Chris had been right; supper was plain. Just the quail, a few of the hardtack biscuits Tanner always seemed to have in his saddlebags and coffee dosed with the whiskey Larabee always seemed to have in his. But, realizing the man was simply in no state to handle much liquor, Chris gave Vin's coffee only a light dosing and braced himself for the tracker's outraged protest. Instead, Vin never even seemed to notice, which troubled Larabee no end.

Hell, he never would've thought he'd miss Tanner's prickly temper!

But Vin registered only the presence of the whiskey, not the amount, and figured he knew why Chris had given it to him; likely it was for the same reason the man was determined to see him eat. Hell, likely it was for the same reason he'd come chasin' up here after him in the first place. Larabee felt bad about what had happened in general and what he'd done in particular, and was just tryin' to make amends.

And that would've been fine, except that no amount of liquored-up coffee or fresh-killed game could fix this.

He sighed heavily and set down his battered tin plate, unable to eat any more. He stared at the remaining portion of his quail for long, long moments, as if willing it to disappear on its own, then slowly lifted his head and fixed hollow eyes on the man seated across the small fire from him.

"Y'ain't gotta stay, y'know," he breathed, his voice a listless, lifeless rasp.

Chris pulled a portion of meat away from the bone, stuck it in his mouth and licked the juices from his thumb and forefinger, then arched a brow at the tracker. "Oh?"

Vin glanced up at the sky, gauged the position of the sun with experienced eyes, then looked back at the gunman. "Got a few hours a' daylight left yet," he pointed out. "Ya start now, likely you'll make it down 'fore dark. Gonna be a full moon tonight, give ya plenty a' light fer headin' back ta town."

Chris pulled another piece of meat loose, slid it into his mouth and chewed slowly, then swallowed. "You gonna tell me why I'm in such a hurry ta leave?"

Vin exhaled tiredly and shook his head, wondering why the man had to be so difficult. Or more difficult than usual. "Look around," he said at last, sweeping out an arm to take in their surroundings. "Ain't nothin' but rocks 'n dirt here, an' the ground's real hard. Ain't no cloud cover neither. Once the sun goes down, temperature's gonna drop like a rock. Could get mighty uncomfortable."

Chris cocked a brow at the tracker. "There some reason you're confusin' me with Ezra?"

Vin sighed sharply and scowled, shaking his head harder. "Damn it, Larabee," he spat harshly, "I'm jist tryin'-"

"I know what you're doin'," Chris interrupted calmly, his supper forgotten. "You're just tryin' ta give me a reason ta leave. Or an excuse. But," he shrugged negligently, "I'm not lookin' for one, so you can stop. I'm not leavin' here until you do."

Vin's scowl deepened as resentment twinged through him. "Don't need ya holdin' my hand," he protested in a low, hard voice. "I can take care a' m'self."

"Yeah." Chris swept appraising eyes slowly over the younger man, taking in the gray tinge of exhaustion in his face, the defeated slump of his shoulders and the meal he'd barely touched. Right now, Tanner looked as if it were all he could do to sit up. "I can see that."

But what Vin lacked just now in strength he made up for in sheer stubborn pride and managed somehow to sit up straighter and lift his chin with a weary defiance. "I'll be all right," he said harshly. "I been takin' care a' m'self fer a long time now."

"Yeah, ya have," Chris agreed easily. "But, see, here's the thing - you don't have ta take care of yourself anymore. Not when ya got others standin' by ta do it for ya when ya need it. Or at least ta help ya do it." His gaze softened and his voice gentled. "You're not alone anymore, Vin. And it's no sin or no crime ta let others help ya carry a load you been staggerin' under alone for too long."

Tears abruptly stung Tanner's eyes and he bowed his head to hide them, and the damning testimony they gave to his addled state, from his friend. "Don't matter none," he whispered, the words falling from him by long, tired habit. "Cain't nobody help me with this. Ain't no help fer this. It jist... is."

Chris wanted desperately to argue that point, but didn't see how he could. How could this be fixed? Vin hadn't just been accused of murder, he'd already been condemned for it, and the man who'd set him up for that fall, the only man who could prove it was a lie, was dead.

He'd seen to that himself.

"Ain't yer fault," Vin said tiredly, flatly, seeing the shadow darkening Larabee's face and knowing at once what thoughts it heralded. "Gotta quit whippin' yerself. What's done is done an' cain't be changed. What happened up on that roof..." He shrugged and sighed, then again ran his hand through his hair. "Hell, I reckon it was meant ta happen. Ya couldn'ta stopped it. Likely this was all set a long time ago, long b'fore I ever met ya. Back when I first stepped off the trail."

Chris frowned in confusion, still trying to understand what "trail" Vin had stepped off, and still failing. He knew if he couldn't come to some understanding, he'd never be able to help Tanner through this.

Whatever the hell "this" was.

"You're gonna have to help me out here, pard," he finally admitted. "I ain't a tracker and I ain't ever been much at readin' trails. I wanta understand what you're talkin' about, but right now it makes about as much sense ta me as one of Josiah's stories."

Vin sighed wearily and closed his eyes, not at all certain he could explain what he meant. It wasn't something he'd ever put into words, wasn't even something he'd put into thought. It was simply a truth that existed so deeply inside himself that it had become a part of him. It was bred into his bone, knitted into his sinews, was in every drop of blood that coursed through him and in every breath he took.

Hell, he might as well try to explain himself.

And if it had been anyone else sitting across from him he wouldn't have tried. But it was Chris Larabee sitting there, watching him, waiting; the man who'd never once asked more from him than he was prepared or able to give, the man who'd accepted him for exactly who and what he was from the first without ever asking for either an explanation or apology, the man who'd trusted him in a heartbeat when so many others had never even made the effort. They'd backed each other so many times, pulled each other's asses out of so many fires, shed blood and shared whiskey and sometimes, so many times, just simply sat and enjoyed the silence of a perfect understanding between two very imperfect men. Lord God, if anybody deserved an explanation it was Chris Larabee.

Vin just wasn't at all sure he could give him one.

But those green eyes were holding steady upon him and Chris was still waiting, patient as the man only ever seemed to be with him. Vin sighed again and scrubbed his hands over his face, then opened his eyes and raised his head, licking his lips as he tried to find words for what he'd lost. And how he'd lost it.

He was as surprised as Chris when the words came.

"I still dream about home, y'know?" His voice was soft, hoarse, his blue eyes wide and dark. He still sat slumped, his legs crossed, his forearms on his thighs, his hands dangling limp and still between them. "'S always the same when I do. I can see the cabin where I's born an' the big ol' live oak out behind it. That tree was made fer climbin', 'n I reckon I started tryin' 'bout as soon as I could walk. Whenever Ma or Gran'pa needed ta hunt me up fer somethin', they always knew ta start lookin' in that tree. They's both buried under it, along with my pa." A look of almost childlike wistfulness, of soul-deep longing, crossed his ashen, dirt-streaked face, and he swallowed hard against the painful knot growing in his throat. "I used ta go back there 'n visit 'em ever' chance I got. I'd kneel at their graves, put my hand in the dirt, and know that we was all one again. But I cain't go back now. Cain't ever go back again. I ain't seen a bluebonnet since I don't know when. I ain't knelt at my mama's grave... I'm losin' 'em, Chris," he rasped in torment, his eyes filled with unspeakable pain. "I done let myself get too far away."

Chris set his plate aside and reached for the whiskey, pouring himself another drink. He had no intention of getting drunk, knew Vin needed him far too much for that, but only wanted something to fortify himself. Yet even as he sipped, he felt a sharp pang of guilt.

Tanner was bleeding from countless unseen wounds, and he was the one seeking relief from the pain.

"Last time I seen the place," Vin went on, his gaze turned eastward but fixed on something only he could see, "it looked the way I always loved it best. Field out back that stretched on forever was covered in wildflowers. Lotsa paintbrush an' tickseed ever'where, others of ever' color you could imagine. Mostly though it was bluebonnets, stretchin' out like the sea itself, bendin' an' blowin' an' whisperin' in the breeze... Lord God, fer as far as I could see it was a livin', breathin' field of blue, almost exactly the color of my mama's eyes 'n the purtiest damn thing I ever seen." His voice broke and a tear slid down his cheek. He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaws, then bowed his head and shook it slowly as he fought for his composure.

Chris couldn't help himself. He had no idea how Vin would react, didn't even stop to think about it. Instead, he grabbed his cup and the bottle, rose to his feet and walked around the fire to Tanner's bedroll, then folded his long, lean frame onto the blankets at the younger man's side.

He'd told Vin he wasn't alone. This seemed as good a time as any to prove it.

He set his cup down and reached for Vin's, pouring more whiskey into it. This time, he didn't bother adding coffee. "Here," he said gently, holding out the cup. "Take this, but drink slow. I don't want you passin' out again."

Vin lifted his head and opened his eyes, staring at the offered cup. Only after long moments did he seem to realize what it was, then he took it with an unsteady hand. "Y'ever seen a field a' bluebonnets, Chris?" he asked.

Larabee shook his head slowly. "Don't think so. Not that I remember anyway."

Vin smiled slightly. "If you'd ever seen it, you'd remember. I mean, even jist growin' here an' there in clumps they're purty. But, Lord, when ya see a whole field of 'em it'll take yer breath away. So blue they're almost purple, with these little white caps... When the wind blows through a field of 'em, them white caps dance an' shine like waves breakin' on the ocean."

"You've seen the ocean?" Chris asked, strangely surprised by that fact. He suddenly realized how closely he'd come to associate Tanner with this land, with the deserts and mountains the man seemed to love so, and had simply never imagined him in any other setting.

Which he knew was ridiculous because Vin wasn't from here.

"Yeah, I been ta the Texas coast a couple'a times," Vin breathed. "It's a sight ta see, too! Makes ya feel awful small standin' there 'n lookin' out over all that water 'n knowin' y'ain't seein' but the bare beginnin' of it." He shrugged slightly, then sipped again from his whiskey. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully when he'd swallowed. "I reckon ever'body oughtta stand by the ocean at least once. Seems ta me it's important ta know there's bigger things in this world than us." He nodded once. "Kinda puts us in our place."

Chris chuckled in wry amusement. Only Tanner would take comfort in knowing there were things out there bigger than he was, forces out there stronger than he was. The man had a truly unique way of looking at the world and fitting himself into it.

"Reckon that's the problem," Vin sighed softly, staring down into his whiskey as he swirled it around in his cup. "I done lost sight of my place."

Chris squinted and chewed his lower lip, still grappling with Tanner's convoluted thoughts. He'd always known the seemingly uncomplicated tracker was a much deeper thinker than most folks gave him credit for, but, damn, he'd never realized that Vin was just a younger version of Josiah.

And Larabee was starting to wish he'd brought the preacher along.

"Thought your place was here, with us," he said slowly after a few moments.

"Naw, that ain't it," Vin breathed. Then, seeing the shock - and the hurt - that flooded his friend's face, he cursed his own lack of ability with words and added quickly, "I mean, that ain't what I meant. I... Hell," he exhaled sharply in frustration, setting his cup down beside one knee and again running his hands over his face. "This ain't comin' out at all like it should!"

"Just talk to me, Vin," Chris urged gently. "Just tell me what's goin' on and we'll figure it out together."

"Could be more'n ya bargained fer," Vin warned, studying the gunman warily. "Still ain't too late fer ya ta ride outta here, y'know."

Chris smiled slightly at him, meeting that uncertain blue gaze steadily. "Yeah, it is," he said softly. "It's been too late for that for a long time now."

Vin exhaled unsteadily, and was surprised to recognize the feeling rising through him as relief. Hell, it wasn't as if he'd been hoping Chris would say that! He was used to folks not sticking around, especially when leaving would be easier; he expected it of them. As he'd said before, he'd been taking care of himself for a long time now, and mostly because there'd never been anyone else around to do it. It had always been that way and he'd just accepted that it would always be that way. Had never imagined it would or even could be any other way. He just wasn't that big a fool.

Or hadn't been, until now.

"I appreciate that more'n ya know," he breathed, feeling something hard and painful unknot within him. "Got so used ta seein' the backside of folks as they rode away, I reckon I jist come t' expect it."

Chris gave him a slight, wry smile. "Yeah, well, I ain't ever been real good at doin' what's expected of me. Figured you'd know that by now."

Vin winced and looked away, stung by those words. This was, after all, the man who'd come after him when they'd all thought Yates was a real federal marshall. What in the hell had made him think Larabee would leave now?

"Reckon I ain't thinkin' real straight. Hell," he sighed tiredly, bowing his head and running a hand through his hair, "reckon I ain't been thinkin' straight fer a while now. Been twisted up fer so long..." He lifted his head and stared into the distance, squinting as if to make out something there. "Always used ta be able ta see things clear, y'know?" he drawled softly. "Was always real sure of where I's goin', what I's s'posed ta do when I got there, never got lost along the way." He swallowed hard. "Could always see the trail so plain..." He dropped his head again and closed his eyes, aching at the thought of all he'd lost. "Then I lost it," he whispered hoarsely, "'n I ain't sure I'll ever git it back."

Chris studied his friend for long, long moments, still not at all sure what the younger man meant but hurting for him nonetheless. Of them all, Vin had always seemed the surest of himself, seemed to have found his peace and his place when the rest of them were still searching for theirs. Chris had often envied that certainty, had often leaned upon it when his own was in ruins. It had never once occurred to him that it might be every bit as fragile as his own.

Or that Vin might be just as lost as the rest of them.

He dragged his gaze from Tanner and fixed it on the distant horizon, narrowing his eyes in thought. "I know this fella," he said quietly. "Tracker. Hell, probably the best tracker I've ever seen. Man could follow a flea through a sandstorm. Sees things ever'body else misses. Most amazin' damn thing I've ever seen. Man's a two-legged bloodhound."

Vin raised his head and opened his eyes, turning them on Larabee and staring at the man in bewildered attention. Chris wasn't like so many others who talked just to hear their own voices, didn't use fancy words like Ezra, didn't tell complicated stories like Josiah. When the man had something to say, he just said it. And it usually paid to listen.

Chris reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a packet of cheroots and a small box of lucifers. He drew out a cigar and put it between his lips, then replaced the pack. Next he drew out a lucifer and struck it, lighting the cigar with one hand while putting the box back into his pocket with the other. All the while Vin watched him, noting the sure and effortless ease with which the gunman's hands worked.

Lord, how he wished he could take some of that sureness and ease into himself right now...

Larabee puffed on the cheroot until the end glowed red, then shook out the lucifer and tossed it into the fire. He took a long drag, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, then exhaled slowly, releasing it in a long stream. This was an old habit, a personal ritual used for gathering his thoughts. He knew it often irritated others, made them impatient. But he'd known two people in his life who understood it and would wait for however long he made them. One slept in the ground now; the other sat beside him.

And would still be sitting there when the rocks around him turned to dust.

Chris exhaled another cloud of smoke, squinting into the distance. "One thing I've learned from this tracker fella," he said at last, his words as unhurried as his previous movements had been, "is that when ya lose a trail, best way ta find it again is ta go back ta where ya lost it and look over the ground again. See what ya missed that first time." He puffed on the cheroot and nodded slightly. "Seen him do it often enough ta know it works."

"'At's jist it, though," Vin breathed. "I don't know where I lost it. Seems like I jist woke up one mornin' 'n it was gone. 'N I been lost ever since."

"You think goin' back ta Texas would help ya find it?" Chris asked softly, afraid that Tanner was considering that very thing.

Vin sighed and rose slowly, tiredly to his feet, walking away from the fire with heavy steps. When he stopped, he turned his back to Chris and stood like a man braced against some unspeakable pain, his shoulders hunched and tight, his arms folded protectively across his middle, his feet set wide as if to keep him from falling. His whole body was rigid, but he held his head high in defiance of that pain as he stared into the east.

Toward Texas.

"Cain't go back," he rasped brokenly, the whole weight and depth of his suffering in his rough voice. "Cain't ever go back home again."

Chris bowed his head with a groan as the pain in those words tore through him. God, why hadn't any of them seen this before? They'd all assumed that Vin drifted because he was free to, and had never once realized it was because he'd been ripped away from his roots.

"I'm sorry, pard," he said softly, raising his head with an effort. "I never thought about that. Never thought a place would mean so much ta you."

"Ain't jist a 'place,'" Vin sighed, still staring toward the east. "It's more'n that. It's somethin' inside me, somethin'... Hell, I don't know," he groaned, turning away abruptly, unable any longer to stand the pain of looking at something, for something, he knew he'd never have again. "Ain't sure I can put words ta what I feel-"

"Try," Chris urged gently. "There's no hurry. I got nowhere else ta be."

Vin stared at him for long moments more, reading the truth of those words in the gunman's green eyes. Chris Larabee, who wasn't normally a man to wait when there was something he wanted, was prepared to wait until the mountains themselves fell down for this. For him. The realization sent tendrils of warmth and gratitude curling through him.

Then his mouth twisted into a grimace and he looked away as guilt stung him. Yates and what was left of Eli Joe's bunch were still back in the jail and, with him and Chris both gone, the others would be stretched thin between watching the prisoners and the town. Larabee had knowingly left them shorthanded to see to him...

"Boys'll wonder where ya are," he said softly. "Wonder why y'ain't where ya should be-"

"I doubt that," Chris said with a small smile, remembering Buck waving to him and Josiah lifting his hand in something very like a benediction as he'd raced out of town. "They know I'm exactly where I should be."

Vin looked sharply back at Larabee, startled by the words. The past few days had brought so many revelations to him, given him glimpses of so many truths he'd never realized until his last and most desperate hope had been snatched from him that he still couldn't take it all in. For not a single moment of the past few days had he been alone, whether in that jail cell, in Eli Joe's clutches or chasing after the bastard. Even when he'd not known it, someone had always been watching over him, working to free him...

He remembered Chris sitting so calmly on the other side of the bars as he'd paced that hated cell and felt like he might explode at any moment; thought of Mary burning up every telegraph wire between here and Texas in a frantic search for someone, anyone, to take his side; again saw JD stepping into that street, armed with a rifle and his unyielding sense of right; and felt again his shock as he'd stepped outside the hardware store and found six men ready to put aside their lives and concerns to scour every inch of God's earth until they'd found ol' Eli and dragged him back to set things right...

Lord God, when had this happened? How had this happened? He'd gone most of his life without ever having anything he could really put his hands to, had precious little he could show for his years spent on this earth. And Lord knew he hadn't mattered to anybody in so long he'd forgotten what it was like. He'd gotten used to slipping around and among folks like a shadow, never more than something they glimpsed from the corner of their eyes, making no impression when he arrived, leaving no hole when he left. Leaving no tracks upon the earth for anyone to follow.

Not even himself.

Now, though...

He looked again at Chris and knew all that had changed. Larabee had come up here after him, had followed him... because he'd left tracks to follow. Tracks in the earth...

And tracks in Larabee's life. And in the lives of the others. Tracks deep enough to lead JD out into that street, tracks deep enough to draw Ezra out of the ruins of his own shattered dream in an effort to keep a friend's last hope from falling into similar ruin. Tracks deep enough to lead them all to his side...

God, Lord God, when had he stopped bein' a ghost and become someone that mattered so much to so many?

Chris sat and watched in silence as Tanner moved slowly back to the fire and folded himself stiffly once more onto his blankets, the pain from Yates's beating chasing across his face and sounding in the muffled groan that escaped him as he settled. Anger at what all had been done to Vin again flared within him but he tamped it back and willed himself to remain relaxed. Saying nothing, he sipped from his whiskey and puffed on his cheroot, content to let the younger man puzzle out in his own time whatever was stirring around inside his head. Something had spurred the tracker's mind into a gallop, Larabee could see it in the darkening of the wide blue eyes now fixed so sharply upon him. It was the same look Tanner got when he suddenly found a trail that had eluded him before.

Maybe this time he'd finally picked up his own trail.

Vin stared long and hard at Chris, watched the man replace the cigar between his lips after a drink from his cup, and was suddenly thrown back in time. All at once, he was stepping out again onto a boardwalk with a borrowed rifle in his hand, unable any longer to stomach the thought of letting an innocent man hang without firing so much as a shot in his defense. He wouldn't abandon another to the horror that haunted his own dreams. Yet even as he decided that he'd be acting alone, and would likely die for it, he looked up and across that street and was startled - hell, staggered - by the gaze fixed so intently on him, a gaze as piercing as any bullet and that seemed to sear straight through to the deepest part of himself. Those eyes looked at him, into him, took his measure in one instant and drew him out of the shadows and into the sun in the next. He'd grown so used to folks looking past him, around him, over him, that he'd forgotten what it was like to have somebody look at him...

And see him...

He'd stepped out into that street wanting to know exactly what the stranger had seen. Now, after all this time, he still wasn't rightly sure what those penetrating green eyes had uncovered in him, but reason told him it had to be something right and true. Else Chris wouldn't have stayed by his side after they'd gotten Nathan free. Wouldn't have risked taking on a U.S. marshall for him. Wouldn't have killed the man who was his last chance at clearing his name...

Unless he believed, truly believed, that, good name or no, Vin Tanner was worth far more alive than dead and would risk everything to keep him that way. Unless what Chris had seen in him across that street so long ago and every day since made him believe that.

Vin frowned and stared harder at the silent gunman, brows drawn tightly together. Now more than ever he had to know...

"Jist what is it ya see when ya look at me?" he asked softly, the question pulled from him by his need.

Once again, Chris was startled by words that seemed to come from nowhere and that he'd never expected to hear from this man. Vin had never given a plug nickel for what others thought of him. He was who he was and goddamn the rest of the world.

Except...

Chris looked closer at the young man staring so intently at him, saw uncertainty and confusion in eyes where those things so rarely shone, and sighed heavily and shook his head slowly as understanding dawned. Hell, just now Vin didn't know who he was, had lost that sense along with everything else that had been torn from him lately. And the man who'd never needed anybody for anything suddenly needed Larabee to help him get it back.

All at once Chris wished he'd had time to put a second bullet into Eli Joe.

He tossed the remnant of his cigar into the fire, then raised his cup to his lips and drained the rest of his whiskey in a single swallow. All the while, he felt the weight of those bewildered blue eyes upon him and wondered what in the hell he'd ever done to make Vin think he could give him what he needed.

He really wished he'd brought Josiah!

"What I see," he began at last, his voice quiet, his steady gaze locked with Vin's, "is a man who's tired, who's hurtin', who's had ta fight more battles than he should and who's lost more than his fair share of 'em. Lost more than his fair share of everything. Hell," he breathed, seeing the lines of exhaustion and pain etched so deeply into the tracker's haggard face, "I see a man who should be young but who's already older than sometimes I think I'll ever be."

"Feel old," Vin sighed, dropping his gaze and bowing his head. "Feel older'n the hills. And tired... Lord God, I cain't remember the last time I felt this tired! I ache inside from it."

"I know," Chris murmured, his own gaze drifting to the distant horizon. "You've had so much taken from ya, and you've been workin' so hard, fightin' so hard, to hold on ta what's left. Been runnin' so long ya forgot what it's like ta rest..." He grimaced deeply and shook his head slowly. "It's a helluva life."

"It's the only one I got, though," Vin rasped, the words coming with a weary resignation that hurt Chris to hear. "Thought I'd made m' peace with it..." He winced and swallowed hard against the aching knot in his throat and shook his head slowly. "Reckon I ain't, though," he whispered roughly, closing his eyes. "Musta lost it somewheres along the way, too."

"Or maybe havin' Eli Joe so close again just reminded you of what all you've lost," Chris suggested quietly, knowing only too well how it felt to have such wounds re-opened. "What all he took from ya." He hesitated a few moments, not really wanting to give voice to his thoughts, but knowing he owed them to Vin. If he was gonna keep prodding Tanner to open up, then he'd have to do some of that himself. "I know... when Blackfox surfaced..." The words caught in his throat and he had to clear it, had to brace himself for the pain that would come with them. Damn, maybe he understood Vin better than he'd thought... "I knew I couldn't get... them... back..." He clenched his jaws hard and stared up at the sky with stinging eyes.

"'S all right, Chris," Vin breathed as he saw the pain again sweeping through the man. "Y'ain't gotta do this." Not quite sure of himself, he reached out and laid a tentative hand on his friend's tight shoulder. "I think I know what yer tryin' ta say. Blackfox brought it all back. Even got yer hopes up that mebbe ya'd finally find out what happened. Then Fowler tore 'em all apart again."

"Yeah," Chris whispered hoarsely, bowing his head and closing his eyes tightly.

Vin nodded once and dropped his hand. "Jist goes ta show," he said in a tired, flat tone, "hope's a dangerous thing. Ain't worth the trouble it causes."

"No!" Chris countered sharply, lifting his head abruptly and shooting a fiery gaze at Vin. "No, that's not what I'm sayin'! Jesus, Vin-" He stared hard at the startled tracker, seeing plainly the confusion written in his face, and exhaled heavily, desperately wishing Josiah were here. The man was so much better at this than he was!

But Josiah wasn't here. And Vin was depending on him.

He bowed his head and raked a hand through his hair. He had to be so careful here! Vin simply wasn't up to seeing things with his usual clarity, was exhausted and hurting and had sunk as far into despair as Chris had ever seen him. He was hanging by a frail and fraying thread, and one wrong word from the man he trusted above all others would snap that thread completely.

Maybe he wasn't good at this. But for Vin's sake, he'd have to get good.

He returned his gaze to Tanner's, stared intently into those faded, bewildered blue eyes and said in a low, firm voice, "I still have hope, Vin. Fowler didn't take that away from me. I still have hope that one day, one day, I'll find out exactly what happened to Sarah and Adam and why. I have to," he declared in a voice harsh and thick with emotion; with conviction. "I swore on their graves that I would, and I will not let the likes of Cletus Fowler make a liar of me to my family!"

"But-"

"And you," he went on ruthlessly, brushing aside Vin's weak interruption as if it didn't exist, "cannot let the likes of Eli Joe make a liar outta you to your ma and grandpa!"

Vin stiffened and gasped as if he'd been hit, his eyes widening, his face going paler still. "What-"

"Tell me," Chris nearly spat, leaning forward abruptly and catching Vin's arm in a hard grip, his green eyes aflame with certainty, "tell me you didn't stand over their graves and swear to make this right! Tell me you didn't do that!"

Vin's mouth opened as if he'd deny it, but the words didn't come. Couldn't come, because they would've been a lie. He'd done that very thing...

"H... how did ya... know that?" he stammered weakly.

Chris sighed and released Vin, his intensity fading, his face gentling. "Because I know you, Tanner," he said softly. "I know what that name means to you. Hell," he breathed, watching the countless emotions flooding those unguarded, almost childlike eyes, "it's just about all of them you have left. I just can't see you leavin' Texas without promisin' them that you'd undo the damage done to the name they left in your hands."

A single tear slid down Vin's pale and dirty cheek as he stared at Chris. "I n... I never meant no harm ta come to it," he rasped brokenly. "I swear-"

"I know," Chris assured him, again reaching out to take his arm, but this time much more gently. "And they know. None of this is your fault, Vin!" he insisted quietly. "You didn't do anything!"

"Then how come... how come I feel... like I let 'em down?"

Chris exhaled slowly and squeezed his friend's arm lightly. "For the same reason I feel like I let Sarah and Adam down," he said softly. "Because we can't always see everything as it's happening, because we can't always know what our decisions will lead to. I decided to spend one more night in Mexico with Buck. You decided to go after Eli Joe. They seemed like easy choices at the time, not all that important. But we just... never know."

"So what do I do now?" Vin whispered, certain there had to be more behind all that had happened than one single, unimportant choice.

Chris shrugged and let his hand fall. "The same thing any of the rest of us do," he said quietly. "You go on. One step at a time, one day at a time. Fix what you can and leave the rest."

"But how do I fix this?" Vin asked roughly, eyes pleading for an answer.

Chris had none to give him. "I don't know," he admitted sadly. "I don't know that we can." He saw Vin's whole body sag and again reached out to take his arm before he fell forward. "Listen to me," he ordered with a quiet urgency, staring at Tanner until the exhausted blue eyes slewed slowly around to him. "I can't promise that we'll ever get your name cleared. But I can promise that we'll never stop trying. And we will never, ever, let anyone take you back to Texas, you hear me? We will not let you hang!"

Vin wanted to refuse that offer, that promise, knew he probably should. If true lawmen ever did come for him, there'd be nothing that anyone could do to stop them, short of getting themselves either killed or in a whole heap of trouble. And he sure as hell didn't want that for any of these men; not on his behalf.

He should make Chris take back that promise, should tell him how crazy it was, how stupid...

Except that he couldn't, because he'd never heard anything that had ever meant more to him in his life.

"Reckon mebbe I'll stop dreamin' about it now?" he breathed, sagging heavily in Larabee's firm grip, his words slurring as exhaustion washed through him.

"What?" Chris asked, moving closer to Vin and pulling the man more securely against him. Jesus, why didn't Tanner just let go and pass out?

But sheer cussed stubbornness had kept Vin alive more than once, and it kept him now from sinking into the sleep his exhausted body so craved. The man had ever been dogged when on a trail, and he seemed determined to follow this one to its very end.

"That damn rope," he whispered unsteadily, shuddering hard as he felt its weight dropping around his neck once more, its rough fibers scratching against his skin. "Been hauntin' me fer so long, like a damn shadow I cain't get out from under..." He shuddered again and absently raised a hand to his throat, even now able to feel it drawing tight. "Sometimes I swear I c'n jist see it from the corner of my eye, hangin' there, waitin' fer me-"

"It's not gonna get ya, Vin," Chris assured him, his voice soft but determined. "Not while I've got breath in my body."

Once again Vin was tempted to argue, and raised his head to do so. Then his vision swam, shifted, and for a few dizzy moments he saw before him not Chris Larabee, but the fierce golden eagle from his dreams. Lightning flashed in the glittering eyes and thunder seemed to rumble from the hailstone markings on the dark breast. The power of a desert summer storm swept over him, searing against his skin, but then great, dark wings opened above him, offering shelter and safety from the storm.

Vin groaned and slumped into that shelter, the last vestige of his stubborn strength deserting him. The dark wings closed immediately about him, catching him, but in the instant before unconsciousness claimed him he felt not sharp eagle talons lowering him against his blankets, but the gentle hands of a friend.

He sank without struggle into the darkness under the watchful gaze of lightning-bright eyes. And this time, no shadow of the noose came to haunt his dreams.

=======

He drifted slowly upward through the darkness, not yet ready to leave the safe embrace of sleep but unable to resist the tug of wakefulness at his mind and body. The bright glare of sunlight was too intrusive, the aroma of coffee too insistent. He tried clutching sleep more closely about him, but, like grains of sand, the harder he closed his hands around it, the more quickly it slipped through his fingers.

But wakefulness did not necessarily bring awareness with it, and a confusion of memories and sensations twisted and knotted in his sleep-fogged mind. Pain. It thrummed through him now, steady and insistent, seeming to center at his back and radiating outward. He shifted slightly beneath his blankets and had to bite back the groan that rose from deep within him. With the hard wrench at his muscles came a flash of memory... the jail... Yates... a fight...

Then Eli Joe's leering face loomed before him, an evil grin twisting at the man's lips, and panic surged hot and heavy through him as a rope dropped about his neck.

"NO!" The harsh cry tore from him as he sat up abruptly and clawed frantically at his throat. "Ya cain't-"

"Vin!"

Strong hands gripped his arms, held them firmly, but he fought against them. Fear raged within him, the rope drew tight, cut off his breath, and his racing heart threatened to explode through his chest. He cried out again and struggled wildly against the arms imprisoning him as cold terror raked through his soul. "No, don't! Eli, no!"

"Ssh, Vin, it's all right, it's all right!"

Powerful arms snaked around him but no harm came to him, and a familiar voice poured out a litany of reassurances to him. He went rigid and ceased his struggles, a wild creature caught in a snare, but still no hurt befell him.

"It's all right, Vin," the voice soothed, low and gentle. "You're safe now. I promise, pard, you're safe!"

Safe. The word went through him with an unexpected warmth and force, tearing a ragged gasp from him. He shuddered hard and then slumped heavily into the arms restraining him. Protecting him. Sheltering him from harm.

"Yeah, Vin, it's me," Larabee sighed in relief as his name issued from the tracker in a breathless whisper. "I gotcha, pard. It's all right. You're safe now. I gotcha."

Vin dropped his head onto a broad shoulder and shuddered again. "Eli," he gasped. "He..." He swallowed hard as memory returned in full. A body hit the ground and he flinched. "He's dead," he breathed, "ain't he?"

Chris winced and lifted his gaze to they sky. "Yeah."

Vin swallowed again, then slowly lifted his head from Chris's shoulder. His face was pale and lined with exhaustion, his eyes rimmed by circles as dark as bruises. "Then I reckon he cain't do me no more harm."

Chris jerked his gaze back to Vin's; that wasn't at all what he'd expected. "What?"

Vin pulled slowly away from Chris and crossed his legs, then ran a shaking hand through his hair, his fingers snagging on the tangles. "He never woulda stopped huntin' me," he rasped. "He was too scared... Weren't enough, settin' me up fer murder. He wouldn'ta stopped 'til I was dead at his feet."

Chris frowned, not quite understanding. "Vin-"

"'S all right, Chris," Vin assured him, blue eyes filled with the first, faint glimmer of a peace that had been completely lacking yesterday. "Ya done what ya had ta. Ain't what either of us wanted, but..." He shrugged one shoulder resignedly. "I reckon we both know we cain't always have what we want."

Chris stared at Vin, studied him, and saw that he was not just saying the words, but actually believed them. "If there had been any other way-"

"I know that," Vin interrupted softly. "I do. But ol' Eli weren't a feller ta leave a man any choices. He was like a rabid dawg. Only way ta save yerself is ta put him down." His mouth twisted in a grimace and he hung his head. "I's jist foolin' m'self ta think any differ'nt. Even if we'da took him alive, we'da never got him back ta Texas that way. And we sure as hell wouldn'ta got him ta tell the truth. Bastard woulda gone t' his grave spoutin' lies." He shrugged again. "'S all he knew."

Chris sat back and exhaled slowly, watching Vin intently. The tracker was still exhausted, still in pain, but at least he didn't look as lost as he had yesterday. Or as defeated.

"So what now?" he asked carefully.

Vin gave a soft chuff of laughter and shook his head. "Hell if I know!" He looked at Chris and his wry smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. "But I reckon I'll have help figgerin' that out now, won't I?"

Chris's mouth twitched and humor glinted in his eyes. "More than you'll probably want," he quipped.

But Vin shook his head. "Don't think so," he murmured. "Fact is, I... I reckon I need all the help I c'n get with this." He swallowed hard and ducked his head to hide the emotion crowding so close to the surface. "I been alone a long time," he said softly, almost inaudibly. "Hell, prob'ly too long. Done forgot..." His throat closed abruptly and his voice broke. He closed his eyes tightly and took several moments to compose himself, then lifted his head with an effort and fixed dark, uncertain blue eyes on Larabee's face. "I'm sorry I run out like I done. I jist... I couldn't..." Words failed him and he dropped his gaze to his blankets. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Reckon I wasn't thinkin' too clear."

Chris nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Vin. "It's all right," he said quietly. "Kinda hard ta think straight when your life gets torn ta pieces."

"Yeah," Vin breathed with weary resignation. "But ya think I'd be used ta that by now." The aroma that had awakened him was growing steadily stronger and he raised his head, licking his lips. "Reckon I could get some coffee? Figure it oughtta cut through the mud in my head."

Chris chuckled quietly. "I'll take that as a compliment." He arched a brow. "You got any ideas for breakfast?"

"Should be some beans in one a' my saddlebags," Vin said. "Likely some jerky an' mebbe more biscuits, too. I try ta keep 'em stocked." At Larabee's questioning look, he gave a wry smile and explained, "'Tween huntin' bounties an' then bein' one, I've kinda learnt ta keep m' bags packed. Never know when I'll have ta light outta somewheres in a hurry." He shrugged. "Might's well have food when I go."

Chris's stomach clenched at those words, at their flat matter-of-factness. He'd always known that Vin could be ready for a sudden ride faster than any of them. He'd just never imagined it was because the man was constantly prepared for his own immediate getaway. He rose to his feet and moved to the fire, poured two cups of coffee and brought them back to the tracker's blankets. As he handed one cup to Vin, he couldn't help but wonder why the man wasn't crazy by now.

His own loss three years ago had damn near killed him. How the hell had Tanner survived a lifetime of that?

Vin cradled the cup in his hands but didn't drink from it yet, content just to feel its warmth. As Chris settled himself at the foot of the blankets, he glanced at the man and said softly, "Ain't thanked ya fer yesterday."

Chris frowned thoughtfully. "Didn't do anything ta be thanked for."

A faint smile pulled at one corner of Vin's mouth as he stared down into his coffee. "Yeah, ya did. More'n ya know." He looked up then and glanced about their rocky surroundings. "Ain't many folks who'da come all the way up here after me."

"Yeah, well," Chris snorted, "when you're feelin' better, believe me, we're gonna have a talk about where you choose ta go ta ground."

"Ya didn't have ta come," Vin insisted softly, seriously.

Chris sighed. "Yeah, I did. There wasn't any way I was gonna let you go chasin' all over creation in the shape you were in." He directed a sharp gaze to his friend. "And it wasn't like you didn't leave a trail a blind man could've followed."

Vin grimaced at the rebuke in Larabee's voice. "Reckon I weren't in the best shape," he rasped. "But I jist..." He lifted his gaze back to Chris, figuring Larabee was the one man who surely could understand. "Bastard'd took everything from me, y'know? Jist like he had a right ta do it. But..." He cocked his head to one side and stared uncertainly at Larabee. "Ain't nobody got that right, do they?"

"No, Vin," Chris said softly, saddened that the man should have to ask such a question, "nobody's got the right ta do that. Not ta you, not ta me, not ta anybody."

Vin nodded and swallowed, dropping his gaze once more to his coffee. "Didn't think so. Didn't seem right. But," he sighed tiredly, "there's been s' many who's done it..." He shrugged. "Reckon I's startin' ta feel like folks jist had a natural right ta whatever piece a' me they wanted." He gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Not that there's a whole lot left ta take anymore."

Chris studied the young man before him intently, remembered the many times Tanner had stood with him when it would have been so much easier, and so much smarter, to leave, how many times the tracker had set aside his own wants and needs for the sake of a town whose folk had scorned him more than once. He remembered Orin Travis once asking him what he believed in, remembered so many times he'd asked it of himself. But as far as he knew, no one had ever had to ask that of Vin.

"Oh," he mused at last, "I think there's more left than you know." He lifted a blond brow and gave Vin a slight smile. "I wouldn't come chasin' up these damn rocks for somebody I didn't consider worth the effort. Or the price of the new shoes I'm gonna have ta buy Pony."

Vin heard the concern, the friendship, behind the teasing and his eyes warmed. "Well," he breathed, "reckon I'll spring fer the shoes. I owe ya that much at least."

Chris's teasing manner faded and he shook his head. "Don't owe me a thing, Vin," he said quietly. "I don't believe in countin' costs when it comes ta helpin' a friend."

Vin's eyes widened as Larabee's words struck true. He'd gotten so used to thinking of himself as "a bounty," a man whose worth had been precisely calculated down to the last dollar, that he'd forgotten how to think any other way; forgotten that others could think any other way. Had forgotten that others might not attach a price to him at all.

Strange, how much that meant...

As Vin raised the cup to his mouth and drank from it, Chris watched him carefully, noting the subtle but still visible shaking of his hands and the pronounced list of his body to one side. Tanner's back was a chronic source of discomfort to him; the beating he'd suffered couldn't have done it any good at all.

"You gonna be up ta headin' back ta town today?" he asked, half-hoping the tracker would say no. He knew the others were worried and would want to see Vin as soon as possible, but figured Tanner needed rest more than they needed reassurance.

Vin sipped from his coffee and considered Larabee's question, plagued by a deep uncertainty. Not about his ability to make the trip back; hell, he'd ridden further in much worse shape than this. What ate at him was the thought of the townfolk, of what they might think, what they might say, what he might see written in their eyes. Before all this, he'd suspected that a few of them might know he was wanted. Now... Hell, now there couldn't possibly be anybody who didn't know the truth.

Or at least Eli Joe's twisted version of the truth...

He looked around at the camp Chris had made, sorely tempted to stay. He was safe here, he knew that. More important, he was comfortable here. With the sky above him, the good, solid earth beneath him and the sun and light breeze chasing the shadows from his mind and soul, he was perfectly at home. He knew this butte as few others did, knew all the hidden ways up and down its formidable height, knew where caves honey-combed into its depths, knew even where water could be found. Hell, he could stay here forever...

And hide...

Except that he was goddamned sick and tired of hiding.

"I wanta go on back," he rasped, fixing his tired and pleading gaze on Larabee's startled face. "Mebbe rest up fer a while first, eat somethin', but..." He sighed heavily then, a sound of utter exhaustion wrung from his soul. "I jist wanta go home."

=======

Chris watched Vin without seeming to as the tracker disposed of the remains of their breakfast, which had included a rabbit Larabee had snared. Tanner had eaten, more than the few bites he'd choked down last night but still not nearly enough to ease the worry niggling at the gunman's anxious mind. He'd also cleaned up some, using water from a canteen and one of his ever-present bandannas to wash at least the top layer of grime from his face and upper body, had changed clothes and even managed to drag a comb through the snarled mop of his hair.

At least he'd look like a more presentable version of death warmed over...

But fresh clothes couldn't conceal the damage done to the body beneath, not when the tracker's movements held none of their customary fluid, flowing ease but were slow, stiff and painful just to watch. Chris found himself gritting his teeth each time Vin had to bend, felt himself straining with the man each time Tanner struggled back to his feet. The tracker made no sound, but Chris knew how he had to feel; he'd had more than a few run-ins with rifle butts himself, knew how deeply they could bruise. He also knew that unless something were done, there'd be no way in hell that Vin could make the ride down from the butte. The treacherous trail would be difficult enough for even the most skilled rider at the best of times; but for a man who could barely bring himself to move...

They really needed to talk about Tanner's penchant for rocky perches.

Vin returned to his blankets and went slowly to his knees, pain creasing his face deeply as he did. That look sealed it for Chris. Praying that just this once the stubborn tracker would cooperate, he rose from the boulder on which he'd been sitting and started toward his friend.

"Leave it," he called quietly as Tanner started rolling up his bedding.

Vin looked up and frowned in confusion at the approaching gunman. "Need ta get this stuff all t'gether an' packed," he said. "Sooner we leave here, sooner we'll be back in town."

"Ain't leavin' just yet," Chris countered, reaching Vin and dropping down to squat before him. "Gotta get you taken care of first. Gonna need that liniment you carry in there," he said, jerking his chin toward Tanner's saddlebags.

Vin narrowed his eyes slightly, a guarded look coming over his face. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me," he said quietly.

Chris regarded the tracker with a knowing patience. He'd expected this, would've been shocked if Vin had admitted to hurting. "You been walkin' around like an old man with rheumatism," he pointed out evenly. "You're not gonna be doin' yourself any favors ridin' down from here so stiff and sore ya can't sit a horse right. And you for damn sure won't be doin' Peso any."

Vin dropped his gaze from Chris's as the man's words struck home. Truth was he'd been dreading the ride down. His back ached like a sonuvabitch, and just the thought of all the ways he'd have to move to keep Peso under control and properly balanced sent sent fresh twinges of pain through him. If he didn't need to keep his head clear, he would've asked Larabee for some of his whiskey.

Surrendering to the inevitable, he ducked his head and nodded. "Reckon yer right," he finally allowed, his soft voice just reaching Larabee's ears. "But, damn, I hate it!"

Chris knew how hard it was, how very nearly impossible it was, for Vin to admit to needing help, how it scoured against the tracker's ingrained sense of self-sufficiency. And how, just now, it must make the man feel more vulnerable, more stripped of everything.

Another piece of him taken away...

He smiled sympathetically and reached out to clasp the tracker's shoulder in a firm grip. "I know. And I'm sorry. But if we don't do this now-"

"I know," Vin sighed. He lifted resigned eyes back to Larabee and gave a small, forced smile. "Hell, ain't no tellin' what mischief Peso'll get inta on the way down," he joked, knowing the mountain-bred gelding could be trusted to behave himself perfectly on such a trail. "Think he's pissed at me 'cause I didn't bring him no apple pieces."

Chris chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, he was lookin' awful sulky when I watered him and Pony."

Vin frowned sharply. "Didn't bite ya, did he?"

Chris arched a brow coolly. "Didn't hear a gunshot, did ya?"

Vin scowled deeply in disgust. "Goddamn uppity gunfighter," he grumbled. "Thinks he's got the right ta go 'round shootin' other fellers' horses."

"That ain't a horse, Tanner, and you know it," Larabee scoffed. "He's a damn hoofed and hide-wearin' rattlesnake." He was relieved to see the tracker's prickly humor returning, but recognized it for what it was. Like some mythic warrior suiting up for battle, Tanner was pulling on his protective armor, carefully shielding himself so that, when they returned to town, no one would see just how much damage Eli Joe had done him.

"Yer jist sayin' that 'cause yer jealous," Vin retorted.

"Oh, yeah," Chris snorted. "I lie awake nights wonderin' how I can get a man-eater like that for myself. Now," he aimed a pointed stare at Tanner, "take off your gunbelt, get your shirt up and let's do this. I don't aim ta spend one minute longer than I have to up here with the birds and the bugs."

Vin's lips twitched in an insolent grin as his long fingers worked to remove the heavy belt. "Gittin' soft in yer old age?" he taunted in his raspy drawl.

Chris heaved a martyred sigh and bowed his head. "Next time," he groaned, "I'm sendin' Josiah. You two can drive each other crazy and just leave me out of it."

Vin stripped off the belt and laid it aside, then pushed the wide leather suspenders from his shoulders and began tugging his shirts from the waistband of his pants. "Didn't nobody ask ya ta come," he pointed out. He stretched out and lay stomach-down on his blankets, then pulled his shirts up to expose his darkly bruised back. "Me 'n the birds an' the bugs was doin' jist fine on our own."

Chris remembered the shattered man he'd found yesterday, and stared down at the man who was only marginally better today. "Yeah," he muttered, leaning over and opening the flap of a saddlebag, "you were doin' great. Didn't need any help at all." He pulled out a small jar and twisted off the lid. "I coulda just stayed home."

"Yeah," Vin breathed softly, his armor slipping from him as strong but gentle hands descended upon his aching back. "All the same, though, I'm glad ya didn't."

=======

The ride down was long, slow and difficult, undertaken with far more care and attention than the ride up had been for either man. As was his habit in such situations, Chris kept Pony behind Peso and simply followed Vin's lead with complete and unquestioning trust in the abilities of the tracker and his hell-spawned horse to get them all safely to ground. At times he would have sworn they weren't following any trail at all, were riding over ground he'd never seen before, but his faith in Vin never wavered.

Deep in the bedrock of his soul, he knew with unshakable certainty that it was simply impossible for Vin Tanner to lose his way.

Vin sensed that absolute trust and had to wonder at it. Lord, what had he ever done to make Larabee believe so completely in him when the man believed in so little else? How could Chris bear to place his faith in a tracker who'd gotten himself so terribly lost?

How could he, time and again, put his life in the hands of a man who'd made such a goddamn mess of his own?

Made almost angry by Larabee's foolishness, he spurred Peso to a faster pace, getting some distance between his mountain-wise horse and the more cautious Pony. As he rounded a bend in the trail, however, he drew up sharply and rapped out a foul curse.

Rocks from a fall lay across the trail, blocking it completely.

"Shit!" he spat, glaring bitterly at the obstruction.

"Well, hell," Chris said more calmly as he drew up rein beside the seething tracker. He leaned forward in the saddle, crossing his arms at the wrists upon the horn, and glanced at Tanner. "Now what?"

Vin exhaled sharply and dismounted angrily, striding forward to the pile of rocks. He set his hands on his hips and studied the obstacle for long moments, then loosed another obscenity and kicked furiously at it. Behind him, Chris winced and averted his gaze, knowing that had to wrench painfully at the man's bruised back.

"Goddamn it!" he snarled, turning back to Larabee, his blue eyes burning under the wide brim of his hat. "Ain't no way around it! Sonuvabitch wasn't here last time I came this way!"

Chris turned his gaze back to his friend and frowned. "This isn't the same way we came up?"

Vin sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "'Course not! This way's easier. 'Least," his lips thinned in a tight scowl, "it was 'til them rocks changed that!"

Chris allowed himself a small breath of relief. He wasn't completely blind, then; he really hadn't seen this ground before. "All right," he said quietly, his calm acceptance of the situation a marked contrast to Vin's fury, "whatta we do now?"

Vin looked around, then up at the sky, and swore again. "Might's well rest fer a while," he rasped impatiently. "Give the horses a breather, let 'em graze." He swept his eyes over the rocky ground and the craggy side of the butte. "There's scrub enough, I reckon, long as they ain't too picky."

Chris nodded and slid down from Pony's back, giving the gelding's sweaty neck a pat. He dropped the reins and loosened the saddle girth a few notches, then removed his canteen and walked over to the slight but welcome shade provided by an overhanging shelf of rock. With a sigh of relief, he sank to the ground, leaned against the wall of rock at his back and unstoppered the canteen. Vin remained where he stood, still visibly fuming. Chris shrugged and took a deep drink of water.

At last, with another growled curse, Vin returned to Peso and loosened his girth, then took his canteen and left the horse to graze. He stalked over to Chris and dropped with a heavy gust of breath to the ground at the man's side, his face as hard and grim as the rock around them.

"Wanta tell me why you're so pissed?" Chris asked quietly. "We're not stuck up here, are we?"

"Hell, no!" Vin snapped. "There's two or three other ways down."

Chris arched a brow, thought a moment, then took another drink. When he had swallowed, he wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and turned his steady gaze back to Vin. "Then what's wrong?"

Vin jerked the stopper out of his canteen and took a drink, swishing the water around inside his dry mouth and then turning aside to spit it out. "This is the way I wanted ta go." He took another drink, swallowed it. "I'm sick a' trails not leadin' me where I need ta go!"

Chris puzzled over that a few moments, trying to remember just which trail had frustrated Tanner before. Then he recalled the tracker's scattered, disjointed ramblings from last night, and understanding hit him with a near-painful jolt.

Shit.

He took another slow drink, thinking all the while. When he lowered the canteen, he asked quietly, "Tell me again why we're stopped here?"

Vin shot him a look as if he'd gone insane. "Y' wanta look over there?" he drawled hoarsely, pointing toward the obstruction. "Them things layin' over the trail is called 'rocks,' an' they're sorta blockin' our way."

Chris turned his head and looked, studying the sight for long moments. At last he nodded and turned back to Vin. "Happens a lot with trails, doesn't it?" he asked thoughtfully. "They get blocked, washed out, sometimes just go where we can't follow. Sometimes happens without us even knowin' about it."

Vin regarded him warily from beneath deeply furrowed brows. "Yeah," he answered grudgingly.

"So I guess bein' a tracker, even bein' a good tracker, don't always mean you can follow every trail. I mean," he shrugged lazily, "some of 'em just can't be followed."

Vin licked his lips slowly, still staring at Chris. He had no idea what the man was talking about, but was pretty damn certain it wasn't about that trail buried under those rocks. "I reckon," he allowed uncertainly.

Chris nodded, fell silent a moment, then frowned in puzzlement. "So, whatta you do when your trail gets blocked? Or disappears?"

Vin exhaled fiercely and shook his head. "Ya find another way," he said with exaggerated patience.

"But not always the way you wanta go?" Chris prompted. "Not always the way you think you're supposed to go?

Vin swallowed hard, now certain that Larabee wasn't talking about this trail. "N... not always," he rasped softly, his eyes riveted to the gunman's face.

Chris stretched his long legs out before him and crossed them at the ankles, then stared idly down at his dusty boots. He could feel Vin's gaze boring into him, knew he had the tracker's rapt attention, and prayed he could make his point.

"And sometimes," he continued in that same quiet, conversational voice, "followin' this new trail takes you ways that the old one wouldn't. Takes you in directions you weren't ready to take, maybe didn't wanta take. But you can't turn around and go back to the other one, because you know it doesn't go anywhere. So you just have to keep followin' this new one, makin' the best outta whatever it gives you, and hopin' that it'll get you where you need to go, right?"

Vin's eyes widened and grew dark as understanding slowly dawned upon him. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell Chris that it hadn't been that way with him...

Except that he knew it had. Time and again he'd thought, been certain, he knew where he was going, only to have some obstacle he couldn't cross block his way, forcing him in another direction entirely.

He'd thought he'd grow up, grow old and die on that farm in Texas. Instead, his family had died, the farm had been taken from him, and he'd been passed around like dry goods from one family to another until he'd had enough and run away.

He'd thought he'd be a buffalo hunter forever, following the endless herds as they blackened the earth. But the herds had ended, and now their bleached bones littered the earth.

He'd settled on being a bounty hunter, keeping body and soul together using the only true talents he had. Then Jess Kincaid's body had fallen across his path...

One way after another taken from him, denied him, closed to him. And each time he was forced to turn and travel in another direction, one he hadn't foreseen and didn't know. But all the while, all the lost, hopeless while, he kept trying, kept turning, kept following on the chance, on just the bare, slim chance that maybe, maybe one of those twisted, unfamiliar trails might just lead him...

He sucked in a breath sharply, his eyes going impossibly wide, his soul going impossibly still. Stunned even past the point of breathing, he stared at Chris in open-mouthed wonder and saw his answer written in the gunman's face.

"It worked, Vin," Chris said softly, leaning forward and gripping Tanner's shoulder hard. "You didn't lose the trail, it just changed. You followed it, and it brought you to us. You hear me, Vin?" he asked in a low, intense voice, his long fingers digging into the tracker's flesh. "It brought you to us. Doesn't matter how you got here. All that matters is that you followed that trail, and it got you exactly where you needed to go."

Vin stared into the green eyes locked on his, remembered another day, that first day, when he'd done exactly the same, and understood now why even then those eyes had pulled so strongly at him.

In that moment, he'd stopped being lost. The twisted, broken trail had led him home.

=======

They rode into town just as the sun began to set, both coated head to toe in dust, tired to the center of their bones and in desperate need of a meal, a bottle and a bath in precisely that order. Chris couldn't remember the last time he'd been so glad to see the ugly little no-account place he'd come to think of as home; hell, it was probably the last time he'd had to go haring off after Tanner.

Why the hell couldn't the man be like the rest of them and seek refuge in a saloon?

Vin's relief to be back, however, was mixed with a deep sense of unease. The secret that could cost him his life was out, and his fate now lay in more hands than he could count. He knew of a lot of folks around here to whom five hundred dollars would come as the answer to a lifetime of prayers. What he didn't know was how many of them would care if it came stained with his blood.

Nor did he know how the townfolk would take the fact that one of the men charged with keeping them safe was wanted for murder. He know folks had been put off back when Travis had first hired the seven by his rough manners and rugged appearance, remembered how they'd eyed him as chickens would the wolf taken on to guard them. But over time that had changed as people had gotten used to him and his ways, as they'd learned to look past his coarse exterior and see the man beneath. He realized now how much he'd come to prize their acceptance, how much he'd come to appreciate the smiles, friendly words and firm handshakes that greeted his walks through town, and how much it would hurt to go back to being seen as the threat lurking in their midst.

Lord, what had ever made him think he could do this?

Even as sudden panic took hold of him and his hands tightened instinctively on the reins, a dark shape edged closer from his left and green eyes slanted to him from beneath the black brim of a hat.

"Just settle down," Chris urged in a low and steady voice, easily reading the thoughts and fears chasing wildly across the tracker's usually stoic face. "I ain't chasin' ya all over hell's back yard again. Besides," a faint, thin smile tugged at his mouth, "nobody around here wants or needs five hundred dollars bad enough ta go through me ta get it. Or," the smile widened, "through them."

As if on command, five other regulators appeared on the boardwalk or stepped into the street - JD emerging from the jail, Ezra from the saloon, Josiah and Nathan from Watson's Hardware, and Buck from Mrs. Potter's - to converge on gunman and tracker in a brilliant ring of broad smiles. Vin was startled by how fiercely the worry and the welcome in five pairs of eyes swept through him, by how deeply the hands reaching to grasp whatever part of him they could reach touched him.

And by how quickly those eyes and hands chased away any last urge to run.

Too overcome to speak, he simply bowed his head and offered a small, shy smile and a less than steady hand to each of his friends in turn, a deep blush staining his high cheekbones as he basked in their warmth.

Reckon it was time he stopped runnin' after all.

=======

The dream wasn't always the same.

He was standing in the light, the sun bright golden and hot overhead, its warmth pouring over him in living waves and banishing forever the shadows that for so long had haunted him. And that for so long he had haunted. The wind, itself warm and alive, swept over him, danced around him, moved through and sang to him its age-old invitation. Unable to resist, feeling all darkness and weight falling from him, he raised his face to the sun, lifted his arms to the wind...

And began to fly.

Higher and higher he soared aloft, like one who'd never forgotten how. His heart surged in his chest, the sharp, fierce cry tore from him, and he was streaking through the shining canopy of the sky, powerful wings pumping without effort or strain.

Oh, Lord God, how he'd missed this! How he'd feared he'd lost it forever!

How he'd feared he'd lost himself...

Upward and still upward he shot, racing toward the heart of the sun. Then with another cry he abruptly leveled off and, fitting great wings into warm currents, began merely to glide in lazy, joyous circles. His heart throbbed in his breast and his blood pumped hard and hot as the exhilaration of pure freedom shot through him.

He'd stepped out of the shadows and broken the shackles that had bound him to the earth.

That earth now turned below him in a vast expanse of muted browns and grays and greens. Mountains thrust upward in jagged peaks while valleys dropped away in deep hollows. Here and there, rivers flashed bright silver in the sun, their music rising to him. The stark beauty of this land filled him, moved him, called out to and echoed in the wildness within him.

He loved this land, he knew that now. He had learned its secrets, its rhythms, knew its beauty and its treachery as he knew those things in himself. It had worn into his skin and he had watered it with his blood. It was home, but, so much more than that, he and it were becoming one.

He'd wandered here lost, and here had found himself again.

He wheeled again and saw below him now the little town where that finding had begun. And for the first time ever he saw in all its clarity the trail that had led him there. Lord, no wonder he'd thought he'd lost it! Like a huge, tortured serpent it twisted and coiled and crossed and re-crossed itself, nowhere near straight, portions of it hidden and parts of it completely blocked.

Some of those obstructions had been thrown before him; others, he knew, he'd put there himself. Wrong choices, bad decisions, times when he'd denied what was truest in himself. Times when he'd looked for his way with eyes too dimmed by weariness to see, too clouded with fear and bitterness to trust, times when he'd been too caught up in and too bowed down by the day-to-day struggle of just walking his path ever to lift up his head and see it!

But he could see it now and, fascinated, he pumped his wings and flew back over it, amazed that he'd been able to keep to it as well as he had. And even as he wondered what had guided him, he heard voices whispering in the wind, then felt them whispering in his heart, and knew they were what had kept him true. The further east he flew, the stronger the voices grew until he heard them as clear as he ever had.

The longing rose up sharp within him all at once and he gave in to it, shooting across the sky to the place that still beckoned so strongly to him. Home. He knew it was foolish, knew what he risked by returning there, but he couldn't help himself. Faster and faster he flew toward it until the brown earth beneath him gave way to a brilliant field of bluebonnets. Wave upon wave of the white-tipped flowers rippled and danced in the sun like the waters of an inland sea. Then, like an island in that sea, he saw it, the dark and quiet cabin and the graves just beyond, beneath the live oak tree.

The first and for so long the only one he'd ever known, the place that had given him what he needed to walk straight along a crooked trail. Realizing yet again just how long he'd been gone from here, and just how far away he'd wandered, he flew almost desperately toward the graves, knowing such moments as this might never come again.

Even as he descended toward them, though, he felt a rush of the old, instinctive fear and looked around anxiously for any sight of those who would keep him from this place. Those who would seize upon him and hang him if they knew he was here-

He heard it then, the wild, fierce cry, and looked up to see the powerful golden eagle with hailstone markings circling just above him. A feeling of safety, of security, swept over him as great, dark wings opened above him, and, as the last of his fear drained from him, he dropped his wings and settled gently upon the earth that bound him to all who'd come before. And for this little while, protected by the eagle above, he lay down between the graves, set a hand on each...

And let his weary body and soul find rest in his field of blue.