---

Chris Larabee slowed his horse as he neared the small town he called home. He was dirty and tired, and his head pounded from three days of non-stop cheap tequila in the bandit town of Purgatorio. When he hadn't been drinking, he'd been in the arms of the beautiful whore Maria, but despite her warm brown eyes and sharp mind, she would never be more to him than a release for his body, though even that lacked the appeal it had provided in the past. He'd gone to Purgatory so he wouldn't be alone, but the distraction wasn't working anymore. As he'd said goodbye to Maria, they both knew it would probably be his last visit. His ride back had been even lonelier than his ride over.

Besides that, his original purpose for the trip -- to buy a strong stud horse from a Spanish ranchero outside of town -- had been a waste of time. The man's stock was little better than skin and bones, and the ranchero was asking ten times what the horses were worth if they'd been healthy. The abuse of the horses had frayed his edgy nerves even further, and he'd sworn if he came back and those horses weren't fed, he'd take it out of the man's hide. Maybe a good fight would have improved his mood.

Within sight of the town, he noticed the trail was covered with tracks from a lot of horses and wagons. Off to the left, he saw white tents arranged in neat rows, and a slip-shod corral crowded with horses and guarded by soldiers.

"Shit," Chris said out loud, spitting out dust from the trampled trail. "Army." He spurred his horse toward the town.

On the outskirts, the road began to get crowded with soldiers and other people he didn't recognize. The crowd made him wary; he scanned faces looking for trouble. A few people glanced back but didn't meet his eyes. All these new people in town were bad news. He hoped Vin had hightailed it out until the army moved on.

He left his horse in the livery and hurried through the crowd. People stepped out of his way as his glare radiated from under the brim of his hat, his black duster billowing behind him revealing the well-used Colt on his hip. He passed the old office of The Clarion News, now used by the milliner. A few doors down he nodded to a frazzled Mrs. Potter, who was trying to keep order in her store filled with rowdy soldiers. Chris normally would have stopped to help, but first he had to find out about Vin. He hurried across the street to the saloon.

He was stopped by a wall of calico.

"Sir, repent your sin and God will forgive you," a high-pitched voice said to him, and a thin hand was placed on his arm. He looked at the hand, then into a pair of grey eyes gleaming with fervor. "Whiskey is the devil's water, and you'll drown in it. Let Jesus help."

He removed the woman's hand from his arm. Several replies, none of them polite, came to mind, but he held his tongue and walked silently through the group of women blocking the saloon entrance. They gasped and moved out of the way.

"God forgives you," the leader called after him.

"I doubt it," he said, stopping in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the darkness inside the saloon. Apparently the Jesus brigade hadn't saved anyone else either because the saloon was packed with ranch hands, soldiers, and working girls. He scanned the crowd, noting all of the new faces, then looked over to the back corner. He saw a worn slouch hat and shook his head. Damn fool didn't know when to get out of town, he thought.

Vin Tanner sat against the wall, the brim of his hat covering his eyes and most of his face. Beside him, Ezra Standish dealt cards one-handed, his emerald-green coat and perfectly coiffed hair making him the obvious center of attention, which Chris was glad for. On Vin's other side, Buck Wilmington frowned at his cards.

"Damn, Ezra, these cards are worse than a bad batch of Mrs. Smithy's prune stew," the ladies man said, tossing them into the center of the table.

Chris stepped around a rowdy table of soldiers to join his fellow peacekeepers.

"Cowboy," Vin said quietly, glancing up for a second with a grin before looking back down. "How was yer trip?"

Chris pulled a chair over to the table. "Waste of time," he said, pouring a shot of whiskey. "What the hell happened while I was gone?"

"Army. They need a place to hang some deserters," Buck answered.

Chris glanced at Vin, but couldn't see his expression. "What about the women out front?"

Buck laughed. "You mean the bulldogs? They've been trying to save our souls all week."

"Lost cause if ever I heard one," Ezra said, reshuffling the deck.

"I thought Mrs. Travis was bad," Vin added.

"Indeed, it appears that our resident moral conscience's departure for the greener pastures of San Francisco created a puritanical void the Temperance Society felt obliged to fill," Ezra said.

Chris took another drink. "Gonna be trouble?" he asked.

"Maybe the soldiers and bulldogs will take on each other," Buck said.

"I'd place my money on the dear ladies," Ezra said.

Vin felt Chris's eyes on him, and he looked into the green stare. He knew what Chris was really worried about. "No trouble so far," he answered.

Chris nodded. He finished his whiskey, not feeling any more at ease, but Vin would do what he wanted. He stood. "I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, and left the saloon, avoiding the Temperance Society as they lectured JD who was trying to get into the saloon.

---

Vin finished his whiskey and stood to leave. The saloon was getting more crowded by the minute, and the voice in his head telling him to saddle up and head out was getting louder. Ever since the army appeared outside of town, his survival instinct had kicked in, but he ignored it, wanting to wait until Chris got back. Something in Chris's eyes before he left had worried the sharpshooter; there was an emptiness there he hadn't seen before, different from the despair that sometimes came over him when thinking about his family. Chris had said he wanted to look at some Mexican horses, but a week had gone by with no word and Vin couldn't get the image of those sad green eyes out of his head. He was already planning on heading out after his friend when Chris had walked through the door, his mood still sad but his worry for Vin plain as day.

Worry for him. Vin shook his head as he stepped along the wall of the saloon towards the batwing doors. Since his ma died, he'd been on his own. The few times he'd reached out to another person had been disastrous. The calamity with Charlotte had actually barely affected him in comparison to the heartbreak he'd suffered when he was too young to know better. But instead of spooking him, Chris and the others' worry for him soothed him. He still guarded his heart, but he didn't have to always guard his back, and that made him treasure this dusty piss-ant town he'd stumbled into.

That was why he was worried about Chris. He had the look of a man about to move on, and Vin didn't want that to happen. If it did, he'd move on, too. Without Chris, the town was just wood and dust.

He stepped outside and dodged the Temperance women, hurrying to the side alley of the saloon. The late afternoon heat hit him and he wiped a bead of sweat off his lips, scanning the street. Besides the Temperance Society, who looked to be immune to the heat, the streets were nearly empty. He started to step out but stopped as he heard the loud strike of a hammer. He glanced down to the end of town, near Josiah's church. Two soldiers, their hats and coats discarded in the heat, were erecting a large gallows. This wasn't going to be an ordinary hanging, Vin realized. There was already space for two nooses, and the soldiers were still building. Looks like the army is having trouble keeping soldiers, Vin thought. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. He hated this feeling that came over him whenever he saw a hanging. It was too close to fear, and he couldn't afford fear. Fear made a man do stupid things-things like sticking around a town full of soldiers waiting for an ornery cuss, who was probably off drinking his weight in whiskey, to get home safe. Now Chris was back, and he could ride out until things calmed down again. Except he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the beginning, not the end, of trouble.

He continued to watch the soldiers, lost in thought, so that he didn't hear footsteps near him until it was too late to duck back into the alley.

"Young man," a woman's voice called. Vin sighed. Temperance Society. They could drive a man to drink. "Young man, I'm talking to you."

Vin turned to her, his face hidden by his hat. "Ma'am," he said, hoping for a quick escape.

"You came from the saloon. Aren't you a peacekeeper in this town?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you on duty intoxicated? It's a disgrace. I'll have your job."

"No, ma'am."

"What's that?" She stepped closer. He could smell her strong cologne.

"No, ma'am, I ain't intoxicated," he said, taking a small step back.

"Ain't is not a word. And look at me when I'm talking to you."

He peered at her from under his hat and took another step back. One more step and he'd have his back against a wall. "Talk to Chris Larabee, ma'am."

"Chris Larabee," she spat. "He's the worst of the bunch. Don't you think a law man should have the decency not to show up intoxicated?"

"I ain't intoxicated. Ain't a lawman either, ma'am. If you'll excuse me." He sidestepped her and walked back down the alley.

"Come back here while I'm talking to you! I'll have your job," she yelled after him.

Vin didn't glance back. He'd take the back way to the livery, but before he could get there, two soldiers appeared at the end of the alley, cutting off his freedom. One was young and looked a little green, and the other was older and had a long scar slicing through his lips and down his chin. His uniform was too tight, but Vin could see it was from brawn, not bulk.

He again dropped his head and kept walking. All he wanted was to get away from all these people and be left in peace.

"Stop him, soldier! He's intoxicated," the woman yelled.

A burly hand grabbed his arm and Vin sighed. There was no way to get out of this easily now. Whatever happened, it was going to get ugly.

"What's your hurry, son?" The sergeant said, peering under Vin's hat. Vin could see a name on his uniform, and he spelled it out. B-a-r-r-e-t-t.

"No hurry," Vin said. It bothered him that he couldn't meet the soldier's eyes, but that lingering dread of hanging kept his gaze to the dirt.

"Don't you know you don't walk away when a lady's talking to you?" Barrett asked.

Vin kept his thoughts whether she was a lady or not to himself. "Sorry, ma'am," he said to her and tried to pull his arm out of Barrett's grasp. The soldier's grip tightened. Vin could feel meaty fingers digging into his arm. He swayed a bit as he remembered a time from long ago; a time he'd made himself forget. Strong fingers on his arm, dark blue uniform; his knees nearly buckled at the strength of the memory. But he stood up straight, and forced himself to raise his eyes, locking into the flinty ones of the soldier. The younger soldier had scurried back into the saloon, and even the Temperance lady knew enough to back away. For a moment, neither moved, as the soldier grabbed him tighter and Vin's eyes pierced the shadow of his hat brim.

"Let go," he said quietly.

Barrett smiled. "Sure," he said, releasing Vin's arm, then taking a swing that connected with Vin's stomach. Vin doubled over before rushing the soldier, catching him in the midsection and knocking him to the ground. Barrett grabbed his arms and tried to roll on top of him, but Vin head-butted him, and Barrett fell back with a grunt. Patrons spilled out of the bar, cheering the fight, until several soldiers pulled Vin up and held him fast.

Barrett stood slowly, brushing dirt from his uniform. Blood trickled from his nose, running down the scar on his chin. "That's the last mistake you'll ever make," he said, and again punched Vin in the stomach.

Vin knew it was hopeless to struggle, so he concentrated on not flinching and not making a sound. He knew from the Comanche that an enemy relished the sounds of pain. Barrett threw another punch, hitting a kidney, and Vin's vision exploded into stars, but he still didn't cry out. He stiffened as Barrett pulled back his arm to hit him again, but the sound of a gunshot stopped the punch.

"Throw that punch and you're dead."

Vin finally breathed. He'd never been so glad to hear Larabee's voice as he was at that moment.

"Let him go," Chris said. The soldiers hesitated, and Chris aimed at Barrett. He slowly pulled back the hammer. "I haven't killed a soldier since the war. Don't reckon I forgot how."

Barrett wiped the blood from his mouth, and then nodded at the two men holding Vin. When they released him, he slumped slightly but then straightened.

The crowd filed back into the saloon, disappointed. Barrett backed away slowly. "This ain't over," he said.

"I can end it now," Chris said.

Barrett grinned, his teeth red with blood, then he and the two other soldiers headed back into the saloon.

Chris holstered his gun and hurried over to Vin. "Come on, let's get you to Nathan's," he said, wrapping an arm around Vin's waist.

The sharpshooter pulled away and winced. "Don't need a doctor. Some whiskey'd be fine."

Chris shook his head. "Vin, you're hurt."

"Hell, he hit like a girl." His smile was weak.

Chris let him go. "Can you ride?" he asked.

Vin ran his hands along his ribs. "I reckon. Nothing's broken."

"Then head out to my cabin. We've got enough law here anyway, and it's a risk someone will recognize you." He reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out a small pouch, handing it to Vin. "Nathan gave me this for when my knees start acting up. It should help your ribs too. There's plenty of food out there."

Vin stared at the pouch, then took it from Chris's hand and placed it in his own pocket. "Much obliged," he said, looking away down the alley.

"You ain't running, Vin. Hell, I'd get out of here with you if I could."

"Why can't ya?"

"I need to talk to this Barrett's commanding officer about him," Chris said, a slightly wicked grin crossing his face. "Besides, I want to look over their ponies. Buck said they may have some for sale."

"If they ain't, I know where ya might get some Indian ponies." He held out his hand, and he and Chris grasped forearms, then Vin walked away, keeping to the shadows.

"Vin," Chris called after him. "Watch your back."

---

Outside the church, people rushed by, hurrying to pick up supplies from Mrs. Potter's or nails from the hardware store before dinner time. Off to the side, soldiers still worked on the gallows. Some who passed avoided looking at it, pulling their children closer, while others gazed in curiosity as more wood was added, making room for even more deserters to hang.

None that passed considered entering the dusty church. Although most of the holes in the walls had been filled in, the roof no longer leaked, and the worn pews were free of splinters and dust, only a few religious souls ever ventured inside, and then only on Sunday mornings. No matter how hard Josiah Sanchez scrubbed or buffed or mended, the small church always held a certain despair that no amount of whitewash could cover. Somewhat like the town, which was why Josiah knew that this was the place God intended for him to end his days.

Small candles lit the podium of the empty church. Beyond, in a small alcove for altar boys to sit, if they ever had any, Josiah strained against the newest addition to his church, shoving the heavy piece of equipment further into the small room.

"Hold up there, Josiah, before you shove me into the wall."

Josiah stood and wiped the sweat from his eyes. "Sorry, Nathan. I think that's far enough. Climb on out."

The healer scrambled over the black iron contraption, standing beside his old friend and rubbing ink from his hands. "What do you want with this newspaper press anyway? You going to start your own paper?"

A large grin crossed the preacher's face. "Now that's not a bad idea. But I was thinking I could print church programs for Sunday, with words to the hymns on them."

"May bring more people in."

"I doubt it," Josiah said.

The two men peered at the levers of the machine.

"You know how to work a printing press?" Nathan asked.

Josiah glanced at him. "No. Do you?"

"I can fix broken bones and lance boils. I'll leave the written word up to you."

Josiah laughed and clapped his friend on the back. "Thank you for your help, brother."

"You're welcome. Just do me a favor. Next time you need something moved, ask Buck."

"That I will." Josiah watched Nathan as he left the church and then looked back at the black contraption. "I wonder if Ezra knows how to work this thing."

---

The sun was setting as Chris waited outside the jail, smoking a cheroot. He knew somebody from the army unit would come to see him about the afternoon's events, but he was in no hurry. He hadn't gotten along with army captains while he was in the army, and he didn't expect to get along with this one now.

He inhaled the strong tobacco and tried to relax, even though he was second-guessing his decision to let Vin ride out alone. The tracker had barely been able to get on his horse, but he'd still resisted seeing Nathan, although Chris didn't know why. Hell, he didn't know if the stubborn sharpshooter had even gone to his shack or was going to sleep on the cold ground. He shook his head. Vin was a grown man, and independent as a lone wolf. If he wanted to sleep on dirt and lick his wounds, Chris wasn't going to interfere, although he did hope Vin had the common sense to use the liniment Nathan had made.

He took another drag of the cheroot, then flicked the stub into the dirt. To outside eyes, he looked lost in thought, staring at nothing, but he'd heard the sharp spurs of what could only be a career Army officer before the man even appeared around the livery. He kept his eyes across the street, waiting for the Captain to address him.

The Captain stopped in front of Chris and rested one leg on the step. He was tall and thin, his hair bleached and his skin reddened by the sun. Chris figured his leg for an old war wound, and the man from back East. He met Chris's eyes and nodded.

"Mr. Larabee," he said in an accent that proved Chris right. "I'm Captain Abrams. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, but I was informed you were away on an errand."

"Could say that," Chris said.

"One of my men has made serious charges against you. I need to find out what happened this afternoon."

Chris was a decent judge of character, and he pegged Abrams as fair, but tired. He couldn't imagine a career in the army, especially with the soldiers nowadays. Morale was low. There seemed nothing to fight for, and many signed on just to kill Indians. Chris didn't envy the man. He nodded at the chair beside him.

Abrams smiled and took the offered seat. He removed his cavalry hat and pushed his nearly white hair off his forehead. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"My men keep the peace in this town. Your Sergeant Barrett was drunk, and your men held one of mine while Barrett hit him."

Abrams nodded and replaced his hat. "I was afraid of that."

"Barrett's lucky he's not full of holes."

Abrams' grin told Chris he wasn't completely against the idea. "We'll be out of your hair by Sunday. Until then, I'll keep my men in line if you keep yours."

Chris looked at him. "I can keep my men out of trouble. I'm not sure you can."

Abrams looked at the ground. "I can. I just don't like doing it."

Chris pictured the pillory his captain during the war carried around for troublemakers. He understood the deserters more and more. "If you can't, I will," he said.

Abrams stood and straightened his uniform. "If your reputation is only a fraction accurate, then I'm sure you could. But it's not necessary. My men will conduct themselves in a manner befitting the United States Army." He walked down the steps and away from the jail.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Chris said.

---

Vin slid off his horse, groaning as his feet hit the ground. It had taken him twice as long as usual to get to Chris's place because he had to ride at a snail's pace; the slightest jostle sent pain up his spine and down his legs. He knew he should have seen Nathan, but then he'd end up in the clinic, and being boxed up in town was more than he could stand right now. At Chris's, there was nobody around for miles, the way both men liked it. He'd sleep off his aches a lot better out here where he could hear someone coming by the way the crickets sounded, than in town where his every nerve was always on alert.

He rested for a minute against his horse's saddle, trying to work up the energy to remove the heavy leather. The horse was as hungry and tired as he was, and pranced forward, jerking Vin with him. "Goddamn," he said, grinding his teeth at the sharp pain. "When I get back to town, I'm gonna cut out that Barrett's eyes with a hot knife." He unbuckled the saddle, and the horse pranced again. "And then I'm comin' after you if ya don't stand still."

Once his horse was released into the corral with enough food to keep him happy, Vin shuffled to the shack, feeling like an old man, taking small steps, one hand pressed to his back, the other wrapped around his middle. Every step produced a small groan. He really should have seen Nathan, he realized; maybe he was worse off than he figured. He stopped in front of the shack, staring at the three steps that led up to the porch. "Goddamn," he muttered again. He'd helped build those steps, but right now they looked high as mountains. Taking the steps slowly, he made it to the porch and leaned against the doorframe. Sweat ran down his face, but he wasn't about to take off his coat. Just the thought made him cringe.

He opened the door and walked into the dark room. Chris hadn't been here in a while. The small cabin smelled like saddle oil and wood, and a fine layer of dust powdered the rough wood table that Chris had made himself. Vin looked around, at the equally rough chairs, the shelves holding the bare essentials of salt and flour plus a few old books, the iron stove they had lugged out here from the Taylors' after the family had moved back East. The large double bed in the corner was the only concession to luxury. They had lugged that mattress back too. Chris found the colorful blankets in Mexico.

Vin stood still just inside the doorway. It felt odd being here without Chris. As sparse as the place was, it was still Chris's, and as often as Chris said he was welcome any time, Vin always waited for an invitation. Being here alone was like invading his privacy, and Chris treasured his privacy like most men treasure gold. It made Vin uncomfortable. He turned slightly and looked back outside. He could sleep on the ground under the trees. Then he looked back at the bed, his ribs throbbing at the slight movement. His decision was made.

---

Chris filled a second glass of whiskey, but didn't drink it. He still had the nagging feeling that he should be out at his cabin, that Vin was more hurt than he let on, or than he realized, although he didn't know what exactly he could do about it. He wasn't about to wipe Vin's sweaty brow or hold his hair back as he puked, not that Vin would let him even if he were inclined to. Vin was fine, he told himself again, and downed his whiskey.

The bar was quiet. Captain Abrams had held to his promise and kept his men at their camp tonight, so only a few regulars braved the Temperance Society for a drink. Most nights quiet suited him just fine, but tonight he wanted a little action to take his mind off that nagging worry.

He looked across the table to where Buck and JD fidgeted with a new fishing lure JD had bought.

"Where's Ezra?" Chris asked.

Buck shrugged.

"I saw him talking to Josiah earlier," JD said.

Chris poured himself another drink. "The one night I could really use a card game, he's not around."

---

"Mr. Sanchez, that's the wrong toggle."

Josiah threw down the hammer he was holding and glared at Ezra, who was sitting on a chair in the doorway, shuffling a deck of cards.

"When I asked for your help, Ezra, I did mean actually helping."

The gambler looked up, continuing to shuffle. "And I am. I'm assisting with my wealth of knowledge, which fortunately doesn't require coating my hands in ink to impart." He pulled out the ace of spades, then shuffled it back into the deck. "When can we expect your first issue?"

Josiah buried himself again in the mechanics of the press. "Issue of what?"

"Why, your newspaper, of course. For what other purpose would one obtain a newspaper press?"

"Church programs," came the muffled reply.

A gleam appeared in the gambler's eye. He stood and pocketed his cards. "Mr. Sanchez, the opportunities presented by this press are boundless. With our own newspaper, we can communicate to the world at large how truly great this quaint borough we call home really is."

Josiah looked at him. "You hate it here."

"Au contraire. This town has all the comforts of a thriving metropolis, except sanitation, education, and decent cognac. Those are all things that will surely follow when people migrate here after reading the paper."

"Town's too crowded now."

Ezra stepped closer, avoiding the ink dripping onto the floor. "Think about it, Josiah. You could print your sermons in the paper. You could reach an audience wider than the half-dozen who dutifully show up on Sunday. More importantly, your readers would be interested and willing, and your church would be filled. This press is truly God-sent, my friend."

Josiah stood and wiped his hands on a rag. "Would be nice to spread the word. Figured to do that with the programs anyway." He looked at Ezra warily. "What's in it for you?"

Ezra held up his hands. "Your suspicious nature offends me. I simply hoped to contribute articles on the occurrences around town, and given my financial expertise, to collect the advertising revenue, which is necessary to finance such an operation. Josiah, my friend, you are embarking on a glorious venture." He patted Josiah on the back and rolled up his sleeves. "Now, let me show you how to operate a printing press."

He bent to adjust the levers, and Josiah shook his head in wonder. "The Lord does work in mysterious ways."

---

"Goddamn!"

Vin threw the match at the stove, where it bounced harmlessly off the iron and landed on the floor. His back had tightened up, his ribs were pounding, even his head throbbed, and whenever he bent over to try to light the stove, pain from practically everywhere made him dizzy. "Fuck it," he said. His own voice sounded odd in the small cabin. Chris should be here. It's his home, and the place felt empty with just Vin there.

He reached for the jerky he had in his saddlebag, and the small pouch Chris had given him fell out. He forgot he had shoved the liniment in there before he left town. He could definitely use it now. Tearing off a bite of jerky, he leaned back against the table. He took a deep breath and tried to shrug out of the coat he still wore. Pain shot up his back, but he was finally able to slide out of the hide coat, cursing the whole time. He still had his shirt and long johns to go. Slowly raising his hands, he slipped off his suspenders and unbuttoned his faded blue shirt. He took another deep breath. That wasn't so bad. But when he slid the shirt from his shoulders, the pain nearly doubled him over. "Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn," he muttered as he finally got the shirt off. One layer to go. Moving as slow as he could, he unbuttoned the large buttons on his long johns, waiting until the pain receded to a dull throb before taking a deep breath and pulling the long johns down to his waist. This time the pain did double him over, and he stayed as still as he could, trying to focus on anything other than his aching ribs.

He looked across the room at the soft bed with the plump pillow, and slowly made his way to it. He sat on the mattress, sighing as he sank into the softness. In the dim light of a single kerosene lamp, he glanced over his injuries. Mottled bruises covered his stomach and chest, but it was the bruise on his arm that stopped him cold. On his arm, four circular discolorations formed the shape of a human hand. He knew if he looked on the underside of his arm, he'd find a thumbprint as well, where Barrett had grabbed him. He closed his eyes against the same flood of memories that overwhelmed him at the sight of that bruise, memories so long buried he'd convinced himself he'd finally forgotten them, but the tightness in his chest and the rush in his head reminded him that it would never go away.

He stood suddenly and then sat back down as pain shot through him, taking his mind off the past and into the aching present. Sleep would do him good. He looked around for the liniment and spotted it still on the table, next to the jerky and his gun belt. From where he sat, the table looked a mile away. His stomach growled and his gun wasn't within reaching distance, but his legs wouldn't listen when he told them to stand. Instead, he lay back against the soft pillow.

He shifted his weight so the pressure was off his back, and the bed squeaked with the movement. He smiled. Chris carved the bed himself out of a tree it took the two of them four days to cut down. It had taken Chris all winter to smooth out the wood, but when he was done, it was an amazing sight. Chris had even carved designs into the posts, but Vin had never had a chance to get a good look at the designs. Now, in the dim light, he saw the outline of trees around one round post, a forest of pine and oak, just like right outside. On the other post was a horse, in profile, looking off at an unseen diversion. Vin felt a calm come over him as he looked at the carvings. Most folks would be amazed at the gentleness buried deep in that gunslinger, Vin thought. Hell, Chris himself would be surprised that he had a poetic soul.

Vin turned slightly on his side. He still wore his pants and boots, but he couldn't bring himself to remove them. The pillow was soft, and smelled like tobacco and lye, and something else he couldn't place, and Vin snuggled into it. Then his eyes flew open. The pillow smelled like Chris. He turned onto his back, not liking the direction of his thoughts. Chris had been married, and that made him dangerous. Vin had learned that lesson well enough from Conrad. He sat up suddenly and lay back down, relishing the pain that chased away his wayward memories. No way in hell he was going to dredge up old ghosts, and no way in hell would he think about Chris as anything other than the best friend he'd ever had. He'd denied himself enough, and he'd keep on doing it.

As the pain eased again, he drifted to sleep, and in his dreams he saw pine trees and running horses, and he soaked in the essence of tobacco and lye while sitting in a chair carved by Chris and watching the sun highlight his best friend's golden hair as he carved another design for the bed post. And when he woke up, he had a raging hard-on. "Goddamn," he swore, unbuttoning his pants.

---

The Temperance Society was already at the saloon at sunup, so even those stopping by only for breakfast received a lecture on the evils of whiskey.

In the granary next to the saloon, Buck and JD huddled beneath a window with several other men.

"What are we doing here?" JD said, trying to get comfortable while crouching.

"Keep quiet," Buck replied. "You want them to hear us?"

"They can't hear us way up here," JD said.

"They can hear us anywhere." Buck peered over the windowsill and smiled. "Here comes our saving grace."

JD tried to look too, but Buck pushed him back. JD sat back down with a huff.

On the street below, Ezra adjusted the cuffs of his linen shirt before heading to the saloon, but instead of avoiding the platoon of woman barring the door, he walked straight toward them and bowed slightly. "Good morning, ladies," he said with a smile, trying not to squint in the bright morning sun. If Buck hadn't agreed to take his patrols for a month in trade for distracting these women, he'd still be in blissful slumber in his featherbed. But sometimes one must shovel manure to get to the diamond beneath, he thought.

"You're that gambling man," the gray-haired woman before him said. "Are you here to repent?"

"Indeed I am," Ezra replied. "Ezra P. Standish. The P is for Penitent. And whom may I thank for shining the light of redemption on my tortured soul?"

"Agnes Monroe," she said, looking momentarily confused before regaining her composure. "You aren't trying to swindle me, are you?"

Ezra glanced over his shoulder where he could see his comrades climbing from the window of the granary to an upper window of the saloon. Buck stopped long enough to grin down at him before disappearing inside.

"My dear lady, of course not. I have been looking for a way out of this sordid lifestyle for a long, long time, and your presence has provided that path to salvation. Perhaps we could retire to the church to discuss it further?"

Agnes sniffed. "That church is for heathens and the preacher drinks as much as everybody else. My parlor will do just fine." She took Ezra's offered arm and stepped away from the saloon.

"Won't your sisters-in-arms be joining us?"

"Martha, Louise, Amanda, come along," Agnes called. The small group left the saloon, and as soon as they disappeared around the corner, men crowded through the batwing doors.

---

The army camp was just waking as Chris arrived. A hush fell over the men as he rode past. Apparently news of his altercation with Barrett had spread quickly. A small smile lifted his lips at the angry looks he was receiving. Ezra had once said that if he had a dollar for every man who wanted Chris Larabee dead, he could buy his own saloon. It looked like Ezra would be able to buy a whole row of saloons after today.

Chris stopped his gelding in front of the Captain's tent. Abrams stepped out, in shirtsleeves and still wiping shaving cream from his face. "Larabee," he said. "Trouble?"

Chris climbed off his horse. "Not unless you call me riding in here unchallenged trouble."

Abrams glanced at some of the men who had gathered around, and they hurried away.

"I heard you had some ponies you were looking to sell," Chris said. "Came to look them over."

Abrams nodded. "I'll go with you. Give me a minute." He disappeared back into his tent, and Chris caught the smell of frying bacon from inside. He could still feel the eyes of the men boring into him, and he smiled again.

When Abrams stepped back out, he was in uniform, neat and pressed this time. Chris reckoned Abrams probably started each morning with good intentions, but, like his uniform, they went awry with the realities of the day. He knew the feeling.

They walked away from the Captain's tent.

"So, you been in town long?" Abrams asked.

"I suppose," Chris answered.

"It's a nice town. Can see why a man would get used to it."

"I suppose."

Abrams glanced at the taller man walking beside him. "Not one for conversation, are you?"

"Nope."

Abrams shrugged and they walked in silence to the end of camp, where a large corral had been set up. Inside, a herd of horses ran in circles, nipping each other and kicking up dirt.

"Your men ride these?" Chris asked.

"Try to. That's why we're selling them. Too wild. We'll get some better ones at Fort Laramie." The Captain leaned against the fence, resting his leg. "They're not bad horses, just not army horses."

Chris looked at them more closely. Abrams was right. Most were small, barely 15 hands, built for speed, not heavy work. They wouldn't suit his ranch either. He stepped away.

"Where will you sell them?" he asked.

"A local rancher named James said he's interested."

Chris looked up sharply. "You're better off dealing with the devil."

Abrams stood up straight. "James is bad news?"

"Yep."

"Then we'll take them to Laramie, trade them there."

Chris nodded. "These horses won't work for me either. Don't know what James wants with them."

Abrams held out his hand and Chris shook it. "Sorry I couldn't help you out," Abrams said.

"Thanks for your time." Chris started walking back to his horse.

Abrams called after him. "You going to be at the hanging later?"

His worry for Vin returned in full force. He nodded grimly and kept walking.

---

"Good day, ladies. We shall meet again soon," Ezra called to the group sipping lemonade on the porch. "It has been a pleasure." As he turned away, he nearly ran into Josiah. "Mr. Sanchez, how fortuitous. I was just singing your praises to the Temperance Society. Perhaps you should..."

"Give it back, Ezra," Josiah said.

"Give what back?"

"Mrs. Monroe's bracelet. You slipped it off her arm when you kissed her hand."

Ezra took a step back. "I am appalled at that accusation. I would never stoop to pick pocketing to...unhand me sir!"

Josiah held on to Ezra's arm while he searched his pockets, pulling out a gold and pearl bracelet from his waistcoat.

"She dropped it earlier and I simply forgot to..."

"Give it back, Ezra."

"Actually, I was intending to. I thought it might prove an ample distraction when she returns to blocking the saloon."

Josiah crossed his arms and waited.

Ezra turned back to the ladies. "My dear Mrs. Monroe, look what I found lying in the street. I do believe it's your heirloom."

Mrs. Monroe gasped and checked her wrist.

Ezra grabbed Josiah's arm as he started to walk away. "And here's our local preacher, who I'm sure will be as interested as I was about your views on morality." Josiah glared at him, but Ezra only smiled.

---

The main street through town was crowded, yet strangely quiet. People had gathered around the gallows, built to hold four. A few feet away, a group of young men from the local ranches jostled for the best view. Behind them, the crowd thinned; families bunched in small groups, not wanting to watch but unable to look away. Old men rocked in the shade of the porch, and a young mother had spread a bright yellow blanket over the dirt so she could feed her children. There was no breeze to dry the sweat that ran down foreheads and necks, and no sound except the occasional cough or cry of a child. Even the saloon, usually busy with the breakfast crowd, was silent and empty. The bartender stood near the front, craning his long neck to see the gallows, bigger than most of the townspeople had ever seen.

Ezra had seen one like it before, and the bile that rose in the back of his throat reminded him that he hoped to never see it again. However, he schooled his features to ambivalence and walked to the jail, where JD hung onto a rail trying to see over the crowd and Buck leaned back in a wooden chair.

"Will they drop all at once?" JD asked.

"I told you already, yes," Buck answered.

"But how does it work?"

Ezra stepped to the doorway of the jail. His red coat was suddenly very hot and he peeled it off. "It's a mastery of human ingenuity," he said, looking away from the gallows. He hadn't thought about leaving this town in over a year, but that massive gallows had him thinking.

"Chris is back!" JD said, pointing out the lone figure riding back into town. Ezra wondered how he didn't burst into flame dressed in head-to-toe black. It's so hellfire hot today, he thought. Just like last time.

Chris tied up his horse in front of the jail and nodded at the others. "Any trouble?" he asked.

"Nope. Everybody's behaving real nice," Buck said.

"Are you going to watch?" JD asked, jumping off the steps.

Chris glanced at him. "I can see from here."

"Buck?"

"No thanks, kid. Ain't interested."

"Ezra?"

Ezra still stared back down the street, empty away from the gallows. Hot as the devil's prick, he thought, a face from his past appearing before him to say those words. He jumped as his name was called again. "Beg your pardon?" he asked.

"I said are you going to watch the hanging?" JD repeated.

Ezra straightened his vest. "No, I think I'll stay here in the sanctity of the shade."

JD shrugged and ran toward the gallows.

Buck shook his head. "This ought to kill his curiosity," he said.

Chris looked at Ezra. "You all right, Ezra?"

Ezra glanced at him. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You tell me." Chris wasn't in the mood to struggle through Ezra's guises. He had hurried out of the army camp as fast as he could, no longer amused by the soldiers' hostility. He'd headed back to town, wanting this damn hanging over with and the soldiers gone.

A dust cloud started to form at the edge of town, and the Army marched up through the street in rows. Four shackled men walked to the side. The soldiers passed the jail and continued to the gallows, where the crowd parted to let them through.

"If we'd marched all slouched like that, our captain would have skinned us alive," Buck said.

"He skinned us for having dust on our boots after marching all day," Chris said.

"He was a bastard, but he kept us alive," Buck said. Chris didn't reply.

Around the gallows, the soldiers lowered their guns and, wilting under the hot sun, watched their former comrades led up the stairs to the gallows. Two of the four condemned looked at the ground, their shoulders slumped in defeat; one looked up at the sky, his lips moving in prayer. But one stood tall, his eyes forward and blazing. His shackled hands were clenched in front of him, and he raised his chin when the hangman shoved him to his place. All the worry for Vin that Chris had been denying came flooding back, and he was about to get on his horse and ride fast as he could out to his shack when Abrams spoke behind him.

"Finest soldier I ever had," the Captain said.

Chris followed his gaze to the proud man, still standing tall while his feet were roped together.

"What did he do?"

"Deserted during a campaign against the Sioux."

"Why?"

Abrams looked tired. "I have no idea." He lifted his head and kept walking to the gallows.

Chris stepped into the street. All the men were bound, both hands and feet, and their heads covered. The hangman, a hooded soldier, waited for the Captain's order. Chris watched the proud soldier, sorry he was going to die this way. A brave man should be allowed to go out fighting, not strung up like a mangy dog, as Vin had said.

Abrams raised his hand and dropped it suddenly. The hangman leaned on the lever, and the men dropped, the ropes stretched tight. The crowd gasped; some turned away, some looked on in fascination; a few smiled. Three of the men had their necks broken immediately, but the proud soldier wasn't one of them. He tensed as the rope choked him, then began to involuntarily spasm as his body fought for air, a wet stain spreading across his pants as he twisted against the rope. Chris couldn't breathe either, watching the man flop around struggling for air. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, and he clenched his fists. Seconds ticked by, turning to minutes, and the man gradually stilled, his body slowly spinning at the end of the rope. Chris let out his breath suddenly, his heart still pounding. Abrams turned back to him, but Chris walked away, gathering his horse and galloping off without a word.

---

When Chris reined in front of his shack, he saw Vin sitting in a chair, shirtless, his legs spread in front of him. The tracker opened his eyes slowly and smiled.

"You all right?" Chris asked, climbing off his horse.

"Never better."

Chris nodded and unsaddled his horse, letting it into the corral. When he came back to the house, Vin was in the exact same position.

"You sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure."

Chris stepped onto the porch, removing his hat. "Is there coffee?" he asked.

"Nope."

Chris paused, looking at Vin more closely. Dark purple bruises covered his torso, and a few welts had risen as well. More bruises circled his arm. His long johns and suspenders hung around his hips. "Vin, can you move?"

Vin had closed his eyes. "Sure can. Just took me a while to get here, so I think I'll stay a while." He smiled into the morning sun.

Chris smiled too, shaking his head. His worry disappeared, and he walked into the shack.

Vin listened to the sounds from inside. It took his mind off the throbbing in his ribs. He heard Chris light the stove and take down a pan, and soon he smelled sausage and coffee. His stomach growled in response.

A short while later, Chris stepped back out, holding two plates full of eggs and sausage and two cups of coffee. He handed Vin a plate and watched as Vin held it gingerly, and just as gingerly lifted a bite of sausage to his mouth. After the first bite, he ignored the pain and began wolfing down the food, shoveling in eggs and sausage together.

Chris raised an eyebrow. "How long since you ate?"

Vin looked up at him, his mouth full of the last of the eggs. "Ate last night."

"What did you have?"

Vin swallowed but didn't answer.

"Because there's a half-eaten piece of jerky on the table, along with your clothes and gun," Chris said.

Vin looked down sheepishly. "Weren't hungry."

"Sure you weren't." Chris handed him his plate, still full.

"I had enough," Vin protested.

"I'll make more."

Vin hesitated, but then dug into the eggs. Chris smiled as Vin finished his second plate faster than the first. He took both empty plates and set them on the railing, sipping his coffee as he looked over the expanse of green grass and trees surrounding his house.

"How was the hangin'?" Vin asked.

Chris looked back at him, his eyes cloudy.

"It's over," he said, taking the plates inside.

Vin looked after him, tried to stand, but fell back, his arms wrapped around his middle. "Goddamn," he whispered.

---

The saloon was crowded but somber. Everyone had plates full of potatoes and bacon in front of them, but most picked at their food, still remembering the site of four swaying bodies. Ezra didn't even pretend to eat. A game of solitaire was spread in front of him.

"You actually losing there, Ezra?" Buck asked.

"Momentary setback," Ezra replied.

"Why don't you just cheat?"

Ezra looked at him. "Why would I cheat myself?"

They both looked as the batwing doors swung open and JD entered. He walked to the table and sat down heavily, calling for whiskey.

"You okay, JD? You look a little green," Buck said.

"I ain't never seen nothing like that, and I hope I don't ever see it again." He gulped down the whiskey.

"You've never seen a hanging before?" Ezra asked.

"Not like that. All of them, and that one, twisting and struggling. Shooting him would be kinder."

"They don't usually hang that many at once," Buck said. "I guess the Captain wanted it over with quickly."

"It's supposed to be a deterrent, to keep the rest of the soldiers from attempting the same. I fear that out here on the frontier, stronger deterrents are required," Ezra said.

JD took another gulp of whiskey. "I just hope I never see nothing like it again."

"Then keep pulling Vin's wanted posters out of the stack they send you," Buck said.

JD turned even paler. "Oh God, they won't do that to Vin. I'll shoot him myself first."

---

Vin had nearly drifted off to sleep when Chris came back out of the cabin. He'd removed his coat and gun belt and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his black shirt. Vin noticed he looked more relaxed than when he'd first arrived, and he understood why; this cabin was like a sanctuary for both of them, where they didn't have to be on guard all the time.

Chris carried the small pouch from Nathan. "Did you use this?" he asked.

"No."

"Why?"

"Hurts to move," Vin answered.

Chris grinned. "You're more trouble than a new-born colt," he said, kneeling in front of Vin. "Sit up."

"Why?" Vin asked.

Chris opened the pouch and scooped out some of the thick paste. "This'll help."

"I can do it," Vin said, sitting up slowly. He stifled a groan as he held his hand out for the pouch.

"You sure?"

"Nope," Vin said, letting his hand drop.

Vin sat as straight as he was able, and Chris spread the liniment over the darkest of his bruises, on his right side.

Vin winced as Chris's fingers pressed on his tender flesh. "Ouch, Godamnit," he said.

"Gotta rub it in," Chris replied, smearing the paste over the bruises, across Vin's sore ribs and down his side.

Vin's skin began to feel warm wherever Chris's fingers touched, and the pain began to ebb. He looked down at Chris's hand running across his stomach, the fingers strong yet gentle in their kneading. He also felt heat in another part of his body and closed his eyes, willing his traitorous flesh to wilt, but he couldn't concentrate as the warm hand eased the soothing balm down his left side and along the waist of his pants.

"It hurts that bad?" Chris asked. "Your ribs don't feel broken, but maybe I should go get Nathan."

"Feels better," Vin answered, eyes still closed. He'd never noticed the smoky timbre of Chris's voice before now. Jesus, if Chris didn't stop touching him he was going to come in his pants.

Then he felt Chris's hand on his arm. His eyes opened as Chris started to rub the liniment on to the bruises there. He yanked his arm away, all pleasant thoughts chased away by bitter memories. "It don't hurt there," he said.

Chris glanced at the paste still on his fingers. "Anything else need easing, so this doesn't go to waste?"

Vin grinned, remembering his earlier predicament. "Lookin' ta finish what ya started?"

Chris looked at him questioningly then stood, wiping the liniment back inside the pouch. "I think you may be a bit touched in the head, Tanner."

"I think you're right."

Chris went back inside and came back with Vin's shirt.

"I can dress myself," Vin said.

Chris tossed the shirt at him and went back inside, emerging a few seconds later with hammer and nails. He watched Vin struggle into his shirt.

"Vin?"

"Yeah?"

"You normally wear your long johns outside your clothes like that?"

"Shit!" Vin looked down at the pink material bunched around his waist. "I ain't goin' nowhere fancy anyway." He leaned back in the chair.

"I'm gonna work on that soft spot on the roof," Chris said.

"Need help?"

"From you?" Vin glared at him. "You want to help, do the dishes," Chris said.

"I'll supervise," Vin said, closing his eyes. Chris laughed and walked around back for the ladder.

Eyes closed, Vin listened to Chris on the roof, pulling up rotted wood and hammering in new. Last rain storm, he'd discovered several places were leaking and needed replacing. An hour passed as Chris worked, and as the sun got higher, the day got hotter.

Vin slowly stood and walked to a nearby tree, where he could see his friend working on the roof. He sat down against the tree to supervise. Chris removed his shirt and wiped his forehead with it, then stood and walked to another rotted place on the roof. Vin wondered at the easy grace of the man, like a cat, walking surely across the slanted roof. Chris crouched and began prying up the wood, his black jeans tight against his ass. When Vin realized where he was looking, he stood suddenly, the movement jostling his injured ribs, and walked stiffly back to the house. Maybe washing dishes wasn't such a bad idea after all.

---

Ezra patted Agnes on the arm as he led her into the church. It was already half-full. The sun shone through the windows, but the inside was covered in a dull buttery glow. Josiah had scheduled a special service following the hanging, and Buck said he'd care for Ezra's horse for a month if he talked the Temperance Society into attending. Surprisingly, they'd been anxious to go. Ezra wondered what Josiah had said to the women to win them over.

Inside, Agnes fanned herself with the still-wet church program, not even glancing at it, but Ezra looked it over, grimacing as the ink smudged his fingers. He skimmed the list of hymns until his eyes stopped on the topic for the sermon: "Temperance: God's Will be Done." He glared up at the empty dais, thinking seriously about breaking the sixth commandment.

---

Vin winced as he dried the breakfast plates. The liniment had helped a lot when he was sitting still, but movement still aggravated the bruises. He set the clean dishes to the side and sat down in one of the rough wooden chairs, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to rest. He stretched out in the position that he found hurt the least: slouched in the chair, legs spread before him, eyes closed.

He dozed, listening to Chris on the roof. He allowed his mind to wander back to that morning, when Chris had rubbed in the liniment. Even though Chris hadn't a clue, his ministrations were the nicest touch Vin had in a long time. Since... he frowned. Every time he started thinking about Chris, it always led to Conrad. Probably a good thing, he realized. Thinking about Chris that way would possibly get him shot, or worse, lose him the best friend he ever had.

He went back to listening to the hammering on the roof, but there was silence. He opened his eyes and caught himself before he fell out of the chair. Chris stood in the doorway, his arms above his head resting on the doorframe. Sweat glistened on his chest and arms, and his blonde hair fell forward into his face. Vin had never seen anything so beautiful, and his heart pounded so hard he knew Chris had to hear it.

Chris smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I came back for the hacksaw." He stepped into the room. Vin couldn't speak. He felt the heat from Chris's body as he passed, could smell sweat and fresh air from his being outdoors. The sudden longing that overcame him reminded Vin how really long it had been, and he nearly cried out at the intensity of need that shot through him. He tried to pull himself together before Chris noticed his agitated state, but jumped when he felt Chris's hand on his shoulder. The sudden movement caused him to double over in pain.

Chris helped him back into the chair. "Jesus, Vin, are you all right?"

Vin nodded, trying to catch his breath. The pain, both in his ribs and his heart, was overwhelming. He looked up at his best friend with wide eyes.

Chris checked over him, worried. "Just sit here. I'll get Nathan," he said.

"No, I'm okay. Just give me a minute to catch my breath." He paused between gulps of air. "Then I need to go. I need to get out of here."

Chris stepped back. "Why?"

"Just got to. Be better off that way."

"Vin, you're hurt. Riding is going to..."

"I'm goin'!" Vin insisted.

Chris backed away. "Okay, whatever you say." He couldn't for the life of him figure out what had just happened; when Vin had first seen him, he'd looked like he'd seen a ghost. But he wasn't going to stand in the way when Vin Tanner made up his mind. He knew the sharpshooter better than to try to stop him from going his own way. He picked up the hacksaw and started back to the door. "Take what supplies you need. And if it's not too much trouble, point me in the direction of those Indian ponies you were telling me about." Then he stepped back outside.

Vin collapsed back in the chair. "Goddamn!" He wished he'd never told Chris about the Indian ponies. He couldn't let Chris go alone. Dealing with Two Bears was delicate business, and required an introduction. If Chris went alone, which he would whether Vin gave him directions or not, he was liable to come back wearing an arrow. Vin settled back into the chair, forcing his breathing to slow. This is what fear gets you, he thought. Fear and remembering. He'd take Chris to see the ponies, then he'd leave. Where he was going, he had no idea.

---

Ezra escorted Agnes back home, then rushed away with a tip of his hat. The church was empty, so he headed to the saloon, now free of protest thanks to him. He pushed open the doors and saw Josiah sitting at a table sipping beer and watching Buck and JD play poker.

He stormed over and pulled the church program from his pocket. "What is the meaning of this...this drivel?" he asked.

Josiah looked up at him. "Come again?"

"And when the victory shall be complete -- when there shall be neither a slave nor a drunkard on the earth -- how proud the title of that Land, which may truly claim to be the birth-place and the cradle of both those revolutions, that shall have ended in that victory," quoted Ezra.

"It worked for Lincoln," Josiah said.

"You stole your entire sermon from Lincoln, and I don't think I need to remind you what happened to him," Ezra said. "Given your current choice of beverage, one might accuse you of being hypocritical."

"Given why you were there in the first place, so are you."

Buck pulled over a chair. "Take a seat, Ezra. You look like you're about to bust a gut."

Ezra sat. "I was doing a favor for a friend."

"Favors don't cost a month of patrols," Josiah said.

"That's incidental. You didn't believe a word of what you said on that pulpit today. What possible reason would you have to incite these women to more puritanical fervor?"

Josiah thought it over. "Town could use a little moderation, and if you'd listened to the speech, it's about tolerance, not Puritanism."

"You knew full well how those woman would interpret it," Ezra said, standing and turning to Buck. "My days distracting the Temperance Society are over. When you are again climbing through windows for your daily libation, thank Mr. Sanchez." He walked to a far table, joining a card game.

"What did you say to get him so riled up, Josiah?" Buck asked.

"Essentially, drinking is a sickness, but gambling's a sin."

Buck laughed. "That it is."

---

Vin smiled as the aroma of cooking meat washed over him. He was still stretched in front of the table, eyes closed, the pain in his ribs that had been growing stronger all day waning against the smell of food. "You're a right good cook, Chris," he said. "You'll make somebody a fine wife someday."

He felt something hit his forehead and land on his chest. He opened his eyes and picked up the biscuit Chris had thrown at him, taking a bite. "Butter?" he asked with his mouth full.

Chris picked up the tub of butter, seriously considering throwing it at him too, but then slid it across the table. He put the cooked roast on the table as well, and a bowl of beans. He poured them each a shot of whiskey and sat down.

Vin sat up slowly, pulling his chair closer and reaching for a plate. "Where'd you learn to cook so good anyway?" he asked.

Chris paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Sarah," he said quickly, then finished his bite.

Vin looked down at his plate. "Sorry," he said.

"Don't be. Her cooking was 100 times better than mine."

"Yeah?"

Chris nodded. "She could make more than roast and beans too. She made spicy pork chops, marinated chicken, and devil's food cake so good it'd make a man swear off sin. One time, she made something she called hasenpfeffer."

"Hoss in what?"

"Hasenpfeffer. That's what she said. Rabbit, basically, with some vegetables."

"Hell, pard, I make that all the time," Vin said.

"Yeah, but she served it with candles on the table, and sent Adam to a neighbor's for the night. Of course, I ended up wearing it instead of eating it."

"Why?" Vin asked, serving himself more roast.

"Because I forgot it was our anniversary," Chris said sheepishly.

"You dog."

"I was busy. We had three pregnant mares, and the porch needed fixing, and winter was coming."

"You're lucky she only threw food at ya."

Chris poured them more whiskey. "Oh, that was just the beginning. Let's just say I was sleeping in the barn for awhile."

Vin laughed. "Bet you didn't forget again."

Chris finished his whiskey. "Didn't get a chance to. They died that May." He stared into the small flame burning in the stove.

"You miss them," Vin said.

"Yeah, I do." He stood suddenly. "Speaking of sleeping in the barn, I'll put a bedroll outside. Take the bed."

Vin also stood. "I'm not takin' yer bed. I got my bedroll too."

Chris picked up the plates from the table. "That's stupid. You're hurt. I'm not. Take the bed."

"I'm not takin' yer bed."

Chris set the plates down and leaned his hands on the table, staring at his friend. Vin crossed his arms in front of him and stared back.

"Did you sleep in the bed last night while I wasn't here?" Chris asked softly.

Vin was instantly wary of the soft tone. "Yeah."

Chris nodded and stepped to the small shelf where his hat and gun were. He began strapping on his gun belt.

"What are you doin'?" Vin asked.

"Going back to town, so you'll sleep in the bed."

"The hell you are. I'll go back to town."

Chris finished buckling his belt, then looked up. "Okay, if you can saddle your horse, then I'll take the bed. If not, then you take it."

Vin stood still. Even crossing his arms had caused pain up his spine and down his legs. But he wasn't about to admit that, so he started for the door.

Chris's hand on his arm stopped him. "You're hurt, Vin. It's just me here, and you ain't got to pretend it don't hurt for me. Take the bed."

Chris's quiet voice broke through. He didn't want to sleep on the ground, and he didn't want to go back to town. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to trust, like a small shaft of light piercing a dungeon wall. He nodded. Chris relaxed behind him and pulled his hand away to remove his gun belt.

"If you feel guilty, wash the dishes," Chris said. "Did a good job with the breakfast plates. You'll make somebody a fine wife someday too."

Unable to throw anything at him, Vin lifted his middle finger.

---

Chris leaned against the porch, lighting a cheroot. He watched the red tip flare in the darkness as he brought the small cigar to his lips and inhaled. The pungent smoke hit his lungs and he held it there for a few seconds before exhaling into the shadows. Behind him, the door to the cabin was open, and he could hear Vin's light snoring, indicating a deep sleep the tracker rarely allowed himself.

Chris was glad Vin had finally trusted him at least enough to watch his back, but he was puzzled over Vin's reaction earlier, almost like he was running away. When Chris was applying the liniment, he had thought for a second that Vin was enjoying it, like a stray dog getting a scratch behind the ears. Then when Chris came back after working on the roof, he looked ready to bolt. He'd seen that look on Vin before, a day earlier when Barrett had been hitting him. It bothered Chris that Vin had seemed to be just taking the punches instead of fighting back, and he'd wanted to ask why. Vin wasn't a coward, far from it. In fact, many times his own self-preservation took a backseat and he stood up for someone else in need. It was one of the things Chris admired about Vin, but he worried that it would get the wanted man killed. So he couldn't figure out why Vin didn't fight the soldier.

Then he'd looked at Chris like that. Vin never was fond of the Army, but it had never made him apprehensive before, and he'd seen Chris lots of times, but that had never made him jumpy either. What was the difference? With the soldier, he'd walked in at the end of the altercation so he didn't know if the soldier had said anything to Vin, but this afternoon, Chris had been on the roof all morning, so he couldn't have said anything to piss Vin off. Besides, Vin wasn't able to keep it to himself when he was pissed, so it was something else.

Chris continued smoking the cheroot while he puzzled it out. He'd climbed off the roof, hot and tired. Inside the shack, he'd seen Vin in the chair and thought he was asleep, so he rested on the doorframe before sneaking in to get the saw. That's what Vin saw when he opened his eyes...him in the doorway, sweaty and shirtless, and Vin had jumped like he'd been bitten.

Chris inhaled from the cheroot, and then a slow smile crossed his face. Maybe Vin did enjoy it when Chris was rubbing in the liniment, more than he should. That might make Vin jumpy, although the army connection still eluded him. He tossed the cheroot and looked back at the empty doorway. Vin Tanner, what secrets are you hiding, he wondered.

He climbed the steps to the porch, his bare feet not making a sound as he crossed the cool wood. He stopped in the doorway. Faint light from the stars shone across Vin's face, calm in sleep, although his gun belt rested inches from his head. Looking at his friend sleeping, Chris felt a sudden longing, an emptiness he'd felt once before, when Ella Gaines had showed up. This emptiness was different than the dark hole left when his soul died along with his family. That was rage and despair. This emptiness was gentle, requiring closeness and touch. He'd thought Ella could give him that, but he'd been more wrong than he'd ever been in his life. All the time when that bitch had been leading him around by the nose, the real answer had been right beside him, watching his back and waiting for him to come to his senses.

Now that he realized what he wanted, Chris didn't know what to do about it without spooking Vin even more. "Jesus, Vin," he whispered to his sleeping friend. "What the hell do we do now?"

---

Josiah woke to an unfamiliar sound. A mechanical clank was followed by rhythmic whooshes, and another clank. He opened his eyes, trying to place the sound, thinking for an instant he was back working on the railroad before realization hit. The printing press.

He stumbled from his bed, wrapping the blanket around his naked form, and headed for the alcove where the press was. It was barely dawn, and a few candles were lit in the small room. Inside, Josiah saw Ezra, his sleeves rolled up and a smudge of ink on his nose, working the press.

"Ezra, what in God's name are you doing?"

"Good morning, Mr. Sanchez. You're just in time to see the first edition of the Standish Tribune." He handed Josiah a long printed sheet of paper.

Josiah grabbed the paper and looked at the headline: "Local barkeep saves choking man." Further down, there was a story about several local ranch hands helping Widow Hawkins repair her fence, and a smaller story on new plows that used iron instead of wood.

"You've been busy, Ezra."

"Proficiency in language has always been my forte."

"No doubt," Josiah said. He scanned the articles again. "So what's your angle?"

Ezra paused long enough to look shocked. "I am merely reporting the news, sir. The fourth estate has been underrepresented in our little berg, and I am remedying that."

"Uh-huh." Josiah turned the page over. On the back were three ads - for Digger Dan's saloon, Three Rivers ranch, and Ed's Plows and Wagons. But it was the editorial at the top that caused Josiah to crumple up the page. "Jesus drank wine" by Ezra Standish.

---

Ezra enlisted JD's help and distributed newspapers to all the town's citizens. By the time the sun was fully up, he was already back in his room, catching up on sleep he'd forfeited the night before, small wads of cotton in his ears so he couldn't hear the chants of the Temperance Society, more vocal and inspired than ever outside the saloon. Josiah and Nathan took one look at the wall of women blocking the batwing doors, and decided to eat at the hotel.

JD stepped out of the jail and saw Buck enter the granary. Knowing he was going to climb to the saloon through the upstairs window, he quickly followed the ladies man. When he reached the third floor, there were already several men waiting their turn to make the short jump across.

"Morning, Buck."

"JD. Remind me never to cross Ezra."

JD smiled. "He does know how to get folks riled up."

"Too bad he doesn't do it for something good," Buck said.

"Like what? Preaching?"

Buck laughed. "Don't give him any ideas. He'd put Josiah out of business."

It was Buck's turn to climb through the window. "See you inside," he said.

JD watched as Buck climbed out onto the windowsill and jumped across to the slanted roof of the saloon, then into an open window. JD climbed out after him, took a deep breath, and started to jump. Just as his foot left the window, a cry sounded below him, and he looked down to see Agnes Monroe pointing at him in surprise. The look on her face would have amused him, except he realized that instead of landing on the roof, the ground was rushing up to meet him. He braced as the dirt came closer and closer. Then everything went dark.

---

After a restless sleep, Chris made a decision. He rose at dawn, stretching the aches from his back and knees, and quietly entered the shack, stirring the fire and putting on coffee.

Vin awoke as the aroma of coffee reached him. He didn't want to open his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time, if ever, he'd slept that well. He started to stretch, but gasped in pain as his ribs still throbbed. "Goddamn," he said, struggling to sit. He pushed his hair out of his eyes.

Chris poured him a cup of coffee and brought it to him, then sat on the edge of the bed. He was holding the small pouch with the liniment, twisting the string around his fingers. "Did this help?" he asked.

Vin took a sip of coffee. 'Yeah, it helped a lot." He held out his hand but Chris didn't give him the pouch.

"I'll do it," Chris said.

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue, but something about Chris's demeanor stopped him. He set his coffee aside and sat back against the headboard. Chris pulled away the blankets covering the long john bottoms he still wore.

Chris scooped out some of the paste and gently spread it against the bruises. "Looks better," he said.

"I thought you said you had to rub it in," Vin said.

Chris pressed against a bruise and Vin winced. "Like that?" Chris asked with a grin.

"Bastard," Vin said. Chris rubbed the balm into his skin in small circles, easing the pressure over the particularly tender spots.

"You know, when we first met, Sarah was afraid of me."

Vin sat up straighter at Chris's sudden admission. "Why?"

"She thought I was dangerous. She wouldn't even give me the time of day. Most folks looked away from me or crossed the street to get away from such a cold-blooded killer like me, but she looked me right in the eye. Never could figure out how she did that: look me right in the eye and ignore me at the same time." He shook his head. "I had to show her she could trust me, and that I'd never hurt her."

"What did you do?" Vin asked.

Chris thought it over. "Nothing. She'd have seen through it anyway. I got a job breaking horses, went to church. I sat through a lot of sermons just to be near her. Finally, she stopped ignoring me." He took a small amount of paste from the pouch. "Ain't felt like that in a long time, caring what somebody thought. Until now." Before Vin could respond, Chris smeared the liniment onto the bruises on his arm, left by Barrett's hand. Vin instinctively tensed.

"You want to tell me about it?" Chris asked.

Vin shook his head.

"Then tell me something else," Chris said. Vin looked into his eyes, green flecked with gold. "What's it like being with a man?"

Vin pushed away from him in shock, falling off the bed with a groan. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"I ain't never thought about it until last night." Chris stayed on the bed, bracing for Vin's reaction.

"What makes you think I know?" Vin asked.

Chris shrugged. "Way you looked at me earlier."

Vin leaned against the table, trying to think clearly. He wasn't quite sure this wasn't a dream. He pressed against his side and pain shot up his chest. Nope, he was awake.

Chris stood, slowly, but didn't move closer. "Vin, look at me," he said softly. Blue eyes met his and he could see he was on shaky ground. "If I said you could, what would you do?"

Vin shook his head. "You have no idea what yer talkin' about."

"Then show me."

"Can't. It ain't right."

Chris smiled. "Since when do you care about what's right?" He took a few steps closer, encouraged when Vin didn't back away. "I ain't after a quick fuck, Vin. Had enough of those. Is that what's worrying you?"

Vin turned his head, looking out the small window. All those old feelings, the fear, shame and anger, were coming back, and he couldn't stop them. Chris was his friend and wouldn't hurt him, but he'd thought that about Conrad too. He wasn't going through it again. He'd kill someone before getting that hurt again, and he didn't want it to be Chris. "No," he said, his voice stronger than he expected.

"No what?" Chris asked.

Vin couldn't look at him, into those honest green eyes searching him for an answer. He couldn't reconcile the trust he had in Chris Larabee with the bitterness gnawing at his gut.

"Just no," he said. He walked around Chris to where his clothes were, and ignoring the pain, began to get dressed. "You want to look at them Indian ponies, we've got to leave now."

Chris knew when to back off. "You okay to ride?" he asked.

Instead of answering, Vin grabbed his gun belt and stormed out of the cabin to saddle his horse.

---

Two hours later, Vin was regretting his decision. He hurt so much, he was regretting even being born. He and Chris hadn't spoken the whole ride to Two Bears' land, and Vin was thankful for that. Whatever Chris was thinking, he could deal with it later. They'd look over the horses, and then all he wanted to do was to curl up in a ball and not move.

Both men knew the instant they were spotted by Two Bears' scouts. Vin raised his hands, palms up to the sun, using the signal that was years old. He brought his arms down slowly and then spurred his horse to a slow walk.

"They recognize you?" Chris asked.

"We ain't dead yet. That's a good sign."

A winding trail through a ravine led them to a small camp, where five braves waited, unsmiling and holding rifles.

"Get off yer horse real slow, and whatever ya do, don't put yer hands near yer gun," Vin said.

They climbed down and waited. One of the braves stepped forward and took their weapons, then said in broken English, "Why you here?"

"Name's Tanner. We're interested in lookin' over yer ponies," Vin said. "Two Bears owes me a mount."

Chris kept his eyes on the Indians before him. The one who spoke English looked Vin over and then spoke to another in a language Chris didn't understand. The young brave ran off down another path. They waited in silence. The sheer cliffs surrounding them blocked the sun, and shadows lengthened as they waited.

Eventually a booming voice echoed around the small camp. "Vin Tanner, you have returned. I had thought you'd be swinging from a tree by now."

Vin smiled at the large man emerging down the trail. "Two Bears, it's good to see you. You look good, almost like Three Bears."

The Indian laughed and patted his protruding stomach. "My wife's food agrees with me, unlike that slop the Army served us. Who is your friend?"

"Chris Larabee."

Two Bears' eyes narrowed at the name, but Vin held up a hand. "Don't believe what you've heard. Chris here is tame as a kitten." Chris glared at him as Two Bears laughed.

"Take no offense, Mr. Larabee. He said the same about me. Come, look at my ponies." He handed them back their guns, then led them down another path, nearly hidden in the rocks.

"You were in the Army?" Chris asked.

"Not exactly," Vin answered, but refused to say more.

The path opened to a wide prairie, sheltered from harsh weather by the cliffs and teaming with grass and plants. Under a tree, a small band of horses grazed, not even looking up at their observers.

"They're pretty tame," Vin said.

"Yes, this is good land," Two Bears said.

Chris eyed the horses. They were strong and healthy, he could tell that even from a distance, but like the Army ponies, they were small and built for speed.

"These are nice stock, but do you have any work horses?" Chris asked.

Two Bears shook his head. "No, not anymore. One of my sons sold them to a rancher."

Chris and Vin glanced at each other, both thinking about Stuart James.

"Sorry to waste your time," Chris said. "I'm looking for something a little bigger."

"No trouble. It gave me a chance to see Ears Like a Bat again."

Vin had started to walk back to the trail, but stopped mid-stride.

"Ears Like a Bat?" Chris asked, trying not to smile.

"Not a word, Larabee. I'll shoot ya where ya stand."

"Sure, Vin."

Vin started back down the path, the tips of the ears that had earned him that name tinged pink.

Walking back more slowly, Chris glanced at Two Bears. "You've known Vin a long time?" he asked.

Two Bears stopped to look at the gunslinger, sizing him up, then nodded. "We were scouts for the Army during the war. Just kids, really."

Chris didn't say anything, still trying to puzzle out Vin's reaction to Barrett. "Was he injured?"

"More than you can imagine," Two Bears answered, then grabbed Chris's arm. "I don't suppose he told about the time he wrestled an alligator, did he?"

---

Vin leaned against his horse, waiting for Chris and Two Bears. The whole trip had been a waste, as his ribs kept reminding him. He wished he'd never gotten out of bed that morning. He'd slept well, with no bad dreams. Hell, he hadn't woken up once after his head hit the pillow, when usually he woke up every hour or so listening for intruders. Then Chris had to go and offer him the one thing he'd wanted and thought he could never have, and he'd shoved him away. Chris wasn't Conrad; he wouldn't use him and hate him for what he was, all the while claiming to love him. Maybe, he thought, maybe he could try again.

Two Bears and Chris were laughing as they came down the trail.

"Ah, Ears Like a Bat. I was just telling your friend about the day we scared off the whole Mexican Army."

Chris's amused eyes met Vin's, and his grin disappeared at the anger he saw there. Vin didn't say a word; he just climbed on his horse and rode away.

Chris looked after him, knowing that Vin was thinking Chris was spying on him.

"Take care of him," Two Bears said. "He is like an injured wolf who will bite you when you tend to his wounds."

Chris nodded and held out his hand, and Two Bears shook it. Then Chris climbed on his horse and followed Vin.

He caught up with the sharpshooter a mile out of the hills, still riding like hell but obviously in pain. Damn fool wasn't going to stop if it killed him, so Chris just raced alongside him, gently nudging Vin's stubborn horse toward Clear Creek. When Vin sped up, so did Chris, and when he slowed, Chris did too. He heard a muttered "bastard" as Vin finally reined in, guiding his horse to the creek. Vin climbed off to let the horse drink, and Chris did too.

"Didn't mean to pry," Chris said, leaning against a tree. The blue-eyed glare he received in response told him how much Vin believed that. He looked down at his hands. "Two Bears said you were the bravest white man he'd ever met." Vin looked away at the horses. "He also said you rode headlong into a Reb ambush, knowing full well it was there. Took a bullet in the thigh." Still Vin didn't speak, and Chris didn't push. He could be patient, because he knew it was worth having. He'd been the same way with Sarah.

"What do you want from me?" Vin asked quietly; there was a despair in his voice Chris had never heard before, and he wondered what hurts were putting it there.

"Teach me," he answered.

Vin laughed without humor. "That's all? Here, I'll show ya what it's like between two men." Before Chris could blink, Vin was in front of him, undoing his pants. Vin's warm hand on his cock caused it to spring to life before he could stop it, and Vin knelt before him and took the organ into his mouth, sucking and licking with ferocity.

Chris came to senses and rested his hand on Vin's head. "Vin, stop. Not like this."

Vin backed away. "No? How about like this?" He undid his own pants and pushed them over his hips, resting on his hands and knees. "Go on, take what ya want."

Chris stood still, filled with an overwhelming sadness. He took a few steps to where Vin was and knelt beside him, placing his hand gently on Vin's back. The tracker flinched at the touch.

"Who did this to you?" Chris asked softly, running his callused fingers lightly over the pale skin of Vin's back. "Who hurt you?"

Vin bowed his head, his anger gone. Chris's gentle touch and words took the fury out of him, but he couldn't quite let down his defenses, so long entrenched. He wanted to; his loneliness was as great as he knew Chris's was, and his heart told him to trust Chris, but his heart had also been stomped on, and those wounds refused to heal.

"Let me be, Chris. Please. I ain't never asked ya for anythin', but I'm askin' ya now. Please, let me be."

Chris pulled his hand away, and Vin sat back, his head still bowed.

"I'm here, Vin, when you're ready."

Vin couldn't look at him. "Just go," he said. He remained sitting there, shivering in the heat, as Chris, not wanting to push Vin anymore, climbed back on his horse and rode away. He kept sitting there until finally, numb, he forced himself to stand and start the long ride back to town.

---

The Army was still camped outside town, to the delight of the saloon owners, but the street was quiet in the afternoon lull when the heat hung over the town like a blanket and minds started to wander toward suppertime.

Up in his clinic, Nathan checked the bandage on JD's head. The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, but the young man was still sleeping from the small dose of laudanum Nathan had to give him when he'd set the broken leg. The break wasn't bad, but JD would be off his feet for a few weeks. Although he'd lectured the sheriff mercilessly about being such a fool, he'd also given thanks that it wasn't as bad as it could be. Three stories and all JD got was a cut on his head and a busted leg. God surely did smile on fools.

Nathan heard steps approach, and he walked to the door. Josiah stood outside, holding a stack of newsprint. "How is he?" the preacher asked.

"He'll live," Nathan answered.

"Good," Josiah said. "Here, take one of these papers. Your article is on the front page." He smiled and hurried down the stairs.

Nathan glanced at the paper. "The Importance of Sterilization," by Nathan Jackson was in the bottom right corner. When Josiah had approached him about writing for the Daily Prophet, he'd been skeptical, but the preacher had convinced him that he could do a lot of good by sharing his medical knowledge, so he'd relented. Truth be told it felt good seeing his name in print.

He started to step back into the clinic when he heard someone else coming up the steps. He nodded at Buck, who was also clutching a paper.

"Did you read my article?" Nathan asked.

"No. Did you read mine?" Buck held up the paper. Under the banner Standish Tribune was a small article called "An Ode to the Fairer Sex," by Buck Wilmington.

Nathan shook his head. "It was bad enough when we had one paper. Now we got two."

"I thought I'd show the kid. There's a big story on his fall. Is he awake yet?"

Nathan looked in, where JD was starting to stir. "Just. Probably not in the mood to talk."

"Hell, I don't need him to talk. Just to listen," Buck said with a grin, and stepped inside the clinic. Nathan followed.

---

Chris rode back into town alone, not wanting to talk to anyone. He felt like ten types of jackass for what he'd just done. Vin wasn't Sarah, and somehow Chris had gotten it into his head that he could have again what he'd lost. On top of that, he'd scared off his best friend, who was probably going to end up hanging without someone to watch his back.

After handing over his horse, he headed for the saloon, his look daring anyone to speak to him.

Inside the saloon was nearly empty, and he knew something was wrong as soon as he walked in. In a far right corner, Ezra and Buck sat hunched over some papers, while on the left near the wall, Josiah and Nathan looked over a variety of herbs while Josiah took notes. Chris wasn't in the mood to put up with whatever was going on; Jesus, he'd only been gone a day, but still he had to ask.

He stood in the middle of the room, between the two tables. "Where's JD?" he asked loudly. Four heads popped up to look at him.

"He's...he just...well, he was..." Buck started to say.

"He fell off the roof," Nathan finished. "Because some damn fools got it into their heads..."

Chris held up his hand. "Will he be okay?"

Nathan nodded. "Busted leg."

Chris walked to the bar and ordered a beer. Buck got up and stood beside him, spreading a paper on the bar.

"What's that?" Chris asked.

"My article."

Chris glanced at it. "We got another paper?"

"Yep. Ezra started it, and so did Josiah."

"Ezra and Josiah are running the paper?" Chris asked.

"Not exactly. Ezra got his, and Josiah's got one too."

Chris took a long sip of beer. He knew he should have gone back to his cabin instead of coming to town. "So we've got two papers now."

"Yep," Buck answered. "You gonna read it? You could even write an article."

Chris turned back to the bar, signaling for another beer.

"Or not," Buck said.

"We got a problem. Stuart James is up to something," Chris said. "He tried to buy the extra Army ponies, and he bought a bunch of Indian ponies last week."

"Why?"

"Don't know, but I got a feeling he's up to no good, so we should find out."

"I'll check it out tomorrow."

"Send Ezra and Josiah," Chris said.

"But they aren't barely speaking to each other," Buck replied.

Chris smiled at him.

"Remind me to stay on your good side," Buck said, walking back to his table.

---

Vin rode slowly. His ribs were sore, but he wanted to make it back to town -- and Chris, he thought before he could stop it.

Some time after Chris had left -- after he told Chris to go away, he corrected - he'd stopped fighting it. He couldn't wall himself away forever, and if he got hurt again...what? It had nearly killed him last time. But Chris wasn't Conrad; he had to keep reminding himself of that. Vin couldn't help but grin as he remembered Chris's quiet question: If I said you could, what would you do? What wouldn't he do, was the real question. If his head wasn't ready, his body sure was. His pants were already tight thinking about Chris's hard cock in his mouth.

A rider coming up fast from a side trail distracted his thoughts. He didn't recognize the horse, but the blue uniform was familiar enough. He rested his hand on his mare's leg and reined in, although his first instinct had been to gallop away. He hated that reaction, and he decided no matter what, he wasn't backing down because of his past anymore.

All the same, when he saw it was Barrett riding toward him, the bruises on his arm started to throb.

The soldier saw him and slowed, looking around to see if he was alone. Vin gripped his gun tighter.

Barrett stopped in front of him. "Thought I'd chased you off for good," he said, spitting into the dirt. Vin didn't respond. "You come back for more?"

"Don't see yer helpers. You sure you want ta take me on alone?" Vin said.

Barrett's eyes flicked to where Vin's hand rested.

"What are ya doin' way out here all alone?" Vin asked. "Thought you Army boys always traveled in packs."

Barrett sat up straighter, and Vin knew for sure the soldier was doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"I'm on official Army business," Barrett said. "And I'm in a hurry, so get out of my way."

Vin obligingly backed up his horse. "I'll be sure ta tell yer Captain what a good job yer doin'," he said.

Fear flashed in Barrett's eyes, then it was replaced by anger. "Keep your nose out of my business, or you'll regret it." The soldier kicked his horse and rode off, but Vin noticed he was going back the way he came. He didn't really care what Barrett was up to, but with James planning something, he'd better tell Chris about it. Chris. Remembering his original mission, he hurriedly resumed his path back to town.

An hour later, he was finally at the livery. The Army was still around, but they seemed to be on good behavior and Barrett was nowhere to be seen. Better yet, the Temperance Society wasn't barring the door to the saloon. Instead, they stood across the street and gave the evil eye to anyone who entered the den of iniquity. As he stepped up to the saloon, ignoring their glares, he wondered if Chris had anything to do with their new location.

When he saw the man, he was sure. Chris looked mad enough to chew nails, and was well into a bottle of whiskey. Chris was unlike most men in many ways, but especially when he was mad. Most men threw things, yelled, sputtered, got red in the face, and generally stopped thinking. When Chris got angry, he got quiet, even quieter than normal; quiet like a gator watching for prey, just its eyes barely above water yet seeing everything. Also like a gator, folks knew better than to get near him, so he sat alone at a table. He looked up as Vin stepped in, and that green gaze pierced the sharpshooter like a bullet. Most folks thought Chris was cold and detached, but Vin could read him plain as day. Chris had changed his mind and was regretting his actions. He was pissed at himself, and probably thinking he was a fool. If he was, then they were both fools, and Vin would show him. As he thought of other things he would show the stubborn gunslinger, a slow smile crossed his face. If I said you could, what would you do? Chris Larabee, get ready for the ride of your life, Vin promised.

A sudden noise interrupted his thoughts. Chris had stood suddenly, knocking his chair backward. The gunslinger grabbed the whiskey and walked to the exit, brushing past Vin without a word. Vin smiled again. He'd let Chris cool down first and then he'd go talk to him. He'd also tell him about Barrett. He was looking forward to wrestling another alligator.

He spotted Ezra in a corner and made his way over, signaling to the bartender for a whiskey. The gambler was scribbling into a leather-bound book. He stopped writing when Vin sat down.

"Good day, Mr. Tanner."

"Ezra. Whatcha writin'?"

Ezra's smile was proud. "My latest editorial. I need to finish it so I can take possession of the printing press before Mr. Sanchez." Seeing Vin's look of confusion, he pulled out an issue of the paper and slid it across to him. "The Standish Tribune, the pinnacle of journalistic integrity."

Vin glanced at the paper. Ezra, realizing his mistake, started to pull it back.

"My apologies, Mr. Tanner. It was very inconsiderate of me."

Vin pulled the paper back toward him. "Let me see," he said. He looked at the headline first, because those letters were big. "Ar-my..to...leave...to-mo-row. Tomorrow." He read slowly, sounding out each letter, as Mrs. Travis had taught him. "Thank God they're leavin'," he added.

"Your reading skills are nothing short of exemplary," Ezra said. "No hard feelings about that unfortunate scene surrounding your poem?"

"Course not, Ez. If I had hard feelin's, you'd know it."

Ezra smiled, then the smile dimmed as Vin's words sank in. "I hope, in deference to our past friendship, that if that situation ever arises, you'll at least give me a head start."

Vin took a sip of whiskey. "Sure. Won't do ya no good, but sure."

Ezra laughed. "Mr. Tanner, you are an intriguing character. Perhaps you'd like to write an article for my paper?"

Vin shook his head. "That's real nice of ya, Ezra, but no thanks. I seen my name in print already, and I don't much care for it."

"Completely understandable. Now if you'll excuse me, I must hurry or Mr. Sanchez will commandeer the press." Ezra resumed his writing, and Vin looked over the paper in front of him. He tried to read Buck's article on animal magnetism, but his mind drifted to the man who had left in such an all-fire hurry. He'd have one more drink and then he'd go find Chris.

---

Chris headed for the livery after leaving the saloon. He should have gone straight to his cabin in the first place. The town was already crowded, but Vin being back in it made it too crowded. He'd felt hope that his loneliness would end, and when that hope had been crushed, he just didn't want to pretend anymore, and his old solution, drowning his sorrows in whiskey, wasn't working, just as it hadn't worked in Purgatory. Seeing Vin in the saloon had been hard enough, but seeing his winsome grin, part amusement and part lust, had pushed him over the edge. He didn't know who that smile was for, or what memory brought it to the tracker's face, but his own body had reacted with a mind all its own; he had to leave. He had to get himself under control, and then maybe he and Vin would be able to forget this whole day ever happened.

As he walked past Vin's wagon, parked in the alley beside the livery, he saw someone slip inside. He drew his gun, set down the whiskey bottle, and walked quietly to the back of the wagon. Drawing aside the thin blanket covering the back, he pointed his Colt at the person rifling through Vin's meager belongings. He cocked the gun, and the man froze.

"Turn around slow, hands up," Chris said.

The soldier turned around.

"Barrett," Chris said. "You just don't learn. Get out of there."

Barrett jumped out of the wagon, his hands full of Vin's belongings.

"Drop it," Chris ordered.

Barrett dropped the things in the dirt. "I got a right to search," he said.

"Really? On what grounds?"

"Saw him sneaking around the Army camp earlier today. We got word somebody might try to steal our horses when we leave tomorrow."

Chris's smile was feral. "Vin was with me earlier today. That gives me the right to shoot you for trespassing. Leave now, and don't show your face here ever again, or I will shoot you."

Barrett paused a second, then shrugged. "Okay, Larabee. But if our horses are stolen, it'll be on your head."

"I'll take that chance."

Barrett put his hands down and walked away. When he turned the corner, he pulled out the piece of paper he'd stuffed into his pocket before Larabee arrived, and reread it: Wanted, Vin Tanner, Dead or Alive. He smiled and hurried back to the camp.

Chris holstered his gun. The Army couldn't leave too soon for his liking. He bent to pick up the things Barrett had dropped: ammunition, Vin's dented harmonica, a torn bandanna, and a gold cufflink. Chris set down the other items in the wagon and looked at the cufflink. It was engraved with the initials CVS. He held it up to look at it. It was polished, and had been well cared for, although Chris thought Vin would rather hang than wear one. He wondered who CVS was, if he was the person who had hurt Vin or made him smile like he had in the saloon. But it wasn't his business, until Vin decided to tell him, if he ever did. He set the cufflink back in the wagon then heard the distinctive click of Vin's mare's leg. He turned to see Vin's eyes blazing with fury.

"Ain't what it looks like," Chris said.

Vin rushed over, gun still cocked, and shoved him away, picking up the cufflink. "Get the fuck away," he said, pushing the other items back further into the wagon. "My business is my own."

"I know that, Vin. I wasn't going through your things. I...."

"Then what were ya doin' with this?" Vin held out the cufflink. "Did it just jump into yer hand?"

"No."

"Just get away. You aren't any different. Just get the fuck away."

"Vin, listen." Chris walked closer but stopped when Vin raised his mare's leg, pointing it right between Chris's eyes.

"Get away."

Chris felt all his hope completely extinguished. Vin wouldn't ever trust him again, even if he told him about Barrett. He turned and walked out of the alley, too tired to ride out to his shack. He grabbed the whiskey and headed back to his small, empty room in the boarding house.

Vin watched him go, clutching the cufflink so hard it cut his flesh. Then he threw it against the wall.

---

"Come out, Vin. You look fine."

"Look silly."

"You look like a gentleman."

"Ain't a gentleman."

The new clothes itched and he kept rubbing the back of his neck, feeling skin where his long hair had been. In all his 18 years, he'd never had his hair cut, until today. He stepped slowly into the fancy living room, looking at his shiny new shoes instead of the expectant eyes of the family he was staying with. Katie and her mama had been awfully nice to him, so nice he had a constant gnawing in his belly from the guilt. He heard their delighted giggles and Mrs. Singletary said, "You look very handsome." He knew he was blushing all the way to his toes crammed into those new shoes. There was only one opinion he cared about, the one who had insisted on the haircut in the first place, and he lifted his eyes slowly to see that man's reaction. The steel gray eyes were emotionless, the jaw clenched as it did when he was displeased.

Vin stepped back towards his small room. He'd known it had been a fool idea, but he hadn't listened to his gut. Seemed like all his smarts flew right out the window where Conrad was concerned.

He'd backed almost to his doorway when Mrs. Singletary said, "Well, Conrad, what do you think? Doesn't Vin look handsome?"

Vin held his breath waiting for the answer that seemed an eternity in coming. "Yes," he said finally, and walked from the room.

Late that night, Conrad opened his door. He'd been drinking. His uniform was wrinkled and his eyes red and angry.

Vin stood, bathed in moonlight. "This was your idea," he said.

Conrad didn't answer for a long while, just staring at him. Then he moved quickly, grabbing Vin's arm and pushing him against the wall, squeezing his skin until it bruised. "You look very handsome," he said in a harsh whisper, so close Vin could smell the whiskey on his breath. "You look like a gentleman."

As he talked, he fumbled with his belt, unbuckling it and pushing open his pants. "Suck me," he ordered, shoving Vin to his knees.

And Vin did, doing everything he knew Conrad liked, hoping that he could somehow bring back the old Conrad, the one who had treated him fair while they were chasing the Sioux. But despite all his attempts, Conrad stayed limp, pulling at his short hair that he used to run his fingers through, calling it spun silk.

Finally he pushed Vin away and walked to the doorway. "Be gone by morning. You can stay with the filthy Indians where you belong."

Vin lay in his narrow bed for a long while, absently rubbing the tender bruise on his arm. Then, near daybreak, he rose and packed his few belongings, changing back into his old buckskins and leaving the new clothes folded neatly on the bed. He took one of the set of cufflinks Conrad had accidentally left in the room, placed the other on his pillow, and walked away as quickly as the tears he refused to let fall would allow.

....Vin reined in his horse and looked around. He'd ridden fast and hard, but he wasn't paying attention where; he just wanted to get away from the town, the Army, and Chris. He wasn't going to be weak again. Darkness had fallen, and he climbed down to make camp. All those years ago, after Conrad had kicked him out, he'd started building a wall to keep out the hurt, just like he now built a fire, for survival. Chris had found a crack in that wall, but Vin wasn't going to let him in. He wasn't going to be weak like that again.

---

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Before the door of every store and home in the town were two newspapers, one with the headline "Local man cheated of life savings by gambler" and the other reading, "Church infested with vermin."

As Mrs. Potter stepped outside to sweep the porch in front of her store, she bent to pick up the papers. When she stood, the sharp-dressed protector of the town was in front of her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Potter," Ezra said. "I see you have both periodicals there."

She smiled at him. She liked him, despite the local gossip about his card playing. He bought lots of expensive luxury items from her store, and he was always polite. "I certainly do," she said. "I'm looking forward to reading yours."

"Why, thank you. If I may, I'll just relieve you of the other. It contains some unfortunate misprints that may prove libelous, so it's best that the issue is removed before legal action is taken."

"Oh, okay," she said, handing him the Daily Prophet. He quickly crumpled it.

"Good day, madam," Ezra said, tipping his hat.

"Good day." As she stepped back inside, she saw him removing the Daily Prophet from the tailor's next door.

After Ezra removed all Josiah's papers from that side of the street, he carried them to the trash dump behind the Chinese laundry. He had just lit the pile ablaze when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He started to release his derringer, but not before a right cross landed across his jaw. He stumbled to the ground, looking up at the towering figure of Josiah.

He stood slowly, brushing dirt from his trousers. "You have quite advanced pugilistic skills for a man of the church."

"Even now in Heaven there are Angels carrying savage weapons."

"Indeed." Ezra rushed at him, grabbing the larger man around the waist and knocking him to the ground. "Veni vidi vici," he said, standing.

"Not yet," Josiah answered, kicking Ezra's feet out from under him.

"I am through being a gentlemen," Ezra said, preparing to tackle Josiah again.

"And I'm through being a man of the church," Josiah replied, ready to strangle the gambler as soon as he got close.

A gunshot stopped them both.

"Well, well, the newspaper business looks mighty dangerous," Buck said, holstering his gun. "I think I'll stick to protecting the town. It's safer."

"Me too," Nathan said from beside him.

"Chris wants you two to ride out to the James ranch. Seems he's up to something, and we need to find out what," Buck said.

"Why us?" Ezra asked.

Buck grinned. "Because old Chris has got a wicked sense of humor."

---

Josiah and Ezra rode out of town to check out Stuart James, the silence between them thick as butter. The dust from their horses had barely settled before the women of the Temperance Society stepped out of Agnes's house, armed with wood, hammer, and nails. Their first stop was the church, where they nailed boards over the door and added a sign that read, "Condemned." Then they marched to the saloon, where they also began nailing the door shut. Curious patrons left their breakfasts to watch from inside. The bartender pushed his way through the crowd.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

Agnes didn't reply, but handed him a telegram. The customers peered over his shoulder as he read it.

"Illegal gambling?" one customer laughed as he read.

"I knew that Standish cheated," another said.

But the barkeep's eyes focused on the last line: Closed until further notice. Stop. Governor L. Wallace. There went his wife's new-fangled sewing machine.

Buck and Nathan stopped before the saloon, looking at the commotion. "I think this town is getting a bit too civilized for my tastes," Buck said. "You think that Indian village would pay a dollar day?"

"Nope," Nathan answered.

Buck rubbed his bandanna across his forehead. "I'll go up and see JD. You coming?"

Nathan glanced at the saloon, where an argument had broken out between the barkeep and Agnes. Breakfast could wait until later. "Right behind you."

---

Chris awoke to someone pounding on his head with a hammer. He groaned as he opened his eyes, the light from the open window making his headache even worse. Slowly, he realized the pounding was coming from outside, and when he found whoever decided to hammer at the crack of dawn, he'd shoot them so full of holes they'd leak when they drank. He covered his head with his pillow, trying to block out the noise.

---

Ezra and Josiah approached the border of Stuart James's land. There were no guards around, but a new fence had been erected.

"If we proceed further, we will be trespassing," Ezra said.

"Never stopped us before."

"True."

They guided their horses along the fence line, looking for a way in. They had just found an opening when they heard horse hooves approaching fast.

"Head for the trees," Josiah shouted. They galloped behind a clump of oak trees and dismounted. Ezra quieted the horses while Josiah watched from behind a tree.

"Looks like 15 or 20 men, all headed for town," Josiah said. "They've got a lot of horses with them."

"That's not good," Ezra replied.

"Nope. We better follow them."

They climbed back on their horses and hurried after James's men.

---

Vin cleaned up his camp, scattering the rabbit bones and making sure the small fire was completely buried. He loaded his saddlebags and looked south, at the hills that hid Two Bears. He knew he could join his old friend, easily fade back into the free life of the open land, hunting for survival, with none of the trappings of living in a town. Or he could head to Tascosa and get that business over with once and for all. Either way, he'd be leaving Chris with things unsaid, and the man deserved better than that. He wasn't a kid sneaking away in the middle of the night anymore. When he found this town and joined the six men who protected it, he thought his running days were over, but that was before he'd found Chris going through his things, like Conrad had done, throwing away his Kiowa medicine pouch and moccasins.

He climbed on his horse, still not knowing which way to ride. Long ago, he'd let his horse decide his direction; he'd do the same now. He closed his eyes, and gave the horse its head.

---

"Buck, you are so full of it. I saw Miss Ellie tell you to get lost," JD said, struggling to find a comfortable position on the narrow bed.

"Her words said no, but her eyes said yes," Buck replied.

"And what did her daddy's shotgun say?"

Buck started to answer, but stopped when a shot sounded from the street. A young ranch hand was galloping through town.

"Stampede!" he shouted. "Stay inside! Stampede!"

Mothers pulled their children inside, and the shopkeepers hurriedly brought in any wares in front of their stores. Nathan and Buck looked at each other and rushed for the door.

"Saddle the horses," Buck said. "I'll get Chris."

JD sat up and tried to move off the bed. "I'm coming too."

"The hell you are," Buck said. "You can't even ride."

"I want to help."

"Don't get off that bed," Nathan yelled, already hurrying down the stairs.

Buck saw the stubborn set of his young friend's jaw, and sighed. "Get outside with your guns," Buck instructed. "Maybe you can redirect them if we can't."

JD nodded and Buck ran out.

He climbed to Chris's room and pounded on the door. When the door swung open, a Colt was pointing right between his eyes.

"Good morning, sunshine," Buck said. "We got a situation."

---

When he opened his eyes, Vin overlooked the small town he had started thinking of as home. From up on this rise, the town looked small; a few hastily built buildings sticking out of the earth like jagged teeth. The Army tents had been taken down, and the column was assembling, ready to leave for Fort Laramie. The extra horses were herded together at the end of the column, two riders on either side to keep them together. Vin decided to wait until they were on their way and then say his good-byes.

As he slouched in his saddle, he noticed an approaching dust cloud - a lot of riders coming in fast. At the same time, two of the soldiers guarding the horses began shooting into the air, startling the herd into a run. From his vantage point, Vin could see exactly what was happening: a large group of runaway horses was headed straight for the town.

---

Chris, Buck and Nathan took up position outside of town, shotguns aimed and ready. They could hear the animals approaching, a low rumble that gradually got louder. The vibrations of the ground caused their own horses to dance skittishly.

The dust was visible before the horses, a rushing cloud that rose high into the air, obscuring the frantic beasts who charged blindly toward the town, only the three men standing in their way.

The peacekeepers held their aim steady, waiting until the horses were visible to fire. Chris had his finger on the trigger when he saw the first frantic black mare. He started to give the order to fire when movement to his left caught his eye. He glanced and saw Vin riding fast toward the herd, firing into the air. The herd started to veer away from the noise.

"Move to the left," Chris shouted. They rode toward Vin, to help him steer the stampede away from the town. Chris yelled at Vin to watch for stragglers. Vin raised his mare's leg to fire again; just as he pulled the trigger, a force slammed him back off his horse and into the dirt. More gunshots sounded from beyond the herd, and suddenly the horses were headed straight toward them.

"Vin!" Chris yelled, but the tracker didn't move. He spurred his horse to get to him before the horses, shooting into the stampede, but they kept coming, rabid from all the gunshots from every direction.

Chris jumped from his horse while it was still moving, feeling his ankle give as he landed, but he kept running, leaping on top of Vin and covering his still body just as the horses reached them. All he could hear was hooves thundering the hard ground and landing inches from his head, and still he clung tight to his friend.

Dust choked his throat and stung his eyes; a horse landed on his leg, and then another. He curled around Vin as closely as he could as the horses kept coming. He clutched his gun uselessly. Another horse stepped on his sore ankle, and he bit down to keep from crying out. He could hear gunshots in the distance, sounding small as popguns as the roaring hooves looked to trample the earth and them with it to dust.

Just as suddenly as it hit, the stampede was gone, running past them toward Bitter Creek. Chris lay still, trying to catch his breath, his ears ringing from the noise. He spit out the dirt in his mouth, his eyes watering. His whole body ached, but he had bigger worries. He rolled off Vin and looked at him. The tracker seemed unhurt, except for the red stain spreading down from his collarbone.

"Nathan!" he shouted, pressing against the wound. He didn't hear Nathan run over, didn't hear the healer ask him if he was all right. He sat back numbly as Nathan opened Vin's shirt, cleaning away the blood. His senses started to return as he felt Buck's hand on his shoulder, the gentle squeeze anchoring him to the here and now.

"He's been shot," Nathan said. "Bullet went through, but I've got to get the bleeding stopped. Help me get him on a horse."

"I don't think so," a voice said. They all turned to see a small group of soldiers aiming rifles at them. Barrett stood in front, smiling.

Chris lunged at him, knocking the man to the ground and wrapping his hands around his fleshy neck. "I should have shot you before," he said through gritted teeth, squeezing until Barrett's face began to turn purple.

The soldiers had been frozen in shock as Chris attacked, but they recovered their wits and lifted their weapons. Buck and Nathan aimed back, joined by Ezra and Josiah, riding up behind the stampede.

"What did we miss?" Ezra asked.

Buck stepped forward, resting his hand on Chris's taut shoulder. "Chris," he said quietly. "Let him go. He ain't worth it."

Chris wanted to kill him, wanted to squeeze the life right out of the bastard. He knew he could, and probably hang for it. He released Barrett, shoving the man's head against the dirt, then limped back to where Nathan tended Vin.

The healer glanced at the torn material of Chris's jeans and the raw skin beneath. "You all right?"

"I'll live. Look after Vin."

Captain Abrams rushed over. "What is going on here?" he asked, glancing down at Barrett sputtering on the ground.

"He shot one of my men. He's going on trial, then he's going to hang on that gallows you built," Chris answered.

He started to say more, but he heard Vin groan, his eyelids fluttering, and Chris knelt beside him.

"Vin? Can you hear me?" But Vin closed his eyes again and was still.

Barrett stood slowly, still coughing. Abrams stared at him.

"Is what Larabee says true, Sergeant?"

"He aimed the stampede right at us," Barrett said.

"They're your horses!" Buck yelled.

"And James's," Josiah added. "Stampede was started on purpose."

Chris stood, all reason for not killing Barrett gone. He took one hobbled step towards the soldier, but Abrams stood in front of his man.

"I'll deal with it," the Captain said.

"The hell you will. He goes in our jail," Chris replied.

Abrams looked back at Barrett. The man was his primary troublemaker. Letting local law have Barrett would not look good to his superiors in Laramie, but he was six weeks away from the end of his tour anyway. Let Larabee deal with him.

Barrett saw the small smile on his Captain's face, and knew Abrams was going to hand him over. "He's wanted!" he shouted quickly, fumbling in his jacket for the poster. He found it and pulled it out, thrusting it toward his Captain. "See, Vin Tanner, wanted for murder. I had every right to shoot him, and I won't even claim the reward."

"You son of a bitch, you stole that from his wagon," Chris said.

Abrams looked at the poster. "Is it true?" he asked quietly.

"We'll handle it."

"I can't allow a known outlaw to go free."

"This is my town," Chris said, his voice lowered to nearly a whisper. "I'm taking Barrett and Vin stays." He walked past Abrams to Barrett, ignoring the pain in his leg. "You better hope they hang you," he said, then turned to Buck. "Take him to the jail." Abrams stepped out of his way as he walked back toward Vin, feeling the barely controlled fury just below the surface of the man in black.

"But Tanner is wanted," Abrams said, watching as Buck roughly led Barrett away. "I'll take him with us to Laramie and see he gets a fair trial."

Chris turned back to him, his demeanor calm but his eyes blazing. When he was a child, Abrams was cornered in the family barn by a rabid dog. That was the last time he'd felt true fear, until now. Six weeks, he reminded himself, swallowing. "Never mind," he said.

Chris helped Nathan lift Vin's limp body onto a horse, and he held him as they rode back to town. Abrams watched them go, envying the loyalty and compassion between this ragtag group of men.

"Sir? Do we move out?" his Lieutenant asked.

Abrams thought it over. The longer he was here, the less time General Winston back in Laramie would have to reprimand him over today's events. Six weeks would become five weeks if they waited. "No, make camp. We can't leave our man behind."

---

Nathan took the stairs to his clinic two at a time, hurrying to get the supplies he needed as Josiah and Chris carried Vin up, Chris gritting his teeth against the pain in his ankle and hoping it wouldn't give until he got Vin into Nathan's. When they brought him in and laid him on the bed, Nathan quickly cleaned the bullet wound with carbolic and removed the rest of Vin's clothes, looking for other injuries.

"What happened?" he asked when he saw the old bruises on Vin's torso and arm.

"Barrett," Chris said.

Nathan continued his examination. "Looks like only the bullet wound. Josiah, check if those instruments are boiling yet."

As Nathan and Josiah worked, Chris waited in the corner, out of the way but close enough to see Vin's face, pale and sweating, his eyes still closed.

On the other bed, JD watched as Nathan cleaned and bandaged Vin's wound. He wanted to ask what happened, but judging by the looks on everyone's faces, now was not the time. He sat back on the bed, hoping Vin wasn't as bad as he looked.

Nathan applied pressure to the wound, directing Josiah to bring him more sterile bandages. Slowly, the bleeding stopped, and Nathan relaxed as he wrapped the wound one more time. "Bleeding's stopped," he said, wiping his forehead.

"Will he be all right?" JD asked.

"Too soon to tell. He lost a lot of blood, and he'll need his strength to fight any fever. We've got to keep water in him." He picked up a ladle and filled it with water, dribbling some over Vin's lips. "Think you can do this?" he asked Chris. "Every 20 minutes or so, while I get cleaned up? Then I'll bind up your ankle."

Chris nodded and took the ladle, pulling over a chair. He could already feel the heat on Vin's skin and he knew it would get worse before it got better.

---

....Fire, fire, the horses were on fire, crazed, out of control, stampeding, flames....

"Vin, calm down. You have a fever, that's why you're hot. Drink this."

....Chris? Chris, watch out for the horses, they're heading right for you. Have to do something, make them go another way, Chris is in front of the horses and the horses are on fire....

"That's good, Vin. Drink some more."

....Chris? Hurt, shot, ambush, you have to believe me, the ambush is there. Please, don't be a fool, I know what I'm talking about. Damn fool, going to get himself killed riding into an ambush. I can't let that happen. I'll show him there's an ambush. I have to do something, make them go another way....

"Rest easy, Vin."

....Chris? Hurts, arm hurts, Chris hurt my arm. Wasn't Chris, Conrad, but Conrad is dead....Barrett, hurt my arm, in the wagon, had my poster, Barrett was in my wagon, but Chris was in my wagon, everyone get away from my wagon, get away, get away, get away....

---

Chris pulled his hand away quickly.

Nathan rushed over, trying to calm Vin's thrashings. "It's the fever," he said. "Give me the laudanum." He held Vin down, worried that he'd reopen the bullet wound. "Chris, get the laudanum!"

Chris backed away slowly, until he was at the doorway. Vin had been sleeping easy, and when he'd mumbled Chris's name, Chris thought maybe Vin was coming around. But then he'd started twisting and turning, yelling Chris's name, then over and over, "Get away, get away, get away." He couldn't stay; Vin really wanted him gone.

He took one last look at the fevered man on the bed and walked out the door.

Both Nathan and JD watched him leave in shock.

"JD, get up and get me that laudanum," Nathan shouted. "It's the brown bottle on the table. Hurry!"

JD hopped awkwardly to the medicine and brought it over to the healer, and helped hold Vin still while Nathan dribbled some of the thick liquid between Vin's lips. Once the medicine started to work, Vin calmed, and Nathan was able to re-bandage the bleeding wound.

"Damn fool. Where the hell did Chris go?" Nathan asked.

JD hopped to the doorway, and looked out into the night, but saw nothing.

---

Chris led his horse out of the stable, saddled and ready to go. He could feel his ankle throb beneath the bandage Nathan had wrapped tightly around it, but it wouldn't keep him from going. He told himself not to look back, but he did anyway. The town was dark; the street fires burned low and no one was about. The town looked as dead as it did to him the day he first rode in three years ago. Three years? Had it really been that long? He hadn't intended to stay, but something about the place and the people had pulled him in - one person in particular, he could see that now. If Vin had left for Tascosa, he would have gone too, and missed reconciling with Buck, and coming to appreciate Nathan, JD, Josiah and Ezra for the true characters these disparate men were, but he would have done it without a second thought. As much as he valued the fragile stability he'd achieved here, he'd ride out without a backward glance if Vin were by his side.

But now he was giving up all of it. Once again someone he'd cared for was suffering, despite his efforts otherwise. He'd often wondered if Sarah cursed him for not being there when she needed him most. After he heard Vin tell him to get away, he knew the answer.

He slowly climbed on his horse and left town without any goodbyes.

Josiah watched as the black-clad man rode away, sorrow in his heart. He wanted to offer comfort, but the wisdom of his years had taught him that some demons needed to be faced alone. On his way back to his room, he saw a small campfire being re-stoked behind the Chinese laundry. Not wanting to be by himself, he walked over to see who else was out this lonely evening.

He waited in the shadows as Ezra showed the laundress's youngest son another card trick.

"This one is most magical of all," Ezra told the mesmerized boy. "It will only work for a young warrior. If the man is brave of heart and true of spirit, then the card will be the one he commands it to be. But if the young man is foolish and cowardly, who runs from challenges and hides when he should be helping his mother, then the card will be the Two of Clubs, the card of the fool. Do you want to play this game?"

The boy nodded hesitantly. Even Josiah was captivated.

"Then, young sir, command the cards."

"Ace of Spades," the boy said, in halting English.

"Excellent choice. Now tap the card three times and turn it over."

The boy's hand shook as he tapped the card and lifted it slowly, face down. He stared at the red pattern on the back. "I...can not look," he said, his voice quivering.

"Would you like me to look for you?" Ezra asked.

The boy nodded. Ezra took the card, glanced at it and then smiled at the boy.

"It looks like I am in the presence of greatness," he said, turning over the Ace of Spades with a flourish.

The boy relaxed and smiled.

"Now, it is past your bed time," Ezra continued. "Even great warriors need their sleep, especially if they are helping their mothers early in the morning."

The boy nodded and ran inside. Josiah saw another shadow, the boy's mother, step from the darkness. "Thank you, Mr. Ezra," she said shyly.

"My pleasure, Mrs. Chin."

"You come in?"

Ezra shook his head. "No, thank you. I've already abused your hospitality enough, but I'll stay by your fire a bit longer, if that's all right."

"Yes, thank you," the woman said, then followed her son inside the small shack, glancing back at the finely dressed man. The door closed behind her.

Ezra shuffled the cards. "Spying doesn't become you, Josiah," he said. "Are you hunting for a headline for tomorrow's Daily Turn a Profit?"

Josiah stepped to the fire, sitting on the log the boy had vacated. "No, I just didn't want to interrupt."

"Can I interest you in a game of chance?" Ezra asked.

Josiah smiled. "Sure, how about that game you were playing with the boy?"

"The warrior game. Certainly." He shuffled and presented the deck. "Command the cards."

"King of Hearts."

"Now tap the deck three times and turn over your card."

Josiah tapped the cards, but like the boy before him, hesitated before turning it over. He knew it was a trick, but he still felt nerves in his stomach.

"Josiah? Would you like me to look for you?" Ezra asked.

The preacher laughed and flipped the card. The King of Hearts stared back at him. "Thanks, Ezra," he said.

Ezra took back the card and reshuffled. "I did nothing. The fates decide."

Josiah shook his head. "You're conning yourself if you believe that."

Ezra stared into the fire. "We all con ourselves, Josiah, else how would we even get out of bed in the morning?" He held out the deck and tapped it three times. "Gambling is an art and a skill, despite what you think. It's also all I know." He turned over the top card -- the Deuce of Clubs.

Josiah looked at it then back at Ezra. "You didn't command the cards," he said.

"I always command the cards," Ezra replied. With one hand he flipped over the next card, the Ace of Spades. "See?"

Josiah laughed, and they sat in silence, watching the embers.

"Why did you participate in this broadsheet battle with me, Josiah?" Ezra asked.

"Why did you?"

"I think you know my reasons very well: advertising revenue, a chance to bring in business, initially anyway. Later, defending my honor, such as it may be. Your motives are less clear."

Josiah paused, considering his answer. He added another small bull chip to the fire. "Preaching's a con, too," he said finally. "It's trying to convince people to do things they don't want to. Some may say to do things that go against their inherent nature. I guess I liked looking out and seeing full pews and nodding heads."

"You demean yourself, Josiah. Preaching is showing people they are good, and demonstrating how to use it. More than that, you show them that other people are good as well, and worthy of trust. That's something I certainly didn't know before I came here."

"Neither did I, Ezra. Neither did I."

"Then what say you? I propose we halt this juvenile competition and join forces. We have common enemies to be vanquished, and the Standish Daily Prophet is just the weapon."

"You mean the Daily Prophet and Tribune?"

"We'll discuss details later. Now, we have editorials to write."

They both stood, and Josiah extinguished the fire. "Ezra, the cards say I'm a warrior," he said. "But you drew the Deuce?"

"The deuce is only bad if you command a king," the gambler replied, tapping the deck. "Deuce of Clubs." He flipped over that card. "Veni, vidi, vici."

"That you did," Josiah said. The two headed to the back door of the church, prying off the makeshift barricade to get to the printing press.

---

Two days later, Buck stood outside the saloon. Army soldiers guarded the entrance. He sighed. You don't know what you've got until it's gone, he thought, longing for some fried potatoes. Instead, he headed over to the church, which had been reopened after no rats had been found and Ezra printed a retraction; subtly suggesting the Army had something to do with any infestation.

Buck climbed the steps into the dim church, noticeably cooler than outside. He could hear the printing press clanging in the back; Josiah napped on a front pew. How he slept through that noise, Buck had no idea. Maybe he'd gone deaf in the racket.

In the back room, Ezra worked the press. His hair was tousled and sweat glistened on his face, but he looked to be truly enjoying himself. He stopped printing papers when Buck appeared in the doorway.

"Good morning, Mr. Wilmington."

"You're up early, Ezra."

"Technically, I've yet to sleep. But a dozen or so more copies and I shall remedy that. Will you do me the kindness of handing me that rag?"

Buck handed him the cloth. "Chris is still gone," he said. "I can't believe he left without so much as a how do."

"He'll be back," Ezra said. "Whatever is plaguing him, he will slay that dragon as he has always done." He wiped his face and neck and tossed the rag.

"I hope you're right."

"How fare our patients?" Ezra asked.

"Vin's better, but still sleeps most of the time. JD is itching like a dog to get out of that clinic. Nathan says he can leave tomorrow, but told him if he gets gangrene, it's his own fault."

"Our esteemed healer is a master of fear tactics."

"If that means he scares you into staying put, then you got that right." Buck watched Ezra refill the ink in the printing press. "What's today's headline? You gonna accuse the Army of killing Lincoln?"

"No, no. Although I may keep that in mind for the Temperance Society. Closing the saloon has greatly diminished my income. Here, see the news for yourself." He handed Buck a still wet issue of the Standish Daily Prophet.

Buck looked at it and smiled. "Ezra, you are one mean son of a bitch."

---

"What is this?" Captain Abrams demanded, dropping the Standish Daily Prophet at Josiah's feet.

The preacher barely glanced at it. "Looks like a newspaper to me."

"That headline is slanderous."

Buck, Ezra and Nathan joined Josiah in the street before the church. Abrams was flanked by ten of his men.

Buck picked up the paper. "Army Causes Stampede," he read loudly. "Sounds right to me. Ezra?"

"I always verify my sources," the gambler answered. "Of course, that will all come out at the trial, which will be dutifully reported in our faithful gazette."

Abrams glanced around. It looked like his intelligence had been correct; four peacekeepers in front of him, two in the clinic, no Larabee. The absence of the gunslinger caused him to stand up to his full height.

"That's why I'm here. I've received word that Sergeant Barrett will be tried in a general court marshal at Fort Laramie on the 15th of this month. I'm to escort him there immediately."

"The hell you will," Buck said.

"In addition," Abrams continued. "I will take Vin Tanner with us, where he will also face a judge to determine extradition to Texas."

"You son of a bitch," Buck said, stepping forward. Ezra's hand on his arm held him back as the soldiers fingered their sidearms.

"You will surrender both prisoners or we'll take them by force. You have until noon to comply." He turned and walked back to the Army camp, followed by his men. He left two in front of the jail and two at the stairs in front of the clinic.

"This is an unforeseen predicament," Ezra said.

"Yeah, it is. We ain't got the firepower to hold off the Army, and Vin ain't fit for travel," Nathan said.

"We could try to get a message to Chris. He could come get Vin, and we could just give them Barrett," Buck said.

Ezra shook his head. "There's no time, even if we knew where Mr. Larabee was."

"What about the Judge?" Nathan asked.

"He was on his way, but his last wire said he was stuck in Red Fork. I'll send another telegram," Josiah said. The men nodded and split up, each trying to figure out a plan.

Under the stairs, JD struggled to his feet. He'd been hiding there, not wanting Nathan to yell at him for being out of bed, on his way back to his own room. The image of that man strangling at the end of a rope was still vivid in his mind, and he knew what would happen if they took Vin to Laramie. Emerging from his hiding place, he limped past the two soldiers. They blocked his path as he tried to climb the stairs.

"Not feeling so well. Need to lie down," he said, grabbing his stomach. "Feel sick to my stomach." The guards parted quickly to let him pass, and started the slow climb up the stairs, cursing his leg the whole way.

It was hot inside the small clinic, no breeze coming through the open window. JD hurriedly closed the door and rushed to where Vin slept. The tracker still looked bad, pale and sunken, but JD didn't have a choice. He sat on the bed and shook Vin awake.

"Vin, wake up. It's important. Come on, Vin, wake up."

Vin slowly opened his eyes, swatting listlessly at the intrusion to his rest. "JD?" he asked.

"Yeah, Vin, it's me. Please wake up. You gotta get going. Chris is gone and that Army captain is taking you and Barrett to Laramie for trial."

Vin struggled to wake up and decipher JD's words. "Gone where?" he asked.

"What?"

"Chris."

"Oh, nobody knows. You told him to go and he went."

Vin finally focused on the dark head in front of him. "I told him?"

JD stood and hobbled to the chair where Vin's clothes were. "Yeah. Now get up and get dressed. If you don't leave now, you're going to end up swinging. Abrams knows all about the bounty."

"Because Barrett was in my wagon," Vin said quietly, memories of the stampede and Barrett's accusations coming back to him. Barrett had stolen the wanted poster from his wagon. "Not Chris."

JD turned and saw Vin still in bed. "Jesus, Vin, get up! You gotta go and I can't carry you."

He tossed Vin his clothes and Vin slowly got dressed. He couldn't remember ever feeling this weak, but JD was right. He had to go; he had to find Chris.

---

"You sure you're up to this?" Vin asked, pausing outside the clinic window.

"Sure. Buy me a drink when it's all over," JD replied.

"Ya mean buy you a milk?"

"Very funny. I'm going to count to 50 then cause a distraction."

"Thanks, kid," Vin said and then was gone, moving as quickly as his injury and weakened state allowed.

JD watched, silently counting, hoping he'd see Vin again.

When he reached 50, he hopped to the door and walked to the edge of the stairs, starting down slowly. The soldiers barely glanced at him. When he was three-quarters of the way down, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to fall forward. When gravity claimed him, he flailed his arms and landed on one of the soldiers, screaming in pain, both real and exaggerated.

The other soldier stood over him, looking around for help, and Nathan, Josiah, and Buck came running, as did the soldiers guarding the jail.

"What the hell?" Buck asked, glaring at the soldiers.

"He fell. We didn't touch him, honest," the soldier stammered.

"Could have helped him down the stairs," Nathan said, bending to check JD's injuries. The sheriff screamed in pain at every touch. People of the town appeared to see what the commotion was.

Buck kneeled beside him. "How is it?" he asked over JD's shoulder.

"Can't find any broken bones, and he didn't re-break the leg. I don't know why he's hurting so," Nathan said. "Let's get him back upstairs."

"No, no," JD moaned, grabbing Buck's arm. "Take me to my room. Please. I hate the clinic. I want to go back to my own room."

"I can treat you better in the clinic, JD," Nathan said.

"Please, Buck, take me to my room." His eyes met Buck's. "I need to go to my room."

"Kid, you're being fool..." Understanding dawned in Buck's eyes. "Okay, kid, calm down. We'll take you to your room." He nodded at Nathan and stood. "You Army boys want to help us out here, since you couldn't help an injured man before?"

With the soldiers carrying him, JD was taken slowly to his room, moaning in exaggerated pain the whole way.

"Don't overdo it, kid," Buck whispered to him as they set him on his bed.

After the soldiers left, Nathan examined JD more closely, treating new bruises and cuts and proclaiming him the luckiest fool in the territory.

Josiah knocked on the door and came inside, closing it behind him.

"Did he get away?" JD asked.

"His horse is gone," Josiah answered.

"You did good, kid," Buck said, but JD was still worried.

"I just hope it's enough."

---

Vin pulled his hat lower on his head as he guided his horse down the dusty street of Purgatory. He sat up straighter in his saddle -- although his back and arm screamed in pain -- and clutched the saddle horn, trying not to fall off his horse. In his gut, he knew Chris was here; he could feel it the closer he got to the bandit town, and there was something quieter about the place, as if the noisiest and most insufferable banditos had abandoned it for safer ground after the gunslinger rode into town. That sealed it; Chris was definitely here, and just as he'd calmed that anthill they called home, he'd calmed the notorious Purgatorio.

Vin stopped outside of the cantina and slowly climbed off his horse, trying not to show his injuries. To show weakness here was a death sentence. He looped the reins over the hitching post and headed for the cantina's beaded doorway, hoping he didn't collapse before he made it inside.

---

Chris sat at a table in the corner, alone, even the patient Maria scared away by his mood. A nearly empty bottle of tequila sat in front of him, and he idly moved his glass across the wet table, his thoughts a jumble. He knew he should leave here, but he didn't know where to go. He'd have to go back to gunfighting. The years he'd spent protecting a town had probably slowed him just enough so he wouldn't last long against a young punk anxious to make a name for himself. Somehow, that thought didn't trouble him, not like returning to ranching troubled him. That had been his first thought, to claim his old land and raise horses again, but it had hurt so much he quickly dismissed it and used tequila to make sure he didn't think it again. Ranching reminded him of Sarah and Adam, who he got killed, and Vin, who wanted him gone.

Vin. He wondered if Vin was even still alive. He stopped moving the glass for a second, seemingly listening to something, then nodded. Yep, Vin was alive, he assured himself. Had to be. Wouldn't be right for him to be dead, not young and beautiful as he was. Beautiful? Shit, where did that come from, he wondered. Sarah was beautiful. Vin is...Vin is...Vin's your last hope, and it's over. Vin was right. Could never happen. Man like you, and a man like him - bad mix. Never work. Not in a million years, although it would be a hell of a ride finding out.

He smiled at the thought and then shook his head to clear the image, draining the rest of the tequila. Damn stuff still wasn't working.

He glanced around. Great, he thought, now I'm seeing things. Looks like Vin who just walked in and...shit!

Chris knocked over the table to get to Vin, who had crumpled unconscious in the doorway.

---

Vin opened his eyes slowly, bracing for the pain, a feeling he had experienced much too often in the past few days. He heard someone else in the room, trying to be quiet.

"Nathan?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

A figure stepped into his line of vision, a woman with dark hair. She was strikingly beautiful.

"No, senor," she said. "I am Maria. You're in my room."

"Chris's Maria?"

She shrugged. "At one time, maybe. How is your arm?" He closed his hand in a fist, and the pain, usually sharp enough to make him gasp, was only a twinge.

"Better." He tried to sit up, slumping against the back of the bed. The room obviously belonged to a prostitute, with a velvet spread on the bed and a colorful scarf over the window, but something about the room was very calming. He understood why Chris liked it here.

"Where's Chris?" he asked.

"Senor Chris is gone," she answered.

He rubbed his eyes with his good arm, the one with the fading bruises. "Oh," he said.

"Si, the Senor Chris I knew is gone. All that is left is an empty shell drowning his sorrows in tequila down in the cantina."

Vin nodded. "That's my Chris," he said.

She looked at him. "I thought so."

He tried to slide off the bed, but she rested her hand lightly on his bare chest.

"Stay. Rest. He will come here," she said.

After she left, Vin sank back against the bed. What the hell was he going to say? He didn't have long to think. Chris appeared shortly after Maria left, holding a bottle although he didn't appear drunk. A little red around the eyes, maybe, and definitely favoring his left leg, but his movements were still precise, like they always were. He sat on a wooden chair near the door, setting the bottle on the floor.

"How do you feel?" Chris asked.

"Been better, but been worse, too."

"You were right," Chris said.

"About what?"

"Us. I never should have brought it up, but it's too late. Can't go back and undo it."

Vin realized Chris had spent his whole time here coming to that conclusion. Vin felt the same loss Chris did, the loss he'd wanted in the first place. But he didn't ride all this way to give up so easily.

"Yer half right. Can't be undone. But ya know something, I promised myself I wasn't gonna get hurt again. I told myself I was gonna be in control and not let anyone get too close, and I did a good job until you came along. Now it hurts to be alone."

"Who hurt you?" Chris asked quietly.

Vin wanted to tell him. He wanted to get rid of it, share the burden with another, as Chris shared the loss of his family, but the words wouldn't come. He stared at the purple velvet blanket instead.

Chris picked up the bottle and took a drink. "Ain't none of my business." He stood to go, determined to drown that flicker of hope that ignited when Vin had showed up.

"Wait," Vin said. He pulled himself off the bed and steadied himself on the post, trying to think of something to stall Chris's departure. "I got somethin' to show ya."

Chris looked back at him, waiting.

"It ain't here. It's about a day's ride."

"Not in the mood," Chris said, stepping away, but Vin crossed the room, catching him before he left.

"Just take a look, then ya can ride away and I'll let ya go."

"You'll let me go?"

Vin nodded. "Yeah, I'll let ya go."

Chris shrugged. "All right, but if I end up sleeping on the ground again, I'm shooting your other arm."

---

Abrams led his entire unit down the town's narrow main street. In his career, he'd never felt so in command, never trusted that his men were completely behind him as right now. They were all upset that Barrett languished in the town's small jail, and had come to believe the town was mocking them, especially after Tanner's escape. He'd sent men to follow, but Tanner had covered his tracks too well, and his search party had returned dehydrated and sunburned after a day of chasing their tails.

Abrams called for a halt in front of the jail. If he couldn't take Tanner, then he'd sure as hell take Barrett, and not for a court marshal. Barrett was going to walk out a free man, and Abrams intended to make a show of returning the Sergeant's weapons to him, to demonstrate to these backwoods people who was really in charge, and it wasn't the peacekeepers they put so much faith in. He even considered arresting them all, and intended to do just that if any of them stood in his way.

There was no one outside the jail except his men. In fact, the whole town seemed empty. Probably hiding, he reasoned, glancing down the street at the church, the boarded-up saloon, the Chinese laundry. Nothing moved in the hot morning.

"Come with me," he told his Lieutenant as he stepped up to the jail. He nodded at the man to open the door, and they both walked inside. It was empty. Barrett was gone.

"Damn it," Abrams said, stomping back outside. "He's gone," he told his men. "Search the town until you find him."

The soldiers hesitated a moment, then some scattered like looting pirates.

Abrams's Lieutenant said quietly, "I don't think this is a good idea, sir."

"I gave you an order, Lieutenant. These people are holding one of our men hostage. It's our duty to find him."

The Lieutenant shook his head. He too had been counting the days until Abrams's tenure ended, because he would be glad to see him go. What he saw in the Captain's eyes made him fear for their lives and the lives of the people in this town. He called over a few men he trusted. "Watch the others," he said. "Our duty is to protect this town."

---

JD watched the Army's actions from the window of his room. He was still too sore to move, so he'd been appointed lookout. He heard crashes from the direction of the general store and hotel, and he hoped the townspeople had been able to hide their valuables - and themselves - in time.

Ezra's hunch had been right; not turning Barrett in had pushed the Captain over the edge. But they'd all agreed that Barrett should stand trial here, in the town he'd tried to destroy for Stuart James. He would stand trial if Judge Travis ever got here, that is. JD looked away from the hotel down the street. Where the hell was the stage?

The soldiers continued to trample inside the few buildings along Main Street, kicking in doors and shoving furniture out of the way. Even those who at first were hesitant to participate began to become more incensed, the pent-up inactivity of the past few weeks releasing in a rush of broken glass and splintered wood. Abrams watched it all from in front of the jail, standing in the street with his legs spread and his hands clasped behind him. He even thought they might promote him for this; his internal countdown of six weeks was replaced by three gold stars.

The Captain's attention was diverted by a stagecoach racing toward him, and he stepped aside. It stopped only long enough to discharge a neatly dressed but weathered man, carrying a small suitcase and a sawed-off shotgun. Then the stage rushed away.

Some of the soldiers paused to look, and Abrams held up a hand for quiet.

"Are you Captain Abrams?" the man asked.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Circuit Judge Orrin Travis. You care to explain why your men are looting this town?"

Abrams felt a touch of fear, but he raised his chin. "They're hiding one of my men, and I intend to find him."

"Your man...Dawson Barrett? The one accused of attempted murder and destruction of property?"

"The Army will handle it."

Travis pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "No, I will. I expect you know General Winston."

Abrams took the paper. "This says you will investigate the matter and he'll abide by your decision."

"Indeed it does. Winston and I served together; he knows I think like he does. Court will convene in one hour." Travis turned away.

Abrams crumpled the paper. He was flushed with the momentary heat of power, but it had faded just as quickly. He looked around and saw his men, some still holding items taken from the buildings, and knew that his career was going to end with a whimper. He tiredly told his Lieutenant to summon the men. They were marching for Laramie right away.

"You gonna let him tell you what to do?" one of the men called. Abrams looked at him; Covington, one of Barrett's cronies.

Before Abrams could answer, there was an ominous click from above. The soldiers looked up to see five rifles aimed at them.

"You overstayed your welcome," Buck called from the roof of the general store.

Abrams sighed. "Does that answer your question, private?" He nodded to his Lieutenant. "Let's go." The soldiers marched out as orderly as they marched in, the townspeople watching them go from behind broken windows with sighs of relief. Abrams marched his troops until the town was out of sight, only then letting them rest, but it wouldn't be until they set up camp at dusk that he noticed three more men had deserted, Covington among them.

Back in town, Judge Travis sat down his suitcase and rifle. "This town gets in more trouble than ten towns put together," he said to Josiah and Nathan, who walked toward him after climbing down from their places on the roof.

"That it does," Josiah agreed.

Buck and Ezra crossed the street to join them. Ezra brushed dust from his jacket.

"Where are the others?" Travis asked.

"Well, JD's up there with a busted leg," Buck said, pointing to JD's window. The young sheriff waved. "And Chris and Vin are..."

"Unavailable," Ezra finished.

Travis decided he'd ask about that later. "We'll hold the trial in the saloon," he said.

"That's gonna be a problem, Judge," Buck said.

"Why?"

"The saloon is boarded up."

Travis glanced at the building. "I don't want to know, do I?"

"Definitely not," Ezra said.

"Unboard it and we'll get started," Travis said. Before he walked away, Ezra handed him a newspaper.

"You may want to read this in your spare time," the gambler said, smiling.

Travis glanced at the headline: Army Causes Stampede. No wonder this town needed seven men guarding it.

---

"What did ya do to yer leg?"

"Nothing."

After that, Chris and Vin rode south in silence for the rest of the day. When the sun started to set, Vin pushed them a little further, putting off the time when he'd have to tell Chris they'd be sleeping on the ground.

"Shoulder or wrist?" Chris asked.

"What?"

"When I shoot your other arm. Shoulder or wrist?"

Vin appeared to think it over. "Do I get ta shoot back?"

"Nope."

"Shoulder, then. That way I can still hold a beer." He reined in under a small clump of trees. "Tried to find a purty spot for ya."

"I appreciate that, Vin. Especially since it's getting too dark to see."

Vin smiled and climbed off his horse. "You lay your bedroll on those leaves there. It'll be easier on yer back. Next best thing to a nice, soft bed."

"The next best thing to a nice, soft bed is a hard, lumpy bed," Chris replied, but climbed off his horse. The night was cool, but not cold. Stars were starting to twinkle on the horizon, and the air smelled clean. He took a deep breath and walked under the trees with his bedroll. The layer of leaves was only big enough for one. He glanced at Vin, struggling one-armed with his saddle. "You should sleep here, Vin."

Vin heaved his saddle off his horse. "I'll be fine by that rock. You take it."

"You're hurt."

"So are you. And yer old."

Chris glared at him, then tossed his bedroll on the leaves. "Not too old to shoot that grin off your face."

"I thought you were gonna shoot my arm off?"

"That too."

Vin carried his saddle to a nearby rock and dropped it. He spread his blanket and leaned against the rock, still warm from the sun, sighing as the tension in his back eased as he stretched. Chris lit a cheroot, and they both watched the darkening sky.

"It is a pretty spot," Chris said.

"Sure is," Vin agreed.

"Where are we headed anyway?"

Vin glanced at him. "Place I know."

"That's helpful." Chris stretched out his legs, stifling a groan at the tension in his back and the throb in his ankle, and saw Vin grin. "See if you're laughing when you're my age," he said.

"Hell, cowboy, I can't even count that high."

"Vin," Chris said. "Go kill us some dinner."

Vin stood and saluted. "One dish of hoss and feathers comin' up." Grabbing his gun, he disappeared into the brush to hunt rabbit, relieved that for tonight, at least, things were better between them.

---

By the time Judge Travis had heard all the descriptions of what had transpired since the Army came to town, the sun had set, and the bartender was serving beer to the witnesses. The judge rapped his gavel for quiet in the increasingly noisy saloon.

"Regarding the destruction of local property," Travis said. "I'll make sure the Army reimburses the town for the cost of repairs, except the saloon and church, which the Temperance Society will either make themselves or pay for." A few patrons raised their glasses in salute.

"It seems to me that the local rancher Stuart James, who is not present at these proceedings, is behind these events, but without direct evidence, he won't be charged. You, however, Sergeant Barrett," he said to the sullen soldier handcuffed to a banister, still wet from being hidden in the Chinese laundry. "You have caused a great deal of damage and distress, and I order you to be transported to Fort Laramie where you'll spend the next three years in prison, in addition to whatever your court martial decides."

A hush fell over the crowd as three soldiers stepped through the doors, backed by three ranch hands, each carrying shotguns.

"We'll take him," Covington said, firing at the mirror above the Judge's head. People dove for cover. The soldiers spread out, as did Buck, Ezra and Josiah. Judge Travis aimed his shotgun and hit one of the ranch hands before diving under the table.

Bullets flew back and forth. Ezra was pinned behind the bar, while Buck took refuge behind the piano. Josiah was the most exposed, near the front window.

Ezra took a deep breath and stood, aiming for Covington, who was sneaking to where Barrett was still handcuffed. The man went down, but tossed Barrett his gun. He aimed back at Ezra, who felt the bullet graze his arm before he ducked.

Buck aimed for the ranch hand going for the stairs, hitting the man in the leg. Josiah was in a bad position, but he managed to get a few shots off before one of the soldiers fired back, hitting the table he was hiding behind. Shards of wood hit his face as he fell back down.

Suddenly there was a barrage of gunfire from above, and a cry of pain below. Ezra stood, seeing JD at the top of the stairs, and aimed at the last ranch hand running out the batwing doors. Ezra missed, but the man was tackled by Nathan as soon as he stepped outside. The last soldier stood slowly, hands above his head.

"Coward," Barrett said, firing at the soldier, then up at JD. He froze as a barrage of shot hit his chest, and looked silently at Judge Travis, who lowered his gun as Barrett collapsed against the banister.

As the echoes of gunfire died down, men crawled out from their hiding places. Nathan rushed in, asking if anyone was hurt, and knelt by Josiah, looking over the cuts from the splinters. There was silence as the men surveyed the damage.

"Who pays for this, Judge?" the bartender asked.

"Sorry, you're on your own," Travis answered, straightening his vest. "More trouble than ten towns," he added.

---

Late that evening, Buck and Ezra sat in the front pew of the church. Ezra tested the bandage Nathan had wrapped around his upper arm.

"Listen, Ezra," Buck said.

Ezra paused. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly. Nice and quiet."

Ezra smiled. "For now. I wager the Temperance Society will not be stopped by the Judge's decision. If anything, it will revitalize them."

"Well, even so, we handled that problem all by ourselves," Buck said.

Ezra glanced at him. "You think Chris and Vin will come back, now that our town is restored to normalcy?"

"You mean Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner?" Buck added mischievously.

"Yes. Forgive my lapse of protocol."

Buck thought it over. "Yeah, they'll come back, but not because the Army's gone. There's two of them slaying those demons."

"Dragons."

"Them too."

Ezra stood and stretched.

"You working on the paper?" Buck asked.

"Alas, the Standish Daily Prophet has printed its last issue." He handed Buck a copy from a stack on the pulpit. The headline read: Temperance Society president found with moonshine in her basement.

Buck laughed. "Is there a word of truth in that?"

"I spelled all the names correctly," Ezra answered. "Now that the saloon is open again, I am returning to a much more gratifying - and profitable - enterprise. But never fear, I discovered a practical use for the machinery."

He opened the door to the alcove, and Buck looked inside. On the various levers of the press hung crisp white shirts and a vibrant blue jacket, as well as a few of Josiah's work shirts. "Once you clean it of ink, the press makes a fine way to dry wet clothing. Feel free to use it at any time to dry your own accoutrements."

"I think I will," Buck laughed. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink while we wait for the dragon slayers to come back home."

---

Vin guided his horse down a narrow rocky path twisting along a steep cliff. They emerged at the edge of a dry plain, covered sparsely with grass, thick weeds and a few craggy trees. He stopped to take a sip from his canteen and look around, wincing at a twinge in his arm.

"Are you lost?" Chris asked, stopping beside him.

"Nope," Vin answered, handing him the canteen. "Just ain't exactly like I remember."

Chris had given up asking what it was Vin wanted to show him. "So what we rode two days to see ain't here anymore?"

Vin sat up in his saddle, looking around. "Let's ride a little further, out to that far tree." He nudged his horse, and Chris followed. He hadn't realized how curious he was until it looked like he'd never actually get to see it.

"You sure you're okay, Vin? You're looking a little pale."

"I'm fine," Vin answered, stretching his aching arm to alleviate some of the pain.

Vin stopped near the tree and climbed off his horse. He knelt down to check something on the ground and then looked up at Chris, smiling.

"That's horse droppings, Vin."

"Sure is. Fresh too, less than a day." He reached up on his saddle and grabbed the canteen, rifle, and a sack he'd brought with him from Purgatory. "Climb down, and grab yer blanket and saddle bags." Chris did as he was told, then Vin slapped both the horses, scattering them.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Chris asked, watching the horses run back the way they came.

"They won't go far. Probably just to that creek a way's back."

"You mean that creek we'll be walking back to?"

"That's the one," Vin said. "You want to see this or not?"

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to be seeing."

Vin hesitated, clutching the sack. Back at Purgatory, this had seemed like a good idea. He was hoping that somewhere along the way he could muster up the courage to tell Chris the truth, but so far, that hadn't happened. Now that he wasn't groggy with pain, he could see it was probably a mistake. "We'll go back," he said.

"No," Chris said. "We're here. Show me."

Vin nodded. "Spread the blankets under the tree, behind that shrub there."

Chris unfolded the blankets. Vin walked about ten feet away and emptied the sack onto the ground. Apples tumbled out. He took one and threw it as far as he could toward the far end of the field, then another about half as far. The rest he scattered around the tree.

"Now what?" Chris asked.

"We wait," Vin answered, lying on the blanket. He looked up at Chris still standing beside him. "Ain't nothin' gonna happen with you standin' there like a scarecrow."

Chris lay beside him, like Vin on his stomach. "How long?" he asked.

"Ain't up ta me."

"You ever give a straight answer?"

Vin smiled. "Sometimes."

An hour passed.

"You hurt yer leg in the stampede?" Vin asked, picking at the thin grass.

"Yes," Chris answered. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember it wasn't you in my wagon. Should have known that in the first place."

Chris looked away. "You had reason."

"Not a good one."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask more, but Chris didn't. It wasn't any of his business until Vin decided to tell him, and he wasn't going to ask again. He crossed his arms and laid his head down, closing his eyes. The sun and the lazy hum of insects relaxed him.

"This reminds me of when I'd take Adam fishing," he said. "The pond had about four fish in it, so we never caught anything. We'd just tie the lines off and spend the afternoon napping in the shade." He smiled at the memory.

Vin looked at him, with his eyes closed and a lazy smile creasing his face. Chris had taken off his hat, and his hair, highlighted with gold in the sun, framed his face. Vin smiled too, making Chris's memory his own. Although Chris had shared his pain with Vin, he also shared his happiness, and Vin guarded both as fiercely as he guarded the man's back. He picked up a sweetweed and chewed it. "Sounds real nice," he said.

"I wish you could have met him."

Chris's words surprised Vin. He'd always pictured he and Chris's family as separate, never intersecting. If Chris's family hadn't died, he'd never have let Vin into his life, or so Vin always figured.

"I'd have liked that," he said quietly.

"You wouldn't have liked ranching," Chris said.

Vin pictured Chris's small cabin, the corral, and the expanse of land. "Maybe," he said. There was a freedom to it, and a pride that came from building and shaping that he'd never felt before.

Chris opened his eyes and pushed himself onto one elbow. "I know they're gone, and I know they aren't coming back," he said, his eyes staring at something over Vin's head, sadness in the green gaze. "I just don't want to forget how really good things were, even if it didn't last."

"You ain't got to ferget. Better ta remember the good than curse the bad."

"That's what you do with your memories of your mother?" Chris asked. Vin nodded. "Reckon you could teach me to do that?"

"Takes time," Vin answered.

"Most folks think it's past time I moved on. It's been long enough. Get married again, start a new family."

"Family is important," Vin said, knowing his words meant he'd probably lose Chris forever.

But Chris looked at him, eyes flashing. "So you think that too? I should move on?" He sat up suddenly.

"No, don't mean that. I mean...." Vin sat up too, trying to find the words. "Some folks think a family is a husband, wife, kids, but I seen lots of families like that who couldn't stand each other, and who treat each other real bad." He looked down at his hands, rubbing at the dirt on his knuckles. "You let someone close like that, they can hurt you."

"Vin, look at me" Chris said. Vin continued staring at his hands. "Vin." The sharpshooter slowly raised his eyes. "It doesn't have to be that way."

"I know, but it's hard."

"Yes it is," Chris said. "I think I'm ready to try."

Vin looked back at his hands, smearing at the dirt that wouldn't come off. "Chris, I..." His words were cut off by the sounds of horse hooves and neighing at the edge of the field.

"Another stampede?" Chris asked.

"Something like that. Get down." They lay flat on the ground, trying to be still. At the edge of the field, a small group of horses pranced, sensing something amiss.

"These horses were brought over a long time ago by the Spanish. Good bloodlines, but they escaped or were turned loose, and now they run free here; these ones ain't never worn saddles," Vin whispered.

Chris watched the wild horses, all of them a rich chocolate brown, with sleek lines and muscles. The stallion, probably 20 hands high, stepped into the field, nuzzling the apple Vin had thrown. He guzzled it down and pranced to the next. The other horses, mares mostly, with an older stallion and two young colts, followed quickly, racing to the apples scattered around the tree.

Vin and Chris watched as the animals ate, alert but not afraid, possessing a splendor Chris had never seen in an animal before. The old stallion moved closer to them, within three feet, and nibbled on the green grass there. He was close enough for Chris to see scars on his flanks and neck, and his eyes, bright and aware. The old horse snorted as a young colt stepped near him to also munch on the grass, and playfully nipped the colt's ear. Chris had to stifle a laugh as the colt nipped back.

As the colt ate, the older horse looked around, and saw the two men lying still as logs in the grass. For an instant the wise brown eyes looked at them with curiosity, then he neighed and the horses were gone, galloping off as quickly as they had appeared.

When they were gone, Chris rolled onto his back and smiled. "You were right. That was worth riding two days for."

"That mean you ain't gonna shoot my arm off?"

"I still might shoot you, but not for this."

Vin smiled. "I spent a lot of time here, years ago. There's a cave back there I lived in for about six months, after I got out the army. I didn't have nowhere to go, so I let my horse decide the direction, and we ended up here. I come back here every few years, to clear my head. Each time I'm afraid I'll get here and the horses won't be here anymore." He sat up and crossed his legs. "There's things I need to tell ya."

Chris rolled on his side. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Yeah, I do." He took a deep breath. "I was livin' with Two Bears' people when the Army came around lookin' fer scouts. We were young and full of piss and vinegar, and decided huntin' some Rebs or Cree sounded like a good idea. The head of the unit was a man named Conrad Singletary. He took a real special interest in me. I didn't know why at first. Figured maybe it was 'cause I was white gone Indian. Turned out to be true, but not for the reason I thought."

He leaned back against the tree. Chris sat still, like when he'd been afraid to spook the horses. He'd never heard Vin say so much at one time, and certainly not about himself.

"Conrad was real nice to me while we were out scoutin'. He'd have me back to his tent, which was real comfortable, at first for fancy stuff like tea. He even had some chocolate sent after he found out I liked it so much. He asked me about myself, and said it wasn't no shame I had no schoolin'. He treated me special, and no one had before." His smile was sad as he watched a breeze sway the weeds. "One thing led to another, and we were...together."

Chris thought there was probably a lot more to it than that, but he didn't interrupt.

"At first, things were good between us. He was nice all the time. I ain't never been with nobody before that, so I was pretty curious. Out there chasin' them Rebs was probably the happiest time in my life."

He stopped talking, and it didn't look like he would continue. "What happened?" Chris asked quietly.

Vin didn't look at him. "We went home, to Fort Clark. I didn't have ta go, 'cause they didn't need scouts at the Fort. Two Bears told me it was a bad idea, but I had to go. I wanted to be near Conrad, 'cept there were a few things he hadn't told me, like about his wife and daughter. When I found out, I was gonna leave, but he asked me to stay, and I did. You probably think that's a real horrible thing to do to his family."

Chris was actually thinking Conrad deserved to have his jaw broken. "No, I don't," he said.

"Things changed a lot. I stayed with his family, in this little room downstairs, and he'd sneak down at night, except he wasn't nice any more, like he was punishin' me. He even said I seduced him." He smiled sadly. "I didn't even know what that word meant."

Chris wanted to comfort him, to rest his hand over Vin's harshly working on the dirt on his knuckles, but he again held back. "It wasn't you he was angry at."

"I know that now, but I was too young and stupid at the time. His family was so nice to me, especially his daughter - she was my age - and I felt guilty. Then one day he told me if I was gonna live in his house, I had ta stop lookin' like a savage. And I did it. Didn't even think about it. Like a fuckin' coward, I cut my hair, put on fancy clothes, and tried to be respectable, all hopin' he'd be nice to me again."

Chris's heart broke for the young man treated so badly, too young to understand why. Vin's voice was monotone, as if he was reciting a laundry list, but Chris could feel the pain and embarrassment hidden underneath. "But it didn't work?" he asked.

"Nope. He told me to get out, and I did. It hurt like I'd been kicked in the gut by a mule, but I left." He pulled out a clump of grass and tossed it away. "Didn't care 'bout nothin' after that for a long time."

"Is that why you rode into an ambush?"

For a moment, Vin's eyes flashed anger and then he looked down again. "Not to kill myself, if that's what yer thinkin'. A few months later, the Army needed scouts again to track some renegade Indians. There was an ambush set up in Sunset Gulch. I knew it, but I couldn't prove it. I told Conrad, but he didn't believe me. He said I didn't know nothin' and told me to go back with the rest of the savages. I rode ahead to show him I was right."

He stopped speaking abruptly. Chris couldn't think of anything to say; he knew his fury at Conrad would make him say the wrong thing.

"You ain't got to say nothin'," Vin said. "It happened a long time ago. I wouldn't blame ya fer thinkin' less of me for it."

Chris sat up suddenly. "I don't think less of you. I'd kill that son of a bitch Conrad if he was standing here, but I don't think less of you."

"Indians beat ya to it."

"Listen, Vin, that man hurt you. He didn't deserve you, and he made you afraid of trusting people. I hope the Cree scalped him alive. You shouldn't blame yourself. You should never blame yourself for loving somebody." He moved closer, not quite touching Vin's tense body. "I won't hurt you. I swear."

"'Cause ya ain't got a family to keep me from," Vin said, regretting it as soon as he spoke. He didn't want to hurt Chris just because he'd been hurt.

Chris sat back, looking away. "Not anymore."

Vin wanted so much to try. He'd never let anyone get the best of him, and he wasn't going to let Conrad, dead or not. "I won't hurt you either," he said.

"I've had enough emptiness, just being with somebody because they're there," Chris said. "Is that what you want?"

Vin looked to the edge of the plain, where a few of the more daring horses still nibbled on grass. "There's a difference 'tween choosin' and forcin'," he said. "Reckon we're like a couple of them old wild horses, comin' in ta pasture."

Chris grinned. "Don't mean we've got to wear saddles."

Vin smiled back. "Never say never, cowboy."

Chris felt that smile all the way to his toes. "So what happens now?"

"I reckon I can teach ya the wisdom of my experience."

"Sounds like fun."

"Just so ya know, I ain't done this with any other man 'sides Conrad."

"You're still one up on me."

Chris sat back on the blanket, spreading it to give Vin some room. Vin knelt on the fabric. Neither of them moved.

"I ain't been this nervous in a long time," Chris admitted.

"Me either."

Chris shrugged out of his coat, and Vin followed suit. Vin started to unbutton his own shirt, then changed his mind and reached out for the buttons on Chris's black shirt. The gunslinger smiled and leaned back on his arms, watching Vin's fingers slide the buttons open. When the shirt was unbuttoned, Vin pushed the material open, revealing the smooth ivory skin of Chris's chest. Vin touched him, running his fingers along his ribs. Chris's skin was cool to the touch, and trembled under his fingertips.

"You got skin like a girl, Larabee," he said. "'Cept fer this." He brushed his fingers over the light smattering of hair on Chris's chest.

"With that long hair of yours, better be careful who you're calling a girl," Chris replied. "Put you in a dress and you'd be downright fetching."

"Put me in a dress and I'll fill ya full of lead."

Chris smiled. "We'd have to polish your manners some."

Vin moved his hands to the puckered scar on Chris's side, where the bullet had hit him at Ella Gaines' house. "Ain't polishin' nothin'," he said.

"Good. I like you just like this, warts and all."

"No warts. But if you're into that, I could find a toad fer ya."

Chris laughed and leaned his head back, lulled by Vin's gentle touch. It had been a long time since he'd been touched like that.

"You just gonna lay there and let me do all the work?" Vin asked, his thumb massaging Chris's nipple into a hard pebble.

"Mmm-hmmmm."

Vin shook his head. "At least take yer boots off."

Chris kicked off his boots, and sitting up, removed his gun belt. Vin watched his fluid movements, even in just taking off his boots. He'd long admired the grace Chris exhibited, every movement sleek and sinuous, like a cougar. His body was lean and strong, and despite Vin's earlier comment, very definitely a man's, and Vin wanted to explore every inch. He reached out to touch him some more, but Chris had other ideas.

Chris sat up, crossing his legs, and reached for the buttons of Vin's shirt, pausing a second to gauge Vin's reaction. When Vin didn't protest, he continued to unbutton the blue shirt, noticing for the first time how it matched the blue of his expressive eyes. He was so close he could feel Vin's breath on his neck, and he examined his friend more closely, taking in the strong lines of his jaw sprinkled with stubble. He could feel Vin's heartbeat as he unbuttoned the shirt, and the tracker licked his lips self-consciously as Chris stared at them, surprisingly smooth and full. He may have never been with a man before, but he sure as hell knew what to do next. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Vin's, barely tasting the softness before Vin pulled away.

"You don't want me to do that?" Chris asked.

"I...Conrad didn't."

"I'm not him," Chris said, pulling Vin toward him and covering Vin's mouth with his, exploring the parted lips with his tongue, drinking in the taste of this man. But when Vin started kissing him back, pulling his hips forward and swirling his tongue around his, Chris lost all conscious thought, aware only of the blinding need to be touched, held, cared for; the same need Vin was feeling.

The rest of their clothes were removed in a flurry; pants and boots tossed into the grass as hands and lips explored and caressed. Vin lightly touched the raw skin and horseshoe-shaped bruise on Chris's leg.

"Sorry about this," he said quietly.

"Sorry for what? Getting shot and falling off your horse?" Chris asked.

Vin smiled. "Yeah, fer gettin' shot and fallin' off my horse."

"Just don't do it again."

"Don't plan to. Does it hurt?"

"Not as much as I'm hurting somewhere else."

Vin ran his hands up and down Chris's taut thighs, his fingers kneading the lean muscles as he pulled Chris closer, until their hard cocks rubbed against each other. He felt Chris moan as they kissed, or maybe the moan was his; the kiss was more passionate, more intimate than anything he'd ever known. He felt like he'd torn open his soul to let Chris in, and instead of fear he felt whole, that this was what he'd been waiting for his whole life, and had almost pushed away.

Chris held onto Vin like a life raft, amazed at the smoothness and warmth of his bronzed skin. He could feel Vin's back muscles quiver under his fingertips, and Vin moaned as he moved his hands lower to cup his tight ass. The friction of their cocks was white heat, pain and pleasure blending into an indefinable intensity that could only be called need. He pulled himself from Vin's swollen mouth and ran his tongue along the sharpshooter's jaw, scratchy with stubble, and down to the hollow of his neck. Vin's head fell back as he enjoyed the gentle ministrations, and Chris moved his hands to Vin's ribs, still tender, brushing his lips against the sensitive skin around the still-healing bullet wound, then down to his hard nipples. There he paused. It hit him then that this was Vin, a man, and what they were doing -- what felt so good and so right -- was supposed to be wrong.

Vin looked up to see Chris staring at him. His heart was beating so fast he thought Chris could see it pounding against his chest. "Change yer mind?" he asked.

Chris looked into his eyes. "Not a chance. I was just thinking how right this feels."

Vin released the breath he'd been holding. "Good thing. I didn't want to have to deck ya fer startin' somethin' you didn't finish."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "You could try."

Vin wrapped his hand around Chris's swollen cock. "Got somethin' else in mind, if yer done talkin'."

Chris closed his eyes as Vin gently stroked his shaft. "Done talking," he said.

Vin smiled. He shifted his position so he was kneeling and ducked down his head, swirling the pearl of pre-cum off Chris's cock before taking the engorged head into his mouth.

Chris's eyes flew open as his cock was engulfed in wet heat. "Jesus, Vin," he said, watching in wonder as Vin took all of him deep in his throat, his long hair tickling Chris's thighs as his head bobbed up and down. Chris moved one hand to touch the silky strands, lacing his fingers in the curls. He didn't know how anyone could ask Vin to cut his hair. It was a part of him, as much as his sense of justice and being a smart-ass.

Vin smiled, enjoying the gentle touch on his head and the way Chris tensed under his mouth. He tenderly pulled back Chris's foreskin and lightly swirled his tongue around the delicate exposed skin, causing Chris's grip on his hair to tighten as he moaned in pleasure. Vin sucked on his whole cock once more, licking at the hot tangy skin. It had been a long time since he'd done this, but it was different this time. He wasn't trying anxiously to please; instead he felt the power of giving pleasure, the vulnerability and strength of so intimate an act. He moved faster, wanting to bring Chris to completion, but the gunslinger stopped him.

"I want you to teach me," Chris said, his voice hoarse with need. "Together."

Vin nodded. He wanted it too, to feel Chris inside him. He opened Chris's saddlebag and rummaged until he found saddle oil. He handed the small bottle to Chris and knelt on his hands and knees on the blankets. "You got to smooth the way," he said quietly, remembering a time when Conrad had not, uncaring of the pain it had caused them both. He had been punishing both of them. Vin shook his head to clear the memory.

Chris stared down at the bottle in his hand, then at the man before him. He knelt behind him, placing his hands on Vin's hips, feeling the sharpshooter tense slightly. "You sure you're okay with this?" he asked. "We can switch places if you want."

"No, I want it," Vin replied.

Chris poured a small amount of oil onto his hands. "If those Temperance women think drinking is a sin, then this would sure as hell curl their hair."

Vin raised his head. "Those old women ain't exactly what I want ta be thinkin' about right now."

Chris laughed. "Me either." He ran his oil-slickened hands over the smooth mounds of Vin's ass, but something still bothered him. "What happens when we go back, Vin?" he said, still smoothing the taut white skin. "I ain't gonna stop no matter what you answer, but will this be a one-time thing?"

"It's gonna be a none-time thing if you don't quit yer jabberin'," Vin said, gritting his teeth. His cock bounced against his belly; Chris's light touch was making it nearly unbearable.

"Damn, Vin. You get grouchy when you fuck."

"Only 'cause there ain't no fuckin' goin' on."

Chris moved his hand to Vin's tight puckered hole, tracing it with his finger. It pulsed beneath his touch, and Vin pushed back. Chris slid the oiled digit inside the barrier, gingerly at first. Vin tensed at the breach, then relaxed, and Chris slid his finger in further. It felt tight and warm inside. He looked at Vin, his back rounded and his head bowed, gripping the blanket with white knuckles. Chris didn't know if he was feeling pleasure or pain.

"Vin?" he asked.

"Yeah, this is what I want, and we'll do it every day on Main Street if you'll get on with it."

Chris smiled again. "That's tempting, but do we have to do it this way?"

"I told ya..."

"No, I mean you on your hands and knees like that." He pulled his hand away and sat back.

Vin turned to look at him. "I reckon I could stand against the tree."

"That's not what I had in mind." Chris gently pushed Vin's backside down until he was sitting, then eased him back so he was lying on the blankets. Chris knelt between his knees. "This way you can see it's me," he said.

Vin looked up and was stunned by the sight in front of him. Chris hair was tousled, his eyes bright as emeralds. His full lips were red from Vin's kisses. It was as if Vin was seeing him for the first time, and there was only Chris and him alone in this wild grassland. All thoughts of Conrad fled from his head and he reached up to touch Chris's chest. "I want you, Chris," he said, his hand resting on the pulse of Chris's heart.

Chris smiled. "About damn time," he said.

"I think ya used more than yer three words a day by now."

"Less talk, more action?"

"Exactly." Vin laid his hands down and watched as Chris coated his hands again in oil, and relaxed as Chris slid his fingers inside his body again, stretching him. The need he felt wasn't anything he could name. It was more than need, more than want or desire. His breath caught as he put a name to it: love. What he and Chris had was love. No one else would understand, or even know about it, but he felt it and Chris felt it, and that was all that mattered.

Chris rubbed oil on his swollen cock, placing it at the entrance to Vin's body. "Ready?" he asked.

"God, yes."

He slid in slowly, gasping as he felt himself surrounded by pure wet heat, so tight he almost came immediately. He slid in all the way then stopped, looking down into Vin's eyes. "Jesus, Vin, it's incredible."

Vin clenched the blankets; he'd been empty for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to be filled. "Feels better if ya move."

Chris slid out slowly and then back in. "Like that?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Chris slid out and in again, gradually increasing speed as his body took over. He brushed against Vin's prostate, and Vin moaned. He hit it again and again, harder and faster, rewarded with more moans from the man beneath him. He grabbed Vin's cock with one hand, pumping the rock-hard organ in time to his thrusts.

Vin writhed beneath him on the blanket, overwhelmed with the sensation of Chris inside him. He wanted more, he wanted everything; he moved his hands to Chris's ass, pulling him deeper inside, and heard Chris's moan match his own. They were moving as one, each wanting more and wanting to give more, each rushing over the edge but wanting the other to get there first. Like a flash of lightning they came together, Vin's seed spilling over Chris's pumping hand and Chris's coating his insides with warmth.

Chris collapsed on top of him, his breath coming in short gasps. The intensity of his orgasm left him feeling like he'd never move again.

"God, Vin," he said, finally pushing himself off so he could roll to the side. "You've been holding out on me."

"Not anymore."

"You won't have to ever again," Chris said. He turned, looking into Vin's amused eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Yer a quick learner, Larabee. I mean, I heard you were fast."

"I heard that too."

They settled back onto the blanket, looking upward into the pure blue of the sky framed by the gently swaying leaves of the tree above; occasionally touching, gently, tentatively, as if reassuring each other they were really there.

Chris ran his hand along the curve of Vin's arm, tracing the faded bruise. "Bruises are almost gone," he said.

Vin grabbed his hand, but instead of pushing it away, he pulled it towards him, placing it over his heart. "They're completely gone."

THE END