Part 2

The sun disappeared over the western horizon, leaving a faint yellow glow in its wake. The air had cooled a few degrees, but not yet enough to chill the sweat on the back of Ezra’s neck.

He and Kira had maintained a steady pace since they’d left the stagecoach, but now Kira’s steps were beginning to lag. As were his, he acknowledged ruefully.

"What do you say to a brief respite?" he asked, halting.

"I certainly wouldn’t say no," she said with a small smile.

Ezra gestured to the side of the trail, where a patch of grass had somehow sprung into existence despite the summer’s lack of water. Several hardy trees were situated a few yards from the road. Kira sank down to the ground beneath one of the trees, and Ezra sat next to her. Neither of them said anything, and Ezra used the silence to think things through.

They would make their way to Clayton Falls, and inform the local law enforcement of the robbery and murder of Rick Pearson, the stage driver. At least he had the name of one of the perpetrators: Jay Johnson.

Ezra took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, letting the slight breeze cool his scalp. He licked his lips in thirst, and then realized that Kira was probably thirsty as well. He lifted one of the straps from around his neck, unscrewed the top of the canteen, and turned to her. "Would you care for some water?"

"Hold on," she said. The words were a bit distorted due to the large ribbon she held between her teeth. Her hands were busy plaiting her hair. Once done, she used the ribbon to secure the end of the braid.

"Much better," she said, accepting the canteen. "I bet it looked quite a mess before."

"Not at all," Ezra said.

"Liar." There was a pause as she took a drink of water. "So, you said you live in Four Corners?"

"Yes. Actually, I am one of seven resident law enforcers there."

"Seven? For such a small town?"

"It may seem like a large number, but in my estimate there is not a town in this wide western country that needs it more."

Kira gazed at him contemplatively. "Actually, Jake did mention the seven of you in one of his letters."

"It is quite possible," Ezra conceded.

There were a few seconds of silence, and Ezra realized that he’d stopped sweating; the evening was cooling down.

The woman spoke again, her words frank: "You don’t look like a lawman."

Ezra glanced sideways at her, amusement obvious in his green eyes. "Thank you."

*** *** ***

The next time they stopped to rest, Ezra decided to make camp. He and Kira scavenged for wood and bark and, despite his limited expertise in the area, he managed to get a fire going. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and the two of them sat close to the blaze.

Clayton Falls was approximately forty-five miles’ distance from the town of Clearwater. The stage had been oh-so rudely interrupted in the early afternoon. Ezra guessed that they had covered twenty-five or thirty of them already.

"There should be another station up ahead," he realized.

"Another station?"

"I recall that there were two stops between Clearwater and Clayton Falls," Ezra explained. "The second shouldn’t be too far ahead of us. There will be people there."

"And horses," Kira concluded.

"Precisely."

"Well, do you think we could make it there tonight?" she asked.

Ezra thought about it. "No. We’re both tired. I think we should stay here for the night and set out early in the morning."

Kira nodded in acceptance.

The late hour and the day’s events soon caught up with Kira. She scooted closer to Ezra to ward off the chill, rested her head on his shoulder, and fell asleep. Ezra stayed awake a while longer -- one arm draped protectively around the sleeping woman’s shoulders while the other hand held on to his gun -- keeping watch in case trouble decided to strike yet again. Eventually, though, his tired eyes closed, and he drifted off as well.

*** *** ***

Chris Larabee leaned against a support post outside the saloon, squinting his eyes against the setting sun. His gaze occasionally strayed down the street. Every time he caught himself doing that, he’d scowl to himself.

So the stage was late. It happened sometimes. Didn’t mean anything was wrong.

His gaze once more shifted down the street. This time, he spotted a rider coming in at an easy pace.

"Hey, Chris!"

"JD," Larabee greeted. He watched as JD dismounted from his horse. "Everything quiet?"

JD beat his hat against his leg, watching as the dust billowed from both. "Oh, sure. There’s nothing moving out there but jackrabbits and prairie dogs." JD led his horse into the livery, and for a reason Chris couldn’t explain, he followed.

Chris helped him take care of the animal. He carried the saddle to the rack while JD brushed down the dusty and sweaty horse .

"Is Vin taking the next patrol?" the sheriff asked.

"Well, seein’ as Ezra’s not back yet, yup," Chris replied. His voice was neutral, but he still kept his ears open for the sound of the stage coming in.

JD looked up in surprise at that. "Ezra ain’t back?" Finished with his task, he set the brush on a shelf, and patted the horse on its hindquarters. "That’s funny. He said he’d be out on the next stage."

"Hell, JD, he’s probably still haggling out a price for that piece o’ land," Chris chuckled. His words seemed to mollify JD, for the most part. But, as he watched the young man walk on out of the livery and over to the jail, Larabee couldn’t find reassurance in his own words.

He tugged his hat down and stepped into the waning sunlight. After a short pause, during which he debated with himself his next course of action, Larabee turned and headed for the telegraph office.

*** *** ***

Ezra thanked the lord as he and Kira rode into Clayton Falls just as the sun sank over the mountains. The two stock handlers at the last home station had been upset but not terribly surprised at the news of the stage robbery and murder, and had willingly offered the use of a couple of their horses. They had no telegraph capabilities at the post, and since Ezra figured that the news would be better coming from a witness and a fellow law enforcer, he had opted to ride right out. Kira decided to go with him, and after a short rest and a filling lunch they had set out.

They paused side by side for a moment, looking around for the sheriff’s office or the jail. All Ezra remembered of the town from his brief stop on the way to Denver were the saloons: the Brown Dog Tavern and Jack’s Place. It was only a minute, though, before he saw the weather-beaten sign down at the far end of the street declaring one particular structure to be the jail. Just beyond the jail was what appeared to be the town square.

Ezra turned to Kira. "Why don’t you go to the hotel and secure a couple of rooms for the night?"

She looked slightly puzzled. "How do I pay?"

Ezra waggled his eyebrows devilishly, then reached down with one hand and withdrew a small roll of bills from inside his right boot. "It seems our friendly neighborhood thieves forgot the most obvious place to hide cash." They were no doubt too busy robbing me of my garments, he added sourly. "There’s roughly fifty dollars here." He counted off a number of bills and pressed them into Kira’s hand.

"Why am I not surprised?" Kira said, shaking her head. She counted the money and looked up again. "This is too much."

"You might order us some dinner, and a bath for yourself if you like. I’ll take care of the horses, then go find the local sheriff and inform him of what has occurred."

They dismounted, and Ezra took the reins of her horse before she walked towards the hotel. He found the livery and rented two stalls for the horses, entrusting the two animals to the skilled care of the young man that worked there.

After that he headed for the jail. Laughter and music, as well as cheerful yellow light, spilled out into the street from the two saloons. Several people were walking to Mama’s Kitchen, which Ezra recalled was the town’s single restaurant. An old, wind-weathered man loaded sacks of supplies into a buckboard wagon in front of the general store.

He passed the blacksmith’s business, which was dark and empty. The farrier had most likely gone home to supper. A shadowy alley opened up between the blacksmith’s and the next building. Ezra stopped in his tracks. Had he heard something? He took a few wary steps into the darkness, reaching for his firearm and listening intently for several long seconds. The sound of a couple walking past the alley broke his concentration, and he relaxed. "Evenin’," he greeted, ignoring their curious stares. "Do y’all happen to know if the sheriff is available?"

The man shook his head. "Nah, he’s probably gone home. But one o’ the deputies might be there."

Ezra nodded his thanks and continued on. He reached the jailhouse and stepped up onto the boardwalk. Light filtered through the window, but, glancing inside, he didn’t see anybody. He pushed open the door and looked around. The building was a narrow rectangle, stretching back a good twenty feet. In the front half were two desks and chairs. In one front corner was a small pot bellied wood stove with a rough-hewn bench in front of it. A locked gun cabinet occupied the wall behind one of the desks. At the far end of the room were two iron-barred prisoners’ cells. The main office and the cells were empty.

No sheriff. No deputy. But the lantern was still burning, so somebody must have been there recently. Ezra sighed. He was tired and wanted to go to bed … and his head still hurt somewhat from the knocking it had taken back at the robbery. There was nothing the sheriff could do about the stage or Pearson’s body until morning anyhow. He’d come back first thing, refreshed, alert.

He left and headed for the hotel. Inside, the hotel clerk was absent from his desk, though Ezra heard several people talking through an open doorway. Something about one of their customers being unsatisfied. On the counter, he found a slip of paper with his name written on it and a room key set on top. He picked up both.

Before he went to his room, he stopped by to see Kira.

"Ezra," she said upon seeing him. "Did you talk to the sheriff?"

"I couldn’t find him, or the deputies. I’ll see to it first thing in the morning. How are you faring?"

"Fine, fine. I was just about to take a bath. They’ve brought me some hot water…"

Ezra nodded. "Well, then I shall see you tomorrow." He moved to leave her room.

"Oh," Kira added, "I already ate my supper, but I had them bring yours to your room. It’s probably still warm."

He smiled at her. "Thank you, my dear."

In his own room, he took off his hat and pulled his suspenders off his shoulders. The room was nice enough, and the bed looked soft. He tested the mattress, and then spotted his dinner on a covered tray atop the dresser. He ate most of the meal, and then deemed himself too tired to finish the rest.

Ezra removed his weapon from its holster, lay down on the bed, fluffed the pillow underneath his head, and fell asleep.

*** *** ***

"Fellas," Chris greeted as he approached Buck, Nathan, JD, and Vin in front of the jail. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of them all gathered. "What’s the occasion?"

Vin shoved his hat back on his head. "We figger somethin’ ain’t right, Chris."

"Yeah," JD said. "Ezra ain’t back yet. And neither’s the stage. Doesn’t that seem awful strange?"

"As a matter of fact, JD," Chris said, "I’ve been thinking the same thing."

The others looked at him, so he continued, "I wired Clearwater, and they say the stage left on time. Wired Clayton Falls, but according to them it hasn’t arrived there yet. Their law’s getting ready to go look and see what happened to it."

"So, what’re we waiting for?" Buck demanded.

Larabee grinned. "Hang on there, Buck. We can’t all just leave. Someone’s got to stay and keep an eye on things."

"I’ll stay." Larabee glanced to his left as Josiah joined the group.

"I might as well, too," Nathan added. "There’s no tellin’ when Mrs. Hamilton’s gonna go into labor."

Chris nodded. "JD, you stay too. Me, Vin, and Buck’ll go check things out."

"Aw, c’mon, guys," JD interjected, not happy with the idea of staying behind.

"JD," Chris said. "You know two men ain’t enough to keep a handle on things if trouble starts."

JD whipped his hat off and slapped it against his thigh. "Yeah, I know," he sighed.

"Cheer up, kid," Buck offered, slinging an arm around Dunne’s shoulders. "You got the easy job, sittin’ here in town while we bake like biscuits."

"When’re you thinkin’ of leavin’?" Vin asked Larabee.

"About an hour," Chris replied. "There’s still four or five hours of daylight left. Might as well make use of ‘em."

*** *** ***

The early-morning sun crept around the curtains in Ezra’s hotel room, the beam of light awakening him when it reached his face. He threw an arm over his eyes. He knew, just knew that it was too early for him to even think about getting up.

But he had said that he would contact the law first thing in the morning. He pondered the efforts of getting out of bed, and finally promised himself, "Ten more minutes."

He didn’t get those ten extra minutes, because as the words left his lips the door to his room banged open, and two men stormed in.

Ezra launched himself into a sitting position, reaching for his gun on the nightstand.

"Don’t do it," one man ordered, before Ezra’s hand was even halfway to his weapon. He was tall and lanky, and had a gun of his own in hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ezra demanded angrily, fully awake now. "Who are you?"

"We’ll be asking the questions," snapped the second intruder, an older man with wire-rimmed spectacles and gray hair at his temples. "Are you Ezra Standish?"

"That depends." Slowly, Ezra swung his legs over the mattress, keeping an eye on the gun trained on him as he stood. It was then that he noticed the silver badge pinned to the older man’s chest. The law? What the hell did they want with him? "I do believe that knocking is customary in polite society…sheriff, is it?"

The older man nodded sharply. "That’s right. Sheriff Kale. And you are under arrest for the murder of one of my deputies."

"Murder!" Ezra sputtered. "Now wait just one minute here! I killed no one."

"Yeah?" Kale asked mildly. "Tell it to the judge. Sam." He nodded, and the younger man withdrew a pair of metal handcuffs with his free hand and took a step towards Ezra.

With the bed behind him, there was nowhere for Ezra to move except forward. He surged forward two steps, intent on brushing past Sam. His upper arm was grabbed rudely, and Ezra stopped and glared at the man. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down and said, "I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. I just arrived in town last night. Our stage was held up - You can ask my traveling companion; she will vouch for me."

"I’m sure she will," Kale said. "But right now, you’re coming with us."

Ezra’s arms were forced behind his back, and the cuffs were snapped around his wrists. He had no choice but to go along with these men.

The trio headed for the stairs.

"Ezra!" Standish stopped and looked back. It was Kira; she was running down the hall towards them, her hair loose around her shoulders, concern on her face. "Ezra, what’s going on? Who are you?" she asked, directing the question to Kale and Sam.

"Ma’am," Kale said, tipping his hat. "I’m the sheriff of Clayton Falls, and this man is under arrest. You’d best stay out of our way."

"Under arrest?" Kira repeated, confusion evident in her furrowed brow.

"These gentlemen are under the impression that I’ve…murdered…one of their deputies," Ezra explained. He shot the two men a look that clearly stated what he thought of their accusation.

"Ezra didn’t kill anyone!" Kira insisted.

"How do you know that fer sure?" Sam asked snidely. "Unless you were with him all night…" Kira stared at him, mouth agape. Then she snapped her jaw shut and said, much to Ezra’s surprise, "As a matter of fact, I was."

Sam just continued to grin.

"We’ll discuss that later. Let’s go," Kale ordered.

As they led him away, Ezra glanced back over his shoulder. Kira remained standing in the hallway, watching them go.

*** *** ***

Vin, Buck, and Chris kept their horses at either a fast walk or an easy trot, alternating between the two for the rest of the afternoon. They stopped only once to water the horses at a small, cold stream.

Night came, and they set up camp in a little hollow of trees.

Bright and early the next morning, they set out again.

Less than an hour after they resumed their journey, Buck’s horse stepped in a prairie dog hole and turned its right ankle.

"Damn," Buck uttered as he inspected the horse’s fetlock. He straightened up and glanced over at Vin and Chris, both of who had dismounted. "Looks like a sprain."

"The Triple A’s just a few miles from here," Chris said, looking to the north. "We can borrow a horse there."

"It ain’t too long of a walk," Vin added with a slight grin.

Buck grumbled, then set his gaze upon Vin’s horse. A gleam came into his eye, a gleam that Vin easily saw.

"Uh-uh," Tanner said, resting one hand on the butt of his mare’s leg. "You ain’t takin’ my horse."

"Ah, c’mon, Vin. You’re younger’n me. You can handle the walk better than I can. Us old folks got to take it easy, right Chris?"

Larabee, who had been smirking, looked in surprise at his old friend. "You sayin’ I’m old, Buck?".

"Hell, yeah." Buck grinned.

"Not gonna happen, Buck," Vin restated. And to make his point, he remounted his horse and grinned down at Wilmington.

Chris followed suit. "You know, Buck, ‘til you made that little comment, I was gonna offer to ride double…"

Buck heaved a put-upon sigh and shook his head. Fine, he thought. Looks like I’ll walk. A little walk never did anybody harm.

He took hold of his horse’s reins in one hand, pulled his hat down to block the sun with the other, and followed Chris and Vin as they started on once more.

*** *** ***

"So why’d you do it?" Frederick Kale asked loud enough for Sam, who was standing in the doorway having a smoke, to hear.

"I didn’t do it," Standish retorted.

Kale leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses. Wiping them clean with a folded handkerchief, he continued, "Yeah, well we found a gun behind some trash bins in the same alley as the body. It has the initials EPS on it." He replaced his glasses and leaned forward, peering into the right-hand cell that Standish occupied. "I’m curious, what does the P stand for?"

"Preposterous," Standish replied. "Which is exactly what your accusations are." The Southerner walked over and grabbed hold of the iron bars with both hands. "I think it would be best if you allowed me to telegraph my colleagues in Four Corners."

"Maybe. But bein’ a lawman doesn’t automatically make what you say the truth."

"Boss," Sam said. Kale looked at him. "Harper’s here."

Kale shoved back his chair and stood up. As he passed Sam in the doorway, he said, "You go on in and keep an eye on him." Sam nodded and stepped into the jail.

Harper stood leaning casually against a porch support beam. Kale glanced around, then approached him.

"The girl could be a problem," Kale said. "She says she was with him the whole night."

"You want me to take care of her?"

"No!" Kale said sharply. "We’ve got enough dead bodies to contend with as it is." He sighed, then smiled and nodded at a passing citizen. "That damn Johnson," he continued in a quieter voice. "He was nothing but trouble. If he hadn’t killed that old man, the two of you would have gotten away clean."

"Yeah, well, with Jay outta the picture our cuts just got bigger," said Harper, grinning around the toothpick between his teeth.

Kale grinned back. "That’s true."

Harper looked curiously through the jail’s window. "What’s Standish up to?"

Kale glanced in as well; Sam was sitting at one desk, and Standish was still standing at the front of his cell. "He’s trying to get me to telegraph his people," he chuckled, then quickly sobered. "About the girl… I want you to keep an eye on her. And if she tries to do anything, leave or anything, you grab her. But keep it smart. Sam knows about her, and if she accidentally falls out of her hotel window, that dolt might actually start thinking. Got it?"

Harper glanced in the window again, his gaze hard and cold, and tossed his toothpick into the street. "Got it."

*** *** ***

The metal frame of the cot creaked when Ezra stood up. He was currently alone, since the deputy had stepped out for lunch. Time to do something productive.

Ezra tested the door; there was no give to the lock. Unfortunately, his small lock-picking kit had been in his jacket pocket. His pocketknife, which had been in his boot, they had found and confiscated - along with the remainder of his fifty dollars.

Across the room he could see the ring of keys that unlocked the cells. They were sitting on top of the nearer desk, a little more than five feet away.

He might be able to reach it… Maybe if he used his suspenders as a lariat.

But, an inner voice said, if you escape, you’d be a wanted man. He thought briefly of Vin, trying to decide if he could live that way, always looking over his shoulder.

What the blazes are you going on about? another little voice demanded. You didn’t kill anyone. Once you get out of here, you can work on clearing things up.

Again, he thought of Vin. Vin, who was still working on proving his innocence…

Ahh, to hell with it…

In one swift motion, he slipped out of his suspenders. He tied his cravat to one end, and a sleeve garter to the other. The accompaniments added about eighteen inches to the total length. He hoped it was enough.

Ezra coiled up the makeshift rope and gripped the cravat-end of it in one hand. He reached both arms through the bars and, aiming carefully, he let loose the suspenders. The end slapped the top of the desk six inches short of the keys.

"Come on," Ezra urged, and he tried again. This time he stretched his arms as far as he possibly could. The loop of the sleeve garter briefly caught the keys, and they shifted with a slight jingle before the rope slipped off.

The third time, the garter caught the keys and he was able to drag them closer. He gave the suspenders a jerk, and the keys flew towards the floor, skidding to a halt two feet from the desk. He was just about to lasso the key ring one final time, when the sound of boots on the porch outside stopped him.

"Damn, damn, damn," he whispered. Quickly, he disassembled the rig and put his suspenders back on. Glancing at the keys, he cursed again, but there was nothing he could do about them.

When the front door opened, Ezra was slouching casually against the wall, idly weaving his tie between the fingers of one hand. He glanced up at the interruption with a mild expression on his face.

The new arrival was neither Kale nor Sam. A tall form. A gray hat. Familiar… As the man came closer, Ezra got a better look at his face.

Outwardly, he showed no expression, but inwardly he was quite surprised.

"You should watch where you're goin', mister."

"You can hand over all your money and valuables."

Ezra cursed himself for not recognizing the man previously during the robbery. He straightened up and faced the blond man through the bars. "Well, well, well. Look who we have here."

The stage robber stopped at one desk, sitting half-on and half-off one corner of it.

"So, ya recognize me," he said with a grin. "Well, shoot. Now what’ll I do?"

Ezra scowled. "You do know that this is a jail? It’s not very wise for a murderer to be hangin’ around places such as this, now is it?"

The blond spread his arms wide and said in an earnest manner, "I didn’t kill nobody." He got up and walked a few steps closer. "The way I hear it, Standish, it’s you who’s the murderer."

"Well, sir, you seem to know my name, but I’m still in the dark as to yours."

"The name’s Harper. But you can call me Deputy Harper." With a laugh and a flick of his wrist, the man exposed the badge pinned to the underside of his coat lapel.

Standish blinked in surprise. Oh, terrific. A crooked deputy; just what I need. Out loud he drawled, "How about I call you ‘jackass’?"

"I knew you were familiar looking when I first saw you," Harper explained smugly, ignoring the sarcastic remark. "Just didn’t come to me ‘til later."

"Does your boss know about your extracurricular activities?"

Harper laughed and clapped his hands together once. "That’s good! I ain’t never heard it put quite that way before. Extracurricular indeed."

Ezra narrowed his eyes and watched as Harper left his seat on the desk and walked forward a few steps - stopping just six inches from the as-yet-unnoticed key ring on the floor.

"Now here’s how it’s gonna be, so you’d best listen up," Harper said, all traces of joviality gone from his voice. "You’re gonna hang for the murder of Deputy Johnson, and that’s all there is to it."

Until that point, nobody had told Ezra just whom it was that he had supposedly killed. Now, he began to put the pieces together. "Johnson… Of course … your accomplice from the other day. Let me guess, you killed him because he got greedy and wanted a bigger cut. Or was it that you wanted a bigger cut?"

Harper shrugged. "I don’t much like to kill people - causes too much trouble, not to mention the mess of it - but I’ll do it if it means saving my neck. Johnson was nothing but trouble, and with what he did at the robbery … well, we had to do something."

"This is absurd!" Ezra exclaimed, exasperated. "There is no evidence that I did kill him. My gun was stolen back at the stage…I didn’t have it to commit a murder with. No judge will convict me."

"The judge will believe what we tell him," Sheriff Kale said from the doorway. "He doesn’t care much for your sort. I’ve heard that his daughter ran off with a two-bit riverboat gambler." He sauntered into the room. A slip of yellow paper was in his right hand. "What with your record of prior arrests…. "

He slapped the yellow piece of paper down on the desk. Ezra glared at Kale’s hand. He was wearing Ezra’s stolen ring. The bastard.

Ezra snapped his glare up to Kale’s face as the sheriff continued: "This here telegram says that you, Mr. Standish, have been charged with accounts of … let’s see … theft, cheating, public disturbance, assaulting a peace officer, and jumping bail … all in the past couple years."

All manufactured charges, Ezra thought. Well, except for the jumping bail part…

"You’ve been a bad boy," Harper said. "The judge won’t have any trouble believing you killed Jay in an angry fit over a past debt."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Ezra demanded. "What makes you think I won’t reveal your little secret to the next person who walks in this door?"

Kale stepped close and peered at Ezra through his spectacles. "Because we want you to understand one thing…and one thing only. If you so much as utter a word about this, if you try to escape, if you persist in proclaiming your innocence, if you tell your friends…" He stopped when he saw Ezra’s confused look. "Oh, didn’t I tell you? Your friends from Four Corners are on their way … to help us investigate the disappearance of the stage coach." Kale chuckled. "I guess they missed you." A scowl replaced the chuckle. "And if you say one damn word to them that I don’t approve of, Harper here will kill your little girlfriend, understand?"

The spark of anger that had been building in Ezra worked itself into a full-grown blaze. "If you so much as touch her," he growled, "I will tear you apart, piece by little piece. Do you understand me, Sheriff?"

*** *** ***

Kira Stone stood on the hotel boardwalk, gazing down the street towards the jail and tapping her foot in frustration.

She didn’t know the whole cock and bull story, but she knew it was a lie. A good lie - that Sheriff Kale was a smooth one - but a lie nonetheless. Ezra Standish hadn’t killed anyone; she’d bet her life on it. He’d been as weary as she had been last night. Certainly, he’d been too tired to go out and kill someone. And why would he, anyway? From what she’d gathered during the times they’d talked on the trail, Ezra wasn’t all that familiar with Clayton Falls, or the people who lived there.

And why on earth would he kill a lawman?

It just didn’t add up.

She’d tried to go and talk to him, but that one deputy, Sam, had stopped her, saying that the sheriff and another deputy were in there questioning Ezra. On the way past the large picture window in the front, she had glanced inside. She could see the backs of two men - one was Kale; the other she didn’t recognize. Ezra stood with both hands on the bars of his cell, gripping them tightly. He had such an angry look on his face as he spoke… She wondered what he was saying.

Well, if they wouldn’t let her talk to him, she decided, she would do something else. He had friends in Four Corners, the other six gunslingers that Jake had mentioned… They could come and vouch for Ezra, clear this mess up…

Decision made, Kira stepped off the boardwalk and crossed the street to the combined post office and telegraph office. She stepped back onto the boardwalk and had almost reached the door of the shared business when a rough hand grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt. ‘Scuse me, miss," said a masculine voice.

Kira looked up, startled, instinctively trying to pull away. The man’s grip only tightened.

"Won’t you walk with me?" the man asked.

She shook her head. "No, I don’t think so. Please let me go." She struggled to free her arm.

His grip tightened some more, and Kira cried out involuntarily. "Ow! You’re hurting me. Let go!" She looked around for help, but the tall stranger had his back to the street, blocking his rough treatment of her from the eyes of any passersby.

"I don’t think you understand," the man stated with careful pronunciation. He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. Kira’s eyes widened at the obvious threat. "It wasn’t a request. Now walk."

He maintained the hold on her arm as he led her down the boardwalk and between two buildings. Kira threw one last glance up and down the street, but their confrontation had been a quiet one, and nobody glanced their way as the two of them disappeared down the alley.

*** *** ***

Mid-afternoon found the trio of lawmen just entering the main street of Clayton Falls. They headed straight for the jail to see if anything had been discovered in regards to the missing stagecoach.

A man of about forty-five, graying hair, wearing spectacles, stood in the street in front of the jail, watching their approach.

"Howdy," Buck greeted, leaning forward on his saddle horn. "You the law in this town?"

"That’s right," the man replied pleasantly enough. "I’m Sheriff Frederick Kale. You must be from Four Corners."

"That’s right," Chris confirmed, instantly sizing up the man and deciding that there was something about him that he didn’t like. "The name’s Chris Larabee. This here’s Vin Tanner and Buck Wilmington." He swung down from his saddle in one smooth motion and tied his horse to the hitching rail. Buck and Vin followed suit. "We’ve come to see about the missing stage. One of my men was on it."

"Is his name Ezra Standish?" Kale asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"What do you know about him?" Chris asked.

"Well, gentlemen, we found the stagecoach. Driver was dead, horses gone. Robbed. Your man, Standish, he rode on into town last night."

"Rode?" Vin asked.

Kale eyed the longhaired tracker. "That’s right. Says he borrowed a horse from the mid-point station."

"Where can we find him?" Larabee demanded.

Kale smoothed the front of his brown vest with one hand. The glint of sunlight off of something metal caught Chris’ eye. It was a plain gold band on the third finger of Kale’s right hand. "In jail. Mr. Standish is under arrest."

"What?" Buck laughed, glancing sideways at Vin and Chris.

Chris shook his head in fond exasperation. Damn fool can’t stay out of trouble for even a few days, can he? "What’s the charge, sheriff?" he asked, with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me smile.

"The murder of one of my deputies."

"Bull!" Buck exclaimed, taking a step forward, putting himself into Kale’s personal space. Kale took a step back with a look of distaste. Vin, who had been mostly quiet, spoke up. "Ezra’s a lot of things, but he ain’t no murderer."

Chris met his friend’s blue gaze, and nodded his agreement. He looked back at Kale and said, "You’ve got the wrong man." The tone of his laconic statement implied that it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Kale scowled and drew himself up to his full height. "We have witnesses that place him near the scene of the crime, and we have his weapon also near the scene. And then there’s his less than stellar record…"

"Can you believe this?" Buck asked incredulously, glancing over his shoulder at Larabee. "Lookie here, Sheriff, this all is just a misunderstandin’. You let us talk to ol’ Ez, and we’ll get this all figgered out."

"I’m afraid it’s no misunderstanding, gentlemen. The judge’ll be in on the next stage from Prescott. But, of course, you can talk to your friend if you’d like. This way." Kale led the way to the door of the jail, gesturing for them to precede him.

Chris walked in first. He saw Ezra sitting on a cot in one of two small cells.

Standish stood up.

"Ezra," Chris greeted as he walked over to the cell.

"Mr. Larabee, how nice of you to visit."

"Nice look you got goin’ there, Ezra," Buck teased.

Ezra looked down at his himself and grimaced. "Deplorable, I know. What I would give for a hot bath and a shave."

"Ezra," Chris said again, then hesitated. He shifted slightly to look at Kale, who was still standing near one of the office’s two desks. "Think we can have a minute, Sheriff?" he asked, somewhat sarcastically.

Kale smiled pleasantly. "Of course." As he left the room, he cast a glance back at Ezra. Standish smiled blandly right back at him.

"What’s goin’ on, Ez?" Buck demanded the instant the door closed behind Kale. "What’s this about a murder?"

Ezra turned and walked back to the cot. "It’s … simple, really. The stage was robbed, my valuables taken. I arrived in town last night … and came across an old acquaintance of mine. The deputy and I had an altercation, which unfortunately ended tragically … for him, anyway." He sank down onto the thin mattress, leaned against the wall, and crossed his legs.

"Altercation about what?" Chris asked.

"He owed me a great sum of money…" Ezra said.

"Kinda hard for a dead man to pay up," Vin reasoned.

"Yes, well, call it a crime of passion, if you will. One that I am quite regretful of…"

"Well, hell, Ezra!" Buck exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "You’re in a heap o’ trouble here.

Chris studied Ezra thoughtfully, head cocked slightly. There was a mixture of embarrassment, self-deprecation and regret on the gambler’s face.

He almost bought it. Almost.

Vin pointed his chin at Ezra. "They actually got evidence against ya?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Ezra said. He sighed sadly. "I only wish…"

"What?" Chris prompted.

Ezra stared at his feet. "Well, in my saddlebag I had kept a silver pocket watch given to me by my father. Engraved on it are the initials K.S… Karl Standish… I believe I had it wrapped up in a gray shirt. I don’t know if it was taken during the robbery or not." Ezra looked up again, matching Larabee’s gaze with an intent one of his own. "I would certainly like to have it back, if it’s at all possible. Perhaps one of you could see fit to return to me Karl Standish’s watch?"

"What?" Buck asked, puzzled. "You’re worried about a watch at a time like this?"

Ezra continued to watch Chris as he said, "It’s a family heirloom, Mr. Wilmington."

But Chris Larabee knew for a fact that Ezra’s father’s name was not Karl.

What are you up to, Ezra? he asked silently.

As Chris studied the gambler, he noticed several things that he hadn’t before: the clenched fist, the tight lines around the eyes, the nearly imperceptible held breath. Combined, it was enough to clue Chris in that Ezra was trying to tell them something. And that something was apparently back at the site of the robbery.

Chris nodded slowly. "Sure, Ezra. No problem. We can do that for you."

Buck and Vin raised their eyebrows, aware that something was going on but not quite sure what.

Some of the tension eased out of Ezra’s features, and he exhaled softly. He smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Larabee. I knew you would understand how … important … this is to me."

*** *** ***

Once they were gone, Ezra rested his knees on his elbows and rubbed his face with both hands. "Ugh," he muttered. This had better work…

He hadn’t known what else to tell them that wouldn’t be obvious to Kale or whomever else was listening.

Hopefully, his make-believe family heirloom would be enough to lead them in the right direction. Chris knew that his father’s name wasn’t Karl - he had ever since that quiet February night the two of them had spent patrolling the hills north of town in the freezing rain.

It would have to be enough.

The door opened, and Kale entered. "Good boy, Standish. Now, you just hope those friends of yours don’t cause too much trouble, else something may just have to … happen … to one of ‘em."

*** *** ***

"What the hell’s going on here? What was all that about back there?"

The three of them had just sat down at a table in Jack’s Place, one of the local saloons, and ordered a late lunch of steak and beans.

"Not quite sure yet, Buck," Chris said, taking a sip from his mug of beer. "But we’re sure as hell gonna find out. Vin…" He looked over to the tracker.

Vin nodded. "I’ll ride on out to where the stage was s’posed to’ve been held up, see what I can find out, what Ezra wants us to find out." He pushed his chair back and stood up.

"You don’t got to go right this minute," Buck said, gesturing at Vin’s abandoned chair. "Don’t ya wanna eat?"

"I’ve got some jerky in my pack. I’ll eat on the way," Vin replied. "Think I’ll rent a horse, let mine rest up a bit."

"Be careful, Vin," Chris cautioned.

Vin smiled. "Always am." He touched the brim of his hat, nodded, said, "Fellas," and left.

"There’s something fishy ‘bout that sheriff," Buck said once their lunch had arrived. He speared a piece of meat with his fork and stared at it thoughtfully.

"You noticed that, too, huh?"

"Damn, Chris, how could I not? Did you see his eyes? He’s got beady eyes!" Buck’s body shuddered violently in mock fear. "Beady!" His face broke into a grin, and he shoved the piece of steak into his mouth.

*** *** ***

Vin reined in his rented horse and hopped down from his saddle. He crouched down on his heels and inspected the ground before him.

The dirt was churned up in a number of places. He could discern four or five different boot prints. Most of them were large, obviously male. But one set of prints was smaller … a boy’s or a woman’s, most likely.

Tracks of the stage were evident, but where was the actual carriage? He hadn’t seen any signs that it had been brought into town.

He looked up from his inspection, surveying the nearby landscape. Some distance to the west, the hard-packed land rose and formed a ridge roughly a hundred yards long. To the east, even farther out than the ridge was to the west, was a grove of trees. North and south, the road just stretched on until it disappeared around some bend that he couldn’t see.

As Vin pondered his options, something caught his eye - a shadow in the ground that didn’t belong. Ten yards away, to the west. He quickly remounted the horse and headed that way. The shadow was actually a furrow in the soft dirt at the base of an egg-shaped boulder. He knew immediately that no animal had caused the impression. It was two inches wide; nearly eight inches long; and deep, as if something heavy had produced it. Something like the wheel of a stagecoach.

They’d done a good job of covering the tracks - whoever they were. But Vin was an experienced tracker, and now he knew what to look for. Following the signs, he continued on to the west.

He reached the crest of the ridge; saplings, small bushes, and several cacti covered the ground. The skittish horse tried to back away from the edge. "Whoa there, boy," Vin soothed. He dismounted, keeping the reins in one hand, and looked down.

In the glowing red-orange light of the setting sun, the scene below him was slowly sinking into shadows, but he could still see what he needed to see. The ridge that he was on was actually one side of a small ravine, a crevasse in the land. It extended a hundred yards to his left and fifty yards to his right, narrowing to mere cracks at its farthest ends. Ten yards across at the widest point, and at least fifteen yards deep. The rocky walls sloped inward near the base, and a number of dangerous-looking rock formations nearly filled the bottom of the ravine.

The missing stagecoach lay at the bottom, shattered into hundreds of pieces by the sharp terrain.

Vin scouted out the various rock faces from where he knelt, but didn’t see any easily accessible routes by which to reach the bottom. He glanced at the crimson horizon, then at his horse. "Think I can do it?" he asked the animal. The horse snorted. "Thanks for the vote o’ confidence, buddy." He hesitated, then shrugged. "It don’t look too hard. Might as well make use of the daylight we got."

In a matter of minutes, he had ground hobbled the gelding, hung his canteen from around his neck, and uncoiled his fifty foot length of rope from around the horn of his saddle.

With his knife, he hacked away at the spines on the base of a sturdy-looking cactus near the lip of the ridge. When he was sure that there were none left that could cause him trouble, he secured one end of the rope around the bottom of the cactus. He tested its hold and nodded in approval. It would work.

He tossed the rope down into the quickly darkening crevasse. Next, Vin soaked his bandana using the whiskey he carried in his saddlebag, wrapped it tightly around one end of a dead tree branch, and tucked it into his gun belt. He would need some light once he got down there.

He flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles, grabbed the rope, and slipped over the edge with ease.

*** *** ***

The Brown Dog Tavern was a nice saloon, nicer than Jack’s Place anyway. The tables were covered in green felt, the walls were made of dark wood paneling, and the bar was long with a shiny brass foot rail. Polished brass spittoons occupied every corner of the room, the light of a dozen lanterns glinting warmly off of them.

Buck leaned on the bar. Outwardly, he appeared to just be enjoying a drink. But actually, he was listening intently to the talk going on around him. The best place to hear town gossip was the saloon, and he knew he just had to bide his time before something important was said. Besides, Vin wasn’t back from his little excursion yet, and Buck didn’t have any better ideas at the moment.

The topics of conversation had varied from the newest working girls, to the best way to hold a cow down when branding stock; from the weather, to whether or not someone had the money to play some cards.

"Kinda odd the stage’s been redirected so sudden like," someone said. "Wonder what the emergency was?"

Buck craned his head around to find the source of those words. It was an older man, white-haired, hollow-cheeked. He was standing five patrons down the bar from Buck, and he was talking to the bartender.

Beer in hand, Buck managed to squeeze in next to the old man. He smiled charmingly. "The name’s Buck. Can I buy you a drink, friend?" he asked, signaling to the barkeep.

The old man looked at him doubtfully, but agreed, introducing himself simply as Lars.

"I couldn’t help overhearin’ what you just said," Buck continued. "I’m new in town, don’t know much of who’s who. But, see, I used to know a feller by the name of Jay Johnson. Haven’t seen him in years, but I hear he’s a deputy in this town. Thought I’d surprise him with a visit."

The old man shook his head and gazed at Buck with a shade of regret in his eyes. "Sorry to tell ya, mister, but the deputy’s dead."

"Dead?" Buck feigned shock. "Well, hell, how’d that happen?"

Lars shrugged. "The way I hear it, some fancy gambler done killed him over a money debt."

"I … I can’t believe it. I never knew Jay was into gambling…" Buck shook his head sadly and leaned heavily on the bar.

"I lived here my whole life," Lars said, "and I watched that boy grow up. He never gambled more’n ten dollars at any one time in his life. Never had the money to lose."

"You ever see him with this gambler that’s s’posed to have killed him?"

"Nope. Can’t say’s I have." The old man paused, then said, "I got a glimpse o’ him as the sheriff took him to the jail… Only time I ever saw him before was in this here saloon."

"That right? Here?"

"Yeah. Had to’ve been about a week ago. Wouldn’t have noticed him, ‘cept he wore this bright red coat…"

Buck smiled. The red coat was often the first thing people recalled about Ezra.

"…and the run-in he had with Deputy Harper."

That caught Buck’s attention. He and the others had yet to meet a Deputy Harper. "Yeah?" he asked casually, as if he were only mildly interested. "He and the deputy know each other?"

"Don’t know. All I know is the deputy’d had some to drink, and he gets a little rough when he drinks. The gambler got in his way. Prob’ly would’a’ gone to blows, except that the gambler was travelin’ with two other men, both armed."

"What’s this deputy look like?" Buck asked. The old man just looked at him for a moment, and Buck quickly added, "I wanta find him and ask him about Jay’s funeral arrangements. I … I’d kinda like to be the one to take care of ‘em, sort of my last respects."

Lars nodded in acceptance. "Well, he’s tall. Got kinda tow colored hair, dark eyes. He’s usually either at the jail, the saloon, or his place. ‘Cept when he goes off on official business once in a while with Johnson…"

The old man seemed to lose interest in the conversation, and Buck stared into his beer, mind whirring.

Something was going on in this town, and this Deputy Harper seemed as good a place as any to start looking.

*** *** ***

"Ah, Mr. Larabee. What can I do for you?" Frederick Kale asked politely as Larabee strode into the jail.

Larabee took a stance in front of Kale’s desk. "I wanted to talk to you about evidence," he said bluntly.

Kale nodded. He leaned forward and interlaced his fingers on the desktop. He’d heard about this Larabee. A ruthless gunslinger, rumor had it. But he didn’t look all that ruthless to Frederick.

"We have two witnesses who can pinpoint Mr. Standish at the alley where the body was discovered earlier in the evening -- a couple out for a stroll. And Mr. Standish’s weapon was found nearby, in the same alley."

"So you said earlier," Larabee stated. "How is it that nobody heard the gunshot?"

"We believe that Mr. Standish killed Deputy Johnson at another location and brought his body to the alley."

"Why would he do that?"

"I am in the room, gentlemen," Standish spoke up from his cell, sounding annoyed.

Kale glared at him for a second, then said, "I don’t purport to know what goes on in a killer’s mind, Mr. Larabee."

Larabee stared at him in silence. Kale - with a look of sincere professionalism plastered on his face - met his ice-cold gaze directly and without flinching, but the moment dragged on for so long that he started to wonder if the man would ever speak.

"No," the gunslinger said finally, softly. "I guess you don’t." He nodded to Standish. "Ezra, I’ll be by later."

"I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Larabee."

Damn straight, Kale thought.

Frederick Kale hid a smug smile as Larabee left. He could deal with the almighty Chris Larabee - piece of cake.

*** *** ***

"Buck," Chris greeted, as he stepped into the street. "Find anything out?"

"Some." Buck hooked a thumb in his gun belt and explained to Larabee what he’d learned from Lars back at the saloon.

"Not much to go on."

Buck sighed in agreement. He gazed down the street, scanning the buildings, looking for … he didn’t know what he was looking for.

The two lawmen crossed the street, heading for the hotel.

At the portico, Chris paused. "Hey, Buck," he said.

"Yeah, Chris?"

"Did you notice that Kale wears a ring on his right hand?"

Buck halted, too, and looked at his friend. Chris’ eyes were hidden under the brim of his hat, which he wore despite the fact that the sun was practically gone. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I did."

Chris jerked his head towards the jail. "I went back in there, to s’posedly talk about the charges against Ezra. Got a real good look at it. It’s Ezra’s."

Buck whistled. "You sure about this, Chris?" Stupid question, he thought to himself. Of course, he’s sure. "Damn."

They continued to look at one another for a moment, before Buck shifted his stance to stare out across the street.

Ezra had been robbed, back at the stage. And Buck had noticed that the gold band he usually wore on his left hand was missing - he’d just figured that it had been taken during the robbery.

The ring had been taken during the robbery, all right. The fact that Kale was now wearing it meant one of two things. One: For some reason the robber, or robbers, had not taken the piece of jewelry from Ezra, and Kale had taken it after he’d arrested Ezra. Unlikely, though. Or two: Kale was involved with the stage robbery, and that was how he’d gotten the ring.

"This keeps gettin’ better and better, don’t it?" Buck said. "What’s the plan?"

Chris shook his head slightly and started to walk once more, spurs jingling softly with every step. "I’m workin’ on it, Buck. I’m workin’ on it."

Buck glanced down the street one last time. A curtain in a second story window parted, and a sliver of light cut through the night. The dark silhouette of a woman stood at the window for a moment. Buck watched her, wondering what the woman was looking at … or for.

As he looked on, the woman visibly started and spun around, the curtains falling closed as she did so. A moment passed, but there was no further sign of movement from that particular window. He shook his head, put the occurrence out of his mind, and followed Chris into the hotel.

*** *** ***

The key turned in the door, startling Kira. She let the curtains fall back into place and quickly moved away from the window.

It was Harper, looking as if he’d just come in off the trail. He was carrying a covered tray.

"Can’t have you starvin’, now, can we? Least, not yet." He grinned widely at her, then placed the tray on a small table. "Go on, eat."

She fisted her hands at her sides and raised her chin ever so slightly in defiance, but didn’t move towards the food.

Harper rolled his eyes, drew his gun, and said again, "Eat it."

Her hateful glare remained on him for a moment, and then she walked over to the table and uncovered the dish of food. Chicken and green beans. She glanced at him, hesitantly picked up the fork, and tasted a bite of the food.

She had just swallowed as a rough hand gripped her shoulder, transforming her startled gasp into a choke.

"Didn’t anybody ever teach you any manners?" Harper hissed in her ear. "You’re s’posed to say thank you."

"For what? Keeping me prisoner?" Kira shrugged out of his grasp and backed away from him. "What’re you keeping me here for? Why didn’t you just kill me and get it over with?"

Seeing that she had no desire to eat her supper, Harper scooped a forkful of green beans into his wide mouth. "I was gonna. But the boss had other plans … wanted to use you as collateral against your beau." He leered at her and waggled his eyebrows, and she flushed at his implication of her relationship with Ezra.

Why on earth had she ever said that she and Ezra had spent the night together?

That was before you knew that this whole damn town is crooked, when you thought that you could help him!

Harper polished off half of the food before adding, "Once he hangs, well, there won’t be no more use for you." He chuckled. "Guess I’ll take my leave now … let you think on that."

The solid door thumped closed behind him as he left, and the lock clicked ominously.

Alone again, Kira returned to the window. She could try to escape that way, but it was a twenty-foot drop to the street, with nothing on which to climb down. No awning on the hardware store below, no flower trellis, nothing. It would be difficult. Dangerous.

And Harper had threatened that, if she should try to escape, he would shoot Ezra in the stomach and watch him bleed to death. Then find her and do the same.

Still, she kept the window as an option…

*** *** ***

At the bottom of the ravine, Vin withdrew a match from his pocket and lit his makeshift torch. The whiskey-soaked cloth flared brightly.

The wreckage spread over an area of ten or twelve yards, but it didn’t take long for Vin to investigate the remains of the stagecoach.

When he found the driver, he grimaced. The dead man was partially wrapped in a blanket; his exposed skin was pale and cold, his body broken and cut by the fall. Coyotes or some other such predator had gotten to him already, judging by the marks on his face and arms; probably before the coach had been moved.

There was nothing Vin could do for him. The ground was too rocky to dig a grave, even if Vin had something with which to dig. And he couldn’t bring the corpse to the top by himself. They’d have to come back for him later.

He left the body, and immediately tripped over Ezra’s saddlebags. "Dang it," he muttered. A quick search revealed nothing more than several changes of clothes, assorted toiletries, a small book, silver flask, a deck of cards, and some dried fruit. Nothing related to the clue that Ezra had given.

Not until he hefted the saddlebags over one shoulder - figuring that Ezra would like to have his things back - did Vin see the other piece of luggage. It was partially buried under what had been one of the coach’s doors. The exposed portion was a shade of gray dark enough that he had not noticed it on first glance.

It was a carpetbag. Vin kicked away the debris and picked up the bag. It had busted open, and women’s clothes and undergarments had spilled out.

On the wooden handgrip were the initials K.S.

Not Karl Standish, but somebody else. Somebody who had been on that stage with Ezra. Somebody who could perhaps shed some light on the situation back in town.

*** *** ***

Ezra watched as Sam placed another log in the corner stove. The night had grown chilly, and the jail along with it.

The deputy had yet to say anything since he arrived for his shift fifteen minutes ago. He hadn’t taunted, gloated, or otherwise rubbed Ezra’s nose in his current dire situation. That piqued Ezra’s curiosity; if he remembered correctly, and he knew that he did, each time that Harper or Kale had something of importance to say, Deputy Sam had not been in the room.

"Tell me, sir," Ezra drawled. He was lying on his cot with his arms behind his head. "How do you fit into Sheriff Kale’s conspiracy?"

Sam moved from the stove to his desk. "What conspiracy?" he questioned, bemused, as he picked up a newspaper and unfolded it with a snap.

"Why, the one involving your friend’s murder," Ezra explained.

The newspaper rattled as the deputy thumbed a page. "You’re talkin’ crazy. There ain’t no conspiracy."

Ezra sat up. "Ingenious, really. No one would ever suspect that the local law spends their off hours as bandits."

Sam tossed the paper down in exasperation. "What the hell are you blathering on about?"

"Johnson and Harper, you ignoramus. They’re stage robbers. And Kale is in on it as well - the ringmaster, so to speak."

"Mister, Fred Kale is a good man. There ain’t no way he’s a robber or a killer, so just give it up." Sam plunked his feet on the desk and picked up the newspaper again. He shook his head. "That’s some story. Johnson weren’t no good friend of mine, but he was still a lawman, and you’re gonna hang."

"So it’s guilty until proven innocent, then, is it? Funny, I thought it was the other way around."

"Be quiet, and let me read in peace."

So much for that, Ezra thought. He’d just have to wait and see. Then again, he didn’t have much to do but wait.

*** *** ***

At a quarter ‘til eleven, a knock sounded upon the door to Larabee’s room. Still fully clothed and wide-awake, Chris swiftly crossed the room and opened the door. "Vin." He motioned for Tanner to come inside.

"Chris," Vin greeted. The tracker was covered in dust. A pair of brown leather saddlebags was slung over one shoulder. "I knocked on Buck’s door. He’ll be right along."

At that moment, Buck appeared. "I’m here. Hey, are those…?"

Vin nodded and said, "Ezra’s." He quickly explained what he had found, ending with, "There was a woman on the stage with Ezra."

"Well, then where is she?" Buck mused.

Chris, who had listened quietly while Vin spoke, said, "K.S., huh?" Now where had he seen those initials before? It only took a split second for him to remember, and Chris strode out of the room

"Chris?" Buck asked. "What is it?"

Larabee didn’t say anything, just quickly descended the staircase. At the reception counter, the middle-aged clerk snored in his chair. He awoke with a snort when Chris grabbed the register and swung it around. "Hey!" the clerk protested.

Chris ignored him, just showed the book to Vin and Buck, and pointed to the name penned above Ezra’s. "Miss Karen Stone," he said.

He shoved the register back towards the clerk. "You remember this lady?"

The clerk swallowed nervously under the stares of the three gunslingers. He looked at the page and nodded jerkily. "Uh, yeah, sure. She came in last night. Paid for two rooms for the night." The man squinted. "She was all dusty and everything. I asked about it, but she just said it was a long story. She signed her friend’s name, too, and asked me to leave his key on the counter and have dinner brought to his room."

"What’s she look like?" Vin asked.

"Uh, I don’t know. Young. Twenties or so. Blonde hair. Kind of pretty, really."

"Where’s she now?"

"Haven’t seen her since this morning," the clerk replied. "I work the night shift. The sheriff arrested that man early this morning, so I was still here. The girl left shortly after, and, like I said, I haven’t seen her since."

Chris turned to his friends, effectively dismissing the hotel employee. "We’ll ask around. It’s not too late; there might be someone who remembers seeing her. Let’s go." He led the way out of the hotel, a dark shape stepping out into the even darker night.

*** *** ***

Early the next morning, Judge Reginald Moore arrived, and the Brown Dog Tavern was transformed into a courtroom.

In his cell, Ezra Standish cursed the letter that had gotten him in this situation to begin with.

Outwardly, he appeared as confident as ever. On the inside … he was worried. For himself. For his friends. For Kira. If he were falsely convicted of Johnson’s murder, it stood to reason that Kira would then be killed - what reason would they have for keeping her alive?

And once convicted, he would quickly hang. It was something that he was certain would not sit well with his friends. They were not idiots. They already knew something was suspicious with his arrest. And if they started to get really bothersome, Kale might decide to stage some elaborate "accident" for one or two of them. Little did the man know, however, that if he killed one, he would have the other five to deal with.

The pounding of hammers outside drew Ezra’s attention. The gallows… They’d started building it at dawn. It was Kale’s idea. Ezra had overheard him talking to one of Clayton Falls’ citizens, saying that it was better to start building the gallows now. If it turned out not to be needed, they would just take it down.

Apparently, Kale believed in being prepared. Too prepared, for Ezra’s taste.

Ezra had chosen to represent himself during the trial, since there was no lawyer to be had in this godforsaken town. The thought had briefly crossed his mind of asking one of his friends to do the honor - but only briefly. Vin, he was sure, would get a dreadful case of stage fright. Chris would terrorize the witnesses until they were of no good to anybody. And Buck … Ezra couldn’t even imagine how Buck would fare in the role of lawyer.

"Hey, Ez."

Ezra smiled. "Ah, speak of the devil."

"How’s that?" Buck queried, grinning cheerfully.

"Never mind. What do you have there?" He gestured to the bundle that Wilmington held under one arm.

"A change of clothes. Thought you’d want to clean up for the judge. Had ‘em pressed and everything." As Buck passed the clothing - and Ezra’s hat - through the bars, he added softly, "I saw your shadows over at the saloon, talkin’ to the judge."

Ezra stared at the clean clothes he now held. They were his… This exact same pinstriped shirt had been in his saddlebag. He glanced curiously at Buck.

"Don’t worry, pard," Buck said, his eyes serious. "We’re working on findin’ her."

Ezra nodded slowly, hiding a smile of relief. Clearing his throat, he raised one sardonic eyebrow and said, "A little privacy?"

Buck grinned and turned his back to Ezra, who quickly changed into the clean set of clothes. Within the folds of cloth were a hand towel and a mug of shaving soap. He smiled. As he knotted the black string tie at his throat, he indicated that Buck could turn around again.

"What do I use to shave with?" he asked, lathering his face with soap.

Buck glanced out the window, at the door, and then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small hand mirror and a bone handled razor, both of which Ezra recognized as his own.

While Buck held the mirror steady, Ezra shaved off the several days’ worth of whiskers, wiping the razor clean on the hand towel. It was a little tricky without the aid of water, but, finally, he wiped away the excess soap from his skin and from the blade, folded the razor, and slipped it into his boot.

"Much better," he said, examining his reflection in the mirror. He turned away, and Buck pocketed the mirror. Gathering his discarded garments together, Ezra asked, "What do you know of this Judge Moore?"

Buck shrugged. "Ain’t never heard of him before today. Chris talked to him, tried to tell him straight, but the man didn’t listen."

"I suppose there’s not much chance of having Judge Travis come preside over the matter?"

"Afraid not, Ez. We wired home, and Mary says he’s in Carson City. The boys sure are worried, though. They wanted to ride on out here and help. Chris told ‘em to stay put."

Ezra sighed. "No, that was the right thing. There’s nothing for them to do here." He hesitated, wondering how much Buck knew. "Harper killed Johnson, Buck," he said. "They and Kale were in on the stage robbery. Johnson was the one who killed the driver. I believe his name was Rick Pearson…"

Buck nodded. "Yeah, we figgered somethin’ was funny when Chris saw Kale wearin’ your ring."

"Yes," Ezra said with a scowl, "the … sheriff - and I use that term loosely -- apparently thought it suited him. If the opportunity should arise…?"

"No problem, Ez. You’ll get it back."

*** *** ***

Harper was gone, had been for a while. He and Kale and the other deputy had taken Ezra to the saloon, where the trial for the murder of Deputy Johnson was being held. She had watched as people swarmed into the tavern; no doubt, this was the most excitement they’d seen in a while.

Kira stood at the window, staring at the wooden gallows forming in the town square. God, they were all ready to hang Ezra, and he hadn’t even been convicted! She had to do something. With Harper not likely to come back for a while, this was her one chance.

If she could escape, she could find one of Ezra’s friends - she had seen them from the window of the room. The man in black … he had to be Chris Larabee, the famous gunfighter whom her cousin had mentioned in his letter. She would find Mr. Larabee - he would believe her when she told him what was really going on.

The door was locked. She had tried picking the mechanism with her hairpin, to no avail. She’d beaten on the handle with her shoe, pounded on the door for any passersby. But the door was thick, solid, and the lock was new and strong. Nothing worked.

Drawing a deep breath, Kira unlatched the window and pulled the panes inward. A gentle breeze teased the plain curtains. The rattling sound of a wagon reached her, and she looked out and down.

A buckboard wagon, drawn by a single horse, pulled up in front of the hardware store beneath her. She watched as the driver hopped down and walked into the store. The back was filled with several large white sacks of what looked to be grain and flour or sugar. It was directly under her window, only about five or six feet away from the wall of the building.

"You can do this," she said to herself. "It’s not that far… You would’ve done it anyway, even without the wagon."

Gathering her skirt with one hand, she maneuvered until she was sitting on the windowsill. Twisting awkwardly, she faced inward, let go of her skirt, grabbed the sill with both hands, and let her legs fall free. She looked down. It really isn’t that far, she told herself. Really.

Kira pushed herself away from the wall with her knees, trying to gather some momentum. Repeating the action, she swung out further and let go, flinging herself backwards.

With a loud "Oof!" she landed in the wagon, grain and sugar -- not flour -- exploding from their sacks upon impact. A moment passed. Finally, groaning, she managed to push herself into a sitting position, wiping white sugar from her face as she did so.

Getting out of the wagon was a bit of a struggle, but her body quickly regained its equilibrium, and she edged around the corner of the hardware store.

*** *** ***

"Mr. Standish, please stand up."

Ezra Standish reluctantly did as the judge asked. The proceedings had not gone well. Against Kale’s advice, he had used every trick in book, had used all of his knowledge of the law to try and convince the judge that he had not killed Jay Johnson - In the end, he just could not sit quietly and be condemned for something that he had not done. Despite all of that, one look at Moore’s face and Ezra knew without a doubt what the judge was going to say.

"With the authority vested in me by the government of the United States, I hereby find you guilty of the murder of Jay Joseph Johnson, former deputy of this town. The sentence for your crime is death. You will hang until dead at daybreak tomorrow. Court is adjourned."

The crowd of spectators erupted into noise, talking and speculating excitedly as they left the saloon.

Daybreak, Ezra thought. Less than eighteen hours. He smiled wanly at his friends as they pushed their way through the crowd. His eyes widened and the smile dropped from his face, however, as he looked past their shoulders: Harper was making his way towards the exit.

"Harper!" Ezra shouted, lunging after the man. He made it half way to the deputy before Kale and Sam grabbed hold of him, roughly yanking his arms behind his back. Cold steel shackles were snapped around his wrists, but they didn’t stop Ezra from struggling to get free. He wouldn’t let him kill Kira! "Harper! Get back here, you bastard!" Harper turned back when he reached the door and waved at Ezra before stepping out into the late-morning light.

"Now see here, young man," the judge barked loudly. "As long as I am here, this is still a courtroom, and you will behave accordingly."

"Don’t worry, Ezra," Vin called, as Kale and Sam led Ezra out the saloon’s back exit. "We’ll get ya outta this." Standish glanced back to see Vin watching his departure, Chris striding over to the judge with a resolute look on his face, and Buck disappearing through the swinging doors.

*** *** ***

Buck tailed Harper as the man walked calmly down the street. The deputy occasionally glanced over his shoulder, but Buck easily evaded his searching gaze.

Down to the hardware store, then into the side alley. Buck peeked around the corner of the building, seeing Harper disappear around the back of the business. He quickly followed, pausing to look around once he reached the back alleyway. A simple wooden staircase led up to an entrance on the second level. As he watched, the door clicked softly shut.

He took the stairs two at a time and turned the handle on the plain wooden door. A narrow hallway opened up before him, cutting all the way through the building to the front street. Light streamed in from the single window at the end of the hall, providing enough illumination to see that there were two doors on each side of the hallway.

The one farthest away and to the left was ajar.

Buck crept forward, his Colt now drawn and held in one hand. He could hear Harper moving around inside as he neared the open door. He kicked the door open as wide as it would go with one booted foot, and cocked the gun. "Where is she?" he demanded softly as Harper whirled around in surprise.

Wilmington cautiously entered the room and glanced around. They were in a large one-room apartment. The window on the front wall was open. There was no sign of the woman.

"Where’s who?" Harper asked casually. He stood by a small writing desk situated on the wall opposite the open window. His right hand twitched a little closer to his holstered Smith & Wesson.

Buck saw the action and shook his head, taking a single step forward, aiming his weapon at Harper’s chest. "Don’t play games with me, mister. And don’t go reachin’ for that gun, neither. I ain’t in the mood for it. So you’d best just toss it on over here."

Harper took the gun out of its holster and tossed it to the floor. Buck nodded. "Good. Now, I’m gonna ask this one more time: Where is she?"

Harper tilted his head and said, "She’s … not here." Even before the last two words had been completely formed, Harper erupted into motion. He grabbed a silver letter opener from the writing desk and flexed his wrist back, all in one fluid movement.

Hot lead discharged from Buck’s Colt in the same second as Harper made his move, and the letter opener fell from the deputy’s suddenly useless hand. Harper stood stock still, clutching his bleeding hand, for almost two seconds. Then he let loose a wordless cry of rage and rushed at Buck, grabbing for Wilmington’s gun hand.

Buck was unprepared for the swift attack, and Harper managed to knock him off balance, pushing him backward until they slammed into a wall. Harper grabbed hold of Buck’s throat with his right hand and started to squeeze, while his wounded left hand tried to get hold of Buck’s gun.

Grimacing, Buck kneed the man in the groin, but aside from a grunt of pain, Harper didn’t let up. Wrenching the crazed deputy’s fingers from around his neck, Buck ducked away and rammed his elbow in Harper’s gut; the blond man released an explosive grunt.

The next second, Harper had both of his hands around Buck’s gun hand. Using to his advantage Buck’s unwillingness to let go of the gun, the deputy swung Wilmington around, tightening his grip painfully until Buck felt the bones in his right hand grind together. His fingers reflexively loosened, and the gun fell to the floor. Harper swung Buck into the wall, which his head solidly banged into, and black spots danced at the edges of his vision.

Shaking the darkness away, Buck regrouped and launched himself at Harper. They tumbled down to the floor in a tangled heap, and Buck’s knee impacted sharply with the wooden flooring.

Four feet away, Buck spotted his Colt lying on the floor. Tensing his muscles, he pushed away from Harper and lunged for the gun.

*** *** ***

Inside the saloon, Vin and Chris looked at one another as the muffled sound of a gunshot reached them. "Buck," they said simultaneously, and ran out into the street. The perplexed judge followed them.

Chris scanned the street, trying to discern the direction from which the shot had come. The hardware store, it seemed. He started to run again.

"Mr. Larabee?"

Chris stopped in his tracks. It was a woman, long blonde hair, wearing a navy blue dress that appeared to be covered in a white powder. He motioned to Vin, and the tracker continued on towards the source of gunfire.

Hazarding a guess, Chris said, "Miss Stone?"

She glanced around fearfully and nodded. "I was with your friend Ezra on the stage - The deputy and the sheriff were in on the robbery together."

Chris placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "It’s all right, we know. Go on. Go to the saloon."

She hurried across the street as another shot rang out.

*** *** ***

Vin reached the end of the hall, firearm at the ready, and quickly took in the scene before him. He smiled and lowered his weapon to his side. "Need some help there, Buck?"

Wilmington was climbing to his feet with the aid of a nearby table. He held his gun with his left hand, training it on the tow-headed deputy, Harper. Harper was sitting on his butt on the floor, his right hand cradling his left arm.

"‘Bout time you got here, pard."

"Son of a bitch!" Harper declared irately, examining his wounded upper arm.

"Shut up," Buck snapped. "You deserved it. Now get up."

"You all right, Buck?" Vin asked as he stepped into the room and pulled Harper to his feet.

Buck flexed his right hand and hissed. "Damn, that hurts. Yeah, I’m all right, Vin. Just got a little knocked around, is all."

Vin pushed Harper out into the hallway, one hand maintaining a firm hold on the back of the man’s jacket while the other hand held his sawed-off Winchester at the ready. Buck limped along at the rear, and the three descended the staircase to the alley down below.

*** *** ***

"Damn it!" Kale muttered as the first shot echoed down the street.

He pulled his gun and, with a dark look at Ezra, stepped back out of the jail.

Sam hesitated, puzzled. He pushed Ezra into his cell, slammed the door shut, grabbed his rifle from beside the desk, and followed the sheriff.

A slow smile crept over Ezra’s face as he realized that - in his haste - Deputy Sam had forgotten to lock the cell door behind him.

*** *** ***

Kale ducked into an alley when he saw a cursing Harper being led into the street by Tanner and Wilmington. Larabee walked towards his men, and the fat old judge trailed behind.

"Damn fool! Can’t he do anything right?" He glared at Harper from his hidden position. The imbecile would probably spill his guts about everything to save his own skin.

Movement past the hardware store caught his eye, and he peered down the street. It was Stone; she stood in front of the Brown Dog, watching the men gather in the street.

"Guess I’ll have to do it myself, then," he muttered, and took off down the back alleys of Clayton Falls.

He’d take care of first Stone, then Harper.

*** *** ***

Using the thin razor that he’d earlier tucked into his boot, Ezra pried open the locked desk drawer where the key to the gun cabinet was kept. He withdrew the key, quickly unlocked the heavy padlock, and swung open the cabinet door. Metal cuffs dangling from one wrist - it had taken only a few seconds of concentration to slip one hand out of the shackles - he quickly took stock of the available weapons in the armory, and chose a rifle similar to the one he owned. He checked to make sure that it was loaded.

Outside, he pulled his hat brim down to block the glare of the sun and walked slowly down the sun-baked street. He saw his friends further down the main street, Harper among them.

Good, he thought. They must have gotten him before he got to Kira.

Speaking of… He scanned the street anxiously and found her in front of the saloon, safe and sound. He smiled, even though she hadn’t yet seen him.

Sheriff Kale stepped out from the shadow-filled alley on the far side of the saloon, his gun in hand. His gaze was locked on Kira.

"What on earth is he doing?" Ezra wondered softly. Kale couldn’t possibly think he’d get away with killing Kira in broad daylight, with half a dozen witnesses present. Of course, with his plan coming unraveled … what did Kale have to lose?

As Ezra watched, Kale raised his gun and quietly, steadily approached Kira. The young woman didn’t see him, didn’t hear his quiet footfalls; she was watching Chris and the others where they stood conversing in front of the hardware store.

Ezra halted twenty yards from Kale, shook his head in harsh determination, and raised the rifle with both hands, nestling the walnut stock against his cheek. "Kale!" he yelled. Vaguely, he was aware of Kira spinning, startled, to look at the sheriff. Ezra’s colleagues drew their weapons and also took aim. But Ezra kept his eyes on Kale, who had begun to swing his arm around when he heard his name called.

The sheriff’s gun shifted to Ezra, and a sneer of hatred formed on the man’s face.

Two shots rang out, almost close enough to be counted as one. Kale’s body jerked violently, and he stumbled back a step, then forward a step, as if he were but a marionette in the hands of some mad puppeteer. Finally, the marionette’s strings were cut, and Kale dropped to the ground.

Fifteen feet behind Kale, Sam lowered his rifle. A look of grim regret briefly played across his face, and he looked at Ezra.

In a gesture of respect, Ezra nodded and touched the brim of his hat with two fingers - something he often used with Larabee. Sam nodded back once and moved towards Kale’s body. Ezra moved in the same direction.

As the echoes of the gunshots faded away into the clear desert air, as Ezra Standish pulled his gold ring off of the still-warm finger of the dead sheriff, Judge Reginald Moore, who had witnessed the entire affair, demanded loudly, "Will somebody kindly tell me what the hell is going on?"

*** *** ***

"I’m glad to be out of that horrid little town," Kira stated vehemently as Ezra helped her down from the saddle of her rented horse.

Ezra smiled and let his hands rest on her waist until her feet were planted firmly on the ground. "I wholeheartedly share your sentiments, my dear."

Vin, Chris, and Buck also dismounted and led their horses into the livery. Vin gathered the reins of Ezra and Kira’s horses as well. "Thank you, Mr. Tanner," Kira said with a pretty smile, and Ezra nodded his thanks as well.

"Ezra!" JD hurried towards them. "You guys okay?" he asked worriedly, watching as the others disappeared into the livery.

"We are all well, for the most part, although Mr. Wilmington may want to see Nathan about his hand."

"His hand?" JD repeated. "What happened to his ha-" He stopped and noticed Kira for the first time. "Oh. Hello." He glanced curiously at Ezra.

Ezra placed a hand lightly on Kira’s back and gestured to JD with the other. "JD, this is Miss -" She raised her eyebrows at him, and he grinned. "What I meant to say is, this is Kira. Mr. JD Dunne."

"Nice to meet you, JD."

JD smiled at her, tipped his hat, then rushed off to find out just what was wrong with Buck’s hand.

Ezra and Kira walked down the street towards the hotel, arm in arm. The skirt of the new dress she’d purchased back in Clayton Falls swished around her feet. "May I be so bold as to inquire how long will you be visiting your cousin?" he asked.

"Get everything settled up in Clayton Falls?" a familiar voice inquired.

Ezra stopped their progression and looked to his right. "Ah, Mr. Jackson. Yes, everything is suitably cleared up. All charges against me were dropped by the stern - but sensible - Judge Moore, once he heard Kira’s testimony and that of the unenthusiastic Deputy Harper."

Jackson smiled. "Glad to hear it." He nodded to Kira. "Miss." And then he, too, went into the livery.

"As I was saying…" Ezra continued, a question coloring the statement.

"I’ll be staying until the twenty-first. Why? What did you have in mind?"

Ezra took her hand in his and smiled, gold tooth glistening. "I have heard that there is some sort of social gathering coming up fairly soon. A dance, to be precise…"

THE END

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