RANCOR OF HONOR: THE CONCLUSION

By: Jkay

Edited by: Antoinette and KRH

Guest Stars:
Michael Ironside as Tyrone Larabee
Sam Elliott as General John Buford

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Chris was soaked to the bone by the time he arrived back at his shack. He slowly pulled his saddle from Diablo and placed it under the overhang over the porch. Next he grabbed the blanket and threw it on top of the saddle to keep it dry. Chris turned back to the black and untied Diablo’s reins from the wooden post and led him to the corral. He opened the gate and the big black followed him in Chris turned and the well-trained horse lowered his head so that Chris could slip off the bridle. For a time, man and horse stood silent in the light drizzle. The cool raindrops felt good against Chris’s hot face cooling it down. Chris finally sent Diablo off with a pat and after hanging the bridle on a peg he went inside to dry off.

Chris peeled off his black duster and threw it over the chair. His head still ached from his morning encounter with the little piglet. He went to the corner cupboard and poured himself a shot of whiskey, drowning it in one gulp. Licking his lips, Chris poured another shot and this time sipped the whiskey slowly, letting it warm his gut. Grabbing the whiskey bottle, Chris made his way to the bed, sat down and poured another shot of whiskey, then placed the bottle on the floor next to the bed where he could find it. He raised the glass to his lips and once more slowly sipped some of the golden liquid. Chris winced as his left hand rubbed against the side of his face where a dark purple bruise ran from his temple down to his cheekbone.

Exhausted, Chris pulled his boots off and placed them by the foot of the bed. Weary, he lifted his legs and settled his back against the headboard. Chris leaned his head back, fighting to keep his eyes open, but lost the battle as he fell into a drunken slumber. The glass he was holding in his right hand slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor. The glass hit the floor, spinning, without breaking, rolling to a stop a few feet from the bed.

It was well past midnight when the first sounds of whimpering escaped Chris’ lips. His body curled inside itself, subconsciously trying to seem smaller. He was caught up in his childhood nightmare. Gray floating clouds swirled around Chris as he walked a few steps then stopped, tilting his head, listening for any familiar sounds. Hearing nothing he moved on and then suddenly he felt like he was falling, slowly falling in a bottomless pit; at the same time he felt his body shrink smaller and smaller. He reached out scraping his fingers against the cold stonewall. With a jolt, Chris willed his body to stop falling and clawed his way back out of the pit. Taking deep breaths, Chris stood on shaking legs behind him the pit disappeared. A gentle breeze brushed against his face, warm and inviting and Chris proceeded forward. The wind picked up carrying a musical sound, radiating a soft voice, weaving along the air current. Chris was drawn towards the musical voice; it was a source of warmth and love. Chris staggered forward faster as he felt a menacing presence reaching out to gather him in its embrace. Chris shivered as he ran, leaving the dark, murky demon behind, fleeing to the musical voice as it called out his name.

“Baby… don’t hide from mommy.” Elena Larabee’s angelic voice called out to her five-year-old son. She was wearing her finest gown. The dress matched her emerald green eyes and she looked stunning with her long blonde hair flowing down her back. She wanted everything to be perfect when her husband returned home. The house smelled like fresh peaches and cinnamon from the jam she finished caning earlier in the day. The parlor was decorated with small ribbons of blue, yellow and green, tied together making up streamers that lined the walls. In the center of the table was a round two-layer cake with white frosting and little toy ponies on top. The cake was for her son’s fifth birthday party. Her son’s giggles rose from behind the love seat and green eyes that matched her own peeked around the corner to look up at her.

“Mommy,” chuckled little Christopher as he stood up. In one hand he held a toy, a stuffed black and white horse’s head on a stick, lovingly made by his mother with buttons for the eyes and a red ribbon for the harness. The little boy moved his legs between the slender piece of wood that made up the toy’s body and pretended to gallop over to his mother.

“How is my little cowboy?” Elena reach down and lifted his son into her arms. She swung him around as he giggled with delight. “I believe it’s time for blackie and his master to take a nap.” She told the yawning five-year-old in her arms.

“No nap…want papa, promised!” pouted the toddler as his right thumb headed for his mouth. Christopher’s mouth closed around his thumb as he finished a second yawn. Elena smiled down at her weary little boy and moved to sit in the rocking chair to settle him down for a nap. As she reached over to get the baby blanket she thought she heard the sounded of horses stopping in front of the small two story house. Elena was excited as she stood and shifted Christopher’s head against her shoulder and pulled the blanket up to cover his head. She kissed him on the side of the cheek and went to greet her husband at the front door.

Elena carefully opened the front door so that she wouldn’t wake the sleeping child in her arms. She took a voluntary step back inside the hallway at the sight of the man walking up the steps towards her. From the glossy look in his eyes Elena could tell that he had been drinking. She looked past the man hoping to see her husband and friends riding towards the small cottage. It was late and most of the slaves and men who worked for her husband’s grandfather were already in for the night. Elena was alone with her five-year-old son. “Charles,” she said, keeping her voice steadying, she hadn’t seen the man since before she had been married. Elena shifted the baby in her left arm, keeping him out of sight and out of reach, behind the door.

“Elena.” Charles said her name as he put his hand on the door post, leaning his head in the door. “Elena, it’s been a long time.” His eyes roamed her body that was not covered by the door. “You’re still the most beautiful woman in Louisiana.”

She didn’t know what to say, she couldn’t let him in the house. “Thank you, Charles.”

“May I come in?”

“It’st late Charles. Tyrone should be arriving home any minute now.” Elena saw the man’s eyes harden at the sound of her husband’s name. “Please Charles, go back home. Remember our past friendship and let it be…let it be enough. You shouldn’t be here… I love Tyrone.” Her eyes pleaded with him to go away. The bundle in her arms started to wake up and little Christopher slowly opened his eyes.

“The men are gone?” Charles asked with a tight sneer on his face. Elena instantly knew she made a mistake, she shouldn’t have told him that Tyrone wasn’t home. Charles placed his foot in the doorway, blocking her from shutting the door in his face. Elena’s body shuttered in fear and her baby pick up that fear and dug his face into her shoulder, his little body shaking in terror. Her deep love for her son took over and Elena wrapped both arms around him, hugging him closer to her body, whispering sweet words of love into his little ear. As she shifted her son over to her right arm, Elena heard Charles’s audible gasp of shock and she took several steps back away from his extended hand reaching for her baby. She quickly lowered the boy to the floor and said, “Run baby…run and hide…run…baby.” She stood facing Charles as Christopher obeyed, running down the hallway where the old grandfather clock chimed away. Elena screamed Tyrone’s name as Charles lunged towards her.

He was mad, lost in a rage that he couldn’t control. Savagely Charles glanced around the room. He was out of breath as he finally caught up with the struggling woman. He grabbed her around the neck and placed his hand over her mouth, stopping her from telling the boy to wait for his Papa. Charles yelled for the boy to come out as he pulled Elena towards his chest. How dare she…she had a son…she gave that…that…devil a son… his son… the son that should have been his.

She struggled to get out of his arms. Elena bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth, she instantly heard Charles curse and with his other hand he shoved a long knife into her body. Elena felt a pressure against her side, terrified, she exerted all her energy to free herself. She became numb, not feeling any sensation from her lower body. Elena’s mouth open and she tried to cry out, her face turned paste white from shock as she cast her eyes down staring unbelievably at the knife protruding from her body. Elena whispered her husband’s name before her eyes rolled back into her head, becoming dead weight in her killer’s arms. Charles lowered her body to the kitchen floor, his eyes wild and feral as he looked around the room, searching for the boy. The boy… devil’s son… had to get the boy. Charles stepped over Elena’s dead body moving towards the parlor. He never saw the piercing green eyes staring straight past him through the crack in the cupboard under the sink. Charles ransacked the parlor, shoving the knife covered in blood in the middle of the cake. Not satisfied, Charles pulled the knife out of the cake and slashed down at the cake again and again, until the knife became embedded into the wood of the table. Like a mad dog, Charles tossed and turned the parlor over, shattering the glass vase over the fireplace.

The whiskey glass shattered…

Chris woke with a scream, his body rising halfway out of the bed, soaked with sweat. He had been dreaming of his mother and for a moment he thought he was five again, but the dream faded, leaving him with a feeling of dread. Chris glanced around the room; it was early morning, just before sunrise. Then off to his right he heard it again, the sound of breaking glass. A shadow in the dark moved and Chris instantly reached for his gun, that wasn’t there.

The two shadows moved quickly to subdue the gunslinger. One of the men pulled his gun and hit Chris over the side of the head with the butt of the handle. Dazed for a moment the gunslinger fall back onto the bed, blood ran down his face where the handle had cracked open the skin. “Did you kill him, Bart?” said the taller of the two men.

“Didn’t hit him hard enough to kill him. Check him, Tex,” answered the man named Bart.


“You check him, I aren’t going near him. Shellburne will knife ya for sure, if you hurt him.” Tex claimed. The tall rebel knew of the gunslinger’s reputation with a gun. The first thing he did when entering the shack was to grab Larabee’s gun from it holster and tossed the ivory handled colt to his friend. A moan from the bed made both men step closer and prod the wounded gunslinger with the barrels of their guns. Seeing his chance, Chris struck out at the nearest man, clipping Bart in the jaw, forcing the small rebel to his knees. Tex pulled back in fear, giving Chris the time he needed to scramble from the bed. Once on his feet, Chris took a right swing at the tall rebel, then he followed up with a left punch to the rebel’s stomach, forcing Tex to the ground. Chris didn’t wait; his colt was tucked into the pants of the first man he had hit. Unarmed and bare foot, the gunslinger stumbled out the door.

“Don’t let him get away,” shouted Bart as he got to his feet.

The angry shouts of the two men drove Chris forward, staggering past the gate to the corral, past Diablo, who was frantic, running around the pen kicking at the rail posts. The horse was desperate to follow his master. Chris made his way blindly around the corral running into the trees. He ran until he stumbled down the creek embankment that wrapped around the western part of his land. Chris slid down the rock-covered slope, his body rolling over the sharp boulders, coming to a halt in the middle of the creek. Shaking the water out of his eyes, Chris staggered to his feet and made his way down the middle of the creek, trying to cover his tracks. The water was getting deeper as Chris stumbled and fell over a large dead tree that had fallen across the creek. The rapid flow of a waterfall near by, brought Chris back to awareness. He glanced around at his surroundings, unarmed he had to find a hiding place til Buck or Vin arrived. He knew when he didn’t show up in town to see the colonel off the others would be concerned and come looking for him. Slowly Chris crawled around the dead trunk and gradually lifted himself up and found the opening hollow and wide enough for him to crawl inside. Feet first, Chris slid down inside the trunk. Gathering the wet foliage with his hands, Chris covered the opening as the voices of the two men searching for him grew louder.

“Where is he?” Bart shouted at Tex. The two men had followed Chris’ trail and lost it after he hit the water.

“Are you sure he came this way?” Tex shouted over his shoulder. Both men were wet from running in the creek. “We don’t have time for this. Thomason is sure to have missed his men by now and ride out to investigate.”

Bart frowned and said, “Told Shellburne it was a mistake to kill those troopers.”

“Well it’s too late now, I think it time we head back to Mexico and cut our losses,” Tex told him. Both men turned at the sound of a bugle blowing off in the distance. “Shellburne is not going to like this,” he said as he pushed past Bart to climb the rocky slope, slipping and sliding till he made his way up the hill, mud caking his hands and face. Bart was not far behind.

The sound of the two men’s voices grew weaker as Chris heard them arguing. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but his body subconsciously shuttered when it heard the name ‘Shellburne’. The return of the soft chirps of birds and the rustling of the brushes told him the men had moved off. Cold and wet, Chris fought to keep his eyes open as blood ran down the side of his face. He needed to return to the shack, get his gun and hunt the two men down on his terms. Chris raised his hand to wipe the blood out of his eyes before crawling out of the dead tree when a piercing stab of pain shot through his head. Too cold and exhausted to fight the pain, Chris closed his weary eyes and collapse, his unconscious body half under water.

It started to hail, the thunderous boom in the sky announced a new day….


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Ezra had been up since the crack of dawn. After destroying two white shirts and a rip in his favorite red jacket, he had four of the eight piglets back in their pen. He was on the trail of the fifth. The piglet was heading towards the livery and food. Ezra was sure that Tiny was secretly feeding the pigs. The gambler stationed himself beside the barn door waiting to grab the pig as it came around the corner. He heard the piglet snorting and readied himself. Like lightening the piglet cut round the corner of the barn and Ezra made his lunge…and missed, falling hard. Dust drifting in the air as Ezra pounded the ground in frustration, “This is most undignified,” he said out loud.

“Having trouble, Ezra?” Vin asked, his voice low and smooth. He was leaning against the barn looking down at the gambler. Ezra stood up and brushed the dirt from his vest.

“No… no trouble at all, Mr. Tanner,” he said sarcastically, pulling down the cuffs on his once white sleeves. “Has Mr. Larabee decided to grace us humble peasants with his presence today?” Ezra asked, changing the subject.

“Diablo is not in his stall,” Vin answered. He was worried. He expected Chris two hours ago. A bungle call forced the two men to turn their attention to the front side of the livery stable. C Troop was mounted and ready to ride, Major Winslow and Colonel Thomason stood talking with Buck. Vin turned and motioned with his hand for Ezra to follow him through the barn door to see the soldiers off.

“Well Mr. Wilmington, we have waited long enough. It appears that Mr. Larabee has other business to take care of,” Major Winslow said, put out. With a nod of his head he moved to mount his horse.

Waiting for the two men coming through the barn to join them, Colonel Thomason said abruptly before he whirl around to join his men, “Gentlemen, the army thanks you for the supplies.” Thomason was in a hurry to get out of town. The four scouts that he had sent to keep an eye on Larabee hadn’t return to make their morning report. He briskly made his way to his horse, stepping up on the stirrup he mounted. With a wave of his hand, he advanced C Troop out of town. The soldiers rode two by two following the flags of C Troop and its two officers.

“Well?” Buck stated. Vin continued to stare after the troopers riding out of town. As the last soldier went out of view, the tracker walked back into the barn. A crashing sound and horses’ shrilling came out of the barn and on its heels ran a piglet. Instantly Ezra’s double-barreled derringer was out of his sleeve pointing at the baby pig.

“I believe brother Chris said ‘alive, not dead’,” Josiah reminded him in his deep husky voice. Ezra pushed the derringer back up his sleeve. Turning he followed Vin into the barn and started to saddle his horse, Loki.

“Someone needs to stay in town.” Buck told the other four men. Three pairs of eyes turned toward JD.

Backing away JD said, “No…I’m going,” he wheeled around in time to see Vin with Ezra leading their horses out of the barn. He quickly made his way towards them and entered the barn to saddle his horse, Dusty.

Buck shrugged his shoulders as he looked at the other two men. There would be no one staying. Nathan had to go and the stocky built Josiah was the only one who could control Chris without punching his lights out.

The three men turned as one towards the barn to see Vin leading Darling, her saddle already on. The tracker tied the mare’s bridle to the hitching post. He returned to his own horse, Unalil, checked the mare’s leg behind his saddle then mounted, waiting. Buck nodded to Nathan and Josiah to get their horses. It didn’t take long before Ginger and Dulcinea were saddled and ready to go. After double-checking his cinch, Buck mounted, turned Darling’s head toward the direction of Chris’ shack and said to the others, “Let’s ride.”

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C Troop was a few miles out of town when Colonel Thomason raised his hand and halted the column.

“You’re thinking the same thing as I am,” Major Winslow stated. It wasn’t a question; he turned and waved to one of his lieutenants. Young Lieutenant Jessie Smith raced to his side, ready to please the major.

“Something is wrong.” Thomason stated, “Sergeant Fargo should have reported back in by now.

Winslow turned to the young lieutenant, “Take two men with you and ride back into town and wire this message to the general.” He paused gathering his next words carefully before speaking to the lieutenant. The young officer pulled out his writing pad to take down notes. “Write word for word, lieutenant. Sir, your suspicions were right. Stop…Shellburne in territory. Stop… Come at all possible speed. Stop…Heading towards young Larabee’s cabin. Stop…Maybe too late. Stop…” He stopped to make sure Smith had written down each word. “Now off with you boy, don’t stop and meet us at the rendezvous point, due south of Coyote Canyon.” The young lieutenant saluted, turned, pointed for two of the horse soldiers to follow him and they rode off, leaving a trail of dust behind them as their horses ran full out.

Colonel Thomason pulled a map out of his saddlebag, opened it up and studied the trail marked out for him by his general, the route to Larabee’s cabin. Thomason glanced up and pointed in a southwest direction where six riders were making their way down the hill. “It looks like those six peacekeepers have the same idea. This should become interesting, to say the least,” the colonel told the major. With a wave of his hand forward, Major Winslow moved the column, slowly and as quietly as possible following the six riders.


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“Are they still out there?” Buck asked the tracker. All six peacekeepers were dismounted, standing out of view under the trees, east of the gunslinger’s shack. Buck pointed to Nathan and Josiah to make their way around to the backside of Chris’ shack. Then Buck whispered to Ezra to scout the front side around the corral. He kept JD with the horses; Buck wanted the kid where he could keep an eye on him.

“Yup, troopers are still there, about a mile behind us. Been following us since we left town.” Vin raised his spyglass again, waiting for Buck’s next question. The tracker didn’t have to wait long.

“What did you think they’re up too?” Buck asked, moving to stand by the tracker.

“Looks like they are looking for something. Several of the troopers are off their horses.” Vin paused when he saw one of the troopers point and half the column rode over to a tall grassy area. “Yup, they’re tracking, they just found…” He stopped talking as he watched the three soldiers dismount, bend over and lift a body out of the yellow grass. He leaned forward to get a better look and released a sigh when he saw the stiff body had dark hair and was wearing a blue uniform.

“What did they find?” JD whispered.

Vin turned to face Buck and said, “What’s going on Buck? And don’t tell me you don’t know. First Orrin Travis sends for Chris to ride up to Fort Laramie. Then he disappears for a couple of weeks, and when he finally shows his face back in town… what happens the next day? We have the cavalry riding all over the territory. And one more thing, I could of sworn that Chris knew this Colonel Thomason. I can’t put my finger on it, but there was a look in Chris’ eyes.”

“What kind of look?” JD thought to himself. JD almost kicked himself as he received a stern look from the two older men; he had asked the question out loud. Vin turned, letting Buck deal with the kid and he once again raised his spyglass to his eye. JD had learned long time ago not to question Buck about Chris or the two friends past friendship, once again in his excitement the youngest peacekeeper almost stepped over the line. “Sorry, Buck.”

Vin stood back, lowering the spyglass, his voice heavy with worry as he said, “We need to get to the shack. They just found four bodies.” Vin made a straight line for Chris’ shack, forcing Buck and JD to run to keep up.


All three men were breathing heavy when they stopped a few yards from the shack. Vin saw Ezra out of the corner of his eye near the corral; the gambler shook his head, all clear. Vin and Buck inched forward, silently telling JD to watch their backs. JD pulled his colts out of his hostlers. Buck laid his hand on Vin’s shoulder, pointing to the movement around the left side of the shack. Josiah waved all clear and made his way to the door. He slowly peeked inside, and then went in, gun drawn ready for anything, with Nathan right behind him. The four men outside waited for the sign of all clear. It didn’t take long…Nathan waved them to come in as Josiah walked out the door beside him, a disturbed look on his face.

The four peacekeepers hurried to join the other two men. As they reached the door, Buck was the first to ask, “Well…?”

“He’s not inside…,” Josiah said. Buck could tell that he was clearly holding something back and pushed his way past the door not waiting to hear what else the big man had to say. Josiah didn’t try to stop him. “Ezra, take JD and get the horses and bring them back to the corral.” Josiah grabbed Vin’s arm before he could enter the door. “There was a struggle.” Vin nodded, before he crouched down to the ground, studying the footprints. Two sets were deep, one was light, as if someone had run out of the shack bare footed. After a while Vin stood and followed the lighter tracks around the corral.

Diablo snorted noisily as he got a whiff of the tracker walking beside the corral gate. The horse pawed at the ground angrily, demanding to be let out. “Easy boy…,” Vin whispered. Diablo looked the tracker in the eye and reared up on his hind legs, his front hoofs kicking in the air. His front hoofs hit the ground hard and Diablo ran round the pen kicking at the post on the western end. As Vin watched the horse repeatedly run around the pen, each time he came to the western end, Diablo kicked as if he was pointing, sending the tracker a message. Vin took off running for the trees with Nathan and Josiah not far behind, their guns out, covering the tracker’s back. As Vin reached the trees he heard the sound of running water and made his way towards the creek. “Nathan, you and Josiah go up stream, yell if you find him,” Vin shouted over his shoulder. He came to a halt at the side of the creek embankment and studied the three sets of tracks. He drew in his breath as he saw the signs where someone had slid down the slope; little spatters of blood laced the rocky trail.

Vin jumped the embankment and slid down the edge till his feet hit the water edge. Again he studied the muddy bank and saw two sets of tracks, deep in the mud. Vin looked up and down the creek trying to decide which way to go, he turned at the sound of Josiah’s voice calling out to Nathan, a little ways up stream. He waited, nothing, no shouts that they had found him. Vin glanced back down stream. Where is he?

As he walked along side the water, the tracker came across a dead tree that had fallen across the creek. He jumped up on the log and walked to the other side, again looking for any signs where Chris might have left the water. Water lapped at the edge of the log as Vin studied the terrain, his eyes narrowing. Something seemed out of place. He stared down at the wet underbrush piled against the log opening, brown, orange leaves floated down stream on the surface of the water, as the water ate away at the pile. Vin bent down to get a drink of water and brush away some of the rust color leaves from the log. Dipping his hand in the cool water, he cried out as his fingers brushed against a cold hand. “Oh God…Chris!” Vin jumped into the water, shoving the pile of leaves out of his way. “Nathan! I found him! Nathan!” The tracker pushed his way into the hollow log til he saw Chris’ mud caked hair. Grabbing the unconscious man by the shoulders, Vin pulled with all he had. It wasn’t long before Josiah’s strong hands were helping Vin pull Chris out of the log.

“Keep his head out of the water,” Nathan told them. “Easy…easy…get him over to the side of the bank.” Josiah instantly put his arm under Chris’s legs as the other one wrapped around his upper body and he lifted the gunslinger up with ease. The three men got their first good look at the unconscious gunslinger. Nathan kneeled beside Chris’s side, running his hands down the gunslinger’s arms, then legs, finally Nathan pulled the wet, soaking shirt away from Chris’ chest. The healer looked up and said, “No bullet wounds or broken bones.” The healer placed his hand on Chris’ head and wrapped his brown colored bandana around the deep slash running along his temple. “We need to get Chris out of this wet cloths and warmed up before he catches pneumonia.” Not waiting to be asked, the gentle giant lifted the unconscious gunslinger in his arms. With Nathan’s and Vin’s help the giant man made his way back up the embankment. Half way to the gunslinger’s shack they ran into Colonel Thomason and his dismounted troopers.

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Buck lost track of time as he waited. The shack was in shambles, cupboards overturn. Buck slowly walked over in a daze and turned the bed right side up. Sitting down, he placed his hands over his face, his whole body shaking. He looked up as JD and Ezra walked through the door. “Heard anything yet?” Both men shook their heads, no.

JD walked over to the overturned chest with its contents spilled out all over the floor. Wanting to stay busy he bent and kneeled on the floor gathering the gunslinger’s belongings to place them back inside the chest. JD ran his hand down the cavalry sword, in awe before he placed it back inside the chest. Then he gently started to fold the blue uniform when a velvet blue box dropped from its pocket onto the floor. Without thinking JD reached over and picked the box up and opened it. He stared down at the shinning medal, “Ahhh….Buck.” JD held the box, “This is…is…”

Ezra interrupted, “That gentlemen is the Congressional Medal of Honor, the highest honor the nation can bestow on one of its gallant heroes.” The gambler studied Buck’s face before asking, “The medal, I assume, is Mr. Larabee’s.”

Before Buck could answer, Vin called out that they had found Chris. Buck and Ezra stood facing the door and JD honorably placed the box with the medal on Chris’ uniform as Josiah walked through the door with his burden. Nathan was right behind shouting for the men to start a fire. Josiah slowly walked over and gently placed Chris on the bed and with Nathan’s help they peeled the wet clinging clothing off the unconscious gunslinger. Buck hovered over Nathan’s shoulder taking the wet clothing and draping the pieces over a chair as Nathan gathered blanket to cover the gunslinger, tucking the edges around his shivering body.

“Is he alive?” asked Colonel Thomason, his voice deep with worry for his old friend. Buck turned, staring past Vin at the man coming through the door.

“What the hell is going on Colonel?” Buck demanded, storming over to face the colonel.

Colonel Thomason didn’t back down from the man stalking towards him. He remembered how protective Sergeant Wilmington was of the then young Captain Christopher Larabee. The colonel snarled, “Shellburne.”

His eyes going wide, Buck froze in his tracks.


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A moan escaped the gunslinger’s lips as Nathan finished stitching his forehead. “He’s coming around,” the healer said to the men hovering over his shoulder. Nathan placed the bloody needle and thread on the nightstand.

Chris released another moan, and without opening his eyes he, whispered through trembling lips, “Cold… so cold.” Josiah instantly grabbed the blanket toasting near the black iron stove and gently added the warm blanket to the pile. Chris’ body snuggled around the added warmth, slowly drifting to sleep. Nathan frowned. He didn’t like the rattling sound in Chris’ lungs as he breathed.

“Oh…No you don’t soldier. Report!” Colonel Thomason demanded, pushing his way to Chris’ side. His stern command never reached his eyes as he laid his hand on Chris’ shoulder.

Chris’ eyes flew open at the colonel tone of voice. “Sir…” Feverish eyes looked up at the faces hovering over the bed. Through his hazy vision Chris made out a blue uniform and uttered, “Andy?” Chris started to choke as he coughed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Turn him on his side.” Nathan ordered, as he pushed the colonel out of his way. “Vin go get the herb mixture on the stove.” The tracker went over and poured the warm mixture in a tin cup. On the other side of the bed, Buck set down on his knees and helped the healer roll Chris on his side to help his breathing. “Slow deep breaths Chris…take it easy. One breath at a time,” Nathan soothed. Vin returned with the herbs, handing the tin cup over to Nathan. “Chris drink this…easy.” Nathan tilted the cup to Chris’ lips and the gunslinger took short sips.

“I’m fine,” Chris choked out pressing his lips together to stop another cough. He pushed the tin cup away, glancing up at the colonel.

“Chris, you’re not fine. So don’t lie to me,” said Nathan, pausing before turning to the Colonel. “This man is sick Colonel. You’ll just have to wait to ask him questions til after we get him back to town.”

“Ya’ll have to wait,” Buck muttered in agreement.

“Wait for what Sergeant? I already have four dead soldiers,” the colonel bellowed, his face going red with anger. He didn’t even realize his slip, “Chris has already been attacked once. How long do you thing it will be before Shellburne makes another attempt to grab him?”


“He tried to kill him again.” Buck shouted back. Nothing made any sense to Buck anymore. The war was over, why would this mad man be after his friend? All eyes were glued on the two arguing men and no one noticed the gunslinger trying to get out of bed.

“Andy!” Chris choked out, swinging his shaky legs to the floor. Nathan caught him before he slid to the ground, pushing the gunslinger back into bed.

“Damn Chris,” Nathan scolded, turning he yelled back over to the others, “Buck, Colonel get out and let me help this man.”

“NO!” Chris’s cracked voice roar, his eyes going hard as he looked at the colonel. “Two men, heard them say they killed four soldiers.” He paused to cough again, shrugging off Nathan’s hand. “Heard them say…Shellburne.” Chris coughed again; he closed his eyes against the burning pain in his chest.

“Drink this,” Nathan said as he held the tin cup full of liquid against Chris’ lips. Slowly the gunslinger drank the water. It didn’t take long before Nathan’s sleeping potion took effect and Chris slowly closed his eyes drifting to a sleep. “Well that’s settled, Chris will be out for a couple of hours.” The healer turned angry eyes on the colonel.

“Colonel Thomason, Buck, I think it’s about time you tell us what going on?” Vin challenged, his eyes cold and hard. The tracker needed to know the truth. It was the only way he could protect his friend.

“How much do you know?” the Colonel inquired, studying the six peacekeeper’s faces. The men looked at each other before shaking or waving their hands that they knew nothing…all but Buck, his eyes were on the sleeping gunslinger.

Again the tracker challenged the colonel. “Who’s Shellburne?” He leaned back against the wall, beside Chris’ bed, standing guard.

“Major Shellburne.” Buck finally spoke, his voice sounded like it was off in a great distance. “Never had the pleasure of meeting the bastard. Can’t say the same for Chris. Meet Chris a few days before the battle of Gettysburg, we were just dumb kids. Well, I was the dumb kid. Chris…well he was smart, too smart.” Buck stopped and studied his sleeping friend. “Shouldn’t tell you this but, well, Chris went to the Point…West Point, graduated just before the battle, top of his class and a year younger them most of the other cadets. You see he had family… important family. Made him an easy target for the rebels. That’s why Buford, John Buford, kept him as one of his aides.” Buck paused, remembering his time spent during the war was painful. He almost lost his best friend, the man who walked away from his family, to follow him out west.

The five other peacekeepers settle down to listen. Too young to remember the war, JD was eager to learn more about his hero. The tracker just wanted to know who to hunt down; no one attacked his family and got away with it. Nathan’s face was drawn as he remembered the days during the war he spent helping Union doctors save the wounded or help buried the dead. Josiah listened with a heavy heart, not wanting to be reminded of his time in California. Ezra’s eyes watered as the remembered his birthplace down in the south.

The colonel took over where Buck had stop, “Even Buford couldn’t keep Chris out of harm’s way.”

“General Buford was down. Don’t ever let Chris hear you say that what happened that day was General Buford’s fault. Chris loved that man like a father. More then that so called father that abandon him. When Chris saved Devin from being captured by the rebels, he was doing his duty,” Buck stated in the dead general’s defense.

Defending his own general, Thomason said in a cold voice, “The Blue Ghost was in Vicksburg, under orders from General Grant, to stay away from Shellburne when Chris was captured.”

“Is that when Chris got the medal? Buck you knew the Blue Ghost?” JD asked in awe. Every school boy heard of the Blue Ghost, the one man who slipped through Confederate lines, bringing out gold and information about rebel troop movement.

“What medal?” Josiah asked, not seeing the medal earlier.

“It seems that Mr. Larabee received the Congressional Medal of Honor for his gallant deed of saving Colonel Devin’s life, I presume at the near cost of his own.” Ezra said, he wondered if the others had figured it out yet, just where Chris had disappeared to. As for the Blue Ghost, Ezra had heard the rumors after the war that the man was from the south, a traitor.

“You’re right Ezra, saving Devin that day almost cost Chris his life. They gave him a medal for it. As for the Blue Ghost JD, didn’t I tell you to stop reading those dime store novels? You can’t believe what they write in them…the Blue Ghost was just a man, a hard cold man who didn’t care about anything but his duty.”

Seeing that the colonel was about to explode; JD turned to the quiet preacher and asked, “Josiah which side did you fight on?” Josiah was taken back, shaken; before he could answer he heard the colonel’s voice.
.
“North, South. Blue or gray, it doesn’t matter anymore boy, we’re all Americans now. In the end, when they lay dying on the cold, wet, fields of Shiloh, Chattanooga, and in the lush green fields of the Shenandoah Valley. They bled red. What’s important is to remember those brave men who fought and those that died for what they believed in, no matter what color they wore or the color of their skin. They died Americans, they lived on as Americans under one flag.”

“Amen brother,” Josiah whispered.

Vin broke the silences, “So why after all this time is Shellburne back? Why is he after Chris? The war’s over.”

“The war will never be over for Shellburne til he hunts down and kills the Blue Ghost. After the war Shellburne dropped out of sight. We believe he headed towards Mexico. About a year ago new plates were stolen from the US Treasury department. We suspected Shellburne had a hand in the theft and counterfeit bills have been showing up all around the territory. Again we suspect that Shellburne is trying to draw out the Blue Ghost. His identity is still only known to a handful of men, and the Blue Ghost now works for the new Secret Service department. It was just blind luck on Shellburne’s part to have run into Chris in New Y….” Thomason stopped, then continued, “it doesn’t matter where but Shellburne must of followed Chris back to Four Corners.”

“Colonel Thomason, you believe the counterfeiters are hiding out somewhere near here and Shellburne’s with them?” Vin asked.

“Maybe… I can answer that better then the Colonel.” Major Winslow stated, as he advanced into the shack, holding a dispatch in his hand. “C Troop has trailed the outlaws to the entrance of Coyote Canyon, where we lost their tracks. We need a tracker. Sir, this is for you.” Winslow handed the dispatch over to the colonel.

The colonel felt all eyes in the room turn towards him, as he read the dispatch. The wolves are on the hunt, looking up at the major, he said, “Damn that Sheridan, I have my orders gentlemen. By orders of the general, Christopher is to be taken under guard back to town.” The six peacekeepers stood up out their seats, hands on their guns. “Gentlemen, please. It’s for his own safety. Don’t ask me how he does it, but the general will be in town tomorrow night and he aspects Shellburne’s head on a gold plate.”

“He’s coming here…?” a rough, harsh voice choked out. Nathan moved to Chris’ side and checked his forehead, still feverish, but not deadly hot. The healer went to the stove and started to mix more herbs for the gunslinger to drink. “Vin, they need a tracker. You’re the best…” Chris closed his eyes; his lungs burned with each painful breath. “Don’t wait for me,” he uttered between breaths.

“Which direction did you say the counterfeiters were heading?” Vin turned and questioned Major Winslow.

“Southwest. We lost their tracks in the rocky terrain of the canyon,” Winslow replied. “Almost lost several men yesterday when a flash flood raced through the narrow canyon floor. It will be dangerous.” His eyes gleaned with the anticipation of catching and ending a year old search.

“It will take a full night’s ride to reach the canyon,” Vin said, thinking out loud. The tracker glanced around the gunslinger’s shack, picking out items they would need for the long trail.

“If we leave now, we can reach Grey Tail cliff before sunrise,” Buck added, knowing that they had no choice. If they waited Shellburne would attack again without warning. Better to take the fight to the outlaws first. Buck watched his oldest friend struggle for each breath he took. Buck turned; his charcoal brown eyes met the blue cold steel ones of the tracker’s. Both agreed in that moment to leave Chris behind, but in whose hands?

“Gentlemen, I have a solution to your uncertain dilemma. I would be honored to lead the entourage for our distinguished hero, and secure his deliverance back to our fair town,” Ezra said, solving the dispute.

Buck gave the southern gambler a lop sided look, and said, “Nathan, can Chris ride in the morning?”

“I’ll ride.” Chris, hacked, his throat dry, forcing the air out of his lungs. Nathan glanced over his shoulders, a disturbed expression on his face. Chris’s lungs were becoming congested. The healer rummaged the gunslinger’s cupboard as the others continued to make plans to ride out after the horses had been watered and fed. Shoving cans around, the healer found what he was looking on the back shelve. Opening the tin can, he took a whiff, his nose wrinkled at the smell. Deciding that the spice was still good, Nathan grabbed a bowl and poured a cup of floor from the bin under the hutch, and then added three teaspoons of the brownish yellow power. After mixing the two dry ingredients, Nathan walked over to the water pump and added just enough water to make a paste. Stirring with a wooden spoon, Nathan transferred the mixture back over to the stove and heated the medicated mass til it was soft. Nathan turned his head sideways; the room soon reeked of mustard. Spreading the poultice on a hot cloth, Nathan advanced on his victim.

“Don’t you walk out that door yet. I’m gonna need ya to hold the stubborn man down,” Nathan told the five peacekeepers who was backing away from the smelly cloth, their eyes full of horror. The six men all recognized the smell and JD and Ezra were the first to high tail it out the door, almost running over the two cavalry officers. Chris was about to be drenched in mustard. “Now Chris, don’t you give me that look. This will help with your breathing,” Nathan told the struggling gunslinger as he attempted to rise from the bed.

“Sorry cowboy,” said Vin as he took hold of Chris’ shoulder forcing the gunslinger back against the bed. Vin turned his nose up at the smell penetrating his nostrils. Josiah grabbed the gunslinger’s kicking feet, turning his head away from the foul odor, his eyes watering.

“Don’t you put that stuff on me,” Chris snarled between coughs, struggling against the hands that kept him bound to the bed. Ignoring the gunslinger, Buck battled to unbutton Chris’ cream-colored longjohns so that Nathan could slap the mustard covered cloth against the sick man’s chest. At first the hot cloth burned against Chris’ skin, then a warm sensation spread down his chest, sending healing rays of warmth to his congested lungs. Chris’s eyes became heavy and he soon drifted back to sleep.

“That will keep him down for the rest of the night, giving you boys the time to head on out to the canyon. If he wakes up while you’re still here, we will have a hell of a time keeping him from riding along.” Nathan stood by the bed looking down at his stubborn patient, hands on his hip, his shirt smudged with mustard.

“If all goes as planned, we will be back in town tomorrow night,” Buck said, pausing before he added, “If you have any trouble, send Ezra after us.” He was finding it hard to leave his friend, shifting his feet back and fourth, Buck finally walked out of the shack, edging his way between the soldiers, he headed over to the corral to saddle Darling.

The giant preacher bowed his head in prayer before he made his way out the door to saddle Dulcinea.

“He’ll be all right, Vin,” Nathan told the tracker.

“You’re sure?” Vin whispered.

“Yes,” Nathan reassured the tracker. Reluctantly Vin went outside, the others already sitting on their horses. He was halfway up on Unalil when he heard Nathan’s voice called out, “Ezra, I need more wood chopped for the fire.”

As Vin settling on the saddle, Ezra came in his view, with his arms full of wood. The gambler hustled as he made his way toward the stack. Satisfied that Ezra wouldn’t let them down, Vin turned to the others and said, “Let’s ride.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With cat like grace Vin stalked towards the slight structure nestled against the trees, his Winchester rested in his right hand. Not a very religious man, Vin was still grateful for all the help they could get and gave his own silent thanks for Josiah discovery. It was mid-morning before he had led the last trooper through the narrow ravine that opened into the lush green meadow surrounded by the high canyon walls. A creek ran behind the shed, feeding into the canyon river where JD and a bunch of the troopers were staked out to cover covering the counterfeiters’ escape route. Vin saw movement through the window and cocked his rifle. A hand on his shoulder made him freeze as a voice whispered in his ear, “We want them alive, Tanner.” Major Winslow said had followed the tracker.

“Yessss… Sir,” Vin said in a low voice as his finger released the trigger. His voice held a new respect for the soldier. Turning Vin studied the major and was surprised at the change. The major was no longer the raw, quiet aide that followed the colonel’s orders. No, Vin thought, this soldier was a leader of men; you could see the determined battle worn gleam in his eyes and the tight stretch of his mouth.

“We want Shellburne alive at any cost,” Winslow stated, his voice laced with loathing for the mad dog. His tone softened when he added, “Tyrone, should be the one to put a bullet through the mad man’s heart. We all owe him that much.”

Vin was about to ask who the hell was Tyrone, when a voice bellowed out, “You, in the shed. You’re surround. Come out with your hands in the air.” Vin and the major turned their heads towards the direction of the voice to see the colonel standing a few yards from the shed, out in the open. A little way off to the right, Buck and Josiah had taken cover behind a cluster of boulders, peeking around shaking their heads. Half of C Troop was dismounted, rifles drawn, fanned out surrounding the front side of the shed.

“Is the Colonel insane?” Vin uttered.

“N,” Winslow told the tracker with a wolfish grin on his face before he advanced closer to the shed, taking cover behind the corral full of horses. Vin reached his side as the soldier pulled out his revolver.

“I’m only going to ask one more time. Throw your guns out the door and come out with you hands in the air. You have five minute before we start shooting.” Colonel Thomason pulled his timepiece from his vest pocket and watched the minutes tick by; one, two not a peep out of the shed. The Colonel put his timepiece away and slowly took off his blue coat and neatly handed it towards the soldiers behind him. A young trooper ran and grabbed the coat, then turned and backed away. Thomason took out his timepiece again, checking the time. His eyes darkened with anticipation for the coming battle.

“Ahhh…the fun begins,” Winslow said out loud as he saw the colonel take off his uniform coat. The major turned and said to Vin, “Here hold this,” as he handed his revolver over to the tracker. Vin was surprised when the major did the same as the colonel and took off his uniform coat, leaving him only in his blue checker shirt and his blue pants. “Thank you,” Winslow said to him as he took the revolver back.

Vin stared between the colonel and the major, both wore a blue ribbon around their upper left arm. A flag waving in the wind caught Vin’s eyes as a trooper walked up and stood by the colonel; he too wore a blue ribbon. The red and white flag of the First Division Cavalry Corps flapped in the wind. Soon, two more men carrying the flags of the Second and Third Division stood on the other side of Thomason.

“What’s going on Major?” Vin asked, his voice low and deadly. Staring at the color flags, Vin knew C Troop wasn’t just any ordinary regiment of troopers. He may have been young during the war, but every soldier, blue or gray knew what a blue ribbon around the left arm meant. They were the Blue Ghost’s men, his regiment.

“Justice,” Winslow stated, balancing against the corral and raising his revolver as the first shot was fired from the shed.

The return fire was deafening as the soldiers shouted and ran for cover. A new volley erupted out of the shed. A bullet ripped across Thomason’s shirt, leaving a bloody crease. The Union troopers returned fire, ripping holes through the shed door and shattering the glass windows.

“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Winslow yelled out to his boys. Buck drug the wounded colonel back toward the boulder and handed him over to Josiah.
The preacher immediately wrapped his scarf around the colonel’s arm, controlling the flow of blood.

“Watch out,” Vin yelled down at Winslow as he pushed him out of the way of a bullet flying through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Vin saw one of the outlaws creeping out the side window. Taking aim, Vin shot the outlaw, the man dropped to the ground.

“Did you kill him?” Winslow asked.

“Winged him in the arm,” Vin returned.

“Too bad. If he sticks his head up again, kill him,” Winslow ordered the tracker. Vin shrugged his shoulder, a confused look on his face. Over the new volley of gunfire, the major answered Vin unspoken question. “Shellburne is the only one we need alive, the others already killed four of my men. So they forfeited their lives in my book.” Winslow turned a rigid stare back to the tracker and added, “Shellburne is slim, about forty, blond haired, graying around the temples. Drop any other outlaw. I don’t want any more of my men killed.” Both men turned their guns toward the movement behind the shed.


“Don’t fire…don’t fire. That’s JD,.” Buck called, crawling towards them.

“What’s that crazy kid trying to do? Get himself killed?” Winslow growled back. All three men watched as JD climbed the back of the shed, slipping once before he made it to the roof. His left hand held a blue coat, soaking wet from the creek. JD crawled on his belly until he reached the chimney. Careful not to burn himself, he pulled himself up and straddled the chimney. Slowly he climbed to the top and shoved the soaking coat down the stack, clogging the airway. Billows of white smoke drifted out of the window and under the door. The door soon slammed open and the outlaws rushed out, shooting as they attempted to get to their horses.

Vin shot the dark haired outlaw headed in their direction, The man dropped dead to the ground, blood flowing from his chest. JD shot the next one through the heart as the outlaw turned to fire up at the roof.

“JD! Get off the roof,” Buck shouted, giving cover fire as JD slid down the roof, both guns blazing in his hands. At the edge, the kid jumped and rolled when he hit the ground.

“Buck watch out!” JD screamed as he fired at the outlaw that had the womanizer in his sights. The outlaw fell to his knees with a yell, cradling his bloody gun hand.

“Drop it!” Josiah’s husky voice called out. He had the other two outlaws in his gun sight. Both men dropped their guns and raised their hands in the air.

Winslow stood, gazing out among the men, before turning to say, “Tanner, check the man over there against the shed. See if he is still alive.” Vin nodded and cautiously walked over to the outlaw. Both the major and Buck hastened over to the second outlaw that JD had dropped. Buck kicked the dead man over. “Don’t know this one,” Winslow told Buck. Not wasting time, he stepped over the body and headed towards the first outlaw the kid had shot from the roof. Winslow bent down and turned the dead man over. A grimace stretched across his face. “Where the hell was Shellburne?”

“Major!” Vin called out, “the one by the window is dead. Where’s Shellburne?” Vin’s heart turned cold at the expression on the major’s face.

“Vin, get over here.” Buck called over to the tracker as he reached down and pulled something out of one of the outlaw’s pants. Vin reached Buck’s side as the womanizer slipped Chris’ colt in his belt and then with a snarl threw his weight at the outlaw reaching for the man’s neck.

“Wilmington, stop!” Colonel Thomason shouted. Buck soon found his arms held as Vin and Josiah dragged him back from the outlaw. “Where’s Shellburne?” the colonel demanded as he advanced, holding his left arm between blood soaked fingers. “Major Winslow, report!”

“Sir, three dead and one wounded,” the major answered. Turning he added, looking at JD, “Good shooting kid.” JD felt his face turning red and he turned to stare at the ground, shuffling his feet.

“Where Shellburne?” Thomason demanded again.

“Sir,” Major Winslow turned, facing his commander and the four peacekeepers with a painful expression, “He’s not here,” he finally answered. A young trooper ran over and handed the major a package wrapped in brown paper. Winslow in turn, handed the package over to the colonel.

“What the hell do you mean he’s not here,” Buck heatedly shouted as the colonel opened the wrapped package. Silver plates tumbled out of the paper.

“We have them,” Thomason said to his men, holding up the plates.

“Colonel we don’t care about the plates,” Vin said in a low voice before he turned his face toward the direction of the town. “Chris is back in town with only Nathan and Ezra,” he reminded the other three peacekeepers.

“Damn, Damn,” Buck muttered as he followed Vin towards their horses, Josiah and JD hot on his heels.

~~~~~~~~~
It was late afternoon before Nathan and Ezra arrived in town with Chris riding between them. Nathan was worried; the cool morning air hadn’t been good for Chris’ weak lungs. By the time they reached Four Corners, Chris was covered in sweat and leaning forward on the saddle, painful coughs emanating from deep down in his chest. Nathan pulled Ginger’s reins to the right, pointing her towards the livery stables. However, Chris dug his spurs into Diablo’s flank guiding the black towards the blonde woman coming out of the Clarion.

Mary studied the frail looking gunslinger; he seemed so fragile as perspiration poured off his pale, gray complexion. Diablo came to a halt. Chris swung his leg over the saddle and as his right foot hit the ground, his knee buckled under the weight. Mary’s fingers dug into the post as Chris grabbed the horn, stopping his body from sliding to the ground. After a dreadful bout of coughing, Chris leaned his cheek against Diablo’s neck trying to catch his breathe as his lungs desperately sought to release the painful burning in his chest.

“Chris, slow even breaths or you’re going to pass out,” Nathan told the gunslinger as his hand rubbed Chris’ back in a circling manner, trying to smooth the tension out of the gunslinger’s shoulders.

“Mary,” Chris choked out between coughs, “You alright?” His glossy eyes searched her face. For a moment the gunslinger’s vision turned to the past and Chris thought it was his mother standing in front of him. Her beautiful blonde hair hanging around her shoulders as she stood there in her green calico dress. Chris blinked and raised a shaking hand to rub his eyes. Taking a step, he staggered against Nathan.

Mary gasped as the sun hit Chris’ blond hair sticking out beneath his black hat. His shoulders trembled as he stubbornly shook off Nathan’s hand on his arm. “I’m fine, Chris,” Mary finally answered. She was confused - her mind flashed back to that dreadful day many years ago. Mary looked the gunslinger over, his feverish eyes with their glossy expression reminded her of the young lieutenant. Could Chris be...could he be her young lieutenant? “Nathan, bring Chris inside,” her soft voice whispered.

“I don’t need help,” said Chris before a new cough racked his chest. Nathan turned toward Ezra and handed him Diablo’s reins, before walking over and grabbing his medical supplies from his saddlebag and hustling to move behind the gunslinger staggering into the Clarion.

Nathan called back over his shoulder to Ezra, “Hurry back. I’m going to need your help.” Ezra glanced towards Chris’ back and nodded, leading the big black towards the livery. Chris was leaning heavily on Mary’s desk as Nathan walked in. Taking the gunslinger’s arm, the healer directed him towards the back room. Slowly the two make their way to Mary’s bedroom where she waited with the bed turned down. “Mary, you sure about this?” Nathan asked.

“Nathan, don’t be a fool. Chris will never make it up those stairs to your room.”

Nathan helped Chris sit on the bed; wearily the gunslinger stared at the wall. Mary bent down and took off Chris’ boots placing them beside the bed. She moved to help Nathan lift Chris’ legs when Nathan’s voice stopped her, “Ahhh…Mary. I think it’s best if you let me handle Chris for the moment.” Mary’s face turned scarlet as blood rushed to her cheeks. She backed out the door, her eyes full of concern for the gunslinger. “Come on Chris let’s get you out of these sweaty clothes.” Nathan moved towards the gunslinger.

“Can’t stay here,” Chris’s raw voice uttered.

“Now don’t you argue with me.” A knock on the door stopped Nathan from saying anything more.

Mary’s face peeked around the door, holding a glass full of liquid. “I thought you might need this.” She handed Nathan a cup full of hot tea. At Nathan’s hesitation, she added, “My mama’s cure for everything. Don’t worry Chris will drink it.” She glanced towards the bed before stepping back out the door.

After taking the glass out of Mary’s hand, Nathan sniffed the tea and a grin tugged on his lips at Mary’s mother’s cure. Nathan walked over and placed the cup against Chris’s trembling lips. “Here Chris drink this up.” The gunslinger instantly drank the liquid laced with whiskey. The hot liquid had the desired effect and soon the gunslinger’s head was hitting the soft lavender scented pillows. “Oh no you don’t. Help me get your clothes off first,” Nathan told the sleepy man, sitting him back up. Chris fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as his head sunk lower and lower towards his chest.

“No,” Chris mumbled as Nathan reached to unbuckle his pants. “Mary’s room, not proper.” Again Nathan attempted to unbutton the gunslinger’s black pants. “No, go home,” a deep rattling cough escaped Chris’s lips. “Take me home.”

“I see our luminary leader is in his usual splendid mood,” Ezra remarked as he came through the bedroom door.

“Stop your complaining and get over here and help me with him,” Nathan ordered. Nathan and Ezra soon had Chris neatly nestled under the blankets in spite of the gunslinger’s hindrance. Chris’ aching body snuggled towards the warmth as he drifted off to sleep.

A few minutes later, Ezra stood outside the Clarion, examining the tall man entering the saloon. He had four hours before he had to relieve Nathan. With a gleam in his eyes, he made his way across the street heading for the saloon and a good game of poker. He had to win money to pay Tiny for hunting down those little piglets. Besides if he got caught, he could always say that he was keeping an eye out on the tall easterner. Ezra grinned in anticipation as he went through the double doors, his gold tooth sparkling in the light.


= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Tom Horn shuffled the deck of cards. The five men had been playing for hours and the green eyed southern gambler had won most of the hands. Old Tom turned the cards over and studied them, checking for any marks. With a sigh, Tom once again dealt out the cards. Starting with his left, he threw one card at a time as he circled the round table until each man had five cards. Horn placed the deck on the table as each man lifted the corners of their cards. “Ante-up boys,” Horn told the men as he threw in his gold coin. One by one the other four men threw a coin in the pot.

The same drunk from two days ago sat on Horn’s left. During the last hand he had finally let slip out that his name was Samuel. The drunk glanced at the faces around the table before tilting the corner of his cards to take another look. A good hand, an excellent hand. Careful not to give his hand away, he placed the eight of clubs next to the eight of spades. He had the eight of hearts with the eight of diamonds and on the end was the five of diamonds. “Bet’ya five.”

The easterner was the next to bet, “I’ll see your five and raise it five more,” Phillip Sheridan said with a smile. He knew he had a good hand; the ace of diamonds, jack of hearts and diamonds along with the king of clubs and hearts rested between his fingers.

The young man who had introduced himself as Jackson, sitting on Phillip’s left, was the next to place a bet. With a sharp hawk-like stare around the table, Jackson placed a ten-dollar bill into the kitty. “Got ya covered and see ya ten more.”

Ezra’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jackson. The man didn’t even look at his cards before placing his bet. The gambler’s eyes roamed over to the easterner , who, when asked his name, just shrugged his shoulders. The man looked familiar, if only Ezra could remember where he had seen the him before. As for Jackson, the young man had the bearing of a military man. Ezra studied his cards; he had a winning hand with the ace of spades along with the king, queen, ten and the four of hearts. “Gentleman, I’ll see your ten and raise five,” Ezra said smoothly.

Again Tom was the last to place his bet. The white haired dealer looked down at his cards. He had the ace and ten of hearts, the ace and four of clubs with the ten of diamonds Tom turned towards the man named Samuel staring at his cards. “Well?” he asked.

The drunk threw down one card, the five of diamonds and drew the nine of spades. He tried to keep his excitement off his face, but failed as he grinned. He had four of a kind, in his mind the winning hand.

Phillip also threw away one card, drawing the king of diamonds. Phillip glanced around the table as he calculated the odds of one of the other players having kings over jacks, a hand that would win over his full house.

Jackson threw down three cards,keeping the five of hearts and clubs. He only wanted to stay in the game. Tilting the corner of his new cards, he saw three queens, diamonds, hearts and clubs

Ezra studied his cards and then threw out the four of hearts. Slowly he drew a new card, his smile never crossed his face as he looked at the jack of spades. Nothing could beat his hand - only match it.

Tom was the last to throw out a card, the four of clubs. He drew the six of diamonds. He looked over at Samuel. “Place your bet.”

Samuel stared down at his cards. His hand shook as he reached into his pocket to pull out a wad of bills. He was desperate to win a hand against the gambler in the crimson jacket. “Bet ya ten,” he grumbled as he threw in his last ten-dollar bill.

Phillip took a sip of his brandy before saying, “Well, Sirs. I see your ten and raise you twenty.” His coal black eyes turned towards the man on his left, a sheepish grin on his face.

Jackson spit out the whiskey that he was drinking after hearing the amount. He glared at the easterner and said, “I’ll see ya thirty and raise it ten,” throwing his hard earn money into the kitty.

Ezra considered the amount of money in the pot then made his decision. “I will see your forty and raise our little nest egg another ten.” He leaned back into his chair, taking a sip of his beer.

Tom looked at all the bills in the kitty and weighed it against the amount of money he had left in his pocket. Frustrated, Horn threw his cards face down snapping, “Fold, darn it.”

Samuel padded down his shirt, looking for more money. He knew he had the winning hand. Not finding any bills in his shirt, he once again pulled out the wad of bills rolled in his pant pocket. He slowly threw down several twenty-dollar bills. “See your forty and raise ya twenty.”

Ezra caught the sparkle in the easterner’s eyes as he reached in and pulled his money out of his vest pocket. Again Ezra examined the money clip with the cross swords etched on the front. Ezra’s eyes hardened. Cavalry - the man was a cavalry officer, a high-ranking officer by the looks of the silver clip. Ezra turned towards Jackson just in time to see the young man roll his eyes in disgust as Phillip said, “Let’s make this interesting, I will see your sixty and raise it up another twenty.” Phillip Sheridan sat back in his chair with a self-righteous grin on his face.

Jackson swore under his breath. The general was going to break him. Without a second thought, Jackson pulled out his money from his shirt pocket neatly tied with a blue ribbon. “I’ll see ya sixty and raise it another twenty,” he said as he threw the bills into the pot.

Ezra decided that the game had gone on long enough and said, “Gentleman, let’s finish this. I see your eighty and call.” Ezra placed the last of his money into the pot.

Samuel looked at his cards and with a grin showing his yellow teeth he said, “Four of a kind, read them and weep.” He immediately reached for the pot.

Both Phillip and Jackson threw down their cards in disgust and frustration before Ezra said, “Not so fast, my good man,” as he laid down his hand of a royal straight. Reaching out with both hands, Ezra gathered his winnings.

“You cheater, you,” Samuel yelled, pushing his chair back as he stood, backing away from the table.

“I would be very careful who you call a cheater, sir,” Phillip told the drunk, his voice low and deadly. Samuel raised his hands from his sides, his eyes full of fear as he backed further away. Turning he went to the bar and ordered a beer. Phillip never took his eyes off the southern gambler as Ezra folded the money and placed it in his vest pocket.

Ezra stared into Phillip’s dark coal eyes and said, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Another hand?” Jackson asked the gambler.

“I apologize gentleman for not indulging you further, however unfortunately I have a prior engagement,” Ezra replied as he stood. With a nod of his head, Ezra made his way out of the saloon, heading back to the Clarion.

“Well?” Jackson turned and asked the easterner.

“The young rebel plays a mean hand of poker,” Phillip remarked. His smile lit up his eyes.

“Do you think he’ll hand over the money, sir?” Jackson inquired.

“No,” Phillip answered as he pulled out his gold watch, with the US etched on both sides, to check the time. “Not much longer. What did Major Winslow have to report, Captain?”

“Nothing since last night’s report. Chris Larabee should be back in town, most likely guarded in the healer’s room by Nathan Jackson. And no, Sir, no relation,” Captain Jackson answered.

“What of Lindsey’s daughter?” Phillip questioned.

“The newspaper woman? Why would she be mixed up in all this mess?” Jackson asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that is where they have Christopher,” Phillip calmly stated sitting back in his chair to wait.

Ezra stood for a moment outside the saloon watching Mary Travis head in his direction, unaware that Samuel had slipped out of the saloon and was hiding around the corner in the alley. Ezra tipped his hat as Mary approached, “Mrs. Travis.” He glanced around before adding, “Chris feeling better?”

“Still sleeping. Nathan is waiting for you to return Mr. Standish,” Mary scolded. She turned and headed back over to the Clarion. Ezra stepped into the street to follow when he saw two men on horseback enter the town near the livery stables. He watched as Tiny talked with the two men, Ezra assumed giving directions and was surprised when Tiny pointed to the sheriff’s office. Two more officers. With a shake of his head, Ezra slowly proceeded towards the sheriff’s office, for the moment forgetting that Nathan was waiting for him back at the Clarion.

Samuel waited til the gambler moved down the street to head over to the stables to meet Shellburne and report where he could find Chris Larabee. He didn’t have far to go as a hand slid around his mouth. Struggling against his attacker, Samuel felt a sharp pressure enter his back. He tried to cry out as the knife was pulled out and shoved forcible back in again, he gasped once and then went limp in his attacker’s arms. Shellburne pulled the bloody knife out of the dead man’s back before he released his hold. Stepping over the dead body, he savagely advanced towards the Clarion.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Chris woke and glanced around the bedroom letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He threw the covers off when he thought he heard Mary’s scream and stood on shaking legs. He stumbled over to the rocker and grabbed his pants, and felt the back of the chair for his holster. He pulled out his colt, checking to see if it was loaded, before swinging his holster over his left shoulder. Chris stretched out his arms to guide his way as he slowly made for the door.

“Mary…Mary?” Chris called out as he opened the door and walked into the parlor. “Mary?” Chris called out again as he ran his hands along the loveseat towards the outer office. “Damn,” Chris uttered after his big toe stubbed the corner of the loveseat. The gunslinger’s head shot up as the door between the parlor and offices moved and Chris saw a shadow flicker across the hallway. Chris instantly pointed his colt towards the intruder. With his back against the hallway wall, Chris moved down the narrow hallway and quickly peeked around the door to the outer office. He crouched and moved around the door.

“Drop the gun!”

Chris stood and froze. “Let her go,” he uttered low before he dropped his weapon to the floor.

“She’s beautiful, just like your mother,” Shellburne said in a dream state, running his left hand down Mary’s tear stained face. His right hand held the bloody knife against her throat, forcing her to cry out in pain.

“Take your filthy hands off her,” Chris snarled, reaching an unsteady hand towards Mary.

“Tisk… tisk, not so fast my boy,” Shellburne said as he stepped back out of the gunslinger’s reach.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Chris growled in a low raw voice. He stumbled as he suddenly became dizzy. That voice, he had heard that voice before, but where. Rubbing the side of his forehead, Chris desperately searched his memories for answers.

“Don’t you remember me, boy?” Shellburne shouted as he reached down under his shirt and pulled out a shinning object. “Don’t you remember this boy?” Shellburne clenched a gold locket in his fist.

~Slap~

Chris’ head jerked back. He remembered. His face turned pale as he saw his mother’s locket dangling from the madman’s fist.

“As for what I want is you, son,” Shellburne hissed angrily. “So you remember me,” he said as Chris’ eyes widened in shock.

“Gettysburg…. you were at Gettysburg,” Chris mumbled. “The war is over, the south lost. Leave me and my family alone.”

“Family…family! Boy I’m your family,” Shellburne shouted. “Elena was mine, my first love. We were to be married.” Shellburne’s eyes turned wild and glossy. “My beautiful Elena, I loved her. I still loved her even after she ran away with that traitor, Tyrone. My God the man was a southerner and he fought for the Yankees and she still ran into his arms,” Shellburne shouted, losing control of his temper. “He made a fool out of me!” he paused, tightening his grip around Mary’s body. “I waited…waited for her to leave him. He went off to war like a good soldier and he left her…left my Elena to fend for herself. I went to her…my God, I went to her. I was going to plead with her to return to me…then I saw…I saw…the boy, the reflection of his father staring definitely through Elena’s green eyes and I knew I lost her forever.”

“No…no,” Chris uttered, his head snapped up as he remembered his mother’s angelic voice screaming run baby…run, wait for papa. He remembered, remembered hiding in the cupboard, staring through the crack as his mother, his mother…Papa where are you? Chris’ mind screamed with rage, his mother was dead; papa hadn’t save her, saved him. “You killed her!” Chris screamed in pain and lunge for the knife in his mother’s murderer’s hands.

“Chris!” Mary cried out as the gunslinger shoved her out of harm’s way. The knife bit deep into Chris’ left forearm forcing him to stagger back. Mary grabbed him by the waist and pulled him toward her, holding his trembling body against her small frame. The knife slashed down again and again, forcing the couple back against the desk. Mary cried out as Chris pushed her away from Shellburne’s deadly threats. Falling, the blonde woman tumbled to the floor.

Weak from the lost of blood, Chris’ legs buckled and he fell to his knees beside Mary. He shoved Mary back against the wall when Shellburne charged screaming, “I’ll kill you…I’ll kill you.”

Chris screamed in agony as the knife slashed down into his shoulder as he covered Mary with his body. The gunslinger soon felt Shellburne’s hot breath against his cheek as the crazed man whispered, “Say hello to Elena for me,” as he slashed down towards Chris’ unprotected chest.

~~Click~~

A single shot rang out, missing Shellburne’s head by inches forcing him to turn around. “You…” Shellburne yelled at the tall dark haired man standing in the doorway beside the southern gambler. “This is all your fault,” Shellburne yelled and charged the two men. Ezra instantly fired first; hitting the crazed man in the arm. It never slowed him down. His second bullet went wild and hit the door. The third shot hit its mark. Shellburne’s body jerked to the side. The forth bullet hit his chest, spinning him around. The fifth and deadliest entered Shellburne’s forehead between the eyes. He was dead before he hit the ground.

A clear and distinct voice said, “Good shot, Tyrone.”

“Thank you. Sir,” Tyrone remarked before stepping over Shellburne’s dead body to reach his son. Tyrone fell to his knees, gathering Chris in his arms and softly called his name, “Christopher.”

Chris opened his eyes at the sound of the voice calling his name, “Father, you’re here,” Chris reached up to touch his father’s face to make sure he wasn’t a ghost, “You’re here. Mary…where’s Mary?”

“I’m here, Chris,” Mary answered coming out of her shock.

“Mary, my father…” Chris’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell unconscious, his head against his father’s chest.

“Sir, let me take a look at Chris,” Nathan urged softy as he bent down to kneel at Tyrone’s side. It only took a minute for Nathan to examine the unconscious gunslinger. Mary handed him a piece of cloth to place around the wounded shoulder. Nathan finished wrapping the shoulder and looked up at the hovering faces. “The knife didn’t hit any important. He’ll be sore and weak for a while; we’ll have to be careful with his lungs - they’re still weak. But besides that, he’ll be okay after a couple of days rest.”

Tyrone glanced around the room at the men who stood by his son’s side and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for my son’s life.”

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

It took Chris three days to convince Nathan to let him sit outside the Clarion to soak up the sun’s rays. Chris turned his head as his father sat down in the chair next to him. “You’re leaving.” It was more of a statement then a question for Tyrone was in full military dress.

“You could always come back to Washington with me?” Tyrone asked hopefully. Mary came out of the Clarion, dressed in light blue calico and carrying a pot of tea.

“Gentleman, more tea,” Mary laughed at the disgusted look on the Larabees’ faces. She refilled their cups anyway. “Enjoy, I have to get back to my interview.” Mary stopped and looked Chris over, checking his forehead for any signs of a fever before heading back to her guest.

“Darn woman,” Chris mumbled, his eyes snapped across to his father as the older man released a loud laugh.

“I understand why you want to stay. She’s a fine woman,” Tyrone told him, again laughing out loud from the look on his son’s face.

Tyrone stood at the sound of the man coming out of the Clarion. Phillip Sheridan and Captain Jackson stood on either side of the short bearded man. The man stopped in front of Chris and reached out to shake his good hand. “Don’t get up son. I’m sorry that your father can’t stay longer, but as you know we are on a time schedule. I have to be in San Francisco two days from now for a meeting with John Sherman. The man’s been driving me crazy ever since he was appointed Secretary of Treasury. Steals my best people.” Sam Grant winked at Tyrone, turning he took off his hat to Mary. “Madam, it was a privilege to meet you. Gentleman.”

Tyrone bent and kissed Mary on the cheek and with a twinkle in his eye said, “I’ll see you soon young lady.” He moved to follow his friends.

Chris stood on shaking legs, his left shoulder and arm wrapped in white cloth, bound against his chest. “Father… I…” Tyrone turned and grabbed Chris in a bear hug.

“Son,” Tyrone whispered before he released his son. “I have to go.” He made his way to mount.

Vin and Buck waited tilt Tyrone Larabee had walked away from their friend before joining them. “Where ya headed?” Chris asked the two.

They looked at each other and said at the same time, “Saloon.” Laughing, they took a hold of Chris’ arms and helped him over to the saloon where Nathan and Josiah were waiting by the door, leaning against the posts. Ezra sat at the table outside of the door, counting his money.

JD came running up the street, waving a dime store novel in the air, yelling, “You guys are not going to believe this.” JD showed the novel to Buck and Vin. On the front was a picture of the last President, U.S. Grant. Five of the peacekeepers looked at the picture then back at the man riding the big stallion as he made his way past the saloon. They all shook their heads, No. Couldn’t be. They turned to see Chris’ eyes twinkling with mischief as he saluted the officers riding pass.

Tyrone stopped his big black and leaned down towards Ezra, “Sir, if you don’t mind, I need that money for evidence for the Treasury Department.”

One of Tyrone’s officers jumped down off his horse and grabbed his saddlebag. “Sorry old buddy,” Major Winslow laughed as he shoved the money in the bags. Winslow saluted the seven peacekeepers before mounting his horse. Tyrone’s officers turned as one as they followed President Grant out of town.

The seven peacekeepers stood for a moment before Chris broke the silence as he watched a flash of pink run under the saloon. “Ezra…about those piglets.”


The End…..

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