Disclaimer: Just playing. I know I can't keep 'em...damnit!
Characters: All the guys feature
Ratings/Warnings: PARTS OF THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Summary: Good will prevail, even when the opposition is out of sight.
Thanks to G&G and Muse7 for their prompts and encouragement.
And to Blackraptor for their generous archiving of my stories.
Miles from home and caught in the gritty ferocity of a swirling sandstorm, the seven peacekeepers of Four Corners were desperately seeking shelter. Vicious, churning grains of sand peppered all exposed skin in its unforgiving path, choking its weary victims as they huddled close along the near-obscured trail.
Leading the way, Vin Tanner turned off the path and toward a distant cluster of silhouettes. The others followed the tracker without question until they came upon what was once a small town. They rode down its deserted, grassy street lined with ramshackle buildings until they found the livery. Windows of buildings were gone, and doors hung from the final nail of their last hinge. Despite its poor, outward condition, inside the livery was a welcome respite from the storm.
In exhausted silence, six men settled the horses. Having scouted around, Tanner pushed through the wind to return to the others. He lowered his bandanna from around his nose and mouth.
"There's a saloon yonder. We can rest up there 'til the storm's passed."
Six windswept faces looked back at him and nodded. Resting up sounded real good.
"Best bring the saddles," Chris Larabee advised. "No telling what we'll find in there."
"Likely no food or water," Vin agreed.
"And while I live in hope, I sincerely doubt we'll come upon any decent beds, either," Ezra pointed out, while brushing off the layers of thick, brown dust covering his red jacket.
"You reckon we're here for the night?" JD asked of no one in particular.
Chris nodded. "Don't reckon this storm's about to quit anytime soon. Might as well get comfortable."
Buck looped an arm around JD's shoulders. "C'mon, Kid, I figure we could rustle up some wood around here to make a fire, huh?"
Chris raised a hand. "Let's go to the saloon and we'll work things out from there."
All in agreement, they replaced their bandannas over their mouths and noses, pulled open the rickety door, and walked out into the dust-filled wind.
Chris had been right, there was enough wood and broken furniture lying around to get a fire going, and after Vin uncovered a large part of the dirt layer just beneath the wooden floor to build it, they quickly used its flames for light, and to brew coffee. For supper, Josiah opened up three of their six cans of beans, and tossed into the pot some of the bacon they'd brought with them from Three Rocks, the town they'd escorted the Murdock gang to for trial. Judge Travis sentenced Clay and his men to hang in the morning. The peacekeepers decided they wouldn't wait around for that and made for home, however, the sudden, and still raging sandstorm had likely cut off any chance of them making it back by the next day.
As they sat and ate by the flickering firelight, JD glanced around and shuddered. Outside the glow cast by the flames, the rundown saloon was dark, and the wind outside rattled its boards. It was kinda creepy. He jolted slightly when Ezra's voice broke the quiet.
He gestured to a corner. "That's a barrel piano. I've only ever seen one, and that was in New York." He looked around at what was once a well-dressed institution. "This place was clearly an affluent establishment while the silver mine was operational." His grin caused his gold tooth to glint in the firelight. "I can't help but wonder if there might be a deep, rich vein still in there, somewhere."
"We're stuck here in a howling sandstorm, and all you can think about is money," Nathan huffed.
"Your point being, Mister Jackson?"
The others laughed. Vin spoke.
"Don't reckon this town would be abandoned if there was any silver left in that mine we passed on our way in."
"There was a mine?" JD asked. Vin just smiled.
Chris cut in, pre-empting the next question. "No, Ezra, providing the storm's died out we leave in the morning."
Ezra's cheek dimpled in a smile. "Never hurts to speculate."
Buck leaned in toward JD. "You okay, Kid? You seem kinda distracted?"
JD shrugged. "Just tired, is all."
Buck frowned. "You sick?" He saw JD's cheek dimple.
"No, Buck, I ain't sick - just tired, and cold. Been a long trip." He looked around. The others seemed perky enough. He turned to Buck. "You can't feel a chill in the air?"
Buck really couldn't. He nudged JD playfully. "Gonna have to get you hardened up to the weather out west, Kid."
JD rolled his eyes. "I'm plenty hardened. Not exactly warm in winter back east, y'know." He watched Josiah stand, grab a piece of burning timber, and walk away.
"Need the outhouse," Josiah said before the gloom swallowed up him and his light.
"Okay." Chris's voice commanded attention. "Let's get some shuteye. Not much else we can do here, tonight."
All in agreement, the six men set out their bedrolls around the room, but not too far from the fire, and were about to settle down when Josiah returned.
"Look what I found, boys!" He waved a bottle of whiskey in the air.
"Where?" Vin asked. He'd scouted the place out and hadn't found anything.
"On the floor, by the far end of the bar," Josiah replied, while digging around for glasses. He returned with seven dusty ones and passed them around. Ezra instantly pulled out his handkerchief to clean his.
JD declined. "Nah, I'm good, thanks. Gonna get some sleep."
As the storm raged on into the night, he continued to settle down, while the others went closer to the fire and proceeded to make a large dent in the whiskey.
Josiah cursed as his need to use the outhouse woke him from his slumber. With a grunt, and still feeling the effects of the whiskey, he got to his feet, plucked a lit stick from the low-burning fire, and wandered out of the room. Once finished, he exited the dilapidated wooden outhouse, but stopped when a noise other than the whipping sand and howling wind alerted him. He raised the burning stick for light.
After a brief silence, there was movement into the arc of light and an Indian Brave aiming a drawn bow, faced Josiah. The big man smiled and raised a placating hand.
"Peace be with you, brother, I mean you no harm."
The unmoving Brave just stared.
Josiah lowered his free hand. "Do you need food? I can share mine if you're hungry, or water, if you're thirsty." He'd yet to fail to converse with an Indian, so was relieved when the Brave's head tilted to one side as if he was listening.
"Have you traveled far? I'm sheltering here from the storm." He gestured around them. "Do you need shelter?"
Another pause was followed by a look of pure hatred on the Brave's face. He raised his bow and before Josiah could even consider the change of mood, an arrow thudded into his chest. After looking down at lifeless, staring blue eyes, the Brave turned around, and walked away into the night.
Music woke Ezra from a deep, liquor-fueled sleep. He got up and stumbled over to the barrel piano, which was playing to itself.
'Confounded din.' Ezra smacked the instrument a few times in the hope of stopping it from playing, but the efforts had no effect. He was just contemplating kicking it when movement of what was left of the saloon doors caused him to look that way.
The swinging storm door piqued his curiosity. The southerner drew his gun from its hip holster, got himself a lit branch, and moved to investigate. Despite the high winds and swirling sand, with his head lowered for protection, Ezra could just make out fresh boot prints in the dirt on the boardwalk. Sound from an alleyway to his right prompted the gambler to move in. Halfway down the alley a figure stood. Ezra stopped walking and raised his gun.
"Who are you? Step closer and show yourself. Do you need help?"
A noise from behind him had Ezra glance over his shoulder. Another shadowy figure stood there. Standish smiled, nervously. "How many times have I warned you not to venture into an alleyway alone, Ezra?"
A split-second later he lay dead on his back in the dirt from a bullet between the eyes.
Nathan was burning up. He couldn't recall falling ill, but despite his high fever, he knew he was more sick than ever before in his life. Taking his saddlebags, he shuffled away from the fire's heat and rummaged around for a potion. With what little energy he possessed, the healer ground up some herbs as best he could, then added them to water from his canteen. The effort wore him out and he slept where he lay.
When Nathan woke up, his head was pounding, his stomach was burning, and he threw up blood. Reaching out for the brew he'd made earlier, and with trembling hands, he forced the concoction down, spluttering on occasion as he gagged against its pungent smell and taste. It took some time to drink it all, and once again exhausted, and shivering due to his high temperature, Nathan curled up in a ball as the mixture sent him into a dreamless sleep, a sleep from which he never woke up.
Vin figured it would be a good idea to take a walk around the town. He knew it was deserted, but old habits die hard, and he'd feel better for taking a short patrol. Ducking in and out of buildings to evade the storm, Vin got a feel for the old mining town. It once had a newspaper, barbers, restaurants, hotels, numerous shops, and four saloons. All that was left of the mining camp was empty, broken dwellings, and tattered tarpaulins flapping in the wind. Grass poked up in the street, boardwalks were missing planks, and wooden street stalls lay collapsed where they once stood.
The sharpshooter felt a little sad whenever he came upon a ghost town, it signified the end of an era, families driven to move on, friends forced to part. He realized this town in particular had affected him more than usual, and he pondered on if it was because he was more settled lately. It felt good not to fear turning a corner these days, though deep down Vin knew he'd have to clear his name someday.
Approaching a side street, Vin was about to cross when all went black. His arms were held back and his hands tied while he felt his weapons being removed. "What's goin' on? Hey! Let go of me!" he yelled through the sacking over his head.
Despite his struggles, he was held firm and frog marched along the ground. Suddenly he was forced to climb steps and the cold hand of fear clasped his heart.
Vin struggled harder, and called for help, but his words were lost on the wind. Tanner was brought to a halt and he felt something heavy placed over his head and around his neck. When it grew tight, he went still, his heart thumping loud enough to be heard. In the darkness of the hood, he said a small prayer. Moments later the floor disappeared from under his kicking feet, his fall ending with the snap of his neck.
Buck woke up. Damn whiskey always made him frisky. He chuckled at his rhyme and went in search of a way to settle his need. In the dim glow of the fire, he took a chance and climbed the rickety stairs. After opening four doors to find nothing but empty rooms, the fifth revealed a naked woman lying on a bed. She beckoned Buck to her, and he happily obliged.
"What took you so long to find me, sugar?"
Buck quickly stripped down to his union suit. "I have no idea. Let me make it up to you, darlin'."
The woman gasped and sighed with delight as Buck showed her the time of her life - several times - and in truth, he hadn't enjoyed much better either. Sated and tired, the pair cuddled and fell asleep in each other's arms.
A sudden blast of cold air woke the pair. Stripped of the bedding covering them, Buck could just make out a heavy shadow, but what he didn't miss was the shotgun pointed right at him. He sat up.
"Whoa there, fella, sure would appreciate it if you pointed that there gun away from us."
He heard the man snarl.
"That's my wife you're with, stranger."
Genuinely surprised, Buck turned to the woman, who could only offer an apologetic shrug. The man's next words ensured Buck's attention went back to him.
"Gonna make sure you never mess with another man's wife again."
Before Buck could utter a sound, the shotgun blasted and took out his manhood, and his life.
Chris needed a drink. He shuffled over to the fire and shook the coffee pot before pouring out the tepid black liquid into a cup. As he walked over to the saloon doors, he stretched to crack the kinks out of his neck and back. The storm was still raging and he had the sudden feeling wash over him that he would never see the sun again.
Shaking himself out of his strange musings, Chris turned to survey the empty saloon.
A shadowy figure moving at the rear of the building drew Chris's attention. He was walking even before he spoke. "Fellas?" Tossing the cup and remainder of his coffee toward the dying fire, Larabee drew his gun and moved toward the room into which the shadow disappeared.
"Hey! Who's there?" He burst into the room to find it empty, and illuminated by a lit oil lamp. 'What the...?' Chris moved closer to the lamp. 'Where the hell did this come from?'
The door suddenly opened, but before he could reach it, another lit oil lamp was tossed inside. It hit the floor and shattered, instantly sending a line of oil-fuelled fire across the wooden floor. Chris stamped as the splashed oil on the bottom of his pants leg flared. He grabbed for the doorknob, but the door was locked, and now the flames had caught his duster and were slowly engulfing him.
From outside the room, and to the backdrop of a howling wind and rattling boards, a shadowy form watched the flickering, spinning glow inside the room, light up the gaps around the edges of the door, before the figure turned and walked away.
JD awoke to a room full of empty bedrolls. He stretched and yawned, and then got up. Looking out of what was left of the windows, he could see the storm had died down, and the morning was gray, but warm. Approaching the bar, JD spotted a whiskey bottle, likely the one from the previous night. There was a single glass next to it, and JD tilted the bottle, surprised to find there was still some left. He took a long draw and spluttered.
"Oh God, that's awful."
Returning to his bedroll, the boy sat down and took out some trail mix and beef jerky from his saddlebags. While chewing on his impromptu breakfast, he wondered where the others could be. Washing down the food with water from his canteen, JD strapped on his guns and took a look around. The place was deserted.
'Maybe they went outside.'
He pushed open the saloon door and stepped out onto the sand-swept boardwalk. After walking around the town calling out to his companions, JD started to worry. He checked the livery and found all seven horses still there; however, now they were saddled. From there, JD walked to the end of town he'd yet to explore, and came upon a graveyard. The tombstones were askew, but what looked like a fresh bunch were bolt upright. Closing in, JD counted six wooden headstones.
With his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and his stomach clenched, JD read each epitaph aloud.
Here lies a failed preacher,
Who was once a good teacher,
What stopped his strong bellow,
Was a swift, well-aimed arrow.
Here lies the town's healer
Who died of a fever
When none of his blends
Were of use in the end.
A player, a gambler
A solitary rambler
And due to failed parley
Met his end in an alley.
This man strong and true
Light of hair, eyes of blue
Met his end and all hope
At the end of a rope.
This man full of mirth
And proud of his girth
Died of a shot
To his favorite spot.
This grave holds a man
Who was strong in command
But this soul couldn't cheat
A fire's slaying heat.
JD's breaths came hard and fast. 'This can't be happening.' A noise from behind caused him to turn sharply - but there was no one there.
"BUCK! CHRIS! FELLAS!"
No one answered, and nothing but a soft breeze stirred, gently swaying the tree limbs and rustling the bushes in and around the graveyard. The place was deserted, yet JD felt eyes on him. Uneasy and distraught, he slowly walked backwards before turning and running full pelt back into town.
Inside the livery, and huddled in a corner of a stall, JD rocked gently as he tried to piece together the last eight or so hours. When he went to bed, all his friends were alive and enjoying a bottle of whiskey. When he woke up, no one was around, yet all the horses were in town, and saddled as if their riders had been preparing to leave.
He scrubbed at liquid eyes. Seeing the tombstones alarmed him, but now he was trying to be realistic. Unless he'd slept for days, how could six tombstones with inscriptions just appear overnight?
Did he have one somewhere? And did each man die in the way described on their epitaphs? That horrifying thought brought a lump to the easterner's throat.
His horse nickered and as he glanced nervously around, JD stood, a determination sweeping through him. He wasn't leaving this town until he found his friends and figured out what happened last night, or die trying.
Five pairs of eyes watched Chris leap from the cold stone floor to his feet and attack his clothing with his hands as he swirled frenetically around in circles. A pair of hands clamped onto the blond's arms and a familiar drawl soothed.
"Take it easy, Chris, it was just a dream."
Larabee panted as he stared around. He swore he could still feel the flames melting his clothes against his body, but a few seconds later, clarity won over.
"Nightmare more like," he said, near breathless. Chris took a deep gulp of air and looked at his five familiar companions, four of them seated. Josiah looked like a broken man, while Ezra was sullen and silent. Nathan was touching fingers to his neck's pulse point and the back of his hand to his forehead while mumbling to himself, Buck was sitting with one leg crossed protectively high over the other and raking his hands through his hair. And Vin - as he stood before Chris Tanner's eyes were wide and haunted. When he saw the Texan touch a hand to his throat, a thought occurred to the blond, whose own pulse-rate was slowly returning to normal.
"We all had nightmares?"
Each man nodded.
Chris pursed his lips. "Let me guess - about the worst possible way we each fear we could die?"
Recognition was etched in the five pale faces.
"How could that be?" Ezra asked, still clearly dazed.
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Good question."
"Where's the kid?" Buck's voice was soft, but full of concern. He stood. "Where the hell is JD?"
Chris disliked his answer, but said it anyway. "Another good question." While Buck was searching for an unlocked door in their basement jail, Chris looked up at their only street-level window and pondered on their predicament.
How did six out of seven of them end up locked in a room having the nightmare of their lives? Why wasn't JD with them? Dare he wonder if the boy was still alive? They were, suggesting whoever did this wasn't a murderer - yet. He scrutinized his companions then himself - they were all still armed.
His attention was drawn to one side of the room where Buck was attempting to shift a wall of wooden cases. His urgency got the others instantly involved, and in no time, half the barricade was down, revealing in one corner, JD asleep and lying on a blanket on the floor.
With his long legs, Buck clambered over the remaining cases and dropped down next to JD's side. "Kid. KID!" He leaned in close to JD's mouth to check if he was breathing. JD was, but Buck's expression as he rose aroused curiosity.
"What?" Vin urged.
"I can smell whiskey on his breath."
"But, JD didn't drink with us last night," Josiah reminded.
"I believe we finished the bottle," Ezra added.
All eyes turned to Chris.
"Vin, you said at one point that it was as if the bottle appeared from nowhere."
Tanner nodded. "Yup, sure wasn't around when I checked out the place."
"We were drugged?" Nathan more stated than asked, and then nodded to himself. "Sure are plenty of herbs and such out there that can send a man to sleep - give him nightmares, too. Whiskey would disguise the taste and smell real good."
"...Smells of whiskey, Buck," Chris cut in. "Somehow, he got hold of what we were drinking last night."
JD moaned softly and Buck squatted next to him. "Hey, Kid, you awake?"
JD's heart was aching. He'd lost his best friends, men he looked up to, and considered as brothers. He could almost hear their voices, especially Buck's, and though he didn't want to open his eyes to an empty space, he did so anyway. He smiled at the familiar face looking at him, and then his eyes widened. JD pointed.
"You...you..." he sat up and scooted back as far into the corner as he could go.
JD's attention snapped to Chris, and then he saw all six friends looking down at him, all the men whose graves he'd just visited. He shook his head. "No...no...I'm dreaming, you can't be here, you're all dead!" The youth shut his eyes tight. "Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up...OWW!"
JD's eyes flew open and he glared at Vin while rubbing his sore arm.
"You think we're ghosts? You reckon a ghost can punch you like that?" He felt a little guilty when he saw realization in JD's eyes, moments before they welled up.
"You ain't dead?"
Buck grinned. "Reckon not." He could see JD torn between celebration, and emotion. He made it easy and grabbed the boy in a bear hug. "Can't get rid of us that easy, boy." The pair stood.
"Why did you believe we were dead?" Chris asked.
JD's shimmering eyes focused on Chris. "I saw your tombstones."
"Where?" Vin asked.
"In the graveyard on the other side of town. They had your names and epitaphs on them."
"Epitaphs?" Ezra asked. "What kind of sentiments were used."
JD shuddered inwardly at how each man was said to have passed. "Just simple words," he fibbed. Judging by how Ezra's features paled, JD figured he'd at least not fooled him, and likely none of the others, either.
"How did you end up here?" Josiah asked.
JD shrugged. "Dunno. I woke up alone - looked around. Drank some of that whiskey you fellas had last night," he made a face. "Awful stuff." He paused. "I recall going back to my bedroll and eating some trail mix - must have been just after that I took a walk around town." JD shuddered. "This place sure gives me chills. Real creepy. No clue as to how I got here after I went to the livery." He glanced around at six troubled faces.
"Our horses were saddled. Did either of you do that?"
There was a collective shake of heads.
Vin left the group and approached the small window. "We gotta get outta here...now!"
"Don't have to tell me, twice," JD agreed.
Vin made a step with his clasped fingers. "Kid, get up there and tell me what you see."
JD set his boot into Vin's hands and pushed up in time with Vin's upward thrust. He clung to the sill as he looked out of the dirty, broken glass. "Nothing," he reported back. With a hand on Vin's shoulder to steady himself, JD jumped down.
"Josiah," Chris was walking toward the window, "I need your shoulders to get me up there."
The brawny preacher went down on one knee. After wrapping his duster around his fist, Chris sat on Josiah's shoulders. With Vin and Nathan to steady him, Josiah gritted his teeth and slowly stood. Clutching Chris's shins, he walked toward the window.
Ezra shucked off his jacket and placed it over Josiah's head. "To protect you from the glass, my friend," he said.
With his covered fist, Chris punched out the remainder of the window. "Hold on, preacher." Laying his duster over the frame and sill, Chris pulled himself up, stepped on Josiah's shoulders, and crawled out through the gap. He turned and reached in. Josiah tossed off Ezra's coat, made a step with his hands as Vin had done earlier, and hoisted the eager Texan up. Chris grabbed Vin's hands and hauled him through the window.
The street was deserted. "You go get the boys out of that cellar, and I'll go for the horses."
Vin nodded, and after a quick clasp of forearms, the pair separated.
Vin ran around the building to get to the front of what was once a hotel. With his back to a wall, he peeked around the corner.
Stepping up onto the boardwalk, and with a hand on his mare's leg, he cautiously made his way to the hotel's main door. Before going inside, Vin glanced to the end of town where JD said there was a graveyard, but his view was obscured by an ominous dust cloud. With a shake of his head, Vin took a breath, and moved inside the building.
Using the dilapidated buildings for cover, Chris darted in and out of alleys and openings to get to the livery. JD was right, this town was creepy, and Chris was glad to get to the building. Inside was exactly as JD described - all seven horses tacked up and ready to go. As he moved toward them, a sound from a rear stall had him draw his gun and edge toward it.
"Someone there?" he called out.
He spun sharply when the horses whinnied and began pulling against their tethers.
"Easy, fellas, easy," he soothed.
Turning back to the partitioned area, he approached, took in a breath, and in one, fluid motion, faced the stall. Chris stared at the empty space and released the breath he'd taken. Swallowing hard, he replaced his gun, walked over to the horses, and untied them. Gathering up each rein, Chris guided the seven horses out into the street.
Buck was pacing. Ezra stood at an angle as he leaned one shoulder against a wall. Nathan and Josiah stood shoulder to shoulder, while JD was standing with his arms wrapped around himself.
"Mister Wilmington, discontinue your infernal pacing," Ezra pleaded.
"Can't, need to walk off the tension." Buck glanced at the window. "What's taking 'em so long?"
"They haven't been gone that long, brother."
"Long enough, Josiah, long enough."
"JD, you okay?" Nathan asked.
"It's so cold down here. Can't anyone else feel the chill in the air?"
Buck stopped in front of JD and set a hand on his shoulder. He smiled. "You've had a shock, is all."
JD's brow furrowed. "No more of a shock than you all."
Buck leaned in and spoke softly. "Bad enough I faced my own death, you went through six." He hoped his words helped. JD wasn't even close to being as hardened as his six friends, and Buck figured the kid didn't need to learn how badly they'd been affected, too.
JD felt there was more to Buck's words, but he nodded. "I guess."
A bang from a darkened corner had all five draw their guns to face the threat.
On the hotel's dusty reception desk, Vin saw seven empty glasses and a corked bottle of whiskey. He couldn't help but stare until he shook it off and proceeded to the cellar door. He tried the handle but it was locked. Stepping back, Tanner raised a leg and kicked in the door. He would reflect later that, of all the rickety walls and fixtures in this town, that one door was as solid as a rock. He walked down several steps, ducked down, and grinned.
"Anyone here ready to get the hell outta this town?"
Five men relaxed and re-holstered their guns. "Hell yeah," Buck replied.
As the six passed the reception desk, Vin noticed the bottle was now uncorked and all seven glasses filled. He turned away and picked up the pace. 'Definitely time to leave.'
With practiced ease, Chris brought the horses down the street to meet with his fellow regulators. He held onto them while the others went back into the saloon to gather up the bedrolls. As they exited, Chris could see how glad they were to get out of there.
One by one, the men claimed their horses. Vin took his reins from Chris and handed the blond his bedroll. In silence, their gear was secured and all seven mounted up. Once again, Vin glanced toward the still obscured graveyard. He started toward it.
Tanner glanced back at JD's raspy call.
"Don't," JD pleaded.
From out of the dust cloud shadowy figures emerged.
"Enough!" Chris called. "We're not wanted here. Let's ride."
Not needing another order, all seven wheeled their horses to the end where they'd entered the town. At first, they cantered, seconds later, after deciding some fights were not worth entering into - and this was one of them - they were galloping away.
The ethereal figures of townsmen and women, and an Indian scout, watched their visitors ride away. When the mine collapsed, and those who rushed to help were killed by a huge blast, the town emptied. All that those who remained wanted, was to be left in peace. They quickly sensed the seven riders were good men. Their youngest confirmed that they cared for each other, and so were content that the plan to make them leave had succeeded without injury.
Satisfied to once again have their town to themselves, the figures turned and disappeared through the dust swirl at the end of the street. Seconds later, the cloud cleared, revealing the empty graveyard with its dozens of crooked tombstones, and six splintered, wooden headstones, lying in pieces on the plots where they once stood whole. With them was a similar tombstone in one piece. Its epitaph read -
Sheriff John Dunne
Is a steadfast young man
Due to faith in his friends
Not one man met his end.
Feedback to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Thanks for riding along.