"Nathan! Nathan!" Vin continued to hold onto Chris’ shoulder. The blond, dressed only in his black jeans, lay writhing on the ground, a bullet high in his side. "Hang on, pard. Nathan’ll be here in a minute." He looked around, trying to locate the other man. "Nathan!"

The healer looked up from where he sat next to Hilda. He looked across her lifeless body and caught Buck’s eye.

"You better go; way Vin sounds, someone’s hurt," Wilmington said, his eyes still on the young woman who had died trying to keep him safe.

"You alright?"

"Go on," Buck was straightening the young woman’s clothing gently. As the ex-slave walked past, he squeezed the other man’s shoulder.

"NATHAN! Damn it, Chris’ hurt!" Vin nearly screamed the words.

"I’m comin’," the healer called as he came around the house. Dropping down next to the gunman, he gently pulled at Larabee’s arm, "let me see, Chris."

"I’m...o-okay..." The man said breathlessly through gritted teeth. "Gotta go...get th-that...bitch..."

The other two men exchanged looks. Vin knew that something had happened; Chris had almost shot the woman a few minutes ago, and had seemed disappointed when the tracker had missed her with his sawed-off. He knew, too, that he had found out things about Ella Gaines that Larabee had not wanted to hear. Evidently something had made their leader change his mind. He was no longer blinded by the memories of the life he had once had with the woman.

"WHOA now!" Vin clamped his hand on Chris’ shoulder when he realized that the wounded man was trying to get to his feet.

"Lemme go..." the blond slurred, intent on going after the woman that he had only yesterday seemed content to move in with. "G-gotta go...get her..."

"Chris, you ain’t goin’ nowhere, " Nathan said, "we gotta get that bullet out and th’ bleedin’ stopped. Now, you lay still."

"NO!" Larabee sounded like a wounded animal, frightened...almost panicked.

"Chris!" They looked to see Buck stomping around the corner. "Now you settle down. We gotta get you patched up, stud."

"Buck! Go...go get that...BITCH..." Chris gasped as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. "Please...go...get her..." He was pleading with them, something none of them had witnessed from their leader before.

Kneeling next to his old friend, Buck said, "we’ll get her Chris, I promise y’ that. Now lay still, okay? I ain’t in th’ mood t’ dig two graves t’day..." His voice broke as he thought of Hilda.

If nothing else, his friend’s words distracted the wounded man from his single minded need to go after Ella Gaines. "Two? Who...who?" He strained to look around the ranch, seeking the other men.

"None of us, pard, now let’s get you fixed up, alright?"

Chris was nearly in tears now, a single thought pounding in his head...Ella had caused Sarah and Adam’s deaths. But, nearly unconscious now, he could only nod and allow the men to pick him up. He slumped between Vin and Buck, his head nestled against Buck’s shoulder. While Nathan hurried ahead to get things ready, his two best friends carried him into the house. As they started past the threshold, Chris once more rebelled, although he could barely speak now. "No...not...in here...no...burn it...burn the house..."

"Later, pard," Vin said softly. "Later." He knew that he would have no objections to putting a torch to everything that woman owned. The tracker felt the gunman relax as unconsciousness claimed him. Looking over at Buck, he shook his head as they entered the house. Neither man could fathom the sudden change in Larabee’s behavior.

"Put him on th’ table," Nathan instructed. While the other men followed his directions, the healer began the task of repairing the damage Handsome Jack Avril’s bullet had done to their friend. By the time he had finished, the ex-slave was exhausted. It had been touch and go, the gunman had nearly given up on them once. But Chris was tough, and rallied enough to allow Jackson to finish the job.

"Nathan?" Vin looked at him expectantly. On the other side of the table, Buck was doing the same.

"I don’t know, I just don’t know. The bullet grazed the lung, but I don’t think it pierced it. We’re gonna have t’ keep him real quiet for a few days."

"We better keep him knocked out then, cause you know Chris," Buck said, shaking his head.

"He might talk it up, but he ain’t gonna have th’ strength t’ do much more’n that," the former slave said. "Best keep someone with him though, just in case. Don’t want him tearin’ them stitches out. Soon’s I get him bandaged we can take him upstairs and put him t’ bed."

"Sure that’s wise?" Vin asked. "Don’t exactly think he’s gonna be too fond a wakin’ up in her bed." He spit the word ‘her’ out angrily.

"I’ll go look ‘round. Figger a place this size’s got more’n one bedroom," Buck nodded and moved toward the stairs.

"Ain’t...s-stay’n...here..." a pain filled whisper came to them from the table.

"Pard, we ain’t got a choice," Vin said evenly. "We can’t afford t’ move you ‘round enough t’ go home. Best y’ stay here till y’ get your strength back."

The hand that clinched his arm made the hunter wonder for a second if Larabee hadn’t already gotten his strength back. Glassy hazel eyes locked their gaze on him. "Vin...I don’t want...to die...here..."

"Y’ain’t dying y’ durn fool," Tanner was angry now. "But we gotta do what’s best fer y’. Throwin’ y’ in a wagon and bouncin’ y’ back t’ town’s not gonna help nothin’. Now, you best settle down and let us take care a things fer y’."

With something between a moan and a cry, Larabee closed his eyes, too tired to argue right now.

Heavy steps on the stairway turned their attention to where Buck was returning from his search. His face was pale, a look of anger, fear and grief on his handsome face. He came to stand next to Chris, one hand gently brushing the blond hair back.

"Buck?" Tanner said tentatively.

"Think I know why he don’t wanna stay here," Wilmington’s voice was hollow sounding . He held up the broken locket and the torn family picture that Ella had kept locked away. "Found all sorts a pictures, trinkets, papers...all tucked away nice an’ neat in a little room upstairs. Looked like some sorta shrine ‘r somethin’...all dedicated t’ Chris Larabee."

"My God, " Jackson breathed.

Looking down at his friend, and then to the picture Buck held, Vin saw the crudely scratched ‘X’ over Sarah’s face. "Reckon we might know who hired Fowler?"

Shrugging, Buck said, "don’t know...but it sure don’t look good. I did find another bedroom up there...hell, there’s two ‘r three. Reckon we can move outta th’ bunkhouse til Chris gets on his feet." He smiled at the others, a momentary glimpse of the Buck they knew. Then he grew serious again. "We ready t’ move him?"

"Yeah, but I want to get Josiah in here, too. The more of us carryin’ him, the easier we can make it for him."

"I’m right here Nathan," the deep baritone voice rumbled from the doorway.

Nodding, Jackson began instructing the others and they gently lifted the semi-conscious man from the table and carried him up the stairs. A few minutes later they had him settled into a featherbed, covered to the chin in a down comforter. While Nathan fussed over his patient, Josiah went back downstairs to resume his watch for signs of trouble. He had informed them as they carried Chris upstairs that J.D. and Ezra had gone to scout around the area, looking for any signs of Avril’s gang. Nodding his head toward the door, Buck led Vin down the hallway to the little room he had found earlier. The young hunter was just as appalled at what was there as Buck had been.

"Damn, it’s like she was trackin’ his every move," Vin said quietly. His hand brushed lightly across the pictures of Chris, the newspaper article of Sarah and Adam’s death. He had never seen Larabee’s family before. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he thought as he looked at Sarah Larabee staring up from the newspaper. And Adam. You could see his papa in the boy, that was for certain. He felt strange standing there, looking at all of the things Ella Gaines had preserved from Chris Larabee’s life. It was almost as if he were standing in the middle of his friend’s soul. He moved toward the door. "C’mon Bucklin, let’s get outta here.

The big gunman must have felt the same way, as he was quick on the hunter’s heels as they left. He closed the door behind him. The two men exchanged looks and wasted no time retreating to the room where Chris lay. Once there, they found Nathan arguing with the gunfighter, who had once again struggled toward full consciousness.

"Chris, you ain’t gonna do yourself any good fightin’ about this. Now you’re gonna lay there and let us take care of things. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’ but gettin’ better."

"Nathan...we got...we got...to go a-after...her...got to..."

"Chris?" Vin walked up next to the bed, resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Listen t’ me pard. We ain’t gonna let her get away, understand. Me an’ Buck...we’ll go lookin’ fer her after while. We just wanna stay close til you’re feelin’ better."

"Vin...go...go get her...th-that...bitch...go get her..."

"We will, Chris. She’s th’ one, ain’t she? Th’ one that killed Sarah an’ Adam."

Relief flooded the man’s face. Finally, someone understood. He visibly relaxed and nodded. "Sh-she’s th’ one...get her...pard...p-promise me..."

"We’ll get her, but we can’t do nothin’ til we’re sure you’re okay. So you gotta lay still and do as Nathan tells y’. Understand? If y’ don’t, we can’t go get that murderin’ bitch."

"Alright..." his eyes shut and Larabee drifted back into unconsciousness once more.

Vin looked at the other men. He saw the anger he felt reflected in their eyes. He wished that he could have made Chris see her for what she was earlier. But how? He had played the only cards he’d been dealt; that she owned the very company she claimed was trying to drive her off her land. Chris hadn’t been ready to hear him, to hear anything bad about the woman. Now he knew, though; they all did. Ella Gaines was a conniving, evil thing that had no regard for anyone. Vin Tanner looked down at his friend’s face, the pain and sorrow still evident even while he slept. He vowed then and there that he would find the black-hearted monster that had caused those feelings, and she would pay. He had learned a thing or two in his time with the Indians. Tanner knew ways of putting that same pained expression on The woman’s face.

"Vin?" Buck spoke softly from behind him. Turning, the tracker saw all five of their companions in the hallway. He had been so intent on his thoughts that he had not even heard them approach. Stepping lightly he joined them outside the room. He pulled the door partially closed, leaving only enough space to allow him to keep an eye on the sleeping blond.

"Any luck?"

"I fear not, Mr. Tanner," Ezra Standish replied. "We surveyed the area as thoroughly as possible, but found naught but a myriad of hoof prints, and a few lingering dust clouds."

"Any sign of Ella Gaines?"

Standish simply shook his head.

"It’s like she vanished, Vin," J.D. put in. There’s not a sign of her to be found. Reckon maybe you’d have better luck trackin’ her...ain’t ‘xactly our strong suit."

"Reckon..." Vin trailed off, his gaze turning back into the little bedroom where Larabee lay. He wanted nothing more than to drag the woman back by her hair; to let Chris watch her beg for forgiveness. At the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the man’s side. In the end he decided that the woman could wait another day. "I’ll go lookin’ in th’ mornin’."

"Well, brothers," Josiah Sanchez’s deep voice called their attention. "Unfortunately, we have duties in the yard. There are several lost souls out there whose bodies deserve at least a final dignity."

"Only one out there I got any need to see gets a decent burial," Wilmington said, "rest of ‘m can lay out there an’ rot far’s I’m concerned." They could all hear the grief in his voice. They had all witnessed or at least heard about how the vibrant songbird, Hilda, had been gunned down during the fight. They were all at a loss to know what to say to the mourning gunman, however.

"I’ll stay here with Chris," Vin said. The statement was unnecessary. They all knew he would be unwilling to leave the gunslinger.

"You call out if you need me, alright?" Nathan said as he joined the others on the stairs. Vin simply nodded and returned to the bedroom.

Pulling a chair next to the bed, the sharpshooter sat down tiredly, watching the blond as he slept restlessly. From time to time Chris began mumbling; Vin could only make out a word or two here and there. He didn’t really need to know what the words were, though, he could guess their meaning by the expressions that crossed the handsome face.

"Bitch...why...locket...SARAH!" He cried out, his eyes flashing open then drooping closed once more. Several minutes passed in silence before, "fire...Fow...ler...no...dead...all dead...BITCH!!" He began thrashing, flailing at the woman that was now present only in his fevered dreams.

Vin sat on the edge of the bed, grasping the other man’s arms. He tried to calm him down, but the blond didn’t, or couldn’t, hear him. "CHRIS! Settle down, pard. You’re gonna hurt yourself. Settle down!"

After several long minutes Chris exhausted himself and lay limply on the bed. His breathing was harsh, shallow and he panted rapidly. Vin grew alarmed that he had damaged the already abused lung. He didn’t know much about medicine, but he did know that it didn’t sound good. Finally convinced that the gunman would be quiet for a few minutes, he strode hurriedly to the window, looking for the ex-slave. Not finding him, he took another look at the wounded man. Larabee was sweat-drenched and trembling. Something was definitely wrong.

Making a decision, he said, "you lay still now Chris, I’ll be back in a couple’a minutes." With that he rushed from the room in search of Jackson.

"Nathan!"

The big former slave looked up as he heard his name yelled in that raspy drawl for the second time that day. He and Josiah had just finished loading the dead men into the wagon that had been parked near the house. They would take them into town and leave them with the undertaker. Ezra, as if he had a true kinship with the stuff, had found a cache of money in the house that would see to a decent burial for not only Hilda, but the would-be gunfighters as well.

"What?" Nathan called in response.

"Think Chris might’a done some damage t’ himself," Vin had come to stand in front of the healer. "He started having dreams ... nightmares. Got t’ fightin’, and he’s breathin’ awful queer now."

With an exaggerated sigh, Jackson took off toward the house at a dead run, Vin matching him stride for stride. As they reached the second story a heavy thud rang through the hall. Hurrying even more, they entered the bedroom to find Chris Larabee sprawled on the floor, trying weakly to get to his feet. Kneeling on either side of him, the men took his arms and lifted him back to the bed. Nathan cursed softly as he saw the growing crimson stain on the bandage. "Keep an eye on him, I’m gonna have t’ stop that bleedin’ and change the bandage."

Nodding, Vin sat next to the still weakly thrashing Larabee. "Damn it Chris!" His patience was rubbed raw by the events of the past few days. "Lay still. Y’ ain’t doin’ yourself any good like this. If y’ don’t lay still, I ain’t gonna b’ able t’ go after Ella Gaines."

As if he had spoken magic words, Chris Larabee grew quiet. His breathing was still harsh and ragged, but he seemed to be listening. "El-la..." he mumbled.

"Yeah. Tol’ y’, I ain’t gonna be able to go search for her til you’re doin’ better than y’are right now. Where th’ hell were y’ goin’, anyway?" He was pretty certain that he already knew the answer.

"Outta...here..." came the soft reply. "Outta here...Vin...please..."

"Chris, we already went over this. Y’ain’t strong enough t’ take a long ride. And if y’ don’t do’s you’re told, y’ ain’t gonna get better. Y’ understand me?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah..."

"Then you lay still. Sooner you rest, sooner we can get outta this place and back t’ town." He heard footsteps outside the room, and turned to see Nathan entering with his arms full of medical supplies. "Now, here’s Nathan. He’s gonna patch y’ up. Hear me?"

Another nod.

"Alright, now do’s you’re told and lay still. I’ll be right here." He moved away from the bed to allow Nathan to do his work. Going to the window, he watched the sun reaching upward into the sky. Seemed impossible that it wasn’t even noon yet. It felt like he’d lived a lifetime since riding back to this cursed ranch.

Chris slowly managed to open his eyes, and began to work on focusing them. A soft glow left most of the room in shadow, letting him know that it was night. Vin was slouched in the chair next to his bed, asleep. Larabee mused that in unguarded moments such as this it was easy to see just how young the hunter was. They too often forgot that he wasn't much older than J.D.

Seeming to sense that he was being watched, Tanner's pale blue eyes opened. "Hey pard, how're y' feelin'?"

"Alright," he croaked softly, surprising himself at how weak he sounded.

"Wanna drink 'r somethin'?"

He nodded slowly, "water..."

The tracker disappeared into the shadows and returned with a glass. Lifting the blond's head from the pillows, Vin helped him drink. Chris frowned up at him.

"Wasn't just water," he said accusingly.

"Nathn put some sorta herb in it t' help y' with the pain and let y' sleep." Smiling at the face the older man made, he continued, "don't be gettin' mad at me. I's just followin' orders."

"Reckon I know Vin...Tanner well enough to know...he don't take orders from no...one...less it suits...his purposes..."

Chuckling, Tanner said, "reckon 'y caught me. But why'n't'cha go on back t' sleep?"

"In...a minute..." Chris lay quiet for a time, gathering what little strength he could muster. "Vin, I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? Y'ain't got nothin' t' be sorry 'bout."

"Yeah...I do. I...should have listened to you...about her. I was...a fool."

Shaking his head, Vin said, "weren't your fault Chris. That woman had her claws in y'. Y'wasn't th' only one she fooled."

"Didn't fool you...or Buck...you both tried...tried to tell me...about her. If I'd listened --"

"Chris, don't start beatin' yourself up over this. Ain't gonna do y' no good a'tall. You gotta concentrate on gettin' better...that's all."

"Vin...if I don't...make it...I need...need you...to..." he drifted back into unconsciousness.

"Chris?" He touched a hand to the injured man's chest, letting relief flow over him as he felt the chest softly rise and fall. Sitting back on the chair, he sighed. "Pard, you know all you gotta do is ask...you got anything I have t' give."

She came to him in the darkness, slipping out of the shadows silently and approaching him quickly. Her hair was down, streaming behind her in the night air. She was silhouetted against a fire. Looking, he realized it was his home; the little ranch he had built so that he could live happily with Sarah and Adam. Carried to him on the wind, he realized that he could hear their voices, crying for him to save them as the smoke and fire lashed out at them. He couldn’t move, welded to the spot, mesmerized by the horrors of what he saw before him. He fought his body’s malaise, desperately trying to move toward the little house. Even as he did, he knew he was too late...the roof was falling inward, silencing the screams of his family.

Sobbing now, he turned to Ella Gaines. She was nearly upon him now, her face – a face he had once thought beautiful -- now looked like nothing so much as that of the devil himself. Her eyes were dead, icy cold as she stared at him evenly. "They had to die, Chris," her voice came to him above the roar of the fire. "They had no right to be with you. I am the only woman you can ever love...the only woman you will ever have. You have to understand that. Accept it Chris. There will never be anyone else..."

"NO!" He screamed, lashing out at her now, his anger giving him the strength to move. "Damn you! You killed them...you killed my wife...my son...damn you...you bitch!" His hands wrapped around her throat. He began to squeeze. Looking into her face, he saw no fear, only a calm acceptance. He could kill her, but she would never die. She would be a part of him forever. "NO!" He screamed again.

"-ris! Chris, wake up pard!"

He slowly opened his eyes to find Vin Tanner next to him. His hands were wrapped around the younger man’s arm; quivering as he continued to squeeze.

"Chris, wake up. It’s okay. Y’s just havin’ a bad dream." Tanner gently unwrapped the trembling hands from his forearm and placed them on the bed. "It’s okay now, ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt y’ here, understand?"

Unable to find his voice, the gunman simply nodded. His hazel eyes bore into the other man’s face. Tanner nodded, knowing that the older man was communicating his apology as well as his fear. Taking up a rag, he wiped the sweat from Larabee’s face and chest. He began talking softly, almost as if he were gentling a horse. "You’re okay now, pard. Ain’t no one gonna get t’ y’ now. Y’ got me ‘n th’ others lookin’ out for y’, so y’ ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout. Come sunup I’m gonna go lookin’ for Ella Gaines, and I promise y’ cowboy, I’m gonna ever’thin’ in m’ power t’ find her. Put her outta your mind and concentrate on gettin’ your strength back. Let me ‘n th’ others take care a th’ rest."

Still caught halfway between waking and sleep, the blond lay quietly, letting his friend’s words wash over him. He took comfort in them. His friends would take care of him; would do everything they could to make things right. He wasn’t certain what he had done to deserve such loyalty from the other six, but for now he held onto it, wrapping it around him and letting it protect him from the nightmare Ella Gaines had bestowed upon him. With a sigh, he let his eyes drift close, and allowed the soft drawl of the tracker lull him back to sleep.

"Vin?" The tracker turned to find Ezra Standish standing in the doorway.

"Hey Ezra."

"I heard Chris cry out. Is he okay?"

"Can’t rightly say he’s okay, but it was just a nightmare."

Nodding, the gambler came softly into the room. He wore only his pant, suspenders hanging from the waistband. His hair was tousled from sleep, his eyes still half closed. "You’ve been in here for hours, why don’t you go get some sleep. I’ll sit with him for awhile."

"I’m okay," Vin answered.

"You’ll be no good to him if you wear yourself out. I know you want to look for that reprehensible woman’s trail in a few hours. You’ll have a better chance at success if you’ve rested a bit."

"Done slept awhile," Tanner had no interest in sleep.

"In the chair no doubt. Believe me, even the horsehair davenport in the sitting room would allow you more comfort than that. Now, come along Mr. Tanner, I insist. I’ve had the chance to rest, you shall do the same."

With a sigh, Vin said, "you promise t’ wake me if anythin’ happens?"

"Of course, Vin," Ezra’s flippant tone was replaced by a more serious one of concern for both his friends. "Now, off with you sir!" He picked up the man’s hat, jacket and gunbelt, holding them out before him. "You have been dismissed from your duties."

With a slow grin, Tanner took the things and shuffled out the door. Watching him go, Standish closed the door behind him and took the seat only just vacated by the sharpshooter. Leaning back in the seat, he watched the wounded gunman as he slept. Stifling a yawn, he reached for the deck of cards he kept in a pocket, and began to idly shuffle them. As he did, he began to think back upon the past year, and all the changes his life had undergone in that time. That man, the one that he had been, would not have considered sitting at the bedside of a wounded man. At least not without the promise of monetary reward. He would not have considered any of these men – especially a former slave like Nathan Jackson – acquaintances, let alone friends. ‘Hell,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’m uncertain that I would have even known the word friend, or it’s meaning, back then.’ He smiled, reveling in the simple fact that he now not only knew the word, but counted six men as his friends. It was a wonder Maude would even speak to him anymore!

A soft sound from the bed brought Ezra from his musings. Leaning forward he saw that Chris’ eyes were open; he seemed to be searching for something...or someone. "Chris?" He kept his voice low and even, afraid to startle the other man.

His eyes tracking slowly across the room, Larabee finally settled his gaze on the southerner. "Ezra?" He said softly. "Where...we’re still at...her house?"

"Yes, you’ve only been sleeping a short time. Might I get you something to drink?"

"Got your...flask?" He managed a weak smile.

"Not with me at the moment, but I can retrieve it from the other room –"

"No! No...that’s okay," Larabee’s eyes widened with fear at the mention of his being left alone.

"Water it is, then," the gambler tried to keep his tone light; to mask the shock he felt at seeing Chris Larabee so uncharacteristically unnerved. Fetching a glass of water from the table nearby, he lifted the other man and helped him drink. Lowering Chris to the bed, he picked up the cloth Vin had used earlier, and tried to cool the gunman down. That Larabee made no protest at this action made him even more concerned. Unsure as to where he was, Ezra Standish knew one thing for certain. The Chris Larabee he knew was not the man lying listlessly and passively in that bed.

"Mornin’ Ezra," Vin said a few hours later as he came into the room carrying a mug. Handing it to the gambler, who had been watching the sun rise, the tracker sat in the chair next to the bed.

"He’s been exceedingly quiet for the past three hours, " Ezra explained.

Nodding, Vin leaned forward, watching the injured man. Even totally still, the emotional turmoil was evident on the handsome face. "Chris, " he said softly, "just come t’ tell y’ me an’ Buck’s headin’ out t’ try an’ cut her trail. ‘Less we get a good lead, we’ll be back t’night. Now, you rest an’ get your strength back, so we can get y’ home." Gently squeezing the man’s arm, he rose to leave.

"Get her...Vin..." Came the quiet plea from the blond, who opened his eyes long enough to stare into his friend’s face.

Vin felt that look reach into his soul and take up residence in his heart. Looking back at the pale, pain-filled face, Vin could only nod. His own azure eyes spoke to Chris in return. He made a solemn pledge that he would do anything and everything in his power to bring Ella Gaines to justice. Tipping his hat, the young sharpshooter left.

Slumping tiredly in the chair just vacated, Standish managed a smile. "How are you feeling this morning Chris?"

"Ready to...get out of...here..." Came the determined reply.

"Soon, I assure you, just as soon as Mr. Jackson feel that you’re strong enough to make the journey."

With a sigh, Larabee closed his eyes. Seeming to have given up on arguing with the other men, he quietly acquiesced. Just as his fear of being alone had done a few hours before, this sent a chill through the Southerner.

"Perhaps you’d like some breakfast?" Standish said, attempting to keep his voice even.

Shaking his head slowly, Chris answered, "not hungry."

"It will help to speed your recovery."

"No."

Heaving a sigh, the con man said, "as you wish. I, for one, am famished however. If you will excuse me..."

The hazel eyes flew open and stared in a near panic at the man beside him. He said nothing, though, only his eyes begging the other man to stay.

Reading the panic, which he had expected, the gambler continued smoothly. "If you would care to join me, however, I shall call downstairs from the landing, " he detailed the plan in an effort to reduce the injured man’s anxiety, "and ask them to bring us both something to eat."

"Yeah...okay."

With a nod that turned into a guilty smile only when he turned away, Ezra went as far as the landing and called down the stairs. A minute later Nathan came bounding up the stairs.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing, Mr. Jackson, at least nothing that requires your medical expertise," Standish said loudly enough for the words to carry into the wounded man. The he lowered his voice and continued. "However, I would like to enlist your assistance in a plan." Quickly he told Nathan about Larabee’s sudden and unusual aversion to being alone, and his own conviction to use that fear to get Chris to eat. "I truly do abhor deceiving Mr. Larabee in such a manner, however, given his usual tenacity, I feel that it will be the best way of getting him to partake in breakfast."

Jackson smiled. "For once, Ezra, I’m glad you’re on our side, " he teased. "I’ll go make up a tray and be back in awhile." Then his face clouded as he thought about Larabee’s uncharacteristic actions. "Think he’ll be okay once we get him outta here?"

"It is my fervent hope, Mr. Jackson, that such will be the case. However, I feel that none of us is in the position of knowing just what it is that Chris is going through. All that we can do is wait and see."

With a nod, the healer hurried back down the stairs. Ezra returned to the room to find that Chris was struggling to sit up. He hurried over, grabbing another pillow as he passed the dresser. Putting an arm around the weakened man, he lifted him, supporting him against his chest as he arranged the pillows behind him. Lowering Larabee gently, he said, "now then, is that better?"

Unable to form words, the wounded man could only nod as he fought to quiet his heaving chest and the trembling that coursed through his body. He closed his eyes and continued to gasp for air. He felt something cool trace the contours of his face and then slip to his neck and chest. Opening his eyes slowly, he found the gambler bathing him with cool water. Chris’ breath caught as he read the pity in the man’s face. Then, looking up, Standish saw that he was being watched, and forced his expression to reflect one of drollery.

"Mr. Larabee, had I expected to be pressed into service as a nursemaid, I believe I would have remained in that repulsive bunkhouse." He smiled and winked, hoping that Larabee knew that he was teasing.

"Yeah, well you can...always go on out...there," Chris responded, his face only showing a faint hint of humor.

"Ah, sir, I fear that I would leave this place with a wide variety of afflictions from a longer stay in that deplorable place." He wrung the rag out and began bathing Larabee’s arms.

"Yeah, well, that’s good Ezra, cause...I’m thinking maybe you should...start working with Nathan full-time...you do make a damn fine...nursemaid..."

"Why, thank you sir, I shall take that under advisement." Just then any further remarks were cut short as Nathan Jackson entered carrying a tray.

"Ah, our sustenance has arrived."

"Chris, I brought you up some mush...figure that’s about all you need to think about handlin’ right now. Doctored it with some molasses, so it oughta be tolerable at least," the healer said.

Taking the tray from the other man, Standish said, "I do hope you’ve brought me something a bit more substantial, Mr. Jackson."

"Yeah, think you’ll be able to get by on some ham and eggs?"

"Depends...who cooked them?"

"I did."

"As long as it wasn’t Mr. Wilmington...the man would burn water," Standish said with an exaggerated look of exasperation.

With a chuckle, Nathan said, "nope, we didn’t let him near the stove."

"Thank you for that," Ezra replied. He turned to place his plate on the bedside table, then put the tray on Chris’ lap. Arranging the bowl of mush and the coffee mug so that the gunman could reach them both with his left hand, he retrieved his plate and sat down. "Now sir, I shall only be able to enjoy this if you join me in eating."

The blond had been smiling throughout the exchange between the other two men, and hardly realized that Standish had placed the tray on his lap. Looking down at the bow, then over at the plate the gambler was holding, he sighed. "Wouldn’t want to trade would you?"

"Alas, no, I fear that I shall require this repast in order to take my turn at watch later when I am relieved."

Taking this as his cue to retreat, Nathan said, "yeah, I’ll be back up in ‘bout an hour Ezra, so you can take your watch."

"Very well, Mr. Jackson." The gambler said around a mouth full of eggs. After the healer had left, he turned his attention back to the gunman. "Now sir, shall we?"

With a put upon look, Chris lifted the spoon and began to slowly eat the mush. His expression was one of distaste, as the thick meal forced its way down his throat. After managing to eat little more than a third of the food, he sighed and dropped the spoon into the bowl. Picking up the mug, which Jackson had wisely only half filled, he took a few sips of coffee. Placing it back on the tray, he lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. He vaguely felt the tray being picked up and then someone wiped his face. He was lifted carefully and the second pillow removed. He felt himself returned to the bed, and the blankets rearranged over him. "Thanks," he murmured.

"My pleasure, Chris," came the reply in rich southern tones.

Buck Wilmington sat, uncharacteristically silent, astride his grey horse watching as Vin Tanner studied the ground. The tracker straightened, stretching to ease the tension in his back. Looking up at the other man, he simply shook his head. There was no sign of the woman who had destroyed Chris Larabee’s happiness...his life...in her own twisted bid for his love.

"How th’ hell’d that bitch get so clean away?" Buck bit out.

"Same way she done ever’thin’ else, I reckon," Vin replied. "Crazy folks, they got ways a doin’ things sane folks can’t fathom."

With a bitter smile, the gunman said, "crazy ‘r not, that murderin’ bitch’s gonna pay...for all of it."

Feeling a chill at the barely restrained fury, Vin simply nodded and stepped back up onto Peso’s back. Kneeing the horse, he started off once more. Riding next to the bigger man, Vin watched him out of the corner of his eye. After a couple of minutes, he spoke quietly. "Buck, somethin’s eatin’ y’. Wanna talk about it?"

Buck didn’t answer for some time. His piece said, Vin returned his attention to searching for signs of Ella Gaines. It was nearly five miles later before the other man spoke.

"Vin, you ever make a discov’ry a somethin’, only t’ find out y’ come to it too late?"

"Hell, reckon we all have one time ‘r ‘nother. What’s on your mind, pard?"

"Hilda...one a the ladies stayin’ –

"I know which one she...was."

"Oh," the big man looked at his companion quizzically. "Didn’t think you’s inside enuff t’ know who anybody was."

"Wasn’t. Them blackberries she brung ya?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, we spent a real nice coupla a’ hours talkin’ wilst she picked ‘m. Couldn’t very well leave th’ lady waddin’ ‘round them bri’rs all by herself."

"Talkin’ huh?" Buck said with the glimmer of a smile.

"Yep," Tanner turned in the saddle to face the other man. "Talkin’ ‘bout you."

His gaze snapping away, Buck let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

But all he said was, "oh."

"Buck? Sorry...didn’t mean t’ make y’ feel worse."

"Naw, it’s okay boy, I deserve feelin’ bad ‘bout it all. I was so busy sniffin’ round that I didn’t see Hilda for who she was...leastways, not til it was too late."

"Seemed like an awful nice lady," Vin said. "I thought you’d a been first in line t’ court ‘r. Reckon I don’t know y’ as well as I thought."

Shaking his head, Wilmington said, "reckon I don’t know m’self ‘s well as I thought. If I was half as smart as I thought I was, I would’a been right after her, ‘stead a runnin’ away from her." He hear Chris’ voice in his ear, ‘you can run, stud, but you can’t hide.’ His friend had been right, but not about the right thing. Buck could never hide from the truth, could never really hide from the mistake he had made. He had been wrong about the woman, and he hadn’t really seen that until she lay dying. Dying because she had cared enough about him – someone little more than a stranger – that she had put herself in danger. She had died because she cared enough about him, despite the way he treated her, that she had walked out into that gun battle and gotten herself killed.

Suddenly the gunman realized that he was breathing more and more rapidly. He could feel the pain of his guilt weighing heavier and heavier on his chest. Stretching upward in the saddle, he took a deep breath, trying desperately to lighten his load. Then he slumped back in the saddle, knowing it was impossible. He had treated her badly for too long, and he would carry that burden for a very long time. Feeling tears burning in his eyes, the big man kicked his horse and shot forward away from his companion.

"Buck? Buck!" Tanner cried as Wilmington streaked away from him astride the grey.