Mexican Standoff

By: Rhicy

Editors: Dominique and Dina


Guest Starring:

Don Diego De la Vega: Benecio del Toro
Smithers: Martin Short
Dirk Hefner: Robert Carlyle
Charles Temple: Hugo Weaving
Helena Demarco: Catherine Zeta-Jones
Josh Carpenter: Jason Behr
Alvin Turner: Eric Stoltz
Gunther: Jack Black
Pete Dempsey: Patrick Dempsey
Joe Swanson: Jerry O’Connell
Ned: Hank Azaria
Bob: Mike Myers
Little Bob: Adam Sandler

The Nameless Pair
Lazy Eye: Stephen Bladwin
Red Bandanna: Pauly Shore




Last week on Magnificent Seven:


Chris, Vin and Ezra have been trying to help Inez' cousin, Helena Demarco. Apparently on the run from Don Diego, a penniless Mexican Don, Helena's troubles include Alvin Turner, a successful bank robber. Don Diego saves Helena from Alvin Turner, and Vin Tanner rescues her from Don Diego.

Despite everyone getting back in town safely, the trouble isn't over yet. Dirk Hefner, notorious outlaw arrives Four Corners, accompanied by Charles Temple, Josiah's brother-in-law. A brawl breaks out in the saloon, during which Josiah sees Charles Temple and Dirk Hefner stabs Sanchez. Both outlaws flee Four Corners. JD and Casey have gone on a picnic and have met up with Alvin Turner and his gang.


Part Two

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Wednesday - early afternoon
Secrets withheld:

The sharp staccato Chris' boots made as he climbed the stairs to Nathan's clinic echoed his raging emotions. He really felt like punching someone - again. The brawl had done wonders for his building anger but since the cause of his current anger wasn't resolved, he could feel the tension mounting again.

Mary Travis had waylaid him after he had completed a thorough patrol of the town, her blue eyes sparking with anger. What followed was an argument to end all arguments. Somehow, they managed to end up inside the Clarion, rather than make a complete spectacle of themselves, but still the fight had been a doozy. The thought of what had transpired was enough to make his blood boil, but there were no faces handy to provide Chris with a release.

Mary had point blank demanded to know what Chris had been doing coming out of Inez's room earlier. She had seen him hugging Inez at a time of the morning when most decent folk were still abed. Her accusatory tone and pointing finger had set his back right up and, while Chris probably would have told Mary about Helena anyway, now he was deadset on not doing so. He didn't know why Mary always seemed to bring out the best and worst in him and when the worst poured out, it came down in buckets. He refused to give her an answer, saying it was none of her business and if decent folk were in bed, what was she doing up?

Mary had given him a fair imitation of his own glare before snapping that as a reporter she needed to know what was going on in town. It was a poor reason - and a mistake to use the Clarion as justification for prying into Chris' life. It had caused them trouble before and now it just opened the floodgates. Chris accused her of using the Clarion to stick her nose where it wasn't wanted or needed and of being nothing more than a gossipmonger. Well, not in so many words, but Mary chose to hear it that way and it went rapidly down hill from there. Mary had ended the argument with tears in her eyes and Chris' feeling like a heel for putting them there. He had eventually stormed off, and as of yet he hadn't been able to put things right with her, since she was avoiding him like the plague and he was just getting angrier and angrier.

Rather than worry about Mary, Larabee focused on a more tangible target, one he could quite justly pursue with a vengeance. The two strangers who had knifed Josiah and killed an innocent passer-by were now the focus of his anger. Tanner and Standish had examined the young man who had been killed and had found out very little about him. Not even his name. He was dressed much like JD, only fancier, his clothes of expensive cut and material. His holster had been well cared for, the young man's leanness an indication of living through a few hard times. But who he was, where he had come from and why he was in town, remained a mystery.

As Chris climbed onto the landing of Nathan's clinic, he saw Vin leaning on the railing his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Ezra was sitting on a bench, cards gliding through his fingers, as he too waited for news of Josiah. The trio waited in silence for about five minutes before Buck opened the clinic door and beckoned them in.

Josiah was laying on Nathan's bed, flat on his stomach as the healer finished placing a bandage over the knife wound. The big man seemed to be unconscious but as Chris asked how he was doing, Josiah opened his blue eyes and glared at his friends. Nathan sighed in exasperation and said, "The knife missed hitting anything vital and if Josiah just stays put he'll be fine. But …"

The 'but' was emphasised as Josiah slowly tried to get up, his face etched with pain but determined to leave the clinic.

"I ain't staying nowhere Nate. I got business to take care of." Josiah grunted as he continued to push himself upright, batting away Buck's offer of help.

"And what pray tell would this business entail, Mr. Sanchez?" Ezra spoke from where he leant against the doorway, watching as Josiah managed to sit up on the bed. Chris noted Josiah's pale face and shaky hands looking to Nathan for a reaction. Jackson was not happy but had learnt early on that Josiah would not be kept down if he didn't want to be. More times than not, the preacher had the strength to enforce his decisions, despite appearances.

Searching for his shirt, Josiah rumbled, "I plan on bringing in that dog before he gets away."

"You're not in any condition to be riding out after the guy who stabbed ya, Josiah. Best leave it to us," Buck suggested as he purposefully pushed Josiah's gun out of sight behind him. All Buck received in response to his concern was a flat stare from Josiah who continued to painfully dress himself.

"He able to ride, Nate?" the healer shook his head at Chris' question, unwilling to endorse anything that let Josiah out of his clinic. "Hell, we all know Josiah will ride with bullet-holes in him, let alone a knife wound. It'll just be a matter of time before he falls outta the saddle and we have to pick his sorry ass up off the ground."

"Or get shot at because we can't move fast enough," Chris added hoping to persuade Josiah to stay put. Ignoring the pain flaring in his lower back, Josiah snarled, "He ain't getting away."

Only Vin knew which of the men Josiah was talking about and as he stepped forward, he said, "You want him caught or not, Josiah?"

Sanchez's blue eyes met Vin's and tried to determine if the tracker was going to spill the beans about Temple. Still unwilling to risk Hannah, Josiah refused to accept the invitation in Vin's eyes to tell the others who he wanted so badly. So instead, Sanchez just glared at Vin, daring him to break his word and what he saw in Vin's stance sent a shiver of worry through him. There was something else driving the tracker and worry about Temple was only part of it.

"You know who it was that knifed ya?" Still not speaking the words that Josiah's eyes were asking him not to, Tanner watched Sancez shake his head in the negative.

"Dirk Hefner." Everyone in the room stared in shock at Vin. 'The' Dirk Hefner. The man who was responsible for countless bank robberies and murders, the man who carried a three thousand dollar reward on his head - had tried to kill Josiah? The man whose name rang with the infamy of ambushing an entire posse and killing every last soul. Not one to question his best friend, Chris still had to ask, "You sure?"

Vin's slight nod was all that was needed, Tanner was positive and the Seven were faced with a large problem. But the tracker wasn't done, "If we go after him, we can't afford to be toting somebody else's weight. Hefner is deadly, and if you want him stopped, you stay here."

Josiah knew exactly whom Vin meant by 'him', even if the rest of the boys thought Tanner was talking about Hefner. As much as Josiah ached to put an end to Temple's threat, Hefner changed everything. The danger was real or Tanner wouldn't have brought it up and Josiah knew that if he insisted on coming, Vin would tell the others why. Hiding something like that would put the Seven at a serious disadvantage, one Tanner had no intention of allowing. Torn, Josiah had to acknowledge that he would hamper the Seven, who were already a man short with JD out of town. They couldn't afford to be riding blind, nor with the liability of a wounded man.

Pushing aside his own emotions, Josiah nodded and even though he addressed all of his friends, his words were aimed at Vin, "Alright. I'll stay, but I don't want you coming back without him." He caught Vin's gaze and sent a silent plea for Vin to keep his promise and saw Vin nod imperceptibly even as the others sighed in relief.

"You lay back down and get some rest. I'll check on you just now," Nathan ordered as the rest filed out of the clinic. Josiah's response was unheard as Buck, Ezra, Chris and Vin headed down the stairs to the jail. As they walked across the street, Chris noticed how tense Vin was, his shoulders tight, and his jaw clenched. Normally the tracker was so relaxed, you thought he might be able to slide right out of his chair. Not now though, and Tanner was fingering the hilt of his knife as if he was itching to use it.

Vin's thoughts were awhirl with memories and plans. He had only ever seen Dirk Hefner up close once before, but his face had been etched into Vin's memory. Uncomfortable with keeping Josiah's secret, certain it would come back to haunt him, Vin decided that the others needed to know the whole story, and somehow keep Josiah's secret out of it.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Picnic Area: Wednesday Afternoon

The tension was rife in the little glade where JD faced off with Turner. JD tried to slowly reach for his gun, but Swanson raised his firearm, cocked the pistol and drawled, "I wouldn't do that if I was you, sonny." JD stared at the young man, bristling a little at being called 'sonny' by someone who looked barely older than him. But Dunne kept his hands where the strangers could see them and Swanson soon turned to look at Casey. Turner and Dempsey were also ogling Casey who was beginning to blush under their attention. JD knew Casey well enough that she was not going to let them leer at her suggestively without some sort of reaction.

Sure enough, Casey soon snapped at the three men, "You lot better stop that! It's like you ain't never seen a girl before!"

Pete Dempsey, whose long curly black hair obscured most of his face, snorted with laughter and jeered, "Ain't never seen a girl dressed like she was a boy, that's fer sure!" Using their focus on Casey, JD quickly stepped between the three men and the girl, effectively blocking their view and preventing Casey from saying anything more. "Something we can help you with, fellas?"

JD tried to keep his voice cool and calm, maintaining eye contact with the leader who scowled at the shorter man in front of him. "You can start by getting out of my way, kid!" Now JD had been called 'kid' from the moment he had arrived in Four Corners. If it wasn't Buck ragging on him about some idiotic piece of advice, it was Chris coolly reminding JD of where he stood in the chain of command. That word 'kid' had been shouted at him, growled at him, said in friendship, anger, exasperation and in jest. Until now, JD had thought he had heard them all. The man before him, sitting slouched in his saddle, short red hair glittering in the late afternoon sun, spat out that 'kid' with such venom and malice that JD took an involuntary step backwards, moving Casey with him. Casey had also grown uncommonly quiet and she did not protest as JD moved protectively in front of her.

Alvin Turner glared at the young man protecting his 'girl', his posture un-cowed and defiant despite the slightly frightened look on his face. They had planned to wait at the river for Josh to get back from scouting out Four Corners. Turner tried to keep a low profile during their pre-job activities, it made it easier to disappear later. But it looked like it wasn't going to be the case today. For a moment Turner considered just shooting the kid and then having some fun with the girl before killing her too, but undoubtedly the pair lived nearby, maybe even in town and he didn't want a posse on his tail for a double murder.

Pointing his gun straight at JD, Turner snarled, "You tell that pretty little girl behind you to unbuckle your gun belt and drop it on the ground. Now!" JD felt Casey stiffen behind him and knew she was going to protest so he whispered urgently, "Just do it Casey."

Nodding nervously, Casey reached around JD, still keeping him between her and the strangers, and unbuckled his gun belt. She let it fall gently to the leaf-covered ground and stepped back a little more. Turner motioned for the pair to move to beneath the tree and, as JD and Casey did so, Dempsey got off his horse and picked up the gun belt. Pulling out one of the Colts, Pete whistled in admiration at the shiny pistol. "Would you look at that? The snot-nosed kid has been playing with real guns! And purty ones too." Dempsey swung the Colt onto his trigger finger and pointed the gun at JD. "You ever been shot, kid? Wanna know what it feels like?"

JD simply stared at Pete who was grinning widely, clearly enjoying himself. "Knock it off, Pete, and check out that hamper," Turner barked.
Without taking his eyes off JD, Dempsey pretended to shoot both JD and Casey and then blew imaginary smoke from the gun. "Sure thing, Vin."

Turner and Swanson also dismounted and sent their horses to graze near JD and Casey's. Soon the trio of strangers were gorging themselves on the contents of Nettie's hamper while the hungry pair watched. Fried chicken, fresh fruit, biscuits, apple pie, bread and peach preserve were devoured in short order. The meal that would have been more than sufficient for two young people and it was just enough to whet the three large men's appetites. JD had seated himself protectively in front of Casey and it was with a watering mouth that he watched as their lunch disappeared.

Swanson and Dempsey taunted and teased JD and Casey throughout the meal. Turner just ate his share before knocking off Swanson's hat, revealing a small bald patch on the young man's head. "Hey watch it, Vin!" Joe Swanson exclaimed, pulling his hat back onto his head, covering up his prematurely balding hair.
Ignoring his embarrassed friend, Turner pointed a drumstick at JD. "You two just sit there and stay quiet and nothing'll happen to you, alright?"

They both nodded, although JD wished he could do something more than simply sit there. But after spending many months working with dangerous men and deadly situations, JD knew not to provoke a situation when you were at a disadvantage. He had been disarmed, and still had to protect Casey somehow and if following Turner's orders kept her safe - so be it. He could swallow his pride and take all the taunts - after all Buck had given him enough practice in that area.

The trio of strangers settled themselves around the tree and Dempsey immediately fell asleep. Swanson looked like he was also about to drift off, resting his head against his saddle and belching loudly. Turner fingered his short red hair, making the sweat stiffened hair stand up in matted spikes. He studied JD and Casey with a cool eye, noting that both kids seemed willing enough to stay put. Rather than take a chance, he leant back on his elbows and kicked Swanson whose eyes were already closed. "Joe, you've got first watch."

Without opening his eyes, Joe Swanson groaned, "Aw hell, Vin." He made no further complaint but remained lying prone on the ground as if hoping his boss would leave him be. Turner kicked Swanson again and barked, "Get up and watch them two. Now."

Muttering something about uppity kids, Swanson rolled to one side and clambered to his feet. He walked over to a flat rock, sat down and drew his gun. Pointing the pistol at their unwilling guests, Joe got settled to keep watch. Turner lay back onto the leafy ground and pulled his hat over his face. From beneath the battered Stetson, Turner said, "And keep your hands to yourself, Joe. You start a party without me and I'll skin you alive."

Seemingly unperturbed by his boss' threats, Swanson kept his gaze fixed on Casey. JD shifted a little to block his view and Swanson lifted his pistol in response. Shaking his head, Swanson indicated for JD to move back and, when the kid didn't, Joe tightened his finger on the trigger. "Iffen I got to watch you two, I'm gonna make sure that I watch something pretty. Move!"

"Jist shut up Joe!" Turner's sleepy voice ordered, "Jist shut the hell up."

Making sure that Swanson couldn't see the movement, Casey patted JD's back affectionately and whispered, "You got a plan JD?"

JD shook his head slightly and whispered quickly, "Not yet." Casey settled herself to lean against JD, almost completely hidden from view.

As a burgeoning teenager, Casey had always thought herself tough enough to deal with any man. Her childish illusions had been shattered during the incident with Guy Royale when an overwhelming fear had blossomed that maybe she couldn't handle everything. The Nichols brothers had only added to her confusion and fear - especially since she had seen how wonderful and terrible the same man could be. The lady bounty hunters had stirred up even more insecurity, particularly when Maddey had shot JD. As life continued to teach her its many lessons, Casey was slowly accepting them, and right now she was very frightened. She may have blustered a little today, defying these strangers, but there was definitely something in the way that all three men were looking at her that sent Casey scurrying to hide behind JD. She and JD may have been arguing only moments ago, but she wouldn't have had anyone else with her right now. Ok, maybe the rest of the Seven would be nice, but all she had was JD, and Casey knew that that would be enough.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Secrets Revealed

The regulators gathered inside the empty saloon, waiting a few moments for Nathan to join them. Once the healer had done so, Ezra asked, "Do we have any idea who the second miscreant is - perhaps a toady of Hefner's?"

Buck shrugged, "Didn't get a good look at him, although I did see the mess he made of that cowboy's face." Buck nodded at the puddle of blood on one of the broken tables.

"Charles Temple."

Buck and Ezra looked at Chris for an explanation. "He's not exactly the most well-know outlaw you're likely to meet - but up in New York and Illinois, he's got a reputation for being a ruthless bastard."

"And since he started riding with Hefner, he's come into his own - proved to be as vicious as Dirk Hefner on his worst day," Vin added.

"Charming - we are about to ride after two known criminals with a history of vindictive mayhem. Marvellous," Ezra said, "Absolutely marvellous."

Chris turned to Vin and asked, "Anything else we need to know?" Vin nodded and pulled a map of the area closer. Pointing at the little dot that represented Four Corners, Vin said, "They left town heading north, but they'll turn and head south the moment they clear the trail. Hefner's gang is supposed to be holed up in some pueblo on the border and they were more than likely heading there anyway. We gotta catch 'em before they get anywhere near there, Hefner's second will have scouts watching the road in and we don't want the whole gang coming down on us to rescue them two."

Larabee studied the map, frowning at how little their time frame was. "They'll reach that pueblo by tomorrow afternoon then."
Tanner shook his head, indicating to a mark on the map, "It'll take 'em longer, Beggars Canyon will slow 'em up, you gotta be real careful in going through but it takes twice as long to go around."

Ezra and Buck moved to see the map as well, and Nathan said, "So they'll reach the canyon by nightfall and wait to use the whole day to get through it."

"Reckon so."

"So if we push it and reach Beggars Canyon after nightfall, we'll be right on top of them."

Vin nodded at Buck, "That's the plan. If Hefner gets into the canyon, it'll be that much harder to drive him out. Dangerous too."

Instantly Chris picked up on the quiver in Vin's voice and looked up at the tracker. Tanner's eyes were focused on the map, but he was seeing something very different. "Vin?" The question was a gentle invitation for Tanner to open up, speak what was obviously on his mind.

Nathan, Ezra and Buck stared at Vin, finally picking up what Chris sensed. There was something about this chase that had Vin on edge. Only because his friends had been around him long enough, could they see the signs that he was nervous, a slight tightening around his eyes, normally still fingers, twitching near his knife.

Vin didn't look at any of them, his mind trapped for an instant in the past, images of rearing horses, men shouting, blood seeping into the ground playing across his memory. Blinking back the moment, Vin sighed, "I was with 'em, with the posse that Hefner ambushed."

Puzzled, Buck blurted out, "I thought that they were all killed!"

Vin shrugged still not looking at Buck and muttered, "Weren't in no condition to set 'em right, didn't care to afterwards."

The implications of that statement were ominous. What exactly had happened? "Perhaps you should enlighten us as to what occurred, Vin. Tell us how you escaped what by all reports was a massacre," Ezra suggested, watching as Vin flinched slightly in response.

"Ain't much to tell." Vin's reluctance was palpable but before any of them could press him further, Tanner shrugged and began his story, "I had only just started bounty hunting and had taken a bounty into Gulch Junction when Hefner's gang hit the bank. The sheriff needed a tracker and offered to pay double on the bounty I had brought in if I tracked Hefner for 'em. No one else wanted the job, and I needed the money."

Flashback:

Gulch Junction:

The noon sun was beating down on the town, its oppressive heat enough to send any sensible folk indoors. But the inhabitants of Gulch Junction were not inside their stores or fancy saloon. Instead the entire town population, as well as many of the men from the outlying ranches, were gathered in front of the courthouse. Mayor Hobbs, a tall impressively built man who had fought a vicious campaign during the last elections to become Mayor was determined to take charge of the situation. His booming town was in an up-roar. Not more than 3 hours ago, the Hefner gang had ridden into town, converging from several directions to storm the bank.

Two deputies were dead, as well as a local rancher who had tried to stop one of the masked outlaws from taking his hard-earned money, as he stood in line at the bank. The town's diminutive sheriff, Toby Olsen was standing next to the Mayor, trying to make himself look taller as the Mayor towered over him.

The crowd of townsfolk and ranchers were busy cheering their Mayor as he promised them that the Hefner gang would be caught. A few more cheers were given when he said that a posse was going to hunt those outlaws down "… like the dogs they are!"

"And the men of Gulch Junction are just the brave souls to do it!"

You could have heard the old codger sitting in a rickety chair on the saloon porch fart following that statement. An uneasy silence fell over the entire town as the Mayor waited for volunteers to come forward. Nobody moved.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen. This is no time to be shy! Our fine sheriff here will be leading the posse!" Sheriff Olsen paled visibly at Mayor Hobbs words, his mouth falling open like a fish and he stepped forward hesitantly, trying to get the Mayor's attention. But Mayor Jeremiah Hobbs Jr. was in no mood to listen to his cowardly sheriff. Ignoring Olsen, Hobbs shouted, "There is a one thousand dollar reward on Hefner alone! I know for a fact that there are many of you who could use that sort of money!" Hobbs changed his tactics when the crowd refused to get excited at the prospect of a reward. "I shouldn't have to coerce you - are you men or mice? Hefner needs to be brought to justice before he strikes again. Three good men died defending this town - are you going to let their deaths be for nothing?"

One voice shouted above the murmur of the crowd, "What about the army? Let them chase Hefner down - they want him too!"

Speaking quickly to cut off that idea, Mayor Hobbs bit out sarcastically, "Of course - let the army take care of us - as if we were a bunch of no account sissies who can't wipe our own asses without the army guarding 'em!"

That comment got a few more murmurs and as Mayor Hobbs continued to harangue the crowd, more and more men pushed their way to the front. The old codger sitting on the saloon porch spat out a stream of tobacco juice that narrowly missed the dusty boot of the stranger standing next to him. "Dang fools," he muttered as the Mayor managed to get a cheer out of the crowd again. "He's gonna get them all riled up and send 'em after one of the meanest bastards around and then stay safe and sound in his feather bed. Buncha idiots."

The stranger didn't answer the old man, which was fine with him. He didn't need an audience to start expounding his views of life, he was known to spend hours talking to nothing at all, cussing the air as it disagreed with him. He had more of a chance of getting an intelligible answer out of flesh and bone, even if it was just a sigh from the stray dog that sat under his feet occasionally.

"Yip, that Hefner is one slippery son of a gun and he ain't gonna be easy ta follow." The Mayor's voice boomed out across the street again, announcing that the sheriff had arranged for a tracker to join the posse. Another cheer greeted those words and a few more men pressed forward.

"What sorta pea-brained idiot did they con into that? Any tracker worth his salt ain't gonna go after the Hefner gang without at least the army behind him."

The stranger continued to lean against one of porch railings, his entire posture relaxed onto the wooden support. The old man continued muttering, "I reckon they musta got some half-assed wanna-be tracker who don't know the difference between a train track and bear paw. Or - some youngin' trying to prove himself - hmph - only get himself killed is all."

Roughly twenty men had agreed to join the posse and they were all gathered around the Mayor and Sheriff Olsen grinning as the crowd cheered them. One of the ranchers asked the Mayor something and the Mayor pointed at the stranger, who tipped his hat at the posse. His soft voice could only be heard by the old man, "Reckon I'm that pea-brained idiot."

The old codger gave the stranger another appraising look before muttering, "Then it ain't being pea-brained, just stupid, son - the money ain't worth it."

Vin just shrugged and continued to watch the townsfolk, who were now talking loudly about the prospect of their town becoming famous for catching Hefner. "You a scout?" the old man asked.

"Bounty-hunter."

Peering up at Vin again, the old man said, "Ya don't look the type, kid. But I reckon it make's a little more sense now - you're in the right kind of work already for taking on stupid chances for a lot of cash."

Without looking at the wrinkled old man, Vin smiled, "Sheriff's holdin' out on paying me my last bounty unless I go with 'em."

Grinning broadly, the old man laughed, "That sounds like our fine up-standing sheriff - suppose he mentioned something like investing in the town's growth and some rot like that?"

"Yip."

"He he, son, you watch your back. I figure you know your own business - but that Olsen is a prickly short-a-nothing, you just tread light around him. He don't look like much - but he is sheriff for a reason."

"Thanks for the warning."

***************************
The posse was not happy. Three days into the chase and still no sight of Hefner's gang. Oh, they had come close a few times, nearly catching them as they slept, but Hefner's own Indian-trained man had alerted them and they had escaped the posse. Sheriff Olsen was getting desperate, his posse wanted to go home. Made up mostly by townsfolk and ranchers, the men all had lives they wanted to get back to and this chase was proving to be more difficult than he had thought.

When Dirk Hefner and his gang had rode into town, the Sheriff hid in the grocery store, too afraid to face Hefner without backup. A wise choice, some people might say, after all Hefner had a reputation of killing any lawmen that stood in his way. But to offer no resistance as the outlaws plundered the town, was cowardice. Two of his deputies had been killed in the robbery, bravely protecting the populace.

Only the clerk, hiding behind the same counter knew that Olsen had cowered in terror whilst the gang rode roughshod through the town. To everyone else, Olsen had talked of a brave struggle with an outlaw who had waylaid him, even as he ran to help his deputies.

Olsen's dreams of attaining the fame he craved were slipping away. His growing fabrications of the fight in town, where the single outlaw had evolved into an entire portion of the gang who had been spared his wrath only because he ran out of ammunition, were growing harder and harder to swallow. At one point of the three-day journey, the sheriff had even suggested that he had wounded a few of the outlaws. The tracker, a man named Tanner, had quietly burst that lie, by drawling in his soft voice that there were no signs of any wounded men, let alone graves to mark a fatal shot.

Caught out in his lie, the Sheriff quickly covered himself with a few more excuses and had ordered the posse onwards. Supplies were running low and tempers even shorter as Hefner's gang led the posse on a twisted chase, trying to shake them, but Tanner was their equal. Olsen didn't dare vent his frustration on his posse, he couldn't afford to alienate them. That left the tracker, who was being well paid for his time.

The sheriff constantly harassed Tanner, arguing with him about the trail and where to expect the outlaws. He over-ruled the tracker on numerous occasions, refusing to take his advice on possible plans. As a result, the man had become isolated from the rest of the posse. Already a stranger to the townsfolk, Tanner found himself on the outside of the group and, for all appearances, didn't seem to mind the situation at all. In fact, he appeared to welcome it. That is until the posse reached Box Canyon.

The canyon was well-named. It had only one entrance and anybody stupid enough to wander in, had only one avenue of escape, back the way they came. Tanner rode into the camp early on the fourth morning to hear Sheriff Olsen arguing with Pete Green. Green had been the loudest voice clamouring to go home and it sounded like he was getting louder.

"I have better things to do than just following you around on this glory-ride you are so set on, Olsen!"

Dwarfed by Green, Olsen shouted up at the rancher, "No one forced you to come along Green. But I sure as hell ain't gonna let you turn tail just cos' you can't see a thing through!"

Justin Bates, another rancher and neighbour of Green's, intervened by saying, "Now, Sheriff, you gotta understand. We got livestock to brand and crops to get in. It ain't that we're chickening out but this is going on too long."

"Too long! Too long! You ever been in a posse before, Bates?" Olsen screeched, his face turning red with anger. Without giving Bates a chance to answer, the sheriff continued, "I have been in hundreds of posses! One that even lasted a month as we chased those varmints down! Three days! Three days is all you lilly-livered cowpokes are gonna give me?"

In the angry silence that followed the sheriff's words, Olsen knew he had gone too far. Sputtering to try and rectify his error, he spotted Tanner who was leaning against his horse, watching the entire scene with an amused smile on his face. Whirling on the tracker, desperate to get the attention off himself, Olsen snapped, "So what did you find this time? And ya damn-well better not have any more excuses!"

His now-tight smile still in place, Tanner's eyes went cold and hard at the sheriff's words. He had had just about enough of the sheriff. Vin would have packed up and left on the first day out 'cept that the sheriff still owed him for the bounty, and he couldn't just leave the posse to fumble through this alone. None of the men knew this area and any maps of the region were sketchy at best. So forcing himself to stay despite the sheriff's barbs and comments, Vin had tried to lead the posse straight to Hefner. It hadn't been easy for the bounty hunter, with the sheriff second-guessing him every time, taking the posse on different routes than the one he advised, refusing to acknowledge Vin's experience in the wild.

Taking a deep breath, Vin said, "They've taken a high trail over the hills yonder. If we wanna stay on top of 'em, we had better leave now. If they make it into the badlands …"

Olsen brushed aside Vin's concerns with a sharp, "Where's that map, boy?" Jeremy Hobbs, the Mayor's son, quickly handed the map to the sheriff. Mayor Hobbs had insisted that his son accompany the posse even though the boy was reluctant to do so. Mayor Hobbs felt that it was time for his son to grow a backbone and stop snivelling behind his mother's apron strings. A small boy of fifteen, Jeremy had a sharp mind but was completely over-shadowed by his older, more robust brothers. Jeremy was a disappointment to his father and the whole town knew about the strained relationship they shared.

None of the townsfolk were willing to cross the Mayor, and the general attitude of ignoring the boy had extended to the posse. All the men save Vin viewed Jeremy as a nuisance, thrust on them by a father many respected, even if they didn't like him.

Snatching the map from the boy, the sheriff unfolded the paper. Peering near-sighted at the writing, the sheriff let out an exclamation of delight, "Ha! If we ride through Potter's Canyon below that trail, we'll come out ahead of them!" Pointing at Green in particular, Olsen crowed, "You boys want to end this - fine. We ride now through the canyon and we'll have them by sundown!"

The men, tired from three days of hard riding and mounting tension, let out a half-hearted cheer and half of them moved to mount up, eager for the ordeal to end. Even though his voice was meant to be only loud enough to be heard by the sheriff, Vin's words stopped every man. "Can't ride through that canyon. It's Box Canyon - not Potter's and it's got a dead end. We have to follow them up the trail."

The sheriff's voice wasn't the only one to rise in protest, but it was the loudest, "You've been out in the sun too long if you think we're gonna add any more days to this. This is our chance and we're gonna take it."

Tanner stalked up to the sheriff, closing in on the small man. "That canyon don't go nowhere 'cept back out the way you came. Riding in there is asking for trouble." Vin still hadn't raised his voice, but his firm words spoke louder than any shout.

"And I think you're still trying to run this posse. I say the map is right and we can ride through!" Olsen thrust the map at Vin, shouting, "If you are so certain where we are and what canyon that is - prove it. Show it to me on the map!"

Vin blinked, briefly thrown by the sheriff's order, "I don't need a map to know where we are. You ride into that canyon and you'll loose Hefner."

"I'm beginning to think that maybe you're the reason we ain't catching Hefner!" The abrupt accusation caught Vin off guard and he stepped back from the bristling sheriff. "Maybe you're leading us wrong in order to … I don't know, go after him yourself. Get the bounty on him. Or maybe", and the sheriff positively beamed with delight, "You're working with him - letting him get away!"

At those words, Vin got right up in Olsen's face, their hat brims touching they were so close. The rest of the posse drew closer, suddenly concerned for the diminutive sheriff. Tanner had proven to be a tough individual but they still knew very little about him. Grabbing a fistful of the sheriff's shirt, Vin drew the small man up to his eye level, "I've had about enough of you. You wanna ride to nowhere - fine. But leave me outta it." Shoving the sheriff away from him, Vin drew his mare-leg and backed to his horse. Picking himself up off the dirt, the sheriff shrieked, "Don't let him get away, he'll try and warn Hefner!"

Snorting in disgust, Vin said, "You boys listen up. I ain't led ya false and I sure as hell ain't working for Hefner. You keep on ahead through that canyon, and that slippery son of a gun will get away."

A few of the men hesitated at Vin's short speech, savvy enough to recognise the tracker for the expert that he was. But the up-start sheriff would not be swayed, "If you ain't working fer him, you won't object to showing us through that canyon."

"Ain't no if involved Olsen! I am right and if you are so set on going through, you do it yourself!"

Even though Vin had his firearm drawn, the little Sheriff drew his own six-shooter quickly and pointed it at Tanner. The sound of other pistols being cocked brought the level of tension even higher. Vin noted who had drawn their guns and who hadn't but the odds were against him any way. Reluctant to fire on men he had no quarrel; Tanner had hesitated when the sheriff drew his own gun, giving the impudent man the time to turn the tables on him.

Backing down visibly, putting his mare-leg back in its holster, Tanner shrugged and said, "You want me with you, ok. Just remember what I said when we come to a dead end."

The posse moved on soon after, with Tanner pretty much under armed guard. Immensely pleased to finally have his authority unquestioned, the sheriff had ordered three men to keep their guns on Tanner in case he made a break for it. Jeremy Hobbs stuck close to Vin as well, keeping close to the one man who would actually talk to him.

The pair had formed a fledgling friendship over the past three days and Jeremy was impressed with Vin's knowledge of the wild. The fact that the sheriff seemed to disparage the tracker's abilities only strengthened Jeremy's own admiration. And since Vin had not wanted to go into the canyon, Jeremy, urged by a child's natural instincts, felt he should stick close to the tracker.

Box Canyon enjoyed a unique place in nature. Part of a series of canyons ranging west towards California, it hide itself among its more impressive brethren. A rider taking the seldom-travelled trail would suddenly find himself in a canyon of towering walls and twisted bends. One moment you were riding through hilly countryside, the next you were surrounded by mountainous rock. The canyon was deceptively easy to traverse, there was only one way forward and at its end, the walls appeared to lower and vanish, as if heralding the end of the canyon. Instead, the traveller would turn a corner and find a dead end. Sheer cliff face rose up towards the backs of the rest of the canyons, Box Canyon actually winding around itself until it ended with the low hills that initially started at it mouth. The high trail over the canyons meandered directly overhead and the frustrated traveller would be able to see his correct path right above him.

Sheriff Olsen had immediately crowed his delight, when he led the posse straight into the canyon. The passage between the rock faces was narrow, and the posse had to ride two abreast. At places the trail became so narrow that the stone brushed against horse withers and booted feet. Vin rode next to Jeremy, his keepers riding in front and behind him. The uneasy feeling that had urged him to challenge the sheriff's route had grown steadily as the posse rode through the canyon.

Studying the trail that he knew was above them, Vin could feel eyes watching them, but the high walls obscured his full view of the trail. The entire area was quiet, save for the sound of horses and men moving, even that muted by the soft sand underfoot. This canyon had been carved when the overflow from other canyons had spilled down its narrow defile. The soft river sand was old, no overflow occurring for centuries.

Riding ahead of the posse, like a mini Napoleon, Sheriff Olsen shouted over back to his men, his voice loud enough to carry to the rear, "We're nearing the end boys. We'll have that bastard soon." His voice still echoing through the canyon, Olsen turned the final bend and came face to face with the dead end. He was so shocked, that he didn't signal the riders behind him and, before anyone could slow down, the rest of the posse piled into the circular cul-de-sac.

Shouts of confusion and anger rose as the men realized that the sheriff had lead them into a dead end, and those in front tried to turn around. But the close press of horses and riders behind prevented that, as the men behind rode forward to see what the hold up was.

Near the rear of the posse, Vin didn't even smile at the congestion ahead. His senses were screaming at him that something was wrong and he tried to back his horse out of the press of the posse, even as he eyed the trail above. But to no avail, confusion reigned and no one could seem to sort the mess out. Men tried to turn around, while others took up available space to try and manoeuvre. Sheriff Olsen shouted above the confusion, even his loud voice garbled over the tumult.

Into that confusion, the first shot thundered. A lanky blonde rancher was the first to fall from his horse, blood spreading across his back. More bullets plunged into the melee, the rifle reports adding to the now panicked shouts of men who tried to leave the canyon. No one was spared as all around the rim of the canyon, outlaws fired on the posse. Horses reared up in pain as they too were targeted, knocking riders from their saddles. Those men at the rear of the posse tried to escape, but were cut down by a trio of outlaws laying down a deadly crossfire.

Caught in the gunfire of the entire Hefner gang, the posse were cut down methodically, most of the men peppered with multiple gunshot wounds. Olsen died in a blaze of blood as a bullet punched a hole through his chest, catapulting him off his wheeling steed, to fall under the hooves of his own horse. Green and Bates were the only two men to return fire at the outlaws, but were unable to see the men laying low on the trail above. Their return fire brought a hail of bullets onto them, both falling in jerky movements as bullets riddled their bodies.

The air was filled with the screams of men and horses, smoke from the outlaws guns and dust as hooves churned in the close quarters. With no way out and no surrender offered, Hefner led his men in a massacre, visibly urging his men to continue firing.

Vin had not been spared from the rain of death. Immediately after the first shot had been fired, Vin had forced his way to a rock wall, thus protecting him from one line of fire. But a bullet fired from the opposite side found its mark and Tanner bit back a cry as it thudded into his shoulder. Keeping a firm hand on his horse below him, Vin tried to make himself as small a target as possible.

Jeremy was pressed against Vin, following his lead in trying to cover his back. The young boy's eyes were wide with fear, his mouth open in a silent scream as all around him, men died, shot to pieces. The noise from the outlaws guns was rising like a relentless thunder, as the rapidly dwindling posse tried to escape. Either Jeremy was too terrified to notice the wound on his arm, or the boy was truly screaming in pain.

"Jeremy!" The boy turned to Vin, his terrified face close to the tracker's. "Get over here!" Motioning for Jeremy to climb onto his horse with him Vin helped pull the boy over. Jeremy was nearly seated in front of Vin, when Tanner felt the boy slump against him with a groan. Reaching around to steady Jeremy, Vin felt blood on the boy's shirt and knew he had been hit again. With so much gunfire thundering into the trap, Vin wasn't able to tell what shots were directed at their position. Desperate to save the boy, he pulled Jeremy over his saddle and onto the ground between Vin's horse and the wall. The boy slumped to the ground unconscious.

The bay beneath Vin was well-trained and was not rearing and wheeling around like other horses, which were adding to the chaos, before they too were shot. Tanner was about to dismount when a barrage of bullets hit him and his horse. The outlaws had mowed down the majority of the posse and were now focusing on those still standing. Two men, using their fallen horses' bodies as cover, were cut down by an unrelenting hail of fire. Two bullets struck Vin, one in his upper thigh, the other in his side. More bullets plunged into his horse, an unlucky one, killing the animal outright with a shot to the head.

Unable to move his wounded leg fast enough, Vin fell with the horse, right on top of the unconscious Jeremy. Vin had been so close to the rock wall, that the momentum of the fall, knocked his head against the stone and he lost consciousness to a wave of black nothingness.

A splitting headache and mounting pain brought Vin back to awareness and, as he blinked at the harsh sunlight, silence greeted his ears. Blinking rapidly to clear his blurry vision, the scene before him soon swung into focus. What he saw was a motionless array of bodies. Horses and men lay side by side, tangled up and beneath each other. Nothing moved, except the slow trickle of blood as it flowed from opened veins and wounds, collecting together to run in a red trickle down the natural slope of the canyon.

Vin drew in a deep breath and gasped as fire raced across his chest. He tried to move but he was pinned by the weight of his horse on his leg and when he tried to move his free leg, he had to bite back a scream as the bullet wound on his thigh flared to life. Licking his dry, dusty lips, Vin tried to remember what had happened as he fell. Feeling an unexpected softness beneath his upper body, Vin remembered falling onto Jeremy. Shuffling sideways, ignoring the pain, Vin tried to see the boy trapped beneath him.

Jeremy lay beneath Vin and his horse, his legs trapped by the lower portion of the horse. The tight quarters made it difficult for Vin to touch Jeremy's neck, but he managed to awkwardly bend his arm to check the boy's throat for a pulse. Vin's hand was shaking so badly, he couldn't find a pulse and his heart sank as he tried again. When Jeremy opened his eyes, Vin pulled back, startled and inadvertently pressed harder onto the boy. Gasping in pain, Jeremy turned to see Vin, right on top of him, the tracker's face slightly above him.

"Vvvinn?" His brown eyes were filled with fear as they stared straight at Vin and as he tried to move, his mouth opened in a gasp of pain. "Don't move, Jeremy. We don't know how the horse in laying on ya. Just lay still."

"Vinn, I .." Jeremy mouthed still struggling to free his arm trapped beneath the tracker. Grunting in pain as Jeremy managed to pull his arm free, Vin whispered, "Jeremy. Please don't move." Unaware of the pain he was causing Vin, Jeremy continued to struggle, pushing with his elbow to try and free himself. "I can't .. I can't … it hurts, Vin. It hurts."

"I know Jeremy but …" Jeremy wasn't listening. His eyes had been drawn to the scene of carnage beyond the sweat-covered rump of Vin's horse. All he could see was death, all around him, next to him, on top of him. Men he knew were lying in broken sprawls, their lifeblood seeping into the sand, sightless eyes staring up at the heavens. There was no sound in that terrible trap, and the silence was deafening in its own right after the storm of gunfire that had fallen upon the posse.

Jeremy didn't even try and fight the panic that rose within his breast, fed by the pain of his wounds. He hurt so much and all he wanted to do was get out of here, go home where it was safe and it didn't hurt anymore. If he didn't get free soon, he was so sure that he would never leave this death trap. "I gotta get … I gotta get out of here! Vin! VIN!" Vin could see the rising panic and tried to calm Jeremy down, but the boy wouldn't listen, his screams at Vin turning into just screaming, as he pulled and pushed trying to free himself. Vin could feel the boy's body moving beneath, muscles and tendons straining to break free of the dead weight of the horse.

"VIN! They're all dead! VIN!" Jeremy couldn't get free, try as he might and all he was doing in the process was hurting himself and Vin more.

"Jeremy, stop!"

Screaming in terror the boy lost it and flailed about, desperate to be free. Vin couldn't get through to him and tried to grab Jeremy's arm, to make a physical contact with the distraught boy. With a final, desperate plunge, Jeremy lurched backwards and something inside him seemed to break. Instantly he stopped moving, crying out in pain, clutching his stomach. All the energy seeped out of him, and Jeremy slumped on the ground, drawing in ragged breaths, sobbing brokenly.

Pushing back his own pain, Vin tried get his attention, "Jeremy, it's gonna be alright. Just lay still."

"Vin, it hurts." The boy's voice was a pain-filled whisper and Vin saw him squeeze his eyes shut as tears escaped from the corners. "I'm sacred, Vin."

"I know you are, but we're gonna make it, we just gotta…"

The rest of what Vin was going to say died on his lips as the unmistakable sound of riders approaching reached them. Jeremy's eyes brightened at the prospect of help arriving and Vin barely managed to cover the boy's mouth in time to prevent his call for help emerging. "Shhh, not until we know for sure who it is."

Nodding, Jeremy gulped in air as Vin removed his hand, before settling down on top of Jeremy, laying as if he were dead. "Sorry." Both apologised at the same time and Vin flashed the boy a weak smile before motioning him to lay back.

Despite the tension of waiting, Jeremy's eyes closed, either trusting in Vin to keep him safe or in too much agony to stay awake longer than necessary. Vin alternately checked on Jeremy and the opening in the dead end, just by moving his eyes as he lay perfectly still. He just hoped that the riders hadn't heard Jeremy's screams earlier.

Three riders appeared, pistols in hand. Vin recognised Hefner from the sheriff's description. A short man, slight in build, Hefner had a pointed sort of face, with long dark blonde hair reaching his shirt collar. He had the look of a street tough and it was rumoured that he had grown up on the streets of Liverpool before coming to America. But there was no trace of a British accent when he ordered his men to search for any survivors.

"Check 'em all. Don't want a fresh posse chasing down on us again." Dirk laughed then, a short nasty guffaw as if the sprawl of broken, bloodied bodies before him was something he was proud of. Vin felt Jeremy jerk at Hefner's order, but he couldn't risk moving to reassure the boy. They were trapped against a wall not too far from Hefner and while many of the posse lay between them and Hefner, any movement would be seen.

Closing his eyes, Vin lay as limp as he could and listened to the sound of the two outlaws picking their way through the bodies. One of them was about two metres from Vin's horse when he shouted, "Hell, Dirk, ain't any of 'em alive! We waited long enough on top to spot any of 'em movin' and this is jus stupid!"

Trying to take breaths as shallow as possible, Vin waited anxiously for the man to move on.
" 'Sides, if they are faking it - they ain't got a chance of surviving without help arriving soon. Let's get outta here."

Hefner considered his options for a moment before shouting, "Fine, get on back here. We don't want the rest of the boys getting too far ahead. We got some celebrating to do." With that the two outlaws hurried back to their horses, uncaring of who or what they stepped on. Mounting up, the trio rode out of the canyon leaving the mass grave for the buzzards.

Waiting for the sound of the hoof beats to disappear, Vin moved giving Jeremy some space to breathe. "It's all clear. Now how about we get to freeing ourselves?" Vin turned to look at Jeremy and saw that the boy was still lying limp and sallow. "Jeremy?" Again reaching to touch the boy, Vin felt Jeremy's face, which was slack and relaxed, and realized that he wasn't breathing. "Kid!" Shaking his head, Vin tried to manoeuvre himself off Jeremy but by the time he had painfully managed to slide down behind Jeremy, Vin knew that the boy was dead.

"Ah hell, kid."

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

"So who helped you?"

Vin chuffed softly as if surprised that Buck had to ask the question. "No one. It took me a while but I managed to get free of my horse and I walked out that canyon. Ran into an old trapper who took me half dead to the nearest town where a doc patched me up. He never asked what happened and I never told him."

"Damn, Vin!" Nathan exclaimed, shocked at how close Vin had come to death. Again Vin just shrugged, as if his incredible effort to live was unremarkable. "Heard later that Mayor Hobbs had found what was left of the posse, and declared everyone accounted for. Said anyway that a survivor was sure to be part of the Hefner gang so I stayed quiet."

Chris shook his head in amazement and muttered, "Now Hefner's here. Why did he knife Josiah?"

Vin shrugged, mindful of his promise to Josiah but answered truthfully, "Your guess is as good as mine, pard. I can't recollect any reason why Hefner would wanna kill Josiah and if Josiah knows - he ain't talking."

"Josiah can play his cards about as close as Ezra does on occasion. But we still gotta get after Hefner and Temple," Nathan said, watching as Ezra shuffled the cards in question.

"Indeed, Mr. Jackson, after hearing of Mr. Tanner's last harrowing encounter with Dirk Hefner, we are all as eager to chase down that man as a bather is to enter shark-infested waters. I for one volunteer to remain and protect the town from any transient ne'er-do-wells."


Buck grinned at Ezra and it wasn't a pleasant smile. The Southerner looked a little shocked at Buck's intense expression and resisted the urge to swallow nervously, "Mr. Wilmington? Something the matter with my suggestion?"

Still grinning nastily, Buck growled, "Nope, nothing wrong with it, except that there is no way in hell you're staying in town alone with Inez!"

Chris and Vin stared at Buck in surprise while Nathan just laughed. Ezra didn't know whether to smile or prepare to defend himself. Buck looked ready to pounce on the gambler and beat - something - out of him. Nathan noted Vin and Chris' confused expressions and chuckled, "Buck spotted Ezra kissing Inez this morning and he seems a might put out."

"Oh, I'm more than a might put out!" Buck growled, and Ezra found himself taking a step backwards, away from the glowering gunfighter. Vin kept his expression neutral for the moment but Chris looked a little flushed, as if Ezra's predicament reminded him of something else. Ezra was desperately trying to think of something to divert Buck's anger from him, short of digging himself deeper, when the lady behind all the trouble made her entrance.

Helena Demarco, dressed in a deep red blouse and a beautiful full black skirt made her way down the stairs from Inez's room. Buck's jaw may have well hung open in amazement his attention was so fixed on Helena. Ezra and the kiss were forgotten in the presence of this beauty and Buck leapt from his seat like Helena was a magnet that he had no choice but to fly at. Helena's dainty foot had barely touched the saloon floor and Buck's lips were pressed against her hand.

"How a beauty as dazzling as yours did not send this saloon up in a burst of fireworks, I'll never know. You, lovely lady, are surely the finest of God's creations."

Helena's smile was perfect, sincere but flattered, delighted but confident and Buck fell for it, like a tonne of bricks. His own devilish grin was wide enough to split his face and he was about to expound on the further merits of Helena's magnificence when Ezra's struggle to contain his laughter broke the moment.

Buck turned and shot a warning glance at the gambler who had to lean onto the bar, slapping it softly as he laughed soundlessly, his mirth so great that none of his laughter could emerge. Vin and Chris were also smiling broadly while Nathan was biting his lip trying not to laugh. Because, standing in the door of the kitchen, her hands resting on her hips, and her expression furiously indignant, was Inez. Judging by her angry glare she had been standing there long enough to hear Buck grill Ezra about their kiss and then see the ladies man practically stumble over his feet trying to get to Helena.

Buck stared at Inez, finding her angry countenance, as usual, just as attractive as when she was smiling at him. His hand still clasping Helena's suddenly felt very sticky and Buck found himself torn. Two beautiful women, one he had been pursuing with vigour and one, so beautiful he found it hard to breathe. What to do? Inez seemed to think that Buck was taking too long and she stormed back into the kitchen, cursing all the while in Spanish. His first instinct was to follow Inez and try and explain, and he actually took a step forward before Helena's soft voice whispered, "Going somewhere, cowboy?"

His mind racing to find an excuse, Buck stammered, "Wait right there, darlin', I won't be a minute!" With that Buck raced around the bar and into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Helena laughed softly and moved towards Vin whose smile froze as she approached him.

Within the kitchen, they could hear Inez's voice rising, with Buck's lower baritone trying to clam her down and, before Ezra could even collect himself, Buck was running back out of the kitchen, as if the hounds of hell were after him. Inez's voice shrieked in his wake, "That is not the point, Buck!" And soon the fiery lady appeared, frying pan in hand, which she pointed it at the unlucky scoundrel, "I don't care what you do, Buck Wilmington! But you will keep your fat nose out of my business!"

Buck nodded quickly and hurried out of the saloon, for the second time that day, too embarrassed to stay.

"Oh, my dear Inez, that was priceless, truly priceless." Ezra laughed, clutching his side.

Inez snapped at Ezra, "You stay out of this! You have caused enough trouble as it is!" And with that Inez disappeared back into the kitchen.

Helena was about to slip her arm through Vin's when he turned to face Chris. "We better head off now, before Hefner gets too far ahead. Find Buck and we'll meet you at the livery."

Vin nodded and moved away from Helena. He gave her a quick smile before leaving the saloon. Ezra was still chuckling and was leaning over the bar trying to reach the expensive brandy when Chris caught the back of his collar and pulled the protesting gambler from the saloon. "Come on, Iago, we've got a job to do."

"But Mr. Larabee I…."

Nathan found himself alone with the strange lady, and suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. Helena looked out of the saloon doors, in the direction that Vin had gone and, without a word to Nathan, turned and went into the kitchen.

Flummoxed by her behaviour, Nathan pulled on his hat and muttered, "It's never anything easy with this lot."

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Early Evening - Picnic Area:
Waiting - impatiently

"Where the hell is Carpenter?" Alvin Turner was pacing angrily, glaring at the distant trail as if willing Josh Carpenter to suddenly appear. Dempsey had taken over the watch a couple of hours ago and somehow, despite his boss' pacing, Swanson was sleeping soundly. Turner's mood had turned exceedingly foul when he woke up and realized that Josh had not returned from Four Corners yet.

Carpenter's mission was simple. Check out the town, its defences, location of the bank, opening and closing times and vigilance of the local law. Josh was very good at what he did, mingling with the town's populace and gathering information without arousing suspicion. Turner also was very good at what he did, and that was robbing banks. Josh was supposed to return to the agreed meeting point before sunset, so that the gang would draw up a plan for the following day.

Josh would tell him who opened the bank and at what time. Turner would ensure that he and Carpenter would be the first customers. Gunther, Dempsey and Swanson would then keep any other early customers away, at gunpoint if necessary. Alone with two heavily armed bank robbers the bank employees would usually comply with their demands and before any one in town, let alone with law any wiser. The gang would depart and the robbery would remain undiscovered until the next customer arrived and found the bank employees tied up. Now that Gunther was dead, Turner was a little uneasy about how successfully Pete and Joe could run interference without the large man's intimidating presence. This unease increased tenfold when Carpenter failed to arrive on time, something Turner had drilled into the young man with several beatings.

"I swear if he's shacked up with some whore again, I'm going to beat him to within an inch of his life." Turner's face was beginning to match his hair as he got angrier and angrier. Dempsey seemed well versed in how to behave around Turner when he got in a mood and the greasy haired youth remained uncharacteristically quiet. JD and Casey needed no encouragement to avoid drawing any attention and only Swanson's snores interrupted Turner's diatribe.

"That no good, lazy, low-down excuse for an idiot is probably trying to make some fool point about how much we need him! Well he sure as hell ain't getting a bigger portion - not in this lifetime!"

An enormous snort ripped through the air as Swanson turned onto his back, his mouth hanging open like a fish's. Like a hawk to its prey, Turner swooped down onto Swanson, kicking him viciously in the thigh. "Shut up!"

His nap brought to an abrupt ended by the pain that flared through his leg, Swanson sat up reaching for his gun. Turner anticipated Swanson's reaction and kicked the fumbling hand away from the gun. Finally aware of what was going on, Joe whined, "What the hell did you do that for? I was having a wonderful dream about that saloon in Texas…" Joe didn't mention his aching hand and leg, he merely continued to lament his interrupted dream.

"Carpenter isn't back yet - that's why!" Turner snarled, shaking his fist in the direction of Four Corners.

Swanson shrugged and quipped, "He probably got drunk and decided to try his luck at a poker game or something. He'll be back - he's just sore cos' Gunther beat on him yesterday."

"I don't care! He's got a job to do - and I ain't gonna let him jist dick around whenever he wants to!" Alvin picked up a rock and tossed it at JD's little bay who nimbly dodged the flying object.

"Jist calm down, Vin. Josh will be back soon, with some excuse about falling off his horse or something," Pete Dempsey said smoothly, as he played with JD's Colts, twirling the guns around on his fingers.

Turner looked like he was going to say something more, but as quickly as his temper had flared, it seemed to disappear. "You two get off your asses and go rustle up some dinner. I'll stay and watch for Josh", Alvin Turner snapped.

Swanson seemed eager to get out from under Turner's eye and quickly straightened his hat. Winking at Pete Dempsey, Joe grinned at Casey and drawled, "You wanna come hunting with us, little girl? I'm sure we would find something we all would enjoy."

Casey glared at Joe, her jaw set but she couldn't keep the fear from her eyes. JD sat up straighter, also glaring at Pete, his hands automatically reaching for his guns. Dempsey chuckled as he holstered his new pistols, watching as JD tried to hide his reaction by sticking his hands in his pocket. "I think this little greenhorn fancies himself to be some sort of a gunman, Joe."

"Reckon you're right, Pete - I…"

"Will you two stop yammering and get going already!" Turner growled, "At this rate we going to be eating Joe's hat again. Git!"

A little sullen at having their fun interrupted, the pair of bank robbers sauntered out of the camp, with more than a few looks directed at Casey. Just before they disappeared out of earshot, Joe yelled, "Don't start the fun without us, Vin!"

JD, Casey and Alvin could hear the pair snickering as they walked away. Turner ignored the comment and just stood watching the trail and his captives, waiting for Josh Carpenter to return.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Late Evening - trail to Beggars Canyon
There's no escaping…

Ezra was utterly miserable, his clothing covered in a thick layer of dust from a hard day's ride. Vin, Chris, Buck and himself had ridden hard all afternoon to reach the canyon before it grew too dark to ride any further. He was saddle-sore, and tired but Ezra had no idea how Vin was still functioning, considering that the lean tracker had not slept more than a couple of hours in the last couple of days. Today would have been the fourth consecutive day in the saddle for him. At least he and Larabee had a chance to catch some sleep in town, but Vin had trailed behind them all night to cover their return.

Sighing in relief as Chris motioned for the pace to slow down a little, giving the horses a chance to recover, Ezra acknowledged that the fast pace of the ride had been a blessing in disguise. Buck had been unable to harass him about Inez. Wilmington had not had the chance in town to continue his discussion and while, Buck had tried to ride close to Ezra the whole afternoon, the slippery gambler had managed to elude him. Ezra smiled to himself, thoroughly enjoying teasing Buck, drawing out the scoundrel's torture - aware that Buck couldn't stand not knowing.

Drawing up near to Ezra, Buck tilted forward resting his elbows on his pommel. Keeping his voice calm, Buck tried a gentler approach, still desperate to find out if Ezra was courting Inez. "So Ez, what's going on with you and Inez?"

Sighing dramatically, Ezra exclaimed, "Mr. Wilmington - shame on you. Prying into my private affairs, especially involving a delicate matter such as a lady. For shame."

"Knock it off, Ez! Spill it! I gotta know!"

"Why pray tell?" Ezra drawled, picking at a loose thread on one of his button-holes., "It's not as if there aren't a dozen women, heaven knows why, ready to fall at your feet given the slightest invitation from your bushy eyebrows and you certainly seemed more than intrigued by the lovely Miss Demarco."

Ezra, his attention half fixed on Buck, kept a watchful eye on Vin riding ahead of them, keen to see what affect their conversation was having. Either Vin had not heard, or he was keeping his reaction to himself.

"Cos this is about Inez! And I aim to make sure you ain't … compromising her," Buck snapped in reply.

"Comprising? Why, Mr. Wilmington I fear I am rubbing off on you - goodness I hope it's not mutual. Lord forbid start using such colloquial mannerisms as yourself!"

"EZ!"

Buck heard both Vin and Chris chuckling up ahead and shouted, "Sure laugh it up, you two! I'm just looking after Inez's best interests here…"

Chris' voice floated back to Buck and Ezra, "… considering she ain't interested in you."

"Shut up, Chris! And you too, Vin, quit giggling like a girl who's just discovered the hayloft."

Vin laughed even more. Buck then saw Vin say something quietly to Chris, who sent Buck a knowing grin. Ezra however choose this moment to intervene, "Buck, I am offended to believe that you do not consider me to be an acceptable suitor for the lovely Miss Recillios, when it is plainly obvious that she returns my affections unlike your good self…."

"Shut up, Ezra!" at Ezra's quizzically raised eyebrow, Buck spluttered, "I'm working on her - and now you've gone and moved in, just when I was making some headway…"

"Headway?"

The four men had just crested a small rise when a gunshot ripped through the night air. Buck was caught mid-sentence as the bullet blew his hat off his head. "Hell!"

Diving for cover, the four regulators dismounted and sent their horses back down the rise. Vin crawled up the slight hill on his stomach, took his hat off, and peaked out over the top.

"Who is it?"
"Is it Hefner?" Ezra and Chris whispered at the same time.

Vin didn't answer as he studied the area below them, keeping as flat as possible. Another volley of gunshots were aimed in their direction and Vin pressed himself further into the ground.

"Vin!"

Finally, Vin crawled backwards down to his friends, making no sound at all as he moved across the scattered undergrowth.

"Well?" Chris asked.

Vin looked at Chris and Ezra and whispered, "It's the Don."

Ezra paled and Chris swore while Buck said, "What Don?"

"Don Diego de la Vega of the Grande Vista Hacienda, a loathsome curmudgeon and an even worse poker player", Ezra replied his face regaining a little of its colour. "You sure?" he asked Vin, who just nodded and then a broad grin split his face. "I don't see why this predicament is so amusing, Mr. Tanner - why is that cretin shooting at us? It's not as if he knows about our …"

Ezra receive his answer when a heavily accented voice called out to them. "Senor Standish! Senor Larabee! I know you are up there."

Chris frowned at Ezra and yelled back, "What do you want?"

"Oh nothing senor - just your head on a stake and that slimy snake's heart on my dinner plate!"

Buck snorted at Ezra, "I'm guessing you're the slimy snake?"

Ezra huffed dismissively and shouted back at the Don, his voice taking on a much richer, wider Southern accent, "Why, my good Don Diego, what on earth could I have done to get your dander in such an uproar? As I recall, you did win our little poker game and walked away with a sizeable portion of my family fortune."

Buck stared at Ezra in shock, and mouthed at him, 'You lost?' while the Don's voice rose a few octaves at Ezra's response. "What have you done? What have you done? You slippery son of sidewinder! You and that whore are working together!! You … you …tricked me! You .. you .. no-good …"

The Don seemed to have run out of words in his indignation and Chris sighed as the spluttering continued for a few minutes. Swatting Vin, who was now laughing quietly, Chris hissed, "How many of them are there?"

"Three," Vin said smiling widely

"Three!" Chris bit out, "I thought he had a whole gang!" Tanner had the strangest sense of humour, he damned well knew how dangerous the Don was, and here he was laughing because the Don had decided to add Ezra and himself to his list of 'People To Kill.'

"They musta all split up to look for Helena and Ezra," Vin suggested even as Ezra raised himself a little to get his own view of the situation.

Buck hissed, "Why is he after Helena?"

Stretching a little to peer over the rise, Ezra whispered, "Vin is correct and I don't recognise either of the muscle-bound thugs with Don Diego."

Checking that his pistol was loaded, Buck whispered, "Well then why don't we deal with this bunch and high-tail it before the others arrive? Then you lot can tell me what in the hell is going on!"

"Ez, are you alright?" Vin asked as he loaded his Winchester. The gambler was still looking a little pale.

"Yes, yes," Ezra replied as the four of them moved closer to the rise, "I've never had the unfortunate experience of a mark thirsting for my blood because I let him win!"

"There's a first for everything", Chris muttered and took a quick look at where the Mexicans were situated. What he saw riding up the trail towards them, had him shouting for the others to get to their horses. "Get up! Come on! The 'other parties' are here already."

As the other three stood to see for themselves, each had to duck as the approaching gang thundering down the trail fired on them.

"Ok, that's a gang," Buck shouted as he mounted up and turned to follow Chris who was firing on the Mexicans from the back of his big black. Vin's Winchester joined in, laying down a covering fire and the approaching riders had to fall back as three of their number fell to the deadly gunfire.

The four regulators spurred their horses off and tried to put as much distance as possible between the gang and themselves. Ezra risked a quick glance backwards and tried to count the number of Mexicans following them. "There's at least twenty of them!"

"Vin! Can you lose 'em?" Chris shouted at the tracker who was laying over the neck of his horse.

"Yeah, but it's gonna mean riding all night to catch up to Hefner again!"

"Just do it!"

Vin nodded and pulled Unalii off the trail they were riding on and headed cross-country. The flat, open prairie stretched for a good 5 miles before rising into a series of narrow hills and defiles that eventually twisted into Beggars Canyon. Urging his powerful black to go even faster, Vin raced across the prairie. Chris, Buck and finally Ezra trailed behind, their horses nearly matching Unalii's speed.

The Mexican gang burst out of the small wooded area the Don had been hiding in, and pursued the four riders. Vin, looked back to check how far behind the gang was and saw that they were nearly in pistol range. He eased back on the reins, asking Unalii to slow a little and Chris, Buck and Ezra sped past him, following his signal to keep riding. Once the trio was sufficiently ahead of him, Vin sped up again and unsheathed his long rifle. Sitting straight up, he turned in the saddle and uncaring of the bullets that whistled past him, he raised his rifle and fired off five successive shots.

Behind him, in the middle of charging Mexicans, three horses screamed as their riders plummeted to the ground, dragging the reins down with them. Another man slumped in his saddle, whilst the fifth was blown completely off his horse. Instantly the lead riders in the gang slowed down, no longer as keen to be in range of Vin's rifle. As the gap between the groups of riders widened, Vin sheathed his rifle and leant forward over his saddle.

"Come on," he urged Unalii and the black willingly increased his pace to catch the three horses in front of them. As Vin leant low over Unali's neck, he could feel his horses chest heaving in time with the thundering hooves as Unalii effortlessly pushed himself faster. It was an incredible sensation to be astride an animal so powerful. Muscles bunching and releasing in harmony to the run Unalii loved best. Flat out and gaining on his quarry Unalii ate the distance between Ezra's horse and himself, catching up and slowly edging ahead of all three horses to take the lead. Chris flashed Vin a quick smile as they passed, Unalii straining against the reins, wanting to go faster and outpace Chris' black. Pony, picked up his ears and began to match Unalii's stride as he felt his rider's encouragement.

After a good half hour's ride the four riders entered shallow hills and Vin lead them galloping through a twisting maze of backs and ends that seemed to flow into each other. The four were in the middle of the hills before the Mexican gang entered the rising countryside. Vin slowed Unalii to a brisk trot and said, "I'm gonna have to take us right around the canyon edge to get ahead of Hefner. You boys, up for riding a few more hours? Otherwise he's gonna be gone before we get there in the morning."

"We gotta choice?" Buck yelled.

Vin shrugged and Chris fought the urge to rub his eyes wearily. Yawning instead, Chris said, "Hell no. Let's ride."

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Four Corners:
Feminine Wiles

Four Corner's restaurant was busy, the trail hands that had arrived that morning making up for the brawl by spending money in town. Mary had decided to treat herself to a meal she didn't have to prepare. Larabee had left town without saying a word. Still fuming from her argument with him, she was now even angrier with worry about Larabee pursuing Hefner. Billy was staying with his grandparents and she had the evening to herself. Although her meal was delicious, she couldn't seem to enjoy it. She was about to get up and leave when Inez and another woman entered the restaurant.

Usually Inez ate at the Saloon but occasionally she would come over to the restaurant. Mary's gaze was not drawn to Inez as expected, but rather to the beautiful woman beside her. Inez was looking around the room for a spare table and impulsively Mary waved them over. Initially, Inez paused. She then smiled and hurried over to Mary, her cousin following.

Smiling brightly Inez said, "Mary, this is my cousin Helena, who is … visiting me for a few days." Inez's hesitant explanation and Helena's striking looks were enough to make all the pieces fall together and Mary found herself gasping, "It was you!"

Startled, Inez stared at Mary and Helena, who looked a little puzzled. Mary quickly indicated for Inez and Helena to sit and, as the ladies sat down, Mary whispered, "You were the one I saw … uhm … hugging Chr… Mr. Larabee this morning!"

Inez now stared at Helena in surprise. Who else had her cousin been flirting with? Helena didn't seem at all embarrassed by their attention and said demurely, "I was simply thanking Senor Larabee for his help yesterday. It meant nothing more than that."

The blonde reporter didn't know whether to be furious at Larabee for not simply telling her that, or to be angry with herself for jumping to conclusions. Inez pursed her lips and said tartly to her cousin, "First you are making cow-eyes at Senor Tanner, then I see you flirting with Buck and now I hear you were hugging Senor Larabee. I thought you were going to meet your fiancé in Denver?"

The beautiful Mexican lady smiled at her cousin, but her eyes betrayed her anger at Inez and Helena huffed, "I am not married yet, cousin, and I have done nothing wrong." Apparently finished with the conversation, Helena picked up a menu and busied herself, leaving Inez to share a puzzled look with Mary.

All Inez could think was, "You haven't done anything wrong - yet!"

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Late Wednesday Night, Picnic Area:
Illegal Plans

The atmosphere around the little campfire was tense. Pete and Joe had brought back a meagre dinner, a few scrawny birds and a rabbit filled with more buckshot than meat. In any case, JD and Casey had only received a few scraps to eat, the majority of the meal being wolfed down by Pete and Joe. Alvin Turner was too agitated to eat more than a few bites and, throughout the meal, he paced, watching the horizon.

As Turner became more and more quiet, Pete and Joe grew nervous. In a bid to draw Turners attention away from their missing companion, Pete had finally introduced the trio to JD and Casey and demanded their names in return. Dempsey had conveniently edited his and Joe's colourful and illegal past, painting a vivid picture of high youthful spirits at odds with the establishment. "But mind me now, we ain't ever done anything - illegal like, jist had a few disagreements in the finer points of the law."

Casey wasn't too sure what to make of Pete's change in behaviour. He hadn't leered at her the entire evening and seemed more interested in talking than intimidating anyone. Swanson had gulped his meal down and immediately fallen asleep again, his snores muffled by his hat resting over his head. Casey was half tempted to try and win Pete's friendship and hopefully get his help in escaping. She just wished she could ask JD first, but with Pete chattering away happily, there wasn't a chance to do so. Little did she know that JD had much the same idea, and decided a little 'editing' of his own story was required.

He answered Pete's questions about where he was from, how long he had been out West and what he was doing in Four Corners, and JD carefully avoided any mention of being a regulator, or having very impressive friends. Casey turned out to be his fiancé, much to her own surprise, and JD was a reporter for the Clarion and had been in Four Corners for nearly 5 years. Pete was completely sucked in and found himself listening avidly to JD's stories of life in Four Corners, complete with edited versions of his friends' antics.

Casey was surprised at how thoroughly JD could lie, weaving half-truths and misinformation into an astonishing life story, he had obviously learned at the feet of a master, Ezra Standish. Casey found herself joining into the conversation, confirming JD's story and trying very hard not to contradict any of his lies. She nearly laughed out loud at the thought of what her Aunt Nettie would think of all this, sitting around a campfire with outlaws, lying through her teeth. It was very clear that Joe, Pete and Alvin were seasoned outlaws; Pete was not nearly as skilled at hiding the truth as he believed. JD had been especially careful to mention several relatives, both his and Casey's, who would be anxious about their safe return.

At some time during this battle of lies and deception, Alvin Turner stopped pacing and started listening - to JD.

"So then my Uncle Ezra storms out of the saloon, wearing nothing but a table cloth and his hat and boots, swearing to high heaven that he had been cheated!"

Pete hooted loudly at JD's story, slapping his hand on his leg in appreciation. Casey smiled too, having heard Buck tell this story before, but her smile faded when she realized that Turner was staring at JD like he was only now really seeing him. "What happened then, did your Uncle win his money back?" Pete asked excitedly.

JD opened his mouth to reply but instead Alvin's words cut across the night air, "So you live in Four Corners then?"

Blinking a little at the interruption, JD nodded, "Yes, Sir, Casey too." Waving JD's admission aside as if it meant nothing, Turner strode over to the three young people gathered around the campfire. His ruddy complexion, still fierce from his earlier anger, was highlighted by the flickering flames, making his face seem angular and harder.

Suddenly Turner smiled the first genuine smile JD had seen on his face and it did nothing to ease his fears. "I reckon we've been awful rude to you two love birds, keeping you here all this time without any reason why."

Alvin continued to grin, his voice nearly dripping with sincerity and JD felt that he preferred trying to deal with the man when he was angry. This 'nice' face was highly disturbing. "Since you've lived in these parts for a while now, I'm guessing you realize what kind of men we are - and what do we do for a livin'." The smile was still in place, but Alvin's eyes were hard, daring JD to contradict him. JD just nodded while Casey shifted closer to her 'fiancé', drawing some comfort from the feel of JD's jacket around her. The night wasn't particularly cold, but a combination of nerves and temperature had prompted JD to loan her his jacket. It was only slightly too big for her, JD's broader shoulders and wider chest ensuring she had ample room to move. As Turner smiled at the pair of them, Casey was grateful for the added security of the jacket - no matter how silly it seemed.

"If you tell me what I need to know about your little town, I swear that you two will not be harmed," Alvin Turner stated clearly, his sincerity not reaching his hard eyes.

"What with you bein' the type of fellas I think you are - how can we trust you?" JD questioned, careful to keep his tone non-accusatory. Alvin displayed no emotion at JD's question, he just shrugged and said, "Guess you'll jist have to take a chance."

Fighting the desire to glance at Casey, JD stared straight at Turner as he said, "I'm not too sure I can do that, sir."

Grinning at the 'sir', Turner drew his gun, the smile still in place, and deadpanned, "That's a pity, cos' I'm sure your little Casey will tell us everything we want to know. We're very good at being persuasive."

Unable to stop his worried look at Casey, whose own eyes reflected the fear in his, JD sighed and said, "I think we can trust you, Mr. Turner. If I tell you what you want to know about the town, you'll swear to let us go unharmed?"

Alvin seemed to think about the proposal for a minute, even though it was his own idea, and visibly came to a decision. "I'm a mite offended that you don't trust me, kid, in which case, here's the deal. You tell me everything about that sweet little bank in town and I promise to keep Pete and Joe away from your girl. You ride with us tomorrow and help us rob the bank and I swear you two will live to see your wedding day."

JD hesitated to agree, searching for an alternative to Turner's proposal and when he took too long to make up his mind for Turner's liking, the outlaw boss cocked his pistol and growled, "You don't agree, I shoot you now and the boys and I will have a private party with Casey."

Swanson sat up, wide awake at the suggestion of a party, his eyes moving between Turner and JD, waiting to see the outcome. Pete looked a little distressed, his thin lips pursed in a frown. It really wasn't that difficult a choice to make, and JD really didn't want to play by Turner's rules but with Casey's safety to consider, his options were limited. Before Turner could get anymore impatient, JD nodded and said, "It's a deal."

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Late Wednesday Night Four Corners:
Misunderstanding

It was quiet in Nathan's little clinic, only the sound of one man sleeping disturbed the silence. Josiah lay in the bed, unaware of the pain that throbbed from his back, listening to Nathan breathe. Dark, painful memories, far more painful than the wound that prevented him from riding, strolled like a macabre parade through Josiah's mind. Images of his father and Hannah, brief glimpses of the mother who departed all too soon, interspersed with flashes of Temple's hard sneering face. There was a pattern to all the thoughts, but none that Josiah contemplated. He simply let them come, experiencing the emotions over and over again. Despair - utter despair, that he could not save Hannah, that he couldn't reason with his father, that everything had spiralled out of his control long before he even thought to intervene. And then Temple had emerged onto the scene, adding his own brand of despair.

As the memories continued to swirl and merge into an all-encompassing mass of hopelessness, Josiah found his thoughts turned instead to the present and the promise he had made. He would wait. He would stay, and it felt like that promise was going to burn a hole through his brain. He had to go. Now.

Josiah wasn't thinking about trust or about friendship - all he could see was Charles Temple. Charles Temple laughing with his sister, Charles Temple arguing with his father, Charles Temple shouting at Josiah, pointing that manicured finger at him, demanding. Demanding Hannah.

No.

The word was not spoken, but it ignited the air around him.

No.

Hannah's sweet gentle face smiling at her beloved brother turned into the half-crazed, despairing woman that she was now. It all rushed at Josiah, the hate and anger, the frustration and hurt enveloped him until he found it difficult to draw just one more breath into his lungs.

NO!

"Josiah?"

Nathan's deep voice broke the momentum of Josiah's thoughts and the preacher realized that he was sitting up in the bed, his hands clenched into tight fists.

"You alright?"

Shaking his head, Josiah sank back onto the soft covers, his heart still racing. "I have never found it so difficult to keep a promise, Nathan. Never."

Nathan remained silent, his eyes trying to discern something from Josiah's face, but he could see very little in the dark of the room. "I promised Hannah too, you know. Promised her that Charles would never hurt her again and if they don't …" Josiah thought to himself.

"You gotta trust 'em, Josiah. Chris and the others won't let them escape, not if they can help it."

"That's just it, Nate. They might not have a choice. Dirk Hefner is as wiley as they come - and as ruthless and there is still Charles. Chris and the boys might not have a choice."

Nathan rose to his feet and stepped away from the small cot he had been sleeping in. The tall healer reached out to touch Josiah's forehead, checking for a fever. His hands found the preacher's head to be slightly warm, but nothing to worry about and Nathan sought the words to settle his friend down, to reassure him.

"You don't have to worry, Josiah. After what Vin told us, they ain't gonna let Hefner escape this time." Realising that Josiah would not have heard about Vin's last encounter with Dirk Hefner, Nathan continued as he checked the bandage wrapped around Sanchez's chest.

"Sorry, I forgot that you don't know everything. Vin told us that he had been part of the posse that Hefner ambushed a few years back. You know - the one where Hefner led 'em into a box canyon and ... well Vin was there and he barely survived that attack. So he's got just as deep a need to see Hefner caught. I'm just glad that Vin didn't try and go after Hefner alone especially after…"

The rest of Nathan's words faded away for Josiah as one phrase reverberated through his skull, just as deep a need, just as deep a need. A cold, stomach-churning worm of fear awoke inside Josiah as something akin to realisation sunk in. …just as deep a need. Vin had his own reasons for hunting Hefner, his own vengeance to seek. How badly did Vin want Hefner, how fierce did his heart burn with that deep need? Josiah remembered how savage, how desperate Vin had been when Eli Joe had shown up, trying to remove the tracker's threat. How focused the tracker had been, how determined … how blind. Blind to Ezra's troubles with the saloon, blind to Buck's marital plans, blind to everything except Eli Joe.

In that moment of panic, Josiah forgot, forgot why Vin needed … desperately needed… Eli Joe and instead the tall preacher remembered only what he chose. That Vin had thought of nothing else save catching Eli Joe. Nothing else. Now he was on the trail of Hefner - a man who had also tried to kill him. What would Vin forget this time? Would he forget his promise, his oath to Josiah? Would the hunter that hides inside his young friend let Temple go in order to catch Hefner?

The answer whispered in Josiah's brain.

Yes.

Yes, Tanner would. Tanner would bring in Hefner at all costs, and if in the process Temple escaped …? The rage that had been building inside Josiah ever since he caught sight of Charles Temple in the saloon erupted. All Josiah could see was Vin letting Temple go in order to get Hefner and Chris and the others letting him go, because they didn't know. They didn't know!

"Damn him!" Josiah roared, shoving Nathan to the floor and then running for the door. Vin was not going to let Temple escape.

"NO!"

Nathan scrambled to his feet and rushed out onto the balcony, "Josiah!" Incredibly, he saw a lone figure already riding out of the livery stable, racing out of town.

"Josiah!"

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Pre-dawn Hours Thursday Morning:

Buck rode quietly behind Chris as Vin led them through the twisted hills. Despite the fact that they had a large group of angry Mexicans somewhere behind them and a pair of known-murderers in front of them, their pace was relaxed.

Vin was taking no chances as he threaded through the narrow hills, since his view of the road ahead was often obscured by inclines and ragged edges of rock. The path through the hills was three times as long as the direct trail and as such there was no real track considering most travellers used the shorter route. Their pace was easy, as the men gave their mounts a chance to recuperate after the hard ride. In order to catch Hefner before they lost him in the canyon, they would have to ride through the night and then come over a sharp ridge before reaching the canyon mouth. Vin wanted to reach that ridge before sunrise; otherwise the four regulators would be silhouetted across the horizon as they topped it, the sun directly behind them.

Ezra rode in the rear, his hat lowered over his eyes, as he trusted his horse to keep following the other horses. He dozed in a semi-trance, half aware of what was going on around him. He half-expected to hear the sound of hoof beats thundering down the trail towards him, and kept one ear trained for that signal of approaching trouble. Luckily the trail behind was quiet as the late night hours slid by.

Chris tried to ease his tired muscles as his back and shoulders protested the long days of hard riding and little rest. Fighting the urge to fidget, Larabee maintained a watchful eye on the surrounding hills, Vin's story of being ambushed utmost in his mind.

Silence rested over the four men who rode like darker shadows in the night, their passage as discreet as any wild animal. No creaks of leather or straps, their horses attuned to the moods of their riders. There was no apprehension or fear in the air, only exhaustion and wariness. Chris decided to break the self-imposed silence and hissed at Vin.

"Any chance of camping before sunrise?"

"Nope."

Vin turned the next corner, as Chris heard his curse softly. "What?"

"We're further north than I expected. Gonna have to pick up the pace." With tired resignation, they did, each man sat a little straighter in the saddle as they followed the tracker. Vin was determined. No matter how tired, how exhausted he was; he would find Hefner. Don Diego's presence, somewhere behind them, only added to the tension building across his shoulder blades. He just hoped that the four of them tracked down Hefner and Temple before the Don managed to pick up their trail again.

It was going to be a close race.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*
Stubborn Pride


Nathan caught up to Josiah sooner than he thought.

Sanchez had stopped at a fork in the trail, his horse breathing hard after the fast-paced ride. Nathan slowed to approach the large man cautiously. He didn't want to provoke Josiah into rage and didn't speak until he was nearly abreast with him.

"Josiah."

Sanchez's eyes were fixed on the dividing trail, trying to determine which one to take. The darkness concealed any sign, any clue. Josiah fought the urge to ride off impulsively, as he knew a wrong choice could let Temple escape.

"Which way did they go Nathan?"

Jackson sighed at the hard edge in Josiah's voice - a promise of violent, uncontrolled rage.

"Jo…"

Josiah yanked Nathan right into his face, his fist clenched in Jackson's shirt. "Which way did they go!" he shouted his eye boring into Nathan.

Nathan knew there was no reasoning with Josiah when he became like this. Only Chris ever had luck controlling a rage-maddened Sanchez and that had only succeeded because Josiah knew Chris would follow through with any threat of violence. All anyone else could do was let Josiah rage until he came to his senses, or in this case, fell off his horse.

"Beggars Canyon…"

Josiah kneed his horse forward immediately and rode like the wind down the trail towards Beggars Canyon, leaving a frustrated Nathan behind him. Picking up the reins, Nathan urged his own horse after Josiah, hoping that the Preacher found reason before he got someone killed.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Juan Gomez briefly saw the fist swinging at him before he was sent flying off his horse. Writhing on the floor, his grubby hands clasped over his jaw, the sneaky little tracker glared up at the Don.

"I told you not to come back with excuses," Diego shouted. "How hard can it be to find four gringos?"

Juan desperately wanted to snap back and demand that if the Don thought it was so easy, why didn't he just spend the next four hours sniffing through the dirt trying to find a trail. Instead, the cowardly little man prudently mumbled, "Senor, it is dark and that American buckskin is very good. I will find the trail in the morning."

A roar of frustration erupted from Don Diego, who threw up his arms and shook his fists at the heavens. If he had been a man given to paranoia he might have thought that everyone was conspiring to keep him from his goal. Fortunately the Don was a far more practical man than that, all he wanted to do was shoot something, preferably someone in order to alleviate his frustration. First Helena had been whisked away by that gringo, and then that same gringo had helped Standish and Larabee escape. De la Vega didn't have a clear idea of how the gambler and the gunslinger were involved with Helena and her schemes, or the gringo tracker. What the dispossessed Don did know, was that if he got his hands on either of those men, he would soon find Demarco and his deed.

Collecting himself after his outburst, Diego glanced down at Gomez still squirming on the ground. "I have a better idea, Juan. You will keep riding… back to that town we passed earlier and find out anything about those gringos. We are going to camp here and Tito will find the trail in the morning."

The wiry little Mexican opened his mouth in protest but quickly shut it at the Don's icy glare. "Si, senor."

"Get going then," Diego snapped and dismissed Gomez. All around him, his men gratefully dismounted and began setting up camp and none of them even noted the sullen Gomez leave the group, his shifty eyes boring into the back of Don Diego's head.

One day, Senor, one day.


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Sunrise Thursday morning:
Unpleasant Thoughts

Dirk Hefner eyed the canyon mouth nervously. The sun was just beginning to tip the eastern horizon, igniting the top of the canyon walls like a brush fire. Something felt wrong. The same instinct that had kept him alive for so many lawless years was shrieking at him now. Something was wrong.

The whole area was quiet - no sounds of life waking up. No birds, no nocturnal creatures returning to their lairs, nothing stirred as if it were waiting for something. The silence was even beginning to unnerve Charles, who was usually as oblivious to nature as a blind man was to the sun. It was there and he could feel it, but he could never grasp its true beauty.

Hefner had allowed the rumour to grow that he had an Indian half-breed in his gang, someone who could excusably know how to hide trails and read the signs of nature. After all, an ability to disappear into the wilderness, like one born to it, was something to add to your legend, your fame. Dirk Hefner hid his secret from all, save those he rode with and they only knew because he had led them safely for so long. Hefner's secret was simple - he knew how to track, hide his trail and most importantly, disappear when he wanted to.

Charles was breaking camp, his movements unhurried but swift, each item placed meticulously in his pack. Charles always was one for details and not knowing the full details of Hefner's life, sometimes drove him to distraction. Some people whispered Dirk had grown up in England and others said continental Europe. A few outlaws claiming to have ridden with him declared that Hefner was from Canada, his mother a Frenchwoman and his father… perhaps a German missionary. They were all wrong.

He had grown up in Brazil, his father a Welshman earning his living as a riverboat trader. Dirk could remember sitting on the bow of his father's boat as it chugged up rivers and streams, visiting isolated settlements. The crew of the boat had been his family, each man speaking with a different accent, moulding the boy in different ways. It had not been a happy childhood, rather moments of joy interspersed a decade of beatings, hard work and loneliness.

Forbidden to leave the boat as they docked at villages, Hefner had had to watch his father and crew go ashore and leave him behind. A few times, the children of the village would spot him on deck and would shout for him to join them but his father's firm, often-painful grip would keep him onboard. George Hefner always seemed to know when his son was planning an escape, ready to dish out punishment for disobedience.

It wasn't until Dirk was much older, nearly fifteen that he fully realized why his father kept such a tight rein on him. Although he had always known that his mother had left his father when he was still a baby, Dirk had assumed that she had died. After his last attempt to leave the boat without his father's permission, George Hefner had given his only son a beating he would never forget. Amidst the blows that had rained down on him, Dirk had heard the angry words his father shouted at him, but it was only as he had lain crying quietly in his small cabin that the words made any sense.

"You. Are. Not. Leaving!"

Each word had been punctuated by a blow, the last one sending Dirk into unconsciousness. Perhaps if George Hefner had learned from his mistakes and stopped hitting those he loved, things might have turned out differently. Perhaps if Dirk had not been so used to violence and abuse, he might have chosen differently. Perhaps if the old cook had not left the meat cleaver buried in the kitchen door after a row with the second mate, Dirk might have slipped away quietly on his sixteenth birthday.

In celebration of Dirk's birthday the crew had thrown him a party. The party involved a bit more spirits than most sixteen-year-olds' celebrations. George had been particularly proud of his son that night. Shouting loudly, his words slurred beyond comprehension, understood only by those reaching similar levels of intoxication, George Hefner, a man who decked any one who asked why his surname wasn't Welsh, pronounced his son a man and the heir to his 'kingdom!' Roars of approval, disapproval and heaving over the side greeted that announcement as the new heir stared up at his father in shock.

Towering above his smaller son, George grabbed the boy in an enormous hug and whispered loudly, "I'm proud of you, kid."

Dirk stared into his father's eyes, seeing a man less drunk than he appeared, sincerity etched in his face. Trying to understand the emotions surging through him, Dirk, still wrapped in his father's arms felt the big man lurch forward and saw some of the light die in his eyes. His father's eyes continued to glaze over as Dirk stared at them, his father mouthing, "I'm sorry," before collapsing onto his son. It was only then that Dirk noticed that the crew around him where in an uproar - they were under attack. A smaller, but heavier armed boat had pulled up to them unnoticed, the noise from the party masking any sound of approach. The river-trade was a dangerous one, hostile Indians, unfriendly officials and pirates.

The pirates attacking Hefner's boat were experienced in the workings of murder but none of them expected to come face to face with a meat-cleaver wielding sixteen-year-old. The rest of that night was one every survivor of the Welshman would remember. Young Dirk, enraged beyond thinking, led the remaining crew to an incredible victory over the pirates, who abandoned their attempt to capture the Welshman and fled down river. To the horror of the pirate captain, the Welshman fired up her engines and turned to pursue him. Terrified, the pirate captain tried to escape, to no avail.

The story of the Boy Pirate is still whispered along the byways and villages of Brazil, a young man who became one of the fiercest pirates along the rivers, attacking not only merchant barges but also fellow pirates. The fact that Hefner only started to attack traders in his last year of piracy made no difference to the villagers. His fame and infamy grew until he had to flee Brazil and head north to the States, where no one knew his face or name … yet.

Charles Temple had joined up with Hefner only a few years ago, the two men unknowingly in need of each other's skills. While Hefner was an expert at ambushes, robberies and hold-ups, he lacked patience and finesse for long term plans and confident schemes. Charles Temple, a cat burglar and con man loved the thrill of schemes and plots. His fame had spread through the East as the Green Man. His trade mark, a gift of green to his victims, who by then would have realized too late that they had lost everything.

Determined Pinkerton detectives had chased Temple into the uncivilised West where he had met his true-love, Hannah Sanchez. Her name still burned through his brain. It was the last, the only obsession of a man who had lost nearly everything. That is, until he had met Hefner. Together the pair had found a balance, a tempering of natural skill and experience to become the leaders of a ruthless band of murderers and con men, working to line their pockets any which way they could.

Now, separated from their gang by the canyon looming before them, Hefner and Temple were being pursued by a posse. This was something Temple was not used to as he usually planned his escapades well enough to avoid an angry mob of marks coming for him. Hefner, however, had a great deal of experience in dealing with posses. In fact, his experience had won him infamy in the States. The previous day, during their hectic ride from Four Corners, Dirk had assured Charles that he would be able to 'deal' with any posse coming for them. Only now, the following morning, Dirk was just standing… thinking.

That, in Temple's book, was a bad thing. Hefner was good acting on the spur of the moment, but deep thoughts tended to become muddled and these thoughts looked particularly deep.

"Dirk! What's the plan?" Charles said, hoping to snap Dirk back into an automatic mode.

There was no answer from his partner. Hefner continued to study the canyon before them, his eyes narrowed against the rising sun, which was tipping the canyon rims.

"Dirk!"

Snapping out of his reverie, Hefner turned to snarl at Charles, "What? I'm trying to think!"

Raising his eyes in mock-horror, Temple grumbled, "Thinking? Since when do you think, Dirk? Let's just go and you can do what you do best - react!"

Ignoring Temple's last remark, Hefner muttered, "Something's wrong. It's not feeling right."

Okay, this was different. Temple had to concede Hefner possessed incredible instincts about a situation, hence his being able to react so accurately to them. Trying to prompt a more elaborate explanation, Charles asked, "What's wrong? What don't feel right?"

Hefner glanced behind him and then looked forward again at the canyon. "They should be behind us - but I keep wondering…"

"Well wonder while we travel, we haven't got the time to sit and figure this out, Dirk."

Hefner nodded and grabbed the reins to his horse before carefully studying the rising canyon rim again. "No need to worry, Charles, I know what to do." Temple was pleased to note that all of Dirk's hesitancy seemed to have fled and his friend had his usual feral look about him again. "Excellent. Shall we ride?"

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Four Corners - Thursday Morning:
A Nasty Surprise

Jules Howitt loved his job. It gave him such a wonderful sense of order and security. His boss, Mr. Jones, the Bank Manager, had hired him a few months ago to help the bank cope with the booming business in town. Mr. Jones soon realized that his assistant was exceptionally keen and conscientious, to such a degree that eventually Mr. Jones had no qualms about allowing Howitt to open the bank each morning. Jules, in his enthusiasm, opened the bank fully an hour ahead of schedule. It gave him the time to carefully sort through the previous day's business, re-tally the account books and prepare the spare change for the new day.

He would generally bump into one of the town's regulators on his way to work, the lawmen keeping a watchful eye on the banker. Wilmington and Dunne would always give him a cheerful greeting, Jackson a less vocal but equally warm one. Larabee would merely tip his hat, while Sanchez's mood all depended on the previous night. Be it dreams or drink, Howitt never knew how Sanchez would react each time he met him, and this unpredictability slightly annoyed the fastidious man. He rarely saw the other two regulators, Standish, because the slippery gambler avoided the early morning patrol like the plague and Tanner, because the tracker would keep his movements about town unseen.

On this Thursday morning, according to the rough and annoyingly imprecise schedule Howitt tried to keep on the regulators, Mr. Wilmington should be sauntering down the boardwalk. While an unexpected change was to be…well expected, Howitt could see none of the regulators about. Shrugging it off as an obvious swap in duties, with Tanner filling Wilmington's place, Howitt walked briskly to the bank.

He was already mentally checking-off items on a list of priorities as he bent to unlock the bank's front door. Preoccupied with his planning, Howitt was unprepared to feel the barrel of a gun being placed in the small of his back. Belatedly he realized that someone was standing behind him. Before he could turn to see who the interloper was, a rough voice hissed, "Get inside, now!" The command was reinforced by a sharp shove with the gun and Howitt quickly complied. Stepping into the still dark interior of the bank, Howitt was marched towards the counter. He heard one other man enter the bank with his attacker and then heard the door shut behind them.

Gulping in fear, Howitt felt a cold sweat break out on his face when the rough voice hissed again, "Listen up, dickweed. You're going to open up the safe, give us the money and all without any fuss! Got it?"

Again the command was reinforced with the gun barrel being shoved into his back. Howitt stammered, "Ye.. yes, sir."

"Good, then get moving!"

Howitt stumbled towards the safe, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't stop the thought racing through his brain that he was going to die, that today was going to be his last on this earth. His hands were shaking so badly, it took him several heart-stopping moments to open the safe, eventually succeeding, the door swung open on its well-oiled hinges. He risked a brief look behind him at the bank robber and saw only a tall man dressed in unremarkable clothes with a bandanna covering his face. It was, however, the sight of JD Dunne peering through the bank windows that brought him to a dead standstill. JD turned from checking the boardwalk outside and was about to tell Turner that an early customer was heading their way, when he saw Howitt staring at him flabbergasted.

The astonished Bank Assistant's mouth was gaping and JD knew he was about to blow his cover. Acting instinctively to ensure both Howitt's and Casey's safety, JD crossed the brief space between Howitt and himself and slugged the man, knocking him out cold. Turner stared at the crumpled form of the Assistant lying at his feet and hissed at JD, "Nice shot, kid, " and then pointing his gun at JD, continued, "Stupid move though."

Stumbling over his own words in his haste to explain, JD blurted out quietly, "Someone's coming - they would have heard Howitt if I hadn't done something."

On cue, Pete and Joe had stepped forward to delay the Four Corner's resident, giving Turner time to pull JD into the shadows near the back of the Bank. Mrs. Potter, on her way to make a withdrawal from the bank, found herself waylaid by two strangers. The young men asked her where the saloon was and she quickly pointed them in the right direction. There was something a little off about the pair but Mrs. Potter didn't have the time to wonder. She approached the bank and was surprised to find it was still closed, the blinds on the windows still rolled down. Frowning slightly, she tried the door, thinking that perhaps Howitt was running late and had not opened the blinds yet.

Inside the bank, with Turner's hand firmly over his mouth, JD heard Mrs. Potter rattle the door handle and counted his blessings that he had thought to lock the door behind him. Mrs. Potter, deciding that Howitt had obviously been delayed, was going to wait for him as she caught a glimpse of the same two men from earlier hanging about in the alley behind the bank. Fighting a rising alarm, Mrs. Potter tried to walk away casually and look as if nothing was wrong. Instead of heading straight to the jail and giving away her intentions to any watchers, she went into her store, out the back and then through the back alleys to the jail, hoping to find one of the Seven was in attendance.

JD, unknowingly, the only one of the Seven in town, was shoved towards the safe by Turner. "Get moving and fill those bank bags."

Turner moved to watch through the narrow space between window and blind and left JD to stuff the money into the bank bags assortmented neatly at the bottom of the safe. JD stared at the piles of money before him, the entire town's savings. He had thought that the $10,000 that the Stutzs had been carrying was a lot of money, but the stacked piles before him were certainly eye-popping. He grabbed a bank bag and bent to grab a wad of notes when something in the bottom of the safe caught his eye. Once he realized what it was, an ear-splitting grin broke across his face.

Gloria Potter knocked urgently on the jail door, but no one answered. She tried the door and found it was open. Stepping inside, she was horrified to discover that the room was empty. Torn with indecision, Gloria stood in the little room, where the odours of stale beer and vomit, along with gunpowder and cheroot smoke remained, trying to think of a solution.

The sound of thundering hooves brought her rushing outside onto the front porch. Gloria watched open mouthed as four men galloped out of town. Three of the men had their faces covered with bandannas and were clearly bank robbers, but to Gloria's horror, the fourth man, riding as if the hounds of hell were after him, was JD Dunne.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Thursday:
The past repeating itself…

As the crow flies, Beggars Canyon stretched out for only a mile. Not the largest or smallest of canyons in history, it had the unique honour of being a geological marvel. It ran between two ancient watersheds that had once fed the surrounding rivers. As the climate had changed over the millennia, so had the rainfall decreased in the region. Enough for the watersheds to be eroded until the spring rains falling between the two ridges formed a raging river each year. Slowly and inexorably as all of nature's methods, Beggars Canyon was formed in the most unexpected area. There was no river to feed through the canyon, rather, during the rainy season, the water would emerge from both sides of the canyon, flowing down from the watersheds to join parallel rivers. As a result, Beggars canyon could be avoided entirely by riding up over the watersheds and following the narrow cliff face in either direction. A traveller would be eventually forced to leave the watershed ridges and take a few days to traverse the narrow hills and defiles of the watershed as it sloped away from the canyon. Because directly at either canyon mouth, wide cliffs stretched up from the ground below, sheer in their immensity, most travellers simply used the Canyon as a thoroughfare through the hilly area, a short cut that saved days of travel.

Vin had managed to lead his friends up through the narrow hills until they were riding parallel to the watershed ridges, which bordered the canyon rim. Rather than risk silhouetting themselves and riding on the ridges, Vin was following an unmarked passage over rough terrain. A few scraggly brushes clung to the exposed rock and soil, at risk of being swept away by floods each heavy rainfall. There were few places to hide along those ridges, unless you knew where to look for them.

Ezra was pretending to watch the trail below in the canyon as all four of them lay flat near a small rise of brown stone. His eyes apparently fixed on something interesting, while in fact, he was peacefully dozing in the early morning sunlight. Chris and Vin were taking turns to scan the canyon mouth with the spyglass, watching for Hefner and Temple to approach. Buck wasn't even pretending to be interested in the trail. He was laying flat on his back, his hat tipped over his head with occasional snores escaping his open mouth.

So far there had been no sight of the two fugitives, and it was beginning to worry Chris. It didn't seem to concern Vin too much, whose entire posture oozed confidence as he patiently waited for their quarry to arrive. But Chris was not a hunter like Vin, a man willing to wait for his target to set a trap. Chris' answer to a threat was swift and deadly, and most men who had looked down the barrel of Chris' pistol, never lived to tell the tale.

A snore broke the silence between the pair. Since the noise had come from Ezra rather than Buck, Chris risked a quick glance at the gambler. Standish, in his exhaustion, had turned onto his side and was attempting to curl up, one of his hands sleepily searching for his blanket. "So much for him needing a feather mattress. He sure looks comfortable to me," Vin said without taking his eyes off the canyon trail.

Chris just grunted and fought the urge to sit up and stretch out his aching shoulders. Before he could stop it, an enormous yawn caught Larabee unawares and he felt his jaw pop audibly. Half-expecting a smart comment from Vin, Chris turned to see him stiffen as something caught his eye… and it wasn't on the trail below.

"Ah hell…"

Reacting instantly to the anger in Vin's voice, Chris simultaneously drew his gun, and shoved Buck over onto his stomach, which sent the tall ladies man onto Ezra. Fortunately both Ezra and Buck were experienced enough not to react without assessing the situation first. So when the first bullet thudded directly into the rock they were hiding behind, both unholstered their guns and sought to find a target, weariness forgotten as adrenaline kicked in.

Chris was shifting slightly onto his side, trying to find the shooter, when another bullet ricocheted off the rock and narrowly missed his head. Ducking down further, all three men bit out curses when two more gunshots peppered the sand directly at their feet. "Damn, where the hell is this guy?" Buck snapped as he scrambled to pull his feet out of the way. Vin, unconcerned by the gunfire pinning them down, was calmly searching the opposite ridge to find their attackers. "Well I'll be…"

"Mr. Tanner, if you say 'be damned', I will-"

"Run!"

The urgency in Vin's voice sent all three men scrambling after the wiry Texan. Buck was surprised to find himself out in front after Vin's quick start. He could feel Chris running beside him but before he could locate either Vin or Ezra, he heard a dull thud. For a brief moment he thought could smell smoke, before a terrific force picked him up and threw him forward. Buck landed roughly and belatedly heard a resounding boom as a cloud of dust, smoke and broken debris enveloped him.

~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~

Watching from the opposite side of the canyon ridges, Temple smacked Hefner on the back before shouting over the ringing in his ears, "You cut that kinda close with the dynamite, didn't you?"

Hefner looked at Charles' face, covered in dust as the cloud spread over the canyon to where they sat. "Had to be sure it'd get 'em."

Temple just grinned, his teeth now a marked white against the uniform dirt on his face. "Can we go now?"

Dirk shook his head, "Nah - jist hafta check we got 'em all."

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Four Corners:
Garters up in a gander


The town was in an uproar.

Gloria had not been the only early riser to see the escaping bank robbers. Everyone knew that the four men who had ridden out of town so quickly were bank robbers because as soon as the dust had cleared, Jules Howitt emerged from the bank screaming bloody murder…and something about JD Dunne being an outlaw.

Yosemite had flatly refused to believe that JD was involved. Harry Conklin had gleefully begun to harp on his favourite subject, the failings of the Seven. Gloria had hated to only prove Conklin right when she admitted to seeing JD riding with the thieves. Soon a little crowd had gathered at the jail, many of them demanding to see one of the Seven. When it became obvious that none of their protectors were in town, an angry mutter shot through the townsfolk.

Mary, ever ready to defend the peacekeepers, had not so subtly stepped on Conklin's foot to shut him up and, as the asinine man bit back a yelp, Mary shouted over the noise of the crowd, "We all know where most of the Seven are - tracking down Dirk Hefner, a dangerous criminal who ... "

"Isn't in town, so why are they chasing him?" Conklin shouted as he moved into the safety of the crowd, far away from Mary's feet.

"Would you prefer that Hefner was in town, Mr. Conklin, or does your concern for the safety of the town only extend to its borders?" Before he could reply, Mary shouted to the crowd, "Where Josiah and Nathan are, I don't know. But Nathan is always being called away on short notice, Josiah often accompanying him."

The Bank Manager shouted, "Be that as it may, it doesn't explain why that upstart Dunne was robbing my bank?"

Shouts of agreement and argument drowned out Mary's reply, who had to stand on her tiptoes to try and catch Yosemite's eye. The tall blacksmith saw the blonde's signal and he yelled over the clamouring crowd, "Quiet!"

As a stunned silence fell, Mary smiled softly and said loudly, "Whatever is going on, I'm sure the Seven are on top of things. We just need to wait for them to get back and explain everything. For all we know, JD is following orders, acting part of some plan. Please, everyone, trust that it will all be explained later."

A few voices shouted in protest, Conklin's being one of them, but most of the crowd seemed amiable to Mary's suggestion. Inez, watching the proceedings from the doorway of the Saloon, had to marvel at Mary. Her faith and devotion to the Seven were like a golden beacon of hope for the future and, more often than not, the young widow infused the town with that same hope.

Unseen by either her cousin or the townsfolk, Helena Demarco led a horse from the livery, a bulging saddlebag tied alongside. Her face was hidden by a wide hat, her skirts replaced with trousers and her shapely figure hidden by a long duster. Keeping the horse between her and the town for additional protection, the young woman slipped away unnoticed by anyone.

The moment she had cleared the last building, she mounted up and spurred her horse down the trail, heading south to Mexico, not north towards Denver.


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Outside of Four Corners:
Escape …

Four riders, three bank robbers and one undercover lawman, raced down the wide stage trail towards a small copse of trees. The lead rider, Alvin Turner, brought his steaming horse to an abrupt stop right in front of the first row of trees, narrowly missing a collision with the leafy branches. JD, riding directly behind him, came to a much neater stop, his obedient bay responding to his experienced commands. Pete and Joe, both adequate riders, managed to brush against each other as they slowed, Swanson's gelding snapping at the black bumping into it. Dempsey yelled at Joe to watch where he was going, Swanson swinging a fist at Pete, both men's voices rising loudly, the adrenaline from the robbery and fast paced ride still surging through their veins. Unnoticed by either the quarrelling pair or Turner, JD slipped his left hand into his saddlebag.

Ignoring his arguing friends, Alvin jumped off his horse, flinging the money-filled bags onto the ground and strode into the trees. He re-appeared shortly, dragging Casey by her bound hands. Casey was shooting daggers at the outlaw as she trailed him, a filthy-looking rag stuffed into her mouth. Turner made no move to untie her once he rejoined the others, instead he pulled her closer to him, grabbing her upper arm.

Unbidden, Peter and Joe stopped fighting, their eyes drawn to the young woman in their midst, and JD tightened his fingers around the object he held in the saddlebag. "Give me the money, kid, and then you get the girl back." JD nodded and with his free hand, untied the bags from his saddle horn and tossed them into the pile near Turner's feet.

Dempsey urged his horse closer to the pile of moneybags, his gaze fixed on the impressive mound. Taking the initiative, JD broke the silence by saying, "You got your money so now it's time to let us go."
Swanson instantly swung his head to stare at Turner, as if daring him to actually comply with JD's request. Dempsey looked a little uncomfortable, and JD knew that he had made the right decision back at the bank.

Pulling Casey even closer, Turner smirked at her and JD, saying "Well, now that it's time to part company, I'm feeling a little reluctant to let you leave. I've grown sort fond of this little spitfire." He gave Casey a bit of a shake, causing her scowl to deepen. JD, although still unarmed, felt the anticipation of impending battle race through his veins and reacted the moment Turner's arm twitched to reach for his pistol.

The stick of dynamite sailed through the air in a graceful arc, silhouetted against the sun as it moved. Automatically all three of the outlaws had looked up to watch the path of the dynamite and all three were momentarily blinded by the bright sun. JD, who had moved the moment he tossed the dynamite, sent his hose barrelling into Turner. The kid grabbed Casey's arm and she jumped and swung up behind JD on the horse.

Turner, his gaze on the dynamite interrupted by being sent crashing to the dirt by JD's horse, looked down at his feet in amazement as the stick of dynamite landed smack between his legs. Scrambling backwards on his hands and butt, Alvin scuttled away from the deadly device, while Dempsey and Swanson both turned to run.

It wasn't until he heard the disappearing hoof beats of JD's horse that Turner realized the dynamite stick wasn't alight. The long grey object lay dormant in the dirt, not a sign of any smoke or fire. "That miserable little …" Turner began to yell when he looked up suddenly and saw JD riding back towards him. Straight at him in fact.

Tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the way, Alvin caught a brief glimpse of Casey laughing when she leant down and snatched up the bank bags, as the pair rode past him. Finally reaching his feet, Alvin reached for his horse, noting that Dempsey and Swanson were heading back towards him when the sound of a sizzling hiss reached his ears.

As the dust cleared, Alvin stared at another dynamite stick lying right next to the old one, it's new companion most definitely alight. Launching himself up onto his horse, Turner raced in the opposite direction that JD and Casey had taken, passing straight through Dempsey and Swanson, who both tried to turn and follow. By the time, the trio had reached what they though might be a safe distance, an enormous explosion rocked the ground as the sticks exploded. The little copse of trees was set afire and billows of smoke and dust fell over the three men.

Coughing, Swanson waved his hand in front of his face and spluttered, "What the hell happened?"

He turned to question his boss, and from the look on Turner's face, those kids were dead. Alvin's face was bright red, almost no noticeable difference between his skin and his hair, and he was gripping the reins with white knuckles. "That little bastard is going to regret the day he ever crossed me." Turner bit the words out like it was too difficult for him to speak.

Still coughing, Swanson muttered, "So what now?"

Turner was gone, adding his own cloud of dust to the billowing smoke. Dempsey grinned at his friend, obviously excited about the chase ahead and spurred his horse after Turner with a loud whoop. Sighing dramatically, Swanson followed with a lot less enthusiasm - he hated chases.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Beggars Canyon:
… And Rescue?

Chris drew in a dusted-tainted breath of air, his lungs burning with the effort. His entire chest ached from the force that had driven him the ground and pushed any remaining air out of his lungs. He felt a few sand clods fall on his head and realized he must have lost his hat in the explosion. The enormous amount of dirt in the air was beginning to add a second coat to his already dust-covered form. The dust was everywhere, in his eyes, on his lips, and after that first breath, and all the ones subsequently, in his mouth. He heard a distant ringing and tried to clear his head by shaking it gently. All he ended up doing was sending a cascade of more dirt into his eyes, as the dirt from his hair fell forward. The ringing hadn't subsided but his blurry vision was clearing. Chris could make out a slumped form in the hazy air and as both the air and his vision continued to improve, he could see that it was Buck, stretched out across the sand.

Trying to remember where everyone had been before the explosion, Chris muttered, "I was behind Buck and …"

Slowly he turned his head to look behind him and stared in shock at the gaping hole in the cliff face. An entire portion of the canyon rim had disappeared and there was no sign of Ezra or Vin. His eyes fixed on the hole where his friends should be, Chris struggled to his knees and shakily crawled forward. So intent on reaching the edge, he didn't hear Buck's garbled words as the scoundrel stirred.

Buck pushed himself up onto his elbows and tried to wipe away the dust coating his eyes. Frowning in frustration, as he couldn't seem to focus his vision, Buck leaned over onto his side and saw the blurry figure of Chris Larabee moving towards … something. "Chris?"

The words sounded hollow and dead in his ears, the sound barely making it past his dry lips. The dust was rapidly settling now, and the sun was cutting a swath through the cloud and as Buck was able to see more clearly, it wasn't the gaping hollow in the cliff that caught his gaze, but the silhouette of two men standing on the opposite ridge, watching him.

Chris reached the edge, and found himself hesitating to look over that crumbling precipice. Fear had been his constant companion for many years, driving him just as much as his anger, and now he felt its familiar tickling into the pit of his stomach. As was his habit, Chris ignored these churning feelings and peered over the edge, half-expecting to see the broken bodies of his friends far below him.

About three feet down the new cliff face, clinging on for dear life was Vin Tanner, his right hand white knuckled as he clung to an outcropping rock. Vin wasn't looking up at Chris; rather he seemed to be trying to see something below him. The sloping hole prevented Chris from seeing all the way down the cliff face, so he moved over the edge further, until he could see that Tanner was holding onto the collar of Ezra's jacket. Fortunately - the gambler was still wearing his jacket as he swung unmoving in Vin's grasp.

"Vin!"

Still without looking up at Chris, the Texan called out, "Could really use a hand here, cowboy."

~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~

"Damn," Hefner cursed as he saw that two of the regulators were still moving. When one of them crawled over to the edge and looked down, Temple leant forward over their cover and hissed, "There's two more hanging off the rock there."

Hefner bent forward to look as well. "Not for long," he muttered as he drew his pistol.


~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~

It all happened at once for Buck. The pieces of what he was seeing fell into place and he reacted simultaneously. Snatching up his fallen gun, which he didn't remember un-holstering, Buck leapt to his feet a little unsteadily and fired on Hefner and Temple, just as Dirk was about to pull the trigger. Buck's shot was true while Dirk's missed - embedding itself into the rock inches above Vin's head. Dirk collapsed behind the rock he and Temple had been using to hide their approach from the four men, clutching his arm. Charles also took cover and risked a glance at the two men opposite them. Chris had rolled over onto his back, both of his guns in hand, trained on the outlaws' position. As Temple peeked over the rock, Chris snapped off a shot at the blonde's head.

Cursing, Charles managed to duck in time to avoid the deadly aim and hunched further down behind the rock. Dirk was still clutching his arm, trying to stem the flow of blood, even as he too checked the regulators' position. "Give me a hand quick!" Hefner snapped as a new plan formed in his head.

~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~¬~

Chris fought Wilmington as he tried to drag the gunslinger behind cover. "Vin and Ezra are still alive! We gotta get them!" he growled, pulling his arm out of Buck's grasp. The ladies man didn't waste time arguing with Chris, he just used his heavier weight to pull Chris to the ground, just as Temple and Hefner opened fire. Neither of the outlaws was aiming to hit the regulators, merely snapping off shots to drive Chris and Buck behind cover.

It worked, Wilmington managed to drag Chris over to what was left of their previous cover and, as the pair sank behind the sheltering rock, Hefner continued to send a volley of shots onto their position. Before Buck could stop him, Larabee was up on his knees, returning fire with both guns blazing. Charles, who had been leaning dangerously forward, exposed to return fire, in order to shoot at Vin and Ezra below them, had to scramble back behind his rock as Chris snapped off three bullets in succession.

"Well, so much for that plan!" he shouted over the noise of Hefner's returning fire. Dirk was laying behind the rock, with only the top of his head and eyes visible as he raised his gun to fire on the lawmen. "Relax, Charles. It's all under control."

Busy reloading his second pistol, Temple snorted in disbelief, "Yeah. Pull the other one, Dirk, it's got bells on it."

Withdrawing his gun, Dirk handed it to Charles to be reloaded as he checked on the regulators position. "Don't be stupid, Charles! That buckskin ain't gonna be able to hold on much longer and those two other there know it. They're gonna have to try something soon if they want to help their friends. All we have to do is keep 'em pinned. We'll either get to shoot a couple of dogs or watch another pair try to learn to fly. Time's on our side."

Temple nodded absently, acknowledging Dirk's point, but had to add, "But we ain't got a lot of ammunition left. If we're going to keep 'em pinned like you say, one of us is going to have to go down to the horses and get more ammo." Dirk just smiled at Charles and opened fire on Buck, who was trying to spot Vin.

Unable to see Vin and Ezra's from, Buck was forced behind cover by Dirk's gunfire and he watched as Chris returned fire. "What the hell are we going to do Chris? Vin can't hold on forever… we've gotta get them!"

"I know, Buck, I know!" Chris snapped angrily but, as the black clad gunslinger continued to stare at the outlaws opposite them, no solution presented itself. It was going to take something miraculous to get Vin and Ezra out of this fix.


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Mid-morning Thursday:

The trail to Beggars Canyon stretched before Nathan, and while he didn't know the area as well as Vin, Jackson did know that he was only going to reach the canyon by late afternoon. The sun was already hot and turning the dry air into a scorching morass. Worried about Josiah, who would be pushing himself mercilessly in this heat, Nathan kept up a brisk pace but not too fast in case he missed any sign of Josiah leaving the trail.

Nathan needn't have worried, because ten minutes later he picked out the distant form of a horse and man walking beside the trail. As he approached, the pair resolved into Josiah stiffly walking next to his limping horse. Josiah's gentle horse, which had born his sturdy weight for years was trying not to put any weight on her front leg. Sanchez's headlong rush for justice had been reduced to a gentle shuffle.

Running a keen eye over his friend's stiff posture, looking for signs of any bleeding or fever, Nathan had to admit that Josiah showed no signs of weakness. The blood on the back of his shirt was old, and his too pale face was etched with determination. Nothing was going to stop Josiah.

Riding up to the pair, Nathan guided his horse to walk beside Josiah's lame animal, the horse between Josiah and himself. Nathan could only see Josiah's head as he walked next to his horse, the tall preacher not even looking up to acknowledge Nathan's arrival.

"If you don't stop soon, your horse is not going to be the only thing slowing you down. I imagine that lying passed out on the side of the road won't get you any closer to Hefner."

Remaining stubbornly silent, Josiah trudged on, albeit a little slower as his horse's limp grew worse. Nathan simply rode alongside them, waiting patiently for the inevitable. During the times when Josiah became enraged by some all-encompassing need, he would occasionally push both himself and those around him to their limits and beyond. But Josiah wasn't riding hell-bent to Beggars Canyon anymore, caught up in his fervour of reaching justice, he was ambling slowly down a dusty trail with more than enough time to allow reason to sink in.

Silently Nathan counted down the minutes before thinking quietly, 'Any minute now.'

As if on cue, Josiah stopped, sighed deeply and gently patted his horse, "Sorry, old friend, I had no right in making you suffer for my sins." His horse nudged Josiah as if accepting his apology and seemed immensely grateful to finally have stopped.

Nathan waited for Josiah to acknowledge his presence but he simply guided his weary horse over to the side of the trail and sat down under a scraggly little tree with a groan. Dismounting from his horse, Nathan stepped over to Sanchez and stood before the stubborn preacher. Josiah didn't look up as Jackson's shadow fell over him; he kept his head bowed, his broad hat brim covering his face.

Nathan sank to his haunches and tried to keep his voice even as he said, "You done acting like a fool yet?"

"Nope," came the answering rumble.

"Josiah, " Nathan sighed, not entirely sure how to broach the subject of the preacher's odd behaviour, as the morning sun continued to beat down on the pair. Jackson decided on a direct approach. "You mind telling me what's going on? Cos' I'm getting the feeling that Hefner ain't the only burr under your saddle."

Josiah, still holding his horse's reins, ran the worn leather through his fingers, feeling each groove and notch. As Nathan sat there, waiting for him to answer, Sanchez found himself considering his own actions the past few hours. The blinding rage, ignited by his belief at Tanner's betrayal, had subsided to a dull roar in his brain.

Now that he could think beyond ripping either Temple or Tanner in half. The small voice that too often failed to prevent him from acting in anger, was now whispering softly. Whispering new doubts, new fears, 'What was Temple doing in Four Corners?' 'Did he know where Hannah was?' 'Why had Hefner attacked him, and not Temple?' Unable to come up with any answers that soothed his burning anger, he thought up more scenarios to fuelled his rage. Josiah was pulled as taut as a live-wire. Normally the big man reacted in an explosion of fury. When you pushed him the wrong way, you faced the consequences, immediately. But Josiah was also a long thinker, and at times his anger would build, with no visible sign of its approach, until the resulting explosion was terrifying in its intensity. Once the anger was gone, the target eliminated, Sanchez was able to think clearly again.

Josiah's anger was at its most dangerous when it festered, when the explosion did nothing to remove the aggravation. His relationship with his father had been reduced to a slow burning anger that had never been resolved. The same anger had been transferred to Hannah. While it was not directed at Hannah herself, his fury was pointed at himself and anyone else involved with her situation. Charles Temple was an easy focus, a justifiable one in Josiah's book, and recent events had opened up that horror chamber that was now pouring out unchecked. His initial impetus had been slowed, but the anger had not disappeared and it clouded his thinking. Where normally Sanchez would have listened to reason, tried to see more than one side to the story, with Hannah and Charles uppermost in his mind, nothing else mattered.

As Nathan waited for any sort of answer from Josiah, he studied his friend. The healer had known Josiah for a good while now and he certainly knew him well enough to pick up on his anger. And judging from the uneasy quiet that hung about Sanchez like a shroud, the studied patience, the underlying effort to remain still, Nathan was realising just how potent Josiah's rage was. This sort of cold, hard anger that covered a raging furnace was more like Chris Larabee than Josiah, and to see his old friend like this caused a cold, gut-clenching feeling to settle inside him.

Jackson's instincts to try and ease pain prompted him to try and reach Sanchez. He stretched out his hand and, as he was about to touch friend, Josiah's head snapped up and he levelled such a hate -filled glare that Nathan unconsciously retreated. Not entirely sure that part of that gaze was directed at him, the black healer felt it wise to back off for a moment.

Sitting himself down a few feet away, Nathan muttered, "I guess we can wait for a while."

Josiah grunted in reply and silence descended on the pair.


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*
Things working out


Things have a way of working themselves out, fate playing a hand or two in the game of life. Juan Gomez was about to be handed a Full House.

The little man had ridden only a few more miles the previous night and had stopped to make his own camp. There was no way he was going to ride all night to reach the town with only a small chance that there was any information on Helena and her gringos.

Rising early enough to put some more distance between himself and the Don, Juan had taken a lazy ride towards Four Corners. He wasn't following a particular path, experience having taught the man that sometimes it paid off to take a different route.

He heard the approaching horse before he saw it, its hooves rapping out a staccato as it trotted down the road. Juan pulled his own horse to a halt and waited in the tree line near the path to see who the traveller was before continuing on his way.

The rider came into view a few minutes later, his identity obscured by a wide hat. Gomez watched the rider from the safety of the trees, a little intrigued by the man. He sat on his horse as if he had been taught to ride by an instructor, his back straight, head up and feet firmly in the stirrups. This was no cowboy, but someone of 'breeding', which translated into Juan's book to, equal money.

Staring at the rider coming towards him, Juan felt a stir of old excitement, a surging of adrenaline at the prospect of an easy mark. Gomez's first real job had been as a bandit in Mexico. He had joined his brothers and cousins in their large gang and had cut his teeth robbing rich fools like this one.

After weeks of taking orders from Don Diego, a man who had fallen in Juan's estimation, Gomez found himself contemplating a renewal of his old occupation. It would help him ease his frustration with the Don and even gain himself a little extra cash.

It took only two minutes for the thieving man to decide and he drew his pistol even as he spurred his horse forward to cut the traveller off. As he burst from the trees, a loud whoop rising unbidden from his lips, Juan felt ten years younger, waving his gun in the air. The unfortunate target of his resurgence in crime reacted just as Juan remembered all his previous victims reacting. Their horse reared up in surprise, they lost control of the animal and before the victim knew it, they were looking down the business end of his pistol.

Juan's excitement faded into something akin to disappointment as the man he was about to rob looked up at him with startled eyes and Gomez stared right at Helena Demarco.

The Mexican didn't even think to be pleased that he had found the object of the Don's search, his disappointment overwhelmed any other emotion. Cursing furiously in Spanish, Gomez shook his pistol at Helena and shouted, "You're not supposed to be here, damn you!"

Helena's face looked even more shocked at his words, but a cold calculating look had entered her eyes. She managed to summon a few frightened tears and was about to launch into a sob when her 'bandit' snarled, "Don't even try it, Senorita. I know all about those weepy eyes of yours. Come on. Get moving."

Gesturing wildly with his pistol, Gomez forced Helena to ride in front of him, back the way he had come, towards Don Diego. For a moment he had been tempted to just shoot the woman and continue of his path, away from the Don and his orders, away from a life he suddenly found very limiting. But Juan knew that more money waited for him than he could get after a hundred robberies.

As the angry little Mexican forced his new captive down the trail, Fate smiled knowingly at the final hand to be dealt. Because only one of the people on the trail below knew that Don Diego was penniless, and it wasn't Juan Gomez.


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Some inconsiderate, soon-to-be-dead fool was knocking on his door at this god-forsaken hour. The knocking didn't stop, in fact, it increased in intensity the more Ezra became aware. He wanted to open his mouth and tell the mind-numbing sod to leave him in peace but as the disoriented gambler opened his eyes, it wasn't his fastidiously clean hotel room that swam into view. Rather a stomach-plummeting drop greeted him, his own very expensive shoes swaying above … nothing. Nothing but one long, very lonely drop.


Beggars Canyon - Thursday

Perhaps not so lonely, Ezra realized as he felt the hand gripping his shirt collar and jacket tighten in response to his involuntary movements.

"Ez?"

The soft, somewhat strained Texan drawl immediately clued Ezra in on the identity of his lifeline. Fighting down the rising fear in his stomach as the canyon floor below came into focus, Ezra gulped, "Mr. Tanner, I will not insult your fine sensibilities by promising heaven and earth to forestall any regrettable … fall - but please, " Standish couldn't keep the fear out of his voice as he whispered, "don't let go!"

Above him, Ezra could picture the dry smile now cracking the trackers lips as Vin said, "Don't aim to, pard." Neither man voiced the unspoken thought that Tanner might not have a choice in the matter.

Ezra tried to tip his head up and get a better look at their situation when Vin hissed sharply, "Don't move, Ezra!" Freezing, Standish could feel how much Tanner's arm was shaking as he tried to maintain his hold on the Southerner.

"Please."

That last word was so desperate that Ezra wanted to look up at Vin and see what else was wrong. There had been pain in that 'please', as close to begging as Vin ever came. When a tiny red drop of moisture fell from above and landed precariously on the gambler's right hand, Ezra had to squash his impulse to move and look up. Still staring at the distant ground, Standish drawled slowly, "How bad is it?"

This time Ezra heard the soft laugh before the Texan's words floated down, "If I weren't the only thing between you and a long ways down, I'd say fine. But since that ain't the case…"

"Bad?" Ezra supplied.

"Yip."

Sighing, the Southerner muttered something about never leaving the comfort of his feather bed again before raising his voice a little and asking, "Chris and Buck?"

"You know, Ez, for a body who can use a hundred words where one will do, you can sure get to the point fast enough when ya want to."

Rolling his eyes, Ezra snapped, "This coming from a man who seems to feel that the time to develop conversation skills is best suited when hanging precariously off a cliff!"

"No time like the present."

"Vin!"

There was no answer from Tanner and Ezra really wished he could get a good look at him, desperate to know how badly injured the tracker was.

"Vin?"

Unable to answer, Tanner hung on for dear life as he fought the growing pain in his shoulders. Standish was getting heavier and heavier, the fingers clutched into Ezra's jacket having long lost all feeling. But it had been the painful 'pop' of his shoulder that had silenced him as Vin felt something give inside his arm.

As he hung there in Vin's grasp, straining to hear any sound from Tanner, Ezra realized that there was sporadic gunfire echoing above their heads. Silently he identified the reports from the various weapons and felt a small piece of the fear clutching his heart disappear as he identified Buck and Chris' guns. Ezra didn't have to think too long about the situation before it all became abundantly clear. Hefner and Temple were keeping Buck and Chris pinned, preventing them from reaching Vin and himself. Ezra knew that if Larabee and Wilmington attempted a rescue without removing the outlaws' threat first, they would be mowed down and he would still be waiting for Tanner's strength to fail.

Which it would - sooner rather than later.

Can this day get any worse?


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Remember the Alamo…?

The sprightly bay horse, usually the last to tire after any journey, was struggling to maintain the pace its master was asking. After carrying two riders for nearly an hour, JD's horse was tiring. The young sheriff astride its back knew that he didn't dare slow down to rest, not with three very angry bank robbers still chasing them.

"JD, where are you going?" Casey shouted, as she clutched tightly to the young man.

Confused, JD shouted in answer, "Back to town! Where else?"

Shaking her head, Casey didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Here they were, running for their lives from three men Casey never wished to see again, unless she happened to be standing behind the entire Seven, and JD had managed to get lost, again. Ironically they were back at the subject of the argument, the one that had started yesterday and had never been resolved. Casey had to correct their route to the picnic area yesterday after JD had begun to wander in the wrong direction, and when she had teasingly pointed out that JD had no sense of direction, the young man had been outraged.

JD's offended pride didn't change the fact than he was no good at finding his way and yet again, here they were, travelling in the wrong direction.

"Town is that way," Casey screamed, pointing to their right, "You're heading south!"

Usually JD would have paused to at least check their direction and then argue with Casey, but at the moment he knew that any delay on their behalf would be disastrous. Turner, Dempsey and Swanson were too close behind them, and JD felt it was better to keep going, even if Casey was right, and head north later.

"I'm sure that the main trail to Four Corners is here somewhere, once we find it, it'll be easier going."

Casey bit her lip, undecided. JD had a point, the main trail would be faster, if they could find it. But she was riding with JD, a young man who she knew had trouble finding his way home on a regular basis. Deciding that it was better to keep moving and hope to find the trail, Casey shouted, "You better be sure about this!"

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Josiah was on the move again, much to Nathan's dismay. They were moving slowly, and Nathan was positive that it was only Josiah's iron determination that was keeping the man on his feet.

Josiah's horse had rested enough to walk, and the preacher had not tried to ride it yet, but setting a brisk pace down the trail. He still had not spoken a word to Nathan, other than the occasional growl at the healer's repeated questions about his health. Jackson was dead certain that there was something more to Josiah's sullen silence. The ex-slave had no idea how right he was.

All Josiah could see, as he strode down the trail, was Charles Temple. During his forced wait, Josiah's anger had built to momentous proportions, and all it would take to ignite that powder-keg was Charles Temple in his sights. His anger at Vin, his father, Hannah, life in general had coalesced into this: Charles Temple. Someone he could beat to a pulp with no qualms, no guilt. Temple deserved everything he received.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Bridging the Gap

Time was running out, fast.

Chris could feel it slipping through his fingers. Vin and Ezra needed help now and he was stuck trading shots with Dirk Hefner and Charles Temple. Every time he and Buck tried to lay down cover fire so that one of them could make a run to help Tanner, the outlaws would open up a barrage of gunfire that kept both men pinned down. Twice Buck had had to practically sit on Chris to stop him from just running out and trying anyway. Despite the feeling of losing time rapidly, Larabee had no idea how long it had been since the explosion had sent his friends over the cliff. It could have been a few minutes or hours. He had no idea. All that mattered was getting to the Texan, now.

Wilmington checked on Chris again, and knew that his old friend was going to try something foolish again. Buck just hoped that this time, his friend's idea didn't involve the black clad gunslinger dodging bullets. Hefner and Temple were both too accurate to take a risk like that. The scoundrel could see the wheels in Chris' head turning and when he finally met Buck's gaze, he could see that Larabee had a plan.

"How big do you think that gap is?" Chris asked, pointing at the distance between each side of the canyon. Buck shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the outlaws across from them, and said, "Don't know, maybe five, six feet. Why'd you ask?"

Silent seconds ticked by and when Larabee failed to respond, Wilmington turned around, "Chris?"

Larabee was no longer hunched behind their rock, and Buck initially looked towards the canyon edge to see if maybe Chris had tried to reach Tanner again. The sound of a horse whickering loudly and then hoof beats approaching him had Buck turning to look in the direction of their horses.

His jaw dropped as he saw Chris charging right past him, astride his enormous black horse, riding straight towards the cliff edge. Diablo's hooves thudded evenly on the dusty ground, sending clouds of dirt into the air as he sped towards the edge, each hoof thudding in time to Buck's pounding heart. Larabee looked like a dark angel of death, his black duster whipping in the air, the tattered wings of the Fallen.

Diablo didn't hesitate nor balk, his trust in his rider absolute, and as they approached the edge, the powerful horse gathered his feet, bunched his muscles and leapt over the chasm.

Vin was drawn to the thundering hooves above him and, as he looked up, he saw a black horse taking flight over his heads, legs out-stretched, front hooves reaching for solid ground, tiny trails of dust spiralling down to their faces. For a moment it looked like Diablo had wings as Chris' duster flapped in the air, Larabee himself leaning forward adding to Diablo's momentum. Tanner could see the horse's pale underbelly, Chris' dusty boots, his spurs catching the noon sun. The pair seemed to hang in mid-air for an eternity as the black horse sailed to safety. The moment when his front hooves connected to solid ground, was like an expulsion of breath.

Caught completely off-guard, Hefner and Temple found themselves staring up at twin barrels of death and the even deadlier glare of Chris Larabee.

"Drop 'em."

Two pistols and a rifle fell to the ground and Chris didn't have to vocalise the order to surrender. Both outlaws raised their hands in the air and Larabee shouted at Buck without taking his eyes off the pair, "Get to them, now!"

Wilmington had reacted the moment Chris had reached the other side safely and he had raced the short distance to the hollow in the cliff edge. Leaning over, about three feet below him, all he could see was the white knuckled hand of his friend, still clinging on for dear life.

"Hang in there, pards, Buck is here to save the day!", he shouted happily as he leant forward to reach them.

"Oh, good heavens," came the disgruntled reply from an as yet unseen Standish. "Will you please hurry up, Mr. Wilmington. I have better things to do than hang off a cliff face all day!"

The smile that broke across Buck's face at the sound of the grumpy gamblers voice seemed wide enough to split his face in half. "Ez, you old snake. You still alive?"

"Not for much longer, Bucklin, lessen' you hurry up," came the pain-filled drawl from Vin whose arms were shaking so badly he wondered that Ezra's teeth weren't jittering.

"Sorry, bud, be right with you," Buck realized that he needed a rope and cursed himself for forgetting it in the first place. Pushing himself up, he shouted as he ran towards his horse, "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere!"

"Like we had a choice in the matter," Standish grumbled, concerned at how badly Tanner was shaking. He was not at all surprised that Chris had taken such drastic measures to save them, but they weren't out of the woods yet.

Larabee watched from the corner of his eye as Buck dashed to his horse, silently urging the ladies' man to move faster. He had a much better view of his friends from this side of the canyon and Vin looked like he was holding onto nothing at all from where Chris sat.

Blinking rapidly to get the sweat from his eyes, Vin had only vaguely heard Buck's retreating promise. The pounding in his head and the knife-like pain running through his arms and shoulders were deafening. There was only one thought running through his mind, 'Hold on.' Even while he had watched as Chris sailed overhead, his inner voice had been repeating over and over again, "Just hold on. Hold on, just hold on. Hold on, just hold on."

The tracker realized that Ezra was talking to him, his molasses voice seeping through the pounding headache but Tanner couldn't make sense of the words. "Vin? Vin? Answer me, Vin!"

Ezra was afraid to move at all, afraid that he'd startle Vin and the wiry tracker would loose his grip. "Where the hell is Buck?" he muttered to himself.

"Right here, Ez, right here. Don't be taking my name in vain," Buck's voice floated down to the gambler who shouted back, "About time, Mr. Wilmington. What, did you have to make the rope first?"

The end of the rope in question fell down in front of Ezra and the gambler immediately grabbed it. "You got it, Ez?" Buck shouted.

"Yes! I'm wrapping it around my waist, hold on." Quickly the gambler did just that and then secured the rope with a knot, giving himself enough room to manoeuvre. Buck felt some of Ezra's weight settle onto the rope and he braced himself.

"You can let go now, Vin," Ezra said loudly but the tight grip on his coat and shirt didn't waver.

"VIN!" Ezra shouted.

"What?" came the soft reply and Ezra let a small sigh of relief.

"You can let go now; Buck's waiting to pull us up."

"Right." Vin's voice was so soft and strained that Ezra nearly didn't hear it but he did feel Vin let go and Buck immediately took up the slack. Wilmington had chucked the rope to Ezra and then run to a jagged rock jutting up out of the ground and braced his knees against the stony surface.

Ezra swung around and tried to find a foothold on the cliff. Once he had, he looked up at Vin and shook his head in amazement that Tanner had been able to hold on at all. A wide spray of blood ran across the Texan's face, the ugly head wound on his forehead still seeping blood. The blood, obeying the pull of gravity had spread a ghastly mask over his friend's face. One of Vin's knees must have scraped against the cliff during the explosion because a jagged rip across his right knee and shin was also still bleeding. If Tanner had any other injuries, Ezra didn't take the time to see as he climbed up enough to take most of Vin's weight and allow the tracker to rest.

Gratefully, Vin felt Ezra come under his loose arm and take his weight, the dreadful pull on his right arm gone, and muscles stretched beyond their limit sent a different sort of pain through his nervous system. Groaning, Tanner tried to hold on to Ezra who had begun to climb up the few feet to the top. Buck pulled as Standish climbed and in no time at all the Southerner reached the top. Once he had judged that Ezra had pulled himself up enough to hold on for a while, Wilmington dropped the rope and ran to help his friends.

Gently Buck reached for Vin and eased him up over the edge and laid him flat on his back. He then helped Ezra over the edge as well, and pulled the gambler to his left. "Damn, Ez, you're putting on some weight there," the ladies man grunted as Ezra flopped to the earth, never more grateful to feel solid rock under his feet.

"I truly hope not, Mr. Wilmington, otherwise Vin is liable to skin me alive."

From across the canyon, Larabee watched as his friends pulled to safety and he let out his own sigh of relief. Buck looked up at him, still astride his horse and shouted, "You gonna fly back over here or what?"

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Thursday - Coming Together:

If any of the birds flying over the converging trails between Four Corners and Beggars Canyon had cared about the unfolding human drama below them, they would have been in for a show.

Riding Southwest at breakneck speed were JD and Casey, pursued closely by Turner and his boys. Further South, and nearly upon Beggars Canyon, were the slowly moving pair of Sanchez and Jackson, both men walking their horses.

Riding Northeast, heading up from the canyon were Chris, Buck, Ezra and Vin, with their prisoners, Hefner and Temple.

The last group of humans was not moving at all, rather they were arrayed in the bushes and rocks from the last scattering of foothills from the watershed, lying in wait for their prey. Since the only bird winging its way across the heavens was a meagre sparrow, searching for a meal, it neither cared nor noticed the humans below.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~``~`

To describe the atmosphere between the men riding north as tense would be a grievous understatement. Chris had escorted Hefner and Temple down from the canyon rim, forced to leave his friends to make their own way down. The long, two-hour ride had grated inexorably on Larabee's nerves as he kept a baleful eye on both prisoners, neither of whom was bound. Rather than risk coming into close proximity with the wily outlaws and offering them the opportunity to overwhelm him, Larabee had to suffice himself with confiscating their weapons and keeping his gun trained on them as they rode. Hefner's reputation at evading capture was legendary and Chris was taking no chances with these men. He informed both in a calm voice, all the more frightening due to the lack of overt threat, that if either of them so much as blinked wrong, they'd each be seeing out of a third eye socket.

Larabee's own reputation was no less impressive than Hefner's and both men had reluctantly obeyed his every command. Temple was waiting for Hefner to make a move and Hefner was just waiting for the perfect opportunity he knew would present itself. In all the years of his career as an outlaw, Hefner had always found a way to escape the long arm of the law and he fully intended on doing so again.

On the other side of canyon, Buck and Ezra had collectively gathered their supplies, horses, weapons and injured friend. Vin's injuries truly did look worse than they were; his head wound superficial and the various scrapes and cuts minor, despite the amount of blood. His dislocated shoulder was another matter entirely, along with the strain of muscles stretched beyond their limit in keeping himself and Ezra alive. Exhaustion from the collected days of hard riding and exertion along with his new injuries had sent their young friend into a deep unconscious sleep. Neither Buck nor Ezra felt secure enough to try and pop Vin's shoulder back in and, since the tracker wasn't awake to do it himself, they had decided to leave the task for Nathan.

The moment Chris had disappeared from sight, guarding his prisoners down the trail to the opening of Beggars Canyon to the north, Buck and Ezra bound Vin's arm to his side, then tied him to his saddle before making their own descent to the canyon below. They figured it would take them a good hour to meet up with Chris again, and both men fervently hoped that they would regroup later without further incident. Buck's verbal response to that belief had been a "Yeah, right!"

The only hiccup presented to both parties was the trip taking longer than expected. Roughly two hours after they had parted company, Chris met up with his friends. Midday had passed already but the sun was still beating down on the earth below. Ezra sat atop his horse decidedly morose. While the day was not nearly complete, it felt like they had crammed an entire week into one morning. After his close brush with death, Ezra found himself shaking at the memory of that terrifying sensation of waking up and realising nothing but his friend's strength stood between him and an unpleasantly long drop. Throughout the ride down to meet Chris, Ezra had replayed those horrific minutes over and over again, more than once finding himself staring at Vin without realising he was doing so.

Buck had been too focused on following their incoming trail to pay much attention to the gambler who was charged with ensuring that Vin stayed in his saddle. But now, as the pair of them waited for Larabee to close the distance between them, Buck noticed the slight shake in Ezra's hand as the Southerner raised it to shade his eyes from the sun.

Buck couldn't wait to get back to town and just let this day be over but it was unlikely that they would reach Four Corners before nightfall. As it was, it would take a good half-days' ride to reach Beggars Canyon from Four Corners and the day was already half over.

Vin had made no sound during the entire trip, remaining slumped over his horse's neck. Had Ezra been less preoccupied with his thoughts, he might have noticed that Vin periodically awoke during the ride, his knees tightening slightly to keep himself upright in the saddle. Vin was far from being fully aware of his surroundings; his throbbing headache, painful shoulder and aching body conspired to send him into the emptiness of slumber.

Buck and Ezra were waiting for Chris on a small rise that flattened out into a wide wash. The trail north ran directly across the wash and up ahead to the left, raised the last remnants of the foothills that Vin Tanner had led them through previously in order to shake Don Diego. Buck had unsheathed his rifle and it was laying across his legs as Hefner and Temple rode up the rise, Chris behind them with his pistol still trained at their backs. Buck swung his rifle around to cover the prisoners, his eyes hard with suppressed anger.

Ezra had remained at Vin's side as Larabee and the prisoners arrived, Tanner's head shot up, his gaze not falling to Larabee like Standish expected, but boring into Hefner. Dirk seemed to realize he was under such focused scrutiny and turned to see who was sending daggers his way. When he saw that it was the young buckskin tracker who had held onto the cliff for so long, Dirk smiled nastily and sent a mocking salute Vin's way. "Seems you've got a new fan, Dirk," Charles muttered soft enough for Dirk and Chris to hear.

Glaring, Chris growled at the pair, "Dismount and get your sorry asses over there," pointing to a spot well within Buck's aim. Without tearing his gaze from Hefner and Temple, Chris growled, "Ezra, get Vin off that horse. We're going to stop here for a while."

Judging by Larabee's mood, Ezra decided against commenting that it might be better to press on and reach Four Corners as soon as possible. Glancing briefly at Vin, Ezra had to concede that Tanner looked exceptionally pale and that the young man could use a break. The fact that Tanner did not argue with the order either meant that he was definitely feeling worse for wear.

The Southerner dismounted at the same time as the pair of prisoners. Just as Ezra's boot heel touched the red-coloured earth, a volley of shots was directed at them. Judging from the amount of guns firing on them, the four regulators and their prisoners were surrounded. Before Standish could even collect himself enough to draw his gun, a wave of ragged men charged at them from all directions.

Gunfire erupted on both sides as Chris and Buck returned fire. Hoarse cries were intermingled with the screams of men wounded, horses rearing in panic, rifles booming, pistols cracking and bedlam ensued. The attacking Mexicans seemed more intent on causing as much chaos as they could, than they were in killing the Americans.

Buck and Ezra found themselves fighting hand to hand almost immediately, trying to fend off groups of three or four men. Chris remained an unassailable fortress on his horse, dealing out death and injury without pause, his revolvers spitting out bullets faster than the eye could see. Dirk Hefner's horse went down squealing as a stray bullet crippled it, its frantic cries adding to the melee. Charles Temple was struggling with several men, his bright blonde hair dishevelled as he pulled out of a headlock. Chris was cursing loudly as he fought to keep the seemingly endless stream of attacks from reaching him, Buck was shouting obscenities at a scar-faced opponent who had cut a long thin line of blood across his arm, the split flesh beneath welling up with more blood.

Striding through the chaos, as easy as a hot knife through butter, came Don Diego, his pistols drawn, but still cool having only been fired in the first volley. He drew a long bead on Chris Larabee, a rising target above the battle, cocked his weapon and tightened his finger on the trigger … and an enormous bellow echoed over the brawl.

"SHUT UP!"

Amazingly enough, everyone stopped mid-punch or mid-shot. Buck's right hook never landed, Ezra escaped a boot in the ribs, Chris kept his gun trained on a man cowering behind a horse and the Don stayed his finger, for now.

Standing a little ways from the battle, as if he'd been stopped just short of escaping, was Dirk Hefner. His eyes were wild, his teeth bared, and kneeling at his feet was Vin Tanner, the outlaw's pistol pressed under his chin. Dirk had Vin's left arm twisted up behind the Texan's back, the pressure of his gun forcing Vin's head up at a painful angle. Judging by the renewed stream of blood running down Tanner's face, the young man had suffered yet another blow to the head.

"Everyone just shut the hell up!" Dirk screamed, emphasising each word by digging the barrel of the gun into Vin's neck. Smoothly and unerringly Chris shifted his aim to Hefner, his black revolver an extension of his hand, and without looking behind him, lifted his other gun and pointed it straight at the Don. Don Diego barely blinked at the new threat, simply moving around the obstacle of Chris and pointing his own second gun at Hefner.

The scene around the protagonists was one of complete carnage. There were only three Mexicans left, one for Buck, Ezra and Charles. Those six men remained exactly were they were, eyes half fixed on each other and half riveted to their leaders. Bodies of both men and horses were strewn across the ground, their blood seeping into the red soil, spreading like dark patches of corruption across the earth. After the thunder of gunfire and shouts, the silence that had fallen after Hefner's shout was almost deafening.

Vin fought back the rising bile in his throat as Hefner pulled more on his dislocated arm and pressed the gun harder into his throat. He had seen Hefner trying to make his escape during the confusion of the Don's attack and had spent a frustrating few moments cutting himself free of the ropes keeping him in the saddle. Dirk had almost cleared the fight when Vin tackled him, sending them both to the ground. The one-time pirate had kicked out at Vin and succeeded in hitting the tracker in the head. Why Hefner had not simply continued to run, Tanner did not know. The next thing he realized was sharp daggers of pain were cutting through his arm and shoulder as Dirk twisted his limb behind his back, a hot pistol barrel was shoved into his throat.

No one moved, everyone afraid to spark off the next round of violence with an inadvertent twitch. De la Vega was furious to realize that his gang had been reduced to three men, and Chris had eyes only for Hefner, trusting his back to Buck. Ezra bent over clutching his aching ribs, struggling to draw shuddering breaths, and tasted blood in his mouth. His opponent was swaying on his feet, about to collapse. All Ezra cared about was taking in a breath full enough to ease his burning chest. Buck tracked his eyes from the Mexican standing next to him to Chris and the Don, waiting for someone to make the first move and praying that that first move wouldn't be Vin's brains scattered all over Hefner. Temple shuffled his feet uncomfortably, concerned more with his last attacker and the knife clutched in that beefy hand more than anything else.

It was a stand-off.

Hefner, now had everyone's attention. He shouted, "Lessen' you want to see his brains splattered all over, I suggest you let me walk outta here!" His words were directed specifically at Larabee, whose expression did not change but his finger imperceptibly tightened over the trigger, itching to use it.

"No way in hell!" Buck shouted, wishing he hadn't lost his rifle during the fight. Dirk just laughed a little maniacally and yelled, "You reach for it, mister, and I swear he's dead." Wilmington, confused at first, realized that Dirk was shouting at Ezra, who had been reaching for his gun. In response, Standish silently raised his hands to show that he was no longer a threat and painfully straightened up.

"I'm dead serious! I'll kill him!"

"And then I'll kill you."

Hefner looked straight at Larabee, who had neither blinked nor flinched during the tense moment. Looking into those eyes, hard as agates, Dirk Hefner knew that the he would never escape Chris Larabee short of dying himself and, even then, the ornery bastard would probably follow him to hell to make sure the job had been done right.

Almost forgotten in the intensity of the situation, Don Diego weighed his options. He had attacked the men hoping to kill the gunfighters and capture the gambler. Uppermost in Diego's mind was finding Helena Demarco, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Ezra Standish could tell him where the wench was.

He needed to be in control of the situation, so the Mexican Don shouted out, "No one is going anywhere, hombres! Not until I get my deed and that thieving whore back!"

Ezra opened his mouth to reply to the Don but Chris caught his eye and, with barely a flicker of his eyes, told Standish to stay out of it and let him do the talking. "We don't know what you're talking about, De la Vega. You won the poker game - you kept your deed."

His dark eyes flashing with anger, Don Diego practically spat the words out, "Liar! The marker was worthless. That bitch stole my land and I damned well saw him," the shouting man pointed at Vin, "saw that dog attack my men and help the wench escape me!"

Hefner, his narrow eyes drawn to the gesticulating Don, hissed softly to the man at his feet, twisting Vin's arm viciously as he spoke, "Been playing hero again?"

Grimacing at the increased pain in his shoulder and arm, Vin gasped, "At least I ain't a gutless wonder." Dirk smiled and pushed his gun harder into Tanner's throat, right against his windpipe. "Seems I ain't doing this right if'n you got the breath to sass me." The Texan truly couldn't find the breath to make any reply, as he struggled to draw in sufficient air.

Dirk's actions were not unnoticed by Larabee, whose index finger flexed on the trigger of his gun even as he listened to the Don. Still without looking at the Mexican, Chris said, "Tanner may have rescued Helena but we sure as hell don't have any deed."

Scornfully disbelieving, Diego snorted, "You expect me to believe that?"

The revolver aimed at his head being cocked was the only answer Don Diego received.

"I don't care about no deed, Larabee, I ain't sticking around while you lot discuss it. The hero here and I are leaving. Now." Dirk acted as he spoke and pulled Tanner to his feet, the injured tracker forced to comply. Now the ex-bounty hunter blocked any shot at Hefner, his lanky body a convenient shield for the outlaw.

Vin was far from helpless. As Dirk forced him to stand, he stared straight at Chris and the gunfighter tensed in preparation.

Smoothly Tanner slipped the thin knife he had taken to keeping up his right sleeve into his palm, reversed the hilt and stabbed the blade into Hefner's thigh. Reflexively Hefner screamed in pain, the hand holding the gun to Vin's neck dropping to clutch at the knife embedded in his leg. Chris fired, not at Hefner but at Don Diego, his bullet hitting the Mexican in the shoulder, sending the man backwards to the ground.

In an unexpected rush JD and Casey arrived, with Turner and his boys right behind them. The kid rode straight through the stand-off, heading unerringly towards safety - Buck. Alvin Turner rode straight into Don Diego's sights. Just as the Mexican collapsed with Chris' bullet in his shoulder, the aggrieved Don fired at Larabee but hit Turner, sending the bank robber careening off his horse.

Wilmington and Temple acted simultaneously, both taking advantage of the surprise of the new arrivals to take out their Mexican opponents; the scoundrel knocking his man unconscious and Charles stabbing his foe with the man's own knife.

Dempsey, riding hard after JD, catapulted himself off his horse and landed on Ezra by mistake, pinning the slippery gambler to the ground, the breath knocked out of him, again. Swanson, unheeding of Turner's fate, was caught by an unexpected attack. Casey leapt, out of nowhere, to pull him from his horse, and then to find JD, standing above him, his lightning Colts back in his own hands.

Chris, after shooting the Don, had been about to make for Vin and Hefner when the last two parties arrived. Juan broke cover from the same bushes the Don and his men had been hiding in and fired at Chris. Helena, using Gomez's distracted focus, spurred her horse towards relative safety - the rest of the Seven. Riding hard, having been drawn by the gunfire, came Nathan and Josiah.

Nathan, trailing Josiah, was greeted by a scene of bedlam. Ezra fighting some longhaired man, both men rolling in the dirt, Buck wrestling with what looked like a Mexican, JD and Casey standing guard over a man lying on his back, Chris trading shots with a gunman near some bushes, Helena Demarco riding towards the fight, Vin struggling with Dirk Hefner and several bodies scattered around.

But all Josiah saw as he rode was Charles Temple. Vin was too preoccupied with Hefner to care about Temple trying to escape. Snarling in fury, Sanchez leapt from his horse and tackled a startled Temple, who suddenly found himself fighting for his life. When he recognised the mountainous man piling into him, his own anger erupted and he fought back with everything he had.

Nathan stood stunned for a precious couple of seconds, too much going on to be able to judge where he was needed most. In those couple of seconds, Standish lost the upper hand and began to take a severe beating at Dempsey's hands, and one of the bodies moved, pointing a gun straight at Chris Larabee's back.

Nathan, acting without thinking, drew one of his knives and threw it at Chris' attacker. The finely honed blade sank into Turner's arm, throwing his aim wide, and the shot that would have been a few seconds too late to save Larabee, killed Alvin Turner outright.

JD looked up at Nathan with wide eyes, his guns still smoking. Suddenly the kid found his own problems. Swanson kicked at JD's knee, and as JD collapsed, the bank robber grabbed for one of the Colts.

Buck, breathing hard, wiped a trail of blood from his nose, and ran to help Ezra, leaving the last Mexican unconscious. Chris had to seek cover as the wiley Gomez stayed just beyond reach and was keeping the gunslinger pinned with uncomfortably accurate shots. There were too many moving bodies, friends and foes indeterminable at times, for Chris to risk shooting into the fray. Casey was helping JD, her well-timed kicks at Swanson giving the kid an edge. Still undecided, Nathan watched in horrified immobility as each of his friends were encompassed in the fight.

Josiah felt great satisfaction in being able to finally vent his fury. So much in his life had been shaped by his father and there had been too many years filled with regret and shame to add to his anger. Hannah had paid a terrible price for her defiance and her love. Josiah had never been able to forget the part the man now reeling from his punches played in his sister's misery. So great was Josiah's anger that it did not diminish as he fought, it grew and grew until not even Temple's own strength was insufficient to keep Sanchez at bay. With a bone-shattering fist, the preacher knocked Temple senseless and, as the outlaw folded in on himself, his eyes rolling back, Josiah felt a momentarily spark of shame.

Dirk Hefner couldn't fathom how the wiry tracker was still fighting. No matter how many times he paid special attention to Tanner's shoulder as they fought, the Texan kept coming at him. It was like nothing on this earth was going to stop him, not even a dislocated shoulder, from enjoying this fight. Dirk would put everything he had into a punch or kick, try to dislodge the tracker and instead of his fist meeting soft flesh, his target would move and tensed muscle would take the impact. For every blow landed, Hefner took at least one in return. Tanner was not above using the outlaw's own injury to his advantage; more blows were aimed at Hefner's leg than anywhere else. But Dirk Hefner was as tough as they come and neither man was showing any sign of giving in. Vin's previous fatigue had disappeared as adrenaline surged through him, his memories of Jeremy driving him beyond the limitations of his injuries.

Riding through the ensuing brawl like she was parting wheat through a field, came Helena Demarco. No one seemed to notice her or even care that she was there. Her horse slowed almost on its own accord, reluctant to get too close to the battling combatants and, for a few heart-stopping moments, she sat there like a mythical embodiment of victory, her long black hair streaming across her face as she turned to look for Vin. If Ezra had been able to sit and appreciate the moment, he might have compared the scene to one reminiscent of a Renaissance picture capturing the fervour of a momentous war, with Victory looking on. However, the poor Southerner had troubles of his own. Although Wilmington was on his way to the rescue, Dempsey was enjoying himself, kicking the gambler, who was on his hands and knees, unable to breathe, with a vicious boot being thrust into his ribs repeatedly.

Helena had trouble coming her way too, for she had paused right beside where Don Diego had fallen. Rising like an embodied corpse, covered in blood and dust, the Don reached up and pulled the startled woman from her horse. For the second time in two days Helena found herself facing the Don's wrath and she couldn't stop her scream from rending the air as a blade pierced her side.

Vin's head jerked up as he heard the scream and he watched as Diego withdrew his dagger, the small blade covered in blood. In that instant Hefner was forgotten, Helena's need greater and Tanner was running towards the Don without a second thought.

The woman's scream had also drawn Josiah's attention and, as the preacher looked up from Temple's unaware body to see what was happening, he saw Vin. Something inside Josiah snapped. It hadn't been enough to beat Temple senseless; the rage was still a burning inferno inside him. And there was Tanner, the man who had nearly let Temple escape, running away, again. So great was Josiah's anger that reason fled, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was racing Tanner, not to reach Helena first, but to catch the Texan.

Don Diego hissed in Helena's ear, "Where is the deed you, bitch?" holding his knife covered in her own blood in front of her face. "I'm going to keep cutting until you tell me!"

Tanner had almost reached the Don when Josiah ran into him like an express train, bowling over the smaller man. Finally galvanised into action, Nathan screamed, "Josiah, NO!"

There was no reaching the big man, a red haze having fallen over his eyes, only the need to make someone pay paramount in his mind.

Helena's scream had done more than just get Nathan moving, it distracted Swanson enough to allow JD and Casey to pin him. It drew Gomez's eyes for a split second too long, allowing Chris to finally find his mark. The diminutive would-be-bandit died with a bullet between his eyes. The scream startled Dempsey so that when he looked around to see who it was, he instead saw Buck's fist swinging down into his face.

Diego, face twisted in a perverse smile, lowered the knife to cut Helena again. He barely noticed the tracker being tackled and pounded into the ground. All he saw was Helena's blood and the fear in her eyes. It made him strangely excited.

Vin wasn't even aware that Josiah's meaty fists were pounding him, after the first punch, the tracker had fortunately lost consciousness. The preacher however was far from unaware of the damage he was inflicting. He wasn't seeing Vin though, it wasn't Tanner's face or body he was picturing as he vented, it was a mixture of Temple, his father and every other man to ever cause him harm. Over and over again he slammed his fist into Tanner, unsure if the roar he heard was only in his head.

The frightened woman stared at the blade hovering in front her eyes, fixated on seeing blood she knew to be her own running down the hilt onto Diego's hand. "Please, Diego? Please no."
Instead of feeling the cool metal slit her flesh again, Helena heard her attacker shriek in pain, drop the knife and clutch his arm. A quick snap of elbow and fist dropped the Mexican to his knees, groaning. Startled Helena looked up to see Nathan Jackson standing over the Don, his normally gentle eyes flashing in anger.

Dirk, momentarily shocked by the fury of the Sanchez's attack, soon snapped to his senses and was about to slink away unnoticed when a black dusty boot shoved him flat on his back. Hefner stared up at the barrel of Larabee's gun for the second time that day.

Shaking his head, Chris turned away from Hefner, his right gun still aimed at the outlaw's head, and fired his left revolver at Sanchez. The bullet whizzed by the preacher's head, narrowly missing tearing a chunk out of his ear, bringing Josiah's attention back to the present.

The red haze faded, the roaring in his ears dissipated and Sanchez blinked. Before he could look up and see who was shooting at him, Josiah noticed the blood on his hands. Long rivulets of blood were tracing a haphazard pattern across his knuckles, the hairs on the back of his hand already stiffening with the drying blood. But it was the battered form lying limply between his hands, held up only by his own two bloody fists, that caught his breath in his throat. Vin Tanner.

As hot and powerful as the anger had burned within him, the sight of his friend, a man he respected and cared for, lying senseless, bruised and bloodied, sent a wave of cold fear over Josiah. The familiar shame surged through him, like it had countless times before when he had lost control, his temper getting the best of him, was doubled by the horror of having done this to a friend. His heart breaking in shame, Josiah gently lowered Vin to the ground and stepped away from him.

Looking up, as if realising for the first time that the rest of the Seven were in fact present, Sanchez saw each and every one of them, staring at him. JD, his mouth an open 'O' of shock even as he kept his guns trained on Swanson and Dempsey. Buck, bent over helping Ezra to stand, his usually expressive face shuttered with anger. Standish, pale and breathless, his eyes betraying the horror he was seeing. Nathan, pressing a pale white cloth, which was rapidly turning red, into Helena's side, trying to stem the flow of blood. Jackson's face was the hardest to take, his anger palpable, and directed entirely at Sanchez. The preacher barely noticed the still form of Don Diego, sitting sullenly clutching a knife buried to the hilt in his upper arm.

If Josiah had thought that Nathan's anger was tangible, it was nothing compared to the waves of fury emanating from Chris Larabee. The tall gunslinger, his boot firmly on Hefner's chest, both guns still pointed at enemies; one at Hefner and the other at Josiah.

"Ya done?" There was so much derision and scorn in those two words that Josiah felt his shame blossom tenfold and the preacher took a couple more steps away from the broken victim of his uncontrollable temper.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

The Aftermath

Pete Dempsey watched in astonished silence as the men worked in smooth unison to make sense of the day's events. The Kid, JD, despite having ridden hard all day to escape Turner, was running errands for the darkie healer, his energy boundless. Joe was tied up next to him, both bank robbers under the careful eye of Casey Wells. Pete had thought the tall moustached man had been joking when he had asked the young girl to watch their prisoners, but as Casey had levelled a rifle right at them, her face serious, Dempsey had to re-evaluate his first impression. She looked mad enough happily shoot him or Swanson the moment they tried anything funny.

The atmosphere in the little camp was exceptionally tense. Sitting beside Pete was also the Mexican Don, his arm roughly bandaged by the healer. Diego had not said one word to his fellow prisoners, his face set in a deep scowl that he alternatively directed at either Larabee or Helena Demarco. Pete, once he had realized that Helena was involved, couldn't help feeling like things were getting way out of control. Sure, Alvin had this bizarre plan of selling the Don his land deed back but it had only been a little sideline to the bank robbing. Now all the participants, willing or unwilling, of Turner's scheme were present, and Dempsey didn't like his chances of escaping any its backlash.

What had been even more surprising to discover, was that the kid, Dunne, had turned out to be a lawman. Swanson had scoffed at the idea when Pete had whispered it to him, but there was no denying that Dunne was part of this group of peacekeepers. These 'regulators' sure didn't look like any bunch of lawmen Pete had ever seen. A gambler, a blackman, a gunslinger, Chris Larabee at that, and a kid! Not to mention the tall man with the moustache, called Buck according to Swanson who had heard JD talking to the man.

Pete wasn't too sure if the tall mountain of a man was part of the group or not. He had after all attacked the Texan, who had yet to regain consciousness. Everyone was giving the big man a wide berth and earlier Larabee had ordered him with a snarl to guard the other two prisoners, Dirk Hefner and Charles Temple. Whatever else the gunslinger had growled at the grey-haired man, Pete could not hear but the young outlaw never wanted to have that sort of fury directed at him by a man like Larabee.

Of all the men in the camp, only the black man was busier than JD. He appeared to be a healer of some sort and had been moving nonstop between the injured for the last two hours. The gambler fellow had three or more broken ribs, most of them a gift from Pete himself. Dempsey quashed any guilt at the Southerner's pain; it wasn't his fault the guy had taken offence at being landed on.

Helena, looking very pale and in a lot of pain, was propped up against a saddle, a blanket covering the evidence of her injury. Pete had been looking forward to watching as the darkie tended her, the stab-wound was in her side, hidden by her blouse. JD and Buck had set up a tent-like structure for Helena to rest in, and it had given her the privacy that decency demanded. Casey had scowled fiercely at both bank robbers when each had groaned in disappointment when it became clear the injured lady was not going to be exposed for all to see.

All of the injured prisoners had received care as well, albeit only after everyone else had been seen to. Charles Temple still looked very groggy from his fight with the tall preacher and Dirk also looked a little worse for wear after tangling with the tracker. It was the slight buckskin-clad man who was the focus of most of the healer's attention. The darkie had spent more time and more effort with the Texan than any other. What exactly was wrong with the injured man, Pete did not know, he could only guess at the damage a man like the preacher could inflict on a body.

Larabee was stalking around the camp like a dark spectre, his duster swirling about his feet as his rapid footsteps covered the entire area. The gunslinger seemed tied to the insubstantial form of the Texan stretched out on a bedroll. He wouldn't come closer than three feet to the tracker but his wide circuit was never out of earshot of that bedroll.

The bodies of Turner and the Mexicans had been unceremoniously piled a hundred metres away, in a deep ditch nearby. Since the sun was beginning to turn a deep red as it began to set, Pete Dempsey was pretty sure that they would be spending the night out here. What the hours of nightfall and morning would bring, the young bank robber had no idea.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Nightfall - Settling in

The night sky was awash with stars, tiny pinpricks of light sweeping across the heavens. The moon had yet to rise, so a spectacular display of celestial glory in all its magnificence was available to anyone who cared to gaze up and partake in its majesty.

Vin didn't have much of a choice in the matter; it hurt too much to look anywhere else but up. However, the young man was grateful for the beautiful display above; it took his mind off the various aches and pains of his bruised body. By only moving his eyes, Tanner tracked his way across the heavens, naming the stars he knew, as if greeting old friends. It would have been a peaceful moment, one he had often enjoyed in the past, stretched out on his back stargazing. The atmosphere was tainted however, first by the insistent pain of his injuries and second by the anger emanating from the man sitting next to him.

Chris hadn't said a word, even though he could see Vin was finally awake. The gunslinger merely sat beside the tracker, one arm resting on an upraised knee. Larabee's chin was resting on his arm, his hat low and covering his face. Vin had never needed to see Chris' expression to know what the gunfighter was thinking. Right now, the tracker did not want to broach that barrel of fish, so he let Larabee stew awhile longer, and tried to enjoy the stars.

The moment didn't last long as Nathan's head soon obscured his view; the concerned healer studying Vin's face. Apparently satisfied by what he saw, Nathan lifted the blanket covering the Texan's chest, sending a shiver down his narrow frame from the cooler night air. The healer quickly but thoroughly checked the bandages wrapped around Tanner's ribs and shoulder before replacing the blanket.

"You with us yet?"

It took Vin a few moments to decide how to answer Nathan's question until he choose to whisper. Chris, drawn by the hissed reply, finally turned to look at his friend. Tanner had an unhindered view of the anger that washed over Larabee's face as the gunfighter took in the bruises and cuts covering the tracker.

"I don't think I need to tell you that you're gonna be aching something fierce for the next couple of days," Nathan whispered, keeping his voice soft. It was only when Vin let out a soft chuff of laughter that the healer smiled, a small sad sort of smile.

"Don't reckon you do, doc."

Larabee watched as Tanner stretched slowly, discovering for himself exactly what hurt and how much. Jackson also studied Vin as he shifted position to get comfortable, his eyes trained for any hurts he might have missed. The small movements had cost the young man more than he let on, a headache developing between his eyes the longer he fought the urge to sleep.

But before he could slip back into a doze, he had to tell Larabee, everything. Vin's simple "Nate," was more than enough to tell the healer that he needed a moment with Chris. The tall black man nodded and moved away, close enough to reach Tanner if the tracker needed him, but far away enough to stay out of earshot.

The Texan took a moment to collect himself, staring at the heavens again. Larabee had also returned to what he'd been doing earlier, glaring at Josiah. Drawing in as deep a breath as he could manage, Vin sighed, the words escaping his lips, the bottom one split from the fight. "Temple's married to Josiah's sister."

Larabee's unconscious flexing of his fist stopped as the gunslinger heard Vin's words. Instead of relaxing, the bony knuckles of Chris' right hand turned white and the gunfighter growled, "That ain't an excuse!"

"Sometimes powerful emotions can move a man to do things he regrets later," Vin said, his eyes watching as those white knuckles grew whiter and the bones in Chris' hand jumped out in stark relief to his flesh.

"Still ain't right."

"Nope, don't reckon so." Larabee finally turned to meet Vin's eyes only to find that his friend had fallen asleep again, his face relaxing from the hard angles the pain had drawn across his cheekbones. It hadn't only been his face that Josiah had punished; Vin had his own set of broken ribs to match Ezra's. With almost his entire chest and abdomen bruised, Vin would have difficulty breathing for a couple of days. Hefner had managed to add his own set of bruises to Tanner's legs and arms but judging by how gingerly the outlaw was moving the Texan had left more than a few marks of his own.

Alone with his thoughts, Chris groaned and rubbed his face vigorously, still humming with anger. After his brief order to Sanchez, Larabee had avoided the preacher to the point of actually refusing to even look at him. That is until he had sat down next to Vin and his gaze had been drawn to the shadowy profile of Josiah standing guard over Hefner and Temple. Larabee didn't think he could say more than two words to Sanchez without fighting the urge to lay into him and the gunfighter didn't think he'd try that hard to restrain himself. Judging by the guilty glances Josiah kept shooting in Vin and Chris' direction, Larabee half hoped that he would let him beat him to a pulp in recompense. Knowing the peculiar preacher, he probably would.

Larabee's unresolved anger didn't change the fact though that he still needed to find out exactly what had happened today. How JD had happen to ride in with bank robbers hot on his trail, what in the hell Helena had been doing outside of town and why Josiah had decided to follow them anyway?

Quickly checking that Vin was still sleeping, Chris stood, a blacker piece of night against the starry horizon. JD had taken over Casey's guard of the Don and the pair of bank robbers. The young lady was helping Wilmington prepare an evening meal, the smooth scoundrel making her laugh with his antics around the campfire.

Both of them had kept their merriment to a low key, aware that not everyone at the camp shared their sense of relief. Casey was relieved to the point of giddiness that she was back amongst friends and able to relax enough to smile with genuine affection for the Seven. There was nothing else on this earth quite like being amongst the Seven, their vitality and joy in life was infectious. Not to mention that Casey knew she had nothing to fear while she was with them. Even though relations were still very tense around the camp, especially amongst the Seven themselves, the young lady couldn't help but feel safer and happier when with them. Buck, ever the optimist, had gladly joined in Casey's high spirits, absolutely certain within himself that despite the rift between Josiah and Chris, everything would work itself out. It always did.

Ezra was resting near Helena, both of them wrapped in blankets. The gambler was dead to the world; he had fallen asleep the moment Nathan had finished wrapping his ribs. Miss Demarco though was wide-awake, her watchful eyes keeping tabs on everyone in the camp, well everyone except Don Diego. While the Mexican Don was not even looking in Helena's general direction, his eyes downcast constantly, the young woman kept her gaze away from him.

Under Josiah's distracted care sat Dirk Hefner and Charles Temple. Neither of friends had spoken a word to the other, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. Charles, his face a mess of bruises, his head still ringing from Sanchez's punches, was simmering with fury. After years of searching for Hannah, the key to her location was standing above him. Judging from Dirk's lack of surprise at seeing Sanchez, Temple was certain that his friend had known his brother-in-law was in the area. Furious with his partner, frustrated by the situation he found himself in, Charles mirrored the same anger that radiated from Larabee. He really wanted to hit somebody, preferably Josiah, but Dirk would do.

As Nathan bent over Vin on the opposite side of the camp, Charles grated out harshly, "You satisfied with your handiwork, Sanchez?" Josiah didn't react to the taunt, his face remaining an impassive mask, but Temple wasn't done. "You always thought you knew better than everybody else. Never considered that maybe you were wrong, didn't see the whole picture. Just like your old man never did!" Unable to stop himself, Josiah turned to glare at his brother-in-law, silently demanding that he shut up.

Grinning nastily at Sanchez's grimace, Charles continued, "You've been wrong about nearly everything, Josiah, Hannah and me, what we meant to each other."

The rifle in Josiah's hands snapped as he primed it, the long barrel drifting over to point at Charles. "Shut up. You have no idea what you are talking about," Josiah growled, anger tempering every word.

"What are you going to do, Sanchez, that you haven't already done? Beat me up? You've done that a few times already and I'm still here! Chase me off? No way am I ever leaving again! Kill me? You killed whatever hope I had in the future when you hid Hannah. You might as well finish the job you started and end my life!"

Charles wisely made no sudden moves, giving Josiah no excuse to fire at him. For years Temple had written off ever having the kind of life that did not involve crime or scheming. He had resigned himself to an existence without love or passion. He had become a notorious outlaw, the friend of Dirk Hefner, a wanted man. He was good at what he did, it had become both his purpose and his curse. There was no going back now. Faced with Josiah, the man who had stolen his future, now resurrected all those old feelings and desires. Hannah's father may have reduced her to the broken shell of a woman he had seen briefly, but Charles placed just as much blame on Josiah.

Josiah blamed Charles equally, both men torn by what had happened. Sanchez, however, was a different man than the one he had been then - young and angry, still fighting his own demons. But now, older and wiser, even though he didn't always act it, the preacher found himself faced with an unexpected quandary. As Charles' words cut into his soul, Josiah felt another surge of guilt. He briefly thought that maybe it was just a remnant of his guilt over Vin but he couldn't deny the sinking feeling growing in his belly.

Had he made the right decision all those years ago?

Dirk was studying both men, his expression not giving anything away. Hefner had always known that his friend harboured enormous resentment for Josiah Sanchez, he had just never realized how deep it was. From the brief flicker of uncertainty in Josiah's eyes, maybe Sanchez had never realized it either.

Hesitantly, with less anger in his voice, Josiah rumbled, "I did what was best for Hannah."

"No, you did what was best for you… what suited you!" Charles shouted, no longer caring about the gun in Josiah's hands. He lurched to his feet, his face red with anger. "I loved her, damnit, and you kept her for me! We would have been happy! It would have worked out. She would have got better! But you locked her away like an animal!"

Dirk fully expected Josiah to explode, to charge in and rip Temple's head off. It seemed Charles expected the same because he visibly braced himself to meet Josiah's attack.

A strange thing had occurred though. For a moment, while Charles was mouthing off, Josiah saw a tall handsome man, with a broken but sincere heart in the place of the conman he had always believed Temple to be. Sanchez looked over his shoulder at the blanket-covered form of Ezra Standish. The gambler had taught Josiah long ago that it was a mistake to judge a book by appearances. The Southerner hid a kind and gentle heart, one that craved affection and reassurance.

Looking back at Charles, Josiah could still see that broken heart. Years of anger and violence, had deprived him of happiness. The cold, calculating image he had always cultivated of Temple shattered as Josiah saw this new side, the side that Hannah had seen and loved. Seeing for the first time what his own friends must see every time he went on an anger-induced rage, fuelled by shattered illusions and disappointment. Josiah felt the well of rage inside him dry up. It changed nothing, this destructive fury raging inside, it only hurt those who dared try and help you, like Vin. Sanchez didn't need to look at the sleeping tracker to feel the weight of that guilt. For the first time in years, Josiah let go of his anger and tried a different path.

The sad sigh that emerged from Sanchez caught Charles off guard, but that was nothing compared to what happened next. "Charles, I apologise for my behaviour, I should never have acted this way. I'm afraid we both hold part of the blame for Hannah." Temple opened his mouth to scream his denial but the preacher's soft voice that so often had soothed a troubled soul, continued, "You left her, Charles, left her to my… our father and she paid a terrible price. We both abandoned her. And it is something I will regret for the rest of my life."

Stunned, the blond outlaw stared at Josiah, unable to believe what he was hearing. "I place the largest portion of blame on my father, but everyone involved carries their own share, including Hannah. She didn't deserve what happened, but it did, and no matter how guilty you feel about it, where she is, is best for her."

Temple snarled loudly, "It was not your decision to make! I'm her husband for heaven's sake!"

"And you were not there!" Josiah shouted in return, and immediately regretted his outburst. "It cannot be any other way. The mission is all she knows now."

Temple ignored the small offering Sanchez had made, telling him about where Hannah was. The tired, heart-broken words that Charles uttered tore at Josiah, "You never let me try. You never gave us a chance."

A darker presence behind him drew Josiah's attention and the big man turned to see Chris Larabee. The cool look the gunslinger directed at Sanchez told him that Chris had been standing there long enough to have heard most of the conversation. Well, most of the camp had probably heard parts of the argument. Larabee's invitation to join the campfire was a mere nod of his head and then the black-clad man was stalking away.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Spilling the proverbial beans

The evening meal was over and all seven regulators were collected around the campfire. All five prisoners were seated together under the watchful eye of Casey. It was only a temporary measure while the men quickly caught up on the events of the last couple of days.

"You robbed the bank?"

Buck's face was comical, his jaw hanging open, his eyes wide. JD squirmed next to the ladies man, his face beet red. Ezra was half-reclining on the other side of JD, resting on his saddle. The gambler couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice as he drawled quietly, "You had best close your mouth, Mr. Wilmington, lest an errant nocturnal insect decides to investigate its nesting potential and mistakes your epiglottis for a tidy morsel of sustenance."

Buck shut his mouth momentarily before he retorted, "Any of you ever notice that Ezra gets windier when he's hurt?"

"Thought I smelled something funny," came Vin's voice from the pile of blankets next to Buck. The tracker had insisted on joining the boys around the campfire and Nathan had acquiesced, on condition that Tanner did not get agitated and cause himself any more harm. Vin's reply had been a dry smile and, the moment the healer had deposited the injured man next to Buck, he had curled up in some blankets and for all appearances gone to sleep. Until now, there had not been a sound from him and only Chris knew Vin had been listening to JD's story.

"Very amusing Mr. Tanner, I would present an argument in defence of my good name but I, however, unlike your good self, am not in the position of laying directly in the line of fire from Mr. Wilmington's posterior."

A shaky hand snaked up out of the blankets and Vin's pain-filled voice replied, "Ya got a point, Ez. Help me up, Cowboy."

"Hey!"

Not even Chris could keep a smile off his face as he helped the Texan sit up, but the smile didn't last long as Vin's battered face became visible. The light atmosphere amongst the friends died as the real reason for their impromptu council was remembered. Josiah, sitting as far from the fire as possible, made no effort to quash the guilt that rose.

Never one to dance around an issue, Larabee struck at the heart of the matter. "I'm pretty damned sure that Josiah needs to do some explaining. Now."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as everyone looked at Sanchez. Josiah didn't mince any words as he explained, keeping his sentences concise and to the point. He told them how he had made Vin promise not to tell anyone about Hannah or Temple. And when Hefner and Temple had arrived in Four Corners, it had been Charles that Josiah wanted to pursue, not Hefner.

Chris' face was positively thunderous as Sanchez accounted his belief that Vin would let Temple go if forced to choose, in light of the tracker's own history with Dirk. Josiah struggled to find the words to describe what had happened during the fight.

"I wasn't seeing anything but red by then. I know it is no excuse but when I saw Vin attacking Hefner and letting Temple escape I thought… I … "

"You thought you'd beat him senseless!" Chris snapped, his voice an angry growl. The gunslinger wasn't prepared to hear Josiah mutter, "Yes. Yes I just wanted to pound him into the ground."

The preacher looked up at Tanner, meeting his eyes for the first time since the fight. "I am truly sorry, Vin. I have no excuse good enough to justify what I did. You did not betray my trust… only I did."

About to open his mouth to ream Josiah, Chris felt a callused hand brush his leg and the gunfighter swallowed his words. "I've been accused of a lot of things in my life, Sanchez, and most of them were true. But this ain't one of them. I ain't saying I had you or my promise foremost in my mind this afternoon but I sure as hell didn't betray no one."

Vin paused briefly to catch his breath, Wilmington wincing at the obvious effort it was taking for Tanner to speak. "I reckon I got plenty a reason to be sore at you preacher-man and things might be off between us fer awhile. But a man makes mistakes and in the middle of a fight, even the best of promises can be put aside. Things happen, and we pay the consequences. I reckon you're beating yourself up almost badly as you did me."

The long speech had cost Tanner dearly and an uneasy silence hung over the group as they waited for him to catch his breath. Fighting the urge to cough and aggravate his ribs, Vin sighed, "Damn, that hurts. So here it is, preacher." The Texan's blue eyes bored into Josiah, his words slipping out a soft sigh, "I figure you owe me big, pard. And I aim to collect. Big time." An impish grin broke across Vin's face as he finished, near laughter colouring his voice, "I'm thinking never havin' to buy a drink for the rest of my life."

JD and Ezra couldn't help but smile, while Nathan hid his grin behind his hand. Buck openly laughed, slapping his knee in glee. Chris looked like he half wanted to deck Vin and Josiah, his own anger not so easily dismissed. Josiah shook his head though, completely baffled at the ability to forgive some people had, if only he could do the same. "Vin, I owe you more than a life-time's worth of drinks, and I do intend to make this up to you… friend."

Serious again, Tanner said, "I'll hold you to that, Josiah." The preacher nodded and the issue was dropped, although Larabee still looked furious.

Buck Wilmington, now that the air been cleared, blurted out, "You robbed the bank?"

JD went bright red again but managed to retort with, "At least I didn't kiss Inez!"

His eyes wide, nodding in agreement, the ladies man laughed, "That's right, you didn't. Ez?"

"Not right now, my obsessive friend. I am a little indisposed."

Helena, who had been sitting between Josiah and Ezra all this time, remaining remarkably quiet, said, "I did not know you liked my cousin, Senor Standish."

"Now, I …" but Ezra got no further as Buck interrupted, loudly exclaiming, "Ah ha! So you do like her!"

Sighing dramatically, more than willing to join in with Buck's efforts to alleviate the tension, Ezra said, "I never denied liking Miss Recillios. On the contrary, I find Inez's company both stimulating and desirable. And unlike you, my dear Mr. Wilmington, she does not greet me by upending a beer on my head each time I enter the saloon."

JD chuckled at that and Buck swatted the kid with his hat, "Yeah, well you bunch still have to explain that piece of filth over there!" Wilmington indicated towards Don Diego, who was pretending to be sleeping. Standish, ever willing to regale his own adventures, immediately launched into a detailed account of 'the con'. Chris added a few corrections to the story but otherwise let the gambler run his course, as happy as a pig in mud, using bigger and bigger words until JD started getting a bemused expression on his face. "Wait, wait Ez, what's a curmudgeon?"

"A curmudgeon, JD, is a killjoy, a wet blanket."

"So kinda like Chris then?" Vin drawled. He had lain down again during Ezra's little speech and so the others could only hear the smile in his voice.

Standish, smiling at the glare sent Tanner's way, said, "I hesitate to agree with you, Mr. Tanner, for I fear you may be correct." The Larabee glare directed at the gambler could have drawn blood and Ezra chuffed, "But in the interest of my continued health, poor though it may be, I digress. After paying my fortunate accomplices, I rejoined Messieurs Tanner and Larabee."

Ezra deftly avoided any mention of Vin's attraction to Helena, since it was only speculation, but deftly wove a tale of Vin's rescue of Miss Demarco with the lady in question adding the occasional comment. Vin, characteristically, remained silent, his thoughts elsewhere. Josiah too was only half paying attention to Ezra and Helena, his mind focused more on the sulking figure of Charles than anything else.

"… which lead the grateful Miss Recillios to bestow her thanks on my willing lips."

"Ah ha! So she was only thanking you!" the ladies man jumped in, practically crowing in delight.

"Did I not just say so, my rambunctious friend?"

Wilmington was rubbing his hands together in glee, and wagged his eyebrows at Ezra as he said, "Where there's a glimmer of hope, there's a chance for Buck Wilmington!"

Nathan, sipping at his coffee, asked, "Whacha talking about, Buck?"

The scoundrel's smile was all teeth, and he purred, "Iffen Inez can thank a homely guy like Ez with a kiss, jist imagine what kind of a thank you is waiting for a handsome devil like me!"

Guffaws of laughter echoed around the campfire, dispelling the last of the tension. Even Josiah and Chris smiled at Buck's tenacity in the face of Inez's continued rejection. Standish took the insult in good grace, content in the knowledge that the fiery bartender had actually kissed him, while Wilmington was still trying. A shaky hand snaked up from Vin, about to make a point, and the ladies man whined, "Ah hell, Tanner, jist let it lie for once, will you!"

Only Chris and Buck heard the soft chuckle from Tanner and JD had to grin at Wilmington's pleased smile.

"I will rest on the laurels of my success until such time as Inez takes a shotgun to you and I can happily grow old with the knowledge that I am the sole beneficiary of her lips," the gambler sighed, patting his dusty chest softly.

The banter around the fire continued for a few minutes before those assigned to keep watch and guard prisoners took up their duty. The five prisoners found themselves under Larabee's stern eye while JD took first watch.

The night slipped away, the stars overhead racing across the heavens, the small tell-tale smoke from the fire rising up into the night air, a lone signal in the wilderness.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

A leopard and its spots


The early morning sun was bright and hot; it was going to be another scorching summer day. During his various shifts and turns of a restless sleep, Ezra's hat had fallen at an angle allowing the newly risen sun beams to pierce the inner depths of the gambler's darkened slumber. As the light and heat grew too much to bear, Standish rumbled into awareness and sat up with a groan that was partly misery from waking up so early and the rest pain from forgetting his broken ribs.

"Aww hell…"

Behind the pounding now beating inside his skull, Ezra realized that someone was shouting. Listening attentively, trying to sort out the muffled words, Standish realized it was Chris that was shouting, at JD and … Buck?

"… just let her walk out …"

"… she needed to go to the privy and I wasn't about to …"

"… you damn well don't need a horse to go to the privy …"

"… maybe she just …"

Finally opening his eyes and immediately regretting it, the Southerner groaned again as the sunrays pierced his skull. Squinting, his eyes peered in the direction of the voices. The gambler could vaguely make out the shapes of Larabee, Wilmington and Dunne. JD was practically hiding behind Buck, his eyes darting nervously between the gunslinger and his oldest friend.

"And you didn't think it was strange that she didn't come back after a few minutes?" Chris snapped at Buck.

"Shoot, Chris, that's when we changed watch. JD took over and I plumb forgot to tell the kid that Helena was still out there."

"Forgot?"

As the camp came into focus for the disoriented Southerner, he finally could make out Josiah standing guard, Nathan hovering over Tanner, who was still flat on his back, and the arguing trio. No Miss Demarco in sight.

"Have we actually ascertained that the lady in question left of her own volition?" The slightly rougher drawl than usual interrupted the escalating conflict and Larabee turned to see a dishevelled Standish owlishly blinking up at him.

"Vin checked out the trail as far as he could. She headed straight through the canyon."

"Ah, " Ezra grunted. Considering that the sun was still low on the horizon, the news that Helena had disappeared was old. Realizing the debate was probably on whether to go after the troublesome lady or not, Standish sank back onto his bedroll and listened to the argument continue.

"We gotta go after her, Chris. Who knows what sorta trouble she'll run into!" Wilmington said loudly.

"Seems to be that she causes more trouble than anything else. She chose to leave, let her!"

"But, Chris, "JD said, "what about Inez? We can't just leave her cousin out here alone."

Standing up from his crouched position next to Vin, Nathan mused aloud, "She don't seem too keen tah stay with us. She's already left town and this ain't the first time she's tried to put some distance between her and us."

"Yeah, and last time Tanner had to rescue her from the Don! And Turner!" the handsome scoundrel pointed out, his moustache dancing a merry jig in his agitation. "We can't jist leave her!"

Silent so far, Josiah offered his piece of input, "I think she wants to be somewhere… and it ain't here."

"Don't make no difference, Josiah. It ain't safe for a lady to be riding out here on her own, especially so near to the Mexican border."

Buck would have continued but Chris cut him off, "I don't like leaving her out there either, but I need all able bodies here and now to bring the prisoners in. If you two ride out, we going to be short-handed." Larabee glanced at the sullen forms of Hefner and Temple. "I'm not willing to take that risk."

"But…"

"Ain't no buts about it, kid. We leave now and get to Four Corners. Then you two can go and try find her if you want." Chris' statement left no room for argument; the decision was made. Since no one else seemed inclined to continue the debate, Buck and JD subsided and continued to break camp.

Laying on his back, watching the sky lighten, Ezra wondered on Vin's silence. The tracker had attempted to follow her trail, had he done it of his own accord? While Standish knew that Vin could keep his feelings well hidden, especially on matters of the heart, he had thought that the Texan was attracted to Helena. The attraction had seemed mutual. Surely if there was a vested interest, the tracker would push to follow Helena, even offer to do it himself, despite being injured. It seemed even less like Tanner to actually let a young woman wander a territory notorious for its danger, especially one he apparently liked.

As much as his infrequent words were insightful and intelligent, when Vin chose not to speak, his silence spoke volumes. Ezra had no idea what Tanner's silence meant this time.

Larabee, who had disappeared momentarily, returned to the camp. He strode directly to the prisoners and stopped in front of the Don. The black-clad gunslinger thrust a battered piece of paper at Diego and said, "Here's your deed. Pulled it off of Turner. Take it and get out of here."

Slowly Don Diego stood, and snatched the deed from Chris' hand. Diego's eyes were hard and unforgiving. He snarled angrily at Larabee in Spanish, grabbed his few possessions, mounted up on his horse and rode out of the camp without looking back.

"What the hell did you do that for, Chris?" Buck shouted, "What if he finds Helena again?"

"He won't." The dry Texan drawl was barely audible.

"How can you be so sure?" the ladies man demanded of Vin. Ignoring Buck, Tanner sat up slowly and asked Chris, "You get what he said?"

"Most of it."

Translating for the others, the ex-bounty hunter said, "Diego told Chris he blames us for everything. Doesn't care about Helena no more. Told Chris to watch his back, that he shoulda killed him when he had the chance."

"Well that's just terrific, purely marvellous. Another crazed villain gunning for us. Fantastic." Ezra had managed to find a clean shirt and was buttoning it up, the bandages around his ribs matching the pristine white of the shirt.

No one argued that Larabee should have killed Don Diego. The man had been wronged, by both Helena and Turner and, while the Seven had played a part in their scheme, there was nothing they could do to remove any blame that the Mexican laid at their feet. What was done was done.

"We only got his word that he ain't going to trail Helena," JD pointed out, still keen to follow the missing lady.

Larabee glared at the kid for bringing up the argument again, and Dunne subsided. Nothing had changed; they still needed to get their prisoners back to Four Corners. Sighing softly, JD got back to work.

*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Home Again


Mary and Inez watched the group of riders approaching, both women able to pick out distinct members of the Seven. Unable to suppress the feeling of relief that swept over her at the sight of the all the regulators returning, Mary smiled at Inez.

"What do you think JD's story is going to be?" No question in Mrs. Travis' mind that JD was innocent of any wrong doing, the blonde reporter was more eager to hear the story behind his caper yesterday. Quite a few of the citizens of Four Corners stopped to watch their protectors return, their own sense of relief evident.

As JD and Buck rode into town, ahead of the rest of the group, Harry Conklin bustled forward, opened his mouth to demand that Wilmington arrest Dunne, when Buck exclaimed, "It sure is good to be back home, kid. Whadaya think, slam these idiot bank robbers in the jail and head to the saloon?" The ladies man said this loud enough for anyone in Eagle Bend to hear, but Conklin would not be dissuaded. He tried again, opened his mouth and this time JD beat him to it. Shouting just as loudly, the kid bellowed, "Do you think folks'll understand I rode with them bank robbers only to catch 'em?"

Slapping JD on the back soundly, Buck yelled, "Sure, kid! Anyone who'd think you were stupid enough to rob your own bank, must have mush fer brains!" Wilmington directed the last part right at Conklin, who flushed and hurried away, his tail between his legs.

A few spectators smiled at the vocal duo, who continued an ear-shattering conversation down the street with Dempsey and Swanson in tow. Chris and Josiah followed with Hefner and Temple behind them, neither of the regulators concerned by the whispers that their passage generated.

Nathan made a beeline for his room above the livery, Ezra and Vin in tow. It had been a long ride and both injured men were looking forward to getting out of the saddle. Standish would have preferred to head straight to his own room, and Vin to his wagon, but the healer had his own ideas.

Once the prisoners were safely stowed away, and Josiah left to watch them, Chris walked over to Mary and Inez, who were still waiting by the Clarion.

"Ladies," Chris muttered and tipped his hat to the pair of them. Mary gave him a semi-cool look, not yet prepared to forget their argument. The object of the gunslinger's attention was Inez though, and not the widow. "You know that Helena left town?"

"Si, Senor Larabee. I realized yesterday and I think my cousin is hiding something. She is not the same person I once knew."

"We ran into her and a Mexican fella near Beggars Canyon. He was bringing her to Don Diego. She left camp early this morning, before sunrise, headed south to Mexico."

Inez nodded, sorrow colouring her features. "From the beginning Helena has been trying to go her own way. I think that it is best that we let her. She makes her own decisions, she can pay the price."

Chris nodded, knowing how hard it must have been for Inez to admit that. Trying to protect your family, even from themselves, was a hard habit to break. Since her cousin was determined to keep her secrets and play things her own way, it would be better for everyone if Helena stayed away.

Nodding in agreement, Larabee tipped his hat again and walked his horse to the livery, leaving the two women behind.


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

Three weeks later, Gulch Junction

Full Circle of Regrets

Dirk Hefner was dead.

The boy-pirate turned American-outlaw had been tried, found guilty for his crimes and executed. Miles from the rivers of his youth, years from the innocence that briefly flared in the shadowed depths of the Amazon, Hefner ended his notorious career at the end of a rope.

Since being captured by Larabee, Dirk had spoken no more than two words to anyone. Those two words had been shouted at the judge when he was pronounced guilty. The few ladies present at the court at been horrified by his vulgar language, their bird-like chatter rude enough to garner a fierce glare from the outlaw.

Charles Temple had also been found guilty, and was due to be executed immediately after Hefner. With Dirk's body being cut down, the blonde man was led from the jailhouse and marched to the scaffold.

In the crowd gathered to watch his hanging, stood Josiah and Vin. Both men had reason to see justice done, Tanner for a crime that he still bore the scars of and Sanchez for the crime that he and his brother-in-law shared, failing Hannah.

Josiah had tried to talk to Temple during his trial, tried to reach an understanding between the two men. But, with the noose hanging over his head, Charles had not been prepared to forgive or forget. His final angry words to Josiah, before refusing to say another word, had been, "My blood is on your hands, Sanchez, and so is Hannah's!"

Tanner had kept a low profile in Gulch Junction, but the likelihood of anyone recognizing him was slim. As the sheriff led Temple up the scaffold, Vin felt Josiah stiffen next to him.

"Come on, Preacher; we don't gotta watch this."

Shaking his head, Sanchez sighed, "Yes, I do. I owe him this."

When it was over, the last twitch played out and the deputies moving to cut Charles Temple's body down, only then did Josiah tear his eyes away from the scene. Tanner was gone, no longer standing next to him and the preacher hadn't even heard him leave.

Turning to look over his shoulder, Josiah saw Vin astride his horse, Josiah's next to him, waiting for Sanchez. Walking towards the waiting Texan, Josiah knew that that hanging had been too close for comfort for the wanted man, the scaffold still a possible future.

As the pair rode out of town, Sanchez uneasily silent, difficult thoughts running through his head. Tanner quietly broke the silence by saying, "It ain't easy leaving things in a hard way with a body. But I reckon we don't get neatly wrapped happy endings in life."

Josiah looked up at Vin, his blue eyes meeting the Texan's, "More often than not, life leaves you with a tangled mess of knots that you have no hope of ever unravelling. And no matter how hard you try, what's done is done."

With that, the pair turned onto the trail home, both men filled with thoughts of what might have been and what was.


*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*

The end


Rhicy would love to hear from you! Tell us what you thought of the ep or the season!