Before the Wind

By Kimberly KBJ

PART THREE

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gurgling hot wet snorts and low sporadic hisses grumbled and spattered from the bowels of the sprawling mogul 2-6-0 wood burning steam locomotive. All in glossy black with edgings of gilt, red, and white around its wheels, windows and cyclopean headlight; the engine was as flamboyant as a San Francisco brothel and Buck loved every shiny, sleek inch of her. The men never saw anything like this engine with its grand bright colors, titanic cinder-bonnet stack crowned in gold, and its long-slatted imposing "cow-catcher" that seemed to jut out for miles. A beauty named the Empire, #13, causing Josiah pause, craning his neck for signs of crow, a true burden to believe in omens and superstitions, though it was a seven-car train that offered some consolation. Ezra saw it as a sign of opulent times mirrored in the fine design and plumage of the glorious machinery. J.D., not usually taking notice of spewing, noisy locomotives, as they were a familiar sight in the city, stood moon-eyed gazing at her.

Intuitable glances towards Vin, knowing something was decidedly wrong, lighting a cheroot as he leaned with a loose, unhurried pose against the side of the station house. Watching the eyes, Chris saw a vague, distant look come to Vin as the marksman rubbed his wrist first slow and then a frantic scraping that brought Chris by the man's side. "Vin, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'." Vin still looking at the train, eyes wide and dreaming, and then walking towards the boxcar. In a trance, Chris was sure Vin was lost in some haze of memory that seemed to hold him in a terrifying grip.

Startled by the spuming of steam hissing at his calves like writhing serpents, Vin jolted his body back almost wild to escape, fear plain to Chris as he watched. A long train ride, no mistaking that and Chris threw down the stubby remain of his smoke, touching the marksman soft and easy like a hand placed on a mustang ready to break free. Whisper-soft voice spoken not wanting to disturb, but to gentle the man back to them as the other men watched; disquiet rising like rambling, black clouds, looking like a hell of a storm.

"Vin." Willow-wisp fingers curved over Vin's shoulder, oak-boned rigid to the touch. "Vin, look at me."

A slow dawning as the eyes cleared and a flush rose to his face; Vin knowing that he had done something, walking in some distant world and them watching it all. He hadn't been on a train since the war and Vin felt surprised that it would be so hard. So damn hard as it all came back to him. ** Walking, shuffling one behind the other, heading North he heard the others talking. North, too far to go, too far from his homeland even now, and knowing that he'd never make it back and a decision made then; Vin would not be going North. **

The rises and falls of the gunman's voice soothed Vin, hypnotic inflections like rain on rooftops. Vin's eyes no longer distant hectically jumped to Chris and back to the train, absurd in its garish display alongside the earth-clay station house. "I ain't rightly sure, I c'n git on that train."

"A man can only do what he can do." Chris hooked his thumbs around his gun belt, reflective as he stared at Vin, secrets buried so deep, even Tanner himself appeared startled at the surfacing of them. "Just a day or two, Vin. Ain't that long of a ride. If by the time we reach Albuquerque and it's not any better for ya, we'll get us some mounts. All right?"

Trestles and rocky terrain and the black, black, black of an undying night with the continuous taunting, whooshing sound of rivers and wind, fear and anticipation wild within him before hurtling into it all, into crushing, clattering sure death. 

"Vin?" Again the nightmare eyes, as Chris' hands like grounding hooks ensnared Vin's shoulders; the marksman sucking in air like a fish on land with quiet, trembling, desperate breath. "Come on, Vin. Stay with me, now." Resting a compassionate hand on Tanner, the gunman waited and grinned as the slouch hat lifted towards him.

Vin's eyes flicked to Chris, again coming back and Vin hoping that he would remain. Not sure of himself now, not sure that he could keep down this thing that was gorging him. Not wanting to fall apart in front of them because then they would know what he had done, that he was not the man they thought he was.

Josiah stared at Vin with remote prophet-eyes, feeling like an augur having been aware of signs for weeks now, signs that came to him in his dreams and wakefulness. He had only last night prayed for a dreamless rest, but again the crows shouted their guttural caws as snakes encircled Bridget's neck and Vin calling to him. Clenched fist pounded into the huge concavity of his palm, frustrated by the vague foretelling that gave him no direction.

"Ready t' go, Vin?" Chris nodded to the men to get their belongings and head over to the Pullman car that Prescott had arranged for them, eyes showing that he would make sure Vin would be all right. A more comfortable ride than a boxcar and bedroll, but Chris was unsure how long Vin would hold out in the confined space. Vin followed behind, slow-paced and expressionless.

J.D. released a loud whistle as he stepped into the car eyeing the rich wood-paneled walls, brass lighting, silk draperies, and foldaway sleeping berths that hung above the comfortably cushioned day sofas. The men entered behind J.D., each one fascinated as they looked about the car, finding a seat and relaxing into the comfort.

"This must of cost plenty eh, Buck?" J.D. plopped down beside the cowboy who had already placed his hat over his eyes, ready for a leisurely nap. Josiah and Nathan sat across from J.D. and Buck; Nathan's eyes like a child's taking everything in and Josiah ducking under his full-brimmed hat hiding a pleased smile at Nathan's fascination.

"Enjoy it now, kid 'cause soon 'nough will be on the trail, eatin' dust, gittin' up at 4:00 in the morning, wrestlin' with ornery longhorns and drownin' in sweat." Buck folded his arms across his belly and slouched low into the cushions, legs too long to be truly comfortable, but knowing he was in clover.

"I can't wait Buck. Never been on a cattle drive before." J.D.'s face lit up, black eyebrows framing an even, soft-featured face with gentle, sloping nose and full-lips. "Hey, where's Ezra?" J.D. swiveled and twisted on the sofa bench, bumping Buck.

"Let's git one thing straight, if your goin' t' be sittin' here, ya best be stayin' still or I'll be lockin' ya in the fancy privy they got back there." Buck settled himself back into the sofa. "And t' answer yer question, Ezra's more 'n likely wormed his way int' Prescott's private car."

"Boy, I'd loved t' see that. It looks mighty fancy. I can't ever imagine being that rich." J.D. sighed, still showing a wide grin.

"Don't go gettin' yourself worked up 'bout it. We ain't never goin' t' see that kinda money." Buck turned towards the window, face still covered by his hat. "Now be quiet or git."

****************************

The rising moon cast splinters of light through the thin opening of the baggage-car door; Vin sat close, his head leaning into small scraps of wind like a cur sniffing scent. Josiah and Chris to his side lay bundled on straw mats costing a "quarter eagle" each and Vin grateful that it came out of Prescott's pockets. No longer able to stay cooped-up in the fancy sleeping car, Vin grabbed up his parfleches, saddle bags and bedroll, heading for less crowded spaces when the train made its thirty minute water stop. Told he could bed down in the baggage-car, if he didn't mind sharing with some dirty 'injuns', Vin held his anger and gave a nod, walking towards the car. Chris and Josiah, dang cattle tick the both of them, stuck to him like shadowy burrs.

The mesmeric snatches of moon-glow caused Vin agitation, his desire to heave open the baggage-car door growing steadily intense like that of frenzied, crashing, thunderous rapids, rising up, getting closer and Vin stood grabbing hold of the handle, cursing as his hand caught a protruding length of jagged metal that jutted from the side of the baggage-car. Chris watched concerned as he saw the marksman suck in air like he had gone far too long without solid breath, and then watching Vin bring his hand up, drawing a bloodied palm to his mouth.

"Ya all right?" Chris startled Vin, causing the man to gasp and hold to the door for a moment, recovering as he sat near the gunman, but still close to the open door's gaping maw.

"Jes' needed air." Vin pulled his legs up into his chest, resting his head on his knees as the gunman regarded him with tight, verdant eyes. Josiah slept in a noisy, dead sleep; his breathy growl-snores bristled Larabee in his worry.

Pragmatic almost cruel, spurning sentiment, angered at the living for what seemed to the gunman to be more than ten lifetimes . . . forever. It had been a day no different from another, him drinking and brooding, waiting to be called out, hoping to be called out, letting a thin, brittle smile come to him as he heard his name, glad to send someone else to hell. A black reaper, though guiltless, knowing many of them had killed fathers, sons, old men, and boys. Not a strong believer in God, but believing in deliberate, blistering retribution that quelled an angry hunger and then nothing, but a rot-gut whiskey burn rising into his throat, pushing it back down with the help of a bottle or two. But, that day was different, making each day different after that, allowing sentiment to come to him as he watched the man who triggered it all to change.

Easy with Vin and not knowing why, Chris just grateful that he could put away the anger for a while. Tired from it all, bone-weary, knowing the man beside him was running hard from his own hell and Chris wanting to make it easy for Vin, somehow.

"Ya want t' talk 'bout it, Vin?"

"Ain't nothin' t' talk 'bout, Chris." Vin was silent for a moment then lifted his head looking out into the black night. "Ain't b'n on a train since the war. Jes' a mite spooked by it is all. Hell, it's jes' a damn train."

Chris nodded and placed his hand on Vin's bent knee. "More than a train is spookin' ya, Vin. If ya want t' talk, I'll listen. I need your head t' be on right. We got a cattle drive ahead of us and you know longhorns 'n the land. J.D. is green 'n Ezra, hell, don't think that man knows a damn thing 'bout cattle. Can I count on ya, Vin?"

"Ya don't never hafta ask that, Chris." Vin slapped his leg, angered. "Ain't I always covered yer back?"

"Yeah, ya have." Chris smiled and patted Vin's knee as he lowered himself back down on his straw mat. "Get some sleep. It'll all work out, Vin."

Vin looked at Chris with weary, silent blue eyes and then a hard, tight nod, believing Chris' words.

***************

Freedom lost was as an anguished death to Vin, choosing that day to die, but now heartened that his enemy had saved him. Vin lurched and swayed with the rhythmic gyrations of the train as he eyed the passing kaleidoscopic colors of trees, rock, trestles and sky. Holding his hot, slashed arm to his chest sheathed in sagging, dirt-white bandages with veiny lines and clots of red, Vin held tight to the stirring, rattling, noisy voice of hope that shouted at him as he caught air into his lungs and knew it as freedom.

Near the door, close to Sergeant McClellan, a Yank, though a kind fatherly man of forty whom had taken to Vin, giving him extra rations and caring for his wounds. Vin had seen tears in the man's eyes and was surprised at the knowing that the Sergeant cried for him. Pushing down sentiment, Vin watched the huge, goodhearted man sleep and felt no remorse at the leaving, having given his thanks.

A thin staccato of moonlight noncommittally stabbed and spilled into the overfilled boxcar; Vin knowing the pattern of light changed with the passing trees, mountains, and clouds. Ragged breathing as a fear came to him from too much pondering, best not to think of trestles, gorges, rocky murderous hills and rivers. Quiet now pushing the door open, slow and silent, not disturbing the guards or prisoners. Moonlight brighter in the car, breath held as the Sergeant rubbed at his eyes and mumbled. Vin sliding soft and quiet across the floor, standing now unable to step over a guard's leg that blocked his escape. Vin jumped, hearing the man's guttural cry from the force of his weight as he rolled, tumbled, head over feet; a thudding dull sound against his head. Bandage unraveled around him, clothes torn, dirt and dust as Vin lay laughing, catching his breath, his mind shouting, 'Freedom!'

An unsettling shadow draped over Chris bringing a slow, frightful awareness that the play of moonlight had ceased. The gunman jolted up with Colt drawn and eyes wide with terror seeing Vin Tanner close to the door's edge, poised to jump. Chris lunged forward, dropping his gun as he reached for the man; fear strong and as suffocating as the day Eli Joe had Vin in his sights, screaming out the marksman's name. "VIN!!!"

Tottering forward, hat blown off, hanging by the stampede string down his back and his hair whip lashing against his face, Vin breathed in freedom as he jumped. Caught on something as he dangled over rock and scrub and grasses, Vin in a dream-eyed distant place, only knowing that he was trapped. Chris yelling Tanner's name as desperation gripped him, knowing he could not hold the man's weight much longer, also frightened by trestle or mountain in their path. Hide coat tearing away from him as Chris felt Vin slipping, plummeting towards the ground as they moved close to twenty miles an hour. The rocky escarpment blurred in Vin's vision as he whirled and twisted in the rushing force of winds and cried out as jagged metal on the baggage-car tore into him.

Huge arms encircled Chris causing him to lurch forward for a moment, almost losing his footing and then a weight loosing from his arms as Josiah pulled and tugged with an unbendable ferocity, dragging Vin back into the baggage-car. Josiah fell towards the wall of the car as Chris' hands still gripped Tanner's hide coat, his grunting breath ripping through him. Releasing his hold on the coat, Chris wrapped his arms tight around Vin trying to quell the shivering and trembling that jerked and convulsed through the tracker. Chris shuddered as he held on to Vin, knowing he came close to losing the man and then anger rose up in him. "What the hell were ya doing?"

Blue eyes dazed and hideously vacant to the gunman, shaking Vin hard and then feeling a wetness on his hand as he brought it up close to his face and knowing before seeing that it was blood. "Josiah, help me here!" Laying the lean man down, Chris struggled to remove the worn coat and vowed never to complain about the thing again. "Vin's hurt." Josiah grabbed up his saddlebag, removing linen cloth and reached for his canteen as he moved quickly to Chris' side.

Blood, dark red and steady, pooled on the car's floor as Chris tussled with Vin's coat; his body exhausted from it all. His hands shook as he threw the coat aside and with Josiah's help laid Vin on the straw mat; unnerving blue eyes on a distant verge of madness watching him the entire time.

"Vin, listen to me. You're all right. Ya hear me? You're fine." Using a gentle-soft voice, far too often now it seemed, rested his palm on the man's damp forehead.

Josiah worked on the scraggy wound that punctured Vin's lower left arm. Instinct and faith, as he lifted the man's feet placing his saddlebags under them and then scurried in his big man way to Vin's side, taking cloth in his hands as he rolled up Vin's shirt sleeve. Blood flowed in a slow, steady stream as Josiah pressed cloth to the wound, trying to recall the steps listed in Nathan's medical journal to stop bleeding. "Chris lift up his arm 'n press right 'bout here on his upper arm, 'tween the muscles. Good. I'm goin' t' apply pressure t' the wound. Should stop the bleedin'. We'll jes' keep him warm 'n quiet 'til Nathan c'n git t' it."

Chris nodded following Josiah's orders still feeling those distant dream-eyes on him as he shifted himself across Vin's body, smiling a grim, worrisome smile at the man and nearly bolted skyward when a scrabbly voice spoke, "Don't."

"Don't what, Vin?" Wind tearing and chafing at Chris' ears made it difficult to hear the small, coarse voice.

"Don't save me." Voice limpid and eyes rolling, only the whites showing as Vin trembled himself into a violent dream and then quieted.

"Jes' passed out, Chris." Josiah's posture relaxed as he nodded to the gunman. "Bring his arm down slow and get his bandanna off. I'm going to put more cloth on the wound and fasten it with his neckerchief. We should be makin' another stop soon. Nathan can stitch him up then. He'll be fine, Chris. He's survived worse."

A puckish urge to laugh, the gunman lifted his hand to his mouth holding it back as frantic, pestering thoughts twisted through the logic of Josiah's words, leaving Chris shaken. "Not what I'm worried 'bout, Josiah."

The large man nodded. "I know, Chris. We'll take care of that, too.

**************

Waking to burning tugs of flesh and sinew, nerve endings screaming, Vin jerked up his arm, sending the men around him into a tumbled frenzy of hands, holding him fast as he jolted up his spine, desperate to get free. Vin lie still then unable to move with the weight of Chris and Josiah pushed against his shoulders and hips, watching Nathan work with distrusting eyes as shredded, ragged pieces of skin were cut away and scraps of flannel were cleaned from the wound. Precise catgut stitching inside the gash as Nathan worked with a calm, quick ease occasionally looking at Vin who stared back at him with an odd, distant look in his eyes. "It's deep, Vin. Almost done. Jus' goin' t' finish stitchin' ya up. Want anythin' fer the pain?" Not waiting for an answer, sure he would not get one by the look in the man's eyes. "Josiah, hand me the Laudanum."

Josiah shambled crab-wise towards Nathan not rising to full height, handing the bottle to the healer. Blue eyes searching, but silent as he felt his head being lifted and the cold edges of the bottle against his lips; Vin drank emotionless and allowed himself to give in to a drugged sleep. Chris sighed and almost possessively wrapped a blanket around Vin as he rested his weary body against the wall of the baggage-car.

"Chris why don't cha git some rest in the sleepin' car?" Josiah knowing the man would not leave the tracker, smiled with understanding at the gunman. "Shouldn't waste my breath, eh Chris?"

"I'm fine here, Josiah. Why don't you 'n Nathan go get some rest?" Chris hung his head, dead tired not able to keep his eyes open any longer.

"Go Nathan. I'll keep 'n eye t' both of them." Josiah hunkered down next to Tanner and brought up the blanket around Vin's neck. "What do ya make of those old scars on Vin's arm and wrist, Nathan?"

Nathan paused for a moment, brown eyes reflective, as he stared at the gray-flecked head of the preacher. "Hadn't given it much thought, Josiah. Why?"

"Do ya think he done it t' himself?" It was out there now, what Josiah had been pondering for a while, but not sure until he spotted the jaggy markings that scored the lean arm.

"Vin ain't the kinda man that would do such a thing. He'd be the last man on this earth t' do that. Ain't nothin' weak 'bout that man." Rambling now as his words took on a hint of doubt as Nathan recalled the scars and then lowered his head as a realization came over him. "That explains it, don't it?"

"Explains what, Nathan?" Josiah all ready knowing the answer waited for Nathan's reply.

"Why Vin didn't want t' b'lieve that Bridget done kilt herself."

"Yup, that explains it." Josiah hung his head, patting the younger man's shoulder as Vin slept.

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" Chris abruptly rose out of his half-sleep into a seated position, face darkened with denial and anger. Weary, faded celadon eyes like skewers pinned the men with a piercing stare. The moon's shadow that tumbled into the car made the gunman's face take on a ghostly cast causing Nathan to step back from Chris with apprehension.

Josiah held up his edictal hands like Moses and spoke with calm, knowledgeable preacher-tones that brought nothing, but annoyance to Chris. "Do ya know what it musta b'n like for a boy that was raised up by the Comanches t' be imprisoned? Like a slow, torturous death. Vin was a part of a People that lived a freedom that we will nev'r know. Great chiefs 'n warriors chose death rather than be captive. Vin made that choice too."

Chris cursed as he heard J.D. and Buck to the side of him, aware that they heard everything Josiah had said and Chris hating that the men knew Vin's secrets as he lie there, trying not to lash out at them. The gunman knew them to be men who had seen much and judged less, only J.D. who was young believed in gods and heroes.

"How is he, Chris?" Eyes clouded with worry, Buck knelt beside Vin as J.D. shadowed him.

"He's fine. He's goin' t' be just fine." A hot irritation festered within Chris as he watched the men in their silent, sympathetic vigil over Vin.

"Chris, that boy's carryin' a heavy load 'n he needs t' work it out." Buck intuitively knowing the gunman's emotions seesawed between anger and fear, not wanting to see Tanner so shaky and lost.

Josiah nodded as he rested a strong, supportive hand on Vin's shoulder. "He's years away from us right now. In another time."

"Didn't want t' get on the train 'n I pushed him." Chris slumped down against the car wall an agonized distress filling him.

"He's strong, Chris. Vin's jes' tryin' t' make peace with everythin'. Bridget stirred up a mountain of disquiet ' n I don't believe he's feelin' t' kindly towards himself right now." A soul-stirring sigh released itself from Josiah as he raised himself up and turned to the men, ready to speak, but Chris spoke instead.

"He ain't goin' t' be too happy if he thinks were standing around talkin' about him, especially about this. Not one word about it, any of ya or face me." Formidable and unflinching as Chris looked at each man and them nodding, knowing his words were not idle.

Josiah watched as Nathan, J.D. and Buck left in a quiet, palpable gloom and then turning his vision to Vin, smiling as he saw that Chris settled into an exhausted sleep with a protective hand on the younger man's arm.

"Yer goin' t' be jes' fine, Brother Vin. Jes' fine."

********************

CHAPTER TWELVE

In muted, dewless half shadows of morning light, Vin appeared at peace, so deep in sleep to be just one silenced breath away from death. Tanner's tattered arm draped across his chest instinctively and protectively held close to him was gripped with his intact, right hand. Chris watched Vin with Judas eyes, voices within him a betrayal to this man, but unable to quiet them.

Bitterly sorrowed and perpetually angered, a soul demanding perfection, Chris had little patience for failings. Life had defeated and failed him far too often; a burdensome task to meet the gunman's expectations. Reeling from his own flaws and shortcomings, Larabee placed his care with unmindful ease into Tanner's hands, trusting him with an intuit familiarity.

Ashamed at his arrogance, his self-indulgent demands placed on this man who had not once betrayed or failed him, but still not able to forgive Tanner's one traitorous, scarring flaw -- to have quit life. Larabee, knowing he had struggled with this himself, choosing death by the bottle, but deciding it took more guts to live, to move on even in pain. Vin Tanner showing him this in his quiet, strong way and now feeling that this man in his weakness had lied to him, betrayed him, failed him.

A deep-sorrowed sigh wept from Chris then, with a hollow release of sardonic laughter, acknowledging that J.D. was not the only one to believe in heroes and gods. Not allowing this man the right to be just that - a man; a silent-voiced assumption for Tanner to become his savior and the man's unselfish willingness to give of himself entirely to be that for Chris brought repentant, hot tears to the gunman's eyes. Chris' hurtful failings always forgiven, overlooked and compassionately understood by the men, now he would do the same; a simple choice made, his bond with Vin Tanner would allow him to do nothing less.

The screaming of metal wheels and the rattling, trembling sway of the baggage-car jostled Josiah awake, close-set blue eyes adjusting to the sweep of light that winked fitfully, bright then dark making it difficult to adapt. A rough scrubbing of bear paws over his bristly face and a large, gaping yawn, though quiet as not to wake Vin who lay death-still even after the teeth-clattering, brain-jarring stop. A nod to Chris as he brought himself up to full height, stretching his spine listening to the pop, pop of vertebrae and a twist of his neck producing a loud cracking that brought a grin to Chris as he watched the large man's ritual.

"Growin' old ain't pretty." Josiah let a grin spread over his disproportionate features, though striking in an offbeat way. "I'll grab us some grub 'n git carbolic 'n such from Nathan. I'll keep the others away. Maybe ya can git t' palaver some."

Josiah jumped down onto the hardscrabble grasses and eyed the desolate lands, nothing around for miles but brakes of oak and willow and the ever-present Rio Grande. He watched as the fireman gathered up cut wood to replace the near depleted tender and as water was added through long metal tubing into the boiler. The passengers, taking advantage of the stilled engine, gathered up their hampers that contained metal bins filled with tea and coffee, a kettle and kerosene burner. Biscuits and other simple breakfast fare were prepared and eaten posthaste before the conductor whistled and called out, "all aboard".

Raptness changed to disconsolation as Chris viewed the disturbing perfection of the blue cloudless sky, shoving down a sorrowful ache, feeling dwarfed and inconsequential, unsure of his ability to help Vin. A thin, dry wind pulled at Larabee as he stood with stolid determination, vowing to see things through for this man who somehow became much more than a friend to him.

Vin awoke to an awareness that left him unsure of time or place. Almost as if he had sleepwalked through days and now lie in a foggy confusion, grasping at images that seemed to make less sense than the here and now. The strong sunlight on white cloth made his eyes ache to look at it, but a horrid mesmerism would not let him turn away. What happened to him? The throbbing of his eyes spreading to his skull and then a raw aching in his forearm made him gasp, everything keen and alert now, except his memory and that worried him fierce.

The train was no longer lumbering along the rails in its rambling, lulling fashion and Vin still had not moved, sniffing out danger before he roused, best not to draw attention until he knew the odds. A shift of his head to the left and a memory zigzagging through the shadows, Vin breathing hard, his bones seeming to jangle as thoughts of the war came to him. Just a kid, not more than fifteen, spirit dying in that prison and his decision made. A decision that caused Vin now to feel as if he had betrayed these men, this family; a deceit so heavy on him, breathing toughly like that of a struggle through mud. A corruption of something so essential to Vin that he mourned the loss of it, knowing the men would not understand. Yes, it would all be lost to him.

Vin's body felt as though pummeled, recalling himself hovering over willow groves and grasses, bottomlands and cottonwoods like an unfettered hawk, but then a wild, mad gnawing filled him of being trapped. Calling to mind words spoken, "don't save me." Had he said them aloud? Skull thick with pain now as he squinted at the dark imposing figure that turned to stare at him and Vin still not moving, not ready yet for talk.

"Vin?" Chris knelt, placing a gentle hand on Tanner's shoulder.

Vin heard it before he saw it, loudly strong in Chris' voice and more so in the eyes. Pity, sadness, a sense of having his soul opened and read, things were no longer private and buried. Chris knew, causing Vin to shudder and curl away into a protective knot against the wall, clutching his arm to himself.

"Vin, it's all right." Stillness for a moment after that and Chris patted Vin's arm with what he hoped conveyed truth and trust.

"Ain't never goin' t' be all right again." Vin still turned away, his skull throbbing with memories of everything ugly and hurtful.

"What d'ya mean, Vin?" Chris closed his eyes to the agony in Tanner's words.

"Ya know 'bout what I done, don't cha? Don't cha?" Agitated and his soul aching.

"Yeah, Vin. I do." A reluctant nod given as Chris released a sorrowed sigh.

"They all know then." Resignation enfolded him.

"Not Standish."

"He'll find out soon 'nough." Vin quiet, then spoke in a whisper. "What'd I do?"

"Tried t' jump from the train. Josiah 'n I stopped ya. Got cut up on some metal. Josiah saw the scars on your arm. He thought maybe ya might a done that t' yourself. I didn't believe him at first . . ."

"Now y' do, don't cha?" Vin still agitated, exposed, and sorrowed by a strong sense of loss.

"Doesn't matter, Vin. You're still the same man ya were the day we met. Ain't nothin' changed that."

"Everythin's changed 'n maybe now yer thinkin' it wasn't so much me standin' up fer what was right, fer Nathan's life, but more like I was jes' tryin' t' kill myself."

"Vin . . ."

"I ain't afraid of dyin' 'n I sure as hell ain't afraid of livin', but bein' locked up, trapped, I jes' couldn't take that. I was crazy with it all 'n I couldn't git out, tried every day. They took t' chainin' me up most times like 'n animal. Dyin' inside 'n I didn't know if I'd ever be free again. Maybe I was weak . . . jes' a kid, but right 'bout then I felt as dried up 'n ruined as an old man. Dead all ready, jes' still breathin' is all. Long dead."

"I ain't judgin' ya Vin."

Vin looked up at Chris and nodded. "I know, Chris. B'n judgin' myself lately 'n I ain't sure 'bout nothin' at all anymore." A slow, regretful smile and then a sadness that made the blue of his eyes deepen. "I'm sorry, Chris. Didn't mean t' let ya'll down."

Chris' heart clenched. "Vin, there ain't nothin' that you have t' be sorry about. You ain't never let me down. Shoot, I need ya t' give me a swift kick now 'n again. I need ya . . ." Chris choked on his words, sentiment overwhelming him, not being able to continue.

Vin quietly spoke then. "Me too, Chris."

"All right, then. We'll talk some more after. You rest now." Chris grabbed up the blanket that had twisted around Vin, covering up the emotionally spent man who had just that fast fallen into a deep sleep. "That's it, Vin. You sleep. I promised ya it would all work out 'n I meant it. Ya hear me, Vin?" Chris patted Vin's shoulder. "I give ya my word."

****

Deliriously gleeful, though presenting a cavalier demeanor, Ezra Standish nestled himself with smug contentment on the overstuffed blue watered silk sofa of Prescott's private car. A replica of Queen Victoria's day carriage with no detail overlooked from its bird's eye maple walls, framing and doors to ceilings covered in white quilted silk, even the lavatory was adorned with silk draperies and maple furnishings.

Having won well over $500 dollars handily from Prescott, stilling the inner voice that knew it to be too easy, Ezra shrugged away his niggling concerns as he brought the crystal brandy snifter to his lips. Not trusting Prescott, but unwilling to walk away from possible financial gain and still angered over Abigail Roberts and Vin Tanner's turncoat behavior, Ezra turned away at that moment from the altruistic pursuit of the men to his own immediate and persistent desires.

John Prescott watched Standish with scheming, murderous eyes, a soaring euphoria at the gambler's evident weakness that brought a hot, intense stirring to him, disappointed that he was not near a sporting house. Never had his prey been so effortlessly cornered; not one among the seven were without some flaw, some vulnerability. Mr. Dunne's youth and inexperience could be put to some self-serving use, but for now Ezra Standish would be more than enough help to realize his revenge on Vin Tanner. The rift between Standish and Tanner over a woman, of all things, and Tanner's obvious disreputable past along with Standish's avariciousness would make this all so simple; maybe too simple, too quick. Tanner should suffer a bit for his transgressions, threatening and nearly killing him. Harsh lessons learned.

A stopover in Santa Fe would be necessary now to contact Pinkerton detectives and his lawyer. A saloon acquisition, The Standish Tavern, would be satisfactory bait and Prescott would sweeten the pot, if necessary. Standish had his price and it should not take much to buy this man's cooperation. Loyalty, a useless emotion that men like him and Standish surely had no use for, success was not achieved without some treachery and this was justified retribution. Guiltless and uplifted in his righteous cause, Prescott knowing that Vin Tanner was evil and needed to be sent to Hell.

*******

Vin lie sleeping on Josiah's return, concern gripping the preacher at the sight as Nathan said Vin should be of decent health, but might have some pain. "How's our boy?" Josiah placed a hand on Vin's forehead as his lips twisted with worry. "A mite warm." Removing the bandages with his remarkably gentle, efficient hands, Josiah grimaced at the swelling and redness. "Chris, I need the carbolic. Maybe I should git Nathan. It looks a mite tender."

"No." A graveled voice startled Chris and Josiah as Vin rolled away reaching for a canteen. "Water."

Chris with quicksilver hands that mirrored his mercurial moods reached for the canteen and brought it to Vin's parched lips. For a long moment only the sound of Vin's greedy pulls and swallows of water and then a satisfied sigh as the marksman laid his head back down on the straw mat.

"How ya feelin', Vin?" An imposing huge shadow covered Vin as he looked up into a kindly face.

"Tired, Josiah. Jes' tired."

Josiah worked on Vin's arm, pouring the carbolic and placing clean bandages over the wound. Tapping Vin's leg, he spoke with soft tones as he went to rise. "Sleep then, we've got a ways t' go. Prescott wants t' head on t' Santa Fe. He's got some business t' take care of that came up."

Fighting to stay alert, Vin lifted his head gingerly as weariness tumbled over him. "Ain't no direct trains t' Texas from there. The Atchison, Topeka 'n Santa Fe goes clear up int' Kansas. We c'n take the Tascosa-Springer trail. It's 'bout 50 miles from Springer t' Ute Creek 'n then another 16 miles t' Tramperos Creek 'n on t' Antelope Springs. Good 75 miles or so 'fore we git t' the Canadian 'n another 74 miles t' Tascosa. Take a week or there 'bouts. Damn, I ain't likin' this at all." Vin felt as dry and brittle as sun-bleached bones and his hand quaked like an autumn leaf on the verge of being loosed from its branch.

Chris, darkly silent, listened to the worry in Vin's voice and then slapped his thigh in frustrated anger. "Why's he changin' plans now? What the hell is so important?"

Josiah clawed a hand through his coarse, gray spattered hair. "Prescott's got mercantile 'n general stores all over Kansas, Colorado, Missouri, not t' mention back east. Got one in Santa Fe. Says he needs t' talk t' his lawyer. He's giving us a bonus fer the delay."

"Mighty generous of 'im." Vin dangled his wounded arm over his chest, pain obvious in the squint of his eyes and around the edges of his mouth. "Tryin' mighty hard t' keep us happy. Feelin' like the fatted calf."

Josiah grinned at that; he was no longer surprised when Vin spoke biblically, never failing to bring a smile to the preacher's face.

Chris laughed a quiet laugh as he rested his back easy against the side of the car, anger dissipated with the tracker's words, though knowing Vin was dead serious. "A mite disappointin', if you're the fatted calf. Scrawny as ya are."

Chris smiled broadly while his eyes with a teasing glint watched Josiah's shoulders contort as a spasm of laughter worked its way through the big man.

"Cch . . . Chris yer 'bout as funny as J.D. 'n his dog jokes. A real hoot."

"I thought you'd appreciate that." Chris rose up, bemused, nodding to Josiah. "Goin' t' stretch my legs."

"We'll be fine. Go ahead." Josiah stood to face Chris, silent and somber. Severe, green eyes jabbed at him sharply, a silent command given, talk to Vin and Josiah lifted his hand to Chris' shoulder conveying reassurance with a touch.

Nodding off again as Josiah sat close and the preacher worried that Vin was hiding away from everything, hiding away in the deeper shadows rather than facing it all, but knew that the fever might be running him down, too. A violent shudder rolled through the lean frame and then a strangled breath held too long causing Josiah concern as he jostled Tanner's shoulders. "Vin, wake up now. You're havin' a bad dream."

A groan as Vin brought up his good hand to his head, throbbing and thickly painful, his eyes unfocused. "Don't seem right I should be feelin' this poorly from jes' a cut."

"More than a cut, Vin. It was deep 'n it seems t' be gittin' infected. I should git Nathan." Grabbing hold of a worry that seemed to rise up in him, but then startled by the harshness of Vin's voiced, "NO!"

"All right, Vin, but if I see that it's flarin' up 'n causin' ya grief, I'm gittin' Nathan. Ya hear me?" Lifting his head into a scattering of dry breezes that twirled their way into the open door of the car, Josiah breathed it in gaining calm. "Ya probably don't feel like talkin', but I need t' talk t' ya about everythin' that's been goin' on. You don't hafta say a word, but I'd like ya t' listen."

Vin turned his head away and did not speak. Josiah looked down at his hands, searching for words, then placed one with gentle care on the back of Vin's head. Feeling the edginess under his huge, sprawling palm, Josiah still kept his hand in place under the silent protest and evident discomfort. With gentle-soft tenderness, Josiah patted and smoothed down the long, wavy strands of hair, a slow vague sense of comfort seemed to swathe over the marksman. "No one thinks less of ya, Vin. No one is judgin' ya. I've had my share of dark days 'n demons. I understand, Vin."

Feverish and gritty-eyed, Vin rubbed his right hand over them before he spoke, but did not face Josiah. "You ain't never done what I done, did cha?"

Josiah said nothing, but still held a supportive hand on Vin's head, still smoothing his palm up and down, trying to calm Vin, a wild thing, hurt and vulnerable. "Fear stopped me. I was too much of a coward."

Vin stilled and then sighed. "No, I was too much of a coward."

Josiah heard the thin spill of sadness in Vin's words and the preacher's tone was sharp at first in his distress, but then softening as he continued. "Who's t' say? Who's t' judge? Not me, not any of the men. You were a boy, Vin, in a place no boy should have been. You survived 'n I think underneath it all, you wanted t' survive. The way those scars run across your wrist, well, that would take a mighty long time t' bleed out. You was huntin' pretty near 'fore you could straddle a horse. I'm thinkin' ya knew how t' kill 'n ya knew how t' kill quick."

Vin shrugged, his indifference a lie. "Knife was dull."

Josiah smiled at the succinct reply, though his eyes were pained. "Maybe. Or maybe you weren't quite ready yet to quit."

"Maybe." Not believing, but the wanting of it powerful.

There was never any harshness in Josiah's voice and now only a determination. "You're a strong man, Vin. A survivor. It's who you are, don't let these doubts 'n don't let Bridget's death shake that. That don't sit right with me either, 'bout Bridget killin' herself, but we ain't God, we don't always know what goes on inside people. But, I do know you 'n I believe strongly in you. Don't give up on yerself. Don't give up on us. Believe in us to stand by you, t' watch yer back no matter what."

Vin nodded and twisted himself towards Josiah. "Was on the worry that ya'll done given up on me 'cause of what I did."

"We ain't never givin' up on you, Vin. Never. You're a good man 'n a loyal friend. We're damn lucky t' know you." A huge laugh and a clap of hands. "Well that's it, then. Ain't nothin' more t' say. No more recriminations. It's time t' make peace with it."

Vin lay quiet, feeling the balance coming back to him. 'In true' again as a slow smile came to him. A calm, soul cleansing sigh and then a needed peaceful sleep came to Vin as Josiah lifted up the blanket with care around Tanner. "Yer gonna be jes' fine, Brother Vin. Jes' fine."

****************

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The shrill, shattering whistle blast of the locomotive was a smiter to his thoughts as Josiah stood, his legs like two huge, stone colonnades gamely supporting his grand torso and immense, rambling arms. Josiah gave a smile the size of himself, looking over at Vin Tanner who still held a feverish glow, but showed no outward battle-scars from his ordeal, hiding them away behind cloth and flesh.

With a lurching, sweeping heave, Josiah crashed open the door and swallowed in the scent of Santa Fe, a clean, prosperous town with roads zagging off the main thoroughfare. Buildings edged the boardwalk, most of an earthen-quality, while others were of glossy-white clapboard. Vin's straggling eyes wandered then stilled on large, black-painted lettering that ran the length of a building front. Reading the script with ease: HORSES, then scuttering towards the door, jumped on to the macadamized road; a run of compacted small, broken stones, that lead to the town center.

Chris smoothly settled onto the stony pike, standing at Vin's side ready to clutch at the man's arm before Tanner bolted off, absorbed so perspicuously in his duties. Vin's face darkled at the gunman's touch, needing to have normalcy, no longer wanting to be at a distance from his own self or the boys.

"Where ya headed, Vin?" Chris' brow corded with worry, glancing over at Josiah as he watched the big man place a calming hand on Tanner's shoulder.

Cornered and whipsawed by the men's concern and his weakly state, Vin bowed his head and spoke with uncharacteristic dispiritedness. "Thought I'd look fer some ponies over t' the livery." Like a balky child, Vin waited for chastisement, knowing Chris would try to hold him back more so from worry than heartlessness. For a moment there was only the whisper-quiet sounds of breath and the crunching shuffle of boots on stone, disrupted finally by the prattling of passengers scuttling past. Vin held his arm close to him, a vague aching filled him not sure whether it emanated from his arm or his heart. "I need t' do this, Chris."

Eyes rivetingly fixed on each other, acutely expressive and then Chris giving a solacing, like-minded nod. "Alright. But we go together." At that J.D., Buck and Nathan arrived, all eyes on Vin and Chris, the three tense and silent, but stances contradictorily easy and casual. Buck was the first to speak, a rhythmic shuffling side step with graceful, lengthy legs like a cowboy-conquistador, an elegance wrapped in good ol' boy charm, then with a tooth-some, horsey smile, straight and full of bite, Buck sashayed over to Chris. "Mind if we come along?"

Chris grinned in spite of his worry; that Buck had a way. Appearing as flighty and changeable as fire in wind with a temerity that set the gunman's teeth on edge, but then gregarious, and kindhearted, and unfailingly loyal. "Goin' t' the livery stable t' see what's available. You boys can pick out yer mounts 'n we'll put it on Prescott."

"In that case, I'm goin' t' find me the most expensive horse in that there livery." Buck gave a grin, removing his hat and running his fingers through the black tangle of hair. "Come on, boys, let's go spend Prescott's money 'n then I'm off fer some breakfast 'n fer some greatly needed companionship."

"It ain't hardly b'n a week, Bucklin." Vin forgetting his awkwardness and worry over the past few days' disclosures, slipped himself into the comfort of being among the men with a grateful ease.

"Shoot, Vin, a man ain't meant t' go too long without. It c'n get downright ugly."

Vin nodded with a quiet hush of a smile on his lips and lowered his head as he listened to Buck tease J.D. and heard Chris give a laugh at things said, slowly beginning to feel whole again.

"Ready, Vin?" A hand placed on Tanner's shoulder with a gentle pat, Chris waited for a reply.

Vin lifted his head and looked up to faces that held no judgment and a release of breath came from him, unaware that he was holding it. His heart leaped at the knowing that these men stood by him, at the knowing that things were not lost to him. "Daylight's burnin'."

Chris grinned at that and then nodded. "You heard him, boys. Daylight's burnin'. Let's git us some horses."

****************

An expansive, prosperous gray-clapboard building led Vin to believe there would be horses for the choosing, but only found six in the paddock and two mustangs, wild and not yet saddle-broke, in a nearby corral. Vin watched the men as they chose their mounts, knowing the bay would be J.D.'s, the dapple gray, Buck's, Josiah and Nathan, the two big chestnuts, needing strong, powerful horses, leaving the black for Chris. The gelding was blacker than a moonless night with not a marking to be found; no blaze, star or snipe; no stocking, sock or patch. Purely black with eyes as dangerous as its rider, bringing a quick, wicked laugh to Tanner as he watched a killer-grin throw across the gunman's face and Vin knowing all about that crazy, wild thrill at the * besting* of man or beast.

Needing two more mounts, Vin eyed the dun with black mane and tail choosing that for Standish, as he gripped the halter and patted the gelding's powerful hindquarters, running his hand down the forelegs, then giving a gentle rub to the dun's neck. Most of the horses stood about 15 hands high from the withers, Josiah and Nathan's 16 hands, and appeared well cared for and well fed. A satisfied nod and then with a contemplative gaze, Vin drifted towards the corral, feeling five sets of eyes burning his back.

Nathan was at his side before he had a chance to straddle the fence and Vin heard the worry in the man's voice. "I ain't lettin' yuh do what I think you're plannin' on doin'. Not with that arm."

"Ain't got no choice in the matter, Nathan. I ain't seen any more horses 'round here 'n I'm gonna need a mount." Vin's eyes flicked to Larabee, watching the gunman's jaw constrict at that.

"Where's the hostler?" Chris twisted his head over his shoulder, searching the paddock and squinting as he strained to see into the shadows of the livery; every stall filled with boarded horses, but a seeming shortage in horses for hire. J.D., quick to please, swiveled his head to search along with Chris. "I'll go find him, Chris."

"Thanks, J.D." Larabee sharply tossed words at Tanner as he turned towards the corral. "Wait. Let's see what's available 'fore ya go breakin' your neck."

Nathan leaned on the fencing and ran a large, brown hand across his face, watching as the rest of the men came to stand alongside him. "Gotta have more horses than this."

"Nope. That's all we got." The hostler, a squeaky smallish man with greased, mousy brown hair, ran a dirty hand down his pants leg, and then held it out to Larabee. The gunman made no move as he studied him. "When ya plannin' on gettin' more horses?"

"Well, not fer a good two t' three weeks. This fella Prescott hired out six horses 'n a big Conestoga wagon. He's got some fella workin' on it. Adding all sorts of things. Turnin' it int' a regular palace. I've jes' 'bout seen everythin' now. Real dandy that one is. Shoot. He said you fellas would be 'round t' hire out some horses. Besides these six, I only got the two Injun ponies over yonder. Worse trade I ever made. Hell, had me three wranglers try t' break 'em. Two jes' plumb gave up after a week 'n one broke his leg. 'Bout ready t' send 'em out fer glue." The hostler eyed the man with longish hair and hide coat. "Ya think ya c'n break 'em? Hell, I reckon yer part injun y'self. If anyone c'n break 'em, I 'spect you c'n. If'n ya c'n, they're yers t' keep."

"Jes' need one is all." Vin hoisted himself up on the fence, sitting now with his boot heels hooked on the planking, a reckless, eager grin coming to him as he watched the spirited blue-eyed paint. Vin knew the character of the mustang well, Gusape, Black Bear was known for his many paints and Vin cared for and trained them as a boy. Deep memories coming to Tanner as he in ghostly thought pointed his chin towards the chestnut-colored mare admiring its white patching and the touches of white and black running through its chestnut mane and tail with white stockings on each leg. "That's the one."

Chris was quietly worried, feeling that Vin was hanging close to a self-destructive edge that the gunman needed to keep him from, even if it meant angry feelings. "Vin, don't want ya doin' this. You're not in any shape t' be breakin' ponies."

"I c'n do this, Chris. Trust me." Vin jumped down into the corral as the rest of the men settled themselves on the fence. J.D. watched excited to see Vin work with the Indian pony, but worried that the man would get badly hurt. Vin grabbed up a hemp rope that was soaked in oil to keep the knots from slipping, calling out to J.D. as he looped the rope, making a noose. "Bring me the bay mare, J.D and have the hostler git the other pony outta here."

Vin walked with gentle care towards the mare. "Nivuki, (my horse)." Quiet tones spoken in Comanche as Vin continued approaching the paint, reaching out his hand allowing the mare to know his scent. "Nammi, (younger sister)."

Still talking in low soothing tones, Vin placed down the lariat, watching J.D. walk into the corral with the bay. "Ihka nii ikI tikitu?I, (I'm going to set this down)." Vin explaining every action to the mare as it watched with one eye, skittish and close to bolting.

As J.D. brought the bay to Vin and the hostler struggled with the other, the paint went wall-eyed and blindly barreled into the corral fence, landing on its back, rising again doing the same. Vin reached out his hand. "Hakahpu inni mi?aYU, (Where are you going)?"

"Git out now, J.D 'n thanks." Vin nodded to the kid, not taking his eyes from the paint. "Keta ohki nahaRI, (Don't go over there)." Vin's voice so gentle-soft J.D. strained to hear it. "Well, settle down now. I ain't goin' t' hurt ya none."

Vin snatched up a short lead rope, attaching it to the bay's reins that were tied loosely to the saddle horn. Tanner watched as the paint's nostrils flared in wild agitation, seeing blood around the rims. "I'm sorry ya done hurt yerself there, girl. Come on now, Nammi, settle down."

The paint made discordant circles around the edges of the corral, blue eyes flashing wide with each ireful run, angry blows and defiant tosses of head and mane. Vin exalted at the wild, at the glory causing a mournful stirring to churn inside him, memories powerful of the People. Chris saw the change in Tanner, a tumble of something so lost, so unattainable, crashing in on the man and Chris could only define it as grief.

Worriment yanked and pulled at the gunman, feeling the pit of him clench, whippy and jumpy; an aching, trembly voice released, "Vin!" So quiet; sounding more like a hissing rush of air, inaudible to all, but Buck, sitting at Larabee's side. The traitor concerns needing to be shucked away before Tanner saw it and knew it to be a lack of faith in him. A niggling pull of uncertainty tugged at Larabee over Tanner's well being, over his ability to keep himself from harm or if Tanner even cared. Chris could not push away the crushingly weighty mountain of dread that settled upon him.

Buck heard the anguished, prodding hiss of breath that hung on the quiet then blew off in a snatch of wind, not reaching Tanner or the other men. Spinning his well-defined, sizable shoulders to face the gunman, with eyes certain and keen. "Vin's all right, Chris. What happened was a long time ago. He's survived things that most men would hightail from. That boy won't do anythin' foolish. Don't lose faith in him now, Chris. He's goin' t' need us all more 'n ever now that were headed int' Tascosa."

"Don't you think I know that, Buck? I ain't givin' up on him or losin' faith in him. I'm just worried about him."

"I know that, Chris 'n I know ya put a lot of stock in that boy. Well, he ain't perfect 'n neither are we. But he is strong 'n I know fer a fact he won't let us down. I think he deserves the same from us."

"I'd give my life for . . ." Chris swallowed back a rushing of emotions that swelled over him not able to continue speaking. A staggering, shaky breath and then a calming came to him as he looked at the concerned face of Wilmington.

"I know you would, Chris." Buck shifted himself to watch Vin working with the paint, soft and easy.

Buck was torn, angered with himself for feeling a jealousy rise up in him over the deep affection his oldest friend held for Tanner. Larabee needed Tanner, and Buck knew that was not the case with their friendship. Yes, they shared memories, some good and some bad, but Buck knew they did not need to be together; they could go on without each other, two years apart brought that fact to home. Surprisingly, Buck felt relief that the burden of caring for Larabee was no longer solely his. Then a worry ran through him, hoping that Tanner was strong enough to carry that load.

"Buck . . ." A guilt flaring up in the gunman as he watched Buck.

"No need for that Chris. I know it's something' that ya can't explain 'n I don't doubt that ya'd do the same far me, just like I would for you. That's what friendship's about. Hell, J.D.'s wormed his way into' my life 'n I can't explain that neither. Guess we're just gittin' t' be two old sentimental fools."

"Shoot, who you callin' old, Buck?" Chris smiled easy. "Buck. . ." Wanting to reassure his oldest friend, but unable to do so.

"I know, Chris. I know. Time was I wouldn't give a plugged nickel for Tanner. Didn't put a hell of a lot of faith in him. I was vexed that ya held a lot of store by the man 'n feelin' that ya didn't by me anymore. I wanted ya t' see that you were puttin' yer trust in the wrong place, in the wrong man. I wanted ya t' see that you were wrong 'bout him. Well, I just need t' say that you weren't wrong 'bout him, you weren't wrong 'bout a lot of things. Yer a good judge of men."

"Yeah, I am." Chris grinned over at the subdued man. "Chose t' ride with you, didn't I?"

"Shoot, when yer right yer right. A man can't hardly argue with that." Buck slapped Chris on the back and then turned to watch Vin work with the pony. "Look at that, Chris. Vin's got that lady eatin' out of the palm of his hand." The men watched as the paint followed alongside the bay as Vin held out his hand. The paint touched her muzzle to Vin's hand and jerked her head away and then again touching Vin.

"Jes' like your mama guidin' ya. Nice 'n easy. Ain't no harm goin' t' come t' ya." Vin continued walking the mare around the corral with the bay. "I need ya t' look at me straight on, both eyes 'n when ya don't I'm goin' t' let ya know that I ain't happy 'bout that by slappin' my leg. Ya got that, Nammi?"

"Dang, will ya look at that, Chris!" Buck let out a laugh. "That boys got a way with horses!"

Standish appeared at that and held up his brown leather journal. "Might a wager be in order?"

"No, Standish. I don't want you bettin' on Vin 'n distractin' him." Chris looked around the paddock and livery. "Damn, where'd all these people come from?"

"It seems that these horses have thwarted some of the best horsemen in the area and it appears that all of Santa Fe is interested in seeing our Mr. Tanner tame the wild beasts. It would be in our best interest to take advantage of this opportunity expeditiously." Ezra studied the gunman. "All right, in my best interest. Why squabble over semantics? This will make us all a great deal of money."

"NO!! And what the hell are ya doin' here? I thought you were cozyin' up t' Prescott." Not waiting for Standish's answer, Chris' attention focused on the gathering spectators as he edgily searched out the hostler. "Buck, get these people outta here. Find that fool hostler 'n have him get rid of everyone. Vin's not up t' this 'n I don't want him getting' hurt if this crowd gets outta hand 'n spooks that horse."

"Right." Buck threw his lanky form over the rails and dropped down onto the hardpan, grabbing Ezra by the arm. "Now, why don't ya tell me 'bout them odds?"

"Why certainly, Mr. Wilmington. The bets are five to one against Vin, which makes our winnings that much more profitable for Mr. Tanner is sure to domesticate those beasts with very little endeavor on his part. So shall I assume you wish to place a small wager?" Ezra brought the tip of pencil to his tongue as he waited to write down Buck's bet.

"Just keep it quiet, Ezra. Don't want Chris gettin' all riled up. Just make sure that the crowd backs off 'n keeps it down. Ya know Vin'll be a mite edgy, if he gets a gander at all these folks 'n by the way, put $5.00 on Vin fer me."

"No need to worry, Mr. Wilmington. I'll take care of everything." Ezra hustled off with gleaming, greedy eyes.

"That's what's worryin' me. That's what's worryin' me." Buck shook his head and walked back to the men.

With a casual turn of his head towards Wilmington, Chris trusting Buck to handle things. "Everythin' takin' care of?"

Buck ladder-climbed the planking and swung his legs over the side, hooking his boots on its edge. "Standish's seein' t' it."

Chris lifted a brow over bright, knowing eyes. "How much?"

Buck guiltily shifting twisted his vision away from Larabee, keen on Tanner and the mare. "How much what?"

Chris snorted, seeing right through Buck's innocent posturing. "How much ya bet, Buck?"

Coming clean about it all, showing a contrite grin. "Five dollars."

Chris smiled widely. "Good odds?"

"Five to one." Delight danced on Buck's face. "That boy's goin' t' make me some pocket money."

Chris turned serious. "Better not be any problems. I don't want t' see Vin havin' any trouble with this whole situation."

"How's he doin'?" Buck eyed Vin as Tanner gently slipped the loop of rope around the paint's head.

Chris shook his head in amaze. "See for yourself. What takes us sometimes a week or more, Tanner's goin' t' get done in a coupla of hours."

Vin held on to the lariat as the paint walked with a calm-ease around the corral. "Nammi, ya know me now. Ya see I ain't here t' hurt ya. Nuvuki. I'm yer brother, trust me, now." Vin gave soft pulls and tugs on the rope teaching the paint to yield to it. "Bueno. Good girl."

Small, silent shivers trembled through the mare and Vin spoke in gentle tones, touching its face, touching its tail, rubbing all over. Gentling the pony with his touch, with his scent, with all of him. "A lot of folks don't have horse savvy, but I do. Ain't so much different from how folks should treat one 'nother. Gentle 'n easy. I promise ya, Nammi, I ain't never goin' t' hurt ya. So I'm trustin' ya now t' trust me 'cause I'm gonna git on yer back right 'bout now. If'n ya git scared, ya look at me with both those blue eyes. Okay, girl? Here we go."

Vin grabbed hold of the paint's mane and neck, lifting himself up, kneeling on its back. The mare stood quiet, not fighting the weight of the man. The men watched with mouths gapping and eyes popping. J.D. could not be contained. "Will ya look at that, fellas! Will ya look at Vin! I know horses 'n I've never seen anythin' like that before. Dang! Will ya look at that! Only took 'bout twenty minutes with hardly no fussin'."

Vin jumped down and walked over to J.D. "Ain't done yet, J.D. C'n ya git my saddle 'n blanket. I need a bridle. Ya boys ought t' go git yerself something t' eat."

"Vin maybe yuh should rest. Set a spell." Nathan brought a quick hand to rest on Vin's forehead. "Yuh still got a fever on yuh."

"I'm plumb wore out, Nathan, but I need t' finish this. Then I'll eat 'n then I'll rest."

"All right, Vin." Nathan nodded, taking the bridle from J.D. and passing it over to Tanner. "Jus' be careful. Don't want t' be doin' any more patchin'."

Slipping the bridle over the mare's face, a gentle-firm nudge of bit into mouth, throat latch adjusted, brow band and headstall in place, Vin rubbed and patted the paint, pleased that the horse was so well settled. Walking her around the corral by the reins, giving soft tugs to test her cooperation pleased that she yielded to it each time. "Now jes' the blanket 'n saddle 'n then you 'n me are goin' fer a long run. Would ya like that? I sure as hell would, bein' cooped up on a train fer days. Okay, Nuvuki?" Vin floated the blanket onto the paint's back as it gave a startled side step at the feel, but again settled at Vin's voice and gentle rub.

Buck nudged Chris. "I b'lieve the lady's in love."

Chris let out a laugh. "I think your right 'bout that, Buck."

Vin had a tug-of-war with the saddle until he was able to get it to a height and level that did not pull too hard on his left arm and then with a grimace released it, not as gently as he hoped, but still the paint did not balk. "Yer my gal, ain't ya now? Yer makin' this way too easy fer Standish, Nammi, 'n he best be splittin' the pot if'n he knows what's good fer him."

Hooking the stirrups over the saddle horn and then tightening the cinch around the barrel of the pony, Vin slowly lowered the stirrups back down, grabbing hold of the reins as he lifted his left foot into the stirrup, speaking in soft low tones. "Okay girl, this is it now. My arm's achin' me 'n my heads 'bout ready t' fall off so I'd sure be beholdin' t' ya, if'n ya didn't throw me 'round too much. Alrighty then. Here goes." On that Vin threw his leg over the saddle and lowered his weight, feeling the paint side step and buck low, but gaining calm with the quick, soft tugs on the reins. "Whoa, girl, settle down, now." With a press of his legs to the horse's sides, the paint complied with a walk and then into a trot. Vin smiled up at the men. "All right, J.D., let us outta here."

With blue eyes wide and then a maddening squint, a defiant lifting of chin, his head aslant in anxious wildness at the enormity of the crowd, Vin swore and raced quickly through the glad-handing. The paint, agitated, reeled drunkenly through the horde as Standish and the men held them back from Tanner. Angered at being dispossessed of his quiet order, Vin acknowledged having little choice, but to accept the pats and hands shakes, knowing if he did not get free soon, he would turn as wild and deadly as the paint was a short time ago.

Then a voice hollered out, "Everybody back away." Like the Red Sea parting, the people stepped back at the gunman's command, allowing Vin to bolt.

Buck looked at the men with a grin as he watched Standish count their winnings. "Ya think he's comin' back?"

Chris studied the quick flash of the retreating figure. "I don't know, Buck. I don't know."

As Nathan eyed the sky, the healer worried his long fingers into a tight clasp. "Well, he better be comin' back 'n quick 'bout it too, 'cause it looks like rain."

***********

Tanner fled Santa Fe with fugitive-swiftness, escaping passed the El Palacio del los Gobenadores, the Cathedral of Saint Francis, a tedium of adobe buildings and gawking, gathering pockets of townsfolk pointing and hooting at the startlingly, blue-eyed Indian pony and a mystique of man with eyes as captivating and wild as its mount. A swirling surge of shadowy dust thickly rose and twirled in twisting plumes behind him, now mercifully hidden from the populous hub.

Almost over an hour of riding, the sun was at its zenith, though it lacked warmth as a cool wind blew across the Jemez Mountains. Eyeing the lurching horizon, Vin realized a woozy hunger clutching him, not having eaten in almost two days, and his head ached with a persistent hammering that worsened with each thrum of hoof on rutty sandstone. Dark silvern clouds bulged and swelled in the eastern sky and Vin groused aloud at his foolishness having left behind his hide coat and mare's leg with the boys.

Only wearing a thin, blue calico laced-front shirt, not outfitted for inclemency, Vin shivered down into his clothing as he studied the land for shelter. Tanner knew he was ill and abruptly wheeled the paint toward town as his juddering hands fitfully clenched at the reins. Pleased that the paint was remaining tractable, Vin patted the horse's neck with gratitude and then let out a curse as the first trace of rain began to fall. A light, tickling mist at the onset, then a rushing, splattering heave of rainfall, Vin soaked in a quick whisper of breath and the paint's tail and mane plastered into a soggy droop.

The paint labored through the water-filled ruts, Vin's sight now a wavy, streaky haze of vision, no help to the pony. His coordination was failing and confusion pestered at him, worrisome and heavy fear weighed upon him, knowing that he needed to get back to the boys with haste. How many miles did he travel? He could not say and could not judge north from south, but he remembered the wagon-rutted track and he clung to that knowledge trusting that it would lead him to shelter. Wishing to be back with the men and cursing them in the same breath, knowing because of them he no longer was the guarded hunter, no longer lived with the urgent wariness of the hunted and making mortal mistakes because of that. His eyes drifted and he fought to keep them open and then agitatedly giving into the darkness.

**********

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sheltered by a layering of pasture grasses, body lying rigid and prone against the damply cold wetness of the Tennessee soil, sleep coming to him finally after a winding, weary tramp through lands unknown and enemies plentiful. The snows came during the night, rousing him with violent tremors and convulsing shivers, his clothing frozen stiffly, moving himself with haste so as not to die in the sleepy grip of a bitter, killing frost. Sardonic half-laughs, miserably groaning at the folly of a drying, lip-cracking thirst that icy handfuls of snows would not slake and then mercy imparted to him at the finding of a sinkhole filled with the waters of snowmelt.

A sturdy farmhouse seemingly thriving, not yet foraged by Yank or Reb was located close by the sprawling cedar where he sheltered. Having all ready been turned aside by a few Union farmers, no offerings of food or drink, knowing he would more than not be given up to patrolling soldiers and a vow given that he would choose death before being imprisoned again. A decision made not to chance another encounter with uncharitable people, trudged on with hopes of finding Rebel sympathizers. The snow gone, but now a cold rain fell in the silenced, achingly soulless fields as he wandered toward distant cedar ridges, with keen awareness of his hunger and thirst and just then stumbling over clumped, dirt mounds, falling . . . falling . . . falling . . . numbly scraping icy hands over raw, unblinking eyes filled with a distant delirium of a paint pony crashing away from him, rushing into falls of rain.

Unseated somehow, blacked-out for who knows how long, questions coming to him as he lay twisted in a muddy runnel of biting cold waters. Only knowing one thing, a need to get up and to keep his body warm, having seen men die from the cold; shivered and confused, movements clumsy, becoming soon after rigidly stiff, then unconscious not able to rouse, death with swift surety coming to them. Staggering, heavy steps leadenly stumbled over deep, ankle twisting furrows as he squinted into the rains, finally losing sight of the paint, along with hope.

*******************

The gunman was on the run, striking through mud flows thickly black like that of pitch, losing footing every few steps on the slick stoniness of the road, determined windmill arms recovering his balance as he charged after the rider-less paint. A tangle of fear at the sight, the men with arms and legs pumping like rapid pistons moved with fluid intent toward the livery, knowing that Tanner was in jeopardy, as he was incapable of being thrown even in sleep, horse and man seemingly one, and could only mean that an ill-fated end befell the man. Shouting at the hostler to help ready their mounts, fearful to waste precious time, booted feet catching stirrup and saddling on the hurry.

Chris did not speak, only looking onward toward things that he did not want to imagine or care to see, though still he pushed on, still hopeful. Wondering where that hope sprang from, unfamiliar to him since those bad days. Hope was not his and never to be his again, yet, there it sat somewhere inside of him, somehow restored in him, though small almost indistinct, and then a gasping grunted breath of agony that shook him, willing the man that gave it all back to him to survive.

Traveling now over twenty minutes, the rain still in fitful annoying spits, and Chris wiping his hand across his face trying to rid himself of its pestering. Darkness coming too rapidly and distant, thunderous rumbles rolled over them in a suffocating, ominous roar. Again the pit of him clutched and drew tight, breath coming to him in stingy, shallow pulls. Fear like that of clingstone wrapped around him, impossible to rid.

Chris, in reflective haste, watched the men around him, protective sentries searching for a man so important to each of them now, and Chris somehow settled at that. They would all lose, if Vin Tanner were lost to them. Not one for ruminations, a gunman dealt only with reactions, cause and affect, split-second, life and death, then things done, whether his death or another's. Circumstances brought all of them to this at one time or another. Each one thrown into tumult, things changing out of hand, no choices made. Nathan, hatred and violence, a constant in his life, Josiah, battling with himself and God, trying to make peace with a world contrary to God's teachings, Ezra and Buck, living on the edge, playing dangerous games in love and money, and J.D. somehow becoming a light to them, helping them to make sense of it all. His simplistic innocence of good and evil, seeing them as seekers of justice and each one privately clinging to that, allowing themselves momentary peace, and Chris never once doubting that Vin Tanner truly was justice and righteousness from that first day in Four Corners, knowing Vin would walk that dusty road alone, if needed to be and Chris grateful that he had been there to stand by Tanner's side.

The rutted sandstone trace veering into a sharp ell inhibited their view, the path obscured by long-leaved pine and jutting slopes that tumbled into splendid crags of mountains. In shallow splits, squirts of water spurted outward with each hoof fall, all so quiet that only the sound of rain spatting on painted 'sourdough' overcoats, hats, tack and the clopping of hooves were the only thing heard. Until the track straightened and lie forever plane toward the distant horizon, unencumbered with nothing in sight, except a bedraggled figure of a man trampling over ruts almost drunkenly as Larabee cursed and cried in one breath and then a crazy thought coming to him, wondering why Tanner didn't have the good sense to put on his hat. Wit coming back to him as he crashed over deceptive water-filled gaps, aware that a misplaced step could put a swift end to it all. Able now to see Vin's features, looking drawn with a purplish cast, noted tremors rattling through his frame. Chris continued forward, watching Tanner, in complete concentration of lifting foot after foot, appearing to be in inebriated syncopation, his steps repetitively clipped, his eyes focused on distant visions only he could see, looking through the men, even as the blow of horse and the hollow clop of hoof reached him.

"VIN!! VIN!!" Nathan was the first to gain voice as he dropped from his horse, grabbing up his saddlebags, standing in front of Tanner who seemed painstakingly focused on staying upright and walking. "Stop now, Vin. I need ta look at ya now."

"NO!!! Cain't stop. Let me be! Ya ain't takin' me back." Vin lunged away and then toppled to the ground with limbs flaying in desperate need to be away from these men.

Josiah stepped forward, wanting to help Nathan out as Buck and J.D. took hold of the mounts' reins aware that the approaching storm and unfamiliarity with the men caused the horses' skittish nickers and side steps, and the men anticipating a run. Chris reached out towards the struggling man, seeing distant dream eyes and wondering where Vin was again, wondering what terror once more strong-armed this man.

"What's wrong with him, Nathan?" Chris tucked his hand under Vin's head as Tanner with slow, building momentum threw off the gunman's hand from his chest and pushed up from the ground, letting out a yell from the pain of his wounded left arm. "Let me go! I ain't goin' back, ya'll have t' kill me 'fore I go back there. Damn ya t' hell, all of ya!"

Chris approached Vin with cautious-care, hand outstretched and voice soothing. "Vin, it's Chris. I'm not goin' t' hurt ya. Do ya hear me? We're goin' back t' the hotel. You're sick, Vin. Nathan just wants t' help ya, t' take care of ya."

Staggering, reeling with rigors and teeth chattering, Vin was near collapse and Chris tried again to reason with the man. "We've gotta go, Vin. You can't stay out in this rain. You're freezin' 'n you're goin' t' get sicker than you're feelin' now."

Nathan shook his head aware of the symptoms of overexposure, knowing that confusion was one of the signs and Vin would continue to fight them. "Josiah, I'm gonna need your help here."

Rainy rivulets running down his hair, over his face like dripstone, almost as close to drowning as he recalled, drowning in a cold, panicky numbness and then catching hold of a surfacing relief, a rock of man, as large and sheltering as earth, itself, and Vin sowing his brittle emotions like scattering seed into the comfort of it. Josiah caught Vin as he fell, raising an eyebrow to Chris as he heard a whispery sigh of a name, not of his own, but 'Sarge', and Chris and Josiah aware that Vin was back in Tennessee, back at a time when Tanner's life seesawed dangerously between choosing death over life. Chris rose up his head to the clouded sky, searching for a hidden lodestar, knowing they would surely be blindly stumbling their way; praying their direction was true, their choices correct in guiding Vin Tanner back to them.

Ezra was sharply aware that Chris and Josiah feared more than overexposure for Tanner's well being, as they gave each other long, wordless looks, and Ezra reading it as being affrighted of something they could not control. This not making sense to Standish as control was synonymous with Vin Tanner as Ezra was versed in it as well, but, sometime during the passing weeks controlment seemed to evade both of them. A fleeting apprehension of being manipulated, of being a pawn in some incomprehensible game gave a pang within him, knowing he would need to regain control for both of them, a heavy premonition filling him, sensing it to be a matter of life or death.

Ezra's thoughts interrupted as Nathan called to the men for their bedrolls, and Standish releasing his with shaky, clumsy hands, normally so skilled and agile, but failing him now, as the bedroll escaped his grasp and rolled from him as it gently slapped against his knee, catching it before it hit ground.

Nathan cocooned the spasmodic, fitful form, layering Vin in six blankets and then with Buck and Chris' help lifted Vin up to Josiah's embracing hands. All mounting with impatient, hurried motions, pulled rein and wheeled their horses toward town.

********************

Wisps of hair lie in weeping strands around Vin's achingly pale face as Nathan worked with frantic, hurried urgency removing Vin's wet clothing as the man lie in shaking silence on the hotel's bed, only the equally convulsive squeaking of bedsprings filling up the quiet. Chris quickly tended to the removal of Vin's boots, tossing them toward the hearth by the mule ears as J.D. set them closer to the fire to dry. Buck and Ezra returned with brewed, steaming coffee, directing the chambermaids carrying buckets of warm water toward the metal tub set close to the fire for warmth.

Vin was vaguely aware of people touching him, pulling at him, but was too cold to think or control his body's movements. The rattling, juddering limbs seemed to be working against him as he tried to reach towards hands that grabbed at his pants unbuttoning them. His arm was deaf to his commands with a mind of its own in its spasmodic seizing. Don't . . .don't . . .don't . . . screamed within, but only grunts seemed to emerge. Chris sat behind Vin, lifting him as Nathan shrugged off Vin's shirt, fighting with the clinging, soggy material on wet flesh. As Nathan reached towards the string tie and buttons on Vin's drawers, a hand white-knuckled around his wrist, its determined strength brought a smile to the healer with a nod. "All right, Vin we'll leave on your under drawers."

Vin's eyes appeared flat, emotionless, the blue almost black with a despairing resignation as Josiah watched Chris, with quiet restraint, gently press his hand on Vin's bare shoulder willing Tanner back; still sitting on the bed with the quivering man in his arms, skin almost lifeless to the touch, neither truly heated nor cold. Nathan's reassurance, claiming it to be a good sign, Vin's body temperature returning slowly to normal, and Chris relieved at that. Holding Tanner, amused and amazed that he felt no awkwardness, memories of Sarah and Adam tumbling over him, and Chris recalling his own natural offerings of love, caring and nurturing, all so painfully nostalgic, bringing a melancholic, musing smile to the gunman, aware that somehow he was making his way back home because of this man, because of these men.

Nathan called to Buck and Josiah to bring Vin over to the tin tub, making sure the water was not too hot or too cold. Warm to the touch, Nathan nodded and helped lower the lean man clad in wool drawers, his taut, well-drawn muscles and tawny flesh markedly showing old scars scattered over his body, into the warm soothing waters. A satisfied, rising sigh fluttered past bluish lips and a small, thin smile pecked around the edges of Tanner's mouth. Grateful that his quaking was steadying, but a growing awareness of stiff, painfully aching muscles that now rebelled stridently against the constant constrictions of his shivering. Something hot at his lips, shockingly scalding, but then wonderfully healing as he felt it spreading its warmth. Needing to sleep now, but then a voice called to him, opening his eyes to hazy, murky figures, struggling to focus.

"Tell me your name." Intense, brown eyes met his and Vin blinked several times, wondering if he was at a Union field infirmary somewhere in the rear.

Vin struggled to keep the tremors from his voice. "Vin Tanner." Feeling a reassuring pat on his arm and then seeing the stitches with its healing ridge of scar, he remembered his desperation, releasing a groan and slipped his eyes closed against it all.

"What year is it, Vin?" Those brown eyes and cinnamon skin, the face somehow familiar, his mind forced back to the question as that rich, smooth, insistent voice queried him again and Vin wondering why the man didn't know the year, himself.

" '64. February, I 'spect." Vin closed his eyes, too heavy to keep open, until another question came with an annoying poke to his shoulder.

"Vin, where do ya think ya are?"

"Don't ya'll know where ya are? Near Chattanooga. Belong with the Texas Brigade, 5th Texas Infantry, I reckon I'm yer prisoner."

The men smiled at the pride in Vin's voice as he spoke of the fierce and well-known Texas Infantry, but saddened at his defeat in the belief that he was once again a prisoner of war.

"Ain't a prisoner, Vin. Ya stay put in this warm bath for an hour or so more 'n then we'll get ya inta some warm clothes 'n bed. Here now, drink up this tea 'n then I'll let ya have some coffee. If yer up t' it, I want ya t' eat some. Ya've been too long without food." Nathan held the cup to the man's trembling lips until Vin finished. Rising with a gentle squeeze to Vin's shoulder, Nathan called the men to the furthest end of the room, keeping an eye to his patient.

"He's still confused." Nathan held up a reassuring hand to Chris' tense shoulder. "But that's t' be expected. Once his temperature is normal, then we'll see . . ." Nathan's voice drifted as the gunman's eyebrows arched in annoyance, a wash of unrest at the healer's words.

"See what?"

"Chris, I ain't ever dealt with nothin' like this, but I'm pretty sure he'll come back." Nathan rubbed a hand across his face. "I only know how t' treat the body . . ." Again his words floated across the quiet room. "I seen this in the war when I was a stretcher-bearer. Some of the soldiers came in with not a scratch on 'em, but their minds was gone. They's trapped in some horrible memory 'n nothin' gets 'em back. Now, I ain't sayin' this is goin' t' happen t' Vin, but right now he ain't here." Nathan gazed back toward the tub, unsure of his ability to help Vin. "I recollect a doctor callin' it trauma. Somethin' traumatized them . . . Bridget's suicide, the train settin' off all those memories of prison 'n all. Things unsettlin' t' Vin 'n . . ."

"All of it very traumatic." Josiah lowered his head with his words, entwining his large fingers together in prayers unspoken.

"Ya sayin' his mind is gone?" The pit of Chris clenching with anger, his heart rapidly thrumming in his temples, his stomach rising to his throat.

"No, I ain't sayin' that, Chris. I b'lieve he's jus' confused from his body temperature droppin' down so low. He'll come back. Let him sleep 'n he'll be fine. The man's rundown 'n wore-out." Nathan looked to each man seeing fear and concern. "Chris, you 'n Josiah c'n help me. I need the rest of ya t' go eat 'n get yourselves dried up 'n warmed up. One of ya sick is enough. I ain't needin' any more of ya comin' down with anythin'."

J.D., Buck and Ezra stood over Vin, the tremors settling, now only slight spasms rattling through him. Buck rested his hand on Tanner's shoulder, chin dropping to his chest, worry and sorrow heavy on him as he watched Vin drift in and out of a restless sleep. "We'll be back, Vin. You listen t' Nathan, now. Don't give him any sass, ya hear?"

"Yes, please do be kind to Mr. Jackson, although I, myself, enjoy your delightfully charming insights." Ezra's gaze clouded for a moment as he cleared his throat and then turned away, unsettled by the whole affair.

J.D. quietly stood by Buck as he stared down at Vin unsure of what to say. Clearly surprised that Vin was so vulnerable, and now J.D. finding himself struggling with it. Looking down at a man that was a hero to him, who knew how to survive against all odds, teaching J.D. so much and J.D. almost angry with the man for being weak, for being human. Afraid to let the men see his anger, his disappointment, he quickly turned away, leaving the room without saying a word.

****************

Santa Fe was a fine municipality, more civilized than Four Corners and John Prescott afforded himself pampering and amenities that he forego while staying at that abysmal backwater. Always impeccably dressed, white-blonde hair combed back, slickly sculpted around a well-shaped head, eyes a crystalline blue, handsome from a distance, gaining favorable glances from the women around, but all too often approving eyes filled with a horrified revulsion at the scar that met their gaze.

Prescott did not take notice today as he sat with a well attired, though nondescript gentleman who blended into the affluent dinner crowd of the hotel, offering Prescott a keystone to his plans. Holding the worn placard with insidious pleasure, knowing that Mr. Vin Tanner was "his" with or without Standish's help, and then a desire building, a stirring within him, lascivious and malicious, thinking of the possibilities; a game that seemed to be losing its challenges and Prescott deciding then to raise the stakes.

Folding the poster with a calculated cunning, seeing it only as "insurance," preferring Tanner's punishment to be by his hands and not the law's, his mind whirring as he reconsidered Standish's usefulness. Prescott dismissed the gentleman, watching him leave with deliberating, half-mad eyes. Searching the room, finding what he required, Prescott called over the concierge to make the arrangements for the high-priced concubine and then smugly satisfied, retired to his hotel room.

*****************

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

An incessant, fisted-hammering on the hotel room's door roused Chris with a harried agitation, his fingers curling around his Colt, even before clear thought reached his mind; hand and gun seemingly divorced of him. He rose with sleepwalker eyes, wide and unfocused, from the wing chair placed close by the bed, plummeting forward through the still thickly dark room. His voice, sleep-coated, gruff and gravelly called out through the closed door. "Talk!"

"Chris, it's Orrin Travis. I need to speak with you." Chris opened the door with a menacing impatience, nodding to the Judge who stood with a rigid determination in the shadowed hallway dressed in a black pinstripe suit that augmented his austere persona.

"What's the time?" Bare-chested, his black denim pants loosened around the waist with several buttons undone, gun belt looped over a well-defined, lean shoulder, blonde hair wispily falling across his forehead and Orrin seeing a youthfulness that sorrow almost stole away. Travis smiled at the man as he stumbled boyishly around the room, sleepy-eyed and stocking-footed, almost stuperously holstering his gun and scrambling to light a lamp.

"It's 5:00 a.m. Rough night?" Travis walked towards the bed, watching Vin Tanner sleep with darkly hawkish eyes, as he sat down stiffly in the wing chair, hands gripping the arms as he lowered himself.

"Nightmares most of the night. He's finally restin' now. Dead t' the world." Chris spoke gently with a whisper-soft voice, not wanting to disturb Vin.

"Good thing you're here to watch over him." A prophetic, worrisome pall draped over the room at the Judge's words.

"Something botherin' ya, Judge?" Chris look toward Travis with steely eyes, a demonical edginess within them.

"I'm not sure." Travis shifted his glance to the bed as Vin squirmed restlessly beneath the heavy coverings; a dust-dry moan caught in his throat, muffled by the layers of pillows and blankets, the whitewashed angles of his face blending into the milky-paleness of the linens. An affectionate smile skirted the edges of the Judge's lips as he watched the hardened gunman, gently rubbing the younger man's shoulder, brushing the thickly wavy strands of hair from his face and attentively tucking the blankets around Vin's neck. "Has he come to at all, spoken to you lucidly?"

Chris' head jolted up, his eyes meeting Travis' questioningly and the Judge spoke in response, "Nathan told me everything."

An almost abject nod, Chris rubbed a hand over gritty-worn eyes, weary from little sleep. "He hasn't woke, yet . . . he'll be fine." Nothing would change Chris' belief in that, his faith strong in Vin Tanner.

"I'm sure he will be, Chris." Orrin Travis dourly rubbed his sharply strong chin. "I've received word from Senator Blackburn that they are looking into Belknap's wife and her part in this whole affair. They feel that William Belknap may not even be aware of the money passing hands for these tradership posts, but I can't believe a man of his position could be blind to such things. Highly improbable. Pure stupidity, if that's the case."

Sweeping a withy, sinuous hand through his straw-stem blonde hair, Chris raised a peevish brow to Travis as his lips straight-lined with impatience. "That's really not why you're here, is it?"

"No." Travis rose somewhat theatrically, as he stood over Tanner, a compassionate hand reached out to touch the man's shoulder, so unusual to see the young man appearing this vulnerable, this fragile. "I'm worried about what Prescott might be up to. I saw him meeting with a Pinkerton detective this evening. When I questioned him about it he claimed it was in regard to John Evans. Frankly, I don't believe him and I'm worried about Vin."

All ready burdened with caring for Tanner, his physical well-being and now, as well as his mind, Chris knowing he could no longer deny this, shrugged his shoulders with momentary defeat and then raising his head, spoke defiantly, "He ain't getting near, Vin. Prescott will have to go through me first."

"I suspect Prescott will have to go through five others as well. You know I'll do all I can, although you are aware my hands will be tied in other matters. So caution must be taken at all cost." Intensely snatching his "turnip" watch from the small front pocket of his vest, Travis studied it with vague eyes, his mind on other concerns, not wanting to strand Vin Tanner in hostile lands. "Prescott will be anxious to leave and unfortunately, I have been told by the committee that they're getting uneasy and need evidence posthaste. Let me know when Vin can travel."

Orrin scrutinized the young gunman, noting the blackish circles, the frantically, crazed-eyed glint that shone from the hollows, the high-strung riffling of fingers over steely six-shooter. "Try to get a bit more sleep, Chris. I'll keep the others away."

Walking the Judge to the door, Chris reached out a hand as the two shook, worries heavy on them, each wanting to be done with things. "We'll make it, Chris. The good guys will win this one."

A cynical, twisted smile wrapped around Chris' lips. "Well, it'd be about damn time."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Black damp . . . the candle light in a palely death-dance feebly flickered and then gone . . . no air, as he awoke with a shuddering, wetly sucking gasp, hands clutching at . . . for something and then seeing him in an explosive, illumining sharpness, swallowed up by a sweeping reassurance; Vin catching breath and finding voice. "CHRIS?"

Larabee jolted up as though a current pulsed through him, wondering what had woken him and then sluggish awareness, sure that his name was called out, as a creeping warmth of euphoria covered him. 'Vin called him! Vin remembered him!'

Blue eyes bright, but puzzled in their clarity, unsure and Chris sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand gripping the man's shoulder, an eloquence of all things felt at that moment loosed from him with that touch. "Vin? Do you know me, Vin?"

Again puzzled, as though the question was ridiculous; face showing confusion and a touch of quickening fear. "What happened, Chris?"

Shafts of sun poked and pushed around the edges of the oiled paper window shade, as dust motes collided with each other and then drifted flightily within the stream of light. Chris watched their crowded, confused dance, as he considered Vin's question, but before answering, raised a cup to Vin's lips; the younger man drinking it down prudently, though wanting to gulp it, his greedy thirst almost usurping his good sense.

"Tell me about the war Vin, about prison."

"I done told ya everythin' there is t' know."

"I think ya might have more t' tell." Chris lowered the cup, grabbing up the water pitcher, refilling it and handing it back to Vin.

"No." Vin spoke flatly, eyes distant, and then anger sparking them to a brighter hue. "What the hell do ya want me t' say, Chris? Ya tell me ya ain't judgin', but now ya ain't lettin' it be."

"Can't let it be, Vin. I can't let it be 'cause it's makin' ya crazy." Chris raised a hand to Vin's forehead, finding it cool to the touch, relieved. "You gave us a scare. Overexposure, you had the rigors somethin' fierce 'n you were pretty well out of it, back in Tennessee. You called Josiah, 'Sarge'. I need ya t' talk to me, Vin."

"Dammit, Larabee! Dammit!" A muffled moan pressed back by a clenched hand to his mouth, nothing said as Vin jerked a colorless, detached glance toward Larabee.

The gunman waited patiently, a breath released as Vin spoke. "He was good t' me, Sergeant McClellan. Took care of me after." Vin went distant again, but still continued talking. "Weren't too much in the war that scared me, don't know why, just got used t' things I reckon. B'n caught behind lines when I was scoutin', spittin' distance of the Yanks. Chased 'n shot at 'n I tell ya I never knew I could run so fast." Vin chuffed at the memory. "Them blue coats couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Was close 'nough to take out a Colonel or two."

Chris rubbed a hand across his brow, a large toothy grin spreading over his gently boyish face, grabbing at Vin's arm to help him sit back against the headboard. "I'm damn grateful I wasn't a Colonel." The gunman looked at Vin still concerned with the shadows that harshly mantled the marksman's features. "How are ya feelin', Vin?"

"Jes' tired." A need to talk came to him again, a strange, unpredictable feeling it was to a man that never shared much of himself with anyone. After a long, uncertain quiet, Vin looked at Chris and then with a nod, spoke in a slow smooth drawl. "I reckon I was jes' 'bout fourteen at the Second Manassas. It was pretty confusin' right from the start with Rebs 'n Yanks all mixed-up together, so dark ya couldn't tell who was who . . . the Officers tried t' git us together, but then they had us retreatin' right quick. My heart was pretty near jumpin' out of my chest, couldn't beat it out of there fast 'nough. The blue coats were all over us like Texas sop on a side of beef." A thoughtful pause and then a sigh, Vin began again. "Got it in the leg the next day right after crossing Bull Run. There was a kid at the infirmary got it the same way, a color bearer, he was dead a coupla days later. Wanted me t' carry the flag. Ain't nothin' would git me t' give up my gun fer a flag. He died though, so I never did git a chance t' tell him no."

A low chuckle rose up around Vin and Chris smiled at the sound of it. "I reckon ya'll familiar with them cavalry horses runnin' wild after a battle. Ain't nothin' could move a soldier quicker than hearin' the call 'loose horse' up 'n down the line. Hell of a way t' wake up with a horse sharin' yer bedroll. Scramblin' fast when ya hear that yell with men cursin' 'n runnin'. Damn funny. Seen a few boys trampled though. Gotta move quick." Vin watched Chris for a moment, a soldier's familiarity shared with a knowing silence. "Funny the things that stay with ya . . ."

Chris with a patient privilege listened to Tanner's account of the war, knowing somehow that this was the first time and more than likely the last time Vin would speak of it. "I recollect a time, jes' outside of Richmond. There was a pretty heavy battle, a lot of boys kilt, both sides. We made camp a few miles back from the battleground, so as not t' smell all the decayin' bodies 'n such. I reckon they didn't take int' account all them flies . . . ain't never seen so many damn flies. Had t' sleep with my blanket over my head t' keep 'em away from my ears, mouth, 'n everythin' . . .bit like a son of a bitch."

Vin's strikingly simple, but powerful narrative brought those days back to Chris with a shuddering clarity. "Where did you get taken, Vin?"

"Outside of Rome, Georgia 'n then put on a train t' Chattanooga." Vin spoke softly then and Chris leaned close to hear him speak. "Weren't too much in the war that I was a feared of 'ceptin' that . . .'ceptin prison." Gone again with distant eyes, Vin in that prison, but still continuing to talk in low drifty, dead tones and now no longer aware of Chris, just his memories. "Hung by my thumbs fer tryin' t' escape... gave me a world of hurt. Sarge cut me down . . . begged me to quit it . . . jes' couldn't . . . couldn't stand it another day. Crazy Reb kid . . . dyin' . . . had t' git out . . . had t' git out. Bastards . . . damn bastards . . . don't chain me . . . night 'n day chained like a mangy dog. No more . . . Suveti u (that's all)."

Just then Vin spoke, words rising in Comanche, his head craned upward, his hair falling away from his face, surprising Chris as he gripped the rigid yoke of Tanner's shoulders, fingers coiled tightly, a breath away from shaking the man into sensibility and then Vin looked to Chris with a calm that was lost to him for weeks. "I understand now, Chris. Was the only choice fer me then. The right t' choose when 'n how I would die . . . no need t' be goin' on the worry 'bout me any longer."

Vin whisked his eyes toward the window's light, his mind now on other concerns, his own issues resolved, no longer needing to be discussed; Chris understanding this, let it alone. Vin dexterously shifted his frame around the gunman, almost able to squirm off the bed, but hands pinned him down. "Where the hell ya goin', Tanner?"

"Gittin' up now, Chris." A thin sigh released, deciding not to struggle with the gunman, Vin wriggled from Larabee's hands as he returned to the comfort of the bedcovers. "I reckon I could use a mite more sleep."

"I reckon you could."

"Chris . . ." A space of time and then Vin lifted his head, watching Chris' face twist itself into lines and angles of uneasiness. "Don't be lookin' like that. I ain't dyin' here 'n I sure as Hell ain't losin' my senses. I jes' got one thing t' say 'n I ain't lookin' fer ya t' agree with it, but one thing that ain't changed is my feelings 'bout Prescott. He done kilt Bridget 'n sure as I'm sittin' here, I'm goin' t' prove it. I'm goin' t' bring that man t' justice fer hurtin' that girl. I'm jes' warnin' ya, so's ya don't git in my way. Don't want t' be goin' against any of ya or the Judge, so I'll jes' say it again, don't be gittin' in my way 'bout this."

"Ya through?" Not a man used to being talked to with such, as far as Chris was concerned, an unhealthy lack of regard or fear, his reputation as a quick, deadly shot bestowing him respect from most and then a grin kicking up at the corners of his mouth as he looked at the one man who could not give a care about Larabee the gunfighter and his reputation. "I ain't standin' in your way, Vin, but you best play it smart. We're here to do a job for the Judge first and we don't need any trouble while we're in Tascosa. You know that better than anybody. I just want to get this job done and get back to Four Corners and to hell with Prescott. Keepin' you alive's more important! So as far as I'm concerned, the only way this will play out is with you alive 'n well, getting' that sorry hide of yours back home safe."

" 'S long as we understand one 'nother." A lopsided grin came to Vin, not wanting to argue, knowing it would be best to take care of things the way he usually did, quiet-like and on his own. Lowering his head down to the pillow, groaning with pleasure at the soft comfort and suddenly overcome with fatigue, Vin closed his eyes and slept, well aware of the gunman's steely keen-eyed stare on him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He looked at her in the dappled-hue of morning light and thought of Bridget. The paleness of her skin and the dark, flowing hair, not as strikingly black, but still beautiful and Buck feeling as though he could truly love this one. How many times did that thought come to him? Bringing a devilish smirk to his lips as he recalled his vows of monogamy and marriage to each and everyone, morning's after always bringing him a momentary melancholy, wondering if he would ever be able to trust enough or love enough to settle down with just one girl. He knew the ways of women, their likes and dislikes, what could bring a smile and chase away a tear, but Buck always ran away when their stories got too personal, and their grip on him too tight.

Loose and easy, love them and leave them, and Buck always forgiven with a flash of his smile and a waggling strut that brought even the most sophisticated into a fit of girlish giggles. Never held accountable, and Buck with a strong surety knowing that was what he needed, to be taken to task just once, as he ruefully shook his head, aware of the curse of animal magnetism. With a resigned shrug of his thickly strapping shoulders, Buck ran his long-fingered hand along the swell of her hip as he leaned over her giving a kiss to the nape of a milk-white neck. "Gotta get goin, darlin'. Give your Buck a great big ol' goodbye kiss."

"Do ya have to go, Buck honey?" Her brown eyes whispered and taunted him and he swooped down on her with a panting desire, throwing off the bed's covers, his eyes appreciative of the splendor of her as they tumbled into each other once more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A soft, insistent thumping woke Buck from a wispy, dreamy sleep, a graceful hand sweeping across his half-closed eyes, his mind stirring sluggishly and then a rapid awareness to a knocking on the hotel room's door. "Adeline, darlin' you expectin' company?" Buck already with lanky legs flung over the side of the bed, pulling on pants and slipping a gun belt over his shoulder, his hand at the ready. "Get the door, Addy."

Grabbing up her dressing gown with haste, Addy glanced at Buck, eyes rolling with irritation at the interruption. "Who is it?"

"Addy, it's me, Emma. I need your help." A shivery fear trembled through Addy at the haunting tone of her voice, suddenly aware that he was back again. Had a year gone by so quickly? Buck noticed her hand shaking as she reached for the crystal doorknob, watching as Addy reached out towards a battered, broken figure of a woman. Her blonde hair worn long draped down her back and fell over her face, an unsuccessful attempt to hide the bruising. Buck cursed and hurried to the door.

"What happened?" Anger strong as a need for rending maddeningly growing within him, Buck gleamy-eyed as he traced the discolorations of the woman's face and neck. "Who did this to you?"

The woman looked at Addy, silently questioning, feeling reassured at her friend's nod that this astonishingly eye-catching, darkly handsome man could be trusted. "Someone with enough money to do what he pleases and pays girls like me enough money to allow it to happen, wearing nothing, but a great big smile."

"Emma, please . . ." Addy pulled the battered woman to the bed, sitting her down with a light push on her shoulders. "Buck is just trying to help. There's no need to talk like that."

"I'm just speaking the truth, Addy. I made $200 dollars last night and every bruise that I got was well worth it for that kind of money. I've got dreams and this money is going to get me each and every one of them." Emma recoiled back at Addy's touch as she brought a cold cloth to Emma's swollen lip. In a whisper-soft shuddering voice, so quiet Buck walked closer to the bed, trying to hear Emma's words. "I almost thought he was going to kill me. He had his hands around my neck so tightly; I couldn't breathe and praise God he finally let go, leaving me then. He kept saying over and over 'harsh lessons learned.' So strange . . . I pray to God, I'm long gone next time he's in town."

"You've gotta report this. You need t' go to the Sheriff. Let 'em arrest this crackpot." Buck was hurriedly buttoning up his calico shirt and shoving the tails into his high-front butternut pants, as he spoke.

"Listen, cowboy . . ." Emma turned her head stiffly towards the lanky man.

"Name's Buck." A wide smile flashing under the black, full mustache, as Buck ambled over towards the women.

"Well Buck, thank you for your concern and all, but this gal is taking her money and keeping her very swollen mouth shut." Emma clutched Addy's hand. "Promise me you won't say anything. We've dealt with him before. If we just keep quiet . . ." Her words trailed off and Buck's head jerked up at that, smelling the wild, powerful scent of fear in the women.

"What?" Buck pierced Addy with concerned dark blue eyes.

"Buck, let it be. We'll be fine." Addy reached for Buck's hand and held it tightly, pleadingly. "You should go now."

"Addy, jes' tell me one thing 'n then I'll get."

Addy studied Buck warily. "What?"

"Who did this?' Buck reached for Addy as she started to turn away, her head shaking 'no' before Buck had a chance to finish speaking. "Addy, I was jes' going t' tell you 'n Emma that I won't do nothing t' cause ya any trouble, I swear. Jes' tell me, who did this?"

Addy glanced at Emma who nodded a yes and closed her eyes with a juddering release of a moan as Abby spoke. "Name's Prescott. John Prescott."

"Dammit." That's all Buck could think to say, as he looked over at the women. "Dammit all t' hell."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Chris? Chris? It's Buck. I need t' talk t' ya. Now!" Buck shuffled restlessly as he waited for Larabee to come to the door.

"Buck, shut the hell up. Vin's sleepin'." A harsh, slap of a whisper struck the closed door, staggering Buck, a quiet apology voiced. "Damn Chris. I'm sorry. How's he doin'?"

The door opening then and Chris stepping out into the brightly sunlit hallway, as Buck studied the lean man, his black shirt halfway buttoned with the tails out, no boots and his gun belt hanging from his shoulder, colt in quick reach for trouble, his pale eyes dulled from sleeplessness and his hair fell in disarray across his corded brow. "He's better, Buck. I think the situation's been taken care of. He's thinkin' clear now. Just exhausted."

"Yeah, him 'n you, both." Buck angled his head exaggeratingly studying Larabee. "Gettin' any sleep?"

"Well, I sure as hell would be, if people didn't find it so all fired necessary t' be talkin' to me at all hours of the night 'n day." Mean-spirited with Buck and not able to control it, always seeming to take everything that ailed him out on the man and Chris cursed himself for that. "Sorry, Buck. I'm just beat."

"That's all right, Chris. This whole thing with Vin's b'n a worry t' all of us. Hell, I hardly slept at all last night myself." A grin dancing across his face and lighting up his eyes, Buck watched as a slow smile came to Chris.

"Yeah, I bet she kept ya awake all night long." Chris scrubbed a hand across his jaw feeling the bristly coarseness of a couple of day's growth. "What's goin' on, Buck?"

"Bad news. Prescott's at it again. Got a hold of a girl 'n battered her pretty good. She won't go t' the Sheriff. I expect she's afraid of Prescott." Buck watched the gunman's eyes grow thick with anger, sparking a dangerous fire within him. "Just thought ya should know."

"I believe it's about time I had myself a serious discussion with Mr. Prescott." Chris unaware shifted the gun belt from his shoulder, dropping it into his hand as he ran his agile fingers over the colt. "Judge's concerned that Prescott's up to something. Something that might be involving Vin." Buck and Chris quiet at that, concern high as Chris finally spoke. "Yep, I believe it's been a long time coming."

Buck shuffled his feet, a light nervous step as he spoke. "Need company?"

Chris shaking his head 'no' extended his hand to Buck. "Not this time, but thanks, Buck. Appreciate it."

"Just watch yer back, Chris. He's as dangerous 'n as slimy as a rattlesnake greased in oil."

A nod given to Buck as Chris returned to the room and Buck stood watching the closed door for a long while, worrying mightily on it all.