Dawn came clear and hard and left a layer of frost glittering on the rocks. In the attenuated early morning light, the scrapes, bruises, and various injuries suffered the previous day stood out in sharp relief, and made worry gnaw at Chris’ gut. JD was making an attempt to brazen out how much he was hurting, Chris suspected for as much Buck’s sake as his own. But the kid was tough and resilient, and that cocky attitude of his would carry him back to Four Corners just fine.

Vin looked like death warmed over; his fine features hollow and pale with pain and the cold he seemed to feel more sharply than the others. He was hunched over a cup of coffee, looking as if a stiff breeze would knock him over. Probably would, and then the damn tracker’d get surly with whoever tried to help him up, stubborn bastard that he was, Chris thought sourly.

Vin took a sip of coffee, and without looking up spoke in a soft rasp. "If’n ya don’t stop studyin’ on me, Larabee, I know a Comanche trick ‘r two t’make ya stop, an’ ain’t none of ‘em pleasant."

Chris turned away so the others wouldn’t see his smile. Surly was a good sign. Meant Vin was healin’. "Well," he drawled, as deadly slow as Vin ever was in speaking. "Reckon we’d better ride, partner."

Chris let Buck take the lead, choosing the pace to suit JD’s injuries. He figured if he had taken point, Vin would have been griping about the pace; wanting to go harder than was wise for him, and JD would have gamely stuck with the tracker out of sheer pride. Better he should think that JD was the one causing concern.

Vin rode beside Chris, anxious for speed, and suspecting all along that Larabee had put Buck in the lead on purpose. As much as he wanted to be mad at the man, deep in his heart he was grateful that he wouldn’t have to prove to the world that he was all right. His leg hurt like the blazes, and if not for the terrain bein’ so rocky, he would have hooked it over the pommel like a lady riding sidesaddle so the muscles wouldn’t be forced to work guiding Peso. And his hip ... Lord, the stitches the doc had set were pulling something fierce, making his outraged nerves send up an unholy protest at their abuse. His back ached like a sore tooth, he had a simmering headache from the whiskey he’d drunk the night before, and all in all, he couldn’t rightly recall feeling so awful without being close to dead. He cast a sidelong glimpse at Larabee, wondering if it would be worth making Chris mad enough to put him out of his misery ...

Chris felt rather than saw that glance. He’d been holding his mount slightly back from Peso just to keep his eye on Tanner, and make sure he wasn’t about to slide out of the saddle. They would be back in Four Corners in less than an hour. Vin would be lucky to make it that far, if looks were any indication of how he felt. The man didn’t have enough flesh on him to disguise how much he was hurting; those fine, stark bones betrayed him too easily. Vin was tough; his spare frame could take a hell of a lot of punishment, but it was still just flesh and bone, not leather and iron like he seemed to think.

Chris lightly spurred forward so he was directly alongside Peso. "You hangin’ on there, partner?"

Vin turned exhausted, amused eyes to Larabee. "Could ask you the same thing. Yer lookin’ frayed about the edges yerself, cowboy." There was no sting behind the taunt, and Chris smiled.

"That ain’t gonna make me mad enough t’shoot you, Tanner."

Vin laughed, then bit his lip as pain flared. "Mighta knowed ya’d figger that one out." He breathed a sigh. "Reckon I’ll make it home alright, Chris. What ta do once we git there, that’s gonna take some ponderin’."

"S’long as you’re ponderin’ it flat on your back."

"Cain’t afford t’lay low, Chris." Vin was too tired to force any anger into his voice.

"Can’t afford not to -- and you know it. You’re in no shape -- hell, look at us, Vin. We all need rest. One day, that’s all I’m askin’."

"Shit, Chris. They could be ta Hell and gone by then."

"Could be, but I’d be willin’ to bet they’re not. A shootist like Harper’s got a reputation to protect. Ain’t gonna let some no account bounty hunter take the shine off it. And Roche’d stick around just to watch him kill you."

"I ain’t the only one he’s gunnin’ fer, Chris. Or you fergot that hole in yer shoulder?" Chris made a derisive sound in his throat, and Vin spoke after a moment of silence. "Harper ain’t jist a gunslinger -- he ain’t jist a fast on the draw and leave ya in th’dust kinda shootist’. He’s like me, Chris."

"A marksman?"

Vin’s mouth quirked in a slight, grim smile. "Reckon that’s a polite word fer it, but hell, I ain’t never been po-lite." His acidic tone mocked his own drawl. "A sniper. Harper’s trained, same as me. Prob’ly during the war."

For a long time, the only sound was the even clip of their horses’ hooves, before Vin spoke again, his voice heavy with regret. "They got us young n’ sharp-eyed. An’ told us we’s doin’ the righteous work of the Lord, servin’ our country. Told us we was heroes, not killers." Vin spat. "Made us real proud t’be able t’shoot a man whilst he’s takin’ a piss on a dark night." He sighed. "You don’t never fergit somethin’ like that. You c’n put it away, ‘times even fergive yerself. But not fergit it."

"War made us all killers, partner," he said softly, remembering.

"Did ya like it, Chris? Killin’?"

"No." That came later. After Sarah and Adam were ashes and pain.

"Harper likes it. Likes t’lie in wait, watchin’ fer his shot. Likes t’feel that trigger under his finger and know he c’n take a life like snuffin’ out a candle." Vin snapped his fingers, and Chris blinked. He’d nearly been mesmerized by Vin’s soft voice, speaking unbearable truths, but for one: Vin Tanner was nothing like Red Harper, and he never would be.

"Is he better than you?"

"Figger that’s somethin’ I’ll hafta find out the hard way." Vin’s mouth twitched again. "Tell ya, though. He keeps smokin’ them cigarettes, he’ll be findin’ out how good I am."

"I’d like to see that," Chris commented dryly.

"Hell, Larabee. Nathan’ll kill ya first fer runnin’ out on ‘im, ‘fore ya git a chance."

The words were light, but an uneasy caveat that lay beneath them made Chris give him a sharp, hard look. There was a small furrow of pain between Vin’s brows, and Chris didn’t think it was entirely physical. They rode the rest of the way in silence, arriving in Four Corners as the town was stirring to life.

********************

Mary saw them first and came running from the Clarion offices with an ink-stained rag still clutched in her hand. She hurried over to Chris, grabbing at his stirrup before he had a chance to dismount. There were about six questions all warring for expression in her eyes, and Chris was too tired to answer any of them immediately. He dismounted, just brushing his fingers lightly across Mary’s arm for reassurance, before he went to Vin’s side. He waited as Vin painfully swung his wounded leg over the pommel, and using Chris’ shoulder as a crutch, kicked his other foot free of the stirrup and slid down.

"Thanks, pard." Chris caught him lightly around the waist until he was steady. "Reckon I’ll go git some rest ..."

"First place you’re goin’ is t’see Nathan, Tanner. No arguments."

"Hell, Chris. Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with me that a few hours a’sleep won’t cure." He stepped away from Chris’ support and managed to catch himself just before his knees buckled. This time it was Mary at his side.

"You’re hurt, Vin!" She scolded gently. "You should see Nathan." Blue eyes implored. "Please?"

Vin shot Chris a look that would have been mortal if there’d been lead in it before he limped over to Buck and JD. "C’mon, JD. Reckon you n’me gotta git looked at b’fore we git any peace."

"I’m fine, Buck!" JD protested. "Just a little sore, honest. The doctor said --"

"Son, you was so woozy, that man coulda been a horse doctor and ya wouldn’t a cared." He was smiling, but there was an underlying concern there; he didn’t like the way the boy’s eyes were bright and hot, or the flush beneath the growth of beard.

"He wasn’t no horse doctor, was he Vin?" A hint of doubt behind the scorn.

Vin shook his head. "Don’t know, JD. He was with the cavalry, an’ everybody knows they treat their horses better’n their men. Right, Buck?"

"Right. So’s ya better let Nathan take a look at what he done ta you." Buck winked at Vin. "C’mon, you too, Vin. Don’t wanta scare JD, here."

"Dammit, Buck! I ain’t scared!" JD protested, and was promptly escorted towards Nathan’s clinic by Buck and the limping tracker.

Chris watched, chuckling softly to himself, and then turned to Mary. "Thank you. Vin wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t given him a push."

Mary’s eyes were grave. "What happened out there, Chris? Where’s Orrin?"

"The Judge is fine. He went with the cavalry to Vista City last night. Said he had official business there."

"What happened?" she repeated.

Chris sagged against his horse. "Mary --"

"I’m sorry, Chris. You should be seeing Nathan, too." He looked very haggard, very tired. Impulsively, she laid her hand aside his cheek, and for a gratifying moment, he allowed that touch; soft, warm, and comforting, until he remembered who he was, and who she was.

He stepped back from her. "I will. He’ll have his hands full right now."

"You need to rest, " she said.

"I need coffee and food." He cast a look at the saloon. It wasn’t entirely true. He needed a drink -- a stiff whiskey knocked back down his throat and burning in his gullet. He could taste it cutting through the dust, he wanted it so bad. But Mary was looking at him with worry shining in her eyes, and about a thousand questions that he owed her answers to, given what she had done for him. "Come along, and I’ll try to answer some of those questions you’re bitin’ back on."

"All right." She paced beside him in silence, gauging the gravity of the situation by his preoccupation. He didn’t say a word until they were seated at a table, and he had his coffee in front of him. His hand shook slightly as he raised the cup to his lips. Mary cast a glance at Inez, who nodded and returned to the table with a bottle of whiskey.

Grateful, Chris poured some into his coffee, and set the bottle aside. Any more and he’d fall asleep with his head in his plate of eggs. But it sure tasted fine going down, and even if the warmth and strength it gave was transitory, at least he could face Mary’s questions.

"What happened?" Mary asked when he had finished eating.

He answered her patiently, but with as few words as possible, confirming her suspicions about Titus Roche, and causing lines of worry to form at the corners of her eyes. "Should I be concerned for Billy?" she asked.

Chris shook his head. "I don’t think the boy’s in any danger, Mary. Not since Roche’s been found out. It’s you I’m worried about."

"Me?"

"Vin and me have got a pretty fair idea of where Roche and Harper are headed, but until we have proof, I’d like it if you’d let Ezra keep an eye on you."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No." His fingers came down on hers, warm and hard. "Promise me."

"I-I promise." As if he had held out a Bible to her.

He withdrew his hand and shoved himself from the table. "I’m going to see Nathan. I’ll send Ezra along."

Mary nodded. For a moment she regarded him with that warm gravity that made an ache rise in him. Then a mischievous light danced in her eyes. "One more question. Chris, was he really a horse doctor?"

Weary, hurt, facing a future that wasn’t much brighter than his past, Chris Larabee cast back his head and laughed.

**********************

"That hurt?" Nathan asked as he prodded a bruise along Vin’s ribs, making his patient nearly leap from the chair.

"Jesus! Ya go stabbin’ a man with yer bony finger, ‘course it hurts!"

"Might be cracked."

"It ain’t cracked. Had cracked ribs b’fore," Vin said rebelliously. "Are ya finished?"

"You know I ain’t. Drop yer trousers and lemme see that hole in yer leg."

"Aw, shit .." He snatched the blanket Nathan was offering and obeyed the healer’s command reluctantly. He’d had about enough poking and prodding and was ready to bolt, bullet wound or no, just to get away from being touched again.

Nathan sighed. Treating any of the other men was enough of a chore. Ask ‘em if something was wrong, and the answer was the same, I’m fine. Bleeding all over the floor, and they was fine. But treating Tanner was a whole other animal. You had t’be gentle, ‘cause he’d been hurt so bad in the past, but touch him too soft, and he’d break away like you’d held a lit match to him. Shy as a virgin bride, too. Which Nathan sure as hell couldn’t figure out, since he’d lived with Comanche and Kiowa, been in the Army, and in the wilderness -- none of which disposed a man to modesty as far as Nathan could see. Sadly, he reckoned there was times in Vin’s life when all he had left was a dignity of soul afforded by the privacy of his body, and that Nathan understood all too well.

Comprehending, he nodded. "I’ll be quick, I promise. Jes’ need t’see what’s going on."

"I ‘preciate it, Nathan. I do," Vin said softly. "But I’m fine."

"Yeah, I know." He finished his examination. The doctor had done a good job on both wounds; they were clean and ought to heal well as long as Vin didn’t abuse them. Nathan would have liked to tie him down for forty-eight hours or so, but that wasn’t going to happen unless hell froze over. He straightened with a sigh. "Yer outta here, Vin. Git some rest. Stay off that leg fer a while."

Vin left the clinic, grateful for the freedom even if he still found it astonishing that someone could not only care that he was hurt, but make an effort not to hurt him more in tending to it. He went to his wagon, stripped off his bloodstained and filthy clothes, then wrapped in several blankets, lay down to take the first easy rest he’d had in three days. For a while his brain continued to fire worrisome thoughts about Red Harper and Roche, but eventually exhaustion claimed him and he sank down into a deep sleep.

When he woke, the reddish light of sunset was coming through the canvas. He stretched cautiously, feeling every bruise, ache, and stitch, but his mind was clear and his headache was gone. Deciding that he needed to be clean more than he needed to listen to Nathan’s cautions, he went to the bathhouse and had a long soak to take the ache out of his back and ribs. Then feeling cleansed and hollow, he went to find some food.

Buck was in the saloon, sporting a rackish white bandage around his forehead and nursing a beer. He nodded to Vin and straightened one of his long legs, shoving the chair across from him free so Vin could join him. Inez brought him some savory stew and a beer, and when he had eaten, things seemed a lot more in focus than they had a few hours earlier. He sat back in his customary slouch and eyed Buck.

"Chris been here yet?"

"Last I saw of Larabee, he was too sound asleep ta snore. How’re you doin’?"

"Better." Short answers were the best. "You?"

Buck grinned. "Better."

"JD?"

"Well, when Casey showed up all distressed over his bein’ shot, JD decided she made a pretty good nurse. She was sponging his *fevered* brow when I left. And he was lovin’ every minute of it."

Vin chuckled. "Smart kid."

"Smarter ‘n you an’ me, pard. All we got was Nathan."

Vin sighed and slid an inch lower in his chair. "We gotta figger out what t’do, Buck. I was ponderin’ on it, an’ I got a plan." He frowned, ran a hand through his hair. "Reckon I oughta wait fer Larabee, so’s I don’t hafta explain it twice."

"You won’t have long t’wait, Vin. Chris just came through the door. I swear the man gives me the spooks sometimes. Durin’ the war --"

"I’s there, an’ I don’t need t’hear what it was like," Vin snapped, effectively startling Buck into silence. Then with color staining his cheeks, he softened his tone. "Don’t like talkin’ ‘bout it, Buck. Got other things on my mind."

"Sure, pard." Buck knew something of Vin’s wartime experiences; enough to know that they had not been much like his own. He’d heard Lee had once said that it was a good thing war was so terrible, else they’d grow too fond of it -- knew exactly what the man meant, too. But he an’ Chris had fought side by side; through the terrible, the glorious, and the absurd. And they’d talked on it plenty, too. Sarah, listening to them recount close calls, would get a tight, scared look sometimes, and when the talk had died down, she’d come and set a hand on Chris’ shoulder, as if to make sure he was all right.

Chris came over and saw Buck’s somber expression."How’s JD doin’?" Casually, but with an eye to whether or not that was the issue at hand.

Buck grinned. "Kid’s in clover, Chris. With Casey hoverin’ over him like he was the most heroic thing she’s ever seen. Don’t worry none about him. I’m mighty proud a’ that boy. I taught him everythin’ he knows about women."

Vin snorted. "Reckon’ that’d fill about a teacup."

"Now, too much at one sittin’ c’d harm the boy ... all that charm, why it’d be like ..."

"Like steppin’ in a pile a’ bullshit, Buck?" Chris set his beer down with a thump, interrupting before Vin got disgusted and left the table.

Vin buried his laughter in his mug, and Buck just sat way back in his chair and regarded Chris with a lazy smile. "Takes a special man t’come out smellin’ like a rose, Larabee -- and it ain’t you!"

Vin made a strangled sound in his beer, choking until Chris gave him a whack across his back. "Ain’t ya gonna shoot him, Chris?" he wheezed, struggling through tears of pain and mirth.

"It’s tempting, real tempting. But I reckon he might come in handy in this little dust-up we’ve got waitin’." He drank deeply. "I thought you might have somethin’ in mind."

His green eyes were sharp and hard, without a trace of weariness as they swept from Buck, to Vin. That look gave Buck a jolt in the pit of his stomach. It was not an expression you wanted to see in the eyes of a friend. He glanced at Vin, and got another jolt. The tracker’s expression was a mirror of Larabee’s. Lord, he was in the company of killers. He’d taken enough blood of his own -- quick and hot-tempered as he was, but not like Chris, not like Vin Tanner. To stalk and strike, that was not in him.

Vin’s mouth curved into a bitter smile. "I reckon I do." He leaned forward from his slouch. "I’m willin’ ta bet that Roche and Harper ‘ve gone to ground in Purgatorio. It’s jist the sorta lair them snakes’d crawl to. That’s where we gotta go." He looked at Chris, who was giving him a hard study.

"No." Flatly, leaving no room for argument. "You set foot in Purgatorio and you’re a dead man. You know that."

"Hell, Larabee, I know that. I ain’t loco. Didn’t say I was gonna ride down the middle a’ town, now did I?" Amusement glinted in his blue eyes. "Ya don’t go reachin’ inta a rattler’s nest."

"How are ya gonna git the rattler out?" Buck asked. He canted his head towards Chris. "Cain’t send him in, neither. And I have a feelin’ that they wouldn’t look too kindly on me. I already bit ‘em in the butt once."

"I was thinkin’ about Josiah. Roche and Harper don’t know him. Ain’t never seen him. Anybody starts askin’ questions, he c’n say he’s one of them itinerant preachers, used to ride with Larabee, ‘til he figgered there warn’t no way a savin’ him." Vin’s drawl was truly wicked, and Chris’ mouth curled.

"Amen, brother. Where the hell is he anyways?"

"Prob’ly at that old chapel of his, pilin’ on rocks," Buck said with a sad shake of his head. "Doin’ his penance. You want me t’go after him?"

Chris gave him a small, tight smile. "If you don’t mind, Buck. I’d appreciate it."

"Since you ask so nice, Mr. Larabee ..." Buck reached a long arm behind him and snagged his hat from the chair he had set it on. "Ya want me t’send him right on?"

Vin shook his head. "No. I need ta talk t’ him first. Don’t want him goin’ in there blind." He gave Chris a sidelong look. "I got a friend there, name of Jake Esteban. Might be some help."

"Your sure about that?" Chris asked softly. "Somebody set Harper on us after we left Purgatory last time."

"Not Jake," Vin insisted. "I’d trust him with my life."

"I hope you’re right, partner," Chris said grimly. "It just might come to that."

Buck listened to the silence that seemed to shiver over that small table. Blue eyes had locked with green, wordless but speaking more than words. There was an odd reassurance in that communication; no matter how deadly or grim the situation, these two men would see it through. He’d known Chris nearly half a lifetime, Tanner scarcely a heartbeat in comparison, but they were inseparable in his trust and confidence. He stood up. "I’ll be back with Josiah. Rest easy, boys." His jaunty grin called only the faintest smiles from the other two men.

Vin rose from the table, straightening with a soft groan. Leg, hip, ribs -- shit, they all hurt. "Damn, Larabee. I must be gittin’ old as you."

"You keep runnin’ into bullets and fallin’ down hillsides, and it’s as close to old as you’re gonna get." He stood next to Vin, steadying him until he was firm on his feet. "You up to this, partner?"

"Long as I don’t hafta walk ‘cross the border, I’ll make it." He smiled wearily. "As soon as Buck’s back with J’siah, you come an’ git me." He settled his hat, tapped the brim, and limped out of the saloon.

Chris’ beer had lost its flavor. He set it aside and got a whiskey at the bar, then drifted outside to the boardwalk. He surveyed the town, quiet that evening except for the ambient noise from the saloon behind him. There was a light in the Clarion offices, and Chris recognized Ezra leaning against a post and smoking a cigar. Damn! What was Mary doing there this late? He set off at a quick-step, slowing when Ezra raised his hat.

"Fire, Mr. Larabee?"

"Why is she still here?"

"Well, that is something that you will have to ask Mrs. Travis. She has not elaborated to me, lowly minion that I am this evening."

"Get some dinner, Ezra. I’ll keep Mary company for a while." He caught a glint of Ezra’s gold incisor as the gambler grinned in the darkness. He ambled off, and Chris opened the door to the Clarion.

Mary was sitting at her desk. She was trying hard to look as if she were working, but when she dropped her shielding hand, her eyes were red-rimmed and weary. "Chris --"

All that was protective in him, all that was gallant that he would deny, rose to his heart. He crossed to the desk and took her shoulders in his hands, raising her to face him. It was not a gentle hold, for he was not by nature a gentle man, nor she a woman who required it. He was strong, and she felt that strength flowing into her body from his hands until she lifted her face to his.

"I’m all right," she said. "Truly."

"Are you?" he asked with a quizzical lift of one golden brow. "The Judge is safe. Billy is safe, and I’m sure as hell tryin’ to make sure that you will be, too."

She bit her lip, trying not to blurt out that he was the cause of her worries. She knew him well enough to realize nothing would set him to flight faster than her fears for his safety. "I am," she insisted. She stepped away from his clasp, missing his warmth. "This came earlier. From a friend of mine in St. Louis." She held out a flimsy paper to him.

Chris read it. "It figures that scum like Roche would be involved in something like this. Did he do it?"

"They don’t have proof. The girl’s father insists that she was God-fearing and church-going -- that she would never kill herself." Mary shook her head. "I-I don’t know. But I believe that Roche is responsible in some way for her death."

"We’ll get him, Mary. I swear it."

She paled. He had that look about him, all hard-edged bones, and icy jade eyes that left little doubt as to his meaning. The warmth his touch had left on her arms faded. She reached for her shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Will you walk me home?" she asked.

He nodded, feeling as if he had lost something that had nearly been in his grasp, but unsure what that was. He had been what he was for too long to drop it like a duster at his feet. And the shadowing sadness in Mary’s eyes told him that she knew that as well.

She turned the lamp off, leaving the office in near darkness; not dark enough to dim the silvery blond hair that caught the light coming through the windows. It haloed her face with radiance. Chris opened the door, and she went out into the night. He paced behind her, his duster fluttering in the light breeze like the wings of a dark angel.

******************

Vin came instantly awake at the sound of footsteps outside his wagon. His hand shot out to his mare’s leg next to his bedroll and he rose soundlessly to his feet despite the stab of pain from his hip and thigh. He worked the lever on the gun, the click nearly inaudible, and was about to shove aside the canvas flap with the barrel when he heard Buck’s soft hiss. "Tanner, you up?"

The mare’s leg lowered and Vin’s heartbeat slowed. "Up enough t’bout put a hole in yer sorry hide. Ya don’t go sneakin’ up on a man when he’s sleepin’," he whispered hoarsely. "You got Josiah with ya?"

"Left him at the church so’s he could git cleaned up. He was out there, pilin’ up rocks in the middle of the night. I ask ya, Vin. What’s a man doin’ heavin’ around a bunch a stones in the dark?"

Vin pulled his buckskin jacket on, grabbed his hat, and strapped on his holster. He stepped down from the wagon gingerly. "Reckon ya’ll have ta pose that question to Josiah. Me bein’ partial to sleep, an’ all."

"Oh, I did. Man said: If sin don’t stop at night, penance don’t neither." Buck mimicked Josiah’s somber tones, his eyes narrowed with mirth at the same time. "Don’t understand it, Vin. Me bein’ partial to sin, an’ all." He crowed with laughter, pleased at his own wit. The only response from the tracker was a deepening of the line at the corner of his mouth.

"I’ll meet ya there, Buck. I’m gonna git Chris."

"He’ll be there." When Vin’s brow lifted curiously, Buck explained with a glint in his eye. "He was at Mary’s. Standin’ outside her door like he was guardin’ the US Mint."

Somehow, Vin wasn’t surprised. "Let’s go, then. Only few hours ‘til dawn, and we got things that need doin’."

They met at the church; Chris coming from Mary’s as soon as Ezra took up the post, Nathan, Vin, and Buck arriving together. Vin cast an uneasy eye at the healer who was watching him from beneath lowered brows. Didn’t matter, there wasn’t nothin’ Nathan could do to stop him from leaving Four Corners.

He sat, his chair partially in the shadows on the edge of the lantern light. He had taken off his hat, instinctive to him when he was in Josiah’s church. Even now, with the grim business at hand, there was something sacred about the small space, a protection over them all that he wished he could carry with him. He leaned forward, gathering his thoughts.

Chris could see it was difficult for him; a man who didn’t like being at the center of anybody’s attention, even if he was among men he trusted with his life. "Vin, ya got a plan?" he asked softly to give the tracker a way in to speaking.

Vin lifted his head. "Any of ya not believe that Roche and Harper’ve gone ta ground in Purgatorio?"

"You got proof?" Josiah asked.

"I will, as soon as the sun rises an’ I c’n see. But I know, here ..." He laid his hand flat against his chest. And then, seeing skepticism in Buck’s eyes, he flushed slightly. "Be’sides, they been there b’fore. Where else’s they gonna go?"

Josiah nodded. "All right, Vin. Say they’re holed up there. You n’Chris ‘ve got yer own personal lynching parties waitin’ there, seems ta me."

Vin drew in a breath and turned to him. "That’s why we need ya, preacher. Yer th’only one of us ain’t got a noose or a bullet waitin’ in Purgatorio. And I ain’t sendin’ ya in without backup." He reached into his pocket. "Man runs the saloon there, name a’ Jake Esteban. Mention my name an’ show him this." Vin opened his hand. A plugged silver dollar rested there, glinting in the light.

Chris laughed. "Take it that’s your handiwork, partner."

"Damn straight." Vin flashed a rare, wide grin. "Jake bet I couldn’t do it. Lost that one." He flipped it to Josiah, who caught it from the air and held it up to his eye.

"Mighty neat shootin’ there, Vin."

Vin nodded once, his cheeks still showing a slight flush of pride. "Jake’ll know I sent ya."

Josiah tucked the coin safely away and leaned back in the pew, fixing Tanner with a speculative look. "So far all you’ve told me, Brother Vin, is that I’m going inta Purgatory and looking for Jake Esteban. Seems that’s only half of the picture."

"Well, the other half ain’t so pleasant." He gave Josiah a hard and steady look. "Need ya t’bait the trap, Josiah. Need ya t’let it be known that me an’ Chris is on their tails, lookin’ ta bring ‘em in dead or alive. Figure that’s t’only way t’flush them rattlers out."

Buck broke in to the momentary lull as the others weighed Vin’s words. "How the hell are you gonna make sure they take that bait? What’s to keep ‘em from holin’ up in Purgatorio till Hell freezes over, pard?"

"Same thing as got ‘em there, Buck."

" ‘Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, Blown up with high conceits engendering pride,’ " Josiah intoned solemnly. His blue eyes narrowed. "Pride, brother. It’s gotta rankle with Roche, that you got in the way of his schemes."

Again that short nod of comprehension from the tracker. "That’s why ya gotta offer me n’Chris up on a silver platter, J’siah." Vin’s soft voice had the impact of a shout in that silence. Buck moved uneasily in his chair.

"I don’t rightly like the sound a’ that, Vin."

"Shit, Buck. I don’t rightly like doin’ it, but I know it’s gotta be done. Least this way I c’n choose my ground. Not like b’fore. An’ this time, won’t be no one else fer me t’ worry on." He looked at Chris. "Jist keep Roche off my back, partner."

Chris’ answering grin had all the warmth of a snake’s. "Be my pleasure, partner."

Suddenly all that seemed awry with that scheme came into focus. Nathan, whose presence had nearly been forgotten by the others, spoke. "Now hold on, you two! Neither one a you’s at full strength. Jesus, Tanner! Yer scarcely able t’walk and pale as paste! An’ Larabee -- two days ago you was flat on yer back! Now, you’re talking ‘bout goin’ up against Harper and Roche with no back-up? No way in Hell!"

"You gonna stop me?" Chris said lazily.

"You gonna shoot me if I do?" Nathan retorted.

"Might."

"Like Hell! Buck, talk some sense inta that man," the healer appealed.

"I don’t like it, Chris. Nathan’s right."

Larabee rose from his chair. "You got a better plan, Buck?"

"How about one that don’t involve you bein’ out there like a staked goat, or Vin playin’ hide n’ seek with a fuckin’ sniper?"

"It ain’t no game, Buck." Soft, entirely deadly. "Warn’t no game durin’ the war, an’ I never took it as such." Vin uncoiled from his chair. "Cain’t afford distractions -- havin’ other folk on my mind, in my way. I ain’t after no glory, ‘r out ta prove I’m the better shot. That ain’t my way. Never was. I’s a bounty hunter b’fore, brought ‘em in dead ‘r alive. Preferred live, but never blinked at th’other. Ain’t gonna blink now." And he didn’t, meeting Buck’s eyes without flinching, steady in his resolve, even though it was not an easy thing he had revealed.

He turned to Josiah. "Will ya do it, Josiah?"

"I will," Josiah nodded gravely. "I’ll leave at first light."

Vin looked around the room, inviting further objections, but they had been silenced. Then with a piece of charcoal from the stove, he drew out his plan. An hour later, he rose stiffly from his crouch, very conscious of Chris’ tactful stance at his side, and the unobtrusive hand beneath his elbow, steadying him. "Reckon we ought’a git some rest. Still got a few hours b’fore dawn." He glanced at the gunslinger. "Chris?"

"With ya all the way, partner."

"Bucklin?" The test. Wilmington shook his head. "I still don’t like it, but I reckon you know what yer doin’. And since Larabee’s the most stiff-necked, stubborn sonofabitch ever born, I ain’t gonna try to change his mind."

"Well, I appreciate it, Buck," Chris said with wry twist to his mouth, but grateful that he wouldn’t have something else to justify to his oldest friend. "Right now, that rest sounds like a fine idea, Vin. Meet you at the livery first light?"

Tanner nodded, touched his hat brim to Josiah, and limped silently into the night.

Chris watched him go, then turned to Nathan, still glowering in the corner. "You want to say what you’re thinkin’ b’fore you choke on it?" he asked the healer.

Nathan had to bite back his smile at Chris’ perception. "I done spoke my piece. I reckon you’re gonna be alright, Chris. But I ain’t so sure about Tanner. He ain’t in no shape t’go chasin’ around the way he’s imaginin’. "

"Lay it out for me, Nathan."

"He’s goin’ up against an able-bodied man. Fast, prob’ly agile on his feet. Well-rested and fed. Vin’s got a bad leg, a deep wound over his hip -- lost more blood than was good fer anybody. Takes time to replace blood, Chris. Time and rest. The right kinda food." He shook his head. "Hell, y’ain’t paid me no mind b’fore. Don’t know why this should be different."

Chris closed his eyes and drew a breath. "I’ll do what I can t’ make sure he’ll be all right."

"Yeah," Nathan said bitterly. "You will. But who’s gonna be on your tail, Larabee?"

The gunslinger’s slash of a mouth twitched slightly. "I’m grateful for the concern, but I can look after my own. Been doin’ it fer a while now. B’sides you just said I was fine."

"I said you was gonna be alright -- never said fine. You bring both a’ yourselves back alive an’ in one piece. Then we’ll talk gratitude."

Chris turned away to hide his burgeoning smile. It was still a surprise to him that anybody cared whether he lived or died. He’d been living on that edge for so long that he had ceased to care himself. Inch by painful inch, this place, these men, were dragging him back from the brink. "I’ll do my best, Nathan," he promised solemnly, looking back once, revealing a glint of green eyes. Then he was gone with a swirl of duster and a tread as light as a cat’s.

******************

Josiah left at dawn, riding hard for Purgatorio. He had his story, Vin’s plugged silver dollar, a Bible, and his guns. He couldn’t say which would prove most valuable. He rode past Eagle Bend, not wanting to risk folks seeing him. He wasn’t a man made to keep a low profile; God granting him size, strength, and a face that was memorable.

Aside from a brief stop to refresh himself and water his horse, he rode straight through, crossing the Mexican border by mid-afternoon. He halted, overlooking the hell-hole called Purgatorio. It held no good memories for him. The first time he’d seen that criminal oasis, he had been no better than any of the other denizens. He’d carried notches on his gunbelt; out drank, out cussed, and out shot every challenger, and had left with the shadow of death over his left shoulder. The last time he’d been there was with Larabee, looking for the man who’d killed his family. That little excursion had ended as bitterly as a draught of gall. No, Purgatory was not a welcome sight to any God-fearing man. Josiah patted the Bible at his breast, and urged his mount down the hillside towards the town.

The arrival of a stranger in Purgatory was greeted with sullen, sidelong stares by most, with insolent curiosity by a few. Josiah kept his eyes straight ahead, not acknowledging the interest in his presence. He halted in front of the saloon, dismounted, and tethered his horse. He brushed through the wooden beads strung from the entry, hearing their whispering click behind him, and the silence that fell as he crossed to the bar.

"Whiskey."

The bartender turned. He was a stocky, strong-looking man with dark hair, olive skin, and sad eyes. Fit Vin’s description. He set a glass in front of Josiah. "You want the bottle?"

Josiah let a slow grin overspread his face. "I’d say so. A man my size c’n work up a powerful thirst." He reached into his pocket and placed the plugged dollar on the bar. "Reckon that should cover it."

Esteban took the dollar up with a shaking hand, but his voice was steady. "I only seen one like it."

"That’s what the man who gave it t’me said."

"That man a friend of yours?" he asked cautiously.

"And yours," Josiah said in a low voice. "Said it would buy me a room, and a quiet talk with you, Jake Esteban."

"So it will, Mr ..."

"Sanchez. Josiah Sanchez." He picked up the bottle and followed Jake Esteban up the stairs.

He was shown to a dark room at the back of the building, overlooking a dusty, litter-strewn courtyard. A mangy dog was chewing on what Josiah truly hoped was an animal bone. The odor of frying onions and rotting garbage mingled unpleasantly and wafted up to the window. Purgatory’s private face was no more attractive than the public one. Josiah turned away from the window, knowing that he loomed against that feeble light. Esteban was standing warily with his hand still on the door.

"I have a Bible in my pocket, if you want me to take an oath on it to put your mind at ease," Josiah said.

"Why’d Tanner send you?" Esteban’s eyes were sadder than ever, and more concerned.

"Gunslinger name of Red Harper show up here recently?"

Esteban’s breath hissed out at the mention of Harper’s name. "Rode in last night, boasting how he’d outgunned Vin Tanner. Is it true?"

Josiah laughed softly. "Depends on how you look at it. Harper got off his shots, but ‘bout all it did was rile up Tanner and Larabee."

Esteban crossed himself. "Madre de Dios, he’s alive?"

Josiah’s eyes narrowed. "Did Harper say he wasn’t?" When Esteban shook his head and sat down heavily on the bed, Josiah let him take in what he’d said a moment before continuing, using the urgency in his voice to prod Esteban into looking up at him inquiringly. "Vin’s callin’ in a favor, Senor Esteban. Gave that dollar to me as a token."

Jake looked at the silver dollar, weighing it in his hand. "Only one favor? I owe him more than that."

"Vin ain’t a greedy man," Josiah said gently. "But he surely needs that one."

"What can I do for him?"

"Get the word out that Josiah Sanchez, who used t’ride with Larabee, is looking for Harper. Bring ‘em to me, Senor Esteban. That’s all Vin wants. Red Harper and Titus Roche."

Esteban shook his head. "Shit. That boy always did have more guts than sense."

Josiah’s deep laugh rumbled out. "Amen to that, Brother Esteban. Amen to that."

Jake looked at Sanchez, suddenly liking the man despite his misgivings. "You talk like a man of God, senor."

"Sometimes, I am."

"But not always?"

Josiah’s eyes glowed blue and bright even in the dim room. "I believe there are times when it is better to wield a sword than take up the cross."

Esteban nodded. "I will let the word out. You should hear from that red devil before nightfall."

**********************

Ezra came upright from his doze at the sound of boots scuffing on gravel. It was still dark, with only the faintest hint of pale light on the eastern horizon. His hand went to his Remington, set to draw until the dark shape approaching resolved itself into the familiar lean shadow of Chris Larabee. Ezra relaxed and touched his hat. "Mr. Larabee."

"Catch ya off guard there, Ezra?"

"Hardly. I was merely restin’ my eyes. If you weren’t so instantly recognizable, I assure you, you would have been contemplating the stars."

"Ain’t no stars, Ezra. It’s nearly daylight."

Ezra grinned. "Oh, there would have been stars, trust me."

Chris settled his back against the front wall of Mary’s house. "Why don’t you get some rest, Ezra? Buck’ll be along shortly."

Ezra looked troubled. "You still believe Mrs. Travis is in danger?"

"I don’t know if Red Harper is the only hired gun in Roche’s pocket. So until Judge Travis gets back from Vista City, I have to be sure."

Ezra raised a brow at the choice of words, but didn’t say anything. The emotions Chris Larabee harbored in his heart for Mary Travis were deeply private, and Ezra was not about to violate that sanctity. "Might I wish you good luck in your hunt?" he asked.

Chris nodded. "You might. I’ll be easier in my mind, knowing Mary’s safe. Thank you for that, Ezra."

The gambler laughed softly. "Maud’s admiration of Mary Travis compels me to offer my protection on pain of reprisal. As you know, Maud’s reprisals can be particularly painful." He touched his hat and moved off.

Chris slid down the wall, his legs jackknifed at a sharp angle. He rested his head against the clapboards, watching the colors in the eastern sky rise from pearly grey, to lavender, to rose. Wasn’t light enough to see by yet. He hadn’t slept, just lay awake in his room, waiting for dawn. His shoulder ached, nagging at the back of his consciousness. He learned long ago that once he was moving, the pain would fade to nothing. He was more concerned about Vin. Nathan’s words were still on his mind. But he figured Vin was as tough as they come, and wouldn’t take kindly to being mother-henned.

He heard the whisper of the door being opened, and turned his head slightly. A white ruffle showing beneath a dark robe, bare feet. He knew if he turned his face upwards to the light, that he would see Mary’s pale hair loose on her shoulders, then the soft curve of her breasts, the column of her throat ... things a man had no right gazing on like they belonged to him. So he kept his face averted until the temptation to do just that faded.

"Ezra? I brought you some coffee ..."

"I sent Ezra to get some rest, but I won’t turn down that coffee, Mary."

"Chris?" He did raise his head then, his face pale in the light spilling from the doorway. She sank down beside him, offering the mug. "I thought you would be leaving."

"As soon as it’s light enough for Vin t’see a trail. I wanted to give him a chance for a full night’s sleep. Rest up his leg."

"Why are you doing this, Chris?"

He laughed. "Mary, Orrin is payin’ me and Vin to be the law, so I reckon we’re just doin’ our job."

She couldn’t help smiling at that irrefutable logic, though she knew that was not the reason he and Vin were riding after Harper and Roche. She pulled the hem of her robe over her feet. She should have been embarrassed to be like this with him; no respectable widow should be sitting in her nightgown next to any man, much less one like Chris Larabee, even if there was no one around to see her. His shoulder was warm and solid against hers, and it gave her a feeling of security to have him there even as his nearness set her nerves to tingling like lightning striking too near.

"Be careful, Chris. Please." The words were out before she could stop them, and she felt her cheeks flush.

"You worried about me, Mary?" Chris teased gently as he watched the dawn wind fan the pale strands of her hair across her face. He longed to feel that silk in his fingers; and the ache in his body was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. He sighed, drank his coffee, and ratcheted his body upright. "I need t’be on my way. Thanks for the coffee."

She rose and took the cup from his hand. "If you and Vin don’t come back whole, I might just have to kill you," she whispered.

He brushed his knuckle across her cheek. "You’ve been talking to Nathan," he smiled. Then he was walking away, even as her hand came up to touch her face where he had traced a trail of warmth.

***************************

Vin didn’t know if he should be grateful or worried that Peso was subdued that morning. The big gelding scarcely fought back as Vin worked the bit into his mouth. Usually that would result in nipped fingers for Vin and a quick, hard flick of knuckles across the nose for the horse. Peso still danced around plenty when it came to fastening the saddle girth, and Vin gritted his teeth against the effort he had to expend to bring him under control; his leg hurting like a sonofabitch, and his hip feeling like it was barbed wire and not thread suturing the gash together. But the task was finally over, and Peso consoled for the loss of his pride with a slice of apple. Vin sighed and rested his head against Peso’s warm neck.

"Mule, I reckon I earned that tussle fer all ya’ve been through the last few days, but I sure would be grateful if’n ya could sorta fergive me long enough t’git me through what I need ta git through. Comprende?" Damn, if the gelding didn’t toss his head like he understood.

"You got him convinced yet, partner?" Chris stood in the doorway, watching. He hadn’t liked the way Vin’s slight body was dependent on Peso’s for support.

"Only way t’find out is t’ride him. Cain’t read what goes on inside that head." Vin rubbed a hand over Peso’s ears, taking all the sting out of his words. "Damn mule."

"You ready for this?" Chris asked as he began saddling his own horse. A casual question, but Vin sensed the concern vibrating in Larabee’s rough voice.

"Yeah. Ain’t like we got a choice."

"You sure about that?"

"God dammit, Larabee! Yer doin’ it again! Watchin’ me. I said I’s all right!" He stabbed his rifle into the scabbard. He picked up the mare’s leg and holster, buckling it over his hide coat, and then secured it to his thigh. "Are ya ready?" he snapped. Then catching Larabee’s rueful, worried gaze, he shook his head. "Sorry. I ain’t been sleepin’ too well of late." He led Peso outside, and determined not to show how much pain he was still feeling, he swung into the saddle with an ease that was not too far from his usual range of motion. He gathered his reins, waiting for Chris to mount, and kneed Peso out of the livery corral.

They rode past Mary’s house where she stood with Buck, watching for their passage; past Nathan’s clinic, where JD was sleeping, past the Standish Tavern. Then there was nothing but the road to Purgatorio before them.

There were things down that road that Vin thought he had put behind him. A time that he did not want to relive, and a place in his soul that he did not want to look into again. It lay down this road, towards the lightening horizon. The sun would rise, but the darkness was gathering like storm clouds.

They rode for nearly two hours without exchanging a word between them. That was hardly unusual. They could sit for hours at a time in silence, letting their wordless communication speak for itself, as it had since the first moment their eyes had met. This silence was different, plangent with unvoiced doubts and fears. Vin wouldn’t break it, his mind was too bent on envisioning every detail he could recall of the terrain outside of Purgatorio. Their lives might depend on his recollection of the lay of the land.

Chris watched him covertly, seeing the lines furrowing Tanner’s forehead. Looked like he was pondering on something -- a problem that needed a solution. He’d seen it before; that quick mind working at a speed belied by the tracker’s slow drawl and considered responses. He knew that when Vin had it puzzled out, he would let him know.

When they were outside of Eagle Bend, Vin finally reined in. He took his spyglass from his saddlebag and held it to his eye, sweeping it along the horizon. A thin streak of green in the brown landscape told him what he wanted to know. He shifted in his saddle. His wounded leg was paining him, and unless he took the time to stretch it out, it would stiffen up and cripple him when he needed to be agile. "The horses ought ta be watered," he said. "There’s a spring up ahead, ‘bout half a mile."

Chris gave him a bemused glance. "You mind tellin’ me how you know that?"

"I was gonna tell ya I can feel it in my bones, but I figger you’d find me out fer a liar." The teasing grin broke the tension in the air. "Take a look." He passed the spyglass to Chris. "See that streak a’ green? Noticed it when I’s ridin’ through b’fore." He took the glass back from Chris, and they posted down to the gully where a trickle of water spilled from the rocks and pooled in a shallow basin where the horses could drink.

Vin dismounted, suppressing a groan, and began walking out the discomfort in his hip, leg, and ribs. He pushed the heels of his palms in the small of his back and leaned against the pressure, then sank down cross-legged and bent forward. When he felt loose again, he lay flat and stretched out. He eyed Chris, who had been watching his machinations half in concern, and half in amusement. "Set yerself down, Larabee."

Chris folded his long body and sat next to Vin. "You solved the problems of the world?"

Vin shook his head. "Hell, no. But I know what I gotta do. And seein’ as there ain’t no way around it, frettin’s only gonna tie me up in knots. Cain’t afford that."

Chris heard the steely resolve underlying those soft words, and understood. Any man who’d ever faced the eve of battle had to know that in order to live. The learning came hard, though, and as he looked down at Vin’s tranquil face, he wondered how old he had been during that war; surely not more than seventeen or eighteen. When he was seventeen, he’d been smokin’ behind his pa’s barn, and finding out the difference between boys and girls. That was a long way from sighting down the barrel of a rifle aimin’ to kill a man. He’d been walking a hard road to hell before he went off to war, and his fighting had been on the open field of battle, not in the shadows of darkness and stealth.

Vin met his curious gaze, wondering what Larabee was thinking. "Ya might as well ask it, pard," he said. "Git it off yer mind."

"How good are you, Vin?"

The blue eyes widened, amusement floating for a moment before the shielding lashes came down. "Ya seen me shoot, Chris."

"Ain’t the same thing, partner. And you know it."

The wind tossed light strands of Tanner’s long hair, and he sat up drawing his knees close to his chest. He looked off toward the south, those far-seeing eyes focused on some distant point that Chris wasn’t even sure existed. "Colonel who picked me out, said I was the most natural hunter he ever seen. I’s proud a’ that, Chris. Ain’t nobody ever said I’s special b’fore. Well, least not since my granddaddy died," he amended with a soft sigh. "An’ I was fool enough t’believe it. Thought it meant somethin’ t’be the best. Shit, all it meant was I c’d kill a man without flinchin’. Don’t know t’this day how many I kilt, b’fore I was caught and sent t’prison."

"Vin," Chris regretted asking the question. But before he could offer an apology, Tanner took up speaking.

"Never wanted t’be like that again, Chris. Never thought I’d hafta, ‘til now. Seems kinda funny, don’t it? It ain’t like I haven’t kilt anybody since, ‘r won’t ever again. I been fightin’ it ever since I figgered Harper out. No sense in fightin’ it no more." He dropped his head on his folded arms.

Chris looked at that bent head, those bowed shoulders and hated Roche for opening up the wounds of the past and making Vin bleed out his pain drop by drop. There was no comfort he could offer; that sort of healing could only come from within, and if Chris could figure that one out, then he’d be feelin’ a lot better than he was now.

After a minute, Vin lifted his head and squinted up at the sun. "We’d best git a move on, Larabee."

Seemed Vin had figured it out, all on his own. Chris stood up and held out his hand. "C’mon, partner. Let’s ride."

Vin took Larabee’s hand, feeling the flow of strength from that warm grip. The knowledge that he was not alone, not like he had been through most of his life, would see him through this darkness. He followed Chris to where the horses were tethered. They mounted up, and set out for the last part of their journey.

***********************

There was nothing about Purgatorio that disposed a man to rest. Josiah lay on the too small, lumpy bed and studied the stained ceiling. One of the few pleasant memories he had of his childhood was watching the clouds pass overhead on a summer day. He and his sister ... back when she was young and in this world, not seein’ demons, would daydream about the shapes. Sometimes faces, sometimes animals, sometimes far away places where they would live someday. Then he would blink and the shapes would have changed with the wind. Just clouds.

What did he see in the stucco over his head? A gallows, a spread like the shadow of a vulture’s wing, the gates of Hell ... He closed his eyes, opened them again, and once more, the impressions were nothing more than the map left by rain leaking down. Just stains.

The soft knock at the door brought him to his feet, his hand on his gun. Couldn’t trust a soul in this place. "Who is it?" he growled.

"Esteban."

"You alone?"

"Yes." Josiah opened the door, keeping his gun in clear sight. Esteban nodded in approval. "You are a wise man, Senor Sanchez."

"I am a distrustful man." Josiah closed the door behind the saloonkeeper. "Well?"

"Red Harper knows you are looking for him. Be in the bar tonight. He will find you."

"Any sign of the other man, Titus Roche?"

"Not yet, senor."

Josiah cursed softly. Where was the bastard? He should have been hangin’ onto Red Harper like a second skin, if he was interested in savin’ his own hide. "If he shows his face, I want to know."

Esteban nodded. "Be in the bar, Senor Sanchez. Who knows what will come?" He left, and Josiah picked up his Bible. He thumbed through the pages, waiting for something to speak to him. The book fell open on Job. Josiah read, and a deep rumble of laughter rose in his throat.

"For he maketh sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth, and his hands make whole.

Amen, he thought. Amen.

******************

There were no musicians in the cantina, and only one vacant table. Josiah sat with his back to the wall, thinking that the last time he had been there, Vin had been a shadow in the corner, as invisible as a man could be in broad daylight. Josiah wished he had that presence at his back now. He sighed and poured a shot of whiskey into one of the two glasses he had sitting in front of him, anticipating Harper’s arrival.

He heard the sound of the beaded curtain being parted, and then in a moment of clarity that can come with anticipation, the room drifted into silence. Josiah looked up, at the red-haired man standing in the entrance.

There was an aura of menace about Red Harper that put Josiah in mind of Chris Larabee, but Harper did not have the stillness of Larabee, that sense of harnessed power that could be released like lightning. Harper moved quickly for a big man, his eyes constantly roving for danger. He rolled a thin cigarette in his fingers, a twitch that Larabee was entirely without. He walked over to the bar, spoke in a low voice to Jake Esteban, then turned to the table where Josiah sat. His pale eyes narrowed, and he paced over.

"You lookin’ for me?" he asked.

Josiah tilted his head toward the chair opposite his. "Don’t talk to no man loomin’ over me." He poured some whiskey into the second glass, inviting Harper to join him.

The gunslinger sat with all the ease of a watchful cat. "What d’you want with me?" he asked.

"Heard you was looking for Chris Larabee."

"I might be. What’s it to you?"

"I used t’ride with him."

Harper considered that statement. " ‘Used to’, ain’t gonna do me much good."

"I hear he’s lookin’ t’return the favor." Josiah drained his whiskey and poured another. He raised the glass to the light as if considering its purity. "I might know where he is."

Harper’s eyes hardened. "You mind telling me why you’re turning coat on Larabee?"

"I got my reasons. Private ones I ain’t lookin’ t’share." His heavy brows lowered, and he added. "Let’s just say him and me had a partin’ of the ways." Josiah leaned forward, letting the carved crucifix he wore swing free. "Larabee’s got a devil in him, Mr. Harper. Killin’ ain’t just business with him. The man’s a murderer with Satan in his soul, and the world would be a better place if you was t’lay him down dead." He downed his second shot, making it look like it was his sixth.

"What about that sharpshooter with him. Vin Tanner?"

Josiah leaned forward and fixed Harper with a bleary look. "He c’n ride to Hell on the devil’s coattails, far as I’m concerned."

"How good is he?" Harper asked.

"I’d say Tanner’s a crack shot -- when he’s at full strength. But he ain’t. He’s limpin’ and he’s weak. Ya got him good, Mr. Harper."

Harper slapped his hands flat on the table. "I knew it! I hit the bastard!" He poured himself a drink, and another for Josiah. "Now, before we git down to some serious drinkin’, where are they holed up?"

Looking as innocent and wounded as a man of his fierce mien could, Josiah sang his sweet tale without a pang of regret for his lies. He figured the Lord would forgive him one way or another. Harper’s avid expression on hearing that Vin was wounded tempted Josiah to shoot him on the spot and save Chris a heap of trouble; only judging from the way a number of folks were throwin’ daggers at him with their eyes, him being so recognizable, he knew he’d be gunned down before he had his pistol from its holster.

He watched the gunman drink more than was wise, and thought of Vin, knowing that in Harper’s place, he wouldn’t touch a drop of liquor. Was Harper that confident of his abilities? A covert study of Harper’s face revealed a slight sagging of the jaw line, a sallow hue underlying the weathered skin. His fingers were stained with tobacco. But when he looked at Josiah, his hard eyes were focused. He was still dangerous, maybe not as much as he had been in his prime, but with Vin bein’ wounded, the odds were not favorable, as Ezra would say.

After Harper had finished his drink and rolled a cigarette, Josiah asked him flat out, "Are you goin’ after Larabee and Tanner alone?"

Harper sat straight up. "That’s a mighty curious question from a man who don’t care if Larabee lives or dies."

Josiah swiftly considered what he could risk. "I was wonderin’ if you were lookin’ for some help."

Harper, quicker than Josiah had expected, seized Josiah’s wrist as he reached for the bottle. "I hunt alone. And if you take it in mind to follow me, remember what I am." He pushed away from the table. "If I find you you lied to me about Larabee, you’re a dead man."

Josiah pulled his wrist free, as if Harper’s hold were no more than the strength of a child’s. He sat back. "No lies. And I won’t follow you, Mr. Harper. No way. I’m heading outta here at first light."

"Good." He grinned, showing tobacco-yellowed teeth. "Then I have no quarrel with you. When Larabee dies, you’ll know -- every paper from here to San Francisco will have that story. How the mighty Chris Larabee was gunned down by Red Harper. And I aim to get that bounty on Tanner."

Josiah nodded. "Be quite an achievement, catchin’ those two. I’ll keep you in my prayers."

At that, Harper laughed. "I don’t need your prayers. Pray for them, Preacher man."

Josiah poured a whiskey and raised it in a toast. "I surely do, brother. I surely do."

Harper clinked his glass against Josiah’s, drained it, and left. Josiah set his glass down, and with a quick nod to Jake Esteban, returned to his room. He waited there for an hour before Esteban knocked on his door. He came in, furtive, glancing around the darkened hall.

"Is it done?" he asked.

"I believe so. Harper is lickin’ his chops already." Josiah hefted his kit. "I’ll be leavin’ now, Senor Esteban."

"Your horse is in the alley, as you asked. I wish you luck Senor Sanchez."

"Gracias, and God bless you." Josiah held out his hand, and Esteban shook it.

"You see Vin Tanner, you tell him this silver dollar is good anytime." He handed the token to Josiah. "My prayers are with him. You are going to him, now?"

Josiah shook his head. "He and Larabee don’t need me in their way, brother. And I won’t lead Harper to them before time. There ain’t a soul I trust in this hell hole of a town."

Estaban laughed softly. "Not even me, amigo?" When Josiah cocked a brow at him, he nodded. "You are wise to be so cautious. I take no offense, Senor Sanchez, but I would not betray Vin, not at the cost of my life."

Josiah looked into those sad eyes, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever dark ways you have traveled to this place, Senor, I will pray that you will find your way back to the light."

Esteban led Josiah down the back stairs and out a door so narrow that he had to turn sideways to exit. His horse was tethered there. He mounted, and taking only the dark and twisting back streets of Purgatory, made his way out of town.

************************

Vin and Chris made camp in the late afternoon, both too aching and too tired to ride farther, and figuring Josiah would need the time to meet with Harper. Vin would have liked to set out his plan before dark, but there was no way either of them would be in any shape in the morning if he had pushed it. They built a fire scarcely big enough to boil water for coffee, and made a spartan dinner on jerky, hardtack, and dried fruit. Trail rations didn’t offer much comfort to a man, but at least they filled the belly.

They didn’t speak. Vin was tucked into his silence, his mind going ways Chris couldn’t follow as he stripped down his rifle; cleaned it, oiled it, put it back together. Chris watched him work. Lord, the man would close his eyes and listen to the sound of the hammer as it clicked, the workings of the lever. His fingers touched his guns the way a musician tuned his instrument. Chris found it unsettling to think of killing as a craft.

Finally, satisfied that his weapons were up to his standards, Vin set them aside and sat staring into the dying embers of the fire. For a few minutes he was nearly motionless. Then he looked up at Chris. The gunslinger was watching him, as if he knew Vin was ready to speak.

"Got a favor t’ask, Chris."

"I’m listening." No promise that he would comply.

"I want ya t’take out them stitches the doc put in me."

The request made Chris gasp. "Jesus, Vin! I take those out and you’ll start bleedin’ again."

"You don’t help, I swear I’ll cut ‘em myself. Y’know I’ll do it, too. Cain’t move right, Chris. I figger I’d jist tear ‘em anyways, and this has gotta be easier ‘n doin’ that." He gave Chris an imploring look. "I gotta be able to move tomorrow, if I cain’t, I’ll die."

Larabee sighed, unable to argue that logic, yet still reluctant to take the risk. He weighed the thought in his mind for a minute, and decided Vin was right. If he didn’t take out the stitches, he’d find Tanner sittin’ behind a rock, tryin’ to do it himself. "I don’t like it, Vin. But I’ll do it." He rose wearily and crossed to him. "Give me your knife."

He took the knife from Tanner and once he’d stirred the fire back to life he held the blade in the coals. Vin slanted a brow. "Hell, jist cut ‘em, Chris. Don’t hafta be fancy."

"You want Nathan on you for gettin’ infected? I sure as hell don’t." He turned the knife in his hands, waiting for it to cool.

Wary, even though it had been his request, Vin hiked up his shirt and loosened his trousers so Chris could take the bandages off and get at the wound. He lay down, his head cushioned on his bent arm, trying to keep his breathing even and slow despite the thudding of his heart. The night air was cool on his skin, Chris’ hand on his waist as he steadied him was warm, gentle.

"Ready?"

A slight, nearly imperceptible nod. Chris wished the light was better, but he could see the stitches closing the slash. The wound was swollen, probably from the constant irritation of movement. No wonder Vin wanted the stitches out; they must have pulled something fierce. He set the point of the knife against a stitch. At the first tug, Vin’s breath drew in, and he flinched reflexively. Chris whispered. "Stay still, pard. I’ll go slow." The second stitch was better, as Chris learned the tension necessary to cut through the thread without exerting pressure on the wound. It was over quickly after that.

Larabee sat back on his heels. The edges of the wound were raw, but not bleeding. Probably wouldn’t if Vin would stay still. Perhaps by morning it would have healed up enough not to break open. He replaced the bandages, and sighed. "Think you c’n manage not to thrash around too much tonight?"

Vin gave him a pallid grin. "Thanks, Chris. Feels a hell of a lot better." He closed his eyes, relieved that the relentless pain was reduced to a throb. He felt Chris tug his shirt down and lay a blanket over him. He didn’t want to sleep, but his body was worn out. Wasn’t much use in frettin’. He’d done all he could. *All he could*. He opened his eyes. Chris was crouched by the dying fire. He lit his cheroot from an ember, the flaring light edging his sharp features. "Larabee?"

Chris turned to him sharply. "Something wrong?"

"You reckon Josiah found Harper?"

Chris smiled slowly. "If he didn’t, I reckon we’ll find out soon enough." He settled back against his saddle, and drew in smoke. Vin drifted, not sleeping, not quite awake, conscious of sound, scent, and the whispering pain threading through his body.