Rating: R - Violence

Character: The cast of Magnificent Seven, featuring Chris Larabee and J.D. Dunne.

Disclaimer: The characters in this work of fiction are based on the work of Mirisch, MGM, and Trilogy Productions, from The Magnificent Seven. The work is not intended for sale or commercial production. The story is the work and property of Anne Tolar.

Comments are welcome at: atolar@telepak.net.

With apologies to anyone who speaks German....I hope the translations are correct, and marginally grammatical...sometimes you just have to hope something's right.

With thanks to Lee for great suggestions, editing, and beta support.

Chapter 1

Digger Dave's was an old, worn, corner saloon in Four Corners, Arizona. Nobody knew or cared who the original proprietor had been. Chris Larabee, considered by most to be the leading protector in town, didn't really care who owned it now. He just knew it was a dark, generally quiet spot, and a place where the rest of his wild and wooly bunch were less likely to be. He wanted...no, he really needed...time alone, so he had come here for a hopefully quiet hour or two. The trouble was that today... when he so badly needed quiet and peace...J.D. Dunne had discovered where he was, and nothing was quiet anymore.

"You never, ever think I can do a job! It's Vin do this, Buck do that. You'll send Josiah or Nathan. You hardly ever send Ezra, but you dang sure don't ever send me!!!" A young man hired as one of a team of seven to protect Four Corners, J.D. was in Larabee's face, eyes challenging, anger flaring, and Chris didn't like it one bit. He didn't like it primarily because he had been sipping whiskey at a dark corner table in Digger Dave's for about an hour now. That always made his temper more than a little ragged. But he didn't like it more because deep inside he knew it was true.

"Behave yourself, Kid. I just always count on you to take care of things around town. Always have, probably always will. Frees the rest of us..."

"Frees you? Yeah, frees you all right....frees you so you can go carousing, you mean. Frees you all to just have a great time....don't it? J.D. just gets a little pat on the head, gets to sit home and be a good boy...a little Mama's boy!! Dang it, Chris...I am a full grown man!!!"

"I know you think you are, but...."

"But, HELL. I can read people as good as Buck. I can track as good as Vin, and I can shoot as good as you. Maybe you're just getting so dang OLD everybody looks like a kid to you!"

Chris' hands doubled into fists below the table. He would have started counting to ten, but he knew what was going to happen before he even got close. The kid had been getting on his last nerve for the full month or more since he came back from Jericho. Between fighting the pain and the nightmares of beatings, infirmaries, and snakes that still plagued him since his time in the work camp; fighting with Mary; and avoiding Nathan, life was just straight out of hell. He felt old, tired, and more often than not, more than a little angry. He didn't really hurt that bad, had definitely hurt worse many times before, but right now, everything seemed to be one gigantic nag. Getting on his last nerve wasn't hard for any of them to do, but J.D. Dunne had been good at being a full-blown pest since the first day they met. "Nobody can track as good as Vin. As for shooting, you're always bragging how fast you are...how you're as good as me. Not hardly, you little weasel!!! Get outside!!"

"What?" The boy had barely a moment to understand before the older man stood up, shoved him out of his face, away from the bar, and out of the saloon into the street.

"Let me see those pistols of yours." A lesson was about to begin, and Chris Larabee was going to deliver it, bad mood or no.

"What?"

"Give 'em here, J.D."

Chris took the younger man's two pearl-handled .44s and, without asking, dumped all the shells into his hand, dumping ten of them into the pocket of his tight black pants. He kept only two. These he returned, one to each pistol and closed the cylinders. "Okay, holster these." He took his own shooter out and removed all but two bullets from it as well.

He walked to a nearby grocer's cart and picked out four firm oranges. "Okay, kid. All you got to do is hit two of these while they're in the air...One orange with each pistol. Simple enough, if you know how."

J.D. knew it was a challenge, a Larabee challenge. It made the young man slightly nervous. The older man was standing not three feet away from him. His head was tilted slightly. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were slightly cold. There was a smart-ass grin on his face that J.D. recognized very well. That cocky grin was noted for starting, or stopping, fights with fists and guns.... whichever way Chris Larabee planned it would.

Larabee tempered this challenge by lightening his stare. He did that for this one because he didn't really plan to fight...not for real or for keeps. He wasn't drunk, at least not yet. "You think you're ready?" He suddenly tossed two oranges high into the air and yelled, "Go!!"

J.D. snatched his guns from their place and fired them both. He hit one target, but missed the other. "Dang!" The sound of gunfire in the middle of town began to attract attention. One of the first people arriving was Buck Wilmington, another of the protectors of the town.

Chris tossed two more into the air and with grace and ease pumped one bullet neatly through the center of each. He definitely wasn't drunk enough to miss.

"That's not fair! You only had to use one gun. I had to use two!"

"You missed the second one because you didn't check your pistol, you little knot head! The hammer on the right was sitting next to an empty chamber. If you're gonna wear two of those, you better know how to use em. If you can't handle em, you're dead. Let me see that rig of yours....you take mine."

He handed his holster and gun to J.D., and quickly buckled the twin holstered set on his own hips. He handed the boy two additional bullets and watched him load the weapon. He took cartridges from the stash in his pocket and loaded each of the pistols he now wore. He checked the chambers, then returned the pistols to the holster. He appropriated more oranges. As he returned, he noticed the growing crowd beginning to gather for the 'contest.' "Okay, kid....same thing." Vin Tanner, their hunter, and Nathan Jackson, the healer and knife wielder, joined the crowd...Vin grinning, Nathan even more serious than usual.

"But I've never used your piece."

"So? I've never used yours, and I don't really prefer wearing two. Are you ready or not?"

He suddenly tossed two pieces of fruit into the air and yelled "Go!!"

J.D. pulled the .44 and fired twice. He hit one orange and missed the other. Without waiting Chris tossed four more into the air and with grace and ease pumped a bullet neatly into the center of each, two with each gun.

"So much for speed and accuracy, kid. Let's try coordination....you think you've got maybe a little? Give me back my rig." He checked the boy's two and then held them out to him. They swapped quickly.

"You draw...I catch."

"What?"

"You draw your gun...either one you want. I'll catch it while you draw."

"Dang! How?!." He drew, and he drew, and he drew. Like a well-oiled machine, Chris caught the barrel between his hands every time just as the chosen gun reached its zenith.

"Just like that." The grin was, by now, a real work of scorn. "Your turn."

"Okay....I'm ready.....draw!"

It was a false start, a mock draw from the senior gunman that produced chuckles from the waiting crowd.

"Are you sure you're ready?" The cocky grin was back.

"Come on, Larabee. Sure I'm sure. Get on with it!"

"Did you check my shooter before you gave it back?" His expression turned serious.

"No? So?"

"Are you sure it's not loaded? You willing to catch it whether it's loaded or not?"

"It's not....at least it wasn't, You didn't check....."

"Like hell, I didn't. Wouldn't be playing catch with a gun I didn't KNOW was empty. YOU just might have had an itchy trigger finger.."

J.D. checked the pistol. It was empty. "Thought you said...."

"I asked if you were sure..... big difference."

"Clever, real clever.....draw!"

Chris drew like lightening. J.D. caught it, but not until the third try. "Third try...not bad kid. Of course you were dead the first time. Who's the 'old man' now?" The grin was back. The crowd burst into laughter.

"What's that got to do with anything?!!" Even Ezra Standish, a gambler, and Josiah Sanchez, a spiritual man with a talent for fighting, had joined the crowd. With them there, all of the seven protectors were on the street. Being humiliated by Chris Larabee in front of the rest of his group and the town was not something the young man enjoyed.

The lesson continued. "Nobody ever tell you that if you could catch the barrel, you could beat the one pulling the gun? You need to KNOW you can win, J.D.....not THINK you can. KNOW you can."

Once again, the older man had made him feel like a little, know-nothing boy. "Well, I've proved myself in enough fights up until now. I still say I can shoot... and as well as you...that is, if we're not standing around playing dang-fool games!"

The well-recognized voice of Buck Wilmington, another of their band, came into the boy's ear, close by, scolding him just as the other man mocked him. "Boy, how many times have I told you not to EVER play games with guns...and ESPECIALLY not to play any games at all with Chris Larabee. He'll just about kick your butt any old time, in any old way, and if he don't....it's just because he's being real, real kind."

"Shut up, Buck. You're as bad as he is...always telling me what to do...never thinking I can do nothing right at all."

"Now, hold on there, kid. He beat you fair and square. You gonna get mad about it, or you gonna learn something from it?"

"Learn what?"

"Weren't you listening?"

"No, Buck, he wasn't listening. He's just trying to be a big, big man." Chris started to walk away.

"Now wait, Stud. He's just a little ole cub, even if he thinks he's a big ole grizzly. What say you and me try to put a little more learning in that thick skull of his."

"You think this boy's ever gonna listen to anything we say?" He continued to walk back toward the saloon.

"Not hardly, Pard. He knows every damn thing there is, to hear him tell it." Vin seldom approved of the boy's attitude, and agreed wholeheartedly with the lesson Chris had given. "Well, I got an idea. Buck can take him first and get some of the rougher edges off. Then you take him and add some finishing touches. Between the two of you, he ought to turn out to be a fair little gunfighting fella. Later we'll see if he can maybe track his way out of a box."

"You boys think any of this is gonna improve his disposition any?"

"Probably not, Josiah. But if he stays as ornery as he is this minute, Chris and me will teach him a whole new lesson." Buck swatted the younger man, knocking the derby hat he wore into the dust. J.D. fumed as he reached to pick it up and dust it off.

"It just might improve my disposition a whole lot if I just finish this lesson myself. See you at the livery in an hour, kid." Chris was walking away, the 'threat/promise' hanging in the air. Vin dropped in beside him, quickly joined by the rest.

They left J.D. in the middle of the street, alone and red-faced.

"Chris, you be real careful about this. You go starting trouble with J.D., you're apt to be the one I have to patch up...again. That side okay?"

"Side's okay, and J.D.'s not one damn bit likely to beat me at nothing, Nathan. Let it alone."

"Where you going, Pard?" Vin didn't really have to wait for the answer. He was just tagging along.

"Saloon."

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

Chapter 2

"Why'd you go do that to him, Chris?" Buck talked as they walked to the livery. The cool beer had helped to cool the man's bad humor, but not by much. "You see how red his face was?" Chris' face was red enough for both. The tips of his ears fairly glowed. He puffed on a little black sheroot, sending small clouds of smoke into the air as he walked. Buck knew the boy was in for trouble now.

"Buck, he's just getting too damn big for his britches, and I'm damn tired of it. He's gonna get hurt, might get killed, and another thing, he talks all the time, generally about nothing unless it's somebody else's business. Lately, it's damn near always about my business. He needs a lesson."

The man's friend hoped to cool this one down considerably before the next part of the lesson began. A body just never knew what Larabee, especially a Larabee who was in a hell-raising mood, was going to do. "Awh, he's just a boy. He don't deserve no three-'damn' reprimand. That was a pretty humiliating lesson already, don't you think?"

"He's a boy I'd rather not see die just yet. He ain't gonna die from embarrassment, but he just might from being stupid."

"Well if anybody knows about that, it ought to be you. Been stupid enough more than once in your life. You know, J.D.'s pretty good with those pistols of his. Wouldn't be many who could best him."

"Yeah...he's good. Just good enough to think he can't be taken. I've made arrangements for funerals for a few just like him. Most of us could take him pretty easy. You could take him."

"Oh, I know I could take him."

"Shoot, even Ezra could take him on a real good day! Ezra not lightening fast, but he shoots practical, don't try to be fancy unless he's cheating at card tricks."

"That's another one you're gonna insult too often, and it's not gonna be long coming. You go after him like you did J.D., he just might take you on."

"Shoot. Not in this lifetime. Ezra ain't that brainless. He knows he don't have a chance in hell of taking me...at least not unless it's with a deck of card. Now, with those, he just might win."

"Ain't no doubt he could at that."

"Why not? He'd cheat."

"See, it's that type of stupid observation that makes him mad as a Southern blueblood talking to a Yankee general. Hell, Stud, you play so bad, he wouldn't have to cheat.... even I don't have to. Now, exactly what's the plan for this little lesson. You gonna let me go first, or you going at him?"

"I've got him. You can soothe the hurt feelings later."

"You gonna go easy on him?"

"Who me? Why sure, Buck. I'm gonna go real easy on him....be just about as easy as a little breeze straight out of Hell!"

Chris remembered the days when he thought he knew it all. The days when a very good friend, a very patient teacher, had literally beaten it into his obstinate skull just how little he really knew. For every lesson he forgot, he had paid dearly...then and throughout his highly eventful life. Well, now he got to pass it on, and J.D. was going to be the recipient. Buck could "smooth the rougher edges" later.

He was ruthless, drilling the boy mercilessly, making him fight whenever he found J.D. lacking in attention, hammering at him for every fault. "Fancy's for the side show, J.D. Buck's tried to teach you that since you rode in here. You work on hitting what's shooting back at you." "You didn't reload. How many bullets are there in the right...how many in the left. How many spares you got?" "Make them face the sun if you can." "From what I can see the only things you know how to do right is to clean that thing and to wear that holster straight and high on your hips....otherwise, I don't think you even remember that today's Sunday." "If you don't go to ground, if you don't find cover, you're gonna die...just that simple." "You hear that? What was it? How far away?" "It's all one motion, kid. You try to snatch that gun, you'll wind up so slow at aiming, you'll miss the bastard or shoot yourself in the foot."

Chris remembered his own lessons, the bruises he had from fighting. J.D. had one black eye and a cut on his lip early on. Chris remembered his friend, Ethan Collins, the one who had trained him with many of the exact same words, who had punched him almost senseless during the early days. Ethan would have laughed to see who was giving the lessons now.

The leader devised his own hellish little lesson just for the 'boy.' Tired of telling him to get good with one before he tried to master two, early one morning, he caught the "little ingrate" off guard. He reached out a hand, smiling as if to greet him. When J.D. took it, Chris slipped a slender leather band quickly over his wrist, yanked his arm around, and tied his hand to the back of his holster belt.

"You turn me loose! Sure can't beat you if I'm tied up like this! What's the matter....you afraid of a little competition, old man? How am I supposed to draw like this?"

"You're not! Not with the right...not today. When you can draw the left and hit what you're supposed to hit six straight times, reload with one hand, and do it all again, then we'll work on the right. When you've got em both down, we'll work on putting things together. Now quit fidgeting, and let's finish this!" Every waking hour that they didn't have to ride, or protect the town, for a full week, Chris made the boy pay for any claim he had ever made about being this "old man's" equal. The problem was that, after a few days, every time J.D. paid for being inattentive or stupid, Chris paid too. The boy learned fast, and he was learning to fight extremely well.

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

Chapter 3

Chris didn't hate the boy, he was just tired of absolutely everything. Ever since his return from Jericho, Chris' body had refused to heal completely. The amount of damage heaped on him by the now-dead warden proved to be enormous, far worse than any of the rest of them had suspected. He'd refused to acknowledge it, riding his own horse back, pushing himself relentlessly, refusing to admit that he needed to stop, to rest, or to ask for help. He had paid for the mistake ever since. But he refused to learn the lesson.

He thought Buck was the only one who suspected anything; but it was Nathan, the healer, who watched him for several days, who recognized where the problems lay. He pulled Chris aside, informing him that it was going to take a great deal of work, infinite patience, and a lot of time to get strong again. The worst part was he had insisted that Chris just do what he was told. That was bad enough, doing what he was told, but then Nathan had convinced the Judge to tie him to town, limiting him to walking tour a few hours during the quiet early hours of the evening. He hadn't been stuck walking tour for years. Now, in addition to being tired of being told what to do, he was simply worn out from hearing J.D. complain about the lessons at the livery, about the lack of work elsewhere, about the way he was treated, the way he was ignored. Putting his exhaustion, ragged emotions, and total impatience together with the pain and a nagging J.D., Chris Larabee decided it was time to be alone. When the next Sunday came, just after sun-up, he literally dragged his ill-tempered black gelding to Mary's and announced that he was leaving.

She was barely awake herself, so the argument started quickly "You're not supposed to go anywhere. You're still hurt. You're supposed to rest. You're not supposed to take on anything any harder than walking tour once a day. Where do you think you're going?"

"Shoot! I'm just going. I won't go far, and I won't stay long, but I've got to get out of here. I've got a fishing pole, a little coffee, and few beans, a little jerky. When I get tired of fresh air and quiet, when I run out of supplies or get hungry, I'll be back. Give me, say, two, maybe three days before you send out a posse...and don't send J.D."

"When you get tired of quiet? When you get hungry? You won't ever decide it's time to head back! Well, at least give me a direction for them to come if you don't show up."

"West...where else? I'll probably just pick the first comfortable spot that I find with cool running water...someplace where there ain't nobody talking."

Chris had been gone no more than an hour when Orrin Travis, the circuit judge and his boss, came looking for him. No one was at the jail. Chris didn't answer the door at his room. When the judge stuck his head in at his now widowed daughter-in-law's place behind her newspaper office, all she said was, "He went off somewhere by himself. He's in one of his moods."

"He's not supposed to leave town. I thought I had him confined...I had no idea he'd be going anywhere. I need him."

"There's Vin, Buck...everyone else is here. Have you tried the saloon?"

"This early, on a Sunday, I just came here. Figured you two would be having breakfast or at least arguing about something over coffee."

"Now....we don't argue all the time..."

"Could fool me. Well, I've got a job, and I need the boys to ride. I generally leave such arrangements to him. I guess I best go get the others myself. After that I'm heading to Eagle Bend for a trial."

As it happened, they were all close by, sitting or leaning on buildings or posts on the boardwalk outside the jail. Six men, talking and gossiping about everything and nothing in particular in the cool morning air. Why was it that if the one particular man was gone, Orrin always felt the others were at very loose ends. Well, he had a fire to light under them today.

"Okay, boys, it's time to ride. I got a note from Guy Royal this morning that he's losing cattle. He says it's a bunch of rustlers, but his boys have been pretty shot up trying to catch em, and he's asking for help. If he's asking you bunch to help him, he's in pretty bad shape."

"Ought to just let em strip him and James both bare and leave them out there...maybe over a dang anthill." Vin didn't like either of the cattlemen one bit. They had a mean reputation for disturbing the local farmers.

"He's a citizen of this area, and whether we like him or not, he's entitled to protection. Now, all of you...get on your horses and ride. When you show up, I expect those rustlers won't stay around for long. Get going....but, one of you best stay here. J.D., you stay behind."

"What?!!!"

"You heard me. One of you has to stay to guard the town. It being Sunday, I'm sure you can handle it alone."

Buck couldn't resist, "I expect you can 'handle' Sunday just fine...don't you? Come on boys, let's go see if we can't wrangle some rustlers." He left the younger man on the boardwalk, fuming at being left behind again.

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

Chapter 4

They didn't come back on Monday. They hadn't shown up by Tuesday morning either, and neither had Chris. J. D. had taken care of two minor barroom dust-ups and chased a bunch of kids out of the livery corral. Basically, life was boring. That was about to change.

Tuesday, well before noon, Mary interrupted his game of mumbly-peg with a bit of information. "I have a telegram for Chris from the Judge. He wants him to go look for a man who disappeared on his way to, Mexican Hat, up in Utah Territory. Says the man left home about three weeks ago and was supposed to be back by now, but he hasn't gotten home."

"Why does the Judge only want Chris to go? Who's the man? Do we know him? Is he trouble?"

"No. He's a friend of a friend of the Judge. His name is Werner Kruner. You know how the Judge is...if someone asks, he'll help or make arrangements for help. When he thinks about help, he thinks about Chris...and the rest of you, of course."

"Of course, except Chris isn't here."

"He'll probably be back tomorrow."

"Yeah, and he's not supposed to be riding out like that...is he?"

"No....not yet. I hope he's just sitting on a nice river bank fishing for a little while. He needs to let himself rest a little."

"Well, there's no need bothering him with this. I can go find Kruner."

"You're supposed to stay here...guard the town."

"It's dead as a beaver hat around here. Anyway, when Chris gets back, he can watch the town. Where exactly was the missing man headed?"

"All it says is around Mexican Hat. I don't know about this."

"Now, Mrs. Travis, don't you start on me, too. If Chris don't like the fact that I left, he can send one of the other boys after me. I won't get that far by the time they all get back, but we won't be putting Chris on the trail all the way to Mexican Hat, will we?"

"Are you sure this is best?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's the best way to get what the Judge wants tended to, keep Chris from taking off and hurting something again, and, if you don't mind my saying so, get me the hell out of here for a while. It's just finding one man....sort of a game of hide and seek. I'll be fine, be back before anyone misses me at all."

"All right. I think you're probably right. I'll get you a few dollars to tide you over."

"Thanks, ma'am. And Mrs. Travis?"

"Yes, J.D."

"Can you tell me which way I go to reach Mexican Hat?"

"Northwest, J.D. That way."

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

J.D. had only been gone a little more than a day when Chris rode back in and headed to the jail. Not finding the "sheriff," as they all called their youngest partner, he made a straight line for the saloon. Nothing. There wasn't a single one of his bunch anywhere. It didn't help his temper. His next stop was the Clarion News. If anybody knew anything, Mary was the one.

"Where's J.D.? I can't find him, and nobody's seen him. I can't seem to find anybody around at all."

"Well, you finally decided to come back? Did you actually rest a bit?" He still seemed mighty pale, and his moves weren't those of the normal Chris Larabee.

"Never mind...where's J.D.?"

"On his way to Mexican Hat."

"Mexican Hat? Why in blue blazes is he on his way to Mexican Hat? That's one miserable hell hole. Why'd he leave town for a place like that?"

"The Judge wanted a man named Werner Kruner found. J.D. went to find him. Just a simple job....the town was so quiet, I didn't think it would be any trouble."

"You know it don't take ten minutes for things in this place to go to hell. He left the place unprotected. I think that's gonna be his next lesson. Just exactly how long has he been gone."

"Just a little more than a day."

"Damn! Where are Buck, and Vin? Where's everybody? Wasn't one of them at either of the saloons....that means something ain't right."

"They're out looking for rustlers for Guy Royal."

"Since when do we protect Guy Royal...that son-of-a-bitch..."

"Since the Judge sent them there on Sunday."

"Sunday? And they ain't back yet?"

"Should they be?"

"I wouldn't know. Didn't anybody ask me if they needed to go in the first place. Damn! Let me be gone just a few days....One of them could have come to find me. I wasn't even out of town good on Sunday."

"They did what they were told. It wasn't their fault you were nowhere around. You didn't ask them, or the judge, for permission to go, now did you?"

"Shoot....now what do I do? Go find them, or go haul J.D. back where he belongs?"

"If the five are in trouble, you're not going to help them now. If they needed help, they would have sent word. Royal's got his own riders doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does."

"You don't look like you need to go anywhere. Are you still hurting?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Did something else happen?"

"It's nothing."

"What's nothing?"

"That stupid lug........"

"You fell off your horse?"

"Didn't fall off...miserable s.o.b. kicked me. Got my side again."

"That's why you're not supposed to be doing things like this. Are you sure you're ..."

"I'm fine. Just let it go. No big problem, just sore as hell.....again. And don't you go telling the others. I'll never live it down."

"Okay...okay...if you say you're fine...."

"I'm fine, and I'm heading after J.D. What in the hell were you two thinking?!! Letting him ride off alone like that!!! When you see Vin, Buck and the others, if we're not back, you give them the details and send them after us. If he's a day ahead of me, better tell them to just come on, I'll meet up with them somewhere around Poncho House or Mexican Hat...with or without J.D."

"Why don't you want J.D. doing this alone. He seems capable enough of finding one missing man. He's not a child."

"No, he's not a child...I didn't say he was. He can probably find a missing man. But exactly what's he gonna do with him if he don't want to be found or don't want to come back? How's he gonna handle a wooly bunch if the first one's in trouble? I guess I've made a big mistake."

"Chris Larabee make a mistake? What do you know!! What kind of mistake would Chris Larabee ever make?"

"I've been teaching the kid how to shoot and fight. I should have been teaching you both how to think. Should be two on this ride...two's always better than one."

On a different day, she might have scolded him harshly for it, but for now, she simply ignored the insult he had dealt her. "It's not fair to treat him like that. You know it's not!!!"

"Fair don't matter one damn bit. I just don't want to see him die young. That's what wouldn't be fair. I'm gonna get a bite to eat, pick up some supplies, then I'm headed out."

"You're not supposed to ...."

"Mary," he held her in his "no arguments" gaze. "if you think you're gonna stop me...you best think again. It's just finding one man. Ain't that what you said? I'll be fine. I'll be back before anyone misses me."

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Chapter 5

Neither Chris nor J.D. was there when the rest of the boys rode in a day later. They all looked like hell. Buck was pretty well in one piece, though his temper was in sore need of repair. Nathan was asleep in the saddle. Ezra simply muttered to himself, incessantly brushing at his much mangled jacket. The little that could be heard was unsuitable for civilized ears and would have made most trail drovers blush. Josiah was Josiah.... long suffering, saddle worn, Josiah....talking to himself seriously about a desire to call down the wrath of God. And Vin? He didn't say a word.... he just held his obviously damaged shoulder close to his side, headed to his wagon, threw his rifle inside, and crawled in after it. None of them could be seen for hours.

She spotted Buck first, and followed him into the saloon, right up to the bar. "Just what took you so long?"

Buck looked at her, sipping on what he hoped would be the first of many beers, "Don't ask!"

"Well...don't get comfortable...any of you."

"And why not?"

"You've got to go find Chris and J.D."

Ezra fairly spit the cool beer he was sipping across the bar, "Oh, hell. What have they done now?!!"

"J.D. left Tuesday on a man hunt the Judge sent for Chris. Chris came in yesterday, threw a fit, and headed out after him. He said if they weren't back to tell you all to come after him. Said he would meet you in Poncho House or Mexican Hat, whether he'd found J.D. or not. Chris wasn't exactly rested when he came back."

"Well...of all the STUPID....." Buck's temper had not improved.

"What do we gotta do now?" Vin stood, propped against the bar.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we prepare to ride...Good Lord give us all strength..." Josiah ambled in, not amused.

"I ain't moving no place...not until I get a bath, some supper, and some sleep. Tomorrow morning's soon enough. He ain't done one thing to make himself any better. Why should I kill myself chasing after him?" With that, Nathan, who had been propped in a chair at a side table, simply stood up and left, headed for the Bath House to get started on his own preparations.

"Now, that my friends, sums up my sentiments exactly." Ezra followed close behind him.

"But Chris said to come right away."

"Mary, first that miserable fool leaves us to go off fishing; don't show up to help us herd beeves for Guy Royal, who's one mangy, no count, lying, misbegotten son-of-a-.."

"Whoa, pard. She gets the picture." It was the first smile on Vin's face since he rode in.

"Then he orders us to come hunt J.D.? No 'please', no 'when you're ready'. Who does he think he is? Well, it's just like him to...."

"Just like him? Of course it's just like him. You all know it. Why are you so surprised?" It was bad enough being a lone woman dealing with one of these men when they were in a bad mood.

"Well...it IS just like him. That's why this time he can sit and cool his own damn a---....heels until we get there! Me, I think I'm just gonna have me another beer, maybe go see Blossom."

"Now, Pard, that sounds like a mighty good plan." Vin motioned to the bartender, making no move to head anywhere, "Barkeep...let me have another gut warmer. Soon as I finish this, I think I'll just soak a good while myself."

"Amen, brothers!" Josiah stretched lazily. "Bath....dinner...sleep. Nathan makes real good sense. You boys coming?"

"Lead on, Pard."

Mary was left alone, watching their backs as they all went about their own business.

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Chapter 6

On that same morning, day three of his 'adventure,' J.D. arrived at Mexican Hat. The little "dusty backwater", as Ezra would have called it, boasted only one dark saloon, one blacksmith shop, a tiny hotel, and a mercantile. The town people were distant, almost hostile, glaring at him as he road down the center street of the 'town.' He walked into the mercantile, and smiled politely as he approached the shopkeeper, "Excuse me, sir. I'm J.D. Dunne from Four Corners. I've been asked by Judge Orrin Travis to check on the where-abouts of a friend named Werner Kruner. He was supposed to have passed through here about a week or so ago. Have you by any chance seen him? Do you know where I might find him?"

"No."

J.D. stopped. Not only was the reply cold, it was rude. "Well, you see, Mr. Kruner's family and friends are concerned that he might have gotten lost or hurt along the way, and Judge Travis asked me to see if I could find out how he is....no trouble for him or anyone else....just want to make certain he's okay."

"I said I don't know him. You best move on."

"Well, yes sir. Do you know of anyone else who might have knowledge of him?"

"I said no, boy!"

"Thanks, anyway." He stepped out onto the debris-filled street, and walked the short distance up to the hotel. He received a welcome and an answer from the man behind the counter much the same as he had from the mercantile. "Well, thanks sir, I'll just move on then. Maybe he didn't make it into town...maybe he's a little farther west. I guess I'd better keep looking." As he put back on his derby hat, a young woman stepped up to take over the counter, the man moving quickly out of sight. She gave J.D. a small, but warm smile. "Ma'am...you wouldn't know anything above a man named Werner Kruner, would you?"

Her smile dimmed, and she glanced behind her to see if anyone watched. "No, sir. I don't know anyone by that name. But you might just try Gooseneck...it's about fifteen miles from here. Lots of people stay there...they have a really nice hotel there."

"And how would I find Gooseneck?"

"You go straight west from here, past the plateau, then go south at the fork in the road."

He mounted his horse and determined that riding on was probably the best. Maybe the man was a little further south from here. Maybe he hadn't made it this far. It wouldn't hurt to give it another day's hunt. He passed the limits of the small community, heading on for Gooseneck.

He had ridden for about an hour when the trail narrowed sharply between two plateaus that seemed to rise straight out of the ground. There were small ridges on either side, forming a small pass for as far as he could see. Somewhere in his mind, he thought about one of Buck's rules..."Never go through a blind alley if you don't know nothing about it....go around...better a few miles than a few bullets." He laughed. Buck had a rule for everything...mostly made up from his head or superstitions and other men's tall tales. He wasn't willing to go around when he had his directions to Gooseneck anyway.

He should have listened to Buck. Halfway into the pass, two men on horseback suddenly blocked his passage. Behind him, two more blocked any chance for escape. "Well, hey, boys. Just passing through...looking for a friend. Any of you hear tell of a man name Werner Kruner? He's lost around here somewhere."

He never got an answer...all he got was a pistol butt up side the head. The first place he woke up, he was in a wooden shack. Three of the four men who had surrounded him on the road stood around waiting for him to come to. "Okay, we're gonna ask once. How'd you know about this place? Who have you told?"

"Place? What place? Where are we?"

"Not the right answer." He quickly wished he knew what they wanted. They tried hard to make him remember. Two of them hauled him to his feet. The third one just hit him, then hit him, then hit him some more. He tasted blood and saw lots of bright shiny stars. The second one kicked him around for a while. He lay as tightly clinched into a ball as he could. That was one good lesson he remembered that Buck had taught him before, after he'd taken a vicious kick during a barroom fight. The third one hauled off his belt and began a beating like the boy had never felt before. "Come on, now. You don't want me to keep on with this, do you? Why'd a judge send you here?"

"Here?" It was all he could do to whisper. "Here? Came to find Werner Kruner. He came up here on a short trip. He didn't come home. I just came to see if he needed help. Don't want no trouble. Honest. I swear that's all."

"I told you before, that ain't the right answer."

When he woke up again, he was lying on hard-packed dirt. He hurt all over. From somewhere light filtered into the place, falling in sharp pools. Except for small lanterns that gave feeble light, there was no other illumination. He sat up slowly, a groan escaping his lips, to find a man sitting a few feet away, staring at him. The man placed a wet, folded cloth across his brow then pressed it firmly against the nasty cut J.D. could feel on the side of his head. His face was bathed and he was given a sip of water. The man was a slightly build man...neither tall nor heavily set. He was older, but not old. He had once been dressed well, but his clothes were now dirty and tattered. His hair was salted liberally with gray.

The stranger offered him another drink of the tepid water. When J.D. accepted the drink with thanks, the man nodded. Then he handed him a large pickaxe and gestured toward the back of the cavern that swept into the earth beyond. The man moved back and, gesturing still, began to pound at the rock on the floor beyond with a large hammer. Shovels rested against the wall closest to him.

"This a mine?" Without an answer, J.D. got the point. With a head and body that were filled with misery, he picked himself up, joined the man at the back of the opening, and began to slowly chip away at the wall. He didn't know what he was looking for...not until the man spotted something and made gestures for the young one to pick that particular piece of rock up. He showed him a blocked opening near the front and motioned for the rock to be placed there with others already collected by the dozen men who were also enclosed in the mine.

He didn't know how long he worked in silence, side by side with the man. Any time he stopped, the man gestured pointedly for him to begin again. After a good while, the others all seemed to understand that it was time to quit. When the stranger and J.D. placed their last finds among the others at the opening, he noticed no pools of light and no light shining through the meager slit around the barricade. Darkness had finally come outside, and it seemed a time of rest was beginning in this place.

A few minutes later, the barricade was removed, a small trolley car pushed into the opening, and the captives gathered to place the days gleanings into the car. Three times the car came, three times it was pulled back, then the opening was slammed shut. The sound of a large something falling into place echoed through the chamber.

His mentor put down his hammer, gestured for J.D. to do the same with the axe, then moved to the side of the wall and walked toward the opening of the corridor, taking a small water bucket and a plate with him. At the narrow opening, an opening so small only one man could approach at a time, and all of them, even the small J.D., had to bend down to talk to the one outside, the fourth man who had captured him waited. The guard took his friend's bucket, replacing it with one filled with fresh water. He took the man's plate, filling it with beans and something that looked like meat. He added a large chunk of thick brown bread. "Danke." It was the first sound J.D. had heard the man make.

The 'jailer' glared at J.D. as he approached. "First night, huh, boy? Well, we didn't plan on you. Tomorrow's coming. Maybe you won't get too hungry by then. If you do? Tough." He laughed and simply said "Next." By now, J.D. was so tired and miserable from the beating and the hard afternoon of labor, he didn't feel hungry anyway. The other man sat on the dirt nearby. "Mitmachen?"

His raised plate of meager rations, offered for a stranger to join in some of the food, was a more-than-noble gesture to J.D. He accepted a small piece of the bread, with a taste of the meat and beans. He ate slowly, willing his body to accept the only food he would have, probably until this time tomorrow. He smiled a small but genuine smile of appreciation at the man.

Not much later, he was sorry he had taken even the small amount of nourishment. He looked around the confined area. "Wo ist die Toilette?" The man smiled at the young man's embarrassment and obvious discomfort. The small bit of food was causing a major rebellion in the pit of his sore stomach. "Drueben. Rechtsherum." He pointed down the corridor, handing him the lantern. He indicated two turns, pointing right.

"Danke schoen." J.D. repeated it instinctively, almost naturally. He remembered something...a small flicker of returning memory. "Englisch?" He asked the man.

"Nein. Deutsch. Ich sprechen Deutsch und Spanisch...Ja."

"Ja." Maybe more later. Maybe childhood wasn't that far gone after all. J.D. left, limping badly on bruised legs, moving slowly with his battered and abused body, down the hall to the right.

When he returned the man motioned to another large chamber of the cave. There, well worn blankets were dumped in the corner. The man picked one up, picked a spot on the floor, lay down, covered himself as best he could and closed his eyes to sleep. J.D. approached the pile of coverings, only to be shoved roughly aside by one of the other men who toiled in this place. He allowed the man to make his selection. The blankets were so thin, it could make little difference which one he got. The others made their selections as well. His opportunity finally came, so he picked up one of the last available coverings...one with so many holes he reconsidered the importance of not being last in line...then he wrapped himself in the threadbare cloth and lay down to rest.

He woke stiff, incredibly sore, and hungry. Thin light fell into the place. His head ached. He lay there for a few minutes, thinking of other men who should be waking about now. He especially thought of the one who had so recently looked as bad and moved as stiffly as he felt this morning. As much as he hurt, as old as his own body felt, maybe he shouldn't call that one "old man" any more either. That one had been in hell more than a month. "Damn, boys, I hope you're not playing poker and waiting no ten days to start hunting for me." He pushed himself up onto his feet.

His new 'friend' rose stiffly as well, and noticed the younger man's bruised face and slow movements. "Wie geht es Ihnen? Verletzt er jedoch??" (How are you? Does it still hurt?)

"Es ist nicht so falsch." ("It's not so bad.") J.D. realized he had responded in the man's own language.

The man smiled. "Was ist Ihr Namens-, junger Mann?"

" J.D. Dunne, und Ihr?"

"Werner Kruner, Ihr sprechen Sie Deutsch sehr gut." The man was elated to find someone who seemed to know well how to talk with him.

"Nein, mein Herr. Ich spreche nur Schulejunge Deutsch." J.D. readily admitted that his German was learned as a school-aged boy. He was quickly running out of what he could remember. Suddenly the man's response hit him as hard as yesterday's blows, "Sagten Sie Werner Kruner? Sie sind der Mann, den ich gesucht habe." (Did you say Werner Kruner? You're the man I've been looking for!") There was little satisfaction in knowing he had accomplished his task. He wondered if they would ever be able to tell the judge he had finished the job.

It would have been a miserable existence without Kruner. The other men who shared the hell hole wasted no time on them, never had anything to say. Each worked to himself, sullen and uncaring for the plight of the others. Several showed the effects of long stays in this pit with no sunshine, no fresh air. One coughed incessantly. J.D. determined quickly that he and Werner would not share that fate...and the others wouldn't have much more of it, not if he could figure a way out. He worked, but as he worked, he studied the cavern...looking for a good way out.

By the number of meals he had received, plus the one Werner had shared with him, he determined he had been in the cave four days. He was certainly getting thinner, but the captors fed enough to keep body and soul together, at least. The older bruises had mostly faded, though the colors of black, blue, yellow and purple were still visible. He worked only enough to avoid penalty... Werner showed him how to maintain an appearance of productivity and the appropriate 'respect' to placate the guards.

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Chapter 7

"It's about time you showed up, Stud." Poncho House offered no interesting feminine company, which Buck highly preferred in a dismal little town, so he was more than ready to go back home to the arms of the voluptuous, every welcoming Blossom. He had determined to head out, unless something truly interesting came along real quick.

Chris came through the rough plank door covered in trail dust. He ordered a shot of tequila and dropped his hat on the bar. He brushed his damp hair back off of his forehead. As he knocked back his first, he realized all the others were glaring at him just like Buck. He just stood still, ordered another, and, as he sipped it, let them have their say. He was way too tired, too sore, too hot, and too concerned about J.D. to worry if they were mad at him or not.

"It's a miserable cuss who tells a man to come hunting, then leaves him without a trail to follow. I was about to come hunting your hide." Vin hated having to wait.

"Where exactly is that little reprehensible reprobate J.D.?"

"Shut up, Ezra. I can't find him no place. I've been all up and down the line to Mexican Hat, and nobody seems to remember seeing him or that fella Kruner either." Chris crooked his finger at the bartender, indicating that he needed another.

"You're not supposed to be out here riding like this anyway. You maybe gonna eat a little something to go with that?"

"Not now."

"You know, you're just a fool. Damn fool riding off to go fishing, damn big fool sitting on a horse for days, jarring all those stitches and bruises...that side of yours must be giving you fits. Do you realize you've been in the saddle almost a solid week."

"Little more than five days. Let it alone."

"You're hunting for a boy that's probably back at the saloon in Four Corners by now. You're gonna wind up hurting yourself more if you keep on like this. I think I'll check that side right now."

"No."

"Sometimes I think I ought to just hog tie you the way Doc Simmons suggested I do you after Jericho. Told me you'd never learn to stay out of trouble on your own. Said if I'd tie you down a few days, at least the rest of us could have a little chance to stay put for a while and get a little rest."

"Nathan, you could maybe try that ... maybe live to tell about it."

"I don't like this, Chris," the tracker in Vin was trying to work out the details, "he was coming to Poncho House or Mexican Hat. So, where the hell is he?"

"Having a beer, and most likely laughing at us in fits of raucous merriment."

"Shut up, Ezra."

"Truth is sometimes hard to accept, Mr. Larabee. I suggest you consider a different reality in this situation. The boy has undoubtedly gone home."

"Ezra's probably right, Chris. Face it. Most likely, he's gone home or some other place to just cut loose. He's been feeling a might rebellious lately. Maybe he just needed to make a visit to a nice little brothel somewhere. It's what I'd do."

"Shoot! That's just like you or me, Buck. That ain't J.D....not yet anyway. Let's give it another try. Spread out. All of you take a different direction. I've gone over every place I can think of except Mexican Hat. I might as well just finish that one. Got to be a saloon. Meet me at the one in Mexican Hat no later than two days. Let's ride."

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The two men in the mine spoke little but had developed a fashion of conversation through signs and gestures. Occasionally, Werner taught him new bits of German, and he in return taught Werner more English. They were becoming friends.

The younger man had made it safely through day four when the first fight came. This Sunday had been no day of rest either. As he picked up a tattered blanket for the pile, the same brute of a man knocked him to the floor, taking the blanket from his hands. Finally mended and feeling stronger, J.D. attacked without thought. A shout went up from the captive population, attracting two guards to quell the uproar. The big man was driven to the back of the mob, unharmed. The two guards held J.D. between them, pushing him to the wall, forcing his arms into metal cuffs that hung there. J.D. had seen the shackles before, but since they had gone unused during his stay, he hadn't considered what they were for. He found out quickly. The same guard who had hurt him on day one began a meaner round on day four. The belt was thick and the beating was thorough.

Werner, unable to do anything to help him or to even marginally save him from the blows, dragged him into the sleeping chamber as soon as the guards unshackled him and left. He bathed the welts that quickly sprang up along his back. He gave him water, wrapped him in the best of the available blankets, and guarded him as he shook in reaction then fell into exhausted sleep. The markings showed fresh and colorful against his skin on the morning of day 5, but by afternoon he was beginning to move with less discomfort.

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"Just where the hell do you think he is now?" Vin hated to wait, but he hated being on the worry more.

"Knowing Chris...just late. Taking his own sweet time, checking out all the little details."

"Mr. Wilmington, he instructed us most sternly to return to this establishment in no more than two days. It is now the second day. Do we wait or do we just leave this establishment and head home?"

"Well, Chris said to wait here....so we'll just wait here. Another day's not gonna hurt anything. Everybody agree?"

They all agreed.

"But Buckley if he ain't here by noon tomorrow," Vin spoke with worry still on his breath, "I ain't asking again, and we're all going hunting."

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