Guardian Angel by Winnie

Chris Larabee smiled contentedly as he mounted Pony. Home was still a day's ride to the north, yet he could feel the pull of his friends already. Somehow, over the last two years he'd come to think of the town as home and the six men he rode with as family. The little piece of heaven he owned an hour's ride from town was something he'd grown fond of. Putting a little of himself into each new addition. He sighed contentedly as he rode out of the canyon and into the open expanse of desert. He breathed deeply of the strong scent of desert wildflowers and began the journey home.

The hot sun continued its trek across the clear blue skies and Chris reached for his canteen. He pulled the lid from it and tilted upwards, closing his eyes to ward off the blinding rays emanating from the brilliant orb overhead. He pulled the canteen away from his mouth and swiped at the mixture of sweat and dust on his forehead. His hat hung low over his eyes as Pony slowly put one hoof in front of the other. He replaced the canteen in his saddle and patted the beautiful animal on the right side of his sweaty neck.

"It's a hot one, Boy," he said as they continued to make their way towards home. Chris had no idea how long they had been riding when gunfire erupted from behind him. He glanced over his head as he spurred Pony forward. He counted four men riding directly towards him, clouds of dust spraying up from the thundering hooves of their steeds.

Chris turned his head and guided Pony forward, knowing the men following him were not of the friendly variety. A bullet whizzed by his ear and he pulled his Colt from the holster. He turned in the saddle, firing off a shot as he felt Pony stagger. His heart lurched as he thought they'd go down, but Pony righted himself and they continued their mad trek through the desert. The sporadic sound of gunfire continued to reach his ears and he felt something tug at the right sleeve of his duster. He knew it took a sizable piece of flesh with it, but couldn't take the time to see how bad he'd been hit.

He glanced over his shoulder once more, noting that the riders were spreading out and gaining distance. The three days ride with Pony was taking a toll on the animal but he knew the beautiful animal would run itself into the ground before giving into exhaustion. Chris Larabee knew he wasn't going to outrun these men, but he'd be damned if he gave in without a fight. They didn't seem to want him dead, evidenced by the men circling around him. Two seemed to be running parallel to him, a hundred feet back, but gaining ground rapidly. The other two were closing the distance behind him. He pointed his gun at the man on the right and fired a shot. He smiled as the man cried out and fell from the galloping horse. The smile was short lived as a shot was fired from behind and Chris bent his lean body into the ride. The sound of the wind in his ears was thunderous and his hat was whipped off his head, allowing the long strands of blond hair to blow haphazardly around his dusty face.

The man on the left continued to gain ground on him and he could hear the hoof beats of the two men behind him. He swung his gun to the left, but something landed over his shoulders and he was unceremoniously dropped to the ground, the air driven from his lungs. He didn't have time to check on Pony as he concentrated on getting free of the constricting rope. He tried pulling on it but the man holding it kept it taut. He struggled to his knees and tried to get to his feet, but was pulled back to the ground by the man sitting on a large Bay stallion.

"Don't gimme an excuse to put a slug in ya!" snarled a tall man hurrying towards the downed gunslinger.

Larabee didn't recognize the heavily whiskered face or the hatred filled dark eyes. The man's body was well muscled and in spite of the heat his upper body was covered in red flannel. Green eyes glared at the dark barrel of the pistol the man held in front of him. "Who the hell are you?" the blond growled angrily, the air finally returning to his heated lungs.

"Don't matter none who we are! What matters is we know who you are! You're a lowlife scum suckin' animal that kills women!" he hissed. "Yer gonna fin' out what we do ta animals like you!"

"I didn't kill..." his words were cut off as a second rope landed on his shoulders and tightened around his neck. Larabee gasped against the constriction, using his fingers to try and pry some breathing room. Sparkling lights flashed before his eyes as lack of oxygen brought on the darkness of unconsciousness. As if from a distance he felt his body lifted and dropped back to the ground on his stomach. Something was fastened to his wrist and tightened until it cut into his wrist. The pressure on his throat released slightly and he gulped the much-needed air into his starving lungs. He felt hands clasp his ankles and something was forced around them. The sound of chains told him he was tethered in a pair of iron manacles. He tried to speak, but the rope was tightened once more as he was dragged to his feet.

"Since yer horse took off ya'll 'ave some walkin' ta do! I aim ta git back ta my town 'fore dinner so ya'd best be ready to move fast, murderer." He spoke slowly, his face moving closer to Larabee's until the two men were nose to nose.

Chris could smell stale tobacco and whiskey on the man even as he wondered whom he'd supposedly murdered. "I didn't murder..." A fist came out of nowhere and rocked his head back. The force of the blow sent him spinning towards the ground, but the rope pulled tight around his neck forced him to stand his ground.

"Now you best jest shut up. Ya'll git yer chance ta plead yer case when the circuit judge arrives."

Circuit judge, Orrin Travis, he thought as he regained his balance and the rope was loosened once more. He sucked in a breath before a knotted piece of cloth was forced past his lips and into his already arid throat. The smell of the rag reminded him of the stench of outhouses and he forced himself to think of other things. Orrin will know I didn't murder anyone, he thought as the man moved to his horse and mounted the tall animal. He watched as one of the men lifted the man he'd shot onto his horse and tied him down.

"Now ya make sure ya keep up, Mister, cause I don't aim ta stop until we reach town!" the leader of the group snapped angrily.

Larabee started forward, keeping pace with the horses as they started back the way they'd come. He glanced over his head, but saw no sign of Pony. He prayed the gelding would find it's way back to Four Corners, but had little hope of the others being able to find him. He didn't know how long they walked. His legs ached and the muscles in his calves cramped and throbbed as he forced one leg in front of the other. The hot sun continued to beat down and added more heat to the sand underfoot. He could feel the leather boots he wore melting with each step. They stopped twice and gave him small sips of water, but each time the dirty rag was shoved back in his mouth and the cloth quickly soaked up all moisture. He felt the sun burning the skin of his face and swore on the dark skinned man seated on the third horse. He'd smiled as he pulled Larabee's hat from his head saying he wouldn't need to worry about sunburn, as he'd be frying in hell before long.

The sun was slowly losing its heat as it sank below the horizon, but Chris knew this would do him no good. His clothes were soaked with sweat and the desert would quickly lose the heat of the day, leaving him to suffer the chill of the night. Walking, struggling to keep on his feet, his legs numb, his feet blistered beyond imagination, still his captors marched on. His eyes were closed and he stumbled before finally losing his footing. A muffled grunt was the only sound to escape the gag in his mouth.

The leader of the three men called a halt as he heard the prisoner's body hit the ground. He climbed off his horse and walked to the prone figure. "Git on yer feet ya bastard or I'll gut ya where yer lyin'!" he warned as he pulled a knife from his belt.

Larabee's temper often got him in trouble, but this time it saved his life. From the green fiery depths of his eyes and the blistering heat of his feet newfound strength was born of that anger. It was slow going with his arms cuffed behind his back, but he succeeded in getting his knees under him and then finally stood on his own two feet. Without looking at the hated man beside him he pointed his body in the direction they were headed and took one step after another.

A hand clamped down on the gunslinger's shoulder and he cried out as he was forced to his knees. "Don't get cocky with me, Mister. I'm on two minds ta kill ya where ya are, but I figure that'll make me jest as bad as you are. I aim ta let Judge Wilcox 'ave ya when 'e gets 'ere," the voice taunted.

Wilcox died three years ago, Larabee thought. He'd had his own run ins with the older man, yet was always treated fairly.

"Ain't got no idea 'ow long ya'll be spendin' in the jail, but the judge has been long overdue. There was two other fellas there waitin' trial, but we won't be keepin' ya there near's long as they were 'eld. Finally strung 'em up las' week. If'n the judge don't show up in two weeks we'll 'ave us a fine 'anging wit'out im," the hated voice promised as the torturous journey began again.

Larabee let his mind wander, as thirst became another thing he was forced to endure. The men made a show of lifting their canteens, but refused to give him anymore. He hated the rag in his mouth and tried to control breathing through his nose. Finally he saw a sparkle of light in the distance. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other! You can get them to send a telegram to Four Corners and get this mess straightened out, he thought as he staggered along behind the big horse.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled to a stop in front of a stone building with one door and a bar crossed window. He stood his ground, eyeing his captors in spite of his body's screams for rest. Once again the whiskered man stood before him, hatred seething in the dark eyes. The flames from the street were soon joined by torches as members of the small neglected town made their way to the center of the street.

"Looks like Sheriff Burke done caught him!" a female voice cried out.

"Where'd ya find 'im, Sheriff?" another called.

"Did ya fin' the missin' money an' jewellery he done stole off Eliza?"

Chris stood his ground as a group of poorly dressed people surrounded him on the street. Most seemed excited about seeing him; while others just stared with hate filled eyes.

"Ain't had a chance ta search 'im fer the money yet. Figured it'd be best if'n I did it back 'ere in front of the lot of ya."

"Search the murderin' son of a bitch, Sheriff," came a shout, that soon turned into a mantra among the towns people.

"I'm gonna," Burke moved to stand in front of his prisoner and smiled maliciously. "Harvey is gonna release your hands, Mister. Mike's gonna keep his gun trained on ya and I'd advise ya not to do anythin' stupid. Un'erstood?" He smiled as the sunburnt face bobbed once. "That's real good, Mister. Alright, Harvey, take off the cuffs," he ordered and the dark skinned man moved in to do as the sheriff ordered.

Chris felt his hands released and pulled them to the front. He slowly rubbed the numbed wrists until the sheriff struck him open handed across the face. The gunslinger seethed in spite of the exhaustion and thirst. His hatred fed green eyes met and held the man who was sheriff of this excuse for a town.

"Now I want yer 'ands placed on yer 'ead and I don't want ya ta move a muscle, Mister. I'm gonna see where yer hidin' that money and then I'm gonna put ya in a cell 'til Judge Wilcox gits 'ere. Keep yer gun on 'im, Mike."

"Sure thing, Sheriff."

Larabee held himself tense as grimy hands made their way over his lean body, stopping on the right pocket of his jeans. The upturned mouth of the sheriff told him he was in deeper trouble than he was before as the hand came out and showed a small cameo broach.

"I done tole ya we'd fin' the murderin thief!" Burke held the broach high above his head as he turned back to his prisoner. "So where's the rest of it?" he asked as he tore the gag from Larabee's mouth.

"You put that in there, you son of a bitch," the gunslinger rasped through the dryness of his throat and mouth. His head snapped back and hands grabbed him before he fell to the ground. He was held tightly as the sheriff stood directly in front of him. Before he could say another word the gag was replaced and he felt the duster being removed from his body.

"Git his boots off 'im. They ain't gonna do 'im much good in jail. Mike, keep yer gun on 'im. Ladies, ya' go on 'ome now cause there ain't no needa ya seein' this. Harvey, strip him down to his drawers and we'll see ta makin' 'im feel at 'ome in 'is cell."

Chris tried to fight the hands holding him but for each blow he delivered two impacted on his torso or head. The black shirt and jeans were peeled from his body and he was dragged towards the darkened jailhouse. He heard keys in the door and was soon dropped heavily to the dirt floor. He coughed against the gag as layers of dust billowed up around him. He dragged his aching body to the dirty mattress and dropped onto it as laughter and jeering reached his ears. He reached up and removed the gag and took in a deep gulp of the dust-coated air. Again he coughed, his eyes slid closed and he lost the fight to remain awake.

The sun shining in through the open window turned the stone structure into an oven and Larabee groaned as he turned onto his back. His green eyes shot open and snapped closed again as the throbbing behind his eyes intensified. His body felt stiff and unyielding as he struggled to turn onto his stomach. He briefly noted that his clothes were gone, leaving him clad in only his drawers. His upper torso was covered in a multitude of colors, but the burning sensation in his right arm grabbed and held his attention. He flexed the fingers of his right arm, grimacing at the pain that traveled from the fingertips up into his shoulder. Flashes of his trek through the desert played across his closed lids as he once more tried to get to his feet. Finally, he stood on shaky legs and looked around the sunlit interior. He groaned as his eyes lit on a dirty pail in one corner. He knew there was little choice but to use it. He staggered to the corner and relieved himself before turning his attention back to his prison. The door was directly in front of him and he stepped towards it. There were no handles with which to open it and he tried shoving up against it. He cried out in rage and pain as his sore arm throbbed incessantly.

He turned his attention to the window and tested the bars. His frustration mounted as the bars didn't have any give to them. His clothes were missing and he had nothing to dig through the base of the window. There was no way he could remove the bars and make good his escape. He took a deep breath, the sound of his breathing harsh in the enclosed structure. Half an hour later he sank to the mattress and closed his eyes against the painful headache and the queasiness in his stomach.

Chris heard someone at the door and tensed his body. He knew it was midday because of the position of the sun. He opened his eyes to mere slits and watched as the so-called Sheriff and his men entered the cell.

"On yer feet, Mister!" Burke ordered.

Larabee knew to resist would just garner him more pain. He couldn't afford anything else if he was to escape this town and these people. Something was definitely wrong with the whole place. He turned on his side and forced himself to a sitting position.

"Get him on his feet," the sheriff ordered as he lost patience with his prisoner.

The gunslinger glared angrily at the hated man standing before him. His arms were pulled behind him and one of the men re-attached the handcuffs to his wrists. They pulled him towards the door and stopped before Burke.

Larabee lifted his eyes and sent a warning the other man easily read. The Sheriff's eyebrows rose and a thin smile covered his face. "I don't know your name, Mister, and I don't give a damn what it is. Right now we got all the evidence we need fer a judge ta convict ya, but we're not gonna wait fer 'im ta git 'ere. There's a little tree known as the hangman's tree about a mile outside of town and that's where we're gonna go right now."

"What about a trial?" Larabee hissed as he was forced towards the door.

"We done had us a trial while you was sleepin'. Seems the whole town is tired of havin' ta feed men like you," Burke explained.

Larabee turned to the dark skinned man on his right. He remembered Burke calling him Mike and Chris tried talking to him. "Look, my name is Chris Larabee. Send a telegram to Four Corners. They'll tell you who I am."

"I done tol' ya I don't give a damn who ya say ya are. 'Side we ain't got no telegram. Git 'im out there and put 'im on a horse," he hissed as he placed his face directly in front of the gunslinger. "'Sides we both know yer a murderer and a thief. Yer gonna hang no matter whatcha say."

"You bastards! You're setting me up!" Larabee spat as he struggled against the vice like grip on his arms.

Mike and Harvey tightened their grip, smiling as the muscles in Larabee's arms strained to the breaking point. He soon found himself dragged out into the sunlight. The people were once again gathered outside the jailhouse, men, women, and children alike came to gawk at the newly convicted murderer. Human nature was to be morbid and the thoughts of a hanging brought people out in droves. He knew there was no point in begging for his life; it was something he'd never done and never would do. He gazed at the faces staring at him, searching, hoping, and praying he'd find a sympathetic gaze. His only hope was to save someone else's life and maybe let his friends know where he was and what happened to him. He was still being dragged, but pulled his legs up under himself and glared out over the crowd, hoping, praying someone would do as he asked.

"Telegram Four Corners and tell them Chris Larabee was murdered! They'll tell you I'm not a murderer!" he shouted as he struggled against the men holding him.

"Shut 'im up, Dammit!" Burke hissed, not wanting this man to garner any sympathy. The town was his, but the people sometimes had their suspicions of his not so stellar activities. He stepped in front of the near naked man and struck out with his fist.

The air was driven from his lungs as Larabee went limp in the two sets of arms. He tried to scream at the people watching, but again a rag was stuffed into his mouth. He fought to drag air into his lungs as he was pulled towards a saddle horse and thrown on it. Stars flashed before his eyes as darkness threatened to blot out the light. He could hear Burke issuing orders, but couldn't understand most of what was being said. A few words struck him as strange.

"Thunder... Storm"

"Gonna... rain"

"Better get... this done!"

He didn't recognize the voices, but he knew who was speaking. It wasn't long before the four horses were racing away from the small town. Larabee had no idea how long they rode, but even trussed up and in pain his mind worked to form a plan. He knew there'd be no rescue in the form of Vin Tanner or any of the other men he called friends. This was something he'd have to get out of himself, if only to show this piece of garbage and his cohorts what happened if you went against an innocent Larabee.

Chris knew he'd have to move quickly once they came to a halt. He'd need to surprise these men in order to get free. His body was hot and he wasn't so sure it was from the sun anymore. His arm throbbed and he knew it was probably infected, but right now that was the least of his worries. What did it matter if his arm was infected when his neck was about to be stretched? Ignoring the pain once more he planned. The only chance he could possibly have was to pretend he was unconscious when they finally came to a stop. If he could get his horse moving and stay in the saddle he'd have a slim chance of escaping.

Fat drops of rain hit his bare back and he knew the storm he'd heard them talking about was almost upon them. The unfamiliar horse he rode seemed skittish and he knew it wouldn't take much for the animal to bolt.

"Hurry up!" Burke shouted above the mounting wind and rain.

"There's the tree!" Mike shouted.

Larabee remained motionless as the horse drew to a halt; his body leaned forward against the neck of the animal he rode. He listened to the others talk and waited for them to dismount.

"Mike, you get that rope up. Harvey you take the horses. Hey, looks like..." he thought for a few second and used the gunslinger's name. "Larabee's out cold." Burke told them.

"Why don'tcha leave 'im that way till we get this set up. We'll wake 'im up when we're ready ta put the noose 'round 'is neck. That's the best part when they try ta fight us puttin' the rope on 'im."

Chris could almost hear Burke's smile as the man answered.

"Yeah. That last one damn near shit himself!"

"Think this one'll do the same?" Harvey asked.

"Maybe, but som'ow I think this one is different. He don't seem ta 'ave none of the fears the others had," Burke observed as he dismounted and handed the reins to Harvey.

"Sure he is. I heared him pleadin' with the folks back in town."

"I don't think he was pleadin'. It was more like tryin' ta see if anyone would do as he asked." He lifted the blond head and stared into the pale, bruised face. "I tol' ya ta shut 'im up 'cause I didn't want no one knowing who he was or where he came from. We got us a nice little deal goin' on 'ere and I aim ta see that it stays that way. Are you ready, Mike?" he asked.

"The branches are kinda slip'ry. I need help gettin' the damn thing ta stay put long 'nuff ta tie it off."

"Harvey, watch 'im," he said, releasing his hold on the reins and moving to help the man with the hangman's noose.

Larabee gazed at the others through slitted eyes. With all his strength he sat tall in the saddle and dug his heels into the horse. "Yah!" he shouted scaring the jittery animal beneath him and sending him into the man holding the remaining three horses. He didn't take the time to see if the man fell or the horses scattered. He was in a race for his life and he wasn't sure if what he heard was gunshots or thunder. He prayed it was thunder and soon dashed into the trees, using the thick branches to cover his escape.

Chris had no idea how long he rode, but suddenly the skies opened up and hell rained down on him from above. Thunder rolled in a cacophony of drumbeats as lightening slashed across the sky. His legs were slowly losing purchase as the animal's skin became slick with the rain. He held on for dear life as man and horse rode as if the demons of Hades were on their heels.

The backdrop of dark skies and flashing lightning framed horse and rider in an open display that proved how good a rider Chris Larabee really was. His body bounced in the saddle and he knew he couldn't hold on much longer. He knew himself to be a professional horse breaker, yet he knew he couldn't hold out much longer. His luck gave out as the horse stepped in a hole and the two went down in a jumble of human and animal, a puzzle any normal person would be hard fit to complete.

"Any idea when Brother Chris will be back?" Sanchez asked as he sat next to the sharpshooter.

"Said he'd be gone 'bout a week. That gives 'im two more days. He knows Billy's comin' back on Thursday's stage and he promised the boy he'd be there ta meet 'im. Ya know how Chris feels 'bout that boy," Tanner smiled at the older man as Wilmington and Dunne joined them on the landing to Jackson's clinic.

Nathan had just returned from the Seminole village where Rain lived and he was exhausted. He'd gone there to help look after the villagers who'd been struck with a bad case of the flu that swept through the village like wildfire through dry grass and brush. Six people died during the week he'd been there, but a lot more lived because Nathan Jackson cared about what he did and made sure people got the best care he could possibly give. The five men were making sure no one disturbed the sleeping healer unless it was a dire emergency.

"You boys shoulda seen Chris when Sarah and Adam were a... alive," Wilmington stammered as memories assaulted his mind.

"What was he like, Buck?" Dunne asked.

The scoundrel sat back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. He sighed heavily and stared at each of his friends before speaking. "Chris loved Sarah more than life itself. I knew when I saw them together the first time he was ready to settle down. The change seemed ta come overnight. One minute we were out carousin' and drinkin'. Next thing ya know Chris is staring into these beautiful brown eyes set in one of the most gorgeous women I've ever had the pleasure ta lay eyes on. I'm tellin' ya boys if Chris hadn't made a move I just mighta ended up married ta her myself."

"You, Buck, no way you'd settle down with one woman." Dunne stated.

"You're right, JD, but this one woulda made me think twice about being single. Anyway, Chris took one look into her eyes and his life changed. He courted her as if she'd disappear from his life as suddenly as she came into it. Chris had a hard life, Boys, I won't go into it, but he deserved something good for a change and Sarah was that and more. She changed Chris. Made him into a man instead of a boy, cause that's what we were back then. Boys with too much time on our hands," Buck looked at each of his friends, knowing they'd keep this to themselves. They all knew Chris Larabee was a private man, but they enjoyed hearing about his life as a husband and father. "They'd been married about a year or so when Sarah found out she was gonna be a mother," the scoundrel smiled as he thought of his friends face when Chris told him he was gonna be a papa. "Chris came into the yard with two glasses of whiskey in his hands. He handed one ta me and plastered that cocky grin of his on his face. You know the shit-eater's grin. The one that says I got somethin' good and no one's gonna ruin it."

"Yeah, I know the one you're talkin' 'bout, Buck," Tanner answered, knowing he was getting to see a new side of Chris Larabee.

"We all know that grin, Brother," Sanchez smiled as Wilmington continued.

"Well, ol' Chris just looks me in the eye and says, Ya know, Buck, you're gonna have to give up some of that carousing if you're gonna be my son's Godfather. I damn near choked on the whiskey. He said it with this glint in his eyes and I knew Sarah was gonna have a baby. He wasn't just askin' me for when it happened, he was askin' me 'cause it already had. The night little Adam was born Chris cried. He cried with joy, but he also cried 'cause of the pain Sarah went through. He figured she'd done it for him and he was probably right. Anyway, him and Sarah let me know how much I was a part of their family and I got to watch Chris play with that little boy. He'd lift Adam in his arms and he'd sing in that off key voice of his and that little boy would just smile. Talk about a mirror image of his pa. If Adam l...lived long enough to grow up he'd been the spit image of Chris. His hair mighta been darker, but that look, those eyes and that grin were all there. We took Adam fishin' and ridin' and Chris and Sarah's love seemed ta grow every day. That all changed when that bitch came back," Wilmington stood up and walked to the stairs. "Sorry, Boys, I just can't talk about it anymore. I'll be at the saloon if ya want me."

Tanner watched the ladies' man walk away and knew he was feeling the same loss Chris felt when he thought about his wife and child. The difference was Buck's love was more that of a brother and uncle rather than husband and father. He wished he'd been around to see that side of Chris Larabee, yet he was glad he'd been given the chance to know the quiet gunslinger now. He looked up as Jackson came out of the clinic. Vin nodded, stood up and the five of them moved to join the sixth member of the Magnificent Seven in the saloon. Each man thought about the missing leader and wondered what he was doing at that moment.

Chris opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as the rain continued to pour down on him. He shivered and moaned as he tried to move. His body trembled as a fever began to gain momentum. He lifted his head and looked around for the horse he'd been riding. The animal was nowhere to be seen and he was glad the creature wasn't lying there suffering as he was. The cold rain stripped the dirt from his body and cleansed the wounds he'd garnered as a result of the race for his life.

Larabee knew his only chance was to stay ahead of the men chasing him. He knew they were still on his trail. There was no way they'd leave him alive. He knew what they were up to and he needed to get the information to Orrin Travis and make sure the Sheriff and his men stood trial. He turned onto his side and drew his legs up. Using every ounce of strength he could muster he pushed against the ground with enough momentum to push himself up on his knees. He stayed in that position until the stormy world righted itself and his breathing came easier. Move dammit! he thought as he struggled to get his legs under him.

"Think, dammit, Which way?" he spoke aloud, his words drowned out by the slashing rain and the echoing thunder. He started forward, one step at a time, his knees threatening to give out, but his mind not willing to let it happen. A streak of lightening cut a gash across the sky, striking and igniting a tall Pine a few yards to the right of him. He ducked away from the shifting branches, and continued to run through the glade.

He had no idea how long he ran or how far. He stumbled and went down, stood up, ran, stumbled, struggled to his feet and ran again. He ached from head to toe, pain jarred his arms each time he stumbled and fell. He tried to stop his forward momentum as a flash of lightening showed him how close he was to the edge of a cliff. He lost his footing in the mud and slime, his body rolling across the ground and coming to rest on his back at the edge of the sharp drop. He breathed deeply, coughing to rid his throat of the mud that was forced into his mouth.

He struggled to get up, but found his body was stronger than his mind at the moment. His mind knew he needed to find shelter, his body knew there was no strength left to move. He lay on his back, breathing deeply as he fought to catch his breath. He didn't know if he was hot or cold, but he continued to tremble uncontrollably. Exhaustion sank into every pour of his body as the rain persisted in its assault on him as well as the world about him. He shifted away from the edge of the cliff and lay on his back in the soft, sucking mud.

His fingers were numb, his arms and shoulders screamed for relief from the uncomfortable position they'd been in since the sheriff took him from the cell. He turned on his side and brought his knees up to his bare chest. He cried out as he slid his hands down towards his butt.

He'd done this many times as a kid. He smiled as a picture of Buck Wilmington came to mind. They were carousing in one of the many town they'd visited as young men. A playful young saloon girl wanted to see the trick Buck told her about. She pulled his hands behind his back and placed a set of cuffs on his wrists. It took less than a minute for him to bring the cuffs around to the front of his body.

He lost track of time as he struggled to pull his hands down over his lean form. His long legs were another obstacle, but he was slowly advancing the right one through. He ignored his aching body, knowing his only chance was to get his arms around in front of him. He hoped his fingers and hands weren't swollen to the point he couldn't slide the cuffs off.

Chris had no idea how much time passed but his two legs were finally through the circle of his arms and he lay back against the ground. He felt himself sinking into the folds of a warm blanket and knew he was losing consciousness. Somewhere in his mind he knew this was a bad idea, but he couldn't for the life of him remember why.

He didn't know what woke him, but he moved on instincts alone. He rolled onto his right side and raised his head. The storm was over, the sun far above the horizon and the sound of rushing water met his ears. He knew this wasn't what woke him. A strange sound in the unnatural quiet was the only explanation. He waited for it to come again and heard shouting. He fought his way to his feet and searched the area around him. he spotted the three familiar forms in the distance and swore on his own weakness.

He looked to his left and right. A steep embankment lay to his right. He knew he didn't have the energy to climb it and turned to the downward slope to the left. He raced down the hill, stumbling and falling, rolling towards the bottom. His tethered hands were of little use as he came to an abrupt halt up against a thick bush. He silently thanked God for the minor miracle and stood up once more.

"There he is!"

Chris looked up the hill and knew he'd been spotted. "Shit!" he cried as he once more ran for his life. The thunder he heard now was not from the sky, but from the pounding hoofs of the horses running him to the ground. Wonder if this was how escaped slaves felt? The strange thought came and went as he searched for a way out.

They were closer now, he could almost feel the earth shaking from the pounding hoofs. He couldn't chance a glance over his head, but he was sure he felt the breath of a steed on his neck. He ran, knowing that his only chance of survival was to outdistance his pursuers, yet he knew it was impossible. His body was running on pure stubbornness alone now and he felt even that was slowly running out. The edge of the cliff lay on his left and he glanced over the edge. He spotted a small pool and prayed it was deep enough.

"Stop or I'll shoot ya where ya stand!"

The gunslinger heard the voice and turned towards the edge of the cliff. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted Burke and the man called Mike. He smiled weakly, knowing he'd cheat them out of the joy of killing him. He took a deep breath as he neared the edge and jumped. God help me, he thought as he leaped out into thin air.

It felt as if he stayed suspended for a fraction of a second as his legs did a macabre dance of their own. A cry tore from his throat as he felt his body dropping towards the murky pool below him. Please..., he thought, but got no further as he hit the cold water and sank far below the surface. His body rolled in the water and he was hard pressed to know up from down. He finally spotted the lighter shade and headed towards what he prayed was the surface. His bound arms were a hindrance, but after an indeterminate amount of time, with no air left in his lungs, his head bobbed above the surface. He gulped in a deep breath of fresh air and water as the ripples forced the liquid into his open mouth.

Chris coughed, sputtered, choked, spit out the murky water and drew in his second breath of air. He had no idea how long he stayed in one spot, but he knew he needed to get to shore before his strength gave out. Summoning the last of his depleted energy he swam towards the shore, praying that the rocky overhang would hide him from the prying eyes above him. Cramps assaulted his arms and legs, but he forced himself to go on. There was no way he'd come this far to drown in some river he didn't even know the name of.

Using his two hands he swam in the same way he'd seen dogs and other animals do and finally made it to shore. He pulled his now aching, breathless, pain laden body ashore and lay half in, half out of the water. His eyes closed and he wondered if Burke and his men would give him up as dead. He prayed they would as he had no strength left for another race for his life. He knew if it happened he'd lose. Of that there was no doubt for he didn't have the energy to open his eyes. Unconsciousness dragged him under much the same way the water in the river had moments before, only this time there was no fighting back.

Burke continued to watch both sides of the heavy stream far below them. Mike and Harvey were doing the same thing from further down. He knew the fall had probably killed Larabee, but he wanted to make sure. The man knew things about him and his men and he couldn't take the chance on someone finding him alive. He swore as time passed with no sign of the blond. He knew they could've missed him, especially at this distance, but he needed concrete evidence before he gave up the search.

He turned to the two companions and shouted. "We need ta get down there and make sure he's dead."

"It'll take us a couple of hours ta get down there," Harvey informed him.

"He's gotta be dead, Ray. No one coulda survived that. He's prob'ly so weak he couldn't fight the river. The rains got the banks flooded. He's dead!" Mike insisted.

"Yeah, but we need to know for sure. Think about it. If he's alive and gets someone ta help 'im then what's ta stop 'im from tellin' what he knows 'bout us?" Burke asked.

"Who's gonna b'lieve 'im. The town voted guilty and they wanted 'im strung up," Mike nodded towards then edge of the bank. "Ain't no way he coulda lived through that."

"So yer both willin' ta go ta jail and 'ang if'n he wasn't killed in the fall or drowned in the river?" Burke enquired.

The three men looked at one another until Harvey broke the silence. "I guess we go down there and make sure."

"Guess we do," Burke said and hurried towards his horse.

Chris woke up cold and shivering, his body still in the same position as when he'd dragged himself from the water. He had no idea how long he'd lain there, but he knew he needed to find shelter. Not just from the scorching sun, but also from his pursuers. He had little doubt they'd come down and search for him, yet he didn't have the energy to stand up. He lifted his head and searched the immediate area. He spotted a small opening and prayed it was big enough for him to crawl into. He dragged his body over the wet ground, ignoring the pain shooting from his arms. By the time he made it the short distance he was again trembling with cold and exhaustion. The opening was smaller than he first thought, but he knew he couldn't be reckless. All kinds of animals could've made this haven a home. He picked up a few rocks from the ground beside him and through them inside. He repeated the process for a few minutes longer and finally moved his weary body towards it. He moved through the opening and was surprised to find the inside larger than he first thought. It was damp, but he barely registered that fact as the fever continued to grow. The interior of his shelter was barely illuminated by the light coming through the opening, but he could see he was alone there.

He sighed and dropped his head between his cuffed hands. He knew he should try to conceal the opening, but he couldn't move his stiffening limbs. He was beyond pain now. His lean body numbed by the cold and the lack of clothing, shivered uncontrollably. The sun's warmth had done nothing to stop his trembling and he knew he was in trouble.

A harsh wracking cough tore from his chest and Chris Larabee turned onto his right side. His head throbbed and he knew he was sick. He groaned and vomited the water he'd swallowed when he surfaced in the river. He let his head drop back on his arm and succumbed to the call of darkness.

Thirteen-year-old Jamie Warren smiled as he headed towards home, a full string of fish attached to his saddle. He knew his Pa would be proud of his catch and they'd be eating the fresh catch as soon as his ma had cleaned and fried them. His mouth watered as he thought of the meal of trout, sweet potato pie and his ma's chocolate cake. No one made Chocolate cake like his Ma. He continued along the trail until he heard a soft whinny off to his left. A frown tugged on his freckled features as the sound came again.

Wonder who's in there, he thought as he pulled his horse to a stop. "Whoa, boy," he said as his horse answered the unknown animal. He flicked the reins over the branch of a tree and slowly pulled back on the brush. He was a cautious boy and knew better than to hurry into unknown dangers. His eyes lit no the beautiful animal standing in the underbrush, he frowned as he realized there was no one near it. He waited another few minutes, listening for the horse's owner. He shrugged his shoulders and stood up.

"Anyone there?" he called as he moved towards the horse. He could see the animal was tired, sweat glittered off its hide and he wondered how anyone could be so cruel as to leave him saddled in this heat. Shaking his head he moved towards the skittish animal, speaking softly as he got closer.

"Hello, Boy, are you all alone out here?" The animal lifted his head and snorted at the newcomer. "Easy, Fella, I ain't gonna hurt ya. You look kinda tired and thirsty. Where's your owner?" he asked as he nervously looked around. There was no sign of anyone near the horse and he made a complete search of the area. He went to his own mount and grabbed his canteen, patting his horse on the mane as he headed back to the weary animal in the brush.

"Hey, Fella, I got something for ya," he called as he moved closer to the unknown animal. He poured water into the cupped hand and slowly advanced on the nervous animal. "I know ya must be thirsty. I got water here for ya," he said as he reached the gelding. He watched as the huge eyes stared at him and the head slowly lowered towards his offering. He smiled as the tongue lapped the moisture from his hand and quickly added more as he realized just how thirsty the sweaty horse was. He emptied the canteen and shook his head as he realized the horse must have ran for a long time.

"I ain't got no more, Boy," he said as the horse turned towards him. The soft whinny made him smile and he patted the strong neck. "We got lots back home though. Why don't I take you there and maybe Pa and me can find out what happened to your owner? How does that sound?" he soothed. He laughed as the head seemed to bob up and down.

Jamie reached down and began untangling the horse's reins. It took nearly five minutes to free the animal and he led it out of the brush. He untied his own horse and mounted it. With a last glance around he rode away from the clearing and headed home, Pony striding wearily behind him.

Ray Burke lead the way down the rocky terrain until they reached the bottom two hours later. The river provided a wonderful area for lush growth. Small trees, brush, and lush green grass grew in abundance. They were forced to go further south from where Larabee jumped because of the thick foliage.

The three men dismounted and moved towards the swollen river. They knew where Larabee jumped and could make out the overhanging rocky ledge, but they couldn't see what lay beneath. They hurried to the edge of the quick flowing water and looked over a narrow dam of rocks into the pool beyond. They could see the shore on both sides, but not quite all the way under the ledge.

"Anythin'?" Burke asked as they searched the area.

"Nothin'," Mike answered as he stretched out over the water. "He musta been swept over that dam..."

"If he was then he's dead fer sure," Harvey replied. "Ain't no way he could've survived in that water."

"We need ta be sure," Burke muttered as he swept the area again.

"Come on, Ray. This river is runnin' high and the rapids just past that bend lead to heavy waterfalls. He's gotta be dead," Mike explained.

"I still ain't fer sure on whether he got swept over that dam of rocks. He could be hidin' under that damn ledge. There's gotta be some way we can check ta make sure," the sheriff told them. He walked as close to the edge as he could but wasn't able to see past the heavy foliage or rocky outcropping.

"It's starting ta rain ag'in, Ray. Why don't we go back ta town. If he is behind there than he'll drown when the rains come ag'in. That water's already high and it'll keep climbin' until that areas flooded," Harvey tried.

"Then maybe we should stay 'ere 'til it does," Burke snapped.

"I ain't stayin out in another storm," Mike hissed. "Larabee's dead and he cain't do nothin' ta us. Let's get back ta Haven and I'll buy ya both a beer."

"Beer sounds good right now, Ray," Harvey said as the rain grew heavier and thunder again echoed around them.

Burke looked at the river and wondered would they be saved by nature. Did the river actually take Chris Larabee to a watery death, or was he out there somewhere. Watching, waiting, biding his time until he came forward to expose them. He took one final look at the heavy shrubs and the outcropping. The water would rise beyond them and if Larabee was in there he'd drown. Sighing heavily the sheriff ran his hands through his rain-slickened hair and turned away from the river and Chris Larabee. Without a word he mounted and aimed his horse back towards the town he'd called Haven.

Jamie pulled into his yard and smiled as his father came towards him. "Hi, Pa."

"I though you were goin' fishin' not huntin' for horses," Robert Warren smiled at his son. The older man had the same freckles and red hair as his son.

"I found him, pa. He was out by the creek. I checked, but there wasn't anyone around. I couldn't just leave him there." The boy jumped down from his own mount and followed his father to the dark gelding tethered behind him.

The older Warren knew good horseflesh and this one was among the finest he'd ever seen in spite of its exhausted appearance.

The animal whinnied as Robert got closer and Jamie reached out to pat his neck. "Easy, Boy, Pa's just gonna check ya over. Make sure there's nothing wrong with ya."

Robert smiled at his son. He was proud of the way Jamie could soothe an animal and knew someday the boy would make a fine Vet if that's what he wanted to do. He turned his attention back to the horse and ran his hands down the four legs. Aside from a few minor scratches the animal was fine. He reached up and undid the cinch in order to remove the saddle, saddlebags, and rifle from its scabbard.

Jamie took the saddle and other items from his father and placed it on the porch. Next came the sweaty blanket and he laid it next to the saddle. "Is he okay, Pa?" Jamie asked worriedly.

"Seems fine, Son. Whoever owned him took good care of him. Why don't you get him some water and feed and put him in the corral."

"Sure. What are we gonna do with him?"

"Well, Jamie, someone's gotta own him and whoever it is, is probably out looking for him now. Maybe the owner was thrown from him. We'll take him with us to Four Corners tomorrow and see if anyone there knows who he belongs to."

"What if they don't?"

"Then we'll put up some posters and see what we can find out. If nobody claims him then I guess he's yours."

Jamie loved the idea of owning the beautiful animal, but didn't like the idea that someone might be hurt and searching for him. "I hope whoever he belongs to wasn't hurt."

"Me too, Son. Now get him settled and I'll bring that fine string of fish into your ma. Looks like you've earned that chocolate cake she's been workin' on."

Jamie's face lit up as he hurried towards the barn and the water trough. He smiled as the horse dipped its head and drank its fill. "Wonder if you've got a name?" he asked as he patted the strong neck once more. He placed the horse inside the corral before turning to do his chores.

Cold, he shivered and felt something wet under him. He lifted his head, but couldn't keep it up. He couldn't figure out why his legs were cold and wet or why his head pounded. He heard a low sound and realized it was coming from his own throat. He didn't want to move, yet something told him if he didn't he'd be dead before long. Keeping his head still he forced his eyes open. It was dark and he couldn't remember where he was. Again he wondered why he was wet.

The sound of thunder cracked close by and lightening flashed illuminating the cave he was in. He forced his head up and looked down at his legs as fireworks exploded inside his head. He groaned and forced his cuffed hands under him. He forced his body upwards and rolled onto his back. God, he was so cold, so miserable, and belatedly he realized he was nearly naked. He clenched his eyes and tried to remember what happened to him and why he was lying in a cave, shivering as his body heat ebbed into the cold waters lapping at his legs. The water level continued to rise and was now up to his thighs and he knew he had to get out of the cave.

He shut his eyes as a vision of a whiskered man in red flannel danced before his eyes. Somehow he knew this man had something to do with the predicament he now found himself in. Shouts of Burke's got him and murderer rang in his ears along with the drumming sound of the thunder. He had to find a way to get back home and get to his friends. Between them they'd break the Sheriff's schemes wide open and see him and his men brought to justice. First thing you gotta do is get outta here, Larabee, he thought.

He turned onto his stomach and pulled his legs under him. Slowly, ignoring the agonizing pain lancing through his skull he got to his knees, only to fall face first into the mud and sludge. He lay there, out of breath, waiting for the tremors in his body to diminish enough for him to try again. The water was now at halfway up his thighs and he knew time was running out. He took a deep breath and ignored the scratching claws gouging at his throat. He knew he was sick, and growing worse, but he couldn't dwell on how lousy he felt. Chris Larabee was a man of action and his next action had to be to get out of the cave. Again he tried to move, and didn't know whether the bright light was inside his skull or lightning flashing outside the cave. It didn't matter which one it was, he needed to move and move he would.

He forced his knees under him and crawled towards the entrance, his hands sinking halfway up his arm in the soft interior of the cave. He advanced on the opening and looked out into the late evening storm darkened skies. The landscape around him was covered in swirling turbulent water and he felt the frustration of running on empty. His energy was almost nil, yet he had to get out of this cave before it was below the waterline.

He moved out onto what was once shoreline, held onto a fair sized sapling. He closed his eyes and waited until the world stopped its spinning. He blinked rapidly until the sparkling lights winked out and looked around the storm swept world. He felt the water hitting his leg and splashing on his upper body. The wind forced the rain in a slanting line that struck his body like sharp needles. He blinked rapidly in an effort to keep the water from getting into his eyes. His hair hung limp and mud soaked over his forehead, but he knew the mud was rapidly being washed away.

"Gotta get outta here," he mumbled weakly as he looked for the safest way out of the river. He could feel the tug of the river, pulling at him, trying once more to reclaim what it thought it lost when he'd leapt into it from above. The meager light was fading fast, but he spotted a few rocks and shrubs along the cliff face behind him. He didn't know if he had the strength to make the slight climb, but he realized it was his only chance. To stay where he was any longer would be to give himself over to a watery grave and he wasn't gonna do that. He needed to survive if only to make sure the sheriff didn't pull this stunt on some other unsuspecting victim.

Chris trudged through the water and mud, holding on for dear life as he moved along the treacherous riverbank. He made it to the area he'd spotted and sighed heavily. His chest hurt and he coughed, a wet hacking sound that was quickly drowned out by the storm overhead. He looked at his tethered hands and knew they were too swollen for him to slip out of.

Taking a deep breath he fought back the urge to cough and reached for the first handhold over his head. The pull on his legs was even worse now and as he slipped the cuffs over the small protuberance they were swept out from under him. He hung by his hands, his legs scrambling for purchase, his shoulders screaming at the pressure being exerted on them. He prayed they wouldn't be pulled from their sockets as he finally managed to get his legs back on the treacherous ground. He placed his head against the rock face and waited for his breathing to slow.

"Okay, Larabee, if you're gonna do this you'd better fucking get moving!" he gasped. "Shit! Now I'm talking to myself," a low grating sound came from his throat and he realized he was laughing. Shaking his head he moved further up the ledge and to the left. It was slow going because he had to be sure of his footing. He glanced down and noticed he was literally hanging over the worst part of the stream. "Better h...old on!" he continued to talk to himself as he inched his way along the cliff face. He slipped, gasping at the pressure exerted on his arms.

Ignoring the fact that he hung out over almost certain death he laughed again. "S... sheriff j...just s...saved my l...life. H...have t...to t...thank mi...sera...ble b...as...tard," he muttered as he got his feet on the small ledge again. He moved by will and cussedness alone now. No strength left, barely clinging to the tiny handholds he found. He knew he had to make it, if only to fulfil a promise to see the sheriff brought before Judge Travis. he kept talking to himself, his voice the only company he had now as the wind died down. He knew the storm was moving away, the lightening flashing in the distance and the thunder a weak form of the rich dark power it was earlier.

He reached for the next hold and realized as he fell that he'd reached the end of the cliff face. His body impacted with the soft ground and he groaned as pain lanced through him. He lay still, hoping to quell the rising tide of nausea, but he retched violently in spite of his empty stomach. A final heave, a choking gasp, and a painful breath followed him into unconsciousness. The last dizzying display of lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating a mud covered form lying near the edge of the newly formed riverbank. A sparkling testament to the fight Chris Larabee had fought and won. The only question now was whether he'd live to tell about it.

JD sat outside the jail, his eyes darting up and down the street. As Sheriff of Four Corners he liked to remain visible. He knew the title was only for show. He was a peacekeeper, but he was only one of the seven men who protected the town and its citizens from the bad element. JD sighed as he watched the ladies' man coming towards him.

"Hey, Kid, anything happening I should know about?" Wilmington asked.

"Nope," Dunne answered. "Everything okay at Chris's place?"

"Yep. Where're are the others?"

"Vin's at the saloon. Josiah and Nathan are at the clinic. Ezra's..."

"Sleeping," the scoundrel finished for him.

"Yeah. He ate breakfast and headed for his room," Dunne shook his head at the gambler's odd hours.

"Figures, Ezra don't seem to cotton to being around during the day. No one to fleece," Wilmington laughed.

"Ezra certainly knows how to pick a mark," Dunne observed. His eyes caught movement at the edge of town and he looked past the ladies' man. Three people came towards them. A woman and a boy in a wagon and a man riding a horse. There was nothing strange about seeing newcomers in town, but JD's eyes were caught and held by the rider less horse tied to the wagon.

Buck saw the change come over the kid and turned to see what he was looking at as he asked, "What's wrong, Kid?"

"Buck, that looks like..."

"Pony!" Wilmington exclaimed as he hurried to meet the newcomers.

Robert Warren pulled up as he saw the two men hurrying towards him. He held up his hand and signalled for Jamie to pull the wagon to a halt. This was their first visit to Four Corners in the year since they'd bought the small farm, and he was unfamiliar with the two men.

"Buck, that is Chris's horse," Dunne cried as they closed the distance.

"Yeah, JD, it is. Go get the others!" he snapped as he drew abreast of Pony. He looked at the older man on horseback. "Mister this horse belongs to a friend of mine and you'd best have a good reason why he's here with you!"

"I...I found 'im, Mister," Jamie stammered as the irate man glared at his father. "He was caught in some brush out by Miller Creek where I was fishin'."

"Was anyone with him?" Buck asked.

"I looked 'round, but didn't see anyone. He was all sweaty like he'd been runnin' a long time. Thirsty too. I gave him water and brought him home."

"When did ya find 'im, Kid," the ladies' man asked as he examined Pony's legs.

"Yesterday afternoon. I didn't see no one, Mister."

"My son would never steal from anybody. He found that horse and if he says there was no one around you can be sure he's telling the truth," the woman in the wagon said.

"I believe him, Ma'am," Wilmington smiled at her. "I'm just tryin' to find out what happened to my friend. This is his horse and there's no way he'd just let him loose."

"Maybe he was thrown," Jamie said.

The scoundrel laughed as he looked at the boy. "Ain't no way Chris Larabee gets thrown from a horse. Especially not this one."

"Well, whatever happened this fella was riderless when Jamie found him. Now if you got a Sheriff here we can turn him over to him and my son can tell him where he was found."

"What's goin' on, Buck?" Jackson asked as he joined them.

"This kid found Pony," the scoundrel answered.

"Found him where?" Sanchez asked.

"Out near Miller's creek," Buck answered.

"Who are you folks?" Jackson asked.

"I'm Robert Warren. That's my wife Millie and our boy Jamie. We bought the Grady farm out past Miller creek about a year ago. We've only been to town a couple of times. Usually do our shopping in Haven, but thought we'd give this place a try. Now are you men gonna tell us where we can find the sheriff?"

"That'd be me, Mister, Warren," Dunne said as he joined them.

"You? Why you not old enough to be..." Warren observed.

"I'm older than you think," Dunne interrupted indignantly. "There's seven of us who keep the peace in Four Corners." He pointed towards the moustached man. "He's Buck Wilmington. That's Josiah Sanchez and that fella is Nathan Jackson."

"Thought you said there were seven of you. I only count four," Robert stated.

"Ezra's sleeping, Vin's out on patrol and Chris Larabee is the other one," JD explained.

"Chris Larabee's the one who owns him?" the older Warren nodded his head towards the gelding.

"Yeah, he does. Kid, do you think you can show us where you found him?" Wilmington asked.

"Sure can, Mister Wilmington," Jamie answered.

"We'll just grab our supplies and you men can head back with us. Shouldn't take us more than an hour," Warren explained.

"JD, you ride out and see if you can find Vin. He's probably on his way back from Nettie's place," Sanchez said. Dunne nodded and hurried towards the livery stable.

"It'll take us that long to get Ezra outta bed and make arrangements for someone to watch the town while we're gone," Jackson explained. "I'm gonna go on up to the clinic and get my things. Hopefully I won't need them," he said, but knew as he looked at Pony that something must've happened to cause Pony to be alone.

Chris woke to darkness and heat. He couldn't understand where the fire was coming from. The heat itself seemed to burn from inside his chest. He groaned as he turned onto his back and looked up at the blurry sky overhead. The stars seemed to blend into a carpet of brightly twinkling lights and he blinked rapidly to try and bring the world into focus. He lay still until the last of the vertigo left him and edged back onto his side.

"Shit!" he swore as his body continued to shiver. He knew beyond a doubt that his body was bruised to the bone, but it was the scratchy pain in his throat and the wheeze from his lungs that worried him.

"G...get u...up, Larabee!" he rasped in the still night air. The mud was caked on his body and he felt it cracking and flaking off as he forced himself to stand on rubbery legs. He held himself erect as he rose to his full height. The lone call of a coyote broke the stillness of the night and sent shivers down his spine.

His joints ached and his head throbbed in tandem with the wound on his arm, but he couldn't give in to that pain. He needed to get moving and the sooner the better. He was hot and cold at the same time and longed for something to cover his shivering form.

He could almost hear Wilmington's voice, laughing and bright as he spoke, Damn, Stud, you're a mess. Get up and move those damn legs. Ain't no point in sitting there waitn' to take root. Move your sorry ass. Now!

"I'm goin', B...Buck. J...just have t...to f...figure out which way," Larabee's low weak voice carried on the still night air and joined with the call of an owl. He lifted his right foot and placed it slightly ahead of the left. Over and over he repeated the action, his head down as he concentrated on where he was stepping. He felt like he'd been walking forever when he lifted his head and looked around. He swore softly as he saw the river a couple of hundred yards behind him. "S...son of a b...bitch!" he rasped, the sound of his own voice ricocheted through his skull as he slumped to the ground.

Come on, Larabee, you ain't no quitter!

This time it was Tanner's voice cutting through the pain and fever. The young man was his best friend, someone he trusted to watch his back. "D...didn't e...expect y...you to do it when you're not here, Tanner," Larabee's tortured voice cried. He knew the voice would not let him give up and forced his trembling legs to hold him upright. He knew the journey ahead of him was going to be one of the longest in his life, but it was also one he was going to see through to the end.

Burke looked at the colt in his hands and swore sharply. He needed to make sure Chris Larabee was dead. Somehow he knew he made a deadly mistake in not checking further down the river. If Larabee survived and got back to Four Corners he'd reveal everything he saw and bring the real law down on Haven. This was too good a deal for him to let that happen. He'd find some way to make sure Larabee didn't survive. He stood up, walked outside and signalled Harvey and Mike to come over.

The sun was high in the sky and the rays beat down on the dilapidated buildings. A small brush rolled along main street as the two men ran across the deserted street to the sheriff's office.

"What's wrong, Ray?" Mike asked.

"We're goin' back!"

"Back where?" Harvey enquired.

"Back ta the river. We gotta go back ta the river and make damn sure Larabee's dead," he glanced around knowing most of the townspeople would be in church.

"Come on, Ray, ya know he couldn't've survived. It's to hotter'n hell out 'ere and I ain't in the mood ta go running around," Harvey whined.

Burke's hand snapped out and clasped the man's shirt in his beefy fist. He pulled him close, their noses almost touching as he snarled. "Then ya best jest get outta town, Harvey. There's no way in hell I'm gonna let a slacker like you stay part of this. Mike and me can handle things on our own."

Harvey wrapped his hands around the stronger mans. "N...no, R...ray. I'll go. I'll help!"

"Damn right you'll help. Ain't no way I'd'a let ya go," Ray's eyes glared anger as he released his grip on the other mans shirt. He smiled as Harvey dropped to the ground. "Now git yer ass o'er to the liv'ry and saddle the horses. We got us a body ta find. Dead or Alive!"

"And if he's alive..."

Burke grinned at Mike as he finished. "We kill 'im."

"I found him right over there, Mister Tanner," Jamie explained as they pushed apart the bushes and shrubs. His father's arm lay on his shoulder in a gesture of support and the nervous boy was grateful to have it. He knew these men wouldn't hurt him, but he looked up to his father. "He was tangled in them branches."

"Thanks, Kid," Tanner said as he moved into the brush. He knew the others were staying back to give him a chance to search the surrounding area. He easily found the area where Pony was tangled. The downtrodden grass and broken twigs would've been easy for anyone to spot. What he needed to find was the track that would hopefully lead them to Chris Larabee. He walked along the brush until the tracks lead out onto the open area. It didn't take him long to find Pony's trail and he stood up. He signalled for the others to come over and pointed out his discovery.

"Pony came from the south east." He turned to the Robert Warren and asked. "Any idea what's out that way?"

"There's a few farms, but not much of anything else," Robert answered.

"Chris would've been coming from that way, Vin. Maybe he's at one of the farms," Wilmington observed.

"Yeah, he's probably sittin' at a table eating lunch while we're out here searching for him in this heat," Dunne said.

"I hope you're right, Kid," the scoundrel muttered. "Any towns south or east of here?" he asked.

"There's a place about a days ride to the south called Haven. Don't know if I'd call it a town though," Warren answered.

"Might I enquire why?" Standish asked as he wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a lace kerchief.

"Well it's just a few buildings. Maybe half a dozen or so families living there last time we went. The general store doesn't have much stock," Robert answered.

"Any law?" Sanchez asked.

"Well, there's a man there calls himself the Sheriff. He's got a couple of deputies, but I didn't trust either one of them. That's why we decided to check out Four Corners. Didn't even know about your town until the Wilson's came through and told us about it. Real nice people and they said your town was a safe place to get supplies," the older Warren answered.

"Tom and his family are good people," Jackson answered. "Vin, maybe we should check out those farms and make our way south to Haven. If Chris was hurt maybe one of the families took him in."

"Sounds good, Nate," Tanner said as he reached for Peso's reins.

"Jamie, thanks for the help you've given us," Wilmington said as the six peacekeepers mounted up.

"You're welcome, Mr. Wilmington. Hope you find Mr. Larabee."

"We will," Tanner said simply as they turned away from the father and son.

Chris woke up lying on his back half in, half out of the shade of a large boulder. He opened his eyes and cried out as the light burned into them. His body was on fire and yearned for water. A dry tongue flicked out and stuck to cracked lips. His throat felt like it was filled with sand as he tried to swallow but there was nothing there. No moisture, just barren, arid, desert like terrain on the inside of his mouth. He moaned, but the sound wasn't loud enough to reach his own ears. He needed water and he needed it fast. He rolled onto his stomach and lifted his head, blinking rapidly as the sun continued to beat down from above.

Chris had no idea how long he'd been struggling to move. He didn't remember passing out. He did remember falling and voices shouting at him to get up. He smiled as he thought of JD Dunne ordering him to get up and get moving. Somehow he'd hear the voices and move, not because he could, but because he had too. He'd let too many people down in his life already and he wasn't going to do that to these men.

Without knowing how he did it he soon found himself upright and stumbling along the narrow trail. He knew he should keep out of sight in as the Sheriff and his men were still chasing him, but he didn't have the strength to make it to the scrub brush. He looked down at his feet and tried to focus on them. Right foot, left foot, he ordered as he watched his sunburned body move forward. A sound reached his ears and he stopped where he was, swaying in spite of the lack of wind.

Chris stood beside the trail and his fever-baked mind finally recognized the sounds of horses. He knew who they belonged to. He looked left and right for a place to hide, his blurry eyes finally focusing on a small alcove in the brush. He moved as fast as his stiff limbs would allow and drew himself into the sheltering shade. He waited for the horses to come in view. He kept his eyes on the road and saw riders coming towards him. The sun shone in his eyes and he blinked once more, felling the grit and said scrape against his eyeballs. The sounds of hoof beats drew closer and he kept his stinging eyes trained on them. His breath caught in his dry throat as the first rider drew abreast of his position and rode past.

"V...V...in..." he rasped, his voice a mare whisper, drowned out by the horses riding in front of him. He knew each rider and called to them as they rode past. Too late he realized they couldn't hear him. he pulled himself out of the shade and tried to call them. He climbed to his feet and waved his arms, but the last rider, whom he knew was Buck Wilmington disappeared around the bend.

"N...no," he cried as he sank to his knees on the trail. "V...V...in, B...B...uck," he cried, his voice hoarse and wispy in the still air. He crawled back to the brush and the small reprieve from the sweltering sun it gave him. It wasn't long before his fever wracked body succumbed to its need for rest.

When next he opened his eyes darkness had overtaken the sunlight and a cool breeze was blowing across his body. He shivered and tried to find some warmth, but there was none.

Get the fuck up, Larabee! Ya wanna die out 'ere in the middle of nowhere? Git on yer feet and get those legs movin'.

"C...can't, V...Vin."

Don't ya be sayin' that, Larabee. I ain't in the mood ta hear it. Now ya promised ya'd come with me ta Tascosa an' clear my name. Ya breakin' that promise?

"T...tired, V...Vin, s...sick!"

Anyone's got eyes can see yer 'urt an' sick, Larabee, but I never thought ya'd go back on yer word. Thought a man's word was his law. Guess I was wrong about ya. Yer nothin' but a low life scum suckin'...

"No!" his voice was barely audible, but the anger was evident on his sun baked face. The words he'd heard Tanner say resembled to closely the words Burke screamed at him. He couldn't let him win. He could almost hear Tanner's sigh of relief as he struggled to his feet. "Ain't a low life scum suckin' anything, Tanner," a thin smile cracked his dry lips and he moved out into the night.

Abigail Newman pulled the shawl over her shoulders and picked up two cups of tea. She walked to the door and opened it. She stepped outside and breathed deeply of the night air. She walked to the small swing on her porch, placed the two cups on the railing and sat down. This was a nightly routine she'd shared with her husband since they were married forty-two years ago. When he passed away three years ago she'd decided not to break the tradition. It was her way to keep her husband's memory alive.

"I miss ya, Will," she said as she looked at the twinkling stars overhead. Her hair was more silver now than brown and hung loose around her shoulders the way William liked her to wear it. She sighed as the memory of his touch brought a warmth to her skin. They'd had a full life and their children were grown and had families of their own. They visited when they could, but it wasn't nearly enough for her.

She'd been so glad when the town of Haven came to life again two years ago. The thought of a weekly trip to town made her feel good. Now those trips were limited to once every two to three months because she didn't trust the man who'd taken over the role of town sheriff. The man was a weasel, as were the three so-called deputies. He had the people so wrapped around his fingers that no one could say anything against him.

She sipped at her tea and remembered her first few trips to the town. The sheriff and his men leered at her as if she was some wrinkled up old crone. They'd wanted to know where she lived and how often she expected to be in town. They'd questioned her about her husband and family. She'd simply said she could handle herself and didn't need them to look after her. She'd thanked them in a sarcastic tone and gone about her business and ignored them. It seemed to rile the men when she refused to acknowledge that they existed.

Abigail pulled the wrap tighter around herself and looked around. She couldn't see very much of her darkened yard, but something had grabbed her attention. The sound came again from the corner of her husband's old work shed. She stood up and felt the shawl drop from her shoulders. At fifty-nine she was still a spry woman and moved quickly into the house. She reached above the fireplace and grabbed the old double barrel shotgun. She'd kept it cleaned and oiled even after her husband's death, and always loaded once she'd grown suspicious of the sheriff in Haven. She walked to the small table and lifted the lamp. Shotgun in one hand, lantern in the other she made her way back to the porch. Her sharp eyes searched the area and she picked out a darker shape against the dark side of the shed. She wasn't afraid as she placed the lantern on the porch railing. No matter if this was an animal of the two legged or four legged variety her shotgun would take care of them.

She placed the shotgun against her shoulder and in a strong steady voice called, "whoever ya are ya'd best show yourself before I give ya a belly full of lead!" She watched the darker shadow move slightly and waited, the gun tucked firmly into her shoulder, her finger gently squeezing the trigger. "I'm not messing around here. You come no outta there or I'm shooting first. If your alive when I hit ya then maybe I'll ask who you are!"

"P...pl..ease...h....elp..."

She heard the tiny sound but could pick out the words. "I'm not listening to you until you come out and show yourself!"

"C...can't," Chris realized his voice would never reach her. He looked down at his body and knew the woman would be afraid of him. He wore nothing but his drawers and even those were now threadbare and torn. "P...please...so c...cold." He knew he had no choice and moved into the yard.

Abigail saw the shape move out into the yard and realized it was the two-legged variety. She still couldn't make out whether it was man or woman, but she could tell whoever it was wasn't gonna be any trouble to her. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I...I..." he stammered as he fell to his knees, confused and delirious he couldn't answer her question.

"What's wrong with you?" the woman asked as the form dropped to his knees.

"S...sick....cold...h...hurt," he rasped. "N...need h...help." His body continued to tremble on the ground, painfully aware of how hard it was to breath. His throat was deprived of moisture for so long that his voice wouldn't travel to his own ears.

"I can't hear you," she said. No sound came from the form kneeling in front of the shed. She stood on the porch for another minute, waiting to see if the person would make any threatening moves. When none came she slowly advanced into the yard. She kept her shotgun ready, but the closer she got to the forlorn figure the more she realized this poor soul needed help. By the tiny flicker of light from the lantern she could see it was a man. His clothes were gone except for a pair of dark drawers that did nothing to save his dignity. The smell coming from the dirt-encrusted body assaulted her nostrils yet she wouldn't let him suffer. She knelt in front of him and waited for his eyes to focus on her. His hands looked swollen around a set of tightly clenched cuffs, blood and dirt were caked into the raw flesh of his wrists. She briefly wondered if he was a criminal and pushed the thought to the back of her mind at the pathetic creature before her. She let her shotgun fall beside her, knowing this man couldn't hurt her if he wanted to. Somehow she knew he wouldn't even if he had the strength.

"Now you're a sorry sight aren't ya?" she said softly.

"H...help," Larabee rasped, but the voice still didn't get past his lips.

"Course I'll help ya," she smiled at him.

Chris saw the smile and tried to return one of his own, grimacing as it pulled at his cracked lips. "T...th...irsty," he told her.

"Let's see about getting you inside and you can have as much water as you want," She met his gaze as she reached for his arm. "You've got a bad sunburn there."

Larabee nodded, once more causing his head to come close to exploding. He closed his eyes and gasped as his empty stomach seemed to churn. He tried to speak, but only a dry rasping cough issued from his throat.

"Now you listen to me, Son. Don't try to talk. I'm gonna help you stand up and then you can lean on me and we'll get you inside." She felt the trembling in his body as she helped him to his feet. "Now you just lean on Abby and we'll get you inside and out of the cold."

Larabee nodded at the formidable woman. Her hands held his in a tight grip and he groaned as his sun burnt skin stretched under her touch.

"I'm sorry, Son. I can't see no place where you're not burnt. Gonna have to hurt you to get you inside. Think you can put up with my hands on you till we get you in the house?" At the slow nod from the near naked man she lifted his arms over her head. It was awkward and slow going and they stumbled a few times but they made it to the porch without falling to the ground. "Well, now, Son, I'm gonna have to sit you in the swing here so I can open the door," she said and noted the moisture in his swollen bloodshot eyes.

The lantern's soft glow revealed just how much pain her visitor was in and Abby swore softly under her breath. What she saw made her cringe, the bruises were only partially visible under the sunburn and mud caked on his body. Small cuts and scratches covered his arms and legs and chest. She stared at his fever bright eyes and knew he was in pain.

"You just rest here for a minute," she ordered as she eased his arms over her head and helped him into the swing. Again she heard a raspy sound from his throat. "Don't try to talk. I'm gonna be right back and we'll see about making you feel a little better. Okay?" once more she received a slow nod.

Abigail turned and hurried into her house. There were two bedrooms and she moved towards what was once her sons' room. She lit a candle and set it on the small bedside table. The large bed her two boys shared was well-kept and clean sheets rested at the foot. She quickly placed the bottom sheet over the mattress and added a pillow to the bed. Sighing she hurried back to the combination kitchen living room and moved to the open door. A loud thud caused her heart to skip a beat and she hurried out the open door. Whoever this man was his strength had given out and he fell to the floor. He lay on his left side with his knees tucked into his body. A small keening noise issued from his throat and she knelt beside him. She placed a wrinkled, but soft hand on his right shoulder and waited for him to look at her.

Chris fought to regain control of the pain running through his body. he had no idea how long it took, but the aged hand on his arm soothed him. he opened his eyes and saw tears streaking down the woman's face and realized they were for him. He forced a smile to his lips and lifted his hands towards her.

Abigail let the tears fall from her eyes. Whatever this man did she knew he didn't deserve such cruelty. She'd find some way to help him and see to it he was healed before he had to face anyone. Is this Burke's doing? she thought as she once more helped the man to his feet.

"Let's get you inside," at the slight nod she helped him through the door and they stumbled across the floor into the bedroom.

Larabee saw the bed, the clean sheets, and the pillow and shook his head vehemently.

"What do you mean No?" Abigail asked him.

"D...dir...ty..."

She listened to his crackling voice and tried to decipher what the strung out word was. "Dirty. Are you saying you can't get into bed 'cause you're dirty?" she asked incredulously. At his nod she let a small laugh loose.

To Chris Larabee it was the most wonderful sound he'd heard in a long time.

"Who'd have thought a man who's hurtin' as much as you are and totin' that much sickness in your body would still be chivalrous to a lady. Well, you might as well forget it right now," she watched him shake his head once more. "Now look here. I don't know your name and I don't have a clue how you showed up on my door at such an ungodly hour, but right now I'm bettin' I'm stronger than you. Not only am I gonna get you in that bed, but I'm gonna clean you up and tend those wounds."

"N...no," Larabee hissed, trying, but failing to glare at the woman.

"Now let's get you on the bed before you fall down and drag me with you. If that happens these old bones are liable to break and I won't be able to help you." She eased his arms over her head once more and sat him on the edge. She stood up and looked into his eyes. Something in the green depths spoke of just how much this was costing him. "You listen to Abby, Son. I've been out here a lot of years. Tended my Will and our two strapping sons many a time when they were hurt or sick. I've seen everything there is to see on a man," his eyes sparkled as she spoke. "I know you feel like you're putting me out, but you're not. You just sit there and I'll get you that water. Okay?"

"O...kay..." he sighed as she left him sitting on the bed. he heard her moving around in the other room and groaned as he moved his swollen fingers. He knew he was looking at handcuffs, but for some reason he didn't understand why they were attached to his wrists. What the hell happened?, he thought as a harsh dry cough tore from his chest. He held his arms to the throbbing mass, but nothing could relieve the pain as again and again he coughed. He bit down on his cheek and tasted blood in his mouth.

"Here you go, Son," Abigail sat beside him on the bed and held the glass to his dry, swollen lips.

Chris thought he was in heaven as the first drop of water slipped past his unmoving lips. He struggled to swallow and finally felt his dry tongue come unglued from the roof of his mouth. He lifted his head from the glass and was surprised to find a small bowl placed in front of his mouth.

"Spit it out, Son. I've got more and I'm betting right now your mouth's getting some moisture in it. Go ahead now and spit it out and I'll let you have some more," she explained. He did as she told him and Abigail saw the blood mixed with the water. She prayed it wasn't something inside him bleeding as she placed the glass to his mouth once more.

This time he it was easier and the water slid down the back of his throat. It was all he could do not to gulp the water down, but the words of a friend kept coming back to him. Not too much, Chris. Don't want ya throwing it all back up.

Abigail removed the glass once more and smiled at the downtrodden figure on the bed. "I don't know who you are, Son, but I'm gonna make damn sure no one hurts you while you're under my roof!" She saw the gratitude in the depths of his green eyes and stood up. "Let's get you lying down," again the dirt matted head shook. "I thought we'd already agreed that I'm stronger than you at the moment. Until you can speak and move by yourself you'll do as I say. Now ease back and we'll see about making you a little more comfortable."

Chris had no choice as the woman's strong hands lifted his grimy feet onto the bed. She eased him back against the pillow and he sighed wearily. He was still cold, but at least now his body rested on something softer than the hard packed ground. He felt his eyes closing, but couldn't surrender until he let this woman know how much he appreciated what she was doing for him. He reached up with both hands as she turned away.

Abigail turned back to the bed and again met the green eyes, so full of pain, with hope now added to the mixture. "I'm gonna help you, Son. You're gonna get past all this. It may take some time, but if you're willing to fight for it then we'll win this battle together," she assured him.

Larabee felt safe. Somehow, in his flight from Burke and his men he'd landed on the doorstep of a woman who could've been Nettie Wells's sister. Something about the woman oozed of strength and a stubborn will. He had no idea how long he lay there, but was jolted back to his senses as a hand landed on his arm. He opened his eyes and shook his head. He looked around the strange room and wondered where he was. His body hurt and he was cold, trembling on a bed. His eyes lit on the woman sitting beside him and memory returned. He was safe at least for now. Safe from who he had no idea.

"My Will was a lawman back east before we came out here. I got his keys and maybe one of them will open these blasted things," she hissed as she touched his damaged hands.

Chris watched as she fumbled with key after key on the old silver ring she held. His mind drifted away from the present as he tried to rid himself of the pain and sickness invading his body. A cry of triumph and sharp stinging needles in both hands brought him back to the present.

"I'm sorry, Son, I'm sorry," she said as she watched tears form in his eyes as feeling returned to his fingers.

"S'o...kay," Larabee tried to reassure her as she tenderly held his hands in her own.

She smiled at the throaty assurance and asked, "Do you want a little more water?" At his nod she reached for the glass and held it to his lips. She let him drink a couple of mouthfuls before pulling it away. "I'll give you some more in a few minutes, Son. I'm just gonna clean you up a little," she explained.

Chris lay back against the pillow and sighed as a warm cloth slowly washed across his sun burnt face. He gripped the sheets as the cloth returned time and again to clean away the dirt and dried mud. He lost count of how many times she stopped to change the water as she washed his upper chest. He kept his eyes closed, hoping this wonderful woman wouldn't see the pain he was in. The burns on his body tingled painfully as if he was being bombarded with ice pellets. Each touch of the cloth awakened a new fire and he gasped as she touched his right arm.

Abigail could see the wound was infected and knew she'd need to drain the puffy red gash. "I'm sorry, Son. I gotta get this cleaned out. I'll have to drain it once I finish cleaning you up. I've got some salve that's gonna make that sunburn of yours feel a whole lot better too," she explained. She reached for the cup she's placed on the table during one of her many trips for clean water. "I've got something for you to drink, Son. It'll help ease some of the pain and maybe help bring down the fever you're toting."

The gunslinger opened his eyes and spoke without realizing it, "H...horse....p...iss."

"Pardon," she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. His swollen tongue and lips made it hard to understand his feeble voice.

"N...Na...than's h...horse p...pi... s...sor...ry," he mumbled as he realized what he said.

"No need to be sorry, Son," Abigail laughed as she finally understood his words. "I don't think I've ever heard it called that, but my Will used to hate the stuff. Now let's see if we can get some of it into you." She eased his head up and kept feeding him the tea until he turned away. She shook her head when she saw he'd only managed a quarter of the cup. She'd need to get more than that into him if he was going to survive this ordeal. She watched his eyes widen and knew he was going to be sick. She turned him on his side and held a small basin before him as miserable sounds emanated from his throat. She could hear the pain this was causing his tortured body and again she silently cursed whoever did this to this young man.

As his stomach emptied and his body trembled from fever, pain and weakness, Chris Larabee finally gave into the exhaustion and lost the fight to stay awake.

Abigail felt the man go slack in her arms and eased him back on the pillow. She swept back the dirt encrusted hair and spoke softly. "I wish I didn't have to do this, Son," she said as she continued to clean his body.

She was glad he was unconscious as she slid the remnants of his drawers down his legs. She'd done this many times before and it was nothing new to her. She'd spent a couple of years at a hospital in the east before Will asked her to try their luck out west. In spite of her misgivings they'd made a wonderful life for themselves and their children. She looked at his face and could imagine the blush if he'd been awake while she did this. "Bet you'd probably be redder than your face already is," she chuckled as she washed his legs. She took extra care on his damaged feet, cleaning the scrapes she found there. An hour later she had him cleaned up and the mud washed from his hair. He hadn't moved during her ministrations and for that she was glad.

"Now I just have to get clean sheets under you," she said as she looked at the battered form on the bed. Again this was something she'd done during her days as a nurse. She rolled him away from her on his left side and propped a pillow behind his back. She washed his back, grimacing at the bright red skin in evidence there. As quickly as she could she pulled the dirtied sheet away from the edges and quickly put another one in place. She removed the pillow and eased him onto the new sheet, carefully avoiding the dirt covered one she rolled up. Again she turned him, this time to his right. A small gasp of pain escaped his lips as he landed on his wounded shoulder.

"Sorry, Son, almost finished," she soothed as she propped the pillow behind him. She slid the muddy sheet out and finished pulling the other one through. She stood away from the bed and took a deep tired breath. She shrugged her shoulders in an effort to ease the pain she felt there. As she'd done when her husband was alive, Abigail ignored her own pain to look after the injured man.

He was sick, of that she was sure. The fever was not only being caused by the infection in the wounds but there was also a heavy wheeze when he breathed. She prayed she'd be able to take care of him and nurse him back to health. She eased him onto his back, looked into his face and smiled at the pair of green eyes looking back at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"C...cold...s...so c...cold," his teeth chattered and she reached for the third sheet and covered him in it.

Abigail moved to the old trunk and pulled out one of the blankets she kept there. She quickly covered him, glad that he hadn't noticed his lack of clothing. For now it would be easier for her to care for him as he was. "Better?" she asked.

"Y...yeah," he mumbled.

"Good, now let's see if you can finish this tea," she said as she sat beside him on the bed. She could feel him shivering beneath the blanket as she lifted his head.

Chris drank most of the tea and felt it warm him from the inside. He coughed and groaned, wrapping his arms around his chest in an effort to stop the overpowering urge to cough.

"Easy, Son. You're gonna be a might uncomfortable for a while but I expect from the looks of you that you're a strong one. I'm gonna do all I can to help you. I've got a few more things to get ready and then I'll leave you to rest."

"N...no m...more," Larabee hissed as he felt pins and needles the length of his body.

"Trust me, Son, I'm only doing what needs to be done. Now you just rest until I get my things together." She watched as his eyelids slowly covered the remarkable green orbs underneath. In spite of the bruising, swelling and sunburn she knew this man would be devastatingly handsome in any setting.

Abigail moved away from the bed and into the other room. She had a small fire going in her stove and needed to get some things ready to help the injured man. She went to the pantry and pulled some jars from the shelf. She knew from experience she'd need something to help his breathing. She ran her hands over the jars, smiling as she picked out the jar of roots from the Osha plant, she knew a plant called Canaigre grew in abundance around the house and she'd get some as soon as she chopped these roots. She hurried to the table and used a well-beaten cutting board to chop the Osha roots into small pieces. She place some in a cup and poured hot water over them. The rest she placed in a larger pot and placed on the back of the stove to heat.

Once this was done she looked in on her patient and saw the lines of pain on his face even as he slept. She shook her head and hurried out into the yard. She was shocked to see the first rays of dawn spreading over the countryside. She'd lost track of time while tending the sick man. She ignored her own weariness, knowing he needed her help more than she needed to rest. She spotted the lance shaped leaves and hurried to the plant. She soon had enough of the roots to get her started. She cut into the plant to get to the pit, which she would use to cover the painful sunburn covering most of his body. She stood up and her eyes raked the yard and she was never so glad to see so much of the plant there. There was also a mingling of the aloe plant and she would use this as well to treat the sunburn. She'd have to put the juice directly onto the burn and gently rub it in. She hoped this would be enough to stop the nasty burn from blistering.

She hurried into the house and placed her new treasures on the table. She began preparing the things she'd need in order to make the man more comfortable. She checked the cup and grimaced at what she had to do next. She could hear the heavy wheezing and knew she needed to get some of the Osha tea into him. She picked up the cup and walked into the bedroom. She felt saddened as she looked at the fiery red skin, knowing a burn could cause so much pain. She eased down on the bed and watched as his eyes slowly opened. She waited for him to focus on her and smiled at the confusion on his face.

"Well, good morning," she greeted.

"M...morn...ing," he rasped painfully. Holding his arms to his chest as he erupted in a violent fit of coughing.

Abigail touched his shoulder sympathetically and waited for it to stop. When it finally did she eased her hand under his head and lifted him forward. "I've got something here for you. It tastes lousy, but it'll help with the coughing." She smiled as he opened his mouth and let her feed him the foul tasting Osha tea.

Chris tried to flinch away from the taste, but found he didn't have the strength to fight her. He swallowed the obnoxious liquid until she pulled the cup away. "That's good, Son. It'll help your chest. Now the next thing I gotta do is treat them burns. Think you can stay still for me to do that?"

"T...think so," he moaned as the heavy feeling in his chest and the tea in his stomach made him nauseas.

"Try and keep that down, Son," she said.

"C...Chris," he said weakly.

"Pardon me?"

"N...name's C...Chris," he said as he shivered in spite of the blanket covering him.

She finally deciphered what he was trying to say and smiled warmly. "Well, Chris, my name's Abigail, but you can call me Abby."

"A...Abby."

"That's right. Now close your eyes and try to sleep. I've got some stuff to put on your burns. It'll hurt at first, but you'll feel much better once it's done."

"O...okay...n...need to s...say t...thanks f...for...help."

"You're welcome," she said. She placed a gentle hand on his forehead and felt the heat there. She knew it wasn't only from the sunburn, but from the fever racing through his body. She retrieved the Canaigre and came back to sit on the edge of the bed. She knew he was still awake and she spoke softly.

"Chris, I'm going to put something on your skin and rub it in. I'll be as gentle as I can, but it's not gonna be easy on you,." She explained as she prepared the pit of the plant. She watched his face as the juice dropped onto his skin. She could almost hear it sizzle as it touched his heated body.

Chris lay as quietly as possible, unable to get past the tremors that still wracked his body. He felt her move the blanket back and smooth more juice over the skin on his chest and stomach. He gasped and his eyes opened wide as he realized she'd moved the blanket all the way down and he lay naked before her. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he realized a thin covering was over his intimate area.

Abigail smiled at him as she saw the look of horror turn to relief. She knew this man was modest and would've been appalled to be naked and at her mercy. She continued her ministrations until the front of his body was covered in the soothing juice of the Canaigre.

"Chris?" she called softly and realized he was unconscious. She eased him on his side once more and coated his back and legs with it. His feet would need to be kept clean as well, the scratches and small cuts tended constantly. She eased him to his back once more and smoothed the juice over his face. A sigh escaped his cracked lips and she smiled. She remembered how her husband and sons reacted the same way when they were sick and she did little things like this to soothe their pain and discomfort. She lifted the soft sheet and the blanket up over him. She cleaned the area around his wrists and covered them in clean bandages.

She turned her attention to the wound on his arm and knew she had to draw out the pus. Her strength was almost gone, but she needed to see this done before she gave into it. The longer the wound festered the sicker he would get. She prepared the items she'd need including more Willow Bark tea.

She picked up the tiny knife she'd boiled and doused in whiskey and placed it against the swollen wound. "I'm sorry, Son, this gotta be done," she whispered as she cut into the heated flesh.

Chris opened his eyes and cried out weakly. He felt something sharp biting into his shoulder and tried to move away from the blade. Abby's soft voice by his ear eased some of the torment and he fought to remain still.

"I've just gotta get the infection out, Son. You'll feel much better once it's done. It's gonna take stitches, but right now I'm just too tired to put them in..."

"S...sorry," Larabee mumbled through clenched teeth. His hands fisted in the blanket covering him.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for. Now I'm gonna pour a little whiskey on this to make sure it's clean. You just try and hold still till I'm finished." She placed a new towel under his arm and poured the whiskey directly into the wound. She held his arm steady as the whiskey did its job, his lack of fight giving mute testament to just how weak he was. "All done, Son," she said as she placed a bandage over it and tied it around his arm. She reached for the cup of Willow bark tea and waited for the sick man to open his eyes.

Chris waited for some of the pain and nausea to ease and finally opened his eyes. He saw the cup in her hand and nodded slowly. He felt her hands clasp his neck and ease his head off the pillow. He smelled the liquid as she placed the cup to his mouth and helped him drink. He finished the cup and was grateful when she let him relax against the pillow. He fought the nausea and felt himself relax towards sleep.

Abigail waited until he was fully asleep before giving into her own needs. She washed the blood from her hands and carried the dirty cups and leftover roots into the other room. She checked the pot of Osha liquid, she noted it was boiling and she poured it into a basin. She brought it into the room where her patient slept and placed it on the floor next to his bed. She took one last look at her the injured man as the medicinal odor began to fill the room. She sighed heavily and made her way to her own room and the bed that seemed to be calling her name.

They'd spent the last thirty-six hours checking the outlying farms for signs of the missing member of the group. Of the five they checked four denied seeing anyone in weeks, the other was vacant and had been for a while. A quick search revealed nothing out of the ordinary and they'd decided it was time to check in with Haven's sheriff. They rode through the blistering heat until the town appeared in the distance. It seemed to take forever before they finally made the outskirts of the tiny town.

The town of Haven lay before them and Vin Tanner thought Robert Warren was more than generous when he talked about the dilapidated structures. He could see signs of changes and guessed that most people were still trying to fix up their homes and businesses. He led the other five men towards what could only be the jail. Sweat and dust mingled on his brow as he rode down main street. He smiled as he realized it was the only street. A couple stood in front of a small structure, a sign tacked overhead read Anderson's general Store. A man swept dust off a landing in front of a barbershop. Several others were present and he felt their eyes on him as the six men stopped in front of the jail.

They dismounted and flicked their reins over the shaky hitching post in front of the jail. Vin watched as Buck walked to the door and pushed against it. The door didn't open and the ladies' man tried again.

"Can we help you fellas?"

Vin turned to see several townspeople standing behind them. He watched as the big ex-preacher moved to greet them, deciding it would be best to leave matters in his capable hands.

"Well now you just might at that. We're lookin' for the sheriff. Is he around?"

"Might be or might not. Who's askin?"

"My name's Josiah Sanchez and along with these gentlemen we keep the law in a town called Four Corners."

"I know Four Corners," the man from the barbershop said. "There's seven peacekeepers there."

"That's us," Dunne assured him.

"I count only six," the man from Anderson's general store observed.

"Well, my dear man, there's nothing wrong with your mathematical skills. We are here searching for our missing comrade," Standish blustered.

"Ain't no one in there," the dark haired barber informed them.

"We can see that," Wilmington said exasperatedly. "Where's the sheriff?"

"Sheriff Burke and his men rode out at dawn this morning," the storekeeper told them.

"When do you expect him back?" Jackson asked.

"Don't know fer certain. He's gone huntin' a murderin' son of a bitch. Bastard escaped before the sheriff could hang 'im," the barber snapped.

"Maybe one of you fellas can help us," Jackson said. "we're looking for a man about six foot with blond hair just a bit on the long side. He would've been wearing all black and toting a colt revolver."

"Ain't seen no one like that!" the storekeeper snapped.

Tanner's hackles rose at the quickly delivered answer and he knew this man wasn't telling the truth. He moved away from Wilmington, but felt a firm hand on his arm. He turned and blue eyes met blue eyes. The tracker knew the ladies' man didn't believe a word the man said either.

Buck nodded to Sanchez and Vin noticed the ex-preacher walking towards the storekeeper. Wilmington's message was clear. Let Josiah handle it. Tanner nodded impatiently.

"Now why do I think you're being less than truthful, Brother?" Sanchez asked as he towered over the smaller man.

"I...I really didn't see no one like that," the man hissed, shrinking away from the intimidating man in the serape.

"Please, Mister, my husband don't know nothing," a red haired woman cried as she stood next to the storekeeper.

"What about you, Ma'am? Do you know anything about our friend?" Sanchez asked the cringing woman.

"N...no I d...didn't see no one," she answered in a trembling voice.

Vin heard the conversation and felt like shaking the people of the town. Something about their skittish behavior told him they knew more than they were telling. He turned away from the group before his anger got the best of him. Are you here, Larabee? he silently asked. A movement on the side of the jail caught his attention and he moved away from the small gathering. By the time he reached the corner of the jail he saw a form move around the corner. He followed quickly and soon caught up with a young man. He reached out a hand and clasped it around one thin arm. He looked into the young face and frowned at the fear he saw in the brown eyes.

"Hey, wait, I ain't gonna hurt ya," he said as the man tried to pull away from him. he felt the tension leave the arm he held as the face once more came up to meet his. "Ya know something, don't ya?"

The young man looked around, making sure there was no one to see them. He nodded his head and made hand gestures, nodding his head excitedly as he did so.

Vin watched the rapid hand movements but didn't know what the excited man was trying to say. It finally dawned on him that the man couldn't talk. "Shit," he swore in frustration. He knew this kid had the answers he needed, but he didn't know how he was going to get them. He lifted his head as Buck came around the corner and had to hold tight to the man next to him. "It's okay, he's a friend," Tanner told the younger man.

"What's going on, Vin?" Wilmington asked, eyeing the scared man in the tracker's grasp.

"Shit, Buck, this fella knows somethin' but he can't talk. He's firin' all kinds of things at me with his 'ands, but I can't make any sense of it."

"Using his hands?" Wilmington looked incredulous and his mouth dropped open for a second. "JD mentioned something about a boy who lived back east. He used ta play with him."

"What's that got ta do with this?" Tanner asked.

"JD might be able to tell us what he's saying. The kid says it's called sign language. He learned some of it from the boy."

"Get JD," the tracker said.

"We'll be right back. You just make sure he stays put," Wilmington ordered as he moved away.

"He ain't goin' nowhere." The sharpshooter smiled at the younger man and spoke directly into his face. "Look, Buck's just gone ta get a friend. He might be able ta tell us what yer tryin' ta say. Okay?" he felt a small measure of relief as the blond head bobbed once.

It wasn't long before JD came around the corner alone. "Buck said you wanted me, What's wrong, Vin?"

"Everythin' okay out there, JD?"

"Josiah's tryin' ta find out what they know, but so far no one's talkin'. They know somethin', Vin, I just don't think they'll tell us."

"I know, Kid. Buck said you knew someone back east who couldn't talk."

"Yeah him and me were close. Seemed like we both needed a friend and we were there for each other."

"Could you tell what he was sayin'?"

"It took some time, but yeah, I figured it out. Why?"

"Think maybe ya could see what this fella's tryin' ta say?"

"He's deaf?" they both watched the head shake.

"You're not deaf?" Dunne asked, again the head shook. "Do you know sign language." This time the head bobbed as JD spoke and used the signs he'd learned as a kid.

"Do you know anything about our friend?" Tanner asked quickly. Again the head bobbed, but this time there was a quick succession of hand movements. "What's he sayin', JD?"

"He seen him, Vin," Dunne answered "least he thinks it was Chris."

"When?" again the hands moved fast.

"Says he was here two or three nights ago. He don't remember exactly," the hands kept moving and JD continued to pick up most of what the man was trying to tell them. "Vin!"

"What?" Tanner asked as he heard the fear in Dunne's voice.

"He said the sheriff brung a man dressed in black to Haven and accused him of bein' a murderin' thief! He says the sheriff and his men took the man's clothes and boots and threw him in jail." Vin turned to go to the front of the jail when JD's excited voice stopped him once more. "Wait, Vin, he says he's not there anymore. Says the Sheriff took him out to...Oh... God!"

"What?" Tanner frowned, his eyes glowing with rage at the hopelessness in the young Bostonian's voice.

"H...he says the sheriff and his men took him to be hanged."