Hiram Reed lay still among the rocks and watched the long-haired man prowling around the springs below. He recognized the man at once. He was one of the seven regulators from that goddamn town, their tracker. And it seemed everything he’d heard about the bastard was true.

He was supposed to have the eyes of a hawk, the nose of a wolf and the tenacity of a hound on the hunt. Reed could see he was hurt, could see the blood-stained bandage circling his head, but it didn’t seem to matter to the tracker. And it sure as hell hadn’t slowed him down.

Reed felt twin surges of fear and fury shooting through him. He’d waken from his nap to discover the horses gone, had spent nearly two hours searching for them – in vain – before coming back here, in the hope the animals would eventually return to the water. Then, trapped on foot, he’d seen that goddamn regulator come into the ravine, and his fear had turned to panic. For all he knew, the tracker’s partners would be showing up soon, and he’d be badly outgunned. So he’d lain here, hiding among the rocks and keeping still, hoping like hell that tracker’s eyes weren’t all they were cracked up to be.

And it was beginning to seem they weren’t. Countless times, Reed had seen them look in his direction, searching the very ground where he lay hidden, but they clearly had not seen him. Calmed and somewhat reassured by the realization, Reed had begun watching the tracker more closely, determined to grab whatever chance for escape presented itself.

Then he saw it. The tracker knelt at a spring, leaned forward to take some water, and very nearly fell. Emboldened by the man’s obvious dizziness, Reed grinned savagely, slid a Colt from its holster and, watching as the tracker struggled not to fall, rose from his concealment and cocked the pistol.

"Just stay right there," he called loudly, leveling his gun at the regulator.

The man’s head snapped up, his eyes fixed on Reed and widened, and the outlaw sneered. "Now, ain’t this a purty pass we’ve come to?"

=======

Chris fumed visibly and stared into the distance, his green eyes glittering in his tight-set face, his clenched teeth mangling the cheroot he had stuck between them. He could see the outline of Round Rock Springs hovering tauntingly before him in the distance, but knew they were still a good hour away.

And Vin needed them now...

Josiah worked to pry the rock from his horse’s hoof with his knife, casting surreptitious glances at Chris as he did and shaking his head sadly. The gunfighter stood like a marble statue, hands planted firmly on his lean hips, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the horizon, his face a tight mask of anguish. Clad in his customary black from his hat to his boots, he looked very much like one of Josiah’s crows.

And God help them all if it was Vin’s death this particular bird foretold.

"He’s out there," Chris said harshly, the first words he’d spoken in hours. "He’s in trouble."

Josiah looked up sharply and frowned at the words, but did not argue. He could see the certainty in Chris’s eyes, could hear it in his low voice, and knew it was not an idle fear. Wherever Vin was right now, Chris was with him in some way.

"Then we’ll help him," Sanchez said quietly, finally working the rock loose and letting his horse’s foot go. He rose to his feet and went to Chris, standing beside him. "If you can feel him, then he’s still with us, and likely he knows you’re comin’. And if he knows that, then he’ll hang on ’til you get there."

A flicker of pain, of fear, passed over Chris’s face and seeped into his eyes. "We have to find him," he said softly, his voice roughened by emotion. "What if he’s hurt? God, Josiah, what if he’s d–" His throat closed on the word, refusing to let it through. "I just–"

"Can’t stand the thought of him dyin’ scared, thinkin’ he’s alone," Josiah finished sadly. "Neither can I. I figure he’s already spent too much of his life like that, thinkin’ – hell, knowin’ – there’s no one who gives a damn for him... But it’s not like that for him anymore, Chris, you know that. More importantly, he knows that." He turned and fixed his wise blue gaze upon the younger man. "Don’t give up on him, Chris," he urged. "A man like Vin can hang on a long time, no matter what he’s facin’, so long as he knows he’s got somethin’ worth hangin’ on for."

Chris scowled deeply, then snatched the cheroot from his mouth and hurled it to the ground. "Let’s go get him, then," he growled, striding toward his horse. "We need ta get him back home so Nathan can take care of him. Then I’m gonna kill him!"

=======

Bitter rage poured through Vin as he stared up at the man holding the gun on him. Goddamn it, how could he have been so stupid? How could he have let his guard down like this? He’d known something wasn’t right here, had felt it clearly, but had let himself get caught like this anyway, had let the bastard get the drop on him.

Goddamn it, he’d failed again.

But he let none of what he was feeling show, merely stared at the man in silence, trying to force some measure of clarity to his blurred vision. He wanted desperately to see the man’s face, his eyes, knew they would give away whatever the bastard intended. But exhaustion and the splitting pain in his head were rapidly robbing him of what little sight he had left, and the problem was only compounded by the fact that the sonuvabitch had the sun behind him, rendering him little more than a dark, featureless blur.

Well, hell, likely he’d go down, Vin thought, but he’d do all he could to take this bastard with him.

Reed laughed harshly and made his way slowly, carefully, down the rocky slope, watching the tracker all the while. "So, where’s yer pards?" he asked mockingly . "They comin’ behind ya, or’d they leave ya ta do all the work yerself?"

Vin said nothing, and never moved. But he was acutely aware of the nearness of his rifle, felt his fingers itching to hold it, and wondered if he could get it up, aim and fire before the bullet from the outlaw’s gun reached him.

If it came down to it, though, it was a chance he was willing to take.

Reed continued to advance, missing the change in the eyes that watched him, never seeing the confusion in them give way to determination. He did see the slight relaxing of the tracker’s body, but mistook its cause. He thought it signaled surrender, meant the man was no longer a threat, and grinned at his victory, revealing uneven, tobacco-stained teeth.

"Well," he drawled, stopping about fifty feet from the tracker, "if yer pards are anything like you, I reckon you seven ain’t as tough as yer made out ta be. I sure got th’ drop on ya easy enough. ’N here I’d heard you was th’ one ta watch out fer."

"Nah," Vin said calmly, "I ain’t th’ one. It’s th’ ones comin’ after me ya need ta watch out fer. I ain’t no more’n a nuisance. Them others is a goddamn nightmare."

Reed laughed harshly. "But yer here an’ they ain’t." He raised the gun slightly. "So I reckon I’ll rid me of a nuisance, ’n leave yer body ta give them friends’a yers nightmares of their own."

Vin saw the blurred shadow of an arm lifting, knew there was likely a gun at the end of it, and cocked his head to one side, smiling slightly. "Go ta hell," he rasped softly, grabbing the rifle and flinging himself to one side, then rolling to his knees and bringing the rifle up, aiming and firing in one smooth motion.

The tracker’s quick movement froze Reed, but only for a moment. Immediately he adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger. But he never saw where his shot went, was lifted off his feet and thrown to the ground by the Winchester slug that slammed into his chest and tore apart his heart.

Vin watched from his knees as the outlaw fell, as his hunt came to its end. He felt an odd peace, and a strange heaviness, settle upon him, seemed suddenly to be sinking into the sand. Heat flared abruptly within him, and a sudden sharp and burning pain seared through him. But it faded quickly as darkness claimed him.

The rifle slipped from his numb fingers and he sank to the ground, staining it with his blood.

=======

Chris and Josiah heard the faint report of gunshots on the still air, and, as one, spurred their horses onward at a desperate pace. Chris leaned low in the saddle, urging his black to go faster with every muscle of his straining body, his heart racing as madly as the animal’s churning hooves. Cold, sick terror gripped him, knotted his gut and wrung at his soul.

Jesus, Vin, hang on!

Josiah, too, was racked by terror, as much for the man just ahead of him as for the one he could not see. He silently screamed prayers for both, pleaded with God to shield Vin from harm, and implored Him to spare Chris the agony of losing still another part of his soul.

Time lost all meaning as they raced madly for the springs, seemed to slow to a crawl or stop altogether, tearing a howl of fury and frustration from Chris. Despite the reckless, punishing pace to which he spurred his black, the craggy mass of Round Rock Springs looked no closer now than it had an hour ago, but hung mockingly there in the distance, seeming to jeer at his inability to reach Vin. Again and again, those gunshots echoed in his mind, tearing another harsh, wordless cry from him.

Josiah cringed at the pain and terror in that ragged voice, but never heard the words now pouring from his own lips.

"‘Deliver me from mine enemies, O my God; defend me from them that rise against me. Deliver me from the workers of iniquity, and save me from bloody men. For, lo, they lie in wait for my soul; the mighty are gathered against me...’"

At last, after either an hour or an eternity, the ridges and rocks of the springs were before them, and, never giving a thought to any danger that might await him, Chris spurred his horse up and over a rise and tore back down into the ravine dotted by the pools on their "string." He raced along the ancient riverbed, veering around or sometimes merely jumping the black over the springs, desperately hoping he was not too late. But the terrible silence of this place, broken only by the sounds of his and Josiah’s laboring mounts, sent cold rivers of terror coursing through him.

God, Vin, where are you?

He rounded a sharp bend in the ravine, and sharply reined the black to a plunging stop as the sight before him sent his heart slamming against his ribs.

"VIN!"

Even as the cry left his throat, he was flinging himself from his horse and running toward the fallen tracker, with Josiah close at his heels. From the corner of his eye, he saw the second man, also down and unmoving, but cared nothing for him. Tanner claimed his whole attention.

"Goddamn it, Vin!" he cried hoarsely, throwing himself to his knees at Tanner’s side and reaching out, gently turning the still and silent tracker onto his back. "Jesus!" he gasped in sick horror at the dark blood that soaked Vin’s shirt and pants. "Goddamn it! Goddamn you! What the hell were you thinkin’?" Even as he raged at Tanner, he gathered him into his arms and cradled the younger man close against him. To his immense relief, the wounded man stirred weakly and groaned softly, his ashen face contorting into a mask of pain. "He’s alive!" he croaked to Josiah as the big man knelt at Vin’s other side.

"Thank God!" Josiah breathed fervently, bowing his head and closing his eyes as relief crashed through him. Then, gathering his wits, he raised his head and turned his attention to the wounded man. Taking the knife from his belt, he carefully cut Vin’s blood-sodden shirt away from the wound, and winced at the sight of it. The bullet had taken Vin in the left side, just above the waistband of his pants. Sliding a hand under the tracker’s back and feeling around, he found no exit wound. "It’s still in there," he said softly.

"Shit!" Chris whispered tightly.

Josiah untied Vin’s bandana, pulled it free and folded it up, then held it out to Chris. "We gotta stop the bleedin’. Take this, put pressure on the wound. I’ll see what Nathan sent in the way of bandages and such."

Chris stared at the bandana without taking it. "I don’t wanta hurt him–"

"If you don’t do this," Josiah said firmly, "he’ll bleed ta death. That what you want?"

Chris winced deeply, but took the bandana and, swallowing hard, pressed it firmly against the wound. Vin arched his back and cried out harshly, trying to push away the hand that tormented him. But Chris bowed his head and spoke softly, soothingly to his friend, keeping Vin’s hands away and maintaining pressure on the wound. After a few moments, he felt Vin shudder and lapse once more into unconsciousness.

Josiah returned, carrying the bag Nathan had sent with him, and knelt once more at Vin’s side. "Got bandages, carbolic and whiskey," he announced. "You keep a hold on him, keep that pressure on, I’ll spread a bedroll for him and get a fire goin’. Once I’ve got the wound cleaned, I’ll know more about what we’re facin’."

He fixed a calm, determined stare on Chris. "And I’ll tell ya somethin’ else. We’re stayin’ here the night. We’ve only got a few hours of daylight left, and I intend ta go slow tendin’ him. I ain’t Nathan, and I don’t wanta be makin’ no mistakes. And he’s in no shape to go anywhere just now."

Chris dropped his gaze to his unconscious friend. "And you think that’ll be different tomorrow?" he asked in a low, anxious voice.

Josiah sighed and shrugged. "Got no way’a knowin’," he admitted. "But I’m takin’ this one step at a time. Besides, we’ve pushed the horses as far as they’ll go today." His stare caught and held Larabee’s. "We got no choice, Chris. Vin needs tendin’, he can’t ride, our horses can’t be ridden. We’re stayin’, and that’s all there is to it."

Chris exhaled slowly through clenched teeth and nodded, reluctantly accepting the necessity of it. "All right." His eyes searched the preacher’s. "You gonna take the bullet out or leave it in?"

Sanchez sighed heavily and bowed his head, studying Vin’s pale, drawn face. "I’ve taken out a few bullets in my time," he said softly. "I reckon if I had to, I could do it. But I’d rather just leave it, if we can, and let Nathan do it. I trust his hands above mine any day. And I don’t wanta be takin’ no chances with Vin’s life."

Chris nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping as the weight of all that had happened settled heavily upon him. "All right, do what you can. I guess that’s all I can ask."

"It’s all any of us can ask, Chris," Josiah said quietly. "And it’s all any of us can do."

=======

Chris sat at Vin’s side, gently bathing his friend’s face with a cool, damp cloth and watching anxiously over him. Josiah had cleaned and bandaged the wound, and Chris flinched at the memory of Vin’s pained cries and weak struggles through the ordeal. Only after it was over had they found the laudanum Nathan had also sent, but at least now Vin was resting under the effects of the drug. Chris almost envied him.

"We’re gonna have ta have a long talk when you’re better, pard," he said softly, staring sadly into Tanner’s pale, slack face. Josiah had also tended the wound in Vin’s head and applied a clean bandage. And Chris himself had washed the dried blood from Vin’s hair. "You gotta stop runnin’ off like this, takin’ care’a these things on your own. You’re not on your own anymore. And you don’t need ta be actin’ like ya are. It’s too hard on the rest of us. It’s too hard on me." He gave a tired, grim smile. "And it’s sure as hell been hard on you!"

Josiah sat by the fire, fixing supper and listening to the low tones of Chris’s voice. Larabee was deeply worried about Tanner, the big man could see that, but just having found his missing friend seemed to have loosened some hard, painful knot at the gunfighter’s core. Josiah hadn’t stopped giving thanks yet.

He glanced around the small camp. He’d disposed of the two other bodies – one, his victim; the other, Vin’s – and had tended the horses, including those belonging to the dead outlaws, and Peso. He’d found the big gelding not far from here, still tied where Vin had left him and none too happy about it.

Josiah had narrowly avoided a vicious bite in the shoulder from the long, wicked teeth the horse wielded with such malevolent glee. But now, with food, water and other horses to torment, Peso seemed as happy as Peso ever was.

Josiah sometimes wondered how such an even-tempered man as Vin could have such a foul-tempered horse.

He poured two cups of coffee and rose to his feet, went to Chris and handed him a cup, then settled himself on the ground at Vin’s other side. "How’s he doin’?" he asked softly.

Chris shrugged slightly, frowning. "Restin’. He was shiverin’ earlier, so I put another blanket on him. Don’t know if he was cold, or if it was just reaction settin’ in. But I was thinkin’ we might wanta move him closer to the fire. It’s gonna get a little cooler when the sun goes down, and he don’t need ta take a chill."

Josiah nodded. "Sounds good. You get any water down him?"

"Some." A sudden soft chuckle escaped him. "He was askin’ about Peso just before he went out. Got a bullet in him, and he’s worried about that damn fool horse!"

Josiah smiled and nodded. "Brother Vin’s got a mighty soft heart. As soft as his head is hard. If he asks again, tell him Peso’s fine. Already took a chunk outta one’a the new horses."

"I heard the squeal. Figured that’s what it was." His gaze drifted back to Vin. "I don’t know why he keeps that beast."

"Peso’s tough, smart, independent, stubborn. Don’t trust anybody or anything, won’t abide bein’ ill-used, don’t like bein’ told what ta do or when ta do it. But he’ll never quit on ya, he can survive what would kill a lesser animal, and he’ll be with ya come hell or high water." He arched two heavy brows at Chris. "Sound like anybody we know?"

Chris managed a tight, tired smile. "You forgot the part about havin’ a temper like a teased badger, the manners of a sore-tailed bobcat, and a head of stone. Yeah, sounds just like somebody we know!"

"Sounds like several somebodies we know," Josiah corrected with a pointed gaze at Larabee. "Supper’s ready. Go on over and get yourself somethin’ ta eat, and I’ll bring Vin closer to the fire." He glanced up at the sky. "Gonna be dark soon. And I, for one, will be deeply grateful to see this day come to an end."

"There’s still tomorrow," Chris said softly, casting another worried gaze at his unconscious friend.

Josiah smiled gently. "Leave tomorrow to itself, Chris. Ain’t no sense borrowin’ trouble. If it’s headin’ for us, it’ll find us on its own. For now, let’s just see this day over and done with, and leave everything else alone."

=======

Vin felt again the hard, hot pain searing through him and tensed against its onslaught, groaning thickly as it pierced ever more deeply into him. He tried to turn away from whatever was hurting him, tried to push it away from him, then felt a strong hand at his shoulder, and another hand closing about his.

He relaxed with a soft, breathless groan and clung to that hand, but didn’t open his eyes to see who held him. Didn’t need to.

"Chri...is," he breathed.

"I’m here," Larabee assured him.

Vin forced his eyes opened and stared up at the dark, formless shadow above him, unable to make out any features. "Damn eyes," he whispered. "Ain’t worked right... since I’s shot." He struggled to lift his free hand, then let it fall with a tired, pained sigh. "They gittin’ worse... ’r is it dark?" he asked worriedly.

Chris smiled slightly. "It’s dark. Near midnight, I guess." He studied his friend’s pale, drawn face in the low firelight, saw the sheen of sweat that bespoke a fever. "How you feelin’?"

Vin let his eyes close and thought. "Been better," he admitted finally. "Been worse, too... but it’s hard... t’ recollect... jist when." He swallowed and licked his lips. "Thirsty," he murmured.

Chris nodded and reached for the cup of water he had been keeping near him. Letting go of Vin’s hand for the moment, he slipped his hand under the tracker’s head and lifted gently, then placed the cup to Tanner’s lips. "Drink," he directed. "But slowly. Don’t want ya throwin’ it back up on me."

Vin sipped greedily at the water, and made a small sound of protest when Chris took the cup away. "No–"

"I said slowly," Chris repeated firmly. "You get sick on me, I’ll have ta shoot ya."

Vin tensed and groaned thickly as another spasm of pain seared through him. "Feels like... y’ already did."

"Wasn’t me," Chris told him, setting the cup down. "Not this time, anyway. But that’s not ta say I wouldn’t have, if that sonuvabitch hadn’t beaten me to it. I was already workin’ on just where ta put the bullet."

Vin grimaced, then shuddered and relaxed with a soft, hitching sigh as the pain relented somewhat. "Reckon that means... yer pissed at me," he breathed. "Figgered ya would be."

"You figured wrong. More water?" When Vin nodded, Chris put the cup once more to his mouth. "‘Pissed’ don’t even begin ta cover what I am at you, Tanner," he went on, careful not to let the wounded man drink too much or too fast. "You scared the hell outta me. And not just me. Buck’s about ready ta tear your head off, Nathan’s so mad he can’t see straight, Josiah ain’t none too happy with ya, an’ I don’t even wanta think about what Inez’s got planned for ya, you runnin’ out on her like ya did." He took the cup away again and set it aside, then lowered Vin back down onto his blankets. "But I’m the one that’s gonna make your life hell for the next five years or so!" he growled.

Vin opened his eyes and tried to see Chris more clearly, then lifted a hand with a grunt of pain and effort and tried to feel for him. Immediately, though, his hand was taken into Larabee’s and held securely, and he relaxed with a tired sigh. "Had... ta do it."

Chris shook his head and tightened his grip on Tanner’s hand. "No, you didn’t," he said firmly, staring down into the wide, unseeing eyes and wondering just how much harm Vin had done to himself. "You didn’t have ta hide from the others, you didn’t have ta leave, and you for damn sure didn’t have ta take after these bastards on your own, with a goddamn hole in your head! You–"

"’S’my fault!" Vin breathed in anguish, closing his eyes and turning his head. "My fault... they’s hurt. They’s countin’ on me... ’n I let ’em down–"

"Stop it!" Chris said sharply, reaching out and turning Tanner’s face back to him. "Open your eyes and look at me!" he ordered.

Vin winced and squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, ashamed of this failure, as well. "Cain’t see ya–"

"You can see me well enough," Chris contradicted sternly, again transforming his worry over Vin into anger. "Now, open your goddamn eyes and look at me!" When he did, Chris leaned low, still holding his chin firmly, and said in a hard, harsh voice, "It... wasn’t... your... fault! Nobody blames you, Vin, and especially not Buck. He knows you were hurt, he knows you didn’t shoot because you couldn’t."

Vin frowned in confusion, his exhausted mind struggling to make sense of Larabee’s words. "But... you said... he’s mad at me..."

Chris sighed and released Tanner’s chin, sitting back and shaking his head in frustration at his friend’s inability to understand what, to him, was so clear. "Yeah, Vin, he’s mad, all right. But not because’a what happened ta JD. He’s mad because you took off on your own, without sayin’ a word, and with a bullet wound in your head. He’s mad because he’s worried as hell about ya. You didn’t have ta do this!"

Vin shook his head, then winced and gasped as the movement sent fresh spikes of pain through his skull. "I let ’em all down," he insisted weakly, his soft voice a thin, thready rasp. "Had... had ta make it... right. ’N I did." He drew a short, shaking breath and exhaled just as unsteadily. "I got ’im."

"Yeah, but he got you, too!" Chris snarled, his fear growing stronger as Vin grew weaker. "Goddamn it, Tanner, do you have any idea how scared I was when I rode in here an’ saw you layin’ there like a goddamn corpse? Or how close I came ta pukin’ out my guts when I saw your blood soakin’ inta the goddamn dirt? He could’ve killed you!" he declared harshly. "Is that what you wanted?

For me ta come ridin’ up and find your dead body laid out here?" His hoarse voice rose as all the terror he’d felt at seeing Vin lying so still on the ground again poured through him. "Don’t you know what that woulda done ta me? How’n the hell d’you think I’d’a felt if I’da had ta tie your dead body across Peso, take you back ta town and bury you?"

Vin grimaced and closed his eyes tightly, raising a shaking hand and pressing it to his throbbing temple. "Don’t," he pleaded in a whisper. "Head hurts..."

"Your head hurts?" Chris almost shouted. "Goddamn it, Tanner, what the hell d’ya think my head’s been doin’ since this started?" He suddenly saw the lines of suffering etched deeply into the wounded man’s ashen face, saw the lean body tensing against the waves of pain, and relented in his anger. "Jesus, Vin, you scared me!" he said softly, again taking Tanner’s hand and holding tightly to it, as if he thought by that hold alone to keep this man, the steady presence he so needed, in his life. "You scared the hell outta me! Don’t ever do that again, cowboy. You hear me?"

Vin closed his eyes and nodded, clinging as tightly as he could to Chris with one hand and pressing the other to his side as the terrible pain radiated through him in searing, sharp-edged waves. He clenched his jaws and blew his breath through his lips, arching his back and trying to ride out the worsening torment.

"Ssh, easy, easy," Chris soothed, his anger forgotten. He held Vin’s hand, squeezed his shoulder and stroked his sweat-damp hair, willing the pain-racked body to relax. "I’m here, Vin. I’m right here."

"H... hurts..."

"I know. Bullet’s still in there. But we’re gonna get you back to Nathan tomorrow, let him take care of ya. So you just hang on, all right? ’Cause I ain’t figured out how ta spend that five hundred dollars yet."

"Might... change... m’ mind," Vin gasped through the pain. "Might w... want... somebody else... t’ git it..."

"Too goddamn bad," Chris said calmly, watching as Vin began to lose the fight for consciousness. "Ain’t nobody but me collectin’ it. Hell, after all the shit I have ta put up with from you, five hundred dollars is the least you owe me. ’Sides, I figure since I’m most likely gonna be the one ta finally kill ya, that bounty’ll be mine fair and square. I plan ta earn ever’ cent one bullet at a time."

Vin smiled slightly, his eyes closing, his body relaxing. "Yer all... talk," he breathed faintly, slipping into darkness. "Cowboy..."

Chris loosed a soft sigh of relief as Vin settled into restful oblivion. "You rest now, pard," he murmured. "We’ll talk about this later. You can count on it!"

=======

The return to town began at dawn the next morning. Josiah gave Vin a heavy dose of laudanum, then lifted him up onto the saddle of Chris’s horse and into the gunman’s arms. Though Josiah was stronger and would have been the more logical choice to hold the wounded man for so long a ride, Larabee had decreed with an iron finality that Vin would be riding with him.

The mule-stubborn tracker could be a goddamn pain in the ass, but there was no way in hell Chris was letting him out of his sight again.

The ride back was considerably less fraught than the ride out had been, but still it was made with an undeniable sense of urgency. Vin needed Nathan. Despite Josiah’s best efforts, the wound continued to bleed, and Chris himself was made increasingly uncomfortable by the heat of the fever radiating from the tracker’s body. Nor was his gnawing fear at all eased by the soft groans and breathless cries that his normally stoic friend was simply too weak and too sick to suppress.

God, he needed Nathan...

Josiah watched the two in fascination during that long ride, and again marveled at the depth and strength of the bond between them. Even when he was not what Sanchez would have considered "conscious," Vin would call out for Chris, or reach for him, and would immediately relax when he heard Larabee’s low voice or felt his touch. Chris, for his part, spent as much time cussing Vin as he did comforting him, but his voice never lost its soothing quality, and the strong hands that held the wounded man in the saddle or calmed his pained, fevered movements with but a touch were never anything but gentle. And now and then, even amidst his suffering, Tanner’s hide-tough spirit would resurface, and, when Chris uttered another curse or insult, the soft, slurred drawl would voice some smart-assed reply.

Josiah chuckled quietly and shook his head at them, wondering how two such vastly different men could have found a kinship so deep. Chris was sharp and hard and brittle, the chaos that had dominated his life for so long only barely held in check and seething beneath his ice-cold surface, ready to break through at any moment and plunge him and all about him into violence. In contrast, Vin was cool and quiet and steady, with a calm that seemed to flow outward from him and soothe the spirits of all about him. Yet there was also a persistent wariness to him, a discomfort with and distrust of people that spoke of too many hurts suffered at too many hands. Only with Chris was he ever wholly at ease, just as Chris was only wholly at peace with him.

But, merciful God, could they argue...

"Shut up and drink, Tanner!" Chris growled, holding his canteen to his friend’s mouth.

"Don’ want... no more," Vin slurred hoarsely, pushing weakly against the offending canteen. "Leave me be."

Chris easily shoved away the hand away and glared at the deathly pale man slumped against him. "Shoulda left yer sorry ass by that spring. Now, goddamn it, I said drink!"

Vin turned his head and tried to return the glare, but groaned and leaned more heavily still against Chris as pain and nausea assailed him. "Oughtta puke... all over ya," he rasped weakly, resting his throbbing head against Larabee’s shoulder. "That’d show ya."

"Yeah," Chris sighed, seeing the pain and sickness written in the tracker’s face and growing increasingly anxious as his fever continued to climb. "Show me what an ungrateful bastard you are. I came all the way from Purgatorio ta save yer ass, and this is the thanks I get."

Vin swallowed against the nausea, and groaned as pain stabbed anew into his body. "Thanks," he whispered, beginning to slip to one side.

But Chris pulled him back and held him securely in place. "You’re welcome. Now, you hold on, y’hear?"

Vin smiled slightly and closed his eyes. "Ain’t goin’... nowhere... cowboy," he breathed faintly as darkness stole over him again.

"Better not," Chris said softly, gently, watching him subside into unconsciousness. "I’m gettin’ too damn old ta be chasin’ you all over creation!" He turned his head sharply and glared at Josiah when he heard the older man’s deep chuckle. "What?" he demanded harshly.

Josiah laughed again and shook his head. "Nothin’, brother. Just thinkin’ that, even hurt, he’s a regular handful." His gaze went to the unconscious Tanner. "Still, I’m mighty thankful ta have him back in the fold."

"Yeah," Chris breathed, that same thankfulness showing plainly in his eyes. "Now," the softness faded, replaced by steely determination, "let’s stop talkin’ and ride. Get the prodigal here to Nathan before he bleeds all over me!"

=======

Buck was almost to the clinic, going to relieve Nathan so the healer could get some supper, when he heard the shout and turned to see Josiah tearing down the street on his obviously exhausted horse. Chris followed at a more careful but no less urgent pace, with Vin slumped against him. Instantly the big man was running, his gut churning in cold dread, his boots thumping against the boardwalk as he raced the last few yards, dashed to the stairs and took them two and three at a time.

"NATHAN!"

The big healer leapt catlike from his chair at Wilmington’s full-throated roar and was halfway across the clinic when the door was nearly ripped from its hinges. But the anger he normally would have felt at this disruption of his two patients’ much-needed rest never came; he knew only one thing could have aroused Buck to such violence.

"They’re comin’!" Buck called hoarsely, blue eyes dark with worry. "Josiah’s tearin’ down the street, hollerin’ fit ta wake the dead, and Chris ain’t far behind." He swallowed hard as a tremor ran through him. "He’s... he’s got Vin... Nathan, he ain’t movin’!" he said, his voice dying to a plaintive whisper.

"Jesus!" Nathan gasped as cold terror exploded through him. Then, he caught his emotions in an iron grip, forcibly pushed aside every trace of fear, and forced himself to think. "Got no mo’ room here," he muttered, already moving to gather what he would need and pack it into his bag. "Go down, tell ’em ta git ’im up t’ his room–"

"Nonsense," argued a deep, sleep-slurred drawl. Ezra blinked hard, then, using his good arm, struggled to push himself upright on his bed. "If I know Mr. Tanner, he has done nothing to care for himself or his injury, and will require your close attention." He stared rather owlishly at Nathan, still feeling the effects of the laudanum the healer insisted on forcing into him, yet holding himself with as much dignity as wounds, medicine and his generally dishevelled state would allow. "I, however, while grateful for that attention, clearly no longer require it to such a degree, and am more than willin’ to relinquish it in his favor."

Buck and Nathan stared at each other, frowned, then stared at Standish. "Ezra, what the hell did you just say?" Buck demanded impatiently.

The gambler sighed and shook his head. "I am forced to converse with neanderthals," he lamented. "Very well, allow me to translate: I am goin’ to my room and Vin can have this bed. Better?"

"You ain’t goin’ nowhere," Nathan growled, taking a step nearer the gambler and setting large hands on lean hips. "Not on that leg, an’ not with that arm–"

"I am not in the habit of usin’ my arms to walk," Ezra interrupted. "And if it makes you feel better – though I know you well enough to realize it will not – I shall merely shift, for the present, into that invitin’ rocker there in the corner," he waved a less than graceful hand in the general direction of Nathan’s favored chair, "and remain safely out of the way until such time as some suitable means of conveyance for my injured person can be arranged, thus allowing Mr. Tanner both the use of my bed and the benefits of your full and unimpeded attention."

Buck snorted angrily. "Damn it all, Ezra–"

"I said, get me to that chair and leave me there until someone can help me to my room!" Standish snapped. "Good Lord, does no one in this wretched locale speak English?"

Nathan opened his mouth to argue, but heavy steps pounding up his stairs and Josiah’s shouting of his name told him there was no time. Within moments, the door was again almost torn from its hinges as Sanchez bulled his way inside.

"Chris has got Vin," he announced tersely. "Boy’s got a bullet in him, as well as that head wound, and he’s runnin’ a fearsome fever. They’ll be here in just a minute."

"Nathan?" Ezra prompted, already trying to maneuver himself from the bed.

Jackson gave in with a sigh. "Buck, git him inta that chair, then get a stool an’ prop up his leg. Ezra," he turned dark, commanding eyes upon the gambler, "you stay in that chair ’til I say otherwise, you hear me? I ain’t gon’ have time ta be pickin’ you up offa the floor. You fall, you’ll jes’ stay ’til I c’n git to ya."

Ezra lifted a head that still felt as if it weighed a ton and fixed laudanum-clouded eyes upon the healer. "My dear sir," he answered in a voice more slurred than imperious, "I shall sit as still as a statue and remain as unobtrusive as... as..." He blinked as his ever-present supply of words suddenly ran dry. "I’ll be good," he said simply, startling his friends and appalling himself.

Nathan nodded. "See that ya do." He drew a deep breath, again chased the worry from his mind, and turned to Josiah, who had slumped tiredly against a wall. "Well," he said quietly, "let’s go down an’ get ’im so’s I c’n see what th’ damn fool’s done t’ hisse’f this time."

=======

The small space of the clinic was made even smaller, closer, by the presence of seven men, three of them big men, and by the dark worry that poured from and hung between them and that seemed to have taken on a solid form of its own. Six of the men were silent; Nathan lost in concentration, JD and Ezra asleep, the other three held fast in a fear so deep and so raw they couldn’t have spoken if they’d wanted to. The only sounds to be heard were those that drifted in through the windows from the street below, and the faint, fevered murmurs and moans from the wounded man lying under the healer’s hands.

"Hold ’im, Chris." Nathan broke the thick, taut silence as Vin stirred restlessly and tried to push away his hands. "I cain’t do nothin’ if he’s fightin’ me, an’ I fo’ damn sure don’t want ’im ta start bleedin’ again. He cain’t stand ta lose no mo’n he already has."

Chris caught Vin’s wrists in one of his hands, holding tightly to them, then leaned forward and laid his other hand firmly against his friend’s sweat-slick shoulder. "Easy, pard," he soothed in a low voice made hoarse by worry. "Just rest easy. Nathan’s almost done."

Whether it was his voice, his touch, both together or something else entirely, his presence exerted its familiar influence, even through the fog of pain and fever, and Vin settled with a soft, exhausted sigh. Chris continued to hold his wrists, to keep a hand at his shoulder, wanting – needing – Vin to know he was there.

Nathan hated this, hated knowing it was one of his friends into whose body he was cutting and digging, hated knowing it was one of their lives that hung on the balance of his skill. He was always keenly aware of the burden placed on him by his vocation, but never more so than when the life given into his keeping belonged to one of the six men he considered his family. He’d told himself once that he’d get used to this, but he knew now he never would. Would never get used to the sight, feel and smell of their blood, would never be able to witness their pain without feeling some measure of it in himself. Would never face the harrowing prospect of losing one without knowing so much more than that one would also be lost.

He hated this with everything that was in him, would never in a lifetime get used to it. But he’d do it, as often as he had to and as much as it hurt him, because he could do no less for these men. Could do no less for himself.

Buck sat at the foot of JD’s bed and kept one big hand on the sleeping boy’s leg, unconsciously lending him the same instinctive sense of comfort and security that Chris was giving Vin. For once, though, Buck’s attention was not on the young sheriff, but on the tracker, and on the bloody mess that was his bedding.

He’d fought ’em. God, where had he found the strength to fight ’em like he had? Between the wound in his head, the bullet in his side, the fever and all the blood he’d lost, he should’ve been beyond even the weakest struggles, shouldn’t have been able to bat away a fly. Instead, in a delirious panic, still thinking he was out in that goddamn desert or some place and time even worse, he’d come off that bed like a cougar out of a cage, snarling and spitting curses in every language he knew, and forcing them to grab him and hold him down. And that was never something Vin took well, no matter his condition. Only when he, Chris and Josiah had all but lain on the smaller man to keep him down had Nathan been able to go after the bullet.

But, finally, Vin’s struggles had weakened to the point that Chris alone could hold him, allowing the other two to retreat to where they now waited. Buck bowed his head and ran a shaking hand through his hair, feeling as if he’d been wrung out. He’d thought seeing Vin, having the tracker back with them, would allay all his fears and release all the knots that had taken up residence in his gut. Of course, that was before he’d known how badly Vin was hurt.

But at least Tanner was here. Little knowing he did it, he tightened his grip on JD’s leg, cast a quick side glance at Ezra, then returned his attention to Vin. They were seven again. Battered, bleeding, exhausted, and, God, yes, afraid, but whole in the only way that really mattered. They were together; this was where they got their strength.

He glanced at Josiah, who appeared to be dozing but who, he suspected, was aware of everything that was happening, then back to Ezra, who truly was sleeping, but had insisted on doing it here. Nathan had tried to get Josiah to take him to his room, but both had refused to leave, though Sanchez was no longer needed and Standish wasn’t even useful. But Buck had understood, and had seen that same understanding fill Nathan’s eyes. They’d been driven apart, the chain that bound them strained and nearly broken, and had almost lost one of their own as a result. Now with that one just returned yet still in danger of being lost, they wouldn’t, couldn’t, let their circle be severed again.

Finally, his gaze wandered to Chris, and he had to marvel at the sight. All that remained of the cold-as-ice, hard-as-nails gunfighter the world knew was the black clothing. The man before him now was the one he’d thought had died three years ago, the father whose tender touch and gentle voice could quell any terror of the night, and whose strong arms and stronger heart could bring comfort even amid the worst pain of illness or injury. Now and then, a tremor of fear ran through the tracker, or a sound of pain escaped him, and each time Chris leaned forward and, with a few murmured words or a knowing touch, calmed and quieted his suffering friend. By the time Nathan finished, Chris was sitting on the bed with Vin’s head and shoulders cradled against him, the wounded man’s arms crossed against his own chest and Chris’s arms wrapped around him, not imprisoning him so much as sheltering him, giving him the peace and a place to rest. Buck, who’d seen this several times with Adam, was seeing it again with Vin, and was as awed by it now as he’d ever been then.

At last, at long last, it was done. Nathan rose slowly to his feet and went with heavy steps to the basin, plunging his hands into the water there and washing Vin’s blood from them. After so long spent hunched over the tracker, his back and shoulders ached fiercely, and his eyes felt as if someone had scoured them with grit. But it was done. He’d gotten the bullet out, had stopped the bleeding, cleaned the ugly wound and packed it. And done it all without losing Vin. He emptied the bloody water into a bucket, poured some fresh into the basin, and washed his hands again, then dried them. Emptying that water into the bucket, he poured still more into the basin and soaked some cloths in it. With the cloths, he returned to his chair, sat down with a sigh, and began tenderly bathing the blood from the wounded man. All the while, he studiously avoided meeting Chris Larabee’s eyes, concentrated only on the immediate tasks at hand.

He still had to bandage the wound, still had to clean and tend the wound in Vin’s head, still had to get clean bedding for the man...

"Well?" Chris prompted, unable any longer to bear Nathan’s silence.

Nathan waited until he had finished bathing Vin, then dropped the wet cloths to the floor and sat back in his chair with a sigh, rolling his shoulders in an effort to lessen the painful tightness in them. He’d known the question would come, had known it would come from Larabee. Some things in life were just that damn predictable.

"I know whatcha wanta hear, but I ain’t sho’ I c’n say it," he answered at last, forcing himself to meet that formidable green gaze. "You know as well as I do the shape he’s in, you know how much blood he’s lost, an’ I know you c’n feel his fever." He shook his head slowly, his eyes filling with sorrow and worry. "It don’ look good, you know that," he said softly.

Instinctively, Chris tightened his arms about Vin, his face setting hard, his eyes turning to flint. "I don’t give a damn how it looks," he said in a tight, hoarse voice. "I didn’t haul him back all this way ta lose him now, and he didn’t hang on all this time ta give up now."

Nathan bowed his head and scrubbed big hands over his face, tired to the marrow of his bones. If sheer will were enough to keep a man alive, then he knew he needn’t fear for Vin; Larabee had enough will to save an army. And, God knew, Tanner was a fighter. But the man had been through so much already, and what strength his wounds, blood-loss and fever hadn’t drained from him, his fight with them had...

"Buck?"

They were all startled by the soft, raspy summons from the other bed, and three pairs of eyes slewed around to the boy while Buck bent low over him and laid a big, gentle hand to one side of the dark head. JD’s eyes fluttered open, the hazel depths filled with sleepiness and confusion, and a pale, cool hand lifted weakly to grasp Wilmington’s forearm and cling to it as if it were a lifeline.

"Buck?" he called again.

"I’m here, kid," Buck assured him quietly, forcing a smile for him and stroking his temple with a thumb.

JD frowned up at the big man, trying to bring his eyes, and his thoughts, into focus. "I thought... I heard voices," he breathed. "Chris... Chris?"

"I’m here, son," Larabee answered.

JD would have turned his head to see, but Buck’s hand held it firmly in place, bringing another, deeper frown to the boy’s face. "What–"

"Need ya ta listen to me first, son," Buck said, his voice soft and soothing. He carefully kept every bit of his aching worry from showing, determined to spare JD that same fear. "Vin’s hurt, an’ Nate’s still workin’ on him." He forced another smile. "It’s still kinda messy over there. We had ta hold Vin down for a while, an’ you know how well he takes that."

JD relaxed with a soft sigh, his mouth curving into a sleepy smile, the fear that had seized him relenting. If Vin had fought, then he couldn’t be hurt too badly. "Guess he’ll be all right, then," he murmured.

Buck felt a stab of guilt. If he said yes, and Vin died... He turned his head and glanced across the room, his gaze going once more to the silent, unmoving figure still cradled in Larabee’s arms. Too silent, too still...

In that moment, JD saw the fear cross Buck’s face, saw it steal into his eyes, and knew the big man had been trying to protect him. Swallowing hard, he turned his head slowly, saw Vin, saw Chris’s face, and Nathan’s, and understood at once just how bad it was. He watched Nathan wind snowy-white bandaging about the tracker’s middle with skilled and careful hands, saw Chris soothe the wounded man with a touch and a few soft words when he would have struggled, and all the while felt Buck’s gentle hand brushing through his hair or rubbing soothing circles into the back of his neck. And though he clearly recognized the gravity of what he saw, he also understood the power of what he felt.

"It’s gonna be okay," he said quietly, tightening his hold on Buck’s arm even as his eyes caught and held Chris’s. "You’ll see. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay, because we’re together. And we can face anything when we’re all together, right?"

Chris’s eyes dropped to Vin, then returned to JD. As the boy’s words, and the force of the conviction behind them, seeped through him, the lean, black-clad, blood-covered figure relaxed slightly, light returned to the tired green eyes, and the faintest of smiles stole the tightness from the wide mouth.

"Do me a favor, kid," he sighed, gazing gratefully at JD. "When Vin wakes up, you explain that to him, will ya? He seems ta have a real problem understandin’ it."

JD frowned in confusion as the tension drained visibly from Chris, and as Buck laughed aloud and shook his head. Having absolutely no idea what he’d said that was so funny, he stared at Chris for long moments, decided the man had simply been out in the sun too long, and shrugged.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed uncertainly, switching his puzzled gaze to Buck. "If you think he’ll listen."

Nathan gave his opinion on that with a snort, and Chris’s smile widened a fraction. "I don’t know," he said with a wink at JD, "I’ve heard there’s a first time for everything."

=======

He drifted through the darkness, feeling wakefulness tugging at the edges of his mind and fighting its pull. He knew what torments it held, knew what pain, sickness and fear waited to drive their claws once more into him, and wanted no part of that. He’d had too much already. He was tired, worn out from the struggle with his own body just to keep breathing, and wanted only to rest. And here he could. Here in this darkness he was safe, beyond the reach of all that would torment him. Beyond the reach of everything...

Except them.

Lord God, why couldn’t they leave him be?

But they were as stubborn now as they’d been that night in the brush, intruded on him now as they’d done then, and refused, as always, to let him keep to the darkness and shadows where he felt safest. Their voices reached him even across the distance he’d fled for his own peace of mind, just as their strength had held him to this life when, without them, he would have found it so easy, so easy, just to let go and slip away.

It was a hell of a thing, havin’ friends who made dyin’ even harder than livin’...

The voices gradually grew louder, more insistent, and he turned instinctively toward them, driven by some need in himself he couldn’t understand. He knew the shadows were safer, had learned early on it was best to keep himself hidden in them. Yet now these men, with no more than the sound of their voices and the promise of their nearness, were drawing him out into a light where he had no wish to be, where he’d never feel completely at home, where all that awaited him were pain and sickness and fear...

"Oh!" The breathless cry tore from him as his movement on the bed sent sharp spikes of pain drilling through his head and stabbing deep into his side. He tried to turn away from the pain, but only succeeded in making it worse, and curled into himself with another anguished sound.

And then he felt it, the firm hand at his shoulder that was always among his first memories when waking to the world of hurt. That hand steadied him, guided him through the red waves of pain, and he locked his own about it, clinging to it for all he was worth. Then a second hand descended, curved about the back of his neck and stroked his throat with a callused thumb in a gently calming gesture. He gave himself into those hands, let them hold and comfort him while he struggled to find his way through the pain, while he waited for the voice that would lead him.

And it, too, was there.

"Easy, Vin, easy," Chris soothed, bending low over the pain-racked, shaking body to let Tanner know he was near. "It’s all right now, pard. I know it hurts, but you’re gonna be all right. Just gotta get ya through the shock of wakin’ up."

Vin huddled in those hands and clung to them with a frail strength as pain and confusion battered at his body and mind. Half-formed memories ghosted through his addled brain, but each time he thought he had hold of one it simply slithered away like a snake through tall grass.

"Chris?" he whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the light that was piercing through them and into his skull. "Where... Oh," he groaned, giving up all attempts at thought.

"Buck," Chris called quietly over his shoulder, "you wanta come lower this lamp? Light’s hurtin’ his eyes."

Without a word, Buck crossed the clinic to the small table by Vin’s bed and turned down the lamp set upon it. When that was done, he knelt by Chris’s chair and reached out, closing a big but gentle hand about Vin’s arm, adding his strength and solidness to Larabee’s. "Hey, buddy," he called in a soft, soothing voice, "you back with us yet?"

A fine tremor of fear ran through Vin at the unexpected touch, but he shuddered and relaxed as recognition set in. "Buck?" he rasped, opening his eyes slowly and trying to focus on the dark shape before him. "You... here?"

"In the flesh, son. You’re th’ envy of every little lady in town."

"But..." Still more vague memories swirled through his mind, refusing to coalesce into anything solid. "You... cain’t be here. Only Chris... J’siah..." He licked his lips, trying to remember. "You... in town..."

Chris sighed and leaned closer still. "Listen to me, Vin," he urged in a low, even voice. Freeing his hand from the back of Vin’s neck, he carefully brushed the long, tangled hair away from the tracker’s pale face, seeking the unfocused eyes. "Josiah and I brought you home. You’re back in town, up in Nathan’s clinic. You’ve been here about three days now. Your fever finally broke this afternoon, and we’ve been waitin’ for you ta wake up ever since."

"Fever?" he whispered, trying to make out Chris’s features through the shadows that clouded his vision. When the effort proved too much, he let his eyes close and sagged back against the bed, his hands slipping from Larabee’s.

Chris and Buck exchanged worried glances, neither liking the rawhide-tough tracker’s fragility, then Buck gathered his thoughts and reached for the cup of water on the bedstand. Handing the cup to Chris, he then slipped a hand beneath Vin’s head, careful to avoid the wound there, and gently lifted Tanner just enough for Larabee to set the cup against his lips.

"Drink," Chris ordered in his calm father’s voice. "Small sips, and slowly."

Vin complied, if only because he had no strength for anything but small, slow sips. The water felt so good sliding down his parched throat, and he groaned in sheer pleasure as it seeped into every aching hollow of the dry husk that was his body.

"That’s enough," Chris said, taking the cup away before Tanner could make himself sick. "We’ll see how this sits, give you more later."

Vin merely gave a faint nod, entrusting himself into their care with the instinctive, unshakable certainty that it was safe to do so.

While Chris straightened him on the bed, Buck carefully untangled his blankets and pulled them up over him, tucking them close about his body. All the while he studied the younger man, taking in the black circles like bruises under his eyes, the hollows fever had carved into his bloodless face, the frightful thinness of the always-spare frame. Struck again by how close a thing it had been, he clucked his tongue and shook his head sorrowfully.

"Don’t take you long ta whittle down ta nothin’, son," he murmured. He laid a hand on Tanner’s narrow chest and gazed sadly down into the ashen face. "Thought we were gonna lose ya for a while there. Had us all real scared."

"Sorry," Vin breathed, trying to free his arms from the confines of the covers, but unable to make it work. "Don’t mean... t’ be a bother."

Seeing the futility of his struggle, Buck freed his arms for him. "Think maybe you could remember that before you run off and get yourself shot next time?" he chided gently, all the while straightening the sleeves of the heavy shirt they’d put on him to ward off the chills that had racked him and smoothing the lank, unwashed hair off his bandaged forehead.

Chris had to chuckle at the sight of Buck fussing over Vin as he would JD, and at the sight of Vin accepting it, even seeming to crave it. Big as he was and boisterous as he could be, Wilmington truly had a mother’s touch.

"Chris said... yer mad at me," Vin rasped. "Fer runnin’ out on ya... like I done."

Buck sighed and sat back on his haunches. "There’s a little more to it than that, son," he said quietly. "There’s some things I figure we need ta get clear in that hard head’a yours." He saw the lines of exhaustion deepening in Tanner’s face, and laid the back of a hand against the tracker’s blessedly cool cheek. "But I think it’ll wait ’til you’re better."

Vin mustered the scattered fragments of his strength and slowly lifted a leaden arm, swinging it in the direction of the shadow he assumed to be Buck. Immediately, his hand was taken in a warm, firm grasp, and he shuddered in relief at the strength of that grip.

Lord, how could he ever’ve thought he’d find a place where these men couldn’t reach him?

"’M sorry... ’bout JD... ’n Ezra," he breathed, his words slurring together. "Didn’t mean... t’ let ’em git hurt..."

"Listen ta me, Vin," Buck said in a quiet but firm voice, leaning close above the tracker to make certain he was heard. "What happened ta them wasn’t your fault, and I never for a single minute blamed you. Even you can’t be ever’where at once, and you’re not solely responsible for all the rest of us. We’re all in this together, pard, you got that? You shoulda come to us, Vin," he said softly, gazing sadly into confused eyes. "You shoulda let us take care’a you like we did JD and Ezra." He tightened his grip on the pale, limp hand. "That’s what we’re here for, son," he breathed. "It’s what friends do."

Vin frowned at that, again trying to get hold of the words, their meaning, and again feeling them slip through his grasp. "Don’ know," he whispered. "Cain’t... cain’t git it all... ta lay straight in my head..."

"Then just let it go for now," Chris soothed, leaning forward in his chair and again setting his hand to Vin’s shoulder, giving permission for his friend to slip, for now, back into the shadows. "You’re home, you’re safe, and that’s what matters. The rest of it’ll keep."

Vin gave in, let the hand on his shoulder, the hand gripping his, guide him through the pain and confusion to a place where he could rest. And long after all his other thoughts had slithered into the grass, one, at last, remained firmly in his grasp.

He was home...

=======

EPILOGUE:

Vin sat outside the saloon in the early morning quiet, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands, and carefully tipped his chair back until it rested on only its two back legs, smiling in simple pleasure when nothing untoward happened. He was a long way from being fully healed of his wounds, could feel it deep in his side when he overdid and was still subject to headaches and dizzy spells, but, for now, his chair was the only thing tilting, and it was a right nice feeling. He propped a booted foot against the railing, sipped from his coffee, and just enjoyed the clear morning.

Moments later, he heard the soft thump of boots against the boardwalk, the jingle of spurs, and saw a dark shadow fell across him. He didn’t look up, didn’t have to. He’d known for a good ten minutes the man was watching him, had been expecting him to make an appearance.

"Lookin’ mighty pleased with yourself this mornin’," Chris said quietly, studying the relaxed air of the man slouched in the chair before him, the peaceful light in the blue eyes and the slight smile that just teased his mouth. "Ain’t plannin’ anything, are ya?"

"Not a thing," Vin drawled. He did look up then, squinting slightly to see the face shadowed by the flat-brimmed black hat. "’Cept mebbe gittin’ another cup’a coffee."

Chris felt a momentary twinge of worry at that squint. The wound in Vin’s head had proved every bit as serious as the one in his side, and they’d all had a scare when the tracker’s vision had been slow to clear. But he calmed himself with an effort, and realized this squint was caused by nothing more than Tanner trying to peer through the shadows cast by his hat.

Still, needing reassurance, he pushed the hat from his head with a casual gesture, and was relieved to see the squint disappear. Not wanting Vin to see that relief, and thus know of the worry that had preceded it, Chris turned and grabbed a chair, mastering his feelings before pulling the chair closer and folding his long frame into it at Vin’s side.

They sat for a long while in silence, two men who needed no words with each other, who were simply content to feel again the strength and depth and solidness of what existed between them. They had so nearly lost that, had so nearly lost Vin, that, even now, Chris felt his gut clench at the awful closeness of it. But he had only to slant a quick glance at the man leaning back in the chair beside him to feel that knot release, to know that, for now, his world was still whole.

For now...

The thought came unbidden, unwanted, and made Chris shift uneasily in his chair. A slight frown pulled down the corners of the long mouth, and green eyes darted once more to still and silent tracker.

For now. But for how much longer?

Vin heard the creak of the chair as Larabee moved, felt the worried weight of that gaze upon him, and gave a soft, resigned sigh. He clearly sensed the shift in the gunfighter’s mood, and realized the moment he’d known must come, but had dreaded all the same, was here. As Chris shifted again, his tension palpable, Vin slowly lowered his chair to all four legs, moved his foot from the railing

to the boardwalk, and bowed his head to frown into the cup cradled between his hands.

"Best spit it out," he advised in his soft, raspy drawl. "Ya been chewin’ on it a while now. Much more’n it’s gonna choke ya."

Larabee gave a soft, wry chuckle. "This from the man who can chew on his thoughts longer’n he can a piece’a jerky?"

Vin shot a sly, crooked grin at his friend. "Yeah, but I’m younger’n you," he pointed out. "Got better teeth."

Chris chuckled again and shook his head, wondering exactly when Tanner had decided he didn’t have to fear getting shot for his insolence, and why he didn’t resent the Texan’s cockiness more. Why it didn’t bother him that this man could see through him like he was glass.

Just when had he let that happen?

He could feel that calm blue gaze upon him, but knew Vin was waiting, and so ceased his musing. Tanner was a patient man, sometimes maddeningly so, but even he had his limits. He was also a direct man, blunt almost to a fault, and had no use for dancing around issues best met head-on. It was one of the many things he and Larabee had in common.

So Chris went straight to the point. "You and Buck talk yet?" he asked, knowing even as he did that they had.

He had seen them several days ago on the steps of the church, or, rather, Vin on the steps of the church. Buck had been all motion, pacing back and forth, stepping up and leaning over the smaller man, then going back to pacing, his hands gesturing all the while. And he had seemed to do all the talking.

From what Chris had seen, Vin had merely sat and stared up at Wilmington, still and contained; if he had said anything, it had been no more than a word here and there. Larabee had watched them for more than an hour before Buck had finally stopped pacing, directed a final few comments at the tracker, then turned and walked away. Catching Chris’s eye, he had merely shrugged his broad shoulders, and Larabee had grinned in rueful understanding. A man could talk all damn day to Tanner, could talk until his throat bled and he ran out of words, and still never be certain a single point had reached the shrewd, sharp brain inside that rock-hard head.

Something else he and Larabee had in common.

Vin took a sip of coffee. "We talked," he said at last, well aware that Larabee knew this.

Chris waited for more, then sighed softly, resignedly, when no more was forthcoming. "And?" he prompted.

Vin shrugged and fixed his gaze on the building across the street. "We talked," he said again. He narrowed his eyes slightly, seeming to stare at something in the distant window, but saw instead Buck’s big figure pacing before him restlessly, and heard him explain at length why no one, least of all him, held Vin responsible for what had happened. Vin had been startled, then confused, then downright amazed. Not at the words themselves, but at the feeling behind them.

He’d hurt Buck, but not by "letting" JD get hurt. He’d hurt the man by doubting him, by fearing him. By assuming friendship meant as little to Buck as it had to everyone else he’d ever known.

"And?" Chris prompted again, more gently this time, seeing the slight frown tugging at his friend’s mouth and shadowing the blue eyes.

Vin’s frown deepened, and he bowed his head to hide it. "Reckon I’m still ponderin’ on it," he said softly, slowly, sifting carefully through the words, and the feelings, that were so unfamiliar to him. "I ain’t used ta havin’ folks worry about me. Ain’t used ta havin’ folks who care enough ta worry."

He shrugged, then shook his head slowly. After a few moments, he licked his lips and lifted his confused gaze to Larabee. "I jist... I ain’t sure I got the right of it in my own head."

Sympathy flooded Chris at those words. He understood how new all this still was to Vin, what a vast mystery belonging was to a man who’d not belonged anywhere, with anyone, for most of his life. The tracker had a valued place in their company, but still he ghosted around its edges, wild and wary as a wolf, alternately fearing either the trap that would snap shut around him and hold him where he had no wish to be, or the rejection that would drive him away just when he’d thought his days of running were over.God, was it any wonder the man was so comfortable in the shadows?

"Gotta be hard," Larabee said at last, his voice low and thoughtful, "suddenly findin’ yourself part of a pack when you’re used ta runnin’ alone. Still," he let his gaze stray from Vin’s and settle on a point up the street, "the thing about packs is, while they get their strength from those in ’em, those in ’em also take their strength from the pack. One wolf alone, if he’s sick or hurt and can’t watch out for himself, will die. But that same wolf, if he’s with his pack, likely he’ll find one’a the others watchin’ out for him, makin’ sure he gets what he needs." His green eyes wandered back to Tanner. "It’s an amazin’ thing, watchin’ how wolves take care’a their own."

Vin stared long and hard at Chris, eyes changing from light to dark to almost black as thoughts, feelings, old doubts and new truths flashed lightning-quick through his mind. Every bit of awareness in him was focused sharply on the older man as he sought to come to grips with those words.

"Their own." Lord, when was the last time he’d been anybody’s "own"? So long ago, he couldn’t remember...

Chris watched Vin’s head cant slightly to one side, his eyebrows drawing down, his tongue working slowly over his lower lip, and could almost feel the breeze stirred up by that whirling mind. Deciding to press the point while the man was still off balance, he leaned forward in his chair and pinned Tanner with his gaze.

"Tell me somethin’," he said with a quiet force. "Whose fault is it you got shot up on that roof?"

Vin drew back, startled, then snorted and shook his head at the stupidity of the question. "Weren’t nobody’s fault!" he said sharply. "’Cept the bastard who shot me. ’N mebbe my own fer not knowin’ he was there."

Chris arched a blond brow in cool disbelief. "Not Buck’s? Or Nathan’s or JD’s? Shouldn’t they have seen the guy? Weren’t they watchin’ out for you?"

"Well, they was a mite busy at the time," he drawled, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Tryin’ ta keep their own heads in one piece!"

"Hm." Chris sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, resting one booted foot on the opposite knee. He idly scratched his chin with a thumbnail. "So," he mused, his eyes narrowing slightly, "it’s not their fault you got shot, because they were busy tryin’ not ta get shot themselves. But it is your fault JD got shot, even though you’d already been shot and couldn’t see for shit. That right?"

Vin opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again as anger flared in him at the neat way Chris had boxed him in. He tore his gaze from Larabee’s and stared out into the street, his jaw clenching hard, his long fingers gripping the coffee cup until his knuckles shone white.

Chris smiled thinly at his friend’s visible anger, but wasn’t finished yet. "’Course, if it’s your fault JD got shot, that means it’s Buck and Nathan’s fault, too, right?" he pressed on ruthlessly. "I mean, hell, you were up on the roof and wounded. But they were right there on the street, right there, and not a scratch between ’em. Shit, Nathan was close enough ta get ’em with his knives, so surely he shoulda been able ta stop ’em before they shot JD–"

"That ain’t right ’n you know it!" Vin snarled, shooting to his feet and staring through blazing eyes at Larabee, his coffee cup falling at his feet. "Hell, you wasn’t even here! You didn’t see it!" He turned sharply and waved a hand out over the quiet street, seeing it as it had been that day. "They was ever’where, shootin’ at whatever moved." His voice was soft and hoarse with emotion, and his eyes darted about as if searching for the outlaws. "Eighteen of ’em. Eighteen! ’N ever’ one armed ta the teeth. Shit, bullets was flyin’ about like mosquitas in a swamp. ’N we all had ta keep movin’, runnin’ up ’n down the damn street, inta alleys... I reckon I musta been on near ever’ roof in town, jist tryin’ ta keep the boys covered so’s they could do whatever they had ta." A sudden tremor ran through his body, and he turned abruptly to stare at the spot where Standish had fallen. "Then Ezra went down," he breathed, his eyes wide and dark. "I tried... Lord God, how I tried! But I couldn’t git there in time..."

Chris rose to his feet and stepped to Tanner’s side, laying a strong but gentle hand on one tight shoulder. "Enough, Vin," he urged in a low, soothing voice. "You did what you could. All of you did what you could."

Vin turned haunted eyes upon his friend. "JD called out ta me," he rasped in pain. "Jist ’fore he took off. I saw ’im runnin’... ’N that’s the last thing I saw. Nex’ thing I know, I’s watchin’ Buck ’n Nathan with him... Oh, Lord," he groaned, the words torn from his soul, "I thought he was dead!"

"But he wasn’t, and he’s not," Chris said softly, still gripping Vin’s shoulder. "And Ezra’s not, and you’re not. And nobody blames you, or thinks you coulda done one thing different than you did. And nobody, nobody, expected or wanted you ta go after those last two like you did. Not by yourself, not with a hole in your head. That was never your responsibility."

Vin stared the older man, his eyes still full of that day’s confusion and torment. "I had ta git ’em–"

"No," Chris interrupted firmly, his gaze holding Vin’s. "We had ta get ’em. Those of us who were left, those of us who were healthy. That was our responsibility. Your responsibility was stayin’ here and lettin’ Nathan take care’a you."

Vin winced and shook his head slightly. "He had his hands full with JD ’n Ezra. I’da jist made more work fer him–"

"And you didn’t do that by comin’ back with a bullet in ya, half-dead from blood-loss and fever and nearly blind?" There was no accusation, no blame, in the words, merely a quiet pointing out of facts.

Nonetheless, Vin winced again and turned away, then bowed his head and raised a hand to his temple to rub at pain either remembered or real; he couldn’t quite tell right now.

Chris saw that, and took his arm, leading him back to his chair and easing him down into it. When Vin sat back with a soft, ragged sigh, Chris knelt at his side and gazed at him with the patience Tanner alone inspired in him.

"You’re not runnin’ alone anymore, Vin," he said quietly. "You’re part of the pack. You’re one of us. We look after our own. And we don’t drive our own away." He reached down and picked up the fallen cup. "You sit here, rest. I’ll get us some coffee." He rose to his feet and went into the saloon.

Vin sat in silence, eyes fixed on the distance, and thought. He’d been so sure of what he had to do, had felt it burning through his brain with all the fire of that bullet...

But would he have expected it from anyone else? From JD or Ezra? Or Chris?

He raised his hand again to his head, now certain the pain there was real. Lord, when had it all gotten so complicated? It had been simple, so simple, when it had been just him. Nobody else to consider, nobody to get in his way or stop him from doing what had to be done, nobody to watch over.

And nobody to watch over him.

A long, tired sigh stole from him and he dropped his hand into his lap, closing his eyes against the bright glare of the morning. Maybe he should just ride out, go back to what he knew. Get rid of the pain in his head by gettin’ rid of the six other voices there...

You’re one of us. We look after our own. We don’t drive our own away.

Goddamn gunfighter. A faint smile curved about Vin’s mouth. Wasn’t no use ridin’ out. Not when he’d have the whole passel of ’em ridin’ out after him.

He opened his eyes, turned his head and stared up the street to the church, seeing again Buck’s big figure pacing before those steps as they’d had their "talk." Wilmington had lectured him like he would JD, pointing out every stupid, foolhardy, reckless thing he’d done, letting him know just how stupid,

how foolhardy, how reckless he’d been, and what that had done to the rest of them.

Then, before Tanner could get so mad he’d leave, or start shooting, Buck’s whole manner, his tone, expression, bearing, everything, had changed. He’d opened himself up and showed all the pain that had gripped him at the thought that Vin might be lost to them all because of the tracker’s fear of him.

"I had JD’s blood all over me," Buck had said softly, holding out big hands for Vin to see. "And that was a hard thing. To look down at myself and see that boy’s blood on my hands, my shirt, my pants... But how much harder d’you think it woulda been ta have yours on my soul?" He’d knelt then, his eyes searching Vin’s for some sign of understanding. "I know trust don’t come easy to ya, son," he’d said sadly, "and I can’t begin to imagine what kinda life you’ve had ta make that so. Don’t even wanta try, because I just can’t bear thinkin’ about all the times you’ve needed somebody and had nobody. Can’t bear thinkin’ about what kinda life brings a man to expect his friends to turn on him." He’d set one hand gently on the tracker’s knee then, startling Vin, but leaving it in place as if to convince Tanner that the hand, big as it was, meant him no harm. "I gotta tell ya, though, it hurts like hell knowin’ you think we’d turn on ya. That I’d turn on ya and blame ya for somethin’ I knew wasn’t your fault."

He’d moved closer then, his big hand still on Vin’s knee, his eyes searching the tracker’s. "You did let us down, Vin," he’d said softly, gently, "but not when JD got shot. That wasn’t none’a your doin’. You let us down when ya ran from us, when ya didn’t come to us for help, when ya thought your life didn’t matter to us. It does, son. It matters – hell, you matter – to us more’n I can say. And I wish ta God I had the words ta tell ya how scared I was thinkin’ you were out somewhere alone, hurt, maybe dyin’..." His whole heart, his whole soul, had shone in his eyes as he’d gazed at Tanner. "We need you, Vin, and for a whole helluva lot more than just trackin’ and shootin’. Those are just skills, and they don’t come near measurin’ your true worth t’ us. You’re a part of whatever it is we got here, son, and we just wouldn’t be whole without ya. You understand?"

Vin hadn’t, and he’d known Buck had seen that, and been saddened to see it. But he’d promised Buck he’d think on it, even though he’d felt hopelessly lost in a vast wilderness of words, thoughts and ideas that made no more sense to him than writing on a page. And he’d almost despaired of ever figuring it out, until Larabee had sat down beside him and started talking about wolves.

It’s an amazin’ thing, watchin’ how wolves take care’a their own.

You’re a part of whatever it is we got here, son, and we just wouldn’t be whole without ya.

Lord God, when had he become a part’a somethin’ so fine?

He heard the soft thump of boots, the jingle of spurs, and turned his head to see Chris holding out a steaming cup of coffee to him. He took the cup, but kept his gaze locked on Larabee’s, searching the green eyes intently and seeing them search his, and feeling again the immediate knowing and complete understanding that had been theirs from the first.

Maybe it didn’t have to be any more complicated than this.

Chris saw the tension drain from Tanner’s lean frame, saw the cloud of confusion and pain clear from the blue eyes, and felt yet another knot within himself release. With a soft, slow sigh, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at the ankles, and sipped from his coffee.

Vin narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip, then gave a single, decisive nod, as if a trail he’d been puzzling over had suddenly come clear before him.

"I reckon I done wrong," he drawled softly. "Shouldn’ta gone off like I done. Shouldn’ta worried y’all like I done. Shoulda had more faith in y’all." He turned his head and gazed steadily at his friend. "I’ll try ta do better nex’ time."

Larabee had to smile at that. "I’ll try ta do better," like a kid who’d come up short in his father’s expectations, or who had tried something new and failed.

Well, hell, trustin’ others was new to Vin, wasn’t it?

He returned Tanner’s gaze and nodded slowly. "That’s all any of us can do, pard," he said easily, "just keep tryin’ ta do better." He chuckled. "Hell, who knows? Maybe one day one of us’ll get it right!"

Vin laughed softly and shook his head. "Wouldn’t bet on it, cowboy. We’re a hard-headed bunch. Nathan’s always sayin’ so."

Chris’ smile turned wry as his gaze flickered to the long crease still-visible at Vin’s temple. "Yeah, but I figure this time he was grateful for that hard head’a yours." His eyes glinted wickedly. "Still, you might try usin’ it for somethin’ besides catchin’ bullets. I hear there’s a new trick some folks’re

tryin’. It’s called ‘thinkin’.’" He winked. "You might give it a whirl."

Vin scowled at the gunfighter. "I’ll remember that, Larabee," he warned. "’N next time you need me ta cover yer ass, I’ll stop ’n think long ’n hard, jist sit ’n ponder the hell outta what I’m doin’." He nodded firmly, blue eyes scornful. "Likely ya won’t be quite s’ smug, then."

Chris said nothing, merely chuckled again and shook his head. He’d come so near to losing Vin that he figured enduring the prickly tracker’s insolence was a small price to pay for still having the man at his side.

Still, he’d have to find a way to take the Texan down a peg or two before too long. Didn’t pay to let him get cocky.

The deep, familiar silence again fell between them, and Vin let himself relax into it. Once more, he set his feet against the post and tipped his chair back on two legs, his body curving into its characteristic slouch. He held his cup in his lap and never lifted it to drink, not wanting to disturb the perfect balance

he’d found. Didn’t find it often enough to chance losing it once he had it.

With a small, contented smile, he let his eyes close, let the warmth of the day, the peace of the moment and the strong, solid presence of the man at his side sink through him and buoy him up, let himself float weightless upon them. He began to drift, then to doze, and did nothing to fight it. He vaguely felt the full cup being taken from his hands, felt the hat he’d hung over the back of his chair set on his head and pushed down over his eyes to shade them, and, with an ease he once thought he’d never know again, simply let himself go to sleep, knowing he need fear no harm while his own black-clad guardian angel watched over him.

Chris leaned back in his chair, sipped from his coffee, and sat a relaxed but watchful vigil over his sleeping friend. He knew Vin needed this, knew it was part of the younger man’s healing. He also knew what a profound sign of trust in him it was for Vin to fall asleep in his presence, and was determined to do whatever it took to maintain that trust, even if he had to sit here all damn day.

Around them, the town slowly woke to life, but the noise and busyness of its stirring never seemed to reach the two men who sat apart from it all on the porch of the saloon, one sleeping, the other indulging in the simple pleasures of sipping coffee and letting a friend sleep.

THE END

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