(Fic Challenge: Chris Larabee Meets Ringo)

Disclaimer: The usual

Anne Tolar atolar@telepak.net

Rating: PG

Chapter 1

The day marked anniversary four since the death of Sarah and Adam...it wasn't any better for Chris Larabee than the past three had been, except the rest of the boys had made sure to remember the date of his wife's and son's death this time. They had keep guard over him, watched him as the dark date approached, kept him more than busy so he didn't have so much time to think. He felt they were walking inside his boots, which made him about as mad as a hornet. Yet, even knowing the mood he was in, Mary had insisted on them keeping him safe; the Judge had been resolute that they should keep him sane and sober.

Nobody wanted a repeat of what had happened with Ella Gaines the year before. The man had barely survived physically; had had an even harder time mentally. There was the guilt of falling for the bitch again...guilt in knowing Ella had had them killed...guilt at hurting Mary...guilt at almost getting all his friends killed. He even entertained guilt over feeling guilty since he hadn't known the truth until it was much too late.

Sunup of the day of torment found him slumped over the table in Ezra's saloon, where he had come during the night, unable to sleep, tortured by dreams, agonized by memory. He was as drunk as the day always seemed to demand, by now asleep in his seat, head down, hat pushing back the dawning light coming through the windows, the light that threatened to show everyone he had done it again. He had no idea how much money he owed Ezra for the beer and whiskey by now, but it was enough, and he

didn't really care.

All in all, bad as it was, it was just a little better this year. He hadn't destroyed town property yet, hadn't wound up in jail so far...whether the cell was locked or not...and he hadn't gone to Purgatory or completely to hell up until now, either. He was just drunk, not nearly as wild and wooly as before. All his friends hoped he had finally learned to forget and let it go...at least a little.

Then Vin and Buck set him off. Vin, his friend, the one who was always so sympathetic about Sarah and Adam, and Buck, the one who grieved over their deaths nearly as much as Chris, feeling responsible for it all...these two decided he needed just a little lesson in dependability.

"I tell ya, Pard, it's getting just a little stupid for him to do this every dern year. It's time we gave him a warning about getting so drunk, letting his guard down like this. We tolerate it, Mary despises it, the Judge plumb hates it, he knows he ought to stop it."

"Yeah, Vin, he can sure get into trouble when he goes at it this hard. What're we gonna do though...something to get his attention right enough, but not something that's gonna get us killed when he sobers up."

"I had a little thought, Buck. Go get him, and meet me at the BathHouse. I think I've got a plan that'll dang sure get his attention. Just make sure he's still drunk and snoring when he gets there."

"You mean buy him another round or two to make sure he don't take us on until AFTER we finish your plan?"

"That about covers it."

"We gonna need....should I bring the rest of the boys?"

"Naw...some of us best be left alive...depending on how he takes it."

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Chris woke up in his room hours later, with a headache that wanted to paralyze his brain again. He wondered how he had gotten to his room, but he figured he must have just gotten a little rowdy and some of the boys had dumped him here to get him out of sight of the Judge. The man had threatened to fire him the last time. Nobody could envision the seven without Chris.

He stumbled up from his bed, and splashed a little tepid water on his face, realizing that it was getting hot in the room, probably late-morning already. When he reached up to run a slightly shaky hand through his hair, he found a large portion of it sticking straight up toward the ceiling, stiff and unusually thick to the touch...he wondered if his head had been dunked in the slimy, algae-covered horse trough again...be about like Buck to do that to him. That forced him to look at the one thing he had fiercely avoided so far....the mirror. What he saw set him in such a temper, had he been a flame, the entire town would have been quickly engulfed.

"What in the HELL!" He jammed his hat on his head and stormed out of his room, heading for the saloon. It didn't matter that he was crossing the street, screaming at the top of his lungs....hell, everybody was used to that. "TANNER! BUCK! GET OUT HERE!! WHERE IS EVERYBODY!!"

They were all there already, in the saloon, sitting in a close knit group, thinking that might offer a little protection. They had shared the laughter and the fun. Now, hearing him...realizing what was about to happen...they were quiet...waiting

"I WANT TO KNOW WHO IN THE HELL DID THIS TO ME?" He stormed into the room, picked up a beer mug from the table and slung it into the corner...glass spraying in every direction.

"Senor Chris...I am starting a tab this time....for each one you break, you will pay!"

"You run it, Inez...but Vin and Buck are paying. WHO IN THE HELL DID THIS TO ME?"

"You mean you don't remember, Pard? Bet you don't remember nothing!"

"TANNER, I THINK I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

"Who said you need to kill me? And what do you need to kill me for, exactly?"

"Who in the hell blacked my hair and beard? Who had it cut like this? I figure it was you, you little weasel. You were talking about that man who used boot black on his hair last week...having a really good time at his expense."

"You said you were growing a new and better mustache. We just decided to finish it up for a present. Thought we'd help you out, clean up that mess of weeds you had growing on your face. Thought it might give you a new outlook on life."

"Who said I needed a new outlook on life? Who thought I was ready to cut it?"

"Who said you'd even know if it got done? You were so drunk, you don't even remember us picking you up, stripping ya plum to the buff and half-drowning you at the BathHouse, toting you to Baxter Wren's barber shop, or even packing you up that flight of stairs to your room. You know you can damn sure get your miserable hide killed like that, don't ya."

"Hell, Vin! Thought I could trust you to back me up...not go joining Buck in one of his hair-brained pranks."

"Hold on just a dang minute, Stud. This one wasn't my idea."

"VIN...you started this? Hell, I AM gonna have to kill ya. Count on you to be the level-headed one."

"Thought maybe, just maybe, you'd be surprised enough to realize how bad things could get if you let yourself let your guard down like this. We don't want to find you in some alley again anytime soon. You've been hurt enough lately. Need to use just a little common sense."

"That's right, Chris. Ain't like there ain't nobody who ever wants to take you on. You getting completely stiff, you can get dead real quick."

"Ah, hell, boys. Been a long time since I've had to think about my old, bad days. Don't seem like anybody's shown up to challenge me lately. Seems like it's all the time law or ranch work these days and that's just fine with me. You could have just let me sleep it off...didn't have to do this...and why black? And another thing, who decided to give me this mustache with twirled up ends and this devil's goatee? Makes me look like something out of a damn penny dreadful."

"Shoot, Pard. It makes you look like a real, true gunslinger! Match's your fine reputation."

"Hell, my reputation's never been too good anyway, but now... This just makes me look like some kind of outlaw trash!"

"Aw, Stud, I thought it gave you an even more wicked gaze than normal. Thought it might just scare off all those 'bad elements'."

"Not likely! More apt to make them take a few potshots at me for practice! And it makes me look damn OLD! How long's it gonna take for this stuff to wear off? When do I get my own color back?"

"Unless you cut it all off and go bald for a spell...don't know....couple of months, probably. You've been known to let it get real, real long. You do that now, you're gonna wind up two-toned...black and yeller. Ought to look real, real purty...for Halloween."

"Tanner....I swear....you're dead." But at the moment, he looked up and saw his reflection in Ezra's bar mirror, and he did see the humor of it. He shook his head and finally started to laugh. When he laughed, he groaned.

His two best friends at least felt a little sorry for him. Vin grabbed him by the shoulder, "Come on, Chris...might as well get ya some hair-of-the-dog. See if we can't lighten up that headache of yours a might."

Buck enthusiastically pounded him on his head...he didn't feel that sorry for him. "Vin, don't encourage him. You'd think a man as old as him would learn. But, no...not Chris Larabee...he's about as green as he was last year." He pounded his head one last time, "Come on, Stud. I'll buy ya one...but let's make it coffee."

"Hell, Buck...I ain't near as drunk as I was last year....Last year, I was so drunk, I took up with Ella. But coffee? Not hardly...That'll just make me awake and drunk. Make it a whiskey ...a good whiskey."

"All right...but just one."

"Sounds like a plan."

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Chapter 2

"I still can't believe they did that to your hair! What in the world possessed them to ruin your hair like that?" When she saw him the first time, Mary had laughed at him, but she really didn't like to see that wonderful red-blonde hair of his tinted like this... something about how dark and brooding it made him look troubled her immensely.

"I was just a mighty tempting target....I left the door wide open...they just went through the door when I wasn't looking." He grinned at her while he checked the cinch of the saddle on his black gelding. It was early morning three days since his dowsing, and he was making sure he had everything he needed for the trip, making sure he let her know he was leaving for a time.

"It just doesn't look like you at all. I'll just never get used to it." There were just the two of them out on the street for now. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the people stirred, but it was nice to have a little time to themselves.

"No, DON'T get used to it...soon as I can get it to grow some, I'll start getting it cut. Truth is, I can't get used to it either. Makes me look a whole lot colder and meaner than even my worst reputation makes me out to be."

"You could get it all cut off...start over."

"Hell...it's not THAT bad. Don't ever want to see myself look like that again either. Til it's grown off, it's just gonna have to do."

"You were bald?"

He turned crimson, remembered the embarrassment. "Once...a long time ago."

"When? What happened? Was it a woman?" She made the mistake of laughing at him.

"DAMN IT, MARY, DON'T ASK! IT AIN'T NOBODY'S BUSINESS BUT MINE!"

She dropped the question fast, but she fully intended to broach the subject again later. "Well, at least you can do something about that mustache." She reached out and with her fingers gently smoothed the curled tips of his handlebar mustache down, so it drooped along the edges of his top lip. "There, that's a more serious look. You don't want to look like a fancy man, now do you?"

"No, no...wouldn't want to look like that...rather look like a mean, old, beat up asshole anytime."

"CHRIS!"

"Ah, come on. Billy's not around. I'm just kiddin. And don't act like you're Miss Prim and Oh So Proper all the time, and don't forget that little dip in the creek, Sunshine... and I've heard more than one damn or hell from you before." He waggled his eyebrows at her, cocked his head, and grinned a teasing grin.

She was more than a little embarrassed to be reminded of the things he had heard her say and seen her do. What he said was definitely true...they both knew it. "And where did you tell me you're going to go this time?"

"I'm heading to Safford."

"Safford? Whatever for? That's so far south of here!"

"Why else would I head that far? The Judge wants me to pick up a prisoner there and bring him back for trial. Sure isn't a pleasure trip."

"How long will it take you to go and get back?"

"Week...maybe a little less...depends on how ornery the prisoner is, and how interesting Safford proves to be. Never can tell, might be something lively going on down there."

"Don't you go getting yourself shot, beat up, or drunk again, Chris Larabee! I'm tired of us having to patch you up, tired of having to worry about whether you're lying somewhere hurt or even dead."

"All of a sudden, everybody seems to think I can't take care of myself anymore. I am a grown man. Been taking care of me a whole lot of years."

He felt a presence behind him, and whirled, his 44 suddenly in his hand. He relaxed and holstered it when he saw his friend. "Buck, you know better than to sneak up on me like that."

"Been sneaking up on ya for about five minutes...you didn't know a thing. That's what's got me and Vin worried. Ya just don't seem to pay attention to things that mean trouble the way you ought to, the way you used to. Taking care of yourself, there Stud? Should we maybe strip ya down and look at the evidence that you sometimes don't do such a good job of taking care of yourself. I can call the rest of the boys...we can do it right here....right now."

"And live, Buck? My hair's one thing....buck naked on the main street's another."

"Well...it would fit your nickname just fine, Stud. Everybody in town calls ya Bareback Larabee these days...at least behind your back. You sure you don't want company on this ride?"

"Right now, I think I want to be as far away from you damn bunch of hellions as I can get...present company excluded," he tipped his hat to Mary as he mounted his horse. "You boys are getting close to making me do something we'll all regret."

"Guess you'd best ride on out for awhile, then. You stay sane, and watch your back, Stud."

Chris grinned as he watched Buck walk off, knowing he was heading for the saloon, or Blossom's place, or somewhere equally entertaining. He looked down at Mary, suddenly serious. "I won't be gone that long. You can mark your calendar, and if I'm not back in a week, make sure somebody comes looking. Can I count on you to keep a watch for me again...like you used to? Don't ever ride out alone anymore that I don't think about Jericho. Hadn't been for you..."

"Most certainly, I'll watch. Be careful, Chris." She gave him a beautiful smile.

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled back, and suddenly leaned down from the saddle and kissed her thoroughly on the lips. "Thanks. You can count on it."

She turned absolutely crimson, but then she smiled up at him. "You're being a bad boy again, Mr. Larabee."

"No, ma'am. I'm just being a grown up man...a man who, for once, knows what he wants."

"Go on now, you." She smiled more and swatted his thin, muscular thigh, blushing brighter and hotter, and a light laugh brightened both their faces.

She stood there watching as he rode away from her, a little surprised at his kiss, but not too surprised at her reaction to it. She knew things had been getting better since he had healed from the wounds Ella's henchman had delivered. She was still watching when she saw him suddenly stop, turn his black totally around in the middle of the street, and give her a cocky smile and a stiff-armed wave. Then he turned back, and picked up his pace.

"Hurry back...and please stay well." She only whispered it to herself, but she hoped very much that in his heart he heard it, too.

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Chapter 3

For once, the days in the saddle were uneventful. He had ridden easy but at a nice canter, using the black's most pleasing gait, enjoying the quiet he hadn't had for a long, long time. He was a little surprised to find himself thinking about the rest of his 'gang' as much as he did, missing them...missing Mary's smile even more than normal. Maybe he was getting a little mellow, a little lazy these days...he sure didn't keep looking over his shoulder as he rode...as he had done for years, and years, and years without end. It was a pleasant change to think on as he rode. Life had never been this simple for Chris Larabee, not since the days when he was married, a father, and ranching. The touch of sadness that memory produced lasted only a few miles, then he shook it off, and let his thoughts return to Four Corners and his friends.

Safford wasn't anything special. It reminded him of Four Corners almost four years ago. There was a mercantile, a jail, a bunch of empty lots or boarded up buildings, and at least three saloons. Chris remembered hating it when Four Corners began to grow, remembered thinking seriously about moving on to be alone again...but now, more at peace than he liked to admit, he hated the idea of going back to a hell-hole town like this.

With the sun going down, he decided the first thing to do was get a little something to drink....just to quench the thirst he had developed on the last leg of the journey. His canteen had gone dry about three hours back, and he was getting hungry. He hoped the saloon he picked would offer something to eat, too. He saw to it that the black got water from the trough, gave him a bit of grain from his pack, then set about taking care of himself.

The saloon he chose was dim with a high ceiling, slightly cooler than the land outside, and it offered a coolish beer, too. Pushing his black hat off his head as he reached the bar, Chris ordered his first, took a long sip, and then asked about food. All they offered was a tortilla filled with beans and meat. That sounded good enough, and Chris ordered two, selecting a table to sit and rest for a bit. As he turned toward the table, he got a look at himself in the cracked mirror over the bar, and was startled again by how he looked. He didn't think he would ever get used to seeing himself this way.

He settled at the table and began to eat. Two men came into the saloon a little later, talking to each other friendly and easy, but as soon as they got a good look at Chris, they moved quickly to the far side of the bar...eyeing him with obvious concern and maybe a little fear. Chris tipped his hat at the two, and just said, "Boys." Neither of them responded to his greeting. Still, he was used to giving people a start. Maybe they'd heard of him somewhere along the line, or seen him someplace. It seemed he seldom avoided attention wherever he went.

He had chosen an unusual table for himself this time, one that faced the bar, not the door. It was positioned in the middle of the saloon, not near or in a corner as he was accustomed to selecting. The place was nearly empty, so he didn't think it was a problem. He was enjoying his food when he overhead a third man joining the two who had come in earlier. The third man's eyes had widened the minute he looked at Chris, then he practically ran to join the others.

"Hey, is that who I think it is? What's he doing back here?" He was too excited by his discovery to talk too quietly.

"Yeah, that's got to be him. Don't know why he'd show up here again. Ain't there a poster out on him still?"

Chris' ears perked up when he heard the word "poster" and the suggestion that he had been there before. He'd heard of Safford; he'd never been here. His reputation had certainly visited all the darker regions of life, but he hadn't been quite as much a blackguard as some people thought he had been. He thought things had even died down a bit now that he was working steady. His name hadn't been on a poster since back when he'd had the last run-in with the law up in Dodge City....back when he and Ella were trying to kill themselves.

"Damn her to hell!" He didn't want to think about anything connected with that bitch ever again.

The men at the bar heard the expletive and moved further to the far side of the room. All Chris heard was the third one say, "....best stay out of his way."

He continued to eat his meal, and ordered a second beer, promising himself it would be the last until he got his prisoner and got back to Four Corners...too much of the stuff, he'd be miserable riding back in the heat. But this late at night, with plans to do nothing more stimulating than sleep for the rest of it, Chris figured a second beer wasn't going to be too much. He took another bite and a long cool sip.

"Well, John, long time no see, you miserable cuss!" A hand pounded him on the back, and Chris looked up startled into the face of a newcomer to the saloon, putting his hand quickly on his 44. It was a tall, stout, but not fat, man wearing a red shirt. He was obviously already well

into the bottle he carried.

"Sorry...name's not John....well, least I'm not called John." The man's smile, though somewhat lopsided from the booze, let him relax a little.

"Ah, come on John Peters...you know me, and you can't lie to me. What you doing this far north...thought you were riding for Old Man Clanton over in New Mexico these days?

"Mister, I ain't this John....name's Chris...it's John Christopher, all told...but I haven't gone by that since I was a kid."

The man starred him in the face, and suddenly laughed, "Well, I'll be damned... you ain't John Peters after all, but mister, you could be that man's twin. Same hair, same mustache, same damn green eyes....but there's the difference. Man I know's got the craziest, meanest green eyes I ever seen in my born life. No offense."

"None taken. Can I offer you a drink? Who's this twin of mine, and if you don't mind telling me, who are you?"

"Your twin's name is John Peters Ringgold, call him Johnny Ringo most of the time. Me, I'm Bill Brocius...Johnny and the boys call me Curly Bill. Say, them tortillas look mighty good."

"They are. Sit down and have some."

"Where you from mister, and what you doing in Safford?"

"From Four Corners, up north; here to escort a prisoner back for the Judge up there." Chris heard himself talking, but he didn't understand why he was talking so much to a man he had barely met. It wasn't good to be that open in a place like this, but the man had a pleasant enough smile...seemed friendly.

Brocius stopped moving, suddenly standing again, rather than sitting at the table with Chris. His smile waned and his eyes got a little cold. "Well, sorry, but if you're a lawman, and you're escorting Justin West back to stand trial, I guess we'd best not get too friendly."

"Why's that?"

"West is one of my men...and I don't see you taking him back to maybe hang as a real friendly thing for you to do."

"Ain't a law man, really. Just help protect the folks in that town is all. I don't know nothing about Justin West, just that there's a warrant out for him, and the Judge wants him back for trial. Wants him back, didn't sound like he was in trouble enough to hang, though...didn't tell me he was a real desperado or nothing."

"Well...now that could put maybe a different wrinkle on it."

"Am I gonna have to watch my back all the way to Four Corners?"

"Don't suspect so...not if you're planning to take him easy."

"Don't see any need to take him any other way, unless he tries to kill me."

"He's not that stupid. You tell him the truth of the warrant, I think you'll find he goes along quiet enough. Me...I'm maybe heading back to Tombstone....West is on his own."

"Sounds like we've both got a plan."

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Chapter 4

Brocius still didn't share the table with him, but Chris felt he had told the truth...that he wouldn't be attacking Chris on the trail back to Four Corners. He didn't know why he believed the man. He hoped he wasn't being totally naive and stupid. He'd spent a lifetime learning not to be stupid.

He finished his food and walked down and across the street toward another saloon with a sign that offered rooms, baths, and even a livery for his horse. He wanted all of it.

At the bar, he walked up quickly and put in his order for a single room and a bath with plenty of water, good soap, and plenty of towels.

"Hell, Johnny...you know I'd never short ya. You want number three and Liz like always?"

He had been talking over his shoulder to the man at the bar, checking the room like he normally did, but paying little attention to the conversation. When he heard the greeting, he glanced around in surprise. "Mister...I'm not named Johnny, and who the hell is Liz? I'm don't especially want to know ANYBODY with that name."

He was thinking of two other women named Liz...one his mean-spirited older sister, Lizzie; the other another saloon gal who had nearly gotten him killed a long, long time ago. He had decided after the second one that avoiding women named Liz, or Lizzie, or even Elizabeth made perfectly good sense.

"Johnny Ringo!" a buxom, blonde-headed woman, with lips painted crimson red, suddenly slipped her arms around him and hugged him tight. She kissed the back of his neck with a big wet smack, and moved to rub both hands possessively and suggestively over and around his butt, taking a more than liberal grab on his cheeks, even daring to reach through his legs to boldly stroke him, "if you claim you don't know me...you're a damn liar, sugar."

He reached around and stopped the movement of her hands, holding her wrists in very firm grasps, then he drew her around until he could see her face. The smile he gave her was accompanied by a smart-acre cocking of his head, but she realized the smile didn't reach his eyes. It frightened her a little. "Well...I ain't a liar...never was, never will be...but I'm not Johnny Ringo. Name's Chris Larabee, ma'am, and what you're playing with down there don't belong to you. I suggest you keep these to yourself." He turned loose her hands with a little push to make her back off.

She backed up quickly and studied him. "Lord, have mercy. Can't be two of you in one world. But dang if there isn't."

"Wasn't until today. You're the second one today who's thought I was him Who the hell is he anyway?"

"Who was the other?"

"Man named Brocius."

"Curly Bill?"

"That's what he said."

"Well, if it's Brocius. Johnny's around here somewhere close. I think if I was you, I'd go somwhere else. He's a man full of brag, bull, and bluster, and he won't like the competition you're gonna offer."

"I'm not looking for competition. What would he want to compete with me for anyway?"

"Wine, women, and gunslinging, sugar. He thinks he's the fastest and baddest there is, and you looking so much like him, he'll want to put you to the test. Unless you're good, and I mean real good, with that shooter, you best go somewhere else, anywhere else."

"I ain't after competition, but I ain't afraid of it either. He wants to take me on, he'll have to make up his own mind. Me, I'm here to do a little work for a judge, then I'm heading home."

"Work for a judge? You're a lawman? Knew there'd have to be something different about you two. Johnny...you've never heard of Johnny Ringo? Well, he's been trouble since the day he was born, and more than trouble since he hit Arizona a few months back. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of him...don't most people even know he's come this way. Was in Texas a few years back, then in New Mexico, now he's here...no telling where he'll be tomorrow. Most lawmen won't try to take him down....figure life's too short anyway."

"Didn't say I was a lawman. Just doing some work."

"You want company tonight, sugar? Be sort of funny. See how you two compare to one another in other little things. Come on, Liz'll show you a real good time."

His smile disappeared, going sober. "I think that should seem just a little odd, a little sick, even for you. I just want a bath and a good night's sleep. And, no offense, but I won't ever bed nobody named Liz for the rest of my life. Life IS too damn short."

"Suite yourself, then. Don't say you didn't have a chance."

"Noted. Mister, I'm going to go take care of my horse, get my room ready, and make sure the bath water's hot and there's plenty of it."

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Chapter 5

He sighed to himself when he put his foot in the good warm bath. The soap was a big bar, and it didn't smell like flowers...he figured the man at the bar knew better than to try that. He slipped deep into the water, soaking his body and especially his hair, wishing it would suddenly turn it's own color again. He scrubbed and soaked until his skin was getting pruny, but still, when he stood up and caught his reflection in the dresser mirror, all the hair he saw on his face and head was still ink black.

"Ah, hell!" But he laughed anyway. Might as well laugh...it sure wasn't gonna change any time soon. He opened his saddlebags and discovered another little trick the boys had pulled. He had packed his usual black pants and black shirt with silver buttons. He now discovered a pair of dark tan britches and a dark green shirt, and, of all things, a long, bright red bandana. "Ah, hell, boys, not in this lifetime."

He dressed quickly in the fresh underclothes he had brought, and they had left alone. Knowing Vin and Buck's mind, he was surprised to find any in his pack at all. Then, he opened the window a bit to catch the little breeze, and stretched out on the nice, firm bed with the soft, soft sheets. This was going to be a nice evening of rest and relaxation, and quiet. "Ah-h-h-h-h, not bad at all...about time, Stud.." he sighed to himself as he settled in. He fell asleep almost instantly.

The dip of extra weight on the mattress woke him. "What?"

It was pitch black outside the window. The lamp beside the bed, which he hadn't lit, was glowing softly, and Liz was on the bed beside him, whether he wanted her or not. "Ah, HELL!"

"No worries, sugar. Thought you might just have changed your mind. I won't even charge ya, if you treat me real nice." She straddled his thighs, leaning forward to kiss him, trying to slip her tongue into his mouth.

"What the hell! Get out of here!" Groggy as he was, he still managed to shove her off him and move away from her touch.

"Don't be such a hard case, sugar. You know you'll just love this." She moved against him, then straddled him again and reached down to ran her fingers under the band of his britches. When she quickly started lowering them, sliding her hand along his sex, he bolted from the bed, rolling toward the far side.

"Woman, I said get the HELL away from me!"

The sound of the first bullet as it roared from a gun, then grazed the back of his skull, scared the hell out of him. Still moving, he reached up and pulled his .44 from the holster hung over the bed post, but not before the second bullet caught Liz in the side of the head and pitched her sideways across the bed. Her blood sprayed his back as he moved, then pooled quickly across and into the soft, white sheets.

Instinct told him the bullet came from the door opening, but nothing told him who it was, or why they were shooting at him, or if it was meant for Liz. He quickly dropped down to the floor, but he heard and saw nothing, except the sound of footsteps...some going left and away down the hall, some moving toward him from the stairway on the right.

The man from the bar entered, made instantly sick by the sight of Liz' brains on the bed. "Mister, what in the hell have you done!"

Chris came up from his hiding place, pointing at the fleeing sound, "Went down the hall to the left. Best send someone to see, but tell 'em to keep their head down...he's still got the gun."

"Why'd you want to kill Liz?"

"WHOA! I didn't kill her. I think I've still got her brains on my back...I was moving away from her as fast as I could. Didn't expect her to visit me tonight... you heard me tell her I didn't want nothing to do

with her."

"Yeah, lots of men say that to her at the bar, change their mind later."

"I didn't change my mind. I was sound asleep. She just showed up. Said she wasn't gonna charge me if I treated her nice."

"Don't sound like the Liz I know at all. You stick around until the Sheriff comes to talk to you."

"Send him, then. I don't have nothing to hide. But when he's through, I want a fresh room and I'll want another bath."

"'Bout as cold as Ringo would be."

"I AIN'T THIS JOHNNY RINGO. I'M CHRIS LARABEE...AND I DIDN'T HAVE ONE REASON IN HELL TO KILL THIS WOMAN...EVEN IF HER NAME WAS LIZ."

"You heard me...you stay put."

"I'll stay put...you send the Sheriff, and maybe even the doctor. I think I'm bleeding." His hand was coated with what he thought was his own blood, something oozing slow but steady from the back of his head. He hoped it wasn't more of Liz he was wearing.

An hour later, he sat in another room across the hall, now dressed in the green shirt and tan pair of pants, the red bandana lying discarded on the bed. He just waited, his hair getting stiff again from blood as well as the black dye. They had finally taken her body away. His head had finally quit feeling numb and had started hurting like hell. It didn't hurt nearly as much then as it did when the doctor finally showed up and started stitching the long bullet cut he discovered there.

"You're a damn lucky man, Johnny. You'd think you'd take a lesson from Mortensen. Don't do to be bedding a whore with the door unlocked. You best remember that's the way Mortensen met his end."

"HELL...WOULD YOU PEOPLE LISTEN TO ME...I'M NOT JOHNNY RINGO....I AM CHRIS LARABEE! AND I WASN'T BEDDING... ENTERTAINING ...THAT WHORE...WOMAN. AWH, DOC!!! TAKE IT EASY UP THERE!!!"

"Course you are, and you weren't. Why you trying to deny who you are? You finally come to your senses, and remember you've got a price on your head around here?"

"There's no price on my head...not here...not anywhere. I've never even been in this town before. You'd think a man would know who he is!"

"Right."

"I tell you, I'm Chris...."

"I know exactly who you are, " The man's walnut handled .44 was in his hand and Chris' face before Chris could complete his name. "Johnny Ringo, you're under arrest for the murder of Louis Hancock." The man reached down and quickly removed Chris' gun from his holster.

"Whoa, Sheriff! I'm not Johnny Ringo! I'm Chris Larabee. You've got orders from Orrin Travis in Four Corners for me to escort your prisoner back to trial."

"You're Chris Larabee, and I'm Wyatt Earp. Larabee's always dressed in black, and he's got yeller hair. Saw a poster on him years ago...I don't expect he's changed that much. You just get up and come with me."

"Look...I do have blonde hair...a bunch of my friends pulled a joke on me a few days ago...filled my head full of boot black."

"Don't play games with me...Ringo. That red sash over there on the bed just puts on the finishing touch. Where's Curly Bill?"

"Somebody named Bill introduced himself to me at that saloon down the street yesterday. Other than that, how the hell should I know where he is. I'm not Johnny Ringo!"

Chris looked at the .44, and watched the man pull the hammer back with a hand that shook. He didn't think arguing with the man was going to get him anywhere good, but it might get him shot. Mistaken identity or not, dead was dead.

"Look....okay...I'll come...but you've got to promise to wire Judge Travis or else Mary Travis, who runs the Clarion Gazette newspaper, in Four Corners and check on me. Either of them'll verify that I was on my way here, and that my hair's not yellow any more because of a practical joke. I tell you, I'm Chris Larabee. I'd never heard of any John Ringo until yesterday." He reached over and took the red bandana from the bed and quickly tied it around his neck. He took his hat too and, even though it hurt, jammed it down onto his bandaged head.

"You're supposed to be a lawman, and you've never heard of Johnny Ringo?"

"I'm not really a lawman, just help the Judge protect the town."

"And you don't keep an eye on wanted posters so you'll know what's coming into town."

"Try to....don't see 'em all. What's Ringo wanted for?"

"Shot a man in the saloon across the street...shot him in the back."

"That let's me out then...I don't never shoot nobody in the back."

"We'll see. Come with me."

-----------------

Chapter 6

He sat in the cell for three days, listening to the non-stop jabber of Justin West, before he could get the Sheriff to approach close enough to even ask questions. The thought of facing days on the trail when he got loose, if he got loose, listening to the windbag made him want to shoot the man now and be done with it.

He was sipping from a cup of water, taking in a little more of the laudanum the doc had given him to ease his headache. All he remembered the man saying to him after he finished stitching him was, "Look, Johnny, you just remember to go slow on that stuff. It's a big part whiskey, but just about as much opium. Water it down, boy. You drink it all today, you sure won't hurt, but for the next damn week, you'll feel like your skulls splittin' right down the middle. You best remember it...won't be one thing I can do to stop it."

"I know how mean that stuff can be. Been there before. I'll be real, real careful. Thanks, doc, but look, will you please call me Chris? It IS my name." He had looked over at the Sheriff then, "Have you sent that wire yet?"

"Shut up, Johnny. Ain't no need to send no telegraph...I've checked on you. Boys at the saloon remember you real well from when you shot Hancock. Said they saw you in the saloon the other day, and you was eyeing 'em real mean."

"Hell...I just greeted 'em. Didn't know any of 'em. You've got to wire the Judge and straighten this out."

"You'll be hearing from a judge soon enough....Judge Lightfoot."

"Lightfoot? That son-of-a-bitch a judge now?"

"I supposed you're going to say you know him?"

"Hell, yes, I know him, if he was a lawyer in Eagle Bend. Met him real up-close and personal. He'll know I'm not anybody other than Chris Larabee."

"Good, then there's no reason to waste a telegram is there? Just wait and see if you're gonna hang when he gets here."

"When's he getting here? I'm not that fond of being in a cell. I'm not known for being that cooperative either...especially when somebody's talking hanging for something I didn't do!"

"Oh, a week...couple of weeks....never can tell with judges. They move when the spirit moves 'em."

"But you won't wire Four Corners before then? I tell you, you've got the wrong man!"

"You just sit nice and cozy in there. I'll make up my mind when the spirit moves me."

The spirit didn't move him nearly quick enough to suite Chris. The days in the cell were long and boring, and it was hot. The town seemed to be working itself into a frenzy over the man who had killed a local. Finally, on the next Saturday night, when they were all rowdy and drunk, and even the night was hot as blazes, they decided to hang Johnny Ringo. The only problem was, Johnny Ringo wasn't there...but Chris Larabee was.

"I'm NOT Johnny Ringo, damn it. I'm not him, whoever the hell he is. I'm Chris Larabee."

"Shut up...I'm not gonna let them hang ya....I don't care what your name is or what it is you've done. You sit tight, I'm going to calm 'em down."

"Look...they're drunk....they're determined. I don't think you're gonna calm 'em down one damn little bit. At least give me a gun in here so I can protect myself against one or two of 'em if you don't get it right."

"And you think I'm that big a fool? Who are you going to shoot, them or me?"

"Right now....with that necktie party out there...I don't much care." Chris didn't like the odds at all. Ten to one was about as high as he liked to go. This was at least a good twenty to one, and, taking in his age and looks, the Sheriff wasn't nearly as good as Chris was. If they got past the Sheriff, well, dead was still dead.

"I'd expect about as much. You sit tight...I'll be back directly." The Sheriff left to quell his mob.

"Damned if I'm gonna wait for him to make up his mind, or get himself killed out there..." Chris had seen the keys before and considered how he could get to them. So far, there had been no way of doing anything without risking a bullet. The Sheriff was a cautious man. But now, in his anxiety about the crowd, the Sheriff had left the keys on a table just down the wall from his cell. The metal loop that held the three keys lay extended a small bit past the table ledge.

"All right, Vin! Least this damn bandana ought to come in handy for something." But it wouldn't do it by itself. He swung the end of the bandana at the table, but needed more weight to make it swing up to drop through the ring of keys. The only other thing he had, besides a blanket, was his emty holster, which he had thrown in the corner of the cell. Eyeing it now, he starred at the silver studs along the front and the belt of the holster, and he smiled.

--------------------

Chapter 7

"Boys." He was sitting at the desk in the front room of the jail, sitting there with his feet up, sipping a cup of plain, cool water, as cocky as hell, just like he was where he truly belonged, just waiting. The five that came through the door dragging the Sheriff with them stopped in their tracks when they saw Johnny Ringo sitting there, bold as brass, his .44 aimed straight at them. "You boys looking for me?"

"Johnny...gee Johnny, we're just funning. We wasn't gonna do nothing. You know...Saturday night....a little booze." The leader's voice trailed off, and they all shuffled backwards, jockeying to be the furthest from the mean-looking gun and the dark-haired man with the lunatic grin.

"Right. Now I expect you boys better let the Sheriff go and get back to the saloon before I have to do something we all regret."

"Yes, sir." They cut the Sheriff loose instantly, and ran into the door in their haste to get out of his sight.

"Johnny, I'll be damned. How'd you get out of that cell?"

"Sheriff....will you, just for once, listen to me. I AM NOT JOHNNY RINGO....I AM CHRIS LARABEE. I didn't kill Liz, I didn't kill anybody named Hancock. I've never been in this town, and I'm supposed to be taking that fool back there in that cell to Four Corners for trial, if I don't shoot him first. If you'd send a damn telegram, I'd be through with this mess, and I'd get on with my business. Hell, I'll even pay for the message! Now take this thing." He held out the gun to the man. "I don't fancy getting shot for trying to escape, and now you can just put me back in my cell so I can get some sleep....but you owe me dinner first. By the way, what the hell is your name, anyway "I'm Jeremy Braddock?"

"Braddock?" Chris turned back, starring at the man like never before, suddenly a little pale.

"Yeah, Braddock."

"Where you from?"

"Around Owenville, up in Indiana."

"I see. Knew a man named Norris Braddock once. Any relation?"

"Uncle. You got a problem with that?"

"No...no...no problem with that. Okay, you gonna lock me up or turn me loose? I don't care. I just want a bed somewhere." He made sure he sounded friendly. In his head, he was considering that maybe he ought to confess to being Johnny Ringo after all...at least Ringo hadn't killed the Sheriff's uncle. Chris had...back when he was sixteen. He'd spent a few years dodging the vendetta the man's brothers had started, too. To his knowledge, by now, there was only one Braddock brother left...and Chris didn't much want to meet him.

"You give me your word you won't leave town until I hear from Four Corners?"

"If I leave without my prisoner, the Judge'll probably fire me. I think I'm in enough trouble without crossing him for now."

"Okay, you didn't run when you had the chance...guess I can trust ya."

"Good. Then give me back my .44, let me get my stuff, and I'll buy you dinner." He walked back to the cell, all the time thinking about the situation he found himself in..."Ah, hell!"

--------------------

Chapter 8

He refused to sleep in the room he'd had before, even though the manager assured him it had been thoroughly cleaned. He settled for the one across the hall and, for the first time in this town, he slept an uneventful sleep in a soft bed...

Bright and early the next morning, he ordered another bath and sent his black pants and shirt out to be washed...asking to get them back FAST. That left him in tan and green, feeling exactly like somebody else...he just wished he knew who. He refused to wear the red cloth again. He glanced in the mirror, but he didn't laugh at all. He felt as if he was loosing himself all together in this town.

Wearing all there was to wear, he made his way down the stairs, then across the street, back to the saloon where the mess had all started. The morning menu was little different than the one he'd had before...tortillas, meat, beans. The only difference at breakfast was a squashed flat egg that rested on top of the other. He brushed that to the side.

"Well, Johnny....I mean Chris...seems you've been telling me the truth." The Sheriff joined him, ordering his own breakfast...friendly enough...like he hadn't ever been planning to hang him at all.

"Finally figured it out, did you? Told you who I was." Chris grinned. "'Bout time somebody called me by my name. What made you finally decide I was telling the truth."

"Oh, the telegraph come back this morning. Said you was black headed right now. Some friends you got...making you look like Ringo."

"Don't expect they've ever heard of him, or seen him, either...but I'll be asking at least one of those boys how they decided exactly what color to make it."

"When you plan on heading back?"

"Soon as my pants and shirt are dry...and I'm heading to the laundry right now to tell 'em to put that stuff in the sun so I can get the hell out of here."

"Ah, now Chris...it ain't been that bad visiting in Safford, has it?"

"Of course not. Damn fine 'visit.' Three meals a day, real comfortable room and board....friendly welcoming committee. Man couldn't ask for a nicer time. Shoot, I'm looking forward to my next visit already!" He ate the last bite of food, then quickly stood and, tipping his hat, headed for the door, brushing the still strange hair back into place under his hat.

He heard a familiar voice from the far end of the bar...where he hadn't looked since he came in. "See there, Johnny...told you he looked like you." The voice and the laugh belonged to Curly Bill. Chris

remembered the admonitions of Vin and Buck...he was gonna have to admit to both of them that he was getting more than a little sloppy.

When he heard the voice, and the reference to Johnny, Chris spun and then he froze. He thought for a split second that he had found the mirror again....he was staring at his own face. But this face of his was on another man. His same height, maybe a few pounds thinner, if that was possible, the other one was dressed mostly in black. The black was lighter, somewhat grayer, but it was still black. The other's hat was black, too, with a black band, flat brim, and black string drooping down under his chin. His hair was even the same, slightly scruffy looking, slightly in his face, and where Mary had flicked his mustache down, this one wore his exactly the same. And then there was the long piece of red cloth...not around his neck...tied with arrogance around the man's waist.

But it was the eyes that gave Chris the strangest chill. The eyes seemed to bore into Chris, the look coming from sparkling green eyes full of pure audacity and challenge. From this one, there was no hint of levity, no chance for mercy or reprieve. This man's eyes held only overconfidence, evil, and impending doom. Larabee finally realized what other men felt when they came under his own worst gaze, knew why most of them simply backed away. "Ah, hell!"

"Well, if it ain't yourself finally meeting yourself!" Curly Bill leaned back and roared in laughter. "See, Johnny, always told you there weren't nothing special about you....hell, boy, you even come in twos. Wonder how many more there are of you out there."

"Shut up, Bill! I'll be damn. You can't think that's really got my face, now can ya, Bill? Who are you, mister?"

"Been trying to tell these folks that I'm Chris Larabee...but seems they'd rather think I'm you. You must be Johnny Ringo." The people in the room had moved as far away from both men as the room would allow. Silence was the only sound besides the two men's words.

"I am...but you ain't."

"Looks of you, don't expect I want to be either. Soon as this hair grows off...I won't be accused of being you anymore....and that suites me just fine."

"You say your name's Larabee?"

"Yeah...Chris Larabee."

"Heard of you...you're supposed to be a gunslinger straight from hell.

Fast...real fast."

"I've heard that too, on occasion."

"Suspect you've heard of me, too."

"No. Can't say as I have, at least not until yesterday. Guess it's a local thing."

"You come here to challenge me? I'll give ya a go." The man suddenly tilted his head to the side, giving a cocky grin. Somehow Chris realized he'd made that very move before.

"Just here for a little work...heading home soon as I'm done. Don't think there's a need to challenge you any...be a damn shame to mar that face...know what I mean? Still, if you're set on a fight, here I am."

"What kind of work, slinger." He noticed that Ringo didn't seem particularly interested in the fight. He wondered how much his reputation had to do with that.

"Picking up a prisoner...taking him back to Four Corners for trial."

"Lawdog? Damn shame Ike's not here...he'd take ya on. He sure hates lawdogs!"

"Ike Clanton? Saw him long time ago when he was just past being a kid, and I guess I was one. Saw him try to take a man. But the man turned to face him fair, and Ike just skedaddled right out of there. He still as big a back-shooting coward as he was back then?"

Johnny Ringo's eyes grew small and mean. Chris wondered if the comment about Clanton would make the man draw. He noticed Ringo's slender hands, the long fingers nervously handling his .44.

For some reason, while he knew he should be nervous to face this man, he wasn't scared at all. All he felt was curiosity....could he beat himself? Could he beat Johnny Ringo? Just how fast would he need to be? As he looked at the man, watched him study him in return...making his plan, he noticed a small, thin, much faded scar on Ringo's right cheek. Then Chris smiled...they weren't the same after all

"Well, Johnny. Been curious meeting ya. Guess I'm gonna go pick up my prisoner, get on with my life, leave yours alone. Wish you luck with yours, though."

He turned again, heading back out the door toward the jail. The Sheriff quickly fell in step with him. "You must be the coolest, or the coldest, shooter I've ever seen. You wasn't scared at all?"

"No...."

Chris would have said more, but he sensed someone behind him. He whirled, pushing Braddock away from his side. When he moved, his .44 was already in his hand. When he stopped, he was facing his lookalike in the street. Ringo's gun was level with his own, and he spoke quiet and mean.

"Lawdog, Curly tells me it's West you're planning to take out of here. I don't think I'm gonna let you do that."

"Johnny, you ain't gonna stop it. Might as well accept that as fact."

"I don't think that's gonna happen...cause you ain't gonna be alive if you try."

Chris had been getting ready since he had sensed someone behind him. He realized his question from earlier was probably going to be answered very quickly. He'd know soon enough if he could win against the man that seemed in all ways to be his double.

Both men were taking the measure of the other when another voice crackled in the silence...."RINGO! YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!!!! DRAW!!!"

The identical faces turned as one, both guns at the same instant matched the draw of the tall thin man standing just down the street. It was over before they knew it. They were alive, the challenger was dead, struck twice, both times through the heart.

"Who the hell was he?" Chris was slightly pale, but not overly upset by the happening. He'd had this kind of thing happen more than once.

"His names Barkley. I killed his brother in Texas a couple of years ago. He's got two more brothers hunting me, too."

"Damn. Been there, too. Wonder what else about us is the same?"

"Don't know. Just seems at some point, you turned for the right and maybe I turned away. I damn sure wouldn't wear no badge."

"Say I won't either. Never can tell though...might one day. Just make sure you're on the right side of things when you do."

"Not real keen on that idea...not real keen on you taking Justin back to hang." They had fought together just a few minutes before, but Chris could tell that the time of 'brotherhood' was over. Ringo was back to his own business.

"Don't think he's gonna hang...can't promise it...but Judge didn't say nothing about that. But I am gonna take him back....count on it."

"Get on with it then...just watch your back...I'll be coming."

"Thanks for the warning." Chris turned again for the jail.

Again, Braddock fell in beside him. "Must have been Barkley that shot Liz...would have shot you for Ringo, too. But you best heed what Ringo says. He's a mean son-of-a-bitch. You know why he shot Hancock?"

"I don't have a clue." He stopped, twisting his neck to look at Braddock, "You gonna fill me in?"

"He offered Hancock a drink of whiskey, and Hancock said he preferred beer. Johnny shot him dead."

"What?"

"He's the other side of your coin, Chris. You're calm, sober, sure of yourself."

"Sure I am!" Chris grinned.

"Shoot, Johnny? He's crazy as hell, but nobody seems to know why. He and Clanton are a lot alike...they're both...."

From somewhere on the street, there was an almost silent gasp. Chris sensed it, and then from somewhere he heard other voices, "CHRIS!!! GET DOWN!!!!!"

Startled by the recognized voices, he moved just a bit too slowly, and felt the bullet enter his back hard, just inside his right shoulder blade. As he fell forward on the street, he saw multiple figures running, moving, surrounding him...fighting for him.

One, tall, black figure, very concerned and all business, quickly knelt beside him. "Be still....I've got ya."

"Nathan?" He tried to rise.

"Lie still...Vin and Buck's after him."

"Tell em to let him go....Tell Josiah, Ezra to watch their backs." He gasped it out as the pain finally set in.

"J.D.'s got it already. He's shadowing 'em."

"Call J.D. off....let him go."

"Chris? Pard?" Vin and Buck, J.D., Josiah and Ezra, all of them were back., more concerned about how he was than interested in keeping up with the fleeing figure.

"Who in the HELL was THAT, Stud?" Buck slid his arms under Chris' while Vin grabbed his feet. They stopped and looked around for a likely place to take him.

"Bring him to the jail boys...can use a cot there."

"No," Nathan objected, "need a table, got to get this bullet out."

"Damn, Nathan....not another one." They were suddenly aware, but not at all surprised, that he was awake.

"Be still, Chris. Not too bad this time, just want to get to it quick and get the bleeding stopped."

He managed to stay awake almost completely through the extraction of the bullet, mainly because he still had a little of the bottle of laudanum the doc had given him before. Nathan and the other physician worked hard and fast to put it right. Chris spoke low, through clinched teeth, trying to outlast the pain.

"That's not dirt you're digging in back there....Come on Nathan, finish this hell!!"

"He shot you in the back! Who was he? He looked...Damn, Chris, he looked just like you!"

"I guess you could say he's my twin, J.D. Name's Johnny Ringo."

"RINGO!??" Buck looked back out the window, in the way the man had gone. "You look like....you were facing Johnny Ringo? Damn, Chris...you know who he is?"

"Never heard of him until last week. Spent the whole of last week trying to prove I wasn't him....could have got me hung."

"Shoot, Pard. He's been in range wars, been in lots of gunfights from what I hear. And seems him and this fella Curly Bill are mixed up in a bunch they're starting to call "The Cowboys." Say they're turning Tombstone into a pretty mean town."

"Knew there was something about him I REALLY didn't like."

"Besides his face." Buck laughed, but abruptly cut it off when he saw Chris try to come off the bed.

"Damn, Nathan, when you gonna finish this?"

Nathan pushed him forcefully back under the knife. "Be still now...got a little way to go yet."

"Damn." This time he dug his hands into the mattress as Nathan's blade cut deeper.

When the bullet was out, the stitching finished, and he lay still, sleeping at last, they all went to the saloon for a bite to eat. Later, as the day turned into evening, they gathered on the sidewalk outside the saloon with rooms and baths to avoid waking him, but close enough to be called if he started to wake or hurt. There were seven of them still, since Braddock had taken time to visit, curious to find out about the group of men that had shown up just when Larabee needed them.

"...got a long history of finding trouble. Don't know how far back that goes, but it still just set on following him wherever he goes."

Vin paced back and forth on the boardwalk. "Hell, boys, it was just a little joke. Supposed to help him, not get him shot."

"Not supposed to get him hung, not get him..."

Braddock interrupted Buck's considering. "Can't believe I finally met the man who killed all but one of my male kin."

"What!!!"

Braddock said it casual as could be. "Yeah...Thought I remembered the name. Wired my Pa to make sure. Chris Larabee killed Uncle Norris when he was sixteen, got Jeff the next year, then there was Justice....only one he's missed is my old man....Jacob."

"Dang...this is a story I've got to hear."

"NO YOU DON'T, J.D., or do I have to make you ALL quit minding my business...you included Braddock!" Chris stood in the doorway, his right arm grasped firmly in his left hand, his face white and sickly.

"Gentlemen, I think I'd best save my story for another day. I'll say goodnight. Rest well, Chris."

"What you doing out of bed. Get on back upstairs...come on, Chris, I'll help ya!"

"Not going anywhere just now except this bench, Nathan. Move over, Josiah."

"Weren't nothing done with harm in mind. You do understand that, don't ya, Chris. But Lord all mighty, the idea of you meeting up with the likes of Johnny Ringo, and winding up looking like him, too."

"Only because of this HAIR! You boys' inking my hair's what done it! Hell...don't you never do nothing like that to me again, or I just MIGHT decide to shoot ya. DAMN! Bad enough I've got to watch my back for my OWN reputation!" He winced as a small move produced a lot of pain."

"That did it! Come on, Chris...not gonna argue another minute and let you pull that open. Let's get you upstairs and in bed again. You can try this again tomorrow morning."

"Shoot, Nathan. I came down to get some of the laudanum...you got anymore?"

"Bottle's dry, Chris. I think you've had enough for now."

"No...don't think so....Vin...get me a bottle off something not too shabby. You owe me one...a BIG one."

"Go on, Vin...just go get it for him. Ain't gonna hurt him right now, and you know I hid the laudanum before we left for dinner He could use just a little shot of whiskey, and then a whole lot of sleep."

Vin pulled himself away from the railing where he had settled and headed inside. "Back in a minute."

"I don't want to sleep." Chris slumped back on the bench, calling after his friend, "Can't get rid of me that fast. I'm staying here."

"Just like a damn kid...can't do nothing with this ornery gunslinger when he's hurting." Nathan reached over and pulled the bandages back into place. He felt the fever rising again, gathering heat quickly along the line of damage.

"I ain't no damn kid! And I don't think I'm much of a gunslinger either."

Vin walked back out at that. "What is the hell would make you say that. You're more than a good gunslinger, Chris....Chris? Shoot boys, he's asleep again."

"Now, what would make him say something like that? He's a real fine gunslinger. Oh, well, help me pick him up, boys...let's get him settled for the night." Buck leaned over him to lift him up.

Suddenly, the man was awake again, his shiny green eyes starring into Buck's. He didn't seem to know he'd ever been away.

".... was something Ringo said."

"What was that, my brother?" Josiah leaned over and rested a strong hand, lightly on the man's good shoulder.

"Said he figured somewhere along the line I turned for the right, but he took another path."

"What's that got to do with you being an efficient and deadly marksman, Mr. Larabee."

"Not much of nothing, Ezra, but got me to thinking."

"Uh-oh." Vin grinned.

"No....I think he's probably right."

"How's that, Stud."

"I think I have turned a corner somewhere. I think it must have been the day I turned for Four Corners...finished it the day I met all of you. I think all of you probably saved my miserable soul...think it was the very last chance I had to NOT become that man."

The group of men was entirely quiet....for about a minute.

"Damn, Chris. Just how bad was that shot you took to your head? You're getting to be down right sappy as well as sloppy."

Chris suddenly smiled, "I sort of noticed that myself. Sorry boys."

"Hell....Chris Larabee...now he's saying he's sorry? I think we best get him back to Four Corners, into Mary's care, before he goes totally loco."

"I ain't going loco! Man can have a thought now and then without getting called crazy, can't he? And I think she's tired of patching me up, anyway."

"No, no, Chris...I think she loves patching on you...and 'love-sick' might be exactly the right word for you these days.."

Buck suddenly made a grand display, turning an imaginary horse, doffing his hat, and giving a smiling, straight-arm wave to some unseen figure, obviously a woman. "That it, Stud? That what's messing with your head? That what's making you so forgetful and sloppy all of a sudden?"

"Ah, hell! BUCK! You keep messing with my business, I am going to have to shoot you! And that goes for every last one of you!!!" He suddenly lurched up from the bench, heading for the saloon, his face glowing red with what they hoped was embarrassment, only to be brought up short by the stab of pain from his shoulder, "DAMN!!! Vin, hand me the whiskey."

"Hell, no. I don't think so....it's how this all got started in the first place. Ain't you learned nothing yet, Pard?"

"Learned it don't pay to let the bunch of you get the drop on me, that's for damn sure!" He hissed as he turned and headed for the door. He suddenly swayed, tired, feeling the pain and weakness he had tried to deny.

"Whoa, Chris," there were six sets of hands that reached to steady him.

"Thanks, boys. Look, I think I best just try for some rest...don't want to make you have to tote me up the stairs."

"Well, just come on then." Nathan, Josiah, Ezra, and J.D. formed a wedge around him, letting him walk, but making sure he wouldn't take a fall.

Chris laughed a little at the knowledge of how the bunch of them looked, "I ain't that fragile boys, just a little drunk....wish it was drunk with whiskey, stead of drunk with tired."

"Be better tomorrow, Chris. I'll find just one more touch of the laudanum to let you rest."

"Sounds like a plan, Nathan...sounds like a plan."

When they had gone inside, Vin looked over at Buck, with a sudden grin on his face. "Know what, Buck?"

"What?"

"I've got an idea on what to do for Chris."

"Oh, no you don't....it's you and your ideas got him in this mess. We do something stupid again, he WILL shoot us."

"It ain't that mean a plan."

"What then?"

"Well...we started this....sticking his head in that boot black like that. Why don't we just fix it....just cut it all off. He sure won't look like Ringo no more."

"You know, Vin....you just might have a good idea this time. He might just look real nice being bald for a spell. But we'll leave the mustache and the beard, right?"

"Right."

"When we gonna do it?"

"Tomorrow morning...sooner the better. He'll be dead asleep if Nathan'll give him another drop of the laudanum."

"Okay, then...you find a barber...I'll get Josiah to help me get him there."

"Good....it's a plan then....Get his head back to normal real fast!"

"Can we promise that in EVERYTHING?" Buck laughed.

"Hell, no. If he was sane and sober all the time, he wouldn't be Chris."

"He might get just a little riled again."

"Ah, shoot, Buck! I don't think it's gonna make him too mad....do you?"

End