DISCLAIMER: The characters used are the property of MGM and Trilogy. No financial or creative rights are claimed to the characters from the Magnificent Seven television series.
RATING: PG mild cussing.
SPECIAL THANKS: To Sarah Bartholomew and Sue Necessary for beta-reading. To quote Sue: "No Vins were hurt in the writing of this fic."
The winter held Four Corners in its grip; talons of ice and a breath of frost, bone-cracking cold that seemed to suck the warmth from every living thing. No one could remember a winter like this one. Indian lore spoke of a legendary winter called the Starving Time, but no white man had ever lived through it. Four Corners had not even been a thought during that long ago era, but it was here now, and its endurance was being tested.
The saloon was crowded. As the one place that offered not only warmth but liquor, light and entertainment, it was a lodestone for the residents, weary of the cold, of the dry, searing wind, of the snow that was driven like needles into exposed flesh. Why not grab a drink, play a hand of cards, try to forget that in a few hours you would have to go out again into the darkness and cold?
Ezra Standish surveyed the crowd that had gathered. This cold snap was the best thing that had happened to his bank account all year. Boredom and liquor were a powerful combination; the boredom drove men to play cards, the liquor made them reckless, and that was making Ezra rich — or at least what passed for rich in a dirt-poor town like Four Corners. Visions of a trip to New Orleans were beginning to play in Ezra's head. Someplace warm, where he could eat in the finest restaurants, shop in a haberdashery and refurbish his wardrobe with custom shirts of cotton as soft as silk with ruffled fronts and cuffs as white and dazzling as the snow outside. Whiskey that didn't scour your throat raw, and women with skin like strawberries and cream ... Lord, but he could see it now ...
Reality intruded with a gust of wind that made the patrons seated nearest the doorway curse and grab for their coat collars. It did not warm noticeably before it hit Ezra, dashing his daydreams to bits of ice. Chris and Buck came in on the heels of the cold. Buck so muffled up in scarves that the only his eyes were visible between the wool and the brim of his hat. Chris' familiar black duster was spangled with snow and his hat was pulled down low to block the winds. A long black muffler was wound around his throat. If they'd walked into a bank instead of a saloon, the tellers would have hit the floor.
Chris hooked an ankle around a chair and pulled it over to the table that was unofficially reserved for the seven peacekeepers. He threw his gloves down on the table in disgust. "Coffee, Buck!" he rasped out. "It's too damn cold fer whiskey." He reconsidered. "Hell, bring 'em both."
Buck leaned over the bar. "Como estas, Inez?" he drawled. Inez was sheltering behind the bar. She was wrapped in a red wool shawl, and still shivered. "Senor Buck ..." her teeth were chattering. "How should I be? I am cold. Like ice. Feel my hands!" She extended her fingers and Buck pulled off his gloves. His own hands were warm. Always warm. Inez moaned. "I swear, Buck — I never thought I would say this, but will you hold my hand all night?"
"Sweetcakes, if you think my hands are warm ..."
Buck's eyes were twinkling and despite herself, Inez laughed. "Thank you very much, senor. But at the moment, it is only my hands that are cold."
"I could warm them against my heart, darlin'. And you'd never be cold, again."
"Sweet talk, Buck. But cup of hot coffee is more dependable than a man." She pulled her hands away, gave Buck a bottle of whisky and ordered one of the girls helping her to bring the coffee to their table.
Chris was slouched there, his long muffler loosened, but not unwound. He still looked cold; he still *was* cold. When he wrapped his lean fingers around the mug of coffee set in front of him, he could barely suppress a sigh of relief. Lord, it felt like that wind had cut to his very bones. He looked around him. The laughter of the people in the saloon had a desperate edge to it that he recognized. He'd heard it before, after the war when folks were trying to make the best of the misery that had dogged them for four long years. It was a false comfort. In a few hours they would have go to out into the cold and face the Starving Time. Hell. And Christmas was right around the corner. Wouldn't be much of a holiday unless the weather relented. Not that it mattered to him. Memories of the time he'd had with Sarah and Adam, that was all the Christmas he needed for the rest of his life.
Buck watched the expressions chase across Chris' hard face. He could always tell when he was beating himself up over something. And he reckoned he knew what it was. Same as it always was this time of year. He felt sorry for Chris, but it wasn't like he could tell the man that. He'd have a razor at Buck's throat in an instant for even suggesting that he was an object of sympathy. Secretly Buck had hoped that Mary Travis would ask Chris to spend the holiday with her and Billy, but Judge Travis had caught the ague and was laid up at home and Mary had gone to take care of him until he was back on his feet. So Chris was spending Christmas alone with his misery and his memories.
Christmas. What the hell did it mean to any of the seven? Buck's own memories weren't exactly heartwarming. Growing up in a bordello had given him an unusual education, but it sure wasn't something he looked back on with pleasure. Best his ma could say about Christmas Eve was that there weren't too many customers and the ones they had were pretty drunk and feeling generous with it. He remembered one whore, German Mary, they called her. She was a buxom farm girl with yellow braids thicker than a man's wrist, and skin like new milk. She convinced the madam of the house to put up a Christmas tree, and string it with cranberries and pine cones. Buck remembered that tree. He'd been eight years old, and thought it was nigh the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. Must've worked some sort of magic, 'cause German Mary ended up Mrs. Hans Schmidt by the following Christmas. After she'd left, there were no more trees. Guess the Madam was afraid she'd lose more girls to holy wedlock.
A fresh gust of wind tore into the room as the doors swung open to admit J.D. and Vin. Now, them, Buck could pity. They'd been waiting for the stage to come so they could hand off a prisoner to higher authorities. J.D.'s fair skin was red with windburn and that hat he insisted on wearing couldn't possibly keep his ears warm. He was walking stiffly, too, like the cold had seeped into his joints. "Hey, kid!" Buck hollered. "Cold enough fer ya?"
J.D. managed a grin. "This ain't nuthin' Buck. Back east, we get that damp cold that kind of hangs on and creeps down the back of your neck. Ain't nuthin' like a Boston cold spell. You've just got that thin Southern blood my ma told me about." He sat at the table, took off his gloves and began rubbing his fingers. "And the snow — this here fluffy stuff'd make a real Yankee laugh. Can't even make a decent snowball with it, it's so light and dry. Real snow is heavy and wet. And it sticks to your boots so's you can't hardly move."
"Well, kid. This snow's real 'nuff fer me." Buck shoved a mug of coffee across the table. "Here, warm yer middle. Vin?"
Tanner hadn't said a word. He slouched in his chair, his buffalo hide jacket wrapped tight to his chin. His fine features were pale with cold. Buck figured he had to feel it; hell, there wasn't an ounce of fat on that slim frame, and that old coat had seen better days, sure 'nough. But Vin held on to it like it was lined with gold. "Vin, you want some coffee?"
"Sure." One word, in a voice so tight that it wouldn't betray him by shaking. Buck nodded and splashed a generous dollop of whiskey in the mug. Vin didn't drink much, but he sure looked like he could use something hot inside him. "You hand McClaren over to the federal marshall?"
"Yeah. Kept grousin' about how mean we was to make him wait out in the cold. Like we wasn't waitin' there with him." Vin reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He grinned, his blue eyes narrowed and shining. "But that there Marshall gave us a hunnert bucks reward. I reckon that's worth freezin' fer an hour."
Ezra materialized at the table as if by magic. Money had that effect on him. "Well, well. The angels have been watchin' over us this Christmas."
Buck's big hand came down over the pile of bills. "Wait a minute, Ez. I don't recall you ridin' out after McClaren."
Ezra opened his mouth, then closed it. "You would deny me my share as one of this august company?"
Vin looked around at the crowded saloon. "Ain't you rakin' in enough, Ezra? Shoot, I ain't seen this place so busy since yer ma left town."
Ezra's cheeks reddened. Maude's abrupt exit was a sore point with him; even the mention of her name seemed to set him off on an angry tangent. Chris stepped in before the situation could escalate into an argument with Ezra slicing into Vin with words the tracker couldn't half understand, and Vin responding the only way he could, with stony silence and buried hurt.
"Easy, Ez. I ain't so sure Vin ain't right," Chris interjected. "I wasn't there, either. As I recall, Vin brought McClaren in, and he should have the reward."
"I ain't left the room, Chris!" Vin's soft objection carried the weight of a shout in the silence. "I'll take my share, but it ain't right fer me to have it all. Maybe I was the one that brought McClaren in, but J.D. here had 'im in the jail, and Buck was with me on the trail, 'til his horse pulled up lame. So's I can't say I did it alone, now. Can I?" He pushed the bills over to Chris. "You take care of this 'til we can straighten it out." He shoved himself away from the table and strode out of the saloon, seeming to take the warmth with him.
J.D. stared after him. "What's wrong with him? You'd think he'd be happy to have the money. A hundred bucks — a man could do something with that."
Chris played idly with the money. "I reckon that's part of the problem, kid. Vin don't know what to do with it. Don't think he's ever had that much to hisself in his life."
"B-but he used to be a bounty hunter, right?"
Chris snorted. "Yeah. But you ain't never seen him live like he's got more'n two pennies to rub together, have you?" He gathered up the bills into a bundle and handed over to Ezra. "Put that in yer safe, will ya, Ez."
Ezra's eyebrow rose. "Are you sure you trust me with this, Mr. Larabee?" He was still smarting from Buck's earlier comment. "Mr. Wilmington seemed to think that I was not fit to share in this windfall."
Buck let the legs of his chair down with a thump. "Hell, Ezra. I didn't mean it that way. Yer techier than a cat in a kennel. And we ain't decided if we oughtta share. Chris?"
Larabee shook his head. "Take it, Ez. I trust you as much as I trust anyone."
Wondering if he should be honored by that cryptic comment, Ezra took the money from Chris and stalked off towards the back room. Buck shook his head, and poured an inch of whiskey into his coffee cup. "You gonna talk to Vin, pard?" he asked Chris.
"Yeah. We'll work somethin' out." He looked at J.D. "You've got some stake in this. What do you think? Split, or give it to Vin?"
J.D. was silent for a moment. His share, if the reward were divvied up three ways would be over thirty dollars. He had his eye on a new saddle at the livery, and had thought that with a little extra cash he could buy Casey something real pretty — like that shiny gold necklace with the little pearl strung on it, he'd seen at the store. His eyes took on a dreamy cast as he imagined Casey asking him to fasten it for her, and maybe even giving him a kiss in return ...
"Hey, kid! You with us?" Buck jabbed his arm and J.D. started from his daydream.
"Yeah, whatever you decide." He struggled with his own selfish wants for a moment and then sighed. "I reckon Vin was the one who took the risks. He should have it all."
Chris turned serious green eyes to Buck. "And you?"
"Hell, Chris. I could buy myself some real nice times with that kinda money, but it'd be gone afore you could blink yer eyes. All I did was ride out five miles, turn around, and head on back. Didn't hardly break a sweat. Wouldn't be fair to say I done more than that."
Chris rose, tightened his muffler around his throat and buttoned up his coat. "I'll find Vin and tell him what we've decided." He had no real hope that Vin would accept his good fortune, but Hell, it was Christmas and a man deserved *something* to call his own. Even if it was just his memories.
After he left the saloon, Vin wandered down the street towards the room he took when the weather was too inclement even for him. But as he got closer, he kept on walking right on down the street, ignoring the cold that cut to his bones and made his lungs ache. He found himself standing outside Josiah's church and stood there in the wind, just staring at the lantern light glowing through the windows. It looked warm, inviting, even though he knew it was still a ruin, despite Josiah's hard work. He hesitated, shivering on the doorstep, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened and Josiah's big silhouette filled the entrance.
"Brother Tanner," Josiah's voice seemed to rumble from the roots of his lungs. "Come in out of the cold." When Tanner didn't make a move, Josiah reached out and pulled him inside by the front of his coat. "Get in here before the cold freezes your body the way it done froze yer mind."
"I-I'm alright, J-Josiah," Vin stuttered.
"Just froze half to death, boy. Come over by the fire before you shake yer bones loose." He drew the unresisting tracker into the circle of warmth provided by the small hearth. It was nearly as cold outside the reaches of the light as it was outdoors. Josiah wore gloves with the fingers cut out, and a wool bandanna knotted around his throat just to keep himself tolerably warm. But at least he had a roof over his head, and the Lord out there somewhere keepin' watch over him.
Vin crouched by the fire and held his hands out towards the flames. The light played over his features, and Josiah wondered what was on Tanner's mind. He wasn't a man for words; claimed he was ignorant, but Josiah knew better. Those weary blue eyes had seen more of this world than any scholar in an ivory tower, and the boy had lived a life that no one would envy. Josiah figured he would talk when he was ready, and rose to pour some coffee into a mug that he shoved into Tanner's fingers.
"This'd take the hide off a mule, Brother Tanner, but it'll chase the chill outta you."
Vin nodded. He wanted to talk to Josiah, but didn't know where to start. Maybe if he just started. "I got a hunnert bucks fer puttin' McClaren behind bars," he said.
"Congratulations are in order, then."
Vin shook his head, his long, light hair brushing against his shoulders. "It don't seem right, somehow, Josiah."
"You've been a bounty hunter, Vin," Josiah said quietly.
"Yeah, afore I had a bounty on my own head. I reckon I don't like lookin' at it from the other side." He sighed, staring into the fire. "McClaren robbed banks, Josiah. He didn't kill no one. Everyone thinks I done this huge courageous thing, bringin' him in, but it warn't like that. Fer God's sake, he was asleep when I found him," Vin's soft voice took on a note of disgust. "I walked right up to where he was lyin', stuck my gun in his throat, and told him ta give up. He didn't fight, he just stared at me with them sad eyes and said he supposed his run was up. I don't deserve no reward for bringin' in a man like that."
"The folks who put up the reward think otherwise, brother. Why not take it? There must be something that you want for yourself." Josiah was honestly curious.
"There ain't nuthin' I want, Josiah. I've got more now than I've ever had in my life. I got a good horse, a good gun. I got a roof over my head when I want it, and food on my table that I don't gotta hunt if I don't want to. If'n I had that money, would I have more than I have now?"
There were other things he might have added to that modest list that were not exactly possessions; he had friends and a place in this world where he belonged. They filled his hungry heart more than any amount of gold could. But he would not give voice to those.
Into that stretch of silence, the sounds of booted footsteps intruded like gunshots. The church door banged open and Josiah snatched up a long plank. Vin's gun was in his hand before he could think and both men stood ready to defend Josiah's church. Nathan Jackson stood there, his hands raised in surrender.
"Whoa, there. I ain't comin' to rob you, Josiah." He came inside, looking around. "Vin."
Vin put his rifle down. "Howdy, Nathan. Should know better'n ta sneak up on a man."
"I didn' think I was sneakin.' Josiah, c'n I speak to you?" He jerked his head to the side and Josiah cast Vin an apologetic look.
"What is it?"
"I ain't alone. I got some folks with me. Ran into 'em outside town. They need someplace to stay, and I figgered there might be room here."
"Lord, why didn't you say so instead of actin' like it's some big secret. Bring 'em in, Nathan. It ain't much warmer in here, but they're welcome to what there is."
Nathan's voice dropped to a whisper. "They ... well, they ain't like us, Josiah."
Josiah's eyes narrowed. "Unless they have two heads, they are like us." He wasn't quite sure what Nathan was driving at, and he had never seen bigotry in the ex-slave, so he was pretty certain Nathan's hesitation wasn't due to that. "Bring 'em in."
Vin had watched the exchange silently. His hearing was acute enough to know what they were talking about, and it didn't matter to him who Nathan brought in as long as it wasn't someone after his head. He nodded at Josiah and rose to leave. "See ya, pard. Thanks fer the coffee." He was heading towards the door, when Nathan returned, followed by three people. A man, a woman, and a child.
The man wore a long black coat similar to Chris' duster, and a broad-brimmed black hat. He had a full beard, and locks of dark hair hung over his ears. The woman at his side had beautiful almond-shaped eyes, but they were sunk in shadows, and her face was pinched with cold and perhaps illness. Vin could tell from the bulk beneath her shawl that she was due to have another baby, soon. Her son was a beardless miniature of his father, hiding behind her skirts.
The man came forward and spoke in a heavily accented voice. "I am AaronWiesenthal. This is my wife, Rebecca, and my son, Joseph. How can I thank you for your hospitality?"
Josiah shook his head. "I reckon you just did. Come closer to the fire. Vin —" he gestured to a chair on the far side of the chapel, and Vin carried it over to the hearth.
"Ma'am?" Rebecca Wiesenthal sank down wearily. She nodded to him in thanks, but didn't speak. Vin thought that perhaps she didn't understand English. He ain't never seen folks dressed like that, but he figured there were lots of things in this world that he hadn't seen.
"Where you folks from?" he asked.
Wiesenthal smiled. "From Germany. We were traveling to San Francisco."
Josiah whistled. "That's a long way to come alone."
The man's mouth tightened. "We did not come alone. We were with a wagon train. We left it three days ago."
"Why?" Josiah asked.
Wiesenthal shrugged. "What does it matter, now?"
"They was robbed," Nathan said bluntly. "Found their wagon stuck in a baranca, 'bout five miles outta town. Wheel's busted, food's either stolen or gone bad. Most of their belongings gone, too."
"Who done it?" Vin asked. His voice was tight with anger. "Mebbe Chris n' me can go after 'em, get something back."
"Not in this weather you ain't," Nathan said. "Says they came at night. Didn't hurt no one, just stole what they could and took off. Mighta been Injuns, mighta been someone more desperate than they are. This winter's been tough on everyone."
"Don't make it right," Vin said. He saw tears glittering in the woman's eyes. Her son was hiding his face in her side and shakin' with cold or fear. Poor kid. Probably scairt ta death. Vin knew a thing or two about being scairt and losin' things that were precious. He hadn't had much in his life, but he knew what it felt like when it was ripped away. And he knew what it was like to have people look at you cross-eyed 'cause you was different. The man hadn't said so, but Vin surmised that was the reason they had left the wagon train. "I reckon I'll be movin' on, Josiah. G'night, Nathan." He tipped his hat and seemed to drift out of the room like smoke.
Chris walked quickly towards the church. He'd looked everywhere else for Vin and couldn't think of another place he would have gone. Vin had more sense than to ride out in this cold; at least Chris hoped he did. To make sure, he had stopped at the livery and found Peso in his stall. Thank God for that much mercy. He looked at the lights in the windows of Josiah's chapel, and was pretty certain that was where the tracker had headed. Damn, it was cold!
He saw Tanner's slim figure step outside. "Hey, there, Vin. I got some news fer you."
Vin waited for Chris to catch up to him. "What is it?"
"Buck and J.D., they figure you're entitled to the reward. Looks like you got yourself a hundred dollars."
"I don't want it." Vin turned away. "But thanks fer tellin' me."
"Vin —" Chris snagged him by the sleeve. "A hundred dollars — a man could do a lot with that. Maybe even buy his name clear ..."
Vin stopped in his tracks. "In case you fergot, Chris, the bounty on me is five hunnert." His eyes burned blue and angry. He jerked his arm from Larabee's grip. "See ya, pard."
"Vin! Goddamnit — it's too cold to stand out here arguin' with you."
"I ain't askin' you t'argue." But his anger was gone, and he walked with Chris to the jail. Aside from a drunk who'd imbibed too much of Ezra's holiday cheer and had wrecked his room, the cells were empty. Chris threw another shovel of coal into the stove and poured two whiskies. He dragged another chair over to the desk and they sat drinking until the warmth of the stove drew the chill from their bodies.
Chris downed the last swallow of his whiskey and considered his friend through narrowed eyes. "Okay, Vin. You've got a hundred dollars starin' you in the face, and you won't even take a look. Why?"
Vin stared down into the amber liquid in the glass. "Hell, Chris. Would a hunnert bucks buy you the one thing that you want more'n anything else?"
Those words hit Chris like a punch in the guts; clear knocked the wind out of him. There wasn't enough money in the world to buy back Sarah and Adam. "Go to Hell, Vin," he said softly, damning his perception. Those blue eyes cut into him like razors.
"Well, then y'know how I feel, Chris. All my life, I ain't had much. But ever'thing that was good, warn't the sort of thing you c'n buy with money. And what I could buy, ain't gonna make a damn bit o' difference in the long run. It just don't seem right, somehow." He fell silent for a moment. "Be like pourin' a pitcher of water into the desert. Nuthin' but a damn waste."
"You might want it someday, pard." Chris said.
Vin's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Someday might never come. B'sides, I got me a steady job. Dollar a day and meals."
Chris heaved a sigh. Arguing with Vin was like a dog chasin' his own tail. No way he could win. "Listen, pard. I understand what you're sayin', and I ain't gonna push. But now I've got this problem. A hundred dollars sittin' in Ezra's safe, and no one to claim it."
"Give it to J.D. and Buck. I'm sure they'll think of sumthin'."
"Then I'll have Ezra in the sulks."
"You keep it, Chris."
"Jesus, Vin!" Chris laughed helplessly. "There ain't no way in hell, I'm gettin' stuck in the middle here. Never been in a situation like this. A hundred bucks that nobody wants. It ain't natural!" He wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. Vin was staring into the coals, his eyes reflecting the reddish light. His brow was furrowed in thought. "Alright, Chris. Reckon I'll take it."
Chris heaved a sigh. "Let's go get it then, before you change yer mind on me." When they walked into the Saloon, Buck and J.D. were still sitting at the table, playing a desultory hand of cards. It was late, and most of the patrons had finally accepted the fact that they would have to bundle up and return to wherever they called home. Ezra was standing behind the bar, polishing glasses and putting them away. When Chris and Vin returned, he looked up, grinning, his gold tooth shining in the light.
"Gentlemen, the bar is closed."
Chris snorted. "Have a good evenin', Ezra?"
"Mr. Larabee, I had an excellent evenin', and as long as this fortuitous cold spell graces our fair city, there is nothin' but profits as far as the horizon."
Chris regarded him with a jaundiced eye. He could tell Ezra that the longer the cold snap lasted, the more folks would need money to buy feed for their livestock, fuel for their stoves and hearths, warmer clothes — hell, they might even start pullin' up stakes and movin'. No tellin' what damage the cold was doin' to the land and crops, and the game so many folks depended on for food. He could tell him, but not tonight. "Ezra, open yer safe and give Vin his money."
When Ezra returned from the back room, he held the stack of bills in his hand, as if weighing it for accuracy. "I'd be more than willin' to retain this for safekeeping, Mr. Tanner."
Vin eyed Ezra for a moment before his face lit with laughter. "Hell, Ez. You afraid it'll burn a hole in my pocket?"
"It had crossed my mind," Ezra muttered. He slapped the bills into Tanner's outstretched hand. "I could offer you some guidance on ... shall we say, investments?"
"That's mighty kind of you, but I figger I c'n look after it myself. I got my eye on a few *investments* of my own."
Ezra shook his head. "I can't say I have much faith in your discretion."
Vin's expression softened. "I reckon you don't have to, Ez." He turned to Chris. "Thanks, pard."
"Sure." He wasn't quite sure what Vin was thinking. There was something on the tracker's mind; he'd seen that look before when Vin was figuring out a problem. "Well, I gotta get back to the jail." He tightened his muffler around his throat. "You comin', Vin?"
"Later. I got some business ta take care of first." He stowed the stack of money inside his coat, tucked his bandanna inside his shirt collar, and headed out.
Chris exchanged looks with the other peacekeepers. "It's his business." He shrugged, pulled his hat lower over his eyes, and went into the cold, hard night.
Vin pushed the chapel door open. The lights were still burning, but turned down low. Josiah and Wiesenthal were sitting close to the fire, talking softly. Nearby, Rebecca was bending over her son, now sleeping curled up on a pew and covered with an Indian blanket. She moved awkwardly, but her hands lingered with love as she tucked its woolen folds around his little body. Vin's heart constricted in his breast. Somewhere, hazy in his memory, was a feeling like that. Of soft, warm hands, and a sweet face bending near. A scent like honey and fresh air, and his mother's blue eyes. He sighed, and all his doubts fled.
"Josiah?"
The preacher looked up and saw him in the shadows. "Excuse me, Mr. Wiesenthal." He came to Vin's side. "Is something wrong?"
"No." Vin stuck his hand inside his jacket. He held out the money to Josiah. "It's mine to do what I want with," he said defensively when he saw the surprise in Josiah's eyes. "I told you I got ever'thing I need. But them folks, they got nuthin'. So you give it to them, Josiah."
"Why don't you?"
A look very close to panic crossed Tanner's face. "I cain't do that, Josiah." He shook his head, "And I don't want 'em to know where it came from, either. Tell 'em it's from — hell, I don't know ... jist don't tell'em it's from me."
Josiah laid a hand on Tanner's slim shoulder. "Bless you, brother."
A blush burned Vin's cheeks. "Don't the Bible say it's better ta give than get?"
"Somethin' like that." Josiah smiled. Vin touched his hat and vanished into the night.
Josiah returned to the fire and crouched next to Wiesenthal. He offered the stack of bills. "This should see your way to San Francisco and help replace some of your possessions."
Aaron Wiesenthal looked at the cash as if it had been produced by a miracle. "So much money!" His gaze traveled around the ramshackle chapel. "But surely, you have need of this yourself."
Josiah shook his head. "My mission isn't built of bricks and mortar, brother. My mission is to serve God and his people. All of his people."
Wiesenthal studied the money. "Where did it come from?"
Josiah grinned, thinking of Vin's face, and the peace he had seen there. "Angels bending near, Brother Wiesenthal. Angels bending near."
Chris waited in the darkness, his breath coming in clouds of steam and growing colder by the minute. He had seen Tanner go into the chapel and had followed him. He figured Vin had gone to Josiah with the money, but he didn't know why. Out of curiosity, he had lingered by one of the broken windows and had looked in, to see Josiah and a stranger speaking earnestly to each other. He saw a woman, bending tenderly over a child, and Vin standing in the shadows, watching her with a yearning expression. Chris felt his own throat aching with remembered loss. He figured he knew where Vin was *investing* his money. He would get the whole story from Josiah later. Meanwhile, his friend was lookin' mighty lonesome.
He walked quickly back to the jail, checked on his sleeping prisoner, and re-stoked the fire in the stove. By the time Vin came through the door, Chris was sitting with his booted feet on the desk and his hat tipped over his eyes. When he heard Vin, he flipped his hat back.
"You solve your problem?"
Vin pulled up a chair. "Yeah. I did," he sighed. "Warn't so hard."
"Good."
They sat in companionable silence; two hard men lost in thoughts that they could not share, even with each other. They might have been surprised by those thoughts, for they wandered down the same paths; of kinder times, when love had touched their lives. They passed lightly over the darkness that followed, for it was not a night to dwell in those shadows. The present did not hurt them, so they gazed into the glowing coals; grateful for warmth, shelter, and the brief peace in their hearts.
The End
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