By Winnie

Part 1

"When can you arrange for the services I want," the silver haired woman asked.

"Give me a month. I'll have everything ready for you."

The woman stared at the young man before her. She knew her money would buy his loyalty. The man had come highly recommended in the town of Purgatorio, Mexico. She'd been told that he also had his own reasons for hating them man she was seeking revenge against. "I'll give you half the money now and the other half when you tell me where to meet you," she told him.

The red haired man with the boyish face and grey-blue eyes studied the elderly woman before him. Except for the hatred in her eyes she seemed more like the grandmotherly type than a woman bent on revenge. "Tell me, Mrs. Quince, just what did Chris Larabee do to make you hate him so?"

Her eyes grew angry and the lines across her forehead intensified, "Chris Larabee murdered my son."

"So why not let the law handle it?" he asked.

"The law won't do nothin' to the likes of him. Especially with those six friends of his to back him up."

"So why not just let me kill him?"

"Oh he will die eventually but I want him to suffer first. My son was Sheriff in Jericho and he didn't deserve to die at no inmate's hands. When you take Chris Larabee to his new hellhole I want you to refer to him by the same thing he was referred to in Jericho prison," she said, the smile on her weathered face not touching her heated eyes.

"And what would that be?"

"You are to call him Inmate 78."

"One month to set everything up, Ma'am. I'll need to hire some men," he said as he downed the last of his whiskey.

"I thought so. Here's five hundred dollars. I'm sure you can buy some more loyalty with that," she said.

"I've know of at least ten good men right here in Purgatorio who'd do this for nothing more than to teach Larabee a little humility. The money will just be a little added incentive. I'll send word as soon as we're set up. Good night ma'am," he said as he stood to leave.

"I want to be there when you bring him in," she said.

"Will you be staying here or returning to Jericho?"

"I'll be in Jericho. You just send a message of where I'm to meet you and I'll be there," she said.

"It's been a pleasure, Mrs. Quince," the outlaw said as he disappeared out the door.

"You're going to pay, Inmate 78," she said as she tossed back a tiny shot of whiskey.

 

 

"Hey, Chris, we're ya headin'?"

Chris continued to saddle his black horse as he answered his friend, "Though I'd spend a few days at the shack, Vin."

"Want some company?" Tanner asked.

"Not this time, Pard," Chris said and saw the flicker of hurt in his friend's eyes. "Look, Vin, Nathan's finally going to let me out of his sight. I've been cooped up in this town for over a month. The wound in my side is healed and I just need to be alone for a while. Give me a few days alone, alright?"

The tracker looked into his friend's eyes and saw the truth in them. Chris Larabee had been beaten pretty badly when they'd found him in Jericho prison and Nathan had insisted he stay close to town. Normally Chris Larabee would have fought this order but the beatings and weight loss suffered at the hands of the warden had left him weak and ill for nearly three weeks. The man still didn't look well to Vin Tanner but he knew Chris hated being coddled. "OK, Chris, I'll see you in a few days," he said.

"Give me a week, Tanner," Chris said as they shared the forearm handshake.

"A week," Vin said as he watched his best friend mount his horse and leave town.

"Where's Chris off to, Vin?" JD Dunne asked as he walked up behind the quiet tracker.

"Says he needs time to himself so he's gone to his shack."

"Nathan know?"

"Don't have a clue but knowing Chris he probably doesn't," Vin smiled at the youngest member of the seven.

"I sure wouldn't want to be him if he didn't tell Nathan," JD said.

"Tell Nathan what?" Jackson asked as he and Josiah Sanchez joined the other two men.

"Oh, nothin', Nate," Vin said sheepishly.

"Don't give me nothin'. What were you two talking about that I should know?"

"Chris is gone to his shack," JD answered.

"Is that what's got you two looking so worried? I gave Chris the ok last night. Figured the man was about to bolt anyway," Nathan Jackson laughed at the guilty looks on the faces of the two men.

"When are Buck and Ezra due back?" JD asked as the four men walked towards the saloon. The two missing lawmen had gone to Eagle Bend to deliver two prisoners.

"They should be back sometime tomorrow morning," Sanchez answered.

 

 

Chris pulled his horse in front of the tiny shack he'd build with the help of his friend Vin Tanner. It wasn't much but because of the seclusion it provided it felt like heaven on earth to Chris. It was nestled in among trees, sagebrush and only thirty feet from a stream that always provided cold clear water.

When he'd left town the sun had been shining but by the time he'd reached his shack the sky had clouded over with thick grey and black clouds. He knew he didn't have much time before the skies opened up and the rain came. He'd already heard the echoing sounds of thunder and spotted a few streaks of lightening in the distance.

He dismounted and unsaddled his horse before putting him into the corral. He patted the horse on the rump and walked towards the shack as the first large drops of rain landed began to fall. He removed his hat and let the warm drops hit his face. It wasn't long before his clothes were soaked and he hurried into the shack.

 

 

"That's him. You boys know what to do?" the red haired outlaw asked.

"Sure thing boss," a large gorilla like man answered as they climbed out from their hiding place.

 

 

Chris stripped off his gun belt and placed it on the chair. He removed the wet clothing he'd been wearing and dried his rain soaked glistening body with one of the tiny towels. He grabbed a dry pair of black jeans and dressed quickly as a chill ran down his spine.

A sound outside the door drew his attention and he hurriedly grabbed for his gun. He held it in his right hand and waited to see if it was friend or foe as the rain beat a steady drumbeat on the roof.

"Whoever you are you'd better show yourself," Chris ordered.

"Hey, Chris, it's me. Jerry Wilson," the voice called.

"Wilson," Chris thought and remembered the man he'd met in Purgatorio the last time he'd visited Maria. "How'd you know I was here?" Chris asked as he opened the door, his gun pointed at the center of the man's chest. He recognized the little man before him and some of the tenseness left his body.

"I stopped in town. Some kid sheriff named JD told me where to find you. Look, Chris, Maria asked me to come get you. She's in trouble and she's mighty scared."

"What kind of trouble?" Chris asked as he opened the door further and signaled the man inside.

"Some guy beat her up two nights ago. He told her he'd be back," Wilson told him.

"Let me get a few things together," Chris said as he slid his gun back in its holster. He turned to the small dresser by his bed and opened the top drawer. The distinctive sound of a gun being cocked made him turn. He found himself looking down the large barrel of a pistol. "What's going on, Wilson?" he asked as his hand moved slightly towards his own weapon.

"Uh-uh, don't think about it, Chris. Come on in, Billy," he called his eyes never leaving Chris Larabee's hands.

Chris looked to the door as it was opened and a red haired man stepped inside. He was quickly followed by two other dripping wet outlaws that Chris recognized from Purgatorio. "Billy Turner," he said as his face filled with rage.

"Glad to see you remember me, Larabee," Turner grinned as he reached out and removed Chris's gun.

"How could I forget?" Chris grinned insolently. "I kinda enjoyed beating the shit out of you and your buddy," he said.

Billy Turner reacted instantly, the gun in his hand connecting with Chris's forehead and dropping him to his knees. "You'd better shut up," he said.

Chris felt the blood running into his eyes but didn't bother to wipe it away. His green eyes filled with anger and his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. "See you still hit like a lady," he said.

Turner realized he was being goaded and placed his gun to Chris's head, "I think it's time to take you to your new home, Inmate 78," he said.

Chris was unable to hide the surprise that showed on his face. He'd known Turner had to be working for someone and the use of his Jericho number sent shivers down his spine.

"I see you remember who you are, Inmate 78," Turner sneered. "Get up and get your boots on its time to take you to your new quarters."

Chris had no choice but to comply. He staggered to his feet and struggle into his boots. It wasn't long before his arms were secured behind his back with the hated manacles he remembered from his stint in the prison.

The rain continued to fall as he was thrown on his horse and secured to the saddle. His head ached from the blow he'd received and he closed his eyes against the feeling of nausea. Turner mounted his horse and took the reins for Larabee's horse. They were soon riding away from Chris's little piece of heaven into what he knew would be a large piece of hell for him.

Chris realized dishearteningly that Vin Tanner, even though he was the best tracker Chris had ever known, would not have any tracks to read as the torrential rain obliterated everything it touched. He'd have to find some way out of this mess himself.

 

 

"Think Chris is okay out there in this storm?" JD asked as another streak of lightening swallowed up the darkness.

"Chris'll be fine, JD. He's probably sittin' back with a bottle of whiskey in the warmth of his shack. I think you should be worried about us having to do our rounds on a night like this," Vin said as he snuggled into his coat.

"Guess you're right, Vin," JD laughed as he dumped the water from the brim of his derby hat.

"I don't think there's anyone foolish enough to be out on a night like this, JD. What do you say to stopping into the saloon and grabbing a whiskey? I need something to ward off this chill," Vin said as he handed his horse over to Yosemite.

"Sounds good to me, Vin," JD said as he did the same with his own horse.

 

 

They rode through the night and well into the next day. The storm didn't seem to bother his captors and Chris wondered if his aching head could take much more of the uncomfortable jostling. He knew they'd crossed over into Mexico but had bypassed Purgatorio. He'd been sure that was their destination as they rode in a southerly direction. His eyes closed as the pain in his head intensified. He was thirsty, hungry, wet, hurting, and feeling miserable.

The rain stopped and Turner finally signaled a halt to his men. He pulled up beside his prisoner and smiled maliciously. "We'll be stopping for a little while, Inmate 78. I suggest you deal with any needs you may have now because there won't be any more stops until we reach your new home," he laughed as he pulled Chris from the saddle.

Chris's legs felt like rubber and he dropped to the ground as the circulation returned. He bit back a cry of pain as his left knee connected with a sharp rock. He felt blood well up and soak into his pants.

"You're a mess, Inmate 78," Turner said as he hauled his captive to his feet.

Chris glared at his enemy as his knees threatened to give way again. "The name is Chris Larabee," he said angrily.

"Not any more, Inmate 78," Turner laughed as he pulled the man to a small outcropping of rock. "You'd better get some rest cause we're riding out again in fifteen minutes."

Chris closed his eyes and let his head fall forward on his chest. He hoped the others would leave him alone as he tried to pull his hand free of the manacles that bit deeply into his wrists. He lifted his head and watched his captors through hooded eyes. He felt the manacles slip and wondered if he'd have time to get out of them before Turner called the order to move out. Just as he felt the manacles begin to slide up over his now slippery hand he heard Turner's voice.

"Give him some water."

Chris stopped struggling as one of the men walked towards him with a canteen in his hand. His wrist slipped out of the cuff as the man bent in front of him. Chris grabbed for the man's gun and twisted him around so that he was shielding his own body. "Drop the guns or he's a dead man," he ordered as Turner hurried towards him.

"You stupid idiot," Turner said as he pulled his own gun and shot the man Chris held. Blood splattered in Chris's eyes and they closed automatically affording Turner the chance he needed. He slapped the gun out of Chris's hand and struck him on the right shoulder with his own weapon. Once again Chris Larabee was on his knees in front of the hated man. "That was not smart, Inmate 78. You've just lost any right to food and water," he said as he savagely replaced and tightened the manacles. "It's time to teach you your first lesson," Turner said as he walked to his horse and pulled a whip from his saddle.

Chris watched the man walking towards him and felt his own rage building inside him. Before he could speak his shirt was ripped down the back and he felt the first stinging bite of the black leather. He set his body and mind to take whatever this man dealt out but was unable to stop the cry of pain as the seventh blow tore into his flesh. The cry signaled the end of the lesson as Turner replaced the whip on his saddle.

"Get him on his horse," Turner ordered.

"What about Tom?" one of the other two men asked.

"What about him. The idiot could have cost me everything. Leave his body for the animals," Turner said viciously.

Jerry Wilson pulled Chris to his feet and dragged him to his horse.

"Tie him face down," Turner said gleefully.

Chris was thrown over the horse and his arms and legs secured so he wouldn't fall off. He groaned as Turner moved the horses forward and wondered if he'd live through this one.

 

 

"Storms finally over," Nathan observed as he took a seat next to Josiah Sanchez.

"It would appear so, brother Nathan. Mother nature certainly showed her fury last night," Sanchez answered.

"Think Chris is okay?" Nathan asked.

"Anyone seen Vin?" Wilmington asked as he entered the saloon and stepped up to the table.

"Saw him a few minutes ago, said he was going out on patrol. When'd you get back," Josiah said.

"What's wrong, Buck?" Jackson asked.

"Nothin', really, just worryin' 'bout Chris. Wondered how his little shack fared in the storm last night. Got back a little while ago. Rode most of the way through the storm. JD told me Chris went to his shack yesterday."

"I'm sure he's fine," Sanchez said.

"Yeah, you're probably right, Josiah, but I think I'll just make sure my patrol includes a certain little clearing near the stream," Buck said a devilish grin on his face.

"Just don't let him see you," Nathan said seriously.

"I may be worried, Nathan but I'm not stupid. I'll just do a little ride by. If the shacks still standing then I won't go near it," Buck told them as he left the saloon.

 

 

Vin Tanner rode his horse over the trail that would bypass his friend's property. He knew Chris's shack was pretty strong but the storm the night before had taken its toll in a few areas and he worried that Chris's place would have been hard hit. He'd found some downed trees on the way out of four corners and decided to check on his friend without letting him know he was concerned.

He watched the silent yard from his vantage point and was instantly on alert when there was no smoke coming from the chimney. His eyes turned to the corral and his worry grew when he saw know sign of Chris's horse. Easy, Tanner, he probably just went for a ride, he thought as he aimed his horse down the steep trail into the tiny yard.

"Hey, Chris, you in there?" Vin called as he climbed down from his horse. He turned and leveled his mare's leg as a horse galloped into the yard. He lowered the weapon when he recognized the horse and rider. "What are you doing out here, Buck?" he asked as the man drew abreast of him.

"Could ask you the same thing, Vin," Wilmington grinned. "Chris inside?"

"Don't think so. Looks like nobody's here. Horse is gone, too," Vin said as Buck joined him on the ground.

"Chris say he planned on going anywhere but here?" Buck asked.

"No, said he was going to spend some time alone. Wanted to work on the roof," Vin said as he moved towards the door. "Chris," he called as he opened the door.

The interior of the shack was shrouded in shadows as Vin and Buck entered. Vin's eyes were drawn to the small pile of wet black clothes lying on the floor, the discarded towel on the floor. He walked over to the clothes and picked up the damp clothing. "Somethin's wrong, Buck," he said as his keen eyes continued to survey the tiny interior.

"I think you're right, Pard, Chris may not be the best at keepin' house but Sarah taught him to hang up his things," Buck said as his eyes were drawn to a small brown colored stain on the floor. He bent down, touched it and looked worriedly at Vin Tanner.

"That what I think it is, Buck?"

"It's blood," Buck said. "We'd better go get the others."

"You ride back to town. I'll see if I can find out what's happened here," Tanner told him.

Buck took one look at the younger man and knew there was no point in arguing. "I'll be back with the others as soon as I can," he said as he opened the door. Turning back Tanner he said, "Find him, Vin," and left before the younger man answered.

 

 

Chris felt as if he'd never be comfortable again. His ribs ached from riding face down on the horse, his back and head throbbed unmercifully, and his wrist was rubbed raw from the manacles. He wondered if they'd ever reach their destination, thinking anything would be better than this.

He'd been uncomfortable for so long that he didn't notice when the horses were drawn to a halt. He felt hands grabbing his hair and lifting his face. He opened his eyes and realized he must have lost consciousness again as it was now full dark. A lamp was held in front of his face and he closed his eyes against the sudden glare.

"Hello, Inmate 78, your room is ready now."

Chris heard the familiar voice and remembered those same words spoken to him just before the Jericho prison hell started. The woman standing before him, holding his hair in her hand had silver hair pulled sharply back in a bun, and wore a heavy white dress. "Quince," his dry throat made his voice raspy as he forced the hated name out.

"Very good. Cut him down, Mr. Turner. I want Inmate 78 to see his new home," she laughed.

Turner slit the ropes that held the prisoner to his horse and pulled him from the saddle.

Chris struggled to keep his balance and glared at the woman before him. "You're son deserved everything he got," he told her.

She lashed out with her free hand and slapped him across the face, "I'm going to make sure you get what you deserve, Inmate 78," she laughed harshly. "I figure you served three weeks of the sentence my son imposed on you. That leaves four years and forty-nine weeks left. You'll be spending those weeks in my custody."

"Don't bet on it," Chris smiled at the woman.

Ma Quince glared at the man standing before her. The smile on his face angered her and she wanted to make him regret his insolence. She reached forward and placed her weather beaten hand under his chin. She felt him try to pull away and laughed. "You'll soon learn that I can and will do whatever I wish, Inmate 78," she told him. "I've got more than enough money to pay these men for their services and it seems Mr. Turner here would probably work for nothing. I think he has a few scores to settle with you. Bring him this way," she ordered.

Turner and Wilson dragged Chris towards the large, hacienda-style house. He struggled against the grips on his arm but soon found himself forced to kneel in front of the woman.

"I'm sure you remember these," she said as she held out a dirty, striped shirt and matching pants.

Chris saw the faded number "78" marked on the pocket.

"I bet you're wondering how I got my hands on your uniform," she laughed, her eyes sparkling dangerously. "My son and I had our own man watching things in that prison. You see, we didn't trust the warden to tell us when he received the bail money from the prisoner's families. As soon as you and your men left that morning, he took this out of the garbage and brought it to me. I thought you would like a little reminder of your old home. I figure it'll make it easier for you to fit into your new home. Get him changed," she ordered as she aimed a rifle at Chris's chest. "Don't try anything foolish, Inmate 78. I don't plan on killing you but there are places I can put a bullet that will make you very uncomfortable."

Chris felt the manacles drop from his wrists and pulled his arms in front of him. He rubbed his chafed wrists to get the circulation back and glared at the woman. "You'll regret this," he said as he removed his shirt and pulled on the dirty, torn, shirt of his old uniform. Memories of that time came back in a flash.

His attempted escape, the talk with the warden, the days in the hole, the knife wound and the resultant trip to the infirmary. The beating by the warden when Chris tried to save another injured inmate, and the final trip to the hole that resulted in the warden's death by snakebite, and Sheriff Quince's death by Chris's hand.

"Hurry up, Inmate 78," Ma Quince ordered.

"I'm not 'Inmate 78.' My name is Chris Larabee," he said angrily.

"From the moment you were sentenced to prison, you became Inmate 78. You are now back in prison and you will once again be referred to as Inmate 78," she smiled. "Now finish dressing or I'll have one of the men help you."

Chris Larabee glared at the woman holding the rifle. He reached down and undid the buttons of his black jeans. He wanted to pull the gun from her hands and ram it down her throat. Never in his life had he felt such hatred for a woman. He pulled the striped pants up over his hips and fastened them with a drawstring. If she thought forcing him to put on the hated prison uniform would break him, she was dead wrong. He stood before her, dressed in the filthy remnants, a bold grin on his face. "What's next?" he asked sarcastically.

Her cheeks burned red with anger as she watched the arrogant man before her. She'd hoped to humiliate him by making him wear the dirty clothes but it had done the opposite. He seemed cocky instead of beaten. "Put the manacles back on his wrists and attach these to his ankles," she said as she tossed another set of cuffs at Chris's feet. "Then we'll take him to the hole," she ordered her men. "I think four days should do it for now."

Chris swallowed the fear that threatened to come over him. He remembered his days in the hole at Jericho and wondered if he could live through those horror-filled days again.

Turner fastened the cuffs and pushed Chris before him. The short chain between his legs caused him to stagger but he was able to stay on his feet. He was ushered around the house towards a small barn. The light of the moon sent ominous shadows across the empty yard. A dark patch of ground stood out as he walked forward.

"Here you are, Inmate 78," Ma Quince said as she stood before a small hole covered by a latticed grate. "Put him in, Mr. Turner."

"Open it, Wilson," Turner ordered.

Chris watched as Jerry Wilson removed a large lock and hoisted the heavy steel grate. He looked into the hole and judged it to be even smaller than the one in Jericho. He swayed as a wave of vertigo came over him and tried to turn from the tiny cage. He felt himself propelled into the hole and grunted as the wounds on his back connected with the ground.

"Enjoy your new home, Inmate 78," Ma Quince said as she held the lantern over the hole.

Chris lay still for a moment waiting for his breath to come back. He opened his eyes and glared with deadly intensity at the woman holding the lantern. "Bitch," he said through clenched teeth.

"You'd better watch your mouth, Inmate 78, or I'll just have to teach you another lesson," Turner said as he replaced the heavy grating over the top of the hole. "Enjoy your stay," Turner told him.

"Get some rest, Inmate 78. Tomorrow will be a long day and you'll need your energy to do the work," Ma Quince laughed.

Chris watched as the light disappeared from above and slowly got to his feet. The hole was smaller than the one in Jericho leaving barely enough room for him to kneel. There was barely enough room for him to stretch out on the hard ground, the space reminded him of a coffin and he shivered as a new thought occurred to him. That's what this place could be if I don't get out of here.

Chris tried to push up on the grate but it didn't budge. The manacles on his wrists made it hard to get a good grip on the thick bars. The lock was just out of reach of his stretching hands and the pull it caused on his back caused him to clench his teeth and cry out.

Chris knew there was no way out of the Hole and slumped against the wall defeated. He could almost hear Vin Tanner asking. 'Who'd ya piss off now, Cowboy?"

 

 

Who'd ya piss off now, Cowboy, Vin thought as he knelt beside the bloodstain in Larabee's shack.

He'd searched the surrounding area but the torrential rain from the night before had obliterated any evidence of which direction Chris and whoever had taken him had gone. He knew his friend had not gone willingly and worry gnawed at his gut.

Vin heard horses riding into the yard and hurried out to meet them.

"Find anything?" Buck asked as he jumped down from his horse.

"Not one damned thing, Buck. Not one damned thing," Vin said angrily.

"It's not your fault, Mr. Tanner, the foul weather last night wreaked havoc with the terrain," Standish told him.

"I know you're right, Ezra, but I have a feeling Chris's life depends on us finding him quickly," Tanner said.

"I hate when you get those feelings, Vin," JD Dunne said as he straightened his derby hat.

"Where do we start searching for Brother Chris if we have no idea who has him or where he's being held?" Josiah Sanchez asked.

"I just don't know," Vin said, his worry for his friend weighing heavily on his heart.

"Well, Vin, if you haven't found anything here, maybe we should go back to town and send out some wires. Maybe somebody spotted them in one of the towns," Nathan Jackson suggested. He felt partially responsible for their leaders disappearance since he'd given him permission to leave town. It didn't matter that Chris Larabee didn't need permission to do anything he damned well pleased.

"That's as good a place as any to start, Nathan," Buck said as the seven men mounted their horses and headed back to Four Corners just as darkness began to descend.

"Wake up, 78, time's wastin' and you got lots a work to do before ya eat," Turner laughed as he pulled the lock from the grate.

"Go to hell," Chris told the man as his body protested the slight effort he put into the words.

"Actually from where I stand you're the one in hell, Inmate 78. Ma Quince wants you put to work. Now get up and earn your breakfast," Turner ordered.

"Tell the bitch I'm not hungry," Chris said and closed his eyes.

"That's not what she wants to hear," Turner said as he signaled Wilson to help him.

They reached into the tiny hole and pulled the prisoner out.

Chris felt the arms lift him out of his own private hole in the ground. His body was stiff and his back screamed at the movement. He bit back any cry that fought to escape not wanting to give the men the satisfaction of knowing just how much he hurt. His legs threatened to collapse as he the two men released him but he found the strength to stay erect.

"Not bad, Inmate 78," Turner said, grudgingly giving the man credit for finding the strength to stay on his feet. "Now let's put you to work," he said.

Chris was led to a small fenced-in area and a heavy, rusted chain was attached to his leg. A pick was placed in his hand and he looked at Turner curiously. He debated using the pick on his enemy but knew he'd lose to the guns leveled at him from outside the small clearing. "What's this for?" he asked.

"Ma Quince said you left a lot of unfinished work back in Jericho prison. She says she wants you to carry on where you left off. Man, I know how much I hate you, Inmate 78," Turner said shaking his head and smiling, "but this lady hates you even more. I'm glad it's you and not me. Now she wants those rocks broken down before you get to eat or drink so best get to work," Turner laughed as he exited the fenced in area.

Chris watched the man leave and stared at the pile of rocks lying in front of him. He knew there was nothing he could do about his situation at the moment but vowed he'd stay in shape till the opportunity for escape came along. He lifted the pick over his head and slammed it down on the nearest rock, grunting with the effort and the pain radiating from his back. He fixed his mind on the day he'd get out of here and exact his own revenge on Ma Quince, Turner, and Jerry Wilson. As each name took up residence in his mind, he ignored the pain and brought the pick down with a resounding thump that echoed off the surrounding hills.

 

 

The six members of the Magnificent Seven sat in the saloon going over plans to find their missing comrade. Telegrams had been sent to all the surrounding towns but there had been no replies as yet.

"Chris'll be okay, won't he?" JD asked the others.

"You know he will, JD," Buck said as he poured another glass of whiskey. "He's got more lives than a cat."

"You may be right, Buck, but lately he's been using up a lot of those lives," Nathan said as he remembered the struggle it had been for Chris to come back from the beatings he'd taken at Jericho.

"You know, Nate, I've been thinking bout that. Seems to me that we left some unfinished business in Jericho when we left that morning," Tanner said as he slugged back a shot of whiskey.

"What do you mean, Vin?" Buck asked.

"Anybody ever bother to check up on the sheriff's ma. That woman was in on it just as much as her son and the warden," Vin explained.

"What's got you thinking about her, Brother Vin?" Sanchez asked.

"I'm not sure, Josiah, just one of them feelings you're always tellin' me not to ignore," Vin said.

"You think she has something to do with Mr. Larabee's disappearance," Standish asked, shuddering as a picture of the elderly woman pulling the trigger on the rifle she'd aimed at the preacher. Luckily Josiah had been expecting it and had been able to stop her from completing the deed.

"I think it's possible. I'd like to leave for Jericho at first light. If she's there I'll ask her a few questions; if she's not we can be pretty certain she's behind Chris's disappearance. She'll blame him for not only the loss of income but, even worse, for the death of her son," Vin said.

"You're not going alone," Buck said.

"Wasn't planning on, Buck, but there's no point in all of us going. Someone has to stay here in case there's any news from the other towns. I was thinkin' you and me could handle Jericho and the rest of you can handle any leads that do come in. Buck and me will let ya know if there's anything happening in Jericho. You guys can send a telegram to Jericho if something turns up before we contact you."

"All right, Brother Vin, but you and Buck better not try anything on your own. If you do find out where Chris is, you'd better wait for us to come back you up," Sanchez said.

"We will, Josiah," Buck said, looking pointedly at Vin. "If we're leavin' at first light, we'd best get some sleep."

"Meet ya at the livery, Buck. 'Night boys," Vin said as the men began drifting away.

 

 

Chris's hands ached from wielding the heavy pick. The rocks had been broken and he'd finally been given a cup of water and a slice of stale bread. He ate the bread and gingerly downed the small amount of water, savoring every drop of the tepid liquid.

It wasn't long before he was on his feet with a new pile of rock in front of him. Turner stood watching him from the gate, a tiny smile fracturing his face. "Best be quick with those if ya expect to eat tonight."

Chris didn't bother to answer; instead he took his frustrations out on the rocks before him. Sweat glistened on his forehead as the relentless sun beat down on him. He swiped his dirty sleeve across his face and leaned heavily on the handle of the pick. His body ached in parts he didn't remember having.

"It ain't time for a break yet, Inmate 78, get back to work," he said and snapped his whip towards the prisoner.

The whip landed short but Chris winced as he heard it. He turned his best glare on Turner and was rewarded when the man looked surprised.

"Still got a temper I see, Inmate 78," Turner laughed.

"You'll see more of my temper when I get out of here," Chris's low voice did nothing to hide the anger he felt.

"The only way you'll be leaving here is when you take your last breath."

"Don't bet on it," Chris said, his patented grin showing a confidence he didn't really feel.

"You're still cocky I see, Inmate 78, would you like to be shown another lesson?" Turner asked.

"Now, Mr. Turner, there'll be plenty of time for lessons later. Right now I'd like you to clean those wounds on his back. I don't want him to die to soon," Ma Quince said as she stepped up behind Turner.

'Yes, ma'am," Turner said angrily. He wanted to wipe the smug grin off Larabee's face. He wanted to teach Larabee a lesson he'd never forget before he took his life. "You heard Mrs. Quince, 78, put the pick down and take your shirt off. Well, at least pull it down a bit," Turner laughed as he remembered the manacles attached to the prisoners wrists.

"I don't need your help," Chris told him as he brandished the pick in front of him.

"Drop the pick, 78, or I'll have one of the men shoot you. Nothing serious, mind you, just enough so you'll feel the pain but still be able to work. Now put it down!"

Chris still held the pick, debating the mans words. He didn't drop it till he heard the cocking of a pistol off to his right. The pick tumbled to the ground as Chris realized he'd have to do as he was told if he hoped these men would drop their guard long enough for him to make good his escape.

"On your knees, Inmate 78," Turner said as he stepped into the small prison yard.

Chris had no choice but to obey as the pistol was once again cocked. His shirt was pulled down his back revealing the angry red wounds left by Turner's whip.

Turner lifted the whiskey bottle to his lips and took a deep swallow. "Shame to waste this on a dead man," he said and sighed as he poured it over the wounds.

"Ah, shit!" Chris screamed as the fiery liquid burned into his wounds. He tried to move away but was forced to the ground as Turner shoved him forward. More whiskey left the bottle and dripped onto Chris's back and he soon sought the peace of oblivion.

 

 

"There's Ma Quince's boarding house," Wilmington said as he rode beside Vin Tanner.

"It looks kinda empty," Vin said as he pulled to a stop in front of the small building. He flipped the reins over the post and walked up to the door. He tried the handle but it didn't move.

"Can I help you fellas?" a man asked from the opposite side of the street.

"Who're you?" Buck asked.

"I'm the new sheriff here. The name's Tom Burton. Now who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm Vin Tanner and this is Buck Wilmington, Sheriff Burton. We're looking for a friend of ours."

"Well you won't find him there. Mrs. Quince left here about a month ago and we haven't heard from her since."

"Is there any way we can take a look in there?" Buck asked as he got down from his horse.

"Why?"

"Did you hear what happened to Sheriff Quince?" Tanner asked.

"Yeah, got himself killed at the prison. Seems like one of the prisoners killed him and the warden," Burton said.

"That prisoner was our friend." Wilmington said.

"The one you're looking for?"

"That's right. He disappeared four days ago," Tanner said.

"What makes you think he's here?"

"I don't think he's here, Sheriff, but I have a feeling Mrs. Quince has something to do with Chris's disappearance," the long-haired tracker said.

"I guess it'll be alright," Burton said as he placed a key in the padlock he'd placed on the door. "You don't mind if I stay with you, do you?"

"Not at all, Sheriff. We'd appreciate it if you gave us a hand to search," Wilmington said as he flicked the dust from the air.

"Tell me what you're looking for and I'll do the best I can."

"We're looking for anything that might indicate where she went and why she went there," Wilmington said as he began sifting through papers that were sitting on the table.

Vin searched through drawers and cupboards, finding nothing that would give him a clue where she'd gone. Angry, he threw them to the floor.

"What about these?" Burton asked as he came out of the main bedroom carrying a pile of wanted papers.

"What are they?" Wilmington asked.

"Looks to me like a bunch of wanted posters," Burton said.

"I've seen a few of these guys in Purgatorio, Buck," Vin said as he looked over Wilmington's shoulder.

"What do you make of the circled ones?"

"Most of those guys live there. I think it's a good bet that Mrs. Quince might have gone there," Wilmington said.

"I think Ezra would agree with you on that."

"Is your friend's name Larabee?" Burton asked as he picked up a piece of paper from the floor.

"Yes. Why?" the tracker asked.

"You'd better look at this," Burton said holding out the paper.

Buck took it and read the telegram aloud. "Have location, stop. Will take Larabee this week. Stop. Turner, stop."

"She's got him, Buck," Tanner said angrily.

"I think you're right, Vin. Where's the telegraph office, Sheriff?"

"Come on, I'll take you there," Burton told them.

 

 

Chris opened his eyes and tried to move. He grimaced and bit his lip to keep from crying out as the pain in his back made itself known. He knew he was back in the hole and that night had fallen. The cold seeped into his bones and made him shiver uncontrollably. He tried to wet his lips but had no moisture to do it.

He sat up in the cramped quarters and tried to see through the grate. He could hear someone walking past his cage but couldn't see anyone. There was a tin cup and a bowl set next to the rim of the hole and he reached for them. He drank gratefully from the cup, letting the water slide down his dry throat. He saved some for after whatever meager meal waited in the tiny bowl. Grimacing at the congealed mass in the bowl, he tried to close his mind to the smell and steeled himself against his protesting stomach. He finished the mass quickly, not tasting what was in it but knowing he needed to eat if he was to keep his strength up. He washed it down with the remains of the water and settled back against the side.

He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. He had no idea how long he'd been here but didn't think it was more than a few days. Sleep overcame him and his mind wandered to another hellhole he'd escaped a little over a month ago.

 

 

The warden's words rang out in his troubled mind. "I got plans for you!" The glaring angry eyes as Chris once more refused to give in to the man.

"No!" Chris cried as the warden picked up a snake and held it in front of his face. Chris shivered as the fangs came within striking distance of his chin.

"Clean my boots, 78!" The warden said as he pressed the snake closer to the prisoners face.

"No," Chris cried as he felt the snake bite into the tender flesh of his neck.