Characters: All seven
Rating: PG 13 for violence, some language
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, they’re not mine, but boy, are they fun to play with!!
Notes: Please see author’s note at end.  Many thanks to Murh for acting as beta, even though she doesn’t know me from Adam!!  I appreciate her time and input, as well as her encouragement.  And thanks also to them what I forced to read this monster and help me with it.  They know who they are!!  And so do I!!
Spoilers/Warnings: None I can think of
Archive: yes

“Mama, look!” Amy McLauren called, running up to her mother.

Kate smiled indulgently and made an appropriate fuss over the caterpillar that the small girl held.
“That’s very pretty, Amy Angel, but don’t let him loose in the garden,” she said, gently stroking the fuzzy bug.

“I won’t, mama,” the girl responded.  Little Alonzo scrambled over to have a look, and Amy held it for the three-year-old to see.  “Can I keep it?” she asked.

“Don’t you think his mama would miss him?”  Kate tugged at a particularly stubborn weed, finally pulling it free.  She fell back heavily into the dirt between the rows of cabbage causing nine-year-old Allen to laugh.

“That was funny, ma.  Do it again!” Allen giggled.

“Behave yourself, young man, or your papa’s going to have to teach you some manners when he gets home,” the woman chided playfully.  She glanced at her four children and smiled.  Since she and John had moved to the small farm in Frio Canyon, their little family had settled in, and the corn crop was doing well.  Her husband had gone to Leakley for the day to buy another plow horse.  The additional animal would help increase production and lessen the workload.

It had taken a great deal of hard work to get to this point, but things were finally looking up.  Kate was schooling her children herself as best she could, until they were older and could be sent to a proper school.  The children were all bright and proving to be a challenge.  But she loved them all dearly, and wouldn’t have given up their secluded life in the rugged canyon for anything.

In the basket next to her, Aaron started to cry.  Kate picked up the infant and started rocking him.  As the fussing settled down, she heard noises from the house.  She craned her neck, but could only see the roof from her position.

“Hogs musta got out again,” Allen said.

“Must have gotten out,” the woman corrected.  “Would you please...”

“Yes, Ma,” Allen sighed before she finished.  It wasn’t the first time the darned hogs had broken out of their pen, and they always seemed to make a bee-line for the house.  Kate grinned as the boy trotted up the small bluff where the house sat.  She was placing Aaron back into his basket when Allen’s startled scream pierced the air.

Alarmed, Kate jumped to her feet.  She had taken only two steps toward the house when her son came into view.  The boy was sprinting toward her, his face etched with terror, his mouth open in a silent cry.  She hesitated, confused, when the lad stumbled, then pitched forward, his face suddenly obliterated by blood.

It was then that she saw the Indians.

“Run!  Dear God, run!” she shouted as she felt the first bullet slam into her chest.  Ignoring the pain, she snatched up little Aaron and headed away from the house.  Another shot hit her in the right arm, forcing her to switch her hold on the baby, but she never broke stride.  The first shot to her leg caused her to stumble, and the second almost felled her, but driven by fear and the innate instinct to protect her children she managed stay upright.

Ahead of her, Amy scrambled over the garden fence, then helped Alonzo over.  Kate was nearly there when yet another bullet slammed into her right hip.  She cried out and stumbled.  Amy started back toward her and she struggled to her feet.

“No!” Kate called to the girl.  “Run, baby, run!”

“Mama!”  Amy’s frightened wail spurred  Kate forward.  But the low fence proved a formidable barrier to the injured woman.  She could barely lift her legs, much the less scale the fence.  She handed Aaron to his sister.  The six-year-old gazed at her with wide eyes.

“C’mon, mama.  Please.”

The plaintive plea gave Kate a small bit of strength, and she managed to start over the fence.  But another bullet hit her hip and she fell onto the dirt and rocks.  She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and Aaron’s piercing wail.  Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, but she refused to pass out.

“Please, God.  My babies...”

“Mama?”

Kate blinked up at Amy’s gray eyes.  “Get help, Sweety,” she gasped.  “If you get help, Mama will be all right.”  It was not without some surprise that she discovered that she didn’t hurt.  She wasn’t afraid for herself, but her babies were so young.  And sweet Allen...

“’K, mama.  Inna minute.”  Amy jumped up and ran toward the house.

Kate tried to get up.  Tried to call the child back.  But she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.  Her life was draining away slowly, and she was only vaguely aware of Alonzo as he sat next to her, his little arms barely able to hold his baby brother.  The three-year-old put his hand on her face and she forced a smile.

Her thoughts drifted to John.  The man would be devastated to find his little family butchered like this.  If she could somehow spare him that, she would.  But she couldn’t even save her own children.

Kate’s eyes drifted shut.

“Mama?”  The small voice drifted into her consciousness.  “Mama?”  This louder, alarmed cry brought her eyes open.  Then she knew she was dead.  Her precious Amy floated in her vision, truly an angel now.  She felt her head being lifted, then settled on a soft surface.  “I brought you a pillow, mama.”

“Thank you, Angel,” she whispered, wondering why she needed a pillow when she was drifting in the clouds.  “Take care of your brothers.”

“I will.”  The little girl disappeared from her view, and Kate sighed.  Somehow, she managed to reach up and take Alonzo’s hand before her vision went black.

“Vin?”  Chris glanced at the blonde man beside him.  While the first shot they’d heard hadn’t been cause for alarm, the rapid series that followed told the lawmen that this was more than just a hunter after dinner.

The tracker shrugged.  “Dunno.  One rifle.  Probably a Sharps.  Either a piss-poor shot or...”

“Trouble,” Chris supplied.

“One way ta find out.”  The tracker grinned and nodded in the direction the shots had come from.  Their prisoner escort was proving to be annoyingly simple despite the reputation the three men had earned, and the antsy tracker was itching for action.

Chris glanced back at the other men.  They were all alert, looking to him for instruction, while the three prisoners were watching with seeming disinterest.

“Pro’ly jest some poor homesteader gettin’ scalped by Injuns,” Foster drawled.  His companions laughed.

Buck, who was leading the man’s horse, spun his mount so that the big gray bumped into the outlaw’s piebald, throwing the animal off balance.  “Keep it,” the lawman growled as Foster struggled for balance.

“JD, Nathan,” Chris motioned to the trail ahead, and Vin’s retreating form, then turned to the other three peacekeepers, who were leading the outlaws’ mounts.  “Follow at a distance.”

The men nodded as Chris dug his heels into Midnight’s sides.  The big black bolted forward, sprinting after Vin.  He caught up with the others and let his horse settle in to stride with Diablo.

Vin suddenly swung his horse to the right, darting into a stand of trees.  At first Chris was confused.  Then he realized that they were on a narrow path.  He marveled yet again at the tracker’s innate ability to find things that weren’t there.  He never would have found the path himself, no matter how hard he looked.

The four horses charged through the foliage at a break-neck pace.  Vin sensed the urgency in the silence following the gunfire, and was throwing caution to the wind.  So when he hauled his horse to a sliding stop, it was all Chris could do to keep Midnight from plowing into Diablo.

JD’s Milagro went down on her knees, and Nathan’s horse sidestepped into a tree.  The healer let out a curse as Milagro struggled upright, catching his knee.

“Tanner...” Chris growled, but the tracker leapt to the ground, ignoring him.  Annoyed, Chris swung from the saddle and pushed past Diablo, intent on berating the younger man for his carelessness.  Vin was standing just in front of his horse, holding the bridle and looking down at a little girl.  Chris hesitated.

The child stood stock still in the middle of the path, her gray eyes wide, staring at the men.  Most of her long chestnut hair had fallen from the ribbon that was meant to contain it, and there was a smear of blood on her face.

Chris started to move forward but was shoved aside as Nathan limped past him.  The healer knelt in front of the girl and gently touched her arm.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly as his gentle hands searched for injury.

The child nodded.  “Mama’s hurt.  She said to come quick.”

Nathan reached out and brushed the girl’s hair back.  “Can you point where?”

Again the girl nodded, pointing behind her.

“Let’s go,” Chris snarled.  He nearly collided with JD, who was beside him.  “Stay with Nathan,” he ordered.  JD nodded mutely as the older gunslinger remounted and started after Vin.

The path finally opened out to a small canyon valley.  A shallow river ran along one side.  A large field of corn took up the center of the valley, and a simple house stood on a small rise.  There was a kitchen garden between the house and the river.  Vin surveyed the area silently and Chris waited patiently.  Finally, the tracker moved forward.

As they neared the house, it was evident that something was wrong.  Clothing and household items were strewn around the yard, and the door was hanging at an odd angle.  Chris sat nervously on Midnight, watching Vin’s back as the tracker rummaged through the house.  He came out and shook his head slightly, then looked the yard over.

“Ah, hell.”  The quiet oath sent a chill through Chris.  Vin was running past him, and the gunslinger swung out of the saddle to chase after him.  He stumbled to a stop when he saw the body that Vin was leaning over.

“Damn.”  It was just a boy, no more than nine or ten -- the same age Adam would be.

“Bastards shot ‘im as he was running away,” Vin whispered.

Chris shook his head, then moved between the boy’s body and the approaching riders.  The little girl was wiggling out of Nathan’s grasp, oblivious of the distance to the ground.  Nathan grabbed her arm and managed to ease her down before she fell.  She started running toward Chris and Vin with JD hot on her heels.

“Mama!”

As Chris crouched to catch her, she dodged him and ran past, not even stopping to look at the body in the dirt.  The gunslinger jumped up and chased after her, but JD had already caught her.

“Hold still now,” the boy chided, but the child was trying to squirm out of his grip.

“You have to help mama,” she wailed and JD shot Chris an anguished look.

Chris took the girl by the shoulders and forced her to hold still.  “Where’s your mama?”

“By the fence.  She’s hurt.”  Chris released her and started to run in the direction she pointed.  The terrain dipped toward the river, and it wasn’t until he was nearly to the fence that he saw the woman.

“Nathan!”  The call was unnecessary, but it made the gunslinger feel like he was doing something as he slid to his knees next to the still form.  Nathan was beside him in an instant.

A large blossom of blood was spread across the woman’s chest and her skin was pale and damp.  At first Chris thought that they were too late, but at Nathan’s touch her eyes fluttered open.

“Water...”  The single word was a gasp, barely audible.  Vin handed Nathan a canteen, and the healer helped her to drink.  She finally smiled, then nodded.

“Mama!”  At the child’s cry the woman’s eyes opened wide and she struggled to sit.  Chris nodded at JD to release the girl as Nathan tried to hold the woman down.

“Easy, ma’am.  Girl’s just fine.”  The woman relaxed back, her energy spent.  Nathan examined the bullet wound on her chest and looked up at Chris.  He shook his head slightly, then moved back to allow the child to kneel beside her mother.

“Are you all right, Angel?”  The woman tried to raise her hand but failed.  Her voice was barely audible.

The girl patted her mother’s cheek and smiled.  “I’m okay, mama.”

Weakly, the woman looked around.  A frown creased her face.  “Babies...took my...babies.”

Chris cast a sharp glance at Vin.  The tracker immediately began to look the area over.

“What babies?  Ma’am?”  Nathan was leaning over the woman now, listening intently, but a moment later he looked up and shook his head.  Chris cursed under his breath, glad to have the healer with him so that he didn’t have to be the one to deal with the child.  Nathan was hugging her, talking quietly to her.  Vin was already out of sight, along with JD, but he knew they’d be back.

With an angry sigh, Chris squeezed Nathan’s shoulder and motioned toward the house.  The healer gathered the little girl in his arms and followed him.

The other three peacekeepers were arriving with their charges as Chris and Nathan got back to the house.

“We too late?” Josiah asked.  The gunslinger nodded and gestured to the body of the boy.  Josiah let out a quiet oath as he swung out of the saddle.

“Woman’s dead over by the fence,” Chris continued.  “Get these scum taken care of...” he motioned to the outlaws, “then we’ll take care of the woman and the boy.”

“Looks like they missed a scalp,” Foster called with a wicked grin.  The outlaw was bored, and was itching for a fight.  He got one.

Before Buck could shove the man, Chris had crossed the distance to the outlaw’s horse in two long strides and grabbed him by the lapels.  With a vicious yank, the gunman pulled Foster to the ground and delivered a strong blow to the man’s chin.  Foster fell in a heap but shook off the pain and wiped blood.

“Wassa matter, Larabee?  Injun’s beat ya to the woman?”  He struggled to his feet, but before he was fully upright, Chris had him by the coat again.  He shoved the man backwards into Chaucer.  The animal side stepped, but Ezra held the horse steady.

“You just shut up,” Chris growled.

Foster grinned.  “Jest ‘cause she’s dead doesn’t mean ya cain’t still...”  He didn’t have a chance to finish.  Chris reached out and grabbed him by the throat, cutting off his air.

“Mr. Larabee, while I’m sure that there would be supreme satisfaction in putting that miscreant out of our misery, I’m sure the law will see it otherwise.”

Chris glared at Ezra, his hands still wrapped around the man’s throat.  The gambler returned the glare, then handed Chris his handkerchief.

“Thanks, Ezra,” Chris snarled as he took the material and shoved it into Foster’s mouth.

“Far better than he deserves,” Ezra drawled.  “But I was becoming bored with the conversation as well.”  He urged Chaucer into a sidestep as Chris secured the gag and shoved Foster at Buck.

“Get them outta my sight,” the gunslinger growled.  There was a rage building in his heart and the three prisoners made too easy a target, particularly Foster, who reveled in goading the lawmen.

Buck and Ezra dragged the three men to the barn while Josiah turned his attention to the horses.  They had been riding hard all day, and it was a good opportunity to water and rest the tired animals.  Nathan was in the house with the little girl, picking up clothing and putting some of the cast-aside furnishings back in place.

Chris stared across the garden, watching for the two figures that finally appeared just before sunset.  He had briefly told the other men what they had found, choosing to wait until Vin and JD had returned with whatever information they had before going into detail.  Buck, Ezra and Josiah had collected the bodies of the woman and her son, and after Nathan had examined them, they had been carefully wrapped in blankets and laid on the larger bed under the house’s loft.

Now Chris could see that JD was concentrating on the ground, with Vin following slowly behind, carrying something.  As they drew closer, Chris could see that while the tracker was still wearing his buckskin coat, he was shirtless.

“’Bout time you two showed up,” Buck boomed, running out and dropping an arm around JD’s shoulders.  “Where you been, anyway?”

Chris caught the brief glance JD shot the older man, and the defeated look in the kid’s eyes.  Buck however, had turned his attention to Vin.

“What you got there?” he asked, dancing around the blonde man, trying to look over Vin’s shoulder.  Vin remained silent, but JD spoke up.

“Let up, Buck,” the young man snarled, an almost feral tone to his voice.  Buck backed up a step, hands up in supplication, a huge grin on his face.

“What’s eatin’ at you, kid?” he asked, before turning to Vin again.  “C’mon, Tanner, own up.”  The larger man grabbed at the bundle the tracker was holding and before Chris could intervene, Buck was laying in the dirt, staring up at JD.  Chris caught the boy’s arm before he could land another blow.

“JD...”  The word was barely out of the gunslinger’s mouth when he found himself dodging a vicious punch.  He staggered back as Josiah caught the younger man from behind.

“Let me go, Preacher...” JD snarled, trying to kick out.  It was only because of his larger stature that Josiah was able to avoid the flailing feet.

“What’s got into you, kid?” Buck asked, struggling to his feet, rubbing his bruised jaw.

“Ain’t a kid,” JD snapped back, still fighting Josiah.  Chris nodded to the big man, who released the boy.  For a moment JD glared at the other men, then trotted after Vin, who had ignored the action and gone into the house.

The other peacekeepers traded glances, then followed the two youngest.  Vin was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the figures on the bed.  JD approached him slowly, talking softly, like he would to a skittish horse.  Chris caught Buck’s arm and stilled the other men with a shake of his head.

“C’mon now, Vin,” JD crooned quietly.  “We’re back.  Let me have it.”  The young man reached up and took hold of the bundle that Vin held.  The tracker looked down at the boy and finally released his parcel.  JD looked back at Chris, the pain in his eyes shaded by concern.

“Vin?”  The tracker blinked as though coming out of a trance, and focused on JD.

“Yeah?”  The response was barely audible.

“Why don’t you take the little girl and show her the horses.”  JD motioned to the silent child who had her hand clenched tightly in Nathan’s.

Vin looked over at them, then back to JD.  “Thanks,” the tracker whispered.  He didn’t look up at the other men as he picked up the girl and carried her from the house.

The other five men watched JD curiously.  The young man turned to them, his expression grim.
“Vin said there’s about a dozen of ‘em.  Apache.  Most likely a raiding party.  Didn’t see any indication of women or children.”  The young man sighed and wiped his arm across his eyes.  “Found...”  He waved his hand vaguely toward the shirt-wrapped bundle that he had placed on the table.  “Nate...”

Nathan moved forward as JD continued.  “Said they probably wanted ta stop the crying,” he muttered so quietly that the other men had to strain to hear.  Nathan let out a sharp gasp.  “Said they used a rock ta...”  JD broke off, his voice catching.

“Head’s bashed in,” Nathan supplied, replacing the makeshift covering.

“I don’t get it,” JD finally said, his hazel eyes pleading with the older men.  “He’s just a baby...”

Stunned silence hung over the room until Buck stepped forward and pulled the boy into an embrace.  “’S okay, kid,” he whispered.

JD shook his head.  “No, it ain’t, Buck.”

At a loss for words, the older gunslinger simply stood beside the younger man, offering quiet support.  Chris finally shook his head and stepped forward to look at the small bundle himself.  He cleared his throat, cursing what ever fates had put him in charge of the small band of peacekeepers.  While he knew in his gut that he was doing the right thing, it was easier to be on his own, without the responsibility that leadership of the small group brought.  And he sure as hell could do without the others looking to him for direction.

He fought the overwhelming urge to crawl into a bottle.

“Nathan,” he finally muttered.

The black healer sighed and looked at the men surrounding him.  “Girl’s name is Amy McLauren.  Boy here is Allen.”  He gestured toward the bed.  “Reckon the baby’s Aaron.  There’s a three year old, too.  Alonzo.”  Nathan paused and rubbed his eyes before continuing.

“Boy was shot in the back of the head as he ran away from the house.  Woman was shot once in the chest, once in the right arm, twice in the left leg and twice in the right hip.”  He waited for the muttered curses to die down.  “Frankly, I don’t know how she held out as long as she did.  We found her with a pillow under her head.  Most likely Amy came here and got it before she ran for help.”  He sighed again.  “Don’t know how she made it here and back with them still here.”

Josiah started to reply, to make a profound comment about divine intervention, but came up short.  Surely the hand of God protected little Amy, but then why hadn’t the woman and boys been protected as well?  He didn’t have an answer, so he remained silent, aware of the eyes on him.

After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, Ezra spoke.  “So there is another child unaccounted for?”

“Yep,” Nathan replied with a weary sigh.  “Father went into town to buy a horse.  Supposed ta be back tonight.”

Chris’ muttered oath didn’t go unnoticed.  The black-clad gunslinger turned and stalked from the building.  He couldn’t put aside the feelings that had swept over him at Nathan’s statement.  McLauren would come home to find his family fractured and butchered, much like he had his own.  He had no intention of being anywhere near when the man returned.

Vin was holding Amy up while the child patted Diablo’s nose.  When the tracker saw Chris, he settled the little girl in the saddle, pulled the cinch tight and led the horse toward the older man.

“You all right, Pard?” Chris asked as he fell in step beside Vin.

“Yep,” the younger man sighed.  “Just shook me fer a bit.”  He stared at the blue expanse of sky for a moment.  “Hate when little kids’re hurt.”

Chris nodded agreement.

“And then JD’s questions...Didn’t have no answers.”

Chris glanced at the tracker.  “Reckon I don’t either,” he said.  They walked in silence for several minutes before Chris spoke again.  “There’s a three year old out there.”

“Storm’s comin’.  We’d best get after ‘em now, or we’ll loose ‘em.”  There was weary resignation in Vin’s tone.

Chris looked up at the sky, then at his companion.  There wasn’t a cloud to be seen, and the air was still.  But if Vin said it was going to rain, it was going to rain.  Still, he didn’t like the idea of splitting the team, but there wasn’t much choice.  They couldn’t very well drag their prisoners around the country-side with them, but they had to try to find the boy.

He mulled the possibilities over, but could only come to one conclusion.  They couldn’t spare more than three to go after the Apaches.  The prisoners they were escorting had escaped captivity more than once, leaving a number of dead lawmen in their wake.  It wouldn’t be safe to have more than one ponied by a man, and if McLauren didn’t show, someone would have to take charge of Amy.

No matter how they cut it, it wasn’t good.

“I’ll get Nathan,” the gunslinger finally said.  He lifted Amy from the saddle.  As he carried her to the house, he made the mistake of looking into her eyes.  The quiet trust he saw there shook him.

“Mama told me to look after Alonzo and Aaron,” she said, looking into his soul.  “You gonna bring them back?”

Chris nodded and cleared his throat.  “I plan to do what I can,” he answered, fighting to control his voice.

“Can I see mama now?” she asked, her steel gray eyes boring into him.  Chris realized he’d rather face a hundred guns than any more of the child’s questions.

But then Josiah was there to rescue him.

“What do you have there, Brother Chris?” the preacher asked, scooping the girl from the gunslinger’s grasp.  He hefted her up and she giggled.  “Why I believe it’s a little squirrel.”

“I’m not a squirrel,” Amy protested.  “I’m a little girl.”  She leaned back so that she could look the big man in the face.

Josiah chuckled.  “I believe you’re right,” he boomed.  “You are a little girl.”

Amy squirmed, straining to look back at Chris.  “Are you brothers?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose,” Josiah replied.  “We may not be kin, but our lives are linked.”

“Oh.”  The simple reply held confusion and childish acceptance.

“I believe what Mr. Sanchez is trying to say is that we fight like brothers,” Ezra drawled as he met the group on the porch.  Nathan, Buck and JD were behind him.

“You talk funny,” Amy observed.  Buck snorted.

“Indeed,” Ezra replied, casting the ladies’ man a harsh look.  “My diction distinguishes me as a man of breeding.”

“What Ezra’s trying to say,” Josiah translated, “is that he’s full of hot air.”

The indignant look the gambler gave him made the older man laugh, and even Amy giggled.  “I know when I’m not appreciated,” Ezra huffed in mock anger and stalked off the porch.

Chris smiled, then turned to the men in front of him.  “Nathan, you’re with Vin and me.  We’re going after the Apaches.  The rest of you wait here until morning.  If McLauren isn’t back by then, take Amy to Leakley, then get those men to Carson Falls.”

“But what about you?” JD asked.

“Let’s keep in touch through Mary Travis.  Wire her whenever you get the chance.  We’ll do the same.  Once you have those men taken care of, you can catch up to us.”

“Don’t like it,” Buck grumbled.  “Splittin’ ain’t good.”

Chris glared at the other man for a moment and started to snap a reply, but caught himself when he noticed Amy staring intently at him.  “I realize that,” he said with more control than he felt.  “Any other options?”

After a brief silence, Buck shook his head.  “Just be careful, Stud.”

“Same goes for you,” Chris returned with a grin.  He tipped his hat to the men and turned to join Vin.  Before he was off the porch, Amy had squirmed out of Josiah’s grip and chased after him.

“This is ‘lonzo’s,” the girl said, holding up a small stuffed dog.  “He’ll want it.”

Chris forced a smile and took the toy.  Without speaking, he walked toward the tracker.  Nathan limped quietly behind him.

As they neared the horses, Ezra passed them.  The gambler had a twisted grin on his face, but passed them silently, merely touching the brim of his hat.  Chris watched him curiously, then shrugged.

Then he saw Vin.

“Don’t say a word if you want to live,” Vin snarled.  Chris gagged back laughter. Under the tracker’s worn buckskin coat a shock of silk ruffles could be seen.  “Ain’t my fault Ezra’s the only one’a ya ‘civilized enough ta bring fresh haberdash’ry’.”

Behind him Chris heard Nathan snicker, but the gunslinger managed to keep a straight face.  “Looks fine,” he lied.

Vin wasn’t fooled.  Gruffly, he shoved Midnight’s reins at his friend, then swung into Diablo’s saddle.  “Burnin’ daylight.”

And he was on his way, not waiting to see if the others followed.

“Never seen Vin shook up like that before,” JD said quietly.  He was sitting on the floor next to the fireplace with Amy curled on his lap.  In the absence of any family, the child had taken to the men, who all doted on her.  But the day had exhausted the girl, and now she was sound asleep.

“Even the most hardened of us can balk in the face of terrible things,” Josiah replied.  In the wake of Amy’s childish exuberance, he was feeling back to himself.  He realized that eventually the girl would comprehend what had happened, and they’d have to deal with that.  He only hoped her father would be back by then.

“But why?”  JD’s soft inquiry had no answer.

“Don’t fret on it, kid,” Buck said from his spot by the door.  He took a sip of stale coffee.

“How can I not fret on it, Buck?” JD challenged quietly.  He leaned back and closed his eyes.  “You weren’t there.  You didn’t see her laying there.  She was shot six times.  Six times.  There ain’t no call for that.  She was helpless.”

Buck was on his feet moving toward the young man, intent on stopping the conversation before it went further.  He crouched in front of JD.  “Don’t be thinkin’ like that, son,” he said.  “We got that there little girl and Chris is gonna fetch back her brother.  That’s what you ought ta think on.”  He looked into the weary hazel eyes.

“But it don’t make sense...”  JD reached up and wiped his face.

“In a skewed way, it does,” Josiah mumbled.  “Woman’s makin’ baby boys that’ll grow up ta be enemies and kill their children.”

“They can’t know that.”

“Don’t matter,” Josiah continued.  He’d lived among Indians before, and had a feeling for their struggle for survival.  He didn’t approve by any means, but he understood.  “There’s white folk who’ve treated the Indians the same, killin’ ‘em just because of their blood.  It’s the history of mankind.”

“Man ain’t kind,” JD mumbled and Josiah chuckled.

“Amen, Brother Dunne.”

Buck settled on the floor beside the young man.  “Ya oughta get some sleep, JD.  We got a long day.”  The kid nodded and closed his eyes.  Buck looked up at Josiah.  The big man nodded once.

“Reckon I’ll check on Ezra.”  Slowly, Josiah rose and headed for the door.  He shuffled to the barn, feeling every one of his years.  If it wasn’t for small reprieves from the grim realities of life, he could easily lose himself in the cruelty and hatred that the peacekeepers dealt with on a daily basis.  He hated that JD was losing his youth this way, and hoped that the more experienced men could make the transition from boy to man easier on him.

A single lantern lit the interior of the barn.  Ezra sat on a pile of hay, shuffling through a deck of cards.  The three prisoners were shackled to a heavy beam, huddled together, asleep.

“Mr. Sanchez,” Ezra drawled, setting the cards aside.

“Ezra.”  Josiah settled his large frame next to the smaller man.  “Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“Why don’t you, Josiah?” the conman countered.

“Didn’t come out here to argue,” the preacher said.  “Just came to be sure yer all right.”

“No, sir, I’m not,” Ezra returned.  “To see those innocents...”  He trailed off and stared at the cards.

“Yep,” Josiah responded, and a companionable silence fell between the two.

Distant flashes of light announced the coming storm, and the increasing wind marked its imminence.  Shortly after midnight, the rain started.  At first it was like a fine mist, but soon huge drops were falling in a deluge.

“Vin!”  Chris doubted that his call could be heard over the pounding of the rain and the din of thunder, or the tracker’s single-mindedness.  He tried again, then spurred Midnight forward and grabbed Diablo’s reins.  Unconsciously, Vin started to swing at him but checked his movement when recognition dawned.

“What?”  The question was snapped out.

“Got ta stop, find shelter,” Chris yelled, blinking water from his eyes.

“Got ta find the boy!” Vin yelled back.

Chris shook his head.  “You see any tracks, or just followin’ instinct?”

The younger man glared at him for a moment, then grumbled, “What’s it matter?”

“Tracks’er gone now.  Instinct’ll be there in the morning.”

Chris watched while Vin thought it over then controlled his emotions.

Finally a wry smile crossed the younger man’s lips.  “Reckon yer right.  Chances’er good they won’t travel in this anyway.”  The tracker spun his horse past Chris and Nathan.  With a quiet oath Chris spurred Midnight after him.

Nathan shook his head and followed silently.  He was well aware of the dynamics that the two men shared and felt like the odd man out.  And for now, it was best to remain silent and add support where he could.

Chris was about to grab Diablo’s reins again when Vin turned the animal to the left.  Chris’ hand fell short, and before he could make another attempt, Vin reined in and swung out of the saddle.  With a simple nod to Chris, the younger man led Diablo forward a few paces.

The gunslinger knew he shouldn’t have been surprised when he found himself standing under a low outcropping of rocks.  Even in the dark, the damned tracker had seen the makeshift shelter.

With a mirthless grin, Vin dropped his horse’s reins, then loosened the cinch.  “You didn’t doubt me, did ya?” he grumbled.

“Never,” Chris replied, loosening Midnight’s cinch.  Nathan watched silently, then followed suit.

“C’mon,” Vin continued, “this way.”   The other two men grabbed their saddlebags and bedrolls then trailed after the young man.  A short distance from the horses, Vin led them into a small adobe building.  Most of the roof had long-since fallen in, but one wall was formed by a cliff, and they were sheltered from the rain.

“Don’t think you’ll ever cease to amaze me,” Chris chuckled as he shook out his dripping duster.  There was nothing to build a fire with, but at least it wasn’t cold out.  Hardtack and jerky were passed around in the dark.  Later, Nathan produced a bottle of ‘medicinal’ whisky.

“Gonna get an early start,” Vin finally drawled.  With a slight nod, the tracker pulled his hat forward, huddled into his coat and settled down to sleep.  Beside him, Nathan rubbed his sore knee, then curled up under his bedroll.

Across the room, Chris pulled the small dog from his saddlebags and fingered it idly for a moment.  Adam had had a similar toy, a stuffed cow that Sarah had made from a one of Chris’ shirts that had taken the brunt of a fall one day when he’d been breaking a particularly bullheaded bronc.  Adam had barely been able to walk, but he would go to just about any length to get to the damned cow, using walls, furniture and any people that got in his way to hold himself up as he toddled across the floor.  Sometimes Sarah would hold the cow out and Adam would sway unsteadily after it, his tiny hands locked around his father’s fingers, hanging from the strong support.

Then one day Adam had let go, and made his way across the room by himself.  The sense of elation and accomplishment Chris had felt was tainted by a sense of loss.  The completely dependent child was walking on his own.  Chris remembered finding the linen cow discarded on the floor years later.  One ear was chewed almost completely away and the eyes and mouth were gone, silent witness to the child that had been.  But Adam was growing quickly from boy to the promise of man, and didn’t need the toy any more.

Chris smiled to himself.  Adam had never done anything but make him proud.  The boy was honest, bright and diligent, eager to please and quick to learn.

He wondered if Mr. McLauren was proud of his children.  He wondered if Allen had been a  bundle of curious questions like Adam had been.  He wondered if little Alonzo was crying for his papa, or if the child was even still alive.

With a disgusted shake of his head, Chris shoved the dog back into his saddlebag.  Now was not the time to get sentimental.  He had to push his emotions aside and remain objective.  And he had to do it without the aid of a bottle.  He leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the professional gunslinger to quell any remnants of father.

“Just grand,” Ezra grumbled as he peered out of the barn at the heavy down pour.

“Wassa matter, Dandy?” Foster taunted.  “’Fraid yer duds’ll shrink?”  The prisoner’s two companions chuckled.  Ezra ignored them.

“That is a possibility, isn’t it, Ezra?” Josiah kidded.  Ezra glowered at the preacher.  “Or maybe that pretty red coat’ll turn pink.”

“Hey, lawman, you’d look right pretty in pink,” Foster added.  “Set off them eyes real nice.”

Ezra turned toward the shackled man, but Josiah caught his arm.  They locked gazes, and the bigger man just shook his head.  Ezra sighed and turned back towards the door, staring balefully outside.

“Little rain never hurt anyone, Ezra,” Josiah commented.  “Maybe it’ll let up before we set out.”

The gambler rolled his eyes.  “Doubtful,” he mumbled.  “And here comes Mr. Dunne, looking as ecstatic as ever.”  He stepped back to let the young man enter.

“Mornin’, Ez, Josiah,” JD greeted.  “Buck said ta send ya over for breakfast.  I’ll get the horses ready.”  He held up a small bundle.  “Got somethin’ for these guys, too.”

“And who cooked?” Ezra asked skeptically.

“Not me,” the boy answered, frowning.

“So, Mr. Wilmington..?”

“Stop complainin’, Ezra,” Josiah chided, pushing the smaller man out the door.  Ezra ducked his head and ran for the house with Josiah close on his heels.  The interior of the small building was warm, and the aroma of coffee and frying bacon was tantalizing.

“Mornin’,” Buck grinned.  “Nice day, ain’t it?”  He handed a plateful of eggs and bacon to the little girl standing beside him, then followed her as she walked gingerly to the table.  She set the plate down and smiled in triumph.

“Good job, Skeeter,” Buck grinned, ruffling Amy’s hair.

She wrinkled her nose and frowned.  “I’m Amy, not Skeeter.”

“Well, of course you are, Sweetheart,” Buck teased.  He picked her up and settled her into a chair before sitting next to her.

“I take it the prodigal parent has not returned,” Ezra drawled, grimacing at the bitter taste of the coffee.

For a moment Buck frowned in concentration, then smiled in triumph.  “Nope.”

“Wonderful,” the southerner drawled.  “So we must play custodian to this adolescent until such time as we can deliver her to her sire?”

Buck shrugged, unable to fathom the meaning of the string of words.

“I’ll stay here with mama,” Amy declared, looking at Ezra in defiance.  Josiah laughed.

“You can’t stay here, darlin’,” Buck said.  “Yer mama’s...”

“Sleeping?” Amy asked.  She looked back toward the alcove where the bed was.  Buck scooted his chair back and gathered the girl into his arms.

“Amy, darlin’, yer ma’s not sleepin’,” the ladies’ man muttered.

“I know,” Amy answered back.  “She’s asleep forever, isn’t she?”

Buck swallowed hard and nodded.  The child on his lap cuddled against him.

Across the table, Ezra watched in silence for a moment before he dropped his fork on the table and rose suddenly.  “I believe I will assist Mr. Dunne with the horses,” he said, stalking from the room before the others could stop him.

Josiah watched the gambler leave, then knelt beside Buck and Amy.  “Do you know what it means to be dead?” he asked.

Amy nodded, her gray eyes solemn.  “Nanna an’ Ompa are dead.  Mama said they went to be with God.”

“That’s right,” Josiah smiled, relieved that he didn’t have to explain things to the girl.  “That’s where your mama went, too.  She’s somewhere nice, where she can’t hurt any more.”  He brushed hair back from the child’s face.

“I want to go with her,” Amy said.  “I want to be with God, too.”

Buck and Josiah exchanged dismayed looks.  “You don’t want that, darlin’,” Buck crooned.  “You have to stay here and take care of your papa.”

“He can come, too,” she replied with the simple innocence of youth.  Buck shrugged and looked to Josiah for help.  The preacher shrugged back.

“Afraid it don’t work that way, Skeeter,” Buck finally said.

“Doesn’t,” the girl corrected, looking up at the gunslinger.

“Doesn’t what?” Buck asked as Josiah stifled his laugh.

“Doesn’t, not don’t,” Amy explained.  “It doesn’t work that way.”

“What doesn’t?”  Buck asked, glad that young children were so easily distracted.

Amy giggled.  “You’re silly.”

“I’ve been accused of that a time or two,” Buck chuckled as he rose and placed the girl on her feet.  “What say we go find your pa?”

“Okay,” she murmured with as exaggerated sigh.  “But it’s raining.”

Buck squatted next to her and nuzzled her neck.  She laughed and scrunched her shoulder.  “Well you sure don’t taste like sugar,” he declared.  “Reckon ya ain’t gonna melt.”  He took the small coat that Josiah held out to him and buttoned the child into it.

“I have to bring Emily.”  Amy pulled away from him and scrambled up the ladder to the loft.  Buck stood and shrugged into his own coat.

“So that’s how you do it,” Josiah chuckled.  “Start ‘em early?”

“Only way a man stands a chance,” the rogue returned with a twinkle in his eye.  Amy clamored back down the ladder, a well-worn rag doll clutched in her arms.  She took the hand that Buck held out for her and followed the men to the barn.

JD and Ezra both drew weapons as the newcomers entered, but reholstered them when they recognized the other men.  They did not, however, relax.

“You’d better be on guard, lawman,” Foster growled to no one in particular.  He continued, despite the fact that he was ignored.  “Never know when the tide’s gonna turn.”

Ezra freed the prisoners from the post that they’d been fastened to, then checked to be sure that the shackles were secure.  He hauled Foster toward the piebald that the outlaw had been riding while JD took custody of Evans and Josiah grabbed Taylor.

As Buck swung Amy into his saddle, Foster snorted.  “You bringin’ that kid along?” he sneered.  “Mighty desperate, ain’t ya?”

“Shut up,” Ezra snarled, giving the man a shove into the side of the gangly mare.

“Or what?  Yer jest jealous, ain’t ya?  ‘Fraid he won’t share with ya?”

The gambler’s hand shot up and grasped Foster by the throat,  squeezing until Josiah finally managed to pry his fingers loose.

“Ezra, that’s enough!” the preacher ordered.  “Don’t let him get to ya.”

Ezra stepped back and drew a deep breath.  Josiah released his hand.

“Get on the horse,” Ezra ordered, shutting out whatever snide remark the man made.  Buck had already swung into the saddle behind Amy.  The child was swathed in an oilskin to protect her from the rain.  JD was waiting quietly on Milagro, grasping the reins to Evans’ mount.  Josiah and Ezra were the last to mount.

Finally, the small group headed into the deluge.

A light tingling at the back of his mind alerted Chris that Vin was stirring.  He knew that the tracker had been awake for some time.  Chris hadn’t slept at all, instead keeping vigil over his companions during the night.  He had noticed when Vin first awoke, seen the restless shifting as the younger man fought impatience.  But Chris decided to wait, to let Vin move in his own time.

Pushing his hat back, Chris looked up to see Vin standing over him.  Actually, it was more of a sensation in the pre-dawn dark, like the feeling he used to get on Christmas morning as Adam stood beside the bed, staring intently at his parents, willing them awake.

“Cowboy,” Vin drawled.  Chris nodded, then stood.  “Burnin’ daylight,” the tracker continued.  “Best start movin’.”

“Our impression of daylight differs a bit,” Chris commented with a smile.  He moved to where Nathan slept and shook the healer lightly, catching the hand that instinctively reached for a knife.  “Whoa, Doc, just me,” he said.

Nathan muttered something and pulled his blanket over his face.  Chris pulled it back down.

“Nathan!”

“Huh?”  The healer started and sat at the sharply spoken word.

“Time to go,” Chris explained.  “It’s morning in New York.”

Nathan blinked in confusion, sure he’d missed something, then struggled to his feet and gathered his gear.  It was still dark enough that he was tempted to close his eyes as Vin led them back to the horses.  Nahleen’s distinctive nicker helped Nathan distinguish his horse from the others.  He tightened her cinch down, then fished in his saddlebags for some jerky and dried fruit.  The mare greedily took the sweets he offered.  Beside him, Chris and Vin tended their animals wordlessly.  Both men were sullen and withdrawn.  A dark shadow had fallen over Chris and the man was all gunfighter.  Vin was silent, which was not unusual, but this was a deadly silence, a driven silence, that held a lethal focus.

The traits were foreign to the healer, and he was not used to seeing them in his companions, although he knew that they lurked just below the surface, and had kept the gunslinger and tracker alive so far.

Shifting in the saddle, Nathan ducked his head as they rode from under the protection of the rocks and into the pouring rain.  He pulled his collar up, but even with the wide brim of his hat to help, it didn’t stop water from running down the inside of his coat.  It was going to be a miserable day.

The only indication that the sun had actually risen was a lightening of the black to gray.  Despite the deluge, a thick mist of low clouds hung above their heads.  Nathan could barely see Diablo ahead of Midnight, and he wondered how the tracker could see anything, or if maybe Vin was just running on pure instinct.

Behind the tracker, Chris’ posture was alert as he watched Vin’s back, relieving the younger man of that concern so that he could concentrate on the trail.  The degree of trust and understanding between the men was almost unnerving.

Nathan trailed silently behind his companions, hoping that his skills would not be needed, that by some small miracle they would find the boy alive and well, and recover him without casualties.

A sharp pain in his back told Nathan that that was not to be.  His breath was snatched away in that instant, and he slipped silently from the saddle to the muddy trail.

The narrow trail to Leakley followed Frio Creek for several miles before starting up the side of a canyon that had been carved millennia before by the relentless erosion of the water.  Rain was working yet to change the dynamics of the cliff-side, making the trail slick and treacherous.

Josiah led the way, Taylor’s horse ponied behind him.  JD was next, the reins to Evans’ horse secured around his saddlehorn.  Behind him, Ezra had charge of Foster’s mount, and Buck brought up the rear, with Amy securely snuggled in the saddle in front of him.  The riders were all concentrating silently on the path, aware of the steep drop on their right.  They moved slowly, with careful determination.

Without warning, Foster dug his heels savagely into his horse’s flanks.  The startled animal surged forward into Chaucer, throwing the sorrel off balance.  Ezra gripped the horn, dropping both his and the ponied horse’s reins.  The gambler used his knees and weight to guide Chaucer, but the animal’s hooves slipped in the mud, unable to find purchase.  Chaucer turned into the hillside and tried to scramble up.  Foster rammed his beast into the other horse again and Ezra felt Chaucer slide off the trail.  The horse squealed and rolled his eyes.  Gripping the horn, Ezra dug his heels in, trying to encourage the animal forward, but it was no use.  Chaucer’s back legs went out from beneath him, and he listed to the side.  Ezra was thrown from the saddle as Foster urged his piebald forward yet again.  The larger animal balked, then stumbled over Chaucer, a shod hoof landing squarely in the conman’s back.

Ezra cried out in pain, his limbs immediately going numb.  He squeezed his eyes shut as he tumbled into the canyon along with the other man and the two horses.

Using the distraction, Evans balled his hands together and swung at JD for all he was worth.  The heavy iron shackles caught the boy in the side of the head.  JD tumbled backward out of the saddle and landed, stunned, on the trail.  Evans drove his heels into his horse’s sides and the animal lunged forward.  The only place to go was between Josiah’s mount and Taylor’s horse.  The big paint pushed ahead.  Prophet went down on his knees, but Josiah managed to hang on, and by the time the horse had regained its feet, both outlaws were almost out of sight.

“JD!”  Josiah pulled Prophet around, and the big chestnut danced nervously to stay on the trail.  JD was sitting up, rubbing his temple and blinking.  He waved Josiah on, and the preacher cast a quick glance toward Buck before spurring Prophet around and charging after the escaped prisoners.

Buck cursed, quite colorfully, as he swung out of the saddle.  With little Amy in his charge, he’d had little option but to watch as the chaos started by Foster unfolded.  He dropped Romeo’s reins in the mud and caught Milagro’s bridle.  The mare eyed him nervously and pulled back.

“JD!”  He had to shout over the din of rain.

The young man stood unsteadily and shook his head.  “’M fine, Buck,” the kid mumbled, catching his horse’s reins.

“No you ain’t,” Buck countered.  He still had hold of the horse’s bit and JD climbed slowly into the saddle.  “Now JD, you ain’t goin’ no where.  We gotta find Ezra.”

But the sheriff was already mounted, pulling his horse’s head around, yanking the bit from Buck’s fingers.  JD nudged Milagro in the sides and started after Josiah.

“Damnation!” Buck yelled, frustrated.  He cast a glance down the hillside where Ezra had disappeared, then turned back to his horse.  Amy’s gray eyes were watching him from beneath the oilskin that sheltered her from the rain.  The man cursed again, silently this time, and looked back down the hill.  The ground was torn up, and small rivulets of water cascaded down the side.  The bottom of the canyon was obscured in mist.

“Ezra!”  He shouted for all he was worth, but could feel his words being carried away by the wind.  He tried again, but quickly realized the futility of his efforts.  His only option now was to turn back toward the valley and follow the river in hopes of finding the gambler.

With a frustrated sigh, he remounted and turned Romeo back.

The torrent of rain made it difficult for Chris to see Vin, even though Midnight’s nose was almost touching the other black’s tail.  The curtain of water pouring off the brim of his hat didn’t help any.  Still, he squinted through the rain, scanning over Vin’s shoulder at the trail ahead, then to the sides.

Midnight’s neck was stretched out, his ears flattened back, relaying his displeasure of the weather to his rider. So when the gelding’s head suddenly shot up and his ears pricked forward, Chris braced for action.  Instead, Midnight stopped unbidden, avoiding a collision with Diablo’s rump.  Even before Vin’s posture changed a cold chill ran down Chris’ spine and he glanced over his shoulder.

There was no sign of Nathan.

“Damn.”  The oath was lost in the din of the pouring rain, but as Chris spun Midnight, Vin was at his side.  They pushed the horses as hard as they dared on the slick path.  They covered nearly half a mile before they spotted Nahleen.  The bay stood patiently in the middle of the road, her head hanging over her fallen rider.

Chris skidded Midnight to a stop, but was out of the saddle while the horse was still moving.  Nathan didn’t stir as Chris laid a gentle hand on his back.

“Nathan?”  He was rewarded with a low moan.  Carefully he ran his hands over the healer’s body.  He found a lump on Nathan’s forehead that had to be the result of the fall and not the cause.  Chris found that when his hand scraped across something hard along Nathan’s side.  It was then that he found the broken arrow shaft that was partially concealed by the healer’s body.  He held it up to Vin. The tracker leaned down from the saddle and took it, studying the fletching for a moment, then gazing around the surrounding terrain.  His eyes settled on a low outcropping and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Vin...”  Chris’ low growl held a warning that went unheeded.  He saw the look in the younger man’s eyes and leapt to his feet, making a grab for Diablo’s bridle.  But Vin had already spun the horse and spurred him off the trail.

“Tanner!”  Chris resisted the temptation to draw his pistol and stop the tracker.  It would have been effective, and certainly would have made him feel better.  Instead, he turned his attention back to Nathan.

“Nathan?” he called a second time, rolling the other man on to his back.  Nathan groaned and pushed his hands away.

“Nathan, we need to get out of this rain,” Chris insisted, pulling him to a sitting position.

“Hurtin’ me,” Nathan mumbled, trying to move away.

“I know,” Chris replied.  “I’m sorry.  But we have to get off the road.”

Nathan finally looked at him, then nodded, twining his fingers into Chris’ duster.  The gunslinger stood slowly, pulling Nathan up with him.  He ignored the healer’s pain filled gasps as he moved them to the relative shelter of a copse of scrub pine.  Chris settled Nathan against one of the trunks, then went back for the horses.  He glanced in the direction that Vin had gone, hoping to see the obstinate tracker returning, but knowing better.

While Chris was anxious to examine Nathan’s injuries more closely, he knew that first they needed shelter.  He slung their bedrolls through the low branches of the trees, creating a roof of sorts, then risked starting a small fire.  It wasn’t any secret now where they were, and the rain would keep the smoke down.  Finally, he was able to give the healer his attention.

“How is it, Nathan?” he asked, carefully pulling the material of the other man’s coat and shirt away from the broken shaft.  He was relieved to see that there was little bleeding.

“Reckon it ain’t too bad if I’m still alive,” Nathan answered with a weak grin.  “Must not’a hit anything important.”

“Yeah, well, you did hit your head.”

“Tol’ ya,” Nathan muttered, drawing a gasping breath.  “Gotta get it out,” he murmured.

“What?” Chris asked, glancing at him.  He knew full well what the healer was asking, but wasn’t prepared to follow through.  “Nate...no.  I can’t.”

“Got to...”  Nathan hissed in pain as he moved to face the gunslinger.  Chris stilled him with a hand on his shoulder.  “Can’t leave it,” the healer continued.

“I’ve done bullets.  But, Nathan, an arrow...”  Chris shook his head.  “We’ll get you to town...”

“Can’t ride...this way...”  Nathan blinked sweat from his eyes.  “Got ta do it...Cauterize...”

Chris closed his eyes, shaking his head.  Nathan was asking too much.  If he could get the barbed arrow head out, and if he could stop the bleeding, the pain inflicted on the man would be terrible.

“Chris?”  Nathan’s voice was barely a whisper.

“What?”

“Then go after...Vin.”  The healer was panting now, unable to keep his eyes open.

“Won’t leave ya...”

“Gonna...die anyway...if that arrow don’t...”

Chris gripped Nathan’s arm.  “Don’t talk like that,” he admonished.  “I’ll do it.  Just give me a minute.”

Nathan nodded and smiled weakly.  “Figured...”

“Anyone ever tell you yer a pain in the ass patient?”

But Nathan didn’t answer.  His goal accomplished, he had succumbed to the darkness that had been pulling at him, leaving Chris alone.

Ezra was acutely aware that sensation had returned to his limbs.  And as he hit the bottom of the cliff, he almost wished it hadn’t.  He hurt everywhere, and knew without doubt that his shoulder was out again.  Beyond that, he needed to let his head clear before he could take further stock of his injuries.

Nearby, Chaucer struggled to his feet and shook mightily.  The saddle was hanging under the horse’s belly, and the bridle was missing.   Ezra scooted toward the animal, taking note of the piebald lying in the mud behind the sorrel.  Chaucer dropped his head and snorted in Ezra’s face.

A snide comment died on the gambler’s lips.  He was too tired and sore to bother.  Instead, he grabbed a handful of mane and hauled himself carefully upright.  Slowly, he looked around.  Foster was nowhere to be seen.  The piebald was still on the ground, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, the blood seeping from the wound caused by broken bone ends mixing with the rain to form a pinkish puddle.  Ezra reached for his sidearm, only to find it missing.  His derringer was gone as well, but he still had the Richard’s Conversion he kept in the shoulder harness.  He drew it out and placed the barrel against the broad white forehead of the downed mare.  He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

“Ain’t that real sweet,” a voice snarled in his ear.  Ezra flinched and started to turn, but suddenly
found himself fighting for air as Foster’s bound hands came over his head and around his neck.  Instinctively, Ezra released the pistol and reached for the chain at his throat.  The chain pulled tighter, biting into Ezra’s fingers.  The gambler tried to kick, but the larger man hauled back on the chain, lifting Ezra’s feet from the ground.

Foster waited a beat before setting the conman back down and loosening the chain slightly.  “Give me the key,” he snarled, jerking on the chain for emphasis.

Ezra gasped and nodded, digging in his vest pocket.  Nothing.  Alarmed, he searched the other pocket.  Again, nothing.

“Don’t play with me, you son of a bitch,” Foster growled.

Ezra shook his head.  “...not...” he gasped as the chain tightened again.  “...lost...fall...”  If the bastard would let up on the chain long enough for him to explain...

“Yer kiddin’ me, right?”  Foster twisted the chain and Ezra saw stars.  “You better be kiddin’ me.”

Gasping, Ezra shook his head again.  Foster swore loudly.

“On yer knees,” he ordered.

Ezra fought panic, drawing on the facade that had been ingrained in him since childhood.  He’d been in worse spots, though he couldn’t recall one right at the moment.  He knew full well it was a matter of waiting for the right moment, and being prepared when that moment presented itself.

Slowly, Ezra knelt in the mud.  Foster followed him down, keeping the chain just loose enough to allow the gambler to breathe.

“Pick up that gun by the barrel,” the man ordered.  “Slow.  No tricks, ‘cause I got no use fer you.”

Ezra nodded understanding of the unspoken threat and reached for the Richard’s Conversion.  He thought fleetingly of his chances of shooting his tormentor, but realized that it would be a losing proposition.  Foster could choke him into unconsciousness before he could bring the gun around.  Or simply shove his face in the mud and drown him.

No.  He would have to wait.

Carefully, he took the pistol by the barrel and held it up.  Foster let go of the chain with his right hand, but kept tension on with his left.  He took the gun from Ezra, then finally released the smaller man.  Ezra fell forward, catching himself with his hands, the pain in his shoulder causing him to crumple onto his side, and making it hard to draw the air he desperately needed.

Even though the Richard’s Conversion was small, Foster could barely turn it so that he could line the barrel up with a chain on the shackles.  And even then, the barrel was dangerously close to the man’s wrist.  Ezra watched as the outlaw smiled at him and pulled the trigger.  The gun barked, but the man barely flinched as the bullet shattered the lock of the shackle, creasing his wrist in the process.  He looked directly into Ezra’s eyes and licked the blood from his wound.

With his hands free, Foster reached forward and pulled the meticulously knotted tie from around the gambler’s neck, then used it to bandage his arm.  “Get that saddle back on yer horse,” he ordered.

Ezra stood slowly, the pain in his shoulder making itself known as the rush of adrenaline wore off.  He could feel the spot on his back where Foster’s horse had stepped on him.  It wasn’t bad if he didn’t move or take deep breaths.  And his ankle was barely noticeable so long as he didn’t stand on it.  For a moment, he gripped Chaucer’s mane, holding himself upright until he had a chance to catch his breath.  It took a bit of finesse, and not a little effort to get the saddle back into position and cinch it down.  When he finished, he turned to face Foster.  The man grinned at him, and Ezra had the strong urge to relieve the man of the few teeth he had left.

“Now get the bridle offa that there one, and put it on yers.”  The outlaw gestured to the dead mare.

Wearily, Ezra limped over to the horse and took the bridle off.  He held it up, studying the deep port on the curb bit and shook his head.  “Sir, I will not subject my horse to this cruel appointment.”  He used a low port bit on his horse, although a gentler snaffel would do just as well.

Foster eyed him like he’d just grown another head.  “You shore do like ta kid, doncha, mister?”

“No,” the gambler replied simply.  “Chaucer is impeccably trained and has a soft mouth.  This...implement is excessively harsh and completely unnecessary.”

The laugh was not totally unexpected, but the callousness was.  “Listen, Mister Dandy, I don’t got time fer yer fancy talk and concern.  Just bridle the damned horse, or I’ll shoot ‘im.”  Foster raised the pistol and pointed it between the sorrel’s soft brown eyes.

Alarmed, Ezra held his good hand up.  “All right, sir.  I will do it.”  He ran his hand up Chaucer’s neck and settled the bridle over his ears.  The horse was well-trained and dropped his head, making it easier for Ezra to pull the bridle on one handed.  As the bit slid into the horse’s mouth he whispered an apology.  “I’m sorry, my friend.  I’ll make it up to you.”  The horse rolled his eyes and started chewing on the bit.  Ezra moved to adjust the buckles, but Foster yanked him back.

“Enough.”  The larger man shoved Ezra forward, then climbed into Chaucer’s saddle.  “Start walkin’, lawman, before I figure out why I ain’t killed ya yet.”

There wasn’t much choice.  He could try to charge the man, but he doubted that Chaucer would react in time to prevent Foster from taking a fatal shot.  With the steep canyon wall on one side of him, and the swelling Frio Creek on the other, there was no where to run.  For now had no viable alternative rather than obey.

No.  He would have to wait.

JD rubbed the side of his head yet again, fingering the tender lump there.  It had finally stopped growing, unlike the pounding pain that was wrapped around his brain, trying to blind him.  The torrent of water pouring off his hat didn’t help matters any.  For once he wished he’d paid attention to Buck and gotten himself a ‘real’ hat.  The narrow, upturned brim of the bowler provided little protection against the elements, unlike the wide brim of Josiah’s hat, that at least kept the rain out of the preacher’s eyes.

With a weary sigh, JD tried to keep focused on Josiah’s broad back.  He really just wanted to close his eyes, to be somewhere warm and dry, where he could sleep for two days.  It took him a moment to realize that the older man had slowed his horse so that they were riding side by side.

“You okay, son?” Josiah asked, then coughed and cleared his throat.  Somehow he managed to tilt his head so that the brim of his hat hid his face from JD’s view.

Another reason to ditch the bowler, JD thought as he quickly replied, “Yep.  I’m fine.”

“Uh, huh.  You know lyin’s a sin, boy.”

JD’s head shot up, then ducked down again as the wind blew a sheet of rain in his face.  “What’s that supposed ta mean?” he challenged.  Josiah just shrugged.  For a moment, JD remained silent, his morose thoughts wedging themselves between his brain and the headache.  Finally, he spoke again.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.  “Leastwise as fine as a fellow can be when he sees somethin’ like that.  I still don’t get it.  Ain’t right killin’ unarmed women and children, no matter what...”  He tried to look at Josiah’s eyes, but the hat was still in the way.  When there was no response, he continued.  “Reckon I’m fine considering Ezra and Buck are back there somewhere’s, in God knows what shape.  And Chris and Nathan and Vin’er chasin’ all them Indians alone, and that little boy is in the hands of those savages.”  He paused again for breath, not hearing Josiah’s light chuckle.  Once the boy got started, there was no stopping him.  “And I’m fine, ‘cept that I let my guard down when I shoulda been watchin’ Evans and let him get the drop on me, and get away with Taylor...”

“JD!” Josiah snapped, his voice rough.

The young sheriff stopped and glanced at Josiah.  “Huh?”

“A simple ‘no’ woulda done.”

JD relaxed and laughed.  “Sorry.  Reckon I got a bit carried away, but...”

“There’s no need to shoulder all the burden yerself,” the big man said.  He started to continue, but coughed instead.  For the first time, JD got a good look at the preacher.  Josiah’s face was flushed, and his eyes rimmed in red.  The man’s normal slouch was more pronounced than usual.

“What about you, preacher?” he countered, trying to turn the focus from himself.  “You don’t look so good.”

“And that’s news?”  Josiah’s chuckle turned into another fit of coughing.

It was then that the outlaws struck.

Deep in the throws of uncontrollable coughing, Josiah was helpless when Evans charged his big paint into Prophet’s chest, throwing the horse off balance.  Prophet fell on his side, tossing Josiah into the mud.  Still coughing, there was nothing Josiah could do as Evans jumped from the saddle and charged at him.

When Evans appeared, JD drew a pistol, but the man was dismounted and running before he could get off a shot.  When he did take a shot, it went wild as Taylor came up behind JD and leapt from his horse onto Milagro.  The larger man dropped his still-chained arms around JD’s neck.  Without thinking, JD kicked free of the stirrups and launched himself backward.  The two men tumbled from the saddle and to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and chains.

The brief distraction of JD’s errant shot was enough to allow Josiah to catch his breath and reach for his pistol.  Unfortunately, his holster was empty.  He glanced quickly at Evans and saw the outlaw bring the missing Schoefield to bear on him.  Josiah didn’t hesitate.  He lunged to his feet and drove the smaller man backward.  The gun skidded away and Evans scrambled after it.  Josiah managed to grab the man around the knees, briefly slowing him, but another fit of coughing hit the large man, disabling him.  With a triumphant grin, Evans grabbed the gun.

As he kicked out, JD was satisfied when his foot connected with something solid and Taylor let out a loud, “Umph!”  Taylor was large, but JD was fast, and driven by the strong motivator of self-preservation.  He wiggled free of the outlaw’s grasp and groped for the gun that he had dropped in the fall.  As his hand closed around it, Taylor kicked out and caught him in the shoulder, knocking him away.  JD started to roll to his feet, but movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Josiah was on the ground, doubled over with coughing, as Evans brought a pistol up, pointing it at the preacher.  JD did not hesitate or flinch as he drew his second Lightening left handed and fired two quick rounds at the outlaw.  The first hit home in Evans’ thigh, but the second missed its mark as the man fell.

“JD!”  The warning cry was unnecessary.  The young man’s instincts alerted him to the danger even as Taylor drew down on him with his own pistol.  JD dropped to the ground and rolled aside, shooting at the source of danger.  He came up on one knee in front of Josiah and glanced around.  His shot had missed Taylor, who had lunged to the side and was now on his feet, hauling Evans up.  The bandits raised their pistols and fired, their shots going stray as they moved back.

JD felt himself being pulled upright and heard Josiah’s strained wheezing behind him.  He allowed the older man to guide him backward as he fired his remaining rounds to cover their retreat.

The pounding of the rain on the soaked ground did little to dispel the aura of silence that shrouded the area in the wake of the battle.  Josiah lay panting in the mud, his arms still wrapped around JD’s waist, behind the cover of a large boulder.  The boy lay against his chest, trembling and drawing in deep breaths.  After a moment, Josiah shifted slightly and muttered, “JD?” before the coughing hit again.  JD squirmed out of his grip.

“Quit coughin’ on me, preacher,” JD grumbled, then broke into a grin.  “We found ‘em.”

Josiah shook his head and wiped his eyes.  “That we did,” he rasped.  “Unfortunately ain’t none of us going anywhere for awhile.”  He nodded toward the four horses standing in the road a few hundred feet away.  “How’s yer ammo?”

JD spun the cylinder of his remaining pistol, emptying the spent cartridges and replacing them with fresh ones from his belt.  “Got sixteen,” he muttered.

“More’n they got,” Josiah grinned.  Another spell of coughing hit and he remained doubled over for several moments, breathing in ragged gasps.  JD finally reached out tentatively and rubbed his back, alarmed at the heat rolling off the big man.

“Josiah...”

“...fine...”

JD just shook his head and settled in the mud beside the older man.

"You wait here, Skeeter," Buck told the little girl as he slid from the saddle.  He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a piece of jerky and handed it to her.  Amy gazed quietly at him and took the dried meat, then looked at the carcass of the horse that was blocking their path.  Buck turned Romeo so that the girl was facing the other way, then went to examine the piebald.

A quick look told him what had happened to the large horse, and despite the pouring rain, he could see where a struggle had taken place.  So chances were good that both men and Chaucer had survived the fall without any major damage.  He just didn't know who had the upper hand.

No doubt it would be Ezra.  Even if he'd been injured, the slick-talking conman would have found a way to weasel his way out of a tight spot.

Something on the cliffside caught his attention, and he scrambled up to retrieve Chaucer's bridle.  He searched around some more and found Ezra's hat, derringer and pistol.  When several more minutes of looking didn't turn up anything else, he slid back down and took Romeo's reins.  Amy was staring at him, still holding the jerky.

"That's fer eatin', ya know," he said.

The child nodded and wrinkled her nose.  "It's salty."

"Well, now, Skeeter, that's what makes it jerky."  Buck grinned and plopped Ezra's hat on the girl's head, over the hood formed by the oilcloth.  "Hang onta that fer ol' Ez, 'k, darlin'?"

Amy nodded and the hat tipped precariously.  Buck swung up behind her and reseated it.  "You look right fancy in that there hat," he chuckled.  "Better'n Ezra's old mug ever did."  He nudged his horse in the sides and turned him up the canyon, in the direction he hoped Ezra had gone.  Well, it was the only direction he could have gone, Buck reasoned, since they hadn't passed on the trail.

“Is Ezra with mama?”

The question startled Buck.  He’d been concentrating on finding some sign of any other earthly being having passed through the narrow canyon, and she’d been silent for so long.

“I sure as hell hope not,” he replied without thinking.

“You said a bad word,” Amy chastised.

Buck shrugged.  This child was so different from Olivia, who had grown up in a prison and was already well-versed in the ways of the world by the time she was Amy’s age.  The girl’s innocence reminded him of Adam, and the boy’s wide-eyed wonder of the world around him.  “Reckon I’m in a bad mood,” he defended.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m worried about my friends.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I don’t where they are.”

“Why not?”

Buck sighed.  He’d played this game with Adam on more than one occasion, and knew that he couldn’t win.  But it would keep the girl occupied.  “‘Cause we got split up.”

“Why?”

The small fire was finally bringing some warmth back to Chris’ fingers.  He rubbed his hands together over the flame, then pressed his palms to Nathan’s cheeks.  The healer was so cold, and the meager fire was almost useless.

Nathan didn’t stir, and Chris wasn’t sure if he should be worried or grateful.  In removing the arrow, he’d been forced to carve a good-sized hole in the healer’s side, and knew that it was going to be painful for the wounded man when he awoke.  But Chris would feel better knowing that Nathan was all right, and frankly he wanted the company that the other man would provide.  Just sitting here was driving him to distraction.

“Nathan.”  Chris shook the other man gently, eliciting a low moan, but nothing else.  With a frustrated sigh, he leaned his head back against the tree trunk, a bit harder than he intended, but repeated the process before stopping himself.

Beating his head against the tree wouldn’t accomplish anything, and besides, it was Tanner’s head that he wanted to pound some sense into.  The damned tracker had no business taking off on his own, causing Larabee undue worry that was eating a hole in the older man’s gut.

Bad enough that the group was split in the first place, but now the growing dimness indicated that late afternoon was fading to dusk, and Vin would be on his own in the dark.  With a disgusted sigh, Chris closed his eyes.

Midnight’s warning nicker brought the gunslinger to full alertness.  His pistol was clear of leather, but he hesitated a fraction of a second to be sure of his target, if any.  No sense shooting Tanner when there were more painful options like skinning him alive.

A quick look around revealed nothing.  The horse whinnied again, and Chris cautiously ducked from the makeshift shelter, fighting to control the uneasiness that was creeping over him.  As he stepped into the rain, Midnight tossed his head and nickered again.  Beside the black, Nahleen stood placidly, head down and ears flattened back, obviously unhappy with the weather.

Chris stroked his horse’s neck, looking around, unable to find anything amiss.  He reholstered his pistol, but didn’t relax as he turned back toward the trees.  As he dropped below the shelter of branches and blankets, a cold chill ran up his spine.

Nathan was gone.

In less than a heartbeat, Chris dropped to one knee, spun and drew his Peacekeeper.  Behind him stood six Apaches.  Nathan was supported between two of the Indians, his arms wrapped around his side.  The healer was nearly doubled over.

Chris froze.  His hand trembled as he fought the urge to start shooting.  If Nathan hadn’t been a factor, he wouldn’t have hesitated.  But the wounded man was a liability, and the Indians knew it.

Chris let the gun slip from his fingers.

“Got to get to the horses,” Josiah wheezed.  He coughed again, holding his sore ribs.  “We don’t end this by dark and we’ll lose ‘em.”

Next to him, JD glanced up the road at the horses, blinking away the haze caused by the pounding in his head.  The saddle bags on the lawkeepers’ animals would have the ammunition they would need to easily overrun the outlaws.  Unfortunately, there was a great deal of open ground between them and the horses.

“I’ll try,” JD finally said, handing his pistol to the older man.

“No, JD.  That’s not what I meant.  You can’t go out there.”

“Then what did you mean, Josiah?  That you can?”

A frustrated sigh escaped the preacher.  He knew he was burning with fever, and the tight wheezing in his lungs was making breathing a challenge.  The last thing he needed was to be arguing with the kid.  “Gettin’ yourself killed isn’t going to help anything,” he muttered.

JD shrugged and looked toward the horses again.  He carefully scanned the surrounding area.  Evans and Taylor were about fifty yards away, cowering behind a boulder.  The sheriff knew that they had about eight shots between them, but it was still enough to do damage if they hit their mark.  And if the outlaws got to the horses first, he and Josiah would be in trouble.

“Got an idea,” JD mumbled, shaking water from his eyes.  Josiah looked at him curiously, but he chose not to elaborate.  He knew that if he told Josiah his plan, the man would stop him, because it really was a stupid idea, and the odds of succeeding were atrocious.

“What idea?” Josiah grumbled.  JD grinned.  “JD...”

“Just give me cover,” the young man said, then started to trot away from their hiding place and away from the other men.  Josiah’s angry shout was drowned out by the rain.

“Stupid...”  Josiah watched JD’s retreating form, anger and fear fighting for control.  The brash young man had courage to spare, but lacked the experience and control to temper it.  One of these days he was going to get in over his head.

JD trotted away from the road until he was pretty sure he was out of the outlaws’ line of sight, then crouched down and moved parallel to the road.  Finally, he turned back so that he could cross the trail several hundred yards from their original position.  Again he ran away from the road until figured it was relatively safe, then turned back in.

He could see Evans and Taylor, huddled behind a boulder, their attention focused on Josiah’s position.  He prayed that they would keep looking that way as he slowly crept up behind them, making what use he could of the scant cover available.  He tried to calm his breathing, but as he got closer, he kept thinking of different things that could go wrong.

It was a stupid idea, anyway.  He hesitated, considering turning back, when Foster made a dash for the road.  Evans had both pistols and started shooting rapidly at Josiah.

It was now or never.  Drawing his meager throwing knife, JD charged forward.  He slid in the mud behind Evens and shoved the butt of the knife into the man’s back.

“Don’t move,” he growled in his best imitation of Chris Larabee.  Evans froze and held his hands forward, restricted by the shackles.  “Now give me the guns,” JD continued.  Evans started to hand one pistol back, and JD jerked the knife slightly.  “Slow and easy.”

When he had his Lightening back, JD pocketed the small knife and took a step away from Evans.  He grabbed the Schoefield, letting out the breath he’d been holding.  “Sit down,” he ordered.  Evans sank in the mud.

There was more shooting -- Josiah --and suddenly Taylor appeared, towing Prophet behind him.

“Evans, what the hell were you doing?  You were supposed to give me cover...”  His angry words trailed off as he saw JD.  “Well, hell,” he muttered, raising his hands.

Across the road, Josiah was coughing again.  He tried to steady his hands as he emptied the chambers of the Lightening before reloading.  His whole body ached and the wracking coughs were coming more frequently.  The burning in his throat was so bad that he could barely swallow, and the incessant rain on his fevered skin made waves of chills wash over him.

As he fumbled with the awkward ejector on the small pistol, he longed for his own S&W, and the easier loading mechanism.  He was still fumbling with the cartridges when he heard sloshing in front of him that indicated that he was out of time.  He snapped the gate of the gun closed and cocked the pistol.

“That’s on an empty chamber, Josiah,” JD grinned at him.  The kid had both their pistols trained on the two outlaws.  Josiah smiled and struggled to his feet.

“Son, good to see ya,” he croaked.  “How’d you..?”  He took the Schoefield that JD held to him and snapped it open.

The young man smiled and pulled out the small knife.  “Feels like a gun if ya use it right,” he answered smugly.  Both the outlaws groaned.

“Pistol’s empty,” Josiah said, dumping the spent cartridges into the mud.  As he started to put in fresh loads from his gunbelt, JD started doing the same with his Lightening.  He looked up at the preacher with a stunned expression.

“Dang, Josiah, this one’s empty, too.”

Taylor shot a quick glance to Evans.  “You mean that you let that little runt take you with a pocket knife and two empty guns?” he growled.

Evans shrugged, not trying to hide the sheepish look.  “What about you?” he shot back.

“You two shut up,” Josiah snapped, leveling the now-potent pistol at them.  He turned to JD.  “You know, you got some nerve, kid.”

JD smiled, suddenly aware that the headache was gone.  “Yep.”

“And Buck’s gonna have yer hide fer this.”

The darkness, along with the incessant pounding of the rain, was a godsend to Vin.  It would help cover his movements, allowing him to get closer to the renegade camp without being detected.

When Nathan had been shot, he’d known that they were being trailed.  Taking down a man without killing him was a way of slowing them down.  But Vin had been able to backtrack the sniper, and had found their camp.

Moving silently, Vin drifted through the trees, finally finding the sentry that he knew would be there.  He slid behind the man and had him in a choke-hold before the Indian knew what was happening.  Vin tightened his hold, not letting go until the man sagged in his grip.  He eased the sentry to the ground, then crept forward and looked over the camp.

Something was wrong, but the tracker couldn’t pinpoint the problem.  All he knew was that his instinct was screaming at him.  He pushed the feeling aside, allowing the bounty hunter to take over.  With detached expertise, he evaluated the scene before him.

 The Apaches had taken refuge from the rain in a dense thicket.  Vin had to squint to see through the darkness.  He counted six Indians.  The boy Alonzo was sleeping unattended on the opposite side of the camp.  Vin smiled to himself.  The Apaches didn’t expect a rescue attempt at night in this weather.  They knew that the white man preferred brute force in their confrontations, and Vin would use that to his advantage.

Moving methodically, Vin edged his way around the camp until he was as close as he could get to the child without breaking cover.  Then he settled in the mud to watch and wait.

Although it appeared that the Indians were not paying any attention to the sleeping tot, close observation showed that they were watching him carefully.  The tracker knew it was going to be a matter of time and patience, waiting for just the right moment...

That moment came sooner than he expected.  Something caught the attention of the group of men.  Vin didn’t wait to see what it was.  He sprang to his feet and snatched Alonzo.  He hated the terror that he knew he was causing the boy as he clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting off the startled cry.  The boy squirmed, making it hard to hold on to him.

“It’s okay, ‘Lonzo,” Vin crooned in his ear, hoping that the sound of his name would calm him.  It didn’t work, and the boy continued to struggle.  Vin adjusted his grip, trying to restrain the flailing legs.

They had only covered a small distance when a sharp cry sounded over the rain, spurring Vin to more speed.  But the next shout caused him to falter, and it took all of his experience and training not to turn back.

“Leave him alone!!”

Larabee.  Strained and muffled, but definitely Larabee.

Vin shut his mind down and sprinted for Diablo’s hiding place.

A cry of pain cut through the haze in Nathan's head, reaching the soul of the healer.  Someone needed help.  It never occurred to him that that someone was him.

He struggled to open his eyes, pulled further to awareness by the defiant shout that followed.  He blinked, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, fighting the fear and confusion that followed the near-blindness.  He tried to stand, but pain tore through his side and brought a hitched gasp to his lips.  For a moment he paused on his hands and knees, trying to catalogue the bits of information into one coherent thought.

It was night -- that explained the blindness.  He opened his eyes again and sighed in relief.  If he concentrated, he could make out trees and boulders, and...milling figures?  But why were the men so agitated?

He didn't get a chance to think on it further as he was roughly grabbed and pulled to his feet.  He bit back a cry, but was unable to stop the scream that escaped him as a rough hand closed over the wound in his side.

"Leave him!"

Again, the defiant shout.  Nathan swiveled his head around and managed to focus on the figure of a man who was struggling in the grip of two others.  Recognition dawned and the memories came crashing back -- the murdered woman and children, the pursuit on the trial, Apaches...He'd been shot...

A bolt of panic coursed through him and he took a step toward the security that Chris Larabee represented.  Rough hands caught him and a fist connected with the tender wound again, wrenching another anguished cry from him.  He struggled weakly, but was easily restrained.  When he felt cords being slipped over his wrists, strength born of panic took over.  A primitive instinct told him that if he allowed them to restrain him, all hope would be lost.

With a defiant roar, Nathan surged upright, the fire in his side momentarily shoved aside.  Not expecting such strong resistance, his attackers were thrown off.  Nathan took the chance to move toward Chris.

The Indians had been surprisingly careful with Nathan until they’d arrived at the camp.  Even then, they hadn’t been so rough that Chris had felt the need to maintain a close eye on the healer.  So he had taken the opportunity to study the layout of the area.  A movement across the camp had caught his attention, a flash of buckskin and light hair -- Tanner.  The boy was nowhere in sight...The damned tracker had been successful!

Then Nathan’s cries had jerked Chris’ attention back to the healer.  The unprovoked attack on the wounded man brought his protective instincts to a head, ripping an angry scream from him.

Now, seeing Nathan move toward him, Chris dropped down then backward, pulling his captors off balance.  He lunged up, felling the man on his right with a vicious punch.  He threw his weight into the man on his left, delivering a kick to the Indian’s knee, then, when the man collapsed to the ground, he clubbed him in the back of the head.  Feral instinct drove the gunslinger as he surged forward to help his friend.  Nathan had managed a few staggering steps before slipping in the mud and going down on his hands and knees.  Chris was at his side in an instant, standing over the fallen man, daring anyone to come close.

But primal drives cannot compensate for overwhelming odds, and the gunslinger was easily wrestled to the ground, under a mass of bodies.  He screamed angrily and fought futilely.  Nathan was hauled upright, his wrists tied together.  The healer barely responded as he was hung from a limb, his feet hardly touching the ground.  Chris sagged in the grips of the men holding him and closed his eyes.

Nathan’s anguished wail brought the gunslinger’s head up.  One of the Apaches stood in front of the dark healer, brandishing a smoldering stick.  He started to lay the firebrand across the exposed wound in Nathan’s side.

“NOOOO!”  The scream was wrenched from Chris before he knew it, but it stayed the actions of the Indian.  Instead of gouging the stick into Nathan’s injured side, he turned to look at Chris.

That was when realization dawned.  They didn’t particularly care about Chris or Nathan.  They were taunting Vin, making him choose...