A Test of Faith

By: Winnie

"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.