FORTITUDE

By: Heather F.



Edited by: Lady Angel and KRH

Acknowledgements: Mitzi for her help.




One more step...one more. Then perhaps another one...just one more...almost home....

Small clouds of dust briefly hung in the stagnant air marking the deliberate, halting movement.

The sun beat down; baking the earth into slightly curled plates of clay. Sage dotted the surrounding area, offering just enough ground cover to tangle shuffling feet. Shimmering waves of heat radiated off the desert floor for as far as the eye could see.

These eyes no longer gazed upward. The burned scalp of brown hair never raised itself to stare accusingly at the white sun that beat the earth with merciless intensity. The blood shot, swollen eyes never strayed from the few inches directly in front of the laced up boots. Boots that were two sizes too big. Boots that had creased toes and worn thin soles. Soles so thin that the radiating heat scorched the raw feet within the foot wear.

Not once did the walking man notice the discomfort of his blistering feet. He no longer felt the sun burn and blister his exposed neck. The skin had long ago formed huge water blisters that had leaked and shed their moisture. The sand and dust cut and scratched red irritated skin.

Tissue -- dried and cracked -- refused to bleed.

No hat protected the scalp. Nothing protected the fragile skin just under the flat, gritty, brown hair. The heat seemed to beat his head almost as if it could boil his brain in its own juices.

He had ceased to acknowledge the sand that lined his mouth. His tongue was swollen and thick within dry, arid cheeks. Sand worked its way in between teeth and under the wool-like tongue. His nostrils had dried out long ago. The air passages seemed constricted, fighting to draw in enough air. Dizziness and a pounding headache kept eyes from focusing clearly. Nausea persisted with vehemence.

The oversized homespun cotton shirt protected him from the relentless summer rays. But the damage had already been done. The large rough seams carved their mark in purplish burned shoulders. Water blisters had popped reformed and leaked again. Sand scratched its way into the raw flesh debriding sensitive tissue with every faltering step.

With no longer conscious thought, the feet skimmed and scuffed the ground.

The curled cracked clay gave way to a sandy gravel road. A road with ruts. A road that had been traversed frequently.

The walker never registered the change in environment. Tired, dry eyes saw nothing that seemed real.

The sage gave way to long wisps of bending prairie grasses. A few trees dotted the surrounding area in rebellion to their environment. Their promise of shade went unheeded by the dying traveler.

A town stood in the distance. A gateway. It stood like an oasis out here in the middle of this vast emptiness. The road led in a careless meandering manner over small knolls and down slight inclines. In an unrushed manner, the rutted road led toward this clap board shock of civilization.

Without gazing upward...without once raising an impossibly heavy chin off a scorched chest. The man trudged onward.

One more step...just one more...



Nathan wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. Josiah leaned back in his saloon chair and nursed a sip of lukewarm beer. Sweat rolled in twin trails down the side of Larabee's face. Dust settled heavily in the area. No breeze stirred.

Flies seemed to spawn despite the summer day. They buzzed persistently in the background. They crawled across the backs of hands and tables. They clung to the rims of mugs and trailed over heated shoulders and arms. No one seemed to have the effort to shoo them away...not that it would have worked. Their constant hum no longer registered with those stewing in the heat wave.

Larabee shook his head in a short economical motion dislodging a fly trying to scavenge a spot on his cheek. The fly persisted to hum around his ear. The gunslinger seriously considered shooting the son of a bitch but figured it would be overkill. Damn, the flies' constant chatter and irritation could be worse than JD and Standish.

Perhaps Josiah was wrong . . . that damn gambler wasn't raised by wolves but by flies. Distracting as hell, always jawing and their usefulness hidden under layers of irritating movements.

Sanchez released a soft chuckle raising his glass to Chris as if reading his mind.

The simple passing of feet or shifting of position raised small plumes of fine particles. It clung greedily to any moist surface. It seemed as if man and beast alike found itself coated in a fine sheen of dust and dirt.

The building groaned in fatigue.

Jackson stared across the empty room toward the boardwalk. Long shadows stretched across unoccupied chairs and tables. The sun shone so brilliantly outside, that it made one squint just to gaze out the window. Dead flies dotted the sill. The gloomy confines of the saloon brought a welcomed relief to the relentlessly beating heat.

"They'll be fine, brother." Josiah's voice rolled like dry thunder across the scarred table.

Chris rubbed at his face, feeling the stubble of two day's growth and the grit of the ever-present sand.

"Just can't help think...." Nathan started to speak but tapered off, lost in his own thoughts. Sweat and energy seemed to evaporate together.

"Buck and Vin won't push in this heat -- he'll be fine." Larabee leaned back in his chair. His whiskey glass sat half finished on the table. The very act of moving toward it seemed monumental. The sticky oppression of his clinging clothes forced him to keep his distance from those around him. He felt trapped, claustrophobic...irritable. 'Was this how Vin felt when he had been in town too long?'

"I know Chris...I know...jist that he was so sick." Again Jackson's voice faded quickly in the dry heat. He kept gazing out the window.

Inez wiped glasses from behind the bar. Occasionally, she swiped at her brow and blew stray bangs out of her face. She heard the conversation and offered a silent prayer. The four regulators out on the trail needed extra guidance and care. No one foresaw such heat when they had left a few days ago.

"It's been a week, brother. He needed to git out of town just as much as Vin and Buck." Josiah placed his mug heavily on the table. The palms of his hands made the thick glass slick.

Ever since Ezra had opened his eyes that first morning after his fever broke, the conman had been uneasy. Crowded. Almost as if he were embarrassed or humiliated that he had fallen ill and worse yet had fallen under the necessary care of his six fellow lawmen. Josiah figured if Ezra had fallen due to an injury incurred by his peacekeeping profession then it would have been ok...excusable. But to just fall ill for no reason, it then fell under the auspices of unacceptable. Least ways for Ezra. Josiah could not completely follow the twisted logic but it made some sense.

Ezra had needed space away from prying eyes and well-intentioned inquiries. Like Vin, he just had to catch his breath and smooth his outward appearance before facing the town and its citizens again. As a result, Vin, Buck, JD and Ezra left for Clear Water for a little fun and relaxation.

Then the heat wave hit.

"If anything, JD will keep an eye on him." Larabee almost smiled at the thought. As with the sweat, the smile disappeared before it had a chance to settle. JD had been terrified by the hallucinations. He had all but run from the room when Standish had started shouting about bounty hunters, wrestling with Buck for a gun.
Jackson nodded, not in agreement but acknowledging that he had heard. But a week would not be enough to get over that type of fever. One needed more than a week to rebuild their strength, endurance would still suffer. This kind of heat could kill a healthy man. What about one still recovering from the throws of a debilitating sickness? One potent enough to cause hallucinations. Damn, he should have kept Ezra in town.

Inez stepped into the back room. She checked her stock. The heat wave would keep most close to their homes or in swimming holes. Not many would venture out today or the next. Dust pooled around her feet in small clouds thwarting her dusting efforts. She continued to wipe down the shelves anyhow. She flicked her cloth occasionally at the flies that landed on her stock. Senors Tanner and Wilmington would keep their friend safe. They would keep him from tiring himself out, protect him from this heat. By now, they would be in Clear Water probably enjoying the saloon there. Yes, perhaps that's what they were doing now....



JD curled in a ball trying vainly to protect his battered midsection. Another kick landed painfully in the back of his thigh. A twisted whimper escaped dry cracked lips. He squeezed his eyes closed and curled tighter into himself. Another kick landed, this time grazing the lower back. White-hot spears of pain shot up and down his spine. A stifled scream hallmarked his fear and pain.

"Leave'im alone you bastards," Buck's words were lisped over torn swollen lips. Molars had long ago gouged out large chunks of soft cheek tissue. His bottom teeth had erupted painfully through his bottom lip. With shackled feet he swung wildly at the monster that battered JD. The knife wound that had gouged out a section of lower thigh started bleeding freely. The dark stain that ran the lateral length of the pant leg began to spread.

Wilmington's furious cursing and frustrated twisting finally diverted the attention of the devil that was harassing JD. With a malicious smile, the captor gave one last parting kick to the 'kid' and stalked off laughing.

JD squeezed his eyes closed. He fought the tears that threatened to roll down blood splattered cheeks. Breath caught and choked in his tightening throat. He would not cry. He would not give them the satisfaction of knowing they had hurt him, terrified him.

He would not shame Buck or Vin.

Dunne ignored Buck's pleas to roll over. He tucked himself further inward, steeling himself to gain control. Panic and helplessness flashed across his body and psyche like lightening on the open prairie. He bit his lip, chewed on his tongue and tried to recapture control of his breathing.

Tanner watched the group just a few yards from them. He tested his bonds again and again found himself trapped. Anger fired into fury. He closed his eyes for a brief second. Garnering control of his frustration, Vin promised revenge for all the wrong doings done today.

Wilmington kept his eyes on the kid. The world continued to gyrate out of control. His stomach knotted and rolled with sickening intensity. Sharp pains shot through his midsection preventing him from straightening his legs. Buck once again pleaded with JD to roll over. 'Just once, kid. Just once let me look at your face. Let me see you open your eyes.'

Wilmington ignored the empty spot next to him. He scrubbed out any sign that the gambler had once been trussed up next to him.



They had made an example of Standish. Walked him off into the desert and simply let him go. They had led him into the Salt Flats and left him. No hat, no canteen. They had left him to die under the brutal punishment of the sun.

The bastards.

Buck, Vin, and JD's fury had been cut short when JD had fallen victim to the brutality of one of the captors. Standish had gazed over his shoulder just in time to see Dunne crumble under the horrific assault of one of their guards.

The three lawmen had struggled to come to the aid of their youngest. The man leading Standish into the desert had merely urged his mount into a fast trot, dragging the gambler behind him.

Buck had prayed Standish had regained his feet.

Vin and Buck had struggled and fought to protect JD. In the end, it had worked but not without a taxing price.

Tanner had sat dazed with a gash that circumvented his forehead. Flies now worried at the wound, festering it. The bounty hunter paid no heed. Blood had streamed from both nostrils. He spat blood and tooth from his mouth.

Tanner never returned Wilmington's gaze.

Wilmington had watched with morbid fascination at the slow transformation of Tanner into something frightfully feral.

Buck had rolled and slid JD closer to himself with his legs.

The sun continued to bake the captives. They had sat tied hand and foot leaning against wagon wheels. The covered wagon offered them no protection from the sapping rays of the summer sun.

JD had kept his chin up in the beginning. Though his eyes had swollen shut, the young sheriff could not stifle his air of aggressive defiance. He would be tougher than those who were stalking him.

Buck had sat beside his friend marveling at Dunne's strength but hoped that someday JD would learn when to hide his fight. When would he learn to bluff?



Buck shook his memories of yesterday clear. He stared at JD's back and watched the kid fight for control. Wilmington swung his gaze toward the tracker.

At the front wheel, bleeding and quiet, Tanner stewed.

For the first time since meeting the quiet bounty Hunter, Buck Wilmington saw the raw fighter under the quiet compliance.

If they should fall today or tomorrow or even the next day, Vin Tanner would take some of them with him.

Buck recognized the lack of expression in the blue eyes. He had seen it a time a two himself in the mirror.

Tanner stared out toward the Salt Flats. Standish had a slim chance at survival. The gambler, however, had better odds than their captors.



The coarse rutted road gave way to a wide flat trail well traveled and well maintained. Feet slipped and shuffled unimpeded by old, caked ruts. The first buildings slipped by without notice. The black pinstripe legs continued to bend at the knee, the hip continued to work the leg forward, and the feet continued to land and arch.

The sun finally slid from the sky. The incessant broiling of tissue diminished. The light of day waned only slightly. This was lost on the weaving form faltering its way down the main street.

The booted feet hit a wood step. Forward momentum propelled a burnt shoulder into a worn post. With muscle memory all their own, the legs worked to lift the body up the step and onto the wood planks.

The scraping of heavy feet on the boardwalk drew no attention.

The citizens of Four Corners had taken refuge from the punishing sun in their homes.

With instincts all his own, the walker scuffed and tripped his way down uneven boards. Dirt and sand scraped and screeched under the abusive gait.

A shoulder leaned against a wall offering some support to weakening knees.

The wall disappeared.

The body fell sideways through swinging doors. Feet limped to recapture lost balance. Shaky legs long since over worked, flexed and strained muscles no longer able to give any more failed.

For a brief moment the burned dust covered body regained its lost balance. It wavered in the darkened entrance of the saloon.

No more steps.... didn't need another blasted, unforgiving step....

Muscles squeezed of their last drop of energy relaxed. Joints folded. The body simply slipped to the ground in a swirl of dust.



"Ezra!" Jackson flew from his chair knocking the seat over. He brushed past Josiah, pushing off the man's massive shoulders to garner more momentum.

Larabee pushed the brim of his hat off his eyes and gazed up just in time to see an oversized, white shirt collapse to the floor. The gunslinger leaped to his feet with Josiah a step ahead of him.



Nathan straightened the semi-conscious man on the floor. Dry heat radiated off Standish like a fever. Haunting images of weeks prior, sprang unbidden, to Jackson's mind.

"My God, brother, what happened?" Josiah knelt at the head of the gambler. He wiped clinging sand from the young man's cracked face.

Rope still clung desperately to the unbound wrists of the Southerner.

"We got to cool him down." Jackson tried to gather the smaller man in his arms. Larabee simply grabbed his legs and Sanchez shuffled under the heated shoulders. Together, they shimmied their burden outside. Peering over his shoulder, Sanchez skirted around the hitch rail off the boardwalk and stopped next to the trough.

Larabee followed, shuffling awkwardly, trying to match the frantic pace. They gently placed the gambler in the trough.

Nathan immediately knelt beside them and started scooping water over the burned scalped. "He's got a mouth full of sand," his whispered observations made Larabee swear.

Standish had thought he had found a water hole. Had for a brief moment thought he drank fresh cold water. The sparkling clear waters that only a delirious mind would see. Instead he had taken in mouthfuls of sand. How many before he realized he choked on dirt and grit?

Chris took note of the man half-dead in the trough. A fine hand covered in grayish dust hung over the side of the rough wooded trough. The shirt and boots did not belong to the southerner. Ropes had dug and furrowed into the skin of his wrists. The ropes had been cut. A knotted piece still clung to the torn flesh of the wrist.

Josiah lifted the limp hand by the shirtsleeve, intending to drop it into the trough. Chris laid a hand on Sanchez's shoulder halting the movement.

Larabee peeled the thick braid from the gambler's skin. The tissue tented and pulled upward. Blood and serum seeped into the area. The gunslinger held it in his hand. He turned, facing down the main street and stared out at the open prairies that surrounded the town. He ignored the bustle of Josiah and Nathan, drowned out their worried observations and exclamations.

Sweat rolled down Chris' face as he fingered the blood-dried rope.

Where were the others?





Buck hissed as he leaned over JD. Dunne still lay curled with his back to his two friends. The sheriff had refused to move.

"Gawd damnit, JD, you roll yer ass over and look at me or I'll slap ya silly." The vehemence in his voice masked his fear and trepidation. 'These gawd damn sons of bitches were after himself and Tanner...damn kid had nuthin' to do with this mess. Innocent stupid kid. Wrong place wrong time. Standish, too. Damn, damn, damn....'

Tanner kept a watch out of the corner of his eye but did not involve himself in the dynamics between those two. Instead, the tracker focused his attention on his targets. He studied their movements their habits. Which ones acted first; which ones thought before moving? Did they prefer left hands over right or visa versa? Who would be more likely to act in an unpredictable manner? Act outside their set dimensions for behavior.

Any animal in fear for its life would act in an irrational manner. Some cowered, some attacked, and others employed both tactics. Vin watched and learned.

Wilmington waited a moment as his harsh words struck across the short distance to Dunne. Buck had finally lost his patience with the kid and slid forward to roll JD over himself.

JD closed his eyes. He rubbed the few lingering tears that clung to curled lower lashes on his shoulder. Catching his breath, he slowly rolled himself over and faced Buck.

Wilmington caught his breath. 'Oh Gawd, kid. Oh Gawd, I'm so sorry, kid. . . .'

"Leave 'e alone Buck," JD's words lisped out between puffy torn lips. Swollen cheeks, sealed eyes. Blood trickled down from an unseen cut about the hairline.

"Sorry, kid, can't do that." Wilmington cast a singular burning gaze across the encampment. He vowed to fight Vin for a chance to kill these bastards.



"Look at his feet." Josiah held up a raw bloody ankle up off the bed. Dirt and debris stuck to the underside of a blistered lacerated foot. Desert clay mingled freely with the dried blood, forming a kind of paste.

How long had he walked without shoes?

"Wonder where he found those?" Josiah kicked at the discarded worn boots on the wood floor. They were large enough to fit Buck or even himself.

"Ain't his boots. He didn't have shoes on for awhile," Nathan observed. The healer worked the soft oversized shirt from his patient.

"Sweet Jesus," Jackson's soft prayer pulled Sanchez's attention from the abused feet to the torso. Chris stepped away from the window he was leaning against. The twilight reflected the harsh glint in his eyes.

The windows had been shoved open in vain hope for a breeze. Curtains had been pushed back, casting some light into the room. Lean shadows stretched across the hard wood floor. The room was too small and too stuffy for this many visitors.

Nathan pulled the shirt out from under Standish, revealing the purplish-red, burned chest and stomach. Skin had dried out and pruned painfully across the torso. With a tentative movement, Jackson rested a hand on the tissue. Heat waved from the body like invisible flames.

"Wonder if he lost his shirt same time he lost his boots?" Josiah muttered darkly.

Jackson merely shook his head in angry disgust. How do you save someone from something like this? "Gawd, where are the others?" Nathan's troubled eyes searched the faces of the two men across from him vainly.

"We're gonna find out." Larabee stood against the bed. He let his eyes rove across the gambler, memorizing every bruise, every cut, and every blister. The gunslinger took stock of the wounds, the feel of the heat and the stark raw pain that would have come with such burnt flesh. He could imagine the crazed single-minded desire for water; an almost insane urge that forced its victim to drink sand. Larabee's blood boiled.

"Nathan, you tell Mary and Inez what you want done with him and then we're riding out." Larabee met the healer's eyes squarely.

Nathan nodded. He found no argument that would wholly explain his fear for the man near death before him. Nor the three friends out there probably in worse shape. They had to be. They were the kind of men that would protect those who were down and recovering. Ezra would never have been allowed to succumb to this condition if Buck, Vin and JD could have prevented it. Gawd, what would those three look like when Chris found them?

It would be dark in a few hours. Josiah gazed out the window at the fading light. A few hours might get them closer to finding their friends. Sanchez leaned on the wall and watched the slow raspy rise and fall of the burnt chest.



Mary and Inez smiled grimly at the task lay before them. They could hear the horses shifting impatiently down on the street. The creak of leather, the hushed voices, even the sounds of the evening crickets sounded rushed and impatient.

Nathan stood at the open door, saddlebags draped across his shoulder, his hat pulled back off his head.

"Keep trying to cool'im down, n' don't let'im drink...not at first," Jackson repeated himself again. "Ya make poultices like I showed ya . . .fer his feet. And use this mixture for the burns on his shoulders and stuff," the healer paused as if thinking of one last thing. He took a breath and sighed, a solemn expression tumbled over his features. "He might not make it." Jackson schooled himself for the possibility...the probability. " 'n iffen he doesn't, it ain't got nuthin' to do with what ya ladies did or didn't do. Ya understand me?" He held Mary and then Inez's gaze trying to make himself clear. The only blame, if the southerner should pass on, would lay on those who had done this to him.

It was too hot to keep a body unburied for long. Jackson clenched his jaw. He had every intention of being back here in town before Ezra ever opened his eyes. The rotten, no good gambler was gonna make it. Gonna make it even if Nathan had to beat the life back into him. 'Damn man, don't ever do what's good for him, just like the rest of the idiots he continued to ride with. Gawd, what am I doing with these six men? There had to be an easier way to deal with life!'

Mary and Inez both nodded. "You better go, Nathan." Mrs. Travis' voice softly reminded Nathan of the two men waiting for him. "We'll do our best."

"That's all ya can do, ma'am." Nathan gave the two ladies one last glance. He let his gaze linger on Standish stripped to his under things under a light sheet. With a shake of his head, Jackson disappeared out the doorway.

Mary and Inez stood planted, listening to the sharp staccato as boot heels skipped down the stairs, crossed the hard wood floors of the saloon and then disappeared under the noise of swinging bat wing doors.

The two women crossed to the window and watched the three regulators trot out of town. They only had an hour or two worth of daylight left. When the riders disappeared from sight, the two women turned and stared forlornly at the form under the sheet.

With twin sighs, they busied themselves for the task at hand. What would Chris and the others find out there?

God help them all.



"Don't worry, kid, ol' Chris'll be here in no time to save our bacon," Wilmington whispered, wishing he could lay a hand on JD's shoulder. Dunne curled tighter into himself, pressing his back into Buck's leg. The young Bostonian slept fitfully. His muscles shivered and twitched under imaginary blows.

"Ya think Ezra made it?" Tanner leaned back against the wagon wheel, resting his head against its iron rim.

"Had to 've." Buck watched the dancing, flexing flames of the campfire a few yards away. "Ain't no other way to think it." Dry wood snapped and popped, sparks twisted and floated into the air in vertical spirals.

"Salt Flats ain't forgiving. Even to a man with a canteen and good horse." Tanner avoided the firelight. He watched the sentry on duty. Damn fool kept glancing in the direction of the camp. 'Ain't never gonna see anything comin' at 'im from the dark. Jist as well....'

"Ezra knew what was laid on the table." Buck turned his head to face the tracker. Vin sat nestled in dark shadows. If it weren't for his voice Wilmington would never known he was there. Damn firelight ruined his night vision. "Ezra ain't gonna quit on us."

"Ain't sayin' he would...not if he had a choice." Tanner met Wilmington's steely gaze. He knew the Buck couldn't see him...not after watching the light.

"Damnit, Vin," Buck ground out. "Ezra ain't dead." His hissed words stung the night between them.

Tanner smiled and leaned back against the spoked wheel. "I know he ain't, Buck." The tracker turned his head and let a slow smile curl his lip. "Jist wanted to hear ya say it."

"Bastard."

"Yup." A Texas drawl-laced chuckle carried on the breeze.



Chris kicked dirt on the burning embers of their campfire. Josiah had the horses saddled and ready. Nathan packed the last of their gear away. The sun had yet to crest the horizon. The ground still carried the chill of a cold evening. Birds chirped and whooped in the early morning light. Like last night, no clouds marred the sky. No trees dotted the landscape.

Sage and sun seemed all they had to look forward to today.

Following Standish's tracks had been easy. The heavy plodding of shuffling feet on the main road out of Four Corners proved to be unchallenging. Last night, they had camped a mile off the road. Five miles from town. Chris pushed a punishing pace. They covered some ground.

The trail became more difficult with the increase of ground cover. Sage marred the area. The telltale marks of boots meandered haphazardly over hard earth. The lack of light, the fear of losing a twisting trail forced them to stop as stars dotted the sky.

This morning Larabee had led them over land. He leaned forward in his saddle, sometimes standing in his stirrups. The pace had slowed considerably.

Mid afternoon the threesome came to a covered wagon. A small team of mules stood to the side foraging for morsels to eat. The mules brayed a warning to their handler. A woman gazed up from a wooden bucket she was stooped over. In a flash of panic, she called out two names. A child no more than three and naive to the dangers of strangers, ignored his mother and continued to pile sand. The mother quickly crossed the distance to her son and scooped him up protectively. Though not a large woman, she gave the impression of a hellcat should one come between her and her baby.

A man stepped out from around the wagon brandishing a weapon. The long double barrel shot gun looked unsteady and gangly in his shaking hands. Worn suspenders held equally tattered pants. His frame seemed even slighter than his wife's, though he easily held the height of Nathan.

"Hello, in the camp. We come in peace." Josiah's voice rumbled across the distance. Its tone somehow managing to portray a tint of friendliness.

"Don't come no further." The voice shook nearly as much as the hands that fought to hold the shotgun steady.

"We don't mean ya no harm folks." Nathan lifted his hands from the reins of his horse and held them outward in a show of peace. The three regulators continued forward. "We're trying to track a friend of ours. Hopin' ya might've seen'im...."
Nathan let his voice taper off when he noticed the man's feet.

He wore only socks.

"What happened to your shoes?" Larabee had no compulsion with frivolity.

His inquiry was met with a wary gaze. The wife and son had disappeared from sight.

"We're the law in the next town over," Josiah informed the man quietly. He watched as the gun lowered slightly. It amazed the ex-preacher just how quick people listened and believed the words of strangers. Ezra and Maude's world did not seem so strange at times.

"Y'all the law?"

"Yes, sir, we are," Jackson answered again. "Now about 'em boots?"

"Jist couple of nights ago some dang fool run off with my boots and a shirt. My good Sunday meetin' shirt too." The shot gun barrel now pointed toward the ground. Nathan could almost hear Chris suck in his breath when the barrel rested in the dirt.

"That all? Any money or food or water?" Josiah rested his wrists lazily across the horn of his saddle.

"Nope, jist my boots and a shirt. Had some money tucked away right near the shirt but they left that."

Nathan leaned close to Chris and whispered, "Ezra wouldn't have been in his right mind....not bin 'imself."

Josiah heard the comment and chuckled.

"Y'all lookin' for the man who robbed us?"

"Reckon." Larabee reined his big black away from the wagon.

The man hitched a hip. "Snapped some buckles on the harness. Been stuck here for three days and nights. Can't git the team fixed up to move. . . ." The hint and plea hung heavy in the air.

"Head east for a day or so and you'll hit a town. Blacksmith there will fix ya right up." Josiah fell into step behind the other two horses.

The men tipped their hats. A few yards out they picked up a barefoot trail.

Josiah cursed.



"Come on, boys." A solid boot connected with Wilmington's lower thigh, just over the knife wound. Buck's eyes snapped open and he lunged for the offending body. The ropes that bound him to the wheel severely stunted his movement. Manacles bit his wrists.

"Oh, bit of a temper in ya yet." The dust-covered tormentor raised a leather baton to club his prisoner.

"Cletis, Tiny, enough of that shit." Samuel Rosenberg gathered up his gear. "They need to be able to walk and they can't be doin' that if ya bust 'em too bad."

Cletis stared at the ladies' man in warning. Buck met his gaze and then dropped it. It would not do anyone any good to get killed today. Fury hammered Buck's heart.

"Damn Texas Rangers ain't so tough after all," the captor sniggered as he began to saunter down the row. On second thought, he snapped his wrist back, slapping the baton squarely against Wilmington's face. Tiny laughed as he headed toward his boss and Digger. Cletis was determined to badger his victims.

Not that Tiny minded. Hear tell that Cletis' old man got hisself shot down durin' a bank robbery gone sour. And that the Wilmington fool shot the ol' man, right there in the street. Now, if one listened to Cletis' view of the facts, his old man were jist 'bout outta bullets and didn't kill no kids. Jist that one lady and bank teller but he asked for it or so Cletis tells it. And then that puff-chested Texas Ranger had shot 'im down. Ranger jist a kid 'imself at the time, not much older than Cletis hisself. Shot the old man right there on Main Street.

Tiny weren't gonna interfere if Cletis wanted to beat 'im silly. No way, no how. Cleat could be down right loony and ya don't mess with someone not in their right mind. Not if ya want to live to see ya next birthday and all.

The baton snapped Buck's head to the opposite shoulder, smacking his head on the wagon. The ladies' man caught his breath and folded into his shoulder instinctively. The stinging pain bolted through his head and cheek. He sat up slowly with measured breaths as the world spun by, as if it had been caught in a dust devil.

"Nope, ain't so tough at all." Cletis swung the baton in his hand as he headed for Tanner.

JD sat beside Buck. Dunne kept his mouth shut and his eyes downcast. His stomach burned and ached. And his head throbbed. His arms and shoulders were cramping and he could no longer feel his hands. Despair welled inside him. "You okay, Buck?" His voice sounded small and fragile, even to himself. He wondered how Buck and Vin could be so fearless.

"Fine, kid, just fine." Wilmington slid his gaze over JD. Dunne must be made of something stronger than the rest of them. Damn kid had more grit than Larabee.

Cletis squatted in front of Tanner, just out of striking range. "How's it feel to know yer gonna swing in Tascosa?" The leer on the man's face matched the words with biting intensity.

"Probably nothin' like what ya gonna feel when I lay yer throat open." Tanner's softly spoken words held no malice or anger. His captor created more space between himself and the bounty hunter.

With struggling bravado Cletis continued, "Ya gonna die, Tanner."

Vin smiled briefly, a flash really. "Yup,"

The large man stood up slapping his baton smartly in his hand, liking the sound of leather striking flesh.

"But not before you." Vin's words halted the baton's actions.

"Cletis, leave 'im alone and 'elp us git ready to move out." Rosenburg's voice shot harshly across the camp ignorant of the promise just uttered.

Cletis Downy backed away from the tracker.



Nathan wiped his brow again. His hat felt tight on his head. The sun seemed to bake right through it. He could feel the sun burn his skin even through his shirt. How did Ezra make it this far?

Josiah pushed the cork back onto his canteen. Between the three men they had six containers of water. The smaller watering holes had dried up long ago. It had not deterred Standish from weaving from empty water source to empty water source. Sanchez could not imagine the despondency he would have felt if he had continued to find dried up ponds and oases. Sanchez stared at the black shirt of the man in front of him.

Chris led them on, seemingly unconcerned or bothered by the oppressive heat. Sweat sucked his shirt close to his body. Dirt covered everything. The sunlight wavered off the ground in reflective pools preventing them from getting a look at the trail in the distance.

At one point, Larabee stopped. He gave no signal. Josiah and Nathan flanked him. Larabee merely nodded toward the ground. A small stained area of dirt protected by some dry grass and brittle weeds sat just off the trail.

"Looks like he mighta got sick here." Jackson did not bother getting down from his horse. The animals swiveled their ears forward and sideways trying to discourage the ever-present flies. Occasionally, out of frustration, a gelding would toss its head lazily. The shake of leather and whoosh of mane and forelock only temporarily deterred the insistent pests.

Chris nodded and gently clicked his mount to continue the painfully slow pace. Larabee's mind focused solely on the haphazard trail. Why had Ezra been separated from the others? Where were the others and were they still alive? Chris mentally shook the thoughts from his head. He would believe they were alive, otherwise there would be no point in being out here. If only they could have found some indicator that they were following the correct trail.

Josiah sat back in his saddle and closed his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun. He brushed at his forehead and paused. Two human silhouettes, leading horses, grabbed his attention. One horse apparently severely lame.

"Brothers?" He pointed to the figures just on the horizon.

Larabee nodded and headed off toward them.





Mary felt tears spring unbiddened to her eyes. She bit her lip and stole a deep breath. With the same tired action she wiped down the heated face and chest of the gambler. At first, he had lain still, unresponsive to her and Inez's administrations. In those times, she prayed for some sort of reaction, some show of life.

With tears threatening to cascade down lovely cheeks, she now wished for the tranquil times of before.

Muscle cramps and spasms sporadically attacked Standish. Calf muscles knotted, twisting curled toes and arched feet with torturous intensity. Stomach muscles bunched and strained on their own. Fingers curled into tight fists as forearm muscles contracted of their own volition.

Under their attempts to massage and soothe such muscle responses, groans escaped between the cracked dry lips of their patient. White teeth, seemingly forever tinted with the harsh hue of blood, bit and clenched the tongue and lining of cheeks. Occasionally, he gagged, coughing up blood and spittle as the swallowing reflex worked too sluggishly.

Alone now in the long shadows of early evening, Mary watched as Standish once again rode through the waves of cramping belly muscles.

She watched stricken, as fingers opened and curled, as if searching for comfort. Mary kept her hands clenched on her lap. Earlier during a fit of muscle cramps, the gambler nearly broke her hand as she tried to hold his in a gesture of comfort. Thank goodness Inez had come when she did.



Chris drew his gun, the hammer cocked back before the two men could even shout a "hello."

"Brother Chris?" Sanchez pulled up beside the dark gunslinger hoping to prevent the man from committing a grievous mistake out of anger.

"Look at the boots, Josiah." Nathan whispered from the corner of his mouth.

Sanchez swiveled his gaze and followed Jackson's eye. Well-made black leather boots with a squared toe adorned one of the travelers. Ezra's.

With a howl of rage, the ex-preacher dove from his horse and attacked the man before him. The drifter never stood a chance.

Larabee merely altered the direction of his aim and took the second man into his sights.

"Where'd ya git the boots?" Nathan kept his eyes on Josiah, though he directed his question to the man under Larabee's scrutiny.

"You best answer the man." Chris' voice seared the air drowning out the gagging, choking noises of the individual trapped within Josiah's hands. Larabee never deviated his attention. "Cuz killing you will be the easiest thing I do today."

"We traded fer 'em, 'onest."

"Traded who?" Nathan started feeling a little nervous as the neck snugly captured in Josiah's grip started to turn purple. He lifted his eyes to the hesitant man whom the question was directed toward. "Yer friend's running outta time." Jackson's simple observation seemed unnecessary.

"Jist some fancy man in a blue coat...jist a trade is all." Skittish brown eyes darted from regulator to regulator. They seemingly found an ally in the black man. "That's the truth, 'onest."

Larabee raised his gun taking aim unerringly at the man's forehead.

The man squatted down and covered his head with his arms. "All right, all right! It was Billy's fault, really!" Mousy eyes roved frantically from Nathan to Chris. "We done come across this fella jist outta the Salt Flats. . . ."

Nathan and Chris swore. Josiah hesitated in his endeavor, registered the words and continued with increased vigor, cinching the neck of his captive tighter.

"He wanted some water. Hell, I was jist gonna give it to 'im but Billy said he had to trade his boots for it." The Mouse, realizing he had a believing audience, relaxed his crouched stance. "The guy took a sip but then wanted another, so Billy said he had to trade his coat and shirt, cuz they was worth somethin'." The eyes darted to the ground at the last statement as a hand scrubbed at a whiskered chin.

Billy struggled with renewed effort and tried to shake his head 'No."

"Josiah, let him up for a bit." Nathan thought something was strange. Perhaps the one under Chris's line of sight told a variant version of the truth.

"That ain't it, no way in 'ell!" Billy croaked out. "Timmy wanted the guy's blue coat, said it would look better on 'im than on some dead guy."

"Dead guy?"

"He weren't dead at da time, but sure in 'ell weren't gonna make it much longer, not afta comin' outta there." Billy pointed off into the barren area known simply as the Salt Flats. It was said nothing could live in there. No birds or trees, no water for miles around. The army avoided it. It was said that even the Indians wouldn't venture close to it. It had been rumored that anything that ventured into the area never came back out.

The regulators knew all about rumor and stories. They all traveled around the Flats. Why take a chance?

"He say anything? Anyone with him at all?" Nathan leaned on his saddle horn trying to remain calm and less frightening. Josiah and Chris had intimidation button holed.

"Never 'ad the chance. Timmy there jist knocked him down and tried to wrestle the coat off 'im but his dang hands were tied. So Timmy jist cut the ropes off 'is hands and took his coat. When he laid eyes on that ruffled shirt, he took that too." Billy's matched Nathan's eye hoping to find someone to believe his story. "He said a corpse don't need no fancy clothes." Billy nodded his head vigorously. "That he did."

"I did not ya lyin' piece of filth!" Timmy made a move toward Billy. The slight shifting of Larabee's revolver halted him.

"Don't matter to me which one of you Chris kills, cuz I'll finish the other one off." Josiah tightened his grip on Billy's shirt.

Nathan dismounted his horse and began rummaging through the saddlebags of the two travelers. The shirt and coat sat near the top.

"Kill 'em both and let's git going." Jackson swung back into his saddle, carrying the pilfered items.

Pitiful groans and wails filled the area.



Mary and Inez struggled with the thrashing form on the bed.

"We need Nettie," Mary whispered desperately. Inez nodded sharply once and disappeared from the room.



Buck followed the wagon. 'Gawd, what he wouldn't give for a drink! What he wouldn't give up for just a drink!' A pony line secured him to the rear hatch. Wilmington's leg seared with fire with each foot placement. Blood still seeped from the wound. He could feel the flies landing and walking on the blood soaked pant leg. The ladies' man only hoped that the others found them before the maggots started in on the wound. He consciously made an effort to pull his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth. 'A sip of water...Gawd, he'd almost take up abstinence. . . .'

JD hobbled between Buck and Vin. Neither man offered the boy a guiding hand. Their tied hands prevented even suggested overtures of support. JD could not make sense of things to his left or right. His vision had been reduced to just the slits afforded to him by swollen eyelids. Not that it mattered; it seemed he could only focus on water. His pride and single-minded determination kept him from stumbling. With each step the others took, he matched them. What they could do, he could do. If they could take one more step then so could he. He hurt no more or no less than them. If Vin could trudge behind this wagon with busted ribs, if Buck could follow with a bum leg, then he too would take the other step. JD had something to prove to himself. He tried to slide his textured tongue over dust-filmed teeth to no avail. It stuck at the first premolar and refused to move. JD didn't have the energy or saliva to fight it. Gawd, he needed water.

Tanner kept his eyes forward. His ribs and head fired at him with an intensity he had not endured for quite some time. It was a sensation he did not welcome. With revenge in his heart, he gauged the men before him. He studied the one called Rosenberg. Cletis, Tiny, and Digger supplied nothing more than muscle and guns. The three, though brutal in every sense of the word, held only marginal thinking ability. Tanner knew to watch them. Even nature's simplest creatures had the instinct to survive. His eyes lingered on the canteens. He'd kill for just a drink.

Under the summer sun, in a relentless heat wave, the three captives wobbled and tripped behind the wagon.



Larabee wiped his brow. A dull headache pounded in the back of his head and originating from his neck.

Curled pieces of clay lay for as far as the eye could see. A carcass lay hollowed and picked clean of its organs. A dry, leathery hide sunk between ribs. Flies buzzed the empty eye sockets. A gaping mouth exposed unevenly worn teeth; the tongue long ago removed by scavengers. The cloven hoof gave only a slight indicator to the possible species. In the heat, the drone of feeding flies seemed incredibly loud.

The black gelding stepped with reduced vigor. White lather had long ago disappeared from beneath the chaffing reins. A sheen of gray dust coated the animal, dulling the once shiny onyx color.

'How the hell did Standish survive this? Gawd damn son of a bitch has been holdin' out on me.'

"He's a stubborn fool, that's for sure." Nathan seemingly read his thoughts. Jackson feared, however, that the gambler might still have succumbed to the effects of the dehydration and heat.

"Our brother must have a guardian angel." Sanchez patted the big sorrel's neck. The angels protecting the seven must work overtime. Or perhaps it had become something of a team effort, much like the seven themselves.

Chris smiled quietly to himself as he listened to the others.

In a few hours, they found themselves surrounded by nothing but clay and waves of heat. Pools of reflective light fooled the eye into believing it held water. Larabee sipped carefully from his water skin. The sun sat high in the sky. A white piercing source of heat.

Through the curtains of heat, the solitary tracks of one man suddenly became accompanied by a horse.

Chris clicked his black into a faster walk.



Nettie Wells sat at the foot of the bed. She had the sheet pulled back. Bloody torn feet and ankles had swelled and festered despite Mary and Inez's attempts to keep infection at bay. With a soft touch one would not think such callused hands could have possessed, Nettie wiped and cleaned the abrasions of old scabs and drying pus. Occasionally, Standish groaned weakly, pulling a foot back. A muscle spasm clenched the calf, forcing toes to curl. A moan of anguish rebounded around the room. The gambler curled, fighting a sensation he did not fully understand in his unconscious state.

Nettie merely rubbed the arch of the foot. With a skill born from experience, she wrapped the foot in a warm poultice. She repeated the process with the other foot.
Mary rolled the sheet back more to expose pale calves. Again the belly muscles clenched and knotted. Nettie wrapped a cloth around each leg. The poultices released heat. In a few seconds, the muscles relaxed.

Inez wiped a cool cloth over the gambler's features, avoiding the white creamed lips. She whispered softly in Spanish as his face skewered in response to the leg cramps. She shushed his groans with soft platitudes.

Nettie and Mary covered the legs and then pulled the blankets off the shoulders and midsection. It rested dangerously low on bony hips. Had they been under different circumstances, the indecency of such exposure would have been scandalous.

Miz Wells, Mrs. Travis, and Miss Rocillos cared little of such things at this time.

Serum oozed from the swollen skin. It crusted and covered the upper chest and shoulders in coarse, yellowish, crystallized droplets.

Nettie once again began bathing the burned tissue with cool water. Mary mimicked her motions from the opposite side.

Standish mumbled, calling out to JD.



Chris kept the horses at a trot. They had found the camp abandoned. Only a few hours of daylight remained. If they pushed they might be able to catch up with the others before morning.

A storm brewed just over the horizon.



Buck collapsed heavily on the ground beside JD. The kid no longer held his head up. The long black bangs hung over puffy eyes. Wilmington couldn't gather enough moisture to articulate words. He couldn't talk to JD to reassure him or even offer him comfort.

Wilmington gingerly stretched his legs out trying not to pull the caked wound open. It itched. He bounced his knee slightly to try and alleviate the crawling sensation. Something slid down his thigh and wiggled. Buck closed his eyes trying to shut out the image of milky white cigar forms of furling and unfurling maggots. He tried to replace their wave like motion with something more pleasant like Ms. Violets shining features. It didn't work. The maddening itch increased. He could almost hear the crisp but gentle hum as they ate dead flesh.

" 'Ey, Ranger man, ya restin' already? Ain't you Texas Rangers suppose to be tough and all?" Digger knelt down beside Wilmington running a knife blade in lazy circles over Wilmington's shirt. His foul breath washed over the small space. Flies landed and scurried across dirty stubbled cheeks, picking at flecks of a greasy lunch left clinging to whiskers. Digger swiped at his jawline with the back of his hand, dispersing the flies. "Texas Rangers suppose to be tough hombres. Not even the devil can beat them." Digger drew the blade quickly across Wilmington's chest slicing material and skin. Buck hissed in a breath and moved quickly away from the knife.

The skin blanched and split; a few seconds later, blood began to seep into the wound, slowly dripping down Wilmington's chest. Flies converged on the area.

"Leave 'im alone, you bastard." The vehemence in JD's voice turned heads.

"Oh, the pup thinks he has some teeth," Digger laughed. The chuckle died immediately as a hand lashed out, connecting solidly with JD's cheek.

The young sheriff's head whipped to the side and rebounded off the wagon.

"Your gonna die for that." Wilmington leaned close to the larger man's ear. "I'm gonna wring your neck like a Christmas goose."

Digger turned his attention from Dunne to Wilmington. Without warning, the captor shot out a jab, connecting solidly with Buck's cheek.

Vin sighed, leaning his head against the spoked wheel. "You best hope he wrings yer neck before I git to you." His dark blue eyes offered no false bravado, no grandiose posturing, just a simple observation.

Digger straightened up and backed from Wilmington. To hell with what Rosenburg ordered. They should just kill that Comanche lovin' Tanner and be done with him.

Sam Rosenburg lit a fire in the small pit he had dug. "Stay away from Tanner, Digger. He's goin' in alive." Rosenburg's deep tanned face split into a grin. "Swinging for him is the worse kind of death there is. Kind of fittin' seein' how he made my brother hang."

"Rope made that cur hang," Tanner bit out. He tested his bonds again. The shackles were once again tied to the spokes of the wagon wheel.

Sam sprang to his feet throwing a stick into the fire.

"Best watch it, Vin. Yella belly's gittin' the nerve to git all riled up." The mock whisper from Wilmington had JD chuckling.

"Heard Ezra say he didn't think Rosenburg had been walking upright very long. Something about knuckles still draggin' on the ground." JD's laugh sounded more like a dry hacking wheeze.

Buck wasn't sure what the kid was talking about and neither was Rosenburg.

Sam ignored the two others and knelt before Tanner. "You ain't so tough, Tanner."

"Untie me and see how tough I am."

"I ain't dumb."

"That's debatable." JD's hoarse attempt at a shout carried.

Wilmington furrowed his brow and stared at Dunne. Damn kid's been hangin' around Ezra too much -- got something to say about everything.

Rosenburg and Tanner stared at one another, daring the other to make a move. The air between them heated with foul breath.

"Ya a coward like that piss ant brother of yours, killin' unarmed folks."

Wilmington bit his tongue trying to fathom what Vin hoped to accomplish.

"You're gonna die, Tanner, hanging from a rope. Ya gonna swing and piss in yer pants before the world when that platform drops out from under ya. Ya gonna twitch and jerk and mess ya self and I'm gonna be there to see it."

Buck almost groaned when he saw the wiry smile twitch across Tanner's features. "Well it'd make up fer ya not bein' there for yer brother now won't it? Hell, he done messed hisself before they even put the damn hood on his face. Hell, Rosenburg, he'd already bin cryin' and beggin' fer mercy, passed out and everythin'," Tanner taunted with a knowing tone. "Hell, they had to pour water on him jist to git him ta stand up. Took two guys jist ta git the jellied kneed snake to stay upright."

Wilmington slowly shook his head. Of all the possible times, why did Vin choose now to get mouthy? Gawd damn Standish was a bad influence on everyone. The ladies' man vowed he was gonna have a talk with that back sassin', southern fool.

Rosenburg lost all composure. With a roar of blind rage, he threw himself at the tracker.

Buck struggled with his own bindings, as did JD.

Vin, however, did not lay quietly and take his punishment. His head, teeth and legs had become weapons. In the end, he sat slumped and beaten, blood running from his nose and mouth, his ears black and blue. Face cut and marred.

Rosenburg stepped back. His shirt lay open, blood and sweat rolled quickly down his flushed face. Vicious teeth marks gouged his cheeks and neck. He wrapped a protective arm around his ribs as he fought for breath.

"Yer gonna die, Tanner, but yer gonna watch yer friends go first."

"Like hell."

Thunder boomed in the distance. A slight breeze skimmed across the land pooling dirt and scattering flies. The light underside of brush and long grasses curved under the wind. Dark clouds rolled in on the heels of the setting sun.

All motion stopped when three more riders entered camp.

Rosenburg straightened up and unconsciously wiped blood and dust from his face.

The riders dismounted. Wind flapped vests and pulled at hat brims. None of the visitors seemed to care. "Who the hell is that?" The gray haired, tall gentleman pointed leather worn hands at Dunne.

"Jist some kid sheriff riding with Wilmington and Tanner," Rosenburg answered somewhat nervously. "Usin' him to keep those other two in line." Sam tried to add some confidence to his quaking tone.

The two men accompanying the gray haired man stared at Wilmington and Tanner. Their amused grins promised some form of punishment in the near future.

"Git this camp set up for the storm. Hank, Joe, I want you two to take care of the horses. Rosenburg, git your worthless men moving or I'll start cutting some of my expenses."

The gray haired man turned and focused his eyes on Tanner and Wilmington. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd ride with scum, Wilmington." The old man squared his shoulders and stood his full height. "Figured you'd hold true to the badge, but ridin' with the likes of this injun lovin' murderer -- beneath you, boy."

"You ain't ridin' so proud yerself." Buck's words held a tinge of disgust. "You weren't nuthin' but a badge with a price. Least the Rangers saw through you and dumped yer cheap ass before ya disgraced 'em too much."

"Ya shut the hell up, Wilmington. I'd jist kill ya here but my boss wants you for bait. Tanner here is my five hundred dollar bonus." Terry chuckled at the confused expressions. "Don't worry, Wilmington, after the storm we'll make sure Larabee can follow us. That is, once he figures out yer missin'." The ex-Ranger turned to leave but stopped. "Figure we'll have to leave him a telegram as to your new location'...since his lap dog's gonna be swingin' from a noose." Terry McQuinn chuckled as he headed toward the camp.

"Hey, Buck, you and Chris ever think about not pissing off everyone you meet?" JD asked paraphrasing one of Standish's earliest remarks.

Wilmington flashed the kid a baffled expression. Since when did JD start quoting Ezra? Damn, he really was gonna have to have a heart to heart talk with Standish. Damn man was a bad influence at the most inopportune times.

JD leaned against the wagon wheel and closed his already closed eyes. The simple relaxation of lids fighting to open against the swelling came as a relief. How could things go so wrong so fast?

"Buck, ya think Ezra made it?"

"No doubt, kid."

"How kin ya be so sure?" JD didn't bother swiveling his head to face his friend. The young man attempted to swallow but found his throat too dry. The sudden wind chilled him to the bone. He shivered slightly.

"Simple, kid. Ezra's part snake and snakes live in shit like this." Buck tried to lift his head from the side of the wagon but found the effort cost more than he had to give at the moment. There was a pause as wind stirred dirt and sand across the desert floor. He saw his explanation toppled short. "Cuz, JD, he had too. If we're gonna git out of this, he had to have made it. Got no other choice."

JD found solace in the words. Maybe the steadfast belief in the tone or the fact that it came from a serious Buck Wilmington. Dunne did not care about the reason, just that he believed the words.

JD's leg muscles quivered and ached. A chill seeped into his bones. It felt strange to be cold after being hot for so long. Maybe he picked up whatever Ezra had last week. His mom had had hallucinations just before she died. Gawd, it had been terrible. She would talk to her ma and pa, begging for forgiveness for gettin' in a family way. She had cried, pleadin' with them not to put her out. JD had sat by her side the whole time holding her hand and apologizing. Apologizin' to his ma for ever being born. He had never meant to cause her any pain. Right in the end though, she woke up and really saw him -- really and truly saw him. He had told her how sorry he was about her bein' kicked out of her home cuz of 'im. It had been the first time he ever seen his mom cry. Tears had streamed down gray sunken cheeks. JD never would forget when she had struggled to sit up and then pulled him to her and just hugged him. Hugged him for all she was worth. Said his bein' born was the best thing that ever happened to her and she had never regretted it...never, not one day.

Even now he could feel her skinny arms clasped tightly around him. He could feel her chin on his shoulder as she whispered into his ear just how much she loved him. Said she'd always watch over him no matter where he was. . . and then she had passed on. Her arms weakened and fell, a soulful breath released itself from a fragile chest and she slumped against him. JD had held her a long time after that, just rocking her, just like she had done for him when he was sick.

Then just last week, Ezra had looked and acted the same way as JD's ma right before she died. He saw bounty hunters, talked French -- or so Josiah said -- and played cards. His eyes were open but he wasn't seeing the others. Nathan said the fever had taken him somewhere else. Louisiana, from the sounds of it. It had scared JD, scared him something bad. Thought Ezra was gonna up and die like his ma. Especially after he had started calling out for his Da, had started shouting about a fire and smoke, and not being able to breathe. He had even started hacking and coughing, all the while hollering for his father. He didn't stop until Josiah sat on the side of the bed, scooped him up and just held him against his chest. Josiah had held Ezra up next to his shoulder and rocked him, telling him it was okay. That there wasn't a fire, tellin' him to calm down.

That was when JD left. JD left cuz he knew Ezra was gonna die, right then, jist like his ma. But he didn't die. Nope. Instead, he jist stared at flames no one else could see and told Josiah that the flames seemed alive. That they breathed and hunted. He had even stretched out a shaky pale hand trying to touch them, to test the heat of them. All the while talkin' real hushed like. 'Sept he weren't talkin' to Josiah. He was talkin' to his Da. Vin had said Ezra fell asleep leaning against Josiah, askin' why the flames hunted them on water. No one knew what Ezra was talkin' about and no one asked him when he came to his senses that next morning. No one even made mention of the hallucinations or the fire or Josiah being his Da for just one night. It'd embarrass poor ol' Ezra right back into his educated satiric self. Not that he weren't already back there. . . .

"Ya think Nathan's gonna be mad at us for not watchin' out for 'im better?"

"Yup."

"Thought so."

"We'll blame it on Vin," Buck offered. "Chris likes 'im best."

"Not if Ezra gits sick again and can't pull his shifts."

"True."

"Ya think we're gonna git out of this, Buck?" Fear tinged the voice that tried so hard to sound brave and unconcerned.

"Yup, odds are jist about even now." Buck's cocky smile lifted the ends of his mustache. "Ezra made it home, JD, and Chris and the others are close." Wilmington sat up and stared at the young sheriff.

"I hope so, Buck. Otherwise, we got a lotta work ahead of us." A grin nearly as cocky as Buck's spread on JD's reddened cheeks.

Vin closed his eyes against the fading light of day. They would escape tonight.





Night stretched across the land. The monochromatic dark gray of late twilight blurred the land. The boundary time between twilight and true night seemed to be the invisible time that everything held the same hue. Animal, beast and plant life carried the same shade of gray. Things black became deep holes in the environment. Whites stood out brilliantly but the rest slid into a blinding gray. Night encroached quickly from here.

Dark banks of thunderheads rolled toward them. Lightening streaked across the sky over distant mesas. Clouds turned a surreal pink with each jagged flash. Wind howled, sending night creatures for cover. A hawk rode the thermal currents swooping and spiraling, frolicking in the freedom.

Josiah put a restraining hand on Chris' upper arm.

Chris heeded Sanchez's silent request. The dark gunslinger rechecked his gun.

Nathan sat on the ground checking his knives.

Josiah flexed and unflexed his fists. He raised his face to the darkening sky and prayed for strength and speed.

Seven captors against six lawmen. The odds weren't favorable but Sanchez figured the outlaws should have known to bring more men to even the odds.



Ezra screamed for JD, desperately reaching to grab hold of something or someone. Nettie, Inez, and Mary pushed him back down.

He threw his head left and right, fighting enemies only his mind's eye could see. He struggled and fought. Again a howl of anguish escaped as he thrashed wildly, lost in nightmares.



Vin fumbled with the key he had taken from Rosenburg earlier. Numb, swollen fingers did not readily cooperate.

Tanner felt the ground shudder at the encroaching explosions of thunder.

The shackles slipped free. The tracker remained still, fighting the smile that desperately wanted to mock his captors.

Wilmington turned his head and stared at the tracker. JD had succumbed to feverish dreams. Buck knew tonight would be the night. People would die under the veil of this storm.



Chris slipped through the desert, nearly obsessed with retrieving his men and avenging the abuses that had befallen them.

Sanchez had melted into the night circumventing the area.

Nathan slid from the north, flanking Larabee's left and Sanchez's right.

The clouds above cracked with a deafening cacophony of thunder. Rain poured in sheets from the heavens.

Visibility quickly diminished in the thickness of a stormy night.



Tanner unpeeled the metal cuffs from his wrists. Rain splattered his head and body. Water cascaded down his face, stringing his hair to his scalp.

Buck nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand rested on his shoulder. Wilmington felt the key press into his palm. The ex-Texas Ranger never said a word.

"Hey, Vin, jist remember the kid 'n me are on yer side." Wilmington's half smile was met with a smirk and a wink.

Tanner disappeared into the night like a drop of water into a river.

Wilmington wrestled with his manacles. He jumped when a voice rumbled over his shoulder. "Which one left Ezra in the desert?" Josiah leaned so close that his breath warmed Buck's ear.

"Rosenburg, the one with Vin's teeth marks on his face." Wilmington continued to wrestle with the lock hoping the others saved one of the captors for him.



Lightening flashed. Sheets of rain beat the ground. Earthworms struggled and drowned in accumulating ground water. Thunder rolled in ominous warnings before cracking with bone chilling intensity. The sheer volume of sound seemed to vibrate through the earth.

Chris hesitated just beside the smoldering campfire. Josiah to his left, Nathan to his right. Both men lost in the thick veil of rain and smothering blackness.

Lightening split the night again. The roll of thunder gathering intensity before the staccato of flashes disappeared all together.

It was then that Larabee saw him. In that brief illuminating flash Larabee saw the tracker, as clear as midday.

Through the rain, under the hue of a lightening strike, Vin stood silent like a creature spawned from hideous nightmares, behind Cletis. The glint of finely worked steel sparked in the light.

As quick as the lightening flashed it dissipated. Thunder boomed, cracking the sky as if to split it in two.

Larabee cursed and prayed for the next bolt of light.

It came.

Tanner was gone. Cletis lay twisted on the ground his head nearly decapitated from under the jaw line.

Sweet Jesus.

A form tackled Larabee from behind. Chris tucked and rolled, springing to his feet. With a growl of relief, the leader of the Seven attacked his unseen assailant with vigor.



Nettie ducked the flaying arm like a seasoned boxer. With both hands, she pinned the outstretched elbow hoping to keep it still.

Mary struggled with the other arm.

Kerosene flames flickered and wavered with each cascading burst of thunder. Lightening cracked and hissed the air.

The fight in Ezra's room escalated.

With wild blood shot eyes, he struggled and fought demons from another time and place. With terror born of fever and bred of panic, he vainly strove against the forces attempting to subdue him.

Inez, Nettie and Mary - disheveled and scared - felt the twinges of fear and frustration.

"We need help." Mary knelt on the biceps area, keeping the flaying arm from tossing punches at Nettie.

"I saw Yosemite downstairs," Nettie ground out between clenched teeth.

"I'll get him." Inez put down the cup of herbal broth and ran from the room as another thunderhead shattered the night. She shut the door drowning out the hoarse cry of the southerner.



JD opened a bleary eye. He heard cannons. His face felt wet. Water dripped down his cheek, across his nose and into the dirt. Was he crying? Gawd, he hoped he had not succumbed enough to show such blatant weakness. He needed to be strong for Buck and Vin.

Dunne blinked water out of his eyes. More pelted his body. It was raining and night. The cannons transformed into banks of thunder. With each rattling boom, lightening split the sky.

With fevered eyes, Dunne thought he saw Josiah heave a man over his head. For a terribly brief moment, he though the preacher looked something like a crazed bear. 'Perhaps he was dreaming?' In one instant, Rosenburg had been suspended over Sanchez's head and the next, the lightening winked out under another frightful crack of thunder. Thick blackness collapsed over the area. JD couldn't see his own feet.

Rain cried from the heavens.

Lightening shocked the night again. The night sky became brilliant, almost like morning. Rosenburg lay broken and unblinking, his mouth gaped open in a silent scream. His back had a strange hitch in it. 'Maybe it wasn't a dream after all.'

JD couldn't find Josiah.

The lightening flashed off as thunder crashed overhead. The wagon rattled.

Nathan stood off to the left. Twin blades flew from his hands. Dunne watched mesmerized as they turned, handle over blade, across the camp and over the smoldering campfire to embed themselves into the dark silhouette of a body.

Darkness recaptured the land under the roar of thunder.

JD closed his eyes against the pain and burning in his body. He struggled weakly with his bound hands trying desperately to help. Buck and Vin had disappeared. Thunder boomed and the lightening strobed on and off too fast to make any sense. JD wiggled tiredly against his bonds.

Why he opened his eyes a second time the young sheriff would never recall. Feverish, hazel eyes tried to focus in a hazy dream world. Someone leaned over him. Someone with a knife. The foul breath foretold of one of their captors . . . Cletis? Tiny?

JD tried to move his hands. The old iron shackles merely dug deeper into the worn grooves of his wrists. He wanted to swing his legs up to buck off the person straddling him. Muscles quivered and strained.

The knife descended. Dunne couldn't see it in the claustrophobic darkness, but he knew it sliced its way toward his throat. Knew it with a certainty . . . .



To be continued. . . . in Part Two of "Fortitude"!



Heather F. would love to hear from you! Tell her what you thought of the ep or the season!