A Test of Faith

Chris Larabee looked across at his riding companion, a man he'd always found difficult to read and knew very little about. Josiah Sanchez was the oldest peacekeeper in their group of seven. What little they knew of the man came from bits and pieces he let slip when he opened up. Chris knew that Josiah had been a preacher at some point and that something had happened to cause his loss of faith, or perhaps it was more a matter of questioning Gods actions. He smiled as he thought of the older man's use of biblical quotes, some so profound it made his own head spin. He rode slightly ahead and to the left of the bigger man and sometimes caught sight of a deep sadness on his friend's face.

Josiah could feel the gunslinger's gaze on him, but didn't say anything. This was the third day of their journey to the small town of Quemado on the opposite side of Devil's Den Canyon. Josiah briefly wondered why they'd called it a canyon when it was more like a small mountain range. They'd be reaching Quemado late in the afternoon and he looked forward to a hot meal and a soft bed before they picked up the gold shipment and headed back for Four Corners. Josiah knew it wasn't gold they'd be transporting but paper money and he knew Chris wanted to keep a low profile. The last telegram they had received from the Sheriff in Quemado stated some members of Nelson's gang were seen in the area. Larabee knew Nelson and had told the others to be on the lookout for him or any other strangers coming into Four Corners. He kept his eyes forward as the gunslinger turned away from him.

Chris let his mind wonder back a few days, replaying his conversation with Circuit Judge Orrin Travis. The man had asked them to protect the shipment for the army and bring it safely through the mountains. Two earlier shipments had been hijacked and the twelve soldiers assigned to escort the second had died in their attempts to protect it, their bodies left to decay in the blistering sun. At the request of the Army Chris was undertaking the same task, but keeping it low profile. He reached for his canteen and sipped at the tepid liquid. His thoughts turned towards the end of this part of their journey — Quemado, a small town that harboured more bad element than Four Corners ever had. They'd gone through six sheriff's in two years until Eli Mercer took the job a little over six months ago. The town seemed to be coming into its own, much the same as Four Corners was doing under the watchful eye of the seven peacekeepers hired by Judge Travis.

Chris knew his life had changed that fateful day when a stray bullet shattered the top half of the whiskey bottle in his hand. He courted death in those days, not caring whether he lived or died. His heart stayed hardened to the people around him until six men joined him in an effort to save a Seminole village. That day was etched forever in his mind as the day when his life became his once more. It didn't belong to empty whiskey bottles or misguided gunfights anymore. It belonged to the family the group of seven formed that day. He sighed heavily and continued to pace the horse and rider beside him.

His mind slowly turned to the image of a pretty blond newspaperwoman. From the moment they'd met he knew she could be a force to be reckoned with. The deep blue eyes, the blond hair pulled back in a tight bun. If someone had told him that day that he'd have feelings for the 'cold woman' he would've laughed. Now, when he thought of her a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. Mary Travis and her son, Billy, were now an integral part of his life.

"Chris."

Larabee turned to his companion as the soft baritone voice broke through his thoughts. "Something wrong, Josiah?"

"Nothing a little break won't fix. Why don't we stop and enjoy the splendor of the mountains? The Lord gave us eyes to see with and a mouth to eat with and right now my stomach is telling my mouth it's time to eat."

Larabee smiled at the older man's words, feeling his own stomach grumble in anticipation of food. He knew they'd be having jerky and cold biscuits, but at least it was something. "Then I guess we stop here," he said.

"My stomach and I thank you Brother," the ex-preacher said as he slid from Dulcinea. It wasn't long before a fire was made and hot coffee was brewing. The two men sat in companionable silence, enjoying the crisp air of the mountain pass.

Mary Travis stood in front of the saloon, her long blond hair neatly braided down her back as she talked with Vin Tanner and Nathan Jackson. She knew Chris Larabee and Josiah Sanchez had left Four Corners three days before after speaking with her father in law. She also knew the reason for the hasty trip and knew it was being kept hushed up in order to keep the two men safe. Normally Vin would have been the one to accompany Chris, but he was still recovering from injuries sustained in a hold up the week before. He and JD Dunne were both staying close to home for another week. Buck Wilmington was busy; Mary felt the blush come to her cheeks as she thought of just what the ladies' man was busy with. She turned her head towards the window where he would be spending his afternoon with Blossom. The last member of the seven was Ezra Standish, and she knew he'd just be rising. The man stayed up till all hours of the night and slept through most of the day, yet he could be counted on as much as any other man in the group.

"Mary?" Jackson called for the second time.

"Sorry, Nathan," she apologized; turning back to the two men as she realized he'd asked her a question. "What did you say?"

"Any word from the Judge?" the healer asked.

"Not since he left. The Army is supposed to be here in a week to pick up the shipment from Chris and Josiah, but I still think there's something suspicious in the way it's being handled."

"Ya don't gotta convince me of that," Tanner said. His insides twisted as he thought about the reasons behind sending two men to pick up more than ten thousand dollars. Sure, they'd be less suspect than a contingent of soldiers, but if word ever reached Nelson's gang, or any other for that matter, Larabee and Sanchez would be sitting ducks.

"Chris should never have agreed to do this," Jackson stated simply.

"He didn't have much choice, Nate. Between Judge Travis and the Army it seemed like more than a request."

"Yeah, well, request or not I got a bad feeling about this whole thing," the healer said.

"You and me both, Nate. Mary, let us know if any strangers show up askin' about Chris or Josiah."

"I will, Vin. I'll see you both later," she said as she walked back towards the Clarion newspaper.

"Do you think that cover story will hold up?" Jackson asked the sharpshooter. It was a simple one. According to the peacekeepers who remained in town Chris Larabee was accompanying Josiah Sanchez to Vista City at the request of the nuns looking after his sister, Hannah. They knew this was still a sore point with the ex-preacher, but he seemed more willing to talk about it than before.

"I don't know, Nathan. Seems ta me folks 'ave a way of finding out things. I jest 'ope no one finds out 'fore they get back 'ere."

"Well, there's just us, Judge Travis and Mary..."

"And the Army, and that Sheriff in Quemado," Tanner said and the two men lapsed into worried silence, both thinking of the last time the army came to Four Corners and the trouble they caused.

Sheriff Eli Mercer watched the two men riding towards him. The man in the long black duster with the flat brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes could be none other than Chris Larabee. He'd heard tales about the man, some bad, some good, and yet his instincts told him he could be trusted. His companion had to be Josiah Sanchez. There was no mistaking the larger man. Mercer had heard Sanchez make a sermon once and the memory would stick with him forever. The deep voice could deliver a message like no other he'd heard since. He wasn't a church going man himself, but if Sanchez was to give a sermon while he was here he just might be inclined to attend. He watched the horses and riders close the distance, small puffs of dirt being disturbed and sent into the air as the hoofs made contact with the ground. He set his nearly empty cup on the rail and stood up to greet the newcomers.

"Sheriff Mercer?" Larabee asked as he slid from Diablo's back. His eyes raked over the man, taking in the short dark hair and eyes, the clean-shaven face, the dust covered black shirt, and the blue jeans. The man was well muscled and Chris guessed his age to be somewhere near fifty. He had an air of trustworthiness to him, but Larabee would reserve that opinion until this job was completed.

"Yep. You must be Larabee and Sanchez?" He smiled as he held his hand out in an offer of friendship.

"How'd you know?" Sanchez asked curiously.

"Saw you give a sermon once. I never forget a man who speaks louder than his congregation and yet doesn't put the fear of God into them."

Sanchez's blue eyes narrowed as he spoke. "That was a lifetime ago," he stated.

"Maybe it was, but it's still fresh in my mind as the day ya made it."

Chris saw the look come over Josiah's face and he knew the man was reliving something he didn't want too. "Sheriff, you know why we're here?"

Mercer turned to the green-eyed gunslinger and nodded once. He looked around at the deserted streets before speaking. "I just hope you know what you're getting into. The Army is taking a mighty big chance."

"Yeah, well, the Army's always taking chances," Larabee stated. "There a place we can get something to eat and spend the night?"

"Well, there's a fancy hotel at the end of the street or if it's more to you're liking there's Mrs. Tucker's boarding house. It may not be the fanciest place, but that woman can sure make a fine meal," Mercer answered. "When are you fellas planning on heading back?"

"As soon as we're done with our business in the morning," Larabee answered. "Figure the less time we spend here the less chance of people finding out why we're here."

"Yeah, the faster that money's outta this town the better I'll sleep at night," the sheriff told them.

Larabee let a thin smile appear on his face. This was something most lawmen had in common. Money seemed to attract attention, large amounts seemed to attract trouble. "Where's Mrs. Tucker's?" he asked, knowing Sanchez would appreciate the boarding house and the promise of a home cooked meal as much as he would.

"That two story house across the street," Mercer answered. "You just tell her I sent you over and she'll take good care of you both."

"Thanks, Sheriff," Larabee said as he turned to the house in question. A neat row of picket fencing surrounded the tiny two-story building. Multi colored flowers grew on either side of the door. The front door had a plain glass window with two tiny lace curtains pulled back to let sunlight bathe the interior. He walked across the street and opened the tiny gate. He knew Sanchez was behind him and knew the reminder of his days as a preacher had affected the man more than he wanted to admit. He didn't question the older man about his feelings, knowing this was a private thing and if Josiah wanted to talk about it he would. For now, he wanted to check in, grab something to eat and head for whatever passed as a saloon in the tiny town.

Sanchez knocked on the door and the two men waited for an answer. The ex-preacher surveyed the rest of the buildings, noting some were beyond repair while others were showing signs of life once again. Flowers were blooming, curtains swung in the slight breeze, and the smell of freshly baked apple pie assaulted his weary senses. He turned back to the door as a young boy opened it.

"Can I help you, Mister?" he asked.

"Is your Ma at home?" Larabee asked, smiling at the kid who could be no more than eight or nine.

"She's gettin' supper ready."

"Can you tell her we'd like to talk to her? Tell her Sheriff Mercer sent us?" Sanchez asked.

The boy turned his head towards the interior of the house and shouted, "Ma, there's two men here wantin' to talk too ya! They say the sheriff sent them!"

"Bring them in the kitchen, Joey!" a female voice called.

"Come this way," the boy ordered and led them down a narrow hallway into a brightly lit kitchen.

A woman stood beside a cluttered stove, beads of sweat causing stray strands of auburn hair to stick to her plain face. The eyes were deep pools of green flecked with gold. Although the woman looked tired, her face was filled with a warmth that belied the hardship of existence in a small town. She wiped her hands in her apron and swiped at her hair before holding her hand out to the newcomers.

"Eli sent you?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," Larabee answered. "He told us you might have a couple of rooms available for the night."

"I got two rooms in the back. They're not much to look at but there's a bed, clean sheets and a fresh towel in each one. Will you be needin' supper or breakfast?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Sanchez answered.

"That'll be a dollar each for the rooms and another dollar for the two meals. Supper is served at seven sharp. Breakfast at six sharp. I run a pretty tight house," she informed them.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Larabee said as he handed her a couple of coins.

"My name's Betty Tucker and that's my boy Joey. He'll show you to your rooms."

"Chris Larabee," the blond introduced himself and tilted his head towards his companion. "He's Josiah Sanchez."

"Welcome to my home, Mr. Larabee, Mr. Sanchez."

Larabee nodded as a medium built man stepped from the hallway into the crowded kitchen. His brown hair was cropped short, his face was cleanly shaven, his clothes slightly dust covered, but what drew the gunslinger's attention was the cold brown eyes. The man stared at him, but dropped his gaze from Larabee's glare.

"Betty, is everything alright?" the newcomer asked as he glanced from Larabee to Sanchez and back to the woman.

"Everything's fine, Harvey. These gentlemen are gonna spend the night with us. Joey was just gonna show them to their rooms," she explained. "Chris Larabee, Josiah Sanchez, this is Harvey Marcus."

Larabee and Sanchez nodded at the man and turned to follow the woman's son from the hot kitchen.

Harvey Marcus watched the two men leave the room. Nelson had informed him at their last meeting that two men would be picking up the payroll and taking it to Four Corners. He wondered how Nelson got his information, smiling as he realized wherever it came from it hadn't failed them yet.

"Harvey, is something funny?" Betty asked.

Marcus shook himself from his thoughts and looked at the woman working over the stove. The last six months of staying with her and her brat was enough for him and once they had this final shipment he'd be leaving Quemado for good. He'd be glad to wipe the dust of this little hellhole off his body and leave the woman and child behind. The boy was okay, but the woman was developing feelings for him and he didn't want them. After this job he could get any woman he chose and didn't need to settle for the drab one standing before him.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something. Supper smells mighty fine, Betty. Is that stew?"

"It is, Harvey. I told you I'd make it for you," the woman explained.

"Larabee and Sanchez are in for a treat. Apple pie?"

"Of course." She smiled.

"They may never want to leave."

"Is that why you stayed? My baking and my stew?"

"At first, maybe, but you know how I feel about you," he said as he reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Harvey, supper's gonna burn," she said as she slid out of his grasp. Something about his touch made her feel cold and she wondered what it was that kept her from making a commitment to him.

"All right, Betty, I'll go bring in the water you asked for," Marcus said as he left the room. He missed the slight tremor that ran through the woman's body as his hands left her.

Chris hung his saddlebags over the back of the chair by the window. The room was tiny, barely enough room for him to turn around, but it was clean. It didn't have the musty odor he associated with a lot of boarding houses. He sat on the edge of the bed and stretched tight muscles. His shoulders ached and he knew a shot of whiskey would be just the thing to make him feel human again. A light knock at the door made him raise his head. It opened to reveal Josiah Sanchez with a broad smile no his face.

"The saloon has a bottle with your name on it, Brother," Sanchez informed him.

"Sounds like a plan, Josiah. I could use a belt or two." Chris stood up and followed the older man out the door. He closed his room, knowing there was nothing in there that would give away who they were or why they were in Quemado. He didn't trust Harvey Marcus and he'd long ago learned to trust his instincts.

As they passed the kitchen Josiah looked through the door and smiled at the woman. "We'll be back in plenty of time for supper, ma'am," he said.

"Seven sharp, Mr. Sanchez," she warned him, her smile belying the strength of the words.

Josiah had a feeling they'd be fed no matter what time they showed up, but he wasn't going to be late. The smell of the apple pie was enough to make his stomach grumble appreciatively. He winked at Larabee as he walked past him, knowing the other man was just as hungry for real food as he was. The two peacekeepers strode side by side towards the saloon at the opposite end of the well-worn street. Neither man saw the grinning form of Harvey Marcus leaning against the side of the boarding house.

Harvey Marcus put his two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. Two short and one long was the signal he used when coming into Nelson's camp. He knew the two lookouts posted high above him on a rocky ledge could cut him down before he made it through the narrow canyon. The signal would prevent that from happening and he dug his heels into his horse's and rode into the camp.

He slid from his mount and smiled at the man sitting beside the small cook fire. They'd been friends for ten years and trusted each other. Harvey knew he could count on Hiram Nelson to watch his back and he'd do the same for Nelson. He did have a problem with Nelson's gang, they didn't know him and he wasn't sure how far the eight men trusted him.

"So, did the men arrive?" Nelson asked as he handed the newcomer the bottle of whiskey.

"Sure did, Hiram," Marcus grinned as he took a long slug on the whiskey.

"Who are they?" Nelson enquired as he took back the bottle. The other members of the gang sat back and let the two men talk. They'd seen them together before and knew the friendship went deep. Harvey Nelson was their leader and if he wanted Marcus as part of their gang then they wouldn't argue. It just didn't pay to argue with the man who'd brought them together and made them a force to be reckoned with.

"Josiah Sanchez and Chris Larabee."

"Larabee!" Nelson exclaimed. He stood up, a smile spreading on his face.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Long time ago before I left Indiana. Before Larabee turned into a gunslinger."

"Gunslinger? Is he any good?"

"Probably the fastest I've ever seen. Met up with him once after his wife and son were killed. He was pretty reckless after they died. Thought for sure he'd be gunned down long before this. Wish I'd have gotten the chance to kill him then, but it wasn't to be. Heard tell he was helping keep the law in some little town south of here. Can't seem to recall the name."

"Four Corners," a grey haired man known simply as Curly said softly.

"That's the place. There's supposed to be seven of them and they cleaned that town up pretty damned good."

"Yeah, they did. Ran out the so called bad element according to the folks I talked to," Curly told them.

"Larabee must be gonna bring the shipment to Four Corners. Army's probably gonna meet up with them there. Do you know when they plan on leaving?"

"Sometime tomorrow I'd say. They took rooms at Betty's for one night."

Nelson smiled and the light caught the twinkle in his blue eyes. "How are things between you and Mrs. Tucker?"

Marcus leered at his friend, "I'll be glad to leave her and that boy. That woman ain't what I want. As soon as we get this money I'm gonna find me the first willin' woman..."

"Willing?"

"You know what I mean, Hiram. I can't wait to get out from under her apron strings."

"She is a mite plain. Just think, one more night and you can leave her and that kid of hers. Stick out the night and leave as soon as Larabee and Sanchez do. Follow them at a distance and we'll meet you a days ride south at the entrance to the Cauldron."

"Cauldron?"

"Yeah, you know it?"

"Yeah. That's the narrow pass that marks the halfway point."

"That's the place. Once you're sure Larabee and his friend are headed that way you get ahead of them and meet us there. We'll be waiting for them when they get there. Give them a little welcome they won't ever forget," Nelson laughed.

"I'll be there."

"You'd best get back before you're missed, Harvey. Just be careful and try to get away tomorrow without drawing attention to yourself."

"Already arranged. I told Betty I'd go hunting. I've done it before so she won't be suspicious."

"Least not until you don't turn up. See you in two days," Nelson told his friend. "be careful, Larabee's a suspicious man by nature."

"I'll stay out of his way till we meet at the cauldron," Marcus assured him as he mounted his horse and headed back to Quemado.

Buck Wilmington grinned as he joined the four men seated at the table at the back of the saloon. He'd spent the night with Blossom and didn't mind the lack of sleep at all. "Inez, darlin', have ya got any coffee left or have these boys cleaned ya out?"

Inez shook her head and picked up the pot of coffee and another cup. She made her way to the table and refilled the other men's cups before pouring the dregs into the new one. "Sorry, Senor, I seem to have run out." Her eyes sparkled as she placed the cup in front of the ladies' man. She turned and walked back to the bar, a smile on her face.

"She has your number, Buck," Jackson laughed as Wilmington distastefully shoved the cup away from him.

"You boys just wait and see," Wilmington smirked. "One of these days Inez will come to appreciate what I have to offer. Why, just last week a young lady..."

"Oh, please, Buck, it's too early in the morning to listen to the tales of your conquests," JD interrupted.

"Ez, you been teaching JD them five dollar words of yours?" the scoundrel asked.

"I assure you Mr. Dunne does not need me to teach him. Now you could use a few lessons in articulation."

"Art what?" Wilmington asked.

"Articulation. Conversation. Getting one's point across," Standish explained in a put upon voice.

"Why didn'tcha just say so? I can ar-tic-u-late with the best when I feel the need. But there's other ways of articulatin' things that don't need no words." The ladies' man grinned at the others, his eyes coming to rest on the tracker. He knew Tanner was worried about the two missing men. The man was an open book when it came to friendship, at least his close friendship with Chris Larabee. He knew Vin would've liked to have gone with Larabee, but Jackson had insisted he stay in town. The right arm in the sling was a constant reminder of the attempted robbery the week before. Although the injury was not serious, Jackson was taking no chances.

Buck's thoughts were interrupted by laughter from JD Dunne. He turned to the kid wondering what it was he'd missed. He was about to ask when Mary Travis entered the saloon and walked towards them. The look on her face told him she was worried and he stood with the rest of the men as she closed the distance.

"Somethin' wrong, Mary?" Tanner asked.

"I hope not, Vin. I just got a telegram from Orrin." She looked around the saloon and was glad to see they were the only ones present. It was imperative they keep Chris Larabee and Josiah Sanchez's true location quiet until the two men returned and the payroll was off their hands. The paper in her hands made her nervous and she knew these men had a right to know everything.

"Orrin got a message from Captain Lewiston..."

"He's the man who requested we insure the payroll makes it through. What did the good Captain have to say?" Standish asked, the question bathed in sarcasm. He'd met Lewiston once and did not think much of him.

"He told Orrin they found the traitor who was giving away the information about the payroll deliveries. This man was part of Captain Lewiston's division for the past eight years and wasn't even under suspicion until he was caught with a map of the route."

"Did they ascertain whether he was able to pass the information to his cohorts?" Standish asked.

"He still had the map on him when he was caught. Captain Lewiston thinks they found out his identity before he met up with whoever he was going to see," Mary explained. Her soft worried gaze met the blue eyes of the tracker. She didn't know what he was thinking, but she had her suspicions. To her way of thinking there was only one way to be sure, and that wouldn't happen until Chris and Josiah were home and the payroll was a thing of the past.

Tanner saw the worry etched on her face and drawled softly, "Chris and Josiah can handle themselves. They'll be fine, Mary."

"Yeah, they'll be able to handle the Nelson gang," Dunne said with the exuberance of youth.

"I hope you're right JD," Mary said as she left the men to their thoughts.

"Maybe we should send a telegram to Quemado and tell them what's happened," Jackson suggested.

"Won't do no good," Tanner replied.

"Why not?" Wilmington asked.

"Because according to Chris they were leaving to come back this morning. By the time the message gets through they'll have left," the sharpshooter told them

"Even so, should any of Nelson's gang be in the vicinity, at least the sheriff would be forewarned. He could be on the alert for anyone who appeared to be headed in the same direction as our compatriots," Standish said.

"Ezra's right, Vin. Least this way we'll know if anyone's on their trail," the healer suggested. "We also need to keep an eye out for any strangers showing up here. If the traitor was able to get the information out then the gang will know where it's headed. They'll probably send someone here to scout things out in case they don't meet up with Chris and Josiah on the trail."

"You're right, Nathan," Tanner muttered.

"I'll get it sent right away." Jackson stood up and left the four men to their thoughts.

"Something just ain't right about this whole deal," Wilmington hissed sharply.

"What do you mean, Buck?" JD asked.

"He means this smells worse'n a room full'a skunks and two legged polecats," Tanner stated.

"You got that right, Vin," Wilmington agreed and the four peacekeepers lapsed into silence.

The town was still cloaked in darkness when Larabee and Sanchez stood outside the jail talking with the sheriff. A chill wind blew through the streets and Chris pulled his duster tight around his body.

"Seems like we're in for an early winter," Mercer commented.

"It does seem like the temperature is dropping," Sanchez agreed as he looked towards the lightening sky.

"We get used to it living as high in the mountains as we do. But this one seems a mite early even for our town. Maybe you boys should hold off until tomorrow," the sheriff suggested.

"The faster we get this done, the better," Larabee replied. "The Army is meeting us in Four Corners in a few days. If this thing does start who knows how long we'd have to wait for it to clear."

"Yep, we do get those kinda storms up here and you could end up snowed in. Just take it easy going through the pass. If it gets really heavy there's a trapper's cabin just past the Cauldron. You can't miss it. Look for a small trail leading through a rock formation that looks kinda like a big grizzly bear if you let your imagination work at it. Anyway, it's about the only rock in the area so it'll be easy to spot. I know old man Miller keeps it stocked for emergencies so you'll be pretty comfortable there."

"He won't mind if we use it?" Sanchez asked.

"Not at all. It belonged to his brother. They used it years ago when they were snowed in. Lived two long harsh months up there and showed up here healthier than when they left.. Miller seems to think he owes it to other people who get caught in stormy weather. All he asks is for you to replace what you use in case someone else needs it."

"No good deed goes astray," Sanchez smiled.

"Thanks for the information, Eli. I'm hoping we won't have need for it." Larabee held out his hand to the sheriff. The two men shook and Mercer handed over the strongbox. Chris shook his head at the locked chest. "This thing looks like it would fall apart in a strong breeze," he commented of the rusted hinges and dented 'strongbox.'

"I thought the same thing when it was delivered here," Mercer told them. "You boys don't take any chances on the ride back. Nelson and his gang are still out there and they've been responsible for the loss of the last couple of shipments."

"We will, Eli," Sanchez said as he shook the other man's hand. The Sheriff had met them at the saloon the night before and it didn't take long for them to become friends. A few shared whiskies and tales of similar stories brought about the change in attitude. They also found out Sheriff Eli Mercer held feelings for Betty Tucker.

"There's something fishy about the Army sending two men to protect a shipment of money and yet they put it in something that wouldn't hold off in a strong breeze," he repeated Larabee's own words.

"Tell me about it," Larabee hissed as he tied the box to the back of his saddle, covering it with a thin blanket.

"Sheriff, can I offer a word of advice?" Sanchez asked as he mounted Dulcinea.

"You can, Josiah, just can't promise to take it," Mercer smiled at the ex-preacher.

"Don't wait too long to talk with Mrs. Tucker. I have a feeling she wouldn't be adverse to you courting her."

Mercer smiled at Sanchez as he answered. "I might just do that, Josiah. Now you best get movin' before this town wakes up. I'll tell Mrs. Tucker you left because of the storm coming in."

"Thanks, Eli," Larabee said as he turned Diablo away from the jail. He felt Josiah pull in beside him and the two men rode away from the town of Quemado.

Harvey Marcus waited until the sheriff went back inside before moving towards his own horse. He knew the general direction Larabee and Sanchez would take and as soon as he was sure of their destination he'd make his way to the Cauldron. He wrapped the heavy coat around his body and mounted his horse. He eased the animal forward, not wanting to disturb the quiet solitude of the still sleeping town.

Mercer studied the wire he received that morning. Larabee and Sanchez had left the day before and he knew what he held in his hands did not bode well for the two men. The wire was brief, but warned of the possibility of the Nelson gang knowing what route the two peacekeepers would take. It asked if he noted any strangers interested in where the two men were headed. He knew Harvey Marcus had disappeared the same day Larabee and Sanchez left. Betty Tucker had told him the man was going hunting. Something about her tone when she spoke of the man told Mercer she didn't completely trust Marcus. He slipped his hands into his pocket and made his way to the telegram office to send a response. The snow swirling around the streets made him think of the two men higher up in the mountain pass. He prayed they'd take advantage of Miller's cabin rather than try and make it through in the worsening storm.

The storm held off until mid morning of the second day. Larabee and Sanchez huddled forward in their coats. The wind howled through the narrow pass, whipping the manes of the horses in a constant frenzy of motion. Both men were wrapped in the blankets they brought along with them.

Josiah spotted the Cauldron ahead as the first thick flakes of snow washed over their shivering forms. "CHRIS!" he shouted above the blustering wind.

Larabee turned his face towards his riding companion, his breath visible as he looked into the blue eyes.

"The Cauldron Mercer told us about is just ahead. Maybe we should find that cabin until this blows over."

"If it blows over," Larabee hissed.

"Keep your eyes open for that rock," the ex-preacher ordered as they fought their way through the mounting snow and wind.

"Get ready! Here they come," Hiram Nelson ordered softly as he lifted his gun and pointed at one of the mounted men. His sight came to rest on the strongbox tied to the back of the gunslinger's horse. All he had to do was hit the rope securing it to the saddle. He'd done it before and knew he could do it again. He gently squeezed back on the trigger and waited for Larabee to get a little closer. The snow made it hard for him to focus, but he knew he could make this shot at any time.

Larabee lifted his eyes and searched the area around the Cauldron. A shiver ran down his spine and he knew it had little to do with the chilly wind gusting through the pass. His instincts warned of danger before his eyes came to rest on the rocks to the left of the narrow pass. Before he could issue a warning a shot rang out and he heard something ping behind him. He didn't hear the second shot, but he felt it force its way through the thick layer of clothing he wore and enter his chest high on the right side. He cried out as he tumbled from the saddle.

Sanchez knew something was wrong. He'd been watching the same rocks, thinking it was the perfect place for an ambush, when the first shot rang out. His head whipped around and he knew Larabee had also heard it. He watched helplessly as the gunslinger was dumped unceremoniously from the saddle to land on his side on the ground. He quickly dismounted and zigzagged towards his friend as bullets kicked up the newly fallen snow. He made it to the spot where Larabee lay struggling to get to his feet. He heard Diablo and Dulcinea race away from the sounds of gunfire and swore at how fate could turn on them so easily.

"I got you, Brother," he hissed as he grabbed the blond and pulled him to his feet.

Chris gritted his teeth as the older man managed to get him to a standing position. He bit back a cry of pain, knowing they needed to get behind cover

Sanchez lifted Larabee's left arm over his shoulder and pulled him towards the shelter of trees opposite where the bullets were coming from. Just before he reached the safe haven his eyes lit on the strongbox lying open on the ground. He didn't have time to wonder how it fell from Diablo, but he did take note of the worthless pieces of paper blowing from the chest. He swore under his breath as he finally got the injured man behind the copse of trees. He lowered the lean form against a rock and turned back to the narrow clearing.

He knew Larabee was awake and he felt the younger man pull up beside him. He saw the Colt in the gunslingers hand and soon heard a shot. He smiled as a cry went up from across the opening. He scanned the area and saw a man moving towards the strongbox and sent a bullet into his body. "How bad?" he asked as he swung towards the next target.

"Don't kn...know," Larabee answered truthfully. Right now there was no pain, only a numbness on his right side spreading down to the tips of his fingers. He'd been shot more times than he cared to remember and he prayed the numbness would last until they took care of whoever was behind the attempted robbery.

Hampered by the wind and snow, both men knew they didn't stand much of a chance against the outlaw gang.

"Hey, Larabee, we only want what's in the box. You and Sanchez can leave if'n ya just let me and my men take the money with us." Nelson's voice called out over the whistling wind.

"No deal!" Larabee shouted.

"Then you'll both die, and for what? Money? I don't think you're that stupid."

"Chris," Sanchez waited until Larabee turned his head towards him. "Let them have it."

"W...what?" the gunslinger asked, surprised that Sanchez would give in so easily.

"There's no money, Chris, the box fell and opened up. There's just pieces of blank paper inside."

"Dammit! We were set up," the gunslinger swore. "All right, Josiah, we give them the strongbox."

"You know they'll kill us once they find out it's not what they were after?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Larabee turned back to the outlaw's shelter and called. "All right, You can have the damned money, but not until we're away from here."

The silence lengthened until Nelson's voice once more rang out above the mounting wind. "Fair enough, Larabee, you and Sanchez get out of here now. I'll give you five minutes before I send my men out to collect that money. You two keep away from the strongbox. You got that?"

"Yeah, we got that," Sanchez answered.

"You got five minutes starting now," Nelson shouted.

"Come on, Brother, let's get out of here." Sanchez reached down and pulled the gunslinger to his feet. The two men kept their guns drawn as they moved within the shelter of the trees.

Chris felt the sticky wetness spreading on his chest and the creeping tendrils of pain awakening along the right side of his body. He swallowed against the dryness of his throat and planted one foot in front of the other. He knew better than to ask Sanchez to go on alone. He knew Sanchez had lost someone close to him a long time ago. He didn't know the circumstances, but he knew the ex-preacher would stay with him until they either reached safety or Chris Larabee drew his final breath.

Nelson stood up and walked out into the pass. The smile on his face quickly turned to a grimace of anger as he saw the strongbox. Plain white paper was being held in place by the quickly mounting snow.

"Dammit, Larabee, I swear you and your friend will pay for this!" He moved towards the area where the two men disappeared, but was brought up short by a hand on his shoulder. "What?" he snarled.

"Hiram, Larabee's hit. We all saw him fall from his horse."

"So?"

"Let the weather take care of him and Sanchez. They don't have horses and this storm's getting worse. We need to get out of this pass before we're snowed in. Besides if the money's not here maybe Frank found out something in Four Corners."

Nelson knew his friend was right, but it didn't make it any easier. He wondered briefly if the Army discovered the man working for him. It didn't really matter whether the man was discovered or not. Either way he was dead for giving the wrong information. Nelson had never known as a forgiving man and that's what had kept him alive from his first robbery at the age of fifteen.

"All right, Hiram, get the men together and we'll head for Four Corners." He heard his friend leave and turned towards the trail. 'You better pray the storm gets you, Larabee, 'cause if it don't you and me got something to settle,' he thought.

Chris had no idea how long they struggled through the deepening snow. His own movements were sluggish and he called up every ounce of strength he owned to keep on his feet.

The man beside him was not faring much better. Sanchez tried to maintain his grip on Chris Larabee, but numbing fingers and legs were taking their toll. Nothing moved around them except the swirling maelstrom of wind blown snow. He knew his companion was weakening rapidly and prayed the cold was stopping the blood from flowing from the gunslinger's body. On and on they stumbled until Larabee's strength gave out and they fell to the soft, but deadly, white blanket covering the ground.

"H...have to k...keep m...moving," the ex-preacher's voice trembled with cold, but he forced his numbed body upwards till he towered over the prone form on the ground. "Chris, w...we need to k...keep m...moving. That c...cabin's gotta be a...around here s...somewhere."

"C...can't," Larabee muttered painfully, his left hand held tightly to the wound in his chest. "G...go..."

"No!" Sanchez snapped, his voice harsher than he wanted, but his mind was replaying a similar experience from his days as a young preacher. "We go together! Now get on your feet!" He extended his hand to the younger man and waited for him to take it.

"T...try...to." Larabee smiled weakly as he took the offered hand. The snow was caked around Sanchez's head and he knew from the cold his own hair was frozen in place. Before he knew what was happening he was on his feet and all his weight was on the larger man. Sanchez had a hidden strength that few saw, but Chris knew it couldn't hold out much longer. He forced himself to take back some of his own weight and the two trudged on through the fierce winter storm.

Sanchez felt Larabee stand erect beside him and knew just how much it took him to do so. He couldn't help but hear the grunts of pain coming from the younger man. He knew he should check the bullet wound, but to stop now would probably seal their deaths in stone. He knew from experience the cold was probably stopping the wound from bleeding profusely and he didn't want to do anything that might cause it to start again. A sound from the gunslinger brought him out of his thoughts.

"What's is it?" Sanchez asked, worried about the man stumbling along beside him.

"T...there," Larabee hissed softly. "R...rock f...formation Eli t...told us 'bout."

Sanchez looked ahead and through a lull in the blowing snow saw a lone boulder amongst the trees. He could see how someone could imagine it as a bear. "That cabin should be close by, Chris," he muttered, white puffs of breath punctuating his words. A slight nod from the injured man was the only reply he received.

Both men kept their heads down as the toiled along the trail to lessen the effect of the snow and wind blowing into their faces. By the time Sanchez spotted the cabin he was all but carrying his companion. He felt Larabee's body go slack beside him and barely managed to keep them both on their feet.

"Come on, Brother, just a little further."

"C...cold," the blond hissed through chattering teeth.

"We'll get warmed up once we're inside, Chris. Think you can take it for a couple of minutes longer?"

"N...not much ch...choice," the injured man told him as they painstakingly closed the distance between themselves and the small cabin.

"That's right. Almost there," Sanchez said as Larabee's strength gave out and he gasped in pain. "I got you!" He lifted the slack body into his arms and continued the longest journey of his life. 'I'm not gonna let you take him, Lord,' he vowed as he made the final step to the door. He leaned the unconscious man against the wall and tried the door. He thanked God as with a minimum of effort the door opened inwards. He reached for the gunslinger and wrapped his arm around his waist.

"Come on, Chris, it'll be much warmer once we get inside," he said and smiled as a weak grunt sounded from beside him. "What was that, Chris?" he asked.

"Said a...anything's warmer t...than out h...here. H...hate s...snow," Larabee gasped as they made it inside and the ex-preacher half carried him to the lone bed in the corner beside a small fireplace.

"I do believe you're right," Sanchez smiled in spite of the pain on the red face before him. He knew his own face was just as red, a result of the strong wind and bitter cold outside. "Just hang on a couple of minutes longer while I get a fire started."

"O...okay." Larabee sat on the edge of the bed as the dull interior of the cabin swirled around him. He watched as Sanchez forced the door closed against the howling wind and crossed the small space to the fireplace. There were large chunks of wood piled along one wall of the cabin, and a pyramid of thin strips of kindling were set in the opening ready to be lit.

Josiah checked to be sure the flue was open before reaching on the shelf beside the fireplace and taking one of the matches he found there. He tried to light it, but his fingers were numb and he dropped it. He blew into his hands and sighed as tingling began at the tip of each digit. He waited till he had enough feeling in his hands and picked the match up again. This time it came to life with a flash of light and a distinct odor of sulphur. He held it to the kindling and waited for the small flame to grow. His eyes continued to travel to the man sitting on the bed. He knew he needed to tend Larabee's wound, but in order to do so he needed the place warm.

Chris watched as Sanchez hurried around the cabin. A small flame came to life in the fireplace and he smiled gratefully, knowing they'd be warm for now. He saw Sanchez pick up a pot hanging beside the fireplace and turn towards the door.

"Chris, I need to melt some snow and get some water boiling. Then I'm gonna have to take a look at your wound."

"Okay," was all the injured man could manage as life returned to his cold limbs. He felt the pain emanating from the wound and wondered just how bad things were. He moved his left hand and forced the duster from his shoulder. His right arm was all but useless as he struggled with the coat. He looked up as Sanchez returned from outside, the pot in his hand full of the white stuff they'd fought to get out of.

"Hold on a minute, Chris. I don't want you moving around too much. Let me get this by the fire."

"I'm fine, Josiah," Larabee lied. "I can do it."

"It's just me and you here, Chris Larabee, and I'm not a pushover. You just sit still until I say so. I don't have much of a bedside manner and by the time I'm done you'll be wishin' Nathan was here instead of me." The worried blue eyes turned back to the fire and added extra logs. Josiah knew it wouldn't be long before the cabin warmed up. The two windows were shuttered and didn't seem to be letting the howling wind through. Once the pot was next to the fire and the snow starting to melt he moved towards his friend. He pulled the thick blanket down and knelt in front of the pale form. Much of the redness had left his face, only to be replaced by a stark whiteness.

"All right, Chris, let's take a look at you," he said as he eased the black duster from the injured man's body. Larabee's cry of pain robbed him of much of his resolve as he lifted the useless right arm. The ex-preacher knew the shoulder was probably broken, but for now it would have to wait. The bullet wound was what he needed to focus on right now. He could see the bloodstain on the grey shirt as he lifted his hands to unbutton it. There seemed to be a lot of blood on the dark material. "Gotta get the shirt off. You just try and relax for a minute and let me take care of things."

"B...bossy... like... Nathan," Larabee told him, the thin smile on his face belying the words.

"Yeah, well, Nathan needs to be bossy with us. We tend to give him a hard time." He eased the shirt off Larabee's left shoulder and moved it around and off the right shoulder. The material was stuck to the bullet wound and Josiah gently pried the shirt loose. He shook his head at the injured man's attempt to remain silent. 'So much like Paulie,' he thought.

"H...how bad?" Larabee asked as the his body finally released the blood soaked material.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Chris. There's no exit wound, which means the bullet's still in there. It looks like it might've broken your shoulder too..."

"Feels like it," the blond agreed. "Can't move my arm."

"Then don't try!" Sanchez snapped tiredly. "Sorry, Brother."

"I's o...kay, Josiah," Larabee muttered as he felt consciousness slowly leaving him. "T...tired. N...need to rest... B...both... need rest."

Sanchez bit his lip as he eased his friend down on the bed. He knew Larabee was right and that they both needed rest, but for now his own needs would be shoved aside until he dealt with bullet wound. He searched the cabin until his eyes fell on a small stack of sheets on the shelf. He hurried to the shelf and took one of the sheets, silently thanking old man Miller for his fortitude and willingness to help weary travelers. He tore the sheet into strips even as those thoughts ran through his mind. The wound was bleeding again, but not as badly as before. He hurried back to Larabee and reached for the pot of melted snow, dipped one of the cloths into the water and carefully cleaned the blood from the taut chest before carefully wrapping the wound. He knew he'd probably have to remove the bullet, but thoughts of another man, a younger man, filled his mind with fear. He strapped the right arm to his friend's body and eased the blanket up over him.

"Please, God, don't let him die!" he prayed as he set about taking stock in the supplies on the shelves of the small cabin. He silently thanked Eli Mercer for telling them about the cabin. He set about making beans for his own dinner, knowing he'd need every ounce of strength he could gather if he was to keep Chris Larabee in the land of the living.

Vin leaned heavily against the post outside the saloon. He flexed the fingers on his right hand in an effort to work out some of the stiffness. The wound in his shoulder was much better and he was glad Nathan had told him he didn't need to wear the sling anymore unless the arm started bothering him. The only thing bothering him at the moment was the response they'd received from Quemado. The telegram informed them that a man named Harvey Marcus, who'd been living in Quemado, had ridden out around the same time Larabee and Sanchez did. The sheriff didn't go into details, but he made it clear there was something about Marcus he didn't trust and he advised the peacekeepers to keep a watch out for him.

Tanner watched as the other four remaining lawmen came towards him. He knew Nathan wasn't pleased with the idea of him and JD Dunne riding with them, but there was no choice. Vin knew he was the best man when it came to tracking and this was something they'd need if Larabee and Sanchez had indeed run into trouble in the pass. Something haunted the tracker, a sense that if they didn't leave soon it would be too late for one or both of the missing peacekeepers.

"Vin?"

Tanner looked up to see the blond newspaperwoman coming towards him. "Mary."

"Any idea how long you'll be gone?"

"Not sure. We're gonna ride through the pass and hopefully we'll meet up with Chris and Josiah," he smiled as he saw the worry in her blue eyes. "Don't worry, Mary, we'll probably meet up with them before we even make it ta the pass. We'll be home before ya know it."

Mary hid her fears, knowing Tanner was trying to settle her own ragged nerves. Ever since they received the telegram arrived from the Army they'd all been worried. She could tell by the set of the sharpshooter's shoulders that he was deeply concerned. "Find them, Vin," she said.

"We will, Mary," he assured her as Dunne, Wilmington, Jackson and Standish joined them.

"Vin, Yosemite's got the horses ready," Dunne said.

Tanner nodded and once more turned his gaze on Mary. "We'll be back as soon's we can, Mary. If any one comes into town askin' 'bout Chris or Josiah let Yosemite know. He'll be keepin' an eye on things while we're gone."

"We'll find 'em, Mary," Wilmington assured her before they headed for the livery.

Mary Travis stood outside the saloon until the five men mounted their horses and rode past her. Each man silently tipped his hat to her as he rode by. Somehow she knew it was only a matter of time before they returned. What worried her was whether they'd return as five or seven. She turned back towards the newspaper office, hoping she could drown herself in her work.

Nelson's gang rode until they were out of the worst of the storm. Snow still fell, but nowhere near the rate of higher up in the pass. Once night fell they pulled into a natural shelter formed by an overhanging ledge. The ground was fairly dry and they found plenty of wood amongst the deadfall to get a fair sized blaze going. The bright light kept the darkness at bay and the chill from their bones.

Hiram Nelson paced back and forth in front of the fire. The anger he felt at leaving Larabee and Sanchez alive festered till it was all he could think of. He wanted Chris Larabee dead. His mind wandered back to the first bank robbery in a nondescript town when he was fifteen. It was so long ago he couldn't even remember the name, but as he rubbed his hand along his right side he remembered the man who gave it to him. Larabee wasn't much older than he was, but he was already fast. When Nelson and his friend ran from the bank the blond was talking with the sheriff across the street. Larabee's gun was in his hand before the sheriff had a chance to react. Nelson saw his partner fall at the same time a second shot rang out and a burning sensation along his side. He escaped with his life, but lost his partner and the money. The anger had started in Indiana and continued to grow, in spite of time and distance.

"Are you okay, Hiram?"

Nelson turned as Marcus joined him by the fire. "Just thinking, Harve."

"What about?"

"Old debts."

"Larabee?"

"Yeah, you remember me telling you about my first run in with him?"

"Sure do, Hiram, but..."

"I'm goin' after 'im, Harve."

"What? When?"

"Soon's the weather clears a bit. You take the men to Four Corners and find out what ya can about the pay roll. I'll join ya there as soon's I know Larabee's dead."

"Come on, Hiram, ya know Larabee was hit. Him and Sanchez are stuck up there with no protection. He's probably bled ta death already."

"Might be, but I ain't takin' that chance. I owe 'im and I aim ta see he pays for what he did. You boys leave at first light. I'll follow as soon's I'm sure he's dead," Nelson told his friend.

Marcus knew there was no point in arguing with Nelson. He wouldn't be any good to them until his need for revenge was fulfilled. He nodded and headed for his bedroll, knowing there'd be little time for sleep over the next few days.

Josiah opened his eyes and frowned. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was. He pushed away from the wall where he'd fallen asleep and glanced towards the figure lying in the bed. He waited for the sound to be repeated and moved to his friend's side. He knew Larabee was suffering from a fever and with it he was reliving the nightmare deaths of his wife and son. A cry of rage and pain erupted from the man as he threw back the blankets and fought an enemy only he could see.

"Chris! Wake up," Sanchez ordered as the blond fought his way up in the bed. He could see fresh blood seeping into the bandage on Larabee's shoulder as he forced him back to the bed, and couldn't believe the strength emanating from the heated body. Even with the blood loss Chris Larabee still possessed a strength that could rival most men, but fortunately the ex-preacher was not one of them. He easily subdued the injured man and held him until the fight seeped from the body. He watched as the blond eyelashes slowly fluttered and green eyes opened.

"J'siah?" Larabee coughed harshly and Sanchez eased him forward on the bed.

"Yeah, Chris, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"H...hot... thirs...ty..."

Sanchez eased him back to the pillow and reached for the tea he'd prepared. His earlier search of the cabin revealed not only food supplies and a bottle of whiskey, but also a supply of Willow bark tea and other herbs he recognized. Most of the herbs were the same ones he'd seen Jackson use and again he'd sent a silent prayer of thanks to old man Miller.

"I have something for you to drink," Sanchez ordered as he lifted his friend forward once more.

Chris smelled the brew, but didn't argue with it. He drank gratefully until Sanchez took the cup away. He lifted his eyes until he met the worried blue eyes of the older man. "T...thanks," he muttered.

"You're welcome, Chris. I'm gonna look at your wound."

Larabee frowned as he tried to get comfortable. "Wound? W...what h...happened?"

"What do you remember?" Sanchez asked as he removed the blood stained bandage.

"R...remember c...cold... snow. Ahh," he gasped as the cloth came free of his chest.

"Sorry," the older man apologized for the pain he was causing. He frowned as he noted the swelling around the ragged wound.

"How b...bad?"

"How bad does it feel?" Sanchez asked.

"Bad 'nough."

"I bet it does. Chris, I wish Nathan was here," he said, not realizing he'd spoken the last part aloud.

"T...trust you, Josiah," Larabee closed his eyes and sank into the nightmare darkness once more.

"I wish I had your confidence, Brother," Sanchez mumbled as he cleaned the wound with whiskey. He bit his lower lip as Larabee cried out when the burning liquid hit the open wound. Once more he replaced the bandages and began using tepid water to ease the feverish discomfort the blond was suffering from.

An hour later Larabee was still trembling from fever as Sanchez replaced the water with fresh snow. He'd made fresh tea, but was unable to arouse his friend enough to get him to drink any. He sat back on his haunches and sighed heavily. His own body ached from the trek through the cold and snow as he looked towards the dwindling pile of firewood. He knew there was plenty more outside, yet he dreaded opening the door and letting the chill wind in. He stood on shaky legs and pulled on his coat. With a final glance at the trembling blond he walked to the door and pulled it open. To his surprise the snow had finally stopped and a million stars seemed to dance overhead. His breath was easily visible in the cold mountain air.

He walked to the pile of wood and pushed the four inches of deadly white beauty off the top of the pile. The lonesome call of a wolf was soon joined by others and Sanchez shivered. 'You won't be taking him!' he silently vowed. He loaded his arms with as much as he could carry and hurried back inside. Six times he repeated the journey until the inside of the cabin was once more stocked with wood. He stood before the fireplace briskly rubbing his hands together to get the warmth back into them.

"J'siah."

Sanchez turned towards the weak sound and hurried to the side of the bed. "How do you feel, Chris?"

"Chest's h...hurting," Larabee informed him softly.

"I know it does. I got some more tea here for you. Just let me put a little wood on the fire and I'll help you drink it."

"O...okay." Larabee watched the older man as he added fuel to the fire. He knew Sanchez was feeling guilty for not being able to help him more, but he couldn't summon the strength to reassure him. He trembled under the blankets, yet his body seemed to be burning up. His eyes closed and his mind drifted back to Four Corners. He smiled as a woman's face drifted before his eyes. They'd been growing closer, yet now it seemed he wouldn't have the chance to see where it was leading. 'I'm sorry, Mary,' he thought as a deep sadness seeped into his mind.

"Chris."

Larabee opened his eyes and looked at the man standing beside the bed. New lines had formed on his face and Chris knew he was the cause of them. The ex-preacher was an emotional man, yet he rarely showed those feelings. Chris forced a smile to his face in an effort to ease the tension and worry he saw.

"I want you to drink this for me." Sanchez lifted him forward and was glad when Larabee drank most of the healing liquid.

"Josiah, tell Mary..."

"I won't tell Mary anything, Chris, you'll tell her yourself when we get back to town!"

"Might n...not..."

"I don't want to hear it, Chris Larabee. I'm not giving up on you and I'm not gonna let you give up on you either. Now just lie there while I figure out what I'm gonna do!"

"B...bossy...," Larabee smiled weakly as he answered, his voice cracked and wheezing as he drifted towards sleep.

Sanchez sat beside his friend as the sun slowly rose above the trees. Once more he was using snow to cool down the heat rising from the injured man. 'Please, God, show me what to do!' he silently prayed. Exhaustion, the warmth of the fire and worry combined to make him sleepy. His eyes closed and his body eased back against the wall as sleep called to him and he had no choice but to gave into it.

The five peacekeepers rode through the darkness, only stopping long enough to eat and take care of the horses. Very few words were spoken as Jackson checked Tanner and Dunne. Satisfied that there was no damage done by the hard riding he nodded that they were ready to move on. The trail leading to the mountain pass was well lit by a full moon and the blanket of stars surrounding it. The sound of thundering hooves was the only noise that broke the normally silent night. A single cloud in the otherwise clear sky covered the moon, sending a shiver of dread down Nathan's spine.

Dawn was streaking across the sky as they sighted the entrance to the small mountain range in the distance. Vin was familiar with Devil's Den Canyon and he knew they still had a ways to go before they would meet up with Chris or Josiah. It would be some time before they reached the entrance, but at least they'd be closer to finding their friends. He didn't have to look at the others to know they were as worried as he was about the missing men.

Harvey Marcus led his men out of the pass just as the sun peeked over the horizon. He glanced at the eight men riding with him and wished Nelson was with him. These men knew little about him and he wondered if they would obey his commands as easily as they did Nelsons'. He rode ahead and to the left of the others, feeling like an outcast in spite of Hiram's assurances.

"Hey, Marcus, looks like we're gonna have company," Curly called from beside him.

Harvey looked at the billowing dust further along the trail and knew Curly was right. He had no idea who was riding towards them, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Life with Hiram Nelson had taught him to be cautious. "Take cover till we see who they are!" he ordered and was a little surprised when the men did as he told them. He dismounted and led his horse into the thick cover of trees. He searched the area for the other men and was surprised at how quickly they'd disappeared.

Hiram Nelson rode back through the pass. He knew where they'd left Larabee and Sanchez and that was where he was heading. Somehow he knew a little snow wouldn't rid him of the gunslinger. He needed to see the man's body and make sure he wouldn't come back to haunt him again. Chris Larabee would die on this day, he'd make sure of that. With grim determination he pushed his tired horse through the fluffy drifts of snow.

Vin slowed Unalii as they rode closer to the pass. The trees were thicker now and clumps of rock formations made this a perfect spot for an ambush. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know the others had stopped as well. He listened, tuning himself in to the sounds of nature. This was something he'd used many times before, a sense he honed during his time with the Comanche tribe. He listened and watched, noting Unalii's ears prick up. Nature was a curious thing, when something was out of place everything else sounded wrong. The absence of birds and other animal sounds was a dead giveaway that something was out of kilter. Without turning in his saddle he spoke softly to his four companions.

"There's something wrong. Keep your eyes open," he whispered, yet knew the others heard the warning in his soft voice. He moved forward, but pulled to a halt once more. The sunlight glinted off the rocks ahead and to the right of their location. "Ambush!" he shouted and dove from his horse, grabbing his mare's leg as he did so. He watched Unalii gallop away, yet knew the horse wouldn't go very far. The animal was well trained and would come at a whistle from its owner.

Tanner heard the flurry of gunfire as he dove behind a large rock. He felt the breeze of a bullet close to his right cheek as he made it to safety. He lifted his head and fired quickly as he searched the area for his friends. He spotted a flurry of movement behind him and smiled as Ezra Standish nodded in his direction. On the opposite side of the narrow trek Vin saw Buck and JD hunkered down behind a fallen log. He searched further back and was relieved when he spotted Nathan Jackson standing behind the huge trunk of a tree. He turned his back to the pass and lifted his head, ducking again as a bullet chipped stone from beside his cheek. He unconsciously wiped the trickle of blood from one of the tiny wounds.

Marcus stood behind the rocks and shrubbery, his gun pointed in the direction of the newcomers. He fired a shot as a longhaired man raised his head above his cover. He looked towards the members of the gang and saw them sprawled on both sides of the road. Curly lifted his hand and signalled that he was going to try and go around the newcomers. Marcus nodded and quickly told two others to help him. More gunshots sounded and a cry of pain to his left caught his attention. One of the younger men gasped and clutched his chest as blood seeped through his fingers. A trickle of the crimson fluid showed on his face and Marcus knew he was dead. The outlaw fired off a shot as a dark head showed behind a tree.

Eli Mercer walked towards the boarding house and knocked softly on the door. He nervously twisted his hat as he waited for the door to open. He smiled as Betty Tucker answered the door. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, but long strands fell down her face. Her eyes twinkled merrily as she looked at the sheriff. She swiped at the flour on her forehead and succeeded in making it worse.

Betty smiled as she saw the sheriff standing in her door. There was something about this man she'd always liked, but was never able to act on. Now he was standing before her looking as nervous as she felt. She'd invited him for lunch and was surprised when he agreed.

"Sorry, Betty, I know I'm early," he said, his eyes landing on anything but her.

"That's okay, Eli, come sit in the parlor while I straighten up." She held the door open and led him into the room. "There's whiskey if you'd like some. I'll be back in a few minutes." She smiled as her son came flying through the door.

"Hi, Sheriff," Joey Tucker smiled at the older man. "Are ya stayin' for lunch? Ma made apple pie. She makes the best apple pie." The boy was excited about having Eli Mercer in his home.

"Joey, Eli is staying for lunch. Why don't you keep him company while I finish up?"

"Okay, Ma." He waited for her to leave and turned a serious gaze on the sheriff. "I'm glad Mr. Marcus is gone. He was mean, not like you. You won't make my Ma cry, will you?"

Mercer held the boy for a minute before meeting the soft, puppy dog like eyes. "No, Joey, I won't hurt your ma."

Joey smiled and his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Are you gonna court her?"

Mercer couldn't help but return the smile. There was something about children and how their emotions changed so rapidly that he always found refreshing. He drew in a deep breath as he answered, "I'd like to, Joey, if that's all right with you."

Joey's smile grew to encompass his entire face as he scooted along the couch. "I'd sure like that, Sheriff." He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered softly. "My ma likes ya and so do I."

"Well, thank you, Joey." Now it was Mercer's turn to lower his voice. "I kinda like your ma too. Maybe you can help me convince her to let me court her?"

"Sure, Sheriff," Joey grinned as his mother walked back into the room. He laughed as Sheriff Mercer stood up and walked towards her.

"Am I interrupting something?" Betty asked.

"No, Ma, nothing at all."

She folded her arms and looked at the two males. She smiled at the hint of red on the sheriff's face. She wasn't used to seeing a man blush, but felt a warmth flood through her heart at the idea that she could do that to him.

"Well, lunch is ready so I hope you boys are hungry."

"I'm starvin', Ma. Wait till ya try Ma's apple pie, Sheriff."

"Why don't you call me Eli, Joey?" he asked and then met the woman's eyes. "If that's okay with you, Betty."

"Can I, Ma?" Joey asked excitedly.

"I guess that'll be okay."

"Wait till I tell Fred and Bobby that I can call the sheriff by his first name."

"Don't be mean, Joey," Betty admonished.

"Ain't gonna be mean, Ma. They're my friends and they'll be happy for me." He took his mother's left hand and the sheriff's right and led them into the kitchen. For Joey Tucker things couldn't have been more exciting. This was something he had wanted for a long time and it seemed like it was finally going to happen. 'I'm gonna have a pa,' he thought as he sat at the fully laden table.

Josiah awoke to a strangled cry and for a moment he found he was back in time. A time he didn't want to remember, yet it was a turning point in his life. A second cry reached his ears and he shook the cobwebs from his sleep-dampened mind. He pushed to his feet and moved to the tiny bed.

Larabee had pushed the blankets from his body and was trembling uncontrollably. He cried out in fever-induced delirium, calling for people from his past as well as present.

Sanchez realized the little cabin had grown chill and he swore as he saw the fire was nearly out and the cold was once more seeping inside. He covered his friend's body and moved to the fireplace, where he stoked the remaining ashes until a tiny spark of life glowed from the embers. He quickly added small pieces of kindling until flames once more warmed the cabin, then added a few larger chunks of wood before returning to the bed. He stopped as fever drenched green eyes looked up at him from under dark lids. For a minute he wasn't sure if Chris Larabee saw him or if he was still stuck in his nightmares.

"J'siah?"

"I'm right here, Brother. How do you feel?"

Larabee's eyebrows furrowed, his voice cracking as he answered, "Tired, h...hot, thirsty."

Sanchez hurried to the table and poured water from the bucket into a tin cup, the returned to the bed and knelt beside the blond. He lifted him forward, ignoring the tiny moan that escaped from the injured man. "Take it slow, Chris," he ordered.

Chris gratefully drank the water until he felt his stomach churning. He turned away from the cup after drinking only a few drops and looked up at the ex-preacher. He could tell the man hadn't slept much. The usually sparkling blue eyes were bloodshot and the face haggard looking. "Are you o...okay?" Larabee asked weakly.

Sanchez couldn't help the shaky laugh that escaped his throat. Chris Larabee was an enigma to him. He placed a hand on the hot shoulder. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that, Chris?"

"Feel lousy," Larabee smiled in spite of the truth in his words. "You?"

"Just tired, Chris."

Larabee nodded in understanding and let his eyes close. The pain in his shoulder burned through his body and he tried to move on the bed. There was nothing he could do to ease it. He bit his bottom lip to hide just how much pain he was in. He felt Sanchez lift the bandage from the bullet wound and swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Chris, I just have to check this."

"It's o...okay," the blond stammered and clenched his left fist in the blankets. He had no idea how long he endured Sanchez' hands touching the inflamed wound, but he breathed a sigh of relief as it ended.

"Chris?"

"H...how bad?"

"It's getting worse. I'm gonna have to get that bullet out."

Larabee nodded and opened his eyes. He tried to send a sense of trust to the ex-preacher, but there was something in the man's eyes that made him stop. Again he wondered why a man with such deep-seated beliefs and wonderful way of speaking had given up the priesthood. He remembered listening to the rich, baritone voice give sermons that would've melted the hardest hearts. He wanted to know more about that now as he looked into the pained face.

"Josiah, w...what happened?"

Sanchez frowned as he looked into Larabee's eyes. "You were shot, Chris."

"N...no, not w...what I meant. What h...happened to make you q...question your f...faith?"

Josiah's shoulders slumped as he placed a hand on Larabee's shoulder. "It's a long story, Brother," he said sadly.

"G...got time," Larabee muttered.

"I tell you what, Chris Larabee. Let me get that bullet out and then I'll tell you the story. It goes way back and as I said it's a long one."

"O...kay." Larabee sucked in a deep breath and nodded to the older man. "G...go ahead."

"I have a few things to get ready first, Chris. I'm gonna give you a little whiskey. We're both gonna owe old man Miller a word of thanks. Just relax for a few minutes while I get things ready." he saw the sweat soaked blond head dip once and watched to make sure the chest continued to rise and fall under the blankets.

Gunfire continued to echo around the five peacekeepers. Buck lifted his head and took a shot at a reflection of light and smiled at JD when he heard the distinctive cry of pain.

"Vin! Behind you!" JD cried and shot the man who'd managed to get in behind the sharpshooter. He smiled at the tracker's nod of approval, before Buck pulled his head down.

"Damnit, JD, ya tryin' ta get yourself killed?" Wilmington snapped as a bullet took a chunk out of the log they hid behind.

Marcus was beginning to lose his nerve. So far at least three of the eight men he was with were dead. He looked to his left to see Curly firing at the enemy and wondered how much longer the fight would go on. He lifted his head and quickly sat back as a bullet pinged off the rock to his left. He looked at Curly and saw the grin on the older man's face.

"Gotta watch it, Marcus, good way ta get yer head shot off."

Marcus crawled further down and hid behind a larger rock. He took a deep breath as one of Nelson's men raced across a small clearing. "Damn fool," he hissed as the man was quickly taken down.

Hiram Nelson was making slow progress through the snow. Sometimes its drifts were nearly insurmountable. The heat of the sun was quickly melting it and making the terrain treacherous. He had to move with extreme caution in some places to keep from sliding off the pass and down the slope.

"Easy, Boy," he soothed as his skittish horse nearly lost his footing. He swore as the horse stepped on an icy patch and almost went down. He knew he still had five or six hours before he made it to the place they'd left Larabee and Sanchez and fought the urge to press the horse to move faster.

"JD, I'm gonna see if I can move around behind these boys. Maybe we can get 'em in a crossfire."

"Buck, be careful," the kid warned as the ladies' man moved back into the brush.

Jackson saw Wilmington move and laid down cover fire at the same time JD did. He turned as a twig snapped behind him and barely controlled the urge to fire. "Good way ta get shot, Ez!" he snapped.

"I thank the good Lord you have a steady hand, Mr. Jackson. I'm going to take advantage of your cover fire to offer assistance to Mr. Wilmington," Standish explained and hurried past the healer.

"Ezra, keep yer fool head down!" Tanner hissed as the conman hurried past him.

Ezra stopped and turned a quick smile on the sharpshooter. "I assure you I plan on keeping my fool head attached to my shoulders, Mr. Tanner." He smiled once more and hurried off.

Vin watched as his two friends circled around to get behind whoever was shooting at them. He had an idea it was Nelson and his gang, but couldn't be sure. Something gnawed at him and he knew instinctively if it was Nelson, then Chris and Josiah were in trouble somewhere. He shook himself and turned his attention back to the present problem. Right now they needed to get rid of the men blocking their path before they could start a search for the missing men.

Chris had no idea how long he laid on the bed, his mind racing with thoughts of Sarah and Adam. He kept his eyes closed as he waited for what was to come. As they always had been, thoughts of Sarah and Adam were a soothing balm on his soul. He saw them as they were in life, healthy, happy and the love of his life. Somehow, they were always there for him, even during the blackest times of his life. Now he felt closer to them than he had in years and he sighed.

"Chris?"

Larabee forced his eyes open and looked at the older man. He knew by the set of the large shoulders that Josiah was ready to begin. He simply nodded and let his eyes slide closed once more. A hand on his shoulder made him open them once more.

"Chris, I want you to drink this. It's whiskey and might help."

"O...okay." Larabee felt his head lifted and sipped at the burning liquid. He forced himself to drink the alcohol in spite of his rebelling stomach. He had no idea how long it took but his head was soon eased back to the pillow. He was tired, far beyond the point of offering resistance and soon found his mind wandering under the influence of the whiskey. He shook himself awake once more as a hand touched his shoulder.

"W...what's wrong, Josiah?" he asked of the worry and concern on the other man's face.

"I n...need to tie you down, Chris. I can't chance you moving around on me. I'm sorry!" He stood up and paced the small confines of the cabin as memories once more assaulted his mind. Another time, another friend, another bullet, and he prayed this time there'd be a different outcome.

"Josiah?"

The ex-preacher stopped in mid stride, the weak voice so similar to the one echoing from the past. He swallowed the pain those memories conjured up and walked back to the bed. He knew his eyes were moist, but he would not let his weakness show, not now. Not when Chris Larabee needed his strength. He took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. Everything was ready for what needed to be done and the knife had been boiled in the melted snow. Clean strips of bandages were ready to cover the wound, another shot of whiskey waited in the cup, but Josiah's hands shook at the thought of cutting into his friend and leader.

Chris saw the slight tremor in Sanchez's body and reached up with his left hand. He waited until the blue eyes met his and smiled weakly. "T...trust you, Josiah."

The power behind the words shone in the green eyes and Sanchez felt as if he'd been given the strength he needed. He nodded to the gunslinger and reached for the cup. "Drink all of this," he said as he lifted Larabee forward. He waited until the shot of whiskey was gone and eased his friend back down. He picked up the strips of cloth he'd cut from one of the blankets and sighed.

"It's okay, Josiah," Chris assured him as he felt the pain this was causing the other man. He held up his left hand and hissed. "Gotta be d...done!"

Sanchez nodded and clasped the sweaty hand in his own. He slowly began wrapping the material around Larabee's wrists and securing him to the bed. He didn't feel the tears that slipped unbidden from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Paulie," he said, not realizing he was seeing another man from another time and place.

"Curly, behind you!"

Marcus heard the cry from the man next to him and looked up just in time to see the Curly clutching at his stomach as he fell. He fired a shot at a well-dressed man and smiled as he clutched at his arm.

"Marcus, they're gettin' behind us," came a cry from one of the men on his right.

"Shit! Move back!" he cried as he realized the odds were quickly turning against them. Another man fell and Marcus moved away from the safety of the rock. He knew they had no chance against whoever they had attacked and he wasn't ready to die just yet.

Ezra held his right hand against his left arm as he leaned heavily against a tree. He took two or three deep shuddering breaths and waited for the stinging pain to stop. He fired at movement ahead of him, but knew he'd missed his target as a shot hit the tree he hid behind.

Buck knew Ezra was hit, but didn't know how bad and at the moment he was in no position to ask. Two men had him caught in a crossfire and he had no way of moving from the meager shelter of shrubs. He knew it was only a matter of time before one of the bullets hit him.

Vin, Nathan and JD moved towards the area where the gunfire was now concentrated. They covered each other and used everything available as concealment. A shot ricocheted off a rock near Tanner and he dove behind a small boulder. He lifted his head and called. "Watch out, JD, there's one behind that tree," he said pointing to the area ahead and to the right.

Dunne nodded from behind his cover and took a quick shot in that general direction. He knew he had no chance of hitting the man, but it made him feel good. He took a deep breath and raced across the short distance to the next clump of rocks and trees.

Nathan unconsciously kept up a constant litany of prayers as they hurried into the foray. He fired a quick shot at a man racing from one rock to another, but his shot went wild. A split second later he heard the same man cry out. He saw the smile on JD's face as he blew on the barrel of his pistol. Nathan smiled at the action, seeing again how young JD Dunne really was.

Buck smiled as he realized he wasn't pinned down anymore. He eased out of the shrubs and made his way towards the rocks he'd seen a man hiding behind. It didn't take long for the man to lift his head and buck snarled. "Drop it!"

Harvey Marcus turned and saw the angry, dishevelled man standing a few feet away from him. He knew there was little choice but to give up. The gun slid from trembling fingers as he stood away from the rock.

"Get away from the gun!" Wilmington warned.

Marcus swallowed the fear rising in his throat and moved on shaky legs. "I'm n...not gonna do nothin' stupid," he mumbled.

Wilmington smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Damn right you're not!"

"Buck! Look out!"

Wilmington reacted instinctively at the warning from the southerner and dove to the ground. A gunshot sounded behind him and he turned to see a man fall forward on his face. He swallowed and nodded his thanks to the gambler before turning to the trembling man lying on the ground in front of him. "Just stay put, Mister!" he snapped. "Ez, how bad are ya hit?"

"I assure you it is nothing but an aggravating flesh wound, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra replied, slipping back into the formal role now that the danger to his friend was over. "I do believe the others have joined us."

Buck smiled as Tanner, Dunne and Jackson came slowly towards them. Nathan put his gun away and hurried to check on the gambler.

"I assure you I'm fine," Standish hissed as Jackson helped him ease his coat off.

"JD, tie him up," Wilmington ordered. "Vin, we should take a look around."

"Yeah," Tanner drawled. He took a quick look at Standish and Jackson. "How bad is it, Nathan?"

"Just took a hunk a hide, not much, but it's gonna put a crimp in his gamblin' for a day or two," Jackson smiled as he helped the gambler sit. "When you're finished lookin' around grab my saddlebags."

"Sure," Wilmington said as JD shoved Marcus to the ground. "You two okay to watch him?"

"We'll be fine," Jackson answered.

"Josiah, you o...okay?" Larabee asked as he heard the sorrow in the man's voice.

Sanchez lifted his head and nodded. "I'm fine, Chris," he answered as he finished securing Larabee's legs to the bed. He knew there was no choice, but the idea of Larabee being helplessly tied down made his blood run cold. 'How many enemies would like to find you like this, Chris?' he thought as he reached for the knotted cloth. He didn't need to tell the gunslinger what the cloth was for.

Larabee opened his mouth and accepted the material. He knew what was to come, this wasn't the first time a bullet was removed from his body and he knew exactly how much pain this would cause. He saw remorse cloud Sanchez's eyes as the man lifted the hunting knife and poured whiskey over the blade. He held his breath as the bandage was removed from his shoulder and closed his eyes.

"Do it!" The two words were muffled through the cloth clenched in his teeth, but there was little doubt as to what he said.

Sanchez nodded and pressed the tip of the blade into the wound. He fought against his rebelling stomach, knowing this needed to be done in order to save his friends life.

Time seemed to stand still for the two occupants of the small cabin. One man focused totally on saving a friend's life, while the other fought back the pain racing through his body. The minutes crawled by as Josiah Sanchez forced the knife into the wound, oblivious to the weak moans coming from the man he worked on.

Chris held his breath and bit down on the knotted cloth, his body rigid as the sharp object was embedded in his flesh. He tried to move away from the pain, but the makeshift ropes held him down. He sucked in a deep breath as darkness beckoned to him and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

"I got it, Chris," Sanchez hissed, unaware that his friend had stopped struggling minutes before. "God help me!" he cried as the bullet finally came free of the ragged wound. He suddenly realized how quiet it was and he lifted his eyes to look into the pale face. It terrified him to see the almost grey pallor of Larabee's skin and he closed his eyes as he cried out. "Don't You dare take him like this! A box of worthless paper is not worth taking his life. You got Paulie, but you ain't getting Chris Larabee. It's not his time!" he raged, but dropped his voice as he felt the anger turn to pain. "Dear Lord, don't take him!"

It was growing dark by the time the five peacekeepers finished checking the bodies and securing the one live prisoner they had. Marcus had remained silent as the men searched for the remainder of the gang. Eight bodies were found; some had died instantly, and others had simply bled to death from the wounds.

Marcus had refused to answer their questions in spite of the fear he felt at the intimidating presence of five angry men. They had asked him if he'd seen two men when he was coming through the pass and he knew he was looking at the remainder of the seven peacekeepers from Four Corners. Now he waited, knowing sooner or later they'd question him again.

Jackson watched Standish carefully as the gambler flexed the fingers on his left hand. The wound wasn't serious, but the healer knew it would be painful. He looked around at the rest of the men. Tanner and Dunne didn't seem to be affected by the gunfight, although he did notice Vin wince when he overused his arm. He walked over to the sharpshooter, who was seated on a rock next to a glowing fire. It had been decided they should spend the night here and take care of the bodies before leaving at first light. The canyon pass would be treacherous, especially in the dark.

"Vin, is your arm bothering you?"

"Nah, nothin' wrong wit' it, Nathan." The sharpshooter shrugged his shoulders and flexed his arms to assure the healer.

"Maybe I should take a quick look at it."

"Said I's fine, Nathan. I'll let ya know when..."

"Sure you will." Jackson shook his head, knowing it would do know good to argue with the younger man.

"We need ta bury these men," Tanner said as he looked at the bodies.

"Yeah, But, you, Ezra, and JD are not lifting a hand," the healer warned.

"Ain't no way you and Buck can do it all." Jackson smiled as he answered. "I don't plan on it, Vin." He turned to the ladies' man. "Buck, untie him, ain't no reason he can't help us bury his friends."

Wilmington smiled as he took out his knife and cut through the ropes. "You try anything and you'll be joining your friends in the ground," he snarled.

"I... I won't," Marcus told him.

The men didn't have the proper tools to bury the men, but they'd found a shallow cave that would hold them until they could be buried properly. For now they would just seal them inside the cave. Three hours later the bodies were interred and the peacekeepers once more turned their attention to Marcus. The prisoner's hands were again bound behind his back and he leaned heavily against a boulder.

"What's your name?" Dunne asked.

Marcus met the young man's stare with one of his own. Of the five men present this was the one he was least intimidated by. He remained silent until the kid walked towards him, and swallowed as he saw the firelight sparkle off the eyes. There was something almost cold about the way the kid glared at him and if the others had seen it they would've likened it to Chris Larabee. The difference being that Larabee didn't have to work to bring that glare out whereas the kid did.

"I asked ya a question, Mister, and I want an answer!" Dunne snapped, pleased that the others were leaving it to him. It was times like this that he really felt a part of the seven that they trusted that he could do the job. He reached down and dragged the man to his feet and drew his gun. "Now tell me who you are!"

"Hey, JD, easy, Kid," Wilmington played along with JD's ruse, knowing the others would do the same.

"Shut up, Buck! You guys are always telling me I'm too soft, well now I'm just gonna prove how wrong you are."

"JD! Ya can't kill 'im!" Tanner called as the younger man continued to threaten the outlaw.

"Not gonna kill him, Vin, just gonna wound him a little." He let the man drop to the ground and pointed his pistol at his right knee. "See, I can just make it so he can't run away!" he punctuated the threat by easing back on the trigger.

"You're lawmen! Ya can't let 'im do t...this," Marcus stammered.

"You'd be well advised to supply the young gentleman with the information he's seeking," Standish explained.

"What? Do what?" Marcus asked, confusion written on his face as Dunne continued to point his weapon.

"He means you'd better tell the kid everything he wants to know," Jackson explained. "Otherwise we might just have to reopen that cave."

"Y...you wouldn't?"

"Try me!" JD hissed, enjoying the bad guy role the others were letting him play. This was something Buck Wilmington usually did, never him, and it felt strange to see the fear he'd put in the outlaw's eyes. He eased the trigger back a little further and watched as Marcus tried to pull away.

"H...Harvey Marcus," the man answered.

"Well, Harvey," JD sneered. "Where's Nelson?" they'd seen wanted posters of Hiram Nelson and his gang, and had recognized at least three of the dead men as part of that gang.

"W...who?" he stammered.

"You know who I'm talkin' about! That lowlife Nelson! Where is he?"

"I... I don't know..." A bullet struck the dirt by his leg and his eyes widened in fear.

"JD!" Wilmington snapped.

"I got it, Buck!" Dunne warned. "The next one won't miss. Now where is he?"

"H...he went back!"

"Back where?"

"Back to where w...we left L...Larabee and S...Sanchez."

Tanner and Wilmington couldn't wait any longer. The two men were at Dunne's side and grabbing a piece of the outlaw. The kid had done his job and now it was up to them to find out what this man knew about the missing peacekeepers.

"Where the hell are they?" Wilmington snarled as Tanner shook the man.

"I...I don't kn...know..." Marcus struggled to get away and fell to the ground as the two men released him. he cried out as he landed on his bound arms.

"Ya want me ta turn the kid loose on ya ag'in?" the tracker asked.

Marcus glanced at the young easterner and didn't like the gleam in his eyes. "N...No. P...please...I can show ya where we left them."

"Are they still amongst the living?" Standish asked.

"T...they were, but..."

"But what?" Jackson interrupted.

"B...but Larabee was hurt..."

"Hurt!" Tanner once more reached for the fallen man. "Hurt how?"

"S...shot. Hiram shot 'im."

"How bad?" Buck demanded coldly.

"I...I don't know. I just saw h...him fall from the s...saddle and there was b...blood on the snow."

Tanner pulled him up until their eyes met. He felt the tremors running through the outlaw as he pressed until they were nose to nose. "You'd better pray him and Josiah don't die!" He threw the man back to the ground and stalked back to the fire. The thought of the two men caught high in the mountains worried him. He'd seen the signs that they were in for an early winter when he was up there recently on a hunting trip and he knew how deadly those storms could be. He suddenly remembered something Marcus said and turned back to the man, ignoring the way he cringed away from him. Buck and JD were still standing by the man, Ezra and Nathan sitting beside the fire.

"When did Nelson head back?"

"E...early yesterday," Marcus answered.

"Why did he go back?" Wilmington asked.

"He went back to m...make sure L...Larabee was dead."

"Why?" Dunne asked.

"I don't know all of it, but he knew Larabee before he left Indiana."

"You're gonna show us exactly where you left them!" Buck hissed. He knew some of Larabee's background from Indiana, but nothing about his meeting Hiram Nelson. He knew in his heart Nelson and Larabee would not have fought on the same side.

"Get some sleep. We leave at first light!" Tanner ordered. "I'll take first watch."

"Alright, Vin, wake me in four hours," Wilmington ordered and saw the tracker nod as he walked off into the darkness.

Hiram Nelson shivered as the air grew colder. Night fell quickly, spreading a blanket of darkness over the canyon and he knew he couldn't go any further. He searched the area for a place to spend the night, knowing the thrill of finding Larabee and Sanchez would help keep him warm through the night. He spotted an overhanging ledge and spurred his tired mount towards it. 'I'll find you tomorrow, Larabee!' he thought as he set up camp for the night.

Through the long night Josiah sat beside the bed as Larabee was caught in the throes of fever induced delirium. He lost count of how many times he brought snow in and melted it down, using the tepid water to bath the gunslinger. He boiled water and steeped the willow bark tea, once again thankful the man who owned the cabin saw fit to keep it stocked.

Once more he wet the cloth and placed it across Larabee's forehead. He stood up from the chair and stretched his arms above his head. He knew he needed sleep, but was loath to give into his body's demands, afraid he wouldn't wake up if Larabee needed anything. Sighing heavily, he walked to the door and was surprised to find the sun was just coming over the horizon. He walked out into the bright sunshine and squinted his eyes as it glared off the melting snow. He walked to the woodpile and loaded his arms once more, then re-entered the cabin, placed a few chunks in the fireplace and returned to cooling down the injured man.

Vin woke them at first light. He'd managed to grab a few hours sleep after Buck relieved him, but woke up soon afterwards and told the ladies' man not to bother waking JD for the next watch. They ate a cold breakfast of jerky and leftover biscuits from the night before, saddled their horses and rode out. The five friends rode one behind the other with Marcus stuck behind Jackson and in front of Dunne.

JD felt great about the influence he had over the other man. Each time Marcus turned to look over his shoulder, JD made sure he glared at him. When he turned back the young man would smile and shake his head. He knew the others were watching him and it felt good to know he'd done something to help find Larabee and Sanchez.

Chris opened fever bright eyes and tried to move, gasping as pain lanced through his upper body. He heard a sound beside him and turned his head until he saw the man seated beside him. A frown marred his face as he tried to draw the man's name from his foggy memory. He closed his eyes in an effort to stop the room from spinning. Images formed and dissolved as he fought the pain in his body. Faces swam before his eyes and he opened them once more. A name came to him and he knew who was beside him.

"J...Josiah," he mumbled. His voice came out weak and raspy and he tried again. "J'siah," the word turned into a cough and he groaned as it tore at his chest.

Sanchez didn't realize he had fallen asleep until a painful gasp came from the man on the bed. He reached for the cup of water and eased the gunslinger forward, helped him drink a small amount of liquid and gently placed him back on the pillow. He berated himself for giving in to his body's weakness and not being awake when Larabee finally woke up.

"Thanks," Larabee said softly.

"I'm sorry, Chris," Sanchez apologized.

A frown again formed on his face as he asked. "For what?"

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep." He knew how absurd it sounded, but exhaustion and worry were the soul reasons he was in turmoil right now.

"Need to s...sleep too, Josiah."

"I will, Chris. How do you feel?"

Larabee smiled in an effort to ease the lines etched into the older man's face. "I'm fine," he answered.

"Sure you are. How do you feel?" he repeated as he wet the cloth and placed in back on Larabee's forehead.

"You're as bad as Nathan." Again the smile was on his face and he was glad to see the ex-preacher relax in the chair.

"I'll take that as a compliment, my friend. Think you can drink a little tea?"

"Think so. Am kind've thirsty."

Josiah walked to the fireplace and reached for the pot he placed there. The tea was still warm and he poured it into a cup. He walked back to the bed and again eased the blond forward.

Chris gritted his teeth as he was lifted forward. He sipped at the tea until he could take no more and turned away. The pain in his chest had gained momentum and he tried to get comfortable on the bed. Again his eyes lifted to meet those of the other man. He knew how much this was costing Josiah, but he didn't know the reasons behind it. He knew it was more than having to take a bullet out of his chest. In spite of his own need for privacy and his respect for other people's privacy, he knew what he had to do. Something from his past was eating at Sanchez and somehow Larabee knew he needed to talk it out.

"Josiah, tell me about Paulie," he said softly.

Sanchez heard the name and felt a shiver run down his spine. He never spoke of the past, at least not the dark days when he'd begun to question everything about God and his own choices. He slumped forward in the chair and closed his eyes. The face of a young man formed before his closed lids and he realized for the first time just how much Paulie and Chris were alike. The same blond hair and green eyes. The same loyalty and friendship that was freely given when someone proved they could be honest and loyal. He remembered how Chris was angered when Ezra Standish ran out on them. Now, along with the rest of the seven, there was a unique bond there.

Chris saw the pain on Sanchez' face and hated being the cause of it. He knew he'd crossed the line when he asked about Josiah's past, yet he wanted to know. He wanted to understand what drove this man, why he'd given up something that he seemed so natural at. The ex-preacher remained quiet and Chris couldn't help feeling he'd been wrong to ask. Taking a deep breath and fighting to quiet the oncoming nausea he reached out and placed his left hand on the other man's arm.

"Josiah, s...sorry, didn't mean to i...intrude. D...don't have to t...tell," Larabee's muttered.

"It's okay, Chris. Just give me a minute," Sanchez said as he met the sorrow filled green eyes.

"O...okay," Larabee said and closed his eyes. He felt Sanchez place his hand back under the covers. He knew he had a fever, but his body trembled under the blankets. He felt himself drifting, yet he wanted to stay awake and hear what Sanchez was going to say.

Josiah wasn't sure if Larabee was still awake, but something told him he was and that he wouldn't sleep until he heard what happened so long ago. He took a deep breath and his voice was soft as he spoke.

"It happen a long time ago, Chris. Guess I wasn't much older than Vin. Had this friend I knew since we were both boys. His name was Paulie Marshall. We stayed friends when we both lost our parents. We grew up fast and hard and one day we met a man with a collar. Never knew exactly what we were getting into. This man was making a sermon in an open field with the rain coming down and the people still wouldn't leave. Paulie and me stood there listening to him. He didn't preach about fire and brimstone like the preacher at the church I went to with my mother and father. He preached about the goodness of God and how he'd save you if you were ready to let him into your heart. I remember wishing I could talk like him and when I looked at Paulie he had this expression on his face that I've never seen before. I knew right then Paulie and me were gonna ask this man how we could become men of the cloth. It was several years later when we struck out on our own. Ready, willing and able to bring the word of God to the so-called savage wilderness and the people fighting to make a life for themselves out there. We stayed together, stopping in small towns as we travelled. We stopped at homes that were far from civilization. We stopped at many Indian settlements and made a lot of friends amongst them. The stories we'd been told about these people were all wrong. They welcomed us, I won't say all of them did, but most of them and there were many nights we shared the fire and stories with them. It was soon after we left just such an encampment that P...Paulie ..."

Josiah grew silent as he looked at the unmoving blond. He sighed and stood from the chair. He made his way to the fireplace and placed more logs on the burning embers. He looked towards Chris Larabee and was shocked to see a pair of green eyes watching his every move. He couldn't help but smile at the younger man.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"C...can't... too c...cold," his voice trembled as his teeth chattered and a heavy cough erupted from his chest. He felt strong hands lift him forward and accepted the willow bark tea. He drank a small amount and turned away. "Enough," he said as Sanchez reclaimed his seat. "W...what happened to Paulie?"

Sanchez' face took on a far away look as he watched the pale form on the bed. He was worried about the chill Larabee felt, especially when he could feel the heat radiating from the injured man. Taking a deep breath he continued to pour his soul out to the man he called friend and leader. "We rode away from the Indian encampment feeling like we'd done something worthwhile. Paulie was fairly dancing in the saddle and I could see a wonderful light shining in his eyes. They were breathtaking, Chris, and it shook me to the core to realize this man I called friend and brother could give of himself so freely. If goodness was defined by how big a man's heart was then Paulie Marshall was all heart. He gave up his life for me that day."

Sanchez grew quiet once more and Larabee was sure he saw a slight tremble in the man's body. "S...sorry, Josiah, I... I understand if y...you don't want to go on."

"It's okay, Chris, maybe it's time I exorcised a few of my own demons," Sanchez said as he looked towards the fire.

Larabee wasn't sure whether Josiah was talking to him or speaking to the ghosts from his past. He waited silently, knowing the ex-preacher would continue when he was ready. Chris would not push it, but he would be there if his friend should fall.

Josiah took a deep breath and began to tell of the death of not only his friend, but also his own faith. A faith he'd slowly been bringing back to life with the penance he was doing and the friendships he had with the six peacekeepers he rode with.

"We rode south away from the Indian village, knowing we were entering an even greater wilderness. It was nearing dark when we heard a young woman's cry of pain. We looked at each other and I swear I could see Death coming for him, Chris. I wanted to stop him from riding into that camp, but I knew he wouldn't. I hurried ahead of him, wanting to protect him from the ghostly spectre I knew was waiting for him. We rode into the camp and,"

Josiah rode slightly ahead of his friend as they entered the small camp. They called out a warning that they were coming in, but he heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. He raised his hand as he walked into the small circle of light. A man stood on the opposite side of the fire, each one had a gun cocked and pointed towards him. The camp itself must've been there for days, the smell of blood assaulted his nostrils as he looked at the carcass of a buffalo being dressed.

"Evening, Gentlemen. We were hoping to share your fire."

"Fire's small, ain't got 'nough food ta share wit' ya," a scraggly red haired man, with thick whiskers told him.

Sanchez could see there would be plenty of meat from the slaughtered animal. He knew something was wrong as he searched the area for the woman he heard cry out. This man was dangerous and a shiver of dread ran down his spine.

"Now, gentlemen, surely there's enough buffalo meat to share with a couple of hungry..." Before he could finish a gun was pointed at him.

"Yer one of them ministers who preach right an' wrong, aren't ya?"

"We are men of the cloth," Marshall answered. "We've come out west to bring the word of the Lord to anyone who's ready to listen."

"You mean anyone ya can force ta listen. Ain't gonna listen ta no gospel from yer mouth. Now jest shut yer yap an' git on outta 'ere 'fore I send ya ta meet yer God," the redhead snarled as he swung his gun from one mounted man to the other.

Marshall looked at the rough looking man and knew he was hiding something. He glanced sideways at his companion and knew by the set of Sanchez' shoulders he was ready for a fight. This was a wild part of the world and although they were traveling and preaching the word of God they had weapons with which to shoot game. He saw Sanchez reach his hand towards his saddlebags and did the same. The sound of the woman's cry echoed in his ears as his hand fell on the cold steel of the rifle he carried.

"Don't try it mister," the red-haired man warned as he levelled his gun on Marshall. "I'll cut ya outta that saddle 'fore yer able to clear that gun and then I'll put yer friend on the ground beside ya. Now turn them horses around and go back the way ya came. Ain't no place fer God or his preachers out 'ere."

"There's a place for God everywhere," Sanchez told him and went rigid at the sound of a woman's screams. "What's going on?"

"Ain't nothin' that concerns ya. Tol' ya ta ride on outta 'ere," the redhead repeated.

"We can't do that," Marshall warned. "Not until we're sure the woman is alright."

"Where is she?" Sanchez asked softly, his voice full of dread as the cry came again.

"None of yer damned business. Now git."

As if by unspoken agreement Sanchez and Marshall turned their mounts and headed out of the circle of light. Once outside the area they dismounted and made their way back to the camp on foot, keeping to the shadows and the trees as they did. By the time they reached the camp the man had settled down and had been joined by a second man. A young Indian woman sat beside the buffalo carcass. Her hands, hair and clothing were covered in blood and Josiah couldn't tell if it was hers or from the buffalo carcass. The light reflected off her dark eyes and he thought he saw fear shining in them. Somehow they had to get her away from these men before they killed her.

"We have to get her away from them," Marshall whispered.

"I know, but how?" Sanchez asked.

"We wait until they're asleep and then we go in and take her."

Sanchez nodded his agreement and settled down to wait. Neither man wanted to resort to violence and hoped to rescue the woman and leave before the two men even knew they were there. It was several hours later when the camp settled down for the night. Josiah didn't understand why the woman just sat beside the buffalo carcass, she didn't move, didn't speak, just sat there, alone and silent.

"Looks like now's as good a time as any, Josiah," Marshall whispered as he watched the quiet camp.

Sanchez nodded and they silently moved towards the woman. Josiah watched the camp as his friend moved to aid the woman.

Paulie moved to the woman and placed his hand over her mouth. He looked into her terrified eyes and placed a finger to his lips. "We're gonna get you out of here," Paulie whispered. "Understand?" At her slight nod he released his grip on her and stood up.

Josiah continued to watch the camp. He heard Paulie explaining to the young woman what they were doing and he smiled at the soft voice. A voice that could rival thunder when giving a sermon, now spoke with the same authority, but in a whisper only he could hear. He sent a silent prayer of thanks when they started moving out of the camp without waking the two men. They were at the edge of the circle of light when Josiah heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. He turned to see the woman with a small gun in her hand. It was pointed at him and he now understood why she just sat by the carcass. The woman was with these men of her own choice. He now realized the cries he had heard were not cries of pain. He stared at the barrel of the gun, making peace with God as her hand pulled back on the trigger.

"Yea, though I walk..." his voice trailed off as he felt the instincts of the man next to him. he didn't have time to react as Marshall pushed him and a gunshot echoed through the once quiet night. He was shocked not to feel a piece of metal slam into his body, but didn't have time to reflect on the cause. He heard the men come to their feet and pulled the gun from the woman's hands. He prayed the gun was still loaded as he turned to the fire. He pointed the gun at the red-haired man and fired off a shot at the same time two shots were directed at him. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that this was not the way of God, but he turned the gun on the second shooter as the first one dropped to the ground. The shrill cry told him the man was dead even as he registered a blur rushing towards him. the flickering firelight reflected off a steel blade as it swept towards his arm. He cried out as the knife slashed into his left arm, leaving a dark furrow in his flesh. He heard a shot and felt the woman fall beside him. He dropped the gun and held his arm as he realized his friend wasn't with him. He caught sight of Paulie standing behind the woman and thanked God he was still alive. His prayer of thanks turned into a sharp cry as Paulie tumbled to the ground.

Josiah rushed forward and knelt beside his friend. In the light cast by the bright moon he could see the dark stain on the man's chest. He knew he should check to see if the others were dead, but his eyes were glued to the man before him. He lifted him into his arms, ignoring the cries of pain from his friend and moved into the light cast by the fire. He glanced quickly at the two men, one shot through the forehead, the other in the chest. He placed his friend on one of the bedrolls and tore his shirt open. He knew the bullet was still inside and it was up to him to remove it. He fought his rebelling stomach as he hurried to grab his saddlebags from his horse. He wasn't gone long and returned with both horses.

Once more he knelt beside his friend and opened the saddlebags. He saw the pain on his friends face as the eyes slid open. "Just lie still, Paulie."

"N...no, Josiah. I'm not gonna make it. Y...you have to do the last rites. P...please, I need to make my confession."

"No! I won't let you die," he said as a trickle of blood seeped from Paulie's mouth. He heard the gurgling breath and knew in his heart his friend was dying before him. He dropped the knife and lifted the trembling man into his arms. He began speaking the words that would soothe the dying soul before him. Tears trickled from his eyes as he held him. he finished giving the last rites to the only man who understood him and watched the wondrous light in his eyes extinguish forever.

"Why!" he screamed as thunder and lightening joined his cry of rage.

"He was a good man, Chris. He died in my arms with me cursing God for taking him in such a senseless act of violence. I buried him that day, said some words over him, but for me the love of the Lord's words was gone—shattered by the sound of gunfire and his dying breath. I spent a lot of years doing things that went against everything Paulie and I believed in and then one day I came to Four Corners and knew it was time for penance."

"Paulie sounds like he was a good friend."

"He was, Chris, the best."

"You're a good friend too, Josiah Sanchez," Larabee mumbled tiredly. He felt hands reach behind him and once more he was lifted forward. He drank the cold water the ex-preacher held and met the pain filled blue eyes. "T....thanks," he whispered, wanting to say more, but his energy was gone. He closed his eyes to the sound of Josiah's soothing voice telling him he wasn't gonna let God take him from them. He smiled and knew in his heart he wasn't ready to stop living. Mary Travis' face swam before his closed lids and he smiled. "N...not g...gonna die, J...Josiah," he vowed.

Sanchez smiled as his friend succumbed to sleep. Something about Larabee's vow to live soothed his own pain and he knew this would not end with another friend's death. This time the Lord was going to let a good man live and continue to protect the innocent. He walked to the door and looked up at the darkening sky. "Thank you," he whispered as tears once more shone in his eyes, only these were not of sorrow, these were being shed in gratitude and relief.

"What's wrong, Vin?" Buck asked as he saw the stiff set to the tracker's shoulders.

"There's two horses up ahead," Tanner answered, as he concentrated on the two animals. The moon lent just enough light for them to make out the outline and they moved forward cautiously. Marcus had told them Nelson was alone, but they were not about to trust him. Vin spurred Unalii forward and soon realized the animals were still saddled. He silently cursed the owners for leaving them so, but took the words back as he recognized Dulcinea and Diablo.

"Vin!" Wilmington called as he hurried after the younger man. The ground was covered in an inch of snow and Buck knew they needed to be cautious. 'Damn fool is gonna get himself killed,' he thought. He watched as the tracker dismounted and stood beside the horses. His eyes lit up as he recognized his friends' horses. He heard the other ride up behind him as he joined Tanner in checking out the animals.

Tanner stood beside Dulcinea, his hands running along the lengths of the sorrel's legs. "Check Diablo, Buck," he ordered.

"Any sign of Chris or Josiah?" Jackson asked.

Tanner had been searching the area while checking Josiah's horse. The only tracks in the snow belonged to the two horses. The moon cast everything in eerie shadows and the five peacekeepers wondered where their two missing men were. They'd travelled a long way during the day, stopping only long enough to eat and rest the horses. Now it was too dark to continue through the treacherous mountain pass. They needed to unsaddle the horses and rub them down.

"We'll camp here tonight and move out at first light," Tanner told them as he reached up and pulled the saddle from the large animal's back. He saw Wilmington doing the same with Diablo. He heard the others moving around and setting up camp. His worry for his friends mounted as he noted the tracks leading higher into the mountain pass and he knew Nelson was still out there. He prayed Josiah and Chris would be alright and could hold him off until they got there.

Once the camp was set up, Jackson checked Standish's shoulder. The wound had bled slightly and he cleaned it with whiskey, ignoring the wince this elicited from the gambler. Next he turned his attention towards the tracker. Despite Vin's protests he checked the wound, glad to see his fears had been for nothing. He finished by checking on JD and was relieved to find no new damage on him either. After the long day in the saddle five weary peacekeepers settled their prisoner to the ground and waited for sleep to come.

Hiram Nelson stood next to the small tracker's cabin. He was chilled to the bone, having ridden through the night in his haste for revenge. Finding the cabin was a stroke of luck and his own sense of smell. He nearly rode past it, but the smell of burning wood caught his senses and he followed the odor until his eyes made out the lighter shade against the backdrop of midnight sky. He rode towards the smoke and dismounted a short distance away from it. He checked his Colt and made sure it was loaded, a twisted smile formed on his face as he realized how close he was to killing Chris Larabee. He crouched low and hurried towards the cabin. The windows were shuttered to keep out the cold and he moved to the door. He stood beside the door and listened for sounds of movement. His hand reached for the handle as silence continued all around him.

The door opened and light spilled from the interior and onto the snow. A quick perusal of the cabin revealed two forms, one lying on a bed, the other sitting on the floor, his head leaning heavily against the wall behind him. Neither man moved in spite of the cold seeping into the room. Nelson slid inside and eased the door closed behind him. The sight of Chris Larabee brought a smile to his face. The man was whiter than the snow on the ground and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his face.

He watched as the Sanchez moved slightly and the eyelids flickered. "Reckon I wouldn't move if I were you," he warned as the man's blue eyes opened.

Josiah couldn't remember falling asleep, yet he knew his body craved the rest. He'd been trying to cool the injured gunslinger, but the fever continued unabated. He drained the infection from the wound, but it continued to be a problem. He didn't have the things necessary to look after it properly, or to stitch it up. He cursed the loss of his saddlebags and the medical supplies Nathan Jackson insisted they carry.

He shook away the thoughts as a new sound came to him, a voice he vaguely recognized, yet knew brought danger with it. He threw off the last dregs of sleep and went to stand up.

"Told you not to move, Sanchez! Ya stay put or I put a bullet in Larabee right now."

Josiah met the hatred filled eyes and knew he was facing Hiram Nelson. He saw the gun aimed at Larabee and knew he had to do something before Nelson killed him. His eyes moved to the table where his gun sat and he calculated the odds of his being able to get it before Nelson shot Larabee.

"I wouldn't, Sanchez. You may be fast, but a bullet's faster. Now get on your hands and knees and move over to the corner by the fire. I got a score to settle with Larabee and I aim to finish it now."

"No!" Sanchez hissed as he moved to cover Larabee with his own body.

"I said get away from him!"

Chris heard the raised voices, but it took a while for him to recognize them. He knew Josiah Sanchez was in a verbal battle with a voice Chris didn't recognize. The heated argument seemed to get louder as he heard movement beside the bed. He used every ounce of stubbornness he possessed to force his eyes open. Two blurred images moved into his line of vision. He knew the man closest to him was Josiah, the other one was still only a blur. He didn't move for fear the man would shoot Sanchez. He waited, his eyes open to half-mast, and his body rigid as the unknown man came closer to the bed.

"I told you to get away from him!" Nelson warned as he stood over Sanchez, who was now on his knees.

Chris watched as the newcomer raised his gun and knew he had to do something. He waited until the outlaw stood next to him and pushed his body upwards. He shoved with what little strength he had and cried out as pain ripped through his chest. He didn't hear Sanchez swear or Nelson's grunt as he landed on his knees. All he knew was a fire was burning inside his chest and he had no way to douse it. He fought to stay conscious, wanting and needing to know Sanchez was okay. He'd wakened several times through the long night to find the older man slumped against the wall. He knew by the deep lines and dark circles under his eyes that the ex-preacher was exhausted. He ignored his body's need for water or anything that would help slake his thirst and let Sanchez sleep. Now it seemed that was a mistake as he heard the two men battling beside him.

Josiah heard Chris cry out at the same instant Nelson stumbled away from the bed. He shoved his right foot out and smiled as the outlaw cried out and hit the floor heavily. Josiah's anger overwhelmed his exhaustion and he flew at the man as Nelson scrambled to his knees. The two men fought, trading blows, as the circled each other. Josiah pushed his worry for Chris Larabee to the back of his mind as he fought for both their lives. He delivered a devastating right fist, connecting solidly with Nelson's left cheek and rocking his head back.

Nelson sensed the strength from the other man and knew it was fed by anger. He knew he needed to be patient in order to defeat Sanchez. The fist that caught him on the cheek had nearly put him down for good. He felt blood trickle from a cut on his cheek and knew he needed to get the upper hand before Sanchez killed him. He struck out and drove a fist into the other man's stomach, smiling at the expulsion of air, but it didn't last long as the larger man struck him with an uppercut to the chin. His teeth clamped down on his cheek and he felt blood ooze from his mouth.

Chris watched the fight between the two men. His blurred vision made it impossible for him to see who had the upper hand. The two bodies continued to fight and he heard one of them cry out as he slammed into the edge of the small table.

Sanchez delivered another blow to Nelson's face, sending him into the table. Nelson cried out as the sharp edge of the table caught his back. He shouted in feral rage as he dove at Sanchez, all thoughts of laying back and being patient disappearing in his anger.

Sanchez looked at the man's face and easily sidestepped the attack. Too late he realized the man's momentum would bring him to the bed where Chris Larabee lay. "No!" he cried as the man tripped and fell over the injured man. He thought he heard Larabee cry out weakly, but didn't have time to check as Nelson pushed off the bed and turned to face Sanchez again.

Nelson moved towards his foe once more and reeled when the man's fist drove him to the ground. His eyes caught sight of his weapon and his fingers encircled the handle.

Sanchez moved quickly and grabbed his gun from the table as Nelson brought his up.

Chris fought to stay conscious, unable to tear his eyes from he blurred shapes. Two shots sounded close together and he tried to focus on each figure. His eyes refused to cooperate and he let his head sink back to the pillows. He waited to see who would come to the bed, knowing he couldn't move anyway. His body was numb now and he was thankful for the lack of pain. A hand on his shoulder told him Josiah Sanchez was the victor. He forced heavy lids to open and smiled weakly at the familiar shape.

"Nelson's dead, Chris," Sanchez told him.

Larabee nodded and found the strength to speak. "A...are you o...okay?"

"Yeah, nothing a little of Nathan's salve won't clean up. I need to check your wound," he said, pulling the chair close to the bed once more. Larabee nodded and watched as steady hands removed the bandage from his chest. The wound had bled again because of Larabee's own movements and Nelson's falling on him. Josiah quickly cleaned it and replaced the bandage. He saw the lines of pain sweeping across his friend's face and wished he had something to give him. The Willow Bark tea just wasn't enough.

"T...thanks, Josiah," Larabee said as a cool cloth was once more placed on his forehead.

"For what? Nearly getting you killed again?" Sanchez couldn't help the bitterness as he looked at his friend. He counted his succumbing to sleep as failure to protect his friend.

"Josiah, you c...couldn't have known he was here. Nelson was a...after me, not you. If anyone's to blame it's me."

"No it's not, Chris. That man was ready to kill you where you were. If I hadn't fallen asleep he wouldn't have got the drop on us."

"Josiah, you're human. Y...you've been t...taking care of me and haven't had a...any rest. Not y...your fault," Larabee grimaced as he shifted on the bed. "Nelson's dead...you sleep."

Josiah watched the green eyes close and sat back. He felt bruised from head to toe and his head throbbed. He looked at the dead man and knew he needed to take care of the body. He stood up and leaned heavily on the table, waiting for the room to stop spinning. He moved towards the body and slid his hands under Nelson's arms. Normally this would be easy for him, but the abuse his body had taken had weakened his reserves considerably. He lost track of time as he dragged the body out into the snow. There was no way he could give him a decent burial as his own body cried out for rest. He dropped Nelson beside the tree line and went back to the cabin. He checked Chris once more and assured himself he was alive, changed the cloth on his forehead and moved to heat more water for tea. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he grasped the edge of the table as he slid to the floor. Outside the cabin the lone call of a wolf sounded once more, but the two men inside were oblivious to its call.

Vin led the others through the melting snow. It was slow going in places as the slippery terrain made it hard to keep the horses steady. The drifts were heavy in spots, but the temperature had risen to a more seasonal temperature and the freak storm of a few nights ago was slowly melting away. It was late in the evening and no one wanted to voice the fact that they might have to spend another night without finding their friends.

Buck watched the tracker as he dismounted and checked the tracks and other signs. He didn't ask questions, none of them needed to. Vin Tanner was the best tracker around and if anyone could find Larabee and Sanchez it was this man. He watched as the silent tracker remounted and started forward again. He had no idea how long they rode before Tanner pulled to a stop in front of a single large rock. A small footpath led into the trees and Tanner seemed to be concentrating on something he saw there.

"Vin?" Jackson called.

The tracker was quiet for a few minutes, but soon stood up and stretched his back. He turned to face the others and pointed through the trees. "Two people on foot went through here a while back..."

"Chris and Josiah?" Wilmington asked.

"Could be. Also got a horse going through recently."

"Nelson!" Dunne exclaimed.

"Yeah. The tracks match the ones we've been following," Vin remounted and led them through the trees until they spotted a small clearing with a cabin placed up against the tree line.

A soft whinny from the left met them and JD turned towards the lone horse standing in the trees. "I'll check it out."

"Just be careful, Kid," Wilmington warned as he followed the others towards the cabin.

Tanner kept looked towards the tiny roof, worried there was no sign of smoke from the chimney. He heard the other dismount and followed suit. "Buck, check around back. Ezra, watch Marcus. Nathan, you're with me," he ordered, knowing the others would do as he asked without question. He stepped up to the door and placed his hand on the handle. It moved easily and he looked up to see Jackson nod. He pushed down on the handle and eased the door open. His eyes darted around the room, instantly picking out the two men and the signs of a struggle. He checked behind the door before moving into the cabin. He moved to Larabee as Jackson knelt beside Sanchez.

Jackson turned his friend onto his back and gently checked his neck. The skin was cool to the touch and he glanced towards the fireplace. His first priority was to get the two men warm and then treat the injuries. He looked towards the bed and saw Tanner lean in over Chris Larabee.

"How is he, Vin?"

"He's hot, Nathan. Looks like he's been shot in the chest. How's Josiah?" "Looks like he went a few rounds with that boxer came in with the fair last year. He's got some bruises and cuts, but I don't think it's anything too serious. See if you can't get the fire going and get some warmth in here."

Wilmington came through the door, followed closely by Marcus and Standish. The two peacekeepers couldn't pull their eyes away from the two unconscious men.

"Nathan, are they —?" Wilmington asked.

"They're alive. Ezra, put him in that corner and go grab the bedrolls. Tell JD to bring in my saddlebags. Vin, get that fire going. Buck, gather whatever pots you can find and start melting snow." He stood away from Josiah and moved to the bed. His eyes quickly assessed the damage and he removed the bandage from Larabee's chest. The wound was ragged and rimmed in red. Dark bruising encircled the area and he could see someone had used a knife on it. He turned towards Sanchez and knew this man was responsible for Chris Larabee being alive.

"Here ya go, Nate!" JD exclaimed as he came into the one room cabin. He stopped as he saw the two older men, both unmoving, both so silent. He felt the bags being removed from his hands. "Nathan are they o...okay?"

"Josiah should be fine once we clean him up. Got some work to do on Chris."

A low moan from the floor had Vin kneeling beside the ex-preacher as the older man tried to sit up. "Easy, Josiah, everything's okay."

Sanchez heard the voice, but his confused mind wouldn't let him see who it was. He struggled upwards, thinking Nelson was back as he shoved the smaller man. "Chris!" he shouted as he struggled to his feet. He saw someone leaning over his friend and a savage rage tore through him as he realized he'd failed to protect his friend once more. He tried to reach the two men, but two sets of hands wrapped around his arms and he was held fast. He fought with all his strength, but he felt his body's betrayal as the hands held him tight.

"Josiah, calm down!" Jackson ordered as he moved from the bed to his friend. "It's me, Nathan. That's Buck and Vin holding ya." He watched as some of the fight seemed to leave Sanchez. "Now settle down and they'll let ya go." He touched his friends arm and felt the cold in his limbs. He waited for the blue eyes to clear and spoke softly. "Now I gotta see ta Chris and then I'll take a look at you. Buck, get that water boiling. We need ta get some tea going and warm him up."

Josiah stared at the man standing before him, unsure if he was real or an apparition brought on by exhaustion. "Nathan?"

Jackson smiled at the older man and nodded his head. "Yeah, it's me Josiah. We're all here."

Sanchez sagged in relief and looked towards the door as Standish came inside. His eyes fell on the form huddled in the corner and he pulled free of the arms holding him. "You lousy no good..." he snarled as he reached for the bound man. He had him on his feet and lashed out with his fist before anyone could react.

Standish reached for the hand as it came back to hit the outlaw again. "Don't, Josiah, he's not worth it," he said softly and watched the big shoulders sag.

The rage left him instantly as he heard the soft southern accent and he shoved the man into the corner. "If he dies it won't matter what anyone says!" he warned the terrified man in the corner.

"I... I..."

"You, my friend, would be well advised not say another word!" Standish warned, his words dripping sarcasm as he watched Sanchez move to the bed.

Buck and Vin breathed a sigh of relief as the ex-preacher released his death grip on Harvey Marcus. They watched as Sanchez staggered over and sat heavily in the chair beside the bed. He didn't say a word as Jackson began working on the unconscious man.

"Josiah?" Jackson called and waited for the blue eyes to meet his. "The bullet?"

"I got it out, Nathan. I had to cut into him to get it, but I did it," he mumbled. "Had to tie him down though so he couldn't move on me." They all heard the sorrow in Sanchez' voice as he spoke.

"You were alone, Josiah," Jackson reassured him. "You had no choice. If you hadn't tied him down Chris would've died. Ain't no way he could've stayed still while you cut into him." He patted the older man on the shoulder. "You saved his life, Josiah. Now I'm gonna make sure he stays that way. Do you think you can help me?"

Sanchez nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

Buck led the others out of the cabin as Jackson and Sanchez worked on Larabee. They stood outside as the sun beat down on the melting snow.

"What's wrong, Buck?" Tanner asked.

"Found a body out back by the trees."

"Nelson?" Dunne asked.

"I think so. Looks like he was shot and then dragged over to the trees. Think maybe we should bury him. A couple of animals have already been around him."

"All right. JD, see if you can find something to dig a hole. The ground should be fairly soft with the snow melting into it. Ezra, you should go back inside and..."

"I assure you I'm not suffering from this malady," Standish said.

"I can see that, Ez, but someone needs ta keep watch Marcus. Nate's busy with Chris and Josiah," Tanner explained.

"Very well, Mr. Tanner," Standish agreed and went back inside.

Chris heard voices talking in soft tones and tried to fight the lethargy in his body. His mouth was dry and he was thirsty. He tried to call to the voices, but couldn't find the moisture to speak. His eyes opened and it took a few minutes to clear the cobwebs from his mind. He moved his head and moaned as fireworks went off in his head.

Vin looked up from the table as a small sound came from the man on the bed. Three days had come and gone since they found their missing friends. Larabee had struggled through fever-induced nightmares, consolable only by Sanchez's softly spoken words. He moved to the bed and watched as the green eyes focused on him. He looked towards the corner of the room where Jackson had finally fallen asleep. Sanchez was also wrapped in a bedroll, while Ezra, Buck and JD sat at the small table. Harvey Marcus was huddled in the corner.

"Chris?"

Larabee looked into the blue eyes and tried to speak. The dryness in his throat caused it to come out as a strained cough and he held his left arm to his chest. He couldn't understand why his right arm wouldn't move.

Tanner accepted a cup from Wilmington and the two men lifted Larabee forward. They waited until his thirst was slaked and sat beside him.

Chris smiled at the two men and looked around the room. He was pleased and relieved to see his friends, but his eyes landed on the ex-preacher. "Josiah, o...okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's fine. He's just tired. How do you feel, Stud?" Buck asked.

"I'm okay. How'd you g...guys find us?"

"Nelson's men headed for Four Corners after they tangled with you and Josiah. We met them just before we entered the pass."

Larabee's eyes widened with worry and he shifted upwards on the bed. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah, Ezra got grazed, but he's gonna be fine," Tanner explained.

"How long?"

"We've been here for three days," Wilmington said and moved out of the way as Nathan joined them.

"How are you feeling, Chris?" Jackson asked as he sat in the chair vacated by the ladies man.

"Tired," Larabee answered as the healer placed his hand on his forehead.

"I expect you'll feel that way for a while. Ya lost a lot of blood, Chris, and the bullet broke your collarbone. Seems like the fever's nearly gone though. Vin, bring me some of that broth Josiah made." He felt the tracker ease away from the bed as he checked the wound in Larabee's shoulder. He'd immobilized the arm and stitched the wound in his chest. He wasn't concerned about infection any more, but now they needed to build up the injured man's strength.

"Here, Nate," Tanner passed him the cup and watched as he fed it to Larabee.

Chris drank the broth and found he lacked the strength to keep his eyes open. He looked towards the ex-preacher and sighed. They would both be okay now that help had arrived. For the first time since the snowstorm, Chris Larabee felt warm as the blankets were pulled up over him. He drifted towards sleep, knowing they'd be there when he woke up.

Chris sat on the landing outside Jackson's clinic. A week had passed since they'd come back to town and he was finally moving around. Harvey Marcus was in the jail awaiting Judge Travis' arrival. The Army had sent a letter to him and Josiah apologizing for duping them. Chris had sat back and listened as the excuses were made. How there was no choice in the matter. That the money was needed to pay the men and buy supplies. It also stated how Larabee's and Sanchez' sacrifices were appreciated and how the Army was pleased the two men survived the ordeal in the mountains. He'd been angry at first, but knew there was nothing he could do to change what happened. They were both alive and for that he would be thankful.

He smiled as Mary Travis looked up at him; this was another reason to be thankful. He remembered her helping Jackson tend his injuries and her tears when she thought he wasn't awake to see them. He remembered her soft touch on his cheek as she checked for fever or fed him the broth. He watched her deliver her newspapers and knew she'd visit with him later in the afternoon.

Vin and JD rode by on their way out of town on patrol. Buck walked across the street and tipped his hat to Gloria Potter. Ezra would still be in bed having not turned in until the early hours of the morning. Nathan sat outside the saloon, drinking a hot cup of coffee. Chris looked at the cup sitting on the railing. It was the first cup of coffee Jackson allowed him since they returned and he was savoring every drop. He smiled as he spotted Josiah coming towards him a piece of paper in his hands.

Josiah hurried up the stairs, intent on sharing the good news he received by telegram. "Good morning, Chris," he said in his rich baritone voice.

"That it is, Josiah. What's going on?" He tried to stand, but winced as the effort reawakened the annoying pain in his chest. He hated not being able to move his right arm, yet knew there was little choice.

"I got a telegram from Sheriff Mercer."

"Is everything okay?"

"According to the message it couldn't be better. It seems the Sheriff finally got smart and asked Betty Tucker to be his wife. They were married Sunday past."

Larabee smiled as he remembered the way the two people seemed to dance around each other. "That is great news, Josiah." He smiled at he thought of Joey Tucker and how the boy now had a good man to look up too. A boy deserved a good father and he was sure Eli Mercer would be that. "I saw you getting the Yosemite's wagon ready. You going back to the cabin?"

"Yeah. I figured I'd replace what we used."

"Are you going alone?" Larabee asked. He knew Sanchez would be fine on his own, but he wished he was going with him.

"I was, but..."

"But?" Larabee's eyebrows narrowed in surprise as he spotted the gambler leading Loki from the livery.

"But Ezra offered to go with me."

Larabee couldn't help but smile. No matter how many times he thought he knew these men, one of them always managed to put something over on him. "You boys be careful," he warned.

"We will, Chris. You mind what Nathan says."

"I don't seem to have much choice in the matter. Between Nathan and Mary it's like I've got a bell tied around my neck," he laughed.

"I bet it is. We'll be back in a week, Chris," he said.

Larabee nodded and green eyes met blue eyes once more. "Thanks, Josiah," the blond said.

Sanchez knew what the man was saying and nodded. "Thank you, Chris."

Larabee watched the retreating form and understood what was meant. Josiah trusted him and had opened his past to him, knowing that Chris would not betray that trust. Chris smiled as life returned to normal in Four Corners. 'As normal as it can,' he thought as two drunks fell through the swinging doors of the saloon. He smiled as Sanchez, Standish and Jackson easily handled the situation. He reached for the cheroot hidden inside the blanket wrapped around him and smiled as he brought it to his lips. This was home, the home of seven men, so different, yet they'd formed a bond that went beyond friendship. 'Family,' he thought as the wagon passed below him. He followed the retreating form until they reached the edge of town and frowned as his eyes made out an approaching figure on horseback.

There was something familiar in the way the man sat a horse, his body held stiff and rigid as if expecting trouble. Chris could almost feel the strength in the set of the shoulders. The man's head shifted constantly as if searching for something. The hat he wore was pulled low over his face and Chris couldn't see much of his features. He ignored the pain in his chest and walked to the stairs. He slowly made his way down to the street, ignoring Nathan's warning that he take it easy. At the bottom of the steps he once again halted and watched the approaching horse and rider.

'It can't be,' he thought as he moved out into the street, a smile forming on his still pale face.

Baker Campbell searched the streets for any sign of danger. In his line of business it was important he know who was in town and where they were. He knew little about this town except that one of the men he sought was supposedly living here. He rode straight down the center of Four Corners, his fast moving eyes coming to rest on a man walking into the center of the street. 'Larabee,' he thought with a smile. He continued forward until there was no choice but to halt in front of the blond figure.

"Son of a bitch!" he hissed and dismounted. "Chris Larabee, how the hell are you?"

"Hello, Baker," Larabee greeted. Baker Campbell was a man he'd known from his time at West Point. A friend who'd seen him through his first year there and helped him when another man wanted him to fight him. Larabee could've easily taken the man if he'd been alone, but he had four friends with him for moral as well as physical support. Campbell witnessed the whole confrontation and stepped in to help the newcomer. The other man and his companions backed down and Chris and Baker became fast friends. Chris returned the favor many times over the coming months until Campbell was given his orders and they parted ways. Time and circumstances made it hard to keep in touch and Campbell and Larabee lost track of each other.

"Hell, Chris, I'd ask you how you're doing, but I can see for myself you still don't know how to stay out of trouble. What happened?"

Larabee looked into the deep set blue gray eyes. The black hair was longer than he remembered and their were more lines on the face. At six foot four, Campbell's body was heavily muscled and lean. "Long story," he finally answered.

"I got time. Why don't we go to the saloon and I'll let you buy me a drink for old times sake. You can tell me what you've been up to since West Point."

Larabee laughed and nodded his head. "I'll buy you the first one, but I remember you still owe me two or three."

Campbell looked serious for a moment and turned sideways to meet Larabee's eyes. "I owe you more than that, Chris," he said.

"I thought we agreed we were even on that count?"

"You agreed. I didn't have much choice once I got my orders. Come on, let's get that drink." Larabee nodded and the two men headed towards the saloon. Chris nodded to Jackson as he came out of the jailhouse, knowing it wouldn't be long before the healer would join them in the saloon. He looked forward to introducing the six peacekeepers to Baker Campbell.

They talked throughout the day, reliving old memories and bringing up names they'd never thought to hear again. Campbell was shocked to hear about Larabee's marriage and their subsequent loss. Chris refused to go into details and the other man didn't force the issue. Wilmington, Jackson and eventually JD and Vin in from patrol joined them throughout the day.

Nathan watched his patient and finally called a halt to the talk of old times. "Alright, Chris, it's time you got some rest."

"Hell, Nathan, I'm fine."

"Still stubborn, Chris?" Campbell asked and smiled at the sheepish look he got in return. "Ya never did listen well to doctor's orders. I'll be around for a while so there's lots of time to catch up. I'm gonna check in at the hotel and get some sleep myself."

Larabee knew he'd overdone things, but he felt good. He stood up and said goodnight to the others.

"Chris, I need to check the bandages and then you can go sleep in your own room. I'm tired of sleeping on the cot," Jackson told him.

The gunslinger smiled and headed for the clinic. He walked across the street feeling more at ease than he had for a long time. He climbed the stairs to the clinic and sat in the chair on the landing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheroot, lit it and sat back, enjoying the little freedom he had.

"That better not be smoke I smell, Chris! I told ya I don't want ya smokin' those things just yet!"

Larabee smiled as Jackson's voice reached his ears. He shook his head and put the cheroot out, knowing the healer would give him hell for it later. For now he settled back in the chair and closed his eyes. He listened to the sounds around him and felt himself drifting towards sleep. He was home, everyone was safe, and he was healing amongst friends.

THE END

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