Wild Horses by Stacie

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