fraction from wherever the hell he was laying and reached out with more strength than he even knew he had and grabbed Nathan by the front of his shirt and said it clear and distinct:

    "Where . . . is . . . BUCK?"

    "We don' know," said Nathan softly. "Lay back an' try t' rest."

    Vin fell back exhausted, his heart pounding in his ears. They didn't know? He looked at Chris again, and saw his friend's face receding slowly, rising higher into the upper reaches of a long tunnel. Then Vin shook his head, realizing he had it backwards. It was him that was moving, down a tunnel, farther from Chris.

    He looked around him in the darkness when he got to the bottom and let go.

    Part 90

    "What on earth . . .?" Ezra rose in his stirrups trying to hear the weird, wailing sound that had begun to echo from the hills over the roar of the wind, and his horse backed nervously, nickering and flicking its ears back.

    "Hounds! They had those back home. We've gotta' _do_ somethin', Ezra! We need to break that up or the dogs'll lead 'em to --" An enormous crash of thunder splintered JD's words and made Ezra's already-nervous horse hop sideways. He laid a steadying hand on its neck and looked at JD in the dim flashes of more distant lightning, then saw the youth's face stand out in stark contrast as another bolt lit the place they were waiting like a battlefield flare. The ensuing blast of thunder made talking impossible, and as soon as it rolled away into the surrounding hills, Ezra drew his horse closer to JD's and pointed towards Josiah, who had dismounted to run towards dark figures straggling up out of the trees.

    "They're here!" He had to scream to be heard over the rising wind.

    "We gotta' sidetrack those--!" Another burst of thunder drowned out JD's voice again, but Ezra had understood him enough to nod agreement. The youth was pointing down the hill, his mare's neck curved so strongly as she pranced in fear that her nose nearly touched her chest. Ezra peered through the black night already filled with flying bits of debris riding ahead of the storm on the main wind, and caught the glimmer of lanterns among the trees.

    He looked again at the group of figures struggling up on horseback now, not even very far away but almost indistinguishable between the flares of lightning. They were moving far too slowly. Ezra pulled his pistol and raised it meaningfully where JD could see it, and the youth did the same at once. Both men released their horses' heads at the same time then, setting their heels to the nervous animals' flanks in such a way that the pair flew down the slope as if they were riding the storm wind that rose to meet them. Faster, and the lightning unrolled across the sky over their heads from one horizon to the other, thunder crashing simultaneously, and they ducked low as the terrified horses swept them beneath tossing pine boughs. The spots of light that were lanterns became larger, showed more frequently between the trees, and Ezra nudged his gelding more onto a slant to cut in ahead of the men who carried the lanterns, JD riding at his stirrup.

    Then suddenly they were there, riding practically through the front line of the group, their two horses cutting up great clods of earth and pine needles that showered onto the men on foot as the horses thundered past them. Both JD and Ezra fired and hit marks, men screaming and running, ducking in terror from a horror they hadn't even seen or heard coming in the dark and the storm. Ezra looked back over his shoulder at them as both men reined in tightly, whirled their horses, and lit back into the group a second time. Lightning flared again, and this time Ezra's shots struck two of the men carrying lanterns in quick succession, so that their lamps fell to the ground and burst opened in a crash of flames that scattered the men who had held their ground after being run through only a moment earlier. JD understood then: the lantern light was blinding the men in the group to anything in the ring of darkness around them. He fired again as he rode back at a gallop once more through the group, too, and as he brought down another of the men himself he saw panic flare up as surely as the flames from the broken lanterns were beginning to lick hungrily at the dry pine needles on the forest floor, fed by the rising wind.

    There was a roar of returning fire this time, though, and the two friends were themselves blinded momentarily by an enormous flash of lightning, its thunder so monumental that the ground rolled and shook beneath them. Ezra lost sight of JD, and pulled up his horse in a plunging slide after reaching the darkness again, then nearly shot the youth as he materialized out of the darkness with astonishing suddenness. It was impossible to hear now, useless to speak. The roar of the storm was fully upon them, and a heavy rain began without preamble of small drops: enormous, icy drops that had hailstones mixed into them, driven so hard by the wind that they stung where they struck exposed skin. The trees themselves were thundering as they tremored in the galeforce wind that began now to break off small branches and hurl them through the pitch-blackness.

    JD grabbed Ezra's forearm and gestured towards the group of men again, the fires that had been started by the broken lanterns quickly being extinguished by the rain, and the remaining lanterns now in two groups: one that was bobbing in several different directions as the lantern-bearers ran as hard as they could away from whoever the hell was attacking them so unexpectedly on horseback out of the dark, and a second group that made a tighter knot than before and held its course with an air of lethal determination. Ezra shook his head to himself, legging his chestnut to follow the bay as the young man headed back at them again. He cut his horse in front of JD's and gestured to the younger man to hold back a moment.

    This time Ezra stayed out of the pool of lantern light, and slowed his mount, faced the group of men that could not see him, and then very deliberately let them come just close enough to bring him and his bunched animal into their sight for a moment before he melted into the darkness again. JD, being in the dark himself, could see Ezra lay spurs to his gelding as he escaped the light, so that it flew away at a tangent as the infuriated men fired wildly at the place Ezra had been only a fraction of a moment before. The whole group veered to pursue him, rushing in a body in the direction where they had seen him, finding nothing where they expected to find his body, regrouping . . . and then once again discovering he was in their circle of light, his dripping horse shining, rain pouring off the brim of his hat, black shadows like smudges of coal etching his features. And again, Ezra fled in an unexpected direction as the men shot and shot at him and ran to find his body.

    Now JD picked up the pattern -- it was no harder than a dance step -- and the next time the lanterns caught an unwary attacker who had blundered within range, it was a man in a checked coat and a bowler hat. JD felt his heart hammering in his ears as he raced his chestnut from them on a zigzag course, feeling the puff of wind of a bullet catch part of a sleeve. But when he pulled up out of range, he was unharmed and so was his horse, and Ezra was racing back through to draw them this time. And then JD again. And then JD, followed once more by Ezra.

    The horses were covered in slick wet mud to their bellies after a while. The ground was so slippery in the heavy rain that Ezra shook his head in disbelief at their luck that neither animal had taken a fall while within range of the infuriated men and fallen _then_ to the fusillade they repeatedly directed at their elusive attackers. He couldn't believe that the ruse had proven successful so long, and that the body of men had never veered back to their original course or returned to the place they'd last heard the hounds. Of course, thought Ezra, no one had been able to _hear_ the hounds since the storm had hit. He was sitting in the dark, pelting rain -- once again -- watching JD run the pattern -- once again -- and his horse's sides were heaving between his legs, and he knew it had been as long as it could be. If Josiah hadn't gotten the others away by now, it couldn't be done.

    This time, when JD flashed past him, Ezra reached out to grab the youth and point towards the hill that lay in the direction of the logging camp, and JD nodded. He cast a last backward glance at the furious knot of men who'd been chasing them ineffectively for nearly two hours, and urged his bay into an extended jog up the slope. Ezra was right next to him.

    They'd cut south maybe five or six miles from the rendezvous point, Ezra calculated, and now they headed for the remote cabin they'd found, more by dead-reckoning than any other sense. It was too dark to see, the darkness between the lightning flashes more intense that it would otherwise have been, and the thunder so continuous and loud that both men were effectively deafened. They rode side by side for several miles through the storm-tossed forest and then slowed to a walk, the horses immediately stretching their necks tiredly and blowing loudly even though they couldn't be heard. Ezra could feel his chestnut's chest shake between his knees, though, and the shivering of its rib cage as it dragged in great gulps of air and then blew them out heavily.

    At a steady walk through a darkness interlaced with more and more distant flashes of lightning, the rain not letting up even a fraction, it took them so long to reach the cabin that the trees were starting to be visible as black silhouettes against a slightly less-black sky if they looked to the east. The thunder had long since faded to a steady grumbling that rose occasionally to a roar; it no longer prevented conversation. Yet neither man spoke. They rode silently, exhausted, on exhausted mounts, men and horses both soaked and cold and covered in mud and plastered with pine needles that had been blown through the air like snow on the heavy wind. It was hard even to stay awake, even to keep plodding on, but men and horses both had one goal in mind: to get somewhere. Anywhere. To arrive.

    And after an eternity, they saw the dim and dark grey shape of the cabin between the trees, its one papered window that faced them dimly golden from firelight within, and Ezra thought he had truly never seen any sight more beautiful in his life. When the two arrived, they sat a long time in front of the cabin, both of them so stiff and cold that the thought of actually dismounting was suddenly almost unbearably difficult. Yet they wanted to go in, to get dry, to get warm.

    But the horses had to be attended to first.

    JD was the first to pull his offside leg out of its stirrup and stiffly swing it over the cantle of his saddle. The groan with which he moved was not encouraging to Ezra, who knew he wasn't as young and limber as the other man and would suffer more grievously. He closed his eyes as JD began to walk slowly towards the shed, his horse's reins in one fist, and then he broke contact with the saddle himself and dismounted and thought he would die. Why didn't Josiah come on outside and give them a hand, he thought? It really would be a rather nice gesture, given that they'd spent the last half of the night drawing the dogs . . . well, the men _behind_ the dogs . . . Ezra's thoughts trailed off into a drizzle as he yawned and dragged his horse into the shed on JD's heels. He stopped with a feeling of deep distress pulling at his limbs when he saw that Josiah's and Buck's horses were missing. Nathan's horse was there, and Chris' and Vin's. But two were missing.

    He saw that JD had noticed the absence as well, but neither man said anything, turning instead to the job at hand. Somehow Ezra got the saddle off his horse, and the bridle, and rubbed the tired animal down, and grained it. And somehow, in some fashion he could not fathom, he managed to stumble in the cabin door behind the younger man as the sky was actually starting to grow light. He stood just inside the door and felt the dry warmth of the fire reach out and embrace him, and looked around the cabin quickly and saw in a single heartbeat that the men whose horses were missing weren't present either. He started to ask about them, but then stopped. He was tired beyond endurance, and he was certain the answer he heard wasn't going to make it any easier to stay awake. In fact, if he had some sleep he might even be able to do something about whatever had happened, or at least think about it clearly. He was about to tumble onto a bottom bunk when Nathan's hands seized his arm and he was being told to get out of his wet things.

    Ezra shook his head wearily, trying not to think about . . . the thing he was trying not to think about, and peeled his wet clothes off his wet ody as he didn't think it. He dropped them in a pile that rapidly formed a small lake around it, the clothes rising out of it as an island: coat and boots at the bottom