Disclaimer: There was a garage sale... I bought them. Then these men and women in suits and lookin' evil came along and stole 'm! HONEST!! Okay, the alphabet brigade owns all the rights. I just enjoy playing with them, then bringing them back a little the worse for wear, but in good working order. I make no money from this stuff... if I did I'd by the fellas and take better care of them!

Notes: OW. Chris and Vin. H/C. The characters not recognizable from the series are mine. Please do not take them without asking first. 'Specially Daniel.

Acknowledgements: Thanks to Lindsay and LaraMee for the beta.

His mind wandered back to that fateful night a few weeks earlier. He had felt a compelling need to get away from town and visit Larabee, almost as if he were being drawn to the shack by some unseen force. It was late, and Josiah would later say that he, too, felt an urgent push to come along. Brilliant flames of orange and red licked the sky as they came within sight of the small structure that their friend called home. Vin felt like he moved in slow motion, yet he reached the cabin without any awareness of how he'd gotten there. A large fiery beam blocked the entrance, and he grabbed hold of it, flinging it to the side with almost super human strength, oblivious to the burning of his own hands and arms. Through the smoke and flames, he saw a man in black lying on the bed in the small adjoining room. He hesitated then, just a moment - something didn't feel right. And in that moment's hesitation, the roof of the small room collapsed in a blazing inferno, completely engulfing the contents within. Vin would forever wonder if his lapse had saved his life, only to cost the life of another. His cry, "NO!" came out soundlessly in the noise and confusion, as he sank to his knees, the smoke and heat now unbearable. From somewhere far away he thought he heard Josiah calling his name, but he could no longer move or think. As a heavy beam crashed down upon him, he was completely unaware of the danger he was in.

He reckoned he nearly died that night, but he didn't think on it much. He'd learned long ago that life was too short to be worrying on what might have happened. He knew Josiah had come into that burning hell and somehow managed to drag him out and back to town. He was grateful for that, grateful for all the boys and how they'd looked after him. He couldn't clearly recall a lot of what when on those first few days, and he had no idea how much time had passed when he heard them talking about the gunslinger being dead. But it wasn't so. It wasn't so. He tried to tell them, when he could, that it wasn't Chris in that bed. He wasn't dead - he wasn't.

He hated the way they looked at him now. He had suffered through more than enough in his young life, but he had never asked for pity, and he couldn't stomach seeing it in the eyes of his friends.

"Poor Vin - can't accept the death of his best friend."

"Poor Vin - damn near killed himself trying to get to Chris."

He thought on how Buck had come and sat beside his bed, holding back tears as he explained to him what they'd found at the cabin. Chris' horse still in the barn, bottles next to the bed, and the body of the man - unrecognizable but definitely the same height and build as the blond. He reminded Vin of how their leader could be when he got in one of those black moods of his. Well now, that was crazy. Chris mourned his family like any man would, but he didn't disappear in a bottle any more and he sure wouldn't set himself on fire. He had asked Wilmington if he really believed that was Larabee they had found, then why the hell wasn't he out looking for the man who had killed him? Buck had given him that look.

Josiah had taken him out to the grave just a few days ago. He'd went on and on about saying goodbye and making peace and letting go - and Vin's head exploded. Not literally, of course, but enough that he'd passed out right there on the grass and awakened to see the preacher's clear blue eyes staring down at him with that look. Poor Vin. That's when he decided he'd have to go it alone on this one. Wherever Chris was, he was in trouble, and he couldn't afford to waste any more time.

So he'd better get moving. He looked out again at the sky and land before him. Some crazy bird couldn't seem to make up its mind which way to fly, and Vin could swear the thing was following him. The wind kept changing directions, too, coming from the south one minute and the west the next. Whole thing was crazy. Crazy. Maybe he was. After all, he'd been wandering pretty much aimlessly for two days now - well, not exactly aimlessly. He was heading north. He'd found a few tracks just north of Chris's cabin , so he went on in that general direction. Could've been anybody's tracks, of course, and the trail would be weeks old by now anyway. But it was better than nothing. So he headed north in a random, haphazard kind of way that just didn't fit the kind of man he was. He liked to have a plan. He was good at making plans and good at carrying them out, too. He and Chris were damn good at making plans together. Vin was sure there wasn't much he and his partner couldn't figure out if they put their minds to it.

"I miss you, Chris." Vin surprised himself by speaking out loud. Yeah, definitely crazy. Or maybe just tired. His hands hurt, and the cold mountain air felt like knives stabbing his still healing lungs every time he took a deep breath.

If he had his head on straight, he'd remember what town lay up ahead in the picturesque little valley he'd glimpsed earlier at a higher elevation. Not that it mattered. He'd hit every town and every homestead that he came across, asking anyone with a tongue if they'd seen a man in black. Of course, Chris wouldn't have left willingly, so it was doubtful he'd be paraded through town in front of all and sundry. That wouldn't make any sense. But then nothing made sense right now. That's why he didn't have a plan. He just knew with certainty that his friend was alive. Call it faith, intuition, or stupidity - but he held onto that one single truth as he pulled up the reins and resumed his trek north - with that crazy bird now leading the way.

++++++++++

Nathan rubbed his hands together and shifted a little closer to the fire. It was getting downright cold, and he sure hoped they found Vin soon and could talk some sense into him. Of course, they hadn't managed to accomplish that yet. The last two weeks felt like two years. Fourteen long, miserable days where he tended to the needs of one friend while mourning the loss of another. The healer sighed as a deep, aching hurt surfaced unexpectedly. He'd done so well swallowing it and burying it and pushing it back with all the other dark, terrible hurts in his life. He just couldn't imagine he'd never see Chris again. And he couldn't imagine that he'd ever make peace with the fact that he hadn't even had the chance to try to save him. Then again, maybe it was better this way. He wouldn't have to spend the rest of his days wondering if he could have, should have done something different. The way he was wondering about Vin right now.

Nathan glanced across the fire at Josiah, and the image of the big man galloping through town with Vin in his arms came clearly to mind. Sanchez had started hollering for him the minute he hit the outskirts of town, not stopping until he reached the clinic. He imagined his teammate would have galloped right on up the stairs if he could have managed it. Nathan's first reaction was one of panic - Vin was burned, bruised and bloodied - until that God-given gift to detach himself and get down to business kicked in. He looked to Josiah briefly, "What happened?"

Josiah's clipped response, "A fire," didn't even seem odd or out of place to him.

"Anyone else hurt?"

"No one you can help."

Funny, he just assumed the men had never made it to Larabee's place. He just assumed Vin had been hurt trying to help someone else in his customary way. He just assumed . .

He quickly catalogued Vin's wounds, while Josiah silently helped him undress the unconscious man. Nathan knew the burns on Tanner's arms, hands and across his upper back would be painful, but probably not life threatening. He'd seen plenty of burns during his time in the war, and he knew how to treat them. He didn't want his friend to carry any more scars, the man had enough already. Vin had eaten some smoke, too - not much he could do for that - but hopefully Josiah had gotten him out before permanent damage had been done. And he definitely had some kind of head wound, probably a concussion. That was worrisome. He'd have to give him some laudanum as soon as he woke, keep him quiet. He vaguely heard Buck come to the door and ask what was going on. Josiah said he'd fill him in as soon as Vin was settled.

As Nathan finished his ministrations, Vin began to stir and moan softly. Josiah held the injured man's head until Nathan got the pain medication down him, stroking his long, brown hair until he rested quietly. It was only then that Josiah turned to his friend and whispered, "Chris is dead, Nathan."

Like anyone given sudden, devastating news, Nathan could only respond in disbelief, "No." But the tears streaming down Josiah's face - saying it made it true - gave credence to his terrible statement.

Those first few days passed in a sort of nightmarish haze for the troubled man. Vin developed a raging fever, and Nathan carried his fear privately that they would lose the sharp shooter, too. He knew all of the men were dealing with the loss of Chris in their own way - emotion never coming easily to them - and he couldn't burden them with the possibility that Vin would be taken from them, as well. He didn't even attend the funeral, watching from the clinic window instead as the procession made its way through town. Behind him, in his delirium, Vin called out for the man whose body was laid to rest in the very cemetery where the dark man's own life had been saved. Saved by these two men, the one in the box, the other in the bed. That was the one and only time Nathan allowed himself to break down and weep.

A few days later, as he and Buck sat quietly discussing the death of their leader, Vin surprised them both by announcing, "Chris ain't dead." Nathan's initial joy that his patient was awake and lucid, was quickly replaced with concern when, in spite of Buck's tearful recitation of the events of the preceding days, Tanner continued to state calmly and unequivocally that they were mistaken. And so began long, heated discussions - patience blossoming into frustration on both sides. Vin so sure - so sure that Chris was not the man in that burning bed, despite all evidence to the contrary. Nathan knew that the body couldn't heal if the mind and soul were lost - and Vin was a lost soul if ever he'd seen one. And he didn't know how to help him, or how to reach him.

So when he came into the clinic a few days ago and found that the tracker was gone, it surprised no one. The only bright spot, as far as Nathan was concerned, was that Vin apparently had the presence of mind to at least take some supplies with him, bandages and such. There was no way he was well enough to be out in the cold air like this, though. Nathan shivered and moved even closer to the fire. He sure hoped they found him soon.

++++++++++

Josiah watched Nathan watch the fire and felt reasonably sure he could read his mind. Nathan may not realize it, but he was in his element when he had someone to fret over, and one of the other six usually stepped up to the challenge. Vin had done more than his share over the past few weeks, however, and plain old fretting had grown into gut-wrenching worry. They'd headed out after him immediately after discovering his absence, but the crafty tracker had managed to throw them off at least twice. Hell, they still weren't sure they were on the right trail. And just where did he think he was going? Josiah thought he had a pretty good handle on how each of the men thought, what drove them to be the men they were. But Vin had puzzled him this time. He expected him to take the news of Larabee's death hard, maybe even to have trouble accepting it at first. But Vin had lived a hard life, and he knew what death was about. Josiah just never expected flat out denial from the young man. And now this, chasing after a ghost when he was hardly strong enough to sit a saddle. Finding him would be like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack, too, if Tanner didn't want to be found. He and Nathan might as well be chasing after a ghost themselves.

For the hundredth time, Josiah wondered if he was making the right decisions. With Chris gone and Vin injured both in body and soul, he unwittingly, and somewhat unwillingly, became the leader of their shrinking group. Nathan was too busy with Vin, and Buck too shell-shocked. JD had never seemed younger, and Ezra had shut himself off in true Ezra fashion. So Josiah had done his best to keep the boys together and the town safe.

With sudden clarity, he recalled pulling Vin out of the fire. He shouldn't have been able to - the cabin a blazing inferno by the time he reached it. Yet somehow, through the smoke and flames, a clearing developed. It was just enough for him to reach Vin and pull him out from under the burning rubble. Josiah gave up on miracles long ago, but damn, if that wasn't about as close to a miracle as he'd ever seen.

The ride to town had been excruciatingly long, and he found he could not think about the man he had left behind. He thought of getting Vin to Nathan, only that. Later, he would deal with the tragedy he had just witnessed, but for that moment, there was only one friend he could help - the other now beyond it. And please, God, let him be at peace at last. Buck, JD, and Ezra had followed him up the stairs to the clinic. They had heard his anguished calls for Nathan, eerily shattering the quiet of the late night, or perhaps by then, early morning. Josiah could not speak just then, not sure how to say the awful truth that only he knew - perhaps sparing them this grief a few hours longer. And Nathan needed to direct all of his attention on Vin. He could wait a bit longer, for nothing would change when they knew. Nothing except all of their lives.

When Vin had settled into a deep sleep, or perhaps lost consciousness again, he blurted out that Chris was dead. He hadn't meant it to come out like that - had been thinking all night how to say it. But there was no way to soften the blow. And so then he walked to the saloon where the others waited, and said it again. Point-blank. And for the rest of his life he would see their faces. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. One of them would go down, of that they were sure, but it should have been in a blaze of glory, not in the blaze of a stupid accident. They had to see for themselves, and so as dawn approached, four of the seven rode a sorrowful journey to the cabin. Hoping against hope that somehow Josiah had been wrong.

Josiah himself had prayed for a second miracle, but it was not to be. Now, sitting in the biting air, colder as they headed north, he began to wonder if Vin had been spared only to spend the rest of his life searching for the brother he had lost, while he and Nathan spent the rest of their lives searching for him.

++++++++++

Buck had had too much to drink. He liked liquor, but too much of it interfered with the activities he enjoyed even more. Except that even a lovely evening with an enchanting lady felt meaningless now. Meaningless, joyless, frivolous, and totally worthless. Yeah, he was definitely worthless. Wasn't there to save Chris's family, wasn't there to save Chris. And now Josiah had delegated him to babysitting the town instead of going after Vin. Probably figured he couldn't save Vin, either. And he was probably right.

God! Would he ever forget Josiah telling him that Chris was dead? Like some strange power had come and sucked the air right out of him. It just couldn't be possible. He and Larabee had gone through all kinds of wild, crazy and frequently dangerous situations together, and they always came out on top. He couldn't be dead - not now and not like this.

Buck prayed that some day the vision of that terrible morning would be erased from his mind. Yet he knew it never would, just as the nightmare of returning to the burned ruins of Chris's first home would remain with him forever. It couldn't be happening again - he had told himself that over and over as he rode out towards the shack after Josiah's startling revelation. By the time they reached their leader's land, the sun was up in all its glorious splendor. It was a breathtakingly beautiful morning that wildly contradicted the black mood in their hearts. The blackened embers still smoldered slightly, little wisps of gray smoke rising up to greet them. Buck had climbed off his horse and promptly thrown up. Josiah had tried then to keep him from going any further, from searching for the grizzly remains of his oldest friend's body. Buck wished now that he would have let him - wished he hadn't seen. But even then, and even now, he just couldn't believe it was real. It was no wonder he'd been so ineffective in getting Vin to see the truth.

Just what was the truth anyway? Had Chris died by design or by accident? Buck thought he knew the answer. His friend had found a new purpose in life, and he was certain the man wouldn't throw that away. Still, he'd seen him do some pretty self-destructive things in the past, and when it came right down to it - how well did he really know him? He may have been Chris' oldest friend, but he wasn't his best friend - that distinction belonged to Vin. Larabee and Tanner had some strange connection that none of the men really understood. Not even Chris and Vin.

And so he came back to Vin. Couldn't help him either. Worthless.

++++++++++

It was that mystical connection that planted the seed of doubt in Ezra. Vin was so sure. Perhaps they had all been a bit hasty in their assumption that the body they found was indeed Chris Larabee's. Ezra knew how to work a con - and what a con this could be. But who? And why? Things were certainly unraveling quickly. Four of the seven now indisposed, and Buck of little use. He had to give JD credit though, he was surely trying to hold it all together. The kid was looking after the town, looking after Buck, and even checking on Mary Travis every day. The seven had made a number of enemies over the past year, any one of whom could benefit from the current state of affairs. Yes, the more Ezra thought on it all, the more questions he seemed to raise. Perhaps he'd check into a few matters on his own. No reason to stir up Buck and JD.

Then again, perhaps he was grabbing at straws. Anything to make this insistent pain in his stomach go away. He had even started drinking milk, since Nathan advised him of its coating effects on the stomach lining. But it was still there - a gnawing, burning sensation that crept up through his insides and wrapped around his heart. It couldn't be grief over losing first Chris, and now that unkempt tracker. It couldn't be that. Things just weren't setting right, that was all. Too many questions. And Vin was sure. Maybe he'd look into matters.

++++++++++

JD was mad. He was going after Vin and he didn't care what the others said. Well, maybe he did care a little - but he was going anyway. He couldn't understand why Buck let Josiah order them all around. Who died and made him boss anyway? Oh God - he couldn't believe he had just thought that. He knew exactly who had died, even if it still didn't seem real.

He could still see the expression on his best friend's face when Josiah gave them the news. JD had felt tears coursing down his face, but he wasn't ashamed or embarrassed. Chris Larabee was his hero and a man he was damn proud to call friend. But Buck - he just couldn't take it when he heard the sharp, gasping sob that escaped from the lanky man's throat before he caught himself and pushed it all back in. Then, after the funeral, Buck had stood forlornly at the gravesite for hours, his eyes lost and empty. It scared JD. He felt like he was losing Buck, too - and that would just be unbearable. But instead, they lost Vin, and that was almost as bad. And he aimed to do something about it.

JD made his way over to the saloon since he knew Buck would be there. He seemed to be there all the time now. He was going to give him a piece of his mind, and then he was heading out. But on his way, he stopped to help Mary with that stubborn press of hers, and Billy needed a new line on his fishing pole. He knew losing Chris was hard on them, too, so he helped out however he could. And he needed to put up a shelf for Mrs. Potter. The day was half over by the time he finally made it to see Buck. Sure enough, he sat at his usual table, nursing a beer. JD plopped down in a vacant seat, and before Wilmington could even register his presence, exclaimed, "I'm going after Vin and don't try to stop me!"

Buck raised weary eyes and responded softly, " Don't plan to. You're a grown man, JD you can make your own decisions."

"Yeah - well, all right then. I'll just be leaving. Alone, I guess, seeing as how you and Ezra don't seem much interested in what's going on around here."

"JD, I don't have the energy to argue with you. You go on and do what you have to."

No argument, no sarcastic comment, no good-bye. JD felt that fear again. He was losing Buck. The man was disappearing right before his eyes. "Come with me, Buck," he pleaded.

"Not this time, Kid."

Well, hell. Now what was he going to do? He couldn't just leave Buck like this. Ezra had been acting strange, too. He couldn't count on the two of them to look after each other, let alone the town. Damn. He couldn't go anywhere. And he was mad. Mad at Buck and Ezra for the way they were acting, mad at Josiah for taking over, mad at Vin for leaving. But mostly, he was mad at Chris for dying.

++++++++++

Part 2: Hope

It was a bad idea. And he really wanted to tell them where to go. But they'd dangled the one carrot in front of his nose that he couldn't resist - Vin's freedom.

Chris rested his elbows on the creaky wooden table, and lowered his aching head into his hands. He hated messing with numbers. One of the reasons he'd been so anxious to leave Indiana was his father's insistence that he take over the family banking business. He couldn't think of a more miserable way to spend his life than pouring over numbers on a page every day. And here he was doing just that - in some dingy tent hundreds of miles from where he really wanted to be. He wondered how the boys were doing; wondered if they were at this very moment having a beer and laughing at his expense. Of course, he didn't know exactly how much they knew about what he was up to. He wasn't even sure what he was up to, come to think of it. This whole thing had been fishy from the beginning, and nothing seemed to add up -except for maybe the numbers at the bottom of the page.

The two men had rode onto his land a few weeks back, and he just barely resisted the urge to blow them off their mounts when they refused to heed his warnings and clearly state their intentions. On closer inspection, he could see they posed no real threat however, and didn't even attempt to hide his smirk at their appearance. Starched white shirts, string ties, and shiny coats with even shinier buttons - these two could give Ezra a run for his money. One was short and round, with a bald head and a gleaming smile; the other tall and lanky like Buck, but with wire-rimmed glasses and a dark scowl that matched his dark hair and eyes. Different as day and night, except for their almost identical attire, and Chris suddenly found the pair amusing. He had very little time or use - and even less respect - for city slickers who got fat off of other people that were less fortunate, less cunning, and less able to defend themselves. Still, he found himself curious as to what led them to him.

The two men quickly dismounted, and the short one proceeded to introduce himself as Randall Gill, and his cohort as Jacob Bell. They then flashed badges identifying themselves as employees for the US government. If Gill expected any kind of reaction from the man in black, he would be sorely disappointed, as Chris continued to be completely unimpressed. The robust man went on to say that they had been sent by Judge Travis to enlist Chris' aid in a very pressing matter. It was at this point that he really should have sent them on their way - should've just stopped the whole thing before he heard another word. The problem was somehow he knew that wheels were turning and events set in motion that he was already far too involved in.

The request bordered on the ridiculous, as far as Chris was concerned. The final leg of the Union Pacific railroad was nearly completed, connecting Colorado Territory with the east. A huge gala celebration was planned, including the attendance of several high ranking government officials. Chris couldn't help but scoff - he had already had more than enough experience with government hoopla when Hopewell and company had invaded Four Corners. He couldn't believe Travis had given these idiots his name. What was he thinking? Chris recalled the remainder of the conversation clearly.

"Mr. Larabee, we have reason to believe violence is likely to occur at this event, and in fact, that someone close to the railroad industry is involved in the carrying out of some sinister plan. We believe the most efficient means of preventing such an occurrence is to have someone working inside, so to speak, the camp where the final stretch is being laid."

"And just what in the hell would possess you to believe that someone should be me?"

Chris noted that Gill did all the talking while his partner basically sulked and - glared. He wondered briefly if that was the same look he apparently wore on occasion that his friends took great joy in kidding him about.

"As I stated on our arrival, Judge Travis suggested you. You see, several of the attendees are personal friends of his, and he feels you would be the best choice, for a multitude of reasons. In fact, he gave me this letter, should you need some convincing."

He read through the brief note asking for his cooperation, before glancing up at the men and stating icily, "The Judge knows I don't work for the railroad, and I sure ain't working for the government, either."

"Well, yes, we did believe you may need some convincing, and therefore, we are prepared to offer you a deal we feel you cannot refuse."

"I can't even begin to imagine what that could be. Let's just say I'm not interested, and you can leave. Now."

"Please don't be so hasty, Mr. Larabee, we do have more to discuss."

Chris' keen intuition kicked in and his skin began to crawl. Denver was miles away, there had to be other men closer and more suited to this type of thing. Why him? And what could they possibly have to offer that would mean anything to him?

"You see, we have information that one of your . . .friends . . . is a wanted man. In Texas, I believe." Gill waited for the desired effect that little tidbit of information would have on the gunfighter, and was disappointed to see no effect at all. Perhaps his informant had been wrong about these men? But he went on, "We are prepared to take care of that little matter for you - or should I say, for him?"

Even weeks later, Chris could feel the chill that ran up his spine. It had all changed now, the stakes entirely different. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that, however, so he stated coldly, "I don't know who you men are, or why you're here, but you need to leave my property, before I'm forced to do something you'll regret."

"Now, now, Mr. Larabee," Gill replied with a deceptive calm. "Let's look at this again. Even if we ride away, the past and whereabouts of Mr. Tanner are now well known to others, in much higher positions than ourselves. He will be forced to leave your humble little village, and resume his life on the run."

"He's innocent, and I'll prove it one way or another," Chris replied with a deadly smile.

"Perhaps, but why take the chance when all you have to do is give up a few weeks of your life for your country? And for Mr. Tanner, of course."

A thinly veiled threat wrapped in the guise of a gift. Vin's freedom. Chris wasn't stupid, he knew there was more going on here than met the eye. He looked at the note from Travis again. It certainly appeared to be his handwriting. Was this his way of helping Vin? Chris knew that the Judge had to have been aware of the bounty on Tanner's head, and he also knew he was powerless to do anything about it. Could this "trade" of sorts have been masterminded by Travis as a way to help Vin? Hell, there was probably only one way to find out.

It took them a week to make the trip. Gill and Bell were damn lucky he hadn't killed them both by the time they reached their destination. Gill talked incessantly about nothing, and Bell never spoke at all. Their dispositions were as opposite as their appearance, yet they seemed to meld and instinctively know what the other was thinking. He thought of how the seven of them had become much the same - entirely different in all ways, but able to understand and connect with each other. Now the seven traveled comfortably together, and Chris wished they were with him now. He should have insisted that at least one of the boys come with them. He'd feel a whole lot better if Vin were beside him, figuring out this mess together and coming up with a plan. He'd feel a whole lot better if he had a plan.

He'd left his horse behind, since they would be traveling partially by train and stage. He knew J.D. would take good care of her, but he still didn't like the thought of it - almost as much as he hated the thought of leaving behind his men. Gill assured him that Travis would talk to them, let them know he was helping him out for a month or so. He would have liked the chance to talk them himself, especially to Vin, to let him know what was going on. Or at least what little he knew of what was going on. He'd planned to wire them from Denver, but they'd taken him straight to the camp - passed him off as some financial adviser (obviously knew more of his past, too, than he liked), and he'd yet to have the opportunity to get to a telegraph office. And what would he say anyway? He didn't want Vin to get skittish and run, and he sure wouldn't blame him if he did. Chris was feeling pretty skittish himself. He hadn't liked the feel of this from the beginning, and nothing had happened to change his mind. It was a bad idea.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhaustion hit Vin hard and heavy as he reached the secluded village that lay snuggled in the belly of the wide spreading mountain range. Everything hurt, he realized as he climbed off his horse, and he decided right then to spend the night in a room, on a bed. He didn't have a lot of cash, hadn't planned on needing it, but he needed hot food, and real rest, otherwise all of Nathan's dire predictions were likely to come true. He smiled at that, Nathan was always telling the men what terrible complications were going to befall them if they didn't do as they were told. Vin felt a yearning for the gentle man just then, and dearly wished he were there right now to give him some terrible tasting tea or smelly ointment, or just about anything that would make him feel better. His head pounded, his back ached, and his hands just plain hurt. The nagging cough he had acquired after the fire had grown into a rib-rattling force that pained his chest with every breath. And he'd never been so damn tired in his entire life.

It was dirty little burg, but had a sort of rustic charm to it. Vin wondered idly how the sparse population here made a living. There was no way to farm the land with the hillsides so steep and close, and he hadn't seen any livestock either. It was odd, he felt almost hemmed in, even out here in the middle of nowhere, and he decided to head out early in the morning, regardless of how bad he felt. There were few buildings to choose from, and God, he hoped one of them had a decent meal for him. After taking care of his horse, he aimed for what appeared to be a hotel, or something resembling that, and was relieved to see that he was right. The building was dark, but comfortable, and Vin let out a breath when he saw that there was hope for the bed and, judging by the tempting aroma coming from the back room, a meal.

A young woman entered the room just then, and flashed the weary traveler a smile that would have made him weak in the knees, if he weren't feeling that way already. She reminded him of Inez, with her flowing black hair and sweeping skirt, and he shoved aside the feeling of homesickness that welled up in him. "I'm looking for a room," he rasped - surprised at how weak his own voice sounded.

She could see he was sick, and by the bandages on his hands that extended into the sleeves of his buckskin coat, he'd been injured in some way. The poor man looked as though he could barely stand. And what a shame that was, for she would surely have liked to get to know this one better. He was just so handsome, even with the dark circles under his eyes, and she couldn't believe how incredibly lucky she'd been lately. It was only a few weeks ago that another handsome stranger had wandered in, only he had been fair. She pulled herself out of her thoughts, and guided him to the only room on the ground floor, sure he would never make it up the stairs.

"You rest, now, Mr. . .?"

"Tanner" he replied. "Vin."

"Well, Vin, I am Marita, and after you rest a bit, I will bring you something to eat. Alright?"

Again that smile. If he didn't feel so god-awful, he'd swear he'd died and gone to heaven. "Thank you, Ma'am," he mumbled, and collapsed on the bed without even removing his boots.

He was sure he'd just closed his eyes when he heard a soft rapping on his door. "Vin? Would you like something to eat?" Her voice was almost musical he decided - no, angelic. That was it, angelic. He'd wandered into some strange little place where an angel had been placed just for him. Aw hell, he was really, really tired. But hungry, too, and so he pulled himself up with a groan, and made his way out to the small dining area. He was surprised to see that he wasn't the only guest, two other travelers had found their way here, also. Guess the angel wasn't just for him after all.

Marita moved among the tables gracefully, serving the men graciously, as if they were fine dining in a big city, instead of a tiny mountain village. She noticed Vin's nasty cough, and by the flush skirting his cheeks, she suspected he had a fever to go with it. She sat a steaming mug of willow bark tea in front of him with a knowing smile.

God, Vin never thought he'd be so happy to see a cup of tea in his life. Surely she had read his mind. He looked up at her gratefully, and gave a shy nod. Definitely an angel.

In spite of what he thought had been a ravenous appetite, he found he had trouble swallowing the tasty meal. The young woman had obviously gone to a lot effort to make the food, and he felt bad that he couldn't quite get it down. Again, she read his mind, and came to sit across from him at the table.

"It's all right, you know, if you don't eat it all. I know you don't feel well, and I know I'm a fine cook. It won't hurt my feelings."

Vin smiled, and looked in her rich, brown eyes. Damn, she was pretty. But now that he'd had a bit of rest, he resumed his focus on the purpose of his trip. "You get many visitors through here?"

"Surprisingly, yes. We're pretty much the only settlement in this part of the Colorado Territory. Folks can see us from high up on the south trail - I reckon that's how you found us, right?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I just didn't realize I'd crossed into Colorado. Wasn't thinkin' real clear, I guess."

"Well, Vin, just where are you headed? Do you have a destination in mind, or just enjoying the journey?"

"Don't rightly know where I'm headed - I'm lookin' fer a friend."

"Must be a good friend , to bring you all the way out here. Like I said, a lot of strangers come through, most heading up to Colorado Springs or Denver. What does this friend of yours look like?"

"He's tall, light hair, usually wears black. Has this long black coat he likes. Sound like anyone you've seen?" Vin held his breath. He just knew she was the one, and he felt like his whole world would break apart or be held together by her answer.

"You know, he sounds like a man who came through here about two weeks ago. He was with a couple of other men - strange fellows. But the man in black, he was real sweet, a real gentleman."

Vin felt his heart beating so rapidly he was sure she could see and feel it from across the table. Please, God . . . "Did ya happen to catch his name?"

"I'm not good about remembering names, but I never forget a face." She smiled, thinking she'd never forget Vin's name or face. "Let me think a minute . . . I think his name was Chris." She could see by the look on his face what that name meant to him, and for a few minutes, she was afraid he would pass out. But then he looked up at her with such hope in his eyes that she worried greatly for him. Fragile as spun glass, he was, she could see that. What if she'd remembered wrong? What if it wasn't his friend? This man would inevitably shatter, for this was surely no ordinary friendship.

"Any chance they said where they was headed?" He asked breathlessly, afraid to believe, and even more afraid not to.

"The one man talked constantly, so I'm sorry to say, I didn't pay much attention to what he said. I think he mentioned going on up to the springs and taking the stage. I'm so sorry, that's all I remember."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Ma'am. I reckon I can't ever thank you enough for what you've done for me." He looked away then, not wanting her to see the tears that suddenly filled his eyes along with the emotion that filled his heart - hope. She was his angel.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Crisp, clear air; cool, rambling brooks; big horn sheep and elk; craggy rocks of every shape and color; and great, green pines as far as the eye could see. Josiah awoke with those images so clear, he was disoriented momentarily. The Rocky Mountains - he'd passed through as a child, and later, on one of his spiritual journeys. Surely it was indeed God's country. He glanced over at Nathan, still sleeping peacefully, curled up tight in his bed roll, and walked over to give him a nudge.

"Come on, Nathan. Its time to get up - we got us a journey to make!" Josiah grinned from ear to ear.

Nathan groaned, before mumbling crossly, "What the hell are you talkin' 'bout Josiah? Its too darn early to be talkin' in riddles. What journey? We don't have a clue which way Vin went."

"We do now, Brother. I've had a vision."

"More likely a dream, Josiah."

"Nathan, we've got to head for the Rockies. Vin's in Colorado. I know it as sure as I'm standing here talking to you. Now come on."

"Josiah, I'm yer friend, and as much as I'd like to believe that God talks to ya - I'm just thinkin' yer plumb wore out, like we all are. So much has happened, its natural to start dreamin' things and thinkin' things. It ain't even light out yet. Now go on back to bed and we'll talk on this in the mornin'." Nathan yawned and rolled back over, yanking the blankets over his head.

Josiah reached down to uncover his friend, and spoke softly but solemnly in his ear. "Nathan, I know you and I don't always see eye to eye on how God works. I know you've seen enough bad stuff in your life to question if He even exists - but I'm telling you, we've got to go to Colorado, and we need to go now. I ain't asking you to trust in a vision or a spirit or even a gut feeling - I'm asking you to trust me."

"Well, I ain't never seen the Rocky Mountains," Nathan replied with a sigh and smile. "I hear tell they're somethin' to see."

"That they are, my friend," Josiah responded with a grin that covered his whole face. He was being pushed again by something unknown. The last time it happened, he'd been there to save Vin, and he couldn't help but be buoyed by the hope that it would work out that way again.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Mary Travis stormed into the Standish Tavern, all spit fire and vinegar. She spotted the cause of her anger, and headed to his table, hair flying and daggers in her eyes. "Just what are you up to, Ezra?" she demanded.

The gambler looked up from his hand with a genuinely puzzled expression. "What are you referring to, Mrs. Travis?" Lord, what had he done to incur her wrath? He'd thought he'd been keeping to himself, staying out of everyone's way. Maybe that was the problem - maybe she expected more from him.

"Why are you going around town asking questions about the days before Chris died? Asking if there were strangers in town, asking if he was acting oddly. . .can't you just let it be? Do you know how hard this has been for Billy? You stirring things up just makes it worse. He died in a terrible accident. What possible difference could it make what happened the day before?!"

So that was it. Of course, she would discover his covert activities. He thought he had been discreet, though obviously not discreet enough. He looked closely at the worn look in her eyes, and he knew it was not Billy who was having such a difficult time - although he knew the boy had a fondness for Chris. How should he play this? He had no desire to hurt the woman, and he certainly did not want to give her false hope.

"Mrs. Travis . . .Mary, I assure you I meant no ill intent. Rather, I simply wanted to lay to rest some questions in my mind."

"And did you, Ezra?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did you lay to rest the questions in your mind?"

"Yes. Its as you say, Mr. Larabee died in a terrible accident."

He caught the quiver of her chin, and knew instinctively that she had hoped he'd say something else. Hoped that maybe it was all a mistake, and somehow Ezra had been on to something. She was angry, but he knew the anger was truly not directed at him. As she turned on her heels to leave, he bit back the urge to tell her that two men were in town the day before Chris died, asking for directions to his cabin. Thus far, he'd been able to ascertain that they were business men of some sort, possibly working for the government. He had wires out to various locations in an effort to discover where they came from. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and Ezra knew how to make a winning hand from less.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

JD glanced up from his beer, his sad, solemn eyes barely peaking through the long, black locks that covered his face. Inez felt only heartache as she watched the young man. He carried the weight of the world on his slender shoulders, or at least the weight of Four Corners, and one Buck Wilmington.

What on earth was wrong with these men? First Vin runs off half-cocked. Then Ezra mysteriously leaves for a few days to "check on a few matters." And the resident ladies' man had become essentially useless - wallowing in grief and self-pity. Well, she'd had enough. Buck hadn't even attempted to flirt with her in weeks. As much as she tried to tell herself that she was relieved, the fact was that she missed his teasing, suggestive remarks. She missed him.

The raven hared beauty took another look at JD. and anger flowed anew. The kid deserved better. He was working his tail off with no help and no support from the man he loved as a brother.

Inez generally had the strength of character to resist her impulsive nature, but it failed her in this particular instance. She strode over to Buck's table with one purpose in mind - to get him up out of the hole he'd crawled into. The man in question sat blissfully unaware however, until the woman took a hold of his beer and quickly dumped the contents on his head.

Buck sputtered angrily, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Because, Mr. Wilmington" she spat back, "it is high time for you to quit brooding and get back to work. Chris Larabee died, you did not. And if you think he would want you wasting your life away in this saloon, then you did not know him at all! You are needed here and now. This town needs you. This young man needs you" she nodded at the bewildered J.D. "And it is quite possible that I need you."

Buck raised his eyebrows at that last part and offered her a slow, lazy smile. They would be doing some talking later on.

For now though, he turned his attention to JD He could see the youth was trying to suppress a grin, as the rogue felt beer dripping from the tips of his mustache. He'd let him down, and the kid had never said a word. Never once complained. Damn. Inez was right. Right about every single thing she'd said.

He strolled over to the bar where JD stood, and put his arm around his friend's shoulders, all the while flashing that true Wilmington grin that JD had despaired of ever seeing again. Suddenly the world weighed a little less because Buck was back to share the load. Maybe there was hope for them all yet.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Part 3: Circles

Chris felt like he was moving in circles. Every time he thought he'd found someone or something remotely suspicious, they'd checked out fine, and he'd start all over again. In fact, he had developed a growing respect for these men. He found the engineering and thought processes behind this construction incredible. He had seen track being laid in the low- lying hills and deserts of the southern territories, but nothing compared to this. Here, the railways crossed rough gorges, steep cliffs, and deep canyons. The often cynical gunman was impressed, not an easy feat by any means.

He was also impressed with Daniel Martin, the man leading the team. Daniel had sized him up the moment he'd met him, knowing right off that Chris was not the banker they'd tried to pass him off as. The young manager had spent more than two years on the project, and was often caught between the government, the railroad, and the ranchers. So if some higher authority decided to send in a gunfighter to keep an eye on things, why argue? He had told Chris this up-front, within minutes of him strolling into the main tent to introduce himself. Straight-forward, honest, and obviously intelligent - and Chris liked him right off. Another feat not so easily accomplished.

Larabee made his way over to Daniel's tent now, hoping for some final details on the celebration that was taking place at the end of the week. He found him in his usual position - head bent over a rickety, make-shift desk, staring intently at one of a number of maps and papers strewn about the tent. Daniel pulled his head up as Chris entered, the soft glow from the oil lamp reflecting off his glasses, which had slipped to the end of his nose. The man absently pushed them back up with one finger while using his other hand to sweep his unruly, dark brown hair away from his face. Daniel looked him in the eye then, and for a moment, Chris was startled by a sense of familiarity. Sky blue eyes, wise beyond their years, and with a sudden pang, he realized how much he missed Vin. These moments just seemed to creep up on him when he least expected them. Moments when he realized how much his men had come to mean to him, how much Vin in particular had come to mean to him.

"Something I can do for you, Chris?" Daniel asked with a smile.

"I was hoping you might have a few more details about this big shin-dig coming up."

"Wish I did, but I'm being kept in the dark. I suppose with the threats and all, they're keeping it quiet. Just telling people who really need to know. Of course, I would think you'd be one of those people."

Chris snickered. "Yeah, you'd think so. Gill is supposed to be coming in the day after tomorrow to fill me in. But I'd like more time to get the lay of things."

"You got any ideas yet?" Daniel asked as he shuffled more papers into seemingly random piles.

"No - and I'm not likely to find any here. I don't think any of your men are involved, Daniel. If anyone is planning anything, its outside of this camp." Which meant he was unlikely to stop it. Whatever "it" was.

"Glad to hear that" Daniel said as he rose and again pushed his uncooperative lenses back up where they belonged. "Although I'm not surprised. I've worked with these men a long time, and believe me, they have invested too much to sabotage their efforts. Besides," he added with a wide grin, "next week we get our bonuses and move on to our new lives."

Chris nodded. He knew the young man planned to rejoin his fiancée in Kansas and buy some farmland. He latched onto Daniel's arm as he turned away from him, "Just be careful. This isn't over by a long shot. Watch your back."

Daniel gave him a slight nod before scooping up another stack of maps and heading back to his desk. Chris tried to push aside the terrible sense of foreboding that gripped him as he left the tent. Damn. He needed help. If he sent the wire tomorrow . . . if they rode straight through . . . they still couldn't make it. Damn. He needed the boys.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Peso strutted along the well-worn, though still treacherous trail with sure feet and high spirits - his head held high and nose to the wind. He was enjoying the challenge of the steep, rocky slopes, and Vin was grateful for that, since he himself was functioning at about half speed, if that. His head throbbed with every feisty footstep, and the high altitude left him breathless and light headed. He hated feeling like he was just drifting along, at the mercy of anyone with a clear head and a steady aim. His stomach churned, too, with the repeated up and down, zigzag motions as Peso found the safest, surest step.

But in truth, he doubted his ailments had anything to do with the traveling conditions, or even the injuries he'd suffered. He was just plain ill from all the thoughts going around and round in his head - a sort of sick cycle that whirled on and on, even when he tried to close his eyes and rest. Chris couldn't be dead. But then, where was he? And why fake his death? He would never do that to his friends. He wouldn't leave them all like this. But Marita said the man she saw appeared to be traveling willingly. So maybe it wasn't the gunslinger that she saw after all. Maybe he was following a dead end. Maybe Chris was dead. No - he wasn't. He couldn't be. And the cycle began again

By the time he reached Colorado Springs, he could barely hold his head up. But the need to find his friend burned hot within him now. Determined to find Chris - or die trying, and he conceded the latter was a distinct possibility if he didn't get some rest.

His tired eyes scanned the crowded streets for some quiet place to set a spell. Formerly a quaint, peaceful village in a serene setting, the city now literally burst from its seams, thanks to the discovery of gold nearby, the draw of the springs, and expanding transportation systems. Hotels lined the main street, but Vin didn't think he could afford a room, and he certainly couldn't stand all the noise and commotion. No, this time there would be no soft bed, no hot meal, and most disappointingly, no angel.

No matter. He'd find out what he needed to know and keep moving. Marita had said something about the men catching a stage, so that seemed to be the best place to start. He tied Peso up to the hitching post at the small stone building that housed the Colorado Springs Stage Company with some trepidation. There were dozens of horses nearby, and his was likely to get antsy with all the activity. Vin knew Peso felt as hemmed in as he did, both of them unnerved and anxious to get away. As he stepped inside he noted several people waiting on benches for the next stage, while several more stood hunched against the walls. If he weren't having trouble breathing before, he surely would be now.

He approached the booth a bit hesitantly, and asked quietly if the clerk could help him locate a friend. The man looked at Vin incredulously, and stated, "Look around. You think I got time to notice what anybody looks like or where they're going?"

Vin tried again. "Its real important, Mister. I can see yer busy, and I wouldn't be botherin' ya if I didn't need to know." God, he was so tired and more than a little cranky, and he really didn't want to have to grab the guy by the throat and shake the hell out of him. He sure didn't want to make a scene either - all he needed was to get thrown in jail. Just give him something. He was close now. He had to be, because he knew he couldn't go on much longer. He just needed one more clue . . . something.

The clerk had no interest in the disheveled outdoorsman. It was obvious he didn't have a dime to his name. Still, the man looked sick, and he didn't need him scaring off the other passengers. He'd give him what he wanted and send him on his way.

"Look, I'm not sure. But I might have seen a man that matched that description heading up to Denver. That's where most everybody is going, anyway. What with the big goings on and all."

"What goings on?" Vin asked.

"They're finishing up the railroad. Got all kinds of fancy people coming in to bless it. So you want a ticket or not? If not, move on."

Ticket? Vin couldn't think of anything worse than being confined in a moving box with a bunch of strangers. He'd make it to Denver on his own. He was close now.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The gorgeous scenery had gotten old right quick, as far as Nathan was concerned. He was pretty sure they were just riding in circles since every mountain peak looked just like the last one. Josiah rode just ahead of him, the trail being too narrow for them to ride abreast. He couldn't see the older man's face, but he didn't need to. He could picture the look of pure, stubborn will and steely determination that graced his friend's features.

Nathan had tried hard not to complain, to think positively, to trust Josiah as he had asked him to. But his doubt flourished with each passing mile. He was tired and hungry and his head hurt. He didn't like being up this high, either. It was hard to breathe, and he didn't want to admit it, but he felt a mite uncomfortable on some of the higher ledges.

"Josiah, why are we doing this?"

The preacher stopped abruptly and turned back to look strangely at his companion. It occurred to Nathan that he must have finally spoken out loud what he'd been thinking for the past two days.

Faith is a curious thing. Evident and essential to those who have it, perplexing and unnerving to those who don't. Josiah had forgotten that what seemed obvious to him, might be a bit unclear to his traveling companion. But how could he explain the unexplainable? Some things just were.

"Now, Nathan, I know I don't need to tell ya why we're doing this. You've got feelings for Vin, same as me. The young man helped us both out when pretty near everyone else had given up." Josiah offered, knowing full well that wasn't what Nathan had asked at all.

"Of course I know why we're looking for Vin! But why all the way out here? Just where did your vision tell us to go? Lord, Josiah, you know I ain't one to complain, but I'm thinking I'm as crazy as you are fer goin' along with this."

Sanchez couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "Hold on, Nathan. I've got a few ideas."

"I sure would like to hear 'em, cause I'm getting real tired of all this natural beauty."

"Well, at that last settlement we happened on to, I got to talkin' to a few people. Seems there's some big festival going on in Denver later this week. I got the notion that we need to be there."

"You 'got the notion'?"

"That's right."

Nathan rubbed his aching neck. "And just why do ya suppose Vin, of all people, would want to go to somethin' like that?"

"Because Vin is lookin' for Chris. You gotta put yourself in his place, Nathan. He believes Chris is alive. We know from that last set of tracks that he believes Larabee headed north. We know there's something big going on in Denver, and it's a sure bet that Vin knows it, too. It's all very logical, when you think about it."

"Logical! There ain't nothin' logical about one thing you said, Josiah! We don't really know a damn thing, except that Vin is wandering around in the wilderness hurt, looking for a dead man."

Now the preacher was puzzled. He thought he'd explained it all so well. It was so clear to him. "Look, Nathan. We'll head on up to Denver. If we don't find Vin there, we'll come back home. Maybe by then, Vin will have come back." He didn't believe that, but it seemed to be what his friend wanted to hear.

"Alright then," Nathan conceded with a sigh. "How long ya reckon till we reach Denver?"

"I'm thinkin' Sunday." Sunday was the day of the celebration, and a fine day to find a lost friend. It was just a matter of time . . . and faith.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ezra felt strangely guilty searching through the rubble of Chris' home. It just didn't seem right to be disturbing the place where a friend had died. He didn't believe in spirits or specters like some of the others, but still, it just didn't feel comfortable to be in this place.

Ezra remembered the morning they had ridden out to retrieve their leader's body. He had been embarrassingly inept about the matter. Buck was sick to his stomach, so Josiah had taken on most of the burden of wrapping the remains. He had tried to help, but his hands didn't seem to work properly and he couldn't control the tremors that wracked his entire body. He had felt ashamed by his total lack of self-control. But in the midst of that sorrowful experience, Ezra had spotted the liquor bottles strewn about. Most were damaged beyond recognition, but one was not, and something about it had struck him as being oddly out of place. So here he was, digging through the dirty, blackened rubble that stained his hands and clothes, looking for a burnt bottle of whiskey.

When he found it, he couldn't stop the chill that swept over him. Imported whiskey. Expensive imported whiskey. Expensive imported whiskey that Chris would never drink. Ezra knew of only one man that drank this particular brand. The same man, he had recently discovered, whose two hired hands came looking for Chris the day before he died. It was time to talk to Buck and JD.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buck and JD, were in fact, wondering what Ezra was up to. He'd left town for a few days, and no one seemed to have any idea why. So when he burst into the tavern carrying a burnt up old bottle of whiskey, they were more than curious.

"Where ya been, Ezra? And what's that you got there?" Wilmington asked with a cock of his head.

"Gentlemen, I believe we have some matters to discuss."

"What kind of matters?" JD asked, leaning forward with an eagerness he couldn't hide. Ezra had some big news, he was sure of it. He could feel it.

"After some investigation, I have determined that Mr. Larabee's death may not have been accidental after all."

Now Buck leaned forward, his eyes sharp and his voice deadly, "What the hell are you talkin' about, Ezra?"

The gambler sat the damaged bottle on the table. "I found this in the ruins of Chris' cabin."

Both Buck and JD looked at him expectantly.

Ezra sighed. "Its rare imported liquor." Again, they seemed to not catch on. Honestly, would he have to spell it out? "Its rare imported liquor that Mr. Larabee would have neither the opportunity nor the inclination to purchase."

"Damn it, Ezra! What exactly are you trying to say? That Chris wasn't alone when he died?" Buck was frustrated now, not liking at all the way this conversation was going. He'd finally made his peace with the tragedy, and here was his smooth talking friend opening old wounds.

"Possibly. Or perhaps that someone only wanted us to think he died by accident. Someone wanted us to believe that he'd gotten himself in such a drunken stupor, that he carelessly allowed a fire to start. Someone who drinks only the finest alcohol available."

JD hated it when he felt like he was missing something. "Are you tryin' to say someone killed Chris?"

Standish picked up the deck of cards lying on the table and nervously began to shuffle them. He could feel Buck's tense gaze on him, as well as JD's anxious one.

"I don't know for certain. But two men came looking for Chris the day before he died. Two men that I just recently discovered worked for none other than our estimable territorial governor. The same man who drinks expensive liquor of this particular brand."

Buck felt the color drain from his face. Vin had been right. Or at least partially right. Chris had been murdered. And he'd almost let the bastard get away with it.

"I know where he is," JD spoke up suddenly.

"Who?" Ezra asked.

"Hopewell. I read it in Mary's paper. He's going up to Denver to some big party. They finished the railroad, and all these government people are going."

Just then Mary stepped into the saloon and made her way to the table. The men looked at each other nervously. She didn't need to know this, not yet.

"Did I hear you men mention Denver?" the pretty blonde asked.

"Yes. We were discussing the upcoming festivities," Ezra offered.

"Well, it looks like there will be two more guests there. I just got a telegram from Josiah. He wanted me to let you know that he and Nathan are heading up to Denver." Her news delivered, Mary turned to leave.

Ezra looked at his friends, knowing they were all thinking the same thing. "Gentlemen, have you ever seen Colorado Territory?"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Clayton Hopewell sipped his whiskey with his feet propped up on his opulent desk. He savored the rich taste of the expensive imported liquor - almost as much as he savored this moment. How he loved it when a plan came together! Of course, the true defining moment was still days away, but no matter. The wheels were in motion, and even the "Magnificent Seven" were powerless to stop it. It was just too good.

He really did owe Lucas James for this one. Without that little gem of dirt he'd managed to dig up on Vin Tanner, none of this would have worked out so well. Now he would not only take down half the government dignitaries in the west, but those arrogant gunfighters as well. He'd convinced James to hold onto his information until after he was through with Larabee, then the rancher could take Tanner to Texas, or do whatever the hell he wanted with him. In the meantime, he had Larabee right where he wanted him. It was obvious the man would do anything to protect the Texan, a strange thing to a man like Hopewell, who never did understand anything other than loyalty to self, and to money, of course.

He'd had to put up with that strange pair, Gill and Bell, but even that unpleasantness was worth it. Gill could talk the coat off a grizzly, and that odd duck he traveled with could forge any signature on sight. Hopewell knew Larabee would trust Travis, another thorn in his side, and he rightly figured the false note would be just enough to convince the gunslinger to take a chance.

But his finest idea had to be faking Larabee's death - a stroke of genius. The other six were disintegrating, and no doubt that snooty Mary Travis suffered great heartache. She was in love with the gunslinger, he was sure of it, even if she hadn't admitted it to herself yet. Just the thought of her tearful suffering brought a devilish grin to his face. By the time they all figured out that they hadn't buried Larabee, he really would be dead - along with most of the others who stood in his way. For soon, the most spectacular celebration in the west would become the most unfortunate catastrophe - with Chris Larabee taking the blame.

He loved it when a plan came together.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Part 4: Choices

He chose left. He had no idea why, really. He didn't figure he'd find Chris at a railroad camp, knowing how he felt about the whole railroad business. But the trail split, straight on to Denver, or left to the Union Pacific Railway camp. He told himself it was because he just couldn't stomach the thought of another big city. That wasn't it though. Common sense said Chris would more likely be in the growing metropolis. But he chose left, and he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.

Vin trotted into the busy camp, his senses sharpened into a keen awareness that seemed almost out of place under the circumstances. Normally, he felt this heightened sensitivity when danger lurked, but this was different. There was no danger here, but maybe something else. Maybe someone else. He scanned the faces of the men, each engrossed in their various tasks. Some were doing the back- breaking job of physically laying the rails. Others worked to complete the station, a true marvel of modern architecture from what the sharpshooter could see. He saw others scampering about with ledgers and maps, their serious faces never pausing to take in the stranger that had wandered into their midst.

Vin climbed down from Peso, and paused to take a swig of cool water from his canteen. He brought his hand up to wipe his mouth and took another look around. The continuous activity had stirred up a hazy cloud of dust that stung his weary eyes. He rubbed his hands across them, wincing at the pain that simple act brought him, and tried again to view the crowd before him.

And then he saw him. He stood with his back to him, perhaps thirty yards away, but Vin would recognize those ram rod straight shoulders, and the solid stance anywhere from any distance. A short, bald man stood across from the blond, speaking with grand, animated gestures, and Tanner knew instinctively that the gunslinger regarded the man warily. He could even picture the grim sort of half smile his friend wore. But none of that mattered. Only one thing mattered, and at that particular moment, it was hard to believe that anything would ever matter so much again. Chris was alive. That was enough for now and forever as far as Vin was concerned. Whatever had brought him here, whatever obstacles he faced, whatever lies had been told - and even Chris' part in them - all could be faced and fixed and forgotten. Because Chris was alive.

Larabee half turned then, and through the throng of dirty, sweating men, one man stood out like a beacon. Vin. How on earth did he get here, and why was he looking like that? As their eyes met, Chris was thrown by an uncustomary sense of confusion. Normally he and the tracker could communicate volumes with just a look. But there was an intensity in Vin's gaze that had him completely baffled. Oh God, something must have happened in town!

The two men made their way towards each other, oblivious to the activity around them. Once more, Vin felt as though he moved in slow motion. It could be a dream, he thought suddenly with a deep sense of despair. He had been so tired, so tired. But then Chris was there, his grin tentative but true, as he held his arm out to greet him in their usual way. The younger man's relief was so palpable that he no longer trusted his legs to hold him.

As Chris approached his friend, he was shocked at how awful he looked. Again, he felt apprehension bordering on panic, what had happened in his absence? He spoke hesitantly, "Vin? What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

The tracker didn't answer. He couldn't seem to make his mouth work. Couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the man in black. He just really, really needed to get away from all these people. He reached up to loosen the scarf tied around his neck, desperate to catch his breath and stop the ground from tilting underneath him.

Larabee noted the act, and the dirty bandages that wrapped his friend's hands and wrists. Even Vin's fingers were red and raw, and Chris couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as he exclaimed, "My God, Vin! What happened to your hands?" Although he was beginning to think this could be the least of the tracker's problems, since it seemed he had lost the ability to hear or speak. Vin had yet to utter a single word.

And when he did finally utter that single word, it was with such anguish, that it nearly broke the gunman's heart. "Chris."

Obviously Tanner was severely shaken, so Larabee put an arm around the young man's shoulders and guided him to his tent. Once inside, Chris pulled up two chairs and stated with forced composure, "Sit down and talk to me."

Vin opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, but harsh coughing erupted instead. The blond immediately offered him a drink, which he gratefully accepted with visibly shaking hands. Chris noted this with concern, the sharpshooter could have twenty men gunning for him, and never quiver. After regaining some control, Vin gasped, "We thought you were dead." Well, technically that wasn't quite true, there was no we about it.

Now it was Chris' turn to gasp. "What the hell are you talking about? Why would you think that? What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"Seems like I should be askin' you that, Chris," Vin countered. Aw hell. This wasn't going the way he'd planned at all. But oh, that's right - he had no plan. He felt like he'd been some damn puppet from the beginning with someone pulling his strings and pushing him in directions he couldn't begin to understand.

Both men sighed simultaneously, each overwhelmed with how much needed to be said and neither sure of where or when or how to start.

Chris broke the stalemate by gently turning over Vin's bandaged hands in his own and stating quietly, "Let's start with these."

The quiet tracker had actually been hoping to leave that whole part out, but he supposed that wasn't going to happen. So he answered, "Me and Josiah went out to your place a few weeks ago. Found it on fire." Vin swallowed and went on. "I went in . . . I thought you were inside. I saw a man on yer bed, and the then the roof fell in and . . ."

"Oh my God, Vin! You could have been killed!" Chris spat out with a mixture of awe and anger. He would never understand what he had done to deserve the devoted friendship of this man.

"But I wasn't. And neither were you. I knew it wasn't you, but the others buried that body and put your name on the grave. They all thought I was plumb crazy. But I knew you weren't dead. Can't explain it - I just knew."

The gunfighter's eyebrows drew together in bewilderment. What the hell was going on? He had suspected a trap from the beginning, and Vin's story merely confirmed his suspicions. Someone lured him up here for some unknown purpose, and at the same time, had managed to keep his friends out of the way. Except for Vin. His best friend wouldn't go down easy, and he wouldn't quit, either, not if there was the slightest chance. Tanner hadn't given up on him - not when he thought he was burning to death, and not when he was sure he hadn't. There wasn't a moment since this whole thing began that Chris hadn't wished Vin were by his side. And now he was. And even as sick as the tracker looked, he couldn't think of finer sight right then.

Although Chris could see the exhaustion that sat deep in his friend's eyes, he knew him well enough to know that he would not rest until his questions were answered. And the gunslinger had more than a few questions of his own.

"Vin, didn't Judge Travis talk with any of you?"

"Don't know, Chris. The boys said he came for yer funeral, but I was kinda . . . not feelin' real well. What's he got to do with this?"

The sinking feeling he'd been experiencing seemed to be rapidly pulling him under. Travis didn't know. He hadn't sent Chris here after all. Who had the power, and the motive to put together a set up like this? Unfortunately, several names came to mind.

Larabee set about explaining his side of the events that occurred. "I was asked to come up here and keep an eye on things. I thought Travis was involved. There's a big celebration coming up, with all kinds of self-important men involved, and apparently several threats have been made. I got a note from the judge asking me to look into things, see what's going on."

"By yerself?"

"They thought seven men riding in might be a mite suspicious. I was just supposed to fill in here, see who might be up to something." Chris immediately noted the fire that lit Tanner's blue eyes.

"You expect me to believe you came all the way up here to help out the railroad and the government? On nothin' more than a note from Travis? Hell Chris, I never figured you fer a liar."

"I ain't lying to you, Vin. That's exactly what happened."

"How much, Chris?"

"How much what?" Chris was puzzled by the question, though not at all by Vin's reaction. All the men knew how he disdained the big business of the railroad companies and the often shady dealings of the territorial governments.

"How much they givin' you to do this? How much was it worth to you to put yer friends through hell?"

Chris just barely reined in his temper as he responded forcefully, "You think I'd let that happen? You think I'd just ride off letting you all think I was dead? Someone set us up, Vin. Someone wanted me here, and didn't want you boys coming after me." Chris met Vin's intense gaze, still finding doubt in the stormy blue depths.

"How much?" Tanner repeated.

Chris took a deep breath. There was no way around it. He'd have to tell him the truth. Vin's life was at stake, after all. Larabee hesitated briefly, looking away for a moment, before turning back to face his friend. "They know about you, Vin. Gave me a choice of going with them and giving you back your name, or letting them turn you in. Was no choice at all, as far as I was concerned."

Vin wanted to respond. Wanted to say that a man always has a choice. Wanted to tell this stubborn, hard man that he could fight his own battles. But once again, he couldn't get his mouth to work. What had he done to deserve the friendship of this man? Chris had been the victim of an elaborate trap - and he was the bait. Oh God. Suddenly it was all just too much, and Vin collapsed in on himself, his last ounce of strength gone. His elbows rested awkwardly on his knees as he lowered his incredibly heavy head into his stiff, sore hands. A low, painful groan escaped him as every single aching muscle seemed to scream for his attention.

Chris was there then, guiding him onto the narrow cot that rested against the far wall of the tent. He helped the younger man get off his coat, barely keeping in check his worry at how much thinner his already lean friend had become. "I'm getting the camp doctor, Vin."

"No! I don't cotton to havin' a stranger doctorin' me," Vin asserted as he latched onto his friend's arm. "I'm alright. Just need to lie down fer a spell, that's all. We got a lot to talk about, a lot of ponderin' to do. We're gonna need a plan."

"We've got plenty of time for that, Vin. You need to be looked at, and then you need to sleep. They'll be plenty of time for talking later on." Chris turned away and added quietly, " I can't believe the boys let you ride out like this, the shape you're in."

"Didn't exactly let me."

Chris shook his head and smiled, "Of course not. What was I thinking? Should know you'd go off half- cocked instead of taking care of yourself."

Vin's pained expression threw Larabee off guard. For the first time, he thought about how difficult the last few weeks must have been for his friend. He couldn't even imagine being in the tracker's shoes. Knowing his best friend was alive, but no one believing him. Then searching the countryside for him, hurt and alone. It was nothing short of a miracle that he'd made it here.

" I'm sorry, Vin. I'm glad you're here. I'm going to need you. I ain't much good at coming up with plans on my own anymore. Seems like I've gotten used to having some mangy Texan help me figure things out."

He gave Vin a small smile, and met his gaze. This time there was no confusion. Vin needed him to stay. Needed to see him and feel him nearby. The gunslinger pulled up his chair next to the cot and laid a gentle hand on his friend's arm. As the tracker's eyes finally drifted closed, Chris felt only transient relief. They would need a plan all right, a damn good plan.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Randall Gill didn't get to be Clayton Hopewell's right hand man by being stupid. When Larabee turned away from him and took off mid-sentence, he knew something was up. He'd followed him just close enough to see him greet a long-haired man in a buckskin coat. Had to be Tanner. Even if he couldn't tell by the man's dress, he'd know by the look in Larabee's eyes. Well, this certainly was an unforeseen complication. The gunslinger would know that he'd been set-up. Damn! How the hell did that tracker make it all the way up here? Apparently, he lived up to his title and his reputation.

Being a realist, Gill knew he couldn't undo the damage that had been done. He'd just better figure out where to go from here. Hopewell was en route and wouldn't arrive until tomorrow. That left plenty of time for Larabee and Tanner to totally screw things up. It was up to him. Maybe he should just take them out now. But no, Hopewell wanted Larabee to take the fall for the upcoming events, and that wouldn't happen if he were dead. Maybe he should let Larabee make the first move. Of course, knowing the gunslinger's reputation, his first move could be Gill's last, the bald man thought with a shudder.

Then again, what did Larabee really know? Surely Gill could come up with some story to talk his way out of this. That was it. He would deny any knowledge of the whole affair. He'd just been doing his job. Lying came so easy to him that most of the time he wasn't even aware he was doing it. He'd panicked for nothing. The gunfighter may realize he'd been brought here under false pretenses, but his integrity wouldn't allow him to walk away, not with innocent lives at stake. But just in case, he'd keep a close eye on them both. If things got messy, he'd have Bell grab Tanner. He'd worked as bait before, and he would again if necessary. Gill had seen it in Larabee's eyes

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Chris stood at the entrance of the tent, watching the orange glow of the sun as it slowly slid behind the mountain range. He vaguely noticed that it had gotten quiet. Many of the men had left the area, their work completed. He imagined most of them had ridden into the big city, a few miles away, to celebrate. The company chose to locate the station on the western side Denver in anticipation of the day when the western ends of the railroad would meet, uniting the entire continent. He wanted to believe that would be a good thing, but somehow, his cynical nature wouldn't allow that. He'd seen too much damage from men's greed. And he couldn't help but wonder how much more damage he'd see before this was over.

He turned back inside when he heard a soft moan. Chris had only left for a few moments to get medical supplies, and he had worried the whole time that Vin would stir and find him gone. To the blonde's relief, the injured man was just as he'd left him when he returned. In fact, Vin hadn't even awakened when Chris removed the bandages from his arms and redressed them. He was mildly relieved to see that the sharpshooter's hands seemed to have taken the brunt of the injuries. Although, he was certain more were hidden beneath his clothing. His friend was feverish, and since Vin groaned each time he moved onto his back, there were likely to be problems there, as well. But for the most part, he had slept well for nearly six hours, and Chris figured that was what he needed most.

Larabee, on the other hand, had spent the last six hours looking for answers. Obviously Gill and Bell were in this up to their eyeballs. He thought about shaking the truth out of them, but he knew Gill had no concept of the meaning of the word. Besides, it hadn't taken much thought to figure out who was behind this. He reasoned that the men worked for Hopewell. The governor had the motive and power to make a great deal of trouble, and he hated the Larabee gang.

If he were smart, he'd grab Vin and ride like hell for home. But he knew he couldn't do that either. Innocent lives were at stake. Men like Hopewell didn't care who got hurt in the crossfire, as long as their objectives were met. Which meant, glad as he was to see Vin, he could be in serious danger. They'd used him as bait once, and they wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Just then, Tanner groaned as his weakened body attempted to return to full wakefulness. Through half-lidded eyes, he began to take in his surroundings. Twilight. A tent. Chris was here. Chris . . .was . . .here. The full meaning of those words caused him to sit up so abruptly, that he lost his balance and nearly toppled off the edge of the cot.

"Easy there, Pard. Where you goin' in such a hurry?" Chris asked as he laid a steady hand on the tracker.

Vin felt his heart hammering in his chest and tried to take a deep breath, which resulted in closer to a gulp. It was real. He had found Chris. He turned tear-filled eyes to his friend, embarrassed by his emotion, but needing so badly to see him. To touch him. He raised a shaky hand and lightly brushed the blonde's cheek.

Chris felt tears sting his own eyes as Vin's anguish washed over him. "I'm real, Vin, and I'm not going anywhere. Except home - with you."

The younger man swallowed and nodded, quickly regaining his composure. "Reckon we got a few things to do first."

"Reckon we do."

"You got any ideas?"

"Just one - Clayton Hopewell."

Vin shook his head in disgust, and swung his legs around to set his feet on the ground. "Sounds about right. What do you reckon he's got in mind?"

"Well, he's got the perfect opportunity to get rid of a whole lot of the most powerful men in the western territories. Set back the cause of statehood several more years, and increase his own authority by leaps and bounds."

"Guess you wasn't wastin' time while I was sleeping," Vin smiled. "Don't think he'd come in with guns blazin' though."

"What do you think he'd do?"

"I don't know. Something more showy, maybe. Remember Dicky O'Shea?"

"Kind of a hard fellow to forget, Vin. You thinkin' dynamite?"

"Or nitro, maybe. Make a big scene, hurt a whole lot of people, and real difficult to trace who is responsible. Just one thing I can't figure though."

"What's that?"

"What's he want with you? Where do you fit in with all of this?"

Chris cocked his head, considering that very matter. Vin could see the moment his friend had found the answer. He turned to him with a wild look in his eyes and spouted out angrily, "He's planning to pin it on me! Damn it, how could I be so stupid?"

"You wanna fill me in here, Cowboy?"

"They've had me working on the ledgers - paying notes and helping with payroll. Said they needed explosives to get through some of the rough terrain. I signed my name to those notes, Vin."

"Hell, that don't seem like enough, Chris. Makes sense they'd need that kinda stuff for a job like this."

"Think about it. I ride in here a few weeks before this thing blows, ordering dynamite. And it sure ain't a secret how I feel about the railroad."

"I don't know, Chris," Vin said doubtfully. "Seems like they should be lookin' at the man in charge. Seems like we should be lookin' at the man in charge."

"He's a good man. He's not involved."

"How do you know that?"

"Just do."

Vin raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Same way I knew about you, Vin," Chris answered.

"I reckon we should be lettin' him on this, then. But there's somethin' we gotta do first."

"Already did it. Grabbed one of the men as they headed into town."

"Mind if I ask what you said?"

The gunslinger grinned full out. "I ain't dead."

"Probably won't believe you," Vin muttered darkly.

"Probably all out lookin' for you," Chris answered back.

"Right about now, I'm wishin' they'd find me."

Larabee nodded in agreement. They could use a little help. They could use a lot of help. Another five men would be just about right.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When Yosemite brought Mary Travis the telegram, he was shaking in his boots. It wasn't his job, but he'd been in the office when it came through, and being the good soul that he was, he'd offered to take it to her. But he sure was nervous. He never did understand the woman, and it was impossible to know how she would react. So he held his breath as he handed it to her.

"Is this some kind of joke?" She glared at the livery hand.

"No, Ma'am. Leastwise, not that I know of." Lord, he should have let someone else bring it.

"This can't be possible . . . I don't understand . . ."

Now she was crying. Yosemite couldn't stand to see a woman cry. Now what should he do? What was he thinking volunteering for this? He should have known how she'd feel. Everyone in town knew how she felt about the gunslinger, even if she didn't.

"Please don't cry, Mrs. Travis. I'm sure it'll all work out all right." That was a dumb thing to say. He wasn't sure of that at all. If Larabee was alive, then what poor sap had they buried? And why? And where were the other six lawmen? Spread out all over the western territories from what he'd heard. He wasn't sure it would work out at all, but it seemed to help the pretty lady.

Mary pulled herself together enough to thank the obviously uncomfortable bearer of the message, then excused herself to go into her back room. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. Could it be true? The message was so brief. Chris stating he was alive and in Denver, with Vin. Mary sighed. Vin had been so sure - and no one believed him. Even now, she was afraid to believe. She couldn't go through this again. If the two men were in Colorado, they were likely in the midst of some kind of trouble. She clutched the note tightly against her breast, praying the words there were true - and praying the others would make it there in time to help.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Part 5: Wishful Thinking

Sunday morning dawned in stark contrast to its name. The sun stayed hidden behind blue-black clouds that hovered menacingly over the mountain peaks. Chris couldn't help but think of the stormy weather as a precursor to the day's events. The gunman perched his lean body to rest on a rough- hewn log that lay just outside his tent. He hadn't slept well since Vin's arrival, in part due to the tracker's persistent cough. More than that was the feeling that he'd missed something vital, something that could well prove deadly for him and Vin.

The pair had spent the previous day looking over the festival site from every angle. The authorities had chosen to hold the event on the northern edge of town, about a mile from the new station, against a solid wall of mountain. Rough, jagged boulders swept upward at sharp angles, making a stunning visual backdrop, while at the same time, affording some protection. The wooden stage butted up against the mountain in such a way that an attack would have to come from the front - unless Vin proved right about explosives. They had checked the entire area with a fine tooth- comb, and come up with nothing.

Chris had introduced Vin to Daniel, and not surprisingly, an easy friendship developed between them. Daniel had been instrumental in keeping Randall Gill busily distracted, much to the bald man's obvious chagrin. Larabee surmised the man was avoiding him, and decided the young manager may have a better shot at gaining information anyway - the subtle approach, as Ezra would say, as opposed the more direct devices that Chris itched to employ. But still, they'd learned nothing. Maybe they were wrong, maybe nothing would happen. And maybe wishes made on stars came true, Chris thought sardonically.

The gunslinger heard a harsh, barking sound as his best friend struggled to clear his lungs. Vin sounded bad, and looked worse, but gone was that nearly tangible fear he'd seen in his eyes that first day. It amazed him that in the face of ominous threats and impending danger, both he and Vin felt relief. Their sense of balance regained, a fundamental trust and security restored just knowing they would fight this fight together.

A flash of lightening sliced through the heavens, sparking an unrealistic hope in Larabee. Maybe they'd cancel the whole damn thing, and he and Tanner could go home. He tried not to think of Four Corners, and how everyone there might have taken his death, especially Buck . . . and Mary. No, he would not think of Mary, that road far too complicated to travel right now. Of course, his friendship with Buck was a bit complicated, too. Strong and true to the core, but not always easy - not like with Vin.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the sharpshooter staggered to the flap of the tent and peered out at the darkening sky. "Gonna storm," he muttered.

"Yep." After hearing an audible sight, Chris turned to take a good look at Vin. "You up for this?" he asked.

"Got a choice?" Seeing the look of guilt that flitted across the blonde's face, he continued, "Hell, this ain't yer doin', Cowboy. I'll be fine. Just want to get the day done and go on home."

So Larabee wasn't the only one aching to get back to Four Corners. Funny how two such restless men as themselves could yearn so for a dusty, little backwater town.

"Better get you fixed up then. Take care of them hands."

Vin shook his head. "They're near healed - let's just leave 'em be. Don't want nothin' getting in my way if I have t' shoot."

A far too likely possibility, the gunman had to admit. He joined Vin inside the tent as the rain began to fall, wishing he could shake his feelings of dread.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The storm passed by mid-morning, but the skies remained gray and overcast, the air unusually heavy for the time of year. The city of Denver fairly crackled with the excitement of the long-awaited celebration. The streets filled with the city's citizens and its visitors, some part of the entourage of officials, others just curious travelers. Church services had even commenced early, in order that the parishioners could attend the day's events. A band already played enthusiastically, if occasionally off-key, while merchants ignored the fact that it was the Sabbath day, and peddled their goods on the streets.

Clayton Hopewell watched all this apathetically from the third floor window of his hotel room. His interests lie only in which dignitaries would actually be in attendance today. He'd heard rumors that the Vice President may ride in on the noon train, and he licked his lips in anticipation. This afternoon's activities would cause rumblings as far as Washington. The elected officials there could never consider granting statehood to the western territories after the barbaric events that would occur here today. Of course, he had to be careful. He didn't want to set progress back too far, that wouldn't be profitable either. He walked a fine line, and the timing had to be perfect - especially today, lest he be buried under a ton of rock with the others.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Josiah and Nathan entered the hustle and bustle with nerves stretched tight and patience worn thin. It had been a long, exhausting trek, and they both had hoped for a chance to catch their breaths and have a quiet meal. Obviously, that would not be possible today. A brief moment of doubt befell Josiah - Vin could never stand this commotion. Almost subconsciously he looked to the hills. If the tracker were here, that's where he'd be, no doubt about that.

Nathan looked at the crowds dubiously. He'd almost let himself believe that Josiah knew what he was talking about. But even if Vin were here, they'd never find him in this mess of people. And if he wasn't here, they'd just wasted a lot of time. Nathan felt pretty cross about the whole thing, his disposition perfectly matching the stormy weather. He wanted to go home, even though the town didn't feel the same anymore without his two friends. It dawned on him suddenly that Four Corners itself didn't mean home to him - it was the men he stood beside. What had he been thinking? If he had to travel across the continent to find one of those men, that's what he'd do. Nathan Jackson didn't give up on a friend, and he felt ashamed of his earlier frustration. It was time to stop complaining and start thinking positively.

He glanced at Josiah, giving him a slight nod. His friend responded with a toothy grin. Damn, now they were "talking" like Chris and Vin. He pushed aside the sadness that thought brought, and strengthened his resolve. They would find their missing friend, and Lord willing, it would be soon.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Vin did indeed head up to the hills. He and Chris had formulated a plan, such as it was. Could hardly call it a plan, he thought dryly, considering they still had no idea what Hopewell had in mind. The sharpshooter would do what he did best, however, that being to cover the high ground. Larabee would stay low, and Daniel Martin would remain close to the stage.

Vin traveled half way up the steep hills and tethered Peso to a sturdy tree. He could move more quietly on foot and find himself a good, well-hidden spot to get the lay of things. After finding a secluded crevice that afforded him a decent view of the town below, he settled in, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. Normally, he trusted his eagle eyes to spot anything unusual or out of place, but he was still bone-tired, and worried that he'd miss something. And even though he'd told Chris the truth about his hands, they remained stiff and sore, and sometimes shook for no apparent reason. What if he couldn't get the shot off when needed? Vin trusted his instincts and abilities, but he'd been off since this whole thing began. Being with Chris again had set him right in one aspect, but he knew that physically, he wasn't where he needed to be. Still, going on the worry about it didn't help matters. He'd do what he had to - that was the plan. But he shook his head in frustration - it wasn't much of a plan.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Chris raised his eyes to the mountains, seeking the form of his best friend, but not surprised to see no trace of him. There was just too much to cover - too much mountain for Vin, too much town for himself. They didn't have a shot in hell of stopping whatever Hopewell had in mind, maybe just minimizing the impact.

The gunman's eyes sought out Daniel at the foot of the stage. He had tried to convince the young man to take his money and run, but Martin was determined to see it through. Chris colored at the thought that the one man who deserved to be noted and applauded for his efforts had not even been asked to join the others in recognition. Even knowing that Daniel would shy away from the attention, it riled Larabee to see men like Hopewell taking credit from the hard working men who deserved it.

The crowds grew thicker as a parade wound its way from the new station into the town. Governors from the surrounding territories, as well as top railroad officials, made their grand entrances in various plush carriages, each seemingly trying to outdo the other. Chris had no idea who was who, save the one man he held responsible for luring him here, and couldn't have cared less.

Larabee kept his sights firmly planted on Hopewell, searching for any sign or nuance that something was about to break. He spotted Gill, too, and caught Daniel's eye as he made his way over to stand behind the rotund man. He gave Chris a quick grin, and the gunman saw a sparkle in his new friend's eyes that took him by surprise. Hell, Daniel was enjoying this. The gunslinger wanted to shake some sense into him and make him see just how dangerous this situation could be. Martin was a good man - something the world was in short supply of, as far as Chris was concerned - and he didn't want anything happening to him. But he just couldn't watch everything and everyone, so he gave the young man a slight nod and tried again to swallow the qualms that kept welling up inside him.

Larabee scanned the crowds again. He could have sworn he'd seen Nathan's dark head poking up above the throng. Wishful thinking. Even if they'd been in town to receive his telegram, they could never have made it here in time. Unless they'd followed Vin . . . he looked again, but the man had disappeared. At least Hopewell and Gill were in plain sight, which left only Jacob Bell. The gunman hadn't seen the tall, solemn man all week, and hadn't given him much thought until now. How could he have forgotten him? Chris didn't think he'd even mentioned him to Vin. What the devil was he thinking? Bell could very well be the wild card in all of this. Damn! He knew he'd missed something.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jacob Bell carefully laid the last remaining bundles of explosives and uncoiled the fuse up through the rock and scrubby bushes. Five such bundles now in place, set out precisely and timed perfectly to send a river of rock careening down onto the unsuspecting crowd below. Bell, a dark, brooding man, flashed a gleaming smile at the thought. He only hoped the man who held his pay was light on his feet and out of the way in time.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The visiting dignitaries proceeded through a barrage of self-congratulatory speeches. Not a woman in the bunch, Chris noted with some disdain - something he never would have noticed before Mary. He took a deep breath to steady his increasingly raw nerves. Clayton Hopewell said his piece and now appeared to moving off stage. Why? Why didn't he sit back down with the others? At that moment, he heard the sharp retort of Vin's mare's leg.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Vin may be having trouble with his hands and eyes, but fortunately his uncanny ability to hear any displaced sound remained intact. He cocked his head as he heard a slight hissing noise, his mind quickly recalling where and when he had last heard that sound. A fuse.

He rose from his protected environment, fully aware he could be opening himself up as a target. But he couldn't shoot what he couldn't see. He leapt from boulder to boulder, the sound growing closer, as he suspected it would. He understood the plan now - knew exactly what Hopewell had in mind - and it would be up to him to stop it. He saw the small sparks as the flame made its way down the length of the fuse, and was hit with a feeling of déjà vu. He'd done this before, he could do it again. He aimed his weapon and for one frantic moment, found he could not squeeze the trigger as his stiff fingers refused to cooperate. No! He could do this - if nothing else, he had to get a shot off to worn Chris. So he tried again, and to his utter amazement, hit the target dead on. Unfortunately, also to his utter amazement, he found another fuse not 30 feet from the first, and another after that. Hopewell intended to do this right.

Jacob Bell was so busy setting off his fireworks, that the sound of shots fired caught him completely off guard. By the time he made his way to a clear view, some crazy man in a buckskin coat had gotten off three shots and defused two of his bundles. He had to be stopped, and Bell raised his firearm to do just that. His shot coincided with the tracker's, and to his furor, the third fuse went out while the man in buckskin stayed standing.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The sounds of gunfire echoed down the mountain, stunning the crowds into momentary silence. Chris knew then that the attack had been initiated from above, and Vin was up there alone. His first inclination was to jump his horse and race up to help him, but he had to get these people out of the way first.

Larabee quickly climbed on to the wooden platform and barked orders for the men there to clear the area. The more skittish among them complied without question, already more than a little nervous in light of the threats made. A few of the more pompous men, however, questioned the authority of the man in black, and muttered about not being scared off by a few errant gunshots. Chris only glared, not particularly caring if they heeded his warning or not. He had done his part, now he needed to go help Vin.

As confusion began to erupt in the crowd, Hopewell spied Larabee about to take off for the mountain. The explosions should have gone off by now. What had happened to Bell? He signaled to Gill to take out the gunman - he would not be foiled by the arrogant man in black again.

Daniel Martin knew his responsibility, and kept his eyes firmly trained on Randall Gill. He saw Hopewell's signal, saw Gill remove his pistol from his fancy jacket, saw him taking aim for Chris Larabee. So he did the only thing he could think of at the moment, he moved in front of him.

The sounds of gunfire in the crowds turned confusion into chaos. Gunplay in the mountains was one thing, on the street an entirely different matter. Larabee had just mounted his horse when he heard the shot, and turned in time to see Daniel go down, a look of complete shock on his face that mirrored the look on Gill's. Chris swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. The shot had been meant for him. He wanted to go to Vin with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't leave Daniel bleeding in the street. It was his fault, all his fault - he should never have involved the young man. But he didn't get the chance to dismount, for someone hit him from behind and blackness overtook him.