"Judge'll be here as quick as he can, but it most likely won't be untill the end a the week." Joining the six men gathered on the boardwalk outside the saloon, Chris Larabee sank into an empty chair, stretching his long black clad legs out before him.



Buck Wilmington sighed. "Damn, it's gonna be a long three days."



"Most likely longer than that," Josiah stated, nonchalantly watching the gambler who leaned against the porch support, noting the younger man's emerald eyed gaze was intent on the traffic passing in the street, "what with the trial and all."



The trial the ex-priest referred to involved one Trace Adams. For years the man and his followers had roamed the western territories raiding towns, pillaging out lying homesteads before burning them to the ground, murdering and terrorizing the hard working citizens. It was well known the outlaw had several established hide outs and more than one lawman had lost his life trying to capture the madman. It was even rumored an entire posse had been slaughtered when they'd crossed paths with Adams and his men somewhere along the Cimarron Strip.



Several worried gazes were directed toward the jail which now housed the infamous outlaw and had for the past two days.



"It would appear everyone in the territory is converging on our dusty little corner of the world." Ezra Standish coughed, waving a hand in front of his face to disperse the dust raised by a passing wagon. It never failed to amaze him how quickly news spread throughout the countryside, speedily reaching the newly formed towns and lonely far off homesteads on the outskirts of nowhere.



"Reckoned ya'd be happy 'bout that," Nathan muttered sarcastically. "Plenty new victims for ya ta fleece."



"Hangin's usually draw a big crowd." Vin Tanner's quiet words reminded the men around the young tracker, of the future the sharpshooter faced if he was ever taken back to Texas. "Reckon it'll get a lot more crowded afore the week's out. Gotta figure family and friends of them he's killed will wanna see ta it justice's done..."



"Not to mention the eastern newspaper people, curiosity seekers and probably a few government high ups wantin' ta make sure Adams gets his due," the priest added.



Trials, especially ones certain to be followed by a hanging, were always a drawing card, often seen as a form of entertainment for the outlying areas, giving the residents of the sparse countryside a topic of conversation for weeks to come.



'Just what we need! The damn governor back in town,' Nathan thought with a small shake of his head. 'As if that didn't cause enough trouble last time he visited.' Chris' snort drew his thoughts back to the man on the porch.



"Ain't nobody deserves ta hang more than that murderin' son of a bitch," Larabee growled, the anger in his voice matching the fury in his hazel eyes. Even if they were of a different mind set, which they weren't, no one dared disagree with the gunslinger. 



Ignoring Larabee's vicious remark, Ezra spoke lightly, hoping to break the building tension, "It's true, Mr. Jackson, the larger the municipality, the larger the profit margin." Standish momentarily grinned at the healer before raking his gaze over the busy street once more. "While I would enjoy the challenge afforded by new players choosing to avail themselves of their currency at my table, I was actually considering how easily it would be for Adam's men to blend in among the current visitors." He shook his head. "Thereby making our job of protecting the citizens more difficult than normal."



"He's right." Chris stated before anyone could comment on the fact they all knew the gambler liked things easy. Swallowing the last of the beer in Tanner's glass, the gunfighter pushed to his feet. "Better let JD know what's happenin'. We can work out a duty schedule later, but until this trial and hangin' is done, nobody works alone. I want two men at the jail at all times and I don't want no one ridin' patrol alone," He pinned the sharpshooter with a hard glare, "and that means you, too, Tanner."



The southerner straightened and busied himself brushing dust from the sleeves of his jacket as Larabee moved in the direction of the jail. "Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I promised to relieve our young sheriff so he might visit with Miss Wells while she's in town."



Sanchez and Tanner exchanged a quick look as, with a tip of his hat, the gambler trailed after the leader of their small band.



*******



Five pairs of eyes glanced toward the swinging doors as a portly man near Josiah's age wearing an expensive suit, escorted Mary Travis inside.



Gathering his cards, Ezra rose and crossed to stand within hearing distance, leaning against the bar as Mary introduced the man to those sitting at the peacekeepers' usual table.



"Mr. Madison, this is Vin, Chris Larabee, Josiah Sanchez, and Nathan Jackson."



It wasn't lost on the men she failed to give Vin's last name, and the tracker gave her a small wink of thanks. He sure didn't need his name circulating in town with all the strangers about.



"What can we do for ya?" Larabee questioned.



"Judge Travis advised I look you up as soon as I arrived." The man shook each of their hands before taking the offered seat. "He has asked me to represent Mr. Adams in his upcoming trial."



"And you agreed?" Nathan couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. There were only a few lawyers scattered throughout the territory and most of those resided in the larger cities, but even in the small town of Four Corners, they had heard the talk of how everyone approached on Adams' behalf had flat out refused to be associated with defending the man in the upcoming trial.



"As I'm sure you're aware, Judge Travis can be very persuasive and he believes everyone should have the best representation possible when on trial for their life." Madison stated firmly. "Most of the lawyers in this part of the world are young... just starting out and don't want to have the reputation of being known as the man who defended a monster like Adams. I have a well established law practice which won't be affected by the stench." The man grinned, reaching for the beer Vin pushed in his direction. "Besides I owe Orrin a favor."



Sipping his drink, Ezra kept an eye on the entrance as he listened to the lawyer explain his presence in Four Corners.



"Mr. Larabee, Orrin tells me you are the only witness to the crime of which my client is accused."



"Oughta be charged with a helluva lot more," Josiah muttered harshly.



"Unfortunately, no matter how many atrocities he's charged with, Mr. Adams can only be hung once." The lawyer shrugged. "First I need to talk with my client. I'm afraid I'll need to impose on you, Mr. Larabee, for a few moments of your time afterward. I need to hear your side of the story in order to prepare a defense."



The gunslinger's jaw clenched, but he said nothing as Madison rose.



"If ya want, I can take ya over ta the jail ta see Adams," Nathan offered.



"Thank you, but I'm going to get settled and have a decent meal first. I don't want to ruin my appetite." Tipping his hat, the man moved away.



No one said anything as the lawyer departed.



At the bar, Ezra silently admired Larabee's restraint in not taking out his disdain for Adams on the attorney who had agreed to represent him as a favor to a friend. The gambler watched as Larabee tossed back two quick shots of whiskey before abruptly pushing to his feet and storming from the saloon.



Leaving the last of his own drink untouched, Standish slipped out the back door.



*******



Later that evening, only partially paying attention to the card game in which he was involved, Ezra's gaze drifted over the saloon. Sighing regretfully, he flashed the other players a rueful smile. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I find myself in need of some fresh air and the desire to stretch my legs." Ezra passed the deck of cards to the cow hand on his left. "Continue on. I shall return momentarily." Pushing to his feet, he wandered toward the batwing doors.



Buck nudged Tanner as Ezra stepped onto the dark boardwalk. Pausing long enough to light a cheroot, the gambler watched as Larabee crossed the still noisy street, using the private entrance to his room in the boarding house.



*******



"Mornin', Ez."



"Mr. Wilmington." Ezra was startled when the large man stepped into his path, blocking the saloon's batwing doors.



Buck sidestepped, hastily blocking the con man's way as the weary gambler moved to pass the gunfighter.



"Excuse me, Buck, but is it possible, at this ungodly hour of the morning, our favorite establishment has already reached such customer capacity it won't allow room for another patron?"



Buck frowned, "Huh?"



"He means are ya keepin' him from enterin' 'cause the saloon's full," Tanner translated giving the gambler a lopsided grin as he and Wilmington each gripped one of the southerner's arms.



"Might I inquire as to our destination?" The con man didn't attempt to pull away as they steered him down the boardwalk.



"Ain't them the same clothes ya had on yesterday?" Vin ignored the gambler's question, asking one of his own.



"Please tell me Mr. Larabee doesn't wish us to ride after some miscreants as I've had very late night and simply wish to retire to my room for a nap," Standish groused.



"Win lots a money, did ya?" The womanizer watched the smaller man, wondering how the gambler would answer without outright lying. In an effort to keep trouble at a minimum, Larabee had requested the saloons close at eleven o'clock each evening until further notice.



"I consider my time well spent," Ezra stated evasively. Glancing at the sharpshooter, Standish quickly changed the subject. "Mr. Tanner, aren't you, to put it in Mr. Larabee's vernacular, supposed to be layin' low?"



The gambler had taken the opportunity earlier to suggest to Chris that with all the new faces in town, Vin might find it prudent to stay out of sight as much as possible. No sense taking a chance on the sharpshooter being recognized from his wanted dodger.



Hence, the Texan was delegated to working the late shift at the jail and taking the first morning patrol.



"I am," Vin retorted softly, "Gonna catch a few winks in Josiah's room. He reckoned it would be a mite safer than my wagon."



"And did you perhaps wish Mr. Wilmington and myself to tuck you in?" The gambler teased as the womanizer released his arm, following behind to prevent escape as Tanner guided Ezra up the church steps. "I would be most happy to read you a bedtime story if that would help ya relax."



"Actually, we're just doin' the preacher man a favor." Buck commented giving the reluctant southerner a slight shove as Vin opened the door. "Seems Brother Josiah's got a few questions he wants answered."



*******



Entering the church, the three men saw Sanchez standing at the pulpit.



Josiah looked up as the door opened. The ex-priest raked his gray eyed gaze over the southerner, taking in the dark shadows beneath the wary emerald eyes and the gambler's weary countenance.



He saw Ezra take a deep breath and pull the cocky facade around himself like a protective cloak as he approached the front of the church. In truth, it appeared the gambler wanted nothing more than to turn and run.



Josiah couldn't stop the memory which flooded his mind of the first time Ezra had entered this building seeking advice... seeking Josiah's help. Haunted by his own demons, fighting his own desires, the preacher had been less than sympathetic to the gambler's problems.



As he recalled, Ezra hadn't offered excuses, nor had he tried to justify his past. He'd simply sought to understand why those men who, despite his past, trusted him to ride with them against all forms of evil, who he thought trusted him to watch their backs, those men who were supposed to know him best, those men who he thought of as friends, hadn't trust him not to take the ten thousand dollars and run for parts unknown.



Ezra had simply sought understanding of the betrayal he was feeling. Instead of empathizing with the young man -- instead of trying to explain and ease the turmoil the gambler was suffering -- the older man had become angry. He had used the situation to rid himself of his own temptation and challenged the gambler to face his own greed.



Was it any wonder, after all this time, the southerner continued to keep things to himself, to do things his own way even at the detriment to his own life?



"Mornin', Ezra!" Josiah's voice boomed in the small building as he moved down the aisle way to approach the gambler.



"Mr. Sanchez." Respectfully removing his hat, the gambler tossed it on the pew beside him as he took a seat. "Did you wish an audience while practicing this Sunday's sermon? What subject have you chosen? An eye for an eye? Perhaps the quotation, vengeance is mine...?"



Josiah paused and rested his foot on the pew beside the gambler, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knee. "Actually, Ezra, we've been wondering what's on that brilliant mind of yours."



Standish scooted over as Josiah moved to sit down beside him. To most people it would appear as if the gambler was simply making room for the ex-priest, but the three men watching him couldn't help thinking it was simply the con man's way of putting a safe distance between him and them. A distance that would help him think.



"Ya've had something botherin' ya ever since Chris got back ta town," Vin remarked.



"I have no idea to what you're referring," Ezra shrugged and reached for his hat.



"That why ya been stickin' closer ta Chris than a tick on a dog?"



Ezra blanched at the tracker's quiet question as Tanner casually stretched out on the pew behind him.



"And why ya've spent the last couple a nights sitting in a chair outside the saloon where ya could see the boardin' house?" Wilmington added, proving his own powers of astute observation.



"There's no need to worry, gentlemen, I assure you I have no intention of trying to usurp Mr. Larabee out of the reward money he so richly deserves."



"Didn't ever think that, Ez!" Vin was quick to assure him as the others began to protest. "We's all just wonderin'... well, ya been real..."



"Preoccupied." Buck supplied.



"Yeah" Tanner nodded, " preoccupied."



"And it seems to have gotten worse since that lawyer arrived." Knowing from experience how obstinate the gambler could become when pushed or feeling threatened, Josiah hesitantly laid a large hand gently on the southerner's shoulder. "Figured since ya didn't seem about ta volunteer the information, we thought we'd try askin' ya what's on your mind."



Ezra chewed his bottom lip in contemplation but remained silent.



Damn, he was tired! It had been days since he'd last slept more than a few minutes at a time.



He knew these men only wanted to help and wouldn't immediately discount the troubling thoughts which had plagued him since Larabee's return to Four Corners.



In truth, he had – on more than one occasion -- wondered if perhaps he was letting his imagination get the best of him. There'd been nothing to indicate his postulation was correct.



But if it was … He needed these men and their help and if after hearing what he had to say, they offered that aid he'd gratefully accept... If not, exhausted or no, he'd just continue to do it himself.



Taking a deep breath, he plunged in, "Understand, I'm only surmising here since Mr. Larabee hasn't deemed it necessary to inform us of the details leading to the capture of Adams and the deaths of the two men who were with him." Ezra toyed with the brim of his hat, avoiding looking at the three men watching him. "While it's conceivable, I find it incomprehensible those two were the only men Adams had in this area."



"Makes sense." Sanchez nodded. "Rumor has it, there was at least thirty to fifty men ridin' with him at times."



Tanner grinned. "'Bout matches our odds at the Seminole Village."



"Analyzing the facts... or rather the rumors, the odds are we will have to deal with -- at the very least -- a third of those men by the time this trial takes place."



"Better odds than at the village," the sharpshooter quipped drolly.



Buck frowned. "How'd ya come up with that figure?"



"Greed often works to the lawman's advantage." The gambler scrubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw. "It stands to reason one or possibly more of his group will use this opportunity to try and usurp Adams' position as leader. Others may strike out on their own, using this chance to rid themselves of the madman. However those who are truly loyal or perhaps too afraid not to do otherwise, most assuredly will attempt to extricate Adams from our humble jail."



"The other day, outside the saloon, ya kinda pointed that out... in a round 'bout way, a course." Wilmington sighed, trying to be patient. "But that still don't explain why ya been watchin' Chris like he was made outta solid gold."



The gambler shifted uncomfortably. "As Mr. Madison was so apt to announce within hearing of anyone with ears, Mr. Larabee is the only witness to the crime for which Adams is being tried."



"And?" Josiah prodded; certain he knew where the younger man was headed, but willing to let Ezra explain. The gambler needed to talk if for no other reason than as a release of the tension filling him.



Ezra rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he was making a mountain out of a sand dune. He wasn't sure anymore. The only thing he was certain of was he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his feather bed and sleep the day away.



"Mr. Larabee is the only surviving witness to one of Adams' deadly attacks. Without his testimony, the honorable judge would -- most assuredly -- have to release that vile master of murder and mayhem."



"So you've went and appointed yerself Chris' guardian angel." The womanizer kept his tone light while still managing to convey how seriously he took what the gambler was saying.



"Oh pleeease, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Don't make it sound like such a holy quest. The simplest way to expedite Adams' release is to make certain there is no trial. I simply wanted to insure he doesn't manage to elude justice by ridding himself of the one person who can make certain he gets his just rewards. "



"Why didn't ya say something to Chris about it?" Josiah interrupted.



"'Cause like the rest a us, Chris don't like bein' crowded." Tanner provided the answer. "He'd a insisted he didn't need another shadder and might even take off on his own 'till the trial to try and make sure nobody in town got hurt 'cause a him. Ya know how…"



Whatever else the tracker was going to say was drowned out by the sound of gunfire outside. Ezra jumped and jamming his hat down on his head, raced for the door, quickly followed by the other three as the echoing of the volley faded away.



*******



Guns in hand the four men fanned out, cautiously hurrying toward the jail where a small group of gathered people was rapidly growing into a large crowd.



Ezra's heart raced wildly as he hastily made his way down the boardwalk, his gaze darting everywhere searching for any possible threat to the peacekeepers. He had foolishly thought Chris was fairly safe, tucked away inside the jail where he was working the first shift with Nathan.



JD had burst from the restaurant as the four men rushed from the church and Buck had motioned the youngest of their band to circle around, coming at the jail from the alley behind it.



Seeing no sign of immediate danger, the peacekeepers pushed through the crowd urging those gathered to go about their business.



Vin called out a warning before stepping through the entrance of the jail quickly moving aside as the others followed. Only Ezra hesitated as his green-eyed gaze searched the dimness within.



The gambler paled, his heart skipping several beats as he saw Nathan examining someone seated in the desk chair. The healer's broad back blocked his view and he found himself afraid to move, afraid to see who Nathan's patient was and how badly he was hurt.



The southerner started to breathe again only when a cell door slammed shut and Larabee himself stepped back into the main part of the jail.



"How's he doin' Nate?" The gunslinger questioned.



"Some bruised ribs and he's most likely gonna have a lulu of a shiner but otherwise he's okay."



"I assure you Mr. Larabee, this is not the first time someone has physically attempted to dissuade me from representing a defendant." Madison grinned up at the gunman, flinching as Nathan probed his ribs. "I don't scare easily."



"If it helps, I'd say ya got in more than a few good licks a yer own. Those two fellas won't be enjoyin' their food for awhile." The gunslinger chuckled.



As Nathan escorted the lawyer to his clinic for a more thorough examination, Chris explained how the two men, now occupying the cell next to Adams, had been waiting when the attorney finished talking to his client. An altercation had ensued when standing by his promise to his friend, the older man refused to back down and they'd taken action to rough up the lawyer to gave as good as he got.



"We heard a shot." JD managed to make the statement sound like a question, as the gunfighter drew his weapon and replaced the spent cartridge.



"Only way to get those fools full attention." Dropping the six gun back into its holster, Larabee crossed to pour himself a cup of coffee. He hesitated, as his gaze suddenly locked with the gamblers. He noticed for the first time the dark shadows under the con man's emerald eyes, which only served to enhance the pale completion. "What's the matter with you Standish? Ya look a mite peaked."



'I could say the same thing about you.' The trickster thought, certain he knew the cause for the gunslinger's haggard appearance.



"He ain't had much sleep lately." Buck volunteered saving the con man the need to make an excuse for his tired appearance.



"Yeah, well, I don't know what ya been doin' with your time since the saloons are closin' early but it better not interfere with your job." The Hoosier warned.



"Chris-" Vin faltered at the expression the cardsharp tossed him, mutely pleading with the bounty hunter not to betray his confidence even in his own defense.



"You have my word Mr. Larabee, nothing will interfere with my duty as a peacekeeper." Ezra quickly stated before Vin could change his mind or one of the others decided to step up and defend him. 'Or as someone who considers you a valued friend.' He added silently. "Things seem to be under control so if y'all will excuse me I think I'll see what I can do about dispersing the remaining gawkers."



The truth was, very few people were still hanging around the jail, not wanting to face the peacekeepers wrath but it was a good excuse to leave before Larabee could ask anymore questions.



Wordlessly, Tanner turned and followed the cardsharp, sensing there was something more the gambler had intended to say at the church.



"Perhaps you and Mr. Wilmington, might want to be prepared when Mr. Larabee is ready to reveal the events haunting his sleep." The soft statement was casually spoken as the two men reached the swinging doors that graced the entrance of the saloon.



The past few nights, safeguarding the shootist, Ezra had watched as a routine developed. The lantern, which lit the Boarding House window, would be extinguished soon after Chris retired to his room, only to be re-lit a few short hours later. Although the gunfighter cautiously avoided the window, Standish had seen the shadows on the wall as Larabee spent the rest of the long night pacing the small room.



Ezra knew the Hoosier would turn to his best or his oldest friend when the nightmares, which awakened him, became too much for him to bear alone.



"Get some sleep Ez, I'll cover your patrol." The tracker called as Standish started through the batwing doors.



"Thank you Mr. Tanner, I appreciate the offer but I did promise not to let anything interfere with my duties and I'd rather not give Mr. Larabee the opportunity to throw my words back in my face." The cardsharp grinned, giving Tanner a sly wink. "I would, however be in your debt if you could manage to have the good citizens keep the noise down to a tolerable level so I can indulge in a short nap."



"Do my best Pard." Vin chuckled.



Following the gambler inside, the ex-bounty hunter absently thanked Inez for the coffee she placed on the bar in front of him, his thoughts on his puzzling friend as he watched Ezra wearily climb the stairs to his room on the second floor.



The tracker just couldn't quite figure out the gambler. It seemed the enigmatic con man never ceased to surprise the other six peacekeepers.



Standish, a gambler, raised in the art of the con, could, in the blink of an eye, change personas. Like a chameleon, the trickster instantly became exactly whatever a person expected him to be, but in the time they'd spent together watching over their corner of the territory; Vin had learned to see behind the cardsharp's many facades.



He knew Ezra protected himself physically with his guns or his fists only when his quick wit and silver tongue failed, however, much to Vin's chagrin, Standish also protected himself emotionally by hiding behind the walls that guarded his heart. The man was a master at protecting his inner self, using the numerous skills his mother had taught him at an early age.



Vin was aware that while Ezra would never willingly admit it to the men he worked with, the gambler had come to deeply care for the six men he considered friends. As they each had at one time or another, Standish had proven, on numerous occasions, he would willingly forfeit his own life for any of the six of them.



To Ezra's consternation, the nomadic con man, who professed to care about nothing but money and his own safety, had discovered a family and a life he enjoyed in this little dust bowl of a town known as Four Corners.



Sighing, Tanner finished his coffee and with a last glance at the upper balcony, headed for the church and a few hours of sleep.



*******



Carefully removing his hat and jacket and setting aside his weapons, Ezra crossed to the window. He watched as Tanner hesitated at the entrance to the church, knowing the man's sharp blue eyed gaze was raking the street in search of trouble before finally moving to enter the building.



The gamblers own emerald gaze astutely assessed the view, below his windown, determining there was no immediate danger to Larabee or the other lawmen.



Finally stretching out on the bed, Standish stared at the ceiling. A small smile graced his lips as he thought of the longhaired man, who was even now, bunking down in the back room of the church.



Vin Tanner had been the first of the lawmen to welcome Ezra into their small group. Unlike many others who'd passed through his life, Tanner didn't try to force Ezra into a role he wasn't willing or ready to assume. Vin simply accepted the gambler for the man he was and the man he was becoming, without judgment or condemnation.



Ezra knew, like his compatriots, the ex-bounty hunter was a man of honor and Ezra knew that while he had desperately wanted to tell Larabee why Standish had been functioning on very little sleep the Texan would respect the gambler's wish and remain silent.



The tracker often puzzled the con man. While Ezra was himself purposely indefinable, refusing to be categorized by the good citizens he had fully intended to fleece when first stopping in Four Corners, Tanner was himself a mass of endless contradictions.



A child of nature, he could read the weather as easily as he read the smudged tracks, left in passing, in the dirt. His grammar and pronunciation were atrocious to say the least but his words of poetry never failed to touch the cardsharp's heart.



Even with a bounty on his own head, Vin Tanner fought on the side of law and order, his relaxed stance and easy going nature often catching opponents unaware when he struck like lightening against anyone threatening those he cared about.



The honest, tenderhearted Texan fit right in with the other five men. He was, in his own way, as strong willed as Larabee, and as loyal as Buck. He was equally as compassionate as Nathan, as mule stubborn and hard headed as Josiah and enthusiastic and fun loving as JD.



With the comparisons, the gambler's thoughts drifted to the other five men. Often skeptical, he was aware, each of the peacekeepers had in their own way accepted him. Unfailingly honest with himself, Ezra understood their wariness. He was a con man, after all, and anyone with half a brain would take anything he said with more than a grain of salt.



Yet, these men had given Ezra more chances than anyone ever had a right to expect. They'd stood by him; apologizing those times when they were wrong about him. They treated him with respect and each of them was helping him lay the foundation he needed to begin building a life he might someday be proud of.



Standish had discovered the true meaning of friendship from these men, particularly the tracker, and he would do everything in his power to prevent harm from coming to any of them.



*******



"Standish!



Headed for the church, Ezra paused outside The Clarion and taking a deep breath turned to face Chris as the gunslinger stormed down the boardwalk toward him.



Just as he had taken it upon himself to watch over Larabee, the gambler had taken to checking on Tanner several times a day, not wanting the sleeping sharpshooter to be caught unaware by someone looking to collect the unjust reward placed on his shaggy head.



Larabee's mood was becoming more foul with each passing hour and each of the peacekeepers, the gambler in particular, was doing their best not to ignite the short fuse of his temper.



It didn't help matters, the town was overflowing with strangers with more arriving each day. It seemed to the lawmen strangers always meant trouble and this time was no exception. If they didn't bring trouble with them, they went out of their way to create it. Slight differences of opinion had erupted into full blown brawls and the townswoman had taken to staying off the streets unless accompanied by their men folk. To the lawmen's disgust, several outlying homesteads had been raided and robbed, the stock ran off or killed. To top it off, a strong vein of lynching talk filled the air.



Suspecting Adams men were the raiders and not too proud to ask for help, with the judge's approval, Larabee had hired several men from the larger ranches to ride patrols with the peacekeepers. He didn't want his men alone on the road against unknown odds. 



Adding fuel to the fires of the gunman's temper, Josiah's earlier predication had come true. A special train carrying government officials as well as newspaper people from all across the country had arrived in Eagle Bend. Running short on carriages and mounts, the livery had hired drivers to deliver the spectators to Four Corners at exorbitant fees.



The government officials constantly tried to demand special attention from the peacekeepers while the journalists hounded Larabee for his accounting of Adams capture as well as wanting an interview with the madman himself.



The regulators had thought themselves lucky when politician Hopewell had sent a representative instead of making an appearance himself. That unfortunately hadn't been as fortuitous as they'd hoped since the little man was damn near as annoying as his boss was.



Now, all those thing and people had combined to give Larabee an even fiercer than normal scowl as he approached the gambler who waited for him in the shade of the crowded boardwalk.



"Is there something I can do for you Mr. Larabee? I don't believe I have patrol today."



Larabee's look darkened and his voice was harsh. "Yosemite says he gave you, the personal belongin's he found in the Jenkins wagon.



"As pitiful as they were, that would be correct." Standish nodded.



Returning to town with Adams and the bodies of the dead family, the gunslinger had asked Amos and Yosemite to fetch the family's broken down wagon as well as the bodies of Adams' cohorts.



Ezra had been returning from patrol, that day, when Yosemite, wanting to avoid the gunslinger's deadly mood, had asked the gambler to take charge of the few personal items he'd found among the wreckage created by the murderers.



The gambler shrugged slightly, "A few pieces of jewelry which most likely have more sentimental value than monetary…a pictograph…a-"



"Don't give a flyin' fuck how pitiful ya think they are," The Hoosier snarled, "they don't belong to you so ya can just march your damn sorry ass up to your room or where ever ya got 'em stashed and take 'em over to the jail. Somebody not as greedy minded as you will make sure they get back to the Jenkins' relatives."



Feeling as if he were reliving the incident with Stutz's ten-thousand-dollar incident all over again, the con man took several slow deep breaths, concentrating on keeping his poker face in place.



Feeling as if a knife had pierced his heart, the gambler couldn't believe how deeply the gunfighter's comment cut. True, they had only been working together a few months at the time of the statehood rally and he admitted it was possible they had every reason to mistrust him. However, this was a totally different scenario. That had been unclaimed blood money. This confrantation had to do with a dead family's treasured belongings.



Ezra kept his voice flatly neutral as he responded. "I'm afraid you'll have to ask Sheriff Dunne for the procured items." Turning on his heel, he continued toward the church, leaving the gunslinger staring at his back.



As the gambler moved away from him, Chris clenched and unclenched his fists in a desperate attempt to keep from shooting the sarcastic southerner. The damn con man actually had the audacity to try and put the blame for the missing items off on the youngest of their group.



'Damnit! What the hell possessed Yosemite to give Standish anything that might be of value.'



Feeling someone's gaze upon him, Chris spun around to find Mary standing in the doorway, an expression of disapproval on her pretty face.



Larabee was stunned when shaking her head sadly Mary turned and entered her office. He knew that while she liked Ezra, the newspaperwoman was often as skeptical as Banker McMurtry when it came to the gambler's honesty, he had been expecting a lecture.



'What the hell was that about?' Before he could confront the newspaperwoman or the follow the gambler, Hopewell's representative approached loudly demanding to know why a gallows wasn't being prepared.



*******



Seated at the dinner table with Buck and Nathan, only half listening to the conversation between the womanizer and healer, Ezra used his fork to push his food around the plate, his thoughts on the earlier altercation with Larabee.



As the gunman's conversation kept playing over and over in his mind. Try as he might, it refused to be locked away with his other unpleasant memories.



'Why the hell are you letting this bother you?' The gambler tried not to visibly cringe at the inner voice, which sounded remarkably like his mother.



'Because I respect Mr. Larabee and thought I had finally earned some measure of trust.' He mentally responded.



Ezra realized in his time as a peacekeeper, he'd made a great many mistakes, not the least being using his skills more than once to achieve his goals. Honesty wasn't exactly his forte' but of course, he'd never had much previous experience dealing with people in a straightforward manner.



Much to his chagrin and his mother's loudly voiced utter dismay he'd found himself using his 'God given talents' more often than not for the betterment of the town and the men he'd come to rely on. To Maude's absolute horror, he had actually begun to make an honest life for himself.



But now…



Did Chris truly believe he desired the dead family's paltry keepsakes?



It was true he had been tempted by the blood money found in Stutz's room before the statehood rally. Ten thousand dollars. That was enough money to build and stock the finest saloon this side of the Mississippi.



When he had entered the church that day, seeking answers from Josiah, the preacher had tossed him the means to fulfill his dreams as well as the challenge to face his demons.



Demons of greed which had almost won the war Ezra fought.



Would he have taken the money and ridden out if fate hadn't intervened when he bumped into the assassin? Would he have ridden away from Four Corners forever, never again to see these men who over time, had come to mean so much to him? Never be there to teach Emma to read or have the pleasure of knowing Lucy and Mattie. Never to have met Nica, the woman who had brought so much happiness to his life.



Ezra wanted to believe he would have done the right thing, thus proving himself to the other men. He wanted to believe his conscience would have prevented his saddling Chaucer and leaving the tiny dust bowl of a town far behind him but he knew himself far to well. He was certain if he'd made it inside the stable, he would be living a life of luxury in parts unknown…and Mary Travis would be dead.



To the southerner's amazement, at the time, Chris had seemed more upset about Ezra being injured than he had been at discovering the con man was carrying the money which had, in fact, saved the gambler's life. It was as if Larabee hadn't been surprised at all to discover his about Standish suspicions had been correct and the con man had simply lost his battle with overwhelming temptation.



Since that unfortunate incident Ezra had been especially careful about avoiding the possibility of losing that battle a second time so what had brought about the gunman's harsh accusation this very afternoon?



Standish knew between the lack of sleep, worry for his companions and the incessant nagging of the government officials and newspaper people, Larabee's nerves were quickly being stretched to the breaking point. Perhaps, as had happened so many times before, Ezra was simply a convenient target for the Hoosier's pent up tension.



If that were the case, then it was something the cardsharp could deal with. He had in fact on more than one occasion purposely placed himself in that very position.



However, this time, the form it had taken, that Chris would make the accusation that Ezra would steal, especially from the dead was something totally different and harder to take. This time the imputation had pierced the southerner to the very core of his being.



How many more times did Ezra have to state he was no thief? Why couldn't the men he worked with understand his was a profession like any other? Gambling was a job that required skills, just like Josiah's preaching or Nathan's healing. His cards were merely a tool of his trade just like Vin's spyglass or Chris' gun.



After all, he didn't force people to play at his table or rob them at gunpoint. It may have appeared so but it wasn't stealing when people willingly handed over their money even if a person did use his talents to acquire that particular goal. The people who sat at his table did have a choice in the matter after all. They could play, fold or simply leave. Many chose to buck the odds and it wasn't his fault they were usually misguided by their own judgment and in error. Fortunately for Ezra, their error was his gain.



He was no stranger to being falsely accused and had always managed to push the insinuations aside before, always somehow convincing himself it didn't really matter what others thought of him.



So why was it so difficult to do just that, this time?



Because, deep down, Larabee's opinion of him did matter. The only way it could have hurt worse was if it had been Vin who had confronted him.



"Ya feelin' okay Ezra?"



Startled from his thoughts the gambler glanced up guiltily at the healer's concerned question. "Pardon me?"



"I asked if you're feelin' all right?" The ex-slave stated. "Ya ain't hardly touched your dinner."



"I'm fine thank you." The delicious roast beef might have been desert sand for all Ezra tasted as he forced down several mouthfuls in an effort to dissuade the healer from further questions.



*******



Seated beside his oldest friend at their usual table, Wilmington watched, as Ezra quickly raked in the winning pot without the usual charming banter, which most times kept the game calm and to a degree friendly.



The womanizer hadn't failed to notice the gregarious gambler had been unusually silent during dinner, pushing his barely touched food around on the plate, forcing down several bites only when the healer questioned his health.



He had also noted Ezra had skipped his usual routine of having a drink with the other men before starting his evening game. Seated with his back to Larabee, the gambler seemed to be studiously avoiding looking their direction, although he had a view of almost everyone in the room except the black clad gunslinger.



On the other hand, Buck couldn't help noticing, Larabee was watching the southerner intensely, anger and confusion vying for dominance in his fierce hazel eyes.



Buck nodded a greeting to Vin as the sharpshooter slipped into the chair on the other side of Larabee. With more strangers arriving in town everyday, the wanted man was rarely seen in public until the late night hours.



Following Ezra's lead, Buck, Vin and Josiah had worked out an impromptu schedule either relieving or keeping the con man company during his late night vigils watching over the gunslinger. They each made it a point to be certain the Hoosier was always within sight of one of them.



"Can't believe he ain't bitched about the saloons early closin' costin' him money." Nathan commented following the womanizer's gaze which had returned to the gambler.



"Maybe he found another way to make a profit." Larabee's snarl held less venom than when the southerner normally angered him.



The gunman was baffled. He became even more so each time he mentally replayed the earlier scene with Ezra.



He was mystified by the southerner's quick willingness to admit he had in deed accepted the Jenkins personal effects from Yosemite.



While it seemed he had attempted to divert Chris' attention to the young sheriff rather than himself, Larabee couldn't help speculating about the hurt he thought he'd glimpsed in the emerald eyes before the con man had turned away and left him standing on the boardwalk.



He was even more perplexed by the fact Ezra hadn't tried any of his usual double talk nor had he defended himself against the gunslinger's accusation. Of course, Larabee had come to realize the southerner rarely offered any defense of his actions, choosing to remain silent, rather than revealing his pain when falsely accused.



'Falsely accused?' Chris suddenly felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.



Unable to stop himself, Larabee turned to the young sheriff as he took the seat on the other side of Buck. "JD, ya know anything about the Jenkins belongin's? The things Yosemite said he found in their wagon?"



"Yeah." The kid nodded vigorously. "Ezra brought a small box of things over ta the jail. He asked me ta lock it in the safe. Said most of the household goods was busted up and not worth tryin' ta fix but there was a few personal things that might have sentimental value, worth savin'."



Neither Buck nor Vin missed the sorrow that flashed through the older man's whiskey colored eyes at the young sheriff's response.



"Miss Nettie was sayin' how she was at Mary's when Ezra come by ta ask a favor." JD continued, unaware the reaction his remarks were having on the gunslinger. "Wanted to know if maybe she could fix the rip in what looked like a weddin' dress. Ezra told her he thought maybe Mrs. Jenkins sister might like to have it in case it was their ma's or something."



"How's he know she's got a sister?" Vin questioned.



"There was a couple a letters in the box. Ez already sent them a telegram. I wasn't sure what to say but he worded it real nice, lettin' her know happened. Put in there he'd send a letter after the trial with the results"



'Aww hell.' Larabee stifled a groan.



"Leaped without lookin' again Pard?" Wilmington hid his smile behind his beer mug as he took a sip.



"Shut up Buck." Chris growled. He knew his old friend was right. Why had he been so damn quick to jump to the conclusion Ezra might be attempting to profit from the devastation of a lost family?



No matter how callous the gambler could appear, they'd all seen how sensitive he could be. The sight of the southerner kneeling solemnly beside the murdered woman the day the Poplar had arrived leaped unbidden into Larabee's mind. Nathan had later told him how upset the con man had become at what he considered the undertaker's disrespect during the following examination of the young woman's body.



'Might as well apologize and get it over with. Give yerself time to prepare for the payback.' His inner voice chided. When wronged by one of the men he thought of as friends, the trickster always shrugged off the apology unwilling to embarrass himself or the other person but the person apologizing knew to expect some form of practical joke as retribution for the slight.



Larabee raked a hand over his face.



Damn he was tired!



He wanted nothing more than for this trial to be over and done with and Four Corners back to its normal sometimes wild, more often than not dangerous, exciting town where five total strangers and a long time friend had become his family.



Chris realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night. Maybe if he made his apology to Ezra it would give him at least a moment's rest.



Before the gunslinger could suit action to words, Ezra folded his cards and exited the saloon without a backward glance at his friends.



Chris grimaced 'Southern peacock's got eyes in the back of his head.'



To his exasperation, the gambler was getting as good at predicating Larabee's next move as Buck or perhaps he had just acquired the sharpshooter's unnerving talent for reading Chris' mind.



Tossing back the last of his drink, Larabee bid the other men goodnight and wearily pushed away from the table.



Stepping out onto the boardwalk, he paused to light a cheroot. When none of the others followed, his gaze darted about until he finally spotted the gambler positioned in the shadows near the boarding house.



As weary as he was, as annoyed by the constant attention and questions posed by a hundred strangers, as angry as he was at himself and the situation Chris, in fact, hadn't failed to notice he'd seemed to have acquired a distinctive southern shadow.



After all, in his profession, both past and present, Larabee had learned a man didn't live long unless he was cautious and observant.



He momentarily contemplated asking Ezra about his actions but pushed the thought aside. He'd had enough confrontations for one day.



Deciding to wait until the cardsharp or one of the others was ready to tell him what exactly was going on, he bid Ezra a silent goodnight and strolled across to boarding house.



*******



Waiting for Judge Travis' arrival on the incoming stage, Larabee sat with Wilmington outside the saloon entrance. JD and Josiah were on duty at the jail. With so many strangers in town and tempers running high, Nathan seemed constantly busy at the clinic, tending black eyes, bruises and broken bones.



Larabee glanced at the church where Vin had retreated shortly after breakfast. He was certain when the trial was over and things were back to what the peacekeepers considered normal, it would be several days before they saw the tracker again. Hating the confines of civilization, the sharpshooter would head for the solitude of the hills to replenish his spirit and restore his soul.



"I swear I think that boy could sleep hanging off the side of a cliff." Wilmington chuckled, nodding to where Standish dozed a few feet away, his chair tilted precariously on its back legs, his feet propped on the porch rail.



"Don't go giving him any ideas!" Chris grumbled. It didn't matter the place or the position, be it in the saddle, on the ground, or a comfortably furnished home, Ezra was one man who never appeared to have trouble sleeping. "All we need is another way for him to risk his fool neck makin' money. Ya suggest it and he'll bet on it!"



"Ya need ta back off Chris!" The womanizer lowered his voice. Ezra could fall asleep the minute he closed his eyes and awaken at the drop of a hat as alert as if he'd slept the night away.



Buck knew his friend had been riding the con man hard, snapping irritably or making sarcastic remarks if the southerner wasn't where he was supposed to be exactly when the Hoosier thought he should be, doing exactly what Chris thought he should be doing. Buck was certain Ezra was merely a convenient target for Larabee's pent up frustration but the gambler was their friend too and it was time someone spoke up.



For his part, watching his friend through narrowed eyes, Larabee had known if he pushed hard enough one of the men would eventually snap and spill the beans revealing the real reason behind the con man's actions.



The gunslinger hadn't be blind or dumb to what was transpiring. He wondered how long it would take the con man to beat him to his destination if he decided to take a stroll or what excuse the cardsharp would give for showing up at Larabee's cabin if the shootist mentioned needing to look after his few head of cattle.



Reaching for and lighting a cheroot with deliberate care, he quietly remarked, "Only if ya tell me why he's followin' me around like I might lead him to a gold mine?"



Buck started and flustered. "I don't-"



"Bucklin, ya never could lie worth a damn, especially to me, so don't even try." Larabee warned, glancing at the cardsharp, keeping his own voice soft. "I still got perfectly good eyesight and I ain't had enough liquor the last few days ta be hallucinatin' so why don't ya just tell me what-"



"Mr. Larabee I'm sorry to disturb you but I was wondering if I might have a few moments of your time." Madison's untimely approach saved the womanizer from responding. "Is there someplace we can speak privately?"



"Ain't no reason for privacy." The gunfighter stated icily knowing exactly what it was the lawyer wanted to talk about. "Everything I've got to say is gonna be made public soon enough."



"I meant to do this right after speaking with my client but I'm afraid your doctor insisted I remain in bed since the altercation in front of the jail, although I tried to assure him I was perfectly alright."



"Yeah Nathan figures better safe than sorry when it comes ta takin' care a people." Buck laughed.



"Mr. Larabee, might I inquire as to your version of the events leading to Mr. Adams arrest?"



"What's that bastard say happened?" Wilmington cut in. He'd known Larabee long enough to recognize the signs and knew the gunslinger was fighting to control the rage that flamed inside him every time he allowed himself to think about what the man was accused of.



"Surprisingly very little." The attorney's statement didn't surprise any of the men. Unlike most wanted men, locked in their jail, Adams hadn't protested his innocence. He hadn't threatened retribution or bragged about how his men would free him before he could stand trial.



The criminal had remained fairly quiet spending his confinement sleeping or observing the lawmen intently.



"According to him, he and his traveling companions saw the broken down wagon and merely stopped to offer assistance when the occupants opened fire on them. He's stating it was self defense."



"He's a damn liar!" Larabee snarled, straightening in the chair, pinning the attorney with a glare that would have frozen most men in their tracks. "Ya wanna know what happened. Your client," he spat the word, "shot a little boy in the back. Kid couldn't a been more than nine years old. And before ya ask…Yeah I saw him do it! Now let him tell a jury how he was defendin' himself from a little boy with no gun who'd just watched both his parents bein' murdered!"



The chair slammed back against the wall as the gunslinger pushed to his feet and disappeared inside the saloon.



Buck scubbed a hand over his face as the implications of Chris' wordss sank in. 'Damn! No wonder it's effecting him so much. Bad enough it was a kid but he weren't much older than Adam.'



"I think when this is over, I'll have paid my debt to Orrin and then some." The attorney's voice was barely audible and he looked as if he were going to be ill. Swallowing hard, he hurried to the nearby alleyway and Buck heard the sounds of retching. Ezra, who had heard it all, kept up the pretense of sleep, squeezing his eyes tight against the tears.



*******



The saloons were closed and the town quiet, everyone wanting to get up extra early and get their business out of the way so they could hopefully obtain a seat for the trial where they would be witness to every morbid detail.



Judge Travis had arrived on the afternoon stage and arrangements were made for the trial to take place the following afternoon.



Taking his turn at the jail, Nathan glanced up from the medical book in his lap. Stretched out on the cell cot, the sound of Adams' snores mixed with the soft shuffling of Ezra's cards as, seated at the desk, the gambler laid out another game of patience. 



"I believe I would have difficulty sleeping with the knowledge that on the morrow I would stand before an entire town who wanted nothing more than to see me hang." The gambler's quiet comment reflected the healer's very thoughts. "Of course you would think the memory of his victims would invade his slumber."



Jackson shrugged. "Reckon ya got to have a conscience before it can bother you."



"I wouldn't know." The southerner grinned wryly. "I've never had that particular problem."



"You're full of shit too. Ya just-" The book hit the floor when Nathan jumped to his feet reaching for the loaded shotgun beside his chair as the door burst open.



"Mr. Nathan!" Gasping for air, a small boy skidded to a halt, his nightshirt flapping around his knees in the slight breeze from the open doorway. "I been huntin' all over for ya! I checked yer place first but ya weren't there and ya wouldn't be at the saloon cause it's closed so I reckoned ya might be here."



"It's alright Patrick. Ya found me." The healer knelt before the child stopping his excited babble. "Take a deep breath now and tell me what's wrong."



Seeing everything was under control and there was no danger, Ezra dropped the six gun back into its holster and settle back into his chair.



"Pa sent me! Said to tell ya Ma says it's time." The boy blurted out in a rush.



"Damn!" Nathan chewed at his lip, torn between a woman's need for his medical skills as a healer and his sworn duty as a peacekeeper.



The boy tugged at Nathan's hand attempting to pull him out the door. "I think she's hurtin' real bad Mr. Nathan. Please hurry!"



"Mr. Jackson, I would suggest you heed Master O'Malley's instructions and hurry along." Ezra urged. "If nothing else I'm sure his mother can use the help dealing with her hysterical husband. I'm anxious as well to see who is the big winner…besides the O'Malleys of course."



It had been observed around town and amongst the lawmen that, as his wife's time grew closer, Sean O'Malley had become a walking bundle of nerves. Mrs. O'Malley had apologized when twice in the last week her husband had called the healer to the small farm on the edge of town simply because she'd had an upset stomach. She'd laughed, telling Nathan her husband had been twice as bad before Patrick's birth.



Unable to resist, Standish had started two betting pools, one for the birth date, time and sex of the child and the other for the injury the anxious husband would inflict upon himself.



"Ez, I can't leave-"



The gambler waved aside the healer's protests. "Mr. Tanner will be arriving shortly as your shift is over in an hour. Our prisoner is asleep and has shown no inclination to cause trouble and you are more urgently needed elsewhere at the moment so please go."



"Come on Mr. Nathan! The baby wants ta get borned." Patrick stubbornly jerked on the healer's sleeve once more.



"I assure you it will be fine Mr. Jackson. Go!" Ezra urged. "Please give Mr. O'Malley my congratulations and don't forget to note the time of birth."



Throwing the gambler one more look, the healer allowed the child to drag him outside. Wondering if he shouldn't stop at the boarding house to send one of the others to the jail, Nathan instead allowed Patrick to hurry him on to his clinic for his medical bag.



*******



Determined to help his friend if he could, Buck approached the private door to Larabee's room at the boarding house.



His heart beating rapidly, throwing his hands into the air, Wilmington quickly stepped backwards, as the door was jerked open before he could knock. Chris, wearing only his jeans, gun in hand, stood in the open doorway, a light sheen of perspiration covering his upper body. "Whoa Pard! It's just me!…It's just ole' Buck."



The gun barrel slowly lowered towards the floorboards as Chris looked beyond the big man into the darkness. "What's wrong?"



"You tell me." The womanizer carefully stepped past the gunslinger, closing the door when Larabee dropped the six-gun back into the holster hanging on the bedpost and took a long swallow of the whiskey from the half empty bottle on the bedside table.



Buck slouched against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, waiting as clutching the bottle Chris sank onto the side of the bed his back to his oldest friend.



"He was just a kid." The choked words were so soft Wilmington almost missed them in the quiet room. "I couldn't…I wasn't…"



The womanizer remained silent, listening, unwillingly to interrupt until the Hoosier had completely released the nightmare he had been keeping inside. He blinked back tears as the gunslinger described hearing the gunshots and topping the hill in time to see Adams take aim at the little boy who was running for his life away from the carnage of his parents' murder.



"I-I m-missed…" Chris choked out the bitter confession.



"You were out of range Chris." Buck stated logically.



"I should have fired sooner damnit! I should have-"



"You're not thinking clear Pard." Wilmington argued. "There was three of them for God sakes and you were out of range. Firing sooner would have drawn attention to yourself and given away what little advantage you had. The boy would still be dead and most likely so would you and Adams would still be free instead of facing trial."



Chris slowly shook his head, not willing to accept the truth in his friends words. "I-"



"Damnit to hell, Chris! You did everything you could for that poor boy…and for Adam." As if he were the one having the nightmares, Buck was certain Chris was reliving the murder of his own son. He hadn't been there to save his wife and son and he hadn't been able to save the young boy, now buried in the cemetery beside his parents.



Larabee paled at the mention of his son's name. Anger flashed in his hazel eyes as he whirled to face off with the man who'd stood by his side through the best and worst times of his life and one of the very few men who dared force Chris to face the unthinkable.



"This has nothin' to do with-"



"The hell it doesn't!" Wilmington refused to be intimidated. He'd watched the gunslinger's back for more years than either of them wanted to think about. He'd been there when Chris and Sarah started their ranch and their new life together. He'd been there when Adam was born and he'd been there to help bury the gunslinger's family. He, more than anyone, understood the man and the actions which motivated him.



"Buck-"



"You couldn't get there in time to save the Jenkins boy just like you weren't there in time to save Adam but there's one big difference…It's my fault you weren't there for Adam not yours and we both know it!" Buck's sorrowful confession almost overwhelmed him.



The memories still burned fresh of how he had convinced Chris to stay one more night in the little town instead of returning home. That one night's indiscretion had cost the gunslinger his family and the womanizer everything he cared about. Chris couldn't blame him anymore than Wilmington blamed himself.



Larabee stared at his friend in shock, unable to form a comprehensive sentence at the raw pain he saw radiating from the dark blue eyes.



This man had been his friend-his brother-standing beside him, watching his back, taking care of him when he tried to drown himself in a bottle. Buck had refused to be run off or left behind, following him like some lost puppy when the gunslinger had taken off for parts unknown in search of his own death.



Chris had done everything short of shooting him to get shed of the man. He'd threatened his life on numerous occasions going so far as to hold a knife to his throat at one point. There had even been times when Chris had simply refused to acknowledge the gunfighter's presence. He had ridden out of towns including this one without a word or even a 'See ya cowboy' yet Buck stood steadfast.



It hit Larabee hard at that moment, his amiable, fun-loving friend had never failed him.



"I've never said-"



"No you've never said it outright." Buck agreed. "You've never had to. It was my fault and nothin's ever gonna change that…or make up for it."



"Chris! Chris!" The shouts preceded a loud pounding on the door, a moment before it crashed inward.



Wilmington caught the tracker as he stumbled into the room. "What the hell!"



"Ez-Ez and Nate are missin'!" Tanner managed to pant out, his eyes wide with worry in his stricken face.



*******



Larabee's worried gaze shifted from the scattered cards on the desk to the book they'd found on the floor to the prisoner still in his jail cell. There'd been no obvious signs of a struggle and questioning the prisoner had only added to the lawmen's frustration. Adams claimed to have been sleeping and had heard nothing unusual.



Trusting only Buck and JD not to release their fury on the prisoner, Chris had left the two standing watch at the jail while he, Tanner and Josiah had searched for their missing companions to no avail.



"This makes no damn sense!" The ex-priest proclaimed rubbing at his scruffy cheeks as they all reconvened in the jail.



The preacher was right. Nothing made any sense. The jail had obviously been unguarded long enough for someone to have freed Adams, yet the keys lay untouched in the desk drawer and the madman still sat in his cell as calmly as if he were having dinner in the boarding house.



Tanner had discovered Chaucer was still in his stall but Nathan's mount and gear were gone.



A thorough search of the clinic and Ezra's room above the saloon had produced no sign of the men and no clues as to their disappearance.



Startled, everyone reached for their guns as glass shattered, slivers spraying in all directions when a large rock was hurled through the window.



His mare's leg ready, Tanner stooped beneath the broken window, his sharp gaze searching the dark street. "Looks all clear."



"Guess someone's to cheap ta pay for a telegram." Josiah stated scooping up the paper wrapped stone, tossing it to the gunslinger. "Got your name on it Chris."



Using Buck's knife, Larabee cut the string holding the old piece of butcher's paper and smoothed out the wrinkles.



"Sonuvabitch!"



The others quickly gathered around staring at the penciled note in dismay.



We got your man iffen ya want him bak safe kep yer moth shut Testefy and yall hear the bullet we put in his bran.



"Lord, they spell worse than you Vin." Wilmington quipped in a vain attempt to ease the tension.



Before anyone could react, Chris had dashed across the room, keyed the door and burst into Adams' cell, slamming the outlaw against the wall, penning him with a forearm against his throat. "Where the hell are they you slimy sonuvabitch?"



"I don't know what you're talkin' about." Adams smirked. "As you well know I've haven't even had visitors except for the lawyer your judge was so kind enough to provide."



"Tell me where they are or so help me God I'll shoot ya right here and now." The gunslinger hissed, pressing the barrel of his Colt against the man's abdomen. "I'll make sure ya die…real…slow…" He warned, the fierceness in his eyes giving his words solid credence.



"Then you'll never find your friend…That is assuming my men are the ones who sent that note." The prisoner smugly pointed out, steadily meeting the deadly glare.



"This isn't the way Chris." Josiah's deep voice rumbled near Larabee's ear as the ex-priest's large hand encircled the Hoosier's wrist. "We'll find them Chris…We'll find them."



Not wanting to surrender the standoff, Larabee threw Adams onto the cot and let the preacher steer him from the cell, Josiah making sure it locked firmly behind them.



No one spoke as Larabee paced, letting their leader work off as much anger as possible.



"Chris," Sanchez tapped the note Vin was studying as Larabee gulped the coffee, from the cup Wilmington had shoved into his hand. "This says we got your man."



"I know what it says Preacher." Larabee growled.



"It says man…not men…Which means we still got one person that's unaccounted for."



"Maybe it's a mistake." Their youngest offered. "Like Buck said, they ain't exactly the best spellers."



"Could be." Josiah nodded. "But what if it's not?"



"So if ain't a mistake and they've got Nathan, then where the hell is Ezra and why wasn't he here?" The gunslinger snarled.



"And why do you automatically assume it's Nathan who is their captive?" Josiah questioned, not wanting any of them to jump to the conclusion Ezra had somehow brought about the current situation. Nathan was his best friend and while he'd come to think of the gambler as a son Josiah hated the thought of either man being in the hands of the madman's followers.



"Cause Nathan doesn't have a penchant for disappearing and unfortunately Ezra does."



"He came back Chris." JD stated firmly. "He coulda just kept ridin' that day and we'd all be dead."



"Reckon it's Ezra they got and 'ccordin ta this it's someplace close." The sharpshooter rasped quietly. "Most likely somewhere's here in town."



"What makes ya think that?" Wilmington interrupted before the gunslinger could turn on the young sheriff for his off handed remark.



"Couple a reasons. It says if Chris testifies he'll hear the shot so they gotta be close enough first off ta know if he tells his side and second, there's Ez's hat." He nodded toward the familiar black Stetson hanging on the hook by the door.



Larabee rubbed the tense muscles in the back of his neck. "JD go wake up Amos and Yosemite. Ask 'em ta come over to the jail. I'm gonna go talk ta the judge and then we're gonna turn this town upside down till we find Nathan and Ezra."



"JD," Chris caught the younger man's arm stopping him at the door. "I wasn't talkin' about the Seminole village!" He denied vehemently. "I'm talkin' about his habit of rushin' off on his own ta protect everybody else."



JD nodded, giving the gunslinger a grin of understanding. "Reckon that's just his way."



'Or maybe he's tryin' ta make up for that mistake.' Chris thought.



*******



As consciousness returned, Ezra groaned, his head thumping agonizingly with each beat of his heart. The world tilted on its axis and his stomach roiled as he forced open heavy eyelids which seemed lined with lead.



A moment of panic overwhelmed the gambler at the darkness surrounding him.



Ezra's greatest fear was dying alone and friendless but a close second was losing the use of his eyes or his hands. What good was a gambler or con man that couldn't read the faces of his opponents or stack the deck in his favor if necessary?



Swallowing the hysteria, which clawed at him, he blinked several times, trying to focus his blurry vision. He finally realized, there was a difference in the depths and colors of the shadows.



He released a deep sigh of relief. 'So my eyesight seems to be intact. A bit fuzzy but at least I'm not blind.' His relief deepened further when he found he could wiggle the fingers of the hands shackled behind his back.



Struggling into a sitting position, the con man took several deep breaths momentarily fighting the nausea before turning aside and emptying the contents of his stomach.



Once finished, he swiped his mouth against his shoulder. Wishing he could rinse the vile taste from his mouth he leaned against the wall and tilted his head back trying to concentrate.



Suddenly remembering Nathan and young Patrick O'Malley traveling the dark road, the southerner held his breath listening to be certain he was alone.



A shiver racked his body as the cooler temperatures of his dark surroundings registered in his muddled brain. Focusing on one thing at a time, he tried to figure out where he was. He could feel the dirt beneath his fingers and smell the mixture of damp earth and rotted vegetables.



A root cellar? He could only surmise his current location was a root cellar or perhaps a spring house…But where?



Having no sense of the time which had passed, Ezra wasn't certain how long he'd been unconscious but he was aware of the warm sticky stream of blood trickling down the back of his neck from the painful lump behind his ear. Since it was still wet and oozing, he didn't think it had been long enough for his captors to have traveled very far.



He had to conclude he was close to town therefore if he could only discover a means of escape he hopefully wouldn't have far to travel to find aid and assistance.



Surprisingly, the gambler had no doubt the other men would be searching for him, after they'd recaptured Adams of course, but he had never found it prudent to rely on the assistance of others when he ound himself in some sort of a fix.



He straightened. A root cellar. What could he find in an old abandoned root cellar which could assist him in emancipating himself?



*******



The sun had begun to lighten the streets when Larabee had finally finished talking to Judge Travis and returned to the jail where the other four men anxiously waited.



"Judge says he can push the trial back a couple hours but with all the commotion in town that's about all he can do." He informed the gathered men. "Buck, JD and Josiah take the north end of town, me and' Vin'll start on the south-"



"Wouldn't it be faster if we all split up?" Dunne interrupted.



"Might, but we don't know exactly who we're up against or how many of them there might be. We don't even know what the hell they look like. I don't wanna take a chance on anybody walkin' into a trap alone." The gunslinger stated firmly. "I don't give a damn if ya gotta roust people outta bed to check under 'em, I want everyplace searched!"



"You don't really think anybody here in town is involved do ya?" The young sheriff looked incredulous at the mere possibility one of the town's upstanding citizens would dare side with a man like Adams.



"Not willingly but ya never know what someone will do to protect the lives of the people they care about." Larabee sniped. "And I wouldn't put anything past these bastards."



"Reckon we might wanna try and keep people off the streets. Best bet is we're all bein' watched." Tanner, sitting hip shot on the edge of the desk, didn't look up from checking the loads in his mare's leg. "We panic 'em and they just might start shootin' anybody in their way."



"True." Larabee took a deep breath, anxious to start the search. "If ya can, try usin' a little tact."



"'Ccordin' ta Ezra ain't none of us got any tact." Buck shrugged, remembering the gambler's comments when they'd been on a mission to rescue Chris from that hellhole prison.



"However, we can be pretty damn persuasive in our own way." Josiah noted with a wry grin, slapping the unusually somber gunfighter on the shoulder urging them on their way.



"Watch your backs!" Larabee warned as they began their search.



A search they all silently hoped would discover their two missing brothers.



*******



A small groan escaped Ezra's lips as the southerner once again attempted to force his eyes open.



Ezra wasn't certain how many times he'd lost consciousness only to regain his senses and again turn his still somewhat muddled thoughts return to seeking a plan of escape.



Unfortunately the darkness made it difficult to find something he could use as a lock pick to free his wrists from the confining cuffs.



A frown creased his forehead, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Something was different this time. He suddenly realized his blurry vision had settled on a small circle of illumination.



The con man jerked than froze, as the rolling click of the firing pin being cocked seemed to literally explode in the silence.



"Make a sound and yer a dead man afore the echo fades."



The threat whispered in his ear was so low if the cold metal of a gun barrel hadn't been pressed against his temple Ezra might have thought it was nothing more than his imagination running rampant in the unnerving darkness.



Remaining motionless and silent, the gambler was abruptly aware of muffled sounds overhead. Sounds which translated into footsteps and voices. He couldn't understand the words being spoken but knew that tone.



Larabee!



The muted conversation held an anger which was usually reserved especially for the southerner alone.



Damnit! Why wasn't Larabee and the others out looking for Adams? Surely they didn't think the man was hanging around town, perhaps having a drink in one of the local watering holes or dining with one of the founding families?



Most assuredly they wouldn't allow Adams to avoid justice in favor of pursuing the riddle of Standish's disappearance. Or would they?



Ezra's emerald eyes darted about the dimly lit area. He wasn't far from the foot of the stairs. In fact, if Chris opened the cellar door he would, most likely, easily spot the gambler's captor in the dim light.



Of course, the reverse would also be true, for the gunslinger would most certainly be an easy target for the henchman now looming over the con man.



The southerner was torn between hoping the angry leader of their pack of misfits would free him from his dismal prison and by the same token praying he wouldn't, not wanting to be the reason for the honorable gunman's demise.



The cardsharp quickly decided his life wasn't worth disobeying his guard unless it meant calling out a warning only if the Hoosier and whoever might be with him began to open the cellar door.



As the noises above his head slowly faded when the frustrated men finally gave up their search and moved on, the southerner released a small sigh of relief.



The gun barrel was finally removed, and his captor moved further into the illumination of the lantern sitting a few feet away. Keeping his weapon trained on the gambler, the burly man upended an old crate, spilling its few contents in all directions and using it as a seat.



Seeing the man's face in the poor light Ezra struggled to bring the fuzzy image into focus. Memories returned as he recalled the burly man had knocked on the jail door shortly after Nathan's departure and called out a warning before entering.



Supposedly, camped outside of town, he had come looking for the sheriff to report the theft of his horse and his few belongings. The last thing the gambler remembered was telling the man to help himself to the hot coffee on the stove.



Finding his tongue, the gambler spoke quietly. "Either I'm losing my touch or you missed your calling sir. You should be on the stage. If my hands were not restrained at the moment I would offer my own applause." The cardsharp mentally berated himself for letting his guard down but even upon re-examination he had found no flaw in the man's story.



"Is there a particular reason Mr. Adams left you behind? I would have thought he would insist someone as loyal and trustworthy as yourself-someone willing to forfeit his freedom to help him escape-would want that brave person at his side."



When the man made no response to his remarks, Ezra continued talking about anything that came to mind, his blurry gaze casually searching the area he could bring into focus.



He knew he was rambling, hesitating only when he had to concentrated on settling his roiling stomach, but it was the only way he could think of to remain conscious.



His gaze raked over the area and back and then stopped. He blinked several times; hoping the small piece of metal lying in the dirt was an actual object and not a mere figment of his imagination conjured up by wishful thinking.



Hoping his movements appeared casual, he shifted his cramped position, maneuvering the tiny piece of wire closer with his leg.



"Have you never considered profiting from your acting ability. With your natural inclinations and the proper training-"



"Damn! Don't ya ever shut the fuck up?" The man groused, spitting a stream of tobacco sideways into the dirt.



"I, long ago, discovered that conversation helps pass the time, much the same as a good game of cards." Ezra forced a grin, blinking as a shooting pain caused twinkling lights to dance erratically before his emerald eyes. "Unless, of course, I happen to be in the company of Mr. Larabee. While I've found him to be an extremely intelligent gentleman, I often wonder if the man considers words such a rare commodity that they must be used sparingly. Believe me there are days when you would think he had no voice at all."



The man leered as he scrubbed a dirty sleeve over his mouth, wiping away the dark tobacco stain dribbling down his chin. "Ya better be aprayin' this is one a them days."



*******



Releasing his pent up frustration, Larabee slammed his fist against wall of the clinic. Four Corners had been turned upside down and inside out by the peacekeepers, with no clue as to the gambler's whereabouts.



Proving Vin's theory correct, Nathan had ridden into town a few hours after sunrise, his exhaustion immediately disappearing as he joined the others in their search for the missing gambler.



The men had literally taken Larabee at his word, leaving no stone unturned as they sought after their friend. Citizens grumbled and complained at being awakened, but upon hearing the reason, most, understood as the peacekeepers checked their homes, examining root cellars and attics, sheds, and outhouses. If it was a space large enough to hold a child, it was investigated.



At the bordello on the edge of town, Miss Glenda had opened her doors and roused her girls from their beds, questioning them about anything strange their customers may have talked about.



Mrs. Potter had put on a pot of coffee insisting they each have a cup while searching her home and store, handing them the keys to the storage shed, without being asked.



McMurtry, in his nightshirt, had threatened to have both men arrested when Larabee and Tanner had pounded on his door, forcing their way into his house.



Pushing aside his own anger, Vin had kept Larabee from attacking the banker when the pompous man had remarked that the gambler had probably been paid to disappear and the only reason Adams was still behind bars was due to the sharpshooter's early arrival. 



The banker further irked them refusing to get dressed when they ordered him to get dressed so he could accompany them to the bank, stating no one in their right mind would try and hide in a bank even knowing it was going to be closed until after the trial. He capitualated only when Tanner threatened to let the furious gunslinger use the banker as a bantering ram to break in the door. The banker had smirked in satisfaction as his prediction proved true and the bank was devoid of the gambler. They left McMurtry yelling threats at them as they moved on down the street, still searching.



Their quest had taken them to every wagon and campsite set up on the outskirts of town.



Every possible spot their friend could be held was searched and then searched again.



"I knew I shouldn't a left." Nathan stared out the window, watching as people began gathering at the Grain Exchange, which had been set up as a makeshift courthouse. "I let that southern fool convince me-"



"Any one a us woulda insisted ya go help Mrs. O'Malley. Ez ain't no different." Buck sighed pacing the small room. "Only one blaming you is you."



Larabee's head snapped around at the added comment. He wanted to scream at the jovial gunfighter that he wasn't to blame for Sarah and Adam's death. Chris could have insisted they continue the journey home. Hell, for that matter, he could have left the womanizer to his fun and returned home alone. Buck would have shown up a couple a days later just as he always had, none the worse for wear and smiling like he'd discovered heaven.



The truth was he had blamed Buck but not nearly as much as he blamed himself. It had taken a lot of years to come to the realization the responsibility lay solely with the person who had used his family as a form of revenge.



"What are we gonna do Chris?" JD turned to his hero for the solution which would keep his family intact. "We're runnin' outta time."



"I can tell time as well as you JD!" Chris snapped his hazel-eyed gaze still on his oldest friend.



Hell, one problem at a time, Larabee.



"We got just over an hour before the Judge is gonna open the doors to the grainery." Larabee growled. "So we go look again! Vin's right. Ezra wasn't alone that long and me or Buck woulda heard horses ridin' out…"



None of the men wanted to point out the fact that neither man had heard the healer leave town or even asked why men who should have been asleep at that hour would have heard anything at all.



"He's gotta be close. There's gotta be somethin' or someplace we overlooked so we keep huntin' but when it's time, Nathan and Josiah you take up positions at the door. Make sure nobody and I mean nobody but us carries a gun inside. JD, you take your spot as sheriff inside by the judge. Yosemite and Amos can help Buck bring Adams over."



"What if we don't find 'im Chris," Their youngest shuffled his feet, his worried gaze on the floorboards. "Ya ain't gonna testify are ya?" The kid's gaze jerked upward when Larabee didn't immediately answer. "If ya do they'll kill 'im for sure." He pointed out needlessly.



"Come on kid," Tanner urged, guiding the younger man toward the door. "Let's go see 'bout findin' our black sheep."



Chris caught the tracker's arm. "We don't find him, I want you up high when the trial starts. Ya know what to look for."



Tanner nodded somberly. Chris was hoping the sharpshooter would be able to spot and stop the person intent on killing the gambler.



"Ya gotta testify Chris." Wilmington's quiet words filled the clinic as the others exited. He knew the sheriff's question had stirred the already boiling conflict inside his old friend.



It didn't matter that Chris had found a family in the six men who rode with him. It didn't matter that whether he wanted to admit it or not he was fond of the gambler who had a tendency to drive him to the edge of insanity. It didn't matter that Ezra, like the other six, was being paid to risk his life to protect this dusty corner of the territory. None of that mattered.



If this had happened the week they'd returned from the Seminole Village, Chris would still be fighting the battle between costing the con man his life by doing the right thing or letting Adams evade justice and praying the kidnappers kept their word and released Ezra.



Just as he had all his life, Larabee shouldered full responsibility for those he rode with.



"How Buck?" He turned sorrowful eyes to his friend. "Ya read that note. Ezra dies if I take the stand."



Buck's blue eyes were somber as he spoke. "And his respect for you dies if you don't."



*******



Standish tumbled sideways in an effort to avoid the next stream of tobacco juice aimed his direction. The man guarding him chuckled with amusement when pushing aside the pain, Ezra made a great show of wiggling in an attempt to sit up, using the movement to snag the small piece of wire from the floor.



Achieving his objective the gambler struggled upright. Leaning back against the wall, the Ezra closed his eyes, trying to ease the pain coursing through his head and praying he wouldn't lose consciousness.



"What did you mean…" The con man swallowed convulsively fighting his rising nausea, "About…hoping this is one of those days?"



The henchman smirked. "Your friend knows iffen he opens his mouth in court today yer a dead man."



"So Mr. Adams didn't manage to escape." There was a sense of satisfaction in the knowledge; knowing the murdering bastard still sat behind bars.



"Didn't need to." The man laughed, his eyes glinting maliciously. "Adams is a real smart man…One of them there geniuses or something…He's always had a plan case somethin' like this ever happened. Yer friend knows he says anythin' and he might as well have pulled this trigger his ownself."



The headache increased tenfold and the cardsharp suddenly found it hard to breathe as if he were being crushed beneath a great weight.



'Dear God! They're forcing Larabee to choose between seeing justice done and causing the death of another.'



Sadness overwhelmed the gambler. It seemed as if Larabee was a favorite target of the fates. Josiah had often said God never gave a person more than they could handle but how was Chris supposed to carry everything which had been piled on his shoulders.



After all, the gunman had clawed his way out from the bottom of a whiskey bottle and started to rebuild his life after losing, to revenge, everything that gave his life meaning. He was just getting back on solid ground and now…What would being forced to make this decision do to him?



"I'm afraid your boss picked the wrong person on whom to test his plan." Ezra's chuckle held no mirth. "Mr. Larabee is not one to be ordered about or threatened. Mr. Adams should have run as far and as fast as possible because I can guarantee you Chris Larabee will testify and your boss is going to hang."



Ezra was as certain of his statement as if he had bet all his money on it. He was just as certain that decision would destroy his friend's soul.



*******



From the rooftop across the street, Vin Tanner watched the crowd gathered in front of the granary. The fact the building wasn't large enough to admit all the spectators didn't dissuade anyone. The whispers of what was happening inside quickly passed through the crowd from those closest to the entrance.



The sharpshooter paced the roof, his observant gaze raking over the almost silent town.



Where the hell are you Ez?



There had been no sign of the gambler. It was as if he'd simply been whisked away by unseen spirits.



Despite the dire circumstances a smile touched the tracker's lips. He knew the gambler would have greatly enjoyed the hullabaloo raised on his behalf as disapproving citizens were rousted from their homes and grumbling government dignitaries were made to wait in the hotel hallway while their rooms were searched. Yep, Ezra would have dearly loved it.



Tanner's blue-eyed gaze returned to the building across the street, wishing he could see through the wooden walls. He wished he could be inside with the others. Wished he could be there to offer the gunslinger support, letting Chris know they would all stand behind him no matter what decision he made. A decision which would change his life forever, as well as affecting the future of the seven.



Vin couldn't help but wonder what he would do in Larabee's position. Would he have the courage to testify knowing it would cost a friend his life?



The Texan knew what Ezra would say. 'The only thing that matters in a circumstance such as this is seeing to it, Adams pay for the unspeakable crimes he's committed.'



Yet bringing Adams to justice was going to mean they would be burying their southern friend.



Vin couldn't imagine Four Corners without Ezra Standish. He couldn't imagine never seeing the impudent smile when the gambler did something to raise Larabee's blood pressure through the roof. He couldn't imagine the two of them not sitting on the saloon roof as the gambler produced a new book for Tanner's reading lessons.



He couldn't imagine the gambler never trying to convince them to join in one of his many money making schemes or using that quick mind of his to help them escape relatively unharmed from the traps set by criminals out to take down the magnificent seven.



Vin couldn't imagine never again seeing the gambler's emerald eyes sparkle with love as he talked about Nica or see the brightly dressed man's happy smile as he escorted her about town.



Tanner wondered if the southerner realized how many lives he had touched and how much he would be missed if…He couldn't allow himself to dwell on the thought.



While Ezra would, in the end, pay the ultimate price, Larabee's decision would cost each of the other six men a piece of their soul.



The last of JD's naivete' would die right along with Ezra and Vin could only hope it didn't turn the youth into a bitter cynical man.



The loss of a son he'd never had would turn Josiah away from the faith in God he was just re-discovering.



Nathan would lose his constant reminder of the need for tolerance because most people were complicated beings who couldn't always be judged by their appearance or at times even their actions.



Both he and Buck would lose not one dear friend but two. Ezra would be lost to a bullet and Chris to the demons that would forever haunt him, perhaps forcing him to seek peace at the bottom of a bottle...or worse, if it was too much for the man to bear, in death.



The tracker had no doubt Larabee would do the right thing. Chris would take the stand and tell the world what he had witnessed, ripping away his very soul.



Tanner knew, as surely as he knew the sun would rise on the morrow, Chris would do the right thing and the seven would never again be the same.



*******



Stifling his satisfied smile as he felt the lock give way, the gambler continued to ramble on, raising his voice slightly to cover the noise as the shackle fell away from his left wrist.



Rotating the wrist to restore the circulation, the con man shifted about hoping to relax muscles stiffened by remaining in one position for to long. He needed to be able to move quickly if he had any chance of overpowering the man who was anxiously waiting to perform his execution.



He couldn't act just yet. His eyes slid shut and he tried to will away the pain and dizziness that intensified with each movement. He needed to be able to concentrate. He needed to think. He needed to devise a workable plan of escape. A plan of escape which hopefully would allow him, with his skin intact, to reach Larabee before the Hoosier decided to do something foolish like put Ezra's life above justice.



Ezra didn't truly believe for a moment the honorable gunslinger would make the erroneous choice of deciding the gambler's pitiful existence was more important then seeing Adams receive retribution for his heinous crimes, but Ezra wasn't willing to take the chance.



Of the six men he worked with, Larabee was the one man the southerner could read the least. Like Ezra, himself, the gunfighter seemed to thrive on doing the unexpected.



The Hoosier had been placed in this moral predicament because of the southerner and Standish felt obligated to find Chris a satisfactory solution.



Gathering his wits about him, Ezra gauged the distance between himself and his guard, deciding he'd be dead before he could get to his feet. The shackle hanging from his right arm prevented his using the derringer so his best chance was for the man to come to him.



He licked at his dry lips. "Might I impose on you for something to drink? Staring down a gun barrel tends to dry one's throat."



"Ain't stopped ya from runnin' yer mouth." The man grumbled. "Sides ain't got nothin' ta drink my ownself."



"Fortunately sir, I have always found it beneficial to keep my flask filled with the finest scotch this side of the Mississippi." The con man stated with a self-satisfied smile. "If you'd be kind enough to remove it from the inside pocket of my jacket I would be more than happy to share it with you, thereby quenching both our thirsts."



The man's eyes narrowed and he studied the gambler for a long moment.



Keeping the poker face in place Ezra prepared himself as, deciding the shackled gambler was harmless the man closed the distance between them. Ezra wisely remained motionless, averting his eyes, not wanting to appear any type of threat.



He waited, biding his time. His heartbeat quickened as he watched the man in his peripheral vision and felt him fumbling in his jacket pocket, seeking the desired flask.



As the guard sat back on his heels, with a satisfied grunt, tilting his head back to swig from the silver container, Ezra struck. Using his left hand to push aside and grapple for the gun, his right fist clutching the metal shackle, connected with the other man's jaw stunning him. Kicking out, Standish drove the heel of his boot into the dazed man's knee as the man tumbled backwards, struggling to maintain his hold on the pistol.



The big man attempted to catch his balance and flailed out, his ham sized fist smashing against Ezra's cheekbone, causing the gambler to see an explosion of bright lights. He fought to maintain consciousness, knowing if he lost the man would beat him to a pulp before ending his life with a bullet.



Literally sitting on top of him, Ezra dug his heels in using his legs and weight to keep the bigger man from tossing him aside. Maintaining his grip on the gun, he continued to pound the man's face with the shackles still clutched in his free hand.



'Is this sonuvabitch never gonna give up?'



Ezra knew he had to end this battle quickly. He was weakening, his vision growing blurrier with each blow the man delivered.



In desperation, releasing his hold on the gun, the southerner sank his teeth into the other man's wrist, holding on like a bull terrier.



The large man screamed, and wrenching the weapon from the man grasp with the last of his own faltering strength, Standish used the revolver as a club sending his guard into unconsciousness.



His breath coming in ragged gasps, leaving the man where he lay, Ezra pushed away from the body and crawled toward the stairs and freedom.



*******



Inside the Grain Exchange, silence reigned as his duster swirling about his long legs as if he were the Grim Reaper himself; the black clad gunslinger crossed the room to take the seat beside the judge's table.



Slowly rising from his chair beside Adams, Madison paced for moment before turning to face the man who had been sole witness to the death and devastation caused by his client.



"I only have a couple of questions for you Mr. Larabee." Madison actually appeared apologetic. "You heard my client's testimony…"



"Of course I heard that sack a shit tell his pack a lies. I was sittin' right over there."



Laughter rolled through the large room at Larabee's sarcastic response, the interruption drawing a mock look of reprisal from Judge Travis.



The lawyer's expression darkened slightly as he cut to the main inquiry. "Sir, did you see my client shoot either Mr. or Mrs. Jenkins?"



"I-"



The attorney interrupted Chris' answer. "Listen to the question carefully Mr. Larabee." Like Judge Travis and the citizens closest to the regulators, the attorney knew that Ezra's life was also balanced on the scales of justice.



Madison took seriously his oath to defend his clients to the best of his ability and had never shirked that responsibility, no matter how repulsive the defendant but in this case, he was loath to make this man responsible for the death of one of his friends.



"Simply answer yes or no…Did you witness my client murder either Mr. or Mrs. Jenkins?"



The gunslinger met the attorney's gaze steadily. He realized Madison was not only defending his client but just as importantly was also attempting to give Larabee, himself, a way out of the situation. Chris knew he didn't have to answer any question he wasn't directly asked.



"No." Larabee growled, his eyes flashing with the anger burning inside him.



Damnit! He didn't want a way out. He wanted that bastard Adams to hang for his crimes. He wanted the sonuvabitch to beg for his life. He wanted to watch him kick and spit and struggle for air as the rope tightened around his neck and ended his miserable life. More than that he wanted Ezra back…alive.



He wanted to see the southerner's cocky grin and hear those sarcastic five dollars words he was certain the gambler uttered just to rile him. He wanted to hear the gambler brag about his skill at the poker tables and just as badly wanted to hear Ezra complain about being assigned to early morning patrols.



He wanted to see the con man's emerald eyes light up with happiness when Nica came into sight and likewise wanted to see those same eyes darken in disapproval when asked to perform menial labor.



Chris wanted to see the gambler laughing with the children and puffed up with pride when Emma read from her newest book or watch him try to hide his delight and approval as Vin signed his own name to his tab at Mrs. Potter's store.



He wasn't ready to give all that up. Damnit to hell, he wanted Ezra back!



Shocked whispers filled the air as the stunned spectators commented on the peacekeeper's response, fading away as Travis rapped the table top and demanded silence.



"Thank you, sir, for your honesty." Madison sank into his chair, glancing sorrowfully at his friend, who presided over the trial, seeing understanding in the other man's eyes.



He was well aware Travis would ask the question he hadn't. It was his duty as adjudicatior, just as it was the lawyer's duty not to ask the question, which would convict his client.



Madison knew Travis well. They had been friends since meeting in law school. Over the years they'd celebrated the good times and mourned the bad, the hard won victories and hard fought losses. He'd listened many times as over dinner or a drink, his old friend had talked of the seven men he'd hired to protect the little town, speaking highly of each man including the gambler who had once appeared before him as a defendant.



Madison knew from those talks the judge had come to like and respect each of the seven and would deeply mourn the loss of any of them but Travis was a fair and honorable man who believed in the law. Upholding the laws of the land was a necessity if this country was going to grow and mankind was going to survive.



Knowing all that, Madison was certain it would rip away a piece of the judge's heart to ask a question he knew would most likely destroy the seven men.



As he watched, Orrin looked down, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders and Madison knew he was watching that very thing happen.



"Mr. Larabee," Travis quiet voice carried in the deadly silence. "I have a question if you don't mind." The judge turned toward the black clad man seated in the chair beside his desk. "You stated you didn't see who killed Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins."



"That's right." Chris nodded.



"What about their son?" Travis posed the one question that if answered truthfully would seal Ezra's fate. "Did you happen to witness who murdered the boy?"



*******



Thinking clearly enough to check for an outside guard, Ezra weakly pushed open the trap door a few inches, glancing around before climbing from his temporary prison, quietly dropping the door back into place, shocked to find himself in a small, obviously abandoned building.



The floor was littered with moldy hay and numerous broken crates. A rusted shovel and broken handled hoe leaned against the partition wall of the only stall.



Carefully opening the outer door, shading his eyes against the obtrusive light as he stumbled from the shed he was surprised to discover the fuzzy image of a small house a few feet away, the windows and doors blocked with slabs of lumber to prevent entrance.



Realization dawned and he knew this particular house had been unoccupied since Poplar had murdered the pretty dressmaker who had once lived there.


Sorrow washed over him with the memory of the young woman lying crumbled in the street, her youthful life extinguished by the cruel madness of Poplar's misdirected guilt.



He shook aside the sad memory and looked around.



The granary!



He had to get to the granary. He had to make certain another madman wasn't permitted to destroy more lives than he already had.



Ezra truly believed what he'd told the foul smelling man who had been standing guard over him. He firmly believed Larabee would take the stand and testify to what he'd seen but a man's thinking could easily get twisted. He didn't want Chris going against his own conscience out of some misguided sense of obligation.



Using the walls of the house for support the southerner stumbled in the direction of the street.



"Where the hell ya think yer goin' Reb?"



*******



Chris stiffened. He'd expected the question. Had known as surely as his name was Christopher Larabee that Travis wouldn't allow the Jenkins boy's murder to be ignored. He had prepared his answer before entering the building but somehow now the words seemed to be sticking in his throat.



The spectators seemed to be holding their breath as they waited for gunman to answer.



As Larabee's hazel eyes skimmed over the large room, Mary Travis dropped her gaze, a single tear smudging the notes she had written on the paper in her lap. She knew what this was doing to the man she loved and momentarily hated her father-in-law for putting Chris in such a heart wrenching position.



Standing on the other side of the judge, JD watched Chris intently, a glimmer of hope mixing with the fear shining in his dark eyes the longer Chris remained silent.



The young man was well aware of the repercussions of Chris' testimony and it was tearing at his heart as well. Of the six older men, Ezra had always treated Dunne with the equality the Bostonian yearned for. He rarely reminded the sheriff he wasn't as experienced as the other regulators, and unlike some people in town, had never acting as if the young sheriff was little more than a teenager play acting at being a man. Standish talked, teased and laughed with JD, on equal footing and always offered advice without sounding condescending.



Larabee realized how young the sheriff looked. Dunne's arms were folded across his chest the stance one of authority but Chris couldn't help thinking how it appeared JD was trying to hug his courage to himself, in an effort to keep from begging his hero not to say the words which would take their southern brother from them forever.



Nathan and Josiah held positions on either side of the entrance.



The healer was chewing his lip, caught up in Larabee's moral dilemma just as if he were the one actually testifying. He knew the ex-slave had finally come to realize the gambler wasn't the epitome of evil as he'd once thought. He no longer saw the enigmatic con man as the image of everything he hated about the south.



Nathan had begun to understand Ezra was only human and with that understanding Jackson had come to consider the charismatic cardsharp a good friend. While Nate still harped on the man's many avaricious flaws; Larabee knew he hadn't failed to notice the changes Standish had made not only in his own life but also in those who truly took the time to know him.



Chris could sense the guilt, which surrounded Nathan as thick as fog. He blamed only himself for Ezra's certain death. Not Larabee or even Adams. He, himself, had chosen another over Ezra, leaving the con man alone against who knew what kind of odds.



There was no animosity in the tear filled gray eyes, which locked with Chris' own hazel gaze as the gunslinger glanced at Josiah.



Of them all, Ezra had found a special place in Josiah's huge heart, filling a void in the ex-priest's life, with laughter, sarcasm, slight of hand and a loyalty, which challenged the older man's faith and patience. In return the black sheep of the seven had found in Sanchez, a strong shoulder to lean on, a show of pride when earned, a stern word when deserved, a guiding hand in the dark, or a swift kick in the backside when needed.



In Josiah Sanchez, Ezra had found a father.



Resigned to the loss of the man he thought of as a son, the preacher gave Larabee a small nod of approval, urging him to do what they all knew was necessary.



Chris shifted his gaze upwards, thinking of the one of their number who would be hardest to face. How he would face Vin, knowing his words had been the southerner's death decree? Besides Larabee, Vin was closest to the gambler and sometimes it seemed to Chris, those two were like mirror images of one another.



In his own close mouthed way Tanner had lent the Hoosier his support. The sharpshooter would place the blame for Ezra's loss where it rightfully belonged…squarely on Adams shoulders but that wouldn't give the Texan back his friend. Blaming the madman now seated beside Madison wouldn't prevent Vin's heart from breaking as he stood beside Ezra's grave. It wouldn't stop him from missing the man who'd taught him to write his name, who on numerous occasions had sneaked him out of the clinic and helped him with his outrageous practical jokes. Ezra truly brought out the forgotten little boy in both men.



'Pard, Don't let Ez's sacrifice be for nothin'.



The thought was as clear as if it had been spoken aloud as Larabee's gaze finally settled on Wilmington who was slouched in the corner closest to the gunslinger, his hat dangling down his back by its strings, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt.



The conversation in the clinic flooded his mind.



"Ya asked me why Ezra was followin' ya around…watchin' ya so close." Buck sank on the edge of the small bed. "He wasn't watchin' ya Chris…He was watchin' over ya!"



Chris remained silent listening as the womanizer told him of their observations, the conversation with Ezra in the church and the gambler's suspicions.



"I know me and Ezra don't always see eye to eye, Buck." Larabee sighed. "He's irritatin', stubborn, unpredictable…"



"Fun, smart…and vulnerable." Buck added quietly.



"Sometimes I think he enjoys gettin' my goat damn near as much as he likes playin' poker and there's been times when I would take great pleasure in wrappin' my hands around that scrawny southern neck a his. But as many times as I've threatened ta kill him myself I sure as hell don't want him dead."



"None of us do but he was sure hell bound and determined Adams was gonna pay for everything he's done. No matter what happens Chris you gotta stand up and tell your story." Wilmington stated with determination. "Ezra respects ya Pard. I don't think he's ever really respected anybody afore meetin' you."



"Who the hell asked for his damn respect?" Larabee groused. "I didn't! I didn't ask the little bastard to stick around. I didn't ask him to drive me crazy constantly runnin' off at the mouth and I sure as hell didn't ask him to watch my back." Chris responded indignantly.



"Sure ya did Pard. That's exactly what you did when you demanded he never run out on ya again." Wilmington countered quietly. "You did exactly that when you gave him a second chance."



"So yer sayin' because I reckoned he might be worth keepin' around he feels like he owes me?" The gunslinger angrily swung out sweeping the coffeepot and few metal cups off the table glaring as they rattled and bounced onto the floor. Gripping the edge of the table as if he meant to flip it over as well, he almost choked on the words. "Well he doesn't! Ezra Standish doesn't owe me a damn thing and he sure doesn't owe anybody his life!"



Buck shook his head sadly. "Face it Larabee, the chances of them lettin' Ezra go just cause ya do what they want are about the same odds as you convincin' Maude to do things yer way. We all know it." Wretchedness filled the womanizer's next words. "Reckon ol' Ez knows that too. He expects ya to do the right thing…We ain't givin' up on findin' 'im Chris but…but I reckon the best way ya can show 'im your respect is by doin' just that. Ya tell the judge exactly what ya saw and make sure Ez and all those others Adams hurt get their day of reckonin' and their revenge." He lay a hand on Larabee's shoulder. "Don't ya dare let his sacrifice be for nothin'."



Wilmington slowly raised his eyes to meet his old friend's. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Buck silently pleaded with Larabee to honor the gambler by proving the gunslinger was indeed the admirable hero JD thought him to be.



*******



Vin Tanner was the only person in Four Corners who had ever called him Reb without it sounding derogatory and while he'd never asked, the gambler suspected it was because the tracker had served in the southern ranks during the war.



As a large dirty forearm encircled his throat, Ezra jerked his elbow backward, driving the bony joint into his assailant's abdomen. He was pleased by exhalation of air the man released as he doubled over. Taking advantage of man's position, Ezra once more slammed his elbow into his attacker's stomach grinding the heel of his boot onto the man's instep. Releasing his hold on the con man with a painful growl, as he gasped for air he was surprised when the gambler spun in his faltering grasp.



Still gripping the gun absconded from the root cellar, Ezra swung it, clipping the man's jaw and dropping him to his knees. Believing the man to be down, Ezra, panting with the effort, turned and headed into the street.



Slammed from behind Ezra stumbled to his knees the gun he still carried, flying from his grasp as he threw his hands out in an attempt to keep his balance.



The gambler thought he heard gun discharge as it struck the ground and hoped no one had been hurt by his carelessness. Shaking his head in an effort to clear his vision and muddled mind, he climbed back to his feet and staggered toward the granary.



*******



Vin's head jerked around at the sound of the single gunshot. His frantic gaze searched the nearly empty streets, wanting to give a loud whoop of joy as he spotted the familiar figure in the wine red jacket staggering to his feet.



Fear suddenly clutched at his heart, constricting his chest and making it hard to breathe when a large man stepped from the alley the gambler had just exited taking aim at Ezra's back. Had he already shot the gambler and was simply moving in for the kill or had Ezra fired the shot he'd heard?



Rapidly bringing the rifle to his shoulder, the sharpshooter sighted down the barrel and releasing his breath gently squeezed the trigger.



Certain his bullet had put an end to the immediate danger facing the con man, the tracker raked his observant gaze over the area searching for any other threat to Standish. Seeing none, he raced across the roof, lightly dropping to the ground and dashed for the Grain Exchange



*******



"Mr. Larabee…Chris?" The judge softly drew the gunslinger's attention back to the proceedings. "Did you see who murdered the Jenkins boy?" Travis regretfully repeated his question.



'I'm sorry Ezra.'



Steeling himself, wondering how he was supposed to live with the guilt, which was already beginning to eat at him, Larabee took a slow deep breath. "Yes."



As the sound of a gunshot rang out Chris jumped, his heart plunging when it was quickly followed by rifle fire.



Not even realizing he'd closed them, the gunslinger opened his eyes, focusing on Adams, the smug smirk extinguishing the last light of his broken soul.



Enraged beyond control, Larabee lunged from the chair. Vaulting the defendant's table, Chris bodily threw himself at Adams. Murderer and witness toppled to the floor in a wild tangle of arms and legs.



Chaos erupted as women screamed attempting to move out of the path of the fight, men hooted and hollered, pressing closer to the action and those outside surged forward attempting to enter, hoping to see what was happening.



Buck didn't move, continuing to slouch against the wall, tears of anger and sorrow sliding down his cheeks. Anger that he…that none of them…had been able to save the southerner's life. Anger directed inward, at himself, for convincing the gunslinger to do what they'd all known would result in the gambler's death. Sorrow for the loss of a friend he'd just begun to truly understand. Sorrow for a confusing friend who'd rather die for the six men he worked with than openly admit the affection he felt for them all. Sorrow for a gentle man, whose life had ended just as it was truly beginning.



He remained where he was willing to let Adams suffer the wrath of the fury burning inside the gunslinger before he'd wade into the fray only to stop Chris just short of hanging for murder, himself.



They would all watch Adams pay for his crimes and then the seven…correction, Buck mentally amended…the six…would ride into hell if that's what it took to exterminate the vile vermin who had taken their southern brother from them.



He saw JD shake himself from his stunned state, moving to help Josiah and Nathan as the two men fought their way toward Larabee, throwing aside the opponents without a second look as tempers took over and spectators became active participants in the growing brawl.



Scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, Wilmington pushed away from the wall. Ducking a wild swing aimed in his direction, Buck sent the cowhand behind it sprawling on the floor. Pushing his way forward, he grabbed Larabee's shoulders as the gunslinger's hands slid around Adam's throat and Chris began throttling him.



"That's enough Chris!"



His blood boiling, lost in a fog of fury whose likes hadn't engulfed him so strongly since he'd discovered the dead bodies of his wife and child, Larabee was aware of nothing but the man he was choking to death. The fact his wrists were shackled hadn't prevented the man from fighting back when Chris had jumped the table hurtling them both to the floor.



He preferred having the man fight back. It made killing him all that much more satisfying, knowing he had sent a man with no regard for human life to hell by his own hand.



Chris had lost enough…far too much…in his life! His wife, his son, his ranch, the life he'd been attempting to build and now the new life he'd started in Four Corners. He'd never been able to avenge Sarah and Adam but he could sure as hell avenge Ezra!



Larabee didn't hold back, making no attempt to contain his deep rage, using his fists to release his fury and avenge his lost friend.



*******



Unaware what was happening inside, intent only on gaining entrance to the building, Ezra pushed people aside without apology as he staggered his way through the crowd gathered around the doorway. Stumbling against the wall, he took a few seconds to catch his breath, fighting to focus on what seemed like hundreds of bodies doing a wildly out of control square dance.



"Damnit Chris! Let 'im go! Yer gonna kill 'im!"



Recognizing Wilmington's desperate plea, Ezra staggered forward, pushed and shoved from all directions.



Breaking through the throng and able to see, Ezra was certain he was hallucinating. Josiah and Buck were fiercely attempting to wrestle the infuriated gunslinger away from his victim while Nathan tried to loosen Chris' fingers which continued to tighten around the man's throat squeezing the life out of the man.



Adams' eyes bulged in his bloody face, his struggles weakening, his mouth moving feebly as he sought the life giving oxygen his deprived lungs craved.



"Mr. L-Larabee?"



No one appeared to take notice of the gambler or his weak call. Yielding to his trembling muscles, unable to remain on his feet any longer, the con man dropped to his knees in front of the murderous gunslinger. "Mr. Larabee?"



*******



Deciding if he let Larabee dish out anymore of his own style of retribution, the gunslinger would be the next one standing before his bench for sentencing, Judge Travis emptied both barrels of his shotgun into the ceiling.



The thunderous roar brought the havoc surrounding the gunslinger and murder defendant to a halt but did nothing to deter the black clad man intent on revenging his friend.



A bright splash of color drew Orrin's eye. A small smile widened as he recognized the red jacketed figure kneeling in front of the men grappling on the floor.



*******



"Mr. Larabee, this is quite unnecessary."



Receiving no reaction, the con man realized Adams had most certainly done something vicious to send Larabee over the edge, as his rage was blinding and defeafening him to everything except his murderous goal.



Ezra's eyes widened when he saw Josiah pull the gun from his holster. Was the preacher intending to use it to cold cock the gunslinger or perhaps he intended to kill Adams, himself, saving Chris from the hangman's noose.



"No Jo-Josiah!"



The preacher turned startled eyes to the cardsharp as Ezra suddenly wrenched the gun from his hand.



"Ezra?" The preacher's eyes clouded this time with happiness as he stared at aberration before him. It couldn't be…but it was…his wayward son.



"Chris!" Grabbing a handful of blond hair the southerner struggled to tug Larabee's head upward until he could see for himself the angry hazel eyes that flashed murderous green lightening.



"Christopher Larabee release that man immediately!" Calling on the skills he'd used when pulling his revival con, Ezra put all the hellfire and brimstone he could muster in his voice.



Except for Adams ragged gulps for air, total silence filled the room. It seemed to take several long moments before Larabee slowly released his grip and backed away from Adams, his gaze never leaving the figure still kneeling before him.



No one spoke as the peacekeepers stared at their seventh who had returned from the grave to release them from the hell they'd been plunged into only moments earlier.



"Ezra?" Larabee licked at dry lips, staring at the cardsharp as if he wanted to finger poke the man to be certain he wasn't looking at a ghost.



"Mr. Larabee, I-I believe Judge Travis w-would appreciate it if you returned your sorry ass to the stand and discontinued making a shambles of his makeshift courtroom."



"Reckon that's our gambler." Tanner grinned, squatting beside his southern brother as he joined his companions. "Suggest maybe ya might wanna take his advice Pard. Travis does look a mite pissed."



His eyes never leaving the gambler, Larabee allowed Buck and Josiah to help him to his feet. He backed toward the judge's table as benches and chairs were quickly righted and claimed.



Nathan shoved the defendant back into his chair taking a moment to wipe the blood from Adams' face before folding and pressing the towel JD had produced to the man's broken nose.



Vin guided Ezra to the bench in the front row, seating him between himself and Wilmington.



Resisting the urge to grin at the gambler, Travis turned his attention to the gunslinger as order was restored. "I believe I shall repeat my previous question, Mr. Larabee and this time, please refrain from assaulting the defendant."



*******



Settled safely between his two friends, flashing his gold tooth, Ezra gave his boss a dimpled grin of encouragement before dropping his gaze to seemingly study the floorboards.



Chris continued to watch the gambler while distractedly answering the judge's questions, describing the events of the Jenkins boy's murder just as he had told them to Wilmington in his room.



Even as he spoke, Larabee's hazel eyes studied Ezra. The gambler's handsome face sported several bruises and one eye was almost completely swollen shut. Evidently those guarding him hadn't been susceptible to the southerner's silver-tongued charm. He noted that while the con man appeared relaxed, he seemed to be lost in thought.



When Chris had finished, whispering among themselves, it took all of five minutes for the jury to reach a guilty verdict.



"Say it as much as you wish but it'll never happen." The defendant stated confidently through battered lips as the judge pronounced the death sentence to cheers, whistles and applause.



Adams laughed haughtily as he climbed to his feet. He gave Larabee a revengeful look and mouthed. 'It'll never happen.'



'The hell it won't! You're gonna pay if I have to braid the damn hangin' rope myself!' Dismissing Adams, Larabee, standing in Buck's vacated corner, continued to watch the southerner who other than nodding occasionally to the soft statements of the men on either side of him hadn't moved.



"By this time tomorrow this town will be nothing ashes and a dim memory." The murderer proclaimed as Josiah and JD led him from the makeshift courthouse, JD nodding when Vin asked him to bring back the keys so they could remove the shackles still dangling from Ezra's wrist.



Spectators slowly filed from the building, some following the peacekeepers to the jail, others heading for the saloon or just milling about in the street discussing everything they'd witnessed.



Ignoring their questions, roughly pushing through the intrusive gaggle of newspaper people who surrounded him, Larabee joined his friends. Wilmington and Tanner jumped to their feet, protectively stepping in front of the seated con man as the crowd followed the gunslinger.



"Good o see ya Ezra, now let's get ya up to the clinic and let Nate check ya out." Stooping in front of the southerner, Chris let Vin and Buck handle the people who continued to throw questions his direction, shouting to be heard over each other.



Nathan cleared a path to the exit for Mary and Orrin while the womanizer and tracker urged the inquisitors to find something else to interest them, making it known it wasn't a mere suggestion.



"I'm…f-fine." Ezra murmured, half straightening on the bench seat although it took all his concentration and focus to do so.



"Sure ya are." The gunslinger agreed with a dry chuckle. "But that was an order and I surely ain't in the mood for no more arguments today."



"Come on Ez. Don't give ol' Chris a bad time." Vin gently gripped the southerner's arm to assist him to his feet. "Reckon Larabee's had a real hard day and it's only half over. Ya know he ain't a young'un no more."



"Hell, he ain't as young as he was when he went ta bed last night." Wilmington quipped with a wide grin. 'Reckon we all aged ten years since this mornin.'



Tanner's grip tightened and Larabee made a desperate grab to keep the man from slamming into the floor as Ezra pitched forward, toppling from the bench.



"Shit!" Buck's hand trembled as he reached out to touch the large smear of blood on the back of the bench where Ezra had been seated.



"Get 'im ta the clinic! I'll fetch Nate." With a last glance at the unconscious con man cradled in the gunslinger's arms, reassuring himself the man still drew breath, Tanner shoved through the last of the crowd rushing out in search of the healer.



*******



A soft groan escaped the gambler's lips as awareness slowly began to return.



"Ezra?"



Standish could hear Larabee calling him but was almost afraid to open his eyes. Although he wasn't certain how long he'd been there, Ezra knew he was in the clinic. He remembered waking up there several times always to find someone at his bedside, holding the cup while he drank the water or tea it contained, gently wiping his face after he emptied his stomach into the nearby bucket, always assuring him he was going to be fine.



"Ezra? Come on Pard, open yer eyes."



Tanner!



The emerald eyes snapped open as a vague memory flooded his mind. The gambler had awakened to the Texan's softly voiced bitching and even softer growls of pain. When Ezra had opened his eyes, the sharpshooter had been sitting at the table, next to a pile of bloody rags while Nathan stitched his upper arm.



He remembered the others gathered in the room. Josiah sitting beside his bed, his solemn gray eyed gaze moving between the bible in his hand and the young man in the bed. Larabee, standing with one hand on Vin's shoulder, his calm eyes on Ezra. JD sat beside the womanizer on the small cot, urging his big brother to drink the herbal concoction he offered.



Was it really a memory? Perhaps it had been a dream, induced by the vile tea Nathan insisted he drink.



"Hey Pard, ya awake?" Tanner's grin faded as the fear filled emerald eyes raked over him. "What's wrong Ez?"



"Ezra?" Larabee eased the gambler into a seated position, placing the pillows at his back and holding the cup of water to his lips. "You alright?"



"I-I…Mr. Tanner were you injured? I seem to remember-"



"Just a scratch Ez. Nuthin' ta be worryin' yerself 'bout." The sharpshooter's lopsided grin returned. "Hell, I've had worse from Miz Nettie boxin' my ears."



"How? What happened?"



"First things first." Larabee interrupted. "How you feelin'?"



The con man carefully considered the question. "Surprisingly…a bit hungry."



"That shouldn't be no surprise. After three days, my stomach would think my throat'd been cut." The tracker chuckled, crossing to the door. "I'll go get ya somethin' ta eat. Iffen I hurry and get back afore Nate, ya think ya can manage somethin' in yer belly asides broth."



Ezra nodded absently as he stared at Larabee, questioning, "Three days?"



"Yep. Ya missed the hangin'. Town's almost back ta normal." Chris nodded, settling back into the chair. "Nathan says it was caused by a concussion more than the bullet in your shoulder. Didn't hardly run a fever at all." He quickly handed the gambler the cup again as Ezra licked at dry lips.



Sipping the cool water, Ezra watched Larabee over the brim of the metal container. The gunslinger appeared to have something on his mind. Something he had to work through before voicing it.



"So it wasn't a dream. Mr. Tanner was injured? What about Mr. Wilmington? I seem to remember…"



"Busted his arm." Exhaling deeply, Larabee told the gambler how half the men in town had joined the five lawmen in going after Adams men who were still camped in the hills. Nathan had stayed behind to look after the con man.



The injuries weren't severe, he was quick to reassure Ezra before the man felt guilty for the fact Nathan hadn't been there to give aid immediately. A ricochet had grazed the tracker and the womanizer had suffered a broken wrist when he'd lost his footing among the loose shale on the ridge.



Ezra's frown deepened as Larabee talked. "How did you know where to look? I don't remember anyone reporting any sign of an encampment when returning from patrols."



"That fool you left in the root cellar." The gunslinger grinned. "Ya damn near took his head off. He's still havin' trouble keepin' a thought in his head for more than a minute and he won't be eating solid food for a long while. Found yer guns and flask too. " Chris momentarily dropped his gaze before dragging his eyes back up to meet Ezra's. "I can't tell ya how sorry I am that-"



"For what?" Ezra was too tired to conceal his shock. "For standing up and doing what was right? For making certain that those victimized by that sadistic sonuvabitch received justice. What in the world do you feel you've done that would necessitate an apology?"



"I didn't find you." The Hoosier growled in frustration. "We looked Ezra. Honest ta God we looked! We thought we'd looked everywhere but we didn't know about that cellar until ya told Vin where ta look."



The gambler honestly didn't remember telling Vin about the root cellar. The fact was he didn't remember much after reaching the granary.



"Svenson says, the original house burnt down about a year after the town was founded. He says Carter who owned it at the time rebuilt and built the shed over the root cellar. If we'd known about-"



"I know." Ezra was quick to reassure the gunslinger. "I know you looked cause I heard ya…"



"Ya heard…" Pushing to his feet, Larabee turned his back on the gambler crossing to the window. He could only imagine how the gambler had felt when his salvation…the people he trusted to protect his back and never leave him…had moved on, abandoning him to die alone in the damp and dark.



Ezra seemed to read his guilty thoughts. "You can't be expected to look somewhere you didn't know existed." The gambler pointed out.



"Ain't just that." Chris admitted as he turned to face the man in the bed. Ezra deserved to know the truth and as much pain as it would cause the gunslinger to say the words, he deserved to hear it from Larabee. "I got a note saying they'd kill ya if I testified…When we couldn't find ya I had a choice ta make and I-I…well damnit Ezra, I chose to testify."



The gambler's face lit in a smile. "Just as I told that Neanderthal you would. Shame I couldn't get him to place a wager on it. You made the right choice just as I knew you would. We both know I would have been dead either way Mr. Larabee. Adams wasn't known for leaving witnesses."



"Somethin' else Ezra." The gunslinger sat back down, his forearms resting on his thighs as he locked his fingers together. "I wanted to apologize for what I said about the Jenkins belongin's. I never shoulda suggested you were tryin ta steal 'em. I know ya wouldn't do that and I should have given ya a chance to explain."



Chris was pleased to see the shocked reaction, which flickered across the gambler's usually composed features a moment before the poker face fell into place. "How?"



"Pardon?" Larabee frowned, not sure he understood the question.



"How can you be sure I wasn't planning to keep said items?"



"The same way you knew I'd testify." The Hoosier stated confidently. "You're not a thief Ezra. A con man, a gambler, a pain in the ass, that's common knowledge but we all know you're not a thief."



"I'm certain others would disagree. Are you forgetting the Statehood Rally?" The gambler dropped his own gaze, hiding his shame.



"That still weighin' on your mind after all this time? Let me tell ya something Ezra. There was a reason I didn't want ya guardin' that money. At the time askin' ya ta watch that money woulda been like askin' Buck ta stay away from women or me ta guard a bottle a whiskey." Chris was surprised that long ago incident still bothered the gambler but realized Ezra had his own peculiar brand of honor. "We all got somethin' that tempts us. I shoulda give ya the opportunity ta overcome yours."



"You were right in not trusting me. I gave into that temptation." Ezra sighed. "I had the money and was about to enter the livery when I bumped into Stutz otherwise I would have absconded with it."



"Ya didn't give in ta it…Well, maybe for a minute…but if the temptation had been stronger than your willpower Mary and who knows how many others would be dead." Larabee shook his head. "Don't ya see Ezra? You could have just gotten up on Chaucer and ridden away without a backward look even after seeing Stutz but you chose to stay and warn us. Ya even stepped in front of a bullet meant for Mary. You won out over your temptation." 'And because you did, we all won.'



Chris watched as Ezra contemplated what he'd been told. After several moments serenity seemed to settle over the con man.



He rose as Vin returned carrying a tray laden with food. "Ya don't really expect him ta eat all that do ya Tanner?"



"Reckoned we could help him." The sharpshooter grinned.



"Start without me. I got somethin' ta do." Snatching several pieces of bacon Chris wrapped them in a slice of bread as he crossed to the door. "Wouldn't happen ta know where Buck is would ya?"



Vin nodded as he set the tray on the bedside table within Ezra's easy reach. "He's up in his room. Nate's checkin' his arm."



Nodding his thanks and with a last look at Ezra, enjoying hearing his laughter as Vin described their early morning visit to McMurtry's, Larabee pulled the door shut and headed down the steps.



One fence was mended but there was still one that desperately needed repaired.


THE END