Disclaimer: Don't own the boys, making nada.

Rating: PG (just a little swearing)

Universe:OW

Spoilers: None

 The blazing noonday sun beat down unmercifully on the back of the rider astride the huge black. Chris Larabee pushed his hat further back from his forehead and wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand. He unwrapped the cord holding his canteen from around the saddle horn, opened the container and took a small sip of the lukewarm water inside. He still had a half days ride to his cabin and nowhere to get any more water so he had to drink sparingly.

The lone rider was lost in his thoughts, thoughts of getting home. He wondered briefly just when he had started to think of the town as home. He hadn't had a real home in the three years since he had lost Sarah and Adam. The town had probably become home about the same time he found one old friend and gained five new ones. Then of course there was Mary. The lovely blond newspaperwoman had become very important to him as well. She and her son had begun to fill a void in his life that he never thought could be filled. Yet, he just couldn't seem to commit to the beautiful woman. It was almost like he felt there was something keeping him from her; something he was supposed to do. He couldn't put his finger on it; he just knew it was there.

Larabee's musings were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. He looked around for a moment, attempting to locate the position of the shooter, before spurring his mount into a gallop. The second shot rang out and Chris knew he was the target. The third shot found its mark. Larabee felt burning agony in his left shoulder and knew that it was very possible that he was going to die. He spurred Valor on, the black giving it all he had, until the next shot buried itself in the valiant steed's flank. The horse went down with a terrible cry. Chris' body slipped from the saddle and hit the ground, coming to rest with the lame horse on top of his legs. Chris, temporarily stunned and breathless, lay on the ground unmoving. He waited for his assailant to come and finish the job. As unconsciousness fell upon him, Chris wondered if anyone would find him before he became crow bait. Larabee's eyes closed and as he drifted off, his family, both old and new were his only thoughts.

The buckskin-clad tracker entered the saloon and began searching for the regulators that he knew would be there. He spotted Buck Wilmington trying to catch the attention of the bartender and manager Inez. "Hey Bucklin, morning Miss Inez," he greeted the pair.

"Mornin' Vin, you sure are chipper this fine day," Buck returned the greeting with a smile.

"Yeah, and hungry too. Inez, you still got any of them eggs you fix so good?"

"Of course Senor Vin, I'll get some for you."

The pretty barmaid went to get Vin's breakfast and the sharpshooter sat down in the chair she had just removed herself from. "Buck, did Chris say when he would be back?"

"This evenin' sometime, I think. Ridge City ain't that far, and you know Chris'll make good time."

Inez returned with a plate of eggs and biscuits, which Vin consumed with gusto. Slowly the other peacekeepers made their way into the saloon, which doubled as a restaurant for the men. Josiah and Nathan were deeply involved in a conversation, which made no sense to anyone other than themselves, and JD was just trying to get a plate of eggs for himself. He gave up and began to eat off Buck's plate.

Ezra joined them after another few minutes, dressed immaculately as usual. Vin marveled at the dapper gambler's ability to look fresh as a daisy even in the hot, grimy, dust bowl that was the southwest. "Gentlemen," the southerner greeted the men assembled around the table.

"Mornin, Ez," Buck said around a mouthful of biscuit.

"How many times must I tell you that the name is Ez-ra? Two syllables, Mr. Wilmington."

"Oh, beggin your pardon Ez-ra," Buck replied grinning.

"Heathens," Ezra sighed in mock consternation.

The men laughed good-naturedly with even Ezra joining them. They finished their breakfast and all went about their daily routine. Vin went out on morning patrol, Nathan tended to Mrs. Potter's boy and his broken arm, and Josiah worked on the never-ending repairs to the church. JD and Buck spent the morning trying to round up a stray dog that they feared rabid.

The day passed fairly quickly and the men met at the saloon for an early supper and a couple of drinks. Ezra held court at his usual table with a couple of new marks. He won a small fortune at the tables and put it all away for a rainy day. Vin however, had begun to worry about the continued absence of Chris. It wasn't like Chris to be this late getting back. The gunslinger made a conscious effort to be back in town before he was due. It made for a lot less frayed nerves.

"What you thinkin' on there Vin?" asked Buck, elbowing the tracker in the ribs.

"How late Chris is. He shoulda been back two hours ago," the sharpshooter noted worriedly.

"Ah hell Vin. Chris'll come ridin' in just any time now. You know how he is. Sometimes he just likes to keep to himself and brood. I know you're thinkin' about Jericho. Don't, Chris is fine. Just somewhere blowin' off steam."

"You're probably right. If he ain't here by nightfall, I'm plannin' on goin' after him," and the sharpshooter walked out of the saloon.

Buck looked at the swinging doors of the saloon and whispered, "Yeah, me too."

Chris stirred and decided immediately not to do it again. As he regained consciousness, he realized his precarious condition. The wounded animal on top of him was unable to move and he wasn't in much better shape himself. The sharp throb in his back and shoulder reminded him that he had a bullet in him; a bullet that was going to claim his life if he couldn't get back to town and Nathan.

Larabee slowly moved into an upright position. He patted the neck of the suffering horse and felt sadness for the plight of the noble animal. Valor had given everything he had in their flight and was paying the price in pain. Chris couldn't even help the creature out of its suffering; he was unable to get to his gun lying a few feet away. Finally when he had almost begun to believe that he would never get out from under the horse, Valor spooked and attempted to roll to his feet. Chris took full advantage of the release of pressure on his legs and scooted free of the massive bulk of the frightened animal. Ignoring his own pain, Larabee reached for his Colt and took aim at the tormented creature, ending its terrible anguish.

Chris fell back on the ground and rolled to his side. The pain in his back and shoulder had gotten worse. He knew that he was bleeding profusely; he could feel the blood running down his back. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and then up onto his feet. His legs trembled and he almost fell back to the ground. Larabee regained his balance and took a staggering step forward. Unfortunately he took two staggering steps back as well. "That way Larabee, forward. Stay on your feet or you'll never make it back," Chris chastised himself for his weakness.

The darkly clad man pushed himself forward. He took a few steps, dropped to his knees and then pushed himself up again. It went this way for more than an hour. Chris looked behind him to find that he could still see the dead horse that he left behind. It was that moment that he knew he was going to die. The thought didn't really distress him. It was rather a relief. The past had kicked him around a good bit and he was tired. Larabee almost lay down and let that thought convince him to give up, but as he closed his eyes for what he thought might be the last time, he was plagued with the vision of his friends and what they would think of him for just giving up. The image spurred him into action. The gunslinger forced himself to his feet and began staggering in the direction of home.

Chris felt like he had been walking all day. The heat was still bearing down on him even with dusk approaching. He knew he had to get out of the sun or it would kill him. The heat combined with the lack of water was a deadly combination and not an easy enemy to defeat. Chris fell once more and again felt the sting of defeat. He wearily pushed himself up and noticed that with the last fall he had cut open his hand. The two inch long gash was bleeding heavily and hurting like the devil. Unexpectedly Chris began to laugh. "Well, how bout that?" he asked out loud to no one. The heat affected man continued to stagger and laugh. He realized that if someone did happen to come up on him they would probably think he had gone mad, but something was just totally amusing about the whole situation. The sick and injured man didn't know what he thought was so funny, but he just couldn't stop laughing at himself and the predicament he found himself in. Larabee wrapped his bandana around the gash in his hand and continued on his way. He took about three more steps and looked ahead. He couldn't believe his eyes. There in the distance, maybe a couple of hundred feet was a building, actually several buildings. Chris drug himself toward the town that he had never come across before. He thought he knew every little hole in the wall town all the way to Mexico, but somehow he had overlooked this one.

Larabee stopped just outside the small town and looked at the signpost. The sign read "Resurrection, pop. 34." Chris just hoped that someone out of those 34 people was friendly. The injured man made his way to the closest building, which looked like the saloon. 'What better place to find a drink?' he thought.

The small step up onto the boardwalk looked like an insurmountable obstacle to the blond gunslinger. He finally made it up onto the wooden walkway and fell against the wall almost sliding to the ground. He moved to push open the saloon doors and fell inside as unconsciousness once more overtook the bleeding man.

Vin nervously paced the boardwalk in front of the jail. JD and Buck were getting their one prisoner settled for the night. Old Jake had busted up the saloon again and Inez was insistent on having him locked up as punishment. What the lovely woman didn't know was that it was exactly what Jake wanted in the first place; a nice warm place to sleep off a night of indulging without having to listen to his shrewish wife extol the virtues of sobriety.

Josiah approached the agitated tracker cautiously. One didn't slip up on a man like Vin Tanner unannounced. One might find himself with a hole or two. "It's just me Vin, ease down," the tall gentle man assured Tanner.

"Howdy Josiah. Purty evenin' ain't it?"

"Yeah, if you like storms."

"Huh?" Vin asked distractedly.

"It looks like there's a storm brewing from the west. Isn't that the direction Chris will be coming in from?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess it is."

"Vin, tell me what's goin' on in your head," Josiah demanded.

"Josiah, I swear, it's the same feeling I got from Jericho. Chris is in trouble and I don't even know where to start looking for him. I swore that I wouldn't let that happen again, and here it's happened and I didn't even try to stop it," the tracker ran out of steam and his words dropped out of hearing range.

Larabee opened his eyes wearily and realized that he was lying on a dust-covered floor. His upper back and shoulder throbbed and he felt as weak as he had ever felt in his life. The injured man attempted to rise only to be forced back to the floor. With a start, he realized he wasn't alone.

He forced his eyes open a little wider and saw a blurry form sitting on the floor beside him. He pressed his eyes closed and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. When he opened his eyes again it was to look straight into the beautiful face of a dark haired woman. The woman sensed his unease and attempted to calm the stricken man. "Shhh, just lie still. You are hurt and you don't need to make it any worse," the woman calmly soothed.

The voice of the woman was almost enough to lull Chris into complacency. Almost. Chris' mind wrapped around the fact that he didn't know this woman and didn't know what he was doing in her presence. "Where am I?" he ground out between tightly clenched teeth. The pain was becoming almost too much to take, he could feel himself slipping back into oblivion, and was helpless to do anything about it.

Chris regained consciousness briefly, a couple of times. He knew when she removed his dark, blood-covered shirt. That hadn't been too painful. The next time he came to was at her attempt to remove the bullet. This time he swore as he tried to climb off the bed that she had somehow managed to get him to. She held him down firmly. She was strong to be such a small fragile woman. "Damn, let it be," he muttered as she once again probed the swollen, angry wound.

"Can't let it be, Mister..." she stopped, hoping that the gravely wounded man would reveal his name.

"Chris, just Chris," he responded.

"O.k. Chris, I can't let it be, I have to get it out. I'm the only one here to do it. It's in there deep, so I have to dig for it. I'll do the best I can, but I've got to see if I can find a doctor for you. There's not one in town anymore. Hasn't been one in..." her voice drifted off, as if she were too sad to continue. "Anyway, just hold on and I'll try to make this as easy as possible." The woman continued to dig in the wound, drawing quiet groans from the injured blond man, until finally with a deep sigh, she pried the smashed bullet from the hole in Chris' shoulder.

"I got it!" she cried triumphantly.

"Good," Chris mumbled before he slumped face first onto the mattress. "Now, I just need to get back to Four Corners. I've got a friend that can fix me up. Just need to get to him. I need to buy a horse. Mine was shot out from under me when this happened. Do you know where I can find a horse to buy?" Chris asked, pain evident in his voice.

The woman knew that Chris was not well enough to sit a horse, even if one could be found; she knew one couldn't. "Please stay here Chris. You are badly hurt and this wound is still bleeding. You'll die if you try to ride in this heat."

"I appreciate your concern, Miss... I don't even know your name," Chris paused.

"My name is Pilar Andrade. Please listen to me. Stay here tonight; I'll try to find a horse for you. You can ride out in the morning. You need to get to your friend and get some medicine for the infection, but you are too weak now. I will get something to eat for you and you can rest tonight," the young woman implored.

Chris knew that Pilar was right. He would fall flat on his face if he even tried to get out of bed. "All right, and thank you for your hospitality. I'm indebted to you."

"Nonsense, I'm just doing my Christian duty. Rest now, I'll be right back with some food and drink for you." Pilar pulled the door closed behind her and laying her head against the door said, "Please, be the one."

Vin walked into the saloon and to the table where the other peacekeepers sat. "Leavin' at dawn if anybody wants to come along," and turned and walked out the same way he came in.

"Guess we all better turn in then," Josiah stated with a slight grin.

Pilar returned with some broth and bread. She helped Chris to sit up a bit and was worried when she felt the heat of his skin. Fever. She was afraid that would happen. After he had eaten all he would, she put some healing herbs on the wound and bandaged it well. Chris lay back down and with the help of a healthy dose of whiskey, soon settled into a very restless sleep.

Pilar went to her own room and paced the floor. He had to be the one. The only one who could help her. If only he weren't hurt. She knew he would help if he could. He had a strength about him, even badly injured. She sensed also that he was a truly good man, a little dark maybe, but truly good. She could feel that he had known sadness and grief, and it tore at her heart. She herself had known fear and desperation and felt that she had found a kindred spirit in the physically and emotionally wounded man.

The night passed slowly for the desperate woman and the injured gunslinger, whose health steadily deteriorated. The fever-induced dreams had the man tossing weakly on the narrow cot. Muffled screams brought him out of the nightmare visions with a startled jump. He sat up quickly, crying out in agony, as the motion pulled at the wound in his back.

"Pilar!" he called. There was no answer except for heart-rending sobs. Chris eased himself out of bed and stood on shaking limbs. A wave of vertigo came over him as he fought to remain upright, and to be truthful, conscious. He found his gun belt lying on the bedside table and removed the shiny Colt from the holster. Holding on to the wall for balance, he crept cautiously to the door. He quietly pushed open the barrier to the hallway and slipped quickly into the shadows created by the lamp burning on a low table. He eased down the seemingly endless hallway, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor. Larabee stopped at a slightly open doorway and could hear the sounds of weeping. He pushed the door open farther and was stunned to see Pilar lying on the floor. Chris crossed the floor in a couple of long steps, his own pain forgotten in his concern for the distraught woman. "Pilar? Are you all right?" When there was no reply, he raised her head by placing his hand under her chin and lifting her face to look into his own. "Pilar?"

The bruises and blood covering the tear stained face couldn't diminish the beauty contained within. Chris took one look and immediately went on alert. From his crouched position he spun around looking for her assailant. He knew he was too weak to attempt going after the unseen attacker. After assuring himself of the absence of danger, he laid his gun on the floor and gathered the crying woman into his arms. Pilar snuggled into his strong embrace and cried enough for all the other times when there had been no one to offer comfort. When her tears had subsided and her shivering had ceased, Chris pulled away slightly so he could look into her face. "What happened Pilar? Do you know who attacked you?"

The thought of telling Chris a lie crossed Pilar's mind, but she could not bring herself to commit what she regarded as a sin. "My husband," was her quiet reply.

Chris tried to get to his feet but suddenly found his strength gone. He collapsed to the floor and Pilar struggled to get him back to the room he had occupied earlier. Between the two of them they managed to get him back into bed. His wound had begun to bleed freely once again and Pilar fought to get the bleeding under control. He apologized to her as he once again lost his battle to remain alert.

Vin, Josiah, Buck, and Nathan left before dawn the next morning. They rode silently, eyes alert for any sign of their missing leader. The sun came up and the temperature rose rapidly. The men had to take frequent breaks to let their horses rest and to get themselves out of the blazing hot rays and into a sparse shade when one could be found. The progression of their search was too slow as far as Vin was concerned. The feeling that something was wrong with Chris was stronger than ever and the closer they got to Ridge City the more anxious Vin became to find the errant gunslinger. The specter of Jericho was too fresh.

Pilar bathed the fevered blonds face with cool water. The fever was getting worse and Chris was muttering broken sentences, curses, and strangled groans. Pilar prayed that the gravely ill man would still be strong enough to get back to his friend by morning. She hoped he would not succumb to infection and fever before he could help her.

Chris struggled to pull himself up through the viscous chasm of unconsciousness. The arid condition of his throat was the first thing he noticed. Then he saw the beautiful dark haired woman sitting beside him on the bed. The cool cloth she drew over his burning features was comforting. Pilar eased him up and dribbled water between his cracked lips. He drank gratefully and fell back, the slight movement exhausting him to the point of collapse. Larabee knew that he was in serious trouble. He was feverish, bleeding, and weak, and Nathan was miles away; the only assistance he would get would come from the petite woman at his side.

Pilar grew even more concerned for her charge as the night wore on. His delirious ramblings became more disturbing and the woman found herself weeping at the grief and distress in Chris' voice. The heart-rending cries for his lost love tore at her soul and made her wonder if the injured man had it in him to recover from his wounds only to face life without his reason for living.

Pilar returned to her room and once again her own personal nightmare began. The drunken curses and threats started and the terrified woman had to try to defend herself. The massive form of Manuel Andrade charged the slight woman, knocking her to the floor. He was upon her in a heartbeat. He struck her twice across her face, bringing blood from a tear in her lip. Her battered face showed her fear. She tried to hold back her expression of terror, but his fist smashing into her abdomen caused her outcry of pain. Her cries seemed to spur the enraged man on, and his fist crashed into her face, raining blows on the small woman, never missing his mark.

Chris was pulled from his delirious ramblings by the screams exactly like the ones he heard earlier. He once again plowed his way down the hall, bouncing off walls, in his haste to get to Pilar's room, hoping to catch the bastard responsible for the woman's injuries. The hulking figure jumped in surprise as the door slammed open, crashing into the wall. Manuel Andrade laughed as he took in the weak, reeling figure of Chris Larabee. "Go back to your bed Gringo, this is not your business. Besides, you can barely stand," he laughed again and turned to his wife. "Is this the best you can do Puta? A dying man does not scare me."

Chris even in his weakened state saw red. The bruised, bleeding, and terror-filled features of the woman who was trying so hard to keep him alive drove him to strength he didn't even know he possessed. Not since the early days after the deaths of his wife and son had he felt such indignation. He just hoped the need for justice would keep him on his feet long enough to stop the threat the bloody bastard posed to Pilar.

"Stop! Back away from her," Larabee ordered. He pulled his Colt from behind his back and aimed it at the back of Andrade's head. He had never back shot anybody before, but there was a first time for everything. Chris knew that in his weakened condition he had one shot to stop the evil beast, one shot to bring him down, and he intended to make the best of the chance he had.

Andrade continued to laugh and rain blows on his abused wife. Chris, calm as he had ever been, came up behind the man and threw him off the sobbing woman. As the man spun around, he caught a look at the eyes of Chris Larabee, and for the first time felt fear. This was no ordinary gringo. Pilar had found herself a warrior, a warrior who injured or not, had taken it upon himself to be her protector.

"Now Gringo, this is between my wife and me, you just go back to bed and I'll forget that you have put yourself in my business," the now nervous man tried to hedge his way out of a confrontation with the clearly angry gunslinger.

"I don't deal with men who beat their wives. You back away from her and get the hell out of this house and maybe I'll let you live," Chris growled. He took a staggering step forward and was almost driven to the ground by a wave of dizziness. He righted himself and steadied his shaking hand. Andrade regained some of his previous bravado and actually started to raise his fist to strike Pilar again. Chris, without even blinking, pulled the trigger. Manuel Andrade roared in pain as he looked at his bleeding hand, half of which was missing. At that moment the insane man lost all sense of reality. He started toward Chris with a maniacal laugh. Chris thought back to a statement he made once a while back, "We know what to do with a mad dog," and his decision was made. Without preamble, Chris Larabee fired once more and sent Manuel Andrade to meet his maker.

The Colt slipped from Chris' hands as he fell to his knees. He wanted to ease himself on down to the floor and rest, but he knew that there were things that needed doing. The man lying dead in front of him needed burying. The task seemed monumental to the injured man, but it had to be done. Larabee sighed deeply, trying to draw a breath. He pulled himself to his feet with the aid of the edge of the dresser. He staggered, weaving dangerously. Pilar was at his side in an instant. "Chris! Are you all right?"

The voice seemed very far away as Chris slid into oblivion.

"Whoa! Look at this Buck," Vin commanded.

Buck rode up to Vin's side and reined in his mount. Vin was off his horse in one quick leap. The ground in the area showed signs of a recent dust up. The dirt was churned where the hooves of a panicked horse had pawed, rocks were overturned and Vin noted in dismay, there were small splatters of blood here and there. The other two men joined Buck and Vin and they all looked at the evidence of the foul play they knew had been committed.

Vin scouted out for a ways, looking closely at the landscape. The highly intuitive tracker immersed himself in the signs. A bush trampled, a branch bent, a rock tumbled, all these things he noticed in his search for his friend. He was about to turn back when he noticed another spot of blood. He looked closely and followed the drops, which led him to the decomposing carcass of Chris' horse. "I found Valor!" Vin cried out to his companions.

Buck charged over to where Tanner stood over the body of the dead horse. "Damn, Valor was a fine horse."

"Yeah, he was hit in the left flank. Looks like it hobbled him. Chris probably did this," Vin replied, pointing to the headshot that ended the suffering of the intrepid steed. Vin looked further and found more blood. "This has to be Chris'. It's leading away from the horse. Here's some more prints. He's dragging his left leg too."

"Damn son, you're good. Now let's just find him," Buck countered grimly.

The cool water felt good as the cloth slid across the fevered skin of the weak gunfighter. Pilar had never been so grateful to someone in all her life. It was finally over; the years of constant abuse, grief, and pain had finally come to an end at the hands of the brave, gravely injured man lying in her bed. "And a handsome, courageous man you are Chris. I wonder if your woman knew how fortunate she was?" Pilar asked quietly.

"I was the lucky one," Chris managed to say through his clenched teeth. "And if that bastard that I just sent to hell was your husband, he was insane for treating you the way he did. Was that him?"

"Yes, and I thank you for helping me. I knew that it would never be over until he was dead. I just wasn't strong enough to fight him off. But it's over now and I can rest, and so should you. We have to try to get you out of here."

"We need to bury that piece of filth lying in there," Chris said pointing toward the door.

"Don't worry about that, I'll take care of it. He don't deserve a decent burial, but I can't just leave him lying there," Pilar replied with bitterness in her voice.

"Let me help you, he's a big man. You won't be able to dig a hole big enough and then get him in it without help."

"And you're in no condition to be digging. I'll dig a hole big enough then pile rocks on top. It'll be fine."

"I'm still gonna help you," the stubborn gunslinger insisted. He started to rise and realized it just wasn't going to happen. Chris fell back against the headboard. He was just too weak and exhausted. Pilar bathed his face with cool water again as his breathing became more steady and he fell into a restless slumber.

"You rest now, my soldier," Pilar said looking first at Chris and then to the heavens, "Thank you God for sending this man to me." The young woman pulled the quilt firmly over Chris' chest up to his neck, and placed her hand on his face, noting the fever that still persisted. 'Not as warm as before, maybe he will all right until he returns to his home. I would hate for him to die because he helped me.' Pilar turned and walked from the room, leaving Chris to rest and build his strength for the trip home.

Vin and the other peacekeepers rode hard, the heat bearing down on them depressing them further. Vin called a halt and got down from Peso's back. He stooped to the rocky ground in front of him and looked up at Buck with a confused expression on his face. "They're gone."

Buck's eyes narrowed. "What's gone Vin?" he asked worriedly.

"Everything, the blood, the footprints, all the signs, everything," Vin replied nervously. "It's just like they weren't ever here."

"That's not possible, tracks don't just disappear," Buck said irritably.

"Then why don't you just come on down here and see if you can pick up anything, cause I sure as hell can't," Vin shot back.

"All right, let's all just calm down. This ain't helping anybody, it sure ain't helping us find Chris. Let's spread out and see if we can pick up his trail," Nathan reasoned.

The uneasiness felt by each of the men wore on their nerves as the day went on. Vin kept getting down and looking at the ground, searching diligently for any sign of their lost friend. Buck headed toward Purgatory, convinced that Chris headed there after losing his horse. Josiah didn't think much of that plan, he feared that Chris was severely injured or captured by one of the adversaries that seemed to spring up out of the ground with amazing regularity. Nathan just rode, looking carefully in each direction, worrying that they wouldn't find him, and if they did, the condition he would be in when they finally recovered him. They had agreed to ride out an hour in whichever direction they chose and then ride back. They were all to meet back at their current location and start out from there again.

Two hours later, four exhausted men now all rode in the same direction, home. They had to get more supplies and fresh mounts for the search that had now expanded. JD and Ezra were going to be joining them as well. They would need every possible chance to find their friend and the more men that were searching, the better the chances of finding Chris. The peacekeepers just hoped they would find him alive.

The morning broke bright and sunny, and hot. Pilar didn't like the idea of sending Chris out into the heat, but as detrimental as it was to his health; it was just as vital to his survival. The fiery Latin woman had managed to obtain an animal that had at one time passed for a horse, not much of one but the only one she could find. Pilar prepared the rest of the supplies that Chris would need to get him back to his home. Food, water, whiskey, and bandages were put into a bedroll to be tied on to the extremely docile beast of burden.

Pilar was letting Chris sleep as long as she possibly could. He needed rest, lots of rest. She quietly prepared a morning meal for the man who had finally freed her from her hell on earth. She knew she could never repay him for his bravery; how do you repay someone for giving you your life back?

The young woman broke eggs into a pan, took up some bacon, and removed a pan of biscuits from the oven. The least she could do is feed the man a good breakfast to start his long trip. She moved to the cupboard to take down a cup for coffee. As she passed the window she caught a glimpse of sun glinting off something silver. Pilar took a closer look and became anxious when she spotted riders coming closer to her hiding place. She ran to the door and latched it firmly. She laid her head against the wooden barrier and listened intently.

The clear ring of men's voices reverberated through the massive oak door. Pilar thought she heard the name 'Chris', but wasn't sure what the men's intentions were. There was no way she would turn her savior over to the men who might have been responsible for the wounds he had sustained that brought him there in the first place.

Pilar silently slid the latch and opened the door and peeked out. The tall handsome man with the moustache climbed wearily down from his horse. Speaking quietly to the exhausted animal, he led the big gray to the sparse shade close to the well. The watering trough, full from a recent surprise rain shower was welcome relief for the tired horses and the other men led their mounts to the refreshing treat. As the animals slaked their thirst the men did likewise. They found the water offered by the well was sweet and fresh, and they drank their fill and washed away some of the trail dirt they had collected.

Pilar continued to watch from her hiding place and couldn't help but feel that these men meant no harm. She tried to hear the entire conversation to determine if these men were indeed looking for the Chris that was now lying sleeping in her bed.

"This water is just what we needed right now. I didn't know where we would get any more," Nathan said, taking a deep drink from his cupped hand. The healer was always cautious about the water supply and attempted to have an abundance of the life preserving liquid on hand at all times, but this time their canteens had run dry and they were still a good ways from home.

"It just goes to show my friend, God will provide," replied Josiah, looking heavenward.

"Yeah, it also proves that God protects fools and little children, and since all of us are more 'n five years old, what does that make us?" asked Vin with a snort. "It was damn stupid of us to let ourselves run out of water."

"Don't be so hard on us Vin. We did have a lot on our minds. Do you think Chris came through here?" Buck asked. The concern Buck was feeling was quickly becoming downright fear and dread. The disappearance of Chris' tracks had worried him more than he let on. People didn't just disappear. Did they?

"Don't rightly know. I guess it probably wouldn't hurt to check aroun' an' see what we can see," was Vin's terse reply.

The four men split up and carefully searched the apparently deserted town. The only buildings standing were the saloon and the church, the rest were just ruins. Josiah cautiously approached the dilapidated church, distinguishable only by the cross on its peak. He placed one booted foot on the step and tested the soundness of the boards. Satisfied that the floor would support his weight, Josiah went inside. The pulpit stood in front of the rows of pews, an open Bible gracing its top. The Bible was open to a passage that Josiah knew well, John 5:29. "And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation."

Josiah suddenly felt a chill go up his spine and could almost feel a breath of cold air on the back of his neck. The small church though empty, save himself, seemed almost full of life. Josiah quickly turned around, expecting to see one of his friends. There was no one there. Sanchez looked to the ceiling of the abandoned church. "God, I know you're there. I just wonder who else is."

Pilar continued to listen from her living quarters in the back as Vin and Buck entered through the swinging doors of the saloon. The buckskin clad tracker glanced around the interior of the once opulent saloon that was now reduced to a few broken chairs and scarred tables. Cobwebs hung from every corner and stretched across the exposed beams of the ceiling. Dust was inches thick on every visible surface and the windows were coated with a greasy film. The grooves in the boarded floor were full of dirt, spilled drinks, and other unidentifiable substances, the finish gouged from years of spurs tracking its length.

Vin could imagine how the saloon had been in its heyday. Cowboys once lined the long bar, saloon girls draped over the shoulders of the gamblers that plied their trade at the tables, men from every walk of life all gathered together for the sake of a strong drink and some camaraderie. "Chris would've loved this place. God Buck, where could he be? We've looked everywhere from here to Purgatory and back. There's no sign of him."

"We'll find him Vin. He's still around here somewhere. I know it. I been with ol' Chris long enough to know that he's still breathin'. Come on, let's check out the rest of this place and then get on back to the trail. It's still a long ride home."

The two men continued their search of the building. Pilar decided that these men must be good. She determined that Chris would be safe with these men. The excited woman ran to Chris' side and attempted to wake him. He was soundly sleeping and she was unable to rouse him. "Chris! Your friends are here! Wake up!"

Her urgent cries fell on deaf ears. Chris' fevered mind was trapped in dreams and couldn't help himself. Pilar ran into the main room of the saloon and was distressed to see it empty. She ran through the swinging doors and called to the figures riding away from town, her and the injured man inside. Her shoulders sagged and her head dropped to her chest as they rode out of Resurrection and into the sun setting on another day.

The exhausted men stabled their mounts and went to the saloon for a drink before turning in for the night. They planned on getting a very early start the next morning, so their night would end early. Plans had to be made for someone to watch over the town so that JD and Ezra could accompany them on their continued search for the missing peacekeeper.

The men found Ezra and JD in the saloon sitting quietly at a back table. Buck approached and couldn't help but tease Ezra. "You can't find a mark to fleece tonight Ez?"

Ezra looked up at the tall cowboy and started to make a smart-ass comment but at the last moment reconsidered and simply replied, "My heart just isn't in it Mr. Wilmington. I take it you had no luck in ascertaining Mr. Larabee's whereabouts?"

Buck, amazed at the depth of emotion in the usually closed off southerner, shook his head and quietly said, "No."

"But we're goin' out again in the morning. We're all goin' out," Vin said determinedly. Tiny can watch over town tomorrow. It's gonna take all of us looking to find him."

Nathan began to tell the story of all they had found on the trail beginning with the dead horse and concluding with the small abandoned town they had encountered. The morning's plans were made and the lawmen bade each other good night and went to their rooms. JD noticed Josiah's absence and commented on it. Vin revealed that the big man had gone to the church to ask for guidance. "We're gonna need it," the tracker commented.

Josiah sat alone on the pew in the darkened sanctuary. The man had been troubled ever since entering the abandoned church in Resurrection. There was something about that town that bothered him. The odd sensation that overcame him inside the church there left him feeling strangely haunted. He felt fear, despondency, and grief. He was unsettled, restless, and the keen sense of loss dwelt in his heart as surely as the knowledge that Chris Larabee had something to do with all the emotions that were churning inside him. He had felt someone there even though the town was clearly empty. Souls seemed to virtually cry out to him. Anguished, pained cries of tortured flesh and bone emanated from the walls of the harbor created on the consecrated ground.

Josiah stood and walked the floor of the tiny house of worship. He meandered to the pulpit and stared in wonder at the open pages of the good book lying on its top. The open Bible called to him and as he once again read the underlined passage he couldn't help but wonder if it was some kind of divine message to him. "And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation." The same passage he read in the church in Resurrection. There had to be some connection. "God show me the way," was the former priest's humble prayer.

Morning found the six peacekeepers mounted up and ready to ride. The sense of urgency was stronger now. If Chris was still alive he had been out there for three days. Three days without water, food, or medical attention was a long time. They had to find him today or it would be too late, if it weren't already.

Chris awoke feeling weak and disoriented but better than the day before. He knew that he had to get home. The other lawmen would begin to wonder where he was. Larabee struggled to rise from the bed. When he finally found his feet he staggered to the door. Pilar was coming into the room as Chris was attempting to leave, "Good morning, how are you feeling?"

"Better," Chris responded with a slight smile, "thanks to you. I don't know how to tell you how grateful I am."

"I'm the one that is thankful Chris. You saved me from a life of hell," the tearful woman replied. She rose up on tiptoe and gently kissed the handsome man on his full sensuous lips. Chris returned the kiss with fervor. Pilar's hands traced down the fine planes of his pale face and continued down the muscular chest. Larabee moved his hands to cover hers and reluctantly broke the kiss. "I just killed your husband. I can't do this."

"He was my jailer. He hasn't been my husband for many years. Not since Maria..." Pilar's voice cracked as she became more teary-eyed.

"Maria? Who is Maria?"

"It is not important Chris. You are right; it would not be proper. Besides you are injured," Pilar sniffled.

"It's important to you, but if you can't tell me I understand. Sometimes things are just better left unsaid. You are a beautiful woman Pilar, and any man would be fortunate to have you as his own, but I have someone waiting for me back in town. She is a good woman and I couldn't disrespect her. Believe me though; if it weren't for her I would be perfectly content to stay with you forever. You are a truly exquisite creature."

"Thank you Senor, but I could never ask you to stay here, even if there wasn't already a woman who owns your heart. You could never be happy here, you just don't belong here. Oh how I wish you did."

The two conflicted people stood face to face for a moment longer. Chris took a deep breath and reaching out to her face, wiped away a stray tear. "I guess I should be going. I have a long ride ahead of me. Thank you so much Pilar Andrade. I will never forget what you did for me."

"Goodbye my warrior. Go in peace."

Pilar watched from the boardwalk of the saloon as Chris climbed painfully up onto the aged horse. She turned and walked back into the saloon feeling more at peace than she had in years, knowing that she had Chris, her mysterious warrior, to thank for it.

Chris looked back to the saloon in time to see Pilar drift inside. He felt an undeniable pull to stay and take care of the woman who had saved his life. Knowing that was impossible for him, and for Mary, he turned around and faced the rising sun and headed back to the town that had become home.

Josiah stepped into the church to ask once more for guidance in their search. The ex-priest sat on the front pew and bowed his head. "God, I ask you to lead us to Chris if it is your will." As the spiritual man sat asking for signs and help in their endeavor he could not help but feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He knew from experience that it usually indicated that something was very wrong, or that he was not alone. Josiah looked up and came face to face with a small girl of about six. "Hello, are you looking for someone?" he asked.

The child kept looking at him until it almost made him feel uneasy. The eyes like liquid pools, were large tear-filled mirrors to a shattered soul. Josiah's heart broke for the battered wee creature. "Honey, can I help you in some way?" Josiah asked as he drew nearer.

The tiny girl backed up, raised her arm and waved him forward. She walked toward the pulpit and silently beckoned to Josiah. Sanchez, now more curious than afraid, followed the little girl. As Josiah neared the pulpit a slight breeze wafted through the open doors of the sanctuary. The preacher watched in awe and amazement as the wind grew in strength, blowing everything around inside the tiny church. Leaves blew in through the doors, swirling in small eddy's around Josiah's feet. He felt the air blow through his short hair, becoming cooler as it inundated his senses. Sanchez' eyes were drawn to the top of the pulpit as the closed bible opened and its pages were turned as if by an unseen hand. He eased his way to the bible and found the book open to the verse John 5:29. "Where have I heard that verse lately?" he thought wryly.

At that moment it came to him with blinding clarity. John 5:29. The word resurrection mentioned at least twice in the scripture. Resurrection!!! That was it. Sanchez looked for the child to ask her if he was on the right track; if that was the message she wanted to convey. The tiny, sad girl was gone.

Josiah charged out of the church and mounted his horse without a word to the other peacekeepers assembled. They looked at him as he rode out, wondering where he was going. JD called to him, "Josiah, wait up!"

"This can't wait JD. I'm on a mission from God," Josiah replied mystically. The other men looked at each other for a moment, wondering what had possessed their friend, then took off at a gallop, willing and ready to follow him, into hell if need be.

When the travel weary men finally stopped to water their horses, Buck had a chance to ask Josiah what had spurred him into action earlier in the morning. "Signs, my friend, signs," the preacher replied.

"Not crows," Vin's worried expression mirrored that of all the men.

"No Brother, not crows. John 5:29," Josiah responded.

Buck started to ask what the scripture had to do with Chris' disappearance but was stopped when Vin mounted up and silently waited for the rest to do the same. They rode in continued silence as Vin let Josiah lead the way. Only Ezra and JD didn't know that they were riding back out in the direction they rode in from the night before.

Chris didn't know how long he had been riding. The sun was fully up now, and it was further fueling the fever that was burning through his veins. He pulled in on the reins of the ancient horse and leaned his head forward to rest his chin on his chest. The pain in Larabee's back and shoulder crept steadily up the back of his neck and into his head. When Chris ventured to look up again, the desert tilted and danced crazily in front of his eyes. The last thing Chris knew was the black shroud that was being pulled over the blazing sun.

"Josiah, where we headed?" Buck finally asked in exasperation.

"You ever read the Bible much Buck?"

"Some. What's the Bible got to do with this?'

"All the answers are there Buck."

"Sorry Josiah, but I don't think the Bible is gonna tell us where to look for Chris."

"It already has."

Buck pulled his mount up short and jumped off the big gray's back. "Dammit Josiah. What's that supposed to mean?"

The others jumped in surprise at the vehemence in the normally placid cowboy. They had rarely heard Buck speak to anyone in that tone of voice, much less one of their own number. Vin started to dismount but was stopped by Josiah's raised hand.

"Buck, calm down now," Nathan tried to appease the angry man.

"It's alright Nathan. Buck, do you trust me? Do you trust God?"

"Hell Josiah, I don't know. Just tell me straight, what's goin on. Don't bring trust in it."

"This morning at the church... never mind you'd never believe me. Just trust me Buck. We'll find Chris, and it'll be somewhere between here and Resurrection."

"Resurrection? What the hell do you mean by that?" Buck asked still a little angry and a lot helpless.

"You mean that little abandoned mining town we found yesterday?" asked Vin.

"Yeah, there's something about that place. My mind keeps being pulled back to it," Josiah replied.

"Well I trust ya' J'siah. Let's go," commanded Vin.

They all fell in line, eyes looking diligently for any sign of their missing compadre. The tension was mounting as the morning dragged by. Their need to find Chris was surmounted only by their fear that they would find him too late.

They had all been neglecting the needs of their bodies for water and rest, and Nathan was about to call for a break when Resurrection came into view. The crumbling remains of the once thriving community did little to inspire confidence in Josiah's determination that they would find Chris within its limits. Ezra was riding in the lead position when he stopped abruptly. "Gentlemen," the soft drawl drew the attention of the others. Standish pointed ahead and urged his mount forward.

Vin reached Chris first. Tanner dropped to the ground at the gunslinger's side frantically checking for wounds. He noticed the fever burning in his friend first, and then he detected the wound in his shoulder.

"Chris, can you hear me? Come on open your eyes. Damn Chris, come on now," the tracker urged.

"Let me see Vin," Nathan hurried to check the gunslingers wound. "Damn, there's no exit wound. I'm gonna have to dig for it."

"Nathan, he's burning up," Vin stated worriedly.

"I know Vin. We gotta get the fever down. Get me a canteen."

JD rushed to do Nathan's bidding. The kid soon returned with the canteen as well as a clean shirt from his saddlebag. He handed the items to Nathan as Vin nodded his thanks. Nathan began to bathe the wounded man's fevered brow. The heat emanating from the blond caused the water on the cloth to evaporate almost as soon as it hit his skin. Nathan was very concerned about the fever. The heat wasn't helping either. "We got to get him out of this sun. We gotta get him back to town, to some shelter."

The peacekeepers mounted up and made their way back to town. They had to be careful considering Chris' precarious condition. They had put him in the saddle in front of Josiah, who was holding him upright. The weakened gunfighter moaned in pain when Josiah's horse made a misstep and jostled him in the big man's arms. Josiah tried to cushion the shock from the horses jarring gait, but he knew the best thing for the man was to get him inside some shelter, so he rode as quickly as possible.

When they arrived back in town, Josiah handed Chris off to Buck who aided by Vin carried Chris up to Nathan's room at the top of the stairs over the livery. JD started a fire and put water on to boil. Vin helped Nathan remove the tattered remains of Chris' clothing and cleaned the wound in the unconscious man's shoulder. During all these preparations Chris was eerily still. Fever manifested itself in the unhealthy flush of his cheeks and the frighteningly dry feel of his pale skin. The fever was burning him alive from the inside out.

Nathan assigned Buck and Josiah to hold Chris down on the bed. Vin stood close to the blond head, glancing up in alarm when Chris made no movement or sound when Nathan began to probe the wound low in his shoulder. Jackson reassured the tracker the best he could, but he knew that the unconscious gunfighter was in great peril.

Finally Chris began to awaken enough to realize that he was in a tremendous amount of pain. He began to thrash about, unheeding of the hands attempting to control the movement of his body. A quiet moan issued from his lips along with a muttered "Damn."

"Easy Chris, Nathan's taking care of ya. Just take it easy Pard," Vin soothed.

"Keep talking to him Vin, it's keeping him in bed, and keeping him from jumping up and kicking my ass," Nathan smiled grimly. 'And it's keeping Vin out from under my feet.' The healer continued to dig in the injured man's back, occasionally drawing a low moan or a quick intake of breath from the fever ravaged man's lips. "How much deeper could that bullet have gone and not come out the other side," Nathan commented out loud.

Chris heard the question and knew the answer. The seriously ill man drew on reserves of strength he didn't know he had to raise his head slightly from the pillow. "It ain't in there Nathan."

The remark drew surprised expressions from the men surrounding the wounded gunfighter. "What you mean Chris?" asked Nathan, the most surprised of them all. He figured Chris was out for the duration.

"It's not in there anymore. She took it out."

"Who took it out Chris?"

"Pilar, she found me and got the bullet out."

The shocked men looked at each other wondering what Chris was mumbling about. Buck, not wanting to upset Chris asked cautiously, "Who is Pilar, Chris?"

"She found me, took care of me...got the bullet out. She's here somewhere..." the injured man's words became harder to hear and eventually faded out completely.

"Who is he talking about?" asked Vin worriedly.

"I don't know but he is right about the bullet. It ain't in there. Whoever took it out didn't know what they were doin' but they tried. It's infected but at least I don't have to dig around in there anymore," Nathan answered grimly.

Back at the clinic, Nathan had stitched the wound in Chris' back and bound the shoulder to his chest. The fever and infection had the healer worried but he was pleased with his handiwork. There were no broken bones, which was a blessing. "It's up to Chris and God now. I've done all I can do," the healer pronounced.

The other men settled on the floor of Nathan's room and watched over their unconscious friend. All were uneasy, and it wasn't just Chris' physical health they were concerned about. The mysterious angel of mercy left Ezra and Josiah questioning Chris' soundness of mind, and Vin was as jumpy as any of them had ever seen him be. Buck sat next to Chris with a wet cloth, wiping Chris' fevered face, while Nathan rested.

Chris started to come around and Vin moved immediately to his side. "Chris, come on wake up! It's time to wake up. Come on now!" Vin called to the heavily sleeping man.

Chris felt like he was trying to climb out of a deep pit filled with mud. He knew that there was something he needed to do, but couldn't for his life figure out what it was. He had been shot; that he knew. He didn't know who shot him. He got up and walked, but he didn't know how far. Pilar found him and took the bullet out. PILAR! That was what he needed to do. Find her and make sure she was all right. Larabee tried harder to reach the top of the pit and see the light that he knew was there somewhere.

Vin and Buck tried to stop the thrashing man from tearing his stitches open. The fever had taken hold of his mind and body. He was calling for the mystery woman, frantically, beseechingly. It occurred to Buck that the man was calling for neither his dead wife, nor his current love interest, but a stranger that he had known for only a couple of days, it at all. Nathan had made it clear that no one was to dispute his word that Pilar had helped him, but that it was also very possible that the woman was a figment of his fevered imagination. At that moment the injured man broke free of the restraining hands, sat up and screamed, "Pilar!"

The men attempting to hold the man weakened from blood loss, fever, and infection, thought they were trying to restrain a rogue bull. The sick man had suddenly gained the strength of ten men and it was all they could do to keep Larabee from jumping from the bed and attempting to run, in search of the woman who had so firmly ingrained herself in his mind.

The burst of adrenaline Chris felt upon waking subsided leaving him once again as weak as a newborn foal. He slumped back onto the bed and cried out in frustration. "Damn, I've got to find her."

Vin felt sympathy for the wounded man and wanted to ease his anxiety. "Chris, tell me where she might be. I'll go find her. I promise. Just give me an idea of where to look for her."

"She lives in the rooms upstairs. Over the saloon, find her Vin..." the pleading tone of Chris' voice spurred the tracker to action. "Where Chris, where is she?"

"Resurrection," was the mumbled reply.

Nathan battled Chris' once again raging fever all through the long night. The others took turns coaxing Chris to take water and sitting with him through the bone rattling chills that racked his body. Towards morning the fever abated a little and calmness settled over the exhausted gunslinger. Nathan got him sitting up and fed him some willow bark tea and some broth that Josiah had made from some jerky.

The next three days were spent much the same way. Chris was feverish and called out for his deceased wife and child, Mary, and Pilar. It disturbed Vin that he couldn't ease Chris' mind about Pilar, but he wasn't about to leave town to find her with Chris so sick. He was afraid that if he left Chris would die while he was gone and he couldn't have stood that. Finally the fever broke and stayed down and Nathan announced Chris on his way to recovery.

Now that Chris was recovering it was impossible to keep him in bed. He was more determined than ever to find Pilar. The others tried to keep him in town for a few more days until he was a little stronger, but the day came when they couldn't keep him down any longer.

Chris, arm still in a sling, asked Yosemite to assist him with the saddling of his horse. He had decided to go with or without the other six men. He felt responsible for the woman who had saved his life. He led Pony out of the livery and was not surprised to see Buck and Vin saddled up and ready to go. "You goin' somewhere Cowboy?" Vin asked grinning.

"I gotta do this Vin. I gotta see that she's o.k. I killed her husband, she may not have any way of taking care of herself."

"You did what?" Buck asked incredulously.

"I killed her husband. The bastard was beating her. I had to stop him. He turned a gun on me and I took him out. I'd do it again," the blond said grimly. "You still want to help me?"

"We're with you Pard, all the way. We'll help you see to it that things are made right for the little lady," replied the smiling ladies man.

"Let's go." The blond man climbed up on Pony's back and the three men headed out.

The regulators rode hard, stopping for only a few minutes at a time for Larabee to rest. When Resurrection came into view they practically had to run to keep up with Larabee once his feet hit the ground. The gunslinger charged into the crumbling remains of the saloon and stopped short when his eyes adjusted to the darkened interior of the decrepit barroom.

"What the hell?" the blond man swore out loud.

"What's wrong Chris?" asked Vin worried about the gunfighter's demeanor.

"Where is the piano, the tables, chairs, everything?"

"What do you mean Pard? There ain't been nothing here in years," replied Buck.

"She was here. She brought me here, took out the bullet and took care of me. Where is she?"

"Chris, look at this dust. It hasn't been moved in years. Are you sure she brought you here? Maybe it was the church or another building."

"No! It was here. A room upstairs, the end of the hall and hers was at the top of the stairs. Manuel was beating her and I stopped him. I killed him before he could kill her. It happened right up those stairs," the now confused and angry man was pacing from one side of the room to the other. He crossed the floor to the stairs and started to climb the narrow staircase. He charged up to the landing on the second floor with Buck and Vin close on his heels. The door to the first bedroom was flung open to reveal an empty room. The distraught gunslinger paced the room corner to corner. There was nothing to be found but cobwebs and dust.

"Chris, are you all right?" Tanner asked in alarm.

"She was here Vin. She wasn't a figment of my imagination. How else did that bullet get out? Someone had to take it out, and that someone was Pilar," the blond man stated more emphatically than before.

"All right then, let's have a look around. If she's here we'll find her," Vin answered just as emphatically.

The peacekeepers exited the saloon and crossed the dusty street to the church. Finding no one inside they wandered outside and around to the back of the building. They found a small cemetery. The three men glanced over the stones planted there, the names meaning nothing to the men. Chris began to feel weak and sat down underneath a small tree, the only shade offered from the rays of the sun. Buck continued to look over the markers in the cemetery. His eyes landed on one that caught his eye.

"Vin," he called softly.

Vin meandered over to where Buck stood gazing at a small cross. Tanner followed Buck's eyes to the engraving on the cross. "Pilar Andrade- 1822-1854. God Buck, is this the Pilar that Chris was talking about?"

"Yep, far as I know that was her name."

The men spun around as they heard a soft gasp. Chris had walked up behind them and as they looked on in concern, Larabee dropped to his knees beside the cross.

"NO! It can't be. She was here; she helped me. How can she be dead? Buck, this can't be right. Vin, you believe me, don't you?"

"You know I do Chris. There has to be some answers. We'll just have to find them. Come on let's get you inside the church, you look about done in. Nathan will kill us if we let you get sick."

The men started to take Chris by the arms and help him up from the ground when he crawled to another nearby cross. He read out loud from the small marker, "Maria Andrade- 1845-1852. This must have been her daughter."

"Come on Chris, let's go," Vin urged softly.

The man reluctantly left the graveyard and let his friends lead him back inside the cool church. He sat down on a pew and dropped his head into his hands. 'Am I losing my mind?' he asked himself.

"Chris, we're gonna go water the horses, you stay here until we get them ready to go. Drink some water yourself, you need it," ordered Buck.

"Yeah, all right."

Chris sat in the coolness of the church and leaned back against the seat he was occupying. He was so lost in his thoughts of the fiery woman who had come to his rescue that he didn't notice the approach of the man who began to speak to him. "Do you need help, my son?"

Chris started and looked for his friends. Not finding them, he looked to the Mexican man wearing a brown priests robe. "Who are you?"

"I'm Father Miguel. You are troubled, are you not?"

"I'm confused as hell, the only way you can help me is to tell me what is goin' on in this damn town," Chris snarled to the Padre.

"I think I can explain it to you my son."

Vin and Buck came back into the church and saw Chris talking to a robed figure. They came to the gunslingers side. Buck looked suspiciously at the priest and asked, "You are?"

"Father Miguel, Buck. He was just about to explain what is happening to me," Chris said sarcastically.

"Father," Vin greeted, extending his hand. The priest took it and held it warmly for a few seconds. Vin knew from the touch that he could trust the holy man, and told Chris so. "Let's hear him out Chris. What could it hurt?"

The priest extended his arm, motioning for the men to take a seat on the rickety pews. The men sat down and listened as the Padre told the story of the town and its occupants.

"This was a gold rush town. It went bust a couple of times under different names. Finally a group of strong, hardy settlers found it and brought it back to life. They named their town Resurrection. Prospectors from all over came here. A group came from Mexico and settled here opening a saloon and offering rooms above. People came and went and eventually the town went the way of all boomtowns; it became a dusty little memory. During the years that it was profitable, a man named Manuel Andrade ran the saloon. He was a cruel man to his wife and children. His daughter was killed in a fall in her home when she was seven years old. Maria was a beautiful child and her mother never got over her death. A few years later Pilar, Maria's mother was also killed in a fall down the saloon stairs. It was rumored that Manuel was responsible for the death of his wife. The two were always arguing. Neighbors reported hearing Pilar screaming and begging for her life the night she took the fall down the stairs. The local sheriff came to place Andrade under arrest and take him to trial for the murder, but the man was gone. He fled to Mexico in the dead of night is the story that has been passed down for years. He thought he got away with the murders, by this time everyone also thought he killed his daughter. One night in Purgatorio according to witnesses, a man dressed all in black, some say a bounty hunter, some say a vigilante, some say an avenging angel, and some say the devil himself, sent Manuel Andrade to Judgment. Justice was finally done. The authorities looked for the shooter to question him about the misdeeds performed by Manuel Andrade, but the stranger was never found. The authorities closed the case saying the murder was justified. The reason behind the findings you may ask, Andrade was beating a young saloon girl in the alley behind the saloon. The young woman recovered and was only able to remember that the shooter was a fair haired gringo dressed all in black."

The priest paused in his telling of the history and looked at the shocked expressions on the faces of the three men sitting facing him. The haunted expression on the face of the blond man spoke volumes. The priest knew that the man's questions had been answered.

Chris looked into the eyes of the Padre and asked, "How do you know all this?"

"Manuel and Pilar Andrade had another child, Miguel Armando Andrade. I am that child," the priest replied.

"How did you survive?" Buck asked solemnly.

"I was hiding the night my father killed my mother. And kill her he did. He beat her almost nightly. One night he threw her down the stairs. She died before she reached the bottom. He did the same thing to my sister. I saw it both times from my hiding spot in a closet at the end of the hall. I prayed that I would be able to grow up so I could do to my father what he did to my mother and sister. After my father fled, I was taken in by a family from town. We moved on to Texas after the town when bust. I came back here to find peace of mind and fight the ghosts that had haunted me since my childhood. I think finally I have found that. Now I want to settle here and rebuild the church and bring some spiritual guidance to the area," the priest explained.

"You should meet a friend of ours. You have a lot in common. You don't see crows as a sign, do you?" Buck asked grinning.

"As a sign of death, certainly. But there are no crows here now my friend," the priest said warmly.

"Thank you for telling us your story Father. I just wish we could have helped you when you needed us," Vin expressed a sincere wish.

"Go in peace my son," the priest replied making the sign of the cross.

Vin and Buck started to the door and Chris called out to them, "Go ahead, I'll catch up to you." The men went on out and tended the horses, readying them for the trip home.

"You know, don't you?" Chris asked the priest.

"Yes my son. I know that you are the one who freed my mother's soul to go to her eternal rest. I am grateful."

Chris looked stunned, "You believe in spirits and ghosts?"

"Don't you?" the priest asked in surprise.

"I didn't. But lately I've come to believe that just about anything is possible. Your mother saved my life. I was dying and she took a bullet out of me and kept me alive till I was strong enough to ride. She put me on an old nag of a horse and sent me in the right direction so that my friends could find me. I don't know where she got the horse. It sure wasn't a ghost. A ghost would have been a better ride," Chris replied grinning.

"Ah you must be referring to my Nellie. She is truly a sorry specimen of horseflesh, but she got me here and is the only thing to be afforded by a poor man. And yes my son, I know that you had an encounter with my mother. A more, sweet caring soul could never be found."

"That's true Father, I owe her my life," Chris said resolutely.

"And you hers, you freed her, she is at rest now. Finally, they are both at rest. Thank you for that ... I don't even know your name."

"Chris... Chris Larabee," the gunslinger replied.

"Go with God Chris Larabee," the Padre prayed making the sign of the cross.

"Thank you," Chris whispered overcome with emotion.

Chris exited the church, joining his friends, knowing that Pilar was safe now and could never be hurt again. He mounted up and turned once more to look at the saloon. Pilar was on the boardwalk, waving. Maria was playing in the street in front of the saloon. The pair began to fade away and Chris waved back. Vin rode to his side and softly spoke his name.

"Chris," he whispered.

"Yeah?" was Larabee's quiet response.

"You seeing ghosts?"

Chris smiled and turned to face Vin and Buck and replied, "Nope, Angels."

The End