DAYBREAK

By Trekkieb

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven belong to MGM, CBS, TNN, and all those other guys. They do not belong to me. This piece of fan fiction was written for fun. No infringements are intended, and no money has been/is being made for this.

Warning: OFC alert! Also, mild-to-moderate swearing and violence

Acknowledgments: A huge thanks to Julia, Deb, and the Ladysmiths for their incredible beta jobs! They're such wonderful help. Thank you, thank you, thank you! And thank you, Gloria, for helping me with that stagecoach mileage info! And finally, thanks go to Mattie for her very helpful website on the guys' guns -- without it, I wouldn't have a clue!

It wasn't fair.

Really, it wasn't.

What had he ever done to deserve such a deplorable situation? Well, besides lying. And cheating. And thinking of no one but himself more often than not. And a lifetime of conning innocent -- and not so innocent -- people out of their worldly possessions. Still, it was hardly right that he, Ezra Standish, gentleman of the South, was sitting in a tiny and uncomfortable jail cell. In a tiny and uncomfortable jail cell, in the unpleasant town of Clayton Falls. In a tiny, uncomfortable jail cell, in the unpleasant town of Clayton Falls, framed for murder. Murder! The proverbial icing on his cake.

With a groan of boredom, frustration, and irritation, Ezra pushed himself up from the sagging, torn cot, the only thing in his cell besides, well, him. He tried out of habit to brush the grime from his shirt, but the effort was futile. The once white material was now almost beige with dirt and sweat, and the sleeve cuffs were beginning to fray. His red jacket and black-and-gold vest were long gone, and he shuddered at the thought of the rough and careless hands that most likely had possession of them. Still, even covered in dust and missing his jacket, he tried to maintain his dignity. His ruined shirt was buttoned to the neck - cravat knotted smartly at his throat - and tucked into his trousers, which unfortunately were in scarcely better shape. His hair he kept tamed with his hands, although there was nothing he could do at the moment about the two days’ worth of whiskers on his face.

Stretching to loosen his muscles after sitting for so long, he walked over to the single small window in his cell, set high on the wall. He gripped the iron bars with both hands and peered out at the scene before him. The sun was bright over the eastern horizon, and people were out and about. But the thing that drew his attention was the wooden structure rising from the middle of the town square. The gallows was being constructed much too quickly for Ezra’s liking; it looked like it would be finished before the day was through. And the trial hadn’t even started yet!

Unfortunately, Ezra already had a pretty good idea what the outcome of said trial would be.

And then what would he do, once his guilt was decreed by a federal judge? Let himself hang? "Hardly," he muttered.

In a burst of anger, he shoved himself away from the window and paced the small cell. It was exactly eight paces by seven. He'd counted. Over and over and over... When nobody was around to witness his apprehension, he’d paced from one end of the cell to the other, thinking and planning on how to get out of this mess. But what could he do? The guards were no fools. Well, okay, one was, sort of, but not foolish enough to fall for him pretending to be sick or anything so simple. And with their threat of hurting Kira hanging over his head, he was hesitant to try something so blatantly obvious.

Even though he'd done it a dozen times already, and even though he knew it wouldn't solve anything, he cursed the letter that had started it all. That damned letter….

*** *** ***

Ezra stood in the dusty street and looked at the elegant script on the back of the envelope. The letter had just arrived on the stage, coming as somewhat of a surprise, actually. But one glance at the elegant script on the back told him exactly from whom it was. "Mother," he said, shaking his head. "What now?"

Heading for the saloon, he broke the wax seal and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. His pace slowed as he began to read.

Dearest Ezra,

Just last week I happened to trip on the steps of the Montgomery Hotel, Denver, as I was ordering my baggage to be taken to my room. As it turns out, it would seem I've broken my ankle. Oh, Ezra, the pain! I nearly fainted dead away. Only the thought of that shady-looking bellhop stealing something valuable from my bags gave me the strength to stay conscious. Never trust an Italian, son.

Anyway, you needn't worry too much about me. The hotel manager feels just awful about the incident, and has decided to let me stay for as long as I wish at no expense. He has also loaned me the use of a maid to wait on me for duration of my stay. Wasn't that nice of him? While I am doing as well as can be expected, it would certainly lighten your mother's poor heart to see her only child again. Also, Ezra dear, perhaps you would see fit to bring along a little extra currency so that I may have something to wager with during the long, pain-filled days. I hope to see you soon.

Loving regards,

Maude

Shaking his head, Ezra refolded the letter and placed it in his coat pocket. "Money. I should have known." He stepped up to the boardwalk outside the saloon.

"Hey, Ezra!" greeted a familiar voice. Turning, Standish saw JD Dunne a few yards away, also heading for the saloon.

"Good afternoon, JD," he responded, waiting for the young man to catch up. "And how are you faring this fine day?"

JD took off his hat and swiped a hand through his dark hair. "Okay, I guess." He shrugged, looked around, then said: "You ain’t seen Buck around, have you?"

"I can’t say that I have."

The young sheriff exhaled loudly in relief. When he saw Ezra’s puzzled expression, he explained. "I, uh, kind of asked Casey to the dance in two weeks. Buck heard about it, and he hasn’t given me a moment’s rest from his teasin’."

Ezra smiled. "Well, if I see him, I shall point him in a direction away from you."

JD laughed and jammed his hat back on his head. "Thanks, Ez."

The men entered the saloon and paused, letting their eyes adjust to the dim interior. They spotted two of their comrades seated at a table, and JD headed that way. Ezra detoured to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. Taking the glass with him, he joined his friends. Vin and Josiah nodded their greeting to him as he sat down.

"How's it goin', Ezra?" queried Vin.

"Fine, thank you." Ezra finished his whiskey and set the glass on the scarred wooden table. Looking at the others, he said, "I will be traveling to Denver on the next stage out."

Josiah lazily raised one eyebrow. "What for?"

With a wry chuckle, Ezra explained the letter he’d received.

"Oh," JD said. "I know how she feels. I broke my foot climbin' a tree when I was ten. Were the worst weeks of my life. Couldn't walk on it for almost six weeks, and then it hurt somethin' awful when I did."

An idea dawned on Ezra. He sat up straight in his chair and looked at JD. "Would you care to accompany me?" he asked, striving to appear nonchalant.

"What, to Denver?" JD asked. He glanced at Vin and Josiah, but the two just shrugged.

"No, to France. Of course, to Denver. Having had experience in this area, perhaps you could give my mother some tips on how to keep from going stir crazy. What do you say, JD?" Come on; say yes, Ezra pleaded silently. He really didn't want to have to deal with Maude all by himself if he could help it. At least if JD went with, they could take turns entertaining her.

JD thought about it for a second, then came to a decision. "Okay, sure, Ezra." He grinned. "This is great. I can stand to get away from Buck for a little while. Maybe when we get back, he’ll have forgotten about me and Casey." He looked at the others hopefully. "Don’t you think?"

Vin smiled and shook his head. "If you say so, kid."

JD groaned and thumped his forehead on the table, mumbling something into the wooden surface.

"What’s that, JD?" Josiah asked.

"Nothing." JD sighed and pushed himself up from his seat. "Well, I gotta go. I promised Mrs. Potter I’d help her move around some display shelves. See ya, guys." He waved absent-mindedly on his way out of the saloon.

After JD left, Vin looked appraisingly at Ezra. "That was right nice what you did, inviting him and all."

Standish stood and collected his hat from where it lay on the table. "There's no need to sound so surprised, Mr. Tanner. Besides, it's as much for my sanity as it is for Mother's."

"Is there room for one more?" Josiah asked in that quiet rumble of his.

Ezra stopped and smirked. He wasn’t really surprised; it was no secret that Josiah was enamored with Maude Standish. After a second of consideration, he tilted his head in acceptance. "I don’t see why not. The more the merrier, as they say."

Out in the sunlight, Ezra stopped once more. He knew that Maude didn’t think much of the town of Four Corners or the men he worked with. He just hoped that she at least managed to keep her opinions to herself for a few days.

Pulling his hat down to block the sun, Ezra Standish stepped down to the street, oddly looking forward to the upcoming journey.

*** *** ***

The day dawned clear and slightly chilly. When the stage arrived at seven o’ clock, JD, Josiah and Ezra loaded their saddlebags onto the rear luggage compartment. They didn't need much; they would only be staying in Denver for a few days-three or four at the most. Buck, Vin, Chris, and Nathan were standing nearby, waiting to see them off.

"Hey, JD, don’t be gone too long or Casey might think you’ve gone and fallen for one o’ them Denver girls," Buck teased with a smile. He tugged on the lapels of his coat and added, "She might decide to find herself a tall, handsome, charming man to get back at ya with."

"Oh, yeah?" JD retorted. "Like who?"

"I’ll tell you who. Me, that’s who. Don’t you know girls can’t resist my animal magnetism, JD?"

JD snorted in disbelief as he climbed aboard the stage.

Vin snickered, and Buck elbowed him in the ribs.

Ezra was the last to board. Before he climbed inside, Nathan stepped forward. "I hope your ma feels better real soon, Ezra," he said.

"Yeah," Chris Larabee added, grinning, "tell her we said hi."

Standish grinned back. He knew what Larabee thought of his mother, and knew that he was only being polite. It was kind of amusing, really. "Thank you, gentlemen. I'll do just that." He closed and latched the door, then leaned back in his seat. The driver clucked to the horses, and they started on their way.

"So how long’s it take to get to Denver?" JD asked as he watched Four Corners disappear behind them.

"Near three days," Josiah answered.

Dunne swiveled his head from the window and looked at Josiah and Ezra. His expression was one of mild surprise, followed quickly by one of resignation.

"Yes," Ezra stated. "It is a long ride, but at least we'll be arriving in comfort. When I traveled to Charleston years ago..."

JD groaned out loud. "You've got to be kidding. We don't have to listen to this the whole way, do we?"

"Well, I did happen to bring along a newly acquired deck of cards. We could always engage in a game of chance." Ezra smiled and produced the cards from an interior pocket of his coat.

"So," JD shot a quick glance at Josiah, then continued brightly, "what were you saying about Charleston?"

Josiah chuckled, and Ezra began to talk.

*** *** ***

Four hours later, they pulled into the town of Clayton Falls to rest the horses and have a brief meal. The three peacekeepers had lunch in the town’s only restaurant, Mama’s Kitchen. Afterwards, they stopped by one of the saloons for a drink.

The place was surprisingly busy for the late-morning hour. Josiah and JD snagged an empty table while Standish pushed his way to the bar. "Barkeep!" he called over the noise of laughing, talking, and the playing of an off-key piano. When the burly barkeeper looked his way, Ezra ordered half a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. He set a couple of coins on the polished wood counter when the order was placed before him, and with the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other, he turned around. Only to run smack into the tall, blond man standing right behind him.

"Pardon me," Ezra muttered and started to move past the man.

The stranger moved to block his path. "You should watch where you're goin', mister." He glared at Ezra, taking in the fine red coat and gold ring.

Standing as close as they were, Ezra could smell the whiskey on the man's breath. Wonderful. Just what he needed: a confrontation with a drunken local. His green eyes narrowed, and his voice became dangerously cold. "I shall endeavor to do so in the future," he ground out. He had no problem apologizing if it would get this unfriendly man out of his face. "Now, I suggest you move out of my way and let me pass." Looking past the man's shoulder, Ezra could see JD and Josiah watching the whole scene from their table. They looked ready to jump in if things got out of hand. A couple of the bar’s patrons glanced at Ezra and the other man, but their faces showed very little interest.

The stranger glanced over his shoulder as well and saw the JD and Josiah. Turning back, he pointed a finger at Ezra, glared at him a second longer, then stepped aside. Ezra brushed past, shaking his head in disgust, and headed for his companions.

"What was that about?" JD asked as Ezra set down the whiskey and glasses.

Ezra sat down and poured a little into each glass. "Just a little run-in with a hostile local. I suggest, gentlemen, that we finish our drinks and leave. I have no wish to risk our getting back on the stage in one piece."

The other two nodded in agreement and picked up their drinks. Fifteen minutes later, they pushed their way through the crowded saloon towards the batwing doors.

The blond man watched them go, his eyes boring straight into the back of the man wearing the red coat. He had a feeling he'd be running into the fancy man again sometime soon.

*** *** ***

Thankfully, their next stop, in the town of Clearwater, passed uneventfully, and they reached their final destination with no further trouble.

"Ahh," Ezra said as he stepped out of the stage. Denver. "This is it, gentlemen." Josiah and JD climbed out after him and looked around at the busy streets.

Ezra took a deep breath of the cool, late afternoon air and smiled widely at the scene before him. The streets were filled with carriages, horses, and people, all going about their own lives. The tall storefronts and other buildings were painted attractively and were in good repair. It felt good to be in a bustling metropolis again. He'd spent way too much time in the tiny town of Four Corners. It made him claustrophobic at times, feeling as if he were trapped in an ever-tightening noose. He longed to be in a place where no one knew his name and he knew no one.

Well, with the exception of Maude, of course.

After a minute, Ezra said to the young boy who was fetching their bags from the back of the stagecoach, "Where might we find an establishment called the Montgomery Hotel, young sir?"

The boy set the last of their three bags on the ground, and then answered. "Right along Evans Street," he said, pointing. "It's the big brick building. Can't miss it."

They thanked him, and Ezra - in a generous mood -- tipped him well. Picking up their belongings, the three started off for the hotel.

JD loved Denver already. He’d always loved being in the city. But it had been a while since he’d last been in one, not since his ma had passed on. He loved watching the people; when he was little, he’d created all sorts of fanciful lives and tragic histories for the people he passed on the street. A redheaded girl caught his eye, and she smiled briefly at him as they passed. JD swiveled his head to keep her in sight until she disappeared, then smiled and faced front once again.

Josiah tried not to laugh at the young man. He himself had once been in awe of the city life. But that was long ago. Now he much preferred the quiet ways of a little desert town called Four Corners.

To Ezra, it was a refreshing break from the dusty streets, dilapidated buildings, and plainly dressed population of Four Corners and its surrounding settlements. The streets in this neighborhood were cobbled with brick, the carriages were handsome, and the store windows displayed the latest in fashions. As they passed a bakery, the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked bread wafted out to them.

A short walk later, they came upon the Montgomery Hotel. The structure stood four stories high, was made of red brick, and had white gingerbread trimming. As they climbed the front steps, Standish absently wondered if they were the same ones Maude had tripped over.

The three lawmen entered the spacious, richly decorated lobby. "I shall check us in, and find out Mother's room number," Ezra said. JD and Josiah nodded and hung back as he approached the clerk. He returned a moment later. "All right, gentlemen, our rooms are on the third floor." He looked at the keys in his hand. "12, 14, and 17. And Mother's is Room 6, on the second floor. Shall we head on up?"

They dropped their belongings off in their rooms and decided to freshen up before they headed for Maude Standish's room. The long trip had left them tired and dirty, and in dire need of some warm water and soap.

Twenty minutes later, bathed and refreshed, Ezra knocked on the door to Room 6, JD and Josiah standing behind him. Ezra would go in first to say hello, then the others would follow. "Come in," a feminine voice called.

Taking a deep breath and mentally bracing himself for his mother's strong personality, Standish entered the room. It was undoubtedly one of the hotel's finer ones. Two large windows overlooked a tree-lined courtyard in back of the building. Heavy brocade drapes, pulled back for sunlight, reached the wood floor. The huge bed was made of polished oak; a canopy with white lace curtains was situated above it. Beveled glass sconces were spaced all around the papered walls, unlit for now. A curved-back brocade sofa sat along one wall, the color perfectly matching that of the curtains. Between the two windows was a handsome antique writing desk, its every plane and curve polished to a lustrous shine. It was here that Maude Standish sat, immaculately dressed, blonde hair perfectly coifed. Her right foot, sheathed in a gray plaster casing, was propped upon a cushioned chair. She was busy writing something and didn't look up until Ezra cleared his throat.

Turning, she said, "Ezra, darling! How wonderful to see you. I take it you received my letter?" She reached out her hand to him.

Ezra crossed the room, took her hand, and kissed her cheek. "Mother," he greeted. "Yes, I received your correspondence. It was most unfortunate to hear of your predicament. You seem to be doing well."

"Yes," Maude sighed, "but the days pass so slowly when one's range of motion is inhibited."

Ezra smiled mischievously. "Which is exactly why I brought you company."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh? And who might that be?"

Without saying a word, Ezra moved to the door and opened it. In stepped his two friends. Maude stared at them for a moment, then back to Ezra with a look that said volumes. You have got to be kidding me, her gaze said scornfully.

Ezra ignored the look. "Mother," he said, a little too gleefully, "you remember JD Dunne and Josiah Sanchez from your last visit, don't you?"

Remembering her manners, but not liking it one bit, Maude smiled tightly at the two men. "Of course. How do you do?" She held out her hand.

"Ma'am," JD greeted. He hung back, hat in hand. It was obvious that Ezra’s mother intimidated him.

"Maude, a pleasure to see you again." Apparently Josiah wasn't intimidated, just love-struck. He bowed and kissed the back of her hand. "You are as lovely as the last time we met."

Maude's lips twitched into a genuine smile. "You flatter me so, Josiah."

Sanchez smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled. "No, ma’am. I just speak the truth."

Ezra rolled his eyes, but the action went unnoticed by Josiah and ignored by Maude. "Mother, I have brought Mr. Dunne because he himself has been through the inescapable boredom that comes with a broken appendage. He has decided to share some tips with you on ways to dissipate your no doubt growing frustration."

"That's right, Mrs. Standish," JD chimed in, reminded of his reason for coming. "I know lots of things you can do to pass the time."

"Oh, really." She shot another look at her son, who gazed back innocently.

"Oh, sure," JD continued eagerly. "You can read dime novels…or magazines if you prefer. You can carve figures out of wood. You can make crafts. Why, this one time I made an entire birdhouse out of a buncha toothpicks and carpenter’s glue… Hey, do you think we could find some toothpicks somewhere around here?"

Ezra ducked his head, lest the others see the grin that threatened to break his face in half.

*** *** ***

Step. Step. Landing. Step down. Carefully… The sole recipient of Ezra’s attention was the grand staircase that he was descending. Twelve more to go. Come on, you can do it.

"At this rate, I’m going to be old and gray before we reach the lobby," the woman in Ezra’s arms complained.

Ezra scowled. "Perhaps you’d like to try carrying me down two flights of stairs someday," he griped. "Really, Mother, either you’re wearing twenty pounds of petticoats or you’ve been doing quite well for yourself." He puffed as he made it down three more steps.

"Oh hush up, Ezra. What would you have me do? Spend all my time up in that awful room?"

"Awful, Mother?" he laughed. "You have the finest accommodations in the entire building!"

"You know what I mean. Watch my foot!" This last part was exclaimed as Ezra’s right foot nearly slipped on the edge of one carpeted step. He righted himself without incident and silently carried Maude down the remaining portion of the staircase.

He walked swiftly into the adjacent bar, anxious to put her down somewhere. "There," she said, pointing to a table where three well-dressed men played cards. "They certainly look promising." Ezra dutifully carried her where she wanted to go. "Excuse me," she said sweetly to the men. They looked up from their cards. "Do you mind terribly if I join your game?"

"Well…" one mustached man began, a little uncertainly.

But Maude didn’t give him a chance to continue. "You see, I’ve just recently injured my foot, and it is quite painful. I was looking for something to occupy my mind during my recuperation." She portrayed the Southern belle in distress quite well, Ezra thought.

The three men looked at one another, shrugged, then turned to Maude. "We’d be delighted," the mustached one said and rose politely from his seat.

"Oh, I’m most grateful, gentlemen. You can set me down, Ezra." Relieved, he did just that. She introduced herself to the group. "I am Maude Sterling, and this is my son Ezra."

Pleasantries were exchanged, and the cards dealt. "Ezra, why don’t you go and fetch me and my new friends some drinks?" She barely glanced up from inspecting her cards.

Ezra looked up from flexing the sore muscles in his arms. He suppressed a sigh and headed for the bar. "Four brandies," he ordered. "Wait! Better make that five." He needed a drink, too. A moment later, the drinks were produced along with a tray, and Ezra reached for one of the glasses. He leaned back against the polished bar and sipped the liquid. Rolling it across his tongue, Ezra decided once again that the brandy was indeed worth its reputation.

It was the second day of his visit. Maude had graciously spent the morning with Josiah and JD, pretending to be interested-or at least refraining from rudeness-in JD’s discussion of Bat Masterson’s many heroic exploits. Although Ezra suspected she rather enjoyed Josiah’s doting, he had been somewhat surprised that she’d managed for so long without totally alienating his friends. Only a little while ago, Ezra had relieved his fellow peacekeepers from their duty, and they had gone off to explore Denver and have lunch.

From where he was positioned, Ezra could see his mother laughing at something one of her table companions -- the one with the gray hair -- said. He shook his head. If there was anything Maude loved more than poker, he couldn’t think of it.

He downed the rest of his drink, picked up the tray from the counter, and headed for the card game.

*** *** ***

Some time later, Ezra sat looking at his incredibly awful hand. The seven of clubs, the two of clubs, the queen of diamonds, the nine of hearts, and the ace of hearts. And this was after he’d drawn three cards from the dealer. Even he couldn’t win with this hand. So he folded and sat back.

He had to admire his mother. She was good. He could read Maude easily, and knew that she had a mediocre hand of cards. But she hid it artfully, and he knew the other players couldn’t tell. However, that wasn’t what he was smirking inwardly about. Throughout the afternoon, Maude had subtly used her injury to her advantage, absently rubbing her foot, making Ezra fetch her a chair to set it upon because it "ached so," and pretending pain for the benefit of the other players. She had the men eating out of her hand and the hotel staff treating her like a queen.

Ezra didn’t doubt for a minute that her injury was counterfeit.

*** *** ***

"A toast," Ezra said as he raised his shot glass. "To an…interesting…trip." He grinned slightly, shook his head, and downed his drink. He had been quite glad when the time to depart Denver arrived. He loved his mother; he really did. But anyone who knew Maude as well as he did would have agreed with him-three consecutive days was the limit of endurance. Besides, with the money that Ezra had lent her, she would have more than enough to keep herself in the game.

"It was fun," JD stated.

"Most interesting," Josiah added; it was clear by the slight smile on his face that he was still thinking of the ever-enchanting Maude.

Ezra’s grin metamorphosed into a smile as one eyebrow crept up. "Yes," he agreed, shaking his head once more in disbelief.

The night was young, and the Clearwater Saloon had a pleasing atmosphere, so he poured another round for his friends and sat back in his chair.

*** *** ***

Josiah rotated his shoulders inconspicuously, trying to relieve his complaining back muscles. He’d been sitting in his hard wooden chair for a while, now, and was beginning to feel it. But he didn’t mind. The town’s blacksmith was a most interesting conversationalist…

"No, I would have to agree more with Aristotle’s theory than with Mencius’," said Jeb Hartford, Josiah’s tablemate.

Josiah leaned forward again, intrigued. "The theory that humans are born neither good nor bad, but have the ability to acquire such virtue or vice… Yes, I can see where that might make more sense than Mencius’ at times convoluted arguments…"

Several whistles and laughs filled the saloon, and Josiah and Jeb looked across the tavern. Five men, Ezra among them, were seated at a round, felt-covered table, immersed in a game of cards. A small crowd of onlookers watched the game progress, and from the looks of it, the game was getting pretty good. Josiah spotted JD among the audience, standing behind Ezra and watching the proceedings with much interest.

Seeing that everything was all right, Sanchez turned his attention back to the blacksmith. "Another drink, my friend?" he offered, holding up the bottle that they had been sharing.

Jeb nudged his glass forward. "Please."

Josiah obliged, and then refilled his own glass. The malt whiskey wasn’t of the best quality, but it left a nice smoky taste on Josiah’s tongue, and a warm feeling as it flowed down his throat; the result had Josiah in a very mellow mood.

"I’ve spent some time behind the anvil myself…" Josiah began.

*** *** ***

An hour later, the game broke up. Ezra neatly collected his winnings and stowed them away inside the pocket of his vest. He had made an effort to lose a hand every once in a while, to prevent the possibility that someone would cry cheat, but still he had come out with almost a hundred dollars in profit.

"Good game, gentlemen," he said, flashing his gold tooth in a wide smile. He picked up his hat and was about to scan the room for his traveling companions when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Ezra tensed, but it was only one of the other card players.

"Mr. Standish, may I buy you a drink?" the short, balding man asked. He was dressed in a subdued three-piece suit. It was he who had contributed greatly to Ezra’s newfound riches.

"Ah, Mr. Carlisle, surely this isn’t a ploy to talk me into returning your money?" Ezra half-joked. A fool and his money were easily parted, as the saying went. But it was Ezra’s experience that the fool too often tried to get his money back.

Carlisle answered in the negative with a laugh. "Actually, I’d like to talk business."

That piqued Ezra’s interest. "Business?" His sharp eyes appraised the man before him. Carlisle was much better attired than the average poor cowhand, but his appearance did not suggest abundant wealth. Still, Ezra Standish was never one to pass up an opportunity to make a profit. "I’m listening," he said.

After their drinks had been ordered and served, Carlisle spoke: "I’m looking to sell a piece of property I have in my possession."

"Go on," Ezra said. He took a sip from his glass.

"Well," Carlisle continued, "I realize that we’ve only just met, but I fancy myself able to judge a man’s character right off. Now, you, Mr. Standish, seem like a fine and honest gentleman. That’s what I thought to myself - that Mr. Standish seems like a fine and honest professional man. And I thought that you would be the most likely to appreciate such an offer."

Ezra semi-patiently waited for the man to get to the point. His first inclination was to seriously doubt that Carlisle had anything worthy of purchasing. His second inclination was to wonder, if the property was indeed something Carlisle deemed worthy of his interest, what was the reason that he didn’t want it himself?

"What, exactly, are we talking about here?" he asked.

Carlisle must have sensed Standish’s growing restlessness, because he quickly got down to business. "It’s fifteen acres of prime land, located just twelve miles east of here." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "There’s a little hot spring on the northwest corner of the plot. It’s secluded within a stand of trees. Pure heaven! I myself have entertained the thought of building a little hotel there and…charging…the patrons to soak in the spring. You know what they say…hot springs have remarkable therapeutic qualities." Carlisle grinned enthusiastically, peering at Ezra through the smoky air.

Ezra thought about that information. It was an interesting offer. A hotel would be expensive, but…it was certainly an idea. Perhaps he could have it built over time… And people did tend to believe the myth about hot springs…

Now don’t get carried away, he told himself. First things first… "You certainly have my interest, Mr. Carlisle. The obvious question would be: how much are you asking for me to take this property off of your hands?"

Carlisle hemmed and hawed for a minute, then named an outrageously high figure. Ezra would have laughed out loud, but for the fact that it might be detrimental to this potential business transaction. He tried the tactful approach instead. "Well," he drawled, interjecting a regretful tone into his voice, "I’m afraid that your price is just a little too high for my bank savings." Not that it was - Ezra actually had quite a bit saved in the bank - but for fifteen acres? Yeah, right.

"Oh." That made Carlisle pause for a second, and Ezra could almost see the little gears spinning in the man’s brain as he thought furiously. "Well, perhaps you could tell me what you might be able to afford?"

Ezra made a show of thinking about his answer, then suggested a substantially lower sum.

The other man almost grimaced, but quickly covered the action by taking another drink. He smiled faintly. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Standish. Or should I call you Ezra, now that we’re doing business?"

The Southerner chuckled lightly. "I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, my dear Mr. Carlisle. My mother didn’t raise a fool. I fully intend to examine this parcel of land before I give you a several hundred of my hard-earned dollars. How does tomorrow sound? Would you be willing to accompany me, seeing as how you know the location of the area?"

Carlisle nodded, and Ezra resisted a smile. He finished the last of his drink and allowed his smile to surface.

*** *** ***

Josiah and JD were well into their breakfast when Ezra joined them in the hotel restaurant.

"Good morning, Ezra," Josiah greeted heartily, spooning more scrambled eggs into his mouth. JD nodded his own greeting as Ezra sat down.

"And a fine morning it is, too." Standish was apparently in a good mood about something. Their server came and took his order, filling their cups with coffee before she left. Ezra smiled widely at the pretty woman, then picked up his coffee.

"Hey, Ez, did you win any more money last night?" JD asked. When he’d finally gone to bed, Ezra had still been in the saloon.

"Some," Ezra admitted. His breakfast was placed on the table before him. He took a bite, washed it down with more coffee, then continued, "Actually, I had a most interesting discussion with one of my fellow card players. He is looking for someone to purchase a few acres of land."

Josiah asked, "Where?"

"Just a few miles from here, or so he says. I’ll be riding out today with Mr. Carlisle to inspect the area for myself."

JD glanced at Josiah, then back at Ezra. "You’re going to miss the stage."

Ezra nodded and said, "Yes, but there will be another coming this way in a couple of days or so."

"We’ll wait for you here," Josiah offered.

"Nonsense," Ezra scoffed lightly. "There’s no reason the two of you cannot return home without me. You can tell Mr. Larabee that I will be along shortly. No doubt, he is in need of your help with the town." He finished the rest of his breakfast, then pushed the plate aside. Noticing the dubious expression on Josiah’s face, he added, "Come, now. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be on the next stage, back in town in no time at all."

*** *** ***

Ezra wiped the sweat and trail dust from his face with one of his linen handkerchiefs. The day had gotten warmer as the sun approached its zenith, and the lack of trees or other shade had only magnified the heat.

Carlisle rode alongside Ezra’s rented horse. He was quiet now, but had previously named it his duty to carry the conversation. Ezra couldn’t tell if he was just naturally chatty, or if he was nervously trying to stem any questions before they were asked.

Ezra was curious about one thing, and took advantage of the lull in conversation. "Tell me, Mr. Carlisle," he began amiably, "why is it that you haven’t already built your suggested hotel? You said yourself that the land and the hot spring make it the perfect place…"

"Oh, it is!" Carlisle assured quickly. "You won’t find a better spot." He hesitated, but then said: "Actually, I’ve, uh, run into a bit of financial trouble. I borrowed quite a bit of money for a previous business venture, and found myself a bit short of funds to pay it back. I had hoped to win some money at the tables, but you may have guessed I’m not the world’s best poker player."

"I see. Surely the bank will allow an extension?"

Carlisle hesitated again. "Not…exactly," he said. "It wasn’t a bank that I borrowed from."

"Ahh," Ezra said, nodding knowingly.

*** *** ***

As it turned out, the piece of "pure heaven," as Carlisle had put it, was severely overrated. The wonderful hot spring was little more than a steaming, mud-filled puddle, and the shady grove that surrounded it was more like a dozen or so hardly-grown saplings.

Ezra tactfully backed out of his position as a potential buyer. Carlisle had been disappointed but not terrible surprised. Ezra suspected that the man knew what a lost cause the land was, and even felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

He boarded the next stage, actually looking forward to returning to Four Corners.

*** *** ***

Ezra climbed into the dim and stuffy interior of the stagecoach and settled down onto one of the two hard benches. It looked like he was the only passenger, and he was glad for the chance to relax and stretch out. A glance at his pocket watch told him that the stage would be leaving any minute. He pulled the brim down over his eyes and tried to get comfortable.

Outside, he could hear the driver getting settled, could hear him clucking to the horses. With a lurch, the team of animals pulled the coach into motion.

"Wait!" a woman’s voice cried out. "Wait!"

Curious, Ezra pushed his hat back and looked out the window. It was a woman all right. She was running towards the stage at full speed, waving one arm to catch the attention of the driver. The other arm clutched a gray carpetbag to her side.

The driver pulled the horses to a stop, and Ezra could hear the two talking. The driver sounded annoyed, the woman breathless. A few seconds later, however, the side door opened, and in climbed the new passenger with the aid of the driver.

She was busy watching her feet and didn’t notice Ezra until his boots made a noise on the wooden planks of the floor. "Oh," she said, looking up. Her face flushed slightly; in embarrassment, Ezra realized.

The woman seated herself on the bench opposite Ezra, and took off her wide-brimmed straw hat. The door was shut and latched, and the driver made his way up top again.

"Hello," she said, holding out one hand. Ezra grasped it in one of his own and gave it a polite squeeze. "Kira Stone - Well, Karen, actually, but everybody calls me Kira." She withdrew her hand and pushed back a few strands of dark blonde hair from her face.

Ezra smiled slightly. Those few strands weren’t the only part of her hair in disarray; running hell bent for leather tended to have that effect. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Stone. Ezra Standish at your service."

"How do you do?" She responded to his smile with one of her own, then smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt of her navy blue dress.

The coach started moving once again with no further disruption.

*** *** ***

"May I ask where you are journeying to, Miss Stone?" Ezra inquired.

It had been several hours since the stage had changed horses at the small, two-man home station. Sporadic small talk had been the only break in the monotonous silence during the second leg of their trip.

She looked away from the window. "You may. But I’m not used to being called Miss Stone; Miss Stone is my spinster aunt in Kentucky. You seem like a gentlemanly person, anyway. Call me Kira."

Ezra raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. "If you insist … Kira." She nodded approvingly, and he continued, "So, then, are you from Kentucky?"

Kira waved a hand in cheery dismissal. "Lord no! I can’t imagine living in Kentucky -- there’s nothing there but, but, well, there’s nothing there at all." She laughed, and Ezra thought to himself that she had a nice laugh.

"I’ve had the experience of traveling through Kentucky a time or two myself, and I must confess, I agree with your evaluation," he said, chuckling.

"No, I’m from Clearwater. Born and raised there. I’m traveling to Four Corners to visit my cousin Jake and his wife, Madeline."

"Do you mean Jake Stone?"

"Why yes," she said, gazing at him curiously. "Do you know him?"

"We’ve met once or twice. I am also headed for Four Corners. In fact, I happen to currently reside there."

Kira’s face lit up with curiosity. "Oh? What is it that you d -- ?"

The rest of her sentence was cut off as the stage jerked to a halt, and the two of them lurched forward in their seats.

What the hell? Ezra thought.

"You inside!" shouted a male voice. "Get on out here, nice and slow!" It was not the voice of the driver.

"Oh, wonderful," Ezra muttered.

"What’s going on?" Kira whispered, eyes wide.

"Kira, my dear, it appears we are in the middle of a robbery."

"Oh…"

Ezra unlatched the door and carefully stepped out onto the hard-packed ground, hands raised in the air. What he saw almost made him groan out loud. Almost.

Two men, each with a dusty plaid handkerchief covering his nose and lower face, were the culprits. One was still seated on his appaloosa, a Spencer rifle aimed at Ezra’s chest. The other had dismounted from his grulla and was keeping his six-shooter trained on the driver, who was down on the ground, clutching his stomach.

All of this Ezra absorbed before his second foot hit the ground. "Gentlemen!" he said brightly. He stepped away from the coach to allow Kira to exit, but was halted from going further by a jerk of the Spencer. He nervously ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. "What, ah, what can we do for you?" Kira stepped behind him. Smart girl, he thought.

The man on the horse spoke: "You can hand over all your money and valuables."

Ezra grimaced at the unoriginality of it all. "Am I to understand that you won’t shoot us if we do as you ask?"

"Maybe," the one on the ground sneered, and Ezra had to resist the urge to sneer right back at him.

"Get his gun, Jay," said the man on the horse. He moved his gun to cover the driver, while Jay stepped forward and relieved Ezra of the Remington he wore on his hip.

"This is a mighty fine gun, mister," Jay taunted as he backed away again. "You any good with it?"

"Return it to me and I’ll be glad to offer a demonstration," Standish deadpanned.

Behind Jay, Ezra noticed that the driver had gotten to his knees. There was a curious expression on the old man’s face. "Jay?" he questioned.

The man on the horse looked startled. Jay whirled around, Ezra’s gun still in his hand. He shook it warningly at the driver. "You’d best shut up, old man!"

But the driver’s face spoke of recognition. "Jay Johnson? What on earth are you doing?"

Jay Johnson didn’t speak. He just pulled the trigger. Ezra blinked in surprise, and Kira screamed, as the old man let out a strangled cry and fell over on his face.

The man on the horse leapt to the ground and strode over to Jay. A glance at Ezra, along with a wave of his rifle, kept Standish from doing anything heroic. "What in the goddamn blazes of hell did you do that fer?" he shouted at Johnson.

"He recognized me!" Johnson defended himself. "What was I s’posed to do?"

"Goddamn!" the man yelled again.

"Looks like you’ve got yourself a predicament," Ezra remarked blandly.

The stranger stalked over to where Ezra and Kira stood and shoved his rifle against Standish’s sternum. He stood there, less than two feet away, breathing heavily. He seemed to be seriously contemplating the merits of shooting the Southerner right then and there.

Beneath the man’s battered gray hat, Ezra could make out unwashed blond hair and dark hazel eyes. Recognition stirred within him, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he had last seen the man.

The blond stared at Ezra peculiarly, and after a minute his gaze narrowed a bit. "Don’t I know you?" he whispered softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

Ezra attempted a chuckle. "I’m sure I would have remembered meeting someone such as yourself…."

From the corner of his eye, Ezra watched as Johnson walked over, curiosity showing.

"You know this feller?" Jay asked.

The familiar-looking man laughed darkly. He moved back a few steps, but kept the rifle aimed squarely at Ezra’s heart. "Sure do. Just don’t know from where, yet." He leaned in again and sneered. "But I will, and when I do…" He let the threat trail off unfinished.

"No rush," Standish assured him.

That comment earned him a fist to the gut. The air whooshed out of Ezra’s lungs, and he doubled over slightly, trying not to cough.

"Leave him alone!" Kira ordered. She helped Ezra stand up straight again.

The blond man smirked, then turned to his accomplice. "All right, Jay, let’s finish things up here. You check the girl for anything worth taking."

Jay smiled lasciviously. "My pleasure, yes-sir-ee." He grabbed hold of Kira’s arm and roughly started to pull her away from Ezra.

Well, it’s now or never, Ezra, he thought to himself. What’s it going to be?

With a sudden lunge, Ezra knocked the rifle away from his chest, pushing its owner off balance. At the same time, he activated the release on his sleeve rig. The little derringer popped out into his palm, and he aimed it at the half-turned form of Jay Johnson. He was just about to put a bullet in the outlaw when a sudden, sharp pain exploded in the back of his head, and all went black.

*** *** ***

Ezra awoke to a pounding headache and a too-bright sun. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of light…and froze.

He listened carefully. A few seconds later, he heard a light sound, a scuffling of feet in the dirt. He tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes.

It was Kira Stone. "Relax," she said, kneeling down beside him.

"Miss Stone," Ezra said in relief. Finding himself sprawled out on the ground, Ezra hastened to sit up. A flash of vertigo made him regret his action.

"I thought we’d discussed this. It’s Kira," she informed him, placing an arm behind his back to help him sit up.

Ezra squinted and placed a hand to the back of his head. When he pulled it away again, he was relieved to see that there was no blood.

"Are you all right?" Kira asked.

Ezra looked up into her anxious face and realized that, aside from a bump on his head, he was otherwise uninjured. "Yes, I believe so," he answered. "If you would be so kind as to help me to stand?"

She helped him to his feet. He pushed aside the initial dizziness.

"How long was I unconscious?" he asked.

"I’m not sure. Twenty minutes or so, I guess." She paused, then added, "I was getting a bit worried. I didn’t know what to do."

He took in her mussed hair and slightly rumpled clothing, and his eyes narrowed. "Did they hurt you?"

She understood his question and hurried to assure him. "No. No. I’m all right. But they took the horses…"

Ezra spun around to look at the coach. She was right; the horses were gone. His derringer was also missing, as were - he noted with some surprise and indignation - his vest and red jacket. And his ring, his gold ring. He sighed angrily. "Well, my dear, it looks like you and I shall be finishing our journey on foot." They’d left him his hat, at least.

"Do you think we’ll run into them again?" she asked, the fingers of one hand nervously pleating the fabric of her skirt. She seemed to realize what she was doing, and clasped both hands around her straw hat. It was the first time Ezra noticed it in her grasp; she must have retrieved it from the coach.

Ezra patted her shoulder comfortingly. "I should think not. Those rodents are no doubt headed back to whatever hole they crawled out from." At least he hoped so.

Kira smiled tentatively. She started to turn, then stopped. "Oh…what about him?" The stage driver.

Ezra walked over and hunkered down beside the dead man. Now came the part he hated. With one hand, he patted down the driver’s coat front, avoiding the distasteful bloodstain. One pocket contained a pipe and a pouch of tobacco, along with a few matches wrapped in wax paper. In the other pocket was a receipt for the order of a new rig for the team of horses. Printed neatly beneath the sum paid was the name Rick Pearson. Ezra put the receipt in his pants pocket.

There was nothing with which to bury the man, so Ezra wrapped him in a blanket Kira had found tucked beneath one of the stagecoach benches and placed him inside the cabin where wild predators couldn’t reach him quite so easily.

"Just one last thing," Ezra said as he latched the coach’s door. He walked over to the rear, where the luggage was tied, and pushed aside Kira’s carpetbag, which was covering his saddlebags. He noted absently that her initials were stenciled onto the wooden grasp. He then grabbed his saddlebags, reached inside one of them, and withdrew a tightly rolled garment.

Kira watched with curiosity as he unrolled the fabric. From within its folds, Ezra extracted the solid form of his Colt Richards conversion.

With a slight smile, he rubbed the shiny black barrel with his thumb, then checked the load; the chamber was full. He would have preferred the stronger firepower of his rifle, but the Colt would be easier to carry.

Ezra showed the gun to Kira. She matched his smile with a relieved one of her own.

"At least now we stand a better chance if we do come across the pair anytime soon," Ezra said. He tucked the gun into the holster on his gun belt. As a last thought, he grabbed the driver’s canteen from under the topside seat, as well as the one from inside the cabin, and slung them around his neck. By the feel of them, each was a little over half full.

He glanced at the early afternoon sun, then pulled the brim of his hat down low. "Shall we?" he asked, gallantly offering his arm to Kira.

She laughed. "Why, Mr. Standish, such a gentleman." She placed her arm through Ezra’s.

"I do try." He flashed a grin and touched the brim of his hat, as if to tip it in the polite fashion.

He patted her hand, and the two began to walk.

Part 2