Twins, even from the birth, are misery and man...

Small miseries, like small debts, hit us in so many places...

We should pass on from crime to crime, heedless and remorseless, if misery did not stand in our way...

Man is only miserable so far as he thinks himself so...

Ezra thought himself miserable, to say the least.  And repeating the quotes like a mantra wasn’t helping much.  It did keep his mind off the various aches and pains that wracked his body.

Misery is not to be measured from the nature of the evil, but from the temper of the sufferer.

At least the ground was relatively even here and Ezra had fallen into a steady cadence that allowed him to place his right foot carefully, taking some of the pressure off the injured ankle.  Of course, that didn’t help the pain in his ribs and back each time he took a breath.  Or the dull ache in his shoulder.  Or the fact that there wasn’t a dry spot on his body.  Or that the fancy snake skin boots weren’t intended for hiking.

And neither was he for that matter.

Behind him, Chaucer tossed his head, rattling harness as he fought the torturous bit that Foster seemed to delight in yanking.  Ezra grimaced, apologizing silently yet again to the horse.

“Stop here,” Foster ordered.

About time, Ezra thought as he stumbled to a halt, hissing in pain as he misstepped with his bad ankle.  He was having a difficult time seeing anything in the dark, although he knew that they were on the rim of the canyon now, somewhere along one of the numerous tributaries that ran off the main gorge.  He could hear the river gurgling below them and feel the updraft that ran up the canyon walls.

The creaking of leather alerted Ezra that Foster had dismounted.  Chaucer stretched his neck and shook, causing the conman to smile.  It was as though the horse was glad to be rid of that particular burden.  Wearily, Ezra waited while Foster rummaged through the saddle bags and withdrew a can of peaches.

“Get the saddle offa that nag,” the outlaw mumbled, his words muffled by the fruit he was munching.

“Obviously you have failed to notice that I am injured,” the southerner muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Just commenting on what an obtunded fellow you are,” Ezra drawled dryly.

“Oh.  Thanks.”

Ezra grinned to himself, pleased by the small coup, even if his opponent was unaware of the victory.  Methodically, he set about unsaddling Chaucer.  The horse seemed to understand that it was important to stand still, and didn’t engage in his usual antics.  When the cinch was loose, Ezra gave the saddle a tug that brought the tack tumbling into the mud.  Before he had a chance to pick it up, Foster cuffed him in the back of the head, sending him into Chaucer.

“Be careful with that,” the man growled.  “Kain’t sleep on it if it’s covered in mud.”

Ezra didn’t bother pointing out that the gear was soaking wet.  He couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to.  The collision with Chaucer’s flank had popped his shoulder back into place, sending fire down his arm that quickly changed to numbness.  He grimaced and rolled the joint experimentally, pleased when sensation started to return to his fingers.

His relief was short-lived as Foster yanked him forward and secured his wrists with a rope carried on the saddle.

As he jerked Ezra’s arms to be sure the knot would hold, the outlaw sneered, “Think that’ll keep ya from trying’ anything stupid?”

Ezra winced -- his shoulder was sore despite being back in place -- and brought his hands up to wipe them across his tired eyes.  He hurt all over and was thoroughly exhausted.  He had no idea how his friends were faring, and he’d had it with the whole mess.

“Sir,” he drawled, “to an accomplished addlepate such as yourself I rank myself a mere amateur.”  He grinned at the silence that followed.

“You playin’ games, Dandy”? Foster finally murmured.  “I think yer talkin’ ‘Merican, but I kain’t understan a worda what you say.”

“Not at all surprising.  A common problem,” Ezra responded.  “I learned to ‘talk’ while I was in my pre-adolescent years.”

“Oh...”  There was another pause, then Foster shoved Ezra back.  “Got me a idea, Dandy.  Put that saddle back on that horse.”

Ezra sighed, too weary to argue.  *Why do I have to get the stupid ones?* he thought, carefully lifting the saddle and tossing it onto Chaucer’s back, not an easy task with his hands tied. The horse flinched and tossed his head.

“Get that cinch good and tight, lawman.  I don’t want no problems.”

“Of course not,” Ezra mumbled to himself.  “‘No problems’ would be too much to ask for.”  He pulled the cinch tight then stepped back.

“You like that there nag pretty good, doncha?” Foster said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  “Reckon he likes you?”

Ezra remained silent, fighting rising panic.  Anything that happened to him would be the result of his own stupidity, for not staying in New Orleans among civilized people.  But the horse was a different matter.   Chaucer would follow him blindly, and while he never hesitated to show his disapproval, Chaucer always did what Ezra asked of him.

“Well, Dandy?  Wadda ya think?”  Foster tied the free end of the rope to the saddlehorn.

Ezra watched warily, wondering what the man was up to.  Chaucer wouldn’t drag him more than a few paces.  It would be painful.  There was no fooling himself on that point, but the horse was too well trained to drag anyone far, and once he stopped Ezra would be free, with his dependable mount.

“I won’t get no rest if I gotta worry ‘bout what yer schemin’,” the outlaw continued.  “Gotta do somethin’ with ya.  Let’s see how much yer horse really does like you.”

Ezra braced himself, waiting for the smack to Chaucer’s rump that would make the horse bolt forward.

Instead Foster raised a large hand and pushed against the smaller man’s chest.  Ezra stumbled back, trying to catch his footing.  As the bigger man continued to push, he dug his heels in, suddenly aware of what Foster had planned.

“No...”  It was a whispered plea, uttered before he could stop it.  Foster grinned wickedly as Ezra surged forward, the instinct for survival taking over, dulling his pain and lending him the strength to fight.  But he was no match for Foster’s bulk, and he felt the ground falling away beneath him.

“G’night, Dandy,” Foster growled as a final shove sent the lawman over the edge of the cliff.

Ezra screamed.

"Why do the wolves howl?" Amy asked as the echoes of yet another plaintive cry died away.

Buck shrugged, although he knew the girl couldn't see the gesture.  "Reckon they're lonely," he muttered, stifling a yawn.  The rain had finally stopped, but Buck had been unable to find anything dry enough to start a fire.  The contents of his saddlebags were relatively dry however, and he had managed to help Amy change out of her wet dress and into his spare shirt that he had secured around her waist with his bandanna.  A dry pair of socks were helping to keep her feet warm.

Buck was cold and miserable.  He had wrung some of the water out of his shirt and coat, for what little good it did.

Another cry pierced the stillness, a tormented, anguished wail.  Buck shuddered.  The cry had been human.  There had been other shouts earlier in the evening, distant echoes, but nothing like this.

Buck wondered what poor soul was suffering.

"He must be real lonely," Amy muttered.

"Huh?"  Buck was trying to shake the feeling that one or more of his friends was in trouble.  "Oh, yeah.  Real lonely," he repeated, distracted.  "His heart's hurtin'."

"You think papa's heart's hurtin'?"

Buck sighed.  Sometimes the innocent insight of children was downright annoying.

"Reckon so.  He's probably missin' you somethin' fierce."

"Reckon I miss him, too," the little girl replied, snuggling against Buck's chest.  He wrapped his coat around her and gave her a brief hug.

"If'in you was my little girl, I'd move heaven and earth to get to ya, Skeeter."

"Why do you call me that?"

"What?"

"Skeeter."

"'Cause yer as cute as a june bug."  Buck ruffled her hair.

"What's a june bug?"

"The one that comes out in June."

"Which one"

"Which one?"  Buck paused.  *Kids*  "Why, the cute one, of course."

“A caterpillar?”

“Yeah.  That’s it.  A caterpillar.”

“Which one?”

“Waddya mean which one?  Caterpillar’s a caterpillar.”

“Is not.”

“Is so.”

Another howl drifted to them.  Amy shifted in Buck's arms.  "I'm lonely for mama."

"There's folks I'm lonely for too," he mused.  "Been a good many friends that've gone before me.  Some of 'em I felt powerful strong for.  But I got friends -- good friends -- that take away some of the hurt."

"Am I your friend?" Amy asked, the words muffled by a yawn.

Buck smiled.  "Reckon you are."

"That's good."  The girl drew her legs up and tucked her feet into the warm pocket where Buck's knees crossed, then snuggled her head under his chin.  She was asleep in minutes.

The big man clung to the child, allowing old memories of similar encounters to wash over him.  Adam would often curl up on his lap as he sat in Chris' oversized rocker and beg him to tell stories.  Despite Sarah's warning look -- a glare that rivaled her husband's -- it didn't matter how the story started because Adam was invariably asleep before he got to the good parts.

Buck smiled.  Sarah had changed both Chris and himself.  But she also had the good sense to know when they needed to blow off steam.

And so the trip to Mexico.  It had been cleverly disguised as a business trip, but they all knew that the ultimate goal had been a wild binge.

Or so Buck had thought.  So when Chris had suggested heading home as soon as the horses had been sold, Buck laughed and finally coaxed him to the saloon, where he soon abandoned his friend for the company of a plump lady and her 'virgin' daughter.

And while he had spent the night 'teaching' Chastity the finer points of lovemaking, Chris had retreated alone.

Then the next day...Buck squeezed his eyes shut and unconsciously held the girl tighter.  He let out a hitching breath that was almost a sob.

Vin's head snapped around at the sound of the tormented wail.  This was not Nathan or Chris.  The tracker hadn't realized that the distraction that had made it possible for him to grab Alonzo had been his friends.  Not until he heard Nathan's first cry.

It had taken every bit of his training and experience to turn a deaf ear on his friends.  As the shouts had continued, he'd realized that the Apaches were baiting him, and he'd shut his mind down, not wanting to imagine what they might be doing to the gentle healer.

But this last cry wasn't Nathan. It was far more powerful and anguished.  And Vin knew instinctively that it was one of his friends.

He pulled Diablo to a stop and felt the child in front of him stir.  He crooned softly and the boy settled down.  It had taken a good bit of talking to convince Alonzo that he wasn’t in danger, and Vin wasn’t really sure the boy believed him yet.  But he had finally stopped fighting and allowed Vin to put him in the saddle.

Vin was glad that he had found the boy.  There was no disputing that.  But now, as his horse danced nervously under him, awaiting direction, the child was an added responsibility he didn’t need.  His duty lay in getting Alonzo to the safety of town, to reunite him with his father.  But the knowledge that two and possibly more of his colleagues were in trouble tore his loyalty.

Another cry, not as loud, but still as tormented, galvanized him to action.  With light pressure of his knees, he turned Diablo in the direction of the shouts and urged the horse forward.  The horse settled into an easy lope.  The animal had the same uncanny knack as his rider to sense obstacles despite the darkness, and pick his way around them.

So when Diablo came to an abrupt stop, Vin paid attention and didn’t push him.  Instead, he swung from the saddle, almost forgetting the child on front of him.  He pulled the sleeping boy from the saddle then wrapped him in his coat and laid him on a relatively dry spot.  It took only a few steps for the tracker to realize that they were at the edge of a cliff.  He’d gone as far as he could tonight.  All he could do was wait...

A rattling, hacking cough exploded unbidden, sending  sharp needles of pain through Josiah's chest.  He tried to drink some water but the pain in his throat prevented him from swallowing, so he only gagged on the liquid and started coughing again.  He clutched his sore chest and doubled over.

"You sick, Josiah?" JD asked.  The kid was checking the bonds on the prisoners yet again, not wanting to deal with the ramifications of another escape.  While the men were still shackled, Ezra had the key, so JD had put the criminals back to back against a tree and wound a rope through and around the chains so many times even he wasn't sure he'd get it undone again.

"Sick of lookin' at yer ugly face," the older man growled.  "You ever consider bein' a girl?"

JD started to laugh, until Taylor spoke up.  "Almost as pretty as one, if'in y a clean 'im up.  What's stoppin' ya, preacher?"

Josiah shot JD an apologetic look and started to reply, but was seized by coughing again.

"Got ta get ya warm and dry," JD muttered, although execution of the idea was an impossibility.

"You could snuggle up with 'im, kid," Taylor leered.

JD ignored him, instead turning his attention to Evans' injured leg.  He used his knife to cut away the material and expose the wound.

"Got nice soft hands there, sheriff," Evans purred.  "I can just imagine what they'd do to a man..."

"Throttle him senseless," JD growled in reply, "if he had any sense to begin with."  Evans sneered but remained silent as the young man bound the wound.  "Now don't go dyin' from that before they can hang ya," he said with a wicked grin.

"Pretty and funny," Taylor commented.  "Just the way I like 'em."

"From what I hear you like 'em helpless and near dead."

"Takin' the fight out of 'em makes it easier.  You should try it some time.  Why, you can even..."

JD backhanded the man viciously before he could finish, feeling a shock of regret along with the supreme satisfaction.  He did manage to bite back the scathing replies that tumbled into his head.

"JD."

The sheriff looked over at Josiah, sure the croaked word would have been snapped if the other man's full baritone had been working.  He swallowed and pulled his shoulders back, bracing himself for the scolding he knew was coming.

"Taylor's lucky," Josiah whispered.  "I'd’a done worse and begged for penance later."

JD grinned and relaxed.  "Reckon a rope'll shut him up soon enough.  What about you?  There anything I can get you?"

Josiah looked at him and sighed, a rasping sound that turned to a cough.  "A steak dinner, a strong drink, a warm bed, Miss Melanie..."

"Melanie?  The widow Geisler?"  JD laughed.  "Who'da guessed?"

"Tell anyone and I'll show you what righteous retribution is all about."

"Your secret's safe.  Now get some sleep and have nice dreams."

"Nice dreams are no fun son," the big man quipped as he slumped against his saddle and pulled his hat low to fend off some of the drizzle.  JD settled next to him and finally shifted so that his back was against Josiah's fevered side, relaxing into the warmth.  He put his head down but couldn't sleep, his gaze wandering to the two outlaws.

Misery loves company...

Ezra would gladly go back to being just miserable.  The flash of disbelief that had coursed through him at Foster's final push had quickly been replaced by sheer agony as first his weight had jerked rudely on his shoulders and wrists when the length of rope had played out, then again as his body slammed against the rocks.  He had slipped several feet as Chaucer fought the sudden weight on the saddle, then everything had become blinding pain.

Of course, in some sick joke, the fates had decided that the respite of oblivion was not to be his, and so he dangled, listening to the blood pounding in his ears over the rush of water somewhere below, and the occasional scraping of Chaucer's hooves on rock.

Time twisted into a meaningless kaleidoscope of pain and numbness.  Ezra's mind sought relief, but with no way to follow through he could only scream his anguish and frustration in silence.  A faint tint of gray on the horizon signaled the coming dawn.  Ezra squeezed his eyes shut, praying for Foster to pull him back up and end the torment.  Or even just shoot him.  Either way, it would be blissfully over.

He dropped another few inches as Chaucer moved forward again.  Pebbles rained on him, and at the nicker from above, he looked up.  His horse's head hung down, visible over the rim of the canyon, silhouetted in the growing light.  While he was glad to see a friendly face -- or muzzle--
the implication was not good.  The animal had been ridden all day, then been made to support his weight all night.  He was tired and losing ground.  A few more steps and...

"Hey, Dandy!"  Foster's call broke the quiet.  "Yer horse must not like ya as well as ya thought.  He's 'bout ready ta drop ya inta the river.  'Course I reckon that'd mean he'd go with ya."  There was a pause, followed by the sound of a gun cocking.  "Reckon he's a sorry nag anyway.  Wore out.  Be merciful ta put him outta his misery."

Across the canyon Foster's shout startled Vin out of the light slumber he'd been in.  He blinked once to clear the sleep, then looked around.  Alonzo was still asleep next to Diablo.  The horse was looking intently across the narrow gorge, his ears pricked forward to catch the sounds. Vin followed his gaze.

And felt his heart skip a beat.

Although there was still very little light he could make out the shapes of a man and a horse on the opposite rim.  Occasional words drifted to him on the breeze.  As the meaning sank in, Vin finally spotted the form dangling below the horse.

Ezra...

The sharp click of a hammer being drawn sent a chill through him.  Instinct kicked in.  Without taking conscious aim, Vin raised his mare's leg and fired.  Foster crumpled to the ground.

"Hey, Ezra!"  The call came from a familiar voice, but that wasn't enough to convince the conman that he wasn't in Hell.  He had to be.  He'd heard the shot.  He was dead, and his Hell was to hang here for all eternity, unable to feel the hands that were his life's blood and his downfall, yet acutely aware of the rest of his body.

"Standish!"

Tanner.  That was the rest of his Hell, then, to be dammed to an eternity of listening to the Texan's uncultured drawl.  He closed his eyes and tried to respond, but his mouth was too dry.

He chuckled at that.  His clothes were still soaking wet, allowing a chill to settle in, yet his mouth was drier than Death Valley.

Above him, the horse slipped and Ezra glanced up.  Chaucer in Hell, too?  That wasn't right.  The horse had earned better, putting up with him all these years.

So there must be another explanation.  He looked around, but his field of vision was limited to the cliff in front of him and the first rays of dawn breaking further down the canyon.

Without warning, Ezra dropped again, several inches this time.  His gaze swung upward and he was startled to see a shod hoof slip over the edge of the cliff before disappearing again.

Chaucer was slipping...

Vin recognized the problem immediately.  The horse was losing its battle to stay upright with Ezra's weight pulling against the saddle.  Another few minutes and the horse would go over, along with the gambler.  There was only one option -- one that Vin didn't like.  The odds were atrocious.  But Ezra was going in the river one way or the other...

Even as the report of his shot was still echoing through the canyon, the tracker jumped into the water.

Chris held Nathan's hand, urging the other man to control his breathing.  Soon after Vin's escape the healer had mercifully passed out and the Apaches had quickly lost interest in them.  After a few minutes Chris had cut Nathan free and eased him to the ground.  They were alive, which meant hope, but it also meant they were being kept for a reason.  And based on what Vin had once told him, it wasn't good.  While women and children were often killed outright, the opportunity to toy with a warrior and bring about a slow, painful death was a great honor.

So he and Nathan were still alive to watch as the first tinge of dawn touched the sky.  Nathan was in no shape to go anywhere in a hurry and the damned Indians were so confident that Chris wouldn't abandon him that they were hardly paying the pair any attention.

"Go," Nathan breathed.

Chris shook his head.  "Give it time.  We'll make it to the horses."  It was the only hope they had of escape.  "How you doing?"

"Holdin' up, considerin'."

"Considerin' ya had none of that snake oil you try ta shove down the rest of us?"

Nathan chuckled.  "Reckon I'd deserve it.  Good thing Buck ain't here.  He'd try 'n give me some'a his 'love potion’."

"That he would," Chris replied, glad that the healer was trying to joke.

A distant gunshot broke the stillness.  Nathan flinched and several of the Indians jumped up.  They all looked in the direction the shot had come from.  Again the report of a rifle echoed through the air.

"Sounds like Vin," Nathan whispered.  Chris nodded idly.  His attention was elsewhere.

Then Nathan saw it too -- the opening they'd been waiting for.  "Chris..."  It was an order and a plea.

"Then let's go," the gunslinger said, leaving no question.  He would not abandon the healer.  Nathan sucked in a breath and nodded, taking the hand that Chris held out.  He bit his lip to stifle his groan as fire shot through the wound in his side.  But he'd endured worse as a slave -- had run despite repeated lashings and a broken leg.  His freedom had been hard won, and the same determination rose in him again.

He'd be damned if he gave up now.

Chris hooked an arm under the healer's elbow, taking most of the wounded man's weight.  They made it to the horses unscathed and Chris jerked the tether line free before cupping his hands to give Nathan a leg up onto Nahleen.  As he laced his fingers into Midnight's mane a shout of alarm rose in the camp.

"Go!" he shouted, spinning his horse to follow Nathan's mare.  Midnight jumped forward but not before the first of the Indians reached him.  He kicked out as the savage lunged, sinking a knife to the hilt into Chris' thigh.  The gunslinger cried out, startled more than hurt, and sent the Apache spinning away with a vicious backhand.  He dropped the leadrope in the process, but it didn't matter.  Midnight bolted after his stable mate and all Chris had to do was hang on.

Carefully, reluctantly, JD shook Josiah.  The big preacher had only just fallen asleep, but had earlier made the younger man promise to wake him so that they could leave at first light.  They hadn't anticipated Josiah's persistent coughing keeping him awake all night.  JD had been too nervous to sleep, although he had gleaned some small pleasure in making sure that Evans and Taylor didn't sleep either.  Whenever one of the outlaws would doze off, he'd smack them lightly or kick the bottom of their boots.  That way at least, they would be on an even field.

Now, with the horses saddled, it was time to wake Josiah.

"'siah..?"  JD shook the preacher again and dodged the arm than irritably swiped at him.  His own head ached and his body felt as limp as Buck's...JD smiled to himself, cutting off the thought.

"Let 'im sleep," Taylor called, laughing.  "'Nother few hours might do 'im some good."

JD ignored the taunts and shook Josiah again, harder.  "Josiah!"

The blue eyes blinked open, then focused.  "Wha..?"

"Dawn.  Time ta go."

Josiah moaned and rolled over, then sat.  He immediately closed his eyes and clutched his head.

"You okay?" JD asked, feeling the other man's forehead.  His hot skin felt good against JD's cold hands, and the way that Josiah pressed into his touch told him that the opposite was true as well.

"You're nothing short of a saint, John Dunne," Josiah croaked, moving the boy's cool hands to his flushed cheeks.

"And you're sicker than you let on," the kid chuckled back.  "Think you can get mounted up while I get our friends going?"

Josiah nodded, then rose, leaning heavily on the smaller man.  When he reached Prophet's side Josiah pushed away and grasped the stirrup for support.

JD shook his head.  It would be nothing short of a miracle if they made it to town in one piece.  If JD could remember where they were.  And where the town was.  Or the river at least.  All the running around had him disoriented, but he wasn't about to admit it.  In the light of day
he could get his bearings.  Until then, he'd have to pretend.  He'd been doing a lot of that lately.  It wasn't like he didn't have good role models.  For now he would pretend that he was Ezra, cool as a cucumber, without a care in the world.  Later he would pretend that he really knew his way around like Vin.

"You first," he said to Evans as he untied the ropes binding the outlaws to the tree.  When Evans didn't stand fast enough, JD yanked him up.

"Ow!  My leg, you son of a bitch!  Watch it."

JD ignored him.  "Just mount up."  He gave the larger man a shove, stealing a glance at Josiah, who was still trying to get a foot in the stirrup.  Evans howled in pain as he swung his injured leg over the saddle and JD rolled his eyes.

"Keep it to yerself," the young man grumbled, then secured the outlaw's hands to the saddlehorn.

"Hey, now," Evans protested.  "I'm wounded.  What if I pass out?  I could fall off..."

JD reached up -- he had to stand on his toes -- and grabbed the front of the outlaw's shirt, pulling him down so that they were face-to-face.  "Don't pass out," he growled, sounding very much like Chris Larabee without pretending.

Evans jerked away and sat up.  "Ain't you got a duty to protect me?"

"The only duty I 'got' is to get yer sorry hide to Carson Falls in one piece so they can try you and hang you."  Evans opened his mouth to reply, but JD had already gone to collect Taylor.  The older man wisely chose not to try the sheriff's patience and climbed into the saddle sedately.

As JD went to gather Milagro's reins he noticed that Josiah had yet to mount.  The big man had his left foot in the stirrup and was hopping on his right as Prophet stood quietly.  As JD approached them the gangly sorrel swung his head around to look at him and rolled his eyes
dramatically.

"Josiah?"

The preacher started, swinging backward to look toward JD and would have fallen if the young man hadn’t caught him.  “Huh?”  He blinked and looked around blankly.

“You need some help there?”  JD pushed Josiah closer to the horse, unable to support the man’s weight alone.

Josiah hopped again and grabbed Prophet’s mane.  “’M fine,” he grumbled before his right leg gave out altogether and he crumpled.  His left foot slipped through the stirrup, helping to hold him up as JD caught him again.

“You two look like a carnival act!” Taylor shouted, but fell silent at twin replies of, “Shut up!”

JD finally managed to get Josiah righted again, then somehow up into the saddle.  He shook his head as he climbed onto Milagro then gathered the leads to the outlaws’ horses.

“Let me take ‘em, son,” Josiah said, coming alongside Milagro.  When JD started to protest the older man continued.  “If somethin’ happens, yer gonna have ta deal with it.  You need yer hands free.”

JD nodded slowly.  It made sense -- too much sense.  The potential responsibility was nerve wracking.

Before handing the leads to the preacher, JD tied the ropes together close to where they attached to the bridles.  As Josiah took them, he smiled.  Even if the bandits escaped, they wouldn’t get far with the horses tied together.

When they finally set out, JD let Josiah to ride ahead of him.  It served the dual purpose of allowing the sheriff to keep an eye on their charges while putting the burden of choosing the trail on the older man.

The group had just settled into a comfortable pace when the pounding of hooves startled them to full alertness.  JD barely had time to draw his pistol when two riders barreled around a bend and charged straight for him.  He checked his action as recognition dawned.

“Chris?”  The horses skidded to a stop as icy blue eyes met confused hazel ones.  Larabee slumped, then toppled to the ground.  At least Nathan had the courtesy to smile before he too lost his battle with consciousness.

Josiah coughed and JD almost laughed.  But neither man was moving, and the thunder of approaching hooves continued.  JD spurred Milagro around his friends, forming a barrier between them and the oncoming danger.  He drew one of his pistols and swallowed hard, mustering his courage.  Seconds later a band of Indians rounded the bend.  As the number of attackers registered in his mind, JD began to fan the pistol.  He could hear Buck’s admonishment ringing in his ears, but faced with such overwhelming odds...

Four of his shots hit true, killing two of the Apaches outright.  He dropped the empty Lightening and drew the second.  He started to fan the hammer again, but the Indians were retreating, not prepared to face armed men and driven back by the addition of Josiah’s fire.

JD relaxed and released the breath he’d been holding.  He glanced behind him to Josiah, who was slumped in the saddle, coughing.  The two outlaws were quiet for a change.

“Need ta get moving before they come back,” the older man mumbled, his voice raspy.

JD laughed.  He couldn’t help it.  There had been so much tension.  And with Chris and Nathan lying in the road, their horses without proper tack, savages so close by, Josiah barely able to sit upright...It was absurd.

*Need ta get moving.*  JD chuckled again, then swung off Milagro.

“You all right, boy?” Josiah asked.

JD nodded absently as he reloaded his cast-aside gun.  When it was reholstered, he turned his attention to the men lying in the mud.  They both looked up at him.  “Josiah says we got ta leave,” he said.  “You all right?”

“Leg hurts,” the gunslinger muttered, struggling to sit.

“Could be this,” the young man chuckled, indicating the knife in Chris’ thigh.  He pulled the blade free before Chris had a chance to tense up.  The older man let out a gasp and shot JD a harsh look.

“Wrap that good an’ tight,” Nathan whispered.

JD looked at the healer, thinking that he must not be as bad as he looked if he was up to dolling out medical advice.

“I got it, Nate,” he said.  “What about you?”

“Get me on the horse an’ I’ll be fine.”

JD frowned.  Easier said than done.  “Take Milagro,” he finally said, helping Nathan to his horse.  The injured man managed to struggle into the saddle, then leaned forward, clutching the horn.  JD than turned to Chris, who was standing, holding Midnight’s mane for support.  Without asking, JD gave the gunslinger a leg-up.  The older man accepted the assistance without comment, but patted JD on the shoulder after he was settled.  The kid offered him one of his pistols and nodded once as Chris slipped it into his waistband.

JD swung easily onto Nahleen’s back, then took the lead for the small group.

Ezra had only a few seconds to realize that he was falling before the river swallowed him.  He fought to gain the surface, but with his hands bound it was a losing battle.  He managed to kick his way to the surface, but only took in a mouthful of water before the current pulled him down again.  The next time he kicked at the water, his already injured leg hit a rock and he felt the bones snap.  It took everything he had not to scream and expel what little air he had left.

Ezra struggled to the surface again and sucked in a gasping breath of air.  As he was churned back below the water, he pushed aside his confusion.  What the hell was he doing in the river anyway?

Not that it mattered.  He had to survive that before he worried about the how’s and why’s.  He’d been in tougher spots, though he couldn’t quite bring one to mind right now.  Maybe Maude could think of something.  Even though she’d rarely been around as he was growing up, she somehow seemed to know everything about him.  And what she didn’t know she fabricated.

Ezra realized that his mind was drifting, wrapped in lassitude.  It would be so easy just to open his mouth, to breathe in water, end the pain...

Maude may have raised a fool, but she hadn’t raised a quitter.  He’d be damned if he gave up now...

Kicking out with his good leg, Ezra fought toward the surface again, trying desperately to ignore the burning in his oxygen-deprived lungs.  He broke the surface for a split second -- hardly long enough to get a breath -- then a wave washed over him and he started to sink again.

He struggled to find precious air, but his body was shutting down.  His leg kicked too weakly to be effective.  His bound hands slapped the water to no avail.

The odds just weren’t in his favor.

Vin dived again where he’d last seen the gambler go under.  Thank God for the damned red coat.  Without the garish garment to focus on he never would have found Ezra in the dim dawn light.  His lungs started to ache, but he refused to surface just yet.  As he groped in the water, his hand finally closed around soft material.  He latched on and kicked his way upward.

He finally broke the surface, and Vin had to hoist Ezra’s head clear of the water.  He felt a jolt of relief when the conman took a gasping breath.  He pulled his burden higher, then wrapped an arm around his chest and started swimming for shore.  The water finally shallowed and Vin was able to get his feet under him and stand.  He dragged Ezra backward until they were clear of the river, then collapsed.

For a long moment Vin lay on his back, Ezra cradled in his arms, sucking in large gasps of air.  In a minute he’d go fetch Chaucer -- they’d come up on that side of the river -- and figure out how to get back to Alonzo.  He hoped the boy was all right, still asleep.  He’d done what he’d had to, but that didn’t make the choice right.  Or easy.

Finally, Vin took a centering breath and started to move.

Ezra relaxed back into the soft pillow that was cradling him, soaking in the warmth, afraid to move for fear of what might happen to his already pained body.  He closed his eyes, willing sleep, when the pillow moved and dumped him unceremoniously on the rocks.  He stifled a groan and looked up.  Vin Tanner was blinking down at him, water dripping from his hair.

"Ah, so this is Hell," Ezra drawled.

Vin smiled.  "Hell no, it ain't Hell.  Reckon Beelzebub is gonna hafta wait on you a bit."

"Yes, well surely you're bound for Hell as recompense for the atrocities you've visited upon my garments."

"Now, Ezra.  This here frilly shirt made me feel like a real gentleman while I was savin' yer sorry southern hide."

“I don’t suppose you could have saved it sooner?”

“Yer welcome, Ezra,” Vin mumbled, sitting back on his heels.  “You up ta gettin’ outta here?”

“If it means avoiding that Foster fellow, I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

“Foster’s dead.  I plugged ‘im.”

“Dead?”

“Yep.”

“As in deceased?  No longer amongst the living?”

“Yep.  He was fixin’ ta shoot Chaucer.  Figured it’d be a waste ‘a decent horseflesh, so I shot him.”

Ezra sank back.  “In that case, just leave me here to die.  It’s the merciful thing to do.”

Vin laughed, then frowned when Ezra's eyes closed.  The sun broke above the rim of the canyon, allowing him a good look at the gambler's pale features.  He started to run his hands over Ezra's body to check for injuries.

"Stop pawing me, Mr. Tanner.  We're not that familiar."

"Fine, then.  We gotta go.  I left Alonzo back a ways with Diablo."

"Alonzo?"

"The McLauren boy."

"Ah, yes..."  Ezra nodded slowly as memories returned.  "You left that beast of yours to watch the child?  I don't suppose he tells bed time stories, too."

Vin snorted then hauled the gambler to a sitting position.  "Shoulda let you drown," he grumbled.  He hooked an arm under Ezra's and started to stand.  The conman sucked in a breath and collapsed back to the mud.

"What?"

"I'm afraid my leg is perhaps sprained," Ezra groaned.

Vin pulled up Ezra's pant leg and let out a low whistle.  The deformity was unmistakable where broken bone ends overrode one another.  "It's busted, Pard.  Ain't gonna be walkin' on that."

"I just told you I ‘ain’t fixin' ta go nowhere nohow’."

"Fine," Vin muttered in mock disgust.  "Reckon I'll go fetch that worthless horse of yers."  Vin stood slowly as Ezra watched with a jaded eye.

"You're welcome to him," Ezra drawled.  "Never was much good to me anyway.  Besides, you already have my clothing."

Vin held his arms out, displaying the wet, muddy shirt.  "Such as it is."

"It was pristine when I loaned it to you."

"And that was right neighborly of ya, Ez."

The conman groaned.  "I don't know which is worse, Mr. Tanner.  You accusing me of being 'neighborly' or calling me 'Ez'."

"Reckon neither fits, huh?"

They fell silent for a moment, then Vin looked across the river.  The canyon wasn’t nearly so steep here.  A short way down stream it leveled off to a plain.  "I'll get Chaucer.  Figure out a way to get ya on him.”

Ezra smiled slightly and nodded, content to lay back and let the low sun work on drying him out.

Amy tugged on Buck’s sleeve where his arms wrapped around her and little Alonzo to hold Romeo’s reins.  He had found the boy sitting on Vin’s coat at the edge of the canyon, crying.  Diablo was nearby, nibbling on what grass he could find.  The tracker’s rifle was tossed in the brush, but there was no sign of Vin.  Buck had found his way there following the gunshots he’d heard earlier that had unmistakably been the mare’s leg.  It had taken a bit of looking -- he was no tracker -- to piece together what had happened.

Chaucer was on the opposite rim, his head hanging nearly to the ground.  Buck could see the body lying next to the horse, but he couldn’t tell who it was.  But he was pretty sure it wasn’t Ezra.  Tracks showed that Vin had gone into the river, and the only explanation that made any sense was Ezra.  But how or why the gambler had decided to go for a swim was beyond him.

So, mumbling about being a gunfighter, not a nursemaid, he had gathered the children and the horse and started downstream.  He’d even called to Ezra’s ornery beast, and the darned thing was trailing him.

Amy tugged his sleeve again.  “Mr. Buck?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Alonzo’s hungry.”

Buck couldn’t help but grin.  They’d had this discussion earlier.  There was no food, so there was no point in discussing the matter.  He had made the girl promise not to broach the subject again.  But to do so on behalf of her brother...

“Tell Alonzo he’ll have to wait.  We don’t have any food.”

“He says to make some.  He wants griddle cakes.”

“Me too.  But I don’t see no griddles around.  Do you?”

With an exaggerated sigh, Amy leaned back against Buck’s chest.  “Any,” she said.

“Any, then.  I don’t see any griddles around.  How do you know Alonzo wants griddle cakes anyway?”

“He told me.”

“I didn’t hear him say noth...anything.”

“You just didn’t listen right.  He ain’t ate nothing all day.”

“Hasn’t eaten anything,” Buck grinned.  “And neither have I.”

“Hey, Bucklin!”

Buck’s head shot up and he looked around at the call, finally spotting Vin across the river.

“Vin!  What you doing over there?”

“Havin’ a picnic.  What’s it look like?”

Buck ignored the irritated tone in the tracker’s voice, glad to have finally met one of his goals.  “Well, good, ‘cause we’ve been discussin’ food, and we’re right hungry.”  He could almost see the younger man’s sneer.

“Ezra’s down stream a ways.  He’s broke up some, but alive.”  Vin took hold of Chaucer’s bridle as the horse reached him.  The animal rubbed his mouth into Vin’s hands, then shook his head as Vin slipped the bridle off and dropped it in the mud.  The horse started to follow the familiar man as Vin walked along the bank opposite Buck.

In his dream, Ezra was in the deep, soft caress of a feather bed, blanketed in warmth and stillness.  He had everything he could have wished for -- he owned The Palace, on the main thoroughfare in Charleston.  It was the most lucrative establishment of its sort in the South, catering to the wealthiest and finest clientele.

And in this particular dream, he had finally managed to woo Miss Lisette Beaufille to his bed.  The wisps of their passionate encounter still swirled around him.  He actually couldn’t recall any of the particulars, except that he’d felt like he was drowning, drawn below the water by the turbulent love-making.  He was exhausted now, reveling in the euphoria of life.

Apparently though, Miss Beaufille was not as worn out as he, because now, in his dream, she was nuzzling him, working her way from his chest up to his face, blowing lightly on his cheeks and eyelids.  He brushed her aside.  He wasn’t interested right now.

“Not now, Cheri,” he murmured.  “Perhaps in a bit.”

The feather-soft touch persisted.  He stirred slightly and pushed the girl away again.  “Miss Beaufille, please.  A man needs his rest.”

The petite brunette responded with a soft snort, then sneezed in his face.  Ezra groaned and forced his eyes open.

And found himself staring into gaping nostrils at the end of a very long nose.  Huge chocolate eyes blinked at him.

Ezra groaned and tried to roll away, but pain flared through him.  Wisely, he chose to remain still.  The horse sniffed him again.

“G’way, Chaucer,” he moaned, then the horse’s face was replaced by a human one.

“Don’t you mean ‘Miss Beaufille’?” Buck chuckled.

Again Ezra groaned.  This had to be Hell.  His dreams were splendid, holding the promise of wealth and contentment.  But reality...Reality hurt.  Not only that, but the damned ladies’ man was hanging over him and Ezra’s body refused to move so that he could escape.

“Ezra?”

The snapped word startled the gambler, bringing his eyes to focus on the untrimmed mustache and stubble.  “Huh?”

“Eloquent, ain’t he?” another voice asked, then Vin was beside Buck, staring down at him.

“How ya doin’ there, Ez?” Buck asked.  “You seem distracted.”

"Nothing of the sort," Ezra replied slowly, trying to regain some of his composure.  "I was merely ontemplating the strange combination of events that brought us to this point."

"Uh huh," Buck replied, frowning.  "How ya feel?"

Ezra tried not to laugh.  It would hurt too badly.  But the question was so absurd.  "The little toe on my left leg does not hurt," he drawled.  “I see you've taken possession of my horse, Mr. Tanner."

"Hell, Ez, that 'horse' followed Vin here like a lost puppy," Buck laughed.  "Never seen the like."

"However the happenstance..."

"What was that piece of hardware doin' in his mouth?" Vin asked.

Ezra frowned as unpleasant memories were brought forward.  "That was Foster's doing."

"Well, it's gone now."

"For which Chaucer and I both owe you a debt of gratitude.  Perhaps a nice bucket of oats when we get home?"

A smile crossed Vin's face and Buck laughed.  Then silence fell and Ezra started to worry about the somber expressions that both men assumed.

“Uh, Ez," Buck finally said, "we need ta move ya, get ya into some shade.”

“’M fine here,” Ezra mumbled.  “Leave me.”

“’Fraid we can’t do that, Pard,” Vin said.  “Wouldn’t want ta have ta tell yer ma that we abandoned her ‘baby boy’.”

The tracker got behind him and helped him to sit up.  Ezra groaned and closed his eyes against the pain.  “How far?”

“Not very.  River’s not so deep here.  There’s a stand of aspens on the other side a ways.  Got no choice.”

“No flask, neither,” Ezra grumbled, suddenly realizing that he would be no help at all in the tracker’s efforts to get him on a horse.  His hands were swollen and his whole upper body ached fiercely.  He was so stiff that he could barely move.  And his leg...Pain didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Nope.  No flask.  Gonna hafta go dry,” Vin said.  Ezra chuckled.  “What’s so funny?”

“Your choice of words, Mr. Tanner.”  Ezra raised a still-soggy arm.

Vin nodded.  “Reckon yer right.”

“You two comin’?” Buck called.  He had the horses and was waiting with the children.

Ezra nodded.  “Shall we?”

“Move and you’re a dead man,” a voice snarled close to Buck’s ear.  He had gone back to the river to fill canteens after they had made camp and Ezra had been settled.  Now, the feel of cold steel on his neck caused Buck to freeze.

“Now, where are they?” the voice continued.

“Who?”

“Your friends,” a second voice snapped, “and my children.”

“Why then, you must be...”  Buck started to turn, but a sharp blow to his side dropped him to his knees.

“I said not to move, mister, and I mean it.”

“Sorry,” Buck gasped.  “It’s just that...”

Another blow to the same spot quieted him.  “Shut up.  We don’t want to hear it.  Just show us where they are.”

Buck nodded as he was hauled to his feet, then pushed forward.  “Don’t do anything stupid, mister,” the gunslinger muttered.

“Don’t you listen?  I said to shut up.”

Buck grunted as the rifle struck his back.

“Besides, seems to me you and your friends have done enough stupid for all of us.  Now move.”

Slowly, Buck walked toward the camp, his hands raised, both to placate the men and as a warning to Vin.  He walked as heavily as he dared, hoping the tracker would hear and realize that something was wrong.  When they broke into the small clearing, Buck was relieved to see Vin facing them, mare’s leg leveled, shielding Ezra and the children.

“Tell me who you are and why I shouldn’t drop ya,” Vin drawled almost casually.

Then Amy jumped up and bolted forward.  “Papa!”  Vin made an unsuccessful grab for her as she dashed past, then lowered the barrel of his rifle as her cry registered.

Buck felt the man behind him tense, and stood stock-still.  The men were farmers, not gunfighters, and that made them volatile and unpredictable, especially when children were involved.  Amy ran past, and Buck cautioned a look behind him.

John McLauren was a small man, fair-haired and bespectacled.  Tears were starting down his face as he picked up his daughter.

“You,” the other man, a large redhead, ordered Vin, “move away.”  He gestured with the rifle he held.

Buck realized that he could have easily taken the farmer down.  Instead, he spoke softly.  “Listen, mister.  Our friend over there is hurt real bad...”

“Isn’t that a pity.  After what you did to Kate and...I hope he lives long enough to hang.  Now move away from the boy.”

Vin started to take a step, but as Alonzo ran past him, he caught the child by the collar and picked him up.  The man behind Buck flinched and McLauren gasped.

“Take it easy,” Buck whispered.

“Put the boy down, or I swear to God...I saw what you did to that baby.  You deserve ...”

Vin went suddenly pale and set Alonzo down.  “Now listen, mister,” he said in his quiet drawl, “I didn’t have nothin’ ta do with that.”

The big man behind Buck suddenly lashed out with the rifle again, hitting him across the shoulders and bringing him to his knees.  “Reckon it must have been you then?” he snarled.  “Or your friend over there?”

“Now just a minute...”  The rifle fell again, catching the ladies’ man across the temple.  Vin started to bolt forward, but the roar of a gun shattered the stillness.  For the space of a second nothing stirred.  Then Vin’s knees buckled and he fell.

John McLauren gripped the smoking pistol tightly, resisting the urge to drop the weapon.  He had never shot at a man before.  Pray God he’d never have to shoot one again.  But as he stared at the still form of the long-haired man that he held responsible for the deaths of his family, a small sense of satisfaction crept over him.  This could never make up for what had been done to Kate and his babies, but it was a start.

Then he noticed Amy staring intently at him and his resolve hardened when he realized that she was wearing a man’s shirt.  God only knew what these men had done to his Angel.

“Get that one tied, Sean,” he muttered, gesturing to Buck.  He waited to see that he was obeyed, then turned his attention to Amy.  She was crying.

“It’s all right, Angel.  It’s going to be okay.  You believe that, don’t you?”  The child sniffled and nodded.  “You stay here with Uncle Sean for a minute, okay?”  She nodded again and wrapped her arms around her little brother.  John fought tears.  This was all that was left of his little family, of his hopes and dreams...Maybe even his humanity.  He’d shot one man, and it had been easy.  Another would be nothing now...

He pushed the thought aside and cautiously approached the man he’d shot.  He was face down in the mud and a small puddle of red was starting to form under his chest.  John forced down bile and toed the man experimentally.  He glanced quickly at the man in the garish red coat laying unmoving a few feet away, then leaned over and grabbed the dead man’s shoulder.  But as he turned him, the man suddenly came to life, and as McLauren tried to stumble back, he was grabbed by his coat and pulled down.  The feel of a pistol under his chin made the bottom of his stomach fall out and the sound of the hammer being drawn back nearly made him pass out.

“Listen, and listen good,” the wounded man panted.

John couldn’t help but notice his pallor, and the thin sheen of sweat on his face.  If he just waited...

“We’re the law from Four Corners.  We was trying’ ta help...”

The man’s grip was weakening, and suddenly John fell back, sitting in the mud.  He scrambled forward and brought his knee across the man’s gun arm, pinning it to the ground.

“Did he say they’re lawmen?” his brother called.  The redhead was holding a pistol to Buck’s head with one hand and holding the children behind him with the other.

“What are they doing out here then?” John countered.  “Why didn’t they take the children to town?  And what happened to Amy’s...”  He broke off and glanced at the man beneath him.  “Tell me that, Mister Lawman.”

Vin didn’t have an answer.  Didn’t know why the others hadn’t waited for McLauren to come home, or at least gone to town.  Didn’t know what had happened to Ezra, or where JD and Josiah were...He took a deep breath, groaning at the pain that coursed through his chest.  “Can’t say, mister.  I was trackin’ the Indians that took yer boy...”

“Haven’t thought up a good lie yet?”  McLauren wrestled the pistol from Vin’s weak grip. “We’ll just get you to Sheriff Ornelas and let him figure it out.  He stepped back a safe distance, then glanced around, suddenly at a loss.  He hadn’t thought he’d ever find his children, much the less the outlaws who’d kidnapped them.  He was a farmer, not a fighter, and had no idea what to do now.  He looked at his brother-in-law, who shrugged.

“I’d best get the horses, John,” Sean said.  “Watch yourself.”

John nodded, taking another step back so that he could cover all three men and watched for a moment as Sean and his children disappeared into the trees where the picket line was concealed.

Buck groaned and rolled over.  The little man swung the pistol his way.  Slowly, the gunman looked toward Vin, relieved to see that he was breathing and conscious, although barely.  From the spreading circle of blood, Buck could tell that the wound was in the tracker’s upper left chest.  It was a struggle with his hands tied, but Buck managed to sit up.

“Mister, you mind it I tend my friend’s wound?”

“Like you tended my Katie?  And Allen and...?” the man’s voice broke.

“We tried ta tell ya.  We’re lawmen.  We heard the shots, but didn’t get there in time, and fer that I’m mighty sorry.”  He took a slow breath, fighting nausea.  “Why, when that there man found the baby it nearly tore him apart.”  Buck nodded to Vin who blinked slowly at them.  “Wrapped the body in his own shirt.  That’s why he’s wearin’ the fancy thing a’ Ezra’s.”

McLauren’s expression softened slightly -- Buck was getting through, or at least casting doubt.

“Now, if we’re right, and yer wrong, you could be in a world a’ hurt.  Maybe nobody’ll fault you for shootin’ that mangy lookin’ tracker.  Hell, I thought about it a time’er two myself.  But lettin’ ‘im just bleed...”

John backed up uncertainly.  “All right, but don’t try anything.”

Buck chuckled.  “What’m I gonna try?”  He indicated his bound hands.

“No, sir.  I’m not that ignorant.  If your friend wants help, he can untie you.”  The farmer had been fooled once, rudely reminding him that these were indeed outlaws.  He wasn’t about to let that happen again.  He watched as the big man crawled over to the other.  The fancy-dressed man was still unmoving. He stepped closer to get a better look at him.  The man’s refined features were marred with bruises.  His leg was splinted and he looked like death warmed over.

“What’s going on here?”

John turned to face Sean, who was leading the horses.  Amy and Alonzo sat together on their father’s plow horse.  Their wide-eyed, frightened looks tore at John’s heart.  “Just letting him tend the wound.”  When he saw the look on his companion’s face, he continued, “Don’t say it.”  He slid his rifle back into its scabbard, then shoved Vin’s mare’s leg into his saddlebag.  He pulled the children out of the saddle and hugged them tightly.  They both clung to him and again he fought tears.  Amy started to sob.
 
“Papa, mama...”

“I know, Angel, I know.”  He smoothed her hair back.  He had so many questions, but the girl was so young.  “Can you tell me what happened?”  The words were out before he realized it, blurted in his agony to have answers.

Amy nodded.  “We were in the garden, and the men came...”  She looked uncertainly toward Buck and Vin before continuing.  “They were yelling, and mama said to run.  Then there were other men...”  She took a hitching breath.  “Mr. Buck took me on his horse, then it got dark, and cold, so he told me to take off my dress...”

“Stop, Angel,” John snapped.  He couldn’t stand anymore.  He softened his tone.  “Who’s Mr. Buck?”

Amy sniffled and pointed to the big man.  McLauren saw red as anger flared through him.  If the children hadn’t been there he would have throttled the man with his bare hands.  He settled for hauling him away from the wounded man and throwing him to the ground.

Buck looked up in alarm.  He’d managed to stop the flow of blood from the wound, and once he’d gotten a look at it, it didn’t seem so bad.  But as he was bandaging it, McLauren had gone crazy.

“I can only pray that there is a God who will exact retribution on your kind,” the farmer snarled.

Buck bit back a gasp as the angry man roughly tied his wrists behind his back.  His back and shoulders ached from his beating and the lump at the back of his head was trying to wrap itself around his brain and squeeze the life out of him.  Not in a position to resist, Buck relented.

“Get them mounted up,” John ordered.  “I want to get home...”  He hesitated and glanced at his children, then at Buck, misinterpreting the fear on their faces.  “Get them behind bars where they can’t hurt anyone else.”

Sean nodded and started to haul Vin up.  The tracker let out a low moan and Buck surged to his feet.

“Bucklin...”  The word was almost a whisper, but effectively checked Buck’s action.  Vin managed to climb onto Diablo and sat quietly as his hands were tied in front of him.

When Sean turned toward Ezra, Buck took a step.  “Let me...”  John grabbed his shoulder and jerked him to his knees.  For a little guy, the farmer sure was strong.  “Listen,” Buck pleaded.  “You wake him up, yer gonna scare him.  He’ll come up fightin’.”

“Too bad,” Ross growled.  “Maybe you should have though of that before you killed my sister.”

“But we didn’t...”

Ezra’s sharp cry caught their attention.  Sean had the gambler by the lapels and was roughly shaking the smaller man.  Ezra’s swollen hands locked around the thick wrists as he tried to scramble backwards.  The splint on his leg gave way and loose bone ends grated against each other.

Buck lunged upright again, and Vin swung his leg over his horse’s neck and tumbled to the ground.  John brought his shotgun up, stopping the two lawmen.

“Ezra!” Buck yelled.  “Ezra!  Hold still!”

Sean pinned Ezra’s shoulders to the ground and swung a leg across his hips to hold the gambler  still, which only served to make him panic and fight all the more.

“Ezra!  Stop fightin’!” Vin called.  “Jest relax.”  The last was a quiet plea, relaying pain and defeat.

Relax?  Are they insane?  There’s a boulder on my chest and someone’s trying to tear my leg off...

Ezra forced his eyes open, realizing that the boulder was in fact a moose of a man with a mass of red hair and cold gray eyes.  His sluggish brain tried to categorize the man to decide what indiscretion he’d committed to incur the man’s wrath, and just how much of a threat he posed.  But every time a coherent thought came into his head, pain flared through his body, overriding everything.

“Ezra!  Hold still!”

Buck.  He thought he’d said the word aloud, but even he didn’t hear it.  He renewed his fight, determined to get to his friend.

“Please, Ezra, jest stop.”

Vin’s soft plea penetrated the pain and haze, and Ezra relaxed.  While the moose still sat on him, some of the pressure had eased up, and Ezra could breathe again.  The moose’s lips moved -- he must be talking -- yet Ezra couldn’t hear the words.  He took a shaky breath, blinked a few times, and concentrated.

“Are you going to hold still now?”

Ezra grinned. He could understand moose.  He nodded.  “If you will kindly remove your bulk from my person,” he rasped.  The moose moved back, then helped Ezra to sit.  The gambler was still confused, but as long as the pain was tolerable, he could deal with the rest.

“You’re going to get on that horse,” the moose said, gesturing toward Romeo.  Ezra blinked and shook his head.  “We can do this easy or hard,” the moose threatened.

“Just do it, Ez.”  Buck’s weary voice drew Ezra’s attention.  The ladies’ man was on his knees a few paces from Vin.

“My shirt, Mr. Tanner...”

Vin smiled, shrugged, then winced.  Ezra’s gaze swung back to the moose.

“You listening, mister?  I’m going to help you get on that horse.  You understand?  Or are you a blithering idiot?”

Of course he understood.  Didn’t everyone speak moose?  “Sir, I do not blither, and I take umbrage at the implication.”  He chuckled, then frowned when no one else laughed.  “All right, then, but my leg is a bit sore.  If I were a horse they’d have shot me long ago.  Put me out of my misery.”  He chuckled again, not quite sure why the moose insisted on looking so serious.  Maybe mooses didn’t have a sense of humor.

Or was it meeces?

“Get up!”

Ezra started at the snapped order, allowing the moose to take most of his weight and pull him upright.  He bit back the moan of agony as he was almost bodily flung into the saddle.  At least some mercy was shown when the moose tied his wrists together, leaving a small bit of play in the ropes binding his swollen hands.

Chaucer protested as Buck was ‘assisted’ into the saddle.  Ezra smiled.  Even an uncultured moose should be able to see that an animal as fine as Chaucer would have nothing to do with someone as unrefined as Buck.  But the sorrel finally settled down and Vin struggled back onto Diablo.  The three lawmen had no choice but to go along as Sean Ross grabbed the leads to their horses and started toward Carson Falls, trailed by John McLauren on his new plow horse, holding his children protectively.

JD trailed behind the other riders where he could keep an eye on them while acting as a buffer should they be attacked from the rear.  And they’d need it if the Apaches caught up.  Josiah was in the lead, still ponying the outlaws’ horses.  But the big man was slumped more than usual, holding the horn and bobbing with each of Prophet’s steps.  The coughing was becoming more frequent and the man looked miserable.

Chris rode behind, struggling to stay upright and alert, his hand dropping unconsciously toward the wound in his leg.  But he did manage to stay focused on the outlaws’ backs, and had made it clear that he would shoot at the first sign of trouble.  In the swing position, Nathan was as protected as possible. The healer was fighting to stay conscious and was barely able to stay on the horse.  JD noticed his head falling to his chest and nudged Nahleen up beside Milagro.

“Hey, Nate.”  Nathan’s head jerked up and he looked slowly toward JD.  “Josiah’s got an awful cough.  What should we do for it?”

For a long moment the healer was silent and JD thought he hadn’t heard.  Then Nathan nodded.  “Peppermints...”

JD brightened.  He’d just been trying to help keep Nathan awake, but now he could help Josiah too.  “Gee, I got some ‘a that in my saddlebags.  Thanks, Nate.”

“Horehound,” Nathan continued as though he hadn’t heard.  “Lobelia, Indian turnip, blood root, elecampane...”

“You got any of that stuff?”

“No.”

“’K.  You all right, Nate?”  It was so odd for the healer to be sick.  Somehow he always managed to avoid injury, and JD had begun to think that he was blessed or something.

“I think I’ll live,” Nathan mumbled.  “Hurt too bad ta die.”

JD chuckled, glad at the attempt at humor.  “I’m gonna give Josiah some peppermints,” he said, digging into the saddlebags behind Nathan.  “I’ll be back in a sec, okay?”  Nathan nodded slowly and JD kicked Nahleen into a jog.  As he passed Chris, the gunslinger smiled slightly and nodded.  JD acknowledged him with a tip of his hat, trying not to let his pride show too much.  He was still amazed that he’d been accepted by this group of men and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride as he kept watch over them.

“You doin’ all right, Josiah?” he asked as he rode alongside Prophet.

Josiah turned red-rimmed eyes toward him and sniffled.  “No.”  He started to cough.

“Nathan said that peppermints would help,” he said, opening the small bag, then frowning.  The bag was soggy but the candy was a mass of sticky goo.

Josiah chuckled, then coughed again.  “Just break off a chunk.”

JD grimaced and broke free a piece of the candy that he handed to Josiah.  He looked at his hands in dismay, then shrugged and licked his fingers.

“Feels good on my throat.”  Josiah grinned and licked his lips.  “Thanks, kid.”

“’S’okay.”  JD had just reined Nahleen in to fall back behind Nathan when the horse’s head shot up and her ears pricked forward.  Beside him Josiah straightened as JD tensed.  They stopped and Chris rode up beside them.  JD’s hand fell to his pistol as a group of riders rounded the bend ahead of them.  He relaxed when he recognized Buck, Vin and Ezra among the group.

Then he tensed again as he noticed all the things that were amiss -- Ezra on Romeo, alive at least, but looking worse than Nathan, Buck’s arms behind him, the blossom of crimson on Vin’s chest...

Chris drew his pistol, but JD caught his wrist.  The older gunslinger let out a low growl, but JD held tight.

“I’m Sheriff Dunne from Four Corners,” he announced to the large redheaded man at the front of the group.  “What are you doing with those men?”

“I’m Sean Ross and that’s my brother-in-law John McLauren, with what those men left of his family.  We’re taking them to Leakley to hang.”

JD urged Nahleen forward a few steps.  “Listen, mister.  I don’t know where you got your information, but them three men are my deputies and that farm was attacked by Apaches.”

Ross blanched as JD moved forward again.  “Deputies?  But they...Amy...”

Using the man’s confusion, JD pressed his point.  “You’d better not be responsible for their state,” he growled as the man withered under his stare.  He rode past without looking him in the eye and reined in beside Buck.

“Your deputies?” Buck murmured quietly as JD cut him free.

“Yeah.  Now shut up and behave,” he whispered back, before continuing to Ezra.

The gambler blinked at him, then grinned.  “I see you’ve met the moose.”

JD started to ask what he was talking about, but when Ezra’s expression went blank and his eyes started to roll back, JD slipped off Nahleen and caught him as he fell from the saddle.  JD landed hard in the mud with Ezra’s weight on top of him.

“Gracefully done, Dunne,” the southerner drawled before passing out.

Chris stalked the edges of the campsite -- as much as he could on his wounded leg.  He shoved the pain aside as inconsequential.  He was seething at the treatment that his men had received.  JD’s ‘deputies’.  Even in his dark mood the words brought a smile.

Deputy Buck, Deputy Vin and Deputy Ezra.  He chuckled lightly.  Fortunately all three would recover to torment the boy.

The urge to punish the men who had harmed them -- had shot Tanner even though he was surrendering -- was strong.  But the husband and father in him told him that he would have done no differently if he’d been in their shoes.  Hell, he’d done worse with less provocation to men who had done less to people he didn’t even know.  And the farmers were punishing themselves, as well they should.

When Chris had called a stop for the night the two men had gone to extremes to make the more gravely wounded as comfortable as possible.  Then Sean had hunted down a few rabbits that he had skinned and cleaned.  Provisions had been pooled and the lawmen had had their first decent meal in days.

The small fire was starting to die down now.  Amy was back in her own clothes, curled on a bed roll with Alonzo, clutching her doll.  The two farmers were awake, watching over the children.

Josiah was talking quietly with Buck.  JD’s peppermint candy and some willowbark tea that McLauren had brought were helping to make the preacher feel better.

Buck was doing okay as long a he didn’t stand up, but between his sore muscles and the knot on his head, his balance wasn’t very good.  He had laughed the injuries off, insisting that the ladies would flock to him and compete for ‘comfort duty’.  He was even bemoaning the fact that he hadn’t been shot instead of Vin because ‘bullet wounds get so much more sympathy than just bruises’.  The tracker was darned lucky and probably didn’t even appreciate it.

Between Buck and Josiah, Ezra and Nathan were huddled together, deep in sleep.  Neither man had been particularly coherent, and Ezra kept rambling about mooses (or was it meeces?).  Again, Chris found himself chuckling softly.  They still weren’t sure what had happened to the gambler, but the bruises and cuts on his body promised an interesting tale.

Chris circled the camp to where JD was changing the dressing on Vin’s wound.  McLauren was lucky that the tracker would be all right.  Vin had already put the incident behind him and had encouraged Buck to do the same.

Still, it had been close.  Chris hated the way the group had been fragmented and subsequently battered.  Evans and Taylor were contrite now that they were heavily outnumbered, and without Foster to lead them.  JD had secured them elaborately with the chains and rope, insisting that they weren’t going anywhere on his watch.

The gunslinger was proud of the way the kid had taken charge, even though he’d never tell him that.  He didn’t want JD getting cocky.  Cocky could get a man killed.

Quietly, Chris slipped closer to the two men.  Vin was listening patiently while JD excitedly told him about how he’d recaptured the outlaws with just his pocket knife and an empty pistol.  Chris smiled.  The kid really had done all right.  He started to move on, but JD’s tone stopped him.

“Uh, Vin?”  All of a sudden JD sounded very serious.

“Yeah, kid?”

Chris grinned.  The tracker was no more than a kid himself.

“Where are we?”

There was a pause, then, “Outside, I reckon.”

“Funny.  No, c’mon.  I mean it.  I’m the only one that ain’t hurt or sick...”

Vin reached up and touched the still-tender bruise on the young man’s temple.

“That’s nothin’,” JD muttered.  “But what with chasin outlaws an’ all, I’m all twisted around.”

“’Bout two o’clock, look for the Hunter.  Reckon Carson Falls is ‘bout a day’s ride that way.”

“The Hunter?  You mean Orion?”

“Yep.  Middle star of his belt.  Should get ya to the river by noon. Follow that.”

“Thanks, Vin.”

“No problem, kid.”

“Oh, and Vin..?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Chirs I asked, okay?”

“Never, JD.”

Chris suppressed his laugh as the young man rose and started a circuit around the camp.

“And don’t you ever let on, Cowboy,” Vin mumbled.

“Never,” the gunslinger answered as he moved closer and sat next to the younger man.  “Looks like the youngin’s growing up.”

“Yep.  Make a good man one’a these days.”

“Yep.”

They sat in silence as the camp gradually settled down.  Soft, steady breathing told Chris that Vin had fallen asleep, and a quick scan of the camp showed the gunslinger that even JD had succumbed to the long hours without rest.  Chris rose stiffly to prowl his territory. The only other man awake was McLauren.  The farmer was staring intently at his children.  He met Chris’ gaze and the two men nodded briefly.  Both were watching after their families and neither would sleep tonight.

JD started awake and silently cursed himself.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all.  Of course it’d been two days since he’d had any significant rest, and with it being so quiet...

He rose hastily and looked around the camp.  The fire was just smoldering embers now.  Everyone was quiet, except for Josiah, who was hacking and snoring, an odd combination of sounds.  But at least he was getting sleep.

JD glanced at the sky -- at Orion, hanging in the south.  Damn!  He scrambled over to Buck and carefully fished out the rogue’s ‘heirloom’ pocketwatch.  The dim light of the fire showed that it was four thirty.  Damn!  He shoved the watch back into its pocket as Buck rolled over and captured his hand.

“Not now, Daisy.  Ol’ Buck’s gotta sleep,” the older man mumbled.  JD tugged his hand loose and shook his head.

The sky was alight with stars, blinking at the city-raised boy.  JD never tired of gazing at the sparkling jewels, wondering what was up there and if someone was looking down at them wondering the same thing.  He spotted Orion easily, spread across the sky just below Taurus.  He closed his eyes and pictured what he knew of the land.  It wasn’t much, but as he drew the map in his head, he realized that the river ran east and west here.  There was no way to miss it if they just kept heading south.  He smiled.  He really wasn’t so lost after all.  He noticed Chris staring at him and crossed the camp to sit next to the gunslinger.

“Fell asleep,” he confessed.

“Happens.”

“Yeah, but...I’m supposed to be watchin’.”

“I watched.”

JD shook his head.  “Yer hurt.”

“Ain’t hurt that bad, kid.  And a man can’t do everything himself, especially when he has friends ta help him.  But yer awake now, so I reckon I can get some sleep.”  The older man handed JD the cheroot he’d been smoking and got up, then walked over to where Vin was sleeping.  He sat next to the tracker and leaned against a tree, pulling his hat low.

For a moment, JD watched silently, then shrugged and got up to check on the picket line.  Sometimes this whole gunslinger business really baffled him.

As he counted the horses, JD took a long drag of the cheroot.  He gulped in shock and started to cough.  The thing was awful.  He dropped it and ground it into the mud with his heel.  With a shake of his head, he continued around the camp.  As he passed the farmers and children, John McLauren glanced up at him, then rose and walked toward him.

JD groaned. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to the man.  He’d heard what had happened to Buck and Vin, and was still seething that the men hadn’t even been given the chance to explain themselves.

“Sheriff,” McLauren said quietly.  JD nodded silently.  “I just wanted to thank you for what you and your men did for my family.”

“’S okay,” JD mumbled.

“You have no idea...What it’s like to come home and find them like that, I mean.  I keep thinking that maybe if I’d come home sooner, or waited a day before going.  Or insisted that they come along...”  He paused and JD remained silent.

The young man glanced at Chris.  He did have an idea.

“Then I start to wonder if they suffered.  If they were afraid.  It eats at me to think that my sweet Kate tried to fight for her children, and then died not knowing...”  John’s voice caught.

“She told us,” JD said, suddenly needing to help the man.  “If she hadn’t held out until we got there, we never would have known about...Alonzo.”  The farmer stared at him, searching for the truth.  JD had to continue.  “You couldn’t a’ known.  They might’a been waitin’ for ya ta leave.  Man can’t live by what might happen.  Ya had ta leave some time.  Can’t be makin’ a livin’ otherwise.  Even then, somethin’ bad coulda happened on the way to town.  Rockslide, flood, tree fall over...”

McLauren chuckled.  “All right, son.  I take your point.”

JD shot the man a sharp glance.  He was getting tired of being called ‘son’.

“I’m just sorry I let my anger get the better of me,” McLauren continued, ignoring the look.  “I was looking to hurt something, and your boys got in the way.  I’m sorry for that, and I’ll take whatever punishment the court wants to give.”

“Don’t suppose that’ll be necessary,” JD blurted out.  He really couldn’t speak for the others.  “Reckon Amy and Alonzo’s lost enough already.  Don’t need ta grow up without their pa, too.”  JD felt the man beside him relax.

“I’d be mighty grateful.  Not for me, but for the children.  They...”

JD shushed the man mid-sentence.  Something had caught his attention.  He wasn’t sure what, but something didn’t feel right.

“Mr. McLauren, go on back to yer kids.  And wake Mr. Ross.  We might be having  trouble in a bit.”  The farmer nodded and walked casually away.  JD crossed to Chris and kicked the gunslinger’s boots lightly.

Chris’ head shot up and JD gestured toward the tree line before moving on.  He woke Vin with a light shake.  The tracker started awake, instantly alert, and glanced around the camp.  His hand tightened instinctively on his mare’s leg.

Chris struggled to his feet, then held out a hand to Vin, who winced as he stood.  The younger man glanced around the camp, his keen eyes taking in everything. He faded into the trees before Chris could stop him.  The gunslinger swore softly, then moved quietly to JD, who was waking the other men.

“What is it?” he asked as he helped Buck to stand.  Nathan was already on his feet next to Josiah, who was standing protectively over Ezra.

“Dunno,” JD replied, reaching out to help stabilize Buck, who was swaying precariously.  “Just have a feeling.”

“Feeling?” Chris growled.  “You rousted the camp for a feeling?”  He shook his head and glared at the young man, who suddenly found the smoldering fire very interesting.

“You sure it wasn’t that stew ya had last night?” Buck kidded, reaching out to feel JD’s forehead.

The kid’s head shot up defiantly.  “Sorry.  Didn’t know that gut feelin’s was limited to you old geezers.”

Chris chuckled.  At least the kid had conviction.

Ross joined the group.  “What’s all the fuss about, Sheriff?”  Buck laughed.

“I think what the ‘sheriff’ wants,” Chris said with not a small bit of sarcasm in his voice, “is to get an early start.  Isn’t that right, ‘Sheriff’?”

JD frowned, then nodded.  “Yeah.  Let’s get mounted up.  I want to make Carson Falls today, get some proper medical care for my deputies.”

Buck snickered and Josiah fell into a coughing fit.

Then Vin materialized from the shadows.  “I miss somethin’?”  Chris shook his head and rolled his eyes.  “Then we’d best get movin’,” he said.  “All the activity scared ‘em off, but not far and not fer long.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then Nathan finally spoke.  “What’re ya sayin’, Vin?”

“They was out there, just like JD thought.  I figure about fifteen.  If we hadn’t a started movin’ when we did, they’d ‘a attacked.”  Someone let out a low whistle as JD straightened.

“Saddle up,” Chris ordered, and the men scrambled to comply.

JD’s heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he could barely breathe.  The steep walls of the canyon seemed to be closing in on the group.  Indeed, the track had narrowed to the point that they were forced to ride single file along the river, and JD was bringing up the rear.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath and focusing on anything but the target he imagined was painted on his back.  How many rivers and canyons had they been through in the last few days?  He pictured the terrain in his head and finally gave up.  The convoluted paths they’d taken since leaving home were too twisted and crossed.  And the annoying tingling between his shoulder blades wouldn’t leave him alone, even to the point that he’d flinch now and again in anticipation of a bullet or an arrow.

He’d been shot before.  That wasn’t a pleasant memory.  Mad Maddie.  He shuddered and flinched again.  Bullets were no picnic, but judging from Nathan’s appearance, neither were arrows.

The healer was on Nahleen now, but using JD’s saddle.  The young man was more than capable of riding bareback, especially on Milagro, but there was no way that Nathan could have stayed mounted without horn and stirrups for support.  Nathan had tried not to show his pain, but it had been all too obvious when he’d been helped into the saddle.

JD chuckled to himself, recalling Josiah’s earlier attempt to mount.  The preacher was doing better now, but still had occasional fits of coughing.  Even so, he had been well enough to tease the McLauren children with JD’s peppermints before giving them a generous chunk of it.

JD’s gaze wandered to the back of the small man on the big horse, who had his children cradled protectively in front of him.  McLauren might be a little guy, but when the children were with him, he seemed taller than Nathan and broader than Josiah.  The young sheriff wondered if Chris had been the same way when Adam was around.

The gunslinger was at the head of the group, riding Midnight bareback, too stubborn to accept a saddle from Ross or to take one from one of the outlaws.  JD couldn’t imagine the hardened gunfighter as anything else.  But occasionally Buck would tell him stories of their past, of Sarah and Adam, of Chris as a doting, indulgent father, playing ‘horsie’ in the living room with a giggling boy, or worse yet, bedecked in an apron, covered in flour, taking over the duties of a sick wife.  It just seemed so foreign to the man that the other peacekeepers knew.  It seemed unlikely that a man could change so much.

But stranger things had been known to happen.  Look at Ezra.

The gambler was sitting stiffly on his prized mount and best friend.  But JD knew that was changing -- that the self-proclaimed loner was integrating into the group of men, and even the ‘backwater’ known as Four Corners.

JD knew Ezra was in pain.  The splinted leg dangling free of the stirrup was evidence of that.  His nimble, gifted hands were swollen so badly that he couldn’t even hold the reins.  But the main evidence that the southerner wasn’t feeling well was the buckskin coat he was wearing.  His own wool coat was battered beyond use and Vin had insisted that Ezra use his coat.  The tracker didn’t need it.  He had a fever to keep him warm.

Despite the contrary story that his pallor told, Vin insisted that he was ‘fine’.  JD wondered just
what it would take for the former bounty hunter to admit to actually being injured.  His strength and stamina never ceased to amaze JD and he always felt a twinge of jealousy toward the survival-savvy man.

As for strength and stamina...JD chuckled as he looked at Buck.  He was envious of the rogue too, but for completely different reasons.  Even though Buck appeared to be wanton in his relations, JD knew that he adored every woman he'd ever been with, and that puzzled the young man.
But then, JD didn't have near the experience -- any experience, he corrected -- and women were still pretty much a mystery to him.

JD breathed a sigh of relief as the canyon finally opened up to gentle, rocky hills with occasional trees dotting the area.  At least here they had somewhere to go.  But as the day wore on, the group became weary.  They were close to town and stops became less frequent.  The young sheriff had to keep reminding himself that they were still in danger.

When the attack came, McLauren panicked and bolted.  His only thought was getting his children as far away from the threat as possible.  So he dug his heels into the plow horse’s sides and steered away from the Indians, Sean close behind him.  Buck and Vin saw them at the same time and gave chase.

JD whirled to face the onslaught.  He drew both pistols and screamed at the top of his lungs as Milagro surged forward.  He silently thanked the fates as the band of Apaches split, leaving him facing only half a dozen, but retracted his thanks as he realized that the rest were after the others.

There wasn’t anything he could do about that now though, because he was about to be overrun.  But he just had to stall long enough so that Josiah had a chance to get Nathan and Ezra to cover before these Indians got past him.  He raised a pistol and opened fire, hoping the others’ memories of him would be good.

Then Chris was beside him, lips curled in a maniacal grin as they silently bore down on the attackers.

JD was glad the gunslinger was on their side.

Josiah dragged Prophet around and spurred him toward an outcropping of boulders, shouting to Nathan and Ezra to follow.  The reins to the outlaws’ mounts jerked tight as the animals struggled to keep up.  When he reached the rocks, he swung from Prophet, tossing aside the reins to the other horses and turning his attention to Nathan and Ezra.  If the outlaws wanted to take their chances on their own, that was their choice.

Ezra clung to the saddlehorn with both hands, long since having given up on the reins.  Chaucer had the good sense to stick close to his stablemate and paced himself so that he didn’t outrun Nahleen.  Each jarring stride sent excruciating pain through Ezra’s leg and he actually considered giving himself up to the Apaches.  Scalping seemed quick and merciful compared to this.

Chaucer stumbled -- more of a mis-step then an actual stumble, but it was enough to send Ezra pitching forward in the saddle.  Only his grip on the horn kept him from falling.  But it threw him off balance and he bit back a cry as the splint came loose.  He shoved his good foot deeper into the stirrup for support and hung on.  Then Chaucer slid to a stop and Ezra was being lifted from the saddle.

Next to Chaucer, Nathan jumped from Nahleen while she was still moving, gasping silently at the pain in his side.  He crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, and barely managed to make it to his feet as Josiah hauled Ezra off Chaucer.  He struggled to keep up, but even with his burden Josiah outran him easily.  Nathan hadn’t even made it upright before he staggered behind the boulders and dropped to his knees beside Ezra and Josiah, trying to catch his breath.

“You stay here,” Josiah ordered as though they had an option.  He clutched his pistol tightly and broke cover, running for another boulder, firing over his shoulder at the Indians as he ran.  He smiled grimly as he was followed.  As he dropped behind one of the huge rocks, he flipped open the Schoefield and shook free the spent cartridges.  He hazarded a peek around the side of the sandstone, dismayed to see that two of the Apaches had turned back.

His gamble hadn’t paid...

“McLauren!” Buck shouted with all his might.  Romeo was gaining fast on the lumbering draft horse, but it wouldn’t be soon enough.  Another few strides and they would be desperately far from cover of any kind.  And there was no chance to outrun the Indians.  “Hold up!”  If his words reached the farmer, they went unheeded.

“What the hell is he doing?” Vin shouted, sitting back in the saddle in an effort to cushion the jarring to his side.   All they could do now was keep stride with the inexperienced farmers and be there to back them up when all hell broke loose.

And break loose it did.  McLauren’s mount stumbled and went down on its knees, sending the man and his children tumbling to the ground.  Ross’ horse dodged around them and the other man jumped from the saddle, dropping to a knee and bringing his rifle to bear on the attackers.  Vin landed beside him, grunting in pain, his mare’s leg leveled and steady.  Buck continued past them to John and the children.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Buck snarled as Romeo danced next to the farmer.

McLauren stared up at him, still stunned from the fall.  He had twisted his body to take the brunt of the impact from the children.  The blonde man struggled to his knees with Amy and Alonzo clinging to his neck, crying.  He scooped the boy up as he stood and handed him up to Buck, then flung Amy onto the saddle behind the gunslinger.

“Go!  For God’s sake, save my children,” he pleaded.  Buck cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Vin and Sean, who were about to be run down, then nodded to the farmer.  Romeo lunged forward.

Even with the reins hanging loose on his neck, Milagro ran a true course, matching Midnight stride for stride.  The two lawmen had eliminated four of the opposition by the time they met.  Chris tossed aside his empty pistol and launched himself off his horse at one of the remaining Indians.  His pent-up anger finally had release, and the wound in his leg was not a handicap as he wrestled the man to the ground.  He was almost disappointed when the man was knocked senseless by the fall.  Panting, Chris knelt with his knee in the man’s back and looked for JD.

The young sheriff twined his fingers in Milagro’s mane and leaned low over her neck.  He clucked quietly to her, urging her to more speed.  He pulled alongside the Indian pony and the Apache riding the roan looked over at him.  For a fleeting second hostility surged between the two, then the Indian grinned and screamed, kicking his horse in the sides.  JD let out a loud ‘whoop’ of his own as the two raced side by side.

Gradually, Milagro pulled ahead, sweat flying from her lathered sides.  JD was bent low, one with the horse, the enemy forgotten, replaced by a fellow equestrian, enjoying the thrill of the race.  He gathered himself as they approached a fallen log, clinging easily to his horse’s back as she cleared the obstruction.  The Apache wasn’t so lucky.

JD heard the other horse go down and straightened, pulling Milagro around in time to see the Indian pony somersault, pitching its rider to the ground.  It was evident as soon as they stopped moving that both horse and rider were dead.  JD shook his head in remorse before turning back toward the others.

“I can’t believe that son of a bitch deserted you,” Taylor chuckled.  “Saved his own sorry hide.”

Nathan reached across and hauled the outlaw forward by the front of his shirt.  “You just shut the hell up or I’m gonna toss you out there with yer buddy.”  He slammed Taylor back into the rock as the man’s eyes strayed to Evans’ crumpled form.  The other outlaw had darted from cover as soon as Josiah left, only to be cut down a few steps from the boulders.

“How is Mr. Sanchez faring?” Ezra asked, his voice subdued by pain.

“Can’t see from here,” Nathan answered.  He chanced a glance in the preacher’s direction.  “Damn!”

“Yes?”  Ezra shifted to try to see what had Nathan upset, but his leg held him still.

“Two of ‘em are headed this way.”

“That is a dilemma.  Are you armed?”

“Indians got my gun.”

“Dandy.”  Ezra reached into the pocket of Vin’s coat and dug out his derringer.  “One for you and one for me?”  He cocked an eyebrow at the healer.

“Don’t go gettin’ all dramatic, Ezra,” Nathan grumbled.  “Josiah’ll take care of ‘em.”

“He ain’t even alive still,” Taylor said.  “Haven’t heard no shots inna few minutes.  And that peashooter ain’t gonna stop no redsikn.”

The peacekeepers ignored him.  “We need to move,” Nathan muttered.

“Not much of an option,” Ezra breathed, nodding toward his leg.  “I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere.”

“We need to move,” Nathan repeated, grabbing Ezra under the arms and pulling him backward.  The southerner hissed in pain, but used his good leg to help provide momentum.  He kept the small pistol clenched in his fists.  Progress was slow, and Taylor lagged with them, complaining at every step.

“You ain’t never gonna out run ‘em like this,” he growled.  “May as well just stay put and save yerself the pain.”

“Just shut up,” Nathan snapped.  They were almost to another outcropping that would provide more defensible cover when the Indians rounded the first group of rocks.  Instead of attacking, the two men just stood for a moment, grinning at their prey.  Finally, Taylor couldn’t hold still any longer.  He jumped up and ran, his frightened scream cut short by the arrow that pierced his throat.

“They’re staying out of range,” Ezra whispered.  The derringer was only effective within a few feet.  The two Apaches were advancing slowly, their leering grins showing no intimidation.  One of them knocked an arrow and brought his bow up.  Ezra unconsciously pushed back into Nathan, keeping his gaze steady.  He barely flinched as the arrow flew at them.

Nathan sucked in an involuntary breath and gripped the gambler tighter.  “Ezra!” he hissed through clenched teeth.  “Yer a dead man.”  Ezra glanced at the arrow that was neatly placed between his side and Nathan’s leg, pinning him to the ground through the buckskin coat.  “Vin’s gonna kill ya.”

Ezra groaned.  “I just hope he gets the chance.”  The Indians stepped forward, both of them knocking arrows.

“They’re wearin’ us down,” the healer whispered.

“More’s the loss, then Mr.  Jackson.  If only they realized that we are worn down!”

Another step.  Another fatal shot to the jacket.  Ezra flinched.  But they were playing a game of bluff, and he was an expert at that.  He stared steadily at the men, watching, judging.  When he saw the small waver in the gaze of one of the Apaches, he knew instinctively that the next shot would not be harmless.

He squeezed the trigger.  The man yelped in pain, dropping the bow and clutching the wound high in his left chest.  The Indians hesitated, but only for a heartbeat.  They charged.

The roar of Vin’s mare’s leg was simultaneous with Ross’ shotgun.  Two of the Apaches were unseated, one dead instantly, the other belatedly as his neck snapped on contact with the ground.  Vin managed a second shot, bringing down a third attacker before the remaining two galloped by.

McLauren was just pulling himself to his feet when he noticed the Indians in pursuit of Buck and his children.  Without conscious thought, he grabbed Diablo’s reins and yelled at the animal, swinging into the saddle as the horse bolted into a full gallop.

Buck cast a quick glance over his shoulder, pushing Romeo to more speed.  The big gray was running with all his heart, sensing his master’s urgency.  A bullet creased the massive muscle in the horse’s hind-quarters and he faltered.  Buck could feel the change of cadence and knew the race was lost.  Now it was a matter of preparing.

He hauled the horse to a stop and swung from the saddle.  He lifted the children down.

“Mr. Buck?”  Amy gazed up at him, her eyes wide, tears trickling down her face.

“It’ll be all right, darlin’,” he crooned, wiping her cheeks.  “You hang onta this for me.”  He removed his hat and set it on the little girl’s head.  She nodded somberly and took Alonzo’s hand, her doll clutched tightly.  Buck straightened and stood in front of the children as the Indians bore down on them.  He raised his pistol and fired the remaining shot.  One man fell, but the other continued.

Buck took a deep shuddering breath.  His own life was of little consequence, but he regretted the loss of the children.  But as the Indian pony was about to run them down, its rider tumbled to the ground, and without guidance, it veered off course, passing them harmlessly.  McLauren skidded to a stop mere feet away, dropping his still-smoking pistol.  He exchanged a quick look of gratitude with Buck before he jumped from the saddle and embraced his children.

Josiah thrived on hand-to-hand fighting.  He found it far more satisfying than just shooting a man from a distance, and it equalized a man.  Of course it wasn’t always the most desirable option, especially when the odds were against you, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

He had still been reloading when the Indians had attacked.  The empty pistol had creased the side of the first man’s face, taking an eye out and eliminating that threat.  But the remaining Apache matched the preacher in strength and stature.  He lunged at Josiah with a large knife, cutting a gash in his arm.  Josiah ignored the wound and charged him, wrapping his muscular arms around his waist.  He pushed the Indian back until he hit a boulder with a resounding umph! driving the air from the man’s lungs.  Before the attacker could recover, Josiah backhanded him.

The Indian lashed out with his foot, catching Josiah in the knee.  He stumbled away from the pain, unable to avoid the fist that slammed into his chest, robbing him of air.  He crumpled under the other man’s weight, a surge of rage washing over him as the Apache’s hands closed around his throat.  The preacher brought his knee up, landing a sound blow to the Indian’s back, then rolled to the side, dislodging him.  Now in the superior position, Josiah struck the man repeatedly across the face until he no longer moved.

For a moment, Josiah sat back, sucking in air in great, heaving breaths, his whole body trembling with residual adrenaline.  Then he remembered Nathan and Ezra.  Surging to his feet, he retrieved his pistol, hastily shoving fresh rounds into the cylinder as he trotted back toward his friends.  He rounded the boulder and nearly tripped over Taylor’s still form.  His attention was riveted to the two men on the ground and the Indians about to overtake them.  Pushing aside any idealistic credos, he fired twice, hitting the Apaches in the back.

For a moment the silence echoed as loudly as the gunshots had, then Josiah strode toward Nathan and Ezra.  They stared up at him, not speaking.  Josiah chuckled.

“Brother Vin is not going to be happy about his coat,” the preacher boomed, pulling the arrows out of the garment.

“Believe me, Mr. Sanchez, it was a mercy killing,” Ezra drawled wearily.

Josiah laughed.  “You two all right?”

Ezra nodded and Nathan smiled.  “What about you?” he asked, indicating the gash in his arm.

Josiah shrugged.  “Scratch.  I’ll get the horses.  You take care of Brother Ezra.  I believe it’s time to go home.”

“Where the hell did that come from?” Chris asked as Vin shrugged into a tattered buckskin coat that was too small for the tracker.  They had been in Carson Falls for nearly a week and were ready to go home.

“Got my sources,” he answered quietly, a mischievous grin playing across his face.

“That’s worse than the old one ever was, even with a few arrow holes in it.”

“Ya think?”  Vin held his arms out and looked down at the coat.  “I kinda like it.  ‘Sides, if Ezra had’a taken better care of the old one…”

Chris eyed him skeptically.  He knew that the quiet young man had a wicked sense of humor, and was interested to see what he was up to.  He decided to stick close to the tracker until he found out.

The rest of the men were waiting in front of the hotel.  Ezra’s leg was still healing, so they had hired a buggy that Nathan would drive.  The healer was still recovering from his injuries and it would be easier than riding.

Josiah and JD were already mounted, but Buck was on the porch in front of the hotel, leaning heavily on two busty blondes.

“Do you have to go, Buck?” one of the girls sighed.  “You’re still recuperating.”

“Duty calls, ladies,” Buck said dramatically, stepping off the boardwalk.  He swayed and the girls tightened their grips.

“You need to be in bed, Buck,” one of them giggled.

“Don’t encourage him,” JD called, and Buck frowned.  “He’s been in bed too much as it is.”

“Ain’t no such thing,” the rogue quipped, then gave each girl a long, deep kiss before gathering Romeo’s reins and swinging into the saddle.  He winked to the ladies, then glanced at his companions.  His eyes fell on Vin.  “Tanner, what the hell is that?”

“It’s a coat,” Vin snapped back.  “If ya’ll didn’t notice, Ezra saw fit to murder my last one.”

“Justifiable crittercide,” Ezra muttered.  “Wherever did you get that…thing?”

“Cost me fifty bucks, Ezra.  Reckon you owe me.”

Ezra’s eyes widened and for a moment he sat in stunned silence, his mouth hanging open.

“Fixin’ ta catch some flies there, Brother Ezra?” Josiah asked.

The gambler shot him a harsh look, but closed his mouth.

“First, Mr. Tanner, that shredded cowhide is not worth fifty cents, much the less fifty dollars.”

Vin smiled and shrugged.  “Nice buckskin coat’s hard ta come by, Ezra,” he drawled.

“No doubt,” the conman muttered in return.  “But there is also the matter of a high quality imported shirt that suffered grievous abuses in your care.”  Ezra smiled in triumph.

“Thanks fer remindin’ me.”  The tracker dug in his saddlebags and pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle.  Ezra looked at it suspiciously before taking it.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Ezra carefully unwrapped the package to reveal a silk shirt similar to the one that had been destroyed.  He fingered the material appreciatively.

“Why, Mr. Tanner, I’m stunned.”  He looked at the tracker, then frowned.  “But fifty dollars?”

“Yep.”

“Fifty?”

Vin nodded.  Reluctantly, Ezra pulled out the wad of money he kept in his boot, peeled away several bills, then returned the remainder to its place.

Chris was barely able to contain his laugh as Vin smugly pocketed the money.  “Let’s get home,” he said.  They started to move out when a shout stopped them.

“Sheriff!  Sheriff Dunne!”

The group stopped and JD straightened as he turned Milagro to face the man calling him.

John McLauren trotted up to the group, carrying Alonzo, with Amy in tow.  “I can’t thank you enough,” he said, looking first at JD, then at the others.  “And I want to apologize again for the mistake.”

“’S okay,” JD said, then frowned sternly.  “Just see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

“No, sir,” the farmer said.  “And Mr. Wilmington, Amy insisted I get this for you.”  He held out a package that the lawman nearly dropped because of the unexpected weight.  Buck tore the paper away and was left holding a frying pan.

“So you can make griddle cakes,” Amy explained.

Buck grinned as the other men laughed.  “Thank you, darlin’.  I’ll treasure it.”

McLauren shrugged and smiled.  Vin maneuvered Diablo up to him, then pulled the small wad of bills out of his pocket and handed it down.

“There’s a reward on them renegades,” he said quietly.

Ezra opened his mouth to say something, but Nathan nudged him to silence.

McLauren accepted the money, speechless for a moment.  “This is overly generous,” he finally stammered.  “You’ve all done too much.”

“Not at all.  Maybe it’ll help some.”

“Yes, it will,” John said.  “A great deal.  I’m selling the homestead -- can’t go back after…Well, anyway, there’s a small ranch adjacent to Sean’s that I’m looking to buy.”

“Well, if yer ever out our way, look us up,” JD commented.  “Me and my deputies’d be glad ta see ya.”

“I’ll do that.  And thank you again.”

The lawmen nodded, then the small group started for home.  Ahead of the wagon, Chris pulled Midnight alongside Diablo.  “Slick move with the coat, Pard.”

Vin grinned.  “Figured Ezra could afford it.  Shirt cost me two dollars.  Man at the store said some dandy ordered it, then never came back.  Was happy to get rid of it.”

Chris smiled.  “But that dead hide really is pathetic.”

“Got it covered.”  Vin shrugged out of the coat, then pulled his precious coat from his bedroll.  The holes had been expertly mended and were barely visible.  The tracker slipped into his buckskin.  As they passed an old miner, Vin held the old coat out to him.  “Here, pard.  Look like you could use this.”

“Gee, thanks, mister,” the man said, putting the garment on.

Several seconds later, as the group proceeded down the road, there was a pained shout.

“Mr. Tanner!”

“Who says ya can’t con a conman?” Chris mumbled.

Author’s note:  The incident at the beginning of this story is based on a real event that is decsribed in ‘Frontier Times’ magazine, November 1932 vol.10 - no. 2.  The article is from A.J. Sowell’s “Texas Indian Fighters.” Kate McLauren was indeed shot six times, but died only after her daughter brought help.  And the little girl did go back into the house full of Indians for a pillow to make her mother more comfortable.  The boy who I named Allen, was in fact a neighbor’s son, Allen Lease.  The incident took place in Frio Canyon, Texas.