Someone Else's Son  - III

PART 18:

"Ezra!"  Josiah shouted as he struggled with Miguel.  Garcia came up fighting.

"Get off me!"  Miguel yelled, swinging one meaty fist into his father's jaw.  Josiah fell back, stunned.  He hardly had time to raise his hands in defense as Garcia came at him again.

"Miguel!"  Josiah deflected an ill-directed blow as his son tried to pummel him.  "Miguel!  We've got to get to them!"

But the young man seemed beyond hearing.  Between his drunkenness and his panic, he'd lost all reason.  "Let me be, old man!"  Miguel shouted, trying to place another punch before Josiah threw himself into the fight as well.

"Your son!"  Josiah tried to reason as he swung at the man.  "We've got to help him!"

Miguel reeled from the blow, but came back.  He stumbled again, too inebriated to make sense of anything, intent on quelling Sanchez.

There was no time to mess around.  Damn him! Josiah slammed a fist into Miguel's stomach and then up forcefully against the side of his head.  Garcia made a move to catch his balance, but he staggered as his knees gave out and went down like a sack of manure.

Josiah stood gasping by the riverside, staring at his unconscious son, and then he spun toward the river.

Kerstin was halfway down the bank, wringing her hands and crying, "Where is he?  Where?  Where is he?  Per!  PER!"

Josiah's heart thudded in his chest as he stared out at the rushing water. There was no sight of either the child or Ezra.  Kerstin's wailing voice filled the air, crying, "Pelle!  Pelle!  My baby!  My baby!"

Damn, damn, damn!  Josiah thought as he stepped his way along the top of the bank.  Where were they?  He hurried along the bank, searching for any sign.  Please!

He ran -- he didn't know for how long.  He followed the river, searching it for any sign.  Suddenly a new sound reached him, another cry was competing with the mother who followed close behind him.  Josiah ran toward it, his gaze finally fastening on a tree that had fallen into the river, its long branches spreading out into the flow, and there, caught in the tree – two heads appeared above the water's surface.

Thank God!

Sanchez stumbled and tumbled down the steep bank, with Kerstin close behind him.  "Per!  Per!"  Her shrieking voice filled the air, accompanied by the wail of the child.

"Ezra!"  Josiah shouted, and the gambler turned his head toward him, as the water rushed around him.  The look of relief on Ezra's face almost made Josiah cry.  He clung by one hand to the branches of the dead tree, the other was tightly fastened around the boy.  Per grasped onto Ezra for all he was worth.

When Kerstin was able to see the situation clearly, her voice seemed to reach new levels of hysteria.  She grabbed onto Josiah's arm and would have pulled him over if she'd been any larger.  "Herregud! Rädda honom!" she demanded.

Josiah didn't understand the words, but he knew the intent.  I'll save him!"  Josiah pledged -- both of them.  "Ezra!" he shouted again.  "You holdin' out okay?"

The soaked southerner glanced up at the arm that held them in the tree. "Holding tight, Mr. Sanchez," he replied evenly, raising his voice to be heard above the rushing water.

"Gonna get you!  Just hang on."

"Hurry," Ezra responded.

Josiah waded out into the water, hanging onto the tree and trying to get to where Ezra was trapped with Per, but the water was deep and fast, and the maze of branches made it impossible to reach them.  He tried to swim, but the current pushed him back against the branches.

He gave up trying to move through the water and climbed onto the log. It dipped dangerously, dunking Ezra and Per under the water.  Josiah's heart lurched as the two disappeared beneath the surface.  Ezra came up sputtering with Per screaming even louder.

"Ezra!  I'm sorry!"  He started to climb down.

"Keep coming!" Ezra demanded.  "Don't stop!  I can't hold on much longer!  Hurry!"

Josiah edged his way along the length of the tree.  Each inch seemed to force the upper part of the tree farther under the surface.  Ezra kept finding a new hold, with Per nearly strangling him.

"Hang on, Ezra.  I'm almost there!"  Josiah continued to move as quickly as he dared along the log.  Kerstin's lament was a constant backdrop to the situation, accompanied by Per's screeching.

"Please, Josiah," Ezra called.  "Hurry!" He shivered, his face almost white with the cold.  "Please, Josiah…"

"Almost there!"  Josiah placed one foot after the other along the trunk, until he was as close as he dared.  Per finally stopped his screaming when he saw Josiah appear before him.  He looked hopefully toward the big man, clasping tightly to the nearly submerged gambler. "Faffa?" he called hopefully.

Sanchez stretched out one arm, but they were frustratingly out of his grasp.  "Get closer!" he called.  "Just a foot or so, Ezra.  I can't reach you."

Ezra nodded numbly and tried to find a new hold with his one free hand. He managed to draw a bit closer, but the branches didn't allow him much room.  "Per," he whispered to the boy, shivering.  "Your faffa is here to help us. You'll go to him now."

"No, no…" the boy murmured, clenching Ezra's wet jacket in a death grip, pressing his face against his neck.  The water rushed around Ezra's back and shoulders as he tried to keep the kid out of the worst of the current.

"He'll get you back to your mamma."  His teeth chattered as he tried to speak  "She'll have a nice warm blanket for you.  Filt, yes?"  The boy seemed to understand as Ezra grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "It's going to be alright," Ezra managed to say as he pulled the boy away from him, shoving him through an open spot among the branches toward Josiah.  The boy released his hold on Ezra and turned toward Josiah. 

"Don't let go of him, Ezra!"  Josiah shouted.  "Keep a hold!  I'll get both of you!"  He leaned toward them as the boy stretched out his hands to him.  The tree lurched when he bent forward as he clasped onto the boy's hand. The whole tree dipped dangerously, almost dunking Josiah as well.   For a second he fought for his balance.  I will not let go of the boy! God help me!  I will not let go!  He lurched back, his hand around the boy's arm.  Per looked at him expectantly, his mouth open in surprise at his most recent dunking.

Josiah murmured a quick prayer of thanks as he tugged the child close.

Per worked his hands into Josiah's shirt, sobbing silently, his body jerking with his gasps as Josiah sat up, just inches above the rushing water, one hand tightly holding onto a branch for support.  The preacher's eyes flashed along the tree, the surface of the water, the banks.  He twisted about in terror, searching.

On the banks, Kerstin's shrieking had become a sobbing whisper. She fell to her knees in prayer.  Per tried to work his wet and freezing body close to Josiah's, and still the preacher searched.  But no matter how hard he looked, Josiah couldn't find the gambler.

PART 19:

He was insane.

He'd decided that long ago. It explained a lot of things.  Like becoming a lawman in Four Corners – insane.  Continually testing Mr. Larabee's limits – crazy.   Believing his mother was being honest with him when she'd agreed not to compete with the Standish Tavern – senseless. Putting on that damn dress – completely off his rocker.  Agreeing to go on this expedition with Josiah – absolutely around the bend. Not stopping this little trip once things started going badly – undoubtedly stark staring mad.

This was the topper.  Yes this.  He should be committed to an asylum.  Yes, lock him up now.  Throw away the key.  There was no hope for him.

He'd been doing well, feeling better once they'd gotten off the horses. He'd been minding his own business, letting the family have their little breakfast, work out their differences – they'd left him alone. He'd been resting, trying his damnedest to ignore the constant throb in his side, trying not to topple over due to his unbearable light-headedness.

He'd raised an eyebrow when Miguel took hold of his son, thinking that the man moved too quickly, grabbed too fiercely for such a small child.  Garcia should let the boy come to him and not be constantly jerking him around.  He'd grimaced when the man started whirling the poor babe around like a Dervish.

That wouldn't go well, he'd decided.

His gaze had followed the drunken footsteps as the outlaw tried to evade the father and wife.  He felt his heart skip a beat as the man back-stepped closer to the river's edge.

The thought – ‘oh no,' loomed large, and then the child went flying.  Oh no!  Good God, NO!

What could he do?  Well, he should have thought it out first.  Instead, he acted on impulse – never a good thing.

He hoped one of the other three might manage to safely collect the child – spare him a cold dip -- but as he managed to gain his feet and run in the direction the child had disappeared, he realized that there'd be no help. Josiah was tangling with his drunken son, and the mother had fallen into some sort of fit.

Funny, he hardly remembered getting to his feet and running that distance.  It must have hurt like hell.

He really didn't want to do it.  Lord, he hated being cold.

It really wasn't a smart thing to do.

His mother had trained him better.  He had to look out for number one, for if he didn't who would?

He was insane.

He'd jumped before he even realized what he was doing.  He dove into the water as if he was visiting his favorite waterhole on a sunny August day – not the Banyon River in early November!  It took his breath away!

You see, he wasn't thinking.  If he'd thought things out first, he would have stayed put.  He was putting on a good show of being much more infirmed than reality.  Garcia had gone for the con.  No one would have said a word if he'd remained.  Later, after everything was said and done, he could have just pointed to his bandaged side and looked a little faint.  He would have been in the clear.  No one would have faulted him for staying put.  They would have lauded his intelligence.

Instead, like a fool – an insane fool that should have used his native intelligence to think things through – he'd reacted before he'd had time to put a proper plan in place.  Like a fool, he'd jumped to his feet, let his perfectly good blanket drop and dove into water that would have been better utilized to chill bottle of lemonade.

Insane.

He hit the water and became a bit wiser.

He'd come up with the shock of cold, gasping for air.  At that point, he should have swum immediately to the shore and gotten out.  He could have dried himself at the fire, as he huddled in that lovely woolen marvel.  This rude awakening should have been enough – but no – no no no. His eyes had fastened on the bobbing head of that boy.

Per had been screaming.  If the boy hadn't sounded so afraid, maybe he would have been able to make the wise choice and swim toward the shore to save his own skin.  Instead – he followed some strange instinct that made him do exactly the opposite of intelligence.   He swam toward the boy, his side protesting all the way.

He'd caught the child after about a dozen strokes and Per had latched onto him like a lamprey.  Ezra was a strong swimmer, having grown up around water, but conditions weren't ideal at this point.  It was hard enough to swim in that terrible cold rushing water with his side sliced by bullet, but now, to manage it with a toddler sucked onto him – well – it was considerably harder.

It would've been smarter to shake the boy loose.  What was the child to him anyway?  Why should he worry about this other man's son?  There was no gain in this activity.

He fought the current and the grasping child and the cold and the hurt and the growing dizziness and tried to keep both of their heads above the water's surface and make it to shore.  He tried to speak a few calming words to the boy.  Per, in response, tried to strangle him, tried to tangle up his arms and sink them both.

The tree appeared so quickly that Ezra hardly had time to register it.  His first thought was – ‘Thank God!'  He'd have something to latch onto.  His next thought was – ‘GOOD GOD!'  They were rushing toward it so quickly that he feared they'd both be skewered!

Somehow, he'd managed to turn himself and get one arm out of the boy's clasp and snag a branch before it snagged them.  Praise be!  They'd managed it!  They were safe!

But, once the tree had them, they were trapped.  The water kept pushing them into the branches and he couldn't manage to make his way toward the shore.  He tried to push Per up onto a sturdy-looking limb, but the boy refused to yield.  No, the child was quite satisfied with trying to throttle him.  Why wasn't the boy smart enough to get out of the water?

Given the same opportunity, if their positions were reversed, Ezra would've taken it – in a hot minute!

It was so cold… so damn cold.  He clung to the branch because he was trapped against it, because he couldn't get Per to go onto the limb, because he was too cold to move, too tired to move, too insane to move.  He could only cling to the branch and the boy, and shiver in the cold, torrid water.

"Mamma," the boy sobbed.  "Mamma."

"Hush," he responded.  "I've got you.  I won't let go."

The boy looked at him with his eyes all wet with tears and full of the river, and he sobbed out the word, "Bank-et."  It was the one word they had between them.  "Bank-et."  The word hitched in the middle as he sobbed.

Wise boy – yes, I'd rather be wrapped up in a nice warm blanket, too – thank you.

"Soon," he said and the boy seemed to believe him.  Per huddled closer and held on as the freezing water rushed around them.  Ezra hoped he hadn't lied.  He never liked to lie to children – but sometimes it was necessary.  "I promise, Per, I'll see you safe.  There's nothing I wouldn't do.  I won't let go of you, I promise."

He could lie like a dog when he had to.

The boy whimpered miserably, looking to Ezra as if he thought this self-serving gambler might be his salvation.  What did a rootless con artist have to offer?

The boy sobbed.  What could I do? Ezra thought, and then the maddening verse returned to him, a poem suited to a child.  He began reciting it, hoping to calm Per,  "And all night long they sailed away. And when the sun when down, they whistled and warbled a moony song, to the echoing sound of a coppery gong, in the shade of the mountains brown."

Ezra tried to keep his voice light as he spoke, though his head was reeling, and he couldn't stop shaking.  Per listened to the lilting voice of the southerner, watching his eyes. Ezra kept at the verse, hoping it might sooth the child.   " ‘O Timballo! How happy we are."  Per clung on as Ezra shivered.  "When we live in a Sieve and a crockery jar.'"

Per almost laughed, his mouth twisting into a half-smile.  His tears slowed.  "‘And all night long in the moonlight pale, we sail away with a pea-green sail, in the shade of the mountains brown!'"

Ezra's eyes searched the bank above him, hoping…please.  Hours passed – or perhaps only minutes -- and then the saintly face of Josiah appeared.

Josiah – bless you.

Josiah shouted reassurances and Ezra tried to be assured, answering his questions as calmly as he could manage.  He watched as the preacher attempted to get to them. Sanchez waded out, but that didn't work.

Hurry, he thought.

Josiah kept trying to reassure – yes, yes, I'm fine.  Hurry.

Finally, Josiah was walking along that tree, dunking them back into the water for sport.  The gambler gasped and struggled to get the boy above the water, but he was getting colder by the minute – too tired.  Oh, God, he was tired.  And then Josiah wanted to give up on that idea – Damn it!  Don't give up!  Get the boy!

He was so damn cold – at least his side had stopped hurting, that was one good thing.  But his hands – his hands could hardly hold.  Please… hurry.

~ Far and few, far and few ~

And Josiah was coming toward them, walking along the downed trunk..  He was beside them.  He was reaching toward them. Please…

~ Are the lands where the Jumblies live ~

He tried to change his hold and get closer to the preacher.  His limbs just wouldn't cooperate anymore.  But, he could get Per to Josiah.  The boy refused to let go. Why?  Rescue was at hand!

~ Their heads are green and their hands are blue ~

He grabbed hold of the boy's shirt with a hand that hardly functioned and maneuvered him toward Josiah.  He noted the look on Josiah's face – that intent, intense look -- that almost terrified look.  He could get the boy to Josiah.  He could do that.

Then the tree lurched and he went under again… he lost his grip on the boy.  No!

No!

No!

No!

Damn it!  Damn it all!

He swung out his frozen arm, trying to find him in the dark cold cold water.  Where?  I can't… No!

Please… please … dear Lord, let Josiah have him because I've lost him.

I've lost him.

Lord help him.

Please

~ And they went to sea in a Sieve ~

PART 20:

"EZRA!"  Josiah bellowed, holding the shuddering boy close to him.  For a second he caught sight of Ezra's brown hair, a head emerged from the water and whisked away.  "EZRA!"

He stumbled back along the length of the fallen tree; it bobbed and lurched under him as he hurried.

"My baby!  My baby!"  Kerstin cried, her hands making greedy gestures at Josiah as he moved down the trunk toward her.  Her face crunched up in a grimace that was half-pain and half-joy.  "Give him back!  Give him to me!"

The boy spun in his grasp as they reached the shore and almost launched himself from Josiah's grip when he saw his mother.  The woman grabbed him, squeezed him tight and spoke soft whimpering words to him, whispering in his ear while the young boy held onto her.  "Älskling!, mitt älskade barn!"

"Mamma!  Mamma!" Per uttered, over and over again.

Josiah waited only until he knew the boy was safe with his mother then he moved past them and ran up the bank to get a better view.  His eyes were on the river.  Where did he go?  Where is he?  Damn!  Ezra was gone!  It had all happened so fast!  Josiah knew he couldn't keep up with the river's pace on foot, but maybe Prophet could.

Kerstin was smothering the boy with kisses, seemingly oblivious to everything else around her.  "Get him to the fire!"  Josiah ordered, even as he started running back to the camp.  "Get him out of those clothes.  Get him warm!" The child had been like ice in his hands – God help Ezra.

The tree hadn't been far from the camp, but it seemed to take forever to run the distance again.  It hurt the preacher to move in the wrong direction, knowing that Ezra was getting farther way by the second, but he needed the speed that only a horse could provide.   He was gasping when he reached the camp again.

The fire still burned, merry and warm.  He hoped that Kerstin got Per to it quickly -- warm up that baby.  Now, if he could only get Ezra back here was well.  He turned when he saw a motion out of the corner of his eye, as his son rolled onto his back and sat up.

"Sanchez," Miguel muttered.  Josiah had no time.  He fought to untie Prophet's reins.  Chaucer's were tied in with them, making the knot even more difficult.  The troublesome chestnut had been working on the knot and the leather was wet with horse spit.  Josiah cursed as the reins refused to yield.  Damn it! If he had a knife, he'd cut through this and be gone.

"It wasn't my fault," Miguel explained drunkenly, sitting with his bruised head in his hands.  "The ground went out from under me."  He seemed to be struggling with his jacket, trying to get it to fit him properly. "I wouldn't have dropped him if the ground stayed level."

The knot finally came loose and Josiah mounted his horse, glancing back at his son.

Miguel gave up on fixing his jacket and flung it off in disgust. Garcia met his father's eyes and said, "I ain't gonna go to jail. You can't make me go."

Josiah couldn't speak to him, unable to fathom the young man.  Didn't he care about what had happened to his son?  There simply weren't any words to say.  He had not time to listen to the young man.

"You ain't gonna take me in," Miguel continued and Josiah heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked.  "You hear me, old man?"

Josiah turned and watched the young man level the gun at him. "Your son's alive," Sanchez said before he faced forward, driving his heels into Prophet's sides.  If Miguel meant to shoot him in the back, he might as well get it over with. There was no way in hell that Josiah was going to wait for the man to figure it out on his own.  There was no way in hell that he'd abandon Ezra.

He expected the report of the gun, the burn of a bullet, but none came. Instead, as his horse thundered off, racing the river, he thought he heard the man sobbing.

He passed Kerstin and Per.  The woman didn't even look up at him, rushing back toward the camp, with her soaked boy in her arms.  Josiah didn't understand what had drawn Miguel and Kerstin together; he only hoped that the boy would be okay when all was said and done.  Protect them, he prayed.

It didn't take long to pass the place where the tree had fallen into the river. Onward he went, his gaze searching the river. 

Josiah recalled that not long ago he and the others had thought Ezra had died in this river, pursued and murdered by the Hollowell brothers.  They had mourned him.  Josiah had been surprised at how much it had hurt – how horrible it had been to think that the cunning, charming, beguiling gambler had died.  Everything had turned so black with that notion.  When they'd later found him safe in his room – it had been as if the sun returned to the sky.

If the Banyon River were to take Ezra now –Josiah ran the back of his hand over his eyes as he kept his horse at a gallop.  Oh God, don't let it happen.  Please, let him be okay.

The Lord's Prayer tripped off his lips as his eyes followed the river, as he rushed alongside it.

PART 21:

He swam.  Or at least tried to swim.  His arms were of lead and his legs thrashed out pointlessly. It was so damn cold… so awful cold and he was so tired.  He fought to keep his head above the surface as the river pulled and tossed him.

~ And each of them said, "How wise we are!  Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,~

He'd always loved swimming.  In his youth, it has been his escape. The rivers had been gentle, comforting.

~ yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, while round in the Sieve we spin." ~

Lord, he could hardly get a clean breath.  The water pushed him forever forward, not allowing him any respite.

When he was a boy, he swam all the time.

~ Far and few, far and few, are the lands where the Jumblies live ~

The boy! If only he'd gotten Per to safety.  If only he'd gotten Per into Josiah's hands.

He fought to keep his head above water, to keep his numb arms and legs moving.

~ Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ~

He fought against the horrible rushing water – he wasn't about to let it have him.

~ And they went to sea in a Sieve .~

PART 22:

Josiah didn't know how far he'd searched – it had been too far – too long – that's all he knew.  The river rolled on and on, slowing finally as it shallowed, as the narrow channel opened up and the steep sides became gentle slopes. Josiah continued looking.  He'd never stop until he found Ezra.  He'd follow the river until it emptied out into the ocean if he had to.

I've failed so many times.  I failed miserably with Miguel.  I've lost Per -- please take care of that boy.  Don't take Ezra.  Please, dear Lord, don't take him from me. 

The damn Banyon River rolled on and on, tossing bits of refuse along with it – branches, rafts of leaves, and sometimes things that shone like metal.  It rolled on and on.

Finally, as Josiah's mind reeled with dark thoughts, he caught sight of something at the water's edge -- a motionless dark heap.  He pressed his exhausted horse the last few hundred feet, his eyes fixed on the shape…the still shape…the unmoving human shape.

Dear God, no.  There was Ezra's jacket, torn and soaked – Ezra's brown hair, plastered to his head – his hands stretched out in front of him. Ezra – a dark heap at the river's pale and sandy edge.   Please, Holy Mother of God, don't do this to me.

Prophet jerked to a stop as Josiah reined him in sharply.  He leapt from his horse to fall beside the soaked form.  "Ezra!  Ezra!  Oh God!"

Ezra's his face was expressionless and his skin had no color.  He clothes were torn and sodden, the bandage had been lost at some point. He lay on his side, his feet still in the water. One bare foot was submerged beside a booted one. "Ezra," Josiah said softly, running his hand along the gambler's face.  "Ezra, talk to me."

And still, Standish didn't move.  His skin was so cold.  The sight of the bare foot beneath the water broke Josiah's heart. Carefully, Josiah scooped Ezra up, pulling him the rest of the way from the river.  Ezra was as limp as a doll in his arms.

"Ezra, son," Josiah called as he held the gambler against his chest.  He slapped his face lightly.  So damn cold!  "Ezra, please."  There was no response.  Ezra was as still as death.  Sanchez wouldn't take his pulse, too afraid at what he might find, couldn't tell if Ezra was even breathing.  He held him close, not knowing what else to do.

Don't let him be dead.  Please.

The preacher sat at the water's edge with the senseless gambler clutched against him.

Don't do this to me, Lord.   Give him back!

And then, Ezra's eyes fluttered and were still. He took a sharp gasp and coughed weakly.

Josiah felt his heart swell.  "Ezra," he called softly.  "Ezra."

It seemed to take a great deal of effort, but Ezra's eyelids finally parted.  The green of his eyes was unnaturally lustrous next to his colorless skin.  His gaze was dull and unfocused.  He coughed miserably, huddling against the preacher.  "J'siah?" he managed to say.

Thank you, Lord.  Dear God in Heaven, thank you.  Josiah didn't try to stop the tears that reached his eyes. "Yes, Ezra.  I'm here.  I got you."

Ezra coughed again and gazed languidly toward him, starting to shiver.  "The boy?"  His voice sounded so unsure, so upset.

The tears were coming in earnest as Josiah responded, "He's okay, Ezra.  His mama has him now."

"Thank God," Ezra murmured, coughing wetly as he pressed his head against Josiah's chest.

Yes, Josiah thought, thank God. He wrapped his arms around the wet and shivering man, rubbing his back and trying to warm him.

PART 23:

Vin crouched near the ground, gazing at the muddle of prints.  He scuffed at the bloodstains in the dirt.  He didn't look up as he said, "Ezra."

"You sure?"  Nathan asked, fingering his medical bag.  The amount of blood had frightened him.  Footprints were all through the area.  He didn't know how Vin decided it was one man and not another that had gone down.

"Chaucer," Vin replied, pointing to the abundance of hoof prints that surrounded the bloody area.  Tanner looked to Chris, noting his angry expression.  The man who did this would pay.

"Garcia?"  Chris bit off.

Vin nodded abruptly.  "Wouldn't have been Josiah," was his response.  "Wasn't anyone else here."

"Was he shot?  Knifed?"  Nathan asked quickly, needing to know more.

Vin shrugged, wondering what the hell they were expecting.  He wasn't a shaman and couldn't see into the past.  A man could only tell so much from the little signs left in the dust.  Tanner wandered about until he found the spent slug.  "Shot."  He decided, "Went through him."

"When?"  Chris asked between his teeth.

"Been a while.  Last night maybe," Vin surmised as he walked back toward them, dusting his hands on his pants.

The men said nothing for several moments until Buck finally voiced what was on everyone's minds.  "Is he dead?"

Vin couldn't say – he wouldn't say.  Something suddenly caught his eye and he toed at a piece of thread, white yet stained brownish-red.  He let out a long sigh as he realized what the dirty thread told him.  "Josiah sewed him up I reckon."

Nathan frowned.  "Damn," he muttered.  "Wish I'd been here for him."

"Josiah's right good with the stitching," Buck said philosophically.  "Ezra will  be fine." Buck tried to look reassuring as he smiled, but in his heart, he was scared.

Vin  looked to Buck, seeing that placating smile, and feeling just as frightened.

PART 24:

He couldn't think straight, could hardly function really.  Somewhere in his mind, he realized that he'd stopped swimming, that he was resting finally.  But he was still so cold.

~ They sailed to the Western Sea, they did, to a land all covered with trees ~

Something was holding him, trying to get him warm.  It was a comforting thing.  He wasn't used to comfort. Someone was saying his name quietly, calling to him. He wasn't sure if he should respond. 

Who was it?  Ah yes, it was Josiah.  There was something he needed to know... something he had to ask Josiah…something vastly important.

He forced his eyes open and tried to focus, blinking at the shape before his eyes.  "J'siah," he muttered.

~ And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart, ~

"Yes, Ezra," his voice returned almost instantly.  "I'm here."

~ and a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart, and a hive of silvery Bees ~ 

"The boy?"  He blinked, trying to clear his vision, to clear his mind, but it was hard. He was so damn cold. He couldn't remember if he'd asked that already.  It was important. "Per? "  the name sounded funny coming from shivering lips.

He thought he heard a catch in Josiah's voice.  "The boy's fine, Ezra.  Per is fine."

~ And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws, ~

He was drifting away again.  It was far too hard to stay awake.  Josiah was calling.  He honestly wanted to answer him, but it was far too easy to sleep.

~ and a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws ~

Someone sat him up and tried to get him to drink something. Why should he be thirsty?  Hadn't he already drunk half the river and coughed up almost all of it again?

~ And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree, and no end of Stilton Cheese ~

Josiah was talking still, trying to press the liquid on him. He decided that he wanted to drink, but his body just wasn't responding.  It was easier to be still and do nothing.

"Far and few, far and few, far and few, far and few," he mumbled the words, not even aware that he had spoken them.  The fricative f's all ran together.

Again, someone called his name.  "I'm fine," he wanted to say, but instead he thought of Jumblies with their green heads and their blue hands, and going to sea in a sieve.

PART 25:

He'd hurried, but everything seemed to take forever.  The fire finally came to life.  The water finally boiled.  The coffee finally percolated.  He'd stripped off Ezra's wet and cold clothing, replacing them with some of his own from his saddlebags.  Ezra had hardly responded to him, moving dully as he tried to help, shivering constantly. Josiah smiled softly when Ezra's remaining boot was pulled loose, revealing a remarkably dry fold of money.

Thank you, he murmured to whatever god had spared this small cache, knowing how unhappy Ezra would have felt if it had been lost.

He'd checked the bullet wound, finding it had split open, but Ezra was so cold that the blood hadn't started flowing again.  He'd wait until Ezra warmed up a bit before he considered re-stitching him.  Lord, he wasn't looking forward to that – the last time was bad enough.  At least he had the sewing kit in his pocket -- but Ezra might have to settle for green thread this time.  He tied a fresh bandage over the wound and hoped for the best.

Standish was bruised and battered, but still in one piece.  He'd vomited up some of the river water he'd ingested, but that seemed to be over now.  More than anything he was just so horribly cold, unable to stop shivering.  Josiah pulled his bedroll from his saddle and laid it out for the gambler.  Then once he was settled, Sanchez tossed Prophet's saddle blanket over him for good measure.

Ezra stirred and blinked at him, but didn't seem to come totally awake.

When the coffee was ready, Josiah filled a mug, added extra sugar and sat down next to the gambler.  "Come on, Ezra, wake up," he ordered.  "I need you to drink some of this."  He hoped Ezra was more responsive this time.  The previous attempts with the canteen had been futile.

Ezra looked up at him miserably, shivering under the blankets. He tried to leverage himself upright, but it was Josiah that completed the task for him, wrapping one arm around him and sitting him up.

Ezra's hands shook as he held the mug, and if Josiah hadn't wrapped a steadying hand over his, he never would have gotten the cup to his lips.  He sipped at the brew and grimaced.  "It's too sweet," he complained softly.

"You could use the sugar right now, Ezra," Josiah explained.   "Drink this up.  I plan to get the whole pot into you."

Ezra grimaced again, leaning against the big preacher.  "At least it's not one of Nathan's teas."  He took a longer sip, seeming to relish the warmth.

Josiah smiled, but Ezra's constant shivering ate at him.  Ezra's voice was difficult to distinguish through his chattering teeth, and he hoped that Standish didn't chip a tooth on the coffee cup. He pulled Standish closer.  Ezra was lethargic as all hell and seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on around him.  The fire was burning nicely now, but it failed to warm him.

"The boy?" Ezra asked again.  The question had been posed several times, as Ezra lost track of whether he'd received an answer.  "I had him…but…" he made an open handed gesture and would have dropped the mug if Josiah hadn't had a hold on it as well.

"He's okay, Ezra.  You were able to get him to me in time," Josiah explained patiently.  "His mother has him now."

"But I lost him.  I let him go." Ezra's voice sounded so quiet and lost.

Josiah sighed, wondering how many times he'd have to go over this.  "You never lost him, Ezra.  You didn't let go until I had my hand on him.  The boy's safe.  He's with his mother."

Ezra nodded and reached for the mug again, taking another warming drink.  "The son," he started again.  "What of the son?"

Josiah closed his eyes mournfully.  "He's with his mother, Ezra.  He's fine.  Ezra, listen to me, you saved him."

"No," Ezra said with a frown, concentrating to make himself understood, trying to still the chattering of his teeth.  "Not the boy.  The son…your son.  The man who shot me.  Where is he now?"

Josiah held Ezra against him, not knowing what to say.  "I don't know, Ezra.  Back at the camp.  Maybe he's gone.  I don't know."

"I see," Ezra responded.

Josiah helped Ezra take another drink, holding the mug steady as he shivered, letting him finish off the cup.  Standish seemed to be mulling things over, but said nothing.

"Lord, Ezra, I don't know what I did so wrong. I don't know why that boy turned out like that.  I thought I could be a good papa, but obviously, I'm a horrible father."

Ezra watched as Josiah set down the mug and filled it again from the pot, added far too much sugar and held it up for him.

"Careful, it's hot," Josiah said as he pressed the cup into Ezra's hands and helped him lift it.  "Gotta go slow.  Don't want to burn you."

Ezra drank again and sighed.  "Josiah," he said softly, and took another sip. "I can hardly believe that you're such a horrible father."

Josiah pulled back the mug and frowned, his voice became bitter as he stated, "You've seen the fruits of my labors with your own eyes.  How can you say that the man who shot you and tossed his son into a river is any good at all?"

Ezra laughed quietly as he leaned against Josiah, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion.  "Miguel Garcia is a cur, at best.  But, in spite of that, I believe you were a fine father."

Josiah helped Ezra to raise the cup to his lips again, and when some of the coffee dribbled down his chin, Josiah quickly set down the cup and mopped up the drops with a handkerchief.  He was surprised by Ezra's soft chuckle.

"I didn't do enough," Josiah returned, exchanging the cloth for the mug, his other hand too busy with holding Ezra against him.  "My own father wasn't perfect.  There were times when…"   He paused and then started again.  "But he always tried to be the best for me and my sister. He wanted to make us good people.  He wasn't always right, but at least he was there."  His eyes became distant.  "At least he tried.  I, on the other hand, did nothing. I wasn't enough of a father.  I should've taught Miguel right from wrong. I should've put him on a proper path.  I could've done so much.  I could've made him a better man than me. I could've made him better."

With a press of the hand, Ezra pushed the mug away and looked up to Josiah, his eyes wide and haunted.  "Josiah, it isn't as easy as that."

"I could've done something…anything.   I should've been in that boy's life."

The sad look hadn't left Ezra's face.  "All of them can't be saved.  Some children are lost from birth and a father's direction will do nothing for them.  A man can try his hardest to make him ‘right', but if the child is uncooperative, difficult, incapable…" Ezra shrugged slightly, "Then there's nothing that can be done."

Ezra's eyelids were closing as he fought to stay awake.  "Sometimes nothing will work, not persuasion, not humiliation, not intimidation, not even the application of a riding crop. Some children just aren't worth the trials, aren't with the time."  His voice became thicker as he started to drowse.  "Sometimes, you must simply give up on a child as a total loss.  Sometimes, you'd best denounce his blood and declare him someone else's son.  Sometimes it's best to just get rid of him and let him be raised by wolves."

The gambler tucked his head into the blanket and finally closed his eyes completely, shivering still as he fell into a deep sleep.

"Ezra," Josiah called softly as he set down the mug.  "Ezra, listen to me."  But the soft, almost non-existent snore had returned.  The preacher felt nearly as cold as Ezra once the impact of the gambler's words hit him.  "It's not like that," Josiah persisted.  "You're not like that.  Listen to me."

But Ezra slept.  Josiah continued to hold the sleeping con artist, rocking him slightly, wishing he could understand, but knowing that Ezra revealed little.  He doubted that he'd hear more.

Exhausted, the preacher finally settled the gambler again in the bedroll and then lay down beside him.  He pulled the blankets over both of them and threw one arm over the smaller man to ensure that he'd awaken if Ezra were to stir.

PART 26:

It was late in the day when five men reached the camp by the river.  A tent stood, but it had an abandoned look about it.  The flaps moved in the wind.  The fire had long since burned out.  Remnants of the previous occupants were scattered -- empty bottles, plates, a big iron pan, a jacket.  The whole area had a forlorn aura about it; and bleakest of all was the chestnut horse that gazed out at the river.

As the group approached, the horse turned to see them.  It flicked its ears, apparently recognizing them, but its head continued to hang, its ears drooped, and its tail was listless.  Peso and Clyde whinnied a greeting, but the horse just turned back to the river.

"Hey, Chaucer," JD called as he approached on horseback.  "What's the matter, fella?"  he asked soothingly, patting the gelding. "Where's your man, huh?"

The others dismounted and started searching through the ruined site. Vin looked for tracks in the muddle.  "There's been a woman here," Tanner said.  "Kid, too."

"What?"  Buck started, an anger catching him.  "A lady and a kid?"

"How old?"  Chris shot back at Vin.

Suspecting that Chris was referring to the kid, Tanner answered.  "Walking… but pretty small.  Couldn't be more than two."  If Chris had wanted the woman's age it would have been more of a guess.

Chris ground his teeth.  "What the hell did Garcia do to them?"

Horrified looks flitted across the gunslingers' faces as Vin continued his searching.  "Can't say much," Tanner finally stated.  "Looks like she was here before Garcia and the others."

Vin shrugged, frustrated.  Why did they think he could see everything?   He said nothing as he continued to search.

Nathan peered into the tent.    "Looks like they left in a hurry," the healer muttered.  "Didn't pick up much of anything."  His eyes fastened on the little cache of guns, finding a mix of Ezra and Josiah's armaments in the pile.  A little wooden box caught his attention and he opened it curiously, finding a collection of documents.

Buck picked up the discarded jacket and patted at it.  He pulled something from the pocket and snorted at the sight -- Ezra's flask -- empty.  A little more searching brought up the southerner's pocket watch.  He ran his thumb over the monogram, EPS.  In another pocket, Buck found his ruby ring.  Finally he came up with a little fold of money, $20.

He looked up, realizing that Nathan was watching him.  "Josiah's," Nathan said.  "But if you find a receipt in there somewhere, then it might be Ezra's."  He returned his attention to the box, fingering the documents and pulling the top one free of the bunch.  "Huh?" he said as he examined it.  "Well, I figure I know who that lady was."

"Who's that?"  JD asked brightly.

Nathan handed the document to Buck, saying, "Looks like it's Garcia's wife.  This here's a marriage certificate."

Buck jerked his hand back before coming in contact with it.  "Damn, Nate!  Don't get one of those things near me!"

Nathan smirked and drew the document back.  "Seems her name is Kerstin.  They got married about three years ago."

Chris nodded tightly, relieved. "At least I won't have to gut the man.  Might still have to kill him though, for shooting Ezra."  Larabee watched Vin, watched as the tracker worked his trade, drinking in what he could from the signs.  "Well?" he asked finally.

"Been a lot of movin' around," Vin declared.  "Couldn't tell ya what all went on here, but I figure a man and a woman ran along the river a bit and came on back."

"A man? Which one?"

"Maybe Josiah.  Maybe Garcia. Garcia's a big man."  Vin looked uncommitted.  "Two horses with riders went east… and another followed the river."

Larabee turned his eyes on JD, who was patting Chaucer softly as the lonely horse stared at the river.  "Figure out which one was Josiah?"

Vin shrugged again.  "Two big horses… can't tell them apart."  Again, he had that feeling of aggravation. How the hell could he tell anything after Chaucer ran riot through the place?  He glared at the tracks. And then glanced at Chaucer.  Ezra wouldn't have left the horse behind easily… and the horse wouldn't have stayed without reason.

He returned his attention to the tracks. "Figure a big man was on each of those big horses.  No one was ridin' double --- ‘cept for maybe the kid."  He toed one of the prints, deep but not too deep.  "They all went off at a pretty good pace."

"You know," JD said thoughtfully. "Ya think, maybe, his wife was the accomplice they mentioned in the telegram?  Maybe she's the one that got him out of jail and headed south outta South Bridge."

The other four looked at him with surprised expressions.  "Could be, JD," Buck said with a proud smile.  "It may just be that.  Figure she rode off from here with her husband."  His eyes followed the route that Tanner had pointed out.  "So that leaves Ezra."

Larabee watched JD coax Chaucer.

"Come on," JD said softly, finally drawing Chaucer away from the river.  "Where do you think he went?"

Vin walked to the rivers edge and pondered the signs.

Buck frowned as he watched his friend, noting the solemn expressions, noting the direction of his glances.  The river -- the vigilant horse -- the missing man.  "You don't think…" he started.   "Damn," he muttered as the situation seemed to come clear.  "Son of a bitch."

"What?"  JD asked as Buck, Chris and Vin came to the river's edge.  Nathan looked at him questioningly, not understanding yet.

"Figure Ezra ended up in the Banyon and Josiah took off after?"  Chris asked, finally voicing what had been bothering him.

Vin nodded.

Nathan paused as he stowed the found guns.  "Damn," he sighed.  He was glad that they'd rested their horses a short time ago, because there'd be no rest now.

"Do we split up?" Buck asked anxiously.  "Figure someone should track down Garcia and his wife."

Vin rubbed his chin.  "It'll be dark before long.  Won't be able to track, but it'll be easy enough to keep along the Banyon."  His eyes followed the river.  "Figure we'd might as well find Ezra and Josiah b'fore we go after Garcia."  Already he was itching to get moving -- find out what the hell happened.  God, Josiah better have caught up to Ezra.  Tanner's stomach turned at the thought that Standish might have drowned.  No, it wouldn't have happened that way, he convinced himself.

They were all mounted again in a matter of minutes.  Buck had tucked his friend's belongings into his pockets while Nathan finished packing the weapons.  JD tied Chaucer's reins to his saddle.

The group continued on their way, joined by the rider-less horse, following the Banyon River.

PART 27:

The sky was starting to grow dark.  Josiah threw another log onto the fire and sat back beside the slumbering conman.  Josiah had napped throughout the day, awakening whenever Ezra moved.  During the short spates of time when Ezra was relatively lucid, Josiah tried to get some more hot coffee into him, but Ezra never lasted long.  The preacher attempted to make a hearty broth out of the jerky he had in his saddle, but the result was hardly palatable and he tossed it out before Ezra got wind of it.  He settled for some biscuits, fresh baked by the fire.  He was glad that Miguel never thought to remove the bags from the saddle.   Ezra didn't seem to care much for the food in any case; all he wanted was to be warm again and to sleep.

Josiah sat beside him, resting one hand on Ezra's shoulder, watching the fire burn.  Standish had finally stopped shivering, but he still held the blankets tightly around him -- probably more for comfort than anything.  ‘How many times have you found comfort in things like that instead of other people, Ezra?' Josiah thought.

He puzzled over what he'd heard from Ezra -- what little he'd learned about Ezra's father.  Did he ever comfort you, Ezra?  Did he ever show you that he cared for you?  Certainly he must have.  I would have.

Did Ezra's father really consider him a total loss?  Not worth the trouble?  Did he actually denounce Ezra as his child?

Ezra Standish -- so ‘Standish' wasn't his father's name… was it Maude's?  There was no telling.  Did the name ‘Standish' have any meaning to the conman?  Perhaps he'd just made it up as he rode between one town and another – between cons.  He'd probably changed his name constantly.  What would that be like, having no name of his own?  Who was Ezra Standish really?

"He was wrong, Ezra.  Don't you realize that?  He was wrong.  He had this great kid in his care and he threw it away"  He knew Ezra wouldn't listen to him if he were awake, wouldn't stand for it.  He'd deny anything and try to brush him off.  If Josiah were to persist, he'd turn into a tiger until the preacher gave up to save his own skin.

Maybe Ezra could hear him in his sleep.  "Do you understand me, Ezra?  It wasn't your fault.  He's the one who screwed up."  How could a man treat a child like that?  Could Ezra understand that?

Yes, Josiah decided, Ezra did understand that an adult had no right to harm a child in any way. He remembered how easily Ezra had gained Per's friendship, how Ezra spoke to the children of the town, how the kids all flocked to him, knowing that they'd be safe with him, knowing that they'd be treated well.

He thought about how Ezra spoiled his damn horse.   Do you pamper your horse to make up for some of that? he thought. Do you treat that animal the way you wish you'd been treated? -- with patience and understanding, with tolerance and gentleness, with forgiveness of faults and praise of achievements, with pride? 

"You're a better man than your father ever was, Ezra," Josiah continued.  "You're worlds above him."  He listened to Ezra's soft breathing, wondering if he'd heard a change in the rhythm -- maybe Ezra was waking, maybe he was listening.  "You would never hurt a child.  You just got to realize that the same should have applied to you."

"I need you to understand this, Ezra," Josiah said softly.  "You're an amazing young man.  Anyone would be pleased to count you as kin.  When I see Miguel, I can't help thinking I wish he was more like you.  Sometimes, I wish he wasn't my son at all... I wish…" he paused, his hand still resting on Ezra's shoulder.  "I wish you were my son and not someone else's.  I'd take you in a minute if the offer was ever made."

A noise made Josiah stop.  He stood stiffly, putting himself between Ezra and the approaching sound -- horsemen.

Miguel?  he wondered.  Perhaps his son had gone off and collected some help, or maybe it was a gang of banditos.  There was no telling what was bearing down on them. Sanchez had no weapon to protect them.  A piece of wood would be the best he could hope for.  He picked up a branch and held it like a club.

"Ezra," Josiah said urgently.  "Wake up, Ezra.  Wake up."  He heard Ezra stirring quietly behind him.  "Wake up and keep still," he ordered.  Ezra apparently complied, and said nothing.

The horses were coming toward them, jogging along the river -- obviously guided by the firelight.  Josiah held the club away from his body so that the silhouette of the weapon would be seen. He wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Josiah sucked in a breath… waiting.  He wouldn't let them hurt Ezra.

The horsemen slowed and then stopped.

"Hey, Josiah!" he heard a familiar voice call.  "You aim to hit one of us with that?  ‘Cause if you do, I know I ain't comin' any closer."

"Buck!"  Josiah called back, exhaling in relief and letting the cudgel drop.  "I'm disarmed.  I welcome you with open arms."  He raised his hands for emphasis and smiled as the group rode into the firelight.  He was damn grateful to see all of them.

"Hey, Josiah!"  JD greeted cheerfully.  "Hey, Ezra!" he added, seeing the gambler blinking at them from behind the preacher.  Chaucer nickered happily and pranced about in a little joyful dance, pulling about on his tether and causing Toby to make an awkward step.

Vin dismounted and leaned against Peso, smiling.

"Ezra," Chris squatted beside Standish, meeting his eyes, needing to see Ezra clearly to ensure he was going to be okay.

"Present and accounted for, sir," the gambler returned with a weak smile.

"Thought I told you I that I wouldn't stand for hearin' you got yourself hurt again."

The gambler shrugged. "Couldn't be helped."

Larabee smirked slightly. "Yeah, right."  He then raised his eyes to meet Josiah's.  "Josiah, good to see you both."

"Yeah," Buck nodded enthusiastically.  "The two of you put a bit of a scare on us."

"And not without good reason." Josiah sighed.  "Nate, I need you to look over Ezra."

Jackson nodded tightly.  "I figured as much," he responded as he slid down from Badger's saddle.  "How's he doin'?"

Josiah stepped toward Nathan to help him collect his medical supplies.  Ezra's eyes followed him, blinking back at him dully. "He got shot yesterday and almost drowned earlier today."

"Don't ya think that gettin' shot was enough for one man?" Buck asked as he came up behind Chris. "Most folks with any sense would have stopped at that.  But no, you gotta go take a dunking."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said tiredly. "It was pure insanity on my part."

Chris nodded.  "Well, that's expected.  How ya feelin'?"

A grimace was followed by, "Miserable."

"Where'd ya get hit?"  Nathan asked.

"A bit of a tear across my side," Ezra muttered. "Nothing of consequence." He tried to sit up without much luck. "Mr. Sanchez has seen to it."

"He's gonna need new stitching," Josiah explained as Nathan and Chris easily pushed Ezra back down and started pulling back the blankets.

"Hmmm," Nathan responded, and then asked Ezra, "Cold?" as he finally made his way through the layers.  The healer smiled when he discovered the oversized clothing that Ezra had ended up in.  The usually dapper southerner looked comical, like a child dressed in his father's clothing.

"I was rather comfortable up until a moment ago." Ezra couldn't stop a shiver as the cool night air reached him.

Vin obligingly threw more wood on the fire.

Larabee pressed a hand against Ezra's shoulder in case he chose to move, careful of his bruises.  He felt the gambler tense under him.  "Keep still, Ezra," Chris said quietly.   And then asked Josiah, "Who shot him?"

"Miguel shot him," Sanchez said softly. "My son."

No one seemed too surprised, but there was silence for a while as Nathan carefully peeled back the makeshift bandage and Ezra clenched the blankets beneath him.  Chris and Josiah both laid hands on him, to hold him.

"Damn, Ezra…" Buck muttered when he saw the long bullet wound that creased Ezra's side.  "Ya get him riled or somethin'?"

Ezra opened his eyes. "I'm afraid that's correct.  'Riling' seems to be my forte.  It was an unfortunate…" He paused as Nathan messed about on his side, but still didn't move. "…situation to which I reacted poorly."

"Miguel was gonna shoot me.  Ezra disarmed him.  I'd probably be dead if Ezra hadn't stopped him.  My son…" Josiah's voice trailed off.  Near the fire, Vin and JD had set a pot to boil, knowing that Nathan would probably want it.

"Ezra saved my life," Josiah finally added.   "If he hadn't disarmed Miguel, I'd be dead right now."

A smile twitched at Ezra's lips. "A somewhat exaggerated version of facts.  Mr. Garcia, I believe, had only meant to frighten our Mr. Sanchez.  I reacted in a rather unsatisfactory…"

"Hush up!"  Nathan barked suddenly, seeing Ezra's shudder.  The wound was bleeding again and looked pretty darn painful.  There was an unhappy redness about the edges of it, telling of an infection starting.

"He saved that little boy, too," Josiah continued.

"A boy?  The kid from the camp?"  JD asked.

Josiah nodded solemnly. "Miguel… Miguel dropped the boy in the river.  Ezra dove in after him.  Saved that babe's life.  Almost cost him his own."

"I wasn't thinkin' straight," was Ezra's response.

"Ezra," Nathan's started. "I gotta get this cleaned and stitched back up, so you be quiet for a while."

"But the river, certainly, was cleaning enough," the gambler tried.

Nathan snorted.  "Yeah, it probably did some good, but not enough.  Gonna need something to knock out this infection you got goin'."

"Lovely," Ezra gave an exaggerated sigh and murmured, "Last time I had whiskey."

Nathan jerked his head at Vin who stepped to Nathan's bags to root out the ‘medicinal' whiskey.  "It ain't that fine stuff yer used to, Ez," " Vin said as he looked at the label.  "But it'll do the trick."

"A godsend, Mr. Tanner," Ezra sighed as Vin uncorked the bottle.  He smiled as Tanner took the first drink and then handed it to Ezra.  "I hope this is over soon.  It's dreadfully cold tonight and you have me half-naked."

"It'll just be a moment, Ezra," Nathan assured. "You won't even know what I'm doing."

"Lord," Ezra said after he finished his first gulp.  He took another before continuing. "I hope, at least, YOU know what you're doing."

"Quiet now!"  Nathan's voice was stern, but not fierce.  He took the bottle from Ezra when he figured that southerner had had enough to take the edge off. "I'm gonna need the rest of this to clean things up.  You sit quiet."   His voice took on a softer quality when he said, "I'll do it fast as I can, okay?"

Ezra nodded, his eyes closed again.  "The sooner you're done the better."

"Let me get this straight, Josiah, " Buck said, needing to talk to draw attention away from the gruesome act before him. "Ezra Standish jumped into a freezing river to save some kid?"

JD had returned to taking care of the horses.  He patted them gently to avoid looking at what was going on behind him. "I didn't think that Ezra liked the cold that much."

"He don't," Vin replied.  He moved one of the tossed off blankets so that it at least half covered Ezra, moving it carefully so that no dust was stirred.  The gambler was shivering again in the cool night beside the fire.  Ezra didn't make any sign that he'd felt anything.  His eyes were tightly closed and his hands clenched as Nathan started the work of cleaning out the wound.

"He was incredible," Josiah said as he moved closer to Ezra, hoping to keep the chill off of him.  "You would've been proud of what he did."  He smiled warmly as he saw a confused expression play against Ezra's otherwise taut face. "I know I was damn proud of him."

PART 28:

"Well, what do we do?" Vin asked as he leaned over Peso's neck.  He looked toward the blond leader and waited.

Larabee glared out across the land, narrowing his eyes.  He said nothing.

"Well," JD called, Toby pacing anxiously beneath him.  The horse was exhausted, but ready to do as his rider asked. "Do we keep goin'?"

Buck glanced between Vin and Chris, reading their expressions.  "Figure we turn back," Wilmington responded because none of the others spoke up. He patted Clyde on his neck as an apology for the hard ride.  The big gray nickered his appreciation for the consideration.

"But… but we can't!" JD cried. "We ain't caught him yet!"

The seven of them had spent the remainder of the night and the morning at the fire where they'd found Josiah and Ezra.  Everyone needed sleep and no one would be functioning well without it.  Buck, Chris, JD and Vin had started out first, to backtrack and then to follow the trail left by Garcia.  Nathan, Josiah and Ezra were to start later, and slowly make their way back toward home.

The four had been following the trail left by Garcia ever since then.  They'd seen where Kerstin's trail had split from Garcia's as she turned to the northeast while he continued southeast.  They'd found the dead roan where it had fallen after being run to death.  They'd followed Miguel's footsteps to the little pueblo in the middle of nowhere and had spoken to the poor farmer who had lost his only horse – stolen by that bandito!

Now, they stood on a flint hard desert, where tracking would be nearly impossible.

Buck continued,  "He's got more than a day on us and a horse that ain't about to give out.  We gotta rest these boys, Chris, or we're gonna lose ‘em sure as Garcia lost that pretty roan of his."

"If we keep goin', we'll catch up to ‘im!" JD insisted.  "He's probably sleepin' somewhere.  Vin'll find ‘im."

Tanner turned toward JD and sighed.  "Asleep or not, he's got a lot of time on us.  It'll be slow goin' fer me to track on this stuff."  He glanced to the sky above them.  "It's nearly night.  Gonna rain tomorrow.  Won't be able to track shit once that starts to fall."

"Yeah, but he shot Ezra," JD put in.  "And knifed those two guys.  We can't let ‘im get away with that!"

"What do we do, cowboy?" Vin asked.  "I'll keep tryin' for what good it'll do."

Chris said nothing, staring out across the path that Garcia must have followed.  Above them, clouds were gathering.

"What about that boy – Per," JD continued.  "What if Garcia has that kid?"

"Wasn't no tussle at their parting," Vin explained.  "After what Josiah said about that woman, I doubt she'd give that kid up without spillin' blood.  Figure that lady has ‘im.  Garcia let ‘em go their own way.  He went his."  Again, he turned to Chris.  "Cowboy?"

Finally, Larabee said in a hoarse voice, "We camp and head home in the morning."  He turned to JD as if he expected the young man to contradict him.

JD opened his mouth as if to speak, but shut it audibly when he saw the look in Chris' eyes.

The gunslinger continued, "We catch up to Josiah, Nate and Ezra.  Those two are going to have their hands full with that fool southerner."

"He sure didn't look so good when we left them," Buck said sadly.  He wondered how much distance the other three had made during the day.  He doubted Ezra could travel for long, but that gambler sure did try his best.

"They'll take it slow," Vin assured.  "We'll catch up, and go on home together."

JD frowned as he turned his horse around, as Vin started backtracking to a promising-looking camping spot he'd seen a short distance back.  "It ain't fair," JD muttered.  "We should ‘ave got that guy!"

Chris nodded, silent again.  Yes, he wanted Garcia  -- wanted to bring that bastard in to justice, but he recalled Sanchez' sad resignation earlier that day.  Garcia was still Josiah's son.  Chris wouldn't let Josiah see his boy hang.

They'd get home – all seven of them.  And hopefully, things would be able to return to normal.

PART 29:

"Ah!  Mr. Sanchez! "  Ezra called as Josiah stepped into the saloon.  He gestured toward the preacher and Josiah made his way across the room.  "Good to see you, sir."

"Ezra," Josiah said as he sat at the offered chair.  "Feelin' better, I see."

"Tip top!"  Ezra responded with a grin.  Standish had looked like death warmed over when they'd made it back to town.  He'd been kept in the clinic for three days after that – following that with another three days in his room.  Finally, the color returned to his face and the gambler began to be sighted in his usual haunts.  Yes, it was good to see him out and about again.

Ezra's hands played over a small leather-bound book.  "I believe there's a transaction you wanted to complete," he said leadingly.

Josiah shook his head and fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the fold of money as Ezra opened the book and set up his inkstand with a grand gesture.  He licked his thumb and flipped to the correct page.  Josiah watched his fastidious movements with a smile.

"I believe," Ezra started.  "We have a matter of $22 to attend to."

Josiah's smile suddenly dropped.  "$22?  It was $20 last week!"

Ezra smiled.  "Yes, but that was last week.  There is such a thing as interest, Mr. Sanchez."

Ezra opened his arms.  "But I was waiting right here for you at the appointed hour.  You failed to come on schedule.  You should be happy I haven't added extra administrative charges."

"$22?"

Ezra nodded.  "Yes sir, $22.  I've rounded to the nearest dollah."  He grinned, showing his gold tooth. "No sense in talkin' about pennies and such."

"Rounded up or down?" Josiah asked with suspicion.

"Why, Mr. Sanchez." Ezra looked astonished.  "Up, of course."

Josiah shook his head, trying to hide the smile that wanted to find him. He fished another two dollars out of his pocket and added them to the $20 in the fold.  He set the newly accrued amount in front of the gambler.  Ezra made a note in his ledger and turned the book to Josiah for his initial. With graceful hand, Ezra wrote out the receipt, signed it and handed the note to Josiah.

"There you are, Mr. Sanchez.  You may call our debt officially closed."  Ezra snatched up the money and slid it into his pocket so quickly that the cash seemed to disappear as if by magic.

"You gonna count it?" Josiah asked.

"I wasn't planning on it." Ezra looked at him disarmingly.  "Should I?"

Josiah shrugged and shook his head.  "I suspect not."  He smiled at the man with the ledger.  It was good to see Ezra feeling 'tip top' again.  The trip home had been painful for both of them.  Ezra had been so sick and unresponsive most of the time.  It broke the preacher's heart to see the quick-witted southerner like that.  Ezra finally brightened a bit when the other four rejoined them, but wasn't totally at ease until they'd all arrived home.

Chris had delivered the news that they'd lost Miguel.  Josiah took the news in stride, not knowing whether he should be happy or sad to hear that his son had avoided the law and managed to outride the noose.  At least his son was still alive in the world.  Josiah wished they'd been able to find Per if nothing else.  Lord, he wanted to see his grandson again -- ensure that Per was going to be okay.  If he were only able, Josiah would take care of that young child -- see that he was raised right.

Josiah watched as Ezra carefully put away his inkstand.  "Do you think he's still riding?"  Sanchez asked quietly, not realizing that he hadn't prefaced the question.

Ezra shrugged, understanding in any case.  "If he has managed to stay away from further legal entanglements, I suppose he still rides free."  Ezra raised his eyes and continued, "If he's smart, he'll stay in Mexico."

"Yes, yes," Josiah said with a nod.  "He'd best stay put…if he's smart."  He ran his hand along the edge of the table and muttered, "The law in Mexico can be severe."

Ezra gave him an empathetic look.  "The Federales are a force to be reckoned with.  But, I'd hope they'd let the young man send a message to his father if something were to go awry.  They'd let you see him."

Josiah furrowed his brow.  "What?  Do you think I'd go to him again?  If he were to commit a crime and be set up for execution, do you think I'd go to him again?"

"Why, of course," Ezra responded.  "You're his father.  He's your son.  Of course you'd go.  It's what a good father would do."   Standish smiled as he carefully picked up the ledger.  "Now if you allow, I must be going.  I understand that Miss Katie has acquired a new kitten and she's made an appointment with me to visit with it."  Ezra sighed expansively as if he should be annoyed, but his eyes betrayed his delight.  "I believe we're having a tea party.  I must dress accordingly.  It's a momentous day.  Good day, sir."

Josiah watched as Ezra stood stiffly and headed to the stairs at the back of the saloon, to stow his ledger and change his clothing to whatever was appropriate for a kitten's tea party.  Sanchez smiled as Ezra walked carefully up the stairs, slow because he was still healing from his wound.

Josiah thought about what Ezra had said.  Would he ride again if his son called for him?  Yes, he probably would.  He'd go to Miguel if the young man asked for him.

And, he'd find his grandson again. Already he had sent out inquiries, trying to track down Kerstin and her son.  He knew her maiden name from the marriage certificate, and searched using both names.  Somewhere, she'd show up again.  He wanted to be there for his grandson, to do what he could for the boy.  Per Josiah Garcia would want for nothing if Josiah could only find them again.  If he found that boy again, he'd never let him go.

He may have failed as a father, but he'd do everything he could to be a proper grandfather.  He desperately wanted a child… a son or grandson to call his own.

But what about Ezra?  That gambler must have been something to him, too?  There had to be something between them.  Sure, Ezra was someone else's son, but that didn't mean that Josiah didn't have some responsibility toward him.  Standish's father had disowned him, so didn't that mean there was an open space that could be filled?  A man needs a father.  They may not be related by blood, but certainly there are other ways…

At his fingers, sat the receipt.  Josiah turned it so that he could read it properly.  The date and the total amount of the debt was written at the top, with a note in regard to the final $20 paid.  Below that was written, "Mr. Josiah Sanchez, of Four Corners -- has completed all debts currently outstanding to Mr. Ezra P. Standish -- also of Four Corners.  Mr. Sanchez is declared a free man with no further responsibility owed toward Mr. Standish.  No further legal entanglement remains."

Josiah fingered the paper solemnly and muttered, "Well that's the end of that."  Funny, he would miss this ritual of theirs. Now that the loan was completed, their standing appointment would be gone.  Well, it didn't mean that they couldn't meet for other reasons.

He folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.  With a smile, he decided that the legal entanglement had ended, but another remained.

PART 30:

Ezra carefully tied his cravat as he smiled at his image in the mirror.  Yes, he did look particularly striking in this jacket and vest.  He'd be the hit of the tea party. Under his breath, he recited the final stanza of the damn poem that had been pestering him for so long, "And in twenty years they all came back, in twenty years or more."

He picked up his hat and easily placed it on his head and appreciated the image reflected to him.  He cocked his head and smiled.  Yes, this will do.  After a dramatic pause, he continued, "And every one said, ‘How tall they've grown! For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, and the hills of the Chankly Bore;"

Since it was obvious that no further improvements were necessary – he'd reached the height of perfection – he turned to the door and pressed it open. The verse continued in his head as he made his way down the stairs.

~ And they drank their health, and gave them a feast of dumplings made of beautiful yeast ~

He noted that Josiah hadn't left the table.  Ezra nodded to him and the preacher smiled back with surprising warmth.  Funny how Mr. Sanchez could behave like that.  Ezra supposed that it was in the preacher's nature and that he simply couldn't help himself.

~ Far and few, far and few, are the lands where the Jumblies live ~

Josiah had been particularly attentive to him since they'd come back to town.  Well, particularly attentive during the whole horrible ride back from the Banyon River too.  It was comforting really, to have someone like that nearby  -- someone who wasn't ready to fault him for his weakness, who wasn't looking for some manner of gain, who didn't want to exploit his abilities for some reason.  It was interesting -- really, to find someone who seemed to care.

~ Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ~

Ezra tipped his hat to the respectable man and Josiah responded with a nod.  It really was too bad, Ezra thought, that Miguel hadn't been a better son to his father, that Josiah had lost his grandson, Per.  Mr. Sanchez certainly deserved someone to dote on and care for.  He hoped that Josiah found someone like that.

THE END - by NotTasha
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