TRAIL OF TEARS
by Wendy Hislop

Part One

"Come on, do one of those injun jigs for us," the drunken voice shouted at the old Indian.

"Yeh," another laughed as he took a swig from his bottle. "Mak' it rain, hey Sam, ya wanna see it rain don't cha?"

Surrounded by the drunken group of buffalo hunters, the gray- haired old man stood in silence, his eyes cast downward as the men jeered him.

"Ya heard Will, redskin. Make it rain and pronto. Tom here hasn't seen water for a month," he elbowed one of the men. "He needs a soakin' real bad," Sam roared laughing.

The old man still didn't move as he appeared to ignore their continued intoxicated jibes.

"I said, show us some of that injun magic of yours," Sam frowned as he became angry at the Indian's listlessness. Swallowing the last drop of beer from his bottle, he threw it away producing a small puff of dust to rise as it hit the ground.

"Hey, Sam, ya sure he's alive?" Will chuckled as he poked at the Indian's worn buckskins.

"One way to find out," Sam answered as he withdrew his knife from the sheath that hung off his belt and grabbed a handful of the Indian's shirt. "Let's see if me pigsticker can put some life in the old boy."

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

The inebriated revelers turned to find out who was attempting to interrupt their fun. The sight of the young man with long hair did nothing to scare them. In fact, he was more an irritation than anything.

"This ain't any of your business, boy." Sam ordered as he waved the knife in the spectators direction. "Leave us be, or do you wanna take his place at the end of me pigsticker?" he threatened.

"You're welcome to try," the younger man shrugged as he pushed himself away from the post he had been leaning on. "Ain't got nothing else to do." he offered.

"Well, ain't you'all just puffed up with ya self. Got name to go with that tombstone you askin' for kid?" Sam smiled as he released the Indian and faced the stranger head on.

Adjusting his hat on his head, the young man stepped off the verandah and moved closer to the group of men. "If it's so important to ya, the name's Vin Tanner," he introduced himself as his hand hung down beside his mare's leg.

"And just in case you'll be needin' to add another name to that tombstone," another voice joined in, "mine is Chris Larabee, and make sure you get the spellin' right."

The four men's mouth's fell open. They had heard of the law of four corners and the seven men who kept it. Now within hours of arriving in town they had managed to run foul with two of them.

Will eyed the man in black who leaned indifferently against the wall of the alleyway. He nervously watched as the gunslinger puffed casually at a cigar between his lips, his thumb hooked in his belt close to his gun. "Sam?"

Sam agreed to Will's unspoken plea, "Look, uh-- we were just joshin' with the injun that's all."

"Yeh," Will agreed with a nervous chuckle as he began to back away. "We didn't know what we were doin'--spirits will do that to ya, ya know. No harm done."

Slowly moving his knife back toward his sheath, Sam tensely agreed. "We'll just be goin' if there is nothin' else?"

Making a move, Chris noted the four flinch as he butted his cigar into the ground. "Only one thing I can think of," Larabee replied as started to move toward Vin. "Be out of Four Corners in an hour," he ordered.

"Yes sir," Sam gratefully agreed. "Come on boys, you heard the man." The four men were united in their resolve as they bolted toward the hotel to get their things.

"Thanks for ya help, Cowboy."

"I was just passin' by, Pard. Sorry to interrupt." Acknowledging the Indian with a tip of a finger to his hat, "Sir." He nodded to the tracker, "Vin." and walked away as casually as he appeared.

Vin directed his attention back to the the older man. "Ya alright?"

"I am untouched and-- grateful for-- your help. I am Wahkan," he introduced himself.

Vin recognized the powerful name attached to the man, "Wahkan, sacred. You're an important man."

A sad look passed over the old man, "Once--in a different time. I was my tribe's Shaman. You know something of our ways. You have another name?"

Vin looked up from under his hat, matching Wahkan's haunted look. "Yeh, once-- in a different time. I was called Hotah."

Wahkan smiled, "White. Well, that is what you are here" he said touching his hand to the skin of his own face, "but you're heart," his hand moved down to his chest. "is still with our people."

"You remind me of an old friend. He was always seein' things too."

"You are not a hard man to read, Hotah." Wahkan's smile broadened.

Vin laughed out loud at the memory the man's words had conjured, "He used to say that too."

Part Two

"I do believe, gentlemen, that the hand is mine" Ezra smiled as he revealed his full house to his not totally surprised table guests. Though not surprised by Standish's win, the four men weren't exactly agreeable to handing over the money, and growls of displeasure were voiced as cards were thrown hard to the table surface.

"Sometimes Standish--," one of the men glared as he left his sentence unfinished.

Ezra leaned back in his seat, clearly offended by the unspoken words. "I do hope that you are not deducing that there was some subterfuge on my part, sir? I, play an honorable game with, I presuppose, honorable men. Mr. Shannon, if you cannot afford to forfeit, then maybe you should not sit down at my table."

"Ya talk like a twenty dolla' whore Standish," a new player and loser to the table glowered as he threw down his cards.

Ezra smiled as he began to scoop his winnings closer to him. "I do believe that is a compliment, sir, but after this hand I do not see how you will be able afford to visit one of those fair ladies for awhile. But you are welcome to try your fortune with me again tomorrow." Gathering his money, Ezra tipped his hat as he stood to leave. "Thank you gentlemen for the fine repast. I can now afford to dine on today."

Moving toward the doors of the saloon, Ezra was still counting his winnings when he collided with a uniformed stranger.

"Watch where you're walking," the Captain scowled as he pushed Ezra from his path. "I'm lookin' for a tracker," the officer called loudly from the doorway.

Chris put the glass he had been sipping from down and turned from the bar to look at the cavalry officer. Ever since the false lawman came and took Vin, nearly getting the tracker hung; the gunslinger was wary of strangers in their town. "And what tracker would that be--Captain?"

"And who am I addressing, sir?" The officer asked as he walked further into the saloon.

Stepping away from the bar, Chris stepped over to meet him halfway. "The name's Chris Larabee, part of the law hearabouts."

The Captain pulled his hat off, running his hands through his hair, as he held out his hand. "Captain Reynolds, Mr. Larabee. I'm sorry if I sounded plain-spoken. I have been a long time in the saddle and I'm just plain tuckered out," he apologized in a recognizable southern drawl.

Chris accepted the hand as he studied the man. He did look exhausted, appearing to have been saddle bound by the look of the dust on his clothes. "About this tracker you're lookin' for?"

"Yes, of course. My men and I, have been chasing down a renegade band of Sioux and we lost our man about two days ride from here. I need a tracker to replace him," the officer explained. "Do you have anyone that could help us?"

"Might be able to find someone. What did they do?" Chris asked of the band the army seemed so intent on finding.

"They're just a belligerent band of stragglers that refuse to stay on their reservations. They've been looting, and as I said, two days past we lost White Bear."

"Your tracker?"

"Yeh, good enough man, for an Indian: damn good tracker though. So now they are wanted for murder too; after all White Bear was still part of the US army," he begrudgingly conceded.

"Well, we do have a tracker here, but it will be up to him whether he helps you or not. Why don't you and your men go and get cleaned up, get something to eat, while I go and see him." Chris offered.

"Sounds good. We'll do that." Reynolds smiled as he walked out of the saloon.

Watching the officer leave, Chris was left with an uneasy feeling about the man.

"Nope, I ain't goin' to do it." Vin refused his voice raising as he started to pace the floor of JD's office.

"But it's the army Vin. Shouldn't you at least--," JD suddenly snapped his mouth closed as Vin turned and glared at him.

Chris had never seen Vin like this and actually feared that the tracker would hit their young friend. "No one says you have to do anything, Vin. The army was just askin' that's all. You don't have to do nothin' you don't want to, pard." Chris tried to calm the younger man down. The mere mention of tracking for the army detail had sent the tracker into a blustering rage.

"Good, cause I ain't gonna do it and that's my final word on it," Vin said softly.

"Fine, then I won't mention it again, alright?" Chris asked.

Vin nodded as he suddenly looked ashamed at his behaviour. "Sorry Kid, Chris. I didn't mean to--,"

"Thats alright Vin." JD smiled nervously, accepting the tracker's apologies. He wasn't about to admit it, but he had been scared out of his britches at the look Vin had shot him.

Vin met the gunslinger's eyes and knew he had been forgiven; it didn't need to be said out-loud. Walking to the door, the tracker tipped his hat as he left.

Chris walked to the door and followed him out on to the street. "Wanna go for a drink?" It his own way of asking if Vin needed to talk.

"Got a some things to do. Thanks for the offer," Vin said as he started to walk across the street.

Reynolds watched the two men from the doorway of the saloon. He had to look more than once at the young man under the hat, but with the long hair and lean in his stance, the memory was quickly refreshed.

"Well, well, well. It is indeed a small world." he smiled.

Part Three

The serene morning was how nature intended. The birds flying overhead. There was the breeze that blew with a gentle caress as the people whose camp did nothing to bruise the land that the earth mother had given them moved quietly about their business.

Vin stood by the river, his casual conversation with his older friend, Kohana interrupted every now and then by the tracker's glances toward Chumani as she gathered water nearby.

"She is not going anywhere my friend." Kohana smiled as he watched the white man's distracted attentions. "You white men," the elder man laughed with a shake off his head. "You wear your hearts for all the world to see. She is yours Hotah. Her heart belongs to you and no other."

"I know that Kohana, I-I just--" Vin struggled to find the words to tell his friend how much he loved Chumani. He had found a family with these people; a family, a new name, and now a new love.

"She is your next breath," Kohana answered for his young friend. "I too have felt that feeling. Yes," the gray hair chieftain held up his hands, "I know it was a long time ago, but to me Ehawee is still that beautiful girl I first saw those many seasons ago."

Vin blushed as he wondered how his face became that easy to read. "You see too much," the tracker chided the elder.

"I see what you young people are too in love to hide." Kohana chuckled as he patted the tracker's back. "Come Hotah, we must get ready for the hunt, and Chumani has woman's work to do."

"But I just wanted to--" Vin pleaded as he looked back at Chumani, who appeared as disappointed as he was that he was being led away.

"It can wait. Love may feed your heart, but it does not feed your belly," he laughed as he patted the younger man's stomach. "Come Hotah. Show Chumani what a good husband you will make." Kohana gently pushed him toward an awaiting group of braves.

Kohana suddenly stopped his playful jibes at the same time that Vin jerked his head toward the hills. They both had felt the disturbance, but it was already too late.

The first cannon blast took out a nearby teepee, shattering it into fragments of flying torn hide and splintered wood. More Cannon fire rained its death down around them, as the smoke and screams of the frightened and dying merged in a ear shattering howl.

Vin started to run to where he had last seen Chumani as a cavalry charge of horses hooves raced around him. Bullets passed by, indiscriminately dropping men, women and children; it did not matter to the bullets, nor to the men who fired them. The smoke cleared in time for Vin to see Kohana reemerge from his burning teepee with a tattered American flag held tightly in his hands. The tracker watched in disbelief as the old man held it high in the air, waving it frantically over his head so the horse soldiers would see he did not want to fight. He heard his friend call in comanche for peace and felt his despair as he resorted to English to stop his people from being slaughtered.

The tracker started to move as he saw Kohana close his eyes and cross his arms in preparation for death. Hearing a triumphant whoop, Vin looked up to see a soldier smile, drawing his saber as he started to ride down on the old man. "NO!!" Vin screamed as he tried to out run the horse's gait.

A sudden flash and a sharp pain, threw Vin senseless to the ground. Struggling to see through his blurred vision, the stunned man staggered to his feet. Wiping the blood that trickled down his face with his sleeve, his sight eventually came across the bloodied body of his old friend. Stumbling away from the sickening spectacle, Vin renewed his search. "Chumani!" he called over the lamenting cries of the dead and dying. "CHUMANI!" He hoarsely screamed her name again.

"Chumani!" Vin screamed as he woke up in his wagon, drenched in sweat.

Breathless, the tortured man sat up as he ran his hands through his hair. Closing his eyes again, he fought for better memories and he found them in her face. He could still see her, her hair the color of darkest midnight as it hung down the full length of her back. He saw her eyes shining with the power of a thousand stars as her smile competed with sun in its brilliance. Chumani had been the beginning, the center, and the end of Vin Tanner's universe, and in a blink of an eye his whole world disappeared. People he had come to love as family; the woman he come know as well as his own heart; were gone.

"Hell!" Vin cursed as he threw on his shirt and hat and climbed from the wagon. He had not been totally surprised by the dreams; realizing that the appearance of both the medicine man and cavalry troop, could do nothing but, stir up the past.

Having come to the conclusion that sleep would be a stranger for the night, he made the decision to relieve Josiah on watch; at least his restlessness would not be wasted. Making his way down the dark lit street, Vin was surprised to see the shadows of four riders leave the livery and head toward him. Even in the darkness Vin, could make out the faces of the four men he had had the run in with that day, and his hand automatically went to the mare leg hanging down the side of his leg.

The five men glanced at each other, but passed by without incident, and as they moved further away Vin relaxed and continued his pace.

Whether it was the sound, or the impact that first registered with the tracker, Vin wouldn't remember. He knew nothing as his body collapsed to the ground, an ominous trail of blood spreading from under him.

Part Four

The shot reverberated through the unlit streets of Four Corners. The four departing horsemen struggled to contain their mounts as the animals reared away from the abrupt sound.

"What the--Who--?" Will hissed as he saw Tanner's body laying unmoving in the street.

Pulling on the reins, Sam wrestled for control of his horse. Peering wild-eyed at the scene before him, he was even more startled as a scream joined the slowly waking commotion of the street.

"Damn it! We have to get out of here," Sam yelled as he savagely kicked at his horse's flanks.

As quickly as they could get their horses to settle, his three friends joined him, and the four men rode out of town like they had the hounds of Hell on their tail. Josiah thought he would be the first to hit the streets as he caught the tail end of the four men disappearing into the emptiness of the night. Promptly attempting to ascertain what exactly had happened, the preacher's eyes scanned the buildings for a break-in, only to stop at the sight of a small crowd beginning to swarm into the street. Filing out of the buildings in different states of sleep and confusion, the townspeople seemed to stop and congregate in one area.

Moving quickly in the direction of the various dressed group, Josiah pressed himself through and was totally unprepared for the sight he found.

"Oh my good Lord. What happened?" Josiah gasped as he dropped to his knees beside his fallen friend. Gently taking hold of Vin's shoulder's, the preacher carefully maneuvered the wounded man on to his back.

All of the voices were talking to him in unison as a lamp was jostled reflecting distorted shadows over Vin's deathly still body.

"Someone get Nathan, please," the preacher pleaded to the crowd. As the lamp swaying was abruptly stopped, its beam illuminated the red patch that now marred Vin's shirt. Josiah flinched at the amount of blood that flowed from the wound as he put pressure to the grim looking stain. His haunted eyes glared at the prying crowd as he fear grew for the man under his hands. "DAMN YOU!" he shouted as he used his free hand to push at the nearest man to him. "WILL ONE OF YOU, FOR GOD SAKE MOVE!"

Having heard the shots from his room, Nathan had dressed quickly, rushing to where he hoped his small amount of medical knowledge would not be needed. He was joined in his rapid pace, as JD, Buck, and Ezra came charging out from all directions; all four men were in various stages of dressing with their guns primed in their hands.

"What the--hell is-- goin' on?" Buck angrily demanded as he hobbled down the street in his attempts to hop into his last boot. The shot had pulled him from the fine and warm body of Louisa, and someone was going to pay.

"How should I know. It's Josiah's watch," JD panted, struggling to put on his coat, as he reached down for his dropped hat.

"Kid, cain't ya leave that stupid hat behind just once?" Buck grumbled.

"Gentlemen, if you do not mind, I think there are more pressing matters," Ezra said as he joined in stride, immaculately dress of course.

"Were you already awake, Ez?" JD asked as he struggled to keep up with his friends' fast pace.

"I was wretched from a sound and comfortable sleep as were you." Standish replied

"How does he do that?" Buck puzzled out-loud at his friend's knack of being well dressed at all times.

Josiah still sat in the dirt, his arms now wrapped around his fallen friend. It had been his watch, his job to keep the town and its people safe. <Why wasn't I here?> And now Vin's life was seeping through his fingers.<My fault> "Make way."

"Move it damn it!"

"Oh hell."

"Indeed."

Nathan went straight to work checking Vin's wound as Josiah looked up at his friends, his face full of shock and remorse. "I wasn't here," he apologized as he looked down at the tracker's closed eyes. "I'm sorry Vin, I wasn't here."

Part Five

"How bad is he, Nate?" Buck asked as he stooped down to join the healer and Josiah at Vin's side.

Nathan took a deep breath as he gently folded Vin's shirt back over the wound. His deep furrowed face said it all. "He's bad Buck, real bad." Doing his best to push his personal feelings for Vin aside, Nathan sprung quickly into action. "Buck, you and Josiah carry Vin to my room."

Reaching across Vin, Buck roughly grabbed at Josiah's shirt, "What the Hell happened Josiah? It was you're damn watch!" he hissed at the preacher.

Distraught, Josiah opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words that would help absolve the guilt he was feeling, "I-I saw horses--three--four-- I don't--don't know."

Nervously edging from one foot to the other, his hand firmly attached to the butt of his gun, JD looked down the street where Josiah must have last seen the men. "I'll try and pick up their trail." he offered as he started for the livery, "Vin's taught me..."

Buck relinquished his hold on Josiah to stand up glaring at the young lawman. "Sheriff or not, Vin ain't taught you enough to go alone after the likes of what did this. Make one move to follow those men and I'll lock you up in yer own jail cell." he said jabbing his finger into the young man's chest to make his point.

"Damn it Buck I ain't no kid!" JD argued.

Buck's face softened a little as he clasped the back of JD's neck. "I know, but not even Vin would go after four men alone." he explained as he turned his attention back to the fallen tracker. "Vin's all that is important right now."

"I do believe that this is neither helping Mr. Tanner, or helping us impart the news to Mr. Larabee. I am sure he would want to know about our unfortunate friend's mishap as soon as humanly possible. One of us should make all haste to his home to relate the sad news." Ezra interrupted fearing for the well-being of not only the tracker, but his friends as he watched them falling apart with concern.

"Go Ezra," Nathan agreed, "and Ezra," the healer added, "hurry."

"On wings," Ezra answered as he tapped his hat and started to run for the livery.

Bringing his attention back to his injured friend, Buck moved to lift Vin, "Make yourself useful kid. Go and open the door to Nathan's room and get the bed ready."

Happy to be of some use, JD rushed toward Nathan's room. He was glad to be doing something, but he was the sheriff and it was his job uphold the law in Four Corners. As soon as he could he would go after the men that had done this to Vin, no matter what Buck had to say.

"NO!" Josiah said as he pushed Buck's hands away, "I will carry him," the big man said as took Vin gently in his arms.

"Haven't you done enough, preacher." Buck spoke bitterly into Josiah's face.

Watching the preacher tenderly carry the limp tracker to his room, Nathan barred Wilmington's way as he placed his hand on Buck's chest. "This is not Josiah's fault! The man feels bad enough with out you addin' to his guilt. If you can't help and keep ya peace, grab your horse and ride after Ezra. Maybe the cool night air will clear ya thinkin'. " Nathan reproached Wilmington's misdirected anger.

Watching as Josiah disappeared up the stairway to Nathan's room, all the anger drained from his face as he thought of what he had said and done."I'm sorry Nathan."

"Ain't me that has to hear it," Nathan clasped his hand to remorseful man's shoulder, "I gotta get up there, comin'?"

"If ya trust me not to open my big mouth again," Buck faintly smiled.

"I'll risk it, come on," Nathan answered as they both bolted for his room.

Part Six

With one arm resting on the mantle of the fireplace, Chris watched the remnants of the fire burn down to a hot ash. He should have been asleep hours ago, but something was itching at him and it was refusing to let him settle. Finishing off the last of his cigar, he exhaled the smoke as he threw the last of his tobacco root on to the embers. Shrugging off his apprehension, he walked over to the oil lamp and began to douse the light in attempt for at least a couple of hours of sleep. Just as the flame flickered, taking the room into darkness, Chris picked up the sound of encroaching company.

Reaching in the dim light for his holster that hung from the end of the bed frame, Chris unsheathed his gun and moved quickly to the doorway.

Ezra had made good time to Chris' shack, but knew better than to burst in on the gunfighter without a proper invitation. A man could easily find himself the receiver of a sudden gift from Larabee's gun.

"Mr. Larabee! It is a benevolent trespasser approaching. " Ezra called warning the gunfighter that a friend was riding in.

Relieved, but puzzled what would bring the southerner out in the middle of the night, Chris holstered his gun into the top of his jeans as he stepped outside to meet the gambler.

The full moon lit up the night sky, allowing Chris to get a good look at the gamblers face, "What the hell are you doin' out here Ezra?" Chris asked somewhat impatiently, before recognizing the itchy feeling again. "What's happened?" he asked more urgently.

"You have to come to town. There has been an accident," Ezra paused before finishing his news. "Vin's been hurt."

<Damn it!> Chris cursed as he flew back inside and grabbed his shirt and holster. <It must be bad if Ezra is plain talkin'> he thought as he faulted. Taking a deep breath he grabbed his boots and finished buttoning his shirt as he called out to the Southerner "What happened?"

"We are not certain as yet to the circumstances," Ezra explained to the emerging gunfighter. Jumping from his horse, Ezra held out the reins, "I will saddle your mount and meet you in town. This will save you some time." he offered.

Taking the offered leather, Chris was amount to mount the horse when he stopped and looked back at the gambler, "How bad?"

"Vin is strong Chris," Ezra answered.

That was Chris' answer; it was bad. Choking down the quiver that threatened to break his voice, he mounted the Southerner's horse and with a nod of thanks, spurred the horse toward town.

Nathan wiped at the sweat that was dripping down his forehead with the back of his sleeve. The bullet had lodge deeply in the muscle of the shoulder, the amount of blood taking the healer by surprise. Buck and Josiah had stayed in silence as they did their best to help. "Nate, should it be bleedin' this much?" Buck frowned as he used a clean cloth to try and soak some of the blood out of Nathan's way.

<Hell, why ask me. I ain't no doctor. I shouldn't have these men, my friend's lives balanced on how good I can bluff my way through> "It's deep Buck," he grimaced as he dug further in, "If I don't find it soon, I....hang on. There it is." His face showed his relief. "Yes! Got it!" he smiled as he pulled the bullet from the raw hole in Vin's body. "Thank God." he sighed as he took a deep breath and dropped the bowl into a bowl.

"So he's gonna be alright now--right?" Buck asked as he searched the his friend's face for answers.

"You betta ask Josiah about that. I just do what I can with my hands, the rest is up to God." Nathan answered as started to stitch the pale tracker's skin together.

Josiah stiffened at Nathan's words, "God seems to choose whose shoulder he watches over. He was here with you Nathan, as he should have been. You did real good."

Buck knew what Josiah was saying and knew that a lot of the preacher's pain was caused by his own careless words. "Josiah, I'm sorry for---,"

Josiah waved him off as he tenderly used his hand to push a stray hair from Vin's face. "I will be at the church if you need me." he said as he walked out of the room.

Part Seven

Chris knew that Ezra's horse was exhausted. Any other time he would have slowed, allowing the horse some respite from the frantic pace, but this was not one of those times. Instead the gunfighter pushed the horse for more speed as his imaginings conjured up fearful thoughts. Ezra's lack of words were enough to put the fear of God in the gunfighter and as the town grew in the distance, so did Chris' foreboding.

He found himself cursing his own stupidity. That he let these men become so important to him; that he allowed himself to care so much, but it was too late for that now. None of the men were any different, each would give their lives for the others; Vin even more so. Maybe that's why he now rode like his life depended on it.

Never one to take to the sight of blood, JD took the chance to slip away, more determined than ever to do his job. Heading to the Livery, he was not surprised to find that Sam had not returned to his quarters; half the town was still up.

"Sam, can I have a moment of your time," JD asked as he touched a hand absentmindedly to handle of his gun protruding from the top of his trousers.

"Sure can Sheriff." the old man said as nodded over JD's shoulder toward Nathan's room. "How's Mr.Tanner? He looked pretty bad from where I was standin'."

"Vin'll make it." JD hoped he sounded more sure, than he felt. Pushing his doubts aside, he became the sheriff again. "Sam, Josiah saw three, or four men riding out of town, before Vin was shot. I was wondering if you saw anyone, or anything at all?"

Sam nodded as pulled out his pipe and struck a match to it, "Well," he thoughtfully as he puffed a couple times to start his pipe, "I had four men leave the livery tonight. The four strangers that arrived this morning, they seemed in a mighty hurry to be out of town before the sun came up."

"In a hurry?"

"Well, I ain't one ta listen in to other peoples parley's, but I was workin' and I couldn't help over hearin', you know what I mean?" he defended himself.

"Just doing your job, I understand," JD urged the livery owner, "What did you hear Sam?"

"Well, they were talkin' about a run in they had with Mr. Tanner and Mr. Larabee. A couple of 'em seemed angry and were wranglin' with the others about what to do about it."

"Did you hear what they decided to do?"

"Hell, Mr. Dunne, I don't..."

"Listen to other peoples conversations, I know Sam. Is that all?"

"That's all I heard," the old man shrugged.

Looking up at the sound of an approaching horse, JD's hand nervously went for his gun, before relaxing at the familiar sight of Chris Larabee riding in.

"Thanks Sam." JD nodded as he ran to meet the gunfighter.

Pulling on the reins Chris brought the horse to a sudden stop in front of JD as he leapt from the mount.

"How is he?" Chris asked breathlessly as he handed JD the reins.

JD was embarrassed to say that he left as soon as Nathan had started working and shuffled as he shrugged. "They were still working on him when I left. I'm sorry Chris."

Knowing of JD's aversion to blood, Chris touched a hand to the younger man's shoulder reassuringly. "Can ya see to Ezra's horse for me, JD."

"Sure Chris. I'll be up after I'm finished," he was eager to tell Buck and the others what he had learned from Sam.

Moving quickly to the steps, Chris was just about to head up when a voice called to him.

"Mr. Larabee?"

Impatient to find out how bad Vin was, Chris was tempted to ignore the voice, but instead stopped and glared back at the interruption.

"It's Captain Reynolds, Mr. Larabee. With all this commotion going on, it is a bit hard for a person to get some sleep around here," the officer said as he joined Chris at the stairwell.

"Well, I am so 'sorry' that 'your sleep' has been interrupted," Chris began to dismiss the stranger.

"I still need that tracker Mr. Larabee," the Captain insisted.

"I have a friend who maybe dying, "Chris scowled over the banister at Reynolds, "if your minor inconveniences have kept me from seeing him and some ....," the gunfighter wouldn't, couldn't bring himself to speak the words, "Put it this way," he menaced, "'you won't needing a tracker', you'll be needing a preacher."

Reynolds surrender to the gunfighter's threat, "By all means, let me not keep you then." he huffed as he watched the man in black disappear up the steps. "I do hope your young friend survives Mr. Larabee," he called out the gunfighter's back.

Part Eight

Forgetting quickly about his conversation with the calvary officer, Chris' urgent momentum suddenly halted at the daunting task of actually opening the door to Nathan's room. <Was Vin alright? Was he too late?> A dozen threads raced through his mind before he managed to get enough control to open the door.

If he'd had any expectations as to what was waiting for him inside the room, the sight of Vin's pale features still came as a shock to the gunfighter. Glancing over to Nathan, he quickly diverted his eyes from the sight of the healer as he washed Vin's blood from his hands.

"How is he?" Chris asked as he stepped to the end of the bed, watching as Buck refreshed a cloth to the tracker's forehead.

Toweling of his hands, Nathan joined his friends at Vin's bedside. "Hell if I know, Chris. I got the bullet, but he is already running a fever. I hate it when its out of my hands, but..."

"But it is," Chris finished for the frustrated healer.

Nathan nodded in agreement.

"Who did this?" Chris' voice whispered menacingly, as he stared at his wounded friend.

Buck shook his head. It was a question they all wanted an answer to. "We don't know, Chris. Josiah thought he saw some riders, but didn't get a good look at them."

Glancing around the room, Chris suddenly took note of the preachers absence. "And just where is Josiah?" he asked his friends.

"At the church," Nathan explained, "he's blaming himself for what happened to Vin, even though, it ain't his fault."

Buck's guilt eventually got the better of him. Turning to face his old friend, he accounted his part in Josiah's remorse. "Thanks to good ol' Buck he is. I said some stupid things pard. I wasn't thinkin' straight," he said as he looked back to still tracker, "wasn't thinkin' straight, and I lashed out at Josiah."

Watching the faint rise of the tracker's chest, Chris wasn't all that concerned for Buck's feelings, nor was his interested in Josiah's. The only thing that concerned the gunfighter at this moment was the man who was fighting for his life in the bed, and finding the person who pulled the trigger.

"I'm going to the church," Chris said as took one more look at the unconscious tracker, "Let me know if there is any change. If he blinks I want to know." he ordered.

With his fingers entwined in front of him, his knuckles white with the intensity of his grip, Josiah sat in despair. He wasn't in the house of the lord for absolution, nor did he flee to the church to hide. He needed only one thing from his God, something he asked before and received no answer; why?

Resting his forehead on his clenched hands, the image of the wounded tracker assaulted the preacher. The shot repeated itself again and again in his mind, as he continued to see Vin's life blood seep from his body. Wrenching his hands apart, Josiah held them palm up in front of himself. Though he could see no blood remaining on his skin, closer inspection revealed the dark stains that had settled under his nails. His guilt was there in front of him.

"Why?" he appealed again to his God. "Why didn't you allow me to save him?"

Part Nine

"He's not dead Josiah!" Chris snarled from the doorway of the church. "I came here to find out what happened tonight and you're in here, giving Vin the last rites. Who do you think you are to give his life away so easily?" For the first time, the gunfighter seemed to noticed the hunched figure, whose shoulders seemed to be trembling in the dim light of the candle lit church.

A weary sigh escaped the black clad lawman as he took off his hat and walked up the aisle to sit beside the distraught preacher. "Who was it? Who shot him, Josiah?" the tone of Chris' voice softening as he took a seat on the bench.

"I don't know." Josiah sighed, seemingly unable to meet Larabee's gaze. "Oh Lord, I just don't know."

Chris didn't know what to say. He was between his own chaotic emotions of anger and pity for distressed friend. "Then tell me what you do know and we'll go from there." he pressed.

Casting his mind back over the last few hours, Josiah told his friend everything he could remember. "I heard a shot, by the time I arrived, three, maybe four horses were riding out of town, that's when I saw Vin. He wasn't supposed to be there. Why was he there? " he whispered.

"Was his gun drawn?" Chris asked. Receiving no answer from the downcast preacher, he asked again. "Josiah, did Vin have his gun drawn?"

"Wha--," Josiah suddenly woke from his daze, "his gun? I never thought about it, but no," the preacher began to absorb the information that he had overlooked, a burning rage fired the quiet man's heart. "No, it was still holstered. He hadn't even had time to draw," leaping from the bench, the big man's once opened hands curled and fisted into white knuckled fury. "They shot him down like a stray dog. Damn them to Hell!"

"Don't worry Josiah," Chris joined the preacher in his anger, "when we are finished with them, even Hell won't take them."

"Captain," Sergeant Butler called as he ran down the street in an attempt to catch up to his apparently distracted superior. "Captain Reynolds, sir!"

Reynolds stopped and turned toward the voice that summoned him back from his thoughts. "What is it Butler?" Reynolds asked somewhat exasperated with the soldier.

"Well, sir ya weren't in ya quarters." The sergeant answered breathlessly as he caught up with his captain.

Reynolds sighed, as he gave Butler the once over, "That's because I'm here sergeant."

"I realize that sir, but I also understand there has been a shootin', and as such, I don't think this is a safe place for you to be Captain, sir." Butler knew the captain didn't think much of him. At forty seven he was eleven years older than the youthful looking Reynolds, and some what more rotund, but had the experience of more campaigns than the younger officer behind him and he knew his job.

Reynolds stepped closer to older man, making sure to straighten his shoulders so he towered over the smaller soldier. "I am a Captain in the US Army, sergeant. I believe I am able look after myself." he said as he stepped back and took out a cigarette. "Anyway, the talk is, the shooters have left town."

Pulling out a match, Butler leant forward and lit the cigarette for the officer. "I understand that sir, but while we sit here twiddlin' our thumbs, the renegades sir, they're gettin' further away from us."

Reynolds expelled a large cloud of smoke in the direction of the sergeant's face. "Don't you think I know that Butler, but until Larabee can give us the tracker to replace White Bear, there is not much we can do about that, is there?"

"Talkin' of Mr. Larabee. Isn't he one of the men comin' up the street there sir?"

"Yes he is," Reynolds smiled as he walked away to meet the two men.

"Mr. Larabee. If I may a word?"

Chris' frowned deepened as Reynolds stepped in front of him halting his progress. "What now, Reynolds?"

"I know you have you problems, and I do hope your young friend is still with us, but so do I. I need that tracker." the captain reiterated.

"And I need to find the person who shot my friend, *Captain Reynolds*, so I suggest you wake the telegraph agent and send a cable to your command for a new tracker." Chris suggested as he began to walk around the captain.

"But that could take a week! I could demand your help you know." Reynolds threatened.

"You could try." Chris glared, as he shouldered past the officer.

Part Ten

"Larabee!" Reynolds called after the man in black, "Don't walk away from me!" the officer warned as he stalked after the lawman, his hand landing on the gunslinger's shoulder. "I will get *that tracker*, one way or the other."

Larabee was at the end of his patience with the officer. Spinning around, Chris knocked the trespassing hand off his shoulder, as he grabbed a handful of blue material, violently pulling the man toward him.

Both Josiah and the sergeant moved in quickly to disengage their respective allies. Attempting to sever the two men from each other before another tragedy was played out on the streets.

"We haven't got time," Josiah urged Larabee as pulled the man away off the officer. "Vin needs you." The preacher, though twice Chris' size was struggling to control the enraged man. Josiah was able to relax his tight grip slightly as he felt the coiled muscles of the gunfighter ease at the mention of the tracker's name.

"Chris!"

With his jaw set, Chris ignored JD's call as he glared at the unrepentant officer, "Sunrise is comin'." His voice not hiding the threat in its hushed tone, "I want you to see it--enjoy it-- understand what I am givin' you."

"You ain't giving me nothing, Larabee. Not even the damn tracker that I need." Reynolds spat back, not giving an inch to the lawman.

Josiah stepped in forward to stand in front of Chris, "Oh he's giving you something alright, Captain. Thank the lord and leave." he said quietly.

"Chris?" JD searched the four men's faces, "Josiah, what's going on?" he asked as his hand nervously hovered over the butt of his gun.

"Nothing, JD, nothing at all." Chris growled as he turned to the young sheriff, "What did you want?" he asked a little too gruffly.

Ignoring the bite in Chris' voice, JD kept his eyes on the two strangers as he recounted what Sam had told him.

"Damn it!' Chris cursed, "I told them to leave town yesterday. I should have guessed they wouldn't do what they were ordered."

"This *redskin*, that you and your Indian loving friend protected, did you know him? Have you seen him before?" Reynolds interrupted, in his stubborn refusal to leave well enough alone. "He could be one of the renegades I am looking for you know? They could be closer than we thought," he pondered out loud.

"Terribly sorry there, *Captain*," Chris answered sarcastically as he nodded to Josiah and JD to take the conversation elsewhere, "they *all* look alike to me. Guess you'll have to send for that *tracker* after all," he smiled as he turned to join the others.

Reynolds watched the three men walk away, still able to make the faint line of their conversation. A smile slowly formed as he pulled out another cigarette and placed it in his mouth, waiting impatiently for the sergeant to light it.

"Sir?" the sergeant asked as he obeyed the unspoken command and struck a match to the cigarette.

Expelling a puff of smoke, his eyes followed the three men as they made their way up the stairs to where the wounded man was being cared for. "I want you to check out the men at the encampment. Make sure everything is under control in our absence."

"And leave you here alone sir? I don't think--,"

"That's right, and that is why I'm a Captain. Do it! It's an order."

With his lips pursed, the sergeant nodded, "*YES SIR, CAPTAIN*." He scowled as he gave the officer a limp-wristed salute and turned on his heals, heading for the livery.

Drawing long and hard on the cigarette, Reynolds flicked it away as he made his way back to his quarters; he had a memento to find.

Part Eleven

Chris followed Josiah and JD, his boot having just touched the creaking board of the first step that led to Nathan's rooms, when Buck appeared on the landing.

"Josiah, where's Chris, Vin...,"

"I'm here, what's wrong?" Chris called as his heart lurched into his throat, his feet clearing three steps at a time in his blind panic.

Josiah and JD quickly cleared a path so Chris could slip between them and get to the landing first and where they all stopped as they waited for Buck to speak.

"Well?" Chris asked breathlessly, as he glanced toward the door.

A guarded smile appeared on Buck's face. "He's askin' for you."

An audible sigh of relief was expelled by the man in black as he took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. "Thanks Buck," he said as he quickly moved to the door.

"Chris?" Buck called gently after him, only to see the door close behind the impatient man.

"Buck?" JD asked in almost a whisper, "Vin's alright, isn't he? I mean he's awake. He has to be alright if his awake, right?"

Reaching down, Buck pulled the young man the rest the way up the steps, patting him reassuringly on the back, he looked over the younger man to the preacher. "We hope so JD. He's not gettin' away from us that easy."

Shutting the door quietly behind him, Chris placed his hat on the hat stand as he walked over and stood at the end of the bed. He watched as Nathan took the cloth that covered Vin's forehead, rinsing it before replacing back on the burning skin.

"Nathan?" Chris made himself known. The gunfighter's elation was starting to dim as he watched the tracker's sweat beaded face toss and turn on the pillow.

"Chris?!" Vin called as he eyes flew open and he frantically searched the room. "Chris!"

Nathan moved quickly, and made way for Chris to come closer, hoping that the sight of the gunfighter would calm his fevered patient.

"Vin?" The gunfighter smiled as he sat down on the bed beside his injured friend. "I'm here."

Vin 's hand suddenly snaked out and grabbed at Chris' arm, gripping it tightly as the sharpshooter's glazed blue eyes seemed to stare without seeing. "Chris-- Chris yer've seen her haven't ya?" he gasped wildly.

Trying to pacify Vin's panic, Chris patted the sweat covered hand that grasped at him for dear life, "Seen who Vin?" he asked as he glance worriedly over to Nathan.

Lifting his head from the pillow, Vin appeared distraught, "I-- lost her-- Chris, ya gotta find her for me." He begged as he dug his fingers into the sleeve of Chris' coat.

"Sure, Vin, " Chris soothed as he gently urged the young man to lay back down, "Don't worry, we'll find her. You just rest."

Vin visibly relaxed at the gunfighter's words and allowed himself to be laid back down. "Don't want her to end up--end up like the others--," he whispered as his eyes began to flutter, "they killed 'em all--even the babies," his voice faded into unconsciousness.

Having been listening silently from the doorway, JD looked up to Buck, "What's he talkin' about?" he asked of Vin's delirious riddle. "Who's this she, he wants found?"

"I don't know kid," Buck sighed as he shivered, shoving his hands into his pocket, "but I don't think Hell has anythin' on where Vin's been."

Gently moving Vin's now limp hand from his arm, Chris took a deep breath as he reached for the cloth. Rinsing the now hot material, he wiped at the sweat beaded face. He couldn't help wondering how someone so young, had lived through so much and survived to become such a decent man. "This is good, right Nate? That he's waking and fighting the fever?" He asked, as he continued to wipe at Vin's pale face.

"Anything he does or says is good," Nathan explained. He looked at his friends faces. They all seemed to be waiting for him, expecting him to have all the answers, when all he did was guess his way around the parts of the body he knew, and pray around the ones he didn't. "It means he is still with us. I ain't no doctor Chris, you know that, but I'll fight Hell itself to keep him here with us."

"Never thought any less," Chris responded.

Part Twelve

Chris watched the tracker's tortured sleep, pondering his next move the gunfighter knew he had no real choice. He would not let Vin's attackers get away, even if he had to follow them to the end of world. Resigned to his decision, Chris dipped the cloth once more in the cool water and leaned over to place it on the tracker's forehead.

"I gotta go, Vin," he whispered near the tracker's ear, "but I'll be expecting you to be here when I get back. Remember pard, your a Tanner and a Tanner never gives up."

The tracker's eyes fluttered, but never opened. Chris smiled as he gently grasped the younger's shoulder. "I'll be taking that as a yes," Standing up, the gunfighter turned to the others, "Nathan and Josiah will stay here and look after Vin and the town,"

"What?" Josiah interrupted as he stalked over to Chris, "You're not leaving me behind," the preacher warned as stared the down the gunfighter.

Chris knew what the preacher was thinking and also knew how much he wanted to make good on something that was not his fault, "I'm not punishing you, Josiah. I know how much it means to you to track these men down, but I need you here with Vin. *You* need to be here with him. Trust me?"

The big man looked over at the pale figure in the bed. Every fibre of his body demanded he be there to choke the life out of the men who had done this, but maybe that was exactly why he shouldn't be there. His shoulders fell, as he silently agreed by stepping over to Vin and reaching for the cloth, began to sponge the tracker's face.

Chris was relieved that the preacher had gone along with him, the gunfighter was angry enough for both of them. Controlling his own rage would be hard enough, without having to keep an eye on Josiah as well. "JD, Can you go and get three fresh mounts ready for us?"

"What about Ezra?" JD asked as he started for the doorway

As if answering the call, boots were heard rushing up the wooden steps and the breathless and less than immaculate Southerner appeared at the doorway.

"What took ya so long?" Buck asked the winded gambler.

Holding on the stitch that pulled at his side, Ezra pointed at the gunfighter, "You can blame Mr. Larabee for my tardiness. That vexatious nag, detained me by refusing to allow itself to be mounted. If I have not felt the most urgent of need to be here for Mr. Tanner, I would have shot the troublesome hack and walked."

"Got a little dirty there, pard, " Buck chuckled, slapping his hand onto Ezra's back as he passed, producing a cloud of dust into the air. "I'll help JD with the horses," Wilmington called back to Chris, "Don't worry Ez, I get ya a real nice pony, for ya."

Ignoring Wilmington's jibe, Ezra quietly stepped into the room to stand at the feet of the bed, "How is he?"

"Alive," Chris answered as he nodded at Nathan and walked over to retrieve his hat.

"And Mr. Tanner being a most honorable man, will stay that way--, or I shall find it very hard to forgive him, for welching."

"Welching?" Nathan asked.

"A term my mother taught me. When someone does not pay, he is called a whelcher and as Mr. Tanner owes me for a two handed game we enjoyed three nights ago, it would pain me greatly, if that was my last thought of him."

"How stupid do you think we are, Standish?"

"Pardon, Mr. Larabee? I do not understand?"

"Money is the last thing on your mind, no matter how much you think you have a bank vault for a heart."

"I bleed green, Mr. Larabee," Ezra disagreed, as he took one more look at the tracker, tapped hat and left the room.

Watching the gambler leave, Chris shook his head, "He bleeds red," he sighed as words reminded him of why all they're stomachs were tired up in knots, "Just like all of us." Donning his hat, his eyes lingered on the tracker, "You all take care. We'll be back as soon as we can."

"Chris! Be careful," Nathan called.

"And Chris," Josiah added without turning around, "Don't miss."

Part Thirteen

Hearing a commotion coming from the street, Reynolds stopped searching through his valise and stepped over to the window of his rented room. So as not to be seen, the officer stood to the side of the window and peered one eye around the faded green curtains to search the street below. He watched the four men as they packed their mounts, each face etched with the same determined mask as a small crowd of people milled around seemingly discussing the night's events.

Larabee in particular took the Captain's interest as he watched the man in black mount his horse. He was more than relieved to see that the lawman had joined in the chase for the men who had 'apparently' shot his friend.

Reynolds was about to step away from the window, when Larabee suddenly cocked his head and looked up toward the room, his eyes seemingly trying penetrate the wooden walls. The captain quickly avoided Larabee's stare by propelling himself back against the wall.

"Chris? What is it? What's wrong?" Buck frowned, his eyes following Chris's line of sight as he paused with one foot in the stirrup, his free hand moving slowly toward his gun.

Shaking his head, Chris shrugged off the odd feeling and pulled on the reins preparing to leave, "Nothing. Lets get outta here," he ordered as he sneaked one more glance toward the clinic, "The sooner we catch these bastards the sooner we can get back to--to town."

Continuing to mount, Buck was joined by Ezra and JD, their knowing looks to each other which conveyed the same thought; to get back to Vin.

Reynolds listened to the sound of the horses as they moved quickly down the street. Pushing himself from the wall, he straightened his uniform as he stretched his neck. Quickly glancing out the window to make sure the horses would not be returning, the officer moved back to the valise and continued to search the contents.

"Where the hell are you?" He cursed as he tossed clothes haphazardly from the case. "I know I put it in here," he chastised himself as he upended the leather valise in frustration. Pitching the pile of linen to the side he soon found what he was looking for, "Yes!"

Picking up the brown paper wrapped object, Reynolds pulled the string that held the wrapping closed. The paper unfolded, revealing the ornamental dagger inside. Taking the weapon from its covering, Reynolds held it out in front of him, a ray of early morning light hitting the polished blade.

~Flashback~

"Sir! Captain Reynolds, we do not have any written orders for this attack!"

Reynolds appeared to ignore the sergeant at his side and continue to look through his spyglass at the camp below him. "Sergeant Anderson, What orders I have or do not have are my business. You are under my command. I gave you an order. I expect you to obey it."

"But sir, this is not the group we are looking for," he countered.

Dropping the spyglass from his eye, Reynolds's glared at the officer. "You will do as I say, unless you want to be court- martialed here and now. These," he said pointing to the camp, "are the enemy. Those squaws will give birth to tomorrow's *murdering redskins*. Those little bastards running around throwing sticks will grow up to be the same, instead their sticks will be lances. You will carry out my orders now, *sergeant*."

Looking around at the cavalry and cannon that waited for the two men to come to a decision, Anderson closed his eyes as his trembling hand reached for his sword. "Yes SIR!" he snarled through clenched teeth.

Reynolds had watched, a smile crossing his face as the cannon fire decimated the village, scattering screaming women and children in all directions. Once enough bodies littered the dusty ground from the battery, the charge was called and the soldiers rode in to finish of the defenseless and dying.

Spurring his horse into more speed, Reynolds's eyes fell on the old man that staggered from the teepee, his hands clutching the very flag that his troop fought under. His blood boiled that the Indian would desecrate the flag that his fellow soldiers had died for, drawing his sword he charged his horse at the old man. With great satisfaction the captain saw the Indian fall bloody under his sword.

Searching through the disorder of blood and panic, Reynolds caught sight of Anderson chasing down a fleeing old Indian toward the river and followed.

Within minutes he had caught up with his officer, who had already dismounted and had the Indian in his custody. Reynolds leaned forward in his saddle, pointing to the prisoner, "And what do you think you are going to with him?"

"Sir, he is my prisoner,"

Drawing his pistol, Reynolds grinned as he shot the Indian, "Not anymore he's not."

"Sir!" Sergeant Anderson shouted over the gunfire and screams, "I have no choice but to report this action. This was..."

"You won't be reporting anything," Reynolds calmly replied, as he shot the sergeant in cold blood.

Climbing down from his mount, the captain knelt down between the bodies and was checking to make sure his aim had been true, when a sudden scream startled him.

Turning toward the noise, he was just in time to see a young woman charging from the bushes toward him, Reynolds first thought would have been to smile at the squaws audacity, if weren't for the dagger that she branded high over her head. Her long black hair had partially come loose from its leather bindings, falling over her face as streaked toward him.

Reynolds was not a small man and found it easy to stand and grab the woman's hands, disabling her attack with in seconds. Twisting the knife from her delicate, but well worn fingers, he used his forceful weight to drop her to the ground not completely by accident finding himself straddling the screaming girl.

Once Reynolds had the woman pinned beneath him, he had the time to have a good look at her. Fending off her scratching hands, he grabbed a handful of her hair with his left hand as he brought her knife up to her throat with his right. "You are a fiery little thing aren't you? And pretty-- for an Indian that is."

The woman glared at the officer, screaming what he assumed to be, obscenities before spitting in his face.

Reynolds was suddenly interrupted as he heard someone calling, it was a word he didn't recognized, but it did seem to catch the woman's attention.

"Hotah!" she screamed.

~end of flashback~

"Damn boy's got more lives than a cat!" Reynolds snarled as he looked out the window.

Part Fourteen

Everything was going so well. The promotional bell was tolling for him after many years in the service of the United States Army. His war record had stood him in good stead, moving him through the ranks at a smoother speed than the others that did not have it behind them.

It had been years since that day, four to be exact. The young man looked harder, more worn down by life, and much more dangerous than he had that day in the camp. But he was still recognizable as the same man who could be the match that would light his court martial, or worse still a firing squad. He cursed his aim and the danger that lack of sight, now put him in, but he knew if he timed this right, he would be rid of the threat without any repercussions on his character. No matter what happened this day, Vin Tanner would be joining his Indian whore in Hell.

Josiah watched Vin's fevered sleep, pondering the thoughtless acts of fate that seemed to curse his way. Though he knew it wasn't right to be thinking of himself when he wasn't the suffering the tortured agonies, his guilt had not finished damning him for his actions.

"How long will you make others suffer for my sins?" He spoke softly to his God. "I am the one you want to punish," he sighed, closing his eyes, a frown deepening as he felt Vin's pain to his soul. "He's a good man, Lord, a righteous man--,"

"Y--yer the--good-- man, Josi--, when-- will ya--believe --it," Vin managed to whisper.

Josiah's eyes sprang open at the unexpected voice, nearly falling of the bed in his hurry to get Nathan who had stepped outside to get some air. "Thank the Lord, Vin. Nathan!" he called out. His startled cry bringing the healer rushing back into the room.

"What?! Josiah what's wrong?" Nathan panicked as he just about ran to the beside.

Josiah smiled as he gestured to Vin, "He's awake."

Nathan looked down at the quiet tracker and shook his head sadly, "No Josiah, he's still out," he replied as he checked Vin's pulse.

"No," Josiah cried at the sleeping form, "he spoke to me Nathan. He was tired and weak, but I heard him, he spoke to me," the preacher insisted.

Nathan placed a comforting hand on the preacher's shoulder, as his reached his other over to feel Vin's forehead, "Well, he is a little cooler and he's resting a little more comfortable now, that's something. If he spoke to you, Josiah, then he should be coming out of it real soon."

Josiah looked hopefully at the healer, "Then, thank the Lord and you, he'll be all right?"

"I hope so Josiah, but he's not out of the woods yet, but the signs are all there," Nathan allowed a subtle optimism to hue his voice. Why don't you go for a walk, stretch your legs a bit. I'll look after him for awhile," Nathan offered.

"Thank you Brother, but I want to be here," Josiah replied as he kept one eye on the sleeping man. "I need to be here.

"Well, I need a fresh cup of coffee and something to eat and as I am the doctor of sorts, how about you go and get it for me." Nathan asked as he picked up the bowl of water, ready to refresh its contents.

Even though his burden was still not lightened, his relief at hearing Vin's voice allowed him a little respite from his dark thoughts, "Not to subtle Brother Nathan," he forced a smile as he relucntanly rose from the bed and headed toward the door.

"Hey, if Chris was here, I would be telling him the same thing," Nathan replied.

"Yeah, but he wouldn't listen, but you're right, brother, I need to feed my heart and -- your stomach. I won't be long," Josiah affirmed as he took one more look at Vin and left.

Nathan poured fresh water into the bowl and walked over to Vin. Sponging the cloth, he sat beside the tracker and placed it on Vin's forehead. "Don't you go doing anything stupid, like leaving us Vin, You hear me? You don't know it, but you promised Chris."

Part Fifteen

Josiah slowly made his way down the wooden steps, his big feet wearily dragging on each rung until he reached the dirt of the street. Unsure where to go, or what to do, the preacher stood lost in his own thoughts before unconsciously dropping on the lower rungs of the stairway. He knew that Nathan was right and that he needed time to collects his thoughts, and he knew that he should be happy that Vin had been aware enough to speak to him. The young man had spoken to him? God, did he imagine it? Was he so lost in his own self pity that he was past distinguishing reality?

The preacher had always wondered if self pity should not have been one of the deadly sins of life. Mortal man was cursed with so much. Greed, jealousy and lust, were just three of them. Was not self pity just as bad a sin? Or was he just excusing himself because he had seen life in the tracker?

Vin would live and all of his own self accusations would sink back down into the pit of his dark soul, only to resurface the next time he was not there for someone he cared about. A man who once professed to talk to, and for his God, should have more answers, not only for his friends and the people around him, but for himself.

Mary watched Josiah as he sat at the bottom of the stairs, his hands clasped under his chin, as if in prayer. Hitching her skirts, Mary watched for riders as she crossed the street to join him.

"You're not God, Josiah," she said as she joined Josiah.

"Pardon, Ma'am?" Josiah replied as he seemed to wake from his dream.

Gesturing for the preacher to move over, Mary joined the preacher on the steps. "I said, You're not God, Josiah. Because any man that professes to be him, puts himself ahead of the Almighty. I don't believe that you are such a man."

"The Almighty and I haven't exactly been on speaking terms for a long time now, Ma'am. I have long been one of his gray sheep, neither black, nor white in my shading," Josiah replied, as he refused to look at the newspaperwoman.

"So you are not God?" Mary asked as she pushed a strand of blonde hair back behind her ear.

"No ma'am, I am not," he answered firmly.

"Then stop blaming yourself for something that only God could've prevented," Mary challenged the preacher. "Josiah, Vin would hate to see you like this. He, of all people knows what a tenuous grip on life this hard country gives us. The only person to blame for Vin's shooting is the coward that pulled the trigger."

Josiah turned to look at that the woman who sat at his side, "My heart knows that you are right, but my soul--"

"Is a good one," Mary smiled. "So tell me, how is Vin? Does Nathan need anything?" she asked.

Remembering why he had left Nathan's room, Josiah stood, helping Mary to her feet as he did so, "Only God knows about Brother Vin, as for Nathan, I am supposed to be fetching some food and drink for our healer as we speak, so if you please excuse me. And Ma'am, thank you for your words, I am grateful for your intent."

"Your welcome, Josiah and I won't bother Nathan then. Please tell Vin when he wakes that I was asking about him," Mary replied as she made her way back to her office.

'I do hope your young friend survives Mr. Larabee'

'This *redskin*, that you and your Indian loving friend protected, did you know him?'

The more Chris thought on the captain's words the more the itch that had settled in his stomach clawed at him.

'Your Indian loving friend'

Why single Vin out, when it was both he and Vin that moved in to protect the old Indian? 'Indian loving' an apt description of Vin, when you know Vin and how he lived with the Indians for a time, but if you were a stranger?

'Nope, I ain't goin' to do it'

'Don't want her to end up--end up like the others--they killed 'em all--even the babies'

Suddenly reining in his horse, Chris wondered if he could be wrong, what if he was? The Buffalo hunters would get away, but what if he was right and he left Vin and two unsuspecting friends in town with a would-be killer.

Part Sixteen

The tracking party continued to follow the signs made by the four hunters. Moving quickly under the slow warming heat of daylight, no one had take particular notice to the one of their number that had fallen behind; until now.

"Mr. Wilmingtion, I do believe we have lost one of our party," Ezra called across to Buck, who was so intent on reading the tracks in the dirt that he too, had failed to note their leader's absence.

"What's he doing?" JD asked as he took off his hat and brushed at the sweat with the back of his arm to peer back at Chris. "He's just sitting there, Buck."

Buck pulled on the reins and turned his horse around to see what his fellow lawman was wasting time to stop for. He found himself as confused as JD and Ezra at the sight of Chris sitting still in his saddle. "I can see that kid. What the Hell--" Spurring their horses into movement, the three men rode back to the stalled man.

"Chris! What the Hell do you think you doin'?" Buck demanded as he pulled along side of his friend. "They already have most of the mornin' on us, this ain't helpin' any."

"Somethin' not right Buck, I can feel it." Chris frowned as he stood in the stirrups, swiveling around to look back toward the direction of four corners.

Believing that Chris's indecision was born more out of the need to be back with the wounded tracker than with any real instincts, Buck grabbed hold of the gunfighter's reins. "Will ya listen to your self Chris. We know who shot Vin, we're following 'em and I'm surprised you of all people, are slowin' us down. Do ya want them to get away?"

Chris spun around to glare at Buck, "I *want* the one responsible and I ain't going to bet Vin's life that he's ahead of us, while he could be back in town waiting for another chance."

"What the hell are ya on about?!" Buck barked as he lost his patience with his old friend, his rising voice startling his horse. Trying to calm not only his horse, but himself, Buck took a deep breath. "Look, Josiah and Nathan are with him, he's safe, no matter who ya think is in town. But if we let these others go and they turn out to be the ones, how ya goin' to feel?"

Chris silently cursed as his indecision wavered even more with Buck's arguments. "Damn you Buck!"

Dressed in civilian clothes, the hat pulled tightly down over his face, Reynolds made his way out the back way of the hotel. He was pleased to see the people of Four Corners were no different than other small towns and with the start of the day came the onset of community living.

Women and men were stopped in the street, whispering behind their hands as they pointed furtively toward the room that held the object of the new rumors. Tanner's *accident* seemed to be the food of the new day. Reynolds couldn't help wondering what sort of meal, the tracker's death would bring.

"Na-te."

The faint whisper of a voice, brought the healer to life and he rushed to his patient's bedside. "About time you woke up," Nathan smiled as he checked Vin's temperature with a touch of the back of his hand to the tracker's forehead. The healer's smile broadened as his touch found cool skin. "You had us worried."

"What --happened?" Vin asked as he looked around the room for his friends, "Where--are--they?"

"Where do you think?" Nathan answered, knowing that you never lie to Vin Tanner and get away with it. The tracker had a sense about people that the healer had never seen in someone so young. He guessed the way Vin had been forced to grow up had given the tracker an insight that had kept him alive.

"Damn--fools," Vin grimaced as he tried to move, "Couldn't track--a buffalo-- herd in mud-- without me."

"Oh sure," Nathan frowned as he gently pushed Vin back down on the bed. "You'd be a great help. Just in case you haven't caught on yet, you were shot in the back."

"Reckon it hurts, --a little," Vin said softly as he closed his eyes to ride out the pain.

"You need something for the pain?" Nathan asked as he made a motion to rise.

Vin's eyes quickly opened as he shoot his head, "No, it's not that bad."

"Yeah right," Nathan replied, "Vin, when are you going to learn, that it's all right to admit to something hurtin' bad enough for you to need some help?"

Wiggling his toes and moving his fingers, Vin managed a crooked smile as he changed the subject a little. "Ya did good--Thanks Nate."

"Don't need no thanks, now that you are back with us. What I need for you to do, is for you to lay quiet. You were damn lucky this time Vin."

"Don't feel that lucky," Vin groaned as a painful spasm arched his back. "Hell!" He cursed, no longer able to hide the pain he was in.

"That does it," Nathan said sternly as he reached for the Laudanum, "I'm not taking no for an answer, you're taking some of this."

Vin watched as the healer pour some of the liquid on to a spoon. "Reckon, I'd rather take me chances out on the trail with the others," he shuddered.

"Shut up and drink it." Nathan said firmly as he pried the tracker's lips apart with the spoon and tilted the liquid in to Vin's mouth.

"Ya sound like Chris," Vin wrinkled his nose at the taste. "Damn that stuff's awful."

"I know," Nathan grinned.

Part Seventeen

As Sam finished laying the new hay in the last stall for the morning, he couldn't help whistling a tune as he went about his chores. He was more than happy with himself; he had been in the right place at the right time. He knew for the moment that the lawman was still alive, but he had heard that things weren't looking good for the tracker.

For so long, he had been just Sam Hewett, the livery man. Now, the way the old man figured it, he would be spinning his tale of his close brush with the killer's of Vin Tanner for weeks to come. Of course, a man would then work up a mighty thirst as he entertained others with his tale of his face to face with death. Polite coughing as he tried to clear his dry throat would bring offers of complimentary beers so he could finish his impressive adventure.

Sam was even beginning to see his name in one of those there dime store picture books as he recited his deeds of that day. No one had been there, but the killers and himself. They were either going to hang, or Larabee would shoot them down, so who would be around to argue his version of things. "Yep," he chuckled to himself. "Going to get me some recognition around here at last."

Sam was so happy with the reputation he was starting to see for himself and was so lost in his own self importance, he didn't hear the footsteps that came up behind him.

An arm suddenly snaked around the old man's throat, its grip cutting off the voice that would never get to relate its untold tale.

"Well, I do hope they spell your name right friend." A voice whispered. "A man should have the right name on his grave."

As Sam's feeble attempts to free himself from his attacker were weakened by his lack of air, his eyes fell on knife that was raised with deadly intent above him. With no choice, but to submit to the oncoming darkness, his rapidly unfocusing eyes trailed the knife until the pain struck his body until there was nothing.

Dragging the bleeding body to the end of the livery, Reynolds quickly topped it with hay. Grabbing an unlit lantern, he splashed its contents and tossing the lamp onto the pile, he lit a match.

"Who's lookin' after the town?"

Dropping the towel he was using to dry his hands, Nathan moved back to Vin's bedside. "You just don't worry about the town," the healer said as he felt the tracker's forehead and was pleased to see it had cooled down considerably.

"But if the other's are gone--"

"What? You don't think Josiah and I can look after Four Corners on our own?" Nathan asked feigning a hurt look.

"No, no, that's not--" Vin tried to apologize.

Noticing the upset look on the tracker's face, Nathan put his hand reassuringly on Vin's shoulder. "I was only funning with you, Vin, I'm sorry. I shoulda' known better."

"I reckon', if ya funnin' with me then I must be gonna live? So, go ahead," Vin winced.

"Hurting again?"

"If it's hurtin' I'm alive, so I ain't goin' to complain," Vin said as he tried to arch his body away from the sharp ache in his back.

"You never complain anyway, more's the pity." Noting Vin's discomfort, Nathan grabbed for a spare pillow and after checking for fresh bleeding, carefully placed it under the tracker's back.

"FIRE! FIRE!"

"What the Hell?" Moving quickly to the door, Nathan opened it to see smoke billowing down the street.

"What is it Nate?" Vin frowned as he tried to lever himself off the bed.

"Never you mind what it is," Nate warned as he pointed at the tracker, "You stay right where you are. I'm sure Josiah's handling it."

"And if he's not?" Vin asked. "Or, if someone's hurt, Nate. Ya can't be up here fussin' with me."

Looking back at his friend, Nathan was in a quandary, Vin still wasn't well enough to be left on his own, but what if the tracker was right and someone was hurt.

"Go!" Vin urged. "Or I'll get out of here and check it out for myself."

Nathan begrudgingly agreed, not to the tracker's threat, but to his basic instinct to help. "I'll go, but you move one toe," he warned as he glanced toward the street and then back at his patient, "You move just *one hair* out of that bed and I'll take every stitch of clothing you own and you won't get them back for a month. You understand me?"

Convinced that Nathan would carry out his threat, Vin gingerly laid himself back down on the pillows and laid perfectly still. "Not a twitch."

"I mean it Vin!" Nathan threatened as quickly gathered something he might need.

"I ain't got a hole in my ear, only my back. I heard, go will ya!" Vin pressed the healer.

Part Eighteen

Vin strained to listen to the outside commotion, but could only make out muffled sounds of panic that were barely audible through the closed doorway of Nathan's room. Grimacing against the aching throb in his body, he tried to lever himself up onto his elbows, cursing as his back bit back at the movement. He hated being so helpless.

"H-ell," Vin cursed through grating teeth as the sweat that beaded his forehead trailed down the side of his face. He had been shot many times, but never in the back before, and as the pain shot bolts of agony into his body, he couldn't help hoping, never again.

"Da-mn coward," Vin hissed to the empty room. Even in his bounty days, the tracker had never thought of shooting someone in the back, so the thought of someone being too weak to face him and taking the coward's way, somehow riled him even more than the pain.

Unable to get comfortable under the never-ending torments of his wound, Vin looked around the room, his eyes pausing on a glass of water that sat invitingly on the table. Trying not to jostle his back, he stretched his arm as far as it would go, but the now thirsty tracker found the glass just out of his reach. Slightly breathless at the effort, Vin's arm dropped to his side as he pondered the situation, remembering his promise to Nathan not move from the bed.

"Well, ya already twitched Tanner," Vin told himself as he remembered his exact words to the healer. "And Nate wouldn't want ya die of thirst." He excused his planned actions. "Just move nice and slow, get ya drink, get bac k into bed and Nate don't have to know a thin' about it."

Vin attempted to suck in a couple of deep breaths in preparation for his change of position, but only managed to pant in shallow pain-filled breaths. Ignoring the warning, he pushed the blanket away and tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, the action causing excruciating torture that left the tracker gasping for air. With his eyes clenched tight, Vin was lost in a world where every fibre of his body seemed to be on fire.

"Well, that looks like it hurts."

An involuntary shiver ran through Vin's body as the tracker forced his eyes open to see a stranger enter the room, closing the door behind him. "Can--I help ya mister?" Vin asked as he continued to struggle to stay focused.

The stranger smiled as he stepped closer to the wounded man. "You don't remember me?"

Vin hurt, he didn't care who this person was, he just wished he would leave him in peace. "Should--I?" The tracker frowned, being in too much pain to give the stranger closer scrutiny.

Reynolds took note of the pale, sheen-coated face and the body that contorted as it tried to escape the pain. He couldn't help but be disappointed that the tracker did not seem to recognize him. "What is it, the civilian clothes?"

"Civ--vili--" Vin tried to straighten out his thoughts as he searched the stranger's face. "What--do ya--"

Reynolds watched with some satisfaction as the dawn of recognition crossed over the injured man's face. "There you go."

Vin's lip's curled back to bare his teeth as he pushed himself weakly from the bed toward the object of his past hatred. "Ya bastard," the tracker seethed as his fingers clawed out to reach the man.

The tracker was so weak; Reynolds found it easy to push the wounded man away, sending Vin crashing into the table. A pitiless howl tore from the tracker's lips as his legs buckled and his back collided with the unforgiving wood.

Reaching behind his back, Reynolds pulled the knife from his belt and pressed home his advantage, by pouncing on the fallen man. "Well, here we are again," Reynolds snarled as waved the knife in front of Vin before pressing it against the younger man's throat. "Should have made sure you were dead the first time, like I did with that damn squaw of yours. She was a tasty little thing, even if she was nothing but dirt," he grinned.

"I'm gonna kill ya!" Vin's blue eyes raged as he struggled feebly under the captain's attack. "I'm gonna cut ya heart out and make sure ya choke on it!"

"I think not," Reynolds answered in triumph. Grabbing a handful of the enraged tracker's hair, the captain ran the tip of the blade down Vin's face until he flicked his wrist, nicking Vin's neck. "I'm gonna be sorry to lose this knife after holding on to it all these years. I warned your friend Larabee how dangerous those renegades were. He should have listened to me. Those damn savages just can't be trusted, killing a man in his sick bed and all."

Part Nineteen

The horses snorted, tossing their heads as they kicked at the corral dirt in agitation as Nathan waited beside the door of smoke spewing livery. Not far away, the town's people had snatched up pails and a human chain began passing water down to douse the fire before Sam's livelihood was eaten away by the ravenous flames.

"Damn fool!" Nathan muttered as he attempted to peer through the curtain of heat and smoke. He had been unable to stop Josiah, as the preacher determined to save both human and animal alike, streaked past him and into the curtain of heat and smoke. "Come on Josiah...get out of there." He mumbled as he glanced back at his room were he hoped Vin had kept his word and stayed in bed.

"Damn it preacher." About to follow Josiah into the choking smoke, Nathan was pleased to hear the sound of a hacking cough coming closer. Relieved to see the smoke part and the large frame of the preacher appear Nathan was about to launch into one of his "what do you think you were doing?' speeches, when he noticed for the first time the limp body Josiah carried effortlessly in his arms.

"Put him down, hurry Josiah," Nathan instructed as he moved quickly to the preacher's side.

Shaking his head sadly, Josiah laid Sam's body on to the ground, "It's too late brother," the preacher said sadly as he continued to cough the smoke from his lunges.

Cringing at the sight of Sam's slightly scorched body, Nathan stooped down to examine the prostrate livery man. The healer knew there was nothing that could be done, but the raw and bloody wound in the old man's neck left no doubt what had happened.

"Did you see this Josiah?" Nathan asked the preacher as he pointed to the wound on the old man's neck. "First someone shoots Vin, now Sam's murdered. What the Hell is going on here?"

"Doc!" One of the men relayed from the water line, "Jenkins told me to tell ya that young Tommy Davis jest got kicked by one Sam's horses over behind the livery. Jenkins thinks Tommy's leg's broke." He said as he continued passing the water pails along.

Getting to his feet, Nathan looked from Sam's inert body to his coughing friend. "Are you all right Josiah?" He asked as he put a hand to the preacher's arm.

"Fine brother, see to the boy," Josiah answered.

Realizing that he hadn't grabbed any of his medical supplies, Nathan looked back at his room, then toward the direction of the boy. "Damn, I forgot--"

"Go and check the boy out, I'll get what you need and check on Vin while I'm there," Josiah offered.

"Thanks Josiah," Nathan said as he started in the direction of where he thought the boy would be, "Everything I need should be still packed in the saddlebags that are hanging on the wall. I'll also get two men to take Sam's body to the funeral parlor til' we've got time to look into this. Hell if I know who in town would want to kill the harmless old man."

Vin was starting to see stars as the pressure of the soldier bearing down on him added to the agony that now flared in his back. The tracker had met many men he had wanted to kill in his lifetime, but none he wished with such rage as he did to the man who now hovered over him. He had sworn to the dead that they would see the death of their murderer at his hands, but now, as the bullet wound felt like talons ripping into his back, he asked their forgiveness for his lack of strength.

"Don't go fading on me yet, boy," Reynolds gloated as the nick he had punctured in the tracker's throat became an inch cut.

"Yer--a gutless-- bastard!" Vin managed to feebly voice as his fingers that were still wrapped around the soldier's wrist tried to lever the knife away.

"Gutless," Reynolds's snorted, "I'm a hero of the ever growing Indian wars, boy, and I do intend to stay that way. I'm up for promotion and with my family connections I can eventually seek a place in the senate. What I don't need is for you to show your face later on and make disparaging and totally untrue claims about me."

"Ya killed women--children--old men who wanted to surrender," Vin countered angrily.

"I killed vermin," Reynolds's boasted as a smile of malicious delight formed on his face. "I took your whore and got a medal for it. She was good. You don't have to take my word for it, she serviced a few of my men, before she managed to cheat the others and kill herself."

Vin remembered, he hadn't felt the pain of the bullet that felled him, all he knew as the darkness encroached, was that he was helpless to save the woman he loved. Vin's rage was voiced in a agonizing howl, as the last images of seeing Chumani alive and trying to fight off the same man who now attacked him, came flooding back.

Part Twenty

With his fingers grimly fighting Reynolds's for control of the knife that wavered perilously over his heaving chest, Vin's head echoed with the captain's unrepentant boast. 'I took your whore and got a medal for it'. What Vin wanted more than anything was to hold the son of a bitch's heart in his hand until it stopped beating, but with his body so weakened by the bullet wound in his back, all he was managing to do was survive a heart beat at a time.

More than a little surprised at the fight that the injured young man seemed still to have in him, Reynolds shifted one hand to the growling man's throat. Pressing tightly, the soldier savored the tinge of color that now hued the tracker's face as his fingers began to choke the breath from wounded man's throat.

"Using the knife is too quick," Reynolds grunted as he struggled to maintain pressure on the tracker's throat, while still trying to maneuver the knife closer to the panting body beneath him. "I'd rather-squeeze the life out of you, Tanner. Watch as every last bit of your traitorous breath is expelled from your Indian loving body, but I do need you to die at the hands of a murderin' heathen," he said, referring to the weapon hovering just inches above Vin's body. Leaning closer so that he could clearly make out the hate that glared back at him from the tracker's pain-filled blue eyes, Reynolds's lips curled back to bare his teeth in a bloodthirsty promise, "And this time, you will die."

Reynolds's hold on his throat had the desired effect and Vin felt himself go limp, his remaining strength giving way to the oncoming darkness. And as the pain of the knife struck, he frowned in puzzlement, certain he heard the sound of Hell approaching.

If the sound of the door seemingly exploding off its hinges hadn't intimidated Reynolds, the sight of the enraged preacher rushing into the room did. Without a second look at the man below him, the officer jumped to his feet, pulling the knife from the tracker's unmoving body as he did so.

"Too late," Reynolds grinned scornfully, nodding in Vin's direction as he waved the bloodied knife in front of him.

Josiah didn't need to have the demented captain point the inert tracker out. Vin had been the first thing the preacher had looked for when he burst into the room. Lost in the sight of Vin's bloodied and still body, Josiah's deep worn frown creased into ridges of uncontrollable rage as he threw himself at the armed man.

"Why?" He demanded as he grabbed for the armed Reynolds, the fending blade slicing at the flesh of his arm. Past feeling any pain, Josiah continued his advance, grabbing the wrist of the armed hand with one hand while he grabbed a handful of shirt with the other. "Why?" He repeated.

"None of your damn business, you sonofa--," Reynolds cried out as the preacher's large hand encircled his wrist, squeezing the bones until they cracked. "Ahhh, damn it you're supposed-- to be-- -- you're a preacher," he moaned as Josiah's grip on his broken wrist forced him to drop the weapon.

"No I'm Vin Tanner's friend and you?" Josiah replied with a murderous glare, "You've just met Hell."

Reynolds tried to lever himself from the big man's grasp, but the infuriated preacher was too strong. Still struggling to free himself, the desperate officer felt himself being lifted into the air.

Josiah was past feeling anything, but the pain of his own failure. The young tracker was dead; Vin was dead and it was his fault. His rage surged into the hands that now held the man effortlessly in the air and he turned, throwing Reynolds against the far wall.

Stunned as the air was knocked out of him, Reynolds tried to stand, but found himself forced to his feet as a fist came out of know where and slammed into his face. "Damn you!" the captain spat, wiping the blood away with the back of his sleeve.

"Your too late," Josiah threw the captain's words back at him as he countered a feeble attempt by the officer to strike back with a blow to Reynolds's midsection.

Reynolds didn't know what hurt more, his mouth, his wrist or his stomach, but he didn't have long to ponder as a bloodied fist smashed into the side of his head and sent him crashing to floor.

Dismissing the man he had beat into unconsciousness with the contempt he deserved, Josiah closed his eyes as the full realization of the silence of the room hit him. His body suddenly felt a thousand years old as he forced himself to turn around and look at his fallen friend.

"Forgive me Brother--Lord forgive me."

Part Twenty-one

"Damn it Josiah, where are you?" Nathan muttered as he pressed harder on the bleeding wound on Tommy's leg. He didn't want to admit it, but the fact that the preacher was taking so long worried the healer. Vin's injury was healing. He had been right to leave him and see if he could help others, hadn't he? <Damn I shouldn't have left> Nathan silently berated himself.

"Ouch Doc, that hurt," The young red-head whined as he tried to slide his body from under the healer's painful grip. All he had wanted to do was see what all the commotion was about and climbing through the corral fence to closer look had seemed like a good idea at the time. But as the horses began to panic, his fourteen-year old legs couldn't move fast enough and he soon found himself trampled into the dirt.

"And it's going to hurt a lot more, if you keep moving around like that." Nathan reprimanded the young man. "The bone tore through your skin Tommy, I have to stop the bleeding as well as keep your leg from moving around."

"Ain't goin' to die am I?" Tommy sniffed as he wiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve.

Nathan smiled reassuringly, "No, Tommy, you not going to die, but I do need you to keep the leg still for me, okay?"

A sniff and a nod were the young boy's only answers as a tear managed to escape his grown up bravado, leaving a trail down the side of his dirt stained face.

Desperate to know what was going on with Vin, Nathan searched the chaotic scene, looking for someone to help, when he heard the sound of horses. Looking toward in the direction of the sound he sighed in relief as he saw the familiar outlines of the remaining seven riding in.

"Thank you," Nathan sighed as he looked heavenward.

Buck had fought, abused and cursed the gunslinger for his determination to go back to Four Corners, but nothing he could say would change Larabee's mind. While his friend was determined to get back to the wounded tracker, Buck could see his only chance to catch the men who had shot Vin being thrown away.

Now as they made their way down the main street Buck could see Chris had been right as smoke billowed into the sky and the townspeople rush to douse the flames that hungrily ate the livery.

Buck looked over to Chris and shrugged, "Okay, next time I'll listen."

"Over here."

Nathan's urgent call sent the four men into action, as they quickly dismounted, tying their horses and rushed to the healer's side.

"What the Hell happened here Nathan?" Chris asked as he surveyed the ordered chaos of the water line and the outline of a body respectfully covered by a blanket.

"Looks exactly like Hell to me," Buck answered as he motioned to JD and Ezra, "We'd best help with putting out that fire."

"Oh yes, thank you, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra grumbled as he reluctantly slipped off his jacket to neatly fold and lay it on the ground beside Nathan. "If you be so kind Mr. Jackson and watch over my jacket?" The southerner sighed as he moved to join the bucket line.

"Who's under the blanket?" Chris nodded toward the body as he stooped to reach for Southerner's jacket, placing it under the young man's head as a pillow.

"Sam," Nathan answered as he glanced back at the body before turning back to the gunfighter, "Someone slit his throat."

"Sam?" Chris eyebrows rose as he gaze was hesitantly drawn back to the fire. "And then they set fire to the livery." He pondered out-loud. Memories of another time and another burning building suddenly stirred in the gunfighter and he found himself being drawn by the flames to the past.

"It's not Sam I'm worried about, it's too late for him. Chris, I'm gonna have to reset Tommy's leg," Nathan explained as he nodded to the grimacing young man being held to the ground by his hands. "I sent Josiah to get my saddlebags, but I'm worried, he's been too long. Chris, I had to leave Vin."

"What about Vin?" Chris asked as he tried to clear his head. The tracker's name and the concern with which the healer voiced it, managed to break through the vortex of memories that was threatening to drag the gunfighter back. Without waiting for the healer to answer, Chris broke into a run heading down street toward Nathan's room.

"What do you want from me Lord?" Josiah pleaded as he looked down at the bloody body of his young friend. "Why is it that you send people to suffer around me? Make me watch, unable to save them from their fate, or themselves..why?" His voiced quivered and broke. "Twice I could have saved this boy.TWICE!" The preacher's voice began to rise as he clenched his fists. "What is you want from me? Is this my penance?" Josiah asked as he pointed to Vin, "To be left standing as all around me fall? TELL ME?"

With no earthly answer coming, Josiah's shoulder's slumped as he made his way over to the tracker's unmoving form. With a deep sigh, the big man slumped to his knees beside Vin and was searching for the courage to pick the tracker up when the preacher's eyes caught the faint rise the tracker's chest.

Leaning down, Josiah placed his ear lightly to Vin's chest and over the deafening beat of his own thumping heart, the preacher picked up the faint sounds of life. Soaking in the sound of the tracker's heart beating beneath him, "Thank you Lord." The corner of Josiah's mouth curled before his lips revealed his teeth in a broad smile. "I owe you for this one."

Part Twenty-two

Chris Larabee ran down the street like a man possessed. Silently he cursed not only his decision not to follow his gut feeling and head back to town sooner than he had, but damning his own weakness for allowing him to care again.

His friendship with Buck had been forged in the heat of battles won and lost, that he understood; but an explanation for the ex-bounty hunter was harder for the gunfighter to reason out. An undeclared recognition across a dusty street of a fellow lost soul? That was far too romantic a notion for men who lived and survived by the gun, but how else could he describe the bond the two men now shared.

But for now as his heart thundered in his chest, the reasoning didn't matter to the gunfighter. All Chris Larabee knew for sure as his boot connected with the bottom step of the stairway, was no matter what the meaning, he would not let his friendship with the tracker go that easily. If death was coming for Vin, it was going to have to come though him first.

Glancing up toward the gaping doorway to Nathan's room, Chris's unease had his hand automatically reaching for his weapon. Slipping the gun from its holster, he first tried to see through the window, but found his range of vision obscured by the drawn curtains.

Stooping to avoid casting a shadow that would be seen through the shade, Chris moved under the window frame and came to a stop with his back pressed against the outside wall. With a deep exhale of breath, Chris pushed himself from the wall and stormed the room.

His dramatic charge into the room came to a sudden stop. His weapon hand slowly began to fall to his side as his concerned-filled eyes found the sight of Josiah and Vin. About to move to the tracker's side, his attention was suddenly diverted by a moan from the side of the room.

"Josiah?" Chris questioned the preacher as his anger made him seek out the attacker who was slowly making his way to his knees, rather than see to Vin's condition.

Startled by the voice, Josiah glanced from Vin toward the recovering intruder, before returning his attention to the tracker's wounds. "He tried to kill Vin, that's all I know," Josiah dismissed the man he had so wanted to kill just moments before.

"How *is* Vin?" Chris asked as he glared at the struggling man, who was now being pressed to floor by the gunfighter's boot.

"I'm not sure, knife wound to the shoulder. It doesn't look too bad and he seems to be breathing easy, but the wound in his back is bleeding again," The preacher sighed. "Brother Nate I'm not, I'm afraid."

Reaching down, Chris removed his foot and flipped Vin's assailant on to his back. He didn't know if he was surprised at the identity of the attacker, or not, all he did know was that now he had a valid reason to shoot Captain Reynolds, and not lose a minutes sleep about it. "Get up!" Chris demanded of the slowly focusing Captain.

"What are you going to do, kill me?" Reynolds asked as he scrambled to his feet. Supporting his broken wrist, the officer tried to regain a little of his lost air superiority. "I'm still a Captain in the U.S army and as such, I am not accountable to your jurisdiction."

Chris shot Reynolds a piercing glare as he took a step closer, his gun still trained on the self-assured officer. "I don't see no Captain in this room, all I see is a civilian."

Backing away from the unspoken threat, Reynolds's eyes darted around the room as his bravery dissolved in the face of the gunfighter's glare. "You have to arrest me. You have to!" He demanded.

"My town," Chris answered coldly. "And my friend. I don't see where I have to do anything, but shoot you down as the back shooting dog you are."

"Chris, Damn it!" Josiah snapped as he turned a weary face toward the two men. "Shoot him, string him up, or jail him, I don't really care, but I need Nathan now."

Chris's lips clench over his teeth, as he looked back down to Vin and what was important. "You're lucky, you sonofabitch, and you'll keep." The man in black's voice dripping with promise.

Grabbing Reynolds by the shirt, Chris pushed the officer toward the door as he grabbed the saddlebags from the hook on the wall. "I'll bring Nate as soon as I can Josiah." He called back to the preacher as he prodded the Captain with the point of his weapon.

Part Twenty-three

Josiah hated leaving Vin on the hard wooden floor, but the thought of moving the tracker and causing even more damage than had already been inflicted was out of the question. Watching as the young man continued to hold on to life with the obvious stubbornness that had borne him through his hard and lonely earlier years, the preacher closed his eyes and added a new prayer to hold the tracker until Nathan arrived.

"Ya prayin'..for me Josiah?"

After a few more moments of silence, the preacher opened his eyes and gazed down at Vin, a smile cracking his tense features. "Don't need to, but I thought a little word to the Lord wouldn't hurt."

Vin tried to smile but found himself grimacing as the pain bit into his body. The memory of Reynolds's attack suddenly flooded back, "Where is he?" The tracker breathlessly demanded as he tried to lever himself off the floor.

"He's not here Vin," Josiah gently explained as he carefully laid the now deathly pale tracker back down.

"Ya stopped him?"

"From killing you? Yes. Did I kill him? No, I didn't," As Josiah's voice lamented his actions, he noted a change in the tracker's face and the preacher was left confused. "You seem relieved?"

Vin took a shuddering breath as he met Josiah's gaze. "I am. Wouldn't want ya havin' to live with his death on yer conscious. He ain't worth a good man, and that's what takin' his life would've cost, a good man's soul."

"I think it would have evened out," Josiah answered honestly. "He nearly cost me a good friend."

"So, if he ain't dead, where is he?"

"Chris took him to jail, I think. Though I did give him a few ideas what else he could do with him." Josiah half-heartedly joked.

"And ya call yerself a preacher," Vin grinned back before closing his eyes as he rode out another wave of pain. "Hell, I'm getting' too old for this."

"Old?" Josiah chuckled. "When you're as ancient as I am, then you have a right to call yourself old."

"But, I feel old Josiah," a frown framed Vin's earnest blue eyes as remembered another time. "And there were so many that passed me by without stayin'. Can ya imagine Josiah, whole families gone in minutes, on just one man's word?"

"Reynolds?" The preacher asked.

Vin nodded slightly as he stared into space. "They all deserved to grow old. Chumani deserved to grow old with me."

Josiah sat surprised at the amount of talking that Vin seemed to need to do and let him speak.

"They took me in," Vin continued as his voice began to tire. "Treated me like one of their own. I was happy for the first time..since my ma. I did the best I could for them.. after..."

Josiah could see Vin was tiring, scared that his friend had suffered to much in the body and soul, the preacher ran his free hand through the tracker's sweat-soaked hair. "Rest now Vin," he whispered.

"Do ya think they know Josiah?" Vin asked as his eyes closed. "Do ya think they know how much I miss them?"

"They know Vin, they're always known."

Part Twenty-four

JD looked over the street to the now smoldering remains of the livery. The townspeople had been efficient and the livery would be repairable, but it would be of no use to Sam. He and a couple of the townsmen had just left poor Sam's body at the undertakers. Still at a lost as to who would kill the old man, JD knew as Sheriff that the town would look to him to find the person responsible. Straightening his holster he was about to join Buck and the others, when he saw Chris crossing the street, roughly shoving a man in front of him with the point of his gun.

Having stopped to tell Nathan about the second attempt on Vin's life, Chris saw the healer's frustration as he tried with Buck help to finish patching the Davis boy's broken leg so he could see to the wounded tracker. He wanted more than anything, to tell Nathan that Vin needed him more than the boy, but the helpless look on his friend's face was enough for him to know that the healer was doing what he could, as best as he could. Bringing himself back to the job at hand, Chris spotted the young sheriff as he prodded Reynolds along.

"Open the cell JD."

Never one to question Chris Larabee, at least not to his face, JD rushed to do what he was told.

"What did he do?" JD asked as he locked the door behind Chris's prisoner.

"Nothing!" Reynolds hissed through the bars. "Well, nothing you can do anything about anyway, Larabee."

Ignoring the Captain's confident boast, Chris walked the still confused young sheriff to the door, "JD, do you know where the army is camped, out near the Paterson place?"

"I'll find 'em Chris. What do you want me to do?" He asked.

"Find the officer in charge and tell him we have their Captain in jail and if he wants to know why, bring him to me."

JD glanced back at the man, who was now grinning as he made himself comfortable on the cell cot.

"He's their Captain?"

"Yeah, seems the army will take anything these days." Chris said in disgusted tone. "He's the one that killed Sam and then tried to kill Vin."

"Prove it!" Reynolds laughed from his cell. "Though that stinking Indian lover would be no loss."

"Is Vin all right?"

"Not sure yet JD. Look, you can ask me all the questions you need to later, but I want you to let the army know what's going here and I need to check on Vin."

Feeling bad that endless questions had kept Chris from seeing to Vin, JD handed over the keys to the officer's cell as he left for the camp.

"Watch yourself JD," Chris called after the sheriff.

With a confident grin and dip of his hat, JD mounted his horse and rode toward the end of town.

"It doesn't matter you know," Reynolds announced from his cot. "I mean, for all you law posturing, you can't touch me."

Chris's shoulders hitched, straightening his stance as he turned around to look at his prisoner. "Is that right?"

"You bet," Reynolds smiled as he stood up, stepping to the bars as he held his broken wrist to his chest. "As I've said, I don't answer to your law. As soon as my men get here, they'll see to it that you'll have to release me to the army's custody."

"You're so certain of that are you?" Chris asked as he stepped forward, his hand resting on the holstered gun at his side.

Reynolds' face suddenly lost its confidence. Unconsciously backing away from the cell bars, he was struggling to keep up his brave front under the glare of the man in black. "Anything else would be murder."

"I believe we've had this conversation before." Chris's green eyes stared the man down as he advanced toward the cell, "Hell, it's not like I haven't killed before and for much, *much* less."

Having helped Nathan finish stitching the Davis boy's leg in record time, Buck was on his way to the jail to tell Chris with some relief to all of them, that the healer was now back at his room working on Vin.

"Hey Cowboy?" Buck called out from the street, just as the sound of a weapon discharging shattered the air.

Part Twenty-five

"Damn!" Buck cursed as the sound of gunfire had his feet kicking up dust in his wake as ran toward the jail. More out of reflex, than with out apparent awareness, Buck had pulled his gun from its leather and he was ready for anything as he jumped the steps and ran through the open doorway.

Nothing would seem amiss to a stranger. The prisoner was standing, still locked in his cell, while his jailer stood as a silent sentinel on the outside of the bars. But Buck knew better.

The prisoner's face was as white as alabaster; the sweat that beaded his forehead was making moist trails down the side of his face. A stunned expression blinked as the perspiration began to sting the glazed eyes and a trembling hand reached up to wipe the wetness away. The brushing motion of the prisoner's hand became a pointer that Buck unconsciously followed until his eyes rested on the hole that penetrated the wall, a hair's breath from the man's head.

Then there was Chris Larabee, staring silently into the cell, the only motion showing life was the underlying movement of a flinching jaw. Black material covered what Buck knew would be tightly taut muscles, while white knuckled fingers still gripped tightly to the gun that hung at his side.

What had happened, Buck didn't want to know. Or was it he wondered that he just didn't care. A friend had nearly died because of the man in the cell and another man had lost his life under that same hand. So what if Chris had killed the prisoner, who would've cared, no one in Four Corners that was for certain. But the law was the law and as the town's peace keepers they had to be seen to obey it, even if it was to the detriment to their own sense of justice.

"Ya just about finished here pard?" Buck asked as he holstered his gun and casually took a seat on JD's desk. "I mean, I can come back later if you'd like?" He offered.

Reynolds's tried to regain some of his officer-like composure, but he knew most of it had wilted under the relentless glare of Larabee's unspoken threats. He remembered laughing as the gunfighter aimed his pistol, daring the lawman to break his laws and kill an unarmed man, so convinced he was that Larabee wouldn't do it. But then as the finger pressed the trigger and the bullet shattered his ear, the Army captain was assured of only one thing, he would never know for certain if he dodged the deadly missile, or if the gunfighter had calculated to miss on purpose. But one thing was plain enough, he now found himself unable to escape Larabee's final decision.

The sudden and welcome arrival of another person, even if it was another of Tanner's friends was a relief. But as the newcomer took a seat, looking quite unruffled by the situation he had burst in on, Reynolds began to see the safety of a Military career not so bullet proof.

"Buck." The voice was soft, but lethal as it warned like a rattlesnake's tail.

"It's just," Buck said with some indifference as he began to ferret around JD's desk for a match. "I ain't got all day here pard." Finding what he had been apparently looking for, Wilmington threw his leg over, hooking JD's chair and pulling it close.

"Ahhh, that's better," Buck sighed as he bounced into the chair, making himself more comfortable by he resting his feet on the desktop. Placing the match he had found between his teeth, Buck leaned back so that Chris was still in his sight. "The thing is Pard, ya gotta few choices here. One, ya can shoot the fella, but I see your aim is a might off, so we might have to forget that one."

"Wilmingtion!" The snake spat this time.

"Two," Buck continued as he chewed on the match. "Ya can stay here passin' the time with some of Ezra's cards, while I leave and met up with the lovely Lou Anne and amuse and thrill her with my overpowering presence."

"Damn you Buck!" Chris snarled as he broke eye contact with Reynolds for the first time.

"And three, I stay here and mind this waste of good air, while ya go get yer damn fool ass over to Nathan's and do what ya should've been doing' all along, checking on Vin."

Blood moved into the knuckles as the weapon hand relaxed, while rigid shoulder's slumped just enough for Buck to breath again as he watched his old friend surrender to the law of the land.

Fear weakened legs gave out and still clutching his broken arm tightly to his chest, the Army officer in civilian clothes, collapsed to the cell cot as he watched his threat, turn and walk away.

Chris holstered his gun, as he started for the door, but not before first stopping to look over to Buck. "I *was* going to kill him." The gunfighter said as a matter of truth between friends.

Buck took the match out of his mouth and nodded. "I know and I didn't stop ya for him, for the law, or even for you. I stopped ya because only one man has that right, and while Vin's alive, it ain't you."

Chris still hadn't calmed his inner rage, but knew Buck was right and honored his old friend with a silent nod of respect, before heading over to the Nathan's room.

Part Twenty-six

Josiah felt Vin sliding off his shoulder and reaffirmed his grip on the wounded tracker while Nathan continued to wrap fresh bandages around the tracker's body. The clean cloth didn't stay clean for long as new blood stains soaked through from both the old and new wounds.

In his desperate fight with the man, no one could call an officer, Vin had managed to reopen the stitches in his back and though the shoulder wound was deep; the knife had managed to miss anything life threatening. Weighing everything that had happened to the tracker over the last few days, the healer guessed that the Texan was one lucky man to be breathing, let alone still conscious.

Blue eyes silently watched Nathan's every move, until a frail hand reached out and stopped the healer's progress.

"Ain't yer…. fault…. Nate," the Texan drawled softly.

Nathan's slipped his hand from under the tracker's weak and fevered grip to continue finishing his task. "Never said it was," the healer replied as he continued to fuss over the bandage that was past needing his attention.

"Didn't have to, I know ya."

Nathan stopped his weak attempts to look busy and sat back in the chair to face Vin. "You know me, huh?"

"Yup," Vin answered as he winced against the pain. "Can't save everyone, I know that, Hell, we've all lived through it at some time, " he sighed. "Buck told me about Sam and Tommy. Ain't nothin' nobody could've done for Sam, but I know I owe ya my life and I guess that ya might jest 've saved Tommy's leg as well from what I've heard. Sounds like ya done real good to me."

"I don't believe it, Vin Tanner is talkin' too much," Nathan grinned, while inside he allowed the tracker's words to relieve him of some of his guilt.

"Want me to shut him up?" Chris asked from the doorway.

"Sure, as long as it doesn't concern blood," Nathan responded with a wave of his hands as he got up from the chair. "I'm running out of bandages."

Seeing that Chris had arrived, Josiah slipped out from behind Vin and gently laid him back against the pillows. As the preacher met the tracker's eyes met, silent words of understanding were spoken. "You're welcome son," the preacher winked. The first attempt on the tracker's life had been a great burden for the big man, and that he in some small way prevented Vin's assassin from succeeding had gone in some way toward lightening the big man's burden.

Both men acknowledged the blonde man's gratitude for everything they had done to keep their friend alive as they left the injured man and the gunfighter alone.

"Well, ain't you a sorry looking son of a bitch," Chris smiled as he dropped his hat at the end of the bed and took a seat beside Vin.

"An alive son of a bitch, thanks to Josiah and Nate."

"And the fact, you're one stubborn asshole didn't hurt."

"Ya come here to visit, or to call me names, cowboy?" Vin grinned back as squirmed in the bed in an attempt to get comfortable.

"Thought I could do both," Chris quipped as the relief of the Texan's recovery eased the tension that had been coiled in him for what seemed like forever.

Both men suddenly fell silent.

"Well?" Vin asked intently meeting the gunfighter's gaze.

"No." Chris answered as he leaned back in the chair.

"Who stopped ya?"

"Buck," Chris replied with a shake of his head. No one knew him as well as the tracker did. Vin had known without being told that he was going to kill Reynolds and that only another person's intervention had saved the officer. "Said it wasn't my place and for once, he was right. But if you tell him that," his lips parted in a faint smile, "I'll have to shoot you."

Vin sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to control the rage that still burned in his gut. The murdering piece of shit was still alive. When he had heard the gunshot, he had hoped that Reynolds had tried to escape, done something so that someone would've had to shoot him. But Buck had been right. It wasn't up to his friends to right the wrong that had been done in another place and time, it was his.

Chris watched the tracker, the wounded man's silence speaking a thousand thoughts a minute.

"Is he worth your life Vin? You know the army ain't goin' to let you get away with killing one of their own, no matter what he did to deserve it."

"Is Sarah and Adam's killer worth dyin' for?" Vin asked without opening his eyes.

<Yes, damn it yes! Going into Hell itself, was worth the death of the man that took them from me> "What ever you decide pard, we're all behind you." Chris sighed, knowing that they were too alike, nothing would change Vin's mind once he had made his mind up.

<That's the trouble Cowboy, you'll die protectin' my back. Can't have that> "Well, right now, he ain't goin' nowhere I reckon. So, I might jest ponder it some." Vin yawned.

"How about you get some sleep and then ponder?" Chris advised the exhausted tracker. "As you said he ain't going nowhere." Watching until he was sure the Texan was asleep, the gunfighter made his decision and stood up. Grabbing his hat, Chris glanced back at the sleeping man, "I'm sorry Pard."

Part Twenty-seven

Deep in thought, the healer leaned on the balcony, staring down at the street below without really seeing it at all. He had always known that his basic medical learning was what it was, and that he could never come close to the abilities that schooled doctor's possessed, but he always did what he could, with what he had and he was proud of that. How this knowledge borne of wars and desperation brought him to where he was now, was something he could never have imagined in any dream, or nightmare.

It seemed strange to Nathan that even now, after all this time he could still feel the death grip of the coarse rope around his neck as his body weight became a partner in his execution. Being punished for having tried to save a life and failed, he had found himself helpless, his lungs burning, as they screamed desperately for air. Certain that his life was over, he more than anyone on that street that day, was surprised when two strangers stood ground and risked their lives to save an unknown ex-slave. He only hoped that

he was allowed time and skill to repay that debt.

Nathan's thoughts drifted even further back to his childhood. He remembered daydreaming as a young slave in a hopeless attempt to escape his harsh and captive world, but never could he have possibly imagined the road that his life would take. Not only was he a lawman in the town that had nearly become his grave, but he was the closest thing to a doctor for miles. <Who would have thought, all that and six white men as friends> "Hell, the world is getting' stranger and stranger." The healer chuckled to himself.

Having been outside for what was in reality a short time, Nathan was more than a little surprised to see Chris leaving the room so soon.

"Anything wrong?" Nathan asked as he readied himself to rush into the room.

"No, Vin's asleep. If you see JD before I do, tell him I'll meet him at the saloon." Chris answered as he placed his hat on his head.

"Why? What's going on? Where're you going?" Nathan had fired the questions in quick concession, but still only managed to be talking to the gunfighter's back as he descended the staircase in a mighty hurry.

"I've a telegram to send," Chris answered mysteriously as he continued on his way.

"A telegram?" Shrugging his shoulders, Nathan figured the blonde man would tell him what was going on when he had a mind to and redirected his thoughts back to his patient.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

"I really have had enough of this Sheriff," the exasperated sergeant asked as he yanked sharply on the reins, pulling his horse to a halt. "And I'm going to ask again, why have you got my captain in your jail?" While personally Butler couldn't help but find some personal satisfaction in Captain Reynolds's plight, career wise it wasn't going to look good for him to lose his regiment's officer.

JD reined his horse in and turn back to the Army officer, "Please Sergeant Butler, the sooner we get to town the sooner you'll find out what's going on. I was told to fetch you and that's just what I'm doing."

"I thought you said you were the Sheriff? If you are what you say you are boy," The older man doubted it as he took in the boy's young looks. "Why don't 'you' know what's going on? What happened? Bar brawl--what?"

"As I told you." JD was sorely tempted to tell the sergeant how his captain had attempted to kill Vin and had succeeded in killing another member of the town, but still of unsure how Chris wanted to take care of the situation, he kept his mouth shut. "I've got no other reason to ride out all this way. You think as sheriff, I've got nothing better to do?" The young lawman snapped as he whirled around and kicked his horse into motion.

"A sheriff that doesn't know squat about his own damn prisoners," Butler huffed as he followed the young man toward town. <Damn you Reynolds, I should leave you there to rot>

Part Twenty-eight

Settling himself in the corner of the saloon, Chris took off his hat and tossed it on the table. Taking a seat, he seemed to take time to study the bottle of Whiskey he had just purchased, before giving in and pouring himself a drink. The liquid burned a path down his throat, but did nothing to drown the bile that was raising Hell in his gut. He knew what he was doing was best thing for Vin, but that didn't make him feel any better about going behind his friend's back. Refilling his drink, he stared at the amber-colored liquid as he turned the glass with his fingers.

"This empty chair taken Brother?"

"Not great company, Josiah," Chris replied as emptied the second glass of the guilt-relieving elixir.

"Good reason for me to join you then," the big man replied as he sat down.

"Drink?" Chris asked as he pushed the bottle toward the preacher.

"Thank you, but no." Josiah smiled as he declined, pushing the bottle back toward the gunfighter. "I think I'll just enjoy the taste of the Lord's gift of Vin's of life for a little while."

"Thank you again, Josiah," Chris said as he met the preacher's eyes for the first time since Josiah had taken a seat.

Josiah's deeply lined forehead frowned in curiosity. "For what?"

"For being the hand of God, in saving Vin," the gunfighter answered with all sincerity.

"I could've been the hand of the lord, or the hand of retribution,

it could've gone either way." Josiah sighed; remembering the rage that burned his blood as it urged him to kill Vin's attacker.

"Better that, than the hand of the devil," Chris said as he reached for the bottle again. The blonde felt the preacher's eyes searing him as they waited silently for an explanation. "I'm letting him go, Josiah."

The preacher's expression never changed as he sat in non-judgment of Chris's revelation.

"Don't want to." Chris went on to elaborate. "What I want to do is kill the bastard, but I can't do that and I can't leave Reynolds in Four Corners either."

"Because of Vin?"

Chris nodded.

"You know, Brother Vin has right on his side in this," the preacher explained with out revealing the tracker's private words.

"Knew as much, but it doesn't change anything." Chris straightened himself in the seat and leaned toward Josiah. "If Vin kills this man, and I'm not arguing that Reynolds deserves to die, but if Vin kills him, that wanted poster will be a thousand dollars and this time he will be guilty; and he won't just be wanted in Texas. You know the army as well as I do Josiah, no matter what it takes, they will hunt Vin down like a dog. I can't, I won't let that happen."

"Can't say I disagree with your reasons, but you are right about one thing Brother, I do know the army and one thing I do know is the higher the rank, the softer the fall; if there is indeed any fall at all. Reynolds is a murderer and a murderer of unconscionable nature, but he is counseled, commanded and sanction by the government. If we let him go, don't expect any court-martials, or firing squads."

"I know, and there's no we letting him go Josiah, just me," the blonde sighed as he poured himself another drink.

"I take it our Brother doesn't know about this yet?"

"No, he doesn't, and he won't until it's too late. I've sent JD to get the second in charge of the regiment and I will make sure that Reynolds is gone before Vin is able to get out of bed."

"Have you ever considered that Vin might feel that the consequences are worth it--that he won't appreciate your good intentions."

"If someone was planning to let the killer of my family go, I would tear that someone's heart out with my bare hands and make him choke on it," Chris answered before tossing the contents of glass down his throat. "Yeah, I know exactly how he'll feel."

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

"Lovely day for a ride, Mr. Dunne."

Having got back to town, JD just wanted to find Chris as soon as possible, so he could get rid of the complaining sergeant and then head to the saloon to wash the dust from his throat.

"Ain't been for a 'ride' Ezra," JD bit back. It was all right for some, the young sheriff noted as he took in the Southerner leaning back on the porch chair.

"You are astride an animal of the equine persuasion are you not?"

"Ain't you got nothin' better to do, than to sit around confusing people?" JD snapped. "Anyways, I gotta get this man over to the jail to see Chris, so I ain't got time for your word games."

Ezra stood up and moved to lean against the porch post, "It seems no one has time for games of any skill today." He lamented as he shuffled the cards in his hands. "The topic of murder seems to have put everyone off their diversions and if you are searching out our Mr. Larabee, look no further. He awaits within." The Southerner gestured to the saloon. "I myself will seek out a captive audience. I am sure Mr. Tanner, or Mr. Jackson will dissipate my boredom with equal enthusiasm."

"What did he say?" The sergeant asked as he dismounted.

"Ezra said, he's worried about a friend of ours and is going to make sure he's alright," JD translated as dismounted and tethered his horse to the hitching post. "Now, if you want to know about your captain, follow me."

Part Twenty-nine

Stopping on the saloon porch to brush the dust from his uniform, Sergeant Butler silently rebuked himself for having left the captain alone. He had known that even though he had been following orders when he rode out that day, that there was something more than just replacing the company's dead Indian tracker behind the officer's interest in the town.

Since their arrival, Reynolds had seemed to have a particular burr in his ass about something or someone in the little backwater, something that he wasn't willing to share with the older, but lesser ranked sergeant. Though secretly, Butler couldn't help be slightly pleased that Reynolds's was now languishing in jail, he wasn't relishing the role of his captain's would-be rescuer.

"Chris is--"

"I know what Mr. Larabee looks like sheriff," Butler said as his eyes searched and found their target. Chris Larabee was not a hard man to miss. His black attire and threatening demeanor made sure he stood out anywhere, even sitting a dark corner of a saloon. Realizing that the sooner he got this over and done with the sooner he would get the Captain out of this town and back to the regiment, the sergeant straightened his posture and marched over to the table. "Mr. Larabee." The sergeant greeted both men at the table with a nod of his head. "My name is Sergeant Butler, you sent word that you are detaining my Captain."

"Why don't you take a seat, brother," the man he recognized as a friend of Chris Larabee's, gestured to an empty chair.

"No thank you," Butler answered formally as he silently queried the odd greeting of Larabee's companion. "I'm only here for one thing and that is my Captain and I don't have to sit down to do that."

"Your 'Captain' is a murderer," the man in black spoke, his voice restrained, but threatening with its underlying harsh intensity.

More than surprised by the lawman's accusation Butler couldn't contain his look of astonishment, "Pardon me? Murderer?"

"You heard me," the lawman answered as he looked up from his drink, to face the soldier for the first time. "Your captain murdered a man to turn the focus of this town from his real target, a man he had already attempted to kill once before."

"Take that seat now, brother?" The big man offered again as he pulled out the chair.

"Think I'd better," Butler frowned as he took off his hat and joined the two men. Of all the crimes the sergeant had expected Larabee to tell him Reynolds had committed, murder had not been one of them. A bar room brawl, maybe, some ladies honor sullied; that had been known to happen before. Even a fight with the simmering man in front of him, Butler had anticipated, but murder, that was something he hadn't foreseen. "Murder is a pretty serious charge to make against an Army officer. I hope you have proof Mr. Larabee."

"You're looking at your proof sergeant," Chris gestured with a nod toward Josiah.

"I've met you before, haven't I?" Butler asked, remembering Reynolds altercation with the two men in the street.

"Seen, not introduced," the preacher said as he held out his hand, "Josiah Sanchez."

"Our preacher," Chris offered.

"Until the true thing comes along, brother," Josiah felt the need to add.

Butler accepted the offered hand, but studied the big man intently as he released his grip. "So, because you're a so-called preacher, I am to believe you know my captain is guilty? Don't tell me, it was it a message from the almighty?" He irreverently quipped.

"No, you're to believe me because I am telling the truth and because I had to bodily pull your captain off a friend of mine as he tried to end that friend's life with a knife."

"That doesn't make him guilty. You have heard of self defense?"

"Self defense?!" Chris hissed as he squared his shoulders and glared at the soldier. "Our friend had just recently had a bullet dug out of his back, tell me sergeant, just how threatening could he have been in that condition?"

Butler's sagged into his chair as he realized he was going to have to formulate a plan to not only get the captain out of jail, but out of the town in one piece. "If what you say is true, if my captain has done what you're telling me, then under Army regulations I will put Captain Reynolds under arrest and have him placed under regimental guard until we get back to Fort Lanston, where he will stand trial. Under no circumstances are you permitted, or will you be permitted to take any civilian action against him."

Emptying the last of his drink, Chris leapt up from his seat, his chair shooting back behind him by the force as put both hands on the table and leaned toward the sergeant. "I don't need your permission. You're damn lucky you're not retrieving a body today."

"Then, that begs me to question, if what you say is true, why aren't I picking up a body today?" Sergeant Butler asked as he blinked under the glaring green stare of Chris Larabee.

"Because, someone else is more important," Chris answered as he

pushed himself away from the table, "Well, you want him, or not?" He growled as he stalked to the saloon doors.

Part Thirty

"When first I came to Lou-is-ville, some plea-sure for to find,

I spied a maid from Lex-ing-ton, so plea-sing to my mind. Her ro-sy

cheeks and rov-ing eyes like ar-rows pierced my breast. They called

her handsome Flo-ra, the Li-lly of the West."

"I suppose it would be out of the question for you to shut that mouth of yours?" Reynolds muttered from his cot in the jail cell, "I mean isn't there some law about torturing prisoners?"

Buck ignored the man's bleating and continued to sing. "I courted her for ma-ny a day, some fav-ors for to gain, but she turned her back up-on me, which caused me grief and pain. She rob-bed me of my lib-erty, deprived me of my rest, but I still loved my Flo-ra, the Lil-ly of the West."

"Shut the Hell up!" The officer groaned as his frustrated movements caused him to accidently nudge his broken wrist against the bed. "When do I get a doctor to look at my arm?" Reynolds hissed as he nursed the wrist closer to his chest.

Buck's singing faded away as swiveled in the chair so that he was able to look directly at the incarcerated man. "Ain't got no qualified doctor, so, I'm guessin'-- mmmmm-- never," he grinned as he turned back to the desk.

"You have to have someone." Reynolds prodded as he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the bars. "Who tended that savage that you're all so particular about looking out for?"

Buck's hunched shoulders tensed as he cursed himself for playing fair and stopping Chris from shooting the bastard. "Ain't no savages in this town, only back shootin' cowards and they don't deserve doctorin'." The ladies man dismissed the man, refusing to give him the satisfaction of turning around for the second time.

At the sound of footsteps, Buck looked to see Chris standing at the doorway. Every muscle in the gunfighter's face seemed to be straining for control as his green-eyes glared at the contents of the jail cell with palpable hatred.

"What's goin' on?" Buck asked as scrambled from the chair to stand between the cell and his friend.

"Let him out," Chris ordered from the doorway.

"I thought we settled this?"

Reynolds watched somewhat fearfully from his position behind the bars, as the two men seemed to be deciding his fate.

"We did. Let him out," Chris repeated without emotion.

Trusting the man in front of him with his life on more than one occasion, Buck knew Chris was silently asking for that same trust again.

With a nod of his head, Buck turned and unlocked the jail door.

Reynolds shook his head as he back up from the doorway. "You can't make me leave. You can't."

Leaning casually against the bars, Buck shrugged as he looked in on the frightened officer. "Don't see as ya got much choice. If my friend intends to kill ya, he could do that just as good here than outside in the streets. The way I see it, ya've lived life like a coward, why don't try and find some guts and die like a man."

Reynolds bit back a retort as licked at his lips nervously. Squaring his shoulders, the officer, glared at the two men defiantly as his shaking body would allow and began to walk from his cell.

"Manacle him," Chris ordered.

"You will all hang for this. Damn your hide." The officer cursed as Buck quickly retrieved a set of cuffs and not too gently locked them in place before shoving him toward Chris.

"Shooting not only an unarmed man, but a restrained one, seems even below your standards Larabee," Reynolds said, his panic only given away by the twitch in his lip.

Chris fixed Reynolds with a cold stare. "At least you'll see it coming."

Giving Reynolds a shove to get him moving, Chris lifted his leg and using his boot kicked the restrained man off the walk and into the dirt of the street.

"This piece of dirt is all yours Sergeant."

Reynolds was spitting the dirt from his mouth as the realization that he was free suddenly struck him. Recovering some of his bravado, he painfully picked himself up from the ground and smiled at this fellow officer. "Undo these," he ordered as he looked back at the smirking man in black. "I told you, you couldn't touch me," he boasted as he turned back to the sergeant. Shaking his hands at Butler, Reynolds frowned at the older man's immobility, having made no effort to remove the restraints. "I said take them off. That's an order Sergeant."

Butler reached inside the belt of his trousers and withdrew a piece of paper. He had been waiting a long time for this and he was going to savor the moment. "Captain Reynolds. I have a telegram here. I have been ordered to put you under arrest. You will then be taken to Fort Lexington where you are to stand trial for the crimes that you have committed in this town."

"This isn't-- you don't--under whose authority? Who signed the order?" Reynolds blustered as he still failed to believe he was finished. "My Uncle won't--"

"Would that be Uncle 'General' Thomas Prescott?" The sergeant asked as he reread the telegram that he had received only minutes before. "Isn't that a coincidence. That's whose name appears on the order."

"It can't be," Reynolds flustered as he snatched the telegram from Butler's hand. "He wouldn't--he can't do this. This is a lie! It's a trick," spinning around, he snarled at gunfighter. "You did this!"

"And it gave me no pleasure," Chris said as he stepped on to the street and walked over to agitate man. "My real pleasure," the gunfighter hissed in his ear, "Would be to shoot you where you stand, but you're not worth the bullet. Enjoy your court martial 'Captain'."

Part Thirty-one

The Texan hadn't turned out to be the most exciting card partner the Southerner had ever had. The two men had only managed to play half a shaking hand before the wounded tracker's eyes lost the battle and fluttered into an exhausted sleep.

"Well earned Mr. Tanner," Ezra whispered as he stood and quietly left the room.

Pulling the door closed behind him, his attention was taken by a commotion coming from the street below. Scanning the street for the cause of the disturbance, Ezra was just in time to see his fellow Southerner being unceremoniously delivered into the dirt. Wishing he had been the one to have rendered the kick that sent the man into the filth where he belonged, Ezra was none the less disconcerted by the realization that what he was seeing was the liberation of the officer from his well-earned incarceration. Certain that Vin hadn't been informed of this sudden and perplexing change of events, the gambler descended the stairway to join Josiah in watching the spectacle from the side of the street.

"Would it be prudent of me to ask why this wretch is being liberated and why all the signs are directing me to the assumption that 'our' glorious leader is willingly showing him the way out of Four Corners?" The gambler asked, unable to hide the hint of anger in his voice as he stopped beside the preacher.

Josiah's face was impassive, but his voice betrayed the inner turmoil that he too was suffering at the decision. "Chris believes it's best--best for Vin that we let the army take care of Captain Reynolds' punishment."

"I see, and just when does Mr. Larabee intend letting our young friend in on this decision?"

Josiah turned to Ezra, a look of deep concern now marring his features. "'None' of us are happy about this Ezra, 'especially' Chris. Don't go thinking this is easy for him. He's going to pay for this," the preacher said as he turned to look with concern at the gunfighter, "pay more than he wants to lose."

"Will he now?" Ezra spat as he glared from the officer to the man in black; the man he had been beginning to think of as a 'friend'. "I thought you of all people Josiah, would refute the claims of Chris Larabee's role as the almighty. What gives him the power to take away Vin's right to decide what is best for him?"

Watching as Buck pushed Reynolds toward his horse and roughly helped him to mount, Josiah sighed. "I know what you're thinking, Ezra and we're not a lynch mob. For a hanging there has to be a trial, and for a trial there has to be testimony. Vin can no more testify in court than the dead Eli Joe can. Bring attention to 'that' man there, to this town, to Vin and you might as well throw another rope beside Reynolds' noose. Our hearts cry vengeance, but our minds demand we act as we are paid, we act for justice."

With exasperated sigh, Ezra kicked at the dirt as he joined the rest of the town in watching the sergeant lead the Captain's horse out of town. "So we stand by and watch him leave without righteous penalty. Where's the justice in that preacher?"

"There will justice," Josiah nodded as he looked up to the heavens and closed his eyes. "Sooner, or later he'll pay. We all pay for our sins eventually."

"Excuse me preacher, but I do not have the patience to await the Almighty's retribution, nor do I have the stomach to watch a murderer walk free." With one last look at the disappearing figure of the officer, Ezra glared back at the gunfighter who had not moved from the middle of the street. "I will be at the saloon washing the foul taste of justice from my throat if 'Vin' needs anything."

Josiah watched the Southerner stalk toward the saloon and couldn't help wondering if Ezra's reactions were the first cracks to the end of the 'brotherhood of seven'.

@@@@@@@@@@@

With his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, it took all his willpower to not give into the rage that surged through his body and shoot the departing Reynolds in the back. Instead, Chris watched in resigned silence, as Vin's attacker was lead from the town.

Ignoring the confused glares of the townspeople who had stood by watching as the alleged murderer of Sam Hewett was handed over to Army and released, Chris knew he had one more job to do. He had to tell Vin of his decision. Dreading the reaction he would see in the eyes of the man he had come to care for like a brother, the man in black pushed through the quietly dissenting crowd.

"Chris, may I have a word?" Mary called from the side of the street where she had found herself joining the other members of the town in watching the surprising spectacle.

"Not quite now, if you don't mind Mary," Chris called back as he continued toward Nathan's room.

"Well I do mind," Mary replied as she hitched her skirts and followed undeterred by gunfighter's dismissal. "This town as a right to know why Sam Hewett's killer has been released."

Chris sighed in exasperation as he stopped and turned to the woman who was now was deeply in her role as editor of the Clarion newspaper. "He wasn't 'released' Mrs. Travis," Chris replied formally. "The Army has always had jurisdiction over their officers, even in the civil matters of murder and Reynolds is now in their custody. If you, or the citizens of Four Corners have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with your father-in-law."

"The Judge, he knows about this?"

"He does. I don't mean to be rude, Mary," Chris' decision was a crushing weight and the gunfighter needed to be confronted by the man who's life without permission, he had just taken control of. "But there is something I have to do that can't wait. Excuse me."

Mary Travis watched the brooding gunfighter walk away; his shoulder's slumped as if burdened with some indiscernible weight, before rushing off to telegraph her father-in-law to find out just what was going on.

Part Thirty-two

The determined gait that had carried Chris Larabee up the stairs to the door of Nathan's room suddenly faltered as he stopped and stared with increasing dread at the door. Sliding his hat off his head, he ran his hand through his hair before rubbing wearily at the nape of his neck. How was he going to do this? How was he going to walk in there and tell his friend, that he alone was responsible for Vin's past riding out of town, with only the Army as a weak replacement for the Texan's own brand of justice, to set things right? Chris knew he might as well have let the officer go, for all the punishment that Reynolds would see.

The gunfighter had to keep reminding himself that he had no choice. If Vin had sought revenge for whatever wrong, Reynolds' had inflicted, not including the two attempts the officer had made on the tracker's life, then without a doubt the Texan would've ended up swinging; that was something that Chris couldn't allow to happen. But there was no way of getting around the truth. Twice now, he had been forced to take something from Vin, that the tracker would never get back. First he'd saved Vin's life by killing Eli Joe, but in the process, took away the Texan's only chance of proving himself innocent of the bounty on his head. Now, Chris had played judge and jury over his friend's unknown past and at what cost? How much was Vin Tanner expected to forgive in the name of friendship?

Unable to make excuses for not facing Vin any longer, Chris took a deep breath, audibly exhaling as he opened the door and entered.

The room was in semi-darkness; its only light coming in from partially opened curtains. All signs of Vin's fight for life had been cleaned away and the tracker seemed to resting quietly as Nathan watched over him from a nearby chair.

Frowning, the healer rose from the chair to met Chris half way between the bed and the doorway. "I know what you've come for." There was no accusation tainting Nathan's softly spoken voice, only concern for both men involved. "It's not the time, Chris. Vin's weak. He needs to rest."

"Things need to be said, Nathan," Chris argued in soft whispers as he kept one eye on the inert tracker asleep in the bed. "And they need to be said by me, before Vin hears it from anyone else."

"Well, he ain't going nowhere and I think he's safe in here from the town's gossip for awhile. Why don't you just leave it, just for a couple of more days?" Nathan suggested.

"It's a small town Nate, I won't have Vin finding out from anyone else but me. This was my idea, my decision. I have to be the one to tell him."

"But for all your hand in all this, this ain't about you, Chris," Nathan stood his ground, refusing to budge on his resolve to protect his patient.

"You think I was wrong?" Six months ago, Chris wouldn't have asked anyone's opinion, he would've just made up his mind and did it, right or wrong. No regrets, no looking back. Done. But his continually growing fear at the oncoming loss of the tracker's friendship had begun to build doubts

"Of course I don't," Nathan sighed, trying to keep his voice down. "I didn't patch Vin up to see him hang. It's your timing I have problem with, that's all."

"Nate," a weak voice faltered. "Let the ornery fool say whatever's gnawin' at his sorry hide."

"Vin, I don't think this is good idea," the healer turned to advise the wounded tracker.

"I reckon, it can't do no harm. I can't hurt much more than I do now," Vin managed a fleeting grin.

<I think Ezra would take a bet on that> Nathan thought to himself as shook his head in exasperation. Shooting Chris a warning glance, the healer reluctantly left the room.

Silence permeated the room as Chris, now with his chance to actually voice the words suddenly became mute.

Uneasy with the raw pain he could see in his friend's face, Vin attempted a break in tension. "Ain't it usually manners to ask a man in a sick bed how he's feelin'?"

"Sorry, how ya feeling?" Chris asked as he sat down on the chair that the healer had vacated earlier.

"Unless my wounds have effected my eyes somehow, not as bad as ya look," Vin answered as he studied Chris's face intently. He recognized a myriad of emotions laid bare on the gunfighter's face, emotions that induced an unknown fear in the Texan. "For a man who was in an almighty hurry to spit somethin' out when he walked in here, ya sure don't have a lot to say, Cowboy."

"He's gone, Vin."

With those two words, the pieces of conversation he had overheard between Chris and Nathan now made sense. The wounded tracker didn't need the name, he already knew the person the gunfighter was speaking of. He didn't need to know how, that would come later. He had only one question for his guilt-ridden friend.

"Why, Chris?"

A bullet in the gut would have been easier for Chris to suffer than the tracker's pain-filled blue eyes begging that one question.

"To save your life."

The tracker's face tensed, carving itself into stone as he stared at the man in black. "Ya said, whatever I decided, ye'd be behind me. When did that change?"

Chris hoped his next truth would salve a little of Vin's anger and pain. "When I realized that I could lose my best friend."

Vin's harsh expression never altered, seemingly unaffected by gunfighter's deeply felt words, "I have only one question for ya then, before ya leave," the wounded man stated, all but demanding that the gunfighter leave, when he was finished speaking. "Who is goin' to save yers?"

Surprised, yet understanding rage behind Vin's words, Chris's green eyes never left the tracker's cold staring blue. "Is it going to need saving, Vin?"

With no answer from tracker on his veiled threat, Chris sighed as he pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sorry, Vin," he apologized as he started to walk toward the door. Pausing, Chris looked back at the silent Texan. "If it would save your life, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Don't reckon ya would at that," Vin snorted as glared at the man he had once called his best friend. Watching as the gunfighter turned to leave, the tracker couldn't stop himself from once again condemning the man's decision. "Hey Larabee? If by some chance, ya ever get to see bastard again, don't ya for forget to ask him if he would change takin' and murderin' the woman I was goin' to marry. Hell, jest forget it. Seein' as he got a medal for it, don't reckon he would change anythin' either."

Part Thirty-three

One side of the elaborately ornate oak doors burst open, as a seething General Prescott stormed through the doorway and into to his study. The General usually made a dashing figure in his uniform, but as he threw his hat on to the table and pulled angrily at his coat buttons, he was now nothing but a mass of rage. At the age of fifty-five and looking at least five years younger, the weathered, but well-worn face was flushed with indignation as he stalked over to the drink cabinet. As the buttons came loose, he tugged at his shirt and bared his neck to the air.

"No account--" He mumbled under his breath as he snatched at a bottle of whiskey and a glass to poor the numbing liquid into.

A soft whimpering heralded the arrival of his constant shadow over this irritating matter. Amelia Reynolds arrived in a billowing cloud of widow weeds. Her prematurely grey hair pulled back to the point of snapping from its roots into a tight bun framed her sharp features as her bony fingers entwined like emaciated mating snakes.

"Please, Thomas," She sobbed as she pulled a black handkerchief from under her sleeve. "He is all I have left."

"God, stop your sniveling woman," Prescott reprimanded harshly as he sat down at his desk and poured himself a drink.

"I have never asked anything--"

"Never asked!" Prescott bellowed as he slammed his fist on the desk causing the bottle to teeter. "You, my dear sister have asked more than your fair share. I would not be about to suffer this humiliation, if it weren't for one of my 'favors' to you."

"Where is the humiliation?" Amelia stepped forward to defend her one and only child. "Some back water Judge sends you a telegraph saying your nephew is a killer and you believe him. If indeed there was a death, I am sure my son will have an explanation for it. You seem to forget that William is a hero of the Indian Wars, not a common scoundrel." Her pride in her son was all conquering as she stood fast against her brother's piercing stare.

"And what you dear sister fail to understand is that killing a few nameless savages isn't that hard to do; it comes with the territory he works in," Prescott said contemptuously. "As for that 'back water' judge you were referring to, Orin Travis is very respected in many avenues of government. It would not bode well for my future, if I were to seen by him to be protecting family to the detriment of the law."

"But what about William's future, the seat on the senate that you said would be his in time?" Amelia entreated as she dabbed her handkerchief at her reddened eyes. "You can't let him go to jail over this minor annoyance."

Thomas Prescott reached for his glass and tossed its contents down in one swallow, before sighing with exasperation. "Haven't I always looked out for you and yours, Amelia. Made sure you and your son wanted for nothing after Robert was killed?"

"Yes, Thomas," Amelia sniffed as she twisted the handkerchief between her fingers. "You have been so good to us, but William--"

"Don't you worry about William," Prescott said with a smile as he pushed himself up from the chair and joined his sister, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I will fix everything. I always do, don't I?"

A nervous smile crossed Amelia's face as stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on her brother's cheek. "Thank you, Thomas. I am so sorry if I upset you."

"Not another word about it," Prescott grinned as he reassured his sister. "Don't you worry, it won't be long and William won't have a care in the world."

"Uhem," An apprehensive voice coughed. "Sorry to interrupt, sir."

Taking his eyes off his sister for a moment, the General saw his valet waiting at the open doorway.

"What is, Harris?" He asked formally.

"Sir, there are two 'gentlemen' to see you, " Harris frowned, somewhat unsure of the two strangers. "They did say, they are expected?"

"Oh yes, my meeting. I had forgotten about it." The General turned his attention back to his sister, looking most regretful over his lapse of memory. "I am sorry, Amelia. You know if this meeting wasn't important, I--"

"Of course, Thomas. I will leave you and your visitors to your work," Amelia smiled gratefully as she did what all women did when men had business and retreated from the room.

"Show them in," Prescott commanded Harris, as he reclaimed his seat at the desk.

Pouring himself another shot, Prescott leaned back in his chair and watched the two men as they entered. Both tall and slender, and with the same dark and expensive suits, it was not hard to see that they were brothers. The only difference between the two men that Prescott could see was the large strawberry colored birthmark that took up most of the right side of one of the men's faces.

"We were told by a 'mutual friend' that you would like to see us, General Prescott, " the unmarked brother asked.

"If you are the Kinsey brothers that I was told about, yes, I did ask to see you gentlemen," the General said as he eyed the two men closely.

"I'm Sedge Kinsey and this is my brother, Ludlow. I do the talking for both of us," Sedge stated up front.

"You are good at what you do and very 'confidential', so I hear. Also heard that you used to work for the Pinkertons at one time."

"We are and we did, " Sedge nodded as he looked to his brother and then back at the general. "But if you're looking for that type of work, you've come to the wrong people. My brother and I do more specific 'work' now. I'm sure if you were to contact the agency they--"

"No, I think you are what I am looking for, Mr. Kinsey. I need more 'specialized' help and if you and your --brother here are willing and half as good as I've been told, I can make it more than worth your while." Reaching into the desk draw, the general withdrew a large bundle of money and slid it across the desk toward the two men. "Gentleman, this and much more can be yours, if you are willing to rid me of some small difficulties."

With out a word Ludlow stepped forward to pick up the offered money and with an unnerving smile, slip the cash inside his coat.

"Correcting 'problems' is what we do best General," Sedge smiled. "Now, if you would like to give us the finer points of your 'difficulties' we'll get to work."

Part thirty-four

It had been five days since Sam Hewett’s butchered body had been lowered into the cold earth of the Four Corner’s cemetery.

It had also been five days of gossip and silent accusations, whispered from tightly pursed mouths, behind the safe shield of hands. Yet, no one had been brave enough to face the law-keepers and vocally denounce the man they all held responsible for the town’s latest troubles.

While many of the town’s residents had found ways to come to terms with the fact that their borders were defended by men of questionable reputations, some still garnered reservations about two of the seven. They way they saw it, the two men had not only cost Four Corners a town citizen, but also forfeited the inhabitants the right to see justice carried out for that death. The five other lawmen seemed to get off a little easier in the small-minded prattle, for though maybe questionable in morals, color or experience, they could be seen to meet certain standards of town living.

Ezra Standish, though a gambler and con man, brought money to the town with his games of chance and was therefore considered by at least the business population to be abided – though under sufferance. And sure you had to keep one eye on your wife while Buck Wilmington was around, but there were many single ladies of ‘questionable’ morals to keep the mustached-charmer occupied and away from the more decent women of the town.

Then there was JD Dunne, who, when no else wanted the job, became their sheriff. He had learnt his lessons of inexperience the hard way, but the more church-lead followers were sure the born-again preacher, Josiah Sanchez would continue to help guide his way. After all the young man still had a lot of growing to do. As for their town ‘doctor’ for want of a better description, they ‘tolerated’ the man of color because they had no other medical help available. Sure the man was more than a passable healer, but after all, the man was still an ex-slave.

No, these men could be abided, but the gunfighter and the bounty hunter; they were different. The air around these men was always filled with trouble, even when there was no threat visible. It was no secret to the town that Sam Hewett would still be alive if it hadn’t been for Vin Tanner’s past catching up on him, whatever that past may be. And then, to add insult to the livery worker’s memory, the bounty hunter’s friend and fellow lawman, Chris Larabee, handed over the killer to the army without trial, nor argument.

No it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for Sam Hewett and it sure wasn’t sitting right with the people of Four Corners.

@@@@@@@@@@@

"And just what the Hell do you think you’re doing?" Nathan demanded as he entered the clinic with Vin’s breakfast. "Cause it sure looks like you think you’re going somewhere."

Hoping to have managed his escape from his sick bed, before the healer returned, Vin Tanner couldn’t hide the wince of pain, as Nathan’s appearance startled him into an involuntary movement.

"Damn Nate, ya wanna whistle next time and let a body know ya comin’?" Frowning at the discomfort in his shoulder and back, Vin ignored the healer’s glare and continued to slowly dress.

"Why? So some stupid-stubborn-assed Texan can defy my orders and risk undoing all my good work?" Nathan chastised the injured man as he placed Vin’s breakfast on the table.

"Ain’t goin’ to do anythin’ like that, Nate. Anyway it’s been days. Ya even said yerself I was healin’ real good. Ya know, Nate, I’m grateful as Hell for everythin’ ya did to save me," Vin said softly as he stopped to rest his aching body. "I know, no doctor could have done better, but I just need …."

"To see the sky and feel the wind, I know," Nate said mimicking Vin’s constant pleas, as he reluctantly resigned himself to allowing his patient his freedom. Hell, he knew he had been lucky to keep the restless man in the clinic as long as he had. He just wished…. There were a lot of things he wished for. He wished he had been in time to save Sam Hewett. He wished the town’s people were better at hiding their small-minded talk, but more than anything he wished everything was back the way it had been before the army had arrived in town.

Vin hadn’t mentioned Chris by name since the day the gunfighter had told the tracker of his decision to hand Captain Reynolds over to the army for prosecution. It was as if Chris Larabee, as far as Vin Tanner was concerned, had ceased to exist.

Realizing Vin had started dressing again, Nathan knew he had no choice, but to help the tracker, so he kneeling down he started to help Vin with his boots.

"Thanks Nate," Vin said as he made a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

"Vin, you know…."

"Don’t!" Vin warned, while softening the threat with a grateful hand on the healer’s shoulder. "Yer a good friend, Nate."

Nathan looked up as he fitted the last boot, taking in the blue eyes that tried to hide the pain that the division from his best friend had caused and ceded another defeat to the tracker’s stubbornness, "You too, Vin."

Once Vin was reasonably dressed for the town’s streets, it was Nathan’s turn to be obstinate, by refusing to allow the weakened man to walk down the clinic stairs.

"Ain’t no child," Vin sulked.

"Sure as Hell sound like one," The healer teased, then about to open the door, Nathan stopped, before turning to slowly walking tracker in a more serious tone. "I’ve got to warn you Vin, some members of the town….well, they’re pretty upset about Sam. They sort…."

"Blame me. I guessed as much. I can’t say that I fault ‘em for it."

"Well, I do, there’s only ‘one’ person to blame in all this Vin," Nate said, "You’ve got to know that."

"Don’t make no difference none, Sam’s still dead," Vin replied as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before opening them to look at his friend. "And that ‘animal’ got away murder again. No, Nate, it don’t make no difference anymore at all."

Part thirty-five

The recovering tracker’s unwillingness to go indoors was strenuously contested by the healer, but the battle had been hopelessly lost once they reached the saloon and Vin stubbornly refused to take another step.

That Vin was already tiring from the effort of walking the small distance from the clinic to the saloon had not gone unnoticed by Nathan and he reluctantly surrendered to the tracker’s pig-headedness, if only to save argument and whatever energy the tracker might have left.

While carefully easing his patient into the chair that bordered the saloon doorway, Nathan remained on a constant vigil as he scanned the streets for any sign of impending trouble.

"I’m okay, Nate, will ya quit ya fussin’ over me!" Vin snapped, as he let his weakness get the better of his patience. Realizing what he had said and to whom he had said it, the tracker instantly regretted his words. "I’m sorry, Nate. I had no call to speak to ya that way," Vin apologized.

"You’re sorry, for what? Did you say something?" Nathan winked. The healer knew how hard it was for the former bounty hunter to let people do for him, knowing the outburst was only a sign of the injured man’s growing frustration.

"Yeah, I did, and thanks," Vin smiled, as he finally wound a position in the chair that didn’t cause an aggravation to his injuries. "Think I could have a few minutes to myself?" He asked hopefully.

Checking the streets again, Nathan wanted to say no to Vin’s request, but he knew how much the tracker needed his solitude at times. And though the streets of Four Corners wasn’t exactly a hill overlooking some vast empty plain, it was as close as Vin would get until he was fit enough to ride.

"Just a couple," Nathan agreed. "But I’ll just be inside, so don’t even think of moving your ass off that seat. You hear me?"

"You’re the doc," Vin said as happily accepted the compromise. "Um, Nate, ya couldn’t bring me a whiskey, could ya? I mean, for medicinal purposes."

"Medicinal purposes? Who’s the healer here?" Nathan said with a shake of his head. "Maybe a small one, I’ll think on it," he compromised, taking another look up and down the street before he entered the saloon doors.

@@@@@@@@@@@

From a building across the street, a set of eyes had been following Nathan and Vin’s slow progress from the clinic to the saloon steps, their owner, more than a little relieved when the healer left his patient on the verandah outside the saloon.

"At last."

@@@@@@@@@@@

Nathan had told Vin about the feeling running through town on account of his role in Sam Hewett’s death, but he didn’t realize how deep it ran until he noticed the looks he was receiving from passers by. While some went out of their way to cross the street once they spotted Vin, the others made no secret of their feelings, glaring at the tracker as they passed.

Never one to care what people thought of him, he was curious as why suddenly what these people thought of him mattered, why in fact anything mattered anymore?

"Mr. Tanner? Vin?"

Deep in thought, the tracker was taken by surprise, when he followed the voice to see Mary Travis standing beside him. Realizing he was sitting in the presence of a lady, he made an attempt in manners, and began to make a move to stand. "Sorry, Mrs. Travis, didn’t see ya," Vin apologized.

"Please, don’t," Mary smiled as she gestured for Vin to stay seated. "I was watching from across the street, I just wanted to see how you were feeling."

"Fine thanks, Ma’am," Vin answered, politely, hoping that would be all that the newspaper editor wanted from him.

"I can see that now," Mary frowned, seemingly annoyed as she gestured to an empty chair, silently asking if she could take a seat beside him. "But those boys," she shook her head as she sat down. "They were so protective. They wouldn’t let anyone in to see you, not even me, and Chris, he was the worst of the lot."

Vin physically winced at the name of the man he had thought of as nothing less than a brother. Silently begging, Vin pleaded for the blonde woman to go away and leave him to his own thoughts, the thoughts where he didn’t have to be reminded of Larabee’s betrayal.

"Though I am at a loss to understand why we haven’t seen him in the last few days. Billy is really missing him," Mary continued, unaware that Vin was no longer listening to her. "We just lucky there’s not anymore trouble. I mean, with you injured and Chris out at the ranch, the town is…."

"The town is well looked after Ma’am. Ya have five good men to look after it," Vin countered as he rejoined the one-sided conversation in time to hear Mary bemoan the town’s lack of law.

"Of course, JD and others can look after us until you and Chris are back."

‘There was that name again. Would this woman ever be quiet?’

"Ma’am, is there somethin’ I can do for ya?" Vin finally asked in exasperation.

"Well, yes there is," Mary hedged around her words. "Vin, I don’t know if the boys told you, about the feelings that are running high in the town over poor Sam Hewett’s death?"

"Ain’t blind Ma’am," Vin sighed as he lifted his head to look up and down the street. "I know exactly how they’re feelin’ and who they blame."

"Well, not everyone blames you for what happened, Vin, I assure you," Mary smiled nervously. "And with that in mine, that is one of the reasons I have sought you out. Vin, I don’t mean to pry into anyone’s private life, but…."

Vin dropped his gaze to the floor; afraid he would laugh out-loud at the Newspaper woman’s remark. He still remembered her searching through her husband’s papers to find out all she could on Chris Larabee, just so she could coerce him into staying in Four Corners to become one of its protectors.

‘Damn it, stop sayin’ his name. Just leave me alone.’

"I think it would help the situation, don’t you?"

"Vin?"

Dragged from his thoughts again, Vin looked up at the editor’s expectant face, "Sorry, Mrs. Travis, I was thinkin’ on somethin’ else. Ya were sayin?" He reluctantly asked.

Dismissing the tracker’s lack of interest as pain related, Mary repeated her proposal, "I was saying, I think it would be a good idea if I ran a story. Relate your history with Captain Reynolds and how all this came about. You know, tell your side. "

"My side?" Vin bristled at the unspoken accusation.

"Yes, don’t you see?" Mary exclaimed excitedly, even going as far as shifting forward in her chair a little so she could make her point. "It might calm the situation. Put an end to the rumors and speculation that are running rife about you in this town."

"I’m sorry Ma’am, but if the people of Four Corners don’t believe that I would trade places with Sam Hewett if I could, then I guess, that’s their problem," Vin stated as he took the town with a morose eye. "And what went on between Reynolds and me, well, that’s mine. I thought I’d stayed in this town a little too long, but I see now, never would’ve been too long." Turning his attention back to the newspaper editor, Vin smiled cordially, "I do have a somethin’ for ya to write in that paper of yers. You can tell the town that they’ll soon be able to sleep well in their beds. I’ll be leavin’ as soon as I able to ride."

Mary was shocked at the revelation, and she wasn’t sure, but she swore she was also just a little relieved. While Vin was a nice enough man, he was also an ex bounty hunter with a price on his head. When time and trouble eventually caught up with him, like it had with Reynolds’ arrival, Four Corners and its citizens, would again be in it’s path. Who would pay the price next, one of seven, Billy?

"Oh, I didn’t mean," Mary stumbled in embarrassment. "I’m sure no one wants you to leave, Vin. Maybe if you explained like I suggested, the town…."

"Trust, Mrs. Travis, if ya don’t have trust in someone," Vin sighed, his thoughts drifting to a man in black more than to the townspeople. "Then there’s nothin’ left. No, I’ll be leavin’. There’s no reason for me to stay."

To be continued...