Clear as a Bell - Second Half

Part 24:

He watched them leave -- the six of them.  They rode out of town in a cloud of dust, eager to reach Red Rock and assist in the round up of the dangerous escapees.

They had left him behind.  Useless... chaff... a gangrenous limb in need of amputation.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed.  He wasn't even allowed to guard their prisoners.  Jed Green had already moved into the jailhouse and had pleaded with Standish to let him remain. Ezra hadn't understood most of what the storekeeper had said, but had caught the gist of it.  Mother Dear had taken over the living quarters above the store.  Ezra couldn't fault him for wanting to steer clear of a demanding woman.  He had left the jail to Green and found his seat outside of the saloon.  He could see most of the town from this vantage point and would do his best to protect it.

He held his rifle across his knees as he watched the townspeople come and go. They threw him curious glances as they moved past, but they didn't bother him.

Mary Travis stopped by at one point with coffee, and Mrs. Potter arrived later with a sandwich and her famous pumpkin pie.  Nettie Wells and Casey strolled past, their arms laden with supplies. He helped them load their wagon and sent them on their way.

Inez came by as evening fell with beer and a uniquely seasoned dish. She spoke the name to him, but he was having enough trouble with deciphering English -- Spanish went right over his head. The meal was quite acceptable. He decided he'd have to ask her to write down the name when she had the time. She came again later to take the dishes and to deliver a liberal glass of bourbon.  Ezra set the drink at his elbow and sipped at during the long evening.

Night fell and the fires were lit in the street. The saloon filled with silent activity. A drunk, at one point, was dumped unceremoniously in the street. Ezra watched as he staggered to his feet and disappeared into the dark.  Standish kept an eye on him, to ensure he didn't cause any harm. Later, Inez retrieved him to break up a fight. A display of arms was all it took to stop the combatants. He returned to his seat and listening to the ever-present bell-peal that never left him.

The streets emptied as the night deepened. Mrs. Potter brought a blanket and coffee. He wondered what she was doing up at such a late hour.  Really, the women had children and should have been at home keeping watch over them.

He had left his seat from time to time, for necessary reasons -- the call of nature and, once, to return to his room to apply the cure that Nathan had supplied. Ezra had seen the doubt in the healer's eyes, but he was willing to try it. Even if the odds were stiff, the payoff was well worthwhile. He returned to his seat, and watched the night, dozing from time to time, with bits of cotton shoved discreetly into his unhearing ears.

Early morning brought a rosy glow to the sky.  He observed indifferently as the sun rose and brightened the town and life returned to the street. He left his position again to clean up for a new day, to shave and change his clothing.  Upon his return, Mrs. Travis brought coffee, biscuits and jam. People came and went.  Some stopped and tried to talk, but Ezra was having trouble concentrating enough to understand them, and they left rather quickly.

Ezra napped for a short while, but the ringing soon woke him and he found another sandwich and a generous slice of pie placed at his elbow, along with a tall glass of lemonade. A napkin had been thoughtfully placed over the top, keeping the meal safe from flies until he awoke.

For some reason, Mrs. Wells appeared again in town with Casey.  Usually Mrs. Wells visited town once a week.  He tried to discover if anything was amiss, but she only fussed about him, and went off to speak to Mrs. Travis and Inez. Mrs. Potter joined them and the women held a conference at the Clarion.

There was an argument concerning ownership of a horse.  Ezra mediated as best he could, drawing up a contract that allowed the men to both leave the situation feeling like winners -- or at least neither appeared to complain. They might have cursed him, for all that Standish was aware. After that, Ezra returned to his seat in front of the saloon.

Evening fell again and Inez brought tamales and a beer, and soon it was night. A pair of cowboys rode into town, with a look of menace about them. Ezra stopped them in their tracks and ordered them to turn around, using the Remington revolving rifle to press his point. The two appeared ready to pick a fight but, after getting a good look at the town's protector, they turned and left.

The night dragged on, as the fires burned low.

Ezra startled when he saw the six weary riders enter the town. He brought the rifle to ready until he was able to make out who moved through the darkness.  He lowered the weapon and stood stiffly when he recognized them.  Finally Vin turned his head and spotted him on the boardwalk.  Ezra touched the brim of his hat. He turned, entered the saloon and returned to his room.


Part 25:

They were dead tired.  The ride to Red Rock had been hot and exhausting.  The round up of the escapees went off rather well.  Two of the former prisoners were dead, the rest were in the Red Rock jail again.  No lawmen had lost their lives.  That was always a winning situation -- usually a reason to celebrate.

The six were mostly unscathed. A bullet had creased Buck's forearm and a man had tried to knife Josiah. Neither wound was very deep, but the injuries only added to their collective misery. Not much was said during the two days. Everyone was irritable, and the lawmen of Red Rock were quick to give the regulators of Four Corners all the space they needed. When they left, no one resisted.

The ride home was long and hard.  They had left late in the day, knowing that they would return to Four Corners after dark -- but the moon would be bright and no one had wanted to stay in Red Rock another day.

Larabee watched the familiar buildings form out of the blackness and was glad to be on the main street once again. He turned his head slowly to take in the ruined mercantile. He sighed, remembering his panic as they dug Ezra out of that horrible tomb.

He'd have to find Ezra soon, not let this thing go hanging over their heads.

The group of six wordlessly made their way to the livery and, almost as if a signal had been given, all came to a stop at the same time and dismounted.

Chris took the reins of his tired steed and brought Job alongside Peso.  "I'll find him and talk to him in the morning," Chris told the tracker.

"Yup," Vin replied.

"It was the right thing to do," Chris said, as much for his own confirmation as the others.  "Couldn’t let him get himself hurt.  He just doesn't know what's good for him -- too stubborn to realize that. Besides, we needed someone to watch the town."

Vin nodded.  "I don't think you needed to worry none.  I'm pretty sure the place got watched while we was gone."


Part 26:

Ezra strode into the saloon and noted that the others weren't there yet.  Only a few patrons were sitting about, drinking their morning coffee.  With a deep sigh, Ezra sat down in his chair.  He caught the bartender's eye and the man quickly came to him with a cup of coffee.  He nodded his thanks and the wordless transaction ended.

He clasped the mug, watching his hand tremble.  Lord, when had that started? he asked himself.   He sipped at the hot brew, hoping that it would calm him down.  He was so incredibly tired, but sleep evaded him.  He sat back and gazed out the window.  Heads moved past the window.  Two people met just outside and greeted each other with wide flapping mouths.  They might have been a hundred miles away.  Ezra watched the two, idly trying to read what they were saying, but he couldn't concentrate enough and it came to him as senseless gibberish; perhaps it was.

Something moved beside him.  Ezra jumped, his derringer flying into his hand and he aimed the little weapon at a quaking bartender, holding a pot of coffee.

"My apologizes, Mr. Rutledge," Ezra said to the large man, quickly stowing the gun.  He tried to keep the quaver out of his voice.

Rutledge nodded and babbled on about something, quickly filling the half-empty mug and scuttling back to the bar.

Damn it!  He was jumpy as a cat.  He felt himself twitch every time someone walked near him.  More than once he felt the urge to draw.  He pulled his Remington from its holster and set it before him, hoping the visibility of the weapon would calm him down.  He noted that the patrons of the saloon were suddenly giving him a wide berth.

Ezra rested his head in his hands and stared at the contents of the mug.  The coffee swirled slowly and hypnotically.  Lord, he wanted this to end. The horrible ringing had filled his head, leaving no room for anything else.

I have to get away from this, he thought.

He stood abruptly and grabbed his gun.  He jumped back for a moment as he noted the startled behavior of the people around him.  He shook his head sharply.  Lord, he needed to be free of this.  He stepped to the door and exited.

People on the boardwalk stopped and nodded to him, making odd gestures or slamming their mouths shut as if merely speaking would cause some odd reaction from him.  He pushed past them and stood at the verge of the boardwalk.

Carefully, he looked both ways to ensure that nothing was coming.  He had to be so damn careful now.  It galled him to realize how much he required all his senses even for a task as simple as crossing the street.  Once he was sure that the way was safe, he crossed to the livery on the opposite side of the street.

Inside the building, it was warm and dim. The gambler scrutinized the interior, glad to see that no one was around. He moved to his horse's stall and Chaucer lifted his head at his owner's approach. It seemed to Ezra that the horse might have nickered at him.

"Good morning, to you as well, my friend," Ezra said as he ran his hand along the horse's muzzle.  "I'm sorry for that abortive chance at exercise the other day.  I should have taken you out for a stroll."  The horse tried to lick his hands. Ezra checked to see that the animal had been properly fed that morning, then he took a brush off a nearby shelf and stepped into the stall.

Chaucer pressed his head playfully against his owner's chest and Ezra could feel the warmth of the animal against him.

"Careful now," he said softly, "I've only recently escaped from a possibly debilitating pulverization." It seemed like years since he had been trapped beneath that beam, but it was really only a few days -- eternally-long days.  His chest was still somewhat sore -- an almost forgotten annoyance.  The horse continued to press against him, oblivious to his owner's discomfort.

"I see that I'm not the only one who doesn't listen," he muttered and sidestepped away from the animal's head.  Carefully, he began grooming his horse. As he was brushed, Chaucer shuddered and shook his skin, leaning into the brush and nearly crushing his owner inside the pen.  Ezra let the action go unchastised.

He hummed softly to himself, not knowing if he was in tune or not, as he painstakingly continued his brushing. He could feel himself relaxing now, finally, a little. Chaucer kept his brown eyes on his owner as the man gently continued his task. Ezra's movements became slower and slower. 

When he was done, he set down the brush on its usual shelf and sighed.  And then, he wrapped his arms around Chaucer's neck.  He sighed, pressing the side of his head against the horse, trying to listen. He couldn't hear the creature's great heart nor the tremendous sound of his breathing, but it was warm and soft and for a moment he was content just to stand there, letting the horse support his weight. The ringing didn't seem so irritating here.

He was feeling immensely tired. His lack of sleep and the stress of the previous days had caught up with him and he felt as weak as a kitten. "My friend," he murmured as he released the horse and sat down on a small stool that had been left in the pen.  "My good friend."  With a sigh, he reached up to pat Chaucer's muzzle gently. Ezra closed his eyes, for a moment only, and drifted off to sleep with the chestnut horse watching over him.

He dreamed without sound.


Part 27:

Chris opened the door to the jailhouse and found JD sitting behind the desk, pressing the heels of his hands against his ears.  He glanced up at Larabee and smiled meekly, dropping his hands to the desktop.

"I was just trying…" JD started to explain.  He paused for a moment before stating again, "To see what it was like."

Chris nodded at the young sheriff.

"To be deaf, you know," JD continued.  "But I could still hear you come in that door."  He looked defeated and drummed his fingers on the blotter.  "It was all muffled and I thought I kinda knew what it was like, but I heard ya open that door." He held up his hands for a moment and let them drop again.

"I did the same thing myself," Larabee admitted.  "I thought, maybe, it'd give me an idea of what it was like.  Thing is, I could pull my hands away when I wanted."  He frowned.  "We just don't have a clue."

JD nodded in agreement.

Buck came up behind Chris and looked puzzled for a moment, trying to figure out what the two somber men had been talking about. "Are Will and Tom givin' you any trouble?" He nodded to the sleeping McHales.  For horse-thieves, they sure spent a lot of time asleep.

"Not a problem," Chris replied.  The boys had stirred at the sound of their names.  "Better stay that way," he added darkly as Tom sat up.

"Buck," JD said, "you ever think on what it'd be like to be deaf?"

Buck chewed his lip for a moment.  Ah, he thought, so this is what they were talkin' about.  "Can't say I've lingered on that thought much."

"I don't know what I'd do," JD confided.  "I think maybe I'd just go away and try to lock myself away somewhere."  He sighed.  "Ezra seems to be doin' a lot better at this than I ever could.  Most the time you don't even know he can't hear."

"That's the problem," Chris muttered.  "He acts as if nothin's wrong."

"Probably better that way," Buck put in.  "I 'spect he's doin' his best to just be… well… normal."

Chris leaned against the wall.  "He wouldn't 'ave had a chance if he came with us to Red Rock. Bullets were flying from everywhere."

Buck rubbed his sore arm thoughtfully.  "Yeah," he agreed.  "Damn shame though." He had seen the hurt look in the gambler's eyes, understood how much the slight had affected him.

"I ain't gonna have him killed," Chris returned.  "Gotta see to that.  It's my fault that this happened to him in the first place!"

"You blow up that building?" Buck bit back.  "You make him go on in there?  If I remember right, he was s'posed to stay by the corral."

"You sayin' it's Ezra's fault he got deaf?" JD asked incredulously.

"Naw," Buck returned quickly. "That ain't what I said at all."

"He was jus' tryin' to do his job," JD continued with a snap in his voice.  "Tryin' to catch those horse-thieves.  Lookin' out for the all of us!"

Buck nodded sagely.  "Yeah, I figure he went into that buildin' 'cause of Johnny.  Probably seen him in there and figured he'd better go after him."

"Anyone ask 'im?" JD continued.  "Anyone bother and try to ask him how it all happened?"

Chris and Buck exchanged glances, aware that they had hardly spoken to Ezra.  Hell, they couldn't really have a conversation with him now, could they? Chris sighed, realizing that he hadn't bothered to really try.  He had done little more than deliver orders to Standish.

Tom McHale was suddenly on his feet. "He done killed Johnny, that's what he done!  Shot him dead!  The bastard deserves more than what he got."

Buck strode angrily to the cell and glared in at the boys at the back.  "Let's get this straight right now."  His voice was low and deadly.  "Your brother's what caused all this.  He's dead 'cause the three of you thought you'd take somethin' that wasn't yours.  He's dead 'cause he tried to kill a friend of mine.  You say anythin' against that friend again, and you'll end up like your brother."

JD glanced to Chris, who's attention was on the prisoners.  Larabee nodded, confirming the validity of Buck's statement.


Part 28:

Ezra woke with a start when someone pulled the hat off his head. The derringer once again leaped into his hand, and it took a panicked second for him to focus on his attacker…his own horse.  Chaucer was totally calm, not even bothered that the little pistol was pointed between his eyes. He seemed more interested in shaking Ezra's hat to pieces.

"Now, stop that," Ezra gently admonished as he returned the pistol to its rig and stood. "You know that you shouldn't treat a man's property that way." He easily took the hat from the horse and inspected it, finding it sound. "You remember when I bought this now, don't you? At Mr. Mason's, wasn't it? That was in Baton Rouge, and you'll recall that you received a rather fine praline in the bargain." The horse again pressed its head against his chest, and Ezra scratched the animal's ears. "You were very patient that day, weren't you? It took me nearly an hour to find the perfect hat. And now you go and misbehave like this."

The horse pulled his head away and lipped the man's nose. Ezra felt the horse's hot breath on his face.

He grimaced. "Stop that," he said and the quarter horse tossed his head playfully. Ezra patted him on the forelock, smiling. But the smile slowly fell as the ringing in his head continued.

"Ah, Chaucer, what am I going to do?" he asked with a sigh. "Do you think this incessant ringing will ever stop?" Chaucer looked warmly on him. "Do you believe that my hearing will return?" The horse seemed to contemplate him seriously. "I really don't think I can handle this much longer. It's so difficult, so very hard. I can't hear a thing and have become nothing but a burden to them, a liability that's bound to cause them harm in the end."

"I'm so very tired.  Every day I try to cope with this wretched deafness, but it seems to be drawing me downward.  It's not getting easier, but harder by the minute.  I feel so lost...so hopeless.   I don't know what to do." He stroked the horse gently, not knowing if his voice sounded calm or not.  "I really don't know what I'm going to do."

He rested his head against the animal again and muttered, "Thank you for listening, my friend."

He jerked upright and spun around to look behind him. He could see a figure inside one of the other stalls. Even in the dim light he could make out that it was Josiah. The big man was apparently trying to remain unseen in his own horse's stall. Ezra swore to himself. Damnation!  He should have been more careful.

Without wasting another second, the gambler departed from Chaucer's pen, the horse nipping at the back of his jacket as he swung the door closed. "Good mornin', Mr. Sanchez," Ezra said as he stepped through the stable without looking at the man. Noting the quality of light outside, he amended his statement.  "Or perhaps I should say, 'Good afternoon'." He didn't turn as he spoke and exited the livery.

Standish nearly collided with the stagecoach as he stepped quickly into the street. The coachman yanked the horses to a halt, barely averting disaster, as Ezra, apparently oblivious, continued across the street to the saloon, the ringing in his head seeming to increase with every step.


Part 29:

Josiah entered the jail, with Nathan close behind.  He nodded to the men as the healer shut the door. "Brothers," the preacher said, "we need to do something about Ezra."

"Hi, Josiah," JD greeted.  "Ez seems to be doin' alright. Mary Travis told me that he did a good job takin' care of things while we all were gone."  The young sheriff frowned.  "She seemed kinda annoyed about somethin' though, and said that Nettie had a word or two for us."

Josiah continued, "I think he was asleep in the livery for quite a while." The others looked at him and he continued. "I was checking on my horse. I'd been there for only a minute or so and didn't see any sign of him. Then I suddenly heard Ezra, talkin' to Chaucer."

"What makes you think he was asleep?" JD asked.

"Woke with a bit of a start.  Pulled a gun on his horse," Josiah said.

"The derringer again?" Chris asked and received a nod in response.  He groaned.  Joe Rutledge from the saloon had reluctantly relayed the information that he had also been the target of the hidden gun earlier that day, plus Ezra had drawn it on Nathan and himself on that first night.  Rutledge seemed concerned about Ezra's state, wondering if it was safe to have him in the saloon.

Buck said, "He looked kinda beat before. Maybe he was just tired, just fell asleep. You know he can fall asleep just about anywhere.  He's got all this talk about feather beds and such, but he'd probably be able to catch a nap in a prickly-pear patch if he had a notion to."

Nathan asked, "Did he look okay?  He seemed kinda nervous the last time I seen him.  I've been hearin' folk say they've seen him actin' jumpy."

Josiah frowned. "He looked well enough.  Still, looks can be deceiving. He tells his horse more than he'd say to us. I overheard him. He's not holding up as well as he pretends." He paused.  "And he almost got himself run down when he stepped into the street."

"I'd better go see him," Chris declared. "I still got to talk to him about that Red Rock business.  I just don't know what I'm gonna to do about that damn derringer of his. Josiah, you want to come along?"

Josiah shook his head. "He saw me. I doubt he wants to see me again any time soon." Chris nodded knowingly. 

JD stood.  "Josiah, you wanna keep an eye on these boys then? I think I should go with Chris."

"I'd better check up on him, too," Nathan said with a sigh.  "I don't know if he's kept up with the treatment or not.  I probably have to twist his arm on that one."  He sighed, knowing that the brandy and foxglove probably wasn't going to do any good.  "Anyway, I gotta try and get him to take something that'll let him sleep.  I don't know if he's gotten any decent rest since this happened."

"Well, if Josiah is staying here, then I'm tagging along with you all," Buck added. "Gotta make sure you don't railroad 'im into anythin'."

Josiah watched as the four men left the jail. There's too many of them, he thought. This wasn't going to go over well.  He considered running after them, but knife cut on his thigh made him reconsider and he sat down at the desk.


Part 30:

Chris, Buck, JD and Nathan were halfway to the saloon, when a ruckus erupted within. They heard the sound of chairs and tables being overturned, glass breaking and men yelling. They ran the final distance, crashing through the bat-wing doors and were just in time to see Ezra pop his derringer back into its hiding place. Most of the patrons in the saloon were standing, backing way from him, hands up.

"Everything is fine, gentlemen," Ezra said quietly, sounding shaken. "There is no reason for alarm. I'm humbly sorry, Mr. Green for any undo stress this may have caused you."

Jed Green, looking terrified, backed his way toward Chris and cried shrilly, "All I did was slap him on the back and ask him how he was doin' -- ya know, since we're fellow lawmen now and all."

Chris sighed and approached the gambler who was busily righting his chair. Chris waited until Standish was done and then faced the gambler. Larabee didn't want to do this.   He prayed that some natural disaster would suddenly hit the town and give him reason to put off this meeting.

"It was an honest mistake," Ezra began. "He startled me."

Chris held out his hand, palm up. Ezra stared at the hand for a moment, and then a realization came to his eyes. "No, Chris, you can't remove my only protection."  His green eyes bored into Chris'.

"It's for your own good, Ezra," Chris said, hoping that he understood, watching Ezra's gaze travel from his eyes to his mouth, to watch his words.  It was a disconcerting feeling to be scrutinized so carefully, so constantly.

"But I'm already at a disadvantage," Ezra replied evenly, but his eyes betrayed a fear. "I'd never fire on anyone unintentionally, Chris. You're well aware of that. Drawing the weapon is a reaction to a sudden stimulus. Firing is an entirely different matter, and is something that I've always had control over. That has to be clear. It must be clear.  I would never fire on anyone without intention."

The last thing Chris wanted to do was to cause Ezra any grief, but there was no way around this.  He stared down at the smaller man, and pointed to the gambler's right arm. "Give me the derringer, Ezra."

"But Chris, you must understand, you must hear me.  I would never fire unintentionally." Ezra looked frantically between the men.  "To disarm me… now…"

Chris continued, knowing that he had to. "You're gonna be startled and shoot someone before you know it, without meaning to, without wanting to. You might hurt someone, some innocent person.  You couldn't live with that, Ezra."  Let this be easy, Chris prayed. Let him understand that I only want to help him.

"But that's not the case…"

"Ezra," Chris sighed.  "You could kill someone.  You're too damn jumpy right now."

Ezra stared at Chris in disbelief, his eyes searching Larabee's face as if he wanted to find some other message being delivered.  He clutched his arm defensively. Nathan, Buck and JD were all behind Chris now, facing down the gambler. His eyes darted from one man to the next, but saw no help in them. 

There was no help…

Ezra sighed, tiredly. His face became impassive and unreadable.

"Of course, Mr. Larabee, you're correct as always," he said dully and popped out the tiny gun, then handed it, butt first, to the leader. He then pulled the Colt and Remington from their holsters and set them on the table, and without another word, he turned and headed to the stairs to his room.

Chris tried to catch him, but Ezra slipped away.  He called for Standish to stop, but he didn't slow his pace.


Part 31:

Ezra lay back on his bed and listened to the ringing. It was insufferable. He placed his hands over his ears for a moment, trying to block out the continual sound, but it did no good. There was nothing he could do to escape it. It was the only sound he could hear. It filled his head.

He sat up and looked at the chair that he had shoved against his door. It had not moved. Earlier he had watched in fascination as the door vibrated in the frame and the knob rotated back and forth, but that ended after a while. Couldn't they understand that he didn't want anything to do with them right now?

Chris had actually taken his weapons from him. He still couldn't believe it. Didn't Chris trust him? Didn't Chris know he'd never fire on anyone? He felt so defenseless. Without his hearing, without his weapons, he was a walking target. He couldn't go outside. There were too many people who'd prefer to see him dead. It was better to just stay here.

He still had his rifle, but it wasn't the sort of thing he could tote around everywhere and it wasn't exactly handy in a quick-draw situation.

He closed his eyes and could see Chris, staring him down, demanding that he disarm himself, right in front of the entire saloon. Buck, JD and Nathan were backing him up. It was four against one and he had no way out. It was the same as the livery, all of them standing behind Chris to prove his point.

The saloon had been filled with people, looking at him suspiciously. It was a look that he was used to. He had lived his whole life with that sort of distrust. But he thought he had found a place where people might actually trust him. Apparently, that was not the case anymore.

He held one hand in front of his face and watched the tremble that had taken hold of him.  Good Lord, he thought, clutching at the hand with his other.  Not only was he deaf, but he was coming apart now as well.  His precious hands were failing him.

He focused at the bottle of medicine that sat on his bed stand and stared at it for a long minute.  Finally, he pulled one hand free of the other, picked up the little container, and held it in the palm of his hand, feeling its weight.  He had dutifully used the potion every night, even if sleep never found him.  And what good had it done?  What good had any of it done?  He hefted it into the corner of the room where the bottle splintered soundlessly and the fluid ran down the wall. It had been a terrible waste of brandy.

God, he needed a drink.

The bottle of bourbon that he had purchased three nights ago still sat on his dresser.  He stood and retrieved it.  Since the explosion, he had avoided drinking to excess, had forsaken Nathan's sleeping potions and had tried with all his might to stay alert and ready.

He poured himself a drink. What the hell, he wasn't going anywhere. No, he was never going to go anywhere ever again.

He sipped the glass as he walked back to the bed and sat down.  After consuming the contents, he set the empty glass on the bed stand where the brandy concoction had been a few minutes earlier.  He sat for a long time on the side of the bed, ignoring the partially full bottle, going over what was happening. He could hardly think straight anymore. If it wasn't for that endlessly ringing bell he might stand a chance, but it never gave him any rest. He was worthless in this state.

Dear Lord, what am I going to do?

He had embarrassed himself more than once in front of his colleagues, and now in front of the entire saloon.  There would be no refuge for him outside of this room.

Then something caught his eye from beyond the window. He turned sharply and saw a glint of glass. He squinted at the rooftop across from his room and spotted Vin with his spyglass.  The tracker, noting that he was discovered, was trying to squeeze himself into invisibility.   The gambler stepped to the window and glared at Tanner, who sat up, his face tinged with embarrassment. Ezra angrily tugged the drapes shut and returned to his bed.


Part 32:

Vin sauntered slowly across the street and into the saloon. Josiah, Nathan and Chris were sitting together at one table and he joined them.

Chris looked up. "I'm surprised to see you here, Vin."

"He saw me," Vin informed them. "Closed the drapes."

"What was he doin'?" Nathan asked. They had been worried when they couldn't open Ezra's door. Nathan didn't think that Ezra would do anything rash, but -- after all that had happened -- he had to be certain. They had sent Vin to keep an eye on him.

Vin shrugged. "He's just sittin' on his bed for the most part."

"Did he seem okay though?" Nathan asked.

Vin smirked. "Got blown up.  Nearly got himself crushed. Can't hear.  Got told that he ain't worth ridin' with.  Got disarmed in front of a full room by the one man he looks up to.  The people he calls friends just watched." He paused and looked at Josiah. "His other friends are spyin' on him. Yeah, he's okay."

Chris sighed, wondering if Ezra ever looked up to anyone. "I only wanted the derringer."

Nathan shook his head. "It's a good thing that we got all his guns though. I don't want to have to be patchin' up anyone due to him being so edgy."

"It wasn't right," Vin stated.  "None of this was right."

"I gotta agree with Vin," Josiah declared. "I wish I'd said somethin' when you boys left the jail. Ezra must 'ave felt that you all ganged up on him."

"Ya shouldn't 'a done it in front of everyone at least," Vin added.

"I'll make it up to him," Chris declared. "For all of this, I'll make it up.  He'll have to come down sooner or later and then we'll have a talk." He paused then, realizing how difficult that would be. It was hard enough talking to the con man when he had all his given senses in working order. Now, what was he going to do?

Something… he'd have to do something.  He couldn't let it go on like this.

The gunslinger glared at the glass before him.  He'd fucked up -- royally.  He had done everything he could to protect his deafened team member.  All of his decisions were sound, weren't they?  Perhaps -- but the execution was all wrong.

"Damn it all," Larabee muttered.


Part 33:

Ezra lay on his back on the bed. He'd been here too long, he thought. He'd been thinking about what his next move was going to be and he knew he couldn't remain barricaded in his room. What the hell was he doing?  He had never just given up in his life.  He wouldn't do that now.

He'd have to go out again and face the others, face the town, whether or not they trusted him anymore. It wasn't that important, in any case. He was used to being treated differently. He was just sorry that it had to happen again.

He pulled out his watch and swore silently. It was midnight already. He rolled over onto his stomach and ran his hand along the bottom of the mattress until he found the handle of the LeMat's that was hidden there. He sighed and the pulled the formidable weapon out of its hiding place.

It was a huge and unbalanced looking gun, with one over-sized cylinder and two barrels. A hybrid weapon with nine bullets and one load of buckshot, the most ungainly firearm that Ezra had ever laid eyes on.

He had taken it off the body of a dead felon several months ago. The gun had ended up in his saddlebag and he had fully intended to turn it in to JD when they'd reached to Four Corners, but it had been forgotten for over a week and when Ezra had found it again he saw no need to return it. The owner was dead and Ezra could always use a back-up weapon.

It was an unbeautiful sidearm, but it did feel good and solid in the hand. He had taken it with him for target practice and found it accurate, but it had a powerful kick.

He stood and practiced his aim, sighting on the lamp at his bedside, each corner of the curtained window, the posts at the foot of his bed.  He then faced himself in the mirror. He aimed the LeMat's at his image for a second, but pulled the gun back and shook his head.

"Why couldn't you have found a more fitting replacement?" he asked soundlessly as he looked at the reflected image, "Something with some elegance, some style, some subtly?" He holstered it, finding it almost too big to fit in the space custom-made for his Remington. It felt better just to be armed again. Now it might be safe to go out into the street once more.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. You could easily see the weapon under his light jacket. He smiled at how ridiculous it looked. Lord, he'd might as well just carry his rifle.

He realized that he looked tired; he felt so very tired. But it was after midnight already. "You've been sulking, Ezra," he said silently to himself, "And that is not becoming. There's no call for self-pity.  You have survived worse and you will make it through this.  This is nothing."

He should have been at the jail by now, to take up his shift. He was well aware of the schedule that had been set last week and he knew that Chris had the shift before his.  Larabee would be there now, probably angry that he was late.

All things considered, Ezra didn't want to see the gunslinger.  He could understand that Larabee didn't want him around in a gunfight -- his very presence might endanger the others.  But, Chris had to realize that he would never fire without meaning to.  He had to make that clear.  Chris would have to understand and return his guns. The LeMat's was no substitute. Larabee would have to see that it didn't look good on him.

Ezra removed the chair and slowly opened the door, peeking into the hallway to see if anyone lurked there. All was dark.  He made his way to the outside stairs.  The street appeared empty. He was glad that he wouldn't have to meet up with anyone. The town had been rather quiet all week -- apparently exploding buildings were bad for business.  The saloon had closed early.

As he made his way down the stairs, he noted that a fog had descended on the town, shrouding everything in mist. He grimaced, not appreciating the moist weather.  Maybe he should stay inside.

He thought about the piano in the back corner of this saloon.  It was horribly flat -- had been for some time now.  The piano at Digger Dan's, at least, had the advantage of being properly tuned.  He laughed to himself, thinking of his folly.  Why had he chosen the piano at Digger Dan's over this more convenient one?  Why would a flat chord make any difference to him now?  Hell, after his attack on the instrument, it was probably in worse shape than this one.  He should have exhibited the common courtesy to leave the better piano alone.

"Let's get on with this then," he whispered to himself as he stood on the bottom step.  "There's no more time for delayin'.  Take your punishment now and get on with your life.  There'll be no more lamenting things that cannot be helped."

There was movement in the street; something traveled through the murky darkness. Three men were walking shoulder-to-shoulder toward the jail. Strange time of night for visiting prisoners, Ezra thought. He stepped back, to ensure he stayed hidden in the darkness.

He could see their taut faces in the difficult light and recognized them instantly. There were the McHale brothers, the older generation. He had seen them around town before.  The boys' father, Thomas, was slightly in front of his brothers, Jim and Hank. The three of them were walking determinedly toward the place were the two young McHales were held. Ezra had seen the set of their eyes and knew that they had death in their plans.

Ezra slowly left the dark alleyway.  He fell in step behind the three men, doing his best to walk silently. He knew that Chris was currently in the jail, watching the prisoners. This didn't look good. He could read the tension in the backs of the elder McHales and knew this was trouble. He pulled the LeMat's out of his belt and continued shadowing them.

The three men stopped just outside the jail and went for their guns. "Misters McHale!" Ezra shouted, hoping his voice was loud enough, not only to distract the three men, but also to alert whoever was inside the jailhouse.

The three men turned and aimed their weapons at him. Thomas' gun flared even as he turned.  Ezra drew, feeling the ill-aimed bullet fly past his head and he squeezed off a shot, the heavy weapon jumping in his hands. Jim and Hank's guns erupted in smoke and light as Thomas staggered and fell.

The gambler dove for cover behind a barrel. The two men went after him. He rolled and came up facing Hank. The man's mouth was open; he was apparently yelling. His gun flashed and smoked and Ezra fired. Hank fell backward. The smell of gunpowder and the brightness of the charge were almost overpowering. Someone was coming at him from through the fog. He leveled the gun at the blurred figure, but dropped his aim and tried to turn.

Something struck him hard, sending him spinning toward the ground. Incredible pain bit into him as he fell. Still, his last thought was, how strange -- not hearing the shot that kills me.


Part 34:

Chris and Vin were in the jail watching the two remaining McHale boys. They had been difficult guests at best, constantly talking about how their father would come to get them.  Recently, they started talking about their uncles as well.  Chris ignored most of their threats, but he also knew that they shouldn't be ignored. Vin had taken over Ezra's shift for the midnight watch, and Chris hadn't left yet.   Larabee figured he'd make the rounds before heading to bed.

It had been a quiet night up until the moment they heard Ezra's voice, shouting out for the McHales. Chris looked to the two boys and wondered what the hell Ezra was doing. It was then that the gunfire erupted in the street. One of the guns sounded like a canon.

Chris leapt to his feet, followed instantly by Vin.  Flinging the door open, he paused for a moment to get his bearings in the fog. He could see Ezra trying to get to cover behind a barrel. One man was writhing on the ground. Ezra was firing at the second. The third would have Ezra in a moment.

Chris burst out of the jail, yelling uselessly to Ezra and running to get into position to take out the last of the men. He froze for a second when he saw Ezra suddenly turn toward him in the mist --  his eyes wide --  and aim a huge pistol at him. Ezra lowered the gun immediately, and within a second, a shot spun the gambler to the ground.

The last of the men didn't have a chance. Both Chris and Vin fired on him at once and took him down.

And for a moment, all was still.

Two of the men moaned painfully, the other two remained silent.  The lawmen ran the short distance to where Ezra had fallen. Vin kept his gun on the three other men while Chris crouched down to check the gambler.

"Ezra, hang in there.  It's gonna be okay," Chris murmured, and then remembered Ezra couldn't hear him in any case. He placed a reassuring hand on the still man's shoulder as he pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and tried to staunch the blood-flow from the gambler's side. Ezra flinched, but didn't open his eyes.  God, there was a lot of blood.

"Nathan!" Larabee bellowed.  "NATHAN!"  He glanced to Vin, who kept his mares leg switching between two of the shooters.

Noting the glance, Vin said, "They ain't gonna cause much more trouble."  He nodded to one of the injured, curled up in a ball on the ground.  "This one has a good hole in his arm.  That one," he said as he indicated another, "won't be walkin' fer a piece."  The third only gained a jerk of his head.  "The one we got won't be doin' anythin' beside for pushin' up a daisy or two."

JD arrived out of the fog, bleary-eyed, with a Colt in each hand.  "Oh, God," he muttered as the scene registered with him.  "Oh, God."

"Keep an eye on these fellas fer me," Vin told the sheriff.  The two men continued to moan and clutch at their wounds, unaware of their change in guard as Vin squatted down beside the fallen gambler.  He laid a hand on Ezra's knee and sighed.

Stay with us, pard, Vin thought, knowing that spoken words wouldn't reach Ezra.  He closed his eyes and concentrated on his thoughts, as if they might be somehow transmitted to the unconscious card sharp.  Don't ya pack it in just yet. Lots of things left to do.  Ya gotta play more of that perty music.  Ya got more marks t'fleece, more trouble t'cause.  Don't go.

He opened his eyes, and his gaze fastened on the mean looking weapon, still clutched in Ezra's hand. "I was wondering where that went," he said, as he gently released the LeMat's from Ezra's grip.  Don't worry 'bout it, he thought.  I'll take care of it fer ya.  Make sure nobody jus' locks away somewheres.  He held the gun in one hand, the other still resting on Ezra.  A fella needs a big gun every now and again, he thought as  he shoved it under his belt.

Chris looked up to see Nathan running out of the mist. "Nate!" he shouted, as if the healer could run any faster.

JD kept his guns on the two wounded men.  "What're we gonna do about them?" he asked.  One of the two was wailing now.

"They get to wait," Larabee replied sharply as the wounded shooters looked toward him.

Nathan had reached them. Chris stepped back to give him room, and Nathan quickly replaced Chris' blood soaked bandanna with a handful of cloth, holding it firmly in place.

Josiah and Buck suddenly appeared on the scene. "What the hell happened?" Buck asked, and then seeing Ezra's condition muttered, "Ah, hell.  Ah, shit. Ah, fuck."  He glared at the downed men, and stepped in beside JD to help him guard them.  A crowd was forming along the boardwalk; sleepy-eyed townspeople milled around, watching the spectacle, but not coming closer.

Nathan didn't look up, but he nodded to his medical bag as he said, "JD, do what you can to take care of those two."  JD and Buck looked incredulous, but Dunne did as he was told, leaving Buck to continue his work as a guard.  JD hastily bound up their wounds.  The two men complied with Dunne, throwing glances a their armed guard.  They realized that it would be best to be silent at this point, voicing only an occasional moan or cry of pain, but stifling what they could when they saw the dark looks coming from the mustached lawman.

Meanwhile, Josiah and Nathan tended to Ezra.

Vin moved from his place.  The tracker didn't speak a word, folding his jacket and settling it under Ezra's head, then laid his hand on Ezra's shoulder and closed his eyes.  His brow furrowed as if he were concentrating on something.  Ezra turned his head to the side and gasped shallowly.

"Help him," Larabee said, too low to be heard.  He saw Ezra's hat lying on the boardwalk, in danger of being stepped on.  Carefully, he picked it up with his clean hand -- the other was still sticky with blood.

Ezra's eye jerked opened and stared blankly, his head against Vin's jacket.

"Ezra," Chris called quietly, moving until he was in front of those clouded eyes.  "I need you to hang in there.  Nathan's got you know.  It'll be okay."  The gunslinger spoke the words, knowing that the gambler hadn't heard them.

Standish seemed to focus on Chris' legs.  His gaze slowly lifted, as if trying to meet Chris' face but the task proved too difficult and his eyes fluttered shut as Ezra moaned softly.

Nathan pulled back the bandage enough to note that the bleeding had slowed.  "We gotta get him to my clinic.  Now!" Nathan said, panic undercutting his voice. Josiah and Vin wordlessly lifted the gambler. They headed immediately to Nathan's clinic, the healer holding onto the hastily bandaged side.

"Careful… careful," Jackson murmured as they hurried down the boardwalk.  Vin and Josiah carried Ezra as if he were made from glass.

Chris followed closely. "Who the hell were they?" he demanded of Vin.

"The McHale brothers," Vin replied breathlessly.

"I thought we already got 'em," Chris responded.  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back to Buck and JD who were doing what they could with the wounded men, then followed the others up the stairs.

Vin and Josiah settled Ezra onto a bed and stepped back to allow Nathan all the room he needed.  Vin came to stand beside Chris and together they leaned against the wall, while Josiah brought Nathan whatever he called for.  He had managed to stop the bleeding, but the bullet had to come out now.

Chris looked at his hand after a moment and realized that he was still holding onto Ezra's hat. He set it carefully on a nearby table and sighed.

"He gonna be okay?" Vin asked tentatively.

"Give me a minute," Jackson muttered, bending over the wound with his painful-looking instruments, trying to locate the piece of lead that had done all the damage. Ezra winced, and shuddered.  "Damn it!"

"Anything we can do, Nate?" Chris inquired and Nathan didn't respond. Minutes passed as Nathan worked, and Ezra groaned softly.

"S'alright, son," Josiah said, gently laying a hand on Ezra's arm.  "Just hang in there."  Ezra moaned again, as Nathan continued to probe the wound, mopping up blood with a cloth.

JD pushed open the door and hung in the doorway for a moment.  Finally he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.  "We got 'em locked up.  Weren't too happy."  He glanced nervously over to where Nathan worked on their friend.  He gulped.

No one spoke, so Dunne continued, "They'll probably need to be seen to. Buck says that one of 'em ain't gonna keep much of his arm.  Told me to tell you to bring a saw when you went to see 'em.  Maybe the other is gonna lose his leg.  Said he'd watch 'em for now and he gave 'em a couple of snorts of whiskey to keep 'em quiet."

Nathan gave no sign that he had heard, so JD went to stand beside Chris and Vin.  The young sheriff cleared his throat and asked, "He gonna be alright, Doc?  You'll be able to help him, won't you?  He'll be fine, ain't he?"

Nathan looked up, his eyes wide as he took in the expressions of the three men who stood against the wall.  "Yer gonna have ta go," he said resolutely.  "Can't have you here."

"Now wait a minute," JD cried.  "I just got here.  I want to stay with him."

"Sorry," Nathan said, lowering his head again to his work.

But Vin and Chris had seen the panic in the healer's face.  The gripped JD by his elbows and directed him out of the room.

"Come on, JD," Chris said.  "Nate doesn't need our distractions and all our dumb-ass questions."

The three drifted into the empty saloon and sat in the dark.  Nobody spoke.  Buck wandered in a short time later, stating that Mr. Green had once again offered his services.  Apparently his mother-in-law was still in residence.  Buck fished a bottle of whiskey out from behind the bar, uncorked it and passed it around.  Between the four of them, they worked on finishing the alcohol.   The lamp that had sat on the table for days remained unlit.  They sat in shadow.

Chris muttered, "If that son-of-a-bitch doesn't make it…" he stopped talking, not wanting to continue that thought.  In his mind he could still see all that blood, Ezra collapsed on the boardwalk, could see that pale face looking toward him, trying to raise his gaze and failing, the tossed hat.

"He'll make it," Buck said assuredly.  "Hell, he just had a building fall on him and survived it.  This is nothing."  He was glad that it was too dark in the room for anyone to see his face clearly and he hoped that his voice carried enough conviction.

"He's gotta," JD murmured.  "Jeez, Chris, he's just gotta make it."

Damn right, Chris thought, realizing how much he needed to say to that stubborn cuss.  He felt a cold fear at the thought that Ezra might not recover from this blow, that so much would be left unsaid.

Chris thumped his hand angrily on the tabletop.  He turned to Vin in the darkness.  "What the hell did you say about those shooters?  The McHale brothers?"

"The boys' father and uncles," Vin replied. "They come through town from time-to-time.  Don't see the uncles so much though.  Guess Ezra happened upon them a'fore they got to us."

"Lucky he did," JD murmured.

"Yeah, lucky," Chris said with a frown. He stared out across the empty, black room and the men were silent again.

Finally, out of the darkness, Chris said, "He didn't fire -- just like he said. He had me in his sights, and through the night, and the excitement, people shooting at him and the goddamned deafness -- he didn't fire."


Part 35:

Ezra was aware of a ringing bell. His first thought was, "Not that again." It has been so peaceful without it. His next thought was about the pain that seemed to radiate through his whole side. He remembered, vaguely, the bizarre soundless shootout and he wondered what the outcome had been. Considering his present pain, he figured that it had not gone well.

He was lying on his side. His mouth was dry and he felt light-headed, even lying quietly as he was. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself looking out a window. The curtains were open and it was bright outside. He was in his own room. Funny, he thought, the window shouldn't be open. How did that window get opened? How had it become closed anyway?  He blinked, trying to get a grip on what was going on.

His eyes traveled across his limited view of his room.  He could see his hat on his shaving stand -- not where it was supposed to be.  His gaze lingered for a moment on the walls at the corner of his room, remembering something vaguely.  The corner looked as if it had been cleaned, but he couldn't recall why it should have been dirty.  He always kept his room in good order.

The bell continued to ring, but he realized that it was different than before. It wasn't a constant tone, but rather a series of peals, exactly like a bell being struck, a little muffled, a little distant, but still it sounded like a bell. Why was the church bell ringing? He had a strange sense of déjà vu. Then the bell stopped. For a few moments there was nothing. Nothing -- glorious nothing! It had finally stopped!

Praise be!

Then he heard, outside the window, people walking and chatting loudly. Children were running and laughing; he could hear their footfalls on the wooden boardwalk. A horse whinnied in the stable. Ezra listened. That's strange, he thought, trying to remember why it was strange. He strained his ears to decipher what was going on.  Finally, he came to the conclusion that the sounds of people seemed to be headed toward the church.

"Is it Sunday?" he said aloud and found himself startled by his voice. It sounded hoarse, as if from lack of use, but there was something else that was odd about it.

He tried to cough and stopped… first because he hurt an awful damn lot, and secondly because of the suddenly commotion in the room.

He heard a chair scrape loudly on the floor and the sound of someone jumping to their feet. Ezra looked up to see Chris peering expectantly at him. The gunslinger looked incredibly worried, and then he smiled broadly.

"God, it's good to see you awake," the dark-clad man said. His voice sounded so odd to Ezra and he couldn't quite understand why. It sounded fuzzy and a little tinny, but there was something else. He would have to have a better grasp on things.

Chris squatted down beside him so that they were at the same eye level. "How ya feelin? Ya want some water?" the gunslinger spoke very slowly. Ezra wondered if there was something wrong with the gunslinger. "Water?" Chris asked again, sounding out each syllable.  He fussed around at the table and then pulled up a card that had the word DO YOU WANT SOME WATER? printed on it.  How very odd.

"That would be agreeable," Ezra said softly, his voice still rough. Larabee disappeared and he could hear him pour a little liquid into a glass.  He came back to the bed and set it with a 'thunk' on the bed stand.

"I'm going to have to get you sitting up," Chris voiced. Ezra didn't think that was a good idea, but he didn't seem to have much choice in the matter since the gunslinger was already grabbing him by the shoulders and moving him upward. Why did he feel so damned weak? The throb in his side became a searing pain. He had to suck in his breath to keep from crying out. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to separate up from down from sideways. By the time he managed that, Chris was talking to him, but he couldn't catch what was being said. The gunslinger tapped him lightly on the chest.

Ezra opened his eyes and then Chris asked, "You okay?" Again, he spoke the words very slowly, looking him in the eye the whole time.  Ezra puzzled over the strangeness of the situation.  Again, Chris fumbled with a set of cards that sat on the bed stand and held up one that read HOW ARE YOU?  This was quite bizarre.

"I seem to have survived the transfer," Ezra replied.

"Here’s the water.  Can't have too much just yet," Chris said and handed him the partially-filled glass and Ezra tried valiantly to hold onto it, but he had no strength at all. He could barely grasp the glass. When Chris tried to help, Ezra glared at him, and tried to push him away, but it didn't do any good.  When he finished the small amount, Larabee placed the empty glass back on the table.

Once Ezra was settled again, Chris turned away and headed back to his chair. "Too damned stubborn for his own good," he grumbled.

"It's my stubbornness that makes me endearing," Ezra replied.

Chris came to a dead stop and Ezra wondered what had happened.  Larabee turned sharply and blurted out, "You can hear me?"

"You were speaking out loud," Ezra said darkly. "They next time you have something disparaging to say about my character, perhaps you should keep it to yourself." He was surprised that Chris smiled at this remark.

"Ezra, you never stop amazing me," Chris declared. "I'd go get Nathan, but he's attending Josiah's services right now. Half the town's down there praying for ya; bribin' the Lord so that you'll wake up. It's been over two days." Chris paused.  "Looks like the good Lord was listenin' and threw in a extra and let you hear again."

Ezra frowned at this. He started to speak, but then stopped. His memories were starting to make more sense. It was all coming back to him now. "The McHale brothers?" Ezra asked.

"Taken care of," Chris said, "Both batches of them.  We got four of 'em in the jail now -- two are a little less pretty than when they started.  God, Ezra, that gun of yours nearly cut that man's arm off.  The other ain't gonna walk on two feet again."

Ezra nodded. He was starting to feel sleepy. "I remember…they were intent on mischief."

Chris continued, "Vin and I might be dead if it weren't for you.  I'm obliged, and I owe you an apology."

Ezra cocked his head at the gunslinger, a surprisingly difficult maneuver. "An apology, Mr. Larabee? For your abrupt dismissal of my assistance in going to Red Rock."

Chris winced.  "I ain't apologizing for keeping you from that.  It wasn't the place for you to be at that time. I could 'ave gone about it differently though.  I admit that."

"Ah," Ezra smiled weakly. "I suppose that is an apology of sorts."

A deep sigh escaped the gunman.  "I was talkin' about something else.  I never should've taken your sidearms from you in the saloon. Never should've taken them at all. I should've listened to you and understood what you were saying."

Chris muttered, "Hell, you were the one who was deaf, but I was the one who wasn't listenin'."  He grinned then. "Besides, I should've figured you'd have somethin' else far more interesting hidden away in any case."

"I'm not one to be taken unaware."

Chris sighed. "The worst of it is that I've screwed up the trust we had built up. I was wrong. I acted like an ass."

Ezra was touched that Chris would apologize, for something that was hardly his fault. He knew it must not have been easy for Chris to stoop so low. "Well, we can't all have my charming ways, Mr. Larabee," Ezra, trying to produce his best dimpled smile, but he was getting more tired by the minute. "And perhaps your reasons were well founded. I was, somewhat, unhinged."

Chris noticed that Ezra was drifting off. "I need you to know that I trust you. I just wanted to make sure you understood me."

"You're as clear as a bell, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said with a yawn. He could feel himself fading fast. Chris moved toward him and helped him get settled into a more comfortable position. "Chris?" Ezra said, half asleep already.

"Yeah, Ezra."

"Thanks for taking care of my hat." Ezra's voice was drifting away.

Chris startled, and then remembered that Ezra had looked at him after the shootout, if only for a moment. He had been holding the hat. "You always amaze me, Ezra."

"That's my aim," Ezra mumbled and fell asleep.

THE END - by NotTasha

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