His back to the wall, only half listening to the young sheriff teasing Buck Wilmington about his latest flirtations with Inez, the pretty Spanish woman who ran the bar, Chris Larabee glanced from Ezra's empty gaming table to Josiah as the big man silently settled into his usual chair.


It had been almost two weeks since Standish had volunteered to take some legal papers to Judge Travis who at the time was as far from Four Corners as he could be and still remain in his own legal jurisdiction.


The papers hadn't been all that important and in actuality could probably have waited until Travis returned but it was as good an excuse as any for the southerner to temporarily escape the confines of Four Corners.


As if not bothered by the gambler's absence, the casual conversation at the table centered around the articles in Mary's newspaper, current happenings in town and the usual local gossip.


"Meant ta tell ya Chris, I'll take Ezra's patrols the first couple a days he's back." JD remarked out of the blue as he shoveled the last of his fried potatoes from his plate into his mouth, ignoring the wary glances the other men cast in the preacher's direction. "Reckon, he'll not wanna climb back into a saddle again for awhile after this trip."


Wary side long looks were aimed in Josiah's direction as the youngest member of the lawmen rambled on about Ezra. None of them knew the reason why an uneasy tension had risen between Sanchez and Standish culminating in the gambler acquiring a black eye at the ex-priest's hand, shortly after Nathan had been grazed by a bullet in their attempt to capture several rustlers.


However, they all were aware when he wasn't attending to his duties for the town, Sanchez had spent most of the gambler's absence holed up in his church. He had refused to talk about the adversity which had arisen between him and Standish and had bluntly avoided any and all conversations concerning the southerner.


"'Specially considerin' he's riding Mavis. That damn horse is 'bout as ornery as Larabee when he's pissed off." Vin Tanner grinned, nudging the dark clad gunslinger sitting next to him, a devilish gleam in his bright blue eyes.


The men knew Chaucer was currently resting at Nica's small ranch where the young woman was treating Ezra's faithful companion who was suffering a swollen tendon.


"Still can't figure why he chose that nag outta all the horses in the livery." Nate commented, with a small shake of his head. "Lotta horses with a smoother gait and better temperament."


"Vin's right if ya think about it." Wilmington chuckled, shoving his empty plate aside. "In that hard headed beast, Ez's got an animal almost as stubborn as Chaucer and one who iffen he ain't careful will take a chunk outta his ass just like 'ol Chris there. Reckon he figures that horse'll keep 'im from gettin' homesick."


"Ya think he'll be home soon?" The sheriff's eyes automatically drifted to the saloon entrance as if expecting the bat wing doors to swing inward with the gambler stepping through brushing trail dust from his clothes and loudly complaining about the heat. 


"Shouldn't be much longer." Larabee shrugged, watching Josiah push the food around on his plate. Even spending the nights relieving the local patrons of their money at every saloon between here and there he knew Standish should be arriving home in the next few days.


Buck elbowed JD. "What's up kid? Ya been downright antsy these last couple a days."


"Nuthin'." JD's cheeks flushed red and his gaze remained on his fingers as he nervously twisted his fork. "It's just that Ezra's supposed ta help me pick out a birthday present for Casey when he gets back."


"Aww hell, that ain't no problem, kid. We'll help ya, won't we fellas?"


"Mr. Larabee?" Before any of the men could think of a plausible excuse to refuse Wilmington's offer, Tom Blaine apprehensively approached the table. "This just came across the wire...Thought ya ought see it right away." He laid the folded yellow paper next to Chris' plate, shaking his head and slowly backing away as the gunslinger dug for a coin. "No thanks, Mr. Larabee...I...I'm real sorry 'bout Mr. Standish."


The telegraph operator practically ran from the saloon as if fearing Larabee might adhere to the old adage about killing the bearer of bad news.


"Shit! What the hell did our little peacock do this time?" Buck questioned good naturedly as his old friend opened the flimsy parchment. "Chris?...Chris!"


Wilmington's heart began to pound against his ribs, a sick feeling twisting his stomach into knots as the gunslinger stared at the paper, all color draining from his tan complexion.


The paper fluttered to the floor as grabbing the whiskey bottle from the middle of the table Chris abruptly pushed to his feet and headed for the exit.


"Chris! Damnit answer me Larabee! What'd Ez do now?" Buck started after the other man but stopped in his tracks at his oldest friend's one word response.


"Died."


*******


Taking a long swallow, from the half empty whiskey bottle, relishing the way the harsh liquor burned his throat, Larabee sat on his cabin porch staring out into the black night.


He didn't hear the crickets happy chirps or the plaintive songs of the night birds. He didn't see the full moon shining brightly in the dark sky or the stars twinkling brightly overhead.


All he could see were the words printed on that damn telegram and all he could hear was the blood roaring in his ears as those words branded his soul. Those few words had sunk in and burned a gaping bottomless hole in his heart.


Regret to inform you...


Yeah right! He wasn't aware he'd bitterly snorted aloud. They all had regrets. He regretted sending the charismatic southerner on a trip which had cost Ezra his life.


He regretted sending the gambler alone. Vin had volunteered to accompany the southerner but Chris had thought the con man would actually prefer the solitude and time to himself.


No! That wasn't true! His inner voice castigated stridently.


The truth was he wanted Tanner where he could watch over him. Protect him at all costs from those hunting the unwarranted bounty on the Texan's head.


At all costs?


Chris hadn't dreamed that cost would be Standish's life.


Larabee rarely sent his men out alone. Danger of all types, human, animal and nature lurked throughout the territory even on the most well traveled roads and populated towns.


'So, his inner voice pressed relentlessly, 'why hadn't he sent Buck or one of the other regulators? Why hadn't he, himself, accompanied the con man?


Shit! It was supposed to be an easy assignment and without the others, harassing him, pushing to return home, Ezra would be able to relax and enjoy himself, spending his evenings in a saloon, using his poker skills to line his pockets, sleeping in the feather beds of rented rooms rather than on the hard ground, eating decent meals in restaurants instead of beans and hard tack over the campfire. At the time, Chris truly believed he had the southerner's best interests at heart.


It was as good a reason as any but the truth was, no one else had mentioned going along and without the others to act as a buffer he and Ezra had a tendency to end up saying or doing things they eventually came to regret.


Now, Chris regretted not stepping in to help settle whatever trouble the gamester had been having with Josiah who thought of the southerner as a surrogate son.


But he had told himself whatever was going on between them was none of his concern, as long as they did their job. He had convinced himself, neither man would appreciate his meddling interference, yet somehow he felt Ezra would have appreciated his concern, even if he hadn't said so.


Larabee was all too aware in Ezra's short lifetime, there were very few people who had ever worried about the gambler and the majority of those people lived and worked right here in Four Corners and were even now mourning his loss.


Larabee regretted that of the six men who'd helped him turn away from the dark path of self destruction he'd been following, he wasn't certain he'd made it clear how much the con man had come to mean to their unique family and to Larabee himself.


Of the six men, Standish had certainly known the quickest way to push Larabee right to the edge of his temper and his sanity but Chris had found himself easily returning the gambler's quick dimpled grin, giving a sigh of relief each time the southerner returned safely to town.


In retrospect, he couldn't help but wonder if Ezra had ever truly known how much the gunslinger had come to trust him? Maybe not when it came to large amounts of someone else's money but certainly with the important intangible things. He had trusted Ezra to be there when they needed him. He had trusted him to watch their backs. He even trusted the con man to look after Vin when Chris wasn't around to do so.


But now...


Had he ever stopped throwing the incident at the Seminole village in the gambler's face?


Regret to inform you of the death of Ezra Standish


Chris realized he would never again enter the saloon to see the gamester charming those foolish enough to think his money would end up in their pockets. He'd never again hear the con man complain about rising with the sun to ride patrol or his good natured grumbling about menial labor. Never see him tip his hat and flash his golden dimpled smile at Mary, Mrs. Potter or one of the other town ladies. Never again see his green eyes glow with unspoken love for Nica.


Never again...


Larabee tilted the bottle back, gulping until he was forced to stop to keep from choking, the harsh alcohol giving him a reason for the tears which spilled down his cheeks.


*******


His arms wrapped around himself, forehead resting on his knees, his long hair veiling his face, Vin let his tears flow unchecked.


He and Buck had stared at the telegram which lay where Chris dropped it, neither man wanting to touch the disasterous piece of news that would destroy their family.


If they ignored it,...if they didn't read it, then it couldn't be true.


His hand trembling, Tanner had hesitantly retrieved the devastating paper holding it as if it were a coiled snake ready to strike, the easily recognized words jumping at him.


"Nate?" Unable to keep the waver from his voice, Buck had steeled himself as the healer had gently tugged the flimsy yellow telegram from Vin's tenuous grasp.


The dark healer had swallowed convulsively, blinking back the tears which caused the words on the paper to shimmer. Absently he noted the telegram was sent in care of the Four Corners sheriff's office.


"R-regret to inform ya of...of..." He stopped, cleared the lump in his throat and continued, the words now a mere whisper, "of the death of Ezra Standish...F-family can c-claim personal effects, sheriff's office Blue Creek."


The paper had once again fallen from numb fingers.


JD's chair had tumbled over backward, crashing to the floor as the young sheriff rushed from the saloon.


Without a word, one by one the men had seperated, each to grieve, in his own way, the man who had conned his way into their hearts.


Tanner had spent several hours, in Ezra's room, sitting in the rocker beside the big feather bed, staring out the window at the street below. He'd watched as citizens closed their stores for the day, went for evening strolls or after dinner visits with neighbors.


How was it these people could continue with their lives as if Tanner's world hadn't just shattered into a million pieces? Vin knew the sun would rise in the morning, the shops would open, the people go about their normal business but for him Four Corners would never again be the same.


Even though he'd tried to deny it to himself, he had found a family in this dusty corner of the territory. He had found six brothers who stood by him, watched his back, and made him laugh. They trusted him and made him feel wanted...and not just for the five hundred dollar bounty on his head.


Now ten little words had destroyed that family...his family. Ten little words neatly printed on a small piece of paper had crushed his heart...and his world.


If he'd known words would bring such pain, he would never have agreed to the reading lessons Mary had offered him. He would never have let Ezra weedle and nag him into letting the gambler help with those lessons. He wouldn't have studiously continued to print the letters on the tablet Standish had provided, saying, that being able to form the written letters into words, would make learning to read that much easier.


He could still remember Ezra's proud grin reflecting Vin's own pride, the first time the sharpshooter had printed his own name.


Glancing around, Vin wondered how many times he had sat on this rooftop with Ezra, practicing his reading, conspiring on a practical joke, offering comfort or just enjoying the company of his friend?


Ten little words.


Ten little devastating words letting them know their family was never again going to be the same.


Ten little words that said nothing about the life Ezra had led. Words which gave no indication of the hardships the southerner had overcome, the heartaches he'd suffered, the changes he'd made for the better, the unasked for assistance he'd given to those in need and the lives he'd touched.


Ten little words telling them they had to say goodbye.


How was he supposed to do that? How was he supposed to say goodbye to the self proclaimed, hard hearted, greedy gambler who put up a good front but didn't fool those who'd come to truly know and care about him.


Ten little words carved into the Texan's gentle heart. Ten little disparaging words that explained nothing.


Ten little words that said nothing about how his friend...his brother...had died, only that he would never again be coming home.


Ten little words that weren't good enough.


Vin wanted answers.


Someone was going to explain to him, why his family was no longer seven strong.


*******


Buck Wilmington pulled the saddle blanket up over the young sheriff's shoulder and leaned backed against the wall, closing his eyes, seeing again Larabee's strickened expression as his old friend had left the table. He was still unable to shut out the sound of Nathan's voice as the healer had read that hateful telegram.


He wasn't sure how long it had taken before he was able to pull himself from his own stunned stupor, leaving the saloon to find and comfort Dunne.


Nor was Buck sure how he'd ended up sitting beside the creek in the hidden glade behind the church...Ezra and Emma's reading place. His every intention had been to seek out the Bostonian, knowing the younger man would need someone to help him through this loss.


Yet Buck had remained in the glade, attempting to get his own emotions under control.


Wilmington had scrubbed at the tears wetting his cheeks.


Damn! He hadn't known the gambler half the time he'd known Sarah and Adam so why did Ezra's loss seem to hurt just as much?


No matter how he tried he couldn't imagine never seeing the mischievous twinkle in those emerald eyes as the con man drove Larabee to distraction. Never again hearing that honey dripping southern drawl or his using ten sentences of five dollar words to simply explain the difference between sour mash and fine Kentucky bourbon.


He couldn't imagine never losing another bet to the charming southerner. Or never again being the butt of one of his and Tanner's practical jokes.


'You need to find young JD, my friend.'


Wilmington had whirled about fully expecting to find the con man standing there, giving him that dimpled grin that could melt the hardest heart, only to discover he was alone in the tiny clearing.


Raking his hand through his dark hair, his shoulders slumped in despair, then wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, he'd gone in search of the sheriff.


It was over an hour later before Buck had found the younger man sitting in a corner of Chaucer's stall, his eyes locked on the open whiskey bottle gripped tightly in his hand.


"JD?"


"He ain't never comin' back is he Buck?" The kid's tear filled whiskey laced voice, had further shredded the pieces of Wilmington's shattered heart. "Ezra ain't never comin' back!"


The womanizer moved to sit in the straw beside the distraught youth, sliding an arm around the kid's shoulders. Gently tugging the bottle from the sheriff's grasp, he'd taken a long swallow himself before setting the bottle aside.


Buck had been unable to come up with satisfactory answers for the kid's grief stricken questions.


Other than mouthing the usual platitudes about how Ezra wouldn't want them to be saddened by his passing and how the gambler had found friendship and trust in the six men he'd fought and played beside, Buck had only been able to offer his company, willing to listen as the youth mourned, making certain Dunne didn't make himself sick on the alcohol.


JD's slurred words as he had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, curled up in the straw would forever haunt Wilmington.


"He died alone Buck. It weren't right! None of us were there for him...We should have been there!"


*******


Nathan wearily sank onto the hard wooden bench at the clinic's small table, resting his head on his folded arms, the smell of lye soap filling his nostrils. In a futile attempt to rid himself of the grief and rage surging through his system, the healer had spent the last several hours scrubbing down the clinic.


When he'd turned to scrubbing the medical supplies, his fingers had lingered over the newly acquired medical instruments which had been added to his meager supply in the not too distant past. He'd been unable to suppress the bittersweet smile at the memory of Ezra's pleasure by Nathan's stunned response to the present acquired on the con man's solitary trip to Denver.


Why had he been surprised by the unexpected gift?


Because it had come from Ezra, his inner voice pointed out. Perhaps because it shocked him to know the gambler thought enough of him, of his medical skills, to spend his somewhat ill gotten, at least in Jackson's eyes, money on the expensive equipment.


Nate shook his head as he'd stared wistfully at the instruments. The gambler had always seemed to revel in doing the unexpected and surprising them.


From that first rather unfriendly encounter in the saloon, Nathan had believed he knew exactly what to expect from the gambler. The ex-slave had seen men of Standish's caliber throughout his life. The former slave had watched as those men cheated people who had already lost everything, out of their last possessions, taking not only their last dollar but their pride and dignity as well.


Nathan hadn't been surprised by the southerner's refusal of his medical aid at the Seminole village. Even in great pain caused by his dislocated shoulder, Ezra had not wanted to be touched by the Negro. Later, the healer hadn't been all that surprised by the gambler's desertion but had to admit, he had been stunned when the con man had returned and faced down a half dozen men in a rescue attempt.


Old habits and beliefs died hard and Nathan had immediately expected the worst of the gambler in any given situation always believing the gambler had nothing but his own money grubbing interest at heart. More often than not he was left embarrassed and ashamed when he realized the truth behind the con man's actions.


Admittedly, Nathan had been stunned when, dealing with his own parental problems, Standish had stood beside the healer, offering support when Nathan's father had stood trial for murder. And Ezra hadn't hesitated to ride with them to search for the person responsible for the murders of Larabee's family or to rescue Chris when Larabee had been unjustly imprisoned.


Despite Nathan's bitter suspicions that he was simply using the young girl for his own satisfaction, Ezra had treated Li Pong with respect and dignity, giving her funds from his own pocket so she could return to her family. While he wasn't so sure he would have been so magnanimous himself, Ezra had even forgiven and held no malice towards JD, Josiah and Nathan for their unwitting part in the destruction of his dream of owning his own saloon.


While Jackson had never hid his disgust regarding the way Standish made his living Ezra had ignored that treatment, hiding any hurt feelings behind his laughter and his wise cracks.


Over time, Ezra had easily worked past his own upbringing seeing beyond the color of the healer's skin to the man himself, while there were times when Nathan still struggled with his own preconceptions of the southern born gambler. Of course, to his credit, Ezra had always seemed to accept people at face value without trying to change them.


With experience and the help of the others, the healer had finally learned to see past the facade the southerner worked so hard to keep established and discovered not the cold hearted, greedy, unfeeling con man he'd expected to find there, but a sensitive, caring, often insecure little boy with a generous heart and a giving nature.


Nathan poured himself a shot from the whiskey bottle sitting on the table and sat staring at the amber liquid, a small smile touching his lips. He'd had to find a new hiding place for his medicinal spirits after the injured gambler and sharpshooter had discovered the bottle he kept hidden away and escaped the confines of the clinic only to be discovered by the lawmen in the livery, drunk and giggling like two young errant schoolboys.


Damn! He slammed the glass down on the table, the liquid sloshing over the rim. Why hadn't he ever told Ezra how much he'd come to like the southerner and how much he valued their somewhat rocky friendship?


Why was it he never seemed to show the gambler how he felt unless it was while caring for the injured gamester?


Now it was too late!


He'd never again see the mischievous twinkle in the emerald eyes, while the con man plotted his next scheme or his charming smile which could melt a mountain of ice.


"What about you Mr. Jackson? Could you ride with a ol' southern boy?" Wasn't that what Ezra had asked him after Anderson's men were no longer a threat to the Seminole village.


Nathan had easily evaded the question unsure of what his true response would have been. He had planned on staying with Rain and helping the villagers. The truth was the thought of dealing with the southern con man on a daily basis, of watching him swindle the innocent people of Four Corners as he had been when they first met up with him, had made the healer sick to his stomach.


Yet, through it all, despite their differences and their disagreements, the gambler had earned his begrudging respect.


"What about you Mr. Jackson? Could you ride with a ol' southern boy?"


"The honor was all mine Ezra." Nathan raised his glass, choking back his tears, as he quietly admitted. "And what I wouldn't give for just one more ride."


*******


Seated on the tiny church's hard wooden floor, Josiah slumped back against the alter, staring through watery blood shot eyes at the destruction around him.


Pews were overturned, one splintered beyond repair, hymnals were ripped and scattered on the floor, pictures hung askew and alcohol dripped down the wall toward the shattered shards of the broken bottle hurled in anger, as the ex-priest had raged at God.


Wrenching the cork from the second liquor bottle Josiah took another long pull and raised his tear filled eyes heavenward. The liquor burned its way down his throat, warming his insides but failing to ease the pain that gripped his heart.


"Why him?...Damnit! Why Ezra?" He sobbed. "Why my boy?"


Expecting no answer and getting none, he turned his gaze downward and stared at his empty left hand, remembering the feel of his hard knuckles meeting soft flesh as he'd knocked Ezra into the dirt and rocks, growling how the gambler's actions had damn near gotten the healer killed, cursing him as a worthless con man and coward.


It all came flooding back on him in vivid detail. The James Ranch had lost several head of cattle to rustlers and the seven lawmen had gone in search of the criminals before they turned their interest to other ranches or moved on. They'd cornered the thieves in a box canyon near Nettie Wells' place and during the ensuing gun battle with the men attempting escape, Josiah had been stunned when with a quick glance in Nathan's direction, Ezra had ignored the rustler working his way up behind the healer. Ducking for cover from gunfire Standish had turned his attention elsewhere.


Without a clear shot at the man, Sanchez had been horrified when the rustler's gun had discharged just as a bullet from Vin's mare's leg ended the miscreants's life. Nonetheless, the rustler's bullet had struck Nathan, the shot spinning the healer to the ground.


Josiah could still remember the hurt that had flashed through the gambler's emerald eyes just before being replaced by anger and worse...resignation. Josiah knew that hurt was caused by the padre's hateful words rather than the physical pain of being struck by him.


"I had a choice to make Mr. Sanchez." Ezra had slowly risen to his feet, brushing the dust from his jacket before fully facing the still angry ex-priest. "It's your prerogative to disagree of course, however....I believe I made the correct decision."


The gambler had moved off to help JD gather the horses refusing to say anything more and Tanner had stormed up to the preacher, grabbing his arm and spinning the big man around to face him.


"Ya had no call ta do that Preacher." Vin declared, his blue eyes blazing as he defended his friend. "Ezra knew I had that fool in my sights. Looked right at me. Buck was the one who needed help. Hell, he'd probably be dead right now if it weren't fer Ez. So, if ya wanna hit someone, I'm standing right here. It's my fault Nate got hit. My fault, not Ez's. If I'd pulled the trigger a mite sooner, Nathan might not a been hurt."


Josiah had felt himself crumple inside. How could he have been so stupidly blind.


The truth was the tension between Standish and him had been building and he'd been so angry with the con man the past few days, that he had automatically assumed the worst thing possible when the southerner had left the ex-slave in danger.


Back in town, Ezra had avoided the large man and two days later, he'd ridden out of Four Corners for the last time before Josiah could apologize.


Now, the priest knew he'd never have the chance.


He'd never have the chance to explain the reason behind his anger and how wrong he'd been for directing that anger at the innocent con man.


Sanchez couldn't help but see the sad irony in the fact Ezra had died with the impression Josiah considered him nothing more than a cheat and a coward.


Sanchez was aware the gambler had spent his young life following the lessons, his mother had taught so well:


Look out for number one first and foremost because no one else would watch out for you.



Never ever let your guard down for if you did you revealed too much. Letting people too close just gave them the opportunity to use what they knew against you.


And perhaps the cruelest and most bitter thing she had taught the gambler: Friendship didn't exist and dreams were merely a waste of time.


Josiah knew because of those teachings, Ezra had always looked for the con, certain he would be played for a fool if he let anyone too close, convinced the only reason someone would want to befriend him was simply for the use of his talents, convinced that afterwards they would leave him high and dry.


It hadn't been easy for the gambler but Sanchez had watched as those beliefs had begun to alter with Ezra's decision to join Larabee's crusade to save the Seminole village. The priest didn't know why Ezra had opted to join them and had surmised he had ulterior motives but none of that mattered when the southerner had returned to save them all from certain death at Anderson's hand. That selfless action had been the beginning of a subtle transformation in the con man and that change had begun to take deeper root with Standish's decision to remain in Four Corners after he'd received his pardon.


In the weeks and months that followed that decision, Ezra had worked as hard to let down the high walls he had built for protection as Vin, Josiah and others had worked to tear them down. The six men had felt they'd made progress, had seen the changes in the gamester's attitude, but in the end, with a raised fist and thoughtless, callous words, Josiah had destroyed everything they had done. He'd destroyed all the progress they'd made and proven Maude was right all along.


Now with the delivery of that damn telegram, he wouldn't have the chance to change that opinion or convince the con man how much Ezra had come to mean to the six men...and especially how much he had come to mean to the ex-priest himself.


"I hope ya thought it was worth it son." The preacher sighed, his deep voice broken by emotion. "I hope ya found out lettin' people past those walls was worth the hurt we sometimes caused."


The preacher stared at his big hands; guilt roiling through him at the actions those hands had taken against the gambler. Because of him, the con man would never know how much he was cared for and how many lives he'd touched.


He'd never know how many people considered themselves lucky to have known him.


He'd never know how many people considered it a rare privilege to count him among their friends.


He'd never know how much joy he'd brought to their lives and how much they would miss his scheming, his knowledge, his passion and his laughter.


He'd never know how much they'd miss Ezra P. Standish.


"He was a good boy Lord....Y-ya know that!" Tears streaked Josiah's scruffy face. "Why take him now?! He'd finally f-found the r-right path...and was makin' a life for himself...a life he deserved."


The sobs came harder and he clutched the bottle to his chest, wishing it were the gambler.


Wishing he could hug Ezra and let him know how proud he'd been of him. Maybe then he would have been able to admit how much he'd truly loved the young man he'd come to think of as a son.


*******


There was a different air about the town as Chris slowly rode into Four Corners. He ignored the wary mixture of glances sent his direction from citizens who fell silent as he passed. Their guarded looks ranged from sadness to complacency.


He knew people were just waiting to see his reaction to the gambler's death.


He was aware people's feelings for Ezra had been as varied as the colors of the mountains' blooming wild flowers.


Children had adored the southerner, vying for and reveling in his attention. Single women had always found him attractive, most quickly succumbing to his honeyed charm, mothers remaining skeptical and leery, kept their blossoming daughters under lock and key, while the widows had tended to mother him.


Chris found it ironic that instead of JD, the youngest of their rag tag group, who seemed barely old enough to shave and had recently lost his only parent, it was the long haired, shy, tracker and the glib, silver tongued gambler who brought out the maternal instincts in the townswomen.


The shop owners had come to respect the con man's business savvy, listening and often taking his advice about items the southerner thought would prove worthy of their ordering.


The men in town and the local ranchers had a tendency to view the con man as a challenge, hoping to outwit him or beat the odds and walk away from the poker table with Ezra's money in their pockets and bragging rights of having beaten the sauve gambler at his own game.


A few residents still believed and often vocally complained the southerner cheated to win and most didn't understand why Larabee had allowed the con man to remain in Four Corners let alone letting the likes of him ride with the other men hired to protect the town.


Chris, himself, knew he stood on rocky ground when it came to the southerner. No one could put a burr under his saddle faster than the gambler and at one time or another, all the locals had witnessed an altercation between Larabee and Standish wondering if this would be the argument which would end with one of them laying dead in the street.


Since their first timely appearance in Four Corners, the folks had come to realize Larabee would be devastated if anything happened to Tanner or his old friend Wilmington and were aware of the close friendship which had developed between him, Josiah, Nathan and JD but no one was really certain how he felt about the gambler.


Seeing the townfolk's reactions, the gunslinger had to ask himself again if Ezra had ever truly understood he was considered one of Larabee's trusted friends.


Wearily dismounting from the black, feeling ten years older since the arrival of that damnable telegram, Chris flipped the reins around the hitching post and entered the saloon.


The usually noisy interior was unnaturally quiet, the few patrons seeking relief from the afternoon heat were silent as if in deference to the five men seated at the peacekeepers' usual table.


Avoiding looking at Ezra's empty poker table, Larabee crossed to the bar, accepting the shot of whiskey Inez poured.


He gave the Spanish woman a small sympathic smile noting the dark shadows under her red rimmed eyes and knew like the seven...six...peacekeepers, the sorrowful bar maid had spent the previous evening greiving the southerner's loss.


Tossing back the liquor Chris didn't bother to turn to the others, his quiet words clear in the silent saloon. "If you're goin' with me, ya got fifteen minutes to be ready to ride."


No one needed to ask where Larabee was going. They knew.


Buck glanced at his silent companions. Just before dawn, not wanting the residents to witness the youth's grief, or answer questions about why Dunne was sleeping in the livery, Buck had steered the young sheriff to the jail, putting him to bed on one of cots, staying close by to offer comfort.


Josiah hadn't left his church or Nathan the clinic and the womanizer had been certain he'd find Vin in the con man's rented room.


It was just after the lunch hour when without a word, each of the five men had gravitated to the livery, loading supplies and tacking out their horses. Leaving the horses waiting in the corral, they'd gone to the saloon and forced down a few bites of the lunch Inez had prepared before settling back to await Larabee's arrival.


"Don't need fifteen minutes Pard." Wilmington pushed to his feet, the others following suit. "We're done ready. Let's ride."


*******


The five men weren't surprised when Larabee dismounted at the entrance of the small cemetery sitting on the outskirts of Blue Creek.


Respectively removing their hats, they quietly followed as the gunslinger moved among the tombstones marking the graves of loved ones. It was a long moment before his puzzled expression turned to one of anger, his long strides taking him to the only freshly turned soil which marked the most recent grave.


Alone and near the back, a simple wooden cross bearing the name E. Standish and the year was the only acknowledgement of the con man.


'Alone...Far enough removed from the respectable citizens so he can't sully them.' Chris couldn't help thinking.


Beside the black garbed gunslinger, Tanner clenched his jaw. 'Ezra would hate this.' The gambler liked being in the center of things.


As the men glanced around, it sank in that not only had the southerner died alone but the bastards of Blue Creek had made damn certain he stayed alone, burying him as far from the other graves as possible and still actually be in the cementery.


Vin swiped a hand across his eyes, tossing JD an approving nod, as the sheriff picked a handful of wild flowers blooming along the fence line, and silently laid them at the base of the crude little cross which was the only indication their friend had ever lived.


*******


Voices dropped to a low whisper and all eyes turned to the entrance as the six law men pushed through the batwing doors of the saloon. They looked angry, trail weary and dangerous...very dangerous.


Ordering their drinks, the men spread out along the length of the bar taking positions where they could see the entire room.


"We're lookin' for Sheriff Layton." Chris paid for the drinks as the bartender refilled his shot glass. "He wasn't at the jail."


"He's most likely-"


"What do you want with him?" A barrel chested man demanded as he shoved aside a rail thin cowhand taking his spot at the end of the bar on Larabee's left.


Sipping his whiskey, Chris raked his gaze over the man, seeing everything he needed to know in those few seconds.


An inch taller than the gunslinger with muscles already turning to flab, the loud mouth had greasy hair and a full beard which, Chris thought absently, probably made a nice home for a variety of tiny vermin. It was plain the man was a bully who used his size to intimidate others. There was also an air of self importance about him which reminded Larabee of Banker McMurtry and that similarity set his teeth on edge.


Anger surged through the gunslinger as he recalled the banker approaching them as they left the saloon, demanding to know their plans, loudly and needlessly reminding them that Ed Stone's cow crew would be arriving within the week. The trail boss was picking up cattle from the surrounding ranches and his rowdy cowhands with money in their pocket and time on their hands would no doubt lead to trouble.


The banker had sputtered indignantly when ignoring his warnings Larabee pushed past him and without a word, mounted his horse and led the other five peacekeepers out of town. The banker had been shouting his threats of dire consequences even as the men cleared the edge of town.


"I asked what ya wanted with the sheriff." The blow hard called again, regaining Larabee's attention.


"Are you him?" Like Larabee, Buck did nothing more than cast a derisive glance at the man. "Cause if ya ain't, I reckon our business ain't none of your business."


The man straightened, not having enough sense to heed the warning tone in Wilmington's voice. The six men were tired, pissed off and in no mood for putting up with an imbecile like him. "And I reckon, y'all should just be movin' on. This town's done seen enough trouble for awhile."


"We ain't lookin' ta start trouble mister and we'll be movin' on when our business here is done, so stop flappin' yer jaws and leave us be." Chris sighed. Maybe putting a bullet in this blow hard bastard would ease the pain tearing at his insides.


"Hell, we know why yer here. Hicks done saw ya out at the bone yard, cryin' over that thievin' bastard's grave." The man sneered.


Wilmington took a quick step backward, blocking Josiah's path and Nathan laid a restraining hand on the big man's shoulder as the ex-priest stiffened and turned to face the man, his gray eyes flashing with anger.


"Let Chris handle it." The healer whispered, retaining his hold on the priest.


Struggling against his own fury, Vin turned his attention to JD seeing the tiny tremors which raced through the young sheriff as his grip tightened on the beer mug and he blinked back the tears which filled his eyes at the thought of his friend laying in that cold lonely pitiful grave.


"The man you're talkin' about was my friend...my family..." Larabee casually pushed aside his long duster. His long slender fingers toyed with the shot glass he continued to study before finally sighing and stepping slightly away from the bar. He slowly turned to face the man. "Because he was part of our family, we're the only ones allowed to slander his good name without facing repercussions so ya might consider rephrasing that last comment."


"Sounds like ol' Ez don't he?" Buck grinned tossing the sharpshooter a small wink.


Chris had been truthful when he said they weren't looking for trouble but he wanted to know how and why Ezra had died and nobody was gonna run him off until he discovered the answers he came for.


Blue Creek was a hard two day ride from Four Corners and with the late start, they'd pushed their mounts to the limit and still spent an extra night on the trail. They were tired and grief stricken but if any of these local fools wanted a fight, they'd be more than happy to oblige.


"I don't give a damn if he was the fuckin' king of England. He weren't nothin' but a no good, thievin'-"


"That's enough Mace!" The order was barked with authority as an older man pushed through the swinging doors, the star pinned to his vest identifying him as the sheriff. Of medium height, his face lined with age and years spent in the wind and sun, he didn't appear particularly threatening but there was a no nonsense attitude about him.


"Just tellin' 'em what kind a man they're cryin' over and how we don't want-"


"Told ya before, ya don't talk for the town and I don't think these gents are really interested in your opinion." The sheriff shook his head in disgust. Extending his hand to Larabee, he stepped between the two men, effectively defusing the situation if only momentarily. "Ben Layton. I'm the sheriff here."


"Chris Larabee." His cold deadly gaze, remaining on Mace, the gunslinger shook the offered hand.


Vin suppressed a smile of satisfaction as, licking at suddenly bone dry lips, the color drained from Mace's face as the loud mouth finally realized who he'd been facing...and how lucky he was to still be standing.


"Might be best if we talked over at the jail." Tossing a silver dollar on the wooden bar, Layton accepted a bottle of whiskey from the bar keep and exited the saloon, expecting them to follow.


Exchanging looks, and ignoring the bully who sagged against the bar as Chris followed the lawman, the five men gulped their drinks and trailed the two out of the saloon. Vin stopped at the batwing doors when Josiah hesitated a moment before turning to lean close to Mace. "He might be Chris Larabee, but I'm the devil's left hand...and that man you were maligning was my son..."


If it was possible Mace turned even whiter as he stared at the fierce look on the big man's face before the preacher turned and crossed to where Tanner stood, holding the swinging door, his blue eyes shining with approval.


*******


Scrounging around for enough containers, Layton poured the drinks as Wilmington made the introductions.


Following the direction of Josiah's gaze as the preacher stared out the window, the sheriff saw several of the men from the saloon take up positions across from the jail as if preparing for trouble.


"Ignore 'em. This is normally a quiet town. Arguments among the residents, an occasional Saturday night fight, husband and wife squabbles, that's usually it, but I guess everybody's a little on edge here lately." He didn't elaborate and the six didn't ask.


"You're the men Travis hired." He smiled at JD. "I weren't much older than you when I took my first job with the law."


"We wanna know 'bout Ezra." The others pretended not to hear the crack of emotion in the young man's voice.


"Didn't think ya come all this way just ta have a drink." Layton crossed to a cabinet, removing several items. Dunne turned away, staring out the window but everyone else remained frozen in place, as they easily recognized their southern friend's holstered six gun, saddle bags and carpet bag the sheriff lay on the desk.


Seeing the sorrow expressed by each man, the sheriff scratched his chin contemplating their reaction. Hearing of their arrival, he had wondered what the dead man could have done to bring these six men riding all this way just to be certain he wouldn't be causing any more trouble.


Perhaps, he silently mused, the man had grown up in Four Corners and they knew his family.


He remembered the regret he'd felt seeing the young man's body draped over the saddle. He hadn't been that old and hadn't had the hardened look of a man who spent his life on the wrong side of the law but Layton had long ago learned that looks could be deceiving.


Hell, the sheriff of Four Corners looked as if he should still be hanging around the local swimming hole and dipping girls pigtails in inkwells instead of riding with the gunfighters hired to protect the town.


Still he felt sorrow at any loss of life, no matter the reason or the age.


Other than the grave diggers Layton had been the only person standing beside the young man's coffin, saying a silent prayer as it was lowered into the ground and covered with dirt. No one should be buried without someone to at least say a prayer over them.


"I take it, ya know his family." He finally stated when none of the men spoke.


Sanchez sagged heavily against the wall. "We're his family."


"But-" Layton stared at them, his confusion evident. Everyone knew of the peacekeepers Travis had hired to protect Four Corners and the surrounding area. He'd heard there were seven men and had assumed one of them had stayed behind to protect the town. He sank into the chair behind the desk. "He was one of you? Than why would he-..." He shook his head. "This doesn't make any sense."


"Ya wanna fill us in?" Buck suggested quietly, uncertain he really wanted to hear the answer.


"A few days ago, Standish and another fella robbed the bank." The statement brought wide eyed stares and gasps of disbelief.


"You're a damn liar!" No one was surprised that Nathan jumped to the gambler's defense. There were times when the two friends had acted as if they were still fighting the Civil War but they had always come to the other's defense when needed.


"Ezra Standish may have been a lot of things...a con man, a gambler,...an irritating pain in my ass...but he was no bank robber." His tone calm and deadly, his palms flat against the desk, Larabee leaned toward the sheriff. "I wanna know what happened to him, and I wanna know now."


"I have no reason to lie to you Mr. Larabee. I can only tell you what I know." Layton remained relaxed, meeting Larabee's furious gaze steadily. He might not understand what the young man had done to be held in such high regard by these men or what had made him cross the line but he understood the pain and rage caused by the death of a friend.


"They robbed the bank shortly after it opened so luckily there wasn't any other customers inside. While escapin' they shot the teller and wounded my deputy. Everybody likes Willie...so gettin' volunteers for a posse weren't a problem. Thought we'd about caught up with 'em but a couple hours afore dusk they split up."


"So y'all split up too." Vin interjected, trailing his fingertips over the smooth leather of the gambler's saddlebags.


"The fella we was chasin' got away but Mace and the men with 'im caught up with Standish shortly after sun up. Had 'im cornered but he weren't givin' up without a fight."


"And yer takin' that bastard in the saloon's word for it that Ez-" JD's voice broke.


"If it was just Mace, no I wouldn't have taken his word for it." Layton replied honestly. "He's got a hot temper and thinks he's a big man but there were others who backed him up...Good men who I believe." He saw the denial in their expressions and answered their next question before it was asked. "Even if I hadn't got a good look at him outside the bank, which I did, he had half the money on him."


No one said anything, each of them searching for a reasonable explanation for Ezra's actions. The sheriff seemed like an honest man and they had no reason to doubt his word but as he had stated what they'd just been told made no sense.


They had all assumed Ezra's death had something to do with his checkered past or perhaps had been caused by poor losers seeking the return of their gambling losses.


Layton pulled a wanted poster from the desk drawer holding it out to Chris. "Went through the dodgers when I got back to town. That's the other fella. Les Wallace. Your friend ever talk about him?"


"Ezra wasn't a big one for mentionin' past acquaintances by name." Josiah sighed, shaking his head.


As he reached for the offered paper, Chris' gaze dropped to the items lying on the desk. "Where's his Remington?" He questioned abruptly.


"Pardon?"


"Ezra had a Remington, he wore in a shoulder holster."


Wilmington stepped forward emptying the contents of the saddlebags and searching through the items in the carpet bag. "His fancy riggin' and flask ain't here either."


"His saddle and gear are over at the livery with his horse but this is everything else he had on him. Found a letter in his saddlebags. That's why I sent the wire ta Four Corners. Figured somebody there might know 'im."


"Guess we should have us a talk with those good men who rode in the posse." Josiah growled, pushing away from the wall.


"Hold up."


Starting to follow Sanchez the men turned toward the sharpshooter who continued to stare at the objects on the desk, his brow furrowed in concentration.


"Nothin' fits."


"Vin-"


"It don't fit Chris! Nothin' Ezra carries on 'im is here...his popgun, his watch, his cards...his money." Tanner knew they thought he was grasping at straws but Vin had spent too many years as a tracker not to see the missing pieces of the big picture.


"But it's Mavis in the livery and those are his things." JD almost sobbed. Upon entering town, their first stops at been at the livery and the undertaker's.


"Horses can be stole." Vin remarked vehemently as he turned to Layton. "Ya said they caught up with Ez right after sun up. What was he doin'?"


"Runnin' from a posse." The sheriff stated, trying not to sound as if he were being sarcastic. It was always the same. Even seeing the person laid out for a wake or attending the service didn't make a difference, some people always found it hard to accept the death of a loved one. "He'd made a cold camp and was up and gone at first light."


There was a spark of hope in the blue eyes that focused on Larabee. "When have ya ever known Ez ta be up with the sun 'less he was with one a us. He'd a either rode all night or crawled inta a hidey hole and they'd a never found 'im and you know it!."


Chris trusted Vin's instincts more than he trusted most people's facts but he was afraid the sharpshooter in his pain and sorrow was desperate enough to let his imagination run away with him.


He twisted the problem around in his own mind adding Vin's observations to what Layton had told them. They all knew Ezra had a greedy streak as wide as the street was long but when unable to control the need for money, Ezra's mind had always turned to get rich quick schemes or a simple con...but never ever to robbery.


However that didn't explain the circumstances here in Blue Creek. Had he gone along with someone else's plan to rob the bank, intending to put a stop to it somehow?


Why would Ezra have taken on a posse of that many men? While it was true, Ezra didn't seem to know the meaning of the word 'quit', he would have calculated the odds of winning when out numbered and surrendered, giving himself a better chance at escape or at least a chance to try and talk his way out of the situation.


Chris knew Vin was right. Nothing fit. The missing items, Ezra's actions, even the fact the gambler had even been anywhere near this disgusting little town.


"Ya never seen Ezra before the mornin' the bank was robbed?" He questioned the sheriff.


The man shook his head, "Can't recollect I did."


"What was he wearin'?" Tanner asked unexpectedly. The spark of hope jumped from man to man as they awaited the sheriff's answer to the seemingly innocuous question.


"Nothin' special." Layton shrugged and waved a hand in their general direction. "Wasn't dressed much different than the rest a ya."


"Ezra wouldn't be caught dead dressed like the rest a us." Realizing what he'd said Buck grinned sheepishly, drawing smiles of agreement from the others.


"I don't think it was him Chris." Vin insisted, the spark flaming to life. "It weren't Ezra."


*******


Planning to take Ezra's body back to be buried in Four Corners, a wagon had been rented and arrangements had already been made for the gambler's lonely grave to be opened. Wanting to spare JD, the heart wrenching disappointment if they were wrong, Larabee had sent their youngest with Buck to replenish their supplies and set up camp while the others made the trip to the cemetery. If he'd thought there was a chance in hell they would obey, he would have ordered the others to remain behind as well, simply to spare them the agony.


Seeing the sheriff shake his head the undertaker clamped his mouth shut against the protest he'd been about to voice when using a shovel, Larabee had pried open the plain pine box which had rested under E. Standish's name.


"I'll do it." Inhaling deeply, Nathan stepped forward and lifted the lid up far enough to peer inside, praying he wouldn't have to extinguish the fervent hope which seemed to be radiating from his friends. 'Please God, let Vin be right.'


No one seemed to breath waiting for the healer's judgment, each man bracing himself for confirmation of the news he didn't want to hear again and would no longer be able to deny.


"He's right." Jackson's words were barely audible. "Vin's right..."


"It's-"


"No Josiah...It's not Ezra." He turned to give them a shiny eyed smile. "It's not Ezra!" He repeated a little louder.


The three men stepped forward, to see for themselves, each needing to confirm the ex-slave's words.


Finishing a prayer for the unknown corpse as dirt was once more tossed on the coffin, Sanchez frowned and posed the most immediate thought in everyone's mind. "So where's Ezra?"


*******


Seated beside the campfire, Larabee glanced at each of the men curled in their bedrolls, subconsciously making certain they were alright and still with him before staring at the tin cup he held. His gaze softened as his thoughts turned inward.


A smile tugged at his lips, remembering JD's shout of outright joy when arriving without the wagon and telling the youngster they'd brought him some firewood, Larabee had tossed Dunne the cross bearing Ezra's name.


Knowing the gambler had to be somewhere Layton had agreed to lead them to where the two men had split up in hopes that Vin's tracking skills would be able to tell them something of how the dead man had come to have Ezra's rented mount and more importantly what had become of Standish.


No one wanted to think, let alone give voice, to the fact they may still have lost their gambler. However, at that moment it was simply enough for them to know he wasn't laying dead in that lonely grave.


Chris silently poured another cup of coffee, refilling his own as he watched Josiah toss aside his blankets and move to the fire, squatting beside it and raking a huge trembling hand through his hair.


Sipping his coffee, Larabee studied the big man over the rim of his cup. The lines around Sanchez's eyes and mouth seemed to have deepened and Chris couldn't help but wonder how much the preacher had actually slept since Ezra had left town.


"He wouldn't want ya dwellin' on it."


Startled by the quiet comment, Josiah stared at the gunslinger a moment before sadness filled his blue gray eyes. "How can I not?...My last words ta him were so hateful and-" His voice broke and it was a long moment before he was able to continue. "Ya remember Matthew Murphy?"


Chris nodded.


A week before the altercation with the rustlers, Josiah had been pleased to see his old friend climb from the seat of the beat up old Conestoga which at stopped in front of the general store.


The two men had been childhood friends, Matt living in one of the tiny settlements where Josiah's father had preached. They'd kept in touch, their paths crossing several times over the years.


By the time, Sanchez had finished helping Amos replace the wheel on Tucker's carriage and arrived at Mrs. Potter's, Matt's family was already loading their few purchases into the wagon.


Stepping into the store, Sanchez had frowned when Matt had almost knocked the gambler off his feet and continued about his business without so much as a word of apology to the southerner.


Exiting the store Ezra had tipped his hat politely to Mrs. Murphy, and slipped each of the three children a peppermint stick from the bag he carried then and with a nod to Josiah had casually strolled on toward the livery. Sanchez shook his head and hurried on to meet his old friend, the incident forgotten at the joy of their reunion.


After treating Matt and his family to dinner in the restaurant, Josiah and his old friend had spent the evening in the saloon catching up on each other's lives. To Josiah's bemusement, Matt, who was drinking too much, began spouting all too much about inconsequential things, and far too little about important matters. To make matters worse, the man kept casting scornful glances at Ezra, who was engaged in his nightly poker game.


"Headed for Kentucky weren't they?"


Josiah nodded as Chris' question drew him back to the present. "Sold his homestead and was headed for California till somebody conned him outta his stake so now they're gonna live with Patricia's brother and his family back around Lexington."


"Ya don't think Ez-"


"No!" The ex-priest was quick with his denial. "No." He repeated, his voice lowering slightly. "It wasn't Ezra but I got ta talkin' ta him about it..."


"And?" Larabee prodded when the man said nothing more. This was obviously the conversation that had caused the trouble between the two friends.


"Ezra said he was sure sorry for Matt's family but the truth of the matter was ya can't con an honest man. He said the real secret to a successful con is that your mark has to be greedy enough to want somethin' for nothin'. Said if they're greedy enough they won't bother to check out your story or at least won't look close enough ta see anything they don't want to see." The big man shook his head. "Is there anybody in this world who don't want somethin' for nothin'?"


Chris swirled the dregs in his cup. "So ya got mad at Ezra for tellin' ya the truth."


Josiah raised his head, his gray eyes flashing angrily. "Damnit, he sounded so damn callous! Like he didn't give a damn what happened to Matt and his family!"


"So ya got mad at Ezra for tellin' ya the truth..." Chris repeated, "and because he was an easy target."


It was a long moment before Josiah released a heavy sigh giving a small nod of admission. "I guess maybe because Matt was my friend I didn't wanna believe the worst of him but afterwards, thinkin' back on it...Well,...Matt always did look for the easy path...whether it was gettin' outta trouble as a kid or how many times he and Patricia moved..." He rubbed at the tense muscles in the back of his neck. "But every time I looked at Ezra, I thought about Patricia and them youngun's bein' homeless and I just got madder. Guess since I couldn't take my anger out on one friend, I took it out on another."


"Reckon Ezra understands that." Chris pointed out quietly.


A frown furrowed Josiah's long face. "What makes ya think so?"


"Cause he's Ezra...And because he is your friend." Chris grinned. "Of course I'm also sure he'll make ya pay for bein' that target."


"Let's just hope he gets that chance."


Chris nodded and quietly uttered. "Amen, Preacher, amen."


*******


The sun was just beginning to peek over the mountains in the distance when the six men climbed into their saddles and followed Sheriff Layton in search of their missing seventh man.


*******


At that same time, Nettie Wells was stoking the cook fire embers and starting her morning coffee before quietly opening the bedroom door to check on her niece.


Curled on her side, hugging the pillow to her body, the blankets were twisted around the Casey, evidence of another restless night for the young woman. The truth was, neither woman had slept well since the day Casey had returned from Four Corners with the news of Ezra Standish's death.


As she gathered up the water bucket and started outside, a million random thoughts ran through her mind, all of them centering on the fancy dressing gambler.


Nettie, preferring not to embarrass the con man, seldom verbalized her fondness for the enigmatic southerner. She truly enjoyed their pretend feud and had always taken great pleasure in the exchanged verbal jabs. Her disapproval of the way Standish made his money hadn't prevented the woman from seeing the goodness he'd tried so hard to keep hidden.


Word was the peacekeepers had ridden to Blue Creek intending to bring the gambler's body back for burial here where he belonged. It had crossed the old woman's mind if the so called good Christian souls of town kicked up a fuss about the gambler forever sleeping amongst their lost loved ones, she would see to it he had a peaceful resting place here on her land. Land he had helped insure remained hers.


She and several of the other women, would spend the next few days baking, cooking meals and generally looking after the remaining six upon their return.


Her thoughts automatically turned to Vin, wondering how the young sharpshooter was dealing with the loss of the gambler. Ezra was not only Tanner's friend but a member of his newly formed family...a family the tracker hadn't really had since he was a small boy.


In the time she had known him, the feisty widow had come to think of the Texan as the son she'd never had. Between Vin and Casey, Nettie found herself running the gamut of true maternal emotions, from overwhelming joy at their smiles to heart breaking worry when they weren't under her watchful eye.


Although she was aware the ex-bounty hunter had seen all types of death in his short life Nettie knew the southerner's demise would rip a hole in Tanner's heart which could never be repaired. She prayed the inner strength which had seen him through so many tribulations in his hard life would see him through yet another loss and that he'd come realize this time he didn't have to face his loss alone. This time he had five brothers to help deal with the pain.


As she opened the door and stepped outside to face the new day, the water bucket she carried crashed to the floor boards and Nettie bit back a startled outcry at the sight of a man's body draped face down across the porch steps.


Stepping backward, her eyes remaining on the motionless form, she reached inside and grabbed her Spencer Carbine from its place beside the door before cautiously moving forward, crossing the porch, the gun cocked and aimed at the unmoving man.


Normally, the woman wouldn't have hesitated to help someone in need of aid but she'd dealt with Guy Royal one to many times to immediately let down her guard. She stood for a long moment examining the still figure for any sign of movement, uncertain if the man was even breathing.


Nettie glanced around the yard searching for signs of a trap or any trouble which might be following the man who'd somehow found his way to her door. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she finally set the rifle aside and carefully eased the man off the steps, rolling him onto his back.


"Casey!"


*******


The young woman bolted upright in bed at her aunt's call.


That wasn't Nettie's 'get your butt up, the day's half over' call, her 'we got trouble' yell or even her 'don't think you're gonna get away with that stunt' voice.


"Casey!"


This was a tone Casey couldn't remember hearing before but it definitely held a foreboding of trouble.


Had Guy Royal decided to take advantage of the peacekeepers absence to once again try and steal her aunt's small ranch?


Afraid of what had her aunt so upset, the young woman pulled the old six shooter from the bottom of the bureau drawer and crept across the large room toward the open front door.


To hell with Guy Royal or anyone else who was foolish enough to take on the fearless widow and her equally fearless niece.


This week been bad enough!


JD had already left with the others when Casey heard of the southerner's death. She knew, without seeing him, that Dunne had been devastated by the con man's loss.


After recently losing his mother, the young Bostonian had come west looking for adventure and found a family in the men hired to protect Four Corners. While Buck had become his big brother and best friend, Standish and Tanner had been the first to make him welcome and Ezra had always treated him as the man JD saw himself to be.


Not wanting her to think him weak, Casey knew the sheriff would avoid her until he was better able to deal with the pain.


Cautiously peering around the door frame, her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding frantically at the sight of her aunt struggling to drag a man's limp body onto the porch.


"Aunt Nettie!" The name held confusion, questions and trepidation as setting the gun aside, Casey hurried outside to help the older woman.


"Take his feet child." Nettie ordered in her no nonsense manner. "Help me get 'im inside."


The young woman didn't bother to ask if he was alive, knowing her aunt wouldn't waste time moving a dead man.


Casey couldn't seem to take her eyes off the filthy blood covered shirt he wore as working together, they wrestled the man through the house and onto the bed she had just vacated.


The shirt might have once been white, or the pants bearing several rips may have been black but covered with dirt and mud they were almost the same bland color as the tan jacket he wore.


Casey sucked in a breath, her eyes widening in shock as she reached to slide a pillow under his head, looking at his face for the first time.


"Aunt Nettie...It's-"


"Fill the bucket and put some water on to heat." Nettie interrupted, reaching to remove his boots.


Gently easing the pillow under his head, the young woman momentarily rested a hand softly on the dirty curls before hurrying to do her aunt's bidding.


*******


It was mid morning before pouring herself a cup of coffee Nettie returned to the bedroom and wearily sank into the chair she'd dragged in from the kitchen table. Taking a sip of the coffee, she absently rubbed the tense aching muscles in the small of her back.


As soon as she was certain she no longer needed the young woman's help, Nettie had sent her niece racing to town with a list of supplies to be filled by Miz Potter and strict orders that if Vin and the other lawmen had returned she was to bring Nathan back immediately.


Listening intently for the sounds signaling Casey's return, the old woman searched her mind for anything else she could do to insure the gambler's miraculous escape from the grave didn't end with his permanent return to the cemetery due to her lack of medical skill.


"What the hell happened ta ya son?" she murmured aloud as her troubled gaze swept over the unconscious man.


There was an over abundance of cuts and bruises covering his body. It appeared every square inch of his exposed skin was sunburned and blistered. Even his palms were a bloody mess of scratches, his usually meticulously neat nails were broken ragged and caked with dirt.


The widow wasn't certain if the heat emanating from the con man was due to his fever, the blistering sun burn or a combination of both.


Nettie had been appalled when she had cut away the southerner's shirt only to reveal the burnt puckered skin on his lower left side. She was loathe to admit it but it had frightened her when Ezra hadn't made a sound as she'd cleaned and tended his injuries.


"Awful lot of people are gonna be mighty glad ta see ya Fancy Pants." Nettie admitted tenderly, gently changing the cool damp cloth she'd placed over his eyes. "So ya damn well better stick around. There's been enough broken hearts this week."


*******


Following the silent tracker, the five men hung back not wanting to make Vin's job any harder by adding to the abundance of tracks left by the criminal and the posse.


Knowing where they were headed had helped and they'd made good time. It was just shortly after the noon hour when they'd reached the crosstrails and Layton had called a halt.


The sheriff removed his hat and fanned his face as he pointed to the right. "This is where they split up. Standish went over..." He shrugged apologetically as he corrected himself. "Sorry...The fella we thought was Standish went over them hills."


Accepting their thanks, the sheriff had wished them luck in discovering what had happened to their friend and had headed back to town. Vin had immediately dismounted and begun scouring the ground for sign as the other men waited anxiously for him to find what he was searching for.


The trail, once found, had led them here. Now, Chris shifted in the saddle impatiently, forcing himself to wait as Vin slowly paced the area, stooping to examine only God and Tanner himself knew what before moving on, only to hunker down and study the ground further on.


"Well?" Larabee questioned as the sharpshooter returned to accept Peso's offered reins and remounted.


Vin settled himself in the saddle before he spoke. "Whoever he was he weren't ridin' Mavis when he left Blue Creek."


No one said anything as Tanner nudged Peso into a canter, fearing what the ex-bounty hunter's words meant for their southern friend.


*******


"He's gonna be okay...ain't he Aunt Nettie?" Casey questioned fearfully, large eyes locked on the injured, unconscious man.


"I don't know child." The widow answered honestly, intent on her task. A moment's satisfaction settled over her as the gambler swallowed reflexively when she let the liquid from the spoon seep past his cracked lips. She knew the man needed liquids and the cool water from the well might help reduce his fever if she could get enough down him.


While there was no doubt in her mind, Ezra was a fighter, even the strongest men had their limits and as much as Nettie wanted to reassure her niece, she didn't think it fair to raise the girl's hopes only to have them crushed beneath the heels of fate, if the con man did succumb to his injuries.


Trying to lower his body temperature and keep him as comfortable as possible, Nettie had spent the afternoon gently wiping Ezra's upper body with a damp cloth, listening to the unintelligible mumblings born of his fever ravaged mind.


"Come on Casey, let's see about fixing some dinner. I'm sure Nettie could stand a good meal." Mary Travis steered the younger woman from the bedroom, knowing full well the older woman hadn't left Ezra's side long enough to eat.


Mary's heart had plunged to the bottom of her stomach when earlier that day, Casey had ridden into town as if the devil himself was chasing her, only to soar with happiness when the breathless young woman had told her of Nettie's early morning discovery. Her exaltation had been short lived as Casey had gone on to describe the gambler's current condition.


As Casey hurried to the store to have Mrs. Potter fill Nettie's list, Mary had followed, questioning the young woman on the extent of Ezra's injuries. When Casey had the items Nettie needed, Mary had dragged her along to Nathan's clinic rummaging through his paltry shelf of medical supplies for anything that might be useful.


Grabbing a few bottles of medicinal herbs and teas, intending to return with the young woman, in hopes of being some assistance, in tending the gambler, Mary had insisted Casey wait until she had sent a telegram to Blue Creek. Casey had saddled a horse from the livery and packed their cache of supplies as the newspaper woman had arranged for Billy to stay with Mrs. Potter for the day.


Unsaddling their horses and freeing them into Nettie's small corral, the two woman had grabbed the supplies and hurried for the house. Nettie had heard their arrival and was waiting on the porch. As Mary neared, she could see the haggard look on the older woman's face, the red rimmed eyes, the dark hollows....They had exchanged greetings and Nettie had motioned her inside, gratefully taking the medical supplies from her and going through them, pulling out several of the more promising herbal mixtures.


Mary had moved across the room and paused in the doorway. Ezra was lying in the bed, unconscious, the low flickering light from the kerosene lamp giving his face an even paler appearance beneath the sunburn. Her hand flew to her throat. Casey's description of Ezra's condition had not even begun to prepare her for what she saw and she turned brimming eyes to Nettie.


The old woman gave her an understanding nod. "He's holdin' on...." She steeled her shoulders and moved for the bed side. "And we're gonna keep him holdin' on..." Her tone brooked no argument and Mary nodded, moving up to assist in any way she could.


Now, hours later, she realized they hadn't eaten. She'd fix something for them, then get Nettie to eat and rest while she sat beside the gambler before returning to town.


"Might wanna start a broth for 'im." Nettie remarked, when her niece hesitated. "Help build up his strength." She leaned close to the gambler's ear as the two women left the room certain she had her own way to keep the gambler struggling for life. "McMurtry bet me five dollars ya don't make it." A slow smile spread over her worn face. "Make sure I win that bag a wind's money and I'll split it with ya."


*******


Wilmington wearily scrubbed a hand over his haggard face and his worried gaze settled on the young sharpshooter who sat in the shadows turning the object he held over and over in his hands.


The mood around the campfire was somber. The men had quietly forced themselves to eat the beans and biscuits Josiah had heated, each of them wanting nothing more than to be back on the trail and each of them knowing they couldn't do anything in the darkness, yet the endless wait for daybreak was wearing on them more than they cared to admit.


That afternoon had passed much too slowly and equally had passed all too quickly as they followed the gambler's trail. Vin had carefully studied the ground for any sign of how the dead man had come to be riding Mavis and more importantly for any sign of what might have happened to their missing friend.


"Ya need ta talk ta him Pard." Hunkering down beside his old friend Buck passed Larabee a cup of coffee, nodding to where the sharpshooter sat alone. "Reckon he's doubtin' 'imself right now."


'Ol' Buck's in full mother hen mode.' The gunslinger suppressed a smile at the thought.


Despite Wilmington's care free attitude, Chris had learned a long time ago, his old friend often cared too much. Larabee knew from experience, a person could piss Buck off, push him away, break his heart and even threaten his very life but the gunfighter always came back. He was always there, willing to help and to protect.


It had taken him a long time to acknowledge the fact but Larabee had thankfully come to realize, in Buck, a person, Chris in particular, had a friend for life.


Buck had easily come to think of each of these men as family. They were his, plain and simple, and as such, like any good parent, or perfect big brother, he would watch over them, letting them make their mistakes, chewing their asses when needed or giving comfort, willing to listen and offer advice, adding his quiet unassuming strength to theirs.


Chris knew it didn't matter if they all eventually went their own seperate ways. It didn't matter if they didn't see each other for years...It didn't matter where they were, if one of them needed help, Larabee knew without a doubt, Wilmington would take on the devil himself to reach their side.


Now one of Buck's family was hurting, hell they were all hurting but at this moment one in particular needed more help than the others, and with the wisdom of a father, Buck sensed, at the moment, there was only one person in their group who could truly help...And that person was Larabee.


Chris raised his hazel eyes to meet Buck's and a single thought crossed his mind. 'Ya raised yourself, one helluva man, Miz Wilmington.'


Buck's gaze was soft with deep concern. "Know ya don't like ta butt in, Hoss, but push if ya gotta." He advised softly. "Vin needs ta talk. He needs ta know he ain't done nothin' wrong."


With a knowing nod, Larabee accepted the coffee and pushed to his feet, crossing to where Tanner sat, still studying the stone he grasped.


*******


Vin didn't acknowledge the gunslinger's presence as Larabee took a seat on an old log, facing the sharpshooter.


"Ain't as strong as ya like but at least it's drinkable." When Tanner continued to ignore him, Chris set the cup on the ground near the tracker's boot.


Vin jerked away letting loose a string of expletives as suddenly irritated by the ex-bounty hunter's continued silence, Larabee slapped Tanner's hand, sending the small blood stained stone flying into the dirt. "That damn chunk a boulder ain't gonna suddenly grow a mouth and tell ya where Ezra is!"


"Damn ya Larabee! Just leave me be!" The sharpshooter snatched up the stone before Chris could kick it away.


"Why? So ya can sit here and mope like a five year old?" Chris growled. "Or beat yourself up for no reason?"


"Got a good reason! I fucked up!"


The four men seated around the campfire busied themselves, spreading bedrolls and cleaning up in an attempt to appear as if they couldn't hear the conversation between the Hoosier and Texan.


"We'll find 'im Vin." The gunslinger softened his tone, as Tanner's blue eyed gaze once more dropped to the rock he held. "Ain't gonna stop lookin' till we do."


"Might have already...iffen I hadn't missed the sign." Vin raked a hand through his long hair. "Be closer than we are now, anyway."


It had been late in the afternoon, when Tanner suddenly jumped from the saddle staring at the trail, stooping for a better examination of whatever had caught his attention.



"Damnit! Ain't no sign a the horse he left town on." Cursing himself, the tracker had remounted and retraced their previous path.



The sun was sitting low on the horizon when he'd called a halt once again. No one said anything as he studied their surroundings.



This spot in the trail was steep and narrow, dropping on one side into a shallow gulley where several saplings struggled to grow among the weeds and rocks.



"Vin?" JD had been the first to speak.



"His horse lost it's footin'...Looks like it dumped him and took off that way."



Listening, Chris had gotten the distinct impression Tanner wasn't talking to them as much as to himself, working through the scenerio laid out before him in the dirt.



"Mavis' tracks end here and then head back the direction Ez was comin' from."



Two miles further on and Ezra would have been at the crossroads leading toward Eagle Bend and Four Corners. The two men might never have seen each other.



Dismounting, the men had followed as gripping the saplings to keep his balance, Vin made his way to the bottom of the gully.



"Sonuvabitch!" The muttered curse had drawn everyone's attention to the dark stains soaked into the dirt and weeds...Blood.



"Don't mean it's Ezra's blood." Nathan had stated, hoping to keep the men's spirits up.



"Who the hell else's would it be?!" Tanner had snapped angerily. "Ain't no blood leadin' back up ta the trail and we know that young fool layin' in that grave took Ez's horse and headed the other direction so just whose blood do ya think it is?"



"Have faith brother. It could be an animal's or..." Josiah shrugged, not wanting to believe it was a sign the gambler had been injured. "We don't even know how long it's been here."



"It's his!" The tracker insisted. "You two might not give a damn if he's alive-"



"That's enough Tanner!" Larabee had barked. He knew the healer and preacher were simply convenient targets for the release of anger the sharpshooter had kept inside since the arrival of that damn telegram. Just as he knew they would shrug off the apology the Texan would later attempt, assuring him they understood.



"Couldn't be hurt too bad, cause he ain't here." JD quietly pointed out.



"Now that's faith." Buck clapped a large hand on the youth's shoulder.



Tanner turned away to climb back to where the horses waited. "Y'all have faith. Me?...I'm gonna find Ezra."



They'd followed the blood trail leading toward the plains until it became to dark to see and Larabee had forced the tracker to stop for the night.


"We wouldn't be as close as we are if it weren't for you." Larabee sighed. Buck was right. He needed to convince the younger man his feelings of guilt were uncalled for. "Vin...There's five of us with ya and we've all done some trackin' in our time...Even JD's learnin' how but it's you that's got us this far."


"Shouldn't a missed it."


"Damn boy!" Chris shook his head in wonderment at what the tracker had accomplished. "Think about it...Ya managed ta follow a horse whose tracks have damn near been wiped out by a dozen other horses. That's more than any of us would be able to do...More than most people could do."


"But-"


"No buts Vin!...If...when we find Ezra it'll be cause you got us here." Picking up the forgotten cup, he pressed it into the sharpshooter's hand. "Hell, we might not even be lookin' for him if not for you. If nothin' else we all owe ya for not havin' ta listen to that little banty rooster berate us for buryin' him prematurely. Especially since it wasn't him." Pulling a cheroot from his pocket and striking a lucifer on the heel of his boot, the gunslinger grinned. "Can just imagine him bitchin' cause the headstone we picked wasn't fancy enough for his tastes."


A lopsided grin slowly spread across the Texan's lips and in a perfect imitation of Ezra, he stated, "A headstone should be an eternal reflection of the person resting beneath it."


The small cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth, Larabee stared at the Texan, cussing and shaking out the forgotten match when the fire reached his fingertips. "Southern peacock's startin' ta rub off on everybody."


*******


"Shh Ezra...everything's gonna be fine." Nettie soothed, wiping the glistening sweat from the gambler's face with a cool cloth as Ezra mumbled incoherantly, lost in the grasp of a feverish world known only to him.


"Li...light it...j-just..." The gambler's eyes were open, glittering a bright green and he raised a trembling hand but Nettie knew in his mind he was somewhere other than her small homestead. "C-c-coward." He hissed derisively.


Nettie's heart leaped into her throat as the southerner suddenly released a pain filled scream, his hand falling away and his body tensing before complete unconsciousness claimed him again.


"Ya keep hangin' on son..." Nettie encouraged softly, gently wrapping her hand around his. "We don't wanna lose ya again."


*******


Glancing from the unreadable face of the tracker to the gambler's hat, hanging from Peso's saddle horn, Chris eased back on his gelding's reins dropping back to ride beside Nathan.


"How bad ya think Ezra is really hurt Nate?" He questioned when the others were out of hearing. "The truth."


The healer considered the question carefully before finally looking at the dark clad man. "Hard ta say but...it's not good. Ya've seen the same things I have Chris...Looked ta me like he was bleedin' pretty bad...Thankfully, he seems to have gotten it stopped..."


Earlier that morning they'd found a spot, Vin had determined to be where Ezra had spent that first night. Trees and several large boulders blocked any wind, hid the gambler from sight and prevented anyone from approaching unawares from the rear.


They'd all been stunned by the amount of blood stains they had found in the small area and had discovered bits of cloth they could only assume had come from the gambler's shirt.


A few hours further riding from that secluded hideaway, Vin had found the con man's hat on the ground beside a tiny slow moving creek that meandered aimlessly across the plains.


At the time, Nathan had been pleased when Vin found no blood leading away from the gambler's night camp but his worry had grown and JD had finally questioned the older men concerning Ezra's intentions as the trail they followed became increasingly erratic.


"He's hurt and probably runnin' a fever." Nathan stated sadly. "He-"


"He's just trying ta get home." Vin's quiet statement had struck a cord in all of them. Whether they were ready to admit it or not, they had all come to think of Four Corners as their home.


Larabee didn't need Vin's skills as a tracker to see the signs of Standish's stumbling, the times he'd fallen and crawled on his hands and knees before finally able to push himself up and continue his journey. Several places carried the scars and grooves created by his clawing hands as he'd driven himself onward.


"Didn't have ta worry about dehydration long as he was followin' the creek...Wish I could say the same about-" Nathan was abruptly interrupted.


"Rider comin' up fast!" Josiah announced bringing everyone to a halt, hands resting on their guns, prepared for trouble.


"Mr. Larabee!" The rider shouted as he neared. "Mr. Larabee!"


The racing horse reared up, throwing up dust as its rider yanked back on the reins, bringing him to a sliding halt beside the six horsemen. Their horses fought their bits, prancing nervously as blowing hard, the lathered horse pawed at the ground.


"I'm Larabee." Chris reined his mount closer to the unexpected rider. He was just a kid, not much older than JD, in fact, with the look about him of a ranch hand.


"Sheriff Layton sent me sir." He gulped and swallowed hard as Larabee glared at him. Finding his voice, in the face of a man he knew was a renowned hired gunman, he uttered loud enough for them all to hear. "Got a message for ya."


Larabee's glare deepened. "How'd ya know where ta find us?"


"Didn't. Ben said it was important so about half dozen of us headed out in all different directions. We figured one of us was bound ta find ya." Swinging down from the saddle, he loosened the cinches and pulling an old piece of sack cloth from his saddlebags began rubbing down his mount. "Saw ya from that hill back there."


"So what's this all fired important message ya got for 'im?" Vin demanded, anxious to be on the move once more.


The boy turned away from his horse and looked up at Chris. "Ben said ta tell ya he got a telegram from Four Corners." Licking his dry lips, he hesitated, wanting to be certain he got it right. "It said...Ezra's at Nettie's. Send Nathan immediately."


*******


The moon had ended it's solitary journey but hadn't yet given way to false dawn when the six dust covered men wearily rode into Nettie's yard.


Knowing Ezra was alive, at least when the telegram was sent, and needing Nathan's skills, none of them were willing to spend another night around a campfire waiting for the safety of daylight when they could have made better time.


"Nettie!" Vin vaulted from his saddle and bounded onto the porch, followed closely by the other five men.


Casey flung the door open before he could knock. The young girl rushed outside, practically throwing herself into JD's arms, tears streaming down her cheeks as she finally released the tension of the past few days.


"Casey?..." The young sheriff's heart plunged to his feet. Were they too late after all? "Ezra?...He's..."


"He's in m-my room." The girl sniffed, her forehead pressed against Dunne's chest.


Chris released the breath he'd been holding and his heart started to beat again. The gunslinger didn't have to look at the others to know their reactions were the same as his own.


"Aunt Nettie, s-she ain't left h-his side...We b-been doin' the best w-we c-can but..."


Nathan pushed past them, and followed by Tanner, quietly called Nettie's name in warning as he entered.


"Get her inside JD and make sure she gets some sleep." Larabee ordered, softly patting the young woman's shoulder.


"But-" Casey started to protest.


"No buts." Although he smiled at the girl, Chris hardened his tone, sounding for all the world like a father talking to an argumentative daughter. "You've been a big help Casey. I know Ezra appreciates it...We all do. Ya get some rest now." He turned away and began issuing orders as more pressing matters crowded in. "Josiah ya better get in there; Nathan and Vin may need your help. Buck grab Nate's gear, in case there's anything else he needs. I'll be in as soon as I take care of the horses."


"The horses can wait just a bit brother. Ezra can't." Seeming to understand that Larabee feared entering the house only to find they'd arrived in time to watch Ezra die, Josiah gripped the younger man's arm, gently but firmly, steering the gunslinger inside.


If Ezra was going to die, Josiah was determined he would be surrounded by those who cared about him the most.


*******


'How the hell could anyone be that sunburned and still look so damn pale?' Chris wondered for the hundreth time as everyone gathered around Nettie's table waiting for Nathan's diagnosis.


"Don't know how he got here. I didn't see any sign a his horse." Nettie sighed from her Heppelwhite chair, wearily nodding her thanks to Josiah as the big man handed her a cup of coffee.


"He walked...Crawled when necessary." Vin murmured softly, his mind vividly recalling the heart breaking tracks in the dust which had clearly showed the gambler's feeble attempts to make his way 'home.'


"Well, that explains why his feet was so swolled up I thought I was gonna have ta cut them fancy boots a his ta get 'em off." Hearing the emotion in his voice and wanting to offer comfort without embarrassing the young tracker, the widow lightly pat Vin's hand before motioning for him to drink the coffee sitting in front of him. "His hands were pretty tore up but I used some bear grease salve on 'em and they seem ta be healin' okay. Now if the rest a him heals..." Nettie trailed off as Nathan stepped into the room, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar to hear any sounds Ezra might make in his absence.


No one spoke as the healer dropped into one of the chairs, taking a gulp of the coffee as Tanner pushed his untouched cup toward the ex-slave. "That fever worries me but if we can get rid a it he should be all right...thanks ta Miss Nettie there." He smiled at the old frontierswoman.


"And Casey and Mary too but don't be thankin' us," The older woman shook her head in denial. She gave the healer an apologetic shrug. "We raided your clinic and borrowed some a your supplies. All we could really do was clean him up and force some water and your willow bark tea down him."


"And give 'im comfort when he was outta his head." Wilmington offered, expressing the men's gratitude. They all knew Ezra's personal demons reared their ugly heads when the gambler was injured and consumed by fever. "Sometimes, that's just as important as tendin' his physical injuries."


"Amen brother." Josiah smiled.


"Was afraid ta use the razor on him but figured that salve wouldn't help the sunburn if I didn't, that's why he resembles my favorite scruffy Texan." The woman teased, hoping to bring a smile to the sharpshooter's handsome face but the Texan barely glanced at her. "One thing's got me puzzled Nathan. What's that burn on his side?"


"It's how he stopped the bleedin'." Jackson grimaced, scrubbing a hand over his face. "He cauterized it."


"Oh my God!" Nettie's eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth as she suddenly understood Ezra's mumbling and screams. Even safe in her bed and in their tender care, he was reliving that horrendous action.


Nathan shook his head sadly. "It's worse. I don't know what kind of injury it was but if he was shot...there's no exit wound."


"What's that mean?" JD questioned, looking at the other men's worried expressions, his own fear building once more. He didn't understand why everyone seemed so upset. Nathan had said Ezra was going to get better.


When no one spoke, Buck leaned towards their youngest member, his expression worried as he explained. "He means Ez burned the wound closed to stop the bleedin' and if he was shot..."


"Ya mean the bullet might still be in 'im?" Dunne interrupted, stunned by the implication as well as the very thought of the pain the gambler had caused himself. "Wait a minute!...Ya gotta be wrong cause we didn't see no sign a Ezra buildin' a fire so he couldn't a-"


"He used a bullet." His hands in his pockets, Wilmington fingered the empty shell casing he'd found at Ezra's night camp. He hadn't understood its meaning at the time and wasn't even certain why he'd held onto it but now he was determined it would be a reminder, when any of them,-including Standish himself,-doubted the gambler's true courage. "Ya open a bullet, pour the gunpowder around the wound and light it."


JD paled, nausea rising with Buck's vivid description before the youngster spun around to face the healer, demanding, "So what are ya gonna do about it?"


"Nothin' until I can talk ta Ezra and find out what happened." Nathan shrugged, feeling helpless.


"But-"


"What do you want me to do JD?" The healer snapped, releasing his frustration on the youth. "You want me to cut 'im open for nothin'? Want me to cause him all that pain diggin' around inside him and maybe do more damage when maybe he wasn't shot at all?" Realizing the hurt he was causing as he stared into the sheriff's dark sorrowful eyes, the ex-army medic blew out a deep breath. "I'm sorry JD I just..."


JD silently nodded in understanding. They all knew Nathan worried his self taught skills wouldn't be enough to help them when medical talents were needed.


Nettie pushed to her feet and moved toward the stove. "Let me make you boys somethin' ta eat and then-"


"I have an even better idea." Vin rose and taking Nettie's hand looped her arm through his, leading her toward her bedroom, where Casey was already sleeping soundly.


Nettie's eyes twinkled as she paused by the bedroom door. "And just what might that be young man?" She teased.


Even weary beyond belief and worried about his friend, Tanner's face flushed as he realized what his words and actions had implied. "Miz Nettie..." He growled in embarrassment as the others chuckled and she gave him a smile and pat on the arm as he firmly clarified. "'Stead a worryin' 'bout feedin' us, ya get ya some rest. Bet ya ain't slept two hours since Ez showed up here."


"And I'll bet ain't none a ya have slept decent in longer than that." Recognizing the weariness and worry in his azure eyes, Nettie copitulated but not without adding a condition of her own. "Grab yer bedrolls and sack out where ya can. Y'all look about dead on yer feet." She saw Wilmington about to speak and pointed her finger at the ladies man. "Don't argue with me!" She ordered before anyone else could protest. "How ya expect me ta get my rest listenin' ta y'all pacin' around out here." She smiled, hearing several 'yes ma'ams' from the nodding men. "I'll take me a nap and then fill your bellies. Holler if ya need anything."


Fighting her own weariness, as she stepped into the small bedroom, the woman had listened to the soft conversation and rustling movements from the outter room. Waiting several long moments after silence had finally settled she quietly opened the door and peeked out to find JD, Josiah and Buck stretched out in the middle of the floor. Chris lay on his bedroll next to Casey's bedroom door and she was certain she'd find Vin and Nathan with Ezra.


Nodding in satisfaction, she carefully slipped into bed beside her niece and surrendered to her own exhaustion.


*******


Hot! When had it gotten so damn hot?



He was so damn hot! Was the damn sun never going to set? Would it never stop relentlessly beating down on him? Maybe it would help if he took his coat off.



NO!



Some small part of his brain warned that his clothing was his only protection. He'd lost his hat somewhere along the way and it felt like the sun was baking his brains. He could feel his skin tightening across his cheekbones as the sun's rays cooked his flesh, soaking up every tiny drop of moisture.



He licked at his dry cracked lips with his swollen tongue. Damn, but he was thirsty! He couldn't ever remember being so thirsty.



Whatever had possessed him to wander away from that tiny trickling stream of water which had the outright gall to consider itself a creek?



He tugged at his open collar. His parched throat was as scratchy as tree bark, making it increasingly harder to swallow.



He had to keep moving! If he didn't move, he couldn't find water to quench his damnable thirst. If he didn't move he would never reach that dusty little burg in which he'd resided for almost three years.



Three years...Had it been that long? It didn't seem possible he had stayed...He shook his head and forced his wandering thoughts back. He had to stay focused.



In Four Corners, he could climb into his wonderfully soft feather bed and sleep for days. He had no doubt Nathan would tend his wounds and he'd awaken to find his six friends waiting patiently at his beside with worried expressions.



He had to keep moving! Giving in to the weakness and pain meant surrendering to the Grim Reaper.



He had to keep walking! It was easy. Just put one foot in front of the other. That's all he had to do. How hard was walking? Everyone he knew could do it. Hell, he'd been doing it since before his first birthday...at least according to Maude.


Rolling onto his side, Ezra weakly pushed himself to his feet. Fighting trembling muscles he locked his knees to stop himself from falling.


There! He was standing! A surge of pride rushed through him at the small accomplishment.


One foot in front of the other. That's all he had to do...Keep putting one foot in front of the other.


Ezra couldn't prevent the startled cry of pain as his foot caught on something and he was unable to prevent himself from crashing to the ground.


Tanner bolted upright as something struck his ankle.


"Ezra?" Blinking sleepily, he automatically reached out in a vain attempt to catch the southerner as Standish tumbled towards the floor.


Nathan jumped from the chair, rubbing at his eyes as he rushed around the bed, dropping to his knees beside the gambler. "Shit! I didn't mean to doze off!"


One bandaged hand pressed to his chest, the other clutching his side, tears leaked from beneath Ezra's tightly closed eyes as the con man fought to catch his breath.


"Easy Ezra...Breath slow and easy." Nathan advised, stunned when the con man pulled away from his touch, struggling to regain his feet.


"K-k-keep m-movin'....gotta..." the gambler muttered, stubbornly pushing away from the hands that would help him back to bed.


"Ezra? It's alright Ez." Tanner soothed as the con man continued weakly eluding their grasp, still attempting to stand.


Chaos momentarily reigned as awakening at the con man's outcry, Larabee, and then the others, rolled from their bedding and rushed into the bedroom, only to find the gambler, lost in his fevered world, stumbling, falling, crawling and starting the whole process over again in an effort to get his legs under him.


"What the hell?" Chris found himself too stunned to move when, crawling to him, Ezra wrapped his arms around the gunslinger's denim clad leg seeking leverage to pull himself upright.


Vin moved forward, carefully gripping Standish's chin, as gently taking hold of his arms, Chris and Nathan stood their injured friend upright. "Ezra listen to me...You made it." Tanner quietly assured the gambler. "Ya made it."


The glaze cleared and there was a moment of lucidity in the southerner's fever bright emerald eyes. "V-Vin?"


"Yeah Pard, it's me." Tanner smiled. "We're all right here. Ya did it! Ya can rest easy now Ez. Ya made it home."


"H-home?" The emerald eyes rolled back in the gambler's head, and only his friends' strong arms kept the southerner from crumpling to the floor.


*******


Larabee's eyes darted around the yard, as dismounting and wrapping the reins around the porch rail, he crossed to the front door, quietly calling out a greeting as he knocked.


Receiving no answer, remembering what Tanner had said, his heart beat a little faster as he stepped into the small house. Uncertain exactly what he would find, his thought went back over the events of the past hours.


Ezra's fever had spiked and broken shortly after his early morning escapade, allowing him to sleep peacefully and his six friends had taken one hour shifts, one man sitting at his bedside while the others caught up on their own much needed rest.



Mary Travis had arrived early that afternoon and after checking on Ezra, she and Nettie had set about preparing a large meal while the men pitched in to help Casey with the ranch chores which had been neglected during the time Nettie had tended Ezra.



"I'm surprised Nica ain't here." JD muttered as filling their plates everyone found a seat where ever handy. "I mean when Ezra had the fever that time, we couldn't a forced her ta leave at gunpoint.



Seated on the floor beside the bedroom door, the sharpshooter glanced up as nothing but silence met Dunne's innocent remark. "Miss Nettie?...She does know he's here don't she?"



Nettie's expression fell. "I don't know." she admitted, her sudden concern evident in her voice. She brought her gaze up to steadily meet Tanner's "Ya know how it is...Livin' on the outskirts, sometimes ya don't get news at all. I wouldn't have even a known anything had happened at all till he showed up on my doorstep, if Casey hadn't gone ta town to see JD."



"Mary?" Chris spoke quietly. He had noticed the newspaperwoman's face pale and how she studiouslyy avoided meeting anyone's eyes.



"Gloria said she saw Nica come inta town the day you started for Blue Creek. She said she went to the livery and Gloria expected her to stop by the store or come to see the children but she didn't." A stricken expression came to her face as she whispered. "I don't know if anyone's seen her since then."



"Oh shit!" Tanner jumped to his feet and tossing his plate onto the table scrambled for the door.



"Hold up!" Larabee caught the tracker's arm as Vin rushed out onto the porch. "Finish eatin' and then we'll-"



"I gotta go now Chris!" The urgency in his friend's voice set Larabee's heart racing. "Might be too damn late already!



Chris frowned. "Too late for what?"



"She loves him Chris."



"Hell even JD knows that!" Larabee quipped, hoping to calm his frantic friend.



"Some tribes mourn the death of a loved one by..." The sharpshooter's words trailed off, as he realized the women could hear their conversation.



"I should of thought to stop and tell her." Mary sank into the closest empty chair. They all knew that while most of the town accepted her, wishing to avoid trouble, the Indian maiden avoided town as much as possible when the peacekeepers weren't in the vicinity. "I should of thought-"



"None of us thought about it." Casey sighed. "Guess we was just too worried about Ezra."



Having spent time with the Indians, Josiah understood what it was Vin needed to explain and quietly closed the door, assuring the guilt stricken women that under the circumstances, it was perfectly understandable their only thoughts had been of helping Ezra. It was most likely Nica had returned to town and found out from someone there that Ezra was at Nettie's.



The big man hoped he sounded convincing since he, himself, didn't believe it and was thankful no one pointed out the obvious...If that were true, they wouldn't be having this discussion because Nica would already be here.


Now as Chris entered Nica's home, there was a feel of emptiness about the ranch house as if no one had been there for days. There was no lingering aroma of meals, the coffee pot was empty and the kitchen stove was cold. There were no glowing embers in the fireplace and her bed didn't look as if it had been slept in.


He rushed out the back door, disappointed to find the small Indian lodge, Nica had used during her first few days at the ranch, as empty as the house itself.


Hurrying to the barn, Chris felt a surge of relief to discover the horses in the stalls had received fresh food and water. His heart skipped a beat when he realized Chaucer and Nica's Pinto mare were both missing.


After searching the outbuildings, Larabee, his trepidation rising, climbed into his saddle and headed the gelding towards the river which formed the back border of the property.


Earlier on Nettie's porch, Vin had explained his fear that Nica had somehow harmed herself, stating that in some tribes it wasn't uncommon for those left behind to mutilate themselves as a visible display of their grief. He had known, young brides who actually took their own lives after losing a husband in battle, believing they would be reunited in death.


While it was true, Nica wasn't married to Ezra, she did love him. It was that simple. If overwhelmed by grief, thinking she'd lost him forever, it was hard to tell what she might have done.


Larabee had ordered the sharpshooter to wait at Nettie's, finally convincing Tanner that Ezra might need him, if he awakened, volunteering to go to Nica's, himself.


As the gunslinger rode across the meadow, his thoughts were in turmoil. Damn! How the hell would they ever begin to explain to Ezra if Nica had done the unthinkable? Would the gambler truly understand her reasons? Would the southerner be able to forgive those who hadn't even given a thought to the young woman who had captured his heart. And if, God forbid, she had taken her own life, would Ezra ever be able to forgive himself?


Chris hated the very thought of any of the men suffering the loss of the woman they loved, as he had lost Sarah, but it seemed as if the con man, like the sharpshooter, had had more than his share of heartache. He certainly didn't need pain of this kind added to his already over loaded shoulders.


The gunslinger kneed his horse into a canter as the soft sound of laughter floated on the breeze.


As he cautiously approached the river, a smile of out right relief graced Larabee's handsome face.


Chaucer stood before Nica in the belly deep water, dipping his head into the stream and flinging water over the young woman a few feet away.


"You want to play do you?" Nica chuckled, splashing the horse who snorted and pawed at the water, sending up cascades of sparkling drops into the air.


Alerted to the gunslinger's approach, by Chaucer and her mare's reaction, the woman turned to face Larabee, smiling broadly. Taking the lead rope, she led Ezra's gelding onto the bank and waited, her wet clothes dripping onto the dirt, creating a puddle. "It is good to see you returned safely Leader Larabee."


Chris studied the woman, aware of the dark circles under her eyes and the hollow cheeks, wondering when was the last time she'd slept.


"Nica, we need to talk about what you heard in town." His eyes widening in alarm, Larabee leapt from the saddle and grabbed Nica's wrist as she pushed the stray stands of hair from her eyes. His aquamarine gaze raked over the long jagged scratch on her left forearm. "Damn girl, what did you do to yourself?" He demanded to know, his voice rough and harsh with emotion.


"It is nothing." She shrugged, dismissing his concern. "A..." She seemed to search her mind for the correct word, "nail...in the barn." Nica pulled away and smiled, seeming to understand the real reason for his worry. "We have no reason to mourn, or show grief Leader Chris. The singing wires are wrong...Ol' Ez will return to us."


The gunslinger dropped his gaze. According to her statement, he had to assume she hadn't been back to town since hearing of Standish's supposed death yet he couldn't help but be touched by the certainty in her voice when she spoke of Ezra returning to them.


"You have brought Ol' Ez home?" He wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement as she stooped to examine Chaucer's leg, satisfied to point out Ezra's faithful companion had completely recovered and was showing no ill effects from the swollen tendon. "Will he not be pleased?"


"Very pleased." Larabee agreed.


The petite woman looked up at the gunfighter hopefully. "You will take me to see Ol' Ez now?"


Chris couldn't prevent a chuckle of relief at her childlike faith that Ezra's friends would not or had not failed the gambler. His chuckle faded away as she rose to her feet, staggering slightly to fall back against the gelding's shoulder.


Reaching out to steady her, Larabee was surprised by the small tremor which coursed through her body, watching anxiously as she took several deep breaths, the color slowly returning to her complexion.


Forcing a bright smile she turned and scrambled up onto the mare's back. Leaning down to gather Chaucer's lead rope, she waited patiently for Chris to remount his gelding before leading them back toward the ranch house.


*******


"Nica, how did you know the telegr...." Chris hesitated, changing the question to use her words, "the singing wires were wrong?" Keeping his horse as close to hers as possible without making her uncomfortable, he kept a watchful eye on the young woman. Not knowing when she'd last eaten but certain it hadn't been recently, he'd quickly made a sandwich while Nica had changed into dry clothes.


He'd used her desire to be with Ezra to his advantage, telling her he would only take her to the gambler on three conditions: She had to eat the sandwich on the way and after she'd seen for herself that Ezra was going to be fine she had to let Nathan tend to her injured arm and finally she had to get some sleep.


"How could ya be so sure it wasn't Ezra who was killed outside a Blue Creek?" He questioned as she washed the last bit of the sandwich down with water from his canteen.


"I would have felt it...Here." She placed a small hand over her heart. "The spirits told me I was right. Sometimes,...they...show me things." Nica watched him from beneath lowered lashes, waiting for his derision. When he seemed to accept her statement without skepticism, she graced him with a bright smile. "The spirits say...the seven protectors of Four Corners will ride together for many years."


With her bright smile and the firm conviction in her voice, Chris couldn't help but believe she was right.


*******


"I don't think she'd eaten or slept since she heard the news." Seated next to Tanner, who was slouched at Ezra's bedside, Chris kept his voice soft, glancing to where Nica slept on a pallet between the injured man's bed and the window. "Hell of it is, I don't even think she believed for a minute that he was dead."


For some unknown reason he kept the conversation he and the young woman had on the way to Nettie's to himself. In truth he was afraid that repeating the prophecy would somehow jinx it and he truly wanted to believe that his new family would be together for many years to come. He wanted to believe they would all be together to rejoice as they obtained the elusive happiness each man sought.


On reaching Nettie's, Nica had settled at the gambler's bedside, her eyes never leaving the southerner's face. Chris had left her there for almost an hour before he reminded her of their bargain. She had silently followed him from the room, where Mary ushered her to the table and Nettie insisted she eat the bowl of stew the older woman quickly dished up. She had brushed aside the other women's apologies for not having told her of Ezra's presence, instead quietly and sincerely thanking them for taking care of the con man.


After eating, she had allowed Nathan to care for her arm and he had stated that while the scratch was fairly deep, it didn't need stitches and probably wouldn't even leave a noticable scar. He'd cleaned and lightly bandaged her arm, assuring her the wrapping was simply to keep the cut clean and allow the salve he'd applied to work. It could be removed in a few days.


Knowing the young woman would want to be near Ezra, Vin had made up the pallet, using his bedroll and several extra blankets Nettie had provided. As it became obvious she was having trouble staying awake, Buck had gently carried the woman to the bedroom and placed her on the makeshift bed where she'd fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.


"People don't believe what they don't want to." Vin shrugged. He gave the gunslinger a sly smile, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Tell the truth...Ya didn't wanna believe it did ya?...Deep down inside didn't ya try and convince yerself that it was just a mistake...? That Ez was pullin' some scam?"


Chris was certain his silence wasn't fooling the sharpshooter in the least. He had no more wanted to believe Ezra was dead then he had wanted to believe in his wife and child's demise. The mere thought of losing any of these men he rode with shook him to the core of his being. To even consider the loss of one of them made him feel as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and wrapped with barbed wire.


His decision to ride to Blue Creek had not only been to bring the con man's body home but because he wanted answers as to how and why Ezra had lost his life. Thinking on it now he realized he had also needed proof the southerner was really dead before allowing the last spark of hope inside him to be completely extinguished. Although no one had spoke of it, Larabee knew it was the same reason the five men trekked with him to that lonely grave in that forgettable little dust bowl of a town.


Vin shifted slightly, drawing Larabee's attention back to him as he spoke. "Course, don't surprise me none. Indians got a connection with all parts a nature." Tanner whispered, a touch of awe in his voice. "Seen a lot things, in my time with the tribes. Things most white men can't-or won't- understand."


Eyeing the lanky Texan, Chris hid a small smile. 'Like how the hell ya always know when one a us needs ya.'


"It's mighty powerful medicine when the spirits choose someone other than the Shaman ta be their voice and that person is revered and protected." Vin continued.


The Hoosier struggled to suppress his widening smile. 'Just another reason, ta watch over you, my unusual friend. Guess, maybe that's why the spirits gave ya ta us.'


"They're usually trained ta take the Shaman's place when he passes. Ya know her gift might be a way for her ta-"


A small moan elicited by the gambler prevented any further conversation. The low sound brought Nica up off the pallet and the others rushing into the room.


"Ezra? Can ya hear me Ezra?" Nathan lightly shook the con man's shoulder as Standish stirred. "Come on Ezra, I need ya ta wake up and drink some a this."


Everyone watched, holding their breaths and offering silent encouragement as the gambler struggled toward wakefulness.


Ezra finally lifted impossibly heavy eyelids and blinked owlishly at finding himself surrounded by those he cared about the most. He frowned slightly at everyone's blindingly bright smiles.


Vin supported the con man's head while he drank from the cup Nathan held. Easing the man back onto the pillows, the sharpshooter stepped aside and placing a hand on the small of Nica's back moved the petite woman into his place at Ezra's side.


"It's...good ta...ta see...y'all." He smiled as the young woman came into his line of sight.


"Not as good as it is to see you brother." Sanchez chuckled.


Nica smiled happily her fingers gently stroking Ezra's hair when Josiah's comment started a cacaphony of noise as everyone began talking at once, welcoming the southerner home, assuring him how happy they were to have him back.


"What's the matter Ezra?" Chris questioned, waving a hand for silence when he noticed the sleepy confusion on the gambler's face as the man's emerald eyes darted around the room.


"Not...the...c-clinic..."


"You're at Miss Nettie's Ez." Vin stated. "Her and Casey and Mary took good care of ya while we was gone."


"G-gone..." The gambler's eyes drifted shut before anyone could answer his query.


Reassuring themselves the gambler was truly going to be alright, each man lightly pat his shoulder, arm or bandaged hand as they started to drift from the room, leaving him to some much needed sleep.


"Miss N-Nettie..."


The older woman hurried back to the bed at the soft southern drawl. "Right here Fancy Pants."


"I...believe ya...owe me two dollars...and fifty c-cents."


Nica's grin widened and Chris and Vin joined the older woman's laughter at the dimpled smile which graced the handsome face as the con man snuggled under the blankets Nettie tucked around him.


The older woman straightened with a smile and a sly wink. "Best money I ever spent."


*******


"So ya wanna tell us what happened?" Chris asked, as Ezra insisted he'd had more than enough of the delicious meal Nettie had prepared and couldn't possibly eat another bite.


Motioning for Nica to remain sitting with him, the gambler smiled as the young woman, after adjusting the pillows behind him once more, settled cross legged on the end of the bed.


Nica, had insisted on feeding him, when Nathan had removed the bandages but insisted the con man's hands still needed time to heal. Like his friends, Nica had remained constantly at his side.


Each time he'd awakened and seen her and his friends, Ezra couldn't help but wonder again what he'd done in his miserable selfish life to deserve such good fortune.


How was it, he mused, a man who'd spent his entire life, conning and cheating others, came to have such steadfast loyal friends. He knew the six men thought of him as a friend...Trusting him, however, was another matter altogether and one he didn't want to dwell on at the moment. He contented himself with the fact they'd proven more than once they considered him a friend.


He couldn't help but wonder how it was a man who had rarely opened himself up, learning from experience it only led to pain and humiliation, found himself to be the overwhelming object of the love he saw shining in the dark eyes of the proud, wonderful, woman seated at his feet.


"Ezra?"


"I apologize Mr. Larabee." The southerner turned his attention to the Hoosier. "I'm afraid my mind momentarily wandered."


"I asked if you wanted to tell us what happened?" Chris pretended not to see the sharpshooter duck his head to hide his smile, certain they both knew exactly where the gambler's mind had wandered to.


"Ezra, I need to know about that wound in your side," Nathan spoke up before Standish could answer Larabee's question. If the healer needed to remove a bullet he wanted to be prepared to operate as soon as Ezra was a bit stronger. "There wasn't an exit wou-"


"I thank you for your concern Mr. Jackson but I can assure you I have no need of your surgical skills." Ezra involuntarily flinched as he shifted positions.


Buck saw JD blanche and cringe and knew the young sheriff was imagining the southerner digging a bullet from his own flesh.


The southerner sighed, finding a comfortable position. "Having delivered the papers Judge Travis required, and being alone with no time constraints for my return to Four Corners, as my presence here wasn't essential, I decided to make the trip back at a more leisurely pace."


The gunslinger cast a covert glance at the preacher seeing Josiah's shame and sorrow a moment before the big man turned his head to stare out the window. Turning his gaze back to Ezra, Chris realized Standish was unaware how much his words and cavalier attitude were affecting the ex-priest. There had been no animosity or self pity in the statement. Ezra was simply being Ezra, narrating a tale for his audience.


"Whatcha mean is ya took the opportunity ta stop at every saloon and gamblin' house 'tween here and there." Buck chuckled.


"I also took the opportunity to stop at every telegraph office 'tween here and there." The con man mimicked good naturedly. "I knew for a fact if my skills were required Mr. Larabee would undoubtedly spend every dime in Mr. McMurtry's bank sending out wires to be certain I returned."


As the gambler talked, Josiah's thoughts turned to the telegram resting in the pocket over his own heart. He hadn't been able to destroy it even after finding Standish alive. He knew he would keep the paper for the rest of his day, never wanting to forget how those few words had torn his heart apart. It would be a constant reminder to him just how precious these six men were to him.


It hurt him to realize it had never occured to Ezra that they would want him to come back simply because he was their friend and the blame for the re-emergence of that particular demon of self doubt lay squarely on the ex-priest's broad shoulders.


"We get it Ezra. Ya delivered the papers and were on your way home." Larabee shook his head in exasperation. He could see the weak con man was quickly tiring and wanted to get to the gist of story before Ezra fell asleep. "Tell us how ya ended up losin' your horse and makin' your way here ta Nettie's"


"I'm afraid the responsibility for that unfortunate incident rests with the six of you."


Silence filled the room for several long moments before Dunne innocently spoke up. "We didn't steal your horse Ezra." JD's voice was full of bewilderment, wondering if the heat had somehow affected the gambler's sensibility.


Ezra chuckled softly. "I'm well of aware of that Mr. Dunne."


They listened as Ezra told them how he'd rounded a bend in the trail in time to see a horse lose its footing, its rider tumbling tail over teacup to the bottom of the gully. The gambler admitted he hadn't taken the time to try and capture the frightened horse but instead scrambled down the slope making his way to the man's side, worried the stranger might be injured. "He wasn't moving and I truly expected to find he'd broken his neck after such a fall."


The gambler leaned back against the pillows closing his eyes as he talked. Vin wasn't the only one certain the gambler was reliving the moment when he'd knelt beside the man hoping to help and instead had felt a knife blade plunged into his side.


Ezra supressed a shudder and it took every ounce of will power to keep his voice even and his tone neutral as he described cauterizing the wound to stop the bleeding and his arduous journey across the plains.


He couldn't bring himself to admit to them it had been the sound of their voices in his head, encouraging him, urging him onward, calling him home which had kept him going.


After all, a man had to have some secrets.


"Actually, how I ended up here is as much a mystery to myself as I'm sure it is to you gentleman. So you see, it is all your fault." He gave them each a dimpled grin. "Your desire to rush to the aid of those in need has had a rather hazardous effect on me. Before spending time with you honorable gentlemen I wouldn't have given a moment's thought about riding on and leaving a stranger to his fate."


"You would not have ridden away Ol' Ez." Nica stated confidently. "Your friends are simply the reason you use to do good."


"Got ya pegged good, don't she Pard?" Buck snickered bringing laughter from the others. "But, ya go right a head and blame us if it makes ya feel any better."


While he wouldn't admit Nica was probably right, he could blame the fact that he hadn't employed his usual caution regarding the situation on them. The southerner closed his eyes again, glad the sunburn hid the blush creeping into his cheeks and changed the subject. "I'm surprised he didn't take the time to relieve me of my weapons or search my person for any valuables."


"He needed your horse cause he was runnin' from a posse." Tanner pointed out. "Didn't do 'im no good though."


Ezra's eyes snapped open. "JD, I'm so sorry! In Riverton I purchased a beautifully embroidered lace scarf with matching gloves as a birthday present for you to give Miss Wells. I'm afraid, however, they've gone the way of Yosemite's mare."


"Macie's outside Ezra, with all your other things." Nathan was quick to assure him.


The gambler perked up at that remark. "My carpet bag too?"


The healer sighed."Your carpet bag too." How could anyone be so worried about their garments when they'd come so damn close to losing their life?


Standish smiled brightly, "Then Miss Wells will indeed receive a birthday present worthy of such a beautiful young woman."


"Wouldn't a give a hoot if we never gotten your things back, Ez." JD declared. "What matters is we got you back!"


As the other men nodded and voiced their agreement, Josiah's vehemently whispered "Amen brother." was lost in the commotion.


*******


"Am I mistaken or do I remember someone saying you were gone for a while?" Ezra questioned Josiah.


The gambler had fallen asleep, shortly after finishing his story. Nathan had assured everyone, Ezra was going to be fine telling them the more rest he got the sooner he'd be back on his feet.


The con man had been surprised to awaken to find the room empty except for the ex-priest seated beside the bed.


Sanchez had been quick to point out the others would return shortly, but at the moment Nathan and Nica were helping Nettie, Chris and Vin had ridden over to feed the horses stabled at Nica's and Buck and JD had accompanied Casey to Four Corners. They'd check on the town and bring back supplies.


Larabee hadn't said so but Josiah was certain it was the gunslinger's way of assuring privacy for what the preacher needed to say to the gambler.


"We went to Blue Creek." Sanchez admitted.


Ezra frowned, wondering why the name sounded familiar. "Blue Creek? That's-"


"The trail you were on led to Blue Creek." The big man nodded. "We got a telegram from the sheriff there, sayin' you were...d-dead."


Ezra stared at the preacher wide eyed, touched by the sadness in Sanchez's voice and equally stunned by the revelation as he realized exactly what the man was saying. "You thought I was dead and went looking for me anyway?" He whispered huskily.


"We went to..." Josiah's voice trailed off and he dropped his gaze.


"You went to bring my body back." Ezra stated matter of factly.


"That's what we told ourselves." Sanchez admitted. "The truth is...we all...well we..."


"They mourned but they wanted proof before they could believe you were gone." Nica stated quietly from the doorway. "I did not mean to interrupt." She placed the gambler's carpet bag on the floor beside the dresser and hurried from the room.


Josiah was silent for several long moments after her leaving and then nervously cleared his throat. "Ezra...About before...I owe ya an apology."


"Ya owe me nothin' Josiah." The gambler denied.


The priest shook his head. "I want ya to understand-"


"I do understand...Perfectly." Ezra assured him. "Please Mr. Sanchez, let me assure you again...you have no need to apologize. Mr. Murphy was your friend and I should have respected that fact."


"You're my friend Ezra!" Josiah growled, raking a hand through his hair. "Ya told me the truth and I should have respected that fact. Instead I..." He trailed off again. "I did a lot of thinkin' about what you said and-"


"Mr. Sanchez, my apologies for interrupting but this conversation is gettin' a bit maudlin for my tastes and it really isn't necessary." Ezra raised a hand stopping the preacher's protest. "Let me explain. You're a kind man Josiah who cares very deeply for his friends. It's what makes you the man you are and it's what makes the rest of us feel special to be considered in that elite group. I must reiterate that I do understand your reactions and you have nothing for which to apologize. Now, I find myself still weary, so can we merely agree ta let bygones be bygones?" The southerner exaggerated a yawn in an attempt to end the conversation with as little embarrassment to either of them as possible.


Sanchez wasn't fooled in the least by the gambler's ploy but knew the con man well enough to be certain pursuing the conversation right now would be a waste of his time and breath.


He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his massive chest. "Only if you agree to accept my apology."


Realizing to buck the big man now would be a fool's response, Ezra rolled his eyes heavenward before surrendering with a dimpled grin. "Apology accepted..." He leaned forward attempting to see as much of the other room as possible. Seeing no evidence of anyone who would be able to protest, the southerner reached for the deck of cards, laying on the nightstand with his other personal items. "So would you care to pass the time with a game of chance?"


Sitting on the porch, Nica smiled and nodded in approval, thanking the spirits, as the preacher's raucous laughter drifted from the small house.


Ol' Ez was indeed back amongst his friends and the seven protectors would ride again and if the spirits were right, it would be for many years to come'.f


THE END