The black clad young men stepped down from the boardwalk and moved away. The smile on Casey’s face faded with their leaving and JD joined her, pretending he hadn’t seen her expression.

"Would you look at them?" He gestured widely toward the Nichols brothers. "Prancing around like a bunch a peacocks."

Casey turned a demure eye toward him. "JD, you don’t have to be jealous of them."

"Casey – I ain’t jealous of a bunch a city slicker desperadoes." He rested his hands on his guns in a show of confidence.

"Desperadoes! Bad men don’t travel with their mother." Her voice turned teasing and JD stepped closer to drive his point home.

"You ain’t met her."

"You shouldn’t talk that way ‘bout other people’s mother."

Casey turned and left, leaving a dissatisfied feeling in her wake. JD shook his head. Would the girl ever learn?

He stepped down from the boardwalk without looking where he was going. Someone blocked his path and he raised his head to find a solid wall of Nichols brothers in front of him. With Peter in the lead they pressed forward and forced JD to back up. He pasted an uneasy smile on his face.

"Watch where you’re goin’."

"Now don’t go sneakin’ up on people like that, huh boys?" His friendly greeting drew no answer from the motley group and JD swallowed hard.

Peter smiled in a predatory way at him and studied him from beneath his hat brim. A look of surprised recognition crossed his face and JD backed up another step.

"Now I know who you are. You’re the messenger boy."

His first conversation with Peter Nichols flashed through his mind:

"I – I don’t think you know what you’re talkin’ about." His earlier bravado seemed to have fled and left his voice weak and frail. JD felt his face heat with embarrassment.

"Don’t be offended." Peter seemed quick to reassure JD, but the icy fear crawling up his spine climbed higher. "It’s the best job in town."

"Yeah . . . and w-why’s that?" He tried to gather his dwindling confidence.

"We don’t kill the messenger." Peter paused and the oily smile disappeared. Before JD could move, the other man had his gun out and pointed at his gut. He gestured with his weapon and ordered JD quietly: "Into the alley, messenger boy."

JD complied, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was close enough for help. It was in the middle of the day, for god’s sake, why didn’t people notice what was going on around them? He was afraid if he called out Peter would kill him or someone else. With his muscles clenched tight enough to hurt, JD walked stiffly forward, hoping for an opportunity to break away.

The tall two story buildings hid the sun’s brightness. Darkness swallowed them when they stepped into the alley. JD desperately tried to imagine what Chris Larabee would do in a similar situation.

An arm snaked around his head and a palm clamped painfully tight against his mouth. He brought his hands up automatically to pull against the hold. Two of the brothers grabbed his arms and yanked them back and he grunted hard with the pain that shot through his shoulders. He struggled and bodies pressed against him, pinning him to the man behind him.

Peter stepped in front and leaned down to whisper in his face. "We need you to deliver a message for us." JD froze as the man reached out and touched his forehead. "Sometimes God uses the Devil to do his work. I want to make sure you get this right. It’s very important to us."

JD worked his mouth open and bit down on a finger. His captor yelped and jerked away and JD pulled against the others holding him. Anger surged through him lending boldness to his tongue. "I ain’t your messenger boy. You can go to hell."

"First thing we gotta take care of is that mouth a yours." Peter reacted instantly, cracking his knuckles across JD’s cheek. "Withhold not correction from the child."

The words held no meaning for JD except to accompany the violent pain pounding against his face. The man hit him as he emphasized his words, murmuring in a dull voice as if he were reciting from rote. "My son, despise not," JD’s head jerked back with Peter’s pummeling fist, "the chastening of the Lord;" His neck wrenched painfully from side to side. "Neither be weary of His correction." The man’s knuckles felt as if they were made of iron as they slammed into his nose. Agony exploded in his face and for an instant blocked everything else out.

When awareness returned he slumped wearily to his knees and fell forward despite the hold around him. His arms were released and JD caught himself against the ground. The throbbing in his face expanded with the exaggerated thudding of his heart. Someone grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head and yanked back hard. He gasped with pain and swallowed. Blood coated his tongue and clogged the back of his throat, rising up in cloying nausea through his sinuses.

"You and your friends are dead for helping that murdering whoremonger that killed my brother." Peter Nichols’ words sounded muffled through the ringing in his ears. "That’s the message I want you to deliver, boy."

JD opened his eyes and saw Peter step back. "Get him up."

The other men jerked him roughly from the ground and he pulled against their hold. Peter stepped closer and jabbed his fist into his belly. Agony folded him over and he coughed and spit blood into the young man’s face. Rage twisted his attacker’s features and Peter pumped his balled fists hard into JD’s body. JD convulsed in his captor’s arms.

His muscles strained and compressed under the man’s assault. JD twisted and pulled out of the tight fingers curled around his arms. He dove forward, spreading his arms wide to tackle Peter, but hands and arms scrambled for him. Fingernails raked against him, leaving burning trails of raw skin. His shirt was grabbed and he felt the material slide from his pants when he almost succeeded in breaking away.

"Hold him, damn it!"

JD’s eyes widened with the wrath he saw burning red in Peter’s face. The young man drew his shoulders up tight as he stepped in front of JD and his arm pistoned forward with all his anger and strength behind it. Sharp knuckles jabbed deep into JD’s belly and he doubled over with pain. His legs buckled beneath him and he hung helpless, absorbing punches that rocked him and stole his breath and hope.

Darkness rimmed his vision. The men let him go and he dropped boneless to the ground, grunting with the impact. A boot rammed into his side and his ribs compressed, forcing air from his body. He strained to draw his arms closer in protection, but his limbs refused to obey. Hard-edged rocks cut irritatingly into his cheek pressed against the ground, but he couldn’t move.

"They’re back." A voice spoke urgently from above him and JD pushed back the blackness, desperate to stay awake.

"Good." Peter sounded satisfied. "Make sure they’re all together before we deliver our little message."

A dark clad knee rushed into his field of vision. He flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. When nothing happened he opened his eyes to find Peter kneeling next to him. "Go tell your friends, messenger boy. We’ll be waiting."

Peter stood and left, taking the rest of his brothers with him.

JD held still, his limbs frozen with fear and dread of the men returning. Pain threaded through his bones like fire, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The temptation to give into the pain and sink into the darkness calling to him was almost unbearable. But he had to warn the others, had to let them know the Nichols were about to strike.

Working his arms under his body, JD pushed himself up with a groan. He trembled with weakness and his face felt hot and swollen. His sides and stomach burned.

He made it to his knees and hunched over, hugging his arms around himself. The Seven were counting on him; he couldn’t let them down.

He fumbled to his feet and hissed in pain. Despite the agony vying for attention all over his body, his mind felt numb. The first step he took nearly sent him to his knees again but he caught himself against the side of the building. Just make it to the saloon. Gotta tell the boys. Gonna kill us . . . for helping Hank.

Holding one hand against his aching side, JD stumbled forward. He made it to the batwing doors and walked in without looking at the people around him. The message burned in his mind.

He leaned against the bar, grateful for the support. "I’ve got a message for everyone." His waning strength deserted him and he felt his knees give way. Soft arms caught him before he could hit the floor and folded him against a strong chest. "They’re gonna kill us all for helping Hank."

The rest was a blur. Casey ran in and he remembered the satisfied feeling of throwing her "complicated" comment back at her, and he remembered insisting he could fight. He kept a litany of thoughts running through his head. Just hang on, ignore the pain, hold your place, and don’t let anyone down.

He sent Casey away for her own safely. How he made it up to the second floor window in time to shoot Peter before the man could shoot Ezra was a mystery. After that, darkness threatened again and it took all his strength and determination to make it back down the stairs.

Shocked at the carnage in the street, JD stopped. His friends stood in the dissipating smoke from the ruined wagon. Several Nichols boys lay still, limbs tangled in death, dusted with dirt and grit from the road. Their mother moved among them like a wraith, fingers kneading the beads in her hands, soft words of prayer falling heedless from her lips. Vin and Nathan were helping the survivors up and gathering them on the boardwalk out of the sun.

Ezra walked toward him, slapping dust from his coat. "Are you all right, JD?" His voice uncharacteristically soft with worry, the older man reached out and touched JD gently.

JD looked over at the gambler and nodded. "Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll just—" He took a step forward, intending to help with the injured men but his legs wobbled and his knees folded. Ezra couldn’t hold him and they both ended up on the ground.

"Vin! A little help here."

The gunslinger appeared at their side. "I thought you said you was all right, kid."

"I lied," he mumbled, his face pressed against Ezra’s chest.

"Let’s get you over to the clinic."

"Nathan’s inside the jail, tending to the wounded." He heard Vin’s voice and the chest he was pressed against vibrated with a moan as he was lifted. Abruptly he was on his feet again, swaying between the two men.

He couldn’t lift his boots high enough to clear the boardwalk but Ezra and Vin held him firm and kept him from falling. They carried him into the dark coolness of the sheriff’s office and sat him in the chair behind the desk.

"Nathan. Our youngest member is in need of your medical skills."

Nathan looked up at Ezra’s request and moved over to the two. Vin nodded and headed back out.

Peter Nichols lifted himself to one elbow from the cot where he lay in one of the cells. "You’re not finished here, healer man." His glare held more fear than anger and JD starred at him from across the room. When the injured man saw the new patient, a wide evil grin split his face. "I see the messenger boy made it."

JD pushed Nathan’s hands away and pulled himself to his feet.

"Where you think you’re going?"

"Gotta deliver something." Drawing on his nearly depleted reserves, JD walked slowly across the room. He stopped at the open metal bar door and looked down at Peter Nichols. "You and your brothers are going to prison for messing with the law. That’s the message I want to deliver."

"You son of a bitch." Straining against his obvious injuries, Peter tried to rise from the bed. With a not so gentle shove, JD pushed him back to the cot.

"First thing we gotta take care of is that mouth of yours." Grabbing some bandages Nathan had left nearby, JD stuffed them into the man’s mouth, effectively muffling his sputtering.

JD turned and walked away, ignoring the sharp words thrown against his back. Just before he collapsed, Ezra caught him around the waist.

"Let me help you to the clinic, son." He leaned over and whispered conspiringly into JD’s ear. "Wouldn’t want to ruin your dramatic exit now, would we?"

JD smiled to himself and allowed Ezra to carry him out. His confidence was returning, even though his strength was failing. All he needed was a little sleep and he’d be good as new.

Then all he had to do was straighten out Casey.

THE END