Gotta Have a Plan by JIN

Part 1: A Single Truth

As Vin crested the rocky ridge, his heavy sigh floated whisper white in the chilled mountain air. The surrounding cloud-topped peaks were breath- taking in their beauty, but the tracker felt none of his usual elation or peace. Which way next? He really had no idea, having no visual clues to guide him. But he'd gotten this far on gut instinct alone, and he wasn't about to stop now. He knew the others thought he was crazy. Hell, maybe he was. He felt bad about leaving them all the way he had, knowing they would fret and worry over him. They'd been fretting going on two weeks now, and enough was enough. He had to get to the bottom of things, and if that meant tricking his friends, well, that's what he'd do. He'd triple-crossed his tracks to throw them off, and hopefully, by the time they caught up with him and drug him back, he'd have the proof he needed - Chris was not dead.

His mind wandered back to that fateful night a few weeks earlier. He had felt a compelling need to get away from town and visit Larabee, almost as if he were being drawn to the shack by some unseen force. It was late, and Josiah would later say that he, too, felt an urgent push to come along. Brilliant flames of orange and red licked the sky as they came within sight of the small structure that their friend called home. Vin felt like he moved in slow motion, yet he reached the cabin without any awareness of how he'd gotten there. A large fiery beam blocked the entrance, and he grabbed hold of it, flinging it to the side with almost super human strength, oblivious to the burning of his own hands and arms. Through the smoke and flames, he saw a man in black lying on the bed in the small adjoining room. He hesitated then, just a moment - something didn't feel right. And in that moment's hesitation, the roof of the small room collapsed in a blazing inferno, completely engulfing the contents within. Vin would forever wonder if his lapse had saved his life, only to cost the life of another. His cry, "NO!" came out soundlessly in the noise and confusion, as he sank to his knees, the smoke and heat now unbearable. From somewhere far away he thought he heard Josiah calling his name, but he could no longer move or think. As a heavy beam crashed down upon him, he was completely unaware of the danger he was in.

He reckoned he nearly died that night, but he didn't think on it much. He'd learned long ago that life was too short to be worrying on what might have happened. He knew Josiah had come into that burning hell and somehow managed to drag him out and back to town. He was grateful for that, grateful for all the boys and how they'd looked after him. He couldn't clearly recall a lot of what when on those first few days, and he had no idea how much time had passed when he heard them talking about the gunslinger being dead. But it wasn't so. It wasn't so. He tried to tell them, when he could, that it wasn't Chris in that bed. He wasn't dead - he wasn't.

He hated the way they looked at him now. He had suffered through more than enough in his young life, but he had never asked for pity, and he couldn't stomach seeing it in the eyes of his friends.

"Poor Vin - can't accept the death of his best friend."

"Poor Vin - damn near killed himself trying to get to Chris."

He thought on how Buck had come and sat beside his bed, holding back tears as he explained to him what they'd found at the cabin. Chris' horse still in the barn, bottles next to the bed, and the body of the man - unrecognizable but definitely the same height and build as the blond. He reminded Vin of how their leader could be when he got in one of those black moods of his. Well now, that was crazy. Chris mourned his family like any man would, but he didn't disappear in a bottle any more and he sure wouldn't set himself on fire. He had asked Wilmington if he really believed that was Larabee they had found, then why the hell wasn't he out looking for the man who had killed him? Buck had given him that look.

Josiah had taken him out to the grave just a few days ago. He'd went on and on about saying goodbye and making peace and letting go - and Vin's head exploded. Not literally, of course, but enough that he'd passed out right there on the grass and awakened to see the preacher's clear blue eyes staring down at him with that look. Poor Vin. That's when he decided he'd have to go it alone on this one. Wherever Chris was, he was in trouble, and he couldn't afford to waste any more time.

So he'd better get moving. He looked out again at the sky and land before him. Some crazy bird couldn't seem to make up its mind which way to fly, and Vin could swear the thing was following him. The wind kept changing directions, too, coming from the south one minute and the west the next. Whole thing was crazy. Crazy. Maybe he was. After all, he'd been wandering pretty much aimlessly for two days now - well, not exactly aimlessly. He was heading north. He'd found a few tracks just north of Chris's cabin , so he went on in that general direction. Could've been anybody's tracks, of course, and the trail would be weeks old by now anyway. But it was better than nothing. So he headed north in a random, haphazard kind of way that just didn't fit the kind of man he was. He liked to have a plan. He was good at making plans and good at carrying them out, too. He and Chris were damn good at making plans together. Vin was sure there wasn't much he and his partner couldn't figure out if they put their minds to it.

"I miss you, Chris." Vin surprised himself by speaking out loud. Yeah, definitely crazy. Or maybe just tired. His hands hurt, and the cold mountain air felt like knives stabbing his still healing lungs every time he took a deep breath.

If he had his head on straight, he'd remember what town lay up ahead in the picturesque little valley he'd glimpsed earlier at a higher elevation. Not that it mattered. He'd hit every town and every homestead that he came across, asking anyone with a tongue if they'd seen a man in black. Of course, Chris wouldn't have left willingly, so it was doubtful he'd be paraded through town in front of all and sundry. That wouldn't make any sense. But then nothing made sense right now. That's why he didn't have a plan. He just knew with certainty that his friend was alive. Call it faith, intuition, or stupidity - but he held onto that one single truth as he pulled up the reins and resumed his trek north - with that crazy bird now leading the way.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan rubbed his hands together and shifted a little closer to the fire. It was getting downright cold, and he sure hoped they found Vin soon and could talk some sense into him. Of course, they hadn't managed to accomplish that yet. The last two weeks felt like two years. Fourteen long, miserable days where he tended to the needs of one friend while mourning the loss of another. The healer sighed as a deep, aching hurt surfaced unexpectedly. He'd done so well swallowing it and burying it and pushing it back with all the other dark, terrible hurts in his life. He just couldn't imagine he'd never see Chris again. And he couldn't imagine that he'd ever make peace with the fact that he hadn't even had the chance to try to save him. Then again, maybe it was better this way. He wouldn't have to spend the rest of his days wondering if he could have, should have done something different. The way he was wondering about Vin right now.

Nathan glanced across the fire at Josiah, and the image of the big man galloping through town with Vin in his arms came clearly to mind. Sanchez had started hollering for him the minute he hit the outskirts of town, not stopping until he reached the clinic. He imagined his teammate would have galloped right on up the stairs if he could have managed it. Nathan's first reaction was one of panic - Vin was burned, bruised and bloodied - until that God-given gift to detach himself and get down to business kicked in. He looked to Josiah briefly, "What happened?"

Josiah's clipped response, "A fire," didn't even seem odd or out of place to him.

"Anyone else hurt?"

"No one you can help."

Funny, he just assumed the men had never made it to Larabee's place. He just assumed Vin had been hurt trying to help someone else in his customary way. He just assumed . .

He quickly catalogued Vin's wounds, while Josiah silently helped him undress the unconscious man. Nathan knew the burns on Tanner's arms, hands and across his upper back would be painful, but probably not life threatening. He'd seen plenty of burns during his time in the war, and he knew how to treat them. He didn't want his friend to carry any more scars, the man had enough already. Vin had eaten some smoke, too - not much he could do for that - but hopefully Josiah had gotten him out before permanent damage had been done. And he definitely had some kind of head wound, probably a concussion. That was worrisome. He'd have to give him some laudanum as soon as he woke, keep him quiet. He vaguely heard Buck come to the door and ask what was going on. Josiah said he'd fill him in as soon as Vin was settled.

As Nathan finished his ministrations, Vin began to stir and moan softly. Josiah held the injured man's head until Nathan got the pain medication down him, stroking his long, brown hair until he rested quietly. It was only then that Josiah turned to his friend and whispered, "Chris is dead, Nathan."

Like anyone given sudden, devastating news, Nathan could only respond in disbelief, "No." But the tears streaming down Josiah's face - saying it made it true - gave credence to his terrible statement.

Those first few days passed in a sort of nightmarish haze for the troubled man. Vin developed a raging fever, and Nathan carried his fear privately that they would lose the sharp shooter, too. He knew all of the men were dealing with the loss of Chris in their own way - emotion never coming easily to them - and he couldn't burden them with the possibility that Vin would be taken from them, as well. He didn't even attend the funeral, watching from the clinic window instead as the procession made its way through town. Behind him, in his delirium, Vin called out for the man whose body was laid to rest in the very cemetery where the dark man's own life had been saved. Saved by these two men, the one in the box, the other in the bed. That was the one and only time Nathan allowed himself to break down and weep.

A few days later, as he and Buck sat quietly discussing the death of their leader, Vin surprised them both by announcing, "Chris ain't dead." Nathan's initial joy that his patient was awake and lucid, was quickly replaced with concern when, in spite of Buck's tearful recitation of the events of the preceding days, Tanner continued to state calmly and unequivocally that they were mistaken. And so began long, heated discussions - patience blossoming into frustration on both sides. Vin so sure - so sure that Chris was not the man in that burning bed, despite all evidence to the contrary. Nathan knew that the body couldn't heal if the mind and soul were lost - and Vin was a lost soul if ever he'd seen one. And he didn't know how to help him, or how to reach him.

So when he came into the clinic a few days ago and found that the tracker was gone, it surprised no one. The only bright spot, as far as Nathan was concerned, was that Vin apparently had the presence of mind to at least take some supplies with him, bandages and such. There was no way he was well enough to be out in the cold air like this, though. Nathan shivered and moved even closer to the fire. He sure hoped they found him soon.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah watched Nathan watch the fire and felt reasonably sure he could read his mind. Nathan may not realize it, but he was in his element when he had someone to fret over, and one of the other six usually stepped up to the challenge. Vin had done more than his share over the past few weeks, however, and plain old fretting had grown into gut-wrenching worry. They'd headed out after him immediately after discovering his absence, but the crafty tracker had managed to throw them off at least twice. Hell, they still weren't sure they were on the right trail. And just where did he think he was going? Josiah thought he had a pretty good handle on how each of the men thought, what drove them to be the men they were. But Vin had puzzled him this time. He expected him to take the news of Larabee's death hard, maybe even to have trouble accepting it at first. But Vin had lived a hard life, and he knew what death was about. Josiah just never expected flat out denial from the young man. And now this, chasing after a ghost when he was hardly strong enough to sit a saddle. Finding him would be like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack, too, if Tanner didn't want to be found. He and Nathan might as well be chasing after a ghost themselves.

For the hundredth time, Josiah wondered if he was making the right decisions. With Chris gone and Vin injured both in body and soul, he unwittingly, and somewhat unwillingly, became the leader of their shrinking group. Nathan was too busy with Vin, and Buck too shell-shocked. JD had never seemed younger, and Ezra had shut himself off in true Ezra fashion. So Josiah had done his best to keep the boys together and the town safe.

With sudden clarity, he recalled pulling Vin out of the fire. He shouldn't have been able to - the cabin a blazing inferno by the time he reached it. Yet somehow, through the smoke and flames, a clearing developed. It was just enough for him to reach Vin and pull him out from under the burning rubble. Josiah gave up on miracles long ago, but damn, if that wasn't about as close to a miracle as he'd ever seen.

The ride to town had been excruciatingly long, and he found he could not think about the man he had left behind. He thought of getting Vin to Nathan, only that. Later, he would deal with the tragedy he had just witnessed, but for that moment, there was only one friend he could help - the other now beyond it. And please, God, let him be at peace at last. Buck, JD, and Ezra had followed him up the stairs to the clinic. They had heard his anguished calls for Nathan, eerily shattering the quiet of the late night, or perhaps by then, early morning. Josiah could not speak just then, not sure how to say the awful truth that only he knew - perhaps sparing them this grief a few hours longer. And Nathan needed to direct all of his attention on Vin. He could wait a bit longer, for nothing would change when they knew. Nothing except all of their lives.

When Vin had settled into a deep sleep, or perhaps lost consciousness again, he blurted out that Chris was dead. He hadn't meant it to come out like that - had been thinking all night how to say it. But there was no way to soften the blow. And so then he walked to the saloon where the others waited, and said it again. Point-blank. And for the rest of his life he would see their faces. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. One of them would go down, of that they were sure, but it should have been in a blaze of glory, not in the blaze of a stupid accident. They had to see for themselves, and so as dawn approached, four of the seven rode a sorrowful journey to the cabin. Hoping against hope that somehow Josiah had been wrong.

Josiah himself had prayed for a second miracle, but it was not to be. Now, sitting in the biting air, colder as they headed north, he began to wonder if Vin had been spared only to spend the rest of his life searching for the brother he had lost, while he and Nathan spent the rest of their lives searching for him.

+ + + + + + +

Buck had had too much to drink. He liked liquor, but too much of it interfered with the activities he enjoyed even more. Except that even a lovely evening with an enchanting lady felt meaningless now. Meaningless, joyless, frivolous, and totally worthless. Yeah, he was definitely worthless. Wasn't there to save Chris's family, wasn't there to save Chris. And now Josiah had delegated him to babysitting the town instead of going after Vin. Probably figured he couldn't save Vin, either. And he was probably right.

God! Would he ever forget Josiah telling him that Chris was dead? Like some strange power had come and sucked the air right out of him. It just couldn't be possible. He and Larabee had gone through all kinds of wild, crazy and frequently dangerous situations together, and they always came out on top. He couldn't be dead - not now and not like this.

Buck prayed that some day the vision of that terrible morning would be erased from his mind. Yet he knew it never would, just as the nightmare of returning to the burned ruins of Chris's first home would remain with him forever. It couldn't be happening again - he had told himself that over and over as he rode out towards the shack after Josiah's startling revelation. By the time they reached their leader's land, the sun was up in all its glorious splendor. It was a breathtakingly beautiful morning that wildly contradicted the black mood in their hearts. The blackened embers still smoldered slightly, little wisps of gray smoke rising up to greet them. Buck had climbed off his horse and promptly thrown up. Josiah had tried then to keep him from going any further, from searching for the grizzly remains of his oldest friend's body. Buck wished now that he would have let him - wished he hadn't seen. But even then, and even now, he just couldn't believe it was real. It was no wonder he'd been so ineffective in getting Vin to see the truth.

Just what was the truth anyway? Had Chris died by design or by accident? Buck thought he knew the answer. His friend had found a new purpose in life, and he was certain the man wouldn't throw that away. Still, he'd seen him do some pretty self-destructive things in the past, and when it came right down to it - how well did he really know him? He may have been Chris' oldest friend, but he wasn't his best friend - that distinction belonged to Vin. Larabee and Tanner had some strange connection that none of the men really understood. Not even Chris and Vin.

And so he came back to Vin. Couldn't help him either. Worthless.

+ + + + + + +

It was that mystical connection that planted the seed of doubt in Ezra. Vin was so sure. Perhaps they had all been a bit hasty in their assumption that the body they found was indeed Chris Larabee's. Ezra knew how to work a con - and what a con this could be. But who? And why? Things were certainly unraveling quickly. Four of the seven now indisposed, and Buck of little use. He had to give JD credit though, he was surely trying to hold it all together. The kid was looking after the town, looking after Buck, and even checking on Mary Travis every day. The seven had made a number of enemies over the past year, any one of whom could benefit from the current state of affairs. Yes, the more Ezra thought on it all, the more questions he seemed to raise. Perhaps he'd check into a few matters on his own. No reason to stir up Buck and JD.

Then again, perhaps he was grabbing at straws. Anything to make this insistent pain in his stomach go away. He had even started drinking milk, since Nathan advised him of its coating effects on the stomach lining. But it was still there - a gnawing, burning sensation that crept up through his insides and wrapped around his heart. It couldn't be grief over losing first Chris, and now that unkempt tracker. It couldn't be that. Things just weren't setting right, that was all. Too many questions. And Vin was sure. Maybe he'd look into matters.

+ + + + + + +

JD was mad. He was going after Vin and he didn't care what the others said. Well, maybe he did care a little - but he was going anyway. He couldn't understand why Buck let Josiah order them all around. Who died and made him boss anyway? Oh God - he couldn't believe he had just thought that. He knew exactly who had died, even if it still didn't seem real.

He could still see the expression on his best friend's face when Josiah gave them the news. JD had felt tears coursing down his face, but he wasn't ashamed or embarrassed. Chris Larabee was his hero and a man he was damn proud to call friend. But Buck - he just couldn't take it when he heard the sharp, gasping sob that escaped from the lanky man's throat before he caught himself and pushed it all back in. Then, after the funeral, Buck had stood forlornly at the gravesite for hours, his eyes lost and empty. It scared JD. He felt like he was losing Buck, too - and that would just be unbearable. But instead, they lost Vin, and that was almost as bad. And he aimed to do something about it.

JD made his way over to the saloon since he knew Buck would be there. He seemed to be there all the time now. He was going to give him a piece of his mind, and then he was heading out. But on his way, he stopped to help Mary with that stubborn press of hers, and Billy needed a new line on his fishing pole. He knew losing Chris was hard on them, too, so he helped out however he could. And he needed to put up a shelf for Mrs. Potter. The day was half over by the time he finally made it to see Buck. Sure enough, he sat at his usual table, nursing a beer. JD plopped down in a vacant seat, and before Wilmington could even register his presence, exclaimed, "I'm going after Vin and don't try to stop me!"

Buck raised weary eyes and responded softly, " Don't plan to. You're a grown man, JD you can make your own decisions."

"Yeah - well, all right then. I'll just be leaving. Alone, I guess, seeing as how you and Ezra don't seem much interested in what's going on around here."

"JD, I don't have the energy to argue with you. You go on and do what you have to."

No argument, no sarcastic comment, no good-bye. JD felt that fear again. He was losing Buck. The man was disappearing right before his eyes. "Come with me, Buck," he pleaded.

"Not this time, Kid."

Well, hell. Now what was he going to do? He couldn't just leave Buck like this. Ezra had been acting strange, too. He couldn't count on the two of them to look after each other, let alone the town. Damn. He couldn't go anywhere. And he was mad. Mad at Buck and Ezra for the way they were acting, mad at Josiah for taking over, mad at Vin for leaving. But mostly, he was mad at Chris for dying.

Part 2: Hope

It was a bad idea. And he really wanted to tell them where to go. But they'd dangled the one carrot in front of his nose that he couldn't resist - Vin's freedom.

Chris rested his elbows on the creaky wooden table, and lowered his aching head into his hands. He hated messing with numbers. One of the reasons he'd been so anxious to leave Indiana was his father's insistence that he take over the family banking business. He couldn't think of a more miserable way to spend his life than pouring over numbers on a page every day. And here he was doing just that - in some dingy tent hundreds of miles from where he really wanted to be. He wondered how the boys were doing; wondered if they were at this very moment having a beer and laughing at his expense. Of course, he didn't know exactly how much they knew about what he was up to. He wasn't even sure what he was up to, come to think of it. This whole thing had been fishy from the beginning, and nothing seemed to add up -except for maybe the numbers at the bottom of the page.

The two men had rode onto his land a few weeks back, and he just barely resisted the urge to blow them off their mounts when they refused to heed his warnings and clearly state their intentions. On closer inspection, he could see they posed no real threat however, and didn't even attempt to hide his smirk at their appearance. Starched white shirts, string ties, and shiny coats with even shinier buttons - these two could give Ezra a run for his money. One was short and round, with a bald head and a gleaming smile; the other tall and lanky like Buck, but with wire-rimmed glasses and a dark scowl that matched his dark hair and eyes. Different as day and night, except for their almost identical attire, and Chris suddenly found the pair amusing. He had very little time or use - and even less respect - for city slickers who got fat off of other people that were less fortunate, less cunning, and less able to defend themselves. Still, he found himself curious as to what led them to him.

The two men quickly dismounted, and the short one proceeded to introduce himself as Randall Gill, and his cohort as Jacob Bell. They then flashed badges identifying themselves as employees for the US government. If Gill expected any kind of reaction from the man in black, he would be sorely disappointed, as Chris continued to be completely unimpressed. The robust man went on to say that they had been sent by Judge Travis to enlist Chris' aid in a very pressing matter. It was at this point that he really should have sent them on their way - should've just stopped the whole thing before he heard another word. The problem was somehow he knew that wheels were turning and events set in motion that he was already far too involved in.

The request bordered on the ridiculous, as far as Chris was concerned. The final leg of the Union Pacific railroad was nearly completed, connecting Colorado Territory with the east. A huge gala celebration was planned, including the attendance of several high ranking government officials. Chris couldn't help but scoff - he had already had more than enough experience with government hoopla when Hopewell and company had invaded Four Corners. He couldn't believe Travis had given these idiots his name. What was he thinking? Chris recalled the remainder of the conversation clearly.

"Mr. Larabee, we have reason to believe violence is likely to occur at this event, and in fact, that someone close to the railroad industry is involved in the carrying out of some sinister plan. We believe the most efficient means of preventing such an occurrence is to have someone working inside, so to speak, the camp where the final stretch is being laid."

"And just what in the hell would possess you to believe that someone should be me?"

Chris noted that Gill did all the talking while his partner basically sulked and - glared. He wondered briefly if that was the same look he apparently wore on occasion that his friends took great joy in kidding him about.

"As I stated on our arrival, Judge Travis suggested you. You see, several of the attendees are personal friends of his, and he feels you would be the best choice, for a multitude of reasons. In fact, he gave me this letter, should you need some convincing."

He read through the brief note asking for his cooperation, before glancing up at the men and stating icily, "The Judge knows I don't work for the railroad, and I sure ain't working for the government, either."

"Well, yes, we did believe you may need some convincing, and therefore, we are prepared to offer you a deal we feel you cannot refuse."

"I can't even begin to imagine what that could be. Let's just say I'm not interested, and you can leave. Now."

"Please don't be so hasty, Mr. Larabee, we do have more to discuss."

Chris' keen intuition kicked in and his skin began to crawl. Denver was miles away, there had to be other men closer and more suited to this type of thing. Why him? And what could they possibly have to offer that would mean anything to him?

"You see, we have information that one of your . . .friends . . . is a wanted man. In Texas, I believe." Gill waited for the desired effect that little tidbit of information would have on the gunfighter, and was disappointed to see no effect at all. Perhaps his informant had been wrong about these men? But he went on, "We are prepared to take care of that little matter for you - or should I say, for him?"

Even weeks later, Chris could feel the chill that ran up his spine. It had all changed now, the stakes entirely different. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that, however, so he stated coldly, "I don't know who you men are, or why you're here, but you need to leave my property, before I'm forced to do something you'll regret."

"Now, now, Mr. Larabee," Gill replied with a deceptive calm. "Let's look at this again. Even if we ride away, the past and whereabouts of Mr. Tanner are now well known to others, in much higher positions than ourselves. He will be forced to leave your humble little village, and resume his life on the run."

"He's innocent, and I'll prove it one way or another," Chris replied with a deadly smile.

"Perhaps, but why take the chance when all you have to do is give up a few weeks of your life for your country? And for Mr. Tanner, of course."

A thinly veiled threat wrapped in the guise of a gift. Vin's freedom. Chris wasn't stupid, he knew there was more going on here than met the eye. He looked at the note from Travis again. It certainly appeared to be his handwriting. Was this his way of helping Vin? Chris knew that the Judge had to have been aware of the bounty on Tanner's head, and he also knew he was powerless to do anything about it. Could this "trade" of sorts have been masterminded by Travis as a way to help Vin? Hell, there was probably only one way to find out.

It took them a week to make the trip. Gill and Bell were damn lucky he hadn't killed them both by the time they reached their destination. Gill talked incessantly about nothing, and Bell never spoke at all. Their dispositions were as opposite as their appearance, yet they seemed to meld and instinctively know what the other was thinking. He thought of how the seven of them had become much the same - entirely different in all ways, but able to understand and connect with each other. Now the seven traveled comfortably together, and Chris wished they were with him now. He should have insisted that at least one of the boys come with them. He'd feel a whole lot better if Vin were beside him, figuring out this mess together and coming up with a plan. He'd feel a whole lot better if he had a plan.

He'd left his horse behind, since they would be traveling partially by train and stage. He knew J.D. would take good care of her, but he still didn't like the thought of it - almost as much as he hated the thought of leaving behind his men. Gill assured him that Travis would talk to them, let them know he was helping him out for a month or so. He would have liked the chance to talk them himself, especially to Vin, to let him know what was going on. Or at least what little he knew of what was going on. He'd planned to wire them from Denver, but they'd taken him straight to the camp - passed him off as some financial adviser (obviously knew more of his past, too, than he liked), and he'd yet to have the opportunity to get to a telegraph office. And what would he say anyway? He didn't want Vin to get skittish and run, and he sure wouldn't blame him if he did. Chris was feeling pretty skittish himself. He hadn't liked the feel of this from the beginning, and nothing had happened to change his mind. It was a bad idea.

+ + + + + + +

Exhaustion hit Vin hard and heavy as he reached the secluded village that lay snuggled in the belly of the wide spreading mountain range. Everything hurt, he realized as he climbed off his horse, and he decided right then to spend the night in a room, on a bed. He didn't have a lot of cash, hadn't planned on needing it, but he needed hot food, and real rest, otherwise all of Nathan's dire predictions were likely to come true. He smiled at that, Nathan was always telling the men what terrible complications were going to befall them if they didn't do as they were told. Vin felt a yearning for the gentle man just then, and dearly wished he were there right now to give him some terrible tasting tea or smelly ointment, or just about anything that would make him feel better. His head pounded, his back ached, and his hands just plain hurt. The nagging cough he had acquired after the fire had grown into a rib-rattling force that pained his chest with every breath. And he'd never been so damn tired in his entire life.

It was dirty little burg, but had a sort of rustic charm to it. Vin wondered idly how the sparse population here made a living. There was no way to farm the land with the hillsides so steep and close, and he hadn't seen any livestock either. It was odd, he felt almost hemmed in, even out here in the middle of nowhere, and he decided to head out early in the morning, regardless of how bad he felt. There were few buildings to choose from, and God, he hoped one of them had a decent meal for him. After taking care of his horse, he aimed for what appeared to be a hotel, or something resembling that, and was relieved to see that he was right. The building was dark, but comfortable, and Vin let out a breath when he saw that there was hope for the bed and, judging by the tempting aroma coming from the back room, a meal.

A young woman entered the room just then, and flashed the weary traveler a smile that would have made him weak in the knees, if he weren't feeling that way already. She reminded him of Inez, with her flowing black hair and sweeping skirt, and he shoved aside the feeling of homesickness that welled up in him. "I'm looking for a room," he rasped - surprised at how weak his own voice sounded.

She could see he was sick, and by the bandages on his hands that extended into the sleeves of his buckskin coat, he'd been injured in some way. The poor man looked as though he could barely stand. And what a shame that was, for she would surely have liked to get to know this one better. He was just so handsome, even with the dark circles under his eyes, and she couldn't believe how incredibly lucky she'd been lately. It was only a few weeks ago that another handsome stranger had wandered in, only he had been fair. She pulled herself out of her thoughts, and guided him to the only room on the ground floor, sure he would never make it up the stairs.

"You rest, now, Mr. . .?"

"Tanner" he replied. "Vin."

"Well, Vin, I am Marita, and after you rest a bit, I will bring you something to eat. Alright?"

Again that smile. If he didn't feel so god-awful, he'd swear he'd died and gone to heaven. "Thank you, Ma'am," he mumbled, and collapsed on the bed without even removing his boots.

He was sure he'd just closed his eyes when he heard a soft rapping on his door. "Vin? Would you like something to eat?" Her voice was almost musical he decided - no, angelic. That was it, angelic. He'd wandered into some strange little place where an angel had been placed just for him. Aw hell, he was really, really tired. But hungry, too, and so he pulled himself up with a groan, and made his way out to the small dining area. He was surprised to see that he wasn't the only guest, two other travelers had found their way here, also. Guess the angel wasn't just for him after all.

Marita moved among the tables gracefully, serving the men graciously, as if they were fine dining in a big city, instead of a tiny mountain village. She noticed Vin's nasty cough, and by the flush skirting his cheeks, she suspected he had a fever to go with it. She sat a steaming mug of willow bark tea in front of him with a knowing smile.

God, Vin never thought he'd be so happy to see a cup of tea in his life. Surely she had read his mind. He looked up at her gratefully, and gave a shy nod. Definitely an angel.

In spite of what he thought had been a ravenous appetite, he found he had trouble swallowing the tasty meal. The young woman had obviously gone to a lot effort to make the food, and he felt bad that he couldn't quite get it down. Again, she read his mind, and came to sit across from him at the table.

"It's all right, you know, if you don't eat it all. I know you don't feel well, and I know I'm a fine cook. It won't hurt my feelings."

Vin smiled, and looked in her rich, brown eyes. Damn, she was pretty. But now that he'd had a bit of rest, he resumed his focus on the purpose of his trip. "You get many visitors through here?"

"Surprisingly, yes. We're pretty much the only settlement in this part of the Colorado Territory. Folks can see us from high up on the south trail - I reckon that's how you found us, right?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I just didn't realize I'd crossed into Colorado. Wasn't thinkin' real clear, I guess."

"Well, Vin, just where are you headed? Do you have a destination in mind, or just enjoying the journey?"

"Don't rightly know where I'm headed - I'm lookin' fer a friend."

"Must be a good friend , to bring you all the way out here. Like I said, a lot of strangers come through, most heading up to Colorado Springs or Denver. What does this friend of yours look like?"

"He's tall, light hair, usually wears black. Has this long black coat he likes. Sound like anyone you've seen?" Vin held his breath. He just knew she was the one, and he felt like his whole world would break apart or be held together by her answer.

"You know, he sounds like a man who came through here about two weeks ago. He was with a couple of other men - strange fellows. But the man in black, he was real sweet, a real gentleman."

Vin felt his heart beating so rapidly he was sure she could see and feel it from across the table. Please, God . . . "Did ya happen to catch his name?"

"I'm not good about remembering names, but I never forget a face." She smiled, thinking she'd never forget Vin's name or face. "Let me think a minute . . . I think his name was Chris." She could see by the look on his face what that name meant to him, and for a few minutes, she was afraid he would pass out. But then he looked up at her with such hope in his eyes that she worried greatly for him. Fragile as spun glass, he was, she could see that. What if she'd remembered wrong? What if it wasn't his friend? This man would inevitably shatter, for this was surely no ordinary friendship.

"Any chance they said where they was headed?" He asked breathlessly, afraid to believe, and even more afraid not to.

"The one man talked constantly, so I'm sorry to say, I didn't pay much attention to what he said. I think he mentioned going on up to the springs and taking the stage. I'm so sorry, that's all I remember."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Ma'am. I reckon I can't ever thank you enough for what you've done for me." He looked away then, not wanting her to see the tears that suddenly filled his eyes along with the emotion that filled his heart - hope. She was his angel.

+ + + + + + +

Crisp, clear air; cool, rambling brooks; big horn sheep and elk; craggy rocks of every shape and color; and great, green pines as far as the eye could see. Josiah awoke with those images so clear, he was disoriented momentarily. The Rocky Mountains - he'd passed through as a child, and later, on one of his spiritual journeys. Surely it was indeed God's country. He glanced over at Nathan, still sleeping peacefully, curled up tight in his bed roll, and walked over to give him a nudge.

"Come on, Nathan. Its time to get up - we got us a journey to make!" Josiah grinned from ear to ear.

 

Nathan groaned, before mumbling crossly, "What the hell are you talkin' 'bout Josiah? Its too darn early to be talkin' in riddles. What journey? We don't have a clue which way Vin went."

"We do now, Brother. I've had a vision."

"More likely a dream, Josiah."

"Nathan, we've got to head for the Rockies. Vin's in Colorado. I know it as sure as I'm standing here talking to you. Now come on."

"Josiah, I'm yer friend, and as much as I'd like to believe that God talks to ya - I'm just thinkin' yer plumb wore out, like we all are. So much has happened, its natural to start dreamin' things and thinkin' things. It ain't even light out yet. Now go on back to bed and we'll talk on this in the mornin'." Nathan yawned and rolled back over, yanking the blankets over his head.

Josiah reached down to uncover his friend, and spoke softly but solemnly in his ear. "Nathan, I know you and I don't always see eye to eye on how God works. I know you've seen enough bad stuff in your life to question if He even exists - but I'm telling you, we've got to go to Colorado, and we need to go now. I ain't asking you to trust in a vision or a spirit or even a gut feeling - I'm asking you to trust me."

"Well, I ain't never seen the Rocky Mountains," Nathan replied with a sigh and smile. "I hear tell they're somethin' to see."

"That they are, my friend," Josiah responded with a grin that covered his whole face. He was being pushed again by something unknown. The last time it happened, he'd been there to save Vin, and he couldn't help but be buoyed by the hope that it would work out that way again.

+ + + + + + +

Mary Travis stormed into the Standish Tavern, all spit fire and vinegar. She spotted the cause of her anger, and headed to his table, hair flying and daggers in her eyes. "Just what are you up to, Ezra?" she demanded.

The gambler looked up from his hand with a genuinely puzzled expression. "What are you referring to, Mrs. Travis?" Lord, what had he done to incur her wrath? He'd thought he'd been keeping to himself, staying out of everyone's way. Maybe that was the problem - maybe she expected more from him.

"Why are you going around town asking questions about the days before Chris died? Asking if there were strangers in town, asking if he was acting oddly. . .can't you just let it be? Do you know how hard this has been for Billy? You stirring things up just makes it worse. He died in a terrible accident. What possible difference could it make what happened the day before?!"

So that was it. Of course, she would discover his covert activities. He thought he had been discreet, though obviously not discreet enough. He looked closely at the worn look in her eyes, and he knew it was not Billy who was having such a difficult time - although he knew the boy had a fondness for Chris. How should he play this? He had no desire to hurt the woman, and he certainly did not want to give her false hope.

"Mrs. Travis . . .Mary, I assure you I meant no ill intent. Rather, I simply wanted to lay to rest some questions in my mind."

"And did you, Ezra?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did you lay to rest the questions in your mind?"

"Yes. Its as you say, Mr. Larabee died in a terrible accident."

He caught the quiver of her chin, and knew instinctively that she had hoped he'd say something else. Hoped that maybe it was all a mistake, and somehow Ezra had been on to something. She was angry, but he knew the anger was truly not directed at him. As she turned on her heels to leave, he bit back the urge to tell her that two men were in town the day before Chris died, asking for directions to his cabin. Thus far, he'd been able to ascertain that they were business men of some sort, possibly working for the government. He had wires out to various locations in an effort to discover where they came from. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and Ezra knew how to make a winning hand from less.

+ + + + + + +

JD glanced up from his beer, his sad, solemn eyes barely peaking through the long, black locks that covered his face. Inez felt only heartache as she watched the young man. He carried the weight of the world on his slender shoulders, or at least the weight of Four Corners, and one Buck Wilmington.

What on earth was wrong with these men? First Vin runs off half-cocked. Then Ezra mysteriously leaves for a few days to "check on a few matters." And the resident ladies' man had become essentially useless - wallowing in grief and self-pity. Well, she'd had enough. Buck hadn't even attempted to flirt with her in weeks. As much as she tried to tell herself that she was relieved, the fact was that she missed his teasing, suggestive remarks. She missed him.

The raven hared beauty took another look at JD. and anger flowed anew. The kid deserved better. He was working his tail off with no help and no support from the man he loved as a brother.

Inez generally had the strength of character to resist her impulsive nature, but it failed her in this particular instance. She strode over to Buck's table with one purpose in mind - to get him up out of the hole he'd crawled into. The man in question sat blissfully unaware however, until the woman took a hold of his beer and quickly dumped the contents on his head.

Buck sputtered angrily, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Because, Mr. Wilmington" she spat back, "it is high time for you to quit brooding and get back to work. Chris Larabee died, you did not. And if you think he would want you wasting your life away in this saloon, then you did not know him at all! You are needed here and now. This town needs you. This young man needs you" she nodded at the bewildered J.D. "And it is quite possible that I need you."

Buck raised his eyebrows at that last part and offered her a slow, lazy smile. They would be doing some talking later on.

For now though, he turned his attention to JD He could see the youth was trying to suppress a grin, as the rogue felt beer dripping from the tips of his mustache. He'd let him down, and the kid had never said a word. Never once complained. Damn. Inez was right. Right about every single thing she'd said.

He strolled over to the bar where JD stood, and put his arm around his friend's shoulders, all the while flashing that true Wilmington grin that JD had despaired of ever seeing again. Suddenly the world weighed a little less because Buck was back to share the load. Maybe there was hope for them all yet.

Part 3: Circles

Chris felt like he was moving in circles. Every time he thought he'd found someone or something remotely suspicious, they'd checked out fine, and he'd start all over again. In fact, he had developed a growing respect for these men. He found the engineering and thought processes behind this construction incredible. He had seen track being laid in the low- lying hills and deserts of the southern territories, but nothing compared to this. Here, the railways crossed rough gorges, steep cliffs, and deep canyons. The often cynical gunman was impressed, not an easy feat by any means.

He was also impressed with Daniel Martin, the man leading the team. Daniel had sized him up the moment he'd met him, knowing right off that Chris was not the banker they'd tried to pass him off as. The young manager had spent more than two years on the project, and was often caught between the government, the railroad, and the ranchers. So if some higher authority decided to send in a gunfighter to keep an eye on things, why argue? He had told Chris this up-front, within minutes of him strolling into the main tent to introduce himself. Straight-forward, honest, and obviously intelligent - and Chris liked him right off. Another feat not so easily accomplished.

Larabee made his way over to Daniel's tent now, hoping for some final details on the celebration that was taking place at the end of the week. He found him in his usual position - head bent over a rickety, make-shift desk, staring intently at one of a number of maps and papers strewn about the tent. Daniel pulled his head up as Chris entered, the soft glow from the oil lamp reflecting off his glasses, which had slipped to the end of his nose. The man absently pushed them back up with one finger while using his other hand to sweep his unruly, dark brown hair away from his face. Daniel looked him in the eye then, and for a moment, Chris was startled by a sense of familiarity. Sky blue eyes, wise beyond their years, and with a sudden pang, he realized how much he missed Vin. These moments just seemed to creep up on him when he least expected them. Moments when he realized how much his men had come to mean to him, how much Vin in particular had come to mean to him.

"Something I can do for you, Chris?" Daniel asked with a smile.

"I was hoping you might have a few more details about this big shin-dig coming up."

"Wish I did, but I'm being kept in the dark. I suppose with the threats and all, they're keeping it quiet. Just telling people who really need to know. Of course, I would think you'd be one of those people."

Chris snickered. "Yeah, you'd think so. Gill is supposed to be coming in the day after tomorrow to fill me in. But I'd like more time to get the lay of things."

"You got any ideas yet?" Daniel asked as he shuffled more papers into seemingly random piles.

"No - and I'm not likely to find any here. I don't think any of your men are involved, Daniel. If anyone is planning anything, its outside of this camp." Which meant he was unlikely to stop it. Whatever "it" was.

"Glad to hear that" Daniel said as he rose and again pushed his uncooperative lenses back up where they belonged. "Although I'm not surprised. I've worked with these men a long time, and believe me, they have invested too much to sabotage their efforts. Besides," he added with a wide grin, "next week we get our bonuses and move on to our new lives."

Chris nodded. He knew the young man planned to rejoin his fiancée in Kansas and buy some farmland. He latched onto Daniel's arm as he turned away from him, "Just be careful. This isn't over by a long shot. Watch your back."

Daniel gave him a slight nod before scooping up another stack of maps and heading back to his desk. Chris tried to push aside the terrible sense of foreboding that gripped him as he left the tent. Damn. He needed help. If he sent the wire tomorrow . . . if they rode straight through . . . they still couldn't make it. Damn. He needed the boys.

+ + + + + + +

Peso strutted along the well-worn, though still treacherous trail with sure feet and high spirits - his head held high and nose to the wind. He was enjoying the challenge of the steep, rocky slopes, and Vin was grateful for that, since he himself was functioning at about half speed, if that. His head throbbed with every feisty footstep, and the high altitude left him breathless and light headed. He hated feeling like he was just drifting along, at the mercy of anyone with a clear head and a steady aim. His stomach churned, too, with the repeated up and down, zigzag motions as Peso found the safest, surest step.

But in truth, he doubted his ailments had anything to do with the traveling conditions, or even the injuries he'd suffered. He was just plain ill from all the thoughts going around and round in his head - a sort of sick cycle that whirled on and on, even when he tried to close his eyes and rest. Chris couldn't be dead. But then, where was he? And why fake his death? He would never do that to his friends. He wouldn't leave them all like this. But Marita said the man she saw appeared to be traveling willingly. So maybe it wasn't the gunslinger that she saw after all. Maybe he was following a dead end. Maybe Chris was dead. No - he wasn't. He couldn't be. And the cycle began again

By the time he reached Colorado Springs, he could barely hold his head up. But the need to find his friend burned hot within him now. Determined to find Chris - or die trying, and he conceded the latter was a distinct possibility if he didn't get some rest.

His tired eyes scanned the crowded streets for some quiet place to set a spell. Formerly a quaint, peaceful village in a serene setting, the city now literally burst from its seams, thanks to the discovery of gold nearby, the draw of the springs, and expanding transportation systems. Hotels lined the main street, but Vin didn't think he could afford a room, and he certainly couldn't stand all the noise and commotion. No, this time there would be no soft bed, no hot meal, and most disappointingly, no angel.

No matter. He'd find out what he needed to know and keep moving. Marita had said something about the men catching a stage, so that seemed to be the best place to start. He tied Peso up to the hitching post at the small stone building that housed the Colorado Springs Stage Company with some trepidation. There were dozens of horses nearby, and his was likely to get antsy with all the activity. Vin knew Peso felt as hemmed in as he did, both of them unnerved and anxious to get away. As he stepped inside he noted several people waiting on benches for the next stage, while several more stood hunched against the walls. If he weren't having trouble breathing before, he surely would be now.

He approached the booth a bit hesitantly, and asked quietly if the clerk could help him locate a friend. The man looked at Vin incredulously, and stated, "Look around. You think I got time to notice what anybody looks like or where they're going?"

Vin tried again. "Its real important, Mister. I can see yer busy, and I wouldn't be botherin' ya if I didn't need to know." God, he was so tired and more than a little cranky, and he really didn't want to have to grab the guy by the throat and shake the hell out of him. He sure didn't want to make a scene either - all he needed was to get thrown in jail. Just give him something. He was close now. He had to be, because he knew he couldn't go on much longer. He just needed one more clue . . . something.

The clerk had no interest in the disheveled outdoorsman. It was obvious he didn't have a dime to his name. Still, the man looked sick, and he didn't need him scaring off the other passengers. He'd give him what he wanted and send him on his way.

"Look, I'm not sure. But I might have seen a man that matched that description heading up to Denver. That's where most everybody is going, anyway. What with the big goings on and all."

"What goings on?" Vin asked.

"They're finishing up the railroad. Got all kinds of fancy people coming in to bless it. So you want a ticket or not? If not, move on."

Ticket? Vin couldn't think of anything worse than being confined in a moving box with a bunch of strangers. He'd make it to Denver on his own. He was close now.

+ + + + + + +

The gorgeous scenery had gotten old right quick, as far as Nathan was concerned. He was pretty sure they were just riding in circles since every mountain peak looked just like the last one. Josiah rode just ahead of him, the trail being too narrow for them to ride abreast. He couldn't see the older man's face, but he didn't need to. He could picture the look of pure, stubborn will and steely determination that graced his friend's features.

Nathan had tried hard not to complain, to think positively, to trust Josiah as he had asked him to. But his doubt flourished with each passing mile. He was tired and hungry and his head hurt. He didn't like being up this high, either. It was hard to breathe, and he didn't want to admit it, but he felt a mite uncomfortable on some of the higher ledges.

"Josiah, why are we doing this?"

The preacher stopped abruptly and turned back to look strangely at his companion. It occurred to Nathan that he must have finally spoken out loud what he'd been thinking for the past two days.

Faith is a curious thing. Evident and essential to those who have it, perplexing and unnerving to those who don't. Josiah had forgotten that what seemed obvious to him, might be a bit unclear to his traveling companion. But how could he explain the unexplainable? Some things just were.

"Now, Nathan, I know I don't need to tell ya why we're doing this. You've got feelings for Vin, same as me. The young man helped us both out when pretty near everyone else had given up." Josiah offered, knowing full well that wasn't what Nathan had asked at all.

"Of course I know why we're looking for Vin! But why all the way out here? Just where did your vision tell us to go? Lord, Josiah, you know I ain't one to complain, but I'm thinking I'm as crazy as you are fer goin' along with this."

Sanchez couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "Hold on, Nathan. I've got a few ideas."

"I sure would like to hear 'em, cause I'm getting real tired of all this natural beauty."

"Well, at that last settlement we happened on to, I got to talkin' to a few people. Seems there's some big festival going on in Denver later this week. I got the notion that we need to be there."

"You 'got the notion'?"

"That's right."

Nathan rubbed his aching neck. "And just why do ya suppose Vin, of all people, would want to go to somethin' like that?"

"Because Vin is lookin' for Chris. You gotta put yourself in his place, Nathan. He believes Chris is alive. We know from that last set of tracks that he believes Larabee headed north. We know there's something big going on in Denver, and it's a sure bet that Vin knows it, too. It's all very logical, when you think about it."

"Logical! There ain't nothin' logical about one thing you said, Josiah! We don't really know a damn thing, except that Vin is wandering around in the wilderness hurt, looking for a dead man."

Now the preacher was puzzled. He thought he'd explained it all so well. It was so clear to him. "Look, Nathan. We'll head on up to Denver. If we don't find Vin there, we'll come back home. Maybe by then, Vin will have come back." He didn't believe that, but it seemed to be what his friend wanted to hear.

"Alright then," Nathan conceded with a sigh. "How long ya reckon till we reach Denver?"

"I'm thinkin' Sunday." Sunday was the day of the celebration, and a fine day to find a lost friend. It was just a matter of time . . . and faith.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra felt strangely guilty searching through the rubble of Chris' home. It just didn't seem right to be disturbing the place where a friend had died. He didn't believe in spirits or specters like some of the others, but still, it just didn't feel comfortable to be in this place.

Ezra remembered the morning they had ridden out to retrieve their leader's body. He had been embarrassingly inept about the matter. Buck was sick to his stomach, so Josiah had taken on most of the burden of wrapping the remains. He had tried to help, but his hands didn't seem to work properly and he couldn't control the tremors that wracked his entire body. He had felt ashamed by his total lack of self-control. But in the midst of that sorrowful experience, Ezra had spotted the liquor bottles strewn about. Most were damaged beyond recognition, but one was not, and something about it had struck him as being oddly out of place. So here he was, digging through the dirty, blackened rubble that stained his hands and clothes, looking for a burnt bottle of whiskey.

When he found it, he couldn't stop the chill that swept over him. Imported whiskey. Expensive imported whiskey. Expensive imported whiskey that Chris would never drink. Ezra knew of only one man that drank this particular brand. The same man, he had recently discovered, whose two hired hands came looking for Chris the day before he died. It was time to talk to Buck and JD.

+ + + + + + +

Buck and JD, were in fact, wondering what Ezra was up to. He'd left town for a few days, and no one seemed to have any idea why. So when he burst into the tavern carrying a burnt up old bottle of whiskey, they were more than curious.

"Where ya been, Ezra? And what's that you got there?" Wilmington asked with a cock of his head.

"Gentlemen, I believe we have some matters to discuss."

"What kind of matters?" JD asked, leaning forward with an eagerness he couldn't hide. Ezra had some big news, he was sure of it. He could feel it.

"After some investigation, I have determined that Mr. Larabee's death may not have been accidental after all."

Now Buck leaned forward, his eyes sharp and his voice deadly, "What the hell are you talkin' about, Ezra?"

The gambler sat the damaged bottle on the table. "I found this in the ruins of Chris' cabin."

Both Buck and JD looked at him expectantly.

Ezra sighed. "Its rare imported liquor." Again, they seemed to not catch on. Honestly, would he have to spell it out? "Its rare imported liquor that Mr. Larabee would have neither the opportunity nor the inclination to purchase."

"Damn it, Ezra! What exactly are you trying to say? That Chris wasn't alone when he died?" Buck was frustrated now, not liking at all the way this conversation was going. He'd finally made his peace with the tragedy, and here was his smooth talking friend opening old wounds.

"Possibly. Or perhaps that someone only wanted us to think he died by accident. Someone wanted us to believe that he'd gotten himself in such a drunken stupor, that he carelessly allowed a fire to start. Someone who drinks only the finest alcohol available."

JD hated it when he felt like he was missing something. "Are you tryin' to say someone killed Chris?"

Standish picked up the deck of cards lying on the table and nervously began to shuffle them. He could feel Buck's tense gaze on him, as well as JD's anxious one.

"I don't know for certain. But two men came looking for Chris the day before he died. Two men that I just recently discovered worked for none other than our estimable territorial governor. The same man who drinks expensive liquor of this particular brand."

Buck felt the color drain from his face. Vin had been right. Or at least partially right. Chris had been murdered. And he'd almost let the bastard get away with it.

"I know where he is," JD spoke up suddenly.

"Who?" Ezra asked.

"Hopewell. I read it in Mary's paper. He's going up to Denver to some big party. They finished the railroad, and all these government people are going."

Just then Mary stepped into the saloon and made her way to the table. The men looked at each other nervously. She didn't need to know this, not yet.

"Did I hear you men mention Denver?" the pretty blonde asked.

"Yes. We were discussing the upcoming festivities," Ezra offered.

"Well, it looks like there will be two more guests there. I just got a telegram from Josiah. He wanted me to let you know that he and Nathan are heading up to Denver." Her news delivered, Mary turned to leave.

Ezra looked at his friends, knowing they were all thinking the same thing. "Gentlemen, have you ever seen Colorado Territory?"

+ + + + + + +

Clayton Hopewell sipped his whiskey with his feet propped up on his opulent desk. He savored the rich taste of the expensive imported liquor - almost as much as he savored this moment. How he loved it when a plan came together! Of course, the true defining moment was still days away, but no matter. The wheels were in motion, and even the "Magnificent Seven" were powerless to stop it. It was just too good.

He really did owe Lucas James for this one. Without that little gem of dirt he'd managed to dig up on Vin Tanner, none of this would have worked out so well. Now he would not only take down half the government dignitaries in the west, but those arrogant gunfighters as well. He'd convinced James to hold onto his information until after he was through with Larabee, then the rancher could take Tanner to Texas, or do whatever the hell he wanted with him. In the meantime, he had Larabee right where he wanted him. It was obvious the man would do anything to protect the Texan, a strange thing to a man like Hopewell, who never did understand anything other than loyalty to self, and to money, of course.

He'd had to put up with that strange pair, Gill and Bell, but even that unpleasantness was worth it. Gill could talk the coat off a grizzly, and that odd duck he traveled with could forge any signature on sight. Hopewell knew Larabee would trust Travis, another thorn in his side, and he rightly figured the false note would be just enough to convince the gunslinger to take a chance.

But his finest idea had to be faking Larabee's death - a stroke of genius. The other six were disintegrating, and no doubt that snooty Mary Travis suffered great heartache. She was in love with the gunslinger, he was sure of it, even if she hadn't admitted it to herself yet. Just the thought of her tearful suffering brought a devilish grin to his face. By the time they all figured out that they hadn't buried Larabee, he really would be dead - along with most of the others who stood in his way. For soon, the most spectacular celebration in the west would become the most unfortunate catastrophe - with Chris Larabee taking the blame.

He loved it when a plan came together.

Part 4: Choices

He chose left. He had no idea why, really. He didn't figure he'd find Chris at a railroad camp, knowing how he felt about the whole railroad business. But the trail split, straight on to Denver, or left to the Union Pacific Railway camp. He told himself it was because he just couldn't stomach the thought of another big city. That wasn't it though. Common sense said Chris would more likely be in the growing metropolis. But he chose left, and he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.

Vin trotted into the busy camp, his senses sharpened into a keen awareness that seemed almost out of place under the circumstances. Normally, he felt this heightened sensitivity when danger lurked, but this was different. There was no danger here, but maybe something else. Maybe someone else. He scanned the faces of the men, each engrossed in their various tasks. Some were doing the back- breaking job of physically laying the rails. Others worked to complete the station, a true marvel of modern architecture from what the sharpshooter could see. He saw others scampering about with ledgers and maps, their serious faces never pausing to take in the stranger that had wandered into their midst.

Vin climbed down from Peso, and paused to take a swig of cool water from his canteen. He brought his hand up to wipe his mouth and took another look around. The continuous activity had stirred up a hazy cloud of dust that stung his weary eyes. He rubbed his hands across them, wincing at the pain that simple act brought him, and tried again to view the crowd before him.

And then he saw him. He stood with his back to him, perhaps thirty yards away, but Vin would recognize those ram rod straight shoulders, and the solid stance anywhere from any distance. A short, bald man stood across from the blond, speaking with grand, animated gestures, and Tanner knew instinctively that the gunslinger regarded the man warily. He could even picture the grim sort of half smile his friend wore. But none of that mattered. Only one thing mattered, and at that particular moment, it was hard to believe that anything would ever matter so much again. Chris was alive. That was enough for now and forever as far as Vin was concerned. Whatever had brought him here, whatever obstacles he faced, whatever lies had been told - and even Chris' part in them - all could be faced and fixed and forgotten. Because Chris was alive.

Larabee half turned then, and through the throng of dirty, sweating men, one man stood out like a beacon. Vin. How on earth did he get here, and why was he looking like that? As their eyes met, Chris was thrown by an uncustomary sense of confusion. Normally he and the tracker could communicate volumes with just a look. But there was an intensity in Vin's gaze that had him completely baffled. Oh God, something must have happened in town!

The two men made their way towards each other, oblivious to the activity around them. Once more, Vin felt as though he moved in slow motion. It could be a dream, he thought suddenly with a deep sense of despair. He had been so tired, so tired. But then Chris was there, his grin tentative but true, as he held his arm out to greet him in their usual way. The younger man's relief was so palpable that he no longer trusted his legs to hold him.

As Chris approached his friend, he was shocked at how awful he looked. Again, he felt apprehension bordering on panic, what had happened in his absence? He spoke hesitantly, "Vin? What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

The tracker didn't answer. He couldn't seem to make his mouth work. Couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the man in black. He just really, really needed to get away from all these people. He reached up to loosen the scarf tied around his neck, desperate to catch his breath and stop the ground from tilting underneath him.

Larabee noted the act, and the dirty bandages that wrapped his friend's hands and wrists. Even Vin's fingers were red and raw, and Chris couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as he exclaimed, "My God, Vin! What happened to your hands?" Although he was beginning to think this could be the least of the tracker's problems, since it seemed he had lost the ability to hear or speak. Vin had yet to utter a single word.

And when he did finally utter that single word, it was with such anguish, that it nearly broke the gunman's heart. "Chris."

Obviously Tanner was severely shaken, so Larabee put an arm around the young man's shoulders and guided him to his tent. Once inside, Chris pulled up two chairs and stated with forced composure, "Sit down and talk to me."

Vin opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, but harsh coughing erupted instead. The blond immediately offered him a drink, which he gratefully accepted with visibly shaking hands. Chris noted this with concern, the sharpshooter could have twenty men gunning for him, and never quiver. After regaining some control, Vin gasped, "We thought you were dead." Well, technically that wasn't quite true, there was no we about it.

Now it was Chris' turn to gasp. "What the hell are you talking about? Why would you think that? What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"Seems like I should be askin' you that, Chris," Vin countered. Aw hell. This wasn't going the way he'd planned at all. But oh, that's right - he had no plan. He felt like he'd been some damn puppet from the beginning with someone pulling his strings and pushing him in directions he couldn't begin to understand.

Both men sighed simultaneously, each overwhelmed with how much needed to be said and neither sure of where or when or how to start.

Chris broke the stalemate by gently turning over Vin's bandaged hands in his own and stating quietly, "Let's start with these."

The quiet tracker had actually been hoping to leave that whole part out, but he supposed that wasn't going to happen. So he answered, "Me and Josiah went out to your place a few weeks ago. Found it on fire." Vin swallowed and went on. "I went in . . . I thought you were inside. I saw a man on yer bed, and the then the roof fell in and . . ."

"Oh my God, Vin! You could have been killed!" Chris spat out with a mixture of awe and anger. He would never understand what he had done to deserve the devoted friendship of this man.

"But I wasn't. And neither were you. I knew it wasn't you, but the others buried that body and put your name on the grave. They all thought I was plumb crazy. But I knew you weren't dead. Can't explain it - I just knew."

The gunfighter's eyebrows drew together in bewilderment. What the hell was going on? He had suspected a trap from the beginning, and Vin's story merely confirmed his suspicions. Someone lured him up here for some unknown purpose, and at the same time, had managed to keep his friends out of the way. Except for Vin. His best friend wouldn't go down easy, and he wouldn't quit, either, not if there was the slightest chance. Tanner hadn't given up on him - not when he thought he was burning to death, and not when he was sure he hadn't. There wasn't a moment since this whole thing began that Chris hadn't wished Vin were by his side. And now he was. And even as sick as the tracker looked, he couldn't think of finer sight right then.

Although Chris could see the exhaustion that sat deep in his friend's eyes, he knew him well enough to know that he would not rest until his questions were answered. And the gunslinger had more than a few questions of his own.

"Vin, didn't Judge Travis talk with any of you?"

"Don't know, Chris. The boys said he came for yer funeral, but I was kinda . . . not feelin' real well. What's he got to do with this?"

The sinking feeling he'd been experiencing seemed to be rapidly pulling him under. Travis didn't know. He hadn't sent Chris here after all. Who had the power, and the motive to put together a set up like this? Unfortunately, several names came to mind.

Larabee set about explaining his side of the events that occurred. "I was asked to come up here and keep an eye on things. I thought Travis was involved. There's a big celebration coming up, with all kinds of self-important men involved, and apparently several threats have been made. I got a note from the judge asking me to look into things, see what's going on."

"By yerself?"

"They thought seven men riding in might be a mite suspicious. I was just supposed to fill in here, see who might be up to something." Chris immediately noted the fire that lit Tanner's blue eyes.

"You expect me to believe you came all the way up here to help out the railroad and the government? On nothin' more than a note from Travis? Hell Chris, I never figured you fer a liar."

"I ain't lying to you, Vin. That's exactly what happened."

"How much, Chris?"

"How much what?" Chris was puzzled by the question, though not at all by Vin's reaction. All the men knew how he disdained the big business of the railroad companies and the often shady dealings of the territorial governments.

"How much they givin' you to do this? How much was it worth to you to put yer friends through hell?"

Chris just barely reined in his temper as he responded forcefully, "You think I'd let that happen? You think I'd just ride off letting you all think I was dead? Someone set us up, Vin. Someone wanted me here, and didn't want you boys coming after me." Chris met Vin's intense gaze, still finding doubt in the stormy blue depths.

"How much?" Tanner repeated.

Chris took a deep breath. There was no way around it. He'd have to tell him the truth. Vin's life was at stake, after all. Larabee hesitated briefly, looking away for a moment, before turning back to face his friend. "They know about you, Vin. Gave me a choice of going with them and giving you back your name, or letting them turn you in. Was no choice at all, as far as I was concerned."

Vin wanted to respond. Wanted to say that a man always has a choice. Wanted to tell this stubborn, hard man that he could fight his own battles. But once again, he couldn't get his mouth to work. What had he done to deserve the friendship of this man? Chris had been the victim of an elaborate trap - and he was the bait. Oh God. Suddenly it was all just too much, and Vin collapsed in on himself, his last ounce of strength gone. His elbows rested awkwardly on his knees as he lowered his incredibly heavy head into his stiff, sore hands. A low, painful groan escaped him as every single aching muscle seemed to scream for his attention.

Chris was there then, guiding him onto the narrow cot that rested against the far wall of the tent. He helped the younger man get off his coat, barely keeping in check his worry at how much thinner his already lean friend had become. "I'm getting the camp doctor, Vin."

"No! I don't cotton to havin' a stranger doctorin' me," Vin asserted as he latched onto his friend's arm. "I'm alright. Just need to lie down fer a spell, that's all. We got a lot to talk about, a lot of ponderin' to do. We're gonna need a plan."

"We've got plenty of time for that, Vin. You need to be looked at, and then you need to sleep. They'll be plenty of time for talking later on." Chris turned away and added quietly, " I can't believe the boys let you ride out like this, the shape you're in."

"Didn't exactly let me."

Chris shook his head and smiled, "Of course not. What was I thinking? Should know you'd go off half- cocked instead of taking care of yourself."

Vin's pained expression threw Larabee off guard. For the first time, he thought about how difficult the last few weeks must have been for his friend. He couldn't even imagine being in the tracker's shoes. Knowing his best friend was alive, but no one believing him. Then searching the countryside for him, hurt and alone. It was nothing short of a miracle that he'd made it here.

" I'm sorry, Vin. I'm glad you're here. I'm going to need you. I ain't much good at coming up with plans on my own anymore. Seems like I've gotten used to having some mangy Texan help me figure things out."

He gave Vin a small smile, and met his gaze. This time there was no confusion. Vin needed him to stay. Needed to see him and feel him nearby. The gunslinger pulled up his chair next to the cot and laid a gentle hand on his friend's arm. As the tracker's eyes finally drifted closed, Chris felt only transient relief. They would need a plan all right, a damn good plan.

+ + + + + + +

Randall Gill didn't get to be Clayton Hopewell's right hand man by being stupid. When Larabee turned away from him and took off mid-sentence, he knew something was up. He'd followed him just close enough to see him greet a long-haired man in a buckskin coat. Had to be Tanner. Even if he couldn't tell by the man's dress, he'd know by the look in Larabee's eyes. Well, this certainly was an unforeseen complication. The gunslinger would know that he'd been set-up. Damn! How the hell did that tracker make it all the way up here? Apparently, he lived up to his title and his reputation.

Being a realist, Gill knew he couldn't undo the damage that had been done. He'd just better figure out where to go from here. Hopewell was en route and wouldn't arrive until tomorrow. That left plenty of time for Larabee and Tanner to totally screw things up. It was up to him. Maybe he should just take them out now. But no, Hopewell wanted Larabee to take the fall for the upcoming events, and that wouldn't happen if he were dead. Maybe he should let Larabee make the first move. Of course, knowing the gunslinger's reputation, his first move could be Gill's last, the bald man thought with a shudder.

Then again, what did Larabee really know? Surely Gill could come up with some story to talk his way out of this. That was it. He would deny any knowledge of the whole affair. He'd just been doing his job. Lying came so easy to him that most of the time he wasn't even aware he was doing it. He'd panicked for nothing. The gunfighter may realize he'd been brought here under false pretenses, but his integrity wouldn't allow him to walk away, not with innocent lives at stake. But just in case, he'd keep a close eye on them both. If things got messy, he'd have Bell grab Tanner. He'd worked as bait before, and he would again if necessary. Gill had seen it in Larabee's eyes

+ + + + + + +

Chris stood at the entrance of the tent, watching the orange glow of the sun as it slowly slid behind the mountain range. He vaguely noticed that it had gotten quiet. Many of the men had left the area, their work completed. He imagined most of them had ridden into the big city, a few miles away, to celebrate. The company chose to locate the station on the western side Denver in anticipation of the day when the western ends of the railroad would meet, uniting the entire continent. He wanted to believe that would be a good thing, but somehow, his cynical nature wouldn't allow that. He'd seen too much damage from men's greed. And he couldn't help but wonder how much more damage he'd see before this was over.

He turned back inside when he heard a soft moan. Chris had only left for a few moments to get medical supplies, and he had worried the whole time that Vin would stir and find him gone. To the blonde's relief, the injured man was just as he'd left him when he returned. In fact, Vin hadn't even awakened when Chris removed the bandages from his arms and redressed them. He was mildly relieved to see that the sharpshooter's hands seemed to have taken the brunt of the injuries. Although, he was certain more were hidden beneath his clothing. His friend was feverish, and since Vin groaned each time he moved onto his back, there were likely to be problems there, as well. But for the most part, he had slept well for nearly six hours, and Chris figured that was what he needed most.

Larabee, on the other hand, had spent the last six hours looking for answers. Obviously Gill and Bell were in this up to their eyeballs. He thought about shaking the truth out of them, but he knew Gill had no concept of the meaning of the word. Besides, it hadn't taken much thought to figure out who was behind this. He reasoned that the men worked for Hopewell. The governor had the motive and power to make a great deal of trouble, and he hated the Larabee gang.

If he were smart, he'd grab Vin and ride like hell for home. But he knew he couldn't do that either. Innocent lives were at stake. Men like Hopewell didn't care who got hurt in the crossfire, as long as their objectives were met. Which meant, glad as he was to see Vin, he could be in serious danger. They'd used him as bait once, and they wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Just then, Tanner groaned as his weakened body attempted to return to full wakefulness. Through half-lidded eyes, he began to take in his surroundings. Twilight. A tent. Chris was here. Chris . . .was . . .here. The full meaning of those words caused him to sit up so abruptly, that he lost his balance and nearly toppled off the edge of the cot.

"Easy there, Pard. Where you goin' in such a hurry?" Chris asked as he laid a steady hand on the tracker.

Vin felt his heart hammering in his chest and tried to take a deep breath, which resulted in closer to a gulp. It was real. He had found Chris. He turned tear-filled eyes to his friend, embarrassed by his emotion, but needing so badly to see him. To touch him. He raised a shaky hand and lightly brushed the blonde's cheek.

Chris felt tears sting his own eyes as Vin's anguish washed over him. "I'm real, Vin, and I'm not going anywhere. Except home - with you."

The younger man swallowed and nodded, quickly regaining his composure. "Reckon we got a few things to do first."

"Reckon we do."

"You got any ideas?"

"Just one - Clayton Hopewell."

Vin shook his head in disgust, and swung his legs around to set his feet on the ground. "Sounds about right. What do you reckon he's got in mind?"

"Well, he's got the perfect opportunity to get rid of a whole lot of the most powerful men in the western territories. Set back the cause of statehood several more years, and increase his own authority by leaps and bounds."

"Guess you wasn't wastin' time while I was sleeping," Vin smiled. "Don't think he'd come in with guns blazin' though."

"What do you think he'd do?"

"I don't know. Something more showy, maybe. Remember Dicky O'Shea?"

"Kind of a hard fellow to forget, Vin. You thinkin' dynamite?"

"Or nitro, maybe. Make a big scene, hurt a whole lot of people, and real difficult to trace who is responsible. Just one thing I can't figure though."

"What's that?"

"What's he want with you? Where do you fit in with all of this?"

Chris cocked his head, considering that very matter. Vin could see the moment his friend had found the answer. He turned to him with a wild look in his eyes and spouted out angrily, "He's planning to pin it on me! Damn it, how could I be so stupid?"

"You wanna fill me in here, Cowboy?"

"They've had me working on the ledgers - paying notes and helping with payroll. Said they needed explosives to get through some of the rough terrain. I signed my name to those notes, Vin."

"Hell, that don't seem like enough, Chris. Makes sense they'd need that kinda stuff for a job like this."

"Think about it. I ride in here a few weeks before this thing blows, ordering dynamite. And it sure ain't a secret how I feel about the railroad."

"I don't know, Chris," Vin said doubtfully. "Seems like they should be lookin' at the man in charge. Seems like we should be lookin' at the man in charge."

"He's a good man. He's not involved."

"How do you know that?"

"Just do."

Vin raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Same way I knew about you, Vin," Chris answered.

"I reckon we should be lettin' him on this, then. But there's somethin' we gotta do first."

"Already did it. Grabbed one of the men as they headed into town."

"Mind if I ask what you said?"

The gunslinger grinned full out. "I ain't dead."

"Probably won't believe you," Vin muttered darkly.

"Probably all out lookin' for you," Chris answered back.

"Right about now, I'm wishin' they'd find me."

Larabee nodded in agreement. They could use a little help. They could use a lot of help. Another five men would be just about right.

+ + + + + + +

When Yosemite brought Mary Travis the telegram, he was shaking in his boots. It wasn't his job, but he'd been in the office when it came through, and being the good soul that he was, he'd offered to take it to her. But he sure was nervous. He never did understand the woman, and it was impossible to know how she would react. So he held his breath as he handed it to her.

"Is this some kind of joke?" She glared at the livery hand.

"No, Ma'am. Leastwise, not that I know of." Lord, he should have let someone else bring it.

"This can't be possible . . . I don't understand . . ."

Now she was crying. Yosemite couldn't stand to see a woman cry. Now what should he do? What was he thinking volunteering for this? He should have known how she'd feel. Everyone in town knew how she felt about the gunslinger, even if she didn't.

"Please don't cry, Mrs. Travis. I'm sure it'll all work out all right." That was a dumb thing to say. He wasn't sure of that at all. If Larabee was alive, then what poor sap had they buried? And why? And where were the other six lawmen? Spread out all over the western territories from what he'd heard. He wasn't sure it would work out at all, but it seemed to help the pretty lady.

Mary pulled herself together enough to thank the obviously uncomfortable bearer of the message, then excused herself to go into her back room. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. Could it be true? The message was so brief. Chris stating he was alive and in Denver, with Vin. Mary sighed. Vin had been so sure - and no one believed him. Even now, she was afraid to believe. She couldn't go through this again. If the two men were in Colorado, they were likely in the midst of some kind of trouble. She clutched the note tightly against her breast, praying the words there were true - and praying the others would make it there in time to help.

Part 5: Wishful Thinking

Sunday morning dawned in stark contrast to its name. The sun stayed hidden behind blue-black clouds that hovered menacingly over the mountain peaks. Chris couldn't help but think of the stormy weather as a precursor to the day's events. The gunman perched his lean body to rest on a rough- hewn log that lay just outside his tent. He hadn't slept well since Vin's arrival, in part due to the tracker's persistent cough. More than that was the feeling that he'd missed something vital, something that could well prove deadly for him and Vin.

The pair had spent the previous day looking over the festival site from every angle. The authorities had chosen to hold the event on the northern edge of town, about a mile from the new station, against a solid wall of mountain. Rough, jagged boulders swept upward at sharp angles, making a stunning visual backdrop, while at the same time, affording some protection. The wooden stage butted up against the mountain in such a way that an attack would have to come from the front - unless Vin proved right about explosives. They had checked the entire area with a fine tooth- comb, and come up with nothing.

Chris had introduced Vin to Daniel, and not surprisingly, an easy friendship developed between them. Daniel had been instrumental in keeping Randall Gill busily distracted, much to the bald man's obvious chagrin. Larabee surmised the man was avoiding him, and decided the young manager may have a better shot at gaining information anyway - the subtle approach, as Ezra would say, as opposed the more direct devices that Chris itched to employ. But still, they'd learned nothing. Maybe they were wrong, maybe nothing would happen. And maybe wishes made on stars came true, Chris thought sardonically.

The gunslinger heard a harsh, barking sound as his best friend struggled to clear his lungs. Vin sounded bad, and looked worse, but gone was that nearly tangible fear he'd seen in his eyes that first day. It amazed him that in the face of ominous threats and impending danger, both he and Vin felt relief. Their sense of balance regained, a fundamental trust and security restored just knowing they would fight this fight together.

A flash of lightening sliced through the heavens, sparking an unrealistic hope in Larabee. Maybe they'd cancel the whole damn thing, and he and Tanner could go home. He tried not to think of Four Corners, and how everyone there might have taken his death, especially Buck . . . and Mary. No, he would not think of Mary, that road far too complicated to travel right now. Of course, his friendship with Buck was a bit complicated, too. Strong and true to the core, but not always easy - not like with Vin.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the sharpshooter staggered to the flap of the tent and peered out at the darkening sky. "Gonna storm," he muttered.

"Yep." After hearing an audible sight, Chris turned to take a good look at Vin. "You up for this?" he asked.

"Got a choice?" Seeing the look of guilt that flitted across the blonde's face, he continued, "Hell, this ain't yer doin', Cowboy. I'll be fine. Just want to get the day done and go on home."

So Larabee wasn't the only one aching to get back to Four Corners. Funny how two such restless men as themselves could yearn so for a dusty, little backwater town.

"Better get you fixed up then. Take care of them hands."

Vin shook his head. "They're near healed - let's just leave 'em be. Don't want nothin' getting in my way if I have t' shoot."

A far too likely possibility, the gunman had to admit. He joined Vin inside the tent as the rain began to fall, wishing he could shake his feelings of dread.

+ + + + + + +

The storm passed by mid-morning, but the skies remained gray and overcast, the air unusually heavy for the time of year. The city of Denver fairly crackled with the excitement of the long-awaited celebration. The streets filled with the city's citizens and its visitors, some part of the entourage of officials, others just curious travelers. Church services had even commenced early, in order that the parishioners could attend the day's events. A band already played enthusiastically, if occasionally off-key, while merchants ignored the fact that it was the Sabbath day, and peddled their goods on the streets.

Clayton Hopewell watched all this apathetically from the third floor window of his hotel room. His interests lie only in which dignitaries would actually be in attendance today. He'd heard rumors that the Vice President may ride in on the noon train, and he licked his lips in anticipation. This afternoon's activities would cause rumblings as far as Washington. The elected officials there could never consider granting statehood to the western territories after the barbaric events that would occur here today. Of course, he had to be careful. He didn't want to set progress back too far, that wouldn't be profitable either. He walked a fine line, and the timing had to be perfect - especially today, lest he be buried under a ton of rock with the others.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah and Nathan entered the hustle and bustle with nerves stretched tight and patience worn thin. It had been a long, exhausting trek, and they both had hoped for a chance to catch their breaths and have a quiet meal. Obviously, that would not be possible today. A brief moment of doubt befell Josiah - Vin could never stand this commotion. Almost subconsciously he looked to the hills. If the tracker were here, that's where he'd be, no doubt about that.

Nathan looked at the crowds dubiously. He'd almost let himself believe that Josiah knew what he was talking about. But even if Vin were here, they'd never find him in this mess of people. And if he wasn't here, they'd just wasted a lot of time. Nathan felt pretty cross about the whole thing, his disposition perfectly matching the stormy weather. He wanted to go home, even though the town didn't feel the same anymore without his two friends. It dawned on him suddenly that Four Corners itself didn't mean home to him - it was the men he stood beside. What had he been thinking? If he had to travel across the continent to find one of those men, that's what he'd do. Nathan Jackson didn't give up on a friend, and he felt ashamed of his earlier frustration. It was time to stop complaining and start thinking positively.

He glanced at Josiah, giving him a slight nod. His friend responded with a toothy grin. Damn, now they were "talking" like Chris and Vin. He pushed aside the sadness that thought brought, and strengthened his resolve. They would find their missing friend, and Lord willing, it would be soon.

+ + + + + + +

Vin did indeed head up to the hills. He and Chris had formulated a plan, such as it was. Could hardly call it a plan, he thought dryly, considering they still had no idea what Hopewell had in mind. The sharpshooter would do what he did best, however, that being to cover the high ground. Larabee would stay low, and Daniel Martin would remain close to the stage.

Vin traveled half way up the steep hills and tethered Peso to a sturdy tree. He could move more quietly on foot and find himself a good, well-hidden spot to get the lay of things. After finding a secluded crevice that afforded him a decent view of the town below, he settled in, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. Normally, he trusted his eagle eyes to spot anything unusual or out of place, but he was still bone-tired, and worried that he'd miss something. And even though he'd told Chris the truth about his hands, they remained stiff and sore, and sometimes shook for no apparent reason. What if he couldn't get the shot off when needed? Vin trusted his instincts and abilities, but he'd been off since this whole thing began. Being with Chris again had set him right in one aspect, but he knew that physically, he wasn't where he needed to be. Still, going on the worry about it didn't help matters. He'd do what he had to - that was the plan. But he shook his head in frustration - it wasn't much of a plan.

+ + + + + + +

Chris raised his eyes to the mountains, seeking the form of his best friend, but not surprised to see no trace of him. There was just too much to cover - too much mountain for Vin, too much town for himself. They didn't have a shot in hell of stopping whatever Hopewell had in mind, maybe just minimizing the impact.

The gunman's eyes sought out Daniel at the foot of the stage. He had tried to convince the young man to take his money and run, but Martin was determined to see it through. Chris colored at the thought that the one man who deserved to be noted and applauded for his efforts had not even been asked to join the others in recognition. Even knowing that Daniel would shy away from the attention, it riled Larabee to see men like Hopewell taking credit from the hard working men who deserved it.

The crowds grew thicker as a parade wound its way from the new station into the town. Governors from the surrounding territories, as well as top railroad officials, made their grand entrances in various plush carriages, each seemingly trying to outdo the other. Chris had no idea who was who, save the one man he held responsible for luring him here, and couldn't have cared less.

Larabee kept his sights firmly planted on Hopewell, searching for any sign or nuance that something was about to break. He spotted Gill, too, and caught Daniel's eye as he made his way over to stand behind the rotund man. He gave Chris a quick grin, and the gunman saw a sparkle in his new friend's eyes that took him by surprise. Hell, Daniel was enjoying this. The gunslinger wanted to shake some sense into him and make him see just how dangerous this situation could be. Martin was a good man - something the world was in short supply of, as far as Chris was concerned - and he didn't want anything happening to him. But he just couldn't watch everything and everyone, so he gave the young man a slight nod and tried again to swallow the qualms that kept welling up inside him.

Larabee scanned the crowds again. He could have sworn he'd seen Nathan's dark head poking up above the throng. Wishful thinking. Even if they'd been in town to receive his telegram, they could never have made it here in time. Unless they'd followed Vin . . . he looked again, but the man had disappeared. At least Hopewell and Gill were in plain sight, which left only Jacob Bell. The gunman hadn't seen the tall, solemn man all week, and hadn't given him much thought until now. How could he have forgotten him? Chris didn't think he'd even mentioned him to Vin. What the devil was he thinking? Bell could very well be the wild card in all of this. Damn! He knew he'd missed something.

+ + + + + + +

Jacob Bell carefully laid the last remaining bundles of explosives and uncoiled the fuse up through the rock and scrubby bushes. Five such bundles now in place, set out precisely and timed perfectly to send a river of rock careening down onto the unsuspecting crowd below. Bell, a dark, brooding man, flashed a gleaming smile at the thought. He only hoped the man who held his pay was light on his feet and out of the way in time.

+ + + + + + +

The visiting dignitaries proceeded through a barrage of self-congratulatory speeches. Not a woman in the bunch, Chris noted with some disdain - something he never would have noticed before Mary. He took a deep breath to steady his increasingly raw nerves. Clayton Hopewell said his piece and now appeared to moving off stage. Why? Why didn't he sit back down with the others? At that moment, he heard the sharp retort of Vin's mare's leg.

+ + + + + + +

Vin may be having trouble with his hands and eyes, but fortunately his uncanny ability to hear any displaced sound remained intact. He cocked his head as he heard a slight hissing noise, his mind quickly recalling where and when he had last heard that sound. A fuse.

He rose from his protected environment, fully aware he could be opening himself up as a target. But he couldn't shoot what he couldn't see. He leapt from boulder to boulder, the sound growing closer, as he suspected it would. He understood the plan now - knew exactly what Hopewell had in mind - and it would be up to him to stop it. He saw the small sparks as the flame made its way down the length of the fuse, and was hit with a feeling of déjà vu. He'd done this before, he could do it again. He aimed his weapon and for one frantic moment, found he could not squeeze the trigger as his stiff fingers refused to cooperate. No! He could do this - if nothing else, he had to get a shot off to worn Chris. So he tried again, and to his utter amazement, hit the target dead on. Unfortunately, also to his utter amazement, he found another fuse not 30 feet from the first, and another after that. Hopewell intended to do this right.

Jacob Bell was so busy setting off his fireworks, that the sound of shots fired caught him completely off guard. By the time he made his way to a clear view, some crazy man in a buckskin coat had gotten off three shots and defused two of his bundles. He had to be stopped, and Bell raised his firearm to do just that. His shot coincided with the tracker's, and to his furor, the third fuse went out while the man in buckskin stayed standing.

+ + + + + + +

The sounds of gunfire echoed down the mountain, stunning the crowds into momentary silence. Chris knew then that the attack had been initiated from above, and Vin was up there alone. His first inclination was to jump his horse and race up to help him, but he had to get these people out of the way first.

Larabee quickly climbed on to the wooden platform and barked orders for the men there to clear the area. The more skittish among them complied without question, already more than a little nervous in light of the threats made. A few of the more pompous men, however, questioned the authority of the man in black, and muttered about not being scared off by a few errant gunshots. Chris only glared, not particularly caring if they heeded his warning or not. He had done his part, now he needed to go help Vin.

As confusion began to erupt in the crowd, Hopewell spied Larabee about to take off for the mountain. The explosions should have gone off by now. What had happened to Bell? He signaled to Gill to take out the gunman - he would not be foiled by the arrogant man in black again.

Daniel Martin knew his responsibility, and kept his eyes firmly trained on Randall Gill. He saw Hopewell's signal, saw Gill remove his pistol from his fancy jacket, saw him taking aim for Chris Larabee. So he did the only thing he could think of at the moment, he moved in front of him.

The sounds of gunfire in the crowds turned confusion into chaos. Gunplay in the mountains was one thing, on the street an entirely different matter. Larabee had just mounted his horse when he heard the shot, and turned in time to see Daniel go down, a look of complete shock on his face that mirrored the look on Gill's. Chris swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. The shot had been meant for him. He wanted to go to Vin with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't leave Daniel bleeding in the street. It was his fault, all his fault - he should never have involved the young man. But he didn't get the chance to dismount, for someone hit him from behind and blackness overtook him.

+ + + + + + +

Vin frantically scanned the crevices near him. He heard another fuse, but couldn't place where it came from. Someone shot at him from above, and he heard shots fired below. Where was Chris? He panicked when he found himself in the unusual predicament of being totally unable to focus. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to be still and listen. There . . . not ten feet away. He heard rocks scuttling above him and knew time was running out. He took the shot, knowing instinctively that he'd hit the mark, and took a moment to peruse the scene below. Even from this distance, he could make out his best friend as he leapt onto his horse, and then . . . oh God! Someone grabbed him! Vin felt his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to see which way they went.

Just then, a bullet grazed his left arm, and he spun, loosing his balance. When he'd regained his footing, he turned to see a lean, dark man with hatred in his eyes taking aim. The bullet hit the dirt at the tracker's feet, and he half smiled to think that, if nothing else went right today, at least this guy was a lousy shot. He had pretty poor judgement, too, since he seemed to think the sharpshooter would take his time responding. By the time Jacob Bell felt the bullet hit him, Vin had already turned back to search desperately for any sign of Chris.

Straining hard to see any clue to his friend's whereabouts, he nearly missed the soft, subtle hiss of the final fuse. Surely he'd gotten them all. But no, there was one more, and from his vantage point, he could see that it would blow in seconds. He took aim, ignoring the burning pain in his injured arm, and pulled the trigger – and missed.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan and Josiah couldn't get anywhere near the festival site, and couldn't see above the crowds, in spite of their large builds. Sanchez was about to suggest they go to higher ground when he heard the pop of a mare's leg up in the hills. Both men lifted their heads and peered skyward. It sounded like the familiar bark of Vin's weapon.

After the second shot, Josiah moved with sure-minded purpose. Lots of men carried a gun like Vin's, and it could be anybody up shooting on that mountain, but now was not the time to get practical. As he mounted up and headed towards the sound of even more gunfire, he felt Nathan close on his heels. Couldn't ask for a more loyal friend, and the preacher hoped he hadn't led his partner on a wild goose chase straight into the middle of someone else's fight. Half way up the mountain- side, they heard the explosion.

Nathan slowed just enough to observe the effects of the blast. Loose shale and several large boulders careened onto the road below, narrowly missing the wooden platform where several men still stubbornly sat. Panic erupted in earnest now, no one sure of what would happen next, and the crowds began to disperse.

Josiah never looked back. He had to move fast. Somehow he knew time was of the essence.

+ + + + + + +

Vin felt the explosion before he heard it, and a small part of his brain wondered about that. The force of the blast threw him into the air and down the slope, the bony prominances of his body colliding with every sharp rock and thorny bush. A deep pain stabbed his side, and he came to an abrupt halt. Five feet or fifty; five minutes or five hours; upside down or right side up – his mind so clouded in confusion that he doubted he could recall his own name, should anyone choose that most inopportune time to ask. In fact, his mind felt totally disconnected from his body, which may be a good thing, he decided.

He heard voices. Someone was calling him. It sounded like Josiah. Hell, now he was hearing things. Although, he sure wouldn't mind seeing the big man right about now. He reckoned he needed to pull himself together, put his mind back in place. Something was nagging at him – something he needed to do. Maybe he should start by opening his eyes. One question answered – he was definitely upside down. Something was really wrong.

Chris.

Oh God! Chris!

All at once it came back to him. Chris had been taken, and he had to get up and go after him. He struggled to pull himself upright, fighting the terrible pain in his side and the heaviness in his head.

"Vin! No! Don't move!"

Damn. That surely did sound like Josiah. And not moving seemed like a real good idea for a minute. Vin lay his head back and wondered why he couldn't seem to feel the ground beneath it. He'd wait just a few more minutes for his head to clear.

Josiah and Nathan sank back on their heels in momentary relief. The tracker lay with the upper half of his body draped over the edge of steep ledge. Only a prickly bush appeared to be holding him from another long fall, having apparently caught on the fibers of the buckskin coat.

The men had come upon him almost immediately, a sort of odd paradox to their long search. But there was no time for rejoicing. Vin's dire situation demanded their full attention. They would not lose him now. Nathan tied off the rope securely as Josiah lowered himself down to the unstable ledge below.

When the preacher reached Tanner, he reached around to lift him into a safer position, talking softly the entire time, "Its alright, Vin. I got you. Be still now." Josiah was surprised at the sharp gasp of pain he heard from Vin at just the slight movement of lifting his upper body. Then he realized that the bush had not just snagged Vin's coat, but had actually become imbedded in the young man's side.

"We got a problem here, Nathan. Vin's caught on the bush."

"I can see that, Josiah. Just cut him loose and get him up here so I can get a good look at him."

"No, Nathan, I mean Vin is caught on the bush – caught him good in his side."

Jackson lowered his head. Nothing was ever simple with these guys. "Just do the best you can, Josiah. We gotta get him up here as quick as we can."

Vin seemed to be having an awful time distinguishing reality from wishful thinking. Josiah couldn't be here, but someone seemed determined to move him, and it hurt. A lot. He tried again to lift his head, and sure enough, Josiah Sanchez was looking straight at him. God surely was good – answering prayers he hadn't even thought to pray yet. He reached up to try and touch his friend, but the preacher caught his hand.

"Easy now, Vin. Try not to move. I need to get you off this mountain, but I gotta start by getting you unhooked from this bush. I reckon its gonna hurt," he added apologetically.

Help was here. He had to tell him about Chris. If he could just get his mouth to cooperate. "Josiah . . . Chris . . ." But at that very moment, a searing pain ripped through him, and he bit back a scream, losing any notion of what he needed to say.

Josiah grabbed a hold of the now free tracker, and with Nathan's help, managed to haul him up to safer position. Vin's only response had been to moan softly as the two men carried him to a more sheltered area under the pines. They laid him gently on ground made soft by the newly fallen leaves of early autumn. For a moment, neither man could speak, overwhelmed at having their friend before them in flesh and blood. The sight of the latter spurred Nathan to action. Vin bled heavily from the wound in his side and undoubtedly suffered other injuries. He began to examine his friend, touching him almost reverently. After weeks of worry and regret, he had the chance to make things right and bring their friend back into the fold. And he'd do everything within his power to make sure that happened.

Josiah. Nathan. There were here. They were real. They could help Chris. Vin again struggled to lift himself off the ground and speak to his friends. He felt Jackson's gentle hands firmly push him back down.

"Stay down, Vin. Its ok, let me take care of you."

"Chris," he gasped. "They've got him . . . we have to go . . . after them . . .hurry."

Nathan bit back the response that came first to his mind. He had hoped and prayed that somehow Tanner had faced the truth since they had last seen him, but apparently not. But with the young man hurt and still in danger, now was not the time to get into that old argument. "Yea, all right, Vin. You just keep still now and let us take care of everything."

The tracker continued to struggle and stated again, "We have to go . . .after them. They went up the east side . . . I think. We gotta find Chris."

Josiah lifted sad eyes to Nathan, before turning to his wounded friend. "Don't be worrying about Chris right now, Vin. Let us take care of you."

No. . . no. . . no! Oh God, oh God! This couldn't be happening. They didn't know. They wouldn't believe him. Hopewell had Chris and he would kill him and this time it would be real. No . . . please God . . . they had to listen to him.

Vin desperately clawed for Josiah's shirt with a bloody hand. He latched onto the preacher's collar and pulled him close. "Please Josiah. Please listen to me!" Vin gasped. "Chris is here. Hopewell grabbed him. Please help me . . . he'll kill him . . . please, Josiah!" Vin sobbed brokenly. He couldn't move, could hardly breathe, and soon he'd be unable to think. Unable to help Chris.

Sanchez saw the desperation in Vin's eyes, felt his hand clutching his shirt. And knew the truth. All this time, he thought he had acted on faith – that he possessed some higher knowledge or enlightenment in this whole sordid mess. How could he be so wrong? He'd missed the one single truth from the very beginning – Chris was alive. Vin was right all along. He covered Vin's hand with his own and gently lowered his young friend's battered body back to the ground.

"Easy now, Vin. I'm going after him, and I'll bring him back. I promise you." He looked the tracker in the eye, blue meeting blue, faith and hope and strength offered and received.

Vin groaned as he tried to hold back the pain now making itself known. He needed to go with them - needed to find the trail, read the signs, lead them to Larabee. He could do this. He'd pushed his body for weeks now, he could do it a bit longer. One more day. That's all it would take to find Chris and set things right. One more day. He couldn't push himself up with his right arm, it being firmly attached to his left side, and quite possibly the only thing holding him together. He tried to use his left arm, but it didn't work right, either. Hurt everywhere, all over – but he'd get up if it killed him. Though, he wasn't above asking for help.

"Josiah . . . Nathan?"

Vin's soft voice barely carried above the activities of the men as Nathan searched his bag for supplies, while Josiah prepared to mount up. They were at his side in seconds, just in time to see the tracker's eyes roll back in his head as his considerably stubborn will finally gave in to the demands of his broken body.

Sanchez looked to Jackson. "Can you get him to shelter? I'm thinking of that cave we passed a few miles back. Remember it?"

The dark man nodded somberly. "Won't be easy, but I'll get him there." Nathan paused to look down at his injured friend, before returning his gaze to the preacher. "You just bring Chris back, you hear? You just bring him back," he ordered with sudden conviction.

As Josiah galloped off on his new mission, Nathan turned his eyes to the heavens. The clouds darkened as thunder rumbled in the distance and rain once again began to fall. No, it wouldn't be easy, but he'd get Vin to safety – he didn't give up on a friend.

Part 6: Regrets

Chris Larabee woke with thunder echoing through his throbbing head. He attempted to raise a hand to press against his eyes, only to find both hands securely tied to a pillar behind his back. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he took in his surroundings. A shack – a leaky shack, judging by the steady of stream of rain that ran down the wall behind him. Anger rose up inside him as he began to recall the events of the day. Daniel was probably dead and maybe Vin, too. He had known they were outnumbered – had known they were in over their heads, up against impossible odds. But the seven had been there before and always managed to ride away victorious and relatively unscathed. This time he'd made the huge mistake of thinking he and Vin, along with Daniel, could pull off the same feat. Well, two plus one did not equal seven. He should have notified the authorities. Should have shared his suspicions with the Denver sheriff and just walked away. Packed Daniel off to Kansas, and rode away with Vin. He let go of a sigh. It was too late now, far too late.

"Well, well. About time you woke up."

Chris groaned in earnest as Randall Gill made his way out of the shadows to stand in front of him. Hell, as if this day wasn't bad enough. Now he was shackled to a post in a rundown shack that made his place look good, being guarded by the most annoying man on earth. Perfect.

"Didn't expect to see you, Gill. Didn't think even you could walk away from shooting a man in cold blood," Larabee muttered with disgust.

Gill looked perplexed for a minute before responding. "Oh, that. A bit of a nuisance, but easily explained. I was defending the governor and that idiot manager stepped in the way, clearly an accident. I was defending him from you, by the way. Yes, I saw you taking aim and responded by raising my own weapon to stop you. Unfortunately, you escaped in the melee that followed."

"Is he dead?" Chris asked softly.

"Who? Martin? I don't actually know. He wasn't when I left town. Probably is by now, though."

The gunman looked down sadly. Why hadn't he done things differently? Gill rambled on and on, something about how the Larabee gang would be sorry they ever messed with the governor. The blond tried to shut him out and still the pounding in his skull. But he lifted his head when he heard the bald man mention Vin.

"We figure that tracker will show up here anytime now. Like a moth to a flame. Won't be long before the others come, too, I'm guessing. What is it with you and that long- haired fellow anyway? Just can't seem to get along without each other, is that right? Of course, he may already be dead up on that mountain. I'm guessing he and Jacob tangled up there. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see which one of our friends won out."

Chris noted the spark of amusement in Gill's eyes with disdain. Like this was all a joke. As if whether or not their friends lived or died was nothing more than a game of chance. Desolation welled up inside him at the thought of never seeing his best friend again. He couldn't take the not knowing, the not being there for Tanner if he needed him. Is this how Vin felt all those weeks when the others thought he was dead? If this was how Vin felt, then my God, how did he stand it? Now Chris truly understood the desperation in the Texan's eyes when he'd first found him. He understood the haunted look the tracker gave him when he thought Chris wasn't looking – as if the gunslinger might evaporate before his very eyes.

And in a sense, that's exactly what happened. He'd allowed himself to be stolen away by Hopewell's men. He realized suddenly that while he sat here agonizing over Vin's fate, it was quite possible the sharpshooter was out there doing the same - agonizing over whether this time, he'd lost the gunman for good. He couldn't put him through that again. Larabee struggled against his bonds with renewed vigor. He had to get out of here. He had to find Vin.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan thought his arm just might break off as he held his unconscious friend against him in the saddle. Hard enough to ride double, hard enough to ride holding onto a limp body . . . damn near impossible riding this way up a steep mountain in a thunderstorm. Vin lay slumped over Nathan's arm, his head resting against the neck of the horse, oblivious to the heavy rain that poured off the buckskin coat draped over his head and shoulders.

Jackson had had to move fast. He and Josiah had found a body, Vin's handiwork no doubt, and they knew others would be coming to investigate the explosion soon. Not knowing where the battle lines had been drawn, and who stood on each side of them, they decided not to take any chances. They'd hide Vin, find Chris, and sort it all out later. That was the plan. But Nathan didn't have an easy time with his part of it. He had quickly thrown a bandage on Tanner's bloody side and roused him enough to get him up into the saddle. He'd even managed to find out where Peso was tethered, before the tracker succumbed to the blackness again.

But there had been no real response from the man since then, other than an occasional half-hearted attempt at a cough, followed by a low moan. Nathan wished he had gotten more of a chance to look his friend over, but it would have to wait until they reached the cave.

Glancing behind him, he saw no one on his tail. Hopefully, the rain would wash away his tracks. Conversely, he hoped the rain hadn't washed away the tracks of whoever had Chris – if Chris was truly alive. Nathan sighed as he shifted his grip on Vin. How did everything get so mixed up? Seemed like every time he thought they were on the right track, a new problem popped up and everything he thought he knew turned out to be just plain wrong.

He figured they'd been riding a few hours, although it felt like days to the weary former slave. He began to despair of ever reaching the planned meeting place, when it magically appeared before him. Guiding the horses under the large overhang of the sheltered dwelling, he breathed a sigh of relief. In spite of his assurances to Josiah, he wasn't at all sure he could find the place in this storm.

Getting down without dropping his patient on his head proved to be almost as difficult as getting up had been. As it was, both men ended up in something of a heap on the hard ground, Vin releasing a sharp groan as Nathan attempted to untangle them. The healer promptly unfastened his bed roll and spread it out near the far wall of the cavern. The damp bedding would soften the rock hard dirt, and offer some warmth, but not enough. He could build a fire near the entrance, but this particular shelter didn't come equipped with the luxury of dry wood. Still, it felt good to be out of the wind and water.

Picking Vin up under his limp arms, Nathan slowly and carefully dragged him over to rest on the makeshift bed. Already not liking the rattle he heard in the tracker's breathing, he propped the injured man's head up on a blanket- covered saddle bag. The light from the oil lamp he carried soon filled the dreary area. It wasn't a large cave, but big enough to shelter several men, and fortunately, no other living creature shared it at the moment.

Nathan stripped out of his wet clothes and changed into the damp, but considerably drier spares he carried in his bag. He then attempted to do the same for Vin. The injured man stirred at the sudden jarring of his body and opened cloudy blue eyes.

"Its all right, Vin – just getting these wet things off you. Need to take a look at you, too. See where all yer hurt."

"Everywhere . . . near as I can tell." The young man paused for a breath before asking with more than a hint of desperation, "Chris?"

"Josiah's gone for him. Remember?"

"Peso?"

Nathan chuckled softly. "He's here, too. Quit yer worryin’."

"Need t' ride. Need t' find Chris." Vin rasped, as a wet cough erupted from his aching chest.

By the clenched jaw and eyes shut tight, Nathan knew how much the act had hurt his friend. "Easy now. You know you can't ride right now. You got to put yer trust in Josiah. Can you do that, Vin?"

Could he? Did he have a choice? If only he hadn't missed that last shot, he wouldn't be laying here all broken up. If only. But it couldn't be helped now. His best friend's life lay in the preacher's hands.

He answered Nathan's question with a heartbroken sigh that became a long, low moan as the healer prodded his rib cage.

"Looks like you cracked a few ribs. No limbs, though. That's good. Need to wrap up that graze on yer arm, too, but it should be okay. Banged up and bruised up, but no broken bones that I can see."

Was he supposed to respond to that? Funny the thoughts that ran through a man's head when he was lying half dead on the cold, hard ground. He supposed he should be grateful about the no broken bones part, but right now, he'd trade an arm and a leg to get rid of the pain in his side. He wondered if Nathan knew about that, if maybe he should mention it. Just then, the dark-skinned man pulled off the bandage, and it was all Vin could do not to scream. It felt like a hot knife lay deep inside him, twisting with every movement he made. He glanced up to see Nathan's furrowed brow as he studied the wound. No need to mention it.

Jackson tried to ease Tanner over on to his side to get a better look at the wound. He knew he'd hurt him, by his sharp gasp of pain, and he was almost afraid of what he'd find. The limb of the bush that had saved Vin's life, had speared a nasty hole in the lower left side of the tracker's back. Bad enough, and the possibility of infection almost certain. But even worse, Nathan could see another piece of wood imbedded up under his friend's skin. Already, the body had begun to heal over the opening, sealing the foreign object deep inside. He couldn't know for certain how big it was, or how deep it went – but it had to come out and soon.

Nathan dropped his head into his hands. No, it was never easy with these guys. He needed a fire. He needed hot water. He needed more light. He needed help.

+ + + + + + +

Help was on the way, albeit not as quickly as Jackson would have liked. The remaining three of the seven had forgone the easier, more traveled trails for the most direct routes possible in order to reach their destination. But still they could not make Denver by Sunday.

Buck had pushed his companions mercilessly, determined to find his friend's killer and exact his revenge. One way or another, though he admitted he had no idea how he would go about it. He just needed to get there first, then he'd decide what to do - unless, of course, Vin or Nathan or Josiah had already done it. He felt certain that Sanchez and Jackson had followed Vin there, why else would they go? And if Tanner went to Denver, it was no coincidence. He'd obviously figured out who had killed Chris and had plans of his own. Buck had it all worked out in his mind. It could all be over by the time they got there, but he kind of hoped not. He kind of hoped he'd be the one to put a bullet in Hopewell's brain. Of course, he could be wrong. Vin may not be there, and the others may have no idea what Ezra had discovered. Therefore, Hopewell could just ride on home – free and clear – again. Which was precisely why he pushed JD and Ezra so hard. The devil wasn't getting away with this. He owed it to Chris.

JD knew the other men thought he never ran out of energy, but they were wrong. Boy, were they wrong. He wanted to lay down and sleep for a week, and he never, ever wanted to see another mountain sunrise as long as he lived. He tried to get Buck's attention, but he rode too far ahead. Maybe if he just fell off his horse, Wilmington would get the idea. Then again, he probably wouldn't even miss him. The rogue was so driven, he had no thought for anything else.

JD worried about his friend. He couldn't just ride in and kill a governor. And they really had nothing to prove their allegations except a bottle of whiskey. They might condemn a man like Vin on circumstantial evidence, but not a man like Governor Hopewell. No, Buck would be hanging from the nearest tree – if he lived that long. The kid had no idea how he would stop his best friend, but he wasn't about to let him throw his life away, even for Chris Larabee. After all, Chris was already dead.

JD sighed and called out to the lanky man, "Hey, Buck! Let's stop for awhile."

The kid felt heartened when Ezra chimed in, "I agree, Buck. It is rather . . . unsafe for us to proceed at this altitude in the fading light of day."

Buck turned his mare around and headed back to the two stragglers. "We got a good hour of light left. We'll keep moving."

"We're tired, Buck. And the horses are tired. You can't keep pushing us all like this. Another hour ain't gonna make a difference anyway."

Buck glanced at Ezra before returning his gaze to JD. "An hour just might make all the difference, JD. If Vin had gone to Chris' cabin an hour earlier, he might not be dead. If Nathan had been back in the clinic an hour earlier, Vin might not be gone. Now I already got too many regrets in this life, I don't want to add another. Don't want to be sayin' ‘If only I'd gotten to Denver an hour earlier . . .’ You see what I mean, Kid? I got the feelin' we need to be there as quick as we can, and I aim to do just that. You and Ezra can stay behind if you want to."

With that, he rode off. JD looked at Ezra, who only shrugged, and followed. In fact, Ezra himself had the feeling that time may indeed be a determining factor in their collective fates. He hadn't spoken of his true thoughts to either of the men. Hadn't mentioned that, not only did he believe that Larabee had been set up by Hopewell, but also that he wasn't entirely sure the man was dead. He had no evidence to suggest otherwise, only the lingering doubt that stemmed from Vin's fervent belief. Buck struggled enough with the situation; he didn't want to add to his frustration. He'd keep his feelings to himself. But he wondered what lay ahead for them in Denver. He wondered if one hour would make all the difference - and for whom.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah trotted quietly through the pines, the wind at his back and the rain running in rivulets off the brim of his hat. He had had no trouble picking up the trail on the eastern edge of town, just as Vin had said. Wherever these men were going, they apparently didn't care who followed. Their tracks remained marked clearly in the muddy ground, in spite of the heavy rain. In fact, the older man had the distinct impression that a trail had been left purposely, only written directions missing from the carefully laid path. A trap, more than likely. Well, good then – he was tired of guessing. Tired of trying to figure out what he knew, from what he only thought he knew. He was ready to fight.

Chris was alive. If only he'd believed Vin in the beginning. He could have been a support for him, instead of forcing him to go off on his own. Josiah sighed. Life was full of ifs, and he was wise enough not to torture himself with that game. He couldn't change what had happened, but he could damn well change things now. He could bring Chris back.

Dusk settled in as the rain finally let up. He feared he may have to stop for the night, but then he saw the clearing and the broken-down shack. Several horses roamed about in a shabby corral, shaking off the effects of the recent shower. Josiah hesitated, he wasn't really sure who or what he expected to find. He didn't want to go in with guns blazing, only to discover he was wrong – that Chris wasn't inside. He climbed down from his mount and moved to a protected position several yards from the structure. Just then, a large, burly man stepped out the door. Although he carried a rifle, he appeared unconcerned about any possible intruders.

It was almost too easy. The big man itched for a fight after the long weeks of worry. He itched even more to get inside and find Chris. He believed – Lord, he believed. But like Thomas, the disciple who needed to touch his risen Lord to believe, he surely did want to see his friend in the flesh.

He made his way around the back of the cabin, noting there were no windows except for two small open spaces, hardly more than cracks really, in the front. He'd have to go in to know if Chris was inside, no way around it. Fortunately, the armed man cooperated nicely by deciding to check on the horses. Rounding the corner stealthily, Josiah inched his way around to the front, straining to hear any indication of how many men may be inside. He could hear only one voice – a man droning on about nothing it seemed, and he knew if Chris were there, he'd be going nuts by now.

The man in the corral turned right then and spotted the large preacher. It wasn't the tracker fellow they'd been expecting, but he didn't figure it mattered. He took aim and Josiah felt the bullet whiz past him before he returned fire, dropping the assailant where he stood. So much for the element of surprise.

Chris Larabee's heart leapt at the sound of gunshots. It had to be Vin - had to be. He struggled again against his bonds. His wrists, raw and bloody from the constant twisting motion, ached with a vengeance, almost as much as his pounding head. As he felt the rope begin to loosen, he had only one thought – to get to Vin.

Randall Gill blanched when he heard the shots outside. Even though he'd been waiting for this, even though this was the plan – to take out both Larabee and his friend once and for all – he was filled with apprehension. The sharpshooter had proven his reputation, and Gill knew he was no match for the man. It might be a good idea to keep the prisoner squarely in front of him. He didn't get the chance, however, because the man in black broke free and, with a feral grin, lunged at his tormentor.

Gill managed to get off a shot that skimmed across Larabee's shoulder, before the gunman knocked the gun to the ground and turned his attack on the bald man. Chris was almost disappointed, though not surprised, when the man went down in two punches. He deserved so much more, and the gunman may well have continued the assault had Josiah not kicked open the door.

Chris, breathing hard from exertion and the adrenaline coursing through his body, turned to greet his rescuer, gasping in surprise.

"Josiah?" He felt totally stunned, and more than a little confused. How did Josiah get here? And where was Vin?

Even though Josiah knew, even though he believed, the sight of Chris Larabee standing before him took his breath away. Chris reached out to shake the preacher's hand, a bewildered smile gracing his otherwise serious features. But the big man, overcome with emotion, locked the slender blond in a fierce bear hug, startling the reserved gunman.

Josiah pulled away but kept both hands firmly gripped on Larabee's forearms, drinking in the sight of his long lost friend.

"Damn, its good to see you, Chris!"

"You, too, Josiah. Are the others with you?"

"Just Nathan."

He had about a dozen questions for Sanchez, but one first and foremost on his mind. "Have you seen Vin?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah, he's with Nathan."

Noting the hesitation in his friend's voice, Chris clearly heard what hadn't been said. All right then, Vin was alive – but injured. "How bad is he hurt?"

"Not real sure. He was mostly just worryin' about you. I promised him I'd bring you back, and I intend to do that, so we'd better get going. We can fill each other in on the way." Josiah noted the blood beginning to saturate the gunman's shirt. "We need to take care of that first."

"It's just a scratch. It can wait," Larabee replied shortly.

Josiah knew better than to argue at this moment. He nodded to the man lying on the floor, who had yet to stir. "What about him?"

Chris wanted to finish it. Wanted to put a bullet in Gill's sorry hide. Hell, he'd be doing the world a favor just by stopping that incessant mouth of his. But that wouldn't be a whole lot different than shooting a man in the back.

"We'll tie him up and leave him here. Hopefully be a while before anyone finds him."

By the time they'd accomplished that, darkness had fallen. As they rode away from the area, Josiah could see that his friend was weakening. He knew Larabee was hurting and more than likely, hadn't eaten all day.

"Chris, we're gonna have to find a spot to stop for the night."

"I'm fine. We'll keep moving."

Stubborn. Larabee and Tanner were very different men, but they surely shared this same trait. And a good thing, too, most of the time.

Josiah shook his head. "Don't know these mountains. We get all twisted up around here tonight, and I'll never find the cave where Nathan and Vin are waiting. We've got to be sensible here, Chris."

Sensible? Why start now? But he reluctantly agreed. At least he knew where Vin was and that he was being taken care of. At least they had Josiah and Nathan by their sides. Four still didn't equal seven, but it was a damn site closer, and they would manage to end this yet.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan paced the narrow confines of the dreary cave in frustration. He'd ventured out when the rain stopped in an attempt to find firewood but had been largely unsuccessful. The temperature began dropping with nightfall, and the chill that had been mildly uncomfortable became downright miserable.

Vin's condition had steadily worsened, and the compassionate healer despaired at his inability to help his friend. He had tried to remove the large splinter from the young man's side a few hours earlier. With limited supplies and light, he knew it was risky, but Vin had pleaded with him, promising to hold still if only the ex-slave would help him. Nathan thought about how huge a small splinter could feel in your hand, and empathized with the Texan. But when Vin arched his back in agony at Nathan's fist gentle prodding with the knife, he knew he'd have to stop, lest he slice Vin from back to front with an unintentional slip.

Now Vin moved about restlessly, unable to find comfort in any position. Nathan had brought a small amount of laudanum with him, pretty much a staple, considering the men he traveled with. He'd given Tanner just enough to take the edge off the pain, knowing he'd need more as time went on and worrying he wouldn't have enough of the precious liquid. No telling what shape Chris could be in either, and he almost smiled at that thought. Hell, he'd take Larabee in any shape - any condition with any injury, as long as he was breathing.

Jackson stopped his pacing long enough to steal a glance at his injured friend and listen to his labored breathing. The cough that had plagued Vin for weeks stole the air from his lungs and wreaked havoc on his battered rib cage. As if Nathan didn't have enough to worry about, the very real possibility that whatever festered in Vin's lungs would progress to pneumonia had leapt to the top of the list.

Nathan moved to the tracker's side and knelt down to secure the blankets around his injured friend. Vin shivered and moaned, pulling open weary eyes that immediately took in the worry written all over his friend's face. Nathan tried to give him a reassuring smile but failed miserably.

"Quit yer worryin’." Vin admonished weakly.

This time Jackson's smile was genuine. "Its what I'm best at, according to Josiah."

"He back? Chris?" The young man asked hopefully.

"He'll be here soon. You know Josiah won't let you down. Won't let Chris down neither. But its night now, and I don't figure to be seein' them till mornin' at best. So you just go ahead and rest."

Rest. Like that was possible. Even his toenails hurt, and he wouldn't feel better until he saw the whites of Larabee's eyes. He couldn't lose him again – couldn't go through that again.

"If they're not back by mornin' . . . you gotta go after ‘em."

Nathan shook his head. "Not leavin' you, Vin, and I ain't even gonna talk about it."

Vin tried to take a deep breath and prepare his argument, but it hurt too much. And judging by the set of Nathan's jaw, it wouldn't do him any good anyway. Well, Nathan could think whatever he liked, but come morning, he was pulling this log out of his side and he was going after Chris. Come morning . . .

+ + + + + + +

Morning came in radiant beauty. The autumn sun reflected off the lingering drops from the previous day's rain in a stunning prism of color. But the brilliance of the dawn went unnoticed by seven men.

Buck, JD, and Ezra had slept fitfully under the stars. Their goal within reach, the draw to Denver tugged at them fiercely now. Each had a different agenda and different expectations, but the need to be there pulled equally strong in them all. JD was first up and ready, and even Ezra prepared to take off early with no complaint.

Josiah had managed to bandage Chris's shoulder and sore wrists, ignoring the gunman's protests. Normally, Sanchez respected a man's right to make his own decisions, especially a man like Larabee, but he knew his friend was exhausted and no longer thinking clearly. Chris had then drifted off into an uneasy sleep, while Josiah kept watch. By first light, both men yearned to hit the trail and rejoin their partners.

Neither Nathan nor Vin had gotten much rest. Vin never could figure out how it was possible to be burning up one minute and freezing the next. He'd tried hard to keep still and quiet when he saw how used up Nathan was, but he couldn't quite manage it. Every time Jackson's eyes slid closed, his sick friend would whimper or groan or make some other distressing sound that reminded the healer how powerless he was. As morning's light began to filter into the drab surroundings, Nathan tried to decide on his next course of action, while Vin tried to decide if it was worth the pain and effort to keep breathing.

Part 7: Snake in the Grass

The steady clip-clop of horse's hooves broke the stillness of the early morning. Chris settled into the easy rhythm, even his heart seeming to beat in time. Anxious to get to Vin, stiff and sore and aching all over – yet so much better just riding beside the big preacher, knowing he would stand by him and finish this mess. And knowing Nathan waited for them, steadfast in his trust that the healer stood by Tanner just as firmly. Two strong, solid men supporting their backs when they needed it most, and not a moment too soon, either. Chris wondered idly how that had all worked out. How Josiah and Nathan had managed to find Vin the way they did. Just like he had wondered how Vin had found him. The tracker had muttered something about a bird and an angel, and the gunman had decided his friend was just too damn tired to make much sense. It didn't matter anyhow. Be it luck, fate, or divine intervention – just so long as Hopewell got what he deserved and they all made it home.

Josiah spoke, breaking his reverie. "We're almost there, Chris. You doin' all right?"

"I'm fine, Josiah." He smiled at Sanchez. "Really."

"Good. Reckon Nathan's got his hands full enough with Vin. He'll be thrilled to see you in one piece. Thrilled to see you period." He looked at the blond meaningfully.

"I'm sorry about all that. You've got to know I had no idea what had happened. I never would have left if I'd known."

Josiah nodded. "It was hard on a lot of people. A man should feel real good knowin' he means that much to so many. Says a lot about what kind of man he is."

Chris grinned. "Yeah – or maybe he's got ‘em all fooled."

Sanchez pointed ahead at an opening into the mountain about fifty feet away. Relatively secluded, but not difficult to spot – if someone were to look, Chris noted. Peso and Nathan's horse were tied just outside, and the two men dismounted, adding their horses to the pair. Larabee looked around uneasily. If they had to stay here any length of time, they'd need to find a place to hide their mounts.

They entered the dismal shelter, their eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light. Chris quickly made out the form of his best friend near the back wall. Jackson was nowhere to be found, however.

"I'll find Nathan," Josiah offered. "You check on Vin."

Chris was already on his knees at the tracker's side. He inhaled sharply as he took in the latest damage that had been done to his friend. New bruises and scrapes marred his fine features. He'd kicked off the blanket that had covered him, revealing bandages on his side and arm, along with dark bruising spreading across his lean chest. The familiar fear returned. Maybe this wouldn't all work out. Maybe they wouldn't all make it home.

+ + + + + + +

Hot. It was so hot. Nathan had muttered and cursed all night and all morning about building a fire – and now it was just too damn hot. Vin struggled to open his heavy lids and tell the dark skinned man just what he thought about the whole fire idea. But instead of seeing two worried brown eyes, he saw a pair of equally worried green ones staring down at him. Chris? Chris!

"Whoa! Stay down, Vin. It's all right. I'm here." He took hold of the injured man's flailing arms and repeated, "I'm here."

The sharpshooter lowered his head back to the makeshift pillow and attempted to steady his breathing. But his body refused to cooperate as the urge to cough overcame all else. The strain on his cracked ribs was excruciating, bringing tears to his eyes. He tried to sit up and wrap his arms around his chest, only to further aggravate both his wounded side and arm. Just when he thought he might as well give in and die and get it over with, he felt the arms of his best friend envelop him, one supporting his aching chest while the other rubbed his tired back. Vin leaned into the embrace, resting his head on the older man's shoulder. Josiah found Chris. Thank God.

As Chris held his weary friend against him, he again thought in wonder how much his life had changed since the day he had looked this man in the eye. He didn't understand that either, how it happened or why it happened. He only knew he had to have Vin in his life, had to protect him at all costs. Without thinking, he lowered his cheek to rest on the damp curls of his brother's head, forcing himself to remain calm in spite of the heat he felt radiating from the young man's body.

When Nathan and Josiah returned, successful at last in the search for dry wood, they stopped short at the sight before them. Chris cradled Vin in his arms, talking in soothing tones as Vin tried to regain control of his emotions and his breathing. Josiah questioned how he could ever have doubted the connection between the two men, and he began to back away to give them some privacy.

But Nathan, elated at seeing Larabee again, promptly dropped his load of branches, startling the men on the ground. Chris carefully lowered Vin back down to rest, but not before acknowledging the gratitude in his friend's eyes with a slight nod.

Chris had no sooner gotten to his feet when he was almost knocked off of them by the excited healer. Nathan nearly crushed the gunman as he threw his arms around the man in a rare display of affection. Chris wondered if everyone would react this way. Maybe he should get used to this. Could he really mean this much to his men? As much as, he had recently come to accept, they meant to him?

Nathan stood grinning widely. "Sure is good to see you, Chris Larabee! Surely is good. Yer hurt, though. I can see that, and don't tell me yer not."

Chris smiled, but shook his head. "I'll be all right, Nathan. I'm a little worried about Vin, though." Serious now, he glanced down at the injured man, before once again meeting Nathan's eyes, seeking reassurance.

Jackson looked away from the intense gaze of the gunman and said, "We got some work to do. I've been needing yer help – both of you. But first we need to get this fire goin’."

"Aw hell, Nathan." Vin surprised them all by speaking out. "It's hot enough already . . . talk some sense into ‘im , Chris . . . damn fire's all he's been talkin' ‘bout."

"I'll take care of it, Vin." Chris offered gently. "Nathan?"

Nathan motioned the other two men outside. "Vin's got a nasty piece of wood stuck up into his side. I need hot water for my things. He don't need more infection settin' in – got enough problems already. I'm gonna have to use my knife to get to it before I can pull it on out, I'm afraid. Gonna need you both to hold ‘im down. It's been givin' ‘im fits. He begged me to get it out last night, but I couldn't get ahold of it . . . and I couldn't take the chance of cuttin' ‘im . . . and I know its hurtin' . . ."

Josiah stopped his friend with a hand to his shoulder. "We know you did all you could, Nathan. Stop beating yourself up."

Sanchez finally got a fire going to Nathan's satisfaction, and after some discussion, they decided to move Vin nearer to the entrance where the bright light of day now shone more clearly. Chris positioned himself at the lean man's head, promising to hold his upper body still while being mindful of his other injuries. Vin's eyes expressed doubt at that, but he'd endure just about anything to get the dagger out of his body.

As Josiah grabbed hold of Tanner's legs, Nathan turned him gently to his side and went to work. He had just began to open the wound, when he noted the injured man already breathing rapidly as sweat dripped from his face. Vin's hands were balled tightly into fists, and for a moment, Nathan was distracted. The wounds on the sharpshooter's hands had certainly healed much, but they were still reddened and undoubtedly sore. He hadn't even thought to check those hands last night – being too worried about the new injuries, and rightfully so. But now, all clenched tight like they were – he couldn't seem to take his eyes off them. Strong, sure hands that had saved his own life. Steady, nimble hands now scarred and stiff from trying to save Chris's life. And how many lives had those hands saved yesterday up on that mountain?

Nathan looked down at his own hands, shocked to see them trembling. This was no different than the other times he'd worked on one of his friends, he reminded himself. In fact, removing a slice of wood should be easier than removing a bullet. But the compassionate man knew one of these times he wouldn't be successful. One of these times, he'd lose a man. And he couldn't bear the thought of it after just getting Vin and Chris back.

"Nathan?" Chris questioned. What was he waiting for?

Jackson closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for a clear head. Taking a deep breath, he continued to open up the reddened area around the offending object until he had a clear view of it. A mixture of pus and blood oozed from the wound, making the splinter slippery and difficult to get a hold of. Nathan used the extractor to grab the tip and pulled, praying it wouldn't break off mid-way. All three men winced in sympathy as the sprig, several inches in length, was pulled swiftly from deep within their teammate's side. Vin cried out only once, in a feeble, small voice.

He poured carbolic, another precious liquid in short supply, on the new wound as well as the previous one, bandaged the areas, and sat back on his heels. Josiah and Chris shifted the softly moaning tracker into a more comfortable position, before looking to Nathan for further direction.

Jackson ran a hand through his coarse, dark hair. "I'm gonna need some supplies. And he needs to be off this cold, hard ground," he motioned at Vin.

Chris looked at both men. "How were things in town when you left?"

"Chaotic," Josiah answered.

Vin groaned, and the blond instinctively reached down to softly stroke his friend's hair, cringing at the movement of his wounded shoulder. He'd forgotten about that.

But Nathan hadn't. "Chris, let me take care of you. Then Josiah and I can ride into town, get the things I need, and see what's goin' on."

They could see by their leader's expression that he didn't like it. In truth, none of them wanted to be separated again so soon after being reunited. But it was too dangerous for Chris or Vin to go into town. No telling what Hopewell had told the authorities or what he had planned next.

"It's a good idea, Chris. No one there knows Nathan or I. We can move about freely and get the lay of things."

"Hopewell knows you," Chris interjected as he rose to his feet.

"He's not gonna try anything with all those people around."

Chris scoffed. "I wouldn't put anything past him, Josiah. He's a snake in the grass."

"That he is. But a snake ain't half as dangerous when you know where he's hiding. We'll be careful. We'll watch our backs."

"We ain't got a choice, Chris," Nathan added as he gently but firmly guided the gunslinger to sit back on the ground. He continued on as he began to remove the soiled dressing from Larabee's shoulder. "Vin can't go on the run right now. And he can't stay here much longer, either." Nathan liberally doused the wound with carbolic and noted, "Yer shoulder's not too bad."

Chris bit back a groan as he replied, "I told you that."

"Well, it can git bad real quick if we don't take care of it."

Properly chastised, Chris grew quiet, his thoughts turning to Tanner. Josiah followed his gaze. "I'm more worried about leaving you and Vin here. You're the ones Hopewell is likely to come after."

"Maybe he left town by now," Jackson added hopefully.

Maybe. But the gunman doubted that. He had the feeling Hopewell burned to finish this as much as he did. He wouldn't rest until the Governor was dead or behind bars. He owed it to his friends who had painfully mourned his death, he owed it to Daniel Martin, and he owed it to Vin.

+ + + + + + +

Clayton Hopewell had indeed left town. With his few men either dead or missing, he had decided he would have to take matters into his own hands. In the past, he'd been very careful not to dirty those hands, but this time, he had little choice. The man Gill had shot had stubbornly and inconveniently refused to die and was beginning to talk. The governor had found out that Martin was well respected in Denver, and his word, combined with Larabee's, could be enough to cause him trouble.

He had headed up to the designated meeting area, hoping to find that both Larabee and his tracker friend had been taken care of. It hadn't taken much to figure out that Tanner was behind the shooting up on the mountain, that he had almost single- handedly foiled his plans. He'd had Larabee taken in an effort to draw out the sharpshooter – the aim being to kill two birds with one stone. He wondered idly if the two men realized how apparent their weakness for each other was. How easy it was to get to one by simply using the other.

He had been shocked to find that not only was Larabee gone, but two of his men were dead. He found one shot dead in the corral and Gill dead inside. That puzzled him. Gill didn't have a mark on him, save for a bruised jaw, and he was tied, too. Why tie up a dead man? Unless he wasn't dead when Larabee had gotten away. The man had probably talked himself to death. Not that it mattered. The whole point was that as long as Larabee and Tanner were out there, they posed a threat to him. A threat he would now have to take care of himself.

Hopewell had grown up in the west. He supposed that most folks would be surprised that he could read sign. He supposed that folks would be surprised at a lot of the things he could do. He supposed the pair he was after would be real surprised when he came up on them. He smiled to himself as he followed the faint trail into the gently sloping mountain range.

+ + + + + + +

Chris rinsed the soft cloth in the clear, cool water and once again ran it gently over his sick friend's face, arms, and chest. He'd tried to get water down him, like Nathan had ordered, but Vin kept choking on it. And every time he coughed, he whimpered in pain, the sound just about unbearable to the blond.

He moved the cloth down to the concave curve of Vin's stomach. When was the last time he'd eaten? The last time either of them had eaten? It was no wonder he had no energy, no strength, no desire to do anything other than lie down next to Vin and sleep for a week. But he would not give in to the despair that threatened him. With any luck, Josiah and Nathan would be back by nightfall with good news. He couldn't imagine what that good news could be, but he'd hope for it anyway.

Chris wearily rested his head in his hands, wincing when he made contact with the spot where he'd been hit yesterday. He'd forgotten about that, too.

"You okay, Cowboy?" a hushed voice asked him.

Chris cocked his head and gave Vin a slight smile. "Look who's asking."

"Answer the question, Chris." The tracker wouldn't let him off the hook that easily. Something was seriously worrying his friend, and he wouldn't rest until he knew what it was.

"I'll be all right, as long as you are, Vin," Larabee answered softly.

Oh. It hadn't occurred to the younger man that he could be the cause of his friend's despondency. Of course he knew the gunman cared about him, that he might even give up his life for him. And it went both ways. But he wasn't planning on dying, even if it would be a hell of a lot easier. They'd come too far and still had a few things to finish before they could call an end to this. He wasn't going anywhere.

"I'll be fine." Seeing the apprehension in the gunman's eyes, he added, "Promise." He really did feel bad, god-awful in fact, but he intended to work harder at keeping that from his friend.

Chris couldn't help the smirk that graced his lips. Damned Texan thought he was invincible. How many times had he seen him leap buildings and boulders without a thought to his own safety? But at least the man was awake and lucid – and determined.

"Don't know how this is all gonna play out. Reckon you should get some rest while you can," Chris advised.

"Reckon you . . . should, too." Vin struggled to stay aware for a few more minutes. "We got a plan?"

"Stay alive. Get Hopewell."

"Good enough . . . for me." With that, Vin gave into the darkness once more.

Chris leaned his head back against the stone wall. He was so tired. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a minute.

But that minute turned into hours as days of little sleep and food, along with blood loss, finally took their toll on the tough gunslinger. And so when Clayton Hopewell found their hiding spot, entering the cave with gun drawn, it was almost anticlimactic for him. Too easy to just shoot them both as they slept.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah and Nathan entered town, just as Hopewell left. They started with the local physician, figuring he would have the supplies they needed. They had also promised Chris they would check on the status of the young man who had been shot by Gill.

As they entered the clinic, Nathan marveled at the various modern instruments and supplies neatly stored in shiny cabinets. What he could do with tools like these. Just then, a graying man with a generous smile entered from a back room, wiping his hands on a white towel.

"Hello, Gentlemen. I'm Dr. Johnson. Can I help you?"

Josiah could see that his partner was speechless, staring like a kid in a candy store at items he could only dream of. He cleared his throat and stated, "Dr. Johnson, my name is Josiah Sanchez, and this is Nathan Jackson. We've come to check on an acquaintance of ours, Daniel Martin?"

The friendly smile vanished as the doctor looked at the men suspiciously. "How do you know him?" he asked.

"Actually, we don't. A friend of ours does, and he asked us to check on him." May as well jump on in head first, thought Josiah. "His name is Chris Larabee."

Both men waited anxiously for the doctor's reaction and were surprised to see relief in his eyes.

"Daniel's been asking about him. Is he all right?"

"For now, but another friend of ours is hurt, and we were hoping we could get some supplies."

The kind physician nodded. "Of course. Daniel trusts your friend and I trust Daniel. He's been telling quite a story about one of the territorial governors and, quite frankly, I'm worried for his safety. He should be dead from that gunshot wound, you know. Guess he's just too damn stubborn to die."

Josiah smiled. "We know a few men like that. Anyone looking into his story?"

"The sheriff, I guess. But I wouldn't hold out much hope that anything will come of it. Of course, the fellow that shot Daniel tried to blame the whole thing on your friend Larabee."

"You think anything will come of that?" asked Josiah.

"No one from town was hurt. No one has proof of anything. But to be safe, you and your friends might want to head home."

Now Nathan spoke up. "Can't. We got an injured man. He's fightin' congestion in his lungs and infection in a couple of wounds."

The doctor looked at the men thoughtfully. He wasn't sure why he was going out on a limb for them. He really knew nothing about any of them, after all. Then again, he had never been one to take the conventional route. "Bring him here tonight, after dark. I have a couple of rooms where he and Larabee can both stay until things calm down."

This was substantially more than either man had hoped for. Perhaps they were foolish to trust the man, but with limited options, it seemed to be their best bet.

"Thank you, Doctor. You won't regret helping our friends. They're good men."

"So I've heard. And speaking of good men, please come and say hello to Daniel and tell him of Mr. Larabee. He is sorely needing some good news."

Josiah felt a tad guilty. He really didn't want to take the time, as he was itching to get back to Chris and Vin. But they certainly did owe the young man, and he knew Chris would want them to talk with him.

In the end, it was a short visit. The young man lay pale and breathless in another back room of the clinic. But his clear blue eyes spoke of honesty and integrity, and Josiah realized immediately what had drawn Chris to him. Dr. Johnson hovered protectively close by, and the preacher felt strangely glad of that. Daniel thanked them for coming, for bringing him news, before succumbing once again to sleep.

The men left the clinic with plans to meet that night. Before leaving town, however, they stopped by the sheriff's office. They had yet to see any sign of Hopewell, and Josiah felt the need to know just where the snake had slithered off to. Unfortunately, the sheriff was close mouthed about the whole affair. It wasn't until a few hours later that the pair tracked down a witness who had last seen the governor. He'd headed east of town on a horse, they'd been told.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Josiah's stomach. By now, Hopewell would know Chris was gone. And he'd be going after him. They shouldn't have left the two injured men alone. He looked over at Jackson and knew he had the same thoughts, as they galloped back to where their friends hid.

Part 8: Reunions

The soft click of a cocking gun startled Chris from his stupor. Hopewell. The gunman felt no surprise and certainly no fear at the man before him. He felt only anger at himself. How could he drift off, knowing Vin counted on him to watch his back? He wanted to check if the tracker was awake, let him know he was sorry. But it seemed to be more prudent for him to keep his eyes trained on the armed politician. He could see his own weapon from the corner of his eye, just out of reach. What the hell had he been thinking?

Hopewell's lips turned up ever so slightly. Finally, at last, he had the gunslinger. One pull of the trigger and it would be over. Obviously his friend posed no threat and the rest of his gang were nowhere in sight. Killing the duo still wouldn't make up for the ruination of his plans, but it would go a long way towards appeasing his anger. Still, he hated ending it so quickly and easily for Larabee.

"Well, what are you waiting for? I'm surprised you didn't finish it while we slept, since you seem to enjoy killing innocent people in cold blood. " Chris stated with a sneer. Maybe conversation would buy them some time. Maybe Josiah and Nathan would pull off another miracle and show up about now.

The governor grinned, knowing he was being baited, and rather enjoying the challenge. "I'm thinking this is just too easy. Rather boring end to the long game we've played, don't you agree?"

"I don't know. Just your style, if you ask me. Of course, you generally let others do the dirty work for you. What happened? You run out of men to buy?" Chris held the other man's steady gaze, all the while trying to gage just how many feet he'd have to move and how quickly to get to his sidearm.

"Every man has his price," the suave man nearly whispered in a silky smooth voice. "Even you, Larabee."

"What are you trying to say, Hopewell?" Chris bit back a sharp retort. It wouldn't do to lose his head now.

Hopewell flicked his gaze to the wounded tracker before turning back to the blond. "Your friend isn't looking too good. Maybe he should be the first to go – put him out of his misery." A lethal grin lit the governor's face, as he saw Larabee's blood run cold. Yes, the gunman had made a huge mistake in exposing his greatest weakness – his feelings for Tanner.

Vin had awakened just after the conversation began. Chris sat with his back to him, having turned towards their enemy when he'd entered the cave. He attempted to lift his hand just enough to touch his best friend; to let him know that he was aware and willing to do whatever he needed to do. To let him know, somehow, that no matter how it went down, it wasn't the gunman's fault. He reached up and softly brushed against Larabee's back.

Chris felt the feather-light touch and thought his heart would break. He didn't need to see Vin's face to understand what that touch conveyed, the connection between them stronger than ever. And Hopewell would kill Vin for no other reason than that he meant so much to him.

Clayton Hopewell decided at that moment that the very best revenge he could exact on Chris Larabee would indeed be to kill his friend in front of him. He intended to do it anyhow, and he needed to be on his way. He gave the gunslinger another quick grin while adjusting his aim towards the injured man lying on the ground.

There was no way Chris could reach his weapon in time and, even if he could, he'd never get the shot off before Hopewell. Vin would be dead. He couldn't let that happen. Springing to his feet, he lunged at their attacker. Hopewell reacted in surprise and fired, his aim off the mark just enough to miss the tracker entirely – but not the man in black.

Chris felt his head blow apart, a horrendous mixture of sound and color and pain sending him sprawling to the ground. He lay motionless then and knew nothing.

But Vin knew. He saw the blood spurt from the side of his friend's head; saw him fall to the ground. He tried to get to his feet but couldn't even begin to find his legs. He turned onto his stomach, struggling to get up on hands and knees, as he inched his way over to the body of his best friend. His anguished sobs, "Oh God, oh God," echoed throughout the stone cavern.

"What the hell?" Hopewell asked aloud, to no one in particular. He just couldn't believe Larabee had sacrificed himself for the dirty, dying tracker. He really was intrigued by the whole situation, but at the sound of approaching horses, he decided he'd think on it all later. He prepared to take out Tanner, but was suddenly struck with a new idea. Pulling the tracker up in front of him, a considerable effort since the man could hardly stand, he headed out of the shelter towards the stand of trees where he'd tied his horse.

Josiah and Nathan drove their steeds with renewed urgency after hearing the lone gunshot. Coming upon the area just as Hopewell and Vin excited the cave, both men dismounted in quick, fluid motions with weapons primed and ready.

"Let him go," Josiah ordered in a deep, calm voice that belied his emotions. He could see Vin gasping and tears rolling down his cheeks. What had happened in that cave and where was Chris?

Hopewell shook his head with a small laugh. "Not a chance. He'll be right in front of me until I'm well on my way."

Stumbling, staggering, and swaying on his feet, Vin was determined to get back to Chris, in spite of the gun pressed tightly against his temple. But Hopewell gripped him firmly around his bare waist and hoisted him up onto his mount, Vin's pained cries and anguished protests unheard or unheeded.

Josiah endeavored to get off a shot, anything to stop the evil man from stealing away his friend. Enough – they'd all had enough. He would not separate them again. But with Vin in harm's way, he could do little more than fire off a warning shot. Hopewell responded in kind, before taking off through the trees, with Josiah close behind.

Nathan hurried to the cave and caught his breath at the sight that before him. Chris lay unmoving on the hard packed earth, blood pooling in a gruesome pattern in the dirt beneath him. Head wounds always bleed a lot, Nathan reminded himself as he laid two shaky fingers on the side of the gunman's neck. Thank God. A slow, steady pulse beat in contrast to the racing of the healer's own heart. He gently began to wipe away the blood and examine the wound on the left side of Larabee's temple. A graze. A nasty one, but a graze none the less, and the gunman would live provided he didn't do anything stupid, like go galloping after Vin when he woke up.

Of course, that's exactly what he intended to do. The head wound should have rendered the man unconscious for hours, but awareness of danger pulled him to the surface after only moments. He groaned and raised his hands to his splitting head, only to have them battered away by Jackson.

"Easy now, Chris. You got a bad head wound here and I need to get it wrapped up good."

Chris gasped as he lifted his upper body off the ground. In a weak voice, he asked, "Vin?"

Nathan continued to bandage the gunslinger's head, ignoring the question. Chris grabbed his hands and forced the healer to look at him. "Where . . . is . . . Vin?" he repeated slowly and insistently.

Nathan sighed. "Hopewell's got ‘im." He latched onto Chris's arm as he attempted to stand. "Now hold on. Josiah's gone after ‘em. Yer in no condition to ride and you know it."

"And you know I'm goin' anyway. You can come along and help me – or not." Dizziness and nausea washed over him as he strained to stand and make his way outside with faltering steps.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah rode hard through the thick pines, his senses keenly aware of every sight and sound in a way in he'd never experienced before. He knew instinctively that his enemy headed towards the river. If Hopewell crossed the gorge before Sanchez could get to him, he'd never find the slimy politician in the rocky crevices and canyons that lay on the other side. He'd never find Vin, either – not alive. He heard the roaring of a nearby waterfall and knew they were close. Hopewell was within firing range, Josiah could glimpse him and his black steed as they sped closer to the water and, for a moment, he considered firing. But he wasn't the sharpshooter that Vin was, or Buck for that matter, and he feared he'd hurt Tanner. The moment of hesitation was enough for Hopewell to make his decision.

Clayton Hopewell had come up on the river and was shocked at the whitewater rapids that greeted him. The previous rains had raised the water level considerably and he realized he'd need to cross farther down stream or risk being whisked away by the swift currents. He glanced behind him. The preacher was hot on his tail and would undoubtedly remain that way as he headed for a safer crossing - unless he got off a lucky shot first.

There really was no choice. He'd have to cross here and now. Better to drown than die by the hand of one of Larabee's men. Leading the skittish black into the churning, icy water, Hopewell kept a firm grip on the injured man in front of him. They'd never shoot him as long as he held some control over the fate of the tracker. Were he to let go, the injured man could never swim to safety. As it was, Tanner lay half- slumped over the neck of the horse, his short, pained gasps coming in irregular intervals. Once he made it to the other side, it would be time to get rid of the extra baggage - if he made it to the other side.

Josiah watched the other man enter the rapids, holding his breath as he wrestled with indecision. He heard horses approaching and turned in time to see Nathan and Chris close behind. Larabee looked like hell, with blood seeping through the crude bandage that Nathan had apparently hastily wrapped around his head. He couldn't believe they'd managed to catch up to him with Chris in that state, but then again, the gunman could be one stubborn cuss when he wanted to be. And there was no doubt what fueled him now.

All three men rode as close to the banks as they dared, staring in disbelief as Hopewell's horse struggled fiercely in the quick-moving waters. The rocky bottom made it nearly impossible for the animal to gain a foothold, but it continued to persevere valiantly.

The men watched from the shore with baited breath. After a few minutes, Josiah turned to Nathan, his intentions clear, and he headed downstream to search for a safer place to cross. Chris began to lead in to the river's edge, but was held back as Jackson grabbed ahold of the reins. He looked up at the dark-skinned man, anger flashing, but he knew with the dizziness and blurred vision he'd been experiencing, he'd never make it across. And with heartsick certainty, he knew that once Hopewell made it across, he'd be through with Vin. He could barely breathe, the air choked in the back of his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He had to go - he had to go. Nathan gripped the reins more tightly, and Chris looked at him in desperation. He would shoot him if he had to, didn't he see that? But Nathan never even glanced at the gunman; his entire attention focused on the scene playing out before him.

The black floundered as the frigid water hit the underside of its belly with full force, upsetting the panicked mount and the men it held in one swift motion.

"No! No!" Chris cried out. And then he was moving again. His head pounding as he galloped along the edge of the torrent, eyes riveted to the swirling waters for any sign of his friend.

+ + + + + + +

The frigid water revived Vin from the dark depths he had gradually slipped into. He lifted his head as the swirling waters lapped up against his bare chest and stomach. Breathing had been his primary concern, but getting out of the rapids and onto dry land quickly took precedence. As the steed lost its footing and the swell overcame them, he reached out blindly for a branch, a rock, anything to latch onto. He found nothing. The force of the water spun him head over heels, the current pulling him up and under, again and again, until he no longer knew if he faced up or down, if he breathed air or water. The coldness numbed his aching limbs and torso, and he never felt the battering rocks as he tumbled over them.

It didn't matter anyhow. Chris was well and truly dead, releasing him from the promise he'd made to the gunman. "I'll be fine," he'd said. And he would be – in another time and another place. Even hell would be all right, if Chris were there to join him. He had nearly succumbed to the darkness once more, when a strong arm clutched him around his wounded side and pulled him up out of the water. A weak cry escaped him at the rough movement. As his eyes fluttered closed for what he knew would be the last time, he caught sight of his rescuer. Bucklin?

+ + + + + + +

Buck had led JD and Ezra along the river's edge, convinced he'd found a short cut to Denver. Although he'd never let on to his companions exactly why he knew this was the way to go. Some strange bird had been following them for days now, and so when it turned towards the river, Buck had a feeling they should follow it. JD and Ezra would think he'd lost his mind.

Ezra had argued with him, desiring to follow the trail into town like "every other sane individual." JD had apparently given up trying to reason with him. In fact, JD had almost given up talking altogether, which would have concerned Buck, had he not had so many other pressing matters on his mind. In fact, he caught a look of dogged determination in the kid's eyes more than once, and he wondered what that was about.

It would be dusk soon, and Buck hoped to reach town by nightfall, but he allowed the men to stop by a particularly scenic spot to water their horses and catch a breath. The rapids had slowed at this point, although frothy ripples continued to slap against stone in the rhythmic sound of nature's music.

JD leaned down to refill his canteen, when something caught his eye upstream. "What the hell is that?" he asked, wading in a few feet to get a better look.

"I believe it's a horse," Ezra answered.

Sure enough, a black steed struggled to swim its way out of the rapids several yards from where the men stood. Quickly grabbing a rope, the men ran upstream. Buck was able to lasso the weakened animal, and with all three men pulling, assist it to the bank. The black stumbled on shaky legs, but otherwise appeared unharmed.

JD stroked the animal's neck as he checked him over for further injury, while Ezra turned to Buck.

"An animal normally does not choose to take a swim by itself, especially with such an inordinate saddle. I believe it would behoove us to keep an eye out for its rider."

Buck nodded. "Let's walk on upstream aways." An unnatural fluttering stirred deep in his heart as he found himself moving with unexpected urgency.

Ezra called out suddenly, "There! Do you see him, Buck?"

The half-clad form of a person lay wedged between two boulders, face down and unmoving. Buck quickly scampered over the rocky bed to reach the individual. Long, brown hair swirled in the clear water, and a sickening familiarity forced the air from the rogue's chest. Grasping the man around the waist, he lifted him up out of the water and onto the nearest boulder, relieved to hear a small sound erupt from the wounded soul.

It couldn't be – but even before he saw his face he knew it was – Vin! He clung to the limp tracker, turning back to Ezra and JD who stood several feet away on the shore. Both men saw the look of shock that graced Buck's features, but neither had a clear view of the figure he'd pulled from the water.

"It's Vin," he called, still not believing it himself.

JD's eyes widened, and Ezra's mouth opened, although not a sound came out. Within seconds, both men rushed out onto the rocks to help Buck carry their injured friend to shore.

"Is he breathing?" JD asked breathlessly.

"I don't know, JD. Ain't had a chance to check."

The men tenderly laid Vin on the grassy slope. Ezra crouched down to lend Buck a hand, but looked up sharply at the sound of an approaching rider. The unfolding events began to take on a dream-like quality, as he watched Josiah carefully cross the rapids to join them on the other side.

JD looked up from where he bent over Tanner and expressed the surprise and confusion they all felt. "Josiah? What the . . . ? How did you . . . ? Why are you here? Why is Vin here? What's going on?"

Josiah leapt off his horse and made his way over to the fallen tracker. "Long story, Kid. But I sure am happy to see you, boys."

Buck had found a faint pulse under the icy cold skin of his friend's neck, but Vin's breathing was so shallow, he wasn't sure if the tracker was taking in any air. He thought about pressing on the man's lungs to see if he could bring up some water, but he couldn't figure out where to put his hands. Vin's chest was mottled in sickening shades of blue and black. Buck could see blood-tinged yellow drainage sluggishly making its way out of two holes in his side, as well, and he was afraid of touching him, for fear of causing further damage.

"How's he doing, Buck?" Josiah asked softly.

Wilmington looked at the preacher uncertainly, but didn't have a chance to answer before the sounds of more riders distracted him. Not surprisingly, Nathan led the way. But who rode behind him? Buck stood up suddenly. He looked like him, even sat his horse like him. He felt his heart race. Oh God.

+ + + + + + +

As Chris sped along the banks, he had only one thought. Spare Vin. He had never been one to bargain with God, and he had long ago given up any hope of a relationship with Him, if He even existed. But he swore he would be part of Josiah's audience every Sunday, if only the preacher had managed to snag his best friend out of the rushing waters.

When he and Nathan peered ahead at the commotion on the opposite shore, his heart seemed to explode in his chest. Dear God! There were his men, his friends, surrounding a still form on the ground, which could only be Vin. He didn't know how the others had gotten here and frankly didn't care. They would all be together, the seven reunited, and surely Vin could not die now. It would just be too ridiculously unfair. Surely some higher power had brought them all to this point, and it could not be to watch one of them die. He wouldn't allow it.

Chris drove his black through the river bed, holding his breath while fighting to keep the persistent vertigo and nausea at bay. He had forgotten that three of those men still thought he was dead. Had forgotten that his very presence could shock his brothers to their bones. He'd forgotten all of that, worrying only if Vin still drew a breath, until he saw Buck's face.

He pulled in the reins just behind Natha, and noted thankfully from the corner of his eye, that the healer had rushed over to Vin's side. But Chris never took his eyes off of Buck. That is until he was forcefully hit head-on by the whirlwind that was JD.

JD couldn't believe his eyes. He knew he should be more reserved, more grown-up, more composed, but he didn't care. He threw himself at Chris Larabee, his arms wrapping around the lean man in an emotional embrace that surprised them both in its intensity. JD choked back tears when he felt the tough gunman return that embrace, felt him pat him on the back, as he asked, "You all right, JD?"

JD grinned from ear to ear, "Am now. We got you and Vin back. Can't be nothin' better than that!"

Chris gave him a slight smile as he caught a few of Nathan's hushed words to Josiah, "Still alive, but barely . . .swallowed a lot of water . . . gotta get him some real help . . . and soon."

Ezra approached him next, extending both a hand and a smile, as his gold tooth glistened in the setting sun. "It is wonderful to see you again, Mr. Larabee. In fact, I am quite speechless."

Chris took the offered hand, then surprised himself by pulling the gambler into tender hug. Damn if he wasn't getting to like this. Might be a good idea to let these men know how much they meant to him more often. "Good to see you, too, Ezra. Lookin' forward to hearing how you all got here."

"Well, yes, I'd venture to say we all have some stories to share."

Chris nodded and quickly regretted the motion as his splitting head reminded him of its prior injury. Buck noted the wince and stated softly to his oldest friend, "Yer hurt."

"I'll live."

"Guess so."

Buck was looking at him strangely, and Chris could see him warring with his emotions - disbelief, shock, and something else. Anger?

"I tried to let you know I was alive, Buck, but I guess you'd already left town."

"Guess so."

"Buck, you know I'd never do this to you. Never hurt you like this."

Of course not. He knew it deep down where it counted. Its just that he had a hundred questions and a thousand words, and every damn one of them stuck in his throat. Buck did manage to strangle out, "I've missed you, Chris," before he went to his friend.

As the two men embraced, Chris released the breath he'd been holding. Buck would be all right, Nathan would see to Vin, and the boys were here. His knees went weak with relief and gave out, followed by the rest of his body.

Buck caught the lean man as he passed out and sank to the ground. "Nathan!" he called out in a panic.

But Nathan had another crisis to deal with at that moment. The water Vin had swallowed or inhaled or both, made a sudden appearance. The tracker's thin frame wracked with convulsions as the liquid poured from his mouth and nose. Jackson turned him on his side, and offered reassurance, although he suspected Vin was well past hearing him. He had not made a sound or even an attempt to open his eyes. When his body quieted, Nathan had to search carefully for his pulse and respiration, both nearly too shallow to feel or hear.

"Wrap him up good in two or three blankets, Josiah. I'm gonna have a look at Chris."

Josiah did as he was told, with help from Ezra, while Nathan examined their leader. The healer determined that Chris had finally given in to his various wounds, but with some decent rest, he should recover. The men knew he could not give them the same reassurance about Vin, however, and the irony was not lost on them. They'd gotten Chris back, but possibly at the cost of losing Vin – the one man who had tried to tell them from the beginning that nothing was at it seemed.

They made the ride into town by moonlight, taking turns carrying their wounded friends, with aching arms and confused hearts - elation at being together again, battling with fear that the reunion would be temporary.

Part 9: A Single Truth Revisited

Dr. Johnson had his hands full, as well as his beds. When he agreed to take in Larabee and his wounded friend, he hadn't counted on seven men being part of the package. Yet he didn't have the heart to turn a single one out. They had carried their injured friends in with such heavy hearts, but willing hands, and he figured he just might need every one of them before he was through.

Larabee had remained unconscious while the doctor stitched up his head, but he assured the others that the gunman would indeed recover, and he hoped he hadn't lied. Head wounds were always tricky. Wilmington had insisted on staying at the blond's side, throwing his bedroll on the floor next to the bed where Larabee slept. Dr. Johnson could see there was a strong bond there, and was grateful to have one less patient to keep an eye on for the next few hours.

He knew he would be busy with the tracker, Tanner. The man looked pitiful, with numerous bruises and abrasions covering his body. His lungs were full of congestion that he was too weak to cough up, and in spite of his current low body temperature – thanks to a swim in the rapids – he knew his wounds harbored infection.

Nathan Jackson had already proven himself to be a fine medic, in the good doctor's estimation. By morning's light, however, the dark-skinned man was clearly exhausted, so he sent him off to rest with his friends, overriding his strong objection. They had done as much as they could for his young friend, packing his wounds with a poultice and managing to force some herbal tea down his throat for the congestion. Both men understood the seriousness of the situation and both felt a familiar sense of helplessness. Losing a patient never got easier, and in this case, Dr. Johnson knew it would be devastating for Jackson.

The gray-haired man wearily rested his tired body in the chair next to Tanner's bed. He wasn't as young as he used to be. There was a time when he could stay up all night tending a sick patient, and work all through the next day, too. Not any more, though. Once Jackson had rested, he'd let him take over for awhile. The sun had started stealing its way into the small room through the lace curtains of the eastern window, throwing an exotic pattern of shadows across the wooden floor. Dr. Johnson removed his glasses to rub a hand against his tired eyes. He looked up when he heard the door open slowly, and saw a dark head peak inside timidly.

Surprised to see Wilmington, he asked, "Is Mr. Larabee all right?"

"Yeah, he's still sleeping, I guess. I was just kinda wonderin' if I could sit with Vin fer a spell?"

Dr. Johnson had dealt with people long enough to know when there were unresolved issues at play. He stood, deciding he needed to check on both Larabee and Daniel, and knowing the tall man before him would appreciate the privacy. "Of course, Mr. Wilmington. Just call me if anything changes."

"How is he, Doc?" Buck asked with trepidation.

"Not good," the physician answered honestly. He hadn't known these men long, but he knew their kind. Smart, tough, and wanting to face the enemy head-on. They'd see right through any sugarcoating, and it wouldn't be appreciated.

"What do you plan to do?" Buck demanded softly.

"I plan to do whatever I can to help your friend get better." The kind physician smiled sadly. "But in the end, it's not my plan that counts."

Buck nodded as he went to take the empty chair by Vin's side. He felt worthless again. Nathan could help Vin physically, and Josiah could offer up prayers, but he had nothing to give, no way to help the man before him. If only he'd believed from the beginning. He thought back on all that had happened, or at what they knew from Josiah's standpoint, and realized that the only thing they had been right about was the man responsible, Hopewell. And they only knew that because of Ezra. If it had been up to him, he'd still be sitting back in Four Corners. It was small consolation to him that he'd been the one to pull Vin from the water, although the timing of all that astounded him. He remembered telling JD that an hour could make all the difference, and in this case, five minutes could have made the difference. But it wouldn't matter at all if Vin died anyway.

He forced himself to look at his sick friend. The harsh wheezing sound of Vin's breathing was almost painful to hear, knowing that every single inhalation was a battle for the man. God, he looked terrible. Buck so badly wanted to tell him how sorry he was for the whole mess, and he willed the young man to wake up with determined resolve.

Almost on cue, Vin began to stir. He'd felt himself being pulled to the surface, and he struggled to open his eyes. They felt like they had rusted shut, and he wondered disjointedly if that were possible. He had been in the water, hadn't he? Gradually his vision returned, and he focused on the face peering intently into his. Buck. He couldn't pull his feeble mind together enough to understand why that surprised him. For a brief moment, he wondered where Chris was, but then it all came back to him. Chris falling to the ground, blood everywhere. The bastard had blown his best friend's head off. He groaned in anguish, "Chris . . ."

Buck misinterpreted the quiet plea. "He's resting, Pard. He'll be here soon."

"He's dead . . . Buck."

Well, this was a turn of events. It would almost be funny, if it wasn't so damn tragic. "No, Vin. He's all right. He's here."

"No . . . I saw . . ." Aw, hell. It was just too hard to talk, and even harder to breathe. How did Buck keep getting things so mixed up? He groaned again, or tried to, but he couldn't seem to take in any air. He might have panicked at that, if he hadn't been so tired. Buck would have to figure it out for himself. He and Chris had plans to ride into hell together, and he wasn't going to keep him waiting much longer. With a sigh of resignation, he drifted off.

+ + + + + + +

It was early afternoon when Josiah came to sit with Vin. Dr. Johnson had taken Nathan on a tour of his clinic, showing the awed healer all kinds of things that Sanchez hoped he'd never need to know about. He felt glad for Nathan in a small way. The dark-skinned man had found a mentor, and for the first time, the burden of his friends' welfare did not sit solely on his shoulders.

Chris hadn't woken up yet, and they all felt concerned about that, though no one verbalized it. Josiah had sat with him awhile, still relishing the opportunity to see the man living and breathing. They'd all been given a second chance here - a chance to realize what a gift the seven of them had in each other.

That was why he knew Vin wouldn't die, although he couldn't quite remember seeing a man who looked worse. Surely God had a hand in all of this, there were just too many coincidences for it to be random acts of fate. Then again, when had he ever understood God's thinking? Taking Vin now would be the ultimate cheap shot, though.

The man in question pried open weary eyes one more time, although he couldn't think of a reason to. He really thought he should be dead by now, but then, nothing had gone as he'd planned yet. He saw Josiah lean forward eagerly, and he wondered what he wanted him to do or say. "Josiah?" he questioned.

"Good to see you, Brother," the older man responded with a grin. He became serious though when he saw the look of despair that flicked across Vin's features. Remembering his earlier conversation with Buck, the preacher took the opportunity to straighten his sick friend out on a few matters.

"Vin, listen to me. Chris isn't dead. He's sleeping in the room next door. Do you understand me, Vin?"

Listen to him? Why? He'd seen Chris die with his own eyes this time. Why would his friends do this to him? He was too damn tired to play this game again. He looked Josiah squarely in the eye. The man had never lied to him. Why now? Maybe to keep him hanging on a bit longer, keep him from giving up? All right then, if Chris was alive, where was he?

"Let me . . . see him." Vin choked out the words between gasping breaths.

Josiah looked down for a minute, just long enough to confirm the tracker's doubt.

"He's resting right now. But I swear to you, Vin, he is alive. And you know I don't take to swearing."

That was true. Josiah was as good as his word. He'd ponder it later, when his mind was working properly. When everything hadn't turned gray and dark and muddled in his head. When he could breathe better.

Josiah watched Vin lose his battle with consciousness once again. He wondered if he'd gotten through to him. Tanner's skin had turned an even more ashen shade, and Josiah could see that his lips were blue-tinged. He didn't have to be a doctor to know that Vin's condition needed to improve and quickly. Timing had been everything since this whole thing began. It was time for Chris to wake up and get in here – Vin needed him.

+ + + + + + +

Chris came to at that very moment, unbeknownst to Josiah. The thundering in his head, his constant companion for the last two days, had lessened some, and so he attempted to sit up on the edge of the bed. He groaned as the room spun, and he gratefully acknowledged that not eating for who knows how long may have been a good thing. After a few minutes though, his vision cleared and his stomach settled, and he got a good look at his surroundings. He had no idea where he was. He'd expected to wake up in that horrible cave again, not a nice, soft bed in a nice, clean room. And where was everyone?

He rose slowly to his fee, and shuffled to the door. He surmised he was in some kind of clinic by his surroundings, which meant Vin should be close by. He hoped. Having no idea how long he'd been out, or even if his friend had survived the trip here, he felt a desperate need to find someone who could give him some answers. Opening the door and peering into an empty hallway did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

He went to the first door on his right, wanting nothing more than to see Vin inside resting comfortably. But the man he saw in the bed was not Tanner. His initial disappointment turned to wonder when he realized who he was looking at - Daniel. He'd never had a chance to talk with Nathan and Josiah, never gotten the word that the man lived.

Chris moved over to the bedside and offered Daniel a tentative smile, which he returned.

"You're not looking too good, Larabee."

"Could say the same for you, Daniel. Foolish thing you did, jumping in front of that gun for me. But I thank you for it." Chris offered sincerely.

Daniel's smile grew. "I thought I'd take my chance to be hero – or at least, to save one."

Chris shook his head as he saw the younger man grimace in pain. He'd heard they had found Gill dead, but he still wished he'd put a bullet in the man when he had the chance. "I ain't no hero. I'm looking at the real hero here. And I'm proud of you, Daniel. Glad to know you."

Daniel positively glowed with pride. He wanted nothing more than to spend some time with Larabee, but he knew for whom the gunman had been searching for when he came through the door.

"Vin's across the hall."

Chris nodded, his eyes shining with gratitude for more reasons than one. "I'll speak with you later."

Entering Vin's room, he found Josiah hunched over the sharpshooter, apparently deep in prayer. His eyes slowly drifted up to Vin's face and he stifled a gasp. Terrible didn't begin to describe how bad he looked.

"Josiah?" he questioned softly, not wanting to intrude.

"Chris? You're up! Thank God." Josiah rose to offer a hand to the gunman. "We could sure use your help here."

Chris looked doubtful. "What can I do? He looks so bad, Josiah." He repeated, "What can I do?" He looked at the big man forlornly, an expression so entirely foreign to the man, that Sanchez was taken aback for a moment.

"He just needs to know you're here. He thinks you're dead, Chris."

"What? Why would he think that?" But even as he asked, he knew why. The last time Vin had really seen him was in that cave when Hopewell shot him. He took the seat Josiah had vacated, and turning to Sanchez, he asked, "Where are the others?"

"Went to get something to eat. You want me to fill you in on what you missed now or later?"

"Don't plan to be going anywhere anytime soon," he said as he looked over at Vin.

Strange how life and death events could be summed up in a fifteen minute conversation. Chris learned that he owed Daniel another debt. Apparently he'd been dogmatic in clearing Chris's name and implicating the governor. Unfortunately, the boys had been unable to find any trace of the man, stalling the investigation indefinitely. Surprisingly, the gunman found he no longer cared. He just wanted to go home with all of his men – to feel whole again.

When Josiah rose and left the room, Chris hardly noticed. Vin had his complete, undivided attention, even if he was unaware of it. They were so close now, so close to being done with it all. All they needed was for Vin to get well. He thought back on his earlier vow to visit Josiah's church every Sunday. Hell, he'd make it the first row, for just one more favor. One more miracle.

Vin had made a promise back in that cave, said he'd be fine. He always said that, but he rarely made promises. Chris leaned down and whispered softly into his best friend's ear, "You promised, Pard. And I've never known you to go back on your word, especially to me."

Could he be wrong? Could that be Chris's voice? He didn't care much for being wrong, and truthfully, he rarely was wrong. He'd been blessed with a quick mind and a keen sense of intuition, which left him in the enviable position of rarely being – wrong. But he wouldn't mind this time. This time, he'd give his life to be wrong. He slowly opened his eyes to find a blond head very close to his, green eyes shining with emotion.

He was wrong.

Chris was alive. The joy he felt at that moment quickly became tempered with something else. If Chris wasn't waiting for him in hell, he'd be expecting him to be by his side on earth. And he wasn't sure he could do that. Wasn't at all sure he could keep his promise this time and be fine.

Chris smiled at seeing his friend awake, but noted the doubt in his eyes. Their connection intact, he stated, "You will make it through this, Vin. We've been through too much to quit now." Chris's voice cracked as he continued, "It's time to go home, Cowboy."

Home. That was the plan after all.

+ + + + + + +

The next several days followed a pattern of three steps forward and two steps back. For every crisis Vin weathered, a new problem cropped up to take its place. Josiah said that it was a test. A test of faith for him, a test of skill for Nathan, a test of strength for Vin, and a test of tenacity for Chris – the only one who passed with flying colors.

Chris ignored his sore shoulder and stubborn headaches to spend his waking moments with Vin, knowing that the sharpshooter drew his strength from him. When the congestion in Vin's lungs finally loosened, he supported him through the painful coughing spells that brought tears to the eyes of both men. When the fever re-asserted its ugly head, the gunman wrapped his friend in blankets to ward off chills, and bathed his searing flesh with cool water. When Vin's stomach rebelled from the medicines and teas and poison that invaded his body, Larabee rubbed his back and wiped his face, and promised him he'd feel better soon. And during those long, dark nights when Vin tired and walked too close to the edge, Chris stayed by his side to keep him from going over.

Although the other men were more than willing to assist with Vin's care, more often than not, they found themselves in the way. All had reached an unspoken agreement that they would wait for the tracker to recover and return to Four Corners together. Spending hours in the big city turned out to be an enjoyable way to pass the time, in spite of the worry they felt for their friend.

It was late on a particularly difficult night for Vin, that Chris heard the men come through the clinic doors. JD and Buck laughed and teased each other in their usual way, something about which of them the pretty waitress really flirted with. Josiah's slightly slurred voice broke in to remind them about the sins of the flesh. Ezra cackled and happily relayed how much his recent winnings had added to his fortune.

Chris looked down at his sick friend. Vin had been unable to keep the pain medication down all day, and consequently had gotten little rest. Soft, sparse whimpers escaped him periodically, despite his efforts to quell them. The deep hollows of his too thin face stood out starkly in the pale light of the dimly lit room, leaving Chris with a sick feeling in his own gut.

And his men were out on the town.

He rose on rubbery legs and started for the door, throwing a glance at Nathan as he sat reading nearby. Stepping into the hall, he greeted the men. "You boys have a good time?"

The intent behind his tone and his trademark glare was obvious to all four men who stopped in their tracks. Before they could answer, he continued, "Vin's fighting for his life, and you're out having the time of yours’."

Buck could clearly see the worry and exhaustion lining his friend's face, so he held his temper in check, and spoke softly. "You know we're here for Vin if he needs us, Chris."

"Just like you were there for him a few weeks ago? None of you listened to him. None of you were around to keep him from riding out of town sick and alone. How the hell does a man ride across half the western territories in his condition? How does it take his friends a week to find him? You weren't there for him then, and you're not now," Chris spat out in frustration. He knew even as the words left his mouth that he was being unfair. He knew how exasperating and downright devious Tanner could be when he got an idea in his head. But he was just too damn angry to let it go - angry at fate or God, or more than likely, at himself. He'd screwed up from the beginning.

Buck again responded quietly. "You weren't there, Chris. You don't know what it was like. And yeah, there ain't a one of us that doesn't wish we'd done things different. I suspect that includes you. But no one here it to blame for what happened, and that includes you, too. And you're wrong. We are here for Vin - and for you – if you'd let us be."

Leave it to Buck to get to the heart of the matter. Anger and blame solved nothing, changed nothing. He'd lashed out at the people he cared about most. And Vin would hate that. He could almost picture his cocky grin and hear him say, "Get over it, Larabee. Move on with a new plan." Chris lowered his head for a moment, before turning his gaze to each of the men before him.

"I . . . I'm sorry. Guess I just want to go on home. Guess I just want us all to go home."

The poignancy of the gunman's confession touched their hearts, and they settled in for the night, unified in that goal.

+ + + + + + +

Several days later, Vin expressed the exact same sentiments with the same heart felt yearning. He seemed to have turned the corner, although his progress was slow. Dr. Johnson felt he needed at least another week, but soon learned that corralling seven men proved to be beyond even his capabilities. Besides, Nathan had been taking care of these men long before he'd entered the picture and he knew the tracker would be in good hands. He'd loaded them up with supplies, and enough instructions to make Vin's eyes hurt.

Daniel had hobbled out to say good-bye, promising to write when he got settled in Kansas. After dealing with the likes of men like Hopewell and James and Royal, Chris felt new hope knowing good men still existed outside of his men and Judge Travis.

The journey that took a week coming, would be double that going back. Vin couldn't ride more than a few hours at a time, but no one cared or complained. Nathan decided the mountains really were spectacular after all, and JD found he looked forward to those stunning moments when the sun first appeared over the eastern range.

They'd tried to find the small village where Marita lived, but had no luck. Frankly, the other boys wondered if it ever existed at all. Chris didn't say anything, but he didn't remember the girl, and he wondered if Vin had conjured her up, as well. He had been so sick for so long, after all. Still, he felt bad when he noted the disappointment in Vin's eyes. Whoever this angel was, she meant a lot to his friend.

They were only a few hours from Four Corners when Vin pulled up short.

"What's wrong?" Chris asked, concerned.

"Just got t' thinkin’."

"On what?"

"You know how we was always talkin' about havin' a plan?"

Chris had no idea where Vin was going with this conversation, but he followed along. "Yeah, not that it ever worked out that way."

"That's right. That's my point!" Vin added excitedly.

Okay, now he'd lost him. "Uh – what was your point, Vin?"

"Nothin' worked out the way we planned. But it all worked out anyway. Maybe the plan's not so important after all. Maybe we're just supposed to take what happens and deal with it."

Both men pondered that a moment. For an uneducated man, Vin certainly had a philosophical nature. Here they were at the end of a grueling journey, and he was talking about fate and destiny.

"I reckon that's true, Vin. But I still like to have a plan." Chris smiled as he added, "Even if it's just to frustrate me when it doesn't work out."

Vin returned the smile. "Yeah, me too. Reckon that's just the kind of men we are, Cowboy."

They traveled on in companionable silence, satisfied in the knowledge that, plan or no plan - they were going home together.

+ + + + + + +

The six men lined the hard, wooden bench – long, gangly limbs filling the small space with no room to spare.

JD squirmed at the end, shifting about restlessly in an effort to get comfortable, while trying and failing to keep his mind on the speaker. Damn! Casey looked pretty this morning. He turned his head a bit to peak at her again, only to receive an elbow in the ribs by Buck.

Buck knew the kid wouldn't be able to keep still. He was having a difficult time himself. They sure didn't build these things for men his size. His legs didn't seem to know what to do with themselves, and he had to keep his arms pressed close to his side – that is when he wasn't elbowing JD. He couldn't blame the boy for looking, though, all the women in town looked especially pretty today. He started to turn to get another look himself, when he felt Nathan's glare upon him.

Nathan had purposely chosen this position. Somebody had to keep Buck and JD in line, and since they constantly teased him about being a mother hen, it may as well be him. He had Ezra on the other side. Knowing the man had been up until the wee hours of the morning, he kept an elbow ready to give him a poke should he drift off. He was surprised, though, when he heard Ezra's strong tenor voice join in song with his own.

It was ungodly early for the gambler. He would have enjoyed this more at a later hour, to be sure. But in truth, some things were worth getting out of bed for, and the camaraderie he shared with the others topped the list. However, he'd put up just enough fuss not to disappoint them. He glanced at the man next to him. He still wouldn't call him well dressed, but at least he'd removed that infernal buckskin coat and managed to comb his hair. Most importantly, he was here with them, as was the man next to him – something Ezra doubted any of them would ever take for granted again.

Like JD, Vin had trouble keeping still. It wasn't the setting or the circumstances or even the hard pew. He had often slipped into the back of Josiah's services on Sunday mornings, a fact known only to the preacher. It was where he sat that bothered him now. Hell, why did Chris have to promise he'd be in the front row? He looked at the man sitting next to him. He never did say what this bargain with God was all about anyway. He guessed it didn't matter. He was content to be with the boys this beautiful morning. But he'd have preferred to sit in back.

Chris smiled to himself as he read his friend's thoughts. When he had announced yesterday that he intended to go to Josiah's service this morning, he hadn't been surprised when Vin agreed to accompany him. He hadn't been surprised when one by one, the others agreed to come, as well – every one of them relieved to be together again and willing to offer thanks for it. But when they entered the church shortly after dawn and Chris headed for the front pew, Vin looked at him with a furrowed brow.

"What we goin' all the way up there for?" he'd asked.

Chris answered with a gleam in his eye, "Because I made a deal."

Vin caught on pretty quickly and knew immediately to whom Larabee had made the promise. "Why'd you go and do a thing like that? You promised to sit in front?"

Chris only smiled as he turned to his friend. "You can stay in the back if you want to, Vin, you don't have to sit up front with me."

But he knew he would. In the end, Tanner had muttered something under his breath and taken his seat beside his friend, where they both knew he belonged.

Josiah stood behind the pulpit, his heart swelling with love and pride at the men lined up before him. Each a good man with a good heart. Flawed certainly, but so much better than most, and so much more than the sum of seven. If some higher power controlled them, knew the plan, then so be it. Together, they would face whatever came.

Josiah had sought out many truths in his years of spiritual study, and accepted some along the way. But this morning, one single truth burned bright within him. Seven men had become brothers, and God help the man who came between them.

END