Before the Wind

By Kimberly KBJ

PART SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Chris came to consciousness with a jolting start, panic rising as his tremulous hands reached for his throat clawing frantically, still feeling the noose, until clarity all at once burned through him in one single, knowing gasp. He was free, he was alive, but -- where was Vin?

Again panic rose, a slow awareness of being restrained, making his veins whisper coldly and his blood clot icily. Sliding his hands like things that lurk in haunted dreams silently and unseen down to his narrow hips, found no gun. This time it was not a noose that choked him, but fear. Then, a gentle hand came to rest on his and Chris let out a breath startled at the relief coming to him as he recognized that hand festooned with rings and that forearm aflame in fire-red cloth.

Ezra. Thinking he spoke so as to be heard, but then realizing it was only a silent thought voiced in his head, Chris tried to speak again. "Ezra?" It was loud enough to gain Standish's attention, but too enfeebled which brought Chris nothing, but self-contempt. "Where's Vin? Is he all right? Dammit, Standish! Answer me!"

Ezra Standish shivered, an inevitable shiver that comes to a man when he finds himself needing to answer the most impossible of questions. Usually he would waltz his way in and out and around these things, his words like intricate dance steps, leaving it to another. But, it was not the time for deceptions, it was the time for honesty; he could give Chris Larabee nothing less. Straight out then, which was fiercely difficult for a man that cherished words, hid behind them, made a living from them. He played a masterful game of cards, but words were his mainstay when good fortune failed him. Words were a comfort to him on lonely nights, able to fool himself more times than not that life was good. Would they fail him now?

"Chris..." Ezra took a breath as he helped the gunman sit up higher against him, leaving Ezra wondering if Chris could hear the thrumming of his heartbeat, rapid and anxious. "Mr. Jackson is with Mr. Tanner at the moment. It appears that Vin had an unfortunate encounter with Prescott's bullet."

"Son of a bitch." Chris struggled to stand, pushing against the ground with his boot heels making deep furrows in the earth, but getting nowhere. "Dammit, Standish. Let go of me."

"Chris, you've got to settle down. Nathan is with Vin and you have sustained your share of injuries. It is my responsibility to keep you still until Nathan has an opportunity to determine the damage."

Larabee said nothing, no longer struggling with the gambler. "I want t' thank you, Ezra. I'm not quite sure 'bout it all, but I know you put yourself on the line 't save my hide."

"No need to thank me, Chris. I'm sure you would do the same for me, if I should ever find myself in such dire circumstances and in my line of work the likelihood of that occurring...well, let's just say the odds are quite high. I might even hazard to guess that Mr. Tanner might even come to my assistance, though if it was a tarring and feathering, he might just be the first in line." Ezra was only hoping for a smile from the man and was greatly surprised when he felt the gunman's shoulders' thump softly against his chest in an easy rhythm. Laughing, Chris was laughing.

"Tar and feathers. That sounds like Tanner." A quick, harsh draw of air taken in at some sharp and immediate pain; Chris not being able to pinpoint its beginnings as it radiated through his back and torso. Those kicks hurt him plenty, though not so badly as to keep him down. Chris knew his body; knew that it would only be a deep and ugly bruising that ran across every stitch of him and more than likely he would be walking like an old man for a few weeks, but nothing mortally broken.

All at once the fear, the panic rose up again, startling Standish with that quick mercurial change, but knew it was the gunman's way as Ezra read people and knew Chris Larabee to be the most volatile of them all, felt things more deeply, though tried to deny this, tried to hide this from them, from himself. "I need t' see Tanner. I'm only goin' t' say this once. Help me up or get out of my way."

"Well, this appears to be a most disagreeable situation. Either I will incur your wrath or that of Mr. Jackson's." Ezra let out a derisive laugh, hooking his hands under the gunman's underarms, standing, and then bracing Larabee against him as the gunman struggled to gain his footing. "This is completely against my better judgment and I do hope you explain to Nathan that I was indisputably against this."

"Fine. Just get me the hell up 'n over t' Vin."

Chris somberly and achingly made his way over to the figures huddled around what could only be the downed marksman. His tall, slim frame intractably stooped in an old man's hunch, Chris not able to uncurl his bruised spine. This worried Ezra greatly as he hovered attentively, walking beside the hobbling gunman like a vigilant son. Even Nathan's look of displeasure went unnoticed by the gambler, Ezra fiercely intent on each painful step taken by Chris.

Nathan Jackson was not happy, but kept his mouth locked tightly like a vault door, his admonishments buried. A man that knew how to choose his battles, and not a mind to fighting Chris Larabee, having heavier things weighing on him. Vin would rest easier with the gunman close by, although Vin seemed surprisingly at ease, more at peace now than he was in a good long while. That oddly enough was not sitting right with Nathan; as if Vin would go whichever way the wind blew him. Too damn easy about it all; too damn accepting of what? His death? Nathan was afraid. He was afraid the minute he looked at the ragged wound that cruelly furrowed across flesh and sinew and wickedly chewed into the bowels of the marksman. Nathan would need to tend to it. They expected that of him; he expected that of himself. Driven to heal and never quite knowing why; mattering more now than ever for him to mend things, to make things right and Nathan knowing he was only as gifted as God would allow.

Josiah lowered Vin's head down gently to the grasses as the marksman opened his eyes at the movement, suddenly finding himself looking into the face of Larabee, happily giving a slow, lazy smile to the gunman. Chris smiled back as he lowered himself next to Tanner, holding back a betraying groan; slow going as he found himself agonizingly thumping down onto his knees, his body held stiff, his bones brittle as sticks ready to snap. It was a few minutes before he could speak without those traitorous moans escaping as they yanked at his mouth, kicked about on his tongue, knocked at his teeth. Chris was more stubborn than his body's pain, never giving in to or accepting its weaknesses, finally able to grab up the tremulant hand that brushed anxiously against his arm.

"They came..." A fever-blast of heat scorched Chris' hand as he clutched Vin's. Sweat glistened and clung to the fine hairs edging out of Tanner's shirt cuffs, pooling and then rolling down between Vin's knuckles. The fever was finally winning out, Tanner now too weak and injured too badly to fight against it.

"Yeah, Vin. They came." The blue of Vin's eyes was exceptionally bright as he watched Chris with a disconcerting intensity. Chris, suddenly uncomfortable, shifted his gaze to Nathan who was now pulling strips of cloth, carbolic and finely polished surgical tools from his bags. Looking at that was far worse than Vin's scrutiny, Chris quickly turning away from those cold, menacing clamps and scalpels.

"Ya'll were right." Vin shuddered causing tremors to course up violently through Chris' fingers to his bruised body, in pain, but still clinging tightly to Vin's hand, giving a consoling squeeze.

"Pure luck." Chris shrugged offhandedly, knowing it was just that and not much more. Josiah would claim it to be divine intervention. Chris knew it to be the luck of the draw and could have very easily gone the other way, both of them dead.

"No. You believed they'd come...faith...ya'll had faith." Again those extraordinary blue eyes latched onto Chris, searching for answers. Faith. Hell, faith was the last thing Chris would claim to have. Faith was a long time gone from his life. Long time gone and a long time dead and buried along with his wife and son. Faith blew out of his life with the last of those threads of smoke, rising above the ash and ruin and Chris cursing God with every fiber of him.

All of it coming back to him in a sickening, agonizing rush, but only spoke calmly to Tanner, "I don't know 'bout that, Vin. Just wasn't ready or willing to die. Not now, not that way."

Vin nodded with a deep thoughtfulness. "Ain't believed in nothing in good long time. Jes' figured I git it in the end if'n not t'day then the next. I'd put up a hell of a fight, but I reckoned in the end they'd win. They always win."

"Who'd win, Vin?" Chris knew the answer before Vin could speak it, having lost to *them*, himself.

"Every last one of 'em that wanted my scalp, wanted me dead 'n there sure as hell was plenty. B'n fightin' my whole life since as far back as I c'n remember. Fought for everythin', fought jes' t' stay alive one day t' the next. Then the war come...lost faith then, gave up on life. Weren't no one comin' t' my rescue...weren't no one, but me 'n I stopped believin' in me right 'bout then. Now I up 'n lost faith again, Chris. Didn't believe they'd come in time. Didn't believe...ain't right that I didn't believe..." Vin hastily moved his head away from Chris, sucking in a breath as his regret-filled gaze fell on Nathan and his tools. Quickly turning away from that and having no place left to look, Vin shut his eyes. His dark, long, full lashes brushed lightly along the edges of black crescents suspended tiredly under his eyes as Vin closed himself off from everything, but then warming to the gentle touch of the man beside him.

Chris cupped Vin's shoulder, bringing his mouth close to Tanner's ear, speaking softly, "Vin, ya got t' let that go. Ya got t' forget about that time in the war. No one was thinking straight back then, not even me. I lost faith, too. All that killing...took me a long time to start believing in things again. Sarah gave me back my life..."

"We ain't got t' talk 'bout this, Chris." Vin was shaken, not wanting to bring Chris pain.

Chris nodded, but felt a surety he wanted to share with Vin. "Some days are harder than others, but it's getting better. I'm still keeping on 'n I expect you t' do the same, Tanner. Expect you t' do the same."

A long, dusty, aching sigh rose into the air like a restless ghost. "Ain't lookin' t' die jes' yet, Larabee. Got some unfinished business needs tended t' 'n it ain't goin' t' keep much longer."

"The bounty or Bridget?" Again Chris knew the answer that would come, remembering Vin's words about things leading him to this moment and somehow Chris, himself fitting into the mix; and Chris glad of that.

"Both, Chris. Both." Vin shuddered again as he pressed his hand into his right hip. The numbing was gradually giving way to full-blown pain, his bowels flaming and his right hip throbbing. A groan released as he rolled himself on to his left side, grateful for Chris' steadying hands.

"That better, Vin?" Chris' right hand supported Vin's back as he used his free hand to remove his black duster from his right shoulder and then switching hands continued steadying Vin as the other hand slid the black coat from his left side. Quickly bundling up the duster with both hands, Chris tucked the coat behind Tanner, fitting it snugly into the small of Vin's back. "That should help." Vin nodded his head slowly, closing his eyes, Chris thinking the man might have passed out, but continued to talk. "Ya got Prescott, so that's one step in the right direction."

Vin answered surprising Chris. "Don't prove he kilt Bridget, though. But, leastwise I know he ain't goin' t' hurt nobody else." Sweat ran down Vin's temples in salty streams, streaking lines through the dust and dirt on his face. Chris armed the sweat from Vin's forehead, though the angle was awkward and made him draw in a quick breath at new pains awakened with the movement.

Vin was hurting and Chris able to tell when it was at its most intense by the fierceness of the marksman's grip on his hand. Talking the best distraction until Nathan could get to the wound. "I guess you're done running then?"

"Cain't run no more, Chris. Got t' make things right or die tryin'." Vin's voice trembled slightly, but the conviction of his words was strong.

"Well, I ain't lettin' ya die so I guess we're goin' t' set things right." Chris mirrored that conviction.

"Ya'll have faith?" Almost jokingly spoken, but Chris saw a spark of hope in those now-young, now-ancient, blue eyes, waiting for Chris' answer.

"I have faith." Chris softly spoke, meaning it.

~ ~ ~

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Josiah soundlessly shifted himself away from Vin and Chris giving them some quiet time together. The ivory rosary was now clutched in his hand tightly, wanting to speak with Judge Travis before sharing this revelation with Vin. Prescott was dead, but even dead men needed to be held accountable for their misdeeds. How many other women have suffered and died because of him?

Vin and Chris were caught up in a living hell because of Prescott and Josiah was not ready to release or forgive this man from his wrongdoing. A nod to Nathan then, as Josiah hunkered his sizable girth down beside the man, watching the efficient healing hands work. One leg jutted out behind Josiah, the other angled with his big arms crossed and resting on his large thigh. The rosary beads dangled from his hand and shone like white, round pebbles in the sunlight.

Nathan's gaze skated to the rosary. "Did ja tell Vin 'bout 'em?"

"Not yet. Thought I'd have a chat with the Judge first. Wanted t' see if this was evidence enough to prove Prescott's guilt."

Nathan nodded pessimistically, but remained quiet. Josiah sensing the healer's misgivings spoke those uncertainties aloud. "Could be jes' circumstantial evidence. No real way to prove the rosary is Bridget's. Jest my say-so. I'm hoping the Judge sees things differently. I want t' have some good news for Vin."

"Do it matter all that much, Josiah? Prescott bein' dead 'n all. Ain't goin' t' hurt nobody else. Cain't that be 'nough for Vin?"

"I'm thinkin' that it ain't enough, Nathan. Vin wants it to be known what Prescott's done. He wants people to know that Bridget didn't cause herself harm. Clearing her name, so to speak 'n wants all the other women that Prescott hurt over the years to have their day, to finally find peace."

"I'm thinkin' you're right 'bout that, Josiah. Sounds like Vin."

"The boy needs t' see justice done 'n not jes' for Bridget 'n those women...needs it for himself."

~ ~ ~ ~

Judge Travis sat astride his mount, eyes black and burning like ignited coals, watching Sheriff East and his posse apprehending and binding the vigilantes to their saddles while the remainder of East's men rolled up the many dead in canvas tarps to be brought back to town. He cast his eyes toward Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner with concern and inconspicuous affection as he removed his hat and ran a weary hand threw his thick graying hair. What a mess and still so much to be done. Vin Tanner shot, perhaps dying and if not dying, may soon face a hangman's noose. A promise recalled given to Chris Larabee, a promise to save Vin Tanner's life, a promise Orrin would keep, no matter what and to hang the consequences. A Circuit Judge for almost close to a lifetime all ready, and would continue being until his death; surely his influence would be able to keep that young man alive. He would see to it for Vin's sake, for all their sakes.

Surprised to see Buck rounding up the prisoners as Travis expected him to be close by Chris, chattering and hovering like an overprotective jay whose chick has just fallen from the nest. Seeing J.D. alongside Buck, a familiar sight, brought a smile to the Judge, softening the ancient crags of his features as he watched the tall gunman instruct the boy while both forcibly nudged along an uncooperative cowboy in his direction.

Buck poked his rifle into the man's back every so often to keep him moving along, knowing the man to be Catfish Kid and in cahoots with Prescott from the get-go. The tall gunman all at once caught sight of Josiah lumbering toward the Judge with huge, determined strides, clutching something in his massive paw, and then a momentary flash sparked at Buck's eye like that of sun reflecting off metal. A silver crucifix hung from Josiah's hands, swinging fitfully with the weighty rhythm of the big man's remarkably brisk gait. Arriving a few moments behind Buck and J.D., Josiah stood patiently beside them while the Judge dismounted.

Orrin swung his leg rather stiffly over the cantle with less control and grace than he hoped, landing his foot with a heavy thud onto the rock-hard ground. Releasing the other leg with difficulty from the stirrup, as his inflexible vertebra noisily cracked and his tight muscles stretched far more than they should be or have been in years, too much wagon travel making him feel aged and unfit. A resigned sigh released as he adjusted his coat and hooked his thumb into the small pocket of his vest ready to check his watch for the time more so out of habit than actual interest. Travis assessed the situation, watching the men with severe dark gray eyes, sensing the urgency there, as these men would not waste their time or his.

"How are Vin and Chris?" Inchoate apprehension pulled at Travis as his eyes again were drawn toward Vin, Chris and Nathan. Dismay deep as he watched Jackson ready his surgical instruments, bad then, the bullet still there in Vin. Nathan was a fine healer, a doctor in Travis' opinion, but the man's lack of education and modesty would not allow this designation. Vin Tanner was the first to entitle Nathan with the name, "Doc" and still continued, even after Nathan's strongly voiced resistance.

"Chris is a mite bruised up, but he's doin' all right. Vin took a shot to his belly. Nathan's b'n quiet, so I'm hopin' that's a good sign." Buck jabbed the rifle muzzle roughly into Catfish Kid's back, driven by helplessness and anger.

Travis cleared his throat, raising an inquisitive gray line of eyebrow to the men. At first he thought no one would speak, their minds sliding through all that passed and all that now was in front of them. Clearly, worried about Vin Tanner, worried all was lost for him and each one not willing to let that happen. Orrin's voice, though soft and low, seemed to slam into the silence, a mournful wall of quiet. "Does Mr. Catfish have something to share?"

"Well, Judge, we think he might...if he knows what's good for him." J.D. shuffled his feet with cockiness, a slight swagger as he hitched up his gun-belt.

"I ain't got nothin' t' say t' any of ya. Ain't done a damn thing wrong. Didn't break no laws. Ya'll should jest let me go now 'n save yerself a whole lot of trouble." Catfish Kid stood truculently with fists balled at his sides, his body rigid with a defiant terror, his eyes like large hazel discs in a colorless face.

"Maybe a murder charge will loosen your tongue and before you continue your claims of innocence, Mr. Catfish, be aware that I know John Prescott employed you. You're being charged as an accessory in the attempted murder of Kid Dobbs' and the abduction of Vin Tanner. Coupled with the attempted murder charges of Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner, you very well may be looking at a stiff jail term or hanging. To say the least Sheriff East is eager to bring his deputy's assailant to justice. In fact, all the men seem eager to see justice carried out." Travis waited, placing his hands on hips in an intimidating sternness.

Catfish Kid's voice cracked with fright, his eyes wild. "I ain't got nothin' t' do with Kid Dobbs being stabbed or that Tanner feller bein' taken. It was a feller by the name of Taylor 'n his deader than a doornail. Larabee took him out. What I done ain't against no laws. Ya cain't arrest me."

Buck smiled broadly. "Good for you, Chris."

"Buck..." Orrin reprimanded gently as a thin smile tugged at his mouth, his thoughts mirroring the gunman's. Clearing his throat, he continued speaking to Catfish Kid. "I certainly can and will arrest you if you don't give me the answers I want to hear, starting with all you know about Prescott."

"There ain't much t' tell, Travis. Prescott offered me a job 'n I did what he asked. Wanted that Tanner feller dead. The man was way off plumb, but he was rich 'n that's all that I cared 'bout." Silent for a moment, Catfish Kid now only thinking of getting himself out of this fix, clutched at the wind. "One thing...probably ain't worth speakin' on, but he did do a lot of scribin' in some book. Called it his journal. Put everythin' in there he said. Everythin' 'bout the day, his business dealings 'n such. Personal things too, I reckon."

Travis' dark eyes sparked with interest; narcissism may very well have prompted Prescott to record everything. "Do you know where he kept this journal?"

The man shrugged dispassionately. "Usually kept it on him in his inside coat pocket. Weren't interested in it. Hell, a man like that don't know nothin' 'bout the finer things in life, that is women 'n whiskey. Like I said, I ain't got nothin' t' do with Dobbs. Yer goin' t' let me go now, ain't ya, Judge? I done told ya all I know."

"J.D. why don't you get Mr. Catfish mounted and let Sheriff East and his men take care of him. I'll need to talk to all of you together." A wide-mouth gape at those words, Catfish Kid stunned silent as J.D. prodded him forward with his gun barrel.

Travis shifted his gaze to the preacher, his eyes fixed on a shimmer of silver. "Josiah, what do you have there?"

"What I have here is Bridget's rosary beads. Pulled them from around Prescott's neck. May not be good enough to prove he's a murderer, but believe me, it's all the proof I need to know he killed Bridget. God rest her soul." The large man bowed his head, rosary coiled around his fingers.

"I'm afraid it's not enough, but maybe Prescott's journal might hold some incriminating information. I have a feeling Prescott kept a record of all his activities. We just might get lucky and find things on the Long Branch murder, as well as, what may or may not have happened to Bridget."

Josiah smiled a soft wistful smile, as he tucked his chin down to his breastbone, hiding his face slightly underneath the brim of his hat. "Permit it to be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness." (Matthew 3:15)

"Does Vin know about Mr. Trujillo?" Orrin directed his question to Josiah, Travis unsure of how he felt about Vin knowing, not having control or judicial authority over the entire matter.

Buck and Josiah stared intently at the Judge and then Josiah spoke quietly, "Didn't have an opportunity t' tell 'im 'n I was thinkin' it might be best t' wait 'til we knew the outcome of Trujillo's testimony."

Travis nodded in agreement. "That might be for the best. No need to get his hopes up just, yet."

"One thing I know for sure, Judge. Chris isn't goin' t' sit by 'n have Vin jailed again. If we don't have news that Vin's b'n acquitted, Chris'll fight every one of them River Men, lawmen or not. He's only got one thing on his mind 'n that's getting Tanner out of Tascosa alive or die tryin'." Buck kicked back the sides of his coat, resting his fine hands on his narrow hips touching the familiar comfort of the gun-belt's softly worn leather.

"I expect you boys all feel the same." Travis smiled kindly, knowingly.

"That we do, Judge." Buck answered for both men.

"Risk your life for him, I suppose. Be on the run for the rest of your days." The Judge's voice grew husky with emotion, his eyes still kind, his smile compassionately understanding.

"That sounds jest about right." Josiah spoke this time as the men grinned easily, coolly.

Travis nodded. "Well, in all good conscience, I can't allow that to happen. I promise you men, if Vin isn't acquitted from this murder charge, I will do nothing short of resigning my judgeship."

Both men's heads lifted in amaze at the Judge's statement. Buck recovering first, spoke, "Vin won't want you to do that Judge. He'll never go for it."

"Well, we won't tell him then, will we?" Implacable, take-no-guff eyes and a hard straight line of mouth spoke loudly of his intent.

Josiah and Buck did not argue as Buck answered biddably. "No, Judge. We won't breathe a word of it, if you feel that strongly 'bout it. You've got our word."

"Good then. Josiah, see what you can find on Prescott and then join us over by Nathan. I need to speak to all of you about this tradership business and things that concern Vin. I've come to a decision."

Josiah nodded slowly as Buck and Orrin made their way towards Vin, Nathan and Chris. Lifting his eyes to the sky, he watched as the white webs of thin clouds, drifts of gossamer, floated across the stretch of blue, beseeching God for His tender mercies.

~ ~ ~ ~

It was a solemn group that huddled around Vin Tanner who lie on his left side quietly, but in steadily increasing pain. The posse still worked around them in the distance, occasional shouts and curses drifting toward them. J.D. returned along with Josiah, and Travis watching closely gave a conspiratorial nod, as the preacher placed a fine leather-bound book into the oversized pocket of his coat. A wicked thin-lipped smile played across Josiah's face as he spoke to Orrin. "Should make fer some very interestin' readin'." Judge Travis nodded again without comment, finding Sanchez to be ofttimes peculiar with his unique sense of the absurd.

Nathan, head bent, spoke softly to Vin while the men watched the marksman open his eyes, sharp with fever and sore with pain. "I wanted t' wait 'n take care of things in town, but maybe yuh cain't wait 'n maybe I'm goin' t' hafta take care of things here 'n now, where I ain't wantin' t' take care of things. Maybe God is needin' t' test me, maybe wants t' keep me humble. Well, I ain't one t' argue with God 'n His ways, but I'm getting tired of all this. Getting a mite weary of not being sure if I c'n save one soul t' the next. Always seemin' t' make the tests harder 'n harder. I ain't wantin' to fail this one, Vin. I ain't wantin' t' do wrong by yuh. I ain't no doctor 'n I got t' cut int' yuh where if'n I do one thing wrong, I c'n kill yuh. 'N I ain't wantin' t' kill yuh. Do yuh hear me, Vin Tanner? I ain't wantin' t' cause yuh no harm."

Vin steadied his fevered eyes on Nathan. "God ain't testin' ya, Nathan. He knows yer a good man. If'n anythin' God's jes' decidin' if the likes of Vin Tanner deserves t' live or die. Weighin' on whether I'm worth givin' 'nother chance."

"Yer more 'n worth it Vin Tanner. More 'n worth it." Nathan lifted his head meeting Chris' stricken gaze.

Recovering, Chris tugged at Vin's hand good-naturedly. "Well, if that's what's goin' on, God makin' up his mind...you don't got a thing t' worry 'bout, Nathan. Not a thing. And you best hold up yer end there, Tanner. Nathan 'n God's seein' t' the rest."

A smile came to Vin, his eyes dimming, distant, and Chris nearly stopped breathing at the strangely sad, apologetic look that settled over the man's unnaturally pale features.

Josiah stood near Chris and then settled himself down beside the gunman, resting a large hand on the side of Vin's head. His voice trembled with emotion, his words compassionate in their teasing. "Never known ya t' put much stock in God, Chris Larabee."

"Whatever it takes, preacher. Whatever it takes."

"Amen to that."

Orrin Travis shifted his feet, not wanting to intrude, but needed to speak of some pressing matters. "Chris, son..." Waiting for Chris to answer, watching as the gunman forced himself to turn away from Vin. The Judge grateful to see that Larabee's face was unharmed, but knew there was massive bruising over every bit of the man, as he watched the slow, painful shifting of legs and arms, even moving his head seemed to bring the man a severe, sharp discomfort. "I'm glad to see you're still in one piece."

"Thanks, Judge. Sore, but I'll live." Chris grew impatient, not in the mind for small talk and well aware the Judge needed to speak about matters, Chris, himself, might not want to hear or might not be able to abide. Not now, with Vin maybe fighting for his life. Chris could think of nothing else. Not now.

"I've made some decisions about the tradership and I don't want any arguments." Orrin Travis watched as Nathan draped a blanket over Vin who was shivering slightly and seemed to be unaware now of the men or his surroundings. Nathan appeared anxious as he lined up all his instruments and carbolic on a clean cloth beside the marksman. A bottle of laudanum poked out of a nearby saddlebag ready for use. Chris' voice roused Orrin back.

"Judge it's not the time. I can't..." Deep with emotion, Chris was almost unable to contain.

"Chris...I know. That's what I want to talk to you about, all of you." Orrin skirted his gaze around the circle of men. "I've made an agreement with Scott of the LS Ranch. He's offered to sell and drive over 700 head of cattle to Fort Sill. Good, healthy beef. Vin should be pleased." Orrin turned his eyes away, momentarily overcome. Taking a calming breath, he then resumed. "Sheriff East is providing me a few of his deputies to help escort Gene Watkins to the Fort. Your services are no longer required." The Judge raised his hand as he saw the beginnings of protest. "I want no arguments. Also, as far as East is concerned, Vin will be able to return to New Mexico Territory without a fight." Looking at the gunman, Travis directed his words to Larabee. "Chris, I have some news that I want to tell you privately when you have a chance... I'll be leaving in the morning for Indian Territory, but before I go I hope to have a few crucial matters resolved. I promise I won't leave until I can guarantee no harm comes to any of you ... to Vin."

"We can talk now, Judge." Chris patted Vin's hand and lowered his head to Vin's ear, whispering something to the nearly unconscious man, and then rose slowly as Josiah gripped his arm, helping the gunman stand. "Nathan, let me know when you're ready."

Nathan nodded as the circle of men shifted, letting Chris and Travis pass through and away from them as the two men walked in a private huddle. "What is it, Judge?"

"Chris, we have a witness to the murder. Mrs. McCormick inadvertently stumbled upon him. To make a long story short, a Miguel Trujillo came in to Tascosa and gave his testimony. Whatever the reasons Eli Joe had for keeping Trujillo alive, it certainly is great news for Vin. I'm hoping to get the murder charge dropped before I leave Tascosa or at the latest before I get back to Four Corners."

"Damn." Chris rested himself shakily against a strong, sturdy cottonwood, stunned. "That's good t' hear, Judge...good to hear."

"I know it's a lot to take in, Chris. I also know it's difficult to think Vin might lose his life after all this. Struggling to clear his name and now so damn close to getting it."

"Vin's not goin' t' die."

"Chris you might have to accept that possibility. I know it's hard, and I know it's not fair, but this world, this life most of the time doesn't play fair."

"No." Chris stared hard at Travis with a hint of danger skirting the edge of his pale, icy eyes. "No."

After a long, quiet disbelieving moment, Chris deliberately turned and walked away from the Judge offering nothing more. Silently brooding as he made his way back to Vin, leaving Travis alone in his awful worry. Orrin saw the distance Chris placed between them, and knew he could do nothing more.

~ ~ ~ ~

"Chris, I cain't wait no more. Got t' get t' it. He's bleedin' inside 'n the longer that bullet stays in there the sicker he'll get." Nathan looked at Ezra. "I'm goin' t' need a fresh shirt and pants for Vin when I'm done."

"I'll do my best to accommodate you, Mr. Jackson." Ezra smiled. "I strongly doubt our Mr. Tanner will be too pleased sporting any of my haberdashery."

"Happy or not, Ezra, he's close t' yuh size 'n his clothes are ruined." Nathan turned his attention to removing Vin's clothing, but first handed Josiah a blanket to spread lengthwise on the ground next to them. "J.D. gather some wood 'n start a fire. Chris help me with his clothes 'n then I'll need yuh t' help me lift him on to that blanket there. J.D. when you get that fire goin' boil up some water 'n while yuh at it, make us some coffee." No time for good manners, Nathan efficient and brusque turned his attention to Vin as he began removing the tattered, bloody clothing. Chris working quickly beside Nathan, removed the bloodied gun-belt, the leather all ready discolored.

Chris flinched as Nathan glided a knife through the flannel fabric of Vin's shirt, and continued to neatly slice through Vin's pants. Chris settled himself as he pulled at the broadcloth and flannel, exposing Vin's long-boned frame and then placed a calming hand on Vin's shoulder trying to help the marksman tolerate a painful spasm. Vin's eyes opened as he reached a hand to his right hip, but Nathan quickly grabbed on to Vin's wrist firmly. "No, Vin. Don't do that now. I'm goin' t' get yuh something for the pain."

Vin fought against Nathan wildly then, Chris and Josiah stunned motionless, but all at once gaining their senses, grabbed hold of Vin's almost nude, bucking and thrashing form. "Vin, cut it out now." Chris' voice like gunshot blasted through Vin's panic; Chris placed his hands along each side of Vin's face, locking eyes. "What, Vin? What's wrong?"

Breathing rapidly, Vin trying hard to calm himself, having faith that Chris would help him, Chris would understand. "Cain't Chris. Cain't take none of that laudanum."

"Vin, ya have t' take it. It's goin' t' help ya." Chris still held fast to Vin's face, still locking his eyes on Vin's. "Why cain't ya take it, Vin? Tell me."

"Chris... I'm afraid..." Another spasm shuddered through Vin; the pain bright in his eyes and Chris struggled hard not to turn away from it. "I'm afraid I won't come back this time." Vin's eyes all at once lost their brightness, becoming empty and deeply black like a dark bottomless well, frightening Chris.

"Tanner, talk t' me, dammit." Chris grabbed hold of Vin's chin, giving a slight shake, relieved when the man's eyes focused back on him. "Come back from where, Vin?"

Vin swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving up and down convulsively. "Went t' places in my head...went to this valley fer awhile...didn't want t' come back...I don't want it..."

"The laudanum's just goin' t' help ya, Vin. You'll be stayin' right here, ya hear me? And I'm goin' t' be right here next t' ya the whole time. Nathan's not goin' t' give ya anythin' that will hurt ya. You know that all ready."

Vin turned pleading, panicked eyes to Jackson. "I'll b' fine without it. I won't cause ya no trouble, Nathan. I swear I ain't goin' t' move..."

"All right, Vin. Don't worry 'bout it none. Yuh rest yuhself for me, now." Placing a large brown hand on Vin's lean, but solid-boned branch of shoulder, Nathan was able to settle Tanner quickly. Frustration loomed, but Nathan suddenly resigned, nodded to Chris and Josiah, his troubled, brown eyes wet with worry. "We'll need t' hold him down good then. Cain't move at all...one wrong cut, one slip. I c'n kill him."

Chris lowered his head close to Vin, whispering harshly into the marksman's ear. "You're being a stubborn fool 'n I ain't happy about this, Tanner. You're goin' t' have t' hold yourself still, no matter how damn much it hurts." And then more gently, "You sure 'bout this, Vin?"

A thin slip of blue appeared beneath half-lidded eyes, Chris saw Vin was getting weaker. "I'm sure." A whisper barely heard by the men; Chris then cupped his hand around Vin's arm and gave a consenting squeeze.

"All right, Vin."

Vin smiled in his half-drowse, wearied but the pain not allowing him any rest. Nathan studied the man critically and then nodded to Josiah and Chris to lift Vin onto the nearby blanket. Lying trustingly, unclothed with his boots removed, Vin was truly vulnerable as only a thin blanket was draped across him. A tortured groan jolted from him as the men tried to be gentle, but knew without the laudanum there was nothing to do to stop the pain.

Vin watched the men around him, thinking how strange it was for him to be lying there bleeding and bare as a newborn babe and hurting too badly to even care. It was good to know that if he died today, if he died right at that moment, these men would see to it he would be buried proper-like and Josiah...well, Josiah would talk over him from the Bible in his great, big preacher voice, rumbling and speaking those holy words, shaking everyone's insides with that voice like a glorious, thundering waterfall. Vin did not want to think of the rest of them as he saw them standing around his grave, Nathan blaming himself for his dying and Larabee, eyes green and wild as a storm-brewed sky, angry with him for leaving and angry at life, again. A shudder rolled over Vin like a bitter wave; his spirit ebbing with his strength. Nathan told him a while ago, he was just a man and Vin feeling just that, a man helpless and not able to make things right. His words coming back to him: "...make things right or die trying...die trying." Was this his fate because he failed Bridget, failed God and failed himself?

His thoughts disturbed by Nathan's hand on his face, those brown eyes as sad as a homeless hound, looking at him. "Ready, Vin?"

Vin seemed to be in a dream as he turned to look at Chris, at Josiah, Buck and J.D., then to Ezra, giving a wry smile and finally back to Nathan. "I'm ready, now." The men could not turn their eyes away from Vin's face, feeling as if this would be the last time they would see him, whole and alive, and frightened motionless and witless because of it.

Nathan, the first to break free, directed each man to hold a leg or an arm, and Josiah to be close by to hand him his instruments, carbolic, sutures and bandages. Eyeing the circle of faces that surrounded him, Nathan took a determined breath. Looking long and hard at Chris before he began his first cut into Vin; Nathan surprised and moved tremendously by the depth of trust and emotion he saw in the gunman's gaze.

The scalpel cut through flesh as a muffled moan escaped from Vin and tore through the men, the pain within each heart as deep as Vin's pain. J.D. held firmly to Vin's thigh, his eyes wide and unblinking, as he watched Nathan work, holding back his nausea at the sight of things inside of a man, exposed unnaturally to the sun's light. Too bloody and ruined and raw and J.D. could not stop his flinching at those moans and then a harsh, overly cheerful laugh burst from him at Vin's roused-up, strung-out cursing. Each man relieved at that moment as they laughed loudly, edgily along with J.D. Buck meeting J.D.'s glum gaze with a nod as J.D. struggled to find hope in anything; a whisper of encouragement, a smile, Vin's cursing, anything to get him through it, anything to get Vin through it. Praying it all to be done with soon, unaware of tears streaking his face, frustrated at not being able to stop Vin's sufferings.

And then mercifully it was done.

~ ~ ~ ~

Temple Houston watched Frenchy McCormick closely, confused at the sight of the woman curved forward over her lap of billowing, blue fabric, her face buried deeply in her pale, elegantly long-fingered hands. Musician's fingers, his mother called them, fine, delicate and gifted. Temple was fascinated by this woman from the first moment he saw her dancing on the stage in Mobeetie, giving a soft huff of laugher as he recalled all her other very smitten, very handsome young suitors.

There was talk of Frenchy having a broken heart and would never love again and Temple almost believed such rumors as she would always put off his many invitations of dinner and picnics and other pleasantries. Very surprised on his return to Mobeetie a year later to discover that an Irishman by the name of Mickey McCormick won her heart and Frenchy no longer living in Mobeetie, having married and moved to Tascosa. Temple happy Frenchy found love.

Houston was sure now, in the few days with Frenchy, the stories of her sorrow to be true and knowing the man who broke her heart to be Vin Tanner. It seemed Frenchy was desperately trying to repay a debt to the man, as if some deep-rooted guilt grew and clung to her like a decaying, sorrowed creeper. It was only a matter of time, a few moments of the Judge's deliberations and her debt would be repaid. So, then why was Frenchy crying? Was it a resurgence of memories long buried? A curious breed women were and Frenchy so much different from them all, making her far harder to understand.

I.P. Ryland was also confused by Frenchy's display and put a hand to her bowed, delicate-boned shoulder, meeting her gaze with a raised, interrogative eyebrow. Frenchy smiled as she wiped at her glistening, smooth ivory skin, whispering she was fine, giving a pat to Ryland's hand. The moment interrupted by Judge Willis' deep, booming, authoritative voice: "I have made my final judgment on the matter of the People of Texas versus Vin Tanner. Mr. Ryland, please rise."

Ryland did so, giving a squeeze to Frenchy's hand. All waited quietly as the Judge removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "After listening to the testimony and reviewing all affidavits, I can without hesitation offer my verdict. Certain parties dishearten me at the blatant disregard of the law and I am glad to have a hand in perpetuating justice. With those words, my verdict is as follows: In the case of the People of Texas versus Vin Tanner, I find the defendant, Mr. Vin Tanner not guilty. Let it be known that the charge of murder is no longer legally applicable and should be brought to the attention of all authorities of law within the State of Texas and surrounding territories. Thank you everyone. This court is now adjourned."

Frenchy raised her hands up in triumph as Ryland grabbed her up in a hug and then spun around by Temple Huston into another hug. The crying came again, but this time it was joy and each man was relieved and grateful to see the happiness return to her.

Looking at the men before her, Frenchy gathered their hands in her own, raising them to her fine, full lips, kissing each one with such intensity, overwhelmed. "I can't thank you enough for this. There is no way to repay you for all you've done. I'm eternally grateful to you both."

"Frenchy..." Temple started to speak, but Frenchy stopped him with a kiss and then one to I.P. Ryland. Both men struck silent and Temple once again feeling as though he was that young, so-in-love suitor.

"I'm forever grateful to you both, but now I pray Vin Tanner finds his way back, alive and well."

~ ~ ~ ~

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Deputy L.C. Pierce made his way toward the grouping of men, the wagon he drove banging and jostling like to wake the dead, but only the kid turned to look. The others more than likely knew he was coming before he even cleared the rise. Pierce raised his hand in greeting, the kid waving back as he nudged a tall cowboy in the side. Still the men did not look his way, surrounding something on the ground protectively, pensively.

East and Travis came back to town hours ago exhausted, but too edgy to rest, barking out orders to the men and instructing L.C. to load up a wagon with food, fresh water and plenty of blankets to cushion a wounded man for a long, rough ride back to Tascosa. So urgent Travis' orders were that Pierce did not have time to tell of the Tanner verdict or even help lock up the surviving rogue posse, nor help bring the dead to the undertaker.

Frenchy McCormick was there in the middle of all that confusion, eyes fixed on each man who rode in, her hand to her mouth, trembling. Pierce could not understand why Frenchy still appeared distraught, even after the bracing hug her husband wrapped her in, whispering something into her ear. The tears started then, and L.C. thought them to be tears of relief, but her face showed something else, as if a light blew out, a fading star in a cold, black sky. Pierce turned away from them, not wanting to intrude and not understanding what he saw on their faces. Though, the man Tanner might have something to do with Frenchy's upset, recalling her near-vapors at the jailhouse.

Pierce left town double-quick, driving the wagon fast and hard like the devil was on his coattails, not wanting the Judge or East to be annoyed with him. Not really knowing what he was riding into, and fervently hoping it was not going to be a funeral. L.C. did not know these men, but knew them to be a tough breed and uncommonly loyal toward each other. He did not want to intrude in what the deputy perceived to be private concerns. Though, maybe the wounded man was still alive and he was not too late. Maybe, he and his loud, jangling wagon might actually be useful to these men and maybe, just maybe these men might actually appreciate L.C. Pierce being around.

Finally they looked toward him, as the harnessed horses snorted and pawed the earth not more than ten feet from their tight circle, seeming almost as if they were surprised at L.C.'s intrusion. The big, dark-skinned man rose then, ordering the men to gather up things and to wrap blankets securely around a small, pale figure that lie motionless (near-dead to L.C.) on the ground at their feet.

The deputy's eyes were drawn suddenly, hypnotically to a man wearing clothing the color of crows' wings and hair bright and straight as summer straw. The eyes of the man frightened L.C., and when they locked on him, the deputy nearly rattled off the wagon seat from his jitters. No one, thankfully, seeming to notice as the healer inspected the wagon bed, lifting his large, muscular frame easily into it, adjusting blankets and smiling at a mattress made of ticking that was hidden beneath. L.C., himself, thought to put that in and was grateful now he did, though it took some time to get it from the mercantile and persuade McMaster's to put it on Prescott's account. L.C. thought that to be especially clever of him, knowing the seven men were working for the wealthy John Prescott before all this; seeming the only fair thing to do.

"Grateful t' yuh fer this." Nathan put out his large hand to L.C. who still remained seated in the wagon.

The deputy extended his hand out eagerly, glowing with the man's approval. Flushing deeply and hopelessly unable to stop it from happening as each man raised a hand to him in gratitude. "Weren't nothin'. Name's Deputy L.C. Pierce. Judge Travis was clear on what he wanted done 'n I jest followed his orders. Wanted someone out here double-quick t' bring back his wounded man. The only feller that knows this land better 'n me is Kid Dobbs. But, I reckon I done all right by ya'll. I hope I brung all ya needed. I was thinkin' that mattress might be appreciated on the ride back."

"Make it a hell of a lot easier on Vin." A large man with a heavy-jawed face smiled up at Pierce. "Best git down 'n git y'self a cup of coffee while ya got the chance. We'll be movin' out as soon as Vin gits situated."

L.C. nodded and quickly jumped down from the wagon seat, curious about the man wrapped as though in a protective cocoon and guarded by who Pierce came to recognize as Chris Larabee. He heard and told stories, himself, about the gunfighter Larabee, frightening stories of a deadly quick cold-blooded killer. Stories that somehow seemed all wrong, untrue as he watched the gunfighter. Would anyone believe L.C. if he spoke of what he saw? Would anyone believe him if he spoke of Chris Larabee, the gunfighter as he rested his killer-hand so gently, so tenderly on the other man's shoulder, as he adjusted the blankets fretfully, attentively around the man. Would anyone believe him if he spoke of Chris Larabee's simple act of a friend caring for a friend? No one would ever believe the compassion L.C. saw in those eyes that only moments ago frighteningly chilled him to the marrow.

The deputy nearly jumped out of his boots at the huge hand clapped on his shoulder, turning to gaze up into the face of the man called Josiah. "It is somethin' t' see. A man's carin' fer his fellow man."

"Seems a mite deeper 'n that as rightly as I c'n see." Pierce continued watching the two men.

"God gave ya a fine set of eyes there, Son."

L.C. stood quietly, suddenly smiling brightly to himself as he watched the large man walk toward the grazing horses, all at once understanding what was said to him. Something deeper for sure... Pierce broke his gaze and walked to the fire and the kid called J.D. Giving a nod as J.D. handed him a steaming cup of coffee, L.C. settled down against a felled cottonwood limb, good-sized, offering a comfort to his sore back muscles tensed with the hurrying and worrying of the ride.

"How's that feller doin', Vin Tanner ain' it?" Pierce hoped his question sounded more concerned than prying as he lifted the cup to his mouth, taking a drink. His eyes widened, tearing up as the hot coffee burned his tongue. He cursed softly at the quick blistering of the roof of his mouth, as the kid sat down next to him and held out his hand to L.C. wearing an openly friendly smile.

"J.D. Dunne."

"L.C. Pierce. Please t' meet ya, J.D." Pierce grinned back good-naturedly, grabbing hold of J.D.'s outstretched hand and gave a few quick pumps.

J.D. nodded and rested his head back against the cottonwood. Pierce saw the kid was worn out good and noticed his dark eyes were red-rimmed as he wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve from time to time.

"Ya okay, J.D.? Ya seem a mite worn down."

"It's been a hell of a day, L.C. A hell of a day."

"I guess it musta b'n what with posses and hangin's and shootin's and seein' a good pard gunned down. Wears on a man, that's fer damn sure."

"That's the worst of it, Vin gettin' shot. Nathan's a real good healer, though. Cleaned out the wound 'n stitched up things needin' t' be stitched. Took care of what needed t' be done on the back of Vin's head that was given him grief. Lost some blood, but Nathan said we just need t' keep him quiet 'n hydrated. I think that's the word, he used; give him plenty of water. He's got a fever, but Vin's been through worse 'n survived. Was in the war when he was just a kid 'n he survived that. Vin's goin' t' be just fine."

L.C. did not know whether Vin Tanner would survive, but he wanted to say something to make the kid feel better, deciding the best thing to do was to agree and pray that it was the truth. "I 'spect yer right, J.D. A man that's b'n through hell all ready ain't 'bout t' give up from jest a single bullet."

J.D. smiled at L.C., a quietly grateful smile and then leaned his head back against the coarse bark of the huge limb, quickly falling into a deep sleep. L.C. watched the rest of the men as they readied for the trip back, gathering their tack, saddling their mounts and then wearily walking toward the fire for a last bit of coffee. The food Pierce brought seemed to go unnoticed, the men too tired and too worried to eat.

Buck sat down on the fallen limb alongside J.D., drinking his coffee as his eyes drifted to Chris Larabee, deeply concerned and then quickly back to J.D.; the tall gunman watching the kid thoughtfully for a good long time. Josiah squatted near the fire drinking his coffee, his long coattails streaming out behind him, giving him a courtly appearance. Nathan near Josiah stood rigidly by the fire, not allowing himself to relax. He could not rest until Vin Tanner was out of danger and Nathan could not quell a seed of worry sprouting within him, feeling as if he overlooked something vital. Cleaning the wound thoroughly with carbolic, the intestines intact, all looked fine, but Nathan knew there was always a chance of peritonitis. Nathan quickly drank down most of his coffee and then frustratingly tossed the remainder into the fire, causing the weary men to jolt up their heavy heads at the loud hiss of the coffee-spattered flames, watching the fire gutter momentarily.

"Brother Nathan..." Josiah stood up his large frame and moved closer to Nathan as he spoke.

"Not now, Josiah. I ain't wantin' t' hear none of yur preachin' jus' now." His own prayers recited in his head over and over as he worked, begging God to lead him well, to show him the ways of healing. His own prayers scythed at his fears, insecurities, and uncertainties, falling away like sheared wheat, allowing him to work. But, the old, haunting days were always somewhere in the dark hollows of his mind, debilitating as a cancerous growth and him forever a slave, too uppity at his thinking himself a doctor, a healer.

"All right, Nathan no preachin'. But, if'n yer needin' t' talk, ya know I'm a more than willin' listener." Josiah saw hurt and anger in the dark face, ghosts thick and wicked within Nathan's soul. No matter the distance or time placed between a man and hard times, Josiah knew well, that no one could truly escape his ghosts, trying only to live with them as peacefully as God would grant.

"Sorry, Josiah." Nathan ducked his head and slowly pulled up his hat that hung the length of his back by the rawhide cord, settling it down over his forehead with a deliberate tug to the brim.

"There's no need t' be sorry, Nathan. You jest saved a good man's life. No need t' apologize fer that." Josiah, clear-eyed and clear-voiced, clapped a meaningful hand on Jackson's stooped shoulder normally held proudly erect, soldier-straight.

A nod given as Nathan studied the flames, mind elsewhere as he spoke and Josiah knowing the healer was still beside Vin, reviewing everything done and everything still needing to be done. "The good Lord had a hand in it. A big hand."

"Ya never give yerself enough credit, Nathan."

Ezra arrived at the fire then, green eyes questioning, but Josiah only gave a sad smile and a slight shake of his head as he handed Standish a full cup of coffee. Ezra remained quiet, sitting down beside Buck, a quick smile touching his lips at the sight of J.D. sleeping soundly, but all at once frowning at Nathan's words.

"If'n Vin don't make it, I'll b' knowin' who t' blame then, I'll b' knowin' who gits the credit then." Nathan kicked at the dirt like a petulant child, ramming his hands into his coat's pockets, his head bowed so far forward, Josiah bent his knees some, just to see Jackson's turbulent eyes.

"Nathan...sit down 'n rest. Yer jest plumb tired out. That kind of talk ain't helpin' no one."

"Ain't no time t' rest, I want t' git Vin back t' town. Some place warm. Inside on a bed 'n off this ground."

Josiah nodded as he heard the concern in Nathan's voice and turned toward Wilmington. "Hey, Buck, Nathan needs a hand gittin' Vin int' the wagon. Ezra, you 'n J.D. rest some, I think Buck, Nathan, Chris 'n me should be able t' handle gittin' Vin settled. Deputy Pierce, ya best come 'n keep hold of them horses. Don't want 'em gittin' skittish 'n cause Vin harm."

The men made their way over to Chris and Vin, eyes latching on to the pale figure lying in a twist of blankets, face dusty and faded in the tangle and the brown hair darker, unwashed and tufted, catching under the folds of blanket that reached up to Vin's chin and spilled around his head. Chris looked up as they came toward him, but remained still, his muscles stiff from kneeling alongside Vin all the while, fully aware that any movement would cause him unbearable suffering.

Nathan studied Chris as a ripple of pain lapped across the gunman's face and settled in the hard-edged corners of the man's mouth, lips taut from the throbbing aches seemingly everywhere. Nathan reached his hand out to support the gunman as Chris attempted to stand.

"Yuh ain't helpin' with Vin. I want yuh t' git yuhself up in that wagon 'n git comfortable. Then I'm goin' t' give yuh some laudanum 'n yur goin' t' rest. I ain't listenin' t' no arguments. When we git back t' town, yur goin' t' take a hot bath 'n then yur gittin' a rubdown with some liniment."

Chris started to protest, but Nathan interrupted him. "If'n yuh don't do what I tell yuh, yuh ain't goin' t' be able t' move. Yuh'll be crippled up like an ol' man 'n yuh won't be any help t' Vin." Nathan stared intently at Chris. " 'N I need yur help Chris...I need yur help."

Chris for a moment did not speak, gazing down at Vin, running his long, able fingers up and down his arm, occasionally kneading the muscles, grimacing slightly. "All right, Nathan." Looking towards Buck then, Chris spoke matter-of-factly, "I need bullets. See t' it for me, will ya, Buck?"

Buck nodded. "Whatever ya need, Chris. You know that."

Chris did know and nodded to Buck, a half-smile softening the edges of his mouth, remembrances aching deeply in his pale green eyes. Nathan grabbed hold of Chris' arm, walking him to the wagon and Chris feeling every bit of agony with each step, close to a hundred years old at that moment. Getting up into the wagon bed hurt mightily, but Chris was able to do it under his own power. Nathan dropped down beside the gunman, gathering up blankets, placing them neatly on the wagon bottom for Chris to lie down on, rolling one into a pillow.

"Here yuh go, Chris. Git yuhself over here now." Nathan reached for a saddlebag nearby and grabbed out a bottle. "Okay, settle yuhself down 'n git some rest." Jackson gave Chris time to lie down and get comfortable; knowing every movement of his limbs was agony. "Here drink some of this." Chris did not fight Nathan and rested his head back on the rolled blanket with a sigh. "Yuh both had a hell of a coupla days 'n yuh both need rest. Vin'll be alongside yuh right quick, so yuh rest quiet now."

The gunman opened his eyes, grabbing hold of Nathan's arm before the healer stood. "Thank you." Chris searched Nathan's face for a long moment trying to find a trace of hope in Jackson's eyes. Nathan uncomfortably shifted himself away from Chris, not able to meet the man's gaze, the fears back again and him too weary to fight them.

Bringing himself to speak as he jumped off the wagon, Nathan talked over his shoulder quietly, "Yur welcome, Chris. Now git some sleep."

Nathan turned his thoughts to Vin, still unsettled about something that he could not put into words--just a vague suffocating feeling of loss.

~ ~ ~ ~

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

They came into town; worn-down and weary, having rode all day into dusk, and not stopping even in the pitch of night. The moon, full and bright, guided them and L.C. Pierce did not speak out of turn about his knowledge of the land. Vin was fevered and in pain, though the mattress spared him greatly as the wagon bounced and bumped along the rutted trace. Chris slept through and Nathan was glad of that. Grateful at least Chris was resting peaceably. Vin fought him most of the time wanting to lie on his side and off his back, the pain of his hip sending him into shuddering spasms. Nathan was near to begging Vin to take some of the laudanum, just to allow himself a few hours rest, but Vin would not have it. Tears stood brightly in the healer's eyes, watching the quiet agony din across Vin's face; so stridently telling in its silence.

It was nearly daybreak as they made their way through the center of town; the men's heads hanging low, half-sleeping, but guns always at the ready, always alert. Pierce not once complained on the long ride and still remained on course as he turned to the healer over his shoulder asking where he should head with the wounded men. Nathan pointed to the Exchange Hotel and Pierce nodded, prompting the nearly done-in horses on down the road.

Vin was very much awake and aware, his gaze meeting Nathan's as softly whispered-hues of warmth, gratitude and pain mingled in his eyes. Nathan, moved by all he saw there, placed a mahogany hand on Vin's brow, giving a gentle rub, hopefully soothing, hopefully showing how much he cared. It was a risk to care, to love, but as Chris said, it was better to have known them than not at all, no matter how brief the time. Nathan cut his thoughts off short, not going there. No one is going to lose nobody. No one.

As if knowing Nathan's thoughts, Vin gave a weak half-wink still holding a boyish playfulness around the edges of his eyes, crinkled from the smile forming on his lips. Nathan thought Vin looked to be more like a man having the time of his life, and not lying there gut-shot, close to dead, and him just being too much of a worrier. Nathan found himself smiling down at Vin in spite of his concerns, watching the man mouth words to him, trying again as he struggled to be heard. His voice coming out in a hoarse whisper, "It's...all...right."

Nathan shook his head. "None of this is all right 'n yuh know it. None of this should be. I ain't wantin' yuh t' die. I'm wantin' t' do right by yuh the way yuh done right by me."

"Ya don't owe me nothin', Nathan...nothin'."

"Yur wrong, Vin Tanner. I own yuh everythin'. I owe yuh my life. Ain't sure what's t' become of me, if'n I don't do right by yuh."

"Nathan...don't...that ain't right. Yuh ain't playin'...fair."

"I reckon I ain't, but it's the truth of things. What I do know is, if'n yuh don't git yuhself some rest, yuh ain't never gittin' better. Yuh need t' take the laudanum. Do that for me now, won't yuh, Vin?"

A muddy voice, thick with sleep broke free from the wagon's shadows. "Vin'll do the right thing, Nathan." Nothing more was said and Jackson grinned at the unexpected sound of light snoring.

Vin released a painful chuff of laughter, all at once regretting it, his arms quickly cradling his belly, his legs raised into himself, trying to hold off the gut-tearing agony. But, then Nathan stopped the damaging movement as Vin released a thick, mournful moan.

"A man... cain't git... no peace... no how. Hound me...even ... sleepin'." Vin nodded. "All right... I'll take me some of that ... laudanum."

" 'Bout time, ya damn fool." Again the words ended with soft snoring.

Vin shook his head, struggling to see the gunman. A deeply affectionate smile brightening his all ready flushed face and Nathan saw Vin was more amused than angry as he spoke to Chris without struggle, a sudden spiritedness coming to him, "Ya takin' t' being my keeper? Well, ain't nobody asked ya ta."

Nathan grinned wide as he brought up the bottle to Vin's lips, resting Tanner's bandaged head in the deep bowl of his hand, slowly lowering the all at once drowsing man gently down into the mound of blankets, billowing around him.

"That's it Vin, yuh sleep, now." Nathan gave a gentle squeeze to the at last relaxed shoulder, pain no longer felt, dulled in his drug-induced sleep. "We're all right here, Vin. Yuh hear me? Yuh hold on t' me if'n yuh need t', if'n yuh feel like yur leavin' us. We ain't lettin' yuh go. No sir, we ain't lettin' yuh go."

A black-sleeved arm reached out from the shadows, the slim hand groping through the layers of blankets, latching on to the marksman's arm as Nathan slid quietly out of the gunman's way, resting his weary frame against the wagon's tailgate, keeping a reassuring hand on Vin's leg.

~ ~ ~ ~

Like mist he drifted away from his dearly loved lands, like smoke streamers he wafted with the whims and whisperings of the breezes as a voice called to him. Quietly sitting amid the dark, gray branches of aged, grand oaks, his heart hammered loudly, fearfully as he watched and waited to see where he would be taken, while birds as gray as the oaks flitted and fussed among themselves from twig to twig, limb to limb in some ancient, inborn dance of power and order. Vin wrapped his spectral, weightless hands around those oak branches, listening closely to her voice, ethereal and entrancing, calling him...calling him and Vin not wanting to go...reaching urgently to the lands beneath him. All at once soaring the heavens without his assent, as light as smoke and mist, floating the thermals as if they were the earth's rivers. A cry released, a heartbreaking despair...they promised not to let him go...

Over a week, Vin lay fevered, in and out of awareness and Nathan fretted and worried beyond consolation as he continuously cleaned Vin's wound with carbolic, changed bandages nearly on the hour and rubbed Vin down with a cooling cloth relentlessly. The wound was not healing and Nathan feared for Vin's life as an acute case of flux developed. A discharge flowed from the wound causing Vin tremendous suffering as he was still forced to remain on his back and his hip gave him an awful grief. Nathan obtained morphine from Shelton's Drug Store and prayed each day for Doc Shelton's return, but knowing there was little even the doctor could do to help.

The men sat by Vin, talking to him, cleaning his wound -- as Nathan showed each one the process -- and running the cooling cloth over Vin's forever-warm long-boned frame. The men would not give in, would not allow the fever or poison to take the man, tireless in their efforts. Frenchy came often, reading to Vin as she did in those days when they were together and she could see his desperate struggles to open his eyes, but too weak he was, too horribly weak. Chris sat with Vin for hours and no one was able to make him quit, not until he was good and ready. Sometimes staying all day, Chris not eating, not wanting to leave Vin's side for a moment, only his fatigue forcing him to rest as his still healing body tightening up from it all. Not able to move to cool Vin with the cloth or change the bandages; Chris only leaving Vin's side when he knew he would cause the man more harm than good.

Frenchy sat at Vin's bedside now, the sun only just rising, as she reached to the oil lamp on the nearby table lowering the flame and with a quick, light breath snuffed it out the same moment a shaft of gold-colored light spilled through the muslin curtains. His whisker stubble shimmered in the morning's gentle glow as it unfurled softly over his face and illuminated scatters of his hair like flaxen threads of gold.

Giving a light kiss to his cheek, Frenchy sat back and lifted the book in a single-handed grasp. The print much easier to see with the sunlight steadily filling the room, as she placed her other hand to his, clutching it tightly while she read to him. Occasionally, when emotions overwhelmed, she would raise his hand up to her lips and gentle a kiss on his warm, moist open palm, desolately resting it against her cheek a moment as she thought of all her prayers and her bargaining with God and first-star wishes and still with all that he was not recovered.

No longer able to concentrate on the words, Frenchy took the damp cloth from Vin's forehead and placed it in the basin of cool water beside her. Rising from the wooden ladder back chair, Frenchy folded down the blanket covering Vin and placed a light sheet loosely across his narrow hips, affording him some modesty. She removed the sopping cloth, squeezing out the excess water and began to run it gently down Vin's slack arms and legs and across his motionless form. So, engrossed in her task, she did not hear Chris Larabee and Nathan Jackson enter the room, though did not fluster in the least when she finally noted their presence. Frenchy knew Vin Tanner intimately, knew every part of him; every scar, every marking, every bow and bend, every curve and contour. Only two men in her life did she know so well, only two men in her life did she love -- her husband and Vin Tanner.

"Gentlemen." Frenchy nodded at them and resumed her task, humming softly as she ran the cloth over Vin's warm brow. Hushing him as she noted the agitated furrows deepening in his forehead, knowing him to be lost in some dreadfully disturbing dream. Stopping momentarily as she lifted up his head tenderly and caught up his hair in her hand, placing the cloth behind his neck, forever hopeful this would break his fever or at the very least bring him a soft comfort.

"I think his hair needs washing. It's been almost two weeks now, longer. I think it will help him rest more comfortably." Frenchy looked to Nathan, waiting for his decision.

"Need t' check the head wound first. Then we'll see." Nathan walked to the other side of the bed, Chris next to him as the healer turned Vin's face to the left away from him, examining the gashes on the back of Vin's head and probing about at the wounds. Vin released a low moan at the poking and prodding, his full, arching eyebrows shirring together in irritation. Frenchy smiled at that, running an elegant finger lightly across his brow and down the fine, straight length of his nose; Vin crinkling it slightly at her touch. "He's reacting a bit. That's a good sign, don't you think?" She looked hopefully to the men, but her heart suddenly falling as Chris turned away from her gaze.

"He's b'n like that all week, Frenchy. Yuh know that..." Nathan placed a comforting hand on Frenchy's as she looked at him and nodded.

"I know, Nathan. I know." Removing the cloth from around Vin's neck, she returned it despondently to the water basin.

"Still a good sign, though." Nathan followed her with his gaze and then turned to Chris wanting desperately to convince the gunman of this certainty. "Yuh, hearin' me, Chris? It's a good sign."

"He's dyin', Nathan. You know it 'n I know it." Chris sat down heavily in the wooden chair at the foot of the bed, running a slender hand through his straight blonde hair, causing it to stand up like yellow sticks of straw. "He's too weak. How much more can one man take? How much, Nathan? I want t' know! Good sign...you've b'n tellin' us that for almost two weeks now 'n he's not getting any better. Tell me he's not dyin', Nathan! Tell me that, dammit 'n then I'll believe it t' be a *good* sign."

"Calm down now! Calm down! Yuh ain't doin' Vin any good with yur carryin' on. He can hear yuh, Chris. Calm down now!" Nathan clapped a large, brown hand on to Chris' lean shoulder, feeling the muscles knotting rigidly under his hand from the crushing anger and sorrow.

Chris looked toward the bed; his hand reaching to touch Vin, needing to make contact, to reassure himself that Vin was still here with them. His hand gripped Vin's bare ankle, Chris cursing at the unrelenting heat. Cursing again as he looked toward Frenchy who sat quietly with her face covered by her long, pale fingers, watching her shoulders quake every so often. Chris knew she was crying, and knew she was crying because of him, filling him with unbearable shame.

"Frenchy...I'm sorry. Nathan's right. Vin's still with us 'n he's goin' t' stay with us."

The black-haired woman raised her head at his words and nodded. "I'm done with it now."

Chris' head jolted up in shocked surprise. "What?"

"I'm done with it. I'm done with the crying. I'm acting like a foolish, weepy woman. It's good for no one and it especially is not good for Vin. I apologize to both of you."

"No need t' be sorry, Frenchy." Nathan smiled over at the woman, knowing beyond any doubt why Vin Tanner loved her. "I'll be needin' t' go git more morphine. Yuh 'n Chris c'n start on washin' Vin's hair. Cover 'im up so as he don't catch a chill. His lungs are still clear 'n I'd like t' keep it that way. We ain't needin' 'im t' be gittin' pneumonia on top of everythin' else. Yuh both goin' t' be all right with this?"

"We'll be fine." Chris stood up and held out his hand to Nathan, his demeanor and eyes contrite. Nathan agreeably grabbed hold of Chris' hand, their grip locking tightly. Releasing his grasp after a time, Nathan nodded to Chris, his eyes holding the gunman's; he then turned and left the room. Nathan dropped down his chin to his breastbone and released a troubled sigh as the door quietly snicked behind him.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chris quickly removed his gun-belt, draping it on the bedpost in close reach. Frenchy just now returning from the Equity Bar next door with a large ceramic pitcher swathed in delicately hand-painted pink roses brimming with warm water. She handed Chris a matching ceramic bowl as she placed the pitcher on the bedside table, instructing Chris to lift Vin's head. She then placed a towel over the bed pillows and nodded to Chris to lower Vin. Chris found the soap and handed it to Frenchy as he raised Vin's head again and placed the bowl against Vin's neck. Frenchy folded a smaller towel in a thin line and layered it over the basin to cushion Vin more comfortably.

Working silently together, both finding a comfort in doing *something* rather than just that all encompassing, relentless watching and waiting. Action gave Chris hope and hope gave Chris strength, strength to believe that Vin might get well, strength to believe that Vin might live.

Chris watched Frenchy as she ran her fingers along Vin's scarred wrist and his stomach tightened at her actions. She felt Chris staring at her as she lowered Vin's arm back to the bed and raised her eyes to meet his. "He told you then?"

"About what?" Again realizing how straightforward she was, unsettling him once more with her directness.

"His time in prison. His decision to take his life." Dark blue eyes, almost black, searched his face relentlessly. Chris shifted himself away from her intense scrutiny, lifting Vin's head up off the basin. A nod to Frenchy to get things started, waiting as she reached for the pitcher and slowly began to pour the water over Vin's hair. She startled a bit at Chris' voice, rousing her from her task and her memories.

"He told me." Chris patted a towel along Vin's forehead, catching the soapy runlets before they ran into Vin's eyes. Frenchy nodded at that said, quiet for a moment.

"He left me. Did he tell you that?" Frenchy's gaze became distant, Chris seeing she was a long way off, in another time, in another place and Chris knowing she was remembering her days with Vin. Chris remained silent as she pursed her lips, deeply contemplative, gathering her thoughts. Her hands worked tenderly, gently through Vin's hair and Chris was suddenly aware of how difficult it must be for her to be here with Vin, to be so near a man she loved deeply, to be so near a man who walked away.

"No, he never did." Chris removed the ceramic bowl as Frenchy wrapped a towel around Vin's freshly washed hair, hand-toweling the dark, wavy strands.

"He wouldn't I suppose. Not one to talk of women." A wistful smile came to her as she stopped drying the long, soft hair, looking down at Vin affectionately. "I was envious of you. Envious of all of you ... knowing he was able to stay in that town with you but could not or did not want to stay with me. Somehow *I* became another prison. Why is that, Mr. Larabee? Why is it he's able to stay with you?"

"Maybe..." Chris hesitated, but she silently pleaded for him to speak. He nodded, continuing, "Maybe, he stays because he knows he can leave."

"And how can you take that? How can you take knowing there will be a day he has left all of you?"

"We'll all leave someday. Move on or maybe be killed. That's just the way of things."

Again Frenchy silently nodded, understanding all Chris said, but not liking it or agreeing with it. "When you leave here and you will, please do something for me." Frenchy reached over Vin and grabbed hold of Chris' hand as she spoke. "Watch over him." Frenchy smiled then, feeling foolish, overly sentimental, but needing to be for Vin's sake. "I need to tell you something about him and I know you'll keep it in strictest confidence. Can I trust you with this, Mr. Larabee?"

"Chris. Call me, Chris."

"All right, Chris." Frenchy smiled, pleased at his gesture of friendship. "I remind him of his mama. The long, dark hair, the blue eyes, he must have gotten those eyes of his from his mother. He never knew his father, but I'm sure his hair coloring must be similar." Frenchy sat down on the edge of the bed, her remembrances strong as she talked, placing a large purse beside her, retrieving a mother-of-pearl hairbrush and began gently working out Vin's tangles. "I believe he's resting easier now."

Chris reached up for his gun-belt and strapped it on while she brushed Vin's hair, talking all the while as Chris brought up a chair and sat quietly, listening. "I don't know if he ever told you this, but his birthday's in May. He's not sure of the day, but he's dead-set on the month. His mother told him to remember two things. That he was a Tanner and he was born May of 1849." Frenchy's voice caught as she recalled Vin's words, and tears stood in her eyes, but she held them back remembering her vow -- no more crying.

"That sounds 'bout right. I figured he was close to ten years younger than myself." Chris without thinking reached down for Vin's hand. Frenchy smiled at the natural affection the gunman showed for Vin.

"Sometimes I think, Vin was never young, but then in those unguarded moments, he's such a little boy, full of spit and vinegar, full of tremendous joy." Frenchy inspected Vin closely as she placed the brush away into her purse and tucked the blanket up around his neck. Resting her hand lightly in the center of his chest, she smiled over at Chris who still held Vin's hand. "On his 20th birthday, we had a cake and I gave him a few gifts. One was a spyglass I caught him admiring through the window of the town's mercantile. I often wondered if he still has it."

"He does." Frenchy's face lit up, her smile full and she was quite beautiful to Chris. He was glad to have given her momentary happiness.

"You would have thought I gave him the moon on a string. I've never seen a man happier or more appreciative. I asked him if he could have anything in this life what would it be, what would he want and he wouldn't answer me at first, wouldn't say. So I dropped it, didn't push and close to a week later, out of the blue he whispers to me in my ear like a little boy sharing a secret and afraid it might not come true for the telling of it, for speaking it out loud." Frenchy looked at Vin then, rubbing her hand gently over him, releasing a long breath. She turned her gaze to Chris who was watching her intently.

"Go on." Chris prompted her to continue, needing to know Vin's wish, half-sure he knew all ready.

"He whispered two words to me and said nothing else. Never speaking of it again." Frenchy shook her head, slowly resting it on Vin's shoulder as she spoke. "A family." Silent for a moment, his loss, his wish was too much for her to bear. "That's all he said...just 'a family'."

Chris lowered his head to his chest, his throat constricting. It was the same he discovered, Vin's wish and his own. Wanting a family...just *his* family... Was that what they looked for in each other? To be a family for each other, for the family that was lost to them.

Chris thoughts were interrupted by Frenchy's whispered plea. "Be that for him, Chris. Be that for him."

Chris lifted his head slowly, thoughtfully as he held tightly to Vin's hand. He heard the faint murmur of a voice, surprised to find it was his own, listening to his words as if from a distance. "I all ready am...I all ready am."

~ ~ ~

"I sleep with the moon and sun. I fly among the stars. Do not weep for me. I am home." *

His poetry flew like birds from her mouth as she dallied and danced along the E kut si him mi yo, the Milky Way, waiting for him to walk with her to Seyan, the place of the dead. She called to him to walk the Hanging Road for it was now her time as it was his. She stood on the edge of eternity, beckoning him to come to her as her dark blue eyes, almost black, filled with puzzlement. Shaking her head at his hesitation, causing her hair, the color of a thousand ravens, to fly around her, the black, silky lengths as light as blowing feathers.

"Bridget..." His voice was not his, all things seeming so otherworldly to him. The sound released was a sound he could only liken to music; chimes playfully teased by the wind. It was strange to him, but not unpleasant. It did not matter, though, as she understood him and held out a pale hand. He was drawn to her with a feeling deeper than he knew in sometime as the wild and unrest within him called to her, this time her needing to set him free.

"Come." Bridget extended her hand. "Come with me, Vin."

And all at once without assent, he went...

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Josiah wrapped the ivory rosary beads around Vin's much too still and much too thin, pale hand. The silver crucifix trailing down the smooth, broad knuckles and Josiah half-convinced himself that Vin gripped them a little in his sleep. Josiah preferred to think of Vin as sleeping, rather than comatose or worse, dying. And the hell of it was that no matter the pretending, no matter the praying, no matter the uplifting words to the men, clearly Vin Tanner was dying, and the thought of Vin Tanner dying hurt; hurt far too deeply to even contemplate. So, Josiah would read and converse and hold Vin's hand and lie to himself about it all, lie to himself about Vin only sleeping and the lying becoming less believable as the days became weeks and the weeks became a month.

A feeble moan released as Josiah bathed the unhealed wound with carbolic, still opened and oozing and Vin suffering tremendously during those wakeful times. The men almost preferred Vin to be unconscious, knowing he suffered less then those times of muddled wakefulness. The two doses of morphine given in twenty-four hour intervals helped, but Vin's fear was palpable during those last moments of crossing from awareness into the morphine-induced sleep, seeming to fight it, but each time getting weaker, struggling against being taken into his dreamer's void less and less. Chris would make it a practice to be with Vin when his morphine was given, holding his hand, reassuring Vin that he would return, that they would not let him go. Vin watching Chris intently with those startlingly trusting, blue eyes and Chris remaining strong for Vin. Josiah was grateful for Chris' strength, all the men's strength, really. All beyond weary, body as well as soul, nearly beaten. But, Chris would have none of that, would not listen to possibilities of Vin dying and the men feared for Chris when that horrible moment would one day be realized.

Telegrams were sent to Four Corners to inform Mary and Miz Nettie of the situation -- of Vin. Josiah, himself, sending it and struggling over the task of how to put something so distressing in a few words, worrying powerfully for Nettie; how she loved that boy. How *he* loved that boy. The word love coming to him so easily which surprised Josiah greatly, not having grown up with open affection, with love. Josiah only finding comfort in his sister Hannah's devotion. Something changed and it seemed easier now for Josiah to show his caring. Especially with John Dunne, as the boy was so unguarded and aching for acceptance and family, a father, perhaps, and Josiah glad to be that for him. The caring was a joy and a burden, to love these men was a joy and a burden, but he would have it no other way.

This man before him, this Vin Tanner, fought hard for him, believed in him and Josiah would hold that to his heart like a treasure, hold this man to his heart like a treasure. His father often told him he was too weak, too soft of heart, far too sensitive, making Josiah feel shame for those tendencies. Today, Josiah was glad of being those things, glad to have opened his heart and allowed Vin Tanner into his life, allowed all these men into his life. No matter how hard it would be to lose them, no matter...

Vin moaned again, averting Josiah's attention from his thoughts and ministrations as he watched Vin's lips form words, unspoken, and Josiah wished he could hear, could understand. He sat back into the nearby chair, heartsick and weary as he placed a large palm on Vin's hand holding the ivory rosary. Closing his eyes for a moment searching for a comforting prayer, but a poem coming to mind instead began to recite it aloud: "By the night's sky he travels, all alone. The wind gives direction, taking him home. As we weep for his return." A deep sigh released from Josiah as he spoke again, "As we weep for his return." *

Vin turned toward a voice he recognized as Josiah's. A powerful sadness weighed heavily in the preacher's words and Vin wondered whom he mourned for, wanting to give the man comfort. He tried to raise his hand, to reach out to Josiah, but Bridget clasped his arm forcefully, though not unkindly.

"Vin, it's your time."

Wanting to quarrel with Bridget, wanting to flee, Vin, rankled at feeling trapped, was ready to turn away, to leave, but then all at once he saw her in the distance. So lovely, so young she appeared to be, bearing in mind she was not old at her death, but Vin soundly stunned at her youth, at her beauty. She did not move toward him and Vin wondered why; why she would not come to him, to hold him after all these years. Her hands like gentle, white doves, softly pale, fluttered up slowly as she held her arms open to him and Vin was a boy of five again, recalling her love. A full smile pulsed gently and joyfully across her lips as she waited for him, but surprisingly to Vin her splendid, blue eyes held a deep, aching sadness.

"Mama?"

Still she did not move toward him and Bridget pressed Vin forward. "Go to her. She's not able to come to you. You alone must choose to walk the E kut si him mi yo." Bridget drew in a deep, gasping breath as she looked toward the woman, Vin's mother, but Vin knew it was something else that moved her.

Tears tracked down Bridget's face, suddenly, and Vin brought up his hand to trace them. His eyes questioning as he ran his thumb softly over her wet cheek with concern. "Bridget?"

She smiled up at Vin as she smoothed a hand across her cheek distractedly. Their hands touched, and Bridget resting hers atop Vin's for a gentle, tragic moment. "He's come for me. Ho'neeho'esta, my husband, has come for me." Bridget gathered up Vin's hands in her own and spoke with immeasurable gratitude. "Thank you, Vin Tanner." A bittersweet smile fading as she regretfully turned away, looking toward her husband. "My time is nigh. I can wait no longer. Decide now."

Josiah leaned forward, bringing his ear to Vin's mouth, listening and finally was able to understand the murmurs. Vin was calling to Bridget or Bridget was calling to Vin. This all at once caused a cold, paralyzing fear to blanket Josiah like bitter winter snows. Looking up toward the door, as it whined and creaked open, Josiah half-watched as J.D. entered the room, his bowler hat held nervously in his hands at the brim, crumpling it.

"My turn, Josiah. You c'n go get yourself some dinner."

Josiah seemed not to notice J.D. as he returned his attention back to Vin, still listening, straining to hear. Suddenly, looking up at J.D., startling the boy at the brusqueness and urgency of his words. "Get the others, now."

J.D. hesitated, a question hanging in his eyes, but decided not to voice it, too afraid to hear the answer. "Might take some time, but I'll hurry."

"Ya do that J.D. Be quick about it."

~ ~ ~ ~

J.D. tore down Main Street terrified about what was happening to Vin and terrified at having to tell the men to come, that something was different, that something might be horribly wrong. Knowing they would have questions and him having no answers, only a hard and heavy fear like rock in the pit of him. Racing through the front door of the Equity Bar where the men gathered for their meals and down times after caring for Vin, J.D. stumbled forward desperately searching the shadowy saloon, his eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness. The men were there at a corner table, their heads drawing up quickly at the sight of the kid, flustered and flushed, out of breath from running as he barreled through the bar's front door.

Subdued, which they seemed to always be now, and remaining close together, not wanting to be too far away, just in case...just in case. Even, Buck no longer indulged in the sporting women's favors and Ezra no longer partook in the games, Monty, poker or otherwise. All of them exhausted and in prelusive mourning, though never showed their sorrow in front of Chris, never in front of Chris. Then they would be optimistic, talking of their return to Four Corners with Vin and him free of the bounty, now able to *live* unfettered, choking on their words most times as the sadness overwhelmed them.

Chris did not question Nathan again about Vin's chances, not since his tirade several weeks before, putting his faith in Nathan and in good signs. Though, Nathan no longer mentioned good signs or improvement, which Chris chose to ignore. Looking now toward J.D. and then quickly turning away, Chris grabbed up the whiskey bottle in front of him. Bringing it to his lips, he drank it down, frantically avoiding the kid and the look on the kid's face, like Vin was dead all ready, and Chris struggled to gain countenance, struggled to gain strength from the alcohol. The men were quiet, waiting, even J.D., which brought a sad smile to Buck seeing the man J.D. now was and knowing Vin's death would break the kid's heart...break all their hearts.

The healer in Nathan could no longer wait, needing to be with his patient, jumping up hastily, grabbed hold of J.D.'s shoulders. "What is it, J.D.?"

J.D. struggled to breathe, to speak, his words caught in his throat as his heart pounded in his ears, fearing he was close to dying. Dying, himself, like Vin. Almost saying that, but not sure if it was the truth, but still almost blurting it out, 'Vin's dying! Dear God! Vin's dying!' Was he really? Was he? Lord, help him, J.D. felt close to breaking down, close to crying and them all looking at him. Breathe ... breathe ... and finally able to get the words out, an explosion of sound, "Josiah says come quick."

They were all on the run then, after a quick horrifying look to each other. Though, Chris not looking at any of them, just the whiskey bottle that he held in his right hand, gripping it until his knuckles blanched whitely next to the black of his shirt cuffs.

Josiah met them at the door, his pale eyes clouded with sorrow as he swabbed a massive hand through a spattering of short gray hair, coiling like wire around a broad forehead and well-set ears. Nathan pushed his way past the men alarmed at the look of defeat that settled in the creases of Josiah's weary face.

Standing alongside the bed, momentarily stunned, Nathan not wanting to face the finality of it all. Not wanting to face the death of Vin Tanner, but nudged himself forward, reaching out his hand, shaking terribly as his fingers pressed against the vein of Vin's neck. Too weak and Nathan knowing there was nothing left for him to do, nothing. Slumping down in the chair, Nathan rested his head into his hands, hiding his face away from the men. He failed somehow, overlooked something and now Vin was paying dearly for his shortcomings, paying with his life.

J.D. fiddled frantically with his hat brim, chewing his lower lip as he watched Nathan drop himself down hard on the nearby wooden chair, his eyes widening at that, horrified. A scream held back, gritting his teeth as Buck placed a hand on his shoulder. Buck's gesture was almost too much for J.D. as he was close to tears, emotionally spent. But, he held it back, swallowing violently, pushing it down, until he saw Chris and then J.D. could not help, but cry.

Nathan offered Chris the chair as the others gathered around quietly, solemnly. Ezra, as pale as milk, placed a hand gently on Vin's shoulder for a brief, caring moment while his auburn hair drooped morosely across his brow, a vivid contrast to the pallor of his face. Buck and J.D. to the right of Ezra, remained quiet except for J.D.'s occasional sniffles. Buck, himself, looked like a frightened deer scenting danger, wanting to run, but unable to, wholly paralyzed. Josiah looked out the undersized, pocked and sand-pitted window away from the bed, away from the men, not able to offer comfort. Chris drank from the bottle again, finishing it. Swiping his hat off his head roughly, letting it fall down his back as the rawhide strings caught around his neck like a noose. Chris ran a finger under the string, involuntarily, still a little unsettled by things tight around his throat, and then bowed down his head as he gripped Vin's hand sadly.

"Nathan?" Chris watched Vin stir, not expecting him to gain consciousness, having given up that hope days ago. Recalling the look in Vin's eyes after his last shot of morphine, as though he was fading...fading like the reddish-orange ember-glow on the tip of a candle's wick; a valiant struggle to remain afire, but then gone...gone.

Nathan tried to speak, but his voice cracked, the words coming out garbled. Nathan could only shake his head as he covered his eyes with his hand and then slowly trailed it down his face, sorrowed and exhausted.

"NO!" Chris stood, losing his grasp on Vin's hand, all at once realizing that loss, groped around for a moment and then latched on to a cold finger, and then a full grip, relieved. The men watched Chris' panic with horrified sympathy. Their expressions infuriating Chris, neither wanting pity nor compassion, only a faith, only a belief in Vin living, in Vin surviving and not seeing that in any of their faces. Causing anger to rise up in him in a single shout, "NO!!!"

Buck finally able to move, as his concern for Vin, which was immobilizing shifted to his concern for Chris, which was instinctive; a need to protect the gunman overriding everything. "Chris..."

"DON'T...BUCK...DON'T!" Chris turned away from them all and sat back down as Josiah rubbed at a spot on the windowpane, sighing deeply, walking slowly back toward the bed.

"I'd like to read over Vin, now, Chris."

Chris said nothing, a suspenseful moment of mournful silence filled up the room, again only J.D.'s sniffing punctuating it and then Chris raised up his head, eyes hard and cold and pale as winter ice. "No."

"Chris, it needs to be done." Josiah waited.

Chris tore his eyes away from the preacher, watching Vin intently. "No, it doesn't." Whispering now, Chris spoke again, "No, it doesn't."

"All right, Chris. But soon."

Josiah sat down on the left-hand corner of the bed, placing his hand on Vin's calf and then taken by surprise as a sorrowed voice broke painfully from the gunman. "Pray for him, Josiah." The preacher nodded and took up the Bible in his hand, the men bowing down their heads as Josiah began to read.

Voices again -- Josiah's, mostly -- rumbling up and over and through him like a thousand mustangs running fast and free, knowing Bridget watched him as he glanced behind himself, over his shoulder and wanting to go back badly. But, Lord why? Why would he want to go back? Why would he want to go back to forever running, to forever looking over his shoulder, forever making wrong choices and forever holding on to that damn backbreaking guilt? Lord, there was too much guilt weighing on him all ready. And his Ma, Lord help him, was right here, so close, so damn close. And then there was Bridget offering to walk with him, so as not for him be alone, to walk with him ... to where? Seyan, she called it. Heaven? Was God allowing him in, allowing him rest, allowing him to be with his Ma?

He needed to talk with Josiah, not understanding all the Christian ways. The People believed all were equal in death, good and bad and only those who killed themselves would not be permitted to go there. Where would he be now, if he died that day? Died by his hand? Vin only hoped, at the most, to feel nothing at the end, to be nothing, but free. No more worry, no more pain, no more loneliness...just a deep, black, empty nothing. Like the desert sky without moon or star, like the endless bottom of a high mountain lake. He could only hope for that, as heaven was so far out of reach and hell too damn close. And now it was being offered to him, free and clear, no questions asked and like the damn fool he always knew himself to be...Aw, hell...

"Amen." Josiah was the first to look up, to look at Vin and nearly fell from the bed.

"Somebody die?"

And then a tumble of bodies and voices, all of them shouting at once, "*VIN*!!!"

~ ~ ~ ~

* Poem by Kimberly (KBJ)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Vin watched the men with a clear-eyed serenity, a deep joy filling him as he lie looking up into the delighted, jubilant, though weary faces of the men. Wearing a crooked, loopy grin like a drunkard (drunk with happiness for sure), as the men clapped him gently on the legs and shoulders. Vin looked to each of them intently; first with surprise at the genuineness of their caring, and then gratitude for that caring, which was to him as comforting as a sheltering embrace. As his eyes settled on J.D., Vin coughed out a pained laugh, watching as the kid tossed up his hat with a loud, rousing whoop while Buck catching it, playfully spun it across the room like a pebble skipping water. Vin watched all of this with a warm, quiet feeling of a right choice made and only a slight whisper of sorrow shivered over him for the leaving of his mama; and her seeming happier for that leaving. Vin was too weak to move and a relentless pain tore fiercely through his belly and right hip, but no matter; he was alive.

Nathan came toward him, leaning his large frame forward, frustratingly blocking Vin's view of the men. Nathan's brown eyes were wet with relief and joy as he looked down at Vin. A few tears suspended momentarily from the healer's dark, long lashes, spilling on to the back of Vin's hand, rolling down Vin's pale knuckle, between his slender fingers and pooling in Chris' cupped palm sandwiched beneath.

Vin's eyes followed the tears' path mesmerically, the sensation of it remarkably heightened as everything seemed to be: the pain, the joy, the sorrow, and the fear. Suddenly registering that a hand was holding his, Vin turned his gaze up, following the black-sleeved arm's long slender length, until he reached the face. Their eyes meeting as boyishly open and unguarded grins let escape a mix of emotions; the men overwhelmed, and Chris and Vin, more than a little unsettled because of that.

Vin spoke first; the pain and joy tangled together unmistakably in his words, "Hey...cow...boy."

The men quieted at once, Vin's voice almost too weak to be heard, not wanting to wear the man down with the effort of talking over them. Chris tipped up his head, watching the men as they poked and shushed each other like fidgety schoolboys trying to be on their best behavior. Smiling a little at that, but only thinking one thing, Vin was alive and this struck Chris hard in the deepest part of him, frightening him at the intensity of his feelings. Though, this was not the time to think about his fears or the bad or good of caring for people. Tomorrow he might think about it, tomorrow he might do things differently, tomorrow...

"Hey, yourself." Chris smiled, giving a squeeze to Vin's hand, still cold, but no longer lifeless.

"How...long...how long...I b'n out?" Vin struggled to speak, his mouth as dry as desert dirt.

"Long time, Vin." Chris tried to keep his voice steady.

"Too long. Yuh scared us t' death." Nathan ran a hand over Vin's forehead and checked the pulse on his neck. " I need t' check yur wound. Chris, give me some room here now." Nathan shoved his way in between Chris and the bed as he brought down the blanket, Vin watching Nathan's face, knowing he would be able to find out his condition by watching the healer's expression. Not good then, Nathan's eyes darkening as he touched gingerly at the wound and Vin flinched, a grimace escaping him. "Damn..."

"Sorry, Vin. Yur a lot cooler, but the injury's still festerin'. B'n cleanin' it." Nathan did not meet Vin's eyes, continuing to work neatly on the wound.

"How long...Nathan...how long's it b'n open? It ain't healin' then." Vin's voice was tinged with an edgy fear, knowing he could very well die if the wound did not heal. His body festering as was his soul.

"Close t' a month." Nathan still avoided Vin's gaze.

"Month?" Vin was stunned. "B'n flat on my ... back... fer a...damn ... month?"

Buck leaned down sporting a wide, randy grin, trying to lighten up Vin's mood. "'N all alone too. Damn shame."

"Shoot...Bucklin...way I'm feelin'...that'd be jes' a waste of a good ... woman...now, that'd be a damn shame."

"Well, ya best make up fer lost time. 'N just to show I'm lookin' out fer ya, I'll let ya have Miss Maureen fer a night or two 'n then there's a new girl by the name of Betsy, sweet and fresh as a daisy, skin's soft as velvet, hair's like golden silk..."

"Hell, Buck, I'm jes' workin' on breathin' ... reckon certain parts ...ain't goin' t' be up t' things fer a good long ... time." Vin chuffed out a laugh that hurt every part of him, prompting the lanky gunman to place a comforting hand on the suffering man's bare and narrow-boned shoulder, the sharp angles close to protruding through the thinly translucent, pale skin, veins clearly visible and Vin frighteningly fragile to Buck.

Nathan was grateful to the amenable gunman as his banter allowed him the time needed to check the wound and douse it with carbolic; Vin distracted from it all. "Why don't yuh boys go 'n finish eatin', get yuhselves some rest 'n then yuh c'n come back 'n visit with Vin later."

Josiah nodded in agreement as Vin was looking worn out all ready, his eyes struggling to remain open, rolling up under the thin, pale skin of his lids, eyelashes fluttering and finally the fight won, though briefly, Vin fixing his gaze on them all like a gift he did not want to part with or lose. The preacher winked at the men and gave a pat to Vin's foot, calling to him, as again Vin struggled to shift his eyes toward Josiah who stood, amused and grateful, at the foot of the bed. A drunken smile appeared once more and Vin distracted for a moment by the straight, shadowy line of his nose, his blue eyes crossing slightly as he came to a slow realization of what it was, feeling foolish and drowsy and a little giddy. The men laughed as Josiah tapped Vin's foot once more. "Over here, Vin. That's it...here I am. I'll be back a little later. All right? Frenchy'll want t' know that yer awake."

Vin nodded and whispered Frenchy's name, slowly understanding Josiah's words. "Lizzie..."

"She's b'n takin' real good care of ya while you've b'n sick." Chris waited while Vin turned to him, knowing the morphine, the weeks of the low-grade fever and its few days of spiking heat, lack of food and now an all-consuming weariness muddled Vin's brain; it working slower than molasses in winter.

"Shouldn't...be...here. Should be...takin' care of ... that husband of hers 'stead of ... likes of me." Vin shivered and Chris looked to Nathan to see if he completed his tending before raising the blanket up, covering the man to his chin.

"Well, she don't see it that way 'n she's got a mind of her own. Mighty stubborn woman." Chris smiled at Vin as a grin grew, though a little canted and his eyes still a little dazed, but brightening at Chris' words.

"I do recollect that 'bout...her." A chuff of laugh and a groan following as Vin reflexively brought his left hand across his body, reaching for his right hip.

"No, Vin!" Nathan leaned forward to stop the hand from groping at the wound, though Buck who was closer and quicker grabbed hold of Vin's arm.

"Whoa there, Vin. Nathan don't think it's a good idea t' be pokin' 'round there. I'm goin' t' let go, if ya promised t' behave yerself." Buck felt Vin relax his arm, no longer fighting him. "That's a boy."

Vin nodded, his eyes closed as he took in several deep breaths. "Doc?"

Nathan kneeled down on the right side of the bed close to Vin's head. "Yeah, Vin?"

"Painin' me somethin' fierce. Seems different somehow..." Vin let out a gasp and brought his knees up toward his belly. Buck and Josiah grabbed at Vin's legs as Chris and Ezra placed their hand firmly on Vin's shoulders, pinning him to the mattress.

Nathan stood and grabbed Vin's face tightly in both hands. "Talk t' me, Vin. What's wrong?"

Vin clenched his jaw firmly against the pain, his right side seeming to be inflamed, on fire and Vin unable to work through it this time, unable to think or speak or open his eyes.

"Talk t' me, Vin." Nathan still held Vin's face in his hands as he tore his gaze from the man, and skated his frantic eyes to J.D. "The morphine, J.D. Git the morphine for me."

Horror gripped Vin then as the word 'morphine' screamed louder than the pain in his hip and he wildly fought against the men. "NO! NO MORPHINE!! NO!!"

"All right, Vin. All right. No morphine. Settle down, now. Yuh talk t' me, Vin. I need yuh t' talk t' me 'n tell me what's wrong, now."

"Check the wound...somethin's ...wrong..." Vin opened his eyes searching for the gunman as sweat beaded on his brow and spilled down his temples, following the line of his jaw, his eyes shining with unshed tears of suffering and fatigue. "Chris?"

"Right, here pard." Chris sat down on the edge of the bed, giving a nod to the men that it was all right to release their grip as Vin settled a little, but the man's pain was brutally clear. "Nathan's goin' t' take a look 'n see what's botherin' ya. He's goin' t' take care of everything. No more pain. How's that sound? Make ya right as rain. That's what he's goin' t' do..."

"Chris?" A soft hush of voice reached the gunman.

"Yeah, Vin?" Chris lowered himself closer to Vin worried for the man, willing to do anything to stop his pain, his discomfort, if only he knew how.

And then a laugh released by the gunman as Vin's whispered words reached him, and the men joining in with Chris' laughter as Vin spoke louder with a resounding: "Shut up."

Nathan gave a nod to Chris who stepped aside, allowing the healer room to check the injury. Lowering the blanket to expose the wound on Vin's abdomen, but angling it so not *all* was shown. Nathan removed the bandages carefully trying not to pull on the wound where some of the discharge dried. Looking up Nathan pointed toward the oil lamp and Ezra understanding the silent command, hastily took it from the side table as he kneeled gently on the edge of the bed with it tightly in his grip. Ezra held the lamp close to Vin's hips, but not so close as to interfere with Nathan's care, averting his eyes from time to time, unable to look at the hideously raw and oozing gash.

"Sweet Jesus..." Nathan reached for the carbolic in Josiah's hand and deftly pulled one of his instruments from his bag.

"Nathan, what?" Chris tried to look, but Nathan and Josiah were in his line of vision.

"Good Lord." Ezra nearly reeled from the sight.

"Somebody better start talkin' 'n talkin' fast." Chris was frustrated, fearing the worst and getting more and more unsettled with Vin watching him all the while, almost like he was not there, so silent, so still it was eerie.

"Nathan held something up to the light caught between the metal tips of his tweezers. "Git me that small bowl. Sweet Jesus..."

"What is it, Nathan?" Josiah leaned in to see what Nathan was examining.

"Cloth from his drawers 'n pants...dammit...n' here's a piece of a button..." Nathan distractedly flicked the debris into the bowl that Buck held up to him.

J.D. watched unsure of what was happening. "What does it mean, Nathan? Where is it comin' from?"

Nathan raised his head, his voice clearly angry, but not at J.D., just at himself for his oversight, his shortcomings. "Well, J.D. it means I near kilt, Vin. Thought the wound was clean 'n it wasn't. All this man's pain 'n sufferin' were b'cause of my pridefulness, believin' m'self t' be somethin' I ain't never been 'n never will be."

"Nathan...don't be talkin' like that...don't..." Vin reached up a shaky hand to the healer and Nathan clutched it, seeing Vin was near exhaustion from the effort.

"It's all right, Vin. Don't want yuh getting worked up over it. Ain't nothin' fer yuh t' be upset 'bout, now." Nathan placed Vin's hand down gently on the bed.

"Then ... don't b' blamin' yerself...it ain't helpin'...ain't helpin'." A mournful moan rose up within him, filling him and Vin too used up, too close to dead to contend with Nathan's misery.

"All right. Yuh lay back down now. It's all right, Vin. It's all right..." Nathan soothed Vin the best he could as he struggled with his inadequacies.

Vin slowly relaxed into the pillow as Chris rested a palm on his forehead. "Sleep a little, Vin. Ya need t' calm down. We'll talk 'bout everything after you get some rest. All right, pard? Do that for me, now won't cha? Nathan was just feelin' a mite unsettled, but everything's goin' t' be just fine...we're all goin' t' be all right...you...Nathan...all of us. Just rest."

Vin focused on Chris, listening to the gunman as long as he was able to, and then suddenly there were no more words and no more pain.

~ ~ ~ ~

It was well into the night when Vin awoke, alert to all the night sounds, some comforting and familiar, some unfamiliar, but still oddly comforting. Like the ticking of a clock hanging in the darkened room to his right on the wall, snoring beside him, light and steady, and to the foot of him, heavier and deeper. Then becoming aware of a weight on his left calf, as though a hand rested on it. Vin cautiously moved his head, shifting himself a little; trying to see who sat nearby, more than certain it was Larabee, and who was sleeping at the foot of him, more than certain it was Nathan.

Chris heard movement from the bed, the discomfort of the chair not offering him sleep, only thin and sporadic, waking close to every half-hour. But, the chair alone was not the only reason for his fitful sleep, Chris' still worried for Vin, though Nathan reassured him over and over that the worst of it passed with those bits of cloth. Nathan saw the likes of it during the war, men close to dying and then wounds cleaning themselves out unexpectedly, healing almost immediately, not many days after the purging. Chris sought comfort in those words, but would not feel completely assured until Vin was well again.

"Hey...Larabee." Vin showed a glint of fine white teeth flashing as brightly and quickly as lightning in distant dark skies.

"Hey, yourself, cowboy. How ya feelin'?" Leaning forward, Chris studied Vin's face in the spill of moonlight concerned about the shadows that settled in the emaciated hollows, dusted the pale skin, and layered the sharply jutting bones; jaw, chin and cheekbones too severe in its gauntness.

"Hell of a lot better. Don't pain me so much now." The relief was evident in Vin's voice, no longer filled with suffering, though still wearied.

"Glad t' hear it. Gave us a fright." Chris smiled genuinely as he gave a gentle tap to Vin's upper arm.

"Nathan all right, Chris?" Vin was not up to carrying that load, all ready burdened with so much guilt as it was and not needing to add Nathan's self-doubt and disapproval to it.

"He will be." Looking toward Nathan who slept uncomfortably in a chair, hunched over the bottom of the bed, and Chris smiling at the sight of the hand that held fast to Vin's leg.

"I hope yer right 'bout that. Don't want him goin' on the worry...don't want him havin' doubts 'bout himself...b'cause of me."

Chris listened to the fretting in Vin's voice, not wanting Vin to go there. How much did one man need to shoulder? "Not yer fault, Vin. Nathan's been through a lot in his life 'n survived. He'll get passed this."

"Reckon..." Vin was unconvinced.

"Vin, there's a lot that's b'n goin' on. A lot ya need t' know about." Chris shifted himself in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but unable to, having been stiffly planted there for several hours now.

Vin let out an abrupt huff of air, not quite a laugh. "Aw, hell, if'n it's bad news, I ain't in the mind t' hearin' it...maybe I should have walked."

"Walked?" Chris was puzzled, not understanding Vin's words, wondering if the morphine still caused Vin some confusion.

"Ain't nothin', Chris...jes'...I know this'll more 'n likely sound squirrelly t' ya...so I'll jes' say it out right...I saw Bridget. I saw her 'n I talked t' her. Was close to walking the hanging road...my ma was waitin' for me. She was waitin' for me, Chris 'n God was goin' t' let me in ... into Seyan."

"Seyan?" Again, Chris tried to follow Vin's curious and very rare ramblings.

"That's what Bridget called it; Cheyenne fer the place of the dead, heaven. Heaven right there for me 'n my ma right there waitin' on me...Came back though. Came back."

Nathan listened to the men grateful for Vin's concern about his welfare and Chris' conviction that he would persevere, that he would endure. Chris was right; he survived much worse and the fact of the matter was even the most skilled and practiced of doctors encountered similar situations, losing patients through no fault of their own. Some debris so small or hidden, the human eye infallible and Nathan just grateful to God the flux was ebbing and the wound cleaned itself before Vin was too weak to recover. Self-pity was not a part of him; felt it was a waste of precious time.

"It was the fever, Chris..." Nathan gave a pat to Vin's leg as he spoke.

Vin shook his head, too weak and too tired to be annoyed at Nathan for talking over him, but still needing them to believe his words. "Was real, Nathan. Real as you 'n Chris right here with me."

"I'm sure yuh believe that Vin, but yuh was running a real high fever for awhile." Hallucinations were not unusual and Vin suffered marked delirium over the past few weeks. Nathan and Chris exchanged glances, the healer shaking his head at the gunman, mouthing to him wordlessly not to worry. "Vin..."

"Her husband come t' meet her." Vin would not allow himself to question what he saw, what he knew to be the truth, would not allow their doubts to discourage him.

"Bridget's husband?" Chris decided to let Vin talk it out as he realized Vin believed everything he was telling them.

"Ho'neeho'esta." Chris nodded to Vin, unsure of how to respond, looking toward Nathan as the healer spoke to Vin calmly, reasonably.

"Jus' the fever, Vin." Nathan reached for a mug on the table, speaking before Vin was able to respond. "Now that yur awake I made yuh somethin' that's goin' t' put some meat back on those bones of yurs 'n I don't want no arguin'"

Sitting down on the left side edge of Vin's bed, Nathan waited while Chris lifted up Vin's head and then brought the large mug to the ill man's mouth. "This here's caudle. Made out of warm beer, bread, eggs, spices and sugar. It'll help git yuh on yur feet."

Vin obeyed, drinking as much as he could stomach, doing all he could to keep it down, as it was close to vile, only the sugar making it tolerable. His eyes drooping from just that small effort of drinking down the thin porridgy mixture. "Chris?"

"Yeah, Vin?" Chris lowered his head down to hear the man better.

"Ya'll believe ... me, don't ya? Ya... believe ... what I... told ya."

"I believe ya, Vin. Now, get some rest." Chris gently curled his hand around Vin's shoulder, hoping he sounded sincere.

"Ya wanted t' tell me ... something. What was ... it?"

"It'll keep."

"No ... want t' know...tell me...listening. Don't want t' sleep... jes' yet. Want ya t' ...talk t' me fer 'while." Vin's words slurred and his head fell to the right side of his pillow, his chin resting on his shoulder.

"All right." Chris watched Vin as he drifted off and then jerked himself awake, trying not to sleep. Smiling at the man's struggle, Chris knew he would probably need to tell Vin everything all over again in the morning. "All right, Vin. Ya awake?"

"I'm awake, Larabee. Don't...need t' shout..." A light snore punctuated his words and then Vin suddenly startled awake.

"You've b'n cleared of the murder charge, Vin. Judge Willis gave the verdict last month at your trial. I'll tell ya more about that tomorrow. But, just so you know, you're not wanted fer murder anymore. No more bounty, no more running. Ya hear me, Vin? You're free. Ya got yer name back. Vin? Did ya hear what I just told ya?"

"Ummhmm...no more bounty...free. Free 'n clear...no more running..."

The gunman grinned. "That's right, Vin. No more running. Ya rest now 'n we'll talk more tomorrow."

"Chris?"

"Yeah, Vin?" The gunman's grin swelled into a wide, full smile at Vin's doggedness.

"Made...things...right. Bridget's ... found peace...Prescott's dead...name's cleared."

"Yeah, ya done good, pard. Ya made everything right. Now ya just need time t' get yerself better. Give yerself time t' heal."

"Ain't goin' t' die..." A weak smile played across Vin's face with that realization.

"No, ya ain't goin' t' die. Ain't no way I was goin' t' let that happen."

"Set things right... fer the wrong I done." A deep breath taken and then Vin spoke, "Chris...I'm obliged t' ya...fer everythin' ... everythin' ya done...fer me."

"Just rest, Vin."

Chris never thought himself to be a deep thinker, never questioned choices made or their consequences. But watching Vin now healing, his wound no longer festering, wondered if there was somehow an underlying meaning to it all. Chris shrugged too tired to think it through, just happy that Vin was alive and that he found the strength to finally offer himself forgiveness.

~ ~ ~ ~

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Four Corners

"How is he?" Judge Travis stood beside Chris Larabee outside the jail; his gray-granite eyes focused on Vin Tanner, appearing to Travis to be headed slowly toward the cemetery. A limp was prominent on the man, seeming to favor his right side as his hip still caused him grief, even after being back four weeks and healing now two months. Nathan claimed it would take much longer to mend completely and Vin's hip might always pain him, especially in the cold and damp weather.

"He'll be all right." Chris watched Tanner as he took a deep drag of his cheroot, not really answering Travis' question, pale eyes, also, following Vin's path.

The other men seemed to gather around all at once; Josiah just back from working on the church windows, preparing them for winter's onslaught; Buck, J.D., Nathan and Ezra joking, roughhousing with each other as they came towards Chris and Travis, bellies full from their recent supper at the saloon.

Travis was glad to have them all together as he wanted to tell of the whole Belknap affair just once, not having the good news or outcome he hoped for at the beginning of the undertaking. The only one missing was Vin Tanner, but either Chris would tell him or Travis, himself, would speak with him.

"Gentlemen. Good to see you're all in one piece."

"Judge." Josiah leaned against a post nearest to Chris and the Judge, turning to follow Chris' gaze and seeing Vin moving painfully toward the cemetery. Josiah knew it to be unfinished business for the marksman. "Looks t' me like Vin might be needin' some spiritual guidance and the kindness of a friend or two."

Chris grunted; the only acknowledgment of Josiah's words he was willing to offer, as he was not a man to interfere with another's business. This was a matter that Vin needed to take care of for himself and if Vin wanted to talk or needed help, Chris would be there.

"It appears Vin needs t' make his good-byes t' Bridget." Josiah kept his eyes on Vin who was making slow progress.

"The way he sees it, he all ready made his good-byes." Nathan spoke this time, knowing Chris would never speak of Vin's imaginings. "That first night he woke, back in Tascosa, he was speakin' of walking the hanging road 'n Bridget 'n this place called Seyan. Called it heaven."

"Seyan?" Josiah stood up straighter at that, wanting to know more.

"Yeah, Seyan. Do yuh know 'bout it, Josiah?" Nathan questioned Josiah, but kept his eyes on Chris.

Josiah was at first puzzled by Nathan's words and then intrigued. "It's Cheyenne for the place of the dead."

Nathan knew that look on Josiah's face, knew Josiah believed in legends that told of visions and spirits. Nathan spoke decisively, " It ain't unusual for Vin to know Cheyenne. He knows Comanche and Kiowa, so I ain't thinkin' it be out of the ordinary that Vin knew 'bout this Seyan place."

"No, not unusual, but Vin never mentioned a knowledge of the language b'fore." Josiah smiled as he watched Nathan frustratingly work the rawhide string of his hat through his long and talented fingers, and he holding little doubt that God blessed this man.

"Vin don't talk much 'bout hisself, Josiah. Yuh know that as well as I do."

Josiah nodded in agreement with Nathan, but still continued his questioning; all the more curious being close to certain that Vin was not fluent in Cheyenne. "What else did he say, Nathan?"

Nathan looked at Chris who looked at no one, but the dirt road and the cemetery at the end of that road and at Vin who still walked painfully slow down it. Nathan turned back to Josiah. "Talked 'bout Bridget and seein' his ma and 'bout Bridget's husband comin' t' meet her."

Josiah's deep-set, pale eyes widened, stunned at the revelation. "Michael O'Brien?"

"No. Seemed t' be in another tongue. An Indian name, I guessed it t' be." Nathan chose to ignore Josiah's look of amaze, like some great miracle just came to light.

"Ho'neeho'esta?" Again the pale eyes, bright and wide and his broad-jawed grin filling up his face.

"Yeah, that sounds 'bout right. How'd yuh know, Josiah?" Nathan suddenly felt chilled as gooseflesh covered his arms and back, the hair on his neck rising.

"Bridget told me..." Nathan cut Josiah off, not ready to give up yet.

"Well, she musta told Vin too." Still unbelieving, glad logic returned to him, though Joisah's subsequent words, not making it any easier.

"No, never told Vin. Only told me. She didn't get a chance t' tell, Vin 'bout her situation." Josiah held this I'll- be-damned look on his face to Nathan.

"She musta told Vin when they were together in the jail cell." Nathan was nothing, if not stubborn; Josiah would give him that as the healer countered each of Josiah's statements. Like Thomas the doubter, Nathan could not believe until he saw things with his own eyes.

"Ya know as well as I do, Nathan, Vin was out of it then 'n after that he was at Nettie's. Bridget didn't git a chance t' tell Vin."

"That first night she musta told him."

"Not then either, Nathan. She came t' the church the next morning lookin' fer Penance, t' confess her sins. She told me Vin didn't know 'bout her troubles, 'bout her life."

"He was fevered, Josiah...Chris?" Nathan was at a loss as were Ezra, J.D. and Buck, trying to follow the healer's words. Nathan shook his head and looked to the one man he knew he could count on for pragmatic thinking.

Chris tilted up his chin, pale green eyes pinched tightly in a thin-lined squint as he brought up the cheroot to his full lips, taking a deep, thoughtful draw of it and then blowing out a thick cloud of smoke before speaking. "Vin's got a good head. Don't seem likely he'd believe in passin' fancies."

Nathan gave up, though not discouragingly; in fact he was surprisingly relieved. "So yuh believe in it then?"

"I believe in Vin." Chris smiled at that, enjoying the truth of those words.

Nathan grinned and lowered his head, his muffled words rising from under his hat brim. "I do, too."

Judge Travis rocked on his heels a bit, smiling as he clasped his hands behind his back. Lowering his head for a moment and then clearing his throat, Travis slowly looked up, drawing the men's attention. "How is it with Vin no longer having the bounty over him?"

Buck lowered his head, shaking it, the rest of the men looking around the town distantly, each in their own thoughts. "Like a man unsure of his next step. Clearin' his name was what Tanner was all about fer a good long time 'n now it's done with. I never seen the man happier or at least as close t' happy as Vin lets show. But, I also never seen the man so lost. It'll pass..." Buck looked to Chris then. "Just like what you were feelin' after Hank Conley claimed t'...well, feelin' a little unsure of where t' go next. Vin's been livin' only fer one purpose, bein' driven fer only one thing fer such a long time 'n then it's over. I reckon he's just not sure why he's feelin' so empty, so unsettled 'n he don't want t' seem ungrateful or seem unhappy 'bout it all."

Judge Travis nodded and looked down the road watching Vin struggle along, momentarily caught off guard by the affection he felt for the man, for each of these men. "His name is cleared, but Vin will still have to watch his back. There are plenty of bounty hunters that have his paper and they will shoot to kill. Most more than likely not aware the bounty has been overturned."

"Don't seem fair Vin'll need t' live like that. He's not a murderer 'n the law says so now." J.D. rested his hands on his twin colts as he spoke, his voice rising up with disgust.

"Just the way of things, J.D. Vin knows how it is." Buck rested a hand on J.D.'s shoulder and gave a squeeze, knowing the kid felt things deeply.

Travis cleared his throat again and folded his arms across his chest, leaning his upper body back a little as he spoke. "I've got some news on John Evans and William Belknap."

The men almost forgot about the Indian post-tradership scandal, so worried about getting Vin out of Tascosa, trying to get him away from Prescott, clearing his name and his recovery. The post-tradership problem was so far removed from them, though ironically it was what set the whole mess into motion. Chris threw down his cheroot and shifted his gaze from Vin and over to Travis. "How'd ya make out? Still not happy we couldn't see things through for ya, Judge."

"I didn't expect you to and I didn't want you to. Vin came first. Besides it would have been a waste of your time. John Evans was cooperative, took very little effort to get him to talk. Only had to see Gene Watkins and Evans started singing. Wrote everything down. It seems he was sick and tired of paying out the money to William Belknap and Caleb Marsh to hold on to the post. The LS ranch made a healthy profit, too. The government was paying higher than market prices and the reservation got themselves prime beef. I'd say things worked out well."

"So then what *aren't* ya wantin' to tell us, Judge?" Travis smiled at Chris' directness; the man was wolf-cunning and dangerous.

"Well, Chris, what I'm *not* wanting to tell you, is that Belknap more than likely will get off with just a slap on the wrist. He'll more than not try to resign before he stands impeachment proceedings. I have little doubt that the Secretary of War will walk away from this affair without prosecution. Caleb Marsh has fled to Canada, but I was informed he was located and will testify before the House Judiciary Committee and a grand jury. Orvil Grant is in hot water for his post-tradership dealings, but again I see no real punishment imminent. The only good that came from all of this was all the underhanded dealings have been brought to light and those profiting have been tossed out on their proverbial asses." Travis sighed and rubbed a hand across his clean-shaven jaw, chagrined. "I'm sorry to have put you boys through the ordeal."

"We're not sorry for it, Judge. And more than a little good came from it. Yeah, it was rough, dealing with Prescott and all. Almost losing Vin, but then we accomplished a hell of lot too. The most important thing is Vin's name is cleared. That means everything to him 'n he'd go through it again. So, don't go blaming yourself for anything. It was our choice and that choice led us right to where we are now 'n it *ain't * that bad a place t' be."

"You men all feel the same way?" The Judge slowly looked from one to the next, considering them with a caring eye, a dutiful father over his brood.

Nods and murmuring of agreement as Travis gave a wide smile. "Good, then...good."

Josiah looked toward Chris and kicked up his chin in Vin's direction. "It looks like Vin's close t' reachin' the cemetery. Maybe we should get Peso fer him. More than likely take him the rest of the day t' git back t' town at the rate he's movin'." The men laughed at that as they watched Vin struggle along, stopping now and then to catch his breath and rest himself. "Why don't ya git that hammerhead 'n meet us at the cemetery. Maybe Vin's wantin' t' palaver some."

"Josiah before you head off, what about that journal of Prescott's? Was there anything in it that might be of help?" Travis waited while Josiah reached into the deep pocket of his coat and pulled out a leather-bound book.

"Very helpful and very disturbing." Josiah handed the journal to Travis more than a little subdued. "Prescott wrote down everything...everything. May the Lord have mercy on those poor women's souls."

"How many murdered?"

"I rightly counted five, not including Bridget. I suppose she was one of the lucky ones. Most were working girls with no family, no one to care if they lived or died. Prescott wrote that the only murder coming close to being investigated was in Long Branch, New Jersey. Abigail Roberts was right in figuring people were paid off. Prescott listed names and the money paid." Josiah paused for a moment, glancing at Buck, the men holding each other's gaze. "He was goin' back, Buck. Goin' back to Santa Fe to *see*..."

Buck interrupted, staggering a little as he leaned against the building, his legs no longer there. "Emma. I should of kilt that son of a bitch when I had the chance. It went against everything in me t' let that man walk. I should of went with my gut, what I knew to be right." Buck looked to Chris then. " Vin 'n you wouldn't of gone through all that 'n...."

Chris was about to speak, but Orrin did instead. Reaching a hand to Buck's shoulder, Travis gave a kindly pat and then looked to each man before he spoke. "If any one is to be blamed for allowing Prescott his reign of terror that would be me. I wanted to take down William Belknap and his cohorts badly enough to turn a blind eye to Prescott, evidence or no evidence. And because of that Chris and Vin, both, almost paid with their lives."

Chris lit up a cheroot, listening to the Judge, shaking his head as a grin came to him, softening his handsome features. "We're all so busy blamin' ourselves for this whole mess, we're forgettin' the one person that is t' blame."

J.D.'s head lifted up with surprise, appearing perplexed by Chris' statement. Buck watched the kid as J.D. looked to all the men, wondering and to Buck a little worried about who Chris would blame. "Don't git your drawers in a knot, J.D. Chris's not thinking it's one of us."

J.D. still looked puzzled and Buck threw up his hands in feigned disgust, swaggering over to the kid. "Good thing I'm here t' git ya through a day, boy. Now, how many times I got t' tell ya to start thinking, to use that head of yours fer somethin' b'sides growin' a crop of hair. I can't be with ya every second of the day, I've got other *people* dependin' on me, too."

"Buck?" J.D. was grinning wide; finally feeling like he was home and things would be all right again.

"Yeah, kid?" Buck watched J.D. fondly for a moment as his grin and realization slowly grew, matching J.D.'s.

"Thanks." J.D. pushed Buck aside playfully as he spoke. "But, I still want t' know who's t' blame."

The men all laughed, knowing J.D. was joking, playing along with Buck. The men saw the man J.D. now was, proving himself each day to be a man they could depend on with their lives. This trip brought out the best in all of them, testing them, but showing them what they meant to each other; a deep-seated bond of friendship and caring and not one of them was willing to lose that, to walk away from that, just yet.

Chris smiled. "Just to lay your concerns t' rest, J.D. I was talking about Prescott."

J.D. smiled back and nodded. "I know, Chris, but thanks."

Hiding his face beneath the flat brim of his hat, Chris grinned as he whispered softly, mostly to himself, "Thank you, J.D. Thank you."

Travis was enjoying the men's company, glad to see them joking again, each seeming easier after all the worrying of everything. All seemingly healthy, except one man whose healing, body and soul, might take some time. That guilt Travis would have a long time overcoming, forever to blame himself for risking Vin Tanner's life. "I hate to ruin a good time, but I need to know if Vin is aware of Prescott and all he's done."

"I finally talked t' him yesterday. He wasn't up to it before that. I'm not so sure, if he's even up to it, now." Chris stared down the road a bit protectively, an affectionate smile creased his lips as he and all the men watched Vin finally entering the cemetery gate.

"Ready, Chris?" Josiah waited a moment and then descended the boardwalk step as Chris nodded in agreement. Turning back to the gunman, Josiah spoke, "I'll meet ya there. Give me ten minutes, jest t' see if he's up t' talkin' on it all."

Before he left, Chris reached out a hand to Orrin Travis; gripping the Judge's hand strongly and meaningfully, giving it a few good, steady pumps. Travis smiled and returned the strong handshake, grateful for all Chris Larabee shared with that simple gesture. Chris brought a hand up to the flat, black brim of his hat, tipping it. "Judge. Boys."

"Chris." The men stood quietly for a long moment, watching Josiah head toward the cemetery and Chris, the livery. Each thoughtfully silent, each hoping Vin Tanner would be able to make peace with it all.

~ ~ ~ ~

Additional Bibliography:

1.) McCarty, John L. Maverick Town - The story of Old Tascosa, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, Publishing Division of the University, 1946, 1968, 1988.

2.) Nevins, Allan Hamilton Fish - The Inner History of the Grant Administration, Dodd, Mead & Company, New York, New York, 1936.

~ Dedicated to my niece, Elizabeth Roberts N. born March 29, 2002 ~

EPILOGUE

It was all some sort of strange and frightening game with Prescott, a man angered with the world and needing to hurt all in it. Vin did not understand that kind of hatred even though he, himself, was a man who could lay claim to it if he chose to, his suffering scarring the soul of him. He could never understand or abide hurting innocents because of the past's pain. Vin was glad to have put John Prescott down and felt neither guilt nor remorse for the killing. God forgive him for not caring...but, then Vin all at once smiled at the comforting knowledge that God did forgive him and his smile widening still at the memory of his ma waiting on him there at the edge of heaven. It was good to know she was there and he would soon have his mama back again. He could wait until it was his time to see her, born a patient man who knew how to live without most things. Yes, he could wait...

The sound of steps muffled in the witchgrass and timothy and dust, almost soundless, but clear to Vin, and him recognizing it to be Josiah. Surprisingly glad to have the man's company, Vin close to the point of exhaustion from the walk, his legs weak and his hands seemingly with a mind of their own. The tremoring of them so strong, impelled Vin to ball his right hand into a tightly clenched fist; his left hand clutching it as his long, trembling fingers nervously wrapped and rubbed over his thumb, the golden smooth back of his hand, the jutting of his knuckles and the tightly curled fingers.

Josiah saw this, but made no mention of it as he rested his hand the size of grizzly's paw upon Vin's shoulder. Lightly placed so as not to burden the weakened man further, Josiah more than sure the weight of his hand would drop Vin to his knees. Without explanation Josiah, extended his long, powerful arm around the back of Vin, catching the markman's still too thin arm into his embracing, supportive grip. "Appears ya need a hand 'n as luck would have it, I got myself two fer the takin'."

"Josiah..."

The preacher continued to grip his arm tightly around the recovering man, guiding him toward Bridget's grave undeterred by Vin's small protest. Vin tried to break free of the Josiah's hold, but Josiah held firmly as he gave a strong, reassuring squeeze to Tanner's bicep as he spoke, "Pride goes before destruction, And a haughty spirit before a fall." * Proverbs 16:18

"I ain't got much pride t' speak of lately, Josiah. B'n so damn enfeebled fer weeks now...ya'll carin' 'n doin' fer me like I'm some newborn babe. I ain't got no damn pride left."

"That ain't so 'n ya know it. Yer a good man with a good name. Yer a Tanner 'n ya fought hard t' git that back, but lettin' that pride git in the way of good sense, now that'll only lead t' a fall. 'N in yer case I think we can take that literally." Josiah grinned largely and Vin could not help, but grin back, liking Sanchez from the moment they first shook hands, the preacher's grip strong and honest and kindly. Vin could read men quicker than a lightning strike and he read Josiah well, knowing right off he was a man he could trust and Vin the happier because of it, glad to be riding with him.

They reached the gravesite, Josiah not needing to ask Vin's intentions and Vin grateful, not wanting to explain it all; he, himself, unsure of the reasons why he came to Bridget's grave. Knowing Chris and Nathan thought his vision was pure hogwash, and also knowing Larabee tried his best to believe him brought a smile to Vin and a feeling of joy. A warmth so deep and strong, though not completely unfamiliar to him; the memory of a mother's embrace, a nighttime song, the light touch of a kiss; and the memory of a lover, his Lizzie, giving herself to him and he to her, open and unafraid. Yes, he remembered that feeling well, keeping it close to his heart and bringing it to him, calling it to mind over and over on those unending, lonesome nights. Nettie, too, gave him so much and Vin was not willing to wander, to stray, not willing to lose it all again.

Remembering, waking from his fever to find ivory beads wrapped around his hand, and Vin knew them to be of importance, feeling Bridget close to him. When Josiah told him they were Bridget's, Vin knew before her name was spoken. She whispered it in his ear, in his heart while he slept and Vin felt her joy, her peace. Thank you, she said to him, thank you. Such release he felt at those few words, no longer burdened for the past wrongs. All things made right, all things completed, Bridget at peace and his name untarnished. No matter to him who believed or disbelieved, Vin knew he stood on the hanging road not long ago and saw his eternal life through God's vision and grateful for the gift.

With a great deal of help from Josiah, Vin lowered himself down and sat cross-legged Indian-fashion on a patch of grasses, cool and gentle to his touch, unaware of his body's trembling and Josiah not sure if it was from exhaustion or sorrow. Both quiet then, each man praying silently in their own way. A few moments later, Vin rose unsteadily, though still with customary grace, feeling around in his hide coat's pocket for something, his full-arced eyebrows pinched closely together in concentration, his features finally relaxing as he pulled the ivory rosary beads out and gripped them tightly, protectively in his hand. Walking over to the plain wooden cross, Vin slowly read out Bridget's name written in black paint still bright, (but, all too soon would be turning a ghostly gray) grateful for his newly learned skill. A whisper as gentle and hushed as a child's slumbering breath reached Josiah, achingly sorrowful, hauntingly lonely, and beautifully poignant as Vin read aloud: "Bridget Rose O'Brien. Born on September the 1st, 1852." He then let the rosary drop from his hand, allowing the cross to dangle from his slender fingers as it shone brilliantly in the end-of-summer sun. The shadows longer as evening was coming on and fall not too far off; things soon to be taking on the glow and hues of autumn.

Draping the rosary with great care over the graveside cross, Vin painstakingly adjusted the crucifix to hang as close to Bridget's name as he could, somehow hoping this would offer Bridget God's special keeping. Josiah watched silently, retrieving his Bible ready to read a few passages, the ones he knew Vin liked most from the times Josiah read to him, but stopped up short when Vin turned toward him, his blue eyes forlornly pleading. Josiah nodded to Vin, aware the man needed desperately to talk; Josiah remaining quiet, as he was fearful that one wrong move, one misplaced touch or sound would send Vin running. Josiah waited as Vin turned away from him with a thin sigh, the man seemingly unable to breath let alone be able to speak. But, then he did and Josiah listened.

"Never thought m'self t' be a man that run from things." Vin hung his head, hiding under the softly slouched brim of his hat, not looking at Josiah as he talked.

"Ain't never seen ya run from nothing or nobody, Vin." Josiah placed a hand on Vin's shoulder. "Sit b'fore ya fall."

Vin followed the length of Josiah's arm and stopped his gaze short of Josiah's face, nodding at the request and allowing Josiah to help him to the ground. Again, Vin sat cross-legged, not strong enough to crouch down on his haunches, frustrated at his slow and painful recovery. Nathan often reminded him how close he came to dying, even though Vin was fully aware of how close, deciding some weeks ago to stop repeating his story to the healer about his near walk along the hanging road, disgusted with the raised eyebrows and offhand nods. Josiah waited as Vin gathered his thoughts.

"I ain't a man runs from death. Ain't afraid of no gun or arrows, knives or any of the men b'hind 'em." Vin looked penetratingly at Josiah for a long moment and Josiah deciding a silent nod was the best response. "But, I'm a man running from a hell of a lot of other things."

"Running from what, Vin?" Again Josiah weighed his words, gentling the man like a skittish colt close to bolting. Then taking in a deeply surprised breath, Josiah suddenly aware of his own thinking, his own worrying about Vin *running*, and he just now denied this to Vin, realizing with a start he did believe exactly *that* about the man.

"B'n runnin' since I was five. Since my ma died 'n I kept on runnin'." Vin tried to stand, changing his mind; his hands extended flat on the grass beside his legs, decided instead to pluck a yellowed- jackstraw stem, placing it between his teeth, and then removing it clasped between his thumb and forefinger. "Run from the foundling's home when I was a little feller, run from the prison during the war, tried t' run from my own life, tried t' end it." Vin slowly raised his left arm level and turned it over looking at his wrist. Though no scars were visible, his forearm covered by his shirtsleeve, Vin saw them clearly.

Josiah physically winced, wanting to grant Vin resolution, wanting Vin to gain an understanding of that choice made. "During my travels when I was a younger man, I encountered a fella that had spent some time in distant lands, exotic, faraway places 'n he told me of these lands, the people 'n all he saw. I was enraptured 'n caught the wayfarer's fever right off, though I never did git as far as I'd had hoped to. Recently, one of his stories came back t' me about a tribe that lived free 'n untamed, keepin' t' themselves, payin' little heed to other tribes 'n the whites coming to their lands. They lived only in the here 'n now, no thought of tomorrow or the next day or the next and what might be the next year or the year after that. He claimed they would die if they were imprisoned, not being able to see beyond that moment, not believing they would ever be free again. You were a boy not able t' see beyond that moment. You believed as these people believed that you would never be free again, choosing to set yourself free the only way you knew how. Ain't that 'bout right, Vin?"

Tears pooled a moment in Vin's eyes as he dropped his head down to his arm, swiping his coat sleeve impatiently across his face. A small nod given to Josiah as the preacher watched a quiet relief settle over Vin, the man finally making peace with that choice. "Thank ya fer that, Josiah. Thank ya. I thought I was done with it back in Santa Fe, but it kept gorgin' up on me, no matter how much I tried t' keep it down."

Vin took a deep, calming breath, continuing to speak of his days running, his choices made, telling the story mainly to himself. Setting it all out before him as he tried to gain an understanding and perhaps acceptance of it all. "I was on the run again not too much after the war, runnin' from Elizabeth 'n then the bounty. Carried a lot shame 'cause of that, hurtin' my ma 'n the Tanner name." A soul-deep sigh then as Vin put the grass stem between his even teeth. "N' then I up 'n run from Bridget. Mebbe, if'n I stopped runnin' Bridget would of b'n alive t'day."

"Bridget's dyin' weren't yer fault, Vin. No one's fault, but one man 'n that man was John Prescott." Josiah placed his hands on Vin's shoulders, not speaking until the man looked him in the eye. "Ya brought Bridget happiness, Vin. Even if ya think ya didn't do enough fer her, ya did. She started believin' in herself again, she wanted t' live again. That was b'cause of you, Vin Tanner. Ya gave her that before she died. Ya gave her back her self-respect."

"Nice words, Josiah."

"Not jest words, Vin. It's the truth of things."

"Mebbe...mebbe."

"Ya brought peace to Bridget 'n a lot of other women. Ya gave them rest 'n you saved all those women that would have died by Prescott's hands."

"I ain't no hero. Killin' ain't nothin' t' be proud of whether it was deservin' or not."

"I don't abide killin' either, but sometimes it's a necessary evil. Maybe this might help." Josiah opened the Bible, finding the page he wanted and turned back to Vin. "This is Psalm 35 verse 4 and 5." Josiah again looked at Vin before reading, satisfied the man was listening, began: "Let those be put to shame and brought to dishonor who seek after my life; Let those be turned back and brought to confusion who plot my hurt. Let them be like chaff before the wind, and let the angel of the Lord chase them." Josiah looked up then, watching Vin who was watching him. "Does that help some, Vin?"

"I reckon, Josiah." Vin smiled. "I'm all right 'bout a lot of things now. Makin' peace with the choices I made 'cause I was able t' set things right. Bridget findin' peace herself..." Vin shifted his gaze to Josiah wondering if Chris and Nathan told him about his *deliriums*. The preacher only nodded to him, so Vin continued. " 'N my name gittin' cleared. Life is life 'n it goes the way it wants t' go 'n mebbe were jes' lucky t' end up somewhere not so bad. 'N this place here, well it ain't so bad."

"No, it ain't so bad." Josiah smiled broadly and gave a strong squeeze to Vin's shoulder. "Ya done sayin' yer good-byes, Vin?"

"Reckon everythin' that needed t' be said 'n done was said 'n done awhile back." Vin allowed Josiah to help him up and suddenly smiled at the voice behind him.

"Ready t' go, Vin?" Chris smiled as he clasped his hand on Vin's forearm, Vin unsteady on his feet and more then a little weary.

"Was born ready, cowboy." Vin chuffed out a laugh, quickly encircling his abdomen with his arm, the pain still considerable.

"You don't hardly look ready fer nothin', but a good long rest." Chris grabbed hold of Vin's arm and led him toward Peso. "Brought yer mount 'cause we ain't feelin' like waitin' up on ya all night."

"Ya'll got a hell of a nerve. I ain't that slow..."

"Vin?" Chris gripped the back of Tanner's neck with slender fingers, an affectionate tug and a quick squeeze given. A wide grin covered Chris' face, making him look similar to the boy he once was and Chris feeling nearly as carefree.

"Yeah?" Vin looked into Chris' eyes, then smiled.

"Shut up." Laughter then as the three men walked from the cemetery, two protectively placed alongside the one; and Vin more than grateful for that.

~ ~ ~ ~

Abigail Roberts watched the sun settle itself comfortably atop the distant hills, waiting quietly, as it was nearly close to setting. Overwhelming joy filled her as she felt a slight movement within, all at once bringing a smile to her now fuller face; seeming to glow far more brilliantly these past few weeks and more so in the sun's fleeting strength. She placed her hands gently, lovingly over her swollen abdomen ever grateful for Vin Tanner and for God's generous gift.

Abigail Roberts no longer questioned life's choices or direction; allowing herself to flow like leaves in a serenely wandering stream, forever drifting directionless and wild and blissfully free, forever dancing before the wind.

THE END

~ ~ ~ ~

Author's Note: I feel a need to indulge myself a bit as it has been a long time in getting to this point, almost ten months of writing this piece of fiction. Much longer than I had ever anticipated and far more involved than I thought I could possibly write, as I mainly wrote short stories and prose. There are many people I want to acknowledge and feel it is fitting and proper to do so. With that said, I would like to thank Jo Belasco for meticulously and caringly posting my story, though her time was at a minimum. Thank you Jo from the bottom of my heart. I would like to thank my husband, Paul for pulling more than his fair share while I wrote this story. I would also like to give a heartfelt thank you to all those faithful readers that wrote to me each and every post with great enthusiasm and generosity. ~ You know who you are and you know how much it has meant to me ~ Thank you Teresa C., Judy, Morgen M., Deirdre, Jan, Annie, Joan C., Mel, Winnie, Ninheve, Becky, and all that have written me to tell me you are reading and enjoying the story. All your interest and encouragement have been sincerely appreciated and was a constant motivator. You all have given me so much. Thank you for taking this journey with me. It's been one hell of a ride.

"My heart is happier because of you."

Kimberly April 18, 2002

Please email (KBJ) Kimberly with any comments.