Nightingale by Anne Tolar

Chapter 1

Mark Horton killed Frank Bishop at Bishop's ranch outside of Four Corners. The scruffy miscreant on a gray stallion wasted no time doing it. Horton simply rode up to Bishop and shot him dead, right in front of Bishop's wife and four children. Then he took the prize chestnut stallion out of Bishop's corral and rode off. As he left, he had the audacity to look down at Jessie, Frank's wife, and sneer, "Teach you people to steal that horse from Mark Horton... steal a white man's horse. You best teach these young bucks of yours to stay in their place."

The wagon carrying Frank's body, Jessie, and her equally traumatized children, pulled up in front of the office of Circuit Judge Orrin Travis. It was the only place Jessie could think to bring her husband's body. She was in shock, but still she knew she could trust Travis to help her find justice. He was a fair man, and he had been Frank's friend since the day they arrived in the territory. The fact that their skin was nowhere near the same shade had made no difference to either man.

Stepping down from the wagon, she found herself swept into the arms of the Judge's daughter-in-law, Mary, even before Travis was beside her. The blonde-headed woman understood the loss of a husband, the terror in a child's eyes, and the need for justice. Jessie studdered her news. "That man said Frank stole his horse... Frank didn't steal that horse... Frank was a good man, God fearing, honest. What are my babies and I going to do?"

Jessie was a little surprised, when she stopped a bit from her sobbing, to see Nathan Jackson and Chris Larabee both arriving together at a full out run. She knew who Nathan was. He was a medical man who had become a dear friend. Nathan had visited the ranch numerous times, sometimes to tend someone who was sick, but most often to just talk and pass the time.

Jessie knew who Chris Larabee was, too. She knew Nathan trusted him completely. Though she had no real reason to dislike him, she couldn't bring herself to truly trust him. She had watched him in a fight with Joshua Fieldman, another negro man who had come to the territory with his mother and father and a wagonload of siblings. Larabee had beaten Joshua to a bloody pulp and put him in jail for a week. Jessie, when she thought of it, had to give Larabee credit that he didn't shoot Joshua. The man in black wouldn't have been faulted for doing it. Joshua had drawn a .44 on the gunslinger, a young tough challenging a well-know, high seasoned, gunfighter to a duel in the street. Larabee had refused to fight, and even when cursed by the boy, he had just kicked the gun from Joshua's hand and started punching.

Larabee hadn't been faulted for giving the boy a sound thrashing either. The young man got in jabs enough at first to bloody Larabee's face pretty well. Larabee, once he got the upper hand, didn't stop punching until Joshua was kissing the boardwalk, out cold. Still, Joshua was alive, and Larabee made sure the boy got tended to in the jail, before he tended to his own damaged face. Still, the man did have a notorious reputation.

Larabee was the first to speak. "Mrs. Bishop?" He tipped his hat and spoke with respect, "What happened to Frank? Are you and your children okay?" He swept the smallest one, the tiny girl, into his arms and patted her back gently as she cried.

When he had heard the full story, he just looked from Nathan to the Judge, "Ma'am, Nathan and the rest of our men will see to what you need at the ranch. Which way did the man go? Did you get his name?"

"He said it was Mark Horton, Mr. Larabee, and he left heading toward Eagle Bend. He didn't care if we knew his name. He didn't seem to think anyone would care about Frank. Why do you want to know, Mr. Larabee?"

"Just call me Chris, ma'am, and I'll be heading out to find him. Should'a known white trash that would do something like this would come from that hell hole... pardon me. You can be sure you're gonna see justice, ma'am. I give you my word."

"You're set on this? You believe that Frank didn't steal that horse?"

"I knew your husband, Mrs. Bishop. He was a good, family man."

"I didn't think you knew him much, much less cared to be his friend. Why do you care?"

"Truth told, I can't say we were real tight, but he was right there by me when we were fighting those men who tried to torch the town. He was right there, fighting for his family, fighting to save the town. He was a good man. If I remember right, I saw him buy that chestnut stud. When I saw him looking it over, I was a little jealous. He sure enough knew good horseflesh. Frankly, I was wishing I'd seen it first. That one would have been the start of a good herd. I'll try to get it back for you, too. Wouldn't have mattered though. If Frank said he bought that horse, he bought it. Best thing I can do now is clear his name, and bring his killer to justice." He turned to talk to Orrin Travis, "Judge, it's time for me to ride."

"Mr. Larabee, you're right, and I'll make up a warrant for Mark Horton. I want to be sure other lawmen know your hunt's a legal one. You're heading for Eagle Bend, Mr. Larabee. You know that town and Sheriff Stains. Don't you want someone to ride with you?"

Nathan eased the child from Chris's arms and turned to where Jessie and Mary stood. "Mrs. Bishop, while they're planning, why don't Mary and I go with you to the undertaker, get Frank off the street."

Chris had stopped to watch them move, letting himself think of his alternatives. "No, Judge. I'll see to this. Do me a favor and send Vin to take care of delivering Lumas up to Shiprock. I'm supposed to do it, but Vin'll handle it. On second thought, with Lumas's record and his size, you might want to send Josiah with Vin. Give him an edge if the guy decides to move sideways."

"Fine... I'll see to it. What about taking Buck with you?"

"Need him and J.D. here. Ezra's got the saloon crowd during his so called 'festival of cards'. Buck and J.D. need to cover the streets, and somebody's got to watch out for Maude... You taking that part?"

"Not willingly, but I'll try to keep her away from the tables, at least for Ezra's sake. At least, when she's not causing trouble, she can be a seemingly refined companion."

"Just don't let her cozy up to you," Chris's grin was mischievious.

"I do have scruples, Mr. Larabee. She doesn't meet my standards."

"I'll remember you said that. Anyway, you get stuck with her by your side, take Mary along as your chaperone. She's bound to make a move for power and money, if not just for looks. You sure don't want the citizens keeping score of your dalliances. Oh, and remember, she's the one who taught Ez to wear the derringer up his sleeve."

"I see. Taking Mary sounds like a very good idea. Now, back to you. What about you taking Nathan along?"

"Judge, I've thought of him too, but Mrs. Bishop's gonna need help and support for a spell. She's only got one old enough to help run that spread. She'll need a man to help keep those boys in line. Nathan's the one to do it. She trusts him, and all three of the boys like him well enough. You know she don't trust me for nothing. She'd be more willing to trust J.D. She won't want me around no matter what... thinks I'm a bad influence for those boys. No, I'll do her more good finding the son-of-a-bitch that shot her husband."

"Well, that leaves you on your own then... but it's Eagle Bend, Chris. You watch out for Sheriff Stains."

"He best watch out for me! You just make sure Mary starts the count. I ain't back in ten days, she can send somebody hunting."

"Let's make it five days. This is Stains and Eagle Bend."

"Fine. I'm out of here in an hour... give or take a few."

He had his black gelding, Pony, saddled and hitched outside Ezra's saloon in no time. The gambler/saloon manager was topping off a nice silver flask with single malt whiskey for his friend, and turned to offer him an extra glass. "To start the trip off on a sweet note, Mr. Larabee."

"Thanks, Ez."

Chris didn't take nearly long enough to savor the fine libation Ezra had offered. He hated to gulp it, but he had to move. He picked up his loaded saddle bags, tucked the flask into the top of one, and picking up his bedroll and canteen headed for the saddle and ride. He found Mary there with Inez coming out of the saloon behind him. They both held provision packs, and Chris wondered if a fight was going to start before the trip. He grinned mostly to himself, smiled at them both, and tipped his hat. "Ladies?"

Inez spoke first, "Senor Chris, I have filled some tortillas for your ride. Viya con dios."

"Thanks, Inez. That looks like a nice meal. I appreciate it."

The woman turned and left him there alone with Mary. He smiled at the woman and gave her a quick, friendly hug.

She flipped his hat up and smiled into his eyes. "See... Inez and I are friends, Chris. We're not about to fight over the bad element of Four Corners, now are we?"

He blushed to know she had read him so easily. "Oh, I see. I'm not worth tugging over?"

"Hush." She smiled up at him softly. "Now, these are my biscuits and most of a fried chicken... just the best parts. And don't you go staying in the saddle too long before you eat and get some rest." She reached up and straightening his hat back on his head, running tender fingers through his rowdy hair as she place it to his liking.

"You two are going to make me fat and lazy, you know. I don't think I've ridden anywhere with so much good food going with me." He looked seriously into her eyes. "The count's five days, Mary. Five days, or you run them out of the saloon. Use an ax handle if they ain't moving fast enough."

"I'll use a whip if I have to. Chris... nobody's around, so I can say it... you be careful. I don't like where you're going, or who you're apt to have to tangle with. You're mended, I know, but still, you take care of yourself for me. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll be real careful." He grinned at her and turned toward his horse, He turned back suddenly, "Oh... I meant to ask last week... When's this dance I'm hearing about?" He mounted his horse, preparing to ride, but he sat there and looked down at her, smiling cockily, "You do know that this is me asking you to go with me to that thing? You just remember you're a spoke for woman. Okay?"

"I'll remember. Thank you, Chris. I'll look forward to us dancing again. Oh... you remember it's two weeks from tomorrow night. Don't get sidetracked."

"I won't. If I ain't back by then, you're gonna kill me anyway. We're set. Now, let me get going or I'm sure going to be late. You won't like that, and then we'll be fighting too hard to enjoy the dance."

"I'll be doubly mad if you come back hurt. Keep yourself safe."

"Okay... enough of that... somebody's gonna hear and you'll spoil my reputation." He grinned and hauled back on Pony's reins. The black gelding backed, kicked a few times, and reared up sharply. Chris fought him into control, turned to stare one more time at Mary. Unconcerned about who might see him, the tough gunslinger gave the beautiful woman a warm, tender smile, and he waved with his arm fully raised and his palm open toward her. She heard him say, "Move out, you jug head," as he kicked the horse into a gallop and was too soon gone from her view.

Chapter 2

He whistled as he rode toward Eagle Bend. The day was warm but comfortable. Pony moved in his silkiest gait. Chris knew the route by heart and only had to be normally wary. He saw only one stagecoach in the distance and a small herd of cattle on a distant hill. It was a peaceful ride.

Chris had no worries as he built a small camp and settled himself and his horse for the night. He fed Pony some grain, and from his provisions he ate heartily with chicken and biscuits, tortillas, coffee, and a couple of nice, small sips from the silver flask. He saluted Ezra as he appreciated the drink. He finished it all off with a totally bare dip in the cold running water of a nearby stream. Full and clean and dressed again, he took out one of his good cheroots and dropped beside the crackling fire to gaze up at the millions of stars above his head, then to read a bit from the little book he had tucked into his saddlebag. As he sat, he realized that he was enjoying the first night he had spent totally alone in a long time, but, at the same time, he knew he was missing his friends. He checked one time on Pony, mostly to have something to talk to for a few minutes. He laughed as he turned back to the thick bedroll, "You keep watch this time... and don't you dare fall asleep." The horse snorted and went back to grazing. Chris rolled the top blanket around himself, settling in for a good sleep with nothing and nobody warming his bed except his leather holster and his constant companion... the shiny, pearl handled .44.

He broke camp just after sunrise, wishing that his friends, Vin and Buck, were there to help him wake, people beside himself he could chide for being a lazy slug-a-bed. He had saved two biscuits and a couple of pieces of chicken for breakfast, which made him glad that he wasn't reduced yet to eating jerky. He rode out whistling again, only slightly disturbed by the now threatening sky.

When he passed a cold buried camp fire at the base of the hill, he wondered if he had slept so soundly that close to his wanted man the night before. There had been two horses staked out for certain, and one had a nicked shoe like Frank's oldest son had mentioned.

Pony's ears flattened against his skull, and his shoulders twitched as he and Chris rounded the final curve into the main street of Eagle Bend. Chris felt his own senses sharpen as he pulled up in front of the Raven's Heart saloon. As his boot heel hit the dirt and his spurs rang out, the sky opened up the last bit and threatened to drown the man before he made it inside.

Chris remembered this saloon and his encounter with Cletus Fowler, the man who had murdered Chris's wife and son. He couldn't help remembering the fight and how the man met his death in a stable fire. His memories went to Sheriff Stains, a more recent arrival, and that man's attempt to hang Nathan's father without a trial. It seemed the memories and the feel of the whole town set all of Chris's nerves on edge.

Even the barkeep made him edgy. There was no piano at this time of the day, early in the afternoon. Few men sat at the tables, and the ones there spoke no word of greeting to the man entering their space. He approached the keep quietly, "Seen this man today?" He held up the drawing of the man Jessie Bishop had described.

This barkeep was the same one as Larabee remembered taking over for the one Fowler murdered for simply talking with Larabee. The man was belligerent, "And why would I tell you, Larabee?"

"He's wanted for murder in Four Corners. I'm after him."

"Larabee, you ain't after NOBODY in MY town!"

The familiar, threatening voice sent a shock of anger through Chris, who had never liked Stains. This was a man who hated for no reason, hated anyone not like himself, enforced a code of mangled justice established only by the rules Stains made for the town. Chris and Orrin Travis both had always felt that Stains made a mockery of the law, didn't deserve his badge, but still, the reprobates of Eagle Bend liked him just fine. They were free to sin as they pleased with Stains as sheriff. Travis had yet to find a way to take him down from his post. The town was just like Stains liked it... a pest hole, one step away from total hell.

Chris faced him, leaving no chance for the man to draw. "I'm riding for the Territorial Judge Orrin Travis. I've got a warrant for Mark Horton. I'm takng him back to Four Corners to stand trial for horse theft and murder. We got five eye witnesses to both counts. If he don't hang for one, he'll sure as hell hang for the other. Don't get in my way, Stains."

"Horton ain't stole nothing. He was in Eagle Bend when you say he done it."

"I ain't said nothing 'bout when he done it."

Stains laughed, "Don't matter. He's still here."

"You don't care that he killed a man in front of his wife and four children... all to steal a horse?"

"Darky stole that horse. Course, you'd say the darky wasn't guilty. They're never guilty to you. I suggest you get the hell out of my town, Larabee. You keep going after Horton, I'm coming after you!"

"I got Orrin Travis's warrant for him, you bastard. I ain't going back without him. You get in my way, you'll be riding back with him. Count on it." Chris picked up his saddle bags without turning his back on the man. He walked out into the now pesky drizzle. It wasn't the rain that sent the shiver down his spine.

Chris walked his horse down and across the muddy street to the home/office of Dr. Bill Simmons, glad to know that for once he was going to talk to the doctor while he was moving upright and healthy. He called from the street before he pulled open the door, "HEY DOC!" He stepped through with, "got a minute!"

The gray-haired, somewhat grizzled man came from the back with a broad smile and a familiar retort, "Dag-nab-it, Larabee. What's wrong with you this time? Who you make mad this time? You dragging that right leg again? Anybody shot you lately? You staying out of the way of that boy?"

The two men shook hands firmly, each remembering the not so long ago accident when a young boy, practicing with his father's .44, had shot four bullets into Larabee's body. Chris had healed slow and mean and miserable thanks to the doc's and Nathan's less than tender bedside manners. Getting off laudanum and morphine had been nearly as bad as the wounds.

"I just try to make sure he ain't packing nothing before I tell him hello." He had forgiven the boy, and looked forward to seeing him turn into the fine man he was destined to become.

Simmons let his true concern show through a little, making Larabee blush. "Everything mended for real?"

"Mostly," Chris told the truth. "Back hurts when it rains like this."

"I can give you some powders to help with that. They'll keep you mellow enough on bad days."

"Mellow? More mellow than rye whiskey?"

"Well, yeah."

"Thanks, doc, but I think I'd rather have the rye. It don't make me near as loco as your junk. Look, for once I ain't here to talk about me."

"Well, shoot, Larabee. I's hoping I'd get to poke on you're a bit, you being such a patient fella."

"No, thanks! You know anybody around here named Mark Horton?"

"Hell, Larabee. You mess with him, I'll be poking on you soon enough. He's a miserable cuss... thief, backstabber. People say he's a backshooter, too. I've patched up enough of his victims to give you a real warning about him. What you chasing him for?"

"Stole a prime chestnut stallion, murdered a man to do it. I've got a warrant from the Judge for him." Larabee lit a cheroot and took a long, slow drag.

"Larabee, dag-nab-it, put that thing out, or we'll take it outside. You can stand downwind."

"You ain't complained before!"

"Well, I am now! You're messing up my air."

"Outside then." They walked outside, where Chris eased himself slowly into a hardback chair.

"Yeah? It just hurts when it rains?" Simmons poked on his friend's back.

"Hell, doc. Harder the damn rain, worse that thing hurts. Not too bad when I've been in the saddle, unless it's been a couple of days. Hell, it's getting easier anyway."

"Good... good lie... now get downwind with that stinking thing. Got to where the smoke and smell of them things make me cough."

"Sorry." Chris rose, stretching himself tall as he moved to another chair. Doc noticed his hand go to his back and push in hard as he eased down again. He made no sound or complaint.

"One of these days, somebody's gonna tell us them things is deadly as hell."

Chris was amazed to see how seriously Simmons considered that opinion. "You think? I'd sure miss my smokes."

Simmons looked down the street and rubbed his whiskered chin, "Was you asking me about Mark Horton?"

"Yeah... why?"

"Well, the talk's been nice, and I'm glad for your company, but that's him at the livery with Stains."

"Damn... that man was at the saloon. Stains didn't even look his way."

"Why'd he give away his partner?"

"Partner? Stains has a partner?"

"Yeah. Can't prove it, but Stains and him are suspected horse thieves and rustlers, pure and simple. Horton does the thieving, Stains the selling. Seems they make pretty good money at it... all profit you know. Stains has a pretty big spread out to the west. Nobody's welcome unless it's by invitation."

"In other words, I'm not welcome to just stumble in?"

"YOU ain't welcome if you ride in with a whole bucket of gold, son. Looks like they're talking pretty hard 'bout something. At least Horton's got his mount saddled. Expect Stains wants him out of sight 'til you give up the hunt."

"He don't know me at all, does he?" Chris laughed softly and puffed the cheroot. Simmons knew him enough to understand how serious he was about this particular hunt.

"Don't get so uppity. Go put your horse on the side of the house and get yourself back inside. Give those two time to settle on their jawin' and pick their move. Don't 'spect you want to just walk up and test the two of 'em together. You ain't that willing for me to cut on ya, are ya?"

"No... Not again."

"Well, we'll just have us a sip of something nice to warm your back, then you can follow Horton out. At that point, you ought to at least know what you're up against. When Horton leaves, if Stains ain't going with him, I'll try to keep him occupied, at least for a spell.

Chris quickly moved the horse and slipped into Doc's back door, remembering at the last moment to ditch the cheroot. He gratefully accepted the glass of whiskey and sipped along with doc. They sat in hardback chairs and watched the two men through a curtained window. They talked about their time at Jericho... the work camp they had both been imprisoned in... where doc had first met and mended Chris Larabee. The conversation circled around how it felt to be held without a way of escaping, and how it felt to live so close to death more than once.

Chris got quiet when they had covered the hell of Jericho. From the way he finally shifted, Simmons knew he had found something important he wanted to say. "Doc, look, I 'preciate you keeping an eye on Stains, but don't you make him mad at you. Don't let him know you're working with me. Every once in a while, somebody has to put up with your hellacious mending. Hope it ain't me needs you next time, you understand, but still..."

"Dag-nab-it, Larabee, I think you just might be wising up." He man finished his single malt, his face showing first worry, then mirth, "Naw... you just got a little of your luck going... that's all. You watch it. Look, there goes Horton! You say it was a chestnut horse he stole?"

"Yeah." Larabee peered out the window as Horton mounted and rode west. "It wasn't that gray stud he's riding. Reckon he's got it at the ranch? I need to get hold of the horse too. Need the proof so I can make him pay for what he did."

"Your horse hold up to that gray?"

"That gray ain't that young. Shoot, Pony'll keep with any piece of horseflesh you show him. If I want him to move out, take front, he'll do that too. Okay, Doc... I'm gone. Thanks for the drink and the talk. Hope our next visit's this friendly, and painless."

"Me, too, but dag-nab-it, Larabee," he moved to his desk and picked up a large group of small envelopes, "you stick this stuff in your saddle bag. It'll help if anything hurts... best for your back that I've got. You can have up to three a day but no more... Hear me? More than three will make you sick as a dog, put you in a heap of trouble."

"I hear ya, Doc. Anything to show it ain't working right?"

"Might get way too sleepy. You sleep more than one good night with any one packet... you cut the dose in half. That still makes you too drunk or tired, let the damn stuff alone... just put up with hurt, or drink a little of that flask... don't waste that stuff."

"I hear ya. Thanks."

"Now, sit a few more. Keep your dang head out of that window. And why didn't you bring somebody to watch your back?"

"All busy, Doc. I'm a grown man... I'll watch my own back. Now, if we're going to sit again, let's just have us a sip of Ezra's finest."

"Man of style, Larabee! Oh, that's fine. Sure is better than that swill we sucked on at Jericho."

"Hell, doc. From my point of view, at that hell hole, that 'swill' was pure ambrosia."

Chapter 3

Stains went back into the saloon as Horton headed west. Larabee and Simmon followed their own plan. They parted as Chris rode way back, tracking the hoof prints of the gray. The trip toward the ranch took hours under a slow, soaking rain, but the destination was worth the seeing. The fields were large and lush, the horses sleek and lazy. Chris sat his mount from the top of a ridge and watched as the speck he knew to be Horton rode through the center of the spread.

Chris inched slowly down the hill, aware of the men below, keeping eyes peeled for anyone that noticed his approach. Horton rode for a corral where the chestnut was being held. Nobody had made the effort to hide the animal at all. Approaching the pen, Horton dismounted and immediately pulled a whip down from the corral railing. Used to using such whips to work horses in the ring, Chris watched closely to see what the animal's moves were like.

Horton popped it loud. The chestnut reared, screaming at the approach of the man. As Horton entered the horse's domain, the stallion charged, teeth bared, head down, hooves flashing as he tried to grind the demon he faced under his hooves.

The whip wasn't used for instruction or for encouragement... it was meant to induce pain. Horton used it to hit the animal's hide, and Larabee felt as if the blow had struck his own flesh. A man with a deep love and respect for horses, a man who knew the feel of such marks, he felt his hand reach for the rifle in his scabbard. He knew if he made the mistake of firing, he might save the chestnut another blow, but he would become the target himself of all those men below. There would be no way out, and he wanted to finish this job. He wanted Horton to hang for the murder of Frank Bishop, even more than he wanted him to die for beating an animal. Chris knew he had to find patience.

He sat there on Pony, scratching his friend's ear, plotting his next move. He cringed every time Horton struck out at the chestnut. The horse continued to fight, retreating a few moments each time it felt the bite of the whip. Then it would charge again. Chris cursed and wished the horse's hooves would pulverize the man who provided the torment, figuring getting stomped to death would serve justice just as well as hanging.

He was still trying to plot a way to take the man when the bullet hit him in the back, up by his left shoulder blade. As he tried to push up and get moving, he cursed himself for sitting so much in the open and getting so caught up in the horse's plight. He cursed himself even more when a second round zipped past his ribs, just below the first bleeding wound. He kicked Pony hard and broke for the copse of trees to the right, hoping for fast cover and a chance to pinpoint his assailant. As he had moved, so had the man who hunted him as Chris hunted Horton. A third bullet dug into the fleshy part of his right leg, and he also noted a hot, singeing burn across his skull as he slumped forward over Pony's neck and held on as they ran.

He heard something crack as he disappeared into the trees. Close to losing consciousness, Chris gave the horse its head and dug weak fingers into Pony's mane. "Run... Run, boy... Get us out of here!"

When he was conscious again, he was still thankfully on Pony's back, soaked to the skin in spite of his black coat. Thunder and lightening crackled and snapped all around him. He tried to push himself upright in the saddle but only groaned as he felt the protest of all the wounds. The move jolted him awake and made him somewhat aware of a building of some kind. One long story, adobe maybe, gray-white definitely, the place had some type of structure attached on the side. Pony moved gently toward that lower structure.

Even the easy move made Chris yell, but he held to the horse, knowing he needed warmth and shelter. His teeth had begun to chatter. He became aware that the rain was still falling, but it no longer poured down his neck and head. He felt himself slipping toward unconsciousness again and moved, trying to get his stiff right leg over the saddle. The first movement made him gasp, scream, and puke. He didn't have the strength to move back and grab the animal's neck. He knew that as soon as consciousness deserted him, he was going to take a terrible fall.

Chapter 4

Terrible... The pain was all of that. The new effort to move made him scream, and he fought the hands he felt. He knew he hadn't wanted to move... his body demanded it... but he sure didn't want to feel the knife twisting in his shoulder. The hands held him down for what seemed an eternity. Somehow he knew the hands weren't strong enough to keep him down, except now when he felt so weak and the fire in his shoulder made him too shaky to do anything but cry out. He was grateful for the moments he passed out, hated the gouges in his flesh that brought him back to consciousness again. The shoulder had been bad enough, but now something that burned was against his ribs. He had no strength at all to fight this time. He just took it.

Sometime later, there was a little cool liquid to seep past his parched lips, but it was just before the fire and the knife sank deep into his leg. That time he screamed and fought and felt the world go dark again.

A bigger set of hands caused the sharp pain in his left arm. It started close to the shoulder, and it traveled the length of his whole arm, twisting, grinding, making him sick. The scream ended abruptly and the arm got easier. The face above him provided a smile, "ése ahora es todo. Usted puede reclinarse."

He saw that face replaced by worried dark brown eyes that looked down into his face and said something he didn't begin to understand. But one of them provided another sip of water and touched him with a hard but cool hand... the last thing he remembered.

Eyes kept changing. The next set was accompanied by warm brown skin and a very young face, framed with straight black hair. "Water?" was all he could croak through his tired body. He turned his head slightly to see if the other eyes were there, but the move brought pain back and made him sick again. Hands instantly bathed his burning forehead. The eyes turned away for a moment and said something he didn't understand, but Chris was tired from fighting the torture and weak from loss of blood. He needed escape and sleep more than he needed to understand. He never considered if he was in danger; never wondered if the gaze came from friend or foe. He drank from the cup at his lips, shut out the worried eyes, and slept.

On waking, he felt totally drained, terribly empty, and totally confused. Brown eyes, another pair of brown eyes, filled with questions, stared down at him, then gasped as they discovered that he had managed to wake up. The shout drove a spike through his brain. "Prisa! Prisa! Maria! …l es despierto."

Chris's right hand went instinctively for his holster, but he didn't find it. He tried to push up. The blanket he lay under slid to his lap and he discovered that the gun wasn't the only thing he lacked. He was totally bare, except for small mounds of bloody bandages. The worried eyes... the beautiful worried eyes that he recognized... were coming into the door at the far side of the room. They were female, and young... too young. He snatched the blanket up as best he could with his right hand, then lay back as his energy gave out. He groaned as his shoulder made contact with the mound of hay he lay on. Strands of the hay bounced up around him, the resulting sneeze jarring him to the very bone.

"Oooooooooh! What in the hell!" He didn't say it loud, but he tried to come up again to escape the pain. She had reached him by then, and she pushed firmly against his chest. As weak as a day old wolf pup, he crashed back to the floor and heard himself sob as all the pain found him again.

"Ningún, señor. No se mueva. Usted está lastimado muy gravemente." The words came in a child's voice, but like a woman's serious tirade. Chris didn't understand the first or any of the rest. The girl placed a small cup against his lips and poured the first contents into his mouth. It was a weak, watery, foul tasting broth, only slightly warm, but Chris drank it all, sip by sip, barely able to keep it down, but knowing he needed it. The effort exhausted him. He lay quiet for a long time, watching the girl and the other two children he now recognized. He became aware that they were all occupying a battered hovel where the rooms of the house were now open in many places to the lean-to stable. He lay inside the house, but the open air against his skin was cold and damp.

The other two were boys who seemed to rest all of the time, except when the girl spoke and they moved to do her bidding... mostly bringing in small amounts of wood to feed the meager fire that was too far away to offer Chris any real warmth. As his body gathered a little strength from the broth, he could realize that the building had been a small but comfortable home at one time, but the rain now dripped in. He also understood that these children were gaunt and poorly clothed, and he wondered whose broth they had offered to keep him alive. He pushed himself up, and he got another firm chiding from the girl, who once again pushed him down and set off a fit of sneezing.

"Ningún, señor. Usted debe todavía estar hasta que el hidalgo del padre vuelve. Usted tiene fiebre, y no tenemos no más de vendaje para cubrir estas heridas."

Chris shivered, recognizing the cold as coming partly from fever rising from his body. He began to cough, "No! I need to move... Let me up." The coughing was stirred now, and he knew the reason for the daggers through his back, ribs, and chest. He struggled to sit upright, knowing he needed to get the crud out of his lungs or face pneumonia in a place that offered no help. As weak as he was, he managed to stop the girl from pushing him down again. He used his good arm to firmly push her away and then jammed it firmly beside him to find a way to stay where he was.

He found where his .44 had gone when he found the older of the boys holding it, aimed at his chest, shaking as his young fingers twitched on the trigger. "Usted no lastima a mi hermana!"

"WHOA!" Chris held his good arm out, motioning for the boy to stop. He talked fast, sure they didn't understand, hoping they would pick up the intent through the sound of his voice. "No need for that. I sure can't do nothing to hurt ya. Did you say 'hermana'?" She's your sister? Look, put it down. It's liable to go off the way you're shaking." He had to stop talking then and use the arm for support. He needed all his energy to cough. He groaned as the pain rose out of the wounds.

"Michael! No. Puesto ese arma abajo. …l es demasiado débil ahora hacer cualquier cosa, y necesitamos guardarlo abajo y calentarnos."

"Maria--"

"Michael, silencio!"

Chris knew the word for gun, and relaxed a little when the boy put it back into the holster that he kept well away from Chris's reach. The boy was questioning his sister. "¿Qué él decía, Maria? ¿Qué él dijo?"

His small knowledge of Spanish let Chris know that the boy knew even less about English... the girl probably only slightly more. The conversation in this place wasn't going to be exactly lively. The understanding was going to be horrible. Still, the girl gave him more water, bathed his face, and helped to prop him in a more upright position. She went to a nearby pallet and brought another thread bare blanket to wrap around his body.

He was truly grateful for the small things that made him feel more comfortable. As he slipped into unconsciousness again, he smiled at her and said "Thanks." She obviously knew the word and smiled back, tucking the added blanket more firmly around him.

"Mi nombre es Maria. Aquél es mi hermano Michael, y aquél, el quién no habla, es Richardo. ¿Cuál es su nombre?"

He revived for a moment, glad to at least know what to call them. That much Spanish he could handle, and he whispered the words, "Mi nombre es Chris... Chris Larabee. Gracias, Maria. Ahorraron mi vida." He coughed for a long time, then felt her hands pounding on his back, making him miserable but helping him regain his breath. She knew that much about what to do, and he was grateful. When he got his breath back, he just smiled weakly, closed his eyes, and passed out again.

Chapter 5

This time they were in the face of a man who was much older than Chris. The hovel was dark except for the dim light of the fire that made this man's face seem cratered and skeletal... yet there was concern and pleasantness there as well. The eyes were crystal clear, except for a few flecks of blue, and for a moment, the voice made Chris think he was with a friend, "Josiah?"

"No... Jeremiah... Jeremiah Hidalgo. Rest easy my friend, and drink this broth."

Chris looked at the cup, but held back. "Did they have some?" he indicated the three who slept by the fire.

"Unfortunately, I had no more."

"And you aren't eating either? Thanks, but don't ask me to take food out of their mouths. You're not gonna take it, and neither am I." Chris began to cough hard, his lungs terribly congested.

"You must eat. These young ones are small and hungry, but they will survive. I have no such hopes for you, as weak as you are from loss of blood."

"Soon as I can stand, I'll eat. I'll find them something else too."

"Good... so you will eat. The sooner you eat, the sooner you stand, and the sooner you can provide for them."

Chris saw the sense of it. "And just what is it?"

"A little beef this time. It's is fully as weak as you are, but warm at least."

Chris drank the small cup of broth, and fought to keep it from going to waste.

"Rest."

"How long I been here? Can you maybe convince her to give me my clothes? Pants at least?"

"Maria and her brothers found you three days ago. I was here the next night... took out the bullets, cauterized your ribs, and set your arm."

"I remember."

"I was afraid you would." The man gave him cool water.

"Well, if they found me three days ago, I've been gone from home four days. That's good. They'll be hunting for me soon."

"The law? Are you mixed up with the law?" The priest was concerned.

"No... well, yeah. Guess I am the law, but there's more law in that town than me. We work for the Judge in Four Corners anyway."

Ah... I've heard about a band of men in that town. We have wished many times they were all here with us."

"How come three kids this little live out here all alone?"

"These ninos have been here like this more than a year. They refuse to leave the land where their parents are buried. It was those three who laid them to rest."

Chris sighed at the knowledge, "They don't get, they're gonna die out here."

"I bring what I can, and I am encouraging Maria to leave. She's stubborn, that one. She doesn't want to give up until her parents' killer is found."

"What happened to them?"

"It may not look like much now, but this was a small but growing horse ranch when Manuel and Benita Cortano ran it. A man rode up to this house one day and just shot them both. Then he stole the stallion and three fine mares, and killed the milk cow and her calf. Maria saw it all and kept the boys inside the barn until the man dragged the bodies inside the barn and set it on fire. She used the smoke to hide taking her brothers out into the trees. He used a big sledge hammer on the house and lean-to until it started thundering and lightening too fierce for him to stay around. When he was gone, she brought them back to the house... and here she's stayed.

"The girl just kept them here?"

"For a good long time there was food her mother had stored, and meal, and a few chickens she kept for their eggs. Being a female, she knew how to cook well enough. They were getting along on a slim margin, until coyotes finished off the hens. They had used a little of the cow and calf for food, but when it went bad, the girl made those boys bury it all. I think she would have gone then, but she's so young, she didn't know how to get out of here, especially walking, especially not knowing what was wrong with Ricardo."

"What is wrong with him?"

"I don't think there's much really wrong with him. He just got so scared he forgot how to scream, or talk, or make any sound at all. Maria said she yelled at him to not make a sound, and that he locked on that order for good."

"Anybody know who the killer was? Where's the next town? How far away is it?"

"The killer was a white man, told the parents that his name was Mark something. Oh, the next town's Eagle Bend, about eight miles east of here."

"Are we past Stains ranch?"

"You're on it... at least he claims it all, but Maria's got her father's satchel of papers, and the deed to this parcel, about twenty square miles, is in that satchel. The Cortano spread looks to start maybe at the back door of Stains' ranch house. The center of Stains' claim is about four miles east, then when you cross the boundary, it's four or more miles to Eagle Bend. You familiar with that town?"

"Oh, yeah... Glad Stains ain't got no idea I'm here. Wouldn't be healthy for me or these kids... or for that matter for you."

"That bad?"

"Worse. I had a run in with him over a man named Mark Horton on the day I was shot. I think Horton's your killer. You mean he hasn't been back here since the killing?"

"Been here a couple of times. Maria hasn't tried to clean up the place very much. Afraid it will bring the killer down on them. When that gray stallion shows up, they all hide."

"She knows Horton when she sees him?"

"They all do. They will never forget who he is."

Chris shifted and began to cough... hard, gasping for air. Hidalgo pulled him up and pounded on his back until Chris was totally worn from the ministrations. The priest pulled cloth from a bowl of steaming water and layed it over the man's chest and placed another against his back. Chris gasped, then smelled something pungent rising from the bowl. He seemed to loose all ability to breath, and started to fight the steam. "Get me up... I can't breath!" Hidalgo pulled him up again and banged on his back until Chris lost the broth and a large thick pool of lung-clogging phlegm.

"Better now?"

"No... Do that again."

Hidalgo pounded on his back until Chris motioned for him to stop. "I will be gone by daylight. I try to make no stops during daylight. Maria will care for you while I am gone. I suggest you do what she says. She is smart, and learned well from her mother."

"Great! After that last beating, I don't think I've got much of a choice."

"A wise man."

"Just lucky. Would you ask her to please give me my clothes?" He eased back on the mound of hay, sneezed twice, and groaned as he lay there with no chance to rest much less sleep.

He was awake when Hidalgo left after giving him one more cup of water and refreshing the herbs in the bowl. He stopped long enough to wrap the blankets tightly around Chris again and admonish him to rest. He knelt in the hay by the man, "May we meet again under better circumstances, Chris. God protect you and them from harm. My friend, strive to get well fast, and if you can talk some sense into Maria, get them out of here."

Larabee remembered whispering "Viya con dios," before he opened his eyes and found the man gone.

Chapter 6

The morning arrived dry and hotter than normal. Chris lay back unmoving for a time, breathing in the still potent vapors from Hidalgo's herbs that had finally loosened most of the phlegm in his chest. His stomach growled, which embarrassed the man since he knew he had had the last of the broth and the children were all hungry.

He sat up suddenly, hissing against the pain. He found the girl's hands pushing him down, her eyes more worried than ever.

"No, No, Senor. Usted es demasiado enfermo."

"¿Ropas? ¿Pantalones?"

"No!"

"Pantalones! NOW!"

She brought them, a little shyly. He noted the neatly patched britches leg, and the raggedly mended shirt.

"Gracias, Maria." His smile put her more at ease. "Now... Where is my horse?"

"Que?"

"Where is my horse?" As he pulled on the pants under the blanket, hissing harder as the stiff cloth crossed the wounded thigh, he tried to remember the word. Then he blushed as he produced a whinny and tried to make moves with his fingers like a horse running. He felt immensely stupid.

"Caballo? ¿Su caballo? El senor, mi calidad, que el caballo es un diablo... you no debe tocarlo!" She was terrifed of Pony. Chris didn't doubt it. The animal could be a hellion even for his master.

"Look, it's important! Muy importante!" He pushed up onto his now clothed knees and fought like a devil to get to his feet. He made it and swayed drunkenly. He looked down at her sternly as she moved to stop him. "No. Where is my caballo?" His legs folded. As he felt his strength giving out, he also felt a hard chair thrust behind his knees. He sat hard, and then he yelled. When he could breath he asked again, "Where is my caballo?"

She stomped her small foot, glaring at him, then gave up and pointed in the direction of the lean-to. She didn't know how close the tall man came to deciding to do her biding, how close he came to deciding the move wasn't worth it, but his stomach growled louder, and he couldn't help looking at the little hungry ones. "Help me!" He pushed up and made the first tentative limps toward the outer room.

They were stronger than he thought, and managed to get him to the wall. He pulled himself through the breach and found himself in the colder air outside. He shivered and considered going back, but the sudden whinny, the following scream of a horse in need, stopped him cold. Pony was coming full speed. Chris braced himself as the black gelding butted his chest, stomped the hay, blew and butted him again.

"Stop it you lug head." Chris's legs gave, but again he found the hard chair behind his knees. When he had breathed through the pain, he finally opened his eyes and looked at the thing that stood there, trembling, making small, groaning sounds. His Pony, his companion of so many years and rides, the one who had saved him again stood there. He was covered in mud, his legs caked with dung and hay and mud. The saddle was still strapped to his back, the saddle blankets soaked wet from the rain, the bedroll drooping off his back. Where the bridle remained, the horse's tender mouth showed signs of raw flesh. Chris reached up and rubbed Pony's face and heard the horse groan. "Damn, boy. I'm sorry, Pony. Let's get you cleaned up." He rose, and fell, crashing to the floor, missing the chair. He looked up at the children, too tired for now to move. "Help me! Mi caballo! Importante!"

The horse dipped his head to the man and blew softly against him. Chris reached up, wrapping his one good arm around the horse's neck. Pony nickered softly and stood completely still. They had done this together often, getting them both out of tight spots. Chris held tight, strained his legs, and felt Pony raise his neck to pull him up. He stood beside him, stroking the muscular black neck until he could get some strength back.

He tried to raise the stirrup over the saddle, and groaned sharply as the move strained his shoulder and the move made him put pressure on his leg. He turned and motioned to Michael to come closer, but at the child's first tentative step, the black gelding's eyes flashed, the animal screamed. He shoved Chris hard, lowered his head and charged. Chris grabbed a column and managed to put himself between the horse and the child, scooping the child away from the charge. He held his hand palm out toward Pony, "Whoa! Whoa! No, boy!!" The horse stood breathing hard, teeth still bared, stomping the ground.

Chris turned toward the children,, "Why? What did you do to him?! What's wrong with him?"

His voice conveyed his question, his hand went out to soothe the horse, showing that this animal was his friend. The horse tried to put himself again between the man and the children. Chris looked down at Michael and saw the .44 pointed at the horse... the boy's hand shaking. Chris reached out and snatched it roughly from the boy's hand, remembering four bullets from another child. Chris opened the cylinder and found two chambers empty, the hammer now resting against a live round. "What did you do?" It came out in Spanish, angry, nervous. He glanced around and found the trace of a bullet against Pony's neck. It was a graze along the horses's neck, caked with blood and mud. "YOU SHOT HIM!"

"Senor? Please. Michael shot him... Food... You needed food... and we needed food. The horse stood over you. He would not let us help you. The bullet made him move so we could reach you, but still he would not leave." She mimed the actions of the horse, and saw the man finally understand. Chris relaxed and nodded, and he handed the gun back to Michael, letting the children know he trusted them still. He pointed one finger in the boy's face and said sternly, "Don't do that again!"

Chris moved back to the horse and stroked the black neck, talking in a soothing voice, scratching the animal's ear. The horse still glared at the children, still nickered low and menacing. Chris let himself laugh. "Easy, boy. It's okay. I'm here. They're not going to hurt you or me."

He pointed at Ricardo. "Aqua... much warm aqua... MOVE!" He told Maria, "Cloth, please?" and to Michael he said, "Come here."

When the boy approached, Pony bared his teeth and took a menacing step toward him. Chris put a restraining hand against his side. "Whoa. Easy. He didn't mean to hurt you... just have you for supper, and he thought he was protecting me from you. He's gonna help get you cleaned up, and we're going to try to find something to stop the hurt." Chris continued to rub his hand against the matted black coat as the boy came closer and at last touched the horse's hide. The horse blew and nickered softly as the boy loosened the saddle and with Chris lowered it to the ground. When the warm water touched him, Pony groaned and leaned against Chris so heavily, the man sagged back into the chair. Tired now, Chris just sat there, pointing at what was needed, himself tending to Pony's legs. He felt a slight touch against his good shoulder, and accepted the comb and brush Maria handed him. The wood was charred, the metal blackened, and Chris knew the implements had survived the fire at the barn. He smiled at her and pointed to the horse's withers and neck. "Please, will you help me help him?"

She nodded and with hands that were familiar with such work, she began to gently work on Pony's body. The horse groaned and bobbed his head. Chris laughed softly and rubbed the horse's nose in affection. "He says thanks." It was the first time Chris had heard the child laugh.

Larabee had no idea when he fell off the chair. Pony, clean and uncumbered now, with clean hay and water nearby, woke the man with a snort. Chris looked up to find the white star on his horse's head level with his own eyes. The horse nudged him repeatedly to bring him around. The man sat us, looked at the animal, and just said, "UGH!" His left arm ached where he had landed against it, but he shifted until the right arm was able to reach up and stroke the animal's mane. He grabbed hold, "Up, Pony. Help me up."

Together they soon had the man in a tentatively upright stand. Chris was breathing as hard as Pony often did. Maria touched his arm and held out a cup of water. Chris drank it greedily and heard his stomach growl.

"How long?" he asked the girl. He realized now that trips to Purgatorio had provided at least simple Spanish and using small words brought others to mind.

"One hour, no more." She also spoke her Spanish simply, as if she spoke to a little child.

"Ninos?"

"Sleep."

"No... wake... work!"

"Senor, you are too weak!" He knew that phrase much too well by now, and he prefered not to hear it.

"You too. Help me."

Soon, they were all there, Maria translating orders that Chris motioned or stabbed at in Spanish. Soon the bedroll and his saddlebags were inside on the hovel floor, the saddle blankets were spread to dry, and Pony had his first taste of grain in days from the pouch Chris always carried for him.

As they returned from the last chore, Chris looked at the three and said simply, "Horse first. Now you, then me."

He sat down heavily and painfully beside his provisions, opening the saddlebag in front of them, not thinking of the impact the supplies would have on three hungry children. They gasped when three cans of beans rolled onto the floor, pushing a bag of something Chris realized was some of Mary's biscuit makings out before them. Two little cans of milk followed, with little papers of salt and pepper. He reached in and dug out the pleasantly large bags of jerky and bacon, some coffee, and the flask fell into his hand. He pulled it out, grinning to himself, and place it to the side for later.

At last, having shifted deep beneath the rest, the packets of Doc's powders surprised him, and he whispered thanks to the man that he had been so insistant that he bring them along. Chris motioned to the water bucket, and was soon drinking a cup full laced with the first thing to ease his pain.

When the children began to whisper, and Marie moved the boys away from the provisions, Chris motioned them back quickly. "Share... all share."

Maria's eyes were filled with tears and happiness at the same time. Michael was soon busy bringing in more wood to build the fire. Richardo was refilling the water bucket. Maria sat where Chris indicated, beside him, helping him with the things he needed done. He pointed to a large skillet, a cutting board, several cloths, and a knife. Seriously, he divided each packet of food into three parcels, keeping the biscuit mix in one bag, but indicating to the girl that they would use it sparingly. She nodded and wrapped the groups of food into three packages, wrapping each in more cloth to make certain nothing was lost.

The man was tired now, and needed the girl to put the heavy skillet on the fire. She moved back and forth, adding things as he motioned. Soon bacon, salt and pepper sizzled in the skillet, as jerky soaked in a small bowl of water. All eyes watched silently, expectantly, as the food began to cook. Everything from the current pack of food, including a full can of beans, simmered together over the fire.

Chris had moved the iron pot holder toward the back of the fireplace and was mixing some of the milk with the biscuit makings when he heard Maria and Pony scream as one. He jumped and found himself moving on shaky legs, oblivious to the pain. Nothing else mattered. In the lean-to, Maria stood frozen, while Pony reared and stomped at something that moved in the far corner. Ricardo stood petrified, making no sound. Michael advanced quickly on the thing, Chris's .44 in his hand. His barely covered feet were well within striking distance of the fully coiled rattlesnake, now standing on its coils, shaking its tail. Its head drew back as Chris snatched the boy from its path, grabbed the gun from shaking fingers, and pulled the trigger more than once, severing the rattler's head as it struck.

Chris hugged Michael to himself, turning him, asking repeatedly, "Are you okay?" Satisfied, he knelt in front of Ricardo, seeing the enormous eyes and the pent up horror in the boy. "Things happen," he hugged the boy tightly, and he spoke soothingly, remembering his own terror at finding his own parents dead. "It's okay to be scared, son. It's okay to cry and scream." He pulled the child into his arms as he felt Ricardo begin to shake. "It's okay. It's okay. Michael's okay."

Ricardo's mouth opened wordlessly at first. But then he screamed, then he cried, and at long last he told the man "Mi Madre! Senor, mi madre eet mi padre morte!"

Chris held him and let him cry the year of pent up tears. He felt himself failing from fatigue, but he refused to move. The children mattered more. He became aware slowly that Maria stood still, petrified by what had happened, clinging to the horse. She was afraid, but she was honestly amazed at how the stranger had put himself in front of death for her brother, the one who had shot his horse.

The man was still holding the boys. He was speaking quietly to Ricardo, holding to Michael. She felt lost and forgotten then, until she saw that man turn green eyes to her and open his arm to draw her in with them all. He hugged her, his one good arm seeming to expand enough to hold them. He felt so like her father had felt as he held her and stroked her hair. The tears and fear of the whole long year of pain and much too much work and need broke from her as this man held her and soothed her and spoke her name.

Chapter 7

She quieted soon, soothing her brothers. She felt him try to rise from his knees. She knew he ached. He held the broken arm tightly against his side, all the pain showing on his face. But there was a purpose too. He managed to stand and approached the hellish thing he had killed, reached down slowly and took it by the tail. Maria screamed, but he only smiled and said, "Food."

She stood amazed, as did the boys, until he moved inside and, dropping tiredly by the fire, efficiently showed his flock how snake could become wonderful food. He had work to do still, though Maria knew the extent of his pain and fatigue now.

He watched as the snake cooked in the pan. He made sure the children ate slowly, glad he had no problem convincing them to eat the mixture in the skillet. He had no trouble with the mixture himself. When they had finished every bite, he opened the last packet from the saddlebag and gave them each one long piece of dark black licorice. He knew they were full when Maria's nose turned up at the taste of the licorice, and she gave it back to him. He allowed himself then to eat that one piece of his favorite sweet.

She set about putting the boys to bed. When they were down, he handed her one blanket to cover them both. He made sure she understood that the second blanket was for her alone. She kissed his cheek for that, and then she made him sit still as she persistently tugged the matted shirt from his shoulders and cleaned the wound with water hot enough to make him bite his lips. He didn't let himself cry out, fixing his eyes on the sleeping boys. She kept on, inspecting his ribs.

He shivered as he felt the cold hit him, and he knew there was infection deep inside his body. When he had taken as much of her tender toughness as he could stand, he moved toward his place near the outer wall. She stopped him where he was, then moved his pile of hay closer to the fire. She moved a pan that seemed much too heavy for her size in front of him, and produced more cloths and the piece of soap she had found in his saddlebag. He sighed, too tired to do anything more, but smiled as she bathed his back and chest, covered him with one of the thread bare blankets, then moved away pointing to his legs and a second covering. "Wash." He nodded and removed his pants to deal with the wound in his leg. He found it red and festering too, but he finished the work with no sound.

As he bathed, he heard the girl moving about the room, checking on the boys, and he heard her singing gently and sweetly, a song he knew was a lullaby. He whispered a new name for her then, and from that point on, at least in his mind, she was his Nightingale.

He woke, finding himself covered in three blankets...the two meager ones and the last of the good sturdy blankets from his bedroll. His fever burned still, and he remembered troubling dreams, but he felt stronger. He sat up slowly and took one large sip from the flask, but he horded the rest.

He dressed in the mostly dry clothes he found beside his pallet and moved closer to the fire to finish drying and make coffee and biscuits, one for each of them. He cooked the last of the snake but, with such a small amount remaining, he divided it among the children's plates, helping himself to the rest of the coffee.

When he finally considered his preparations done, he called the girl, who woke with a bright smile and set about waking the boys. He gave each child a small drizzle from the remainder of the first can of milk and was satisfied to see a small bloom of color trace their faces.

When all was eaten, Maria pointed Chris back to his bed, and without asking, used the small bar of soap to make her two brothers cleaner. She wrapped the boys in their blankets, collecting their clothes, which were soon washed and drying by the fire. She looked longingly at the empty water bucket, but made no request of the other children.

Chris had watched her work, and he spoke from his bedroll. "Michael, Ricardo, aqua por su hermana... Now." They filled the bucket quickly, and Maria set about filling the pan so that this smaller amount of water would warm quickly over the fire.

She had it ready, the soap in her hand, and was raising her dress when she suddenly gasped. Recovering herself, she walked up to Chris's blanket, pulled on it hard, and pointed the way out of the room. He sounded pitiful, "What? God, don't make me move. I won't look. You're just a kid!" He closed his eyes and buried his head under the blanket.

"GET OUT!" The tone left no room for misinterpretation. Chris looked at her, and just muttered "Ah, hell!"

The children looked stunned, and he felt embarrassed that he said that in front of the kids, but he groaned pitifully when he got up and moved toward the lean-to. The girl followed him, and for a moment he thought she would relent and let him bring his feverish body back to his bed near the fire, but she simply threw the blanket around his shoulders and pushed him out faster.

The boys got the same boot as Chris. He was thankful that they brought the chair and put it behind his knees as he sank. He sighed again, but he was appreciative that the morning was warm and his clothing was now dry.

He stayed still until he heard the rustle of the grass. He stayed still as the sound got closer. He put his finger to his lips to silence the boys and motioned to Michael for his rifle and to move quietly. He heard the girl shriek as her brother invaded her private bath, but the boy was back in a second, the larger gun in his hands.

When Michael handed the rifle to Chris, the man rose stiffly, checking the chamber as he moved, still motioning for silence. He limped to the edge of the lean-to, and rested the rifle barrel against a railing, unable to use his left arm for support of the muzzle. He closed his eyes and opened them, clearing his vision, fixing his gaze on the rustling field before him.

The tell-tale sound came fast, cooing, moving through the tall blades. Chris seemed to freeze until the moment something took wing, and he forced his body to follow it with the rifle barrel. One shot, followed by a shaking, irritatingly-slow reload, followed by another shot....three in all in semi-rapid succession. He puked as the pain in his shoulder, ribs, and leg all hit him hard, but he motioned for the boys to check on his success.

They brought him two fat blue quail, laughing and smiling at the gringo's luck. They laughed harder as they realized they would eat well again. He smiled weakly, but collapsed back into the chair, startled at his dizziness and weak stomach. He had felt he was stronger, but the fever was there again and much too hot. As he sat, he could detect a putrid odor from what he thought was the shoulder. He thought of Doc and Nathan and knew he needed help, but doubted that Eagle Bend was the place he would be allowed to find it.

Maria stood in the opening as he pushed himself out of the chair. He smiled appreciatively at the effort she had taken. She wore a pretty but worn green dress, and her clean hair hung down her back with nothing to contain it. She accepted the birds from Michael, smiling at Chris, but then she saw the palor of his skin and the sweat on his forehead, and she yelled at him, "COME IN HERE AND LAY DOWN!"

Her tone left no room for misinterpretation. Chris puked again, and leaned heavily on the three children as he found his way inside and collapsed into his hay. The room whirled above him as he fought the nausea and finally fainted.

Chapter 8

It was the smell of the quail cooking that woke him up. His empty stomach growled so loud the boys laughed, but Maria gave them both a big scowl and ran them from the room.

She knelt beside Chris and spooned broth into his mouth. He found she had saved what must have been half of one quail for him, enriching it with a little bacon, salting and peppering it, and adding small rounds of wild onion. He felt they should have the meat, but she held each piece against his mouth until he ate it. When he had finished, every last little sip of the broth, every small piece of the meat, she gave him water laced with one of Doc's powders, and closed his eyes so he would try to find more strength. She tapped his shoulder once and handed him his flask, insisting that he take another large drink. He closed his own eyes that time and drifted with the dulling of his pain.

He woke too soon, with a start, coming up from a dream of Stains and Horton gunning down small children, while he lay bleeding and helpless before a fire where people he loved reached out for his help. He sat bolt upright, knowing he needed to get the three in his care now away from the hovel they called their home, but how was he going to be able to make them move, and protect them as they traveled. The sip he took from the flask was more to forget the dream than kill the pain, but it did both fairly well. He knew better than to put more of the single-malt on top of the pain powder, and gave Maria the flask to put in his saddlebags.

They had one horse, but Pony, as strong as he was, and even clean and rested, wasn't going to carry four people for long. Chris knew he needed the children mounted, but how could he walk with the ruined thigh, weak from the infections that still plagued him? He slumped back against the hay, and began to make his plans.

They had to have at least one more horse. That much he understood, but what horse? The chestnut! It had to be the chestnut stallion. He needed it for evidence anyway. That was clear. Now, to get the children and himself as ready as possible for the trip, and for what Stains would label horse theft. If they were caught, Chris knew he would hang, and he could only imagine the children's fate.

He motioned for them all to come. They sat before him, wide eyed, sensing his worry, knowing he needed them to do something. His Spanish was too limited for this, but they quickly caught on that he wanted them to go somewhere. When they understood, he began to explain with motions and signs the preparations for each thing they needed to take along.

They ate first. He wanted them all with as much strength as possible. The children, small with still smaller stomachs, and he, consumed the rest of the quail and the last can of beans, everyone taking their share. He made biscuits again, storing four extra in one of his pouches so they would have one each and a little bacon later in the night. The food would be eaten cold. They would build no fire. He made sure the children drank the rest of the milk, but he saved the last of the licorice, knowing that at some point they would be tired and scared and worried, and he wanted something to give them a little happiness.

Chris sat again, motioning Maria out this time and, pulling his pants low, he bound the red, grouchy wound tight with strips of cloth Michael helped him tie. Returning, Maria cleaned and re-bandaged his shoulder. He puked before she finished his ribs. She tied the broken arm more firmly against his chest on top of his shirt. Her patient adamantly refused to lay down, but he did accept another of Doc's powders and sat for a few minutes while he thought about what should be done next.

He sent Ricardo to fill the lone canteen, rolled all the blankets in a tight bedroll, and at last he helped the boys saddle Pony. It was then that Chris realized that he was weak, so terribly weak he could barely lift the saddle. He had to rest long minutes before he could stand again and cinch the thing in place. He had to find a way to get them all on the horse.

He tried. Three small young children surrounded the chair as he pulled himself up and threw his right leg over the top. He cried out and held to the saddle horn as the world spun and he fought the nausea. When he opened his eyes again, the three were where he had told them to be, on the right of the horse with the chair close to Pony, who eyed the chair and the children with a near-panicked glare. Saddlebags secured in place, Chris motioned Maria onto the chair, where he used his good arm to help her swing onto the horse and slide onto the lumpy cushion.

Next came Ricardo, a little monkey, swinging up in front, kicking Chris's leg as he came, startling Pony who began to dance backwards beside the chair. Chris desperately yelled, "Whoa!" and let out a fervent "Thank God" when the animal stopped his cavorting.

Michael tried it last in line, but as soon as he made it up behind Maria, he slid off Pony's back end. To Chris's amazement, nobody got kicked, and those already mounted stayed put. Pony stood still, but Chris noted the layed-back ears and heavy snort.

Michael tried again. To help him, Maria pulled herself tight against the cantle and Chris's back, clinging hard to his shoulders and pressing against his wound. Chris pulled himself forward in the saddle as much as possible, the move driving his wounded leg into the saddle swell and positioning his manhood quite painfully against the horn.

Ricardo shifted and landed against the man's thigh. Chris puked over the left, managing to lean far enough out to miss animal and human, but the broken arm and mangled ribs made him sick again and he nearly pulled them all over the side as he fought to stay upright. When they tried the first step forward, he simply pulled the horse to a stop, sat very still, and with no shame wiped the tears from his face, now in desperate need of water to rinse his mouth and cool his fever. The canteen lay below them on the lean-to floor.

She reached back and hit her oldest brother hard, sending him scurrying to get the thing. Then, when he was up again and settled, and Chris had swallowed his curse, she uncorked the water and handed it to him. His smile wasn't credible, but he took a large drink, and she knew he would make it for a time. He offered a drink to each of the children, and he thought they were very wise when they all refused, indicating they were comfortable and would wait for later. For himself, he took one more large guzzle from the canteen.

Four miles...the ride would be nearly four miles. Chris figured he faced at least a full day, with one long night of misery as they went slowly in search of an extra horse they could steal. He laughed like a crazy man as he put the grumbling Pony in motion, feeling a distinct tightness around his throat.

Chapter 9

Chris Larabee had hurt this bad before. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He had probably hurt worse when he was alone at the age of fifteen and road frozen nearly dead when he was wanted for what he hadn't done. He pushed that thought fiercely from his head. He may have hurt this bad then, or a few times since then, but at least somebody had shown up, put him in a bed, and held him down until most of it healed. No such luck. He wished for Nathan, and knew he would welcome Simmons, too.

They plodded along. Chris sat his saddle doggedly, almost drunk with pain and fatigue. He wished that he was drunk more than once, or that he had a full bottle of the medical men's laudanum. When he caught himself starting to doze, he single-mindedly squeezed his left shoulder with his right hand, using the pain to keep himself awake. He whispered back to Maria, "I sleep, you do it!" She shook her head 'no', but Chris turned his head and hissed at her, "DO IT!" She put her small hand on the shirt at the place she had mended, and pushed hard against the blood-soaked cloth and the flesh beneath. Chris shrieked, "NOT NOW!" and puked to the left all over again.

Finally, they had a little luck. Stains ranch house showed up earlier than Chris expected. He got to see the layout of the place again before it got too dark. The chestnut was in the corral for now. If somebody moved it, they ought to see where it was put. There was a moon coming up, with no fog... a mixed blessing. He could see his way in but they could see him coming. There was a little bunch of trees they could hide among... that was good. Once they all got off the horse, Chris knew he would have to walk, or run, or crawl most of this night. He whispered "Ah, hell," and hoped he said it to himself. But still, the worse part about that was that he had so little strength, and he was so relentlessly tired.

He had wondered at first as they rode why his body didn't hurt so much during this ride. He had truly anticipated hell on earth. He had remained mercifully drunk and mostly numb, unless somebody kicked him, or sat on him, or squeezed his shoulder.

Maria had saved the last of the water. He had figured it out about half way during his time in the saddle that the children weren't drinking anything because Maria had mixed a strong batch of the pain powders in with the water in their only canteen. He had sipped steadily and thankfully, not knowing or caring how many powders were mixed into the drink.

He knew it was strong. He only had a few powders from Doc's ample bundle left in his own pocket, had taken relatively few at the hovel, and he was truly dizzy and drunk as a skunk. Doc had said no more than three a day. He was definitely drunk. Fortunately, he had experience with being drunk on many an occasion, so he had still been able to move. He was glad the mix didn't make him a mean drunk, and he could still think fairly well. His head was close to falling off, but he had had a headache for days anyway, and he didn't think it was quite as bad as the ones he got after one of his old three day cheap-whiskey benders. They rode in silence to the trees.

Getting off the horse was as big a challenge as mounting up had been, and they didn't have the chair. Michael got down easy enough, sliding off the horses rump. Pony flattened his ears at the move, but he didn't kick the little one. Chris felt Ricardo begin to scramble down, and put a firm hand on the boy. Putting the boy's left leg over the pummel, he gripped the boy's arm and lowered him to the ground on the right, well away from the wound on his right thigh. The little one giggled, and Michael motioned for him to be quiet.

Maria just used strong arms to hoist herself over the side to the left and easily lowered herself to the gound. Three children stood on the left of the horse, looking up with hope and sympathy, waiting for their friend to join them.

Chris knew he had to move, knew how much it was going to hurt, knew he was tired and there wasn't a lot of strength left for him to move. He thought "Ah, hell," and dragged his good leg over the saddle to the right, forcing his bad leg to hold him up so his undamaged arm could grip the horn and lower him to the ground.

Pony spun. Chris begged, "Whoa!" The three children shifted at his unexpected move, and were there to keep Chris from landing on his seat. He smiled at them a little and moved slowly to Pony's head to soothingly rub the gelding's face and give his ear an affectionate scratch, whispering words of appreciation, "It's okay. You've done good, boy." Moving further around, he undid the cinches and, with Michael's help, pulled the saddle from his mount's back.

Pony groaned and left them, finding a patch of rollable grass to scratch his tired back. A little later, before anybody else got anything, Chris made sure Pony got a rub down and a nice big taste of grain from his poke. He was left unfettered to find as much grass as he wanted. While his horse eased his body, Chris opened his saddlebags, found his flask, and drank the rest of the single malt... all of it... the entire tablespoon that remained. At least it helped a little. It wouldn't hold him for long,

Chris pulled the provision sack from the small pile by the saddle. The biscuits were tasty with the small amount of bacon tucked inside them. A little stream in the stand of trees let the children drink their fill and Chris watched as Maria added more water and at least three more packets of the powders to the canteen. She looked up a sheepishly when he reached knowingly for the container, shook it and took another massive guzzle of the contents. When the man sat down abruptly, she handed him a blanket, held up one finger, and pushed his eyes closed so he would at least rest a little before they finished their raid.

Chapter 10

The fully-risen moon wasn't exactly full, but it gave a workable light. They were at the edge of the tall grass now, laying flat, looking over the situation. The chestnut hadn't moved, but he was running in circles, highly agitated from his last 'training' session. A few men were walking about, not many but Chris wondered how many more there were. He liked that the workers weren't highly motivated to be neat with equipment. They simply hooked things over the corral railing and left to do something else. There were several torches burning around the corral, several small fires to light the compound.

Chris's head still spun, but he didn't really hurt. He could called it an ache and keep moving. He hoped the pain powders and water held out for a long time. His 'gang' had a lot of moving to do. It was just the two of them for now, Chris and Maria. They left Michael in charge of the now re-saddled Pony, keeping him quiet, not letting him move around. Ricardo was mounted and told to not move a muscle. Michael was enforcing the law.

They had a plan. Chris would rope it and put on a bridle they took from the railing, Maria would lead it. They would go back for the boys... simple enough. If a saddle was available, Chris would try to get it.

They moved in a crouch to the corral. It seemed nobody knew they were there... so far, so good. But the chestnut knew they were there, and his eyes shown in the moonlight, round, scared, angry. Chris talked to him low and soothing. The horse's deep throated sound rose and fell as he considered this human. "I'm not going to hurt you... easy... you're coming with us, okay?" The lariat eased over the horses neck and tightened. "Good boy... easy boy!" It reared without a sound, and charged straight for Chris. "Easy... easy... I'm not that s.o.b. you hate."

It pulled at the lariat, Chris's one good hand feeling the deep rope burn building. "Maria, sing."

"Que?"

"Sing! Low!" Chris tried to show her, and heard her giggle. "You, not me!"

"Se. Que?"

"I don't care!" He shrugged his shoulder. Maria began the lullaby. Chris nodded and as the horse calmed a little, he approached with the bridle. The horse knew all tact, he wasn't a green horse, but a seasoned mount. When Chris made contact with his coat, easing his hand over the neck, the horse stood still, remembering others who had treated him well.

The bridle went on with little trouble, if a little strangely with Chris using only one hand. Still the horse accepted the touch and the bit.

There was a saddle on the ground at the near corner. It was a light-weight, hornless saddle, but still it offered more control if the horse proved ornery. At least it was a man's saddle, so nobody had to throw an arching right leg up over that stupid side mount some women used. So far, so good.

Chris could not find a way to get on. His left leg was fine, but his broken left arm was still too newly splinted to let him pull up and hold on to throw his damaged right leg across, and he didn't have the chair. He looked around to see if Maria could make any suggestion, but found her staring dumbfounded at a sorrel gelding in the next corral. Tears streamed down her face.

"Que?" Chris asked.

She sniffed and whispered, "Mi cahallo... mi caballo... Diablo, senor."

"Su caballo?"

"Mi padre caballo. Maria..." she indicated mounting the horse.

"You rode it?"

"¿Por favor senor Chris, podemos tomarlo?" She indicated to Chris that she wanted to lead that horse out as well.

Chris started to shake his head, but then he through "Hell, they can only hang me once. Let her have her horse." He nodded to her and looked around for another bridle. He didn't see one, and shrugged in her direction. "Como?"

She smiled. She handed the reins of the chestnut to Chris, and then she let out a piercing whistle. The gelding's head came up, and it cleared the fence in a flash, coming straight to her and nuzzling her hand. Maria grabbed a handful of mane and swung onto the animal's back. She kissed the animal's neck, then gripping with her knees, hands filled with mane, she kicked the sorrel hard and cleared the fence as if she was glued to the seat. It responded to her every motion, animal and human becoming one being. Even Chris had to admire that ride.

But there was trouble. "Yep...that did it!" The whistle had brought attention to the two. He heard somebody yelling in what he assumed was the bunk house. The chestnut began to move sideways, pulling on the bit, fear pulsing through his hide. He was a big horse, much bigger than his Pony, and Chris knew he'd never get mounted in his now worsening condition.

He dragged the animal through the gate, motioning for Maria to move toward Eagle Bend, the way they had planned before. He pulled the chestnut up close to the railing, and then Chris whistled his own call. While he waited, he used his right arm and leg to pull himself up on the fence, holding to the chestnut's reins, feeling the animal pull hard to free itself from Chris's hold. Chris hoped he didn't have to hold there long with his right leg beginning to bleed again.

Pony came running. Chris smiled to see the black-as-midnight gelding thundering toward him in much the way Diablo had come to Maria. The boys were holding firmly to his back.

Pony sensed the stallion and issued a greeting to the beast. The chestnut answered the trumpet but gave no challenge.

As they approached, Maria returned to see what was happening. When she saw the black gelding and the chestnut side by side and knew what Chris wanted to do, she frowned a second, but then nodded. "Si, senor. Michael and Ricardo montan bien."

"Viya rápidamente. Montemos." Chris motioned the boys across, putting them on the chestnut's back. He waved them away, holding firmly to Pony, aware that men were coming from the building where he had heard voices before. He motioned to Maria and to Michael to run. He pulled himself onto Pony's back, and knew he was now bleeding harder, hurting more. He pulled a pain powder from his pocket and put all of it, without water, straight into his mouth. He thought that his pocket was now as empty as the flask and canteen.

He didn't have to encourage Pony to move. The first rifle shot had sounded, and the animal was off. Another round passed him as he covered the distance the children had covered before. Chris leaned over Pony's neck, holding tight, and gave his mount his head. He knew they were being followed now, and even with good, fresh, agile mounts, they were hard pressed to keep ahead.

Pony fought the bit as Chris reigned him in and took a few precious moments to yank his rifle from the clabbard, swing it up and let one round head back toward their persuers. He heard somebody back there yell. "See if you want to stay so close now!"

He smiled a feral smile. He reloaded and fired it once more before he signaled Pony forward again. He was holding to the horse's saddle horn after he suddenly grunted hard and said "Ah, hell!"

Chapter 11

Pony seemed to know where to go. He didn't stop in front of the saloon. He didn't stop in front of Simmons' office. He eased softly and quiet to the area to the side of the man's home/office. His rider was quiet and still, giving no guidance now. The other horses followed the black gelding's lead. Knowing that Chris was too ill to help, Maria jumped from her horse's back and pulled open the door in front of her. It was much too quiet. She saw Michael running through the shadows, headed for the livery just up the street.

She finally understood the stop at this place from the medicine bottles and tools that lay on a sideboard in the center room. She explored the place quickly and knew there was no human help for Chris there. Then she looked through the front windows and saw riders coming into town. She saw too that Michael had finished his errand and was coming back through the shadows, barely missing the ones that hunted them. She crossed herself nervously and whispered thanks as the riders stopped in front of the saloon.

She scooped several things up, ran back to the horses, and jumped onto Pony's back, behind Chris. He groaned hard but didn't move. She spoke to the horse, and was pleased that it accepted her urging and headed out at a run. Michael rode the chestnut alone, now; Ricardo mounted on a now bridled Diablo.

She had no idea where they were heading. The men no longer seemed to be following. She trusted the gelding and whispered in his ear, "Home, mi amigo. Home." It did not stop until dawn, when they were at the top of a hill that looked back on a plush valley. The horse stood perfectly still beside an old, long cold camp fire.

Chris still lay over the horse's neck, but somewhere during the ride, he had realized the predicament he was in. He hurt like hell. The newest bullet hole was bleeding, and he knew, if it hadn't been for Maria holding to him, he would have fallen a long way back. He couldn't fall. If he did, he was going to hang; if he didn't stop, he was going to bleed to death. There was something wrong now with his middle, but he couldn't do anything about it.

Maria motioned the boys close to her, one on each side. They reached out for Chris. Between the boys and with Maria pulling, they managed to sit him up and then the boys held him there as Maria took the sharp knife-like thing from her pocket. He screamed when she dug into the hole and pulled the bullet from him. She tore part of her dress and jammed it into the hole. When that woke him for a few minutes, she handed Michael the canteen and motioned for him to run to the nearby stream to fill it for Chris, When he returned, the young man and his brother pushed Chris's head up and held it long enough to force a large drink of it into his mouth. Chris made a feeble move toward his shirt pocket, but it was Michael that found the one remaining pain powder there. He opened it and poured the whole contents into Chris's waiting mouth. It didn't make him stronger, it just helped him stand what he had to do. His tongue thick, his head swimming, Chris looked across at Michael and pointed to the rope that still clung to the chestnut's neck. He pointed to his own boots, made a motion, and knew the boy understood.

The sun was coming up hot by the time Maria spoke to the horse again. "Home... help us, senor caballo... help us go home."

Chris puked as the ropes that held him bound to Pony's body popped his own body back and forth in rhythm with the horse's moves. He pushed his one good hand and wrist between his stomach and the saddle, getting a small amount of relief for his stomach as his hand began to ache. He wished he could just faint and be done with it all, but the jolts as his body fought the ties and the effects of the powder conspired to keep him awake.

Maria screamed when she saw the band of riders coming toward them. She couldn't understand how they had gotten ahead and were coming at them, guns drawn. She wheeled Pony around and ran. She asked her brother how many there were, and was scared even more when she found there were seven in the group trying to reach them.

Chris knew they were in serious trouble, and he fought harder to force himself awake and alert to what was happening. The children, used to hiding, had escaped the men who wanted to kill them. They were now back at the hillside where they had stopped before. Pony stood unmoving again, quivering in fear at the constantly shifting ride. Chris was hurting so bad, he cried out, then shouted at Maria, "God, please, cut me loose!" They did as he asked, and Chris felt a surprisingly immense relief when he could finally raise his body off the saddle horn. He nodded in thanks when Maria gripped his better shoulder and made the move easier. He only asked for one thing. "Water?"

Ricardo ran to fill the canteen this time, handing it up to Chris, who drank and managed to keep the liquid down. The child passed the canteen around, then they led the horses to the stream to let them drink.

They had to move again. Chris just held to the saddle horn, looked at Maria, then nodded sharply. "Home," was the only word he said. He closed his eyes for the first few moments, then steeling his determination, took Pony's reins. "Let's find Nathan!" With the horse aware of who now led them, they made fast time toward Four Corners.

Long hours later, with them all totally silent, they led the horses into the town Chris had called "Home". Chris motioned for Maria and the boys to get down, then forced himself to do the same. Weak and so tired he could barely think, he led them onto the boardwalk and into Ezra's saloon where Inez was preparing food for her soon-to-arrive customers. The beautiful Mexican woman looked up as she heard his soft, tired greeting, and gasped when she saw three rag-tag children looking up at her with extremely tired but hopeful eyes.

"Senor, Chris? Los ninos? Where did you find these little ones?"

"Later, Inez. I've got to go to Gloria's store. Feed them for me, and find them a bed. This is Maria, this is Michael, and this is Ricardo. They've been in the saddle more than a full day, and they need rest. See if you can find Charley Langley, and get him to get those horses at the railing out of sight someplace. Take them to my cabin if that'll work. Tell him I said he could get killed if he gets caught working with them, so get them hidden quick."

"Certainly, Chris." As he wobbled out the door, she gathered the children to her with hugs and felt Maria protest, trying to follow the man she now adored. "No, little one. He has work to do, and so do you. Let's get you fed, clean, and then some sleep."

Maria stomped her feet, and Inez laughed. She leaned down, face level with the children, and whispered, "He has said what you must do. Now, little ones, you WILL come with me!"

The man was walking across the main street of Four Corners, headed across to Gloria Potter's general store. He was glad it was a short walk since he felt he was going to fall down in nothing flat. He didn't look left or right, just fixed his stare at the store and used one of the columns in front of the building to pull himself back onto the sidewalk.

Mary Travis was beside him when he looked up. He tried to smile, but there was just no more energy. "Chris, why were you at the saloon at this time of morning? When did you get back?"

"Just rode in." His voice had no weight behind it.

"Did you get Mark Horton?"

"No."

"But, Chris--"

"Later."

"I'm so glad you're back. We were worrying about you!!"

"Thanks... later... tired."

"You look terrible!"

"Feel the same. Look, go help Inez."

"Help Inez? Why?"

"Just go... You'll see when you get there... Get them hidden, Mary. Don't let them find them."

"I don't understand!"

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN! Sorry... Just go... You'll see when you get there. Sorry, Mary. I'm just so tired."

"She saw him sag. "How did you break your arm? How badly are you hurt? You're going with me, right now!"

"NO I'M NOT! JUST DO IT, MARY. GO! I PROMISE YOU CAN POKE ON ME LATER, BUT I CAN'T DO IT NOW. I'VE GOT TO DO THIS BEFORE I FALL DOWN! GO... THE CHILDREN NEED YOU!"

"Children!? Why didn't you say so!" She left him there and ran toward the saloon.

The door to Potter's store was closed, and locked, and Chris groaned, but then he just banged on the entrance as hard as his aching body would allow. The pretty but matronly shop owner, her hair as yet undone, opened the door quickly when she peaked out from the shutter and saw the man who stood there. "Mr. Larabee, good morning. What do you need."

He stepped through the opening, forgetting his normal manners, forgetting to remove his hat. "Gloria," he leaned on the counter and she saw that he was injured, sick, and exhausted.

"My goodness, Mr. Larabee! How can I help you?"

He reached into his pants pocket and drew out money that had remained there the entire time he had stayed with the children. He had never worried about it. He handed the cash to Gloria, not realizing the paper and coins had been blood soaked several times.

She took the cash from him and put it aside. "Chris? I'm going to get Tiny to help you to the clinic. Nathan's not here, but at least you can rest until they get back."

"Not here?" He had begun to count on the man being there. He realized that the thought of help had kept him in the saddle for a long time now.

"They all left yesterday afternoon, coming to find you. I don't think all of them will be gone very long. Nathan will probably be first back, he was looking for you... but--"

"'Bout time." He groaned.

"Molly Green is due any day. Now, you come with me young man."

"No... later. Gloria, there are three children at the saloon with Inez." He pushed his hair from his face, closing his eyes to shut out the dizziness.

"Of all the places to take three children, Chris Larabee! You should have--"

"Why not... they needed food. Look, Mary's there too. Will the three of you stop fussing over me and get those children taken care of. They need clothes, Gloria. Make sure they've got 'em, and you three get them out of sight and keep them there! They're in danger."

"Oh dear. They're in trouble?"

"Big trouble. They're witnesses to a murder, Gloria. I need you three to do everything they need done... okay?"

"Certainly, Chris, but what are you going to do?"

"Frankly, I think I'm just... going... to... pass... out." He didn't remember hitting the floor in the middle of Potter's General Store.

Chapter 12

Chris didn't know who had carried him down the street and up the long flight of stairs to Nathan Jackson's clinic. They had put him on his stomach, making him discover how bruised he had gotten by riding over the saddle horn. He woke to so many eyes looking into his face, he thought he was hallucinating, or had gone stark-raving looney. He groaned as he tried to sort out the faces at the same time he dealt with the pain. He moved, then puked, and then muttered, "What in the hell!" and heard children giggle. He tried to sort it out. "Wait! Thought I brought in three." His vision shifted and he recognized the little sandy-headed boy who was Mary's child and a very good friend to Chris. "Oh... hi, Billy!"

He tried to turn over and sit up then, but he had no strength. The pain wouldn't have let him do it anyway, and he felt smothered by the three women who now persistently kept pushing him back into the mattress. "God people, please don't push on anything!"

"Chris, you be still!" Gloria held him up, while Mary ripped part of the bandaging off his back, and that set his teeth on edge. "I'm sorry, Chris... but it's really better to do that fast, just get it over with, don't you think?"

"Oh, sure. Just rip it all out!" He buried his now damp face in Mary's soft hair and prayed he wouldn't be sick anymore, or curse the woman out loud either as she finished ripping the stuff off his shoulder, too.

"Senor Chris, you must be still. You must eat!" Inez placed a bowl of something that smelled warm and wonderful on the bedside table. His stomach growled and then emptied the bile that was all he had left inside.

"Now, Mr. Larabee, you don't want to move now. You have fever. You need to just be very still and quiet until Mr. Jackson gets back." Gloria Potter placed a firm hand against his ribs and pushed at the massive area of dark purple swelling under the skin. Chris cried out, then gritted his teeth as the woman set her attention on his still festering leg.

It took the man long minutes to still the shaking in his body. He looked up finally as he felt somebody trying to clean the matted blood from his scalp. "No! Stop! Get off me! I've got to move! Where's Charley? Did he hide the horses? Maria? Where's are all the children? Get them out of here. HIDE THEM, NOW!"

All three of the women and the children, too, tried to hold him down. He didn't leave the bed, but it was a close call. "Mary, send Billy somewhere else... anywhere else. Hide these children! Stains is coming!" He tried to come up off the mattress but found the dizziness, the confusion, the weakness were all still there. He groaned and fell back against the bed. His head seemed to explode as his body moved. "God! What did I do?"

"Chris... We don't know, but you're too sick to move out of this bed. You either be still on your own, or I'll get Tiny to come tie you down! I'm not joking this time."

"Mary, you can't do that! I've got to get things done!"

"You can tell us what you need done, but if you try to move, I will have you tied down. You can talk from that position, and if you really give us trouble, I'll fill you full of something nasty. I know what Nathan's used on you before."

"Don't do that to me!"

"Don't tempt us, Chris."

"Look, I'm full of something called pain powders. My head's been falling off for days. Don't put anything else in me until Nathan says it's okay. I really don't want to get hooked on that stuff."

"We won't, unless you make it necessary, Chris."

"Well, hell!"

Mary gave him her normal chiding, "Now you stop that, Chris. You've got four children in here now, and they don't need to hear you saying those things."

"Hell, three of 'em only speak Spanish... and Billy's heard it all before!"

"Mostly from you! Now stop it. You be good!" Mary patted his good arm.

"Senor Chris. They know enough English to understand that. They giggle very well when you say those things. Be good!"

"Shoot... they know it sounds like cussin'. They don't know what it means! They know I'm not mad at anybody, that it's just cause I hurt like hell!"

"But that doesn't matter, Mr. Larabee. They will still learn to say those things in English, and it will all be your fault." Gloria applied a cloth loaded with some type of hot lineament straight onto his wounds... all of the wounds, in rapid succession. "Of all of the injuries you have, only the arm has remained fixed right. All of the rest are seriously infected, Mr. Larabee. You don't need to move around and get worse blood poisoning. This little girl has done a good job of tending these on your back and shoulder... and she says you did your leg as often as you could. At least two of your ribs are broken, I think, and they are most likely infected down in there. I am surprised you didn't puncture a lung, Mr. Larabee, but still, if you get more blood poisoning now, it will all be your fault." She bathed his face with cool water.

"It's always my fault!" He hissed at the exasperating burn from the stuff she continued to pour into his wounds. "Look, are any of the others back yet?"

"No, Chris. None of them have come back to town."

"Ah, hel... sorry. Where's Charley?"

"He's hiding the horses."

"Where? Not in town!" He tried to push up again.

"He wouldn't say. He said nobody else should know except him and you. He didn't want to chance somebody letting it slip in front of strangers."

"Good. That's good." He lay back, trying to think.

"Here, Chris. Drink this." Mary pressed a cup to his lips.

"What is it?"

"A tonic to help you sleep."

"I can't sleep now, Mary. Things to do. I tell you Stains is coming. He's in with the man who killed Frank and both of these children's parents."

"What?!"

"I can't prove that he's in on it, but we can prove Horton killed those three people and stole the horses the children rode in on. If we go after Horton, Stains is coming after me, and at the moment, he can have me hung for stealing two horses off his ranch. He says he owns 'em, and I sure don't have a bill of sale. We've got to get watchmen set around town. We've got to hide these children. We've got to be ready if either of those two come looking. There's nobody here, Mary. None of the others are here. I've got to be ready. Don't put me out. Don't hold me down. Got to do this..."

"Where was the last place you saw them?"

"They were coming for us at the top of Whitley Ridge. Maria and the boys saw them coming and got us out of there."

"Chris, they wouldn't be coming toward Whitley Ridge, would they?"

"Why not?"

"Maria said bad men followed you to Eagle Bend, and they were still there when you left."

"We stopped on the overlook. You know, where I've been before."

"You didn't stay that long, did you?"

"I don't really know. I was pretty well down. They tied me on Pony... sort of drunk."

"DRUNK! HOW COULD YOU!"

"Not that kind of drunk. Just too much pain powders from Doc Simmons. He gave 'em to me to help my back. I was using way too many of them, trying to stay in the saddle and move."

"Oh, Chris. How long have you been hurt?"

"What day is it?"

"You've been gone eight days."

"Then I've been hurting for seven, and hurting worse since yesterday. Three or four bullets in my back, leg, and shoulder, couple just creases really; broke arm; ribs busted up some; and bruised to hell and back. Shoot, I don't know what all else... besides overdosing on pain powder. It's been a ride. Hadn't been for those kids and a padre named Hidalgo, I'd a died. I need to set up a watch, Mary. Need to do it now!" He tried to move, but it was just no use. The groan was stronger as the pain shifted deeper into his body.

"Well, for right now, Chris Larabee, I want you to drink this."

"NO. Can't sleep."

"This won't last long, and you need to rest for a time. I promise when it wears off, I won't make you take more for a little while. I will try to find where Nathan hides the laudanum, though."

"Just don't let me overdo that stuff either. You keep the bottle, let me have it when I'm supposed to have it, not before."

"Fine. Now, drink this, and eat Inez's soup. You need rest and strength. This won't last nearly long enough, but it will help."

"Thanks. Sleep does sound good."

She fed him, gave him the potion, then helped him turn on his not so sore side. He was asleep before she could run her long fingers through his matted blond hair.

Chapter 13

Maria was sitting beside him, holding to one of his fingers, her voice a soft whimper as she waited for him to come around. Her father had been as still as this, and he never work up. Chris was groggy still, but when his eyes opened the first bit, he was assaulted with Spanish in the pretty voice of his Nightingale. So tired he couldn't begin to concentrate on what she said, he just took her small fingers into his own hand.

"Whoa. Whoa, Maria. Slow down. Too much noise and I'll just puke again." He knew she understood little of it.

Her own words tumbled out. "Maria no go! Maria no go! Senor Chris... Maria no go!"

"Go? Go where? Why? Who says?" He moved his head and felt the blast of pain through his temples. "INEZ!" He puked at the sound of his own voice.

"Senor Chris. You must be quiet. What is the matter. What is this bad girl doing to upset you so?"

"It's Maria who's upset, Inez. Who says she's going somewhere? Where is she going?" He was talking low, now holding his pounding head.

"Oh, she wants to stay with you, but you have said to find a place for these children to hide."

"Oh, just to hide? She's not leaving... just hiding? Where?"

"Si. Just hiding. Mrs. Cuomo has asked that they come to her for safe keeping. Do you not know that family?"

"Yes. They're good people, and they've got room. Did you tell Maria that?" His body was suddenly shivering, his hands trembling, and he was violently sick.

"Of course, but she is attached to you now. She does not wish to leave your side. Senor Chris, you must not let her do this to you. You are too sick."

"I think I'm doing what I did with laudanum. I took too much. I'm having to go through what Nathan called withdrawal. I'll be okay... probably have chills, maybe puke a couple of days. This isn't as bad as laudanum, trust me. Tell her I'll be okay, then translate what I say. She needs to know what's going on. Maria?" He held out his hand to her. "Listen. Inez will tell you exactly what I say... I promise. You believe us?"

Inez bathed Chris's face and lay cool cloths against his throat to ease the nausea, the whole time translating what he said in a soothing voice, eliciting the child's serious nod.

Chris spoke softly, never letting his eyes leave Maria's. His voice shook as he shivered. "I want you to do something for me." He paused to let Inez translate. "It's important for you and your brothers."

She nodded, but she sensed it would be something not so easy to do for him. In her heart, she now thought of him as her 'papa'. Maybe she was learning that he didn't really want her, or maybe Chris now knew that he was going to die. His weakness, fever, shaking and nausea scared her.

"I want you to go with your brothers to stay with a very nice family whose names are Henry and Feliz Cuomo. They have three children at home. You'll like all of them."

She began to shake her head before Inez could finish. She held to Chris's hand and let her tears fall. "Why not stay with Chris and nice ladies. Why leave Chris? Chris does not want us now? Chris not die!"

"That's not it. I'm sick, but I'm not going to die. Just won't feel very good for a day or two, but that's still not it. It's because it would be dangerous for you and your brothers to stay with me. You won't be far away, just a little way outside this town."

"But Maria stay... not be problem! Boys go!"

He pulled her into his arm again and hugged her tight for a few seconds. "You're not a problem. I just don't want you to be hurt. For now, I'm hurt too much to protect you. I don't have my other lawmen here to help me protect you. The Cuomo's will protect you all until I can get on my feet."

"Then Chris take Maria home?"

He breathed deep, stilling the regret he felt. "Maria, at some time, you're going to need a home. Maybe the Cuomo's, maybe someone else... wherever it is, you'll grow up and be able to go back to your own home if we can prove what we need to prove. I wish it could be with me, but I'm not even married now, and I don't have a house big enough to keep one of you. I can't be your parent... but, Maria, I'll always be your friend, and if you ever need me, I promise you, unless I'm dead, I'll be there. Trust me. I'm doing what's best for you and those boys. I don't want to see you hurt... not now... not ever. Do you trust me?"

"Si, Maria love Chris!"

"And I love you too, Nightingale."

"Nightingale?"

He tried to shape his hand like a bird, motioned a small bird, and tried to show her that he thought she sounded like a very special, very beautiful bird when she sang. He gave up, too tired to try any more, but nodded to Inez for her to translate so the words made sense. Maria kissed his cheek tenderly, aware that his fever burned too high again. She poured water into a cup and fed it to him, then pushed his eyes closed so he would rest a little more.

Chapter 14

"Hey, Mr. Larabee! You're awake?" Charley Langley was staring at him this time.

He thought there were three of the boy, but he closed his eyes and imagined there was only one. "You think? I'm not so sure. How long have I been out?" Chris coughed to clear the still bothersome phlegm in his lungs.

"Well, it's early morning, just past daybreak, day after you brought in them kids."

"Ah, hell! Get me up!"

"And get tramped on by Mrs. Travis? No sir! I learned my lesson. Ain't you hot?" He pulled the blanket off Chris and dried the sweat from his face.

Chris snatched the blanket back over himself. "I'm freezing, but you're about to learn another lesson, kid... Get me up!" He shifted and knew all of the pain powder was making him sick. Mary hadn't found the laudanum either. "Hell... .think I've changed my mind. There another blanket over there?. I'm cold, but if I move too much, I'll just set myself to puking again. I'm tired of puking. Where's Mary? Anybody guarding this town?"

"Sure... Tiny's up in the loft at Bucklin's. There's the undertaker out on the walkway outside. Mrs. Travis is in the alley beside the jail, and Miss Inez is upstairs at Ezra's place. Oh, and Mrs. Potter is sitting in a chair in the window at the General Store. All of 'em's got rifles, 'cept Mrs. Potter. She's got her husband's old scatter gun. I'm 'sposed to be in the church bell tower pretty quick, soon as I saw you were okay. I've been practicing with Pa's rifle, Mr. Larabee. I'll do a good job of watching. Mrs. Travis sent you some of her soup!"

Chris blanched whiter than even illness made him. "Look... just don't practice in my direction, kid. Oh, and tell Mrs. Travis thanks for the soup, but my stomach's not ready for it just yet. Maybe later." Even as sick as he was, he remembered the horrible soup Mary Travis tended to force on him when he wasn't quite well.

"I'll tell her, but she said you had to eat something. There anything you can hold down?"

"See if she's got any biscuits and a little bacon. Just a little. Stomach's rocky as hell. Look, ask Mr. Bodie to go someplace else. Don't tell him I don't want him quite so close to me. He'll guess I got the undertaker spooks. Just tell him to leave the walkway to me so I can at least try to help. I'll take up this position. Ask him to take Digger Dan's saloon. Those Eagle Bend boys like saloons as much as our bunch, and Stains don't think much of Ezra so I doubt they'll go there."

"Yes, sir. I'll see to it."

"Thanks, kid. What's the signal to come runnin'?"

"Somebody shoots off a gun!"

"Good enough. Can I have some water?"

"Yes, sir. Much as you want. You fever ain't down none is it?"

"Don't figure it is. Skin's all hot and sticky."

"Mrs. Travis said if it ain't better, you're to stay put in that bed!"

"She did, did she?" He accepted a beaker of water from the boy.

"Yes, sir. Said you could expect something plumb nasty if you didn't do right."

"I get the message, now get me my rifle and a box of shells. Where's my .44?"

"I brought em all with me, Mr. Larabee. Figured Mrs. Travis might be mad at me for doing it, but you'd sure beat my butt if I forgot 'em." He opened the chamber of Chris's rifle and loaded a round.

"Smart... real smart, and I thought we had this down to Chris and Charley?"

"Shucks, Chris... sure, we're friends. I'm just excited enough to forget you said I could use your first name."

"Do me a favor... just stay calm enough to point that thing in somebody else's direction." He tried to laugh, but a pain shot through his back when he moved.

"You ain't never gonna let me forget, are ya?"

"Probably not... but it ain't meant to hurt ya. Now, put a chair for me out there, get me my pants, shirt, and something warm to cover my shoulders, and--"

"And NOTHING! Charley, you go on. Get to the church so you can help keep an eye on that end of town. GET!" She swatted the young man's seat as he cleared the door frame.

"Yes, ma'am. See ya later, Chris!"

Mary Travis stood in the door staring at the gunslinger. "And Chris... you're not going ANYWHERE!"

"Mary... I'm going to a chair out on that walkway. I know I can't go anywhere else, but I've got to help watch this town. Don't tell me different, Mary. My mind's set." He tried to just turn over on his back The pain he felt showed clearly on his face.

"You've been shot, Chris! You've got a broken arm, and you're sick from something I don't know anything about. Can't I talk any sense into your thick skull?"

"No... don't ever have sense... you know that. Did you get the kids hid?"

"They've been sent to the Cuomo's. They're safe. Will you at least consider a compromise?"

"Depends." He jerked hard as a pain went somewhere. His teeth began to chatter all over again after he puked.

"Will you rest, stay in bed for now. If we spot someone coming, we'll let you know. There's no reason for you to be up unless we've got something you have to do. Now, doesn't that make real sense?"

"Guess so. Maybe I'll just sit by the window inside."

"You will lay in this bed, Chris! If we do need you, you'll be too tired and nauseous to help if you try to stay sitting up. You've lost too much blood, and pushed yourself too hard. Just accept the fact that you're too injured to do anything except rest. I promise, if we see riders coming, we'll make sure you're ready."

"Ah, hell."

"CHRIS!"

"They ain't here. You've said it yourself sure enough."

"Generally because of you! Don't remind me. Now, have you eaten your soup?"

"Ah... "

"Here, give me this spoon. Open your mouth and eat this!"

"Can I have some of your biscuits instead? That biscuit mix and canned milk you sent in my provisions probably saved all our lives. Sure gave me a boost when I needed it bad. Those kids were down to next to nothing. She fed me the worst soup I've ever had in my life!"

"You mean it was worse than this of mine?"

"Ah... well... maybe... Sorry..." He managed to blush even through the feverish flush of his face.

"You're a mess, Chris Larabee."

"Bad element. Never said different. Biscuits? Maybe some syrup or molasses? Maybe something with a little more meat in it?" She heard his stomach churn, "I take it back... God, please don't let me puke anymore."

"If you promise to rest until I get back, I'll bring you a nice small plate. Inez's stove is hot, so I don't have to start out cold. She'll probably have some tortillas."

"Biscuit, okay. Just a biscuit. Don't think my gut wants tortillas or even bacon right now. She cooks good, but she cooks spicy!! I'd take the bacon... honest... but it ain't gonna stay put."

"So I'm not the only cook you criticize." She gave him a sip of cold coffee to try to settle his stomach.

"Hey... man's got a right! Specially a man with a gut that's as mean as mine is right now." He felt everything coming back.

"I agree. Now rest. I'll be back soon." She wiped his face again, and pulled the blanket up, but his body still shivered pathetically.

"Hell, that stinks. Thanks for putting up with the mess. If I'm gonna sleep, can you please try to find the laudanum. A little taste might keep all this from kicking so mean."

"I'll look." She began to check Nathan's shelves. Chris was quiet for a bit while she looked. She thought his look showed how hopeful he was that something would stop a little of his pain.

She found a bottle with a small dollop of the stuff in the very bottom. She filled the bottle with water, and handed it to Chris, who drank it down, grimacing at the taste, but smiling up at her. "Thanks." Some minutes later, the pain eased a bit and he got happily mellow. His smile became more cocky. "When's that dance? I think I've lost track."

"Two days from today. You'll still be in bed. You're NOT going to any dance."

"Get your dress ready, and remember, you're spoken for. If I can ride cross country with bullets in my back, and three kids poking and jumping on me, I can sure as hell dance with a broke arm, a sore leg, and a damn beautiful woman." He laughed drunkenly.

"Chris..."

"And I can even hold ya with my broke arm, too. You know I can, don't you?"

"Well... we'll see."

"Yes, ma'am. We will. Now get, and let me enjoy this laudanum for a few minutes. I think I just might sleep."

Chapter 15

"Senor Chris? Senor Chris? Wake... please wake... help Maria!"

"Ooooooooh! What? Where'd you come from? Why are you here? You're not supposed to be here!!" He puked again. "God, kid, don't shake me like that! What's wrong?"

"They come! They come!"

"Who? Come where?"

"Men who kill."

"Where?" He sat up and nearly collapsed. "Oh, God!" So much for the small dose of laudanum. His head spun and everything hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. "Ooooooh."

"Help Maria, Senor Chris! Please!!"

"How'd you get here?"

"Maria run. Come back here. See men!"

"Where are they? How many are there? Where's Inez, Mary?"

"Men keep... many men. Come two ways. Go all ways. Trouble, Senor Chris!"

"Charley? Where's Charley?"

"At church. Men no get."

"You go get with him. Stay out of sight. Get to the church. Tell Charley to ring the bell and then the two of you hide. I mean it. HIDE!" He was motioning for her about the bell, about hiding, about running. It took too much energy. "Don't come back here... either of you! He's to take care of you! Now, GO! Wait... where's my rifle and my .44?"

"Que?"

"No Spanish now!" He mimed firing a gun, hoping she would understand.

"Here." She pointed to the .44 and Winchester laying on the chair by the window. Chris stood up, and he sat back down, and he puked. He clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. They might hear him. The only way to win this time was to move with absolutely no sound. He motioned to her to bring the guns to him.

"How many are there?" He didn't remember asking before.

"Many senor." She held up fingers, all her fingers, and then a few more. "This many... maybe more. All... all place."

"Damn!"

The little girl giggled.

"Look, it ain't gonna kill ya to hear a damn or two."

"Que?"

"HELL!"

She giggled.

"STOP IT!" His one good index finger was in her face, "UP! GET ME UP!"

Chris couldn't stop the scream that came with putting weight on his infected leg, moving his shoulder and back full of wounds, grinding his ribs with his broken arm. But he stood, and he stayed up. He didn't stop to think about it, he just did it, blinking sweat from his eyes.

"Senor Chris?" She pushed on him, trying to make him stop.

"No... help me." He took shaky steps on the legs that wanted to fold, but with her meager help and his well-known audacity, he made it to the door. He thought for the first time about the tall flight of stairs and pointed toward a crutch leaning against Nathan's wall. "Get it! Bring it!"

"Si." She was quick, but she was worried for him.

"Now... go. GO! Find Charley!"

"Maria help Chris! Maria no go!!"

"GET OUT! GO! NOW!" He shoved her out the door and then toward the stairs. He heard her sob. "Nightingale!"

She turned with tears shining, only to see him smile for her. "Maria love papa Chris. Papa Chris... please, NO DIE!"

He felt the mist in his eyes, but kept the smile in his words, reassuring her. "I don't intend to. You remember I love you. Now fly, little bird. Go! You find Charley. Viya con dios, nina." He waited until she was out of sight before he made his attempt at the stairs.

Chapter 16

He made it down the flight, but only part way upright. He fell down the last few, but he didn't cuss the curse he heard in his head. He pulled himself up out of the dirt, found no new blood on his leg yet, picked up the .44 he'd dropped, and shuffled across the street, walking as straight and tall as he could.

Chris heard a big man's voice from the store loft, surprised and startled, coming down the stairs. The general store's door swung open, and Tiny Lawrence, the owner of the livery, emerged.

"Lord, Chris. What are you doing here?"

"Hey Tiny, buckle this holster for me. You seen any of 'em?"

"Any 'a who?" Tiny helped Chris settle the holster and dropped in the shiny .44.

"Thanks. Ain't got enough hands right now. Horton's supposed to be here. Horton's here, 'spect Stains is too and their whole gang."

"Ain't seen nobody... cept that little girl. She went toward the church. That boy that shot you up's in there somewhere. Got a rifle this time."

"At least that's two less worries... maybe three!" Chris managed a small grin. "Keep a watch on my back, okay?"

Tiny lay a big hand on the man's shoulder. "Damn, Chris... You look plumb gone."

"Mostly am. Look, get back in and keep a sharp watch. You see any of those, you let off a shot."

"You got it, Chris. You sure you don't need me with you?"

"I'll make it, Tiny. Thanks. Now get inside." Chris offered the man his hand, thinking that so many thought Yosemite 'Tiny' Lawrence was a meek man, too quiet, unable to do much more than pound iron into horseshoes. Chris knew better. Tiny was quiet, and strong, and dependable, and he had a fine heart. Chris took a deep breathe and stepped back onto the street, .44 sitting loose in his holster, rifle wedged under his broken arm. The town appeared quiet, too damn quiet to suit Chris.

He had moved back onto the boardwalk when he spotted a man on the porch of the Gem Hotel. He was tall, rangy looking, his holster tied low, his fingers tapping alternately between the trigger and the firing pen. Chris doubled back, working his way through Bucklin's alley, around past the still vacant lot where he puked, and up on the far side of the hotel. His .44 was in the man's ribs before the man had time to realize the gunslinger/lawman was there.

"Hey, Larabee... don't shoot... I ain't done nothing!"

"Hey yourself. Saw you in Eagle Bend last week, didn't I? You work for Stains?"

"Well, yeah."

"Good enough for me. Drop the mare's leg." Chris kicked the man's gun into the street with his bad leg... hissed and groaned. Then he just walked him quietly into the Gem. "Mr. McGragor?" He called to the manager.

"Chris! Thought you were laid up!"

"Not so much right now... maybe tomorrow, if I'm still around. You got a spare room?"

"Sure... top of the stairs. Nice one."

"I don't care about the amenities, Ansel. Just stick this piece of dirt up there... make sure he don't get lose. You got Walter around today?"

"Sure."

"Lock him in with him. This thing moves, turn Walter lose on him."

"You saying that for real?"

"Oh, let Walter have a little fun... just don't kill him. May need him later."

"Oh, okay. Let me know when you want him. Ah, think the Judge will pay for the rent?"

"You can take that up with him, Ansel. I 'spect he'll think it's your civic duty."

"Well... I 'spect that's what he'll think. Can't blame a man for trying. You look terrible. Want a bed yourself?"

"I lay down, I won't get up for about a month. Just don't let him get past Walter or you, Ansel. Oh, and don't let him make no noise either. Gag him."

"Yes, sir. Look, at least drink some whiskey."

"Water... just water." Chris downed the small glass. "Thanks." Ansel saw him stop and hold his side, then heard him groan as he walked out the door.

He ducked down the next alley and through the Chinese laundry behind the post office, giving wide berth to the undertakers place. He cursed at himself for being edgy about it. He went in the back door of Watson's hardware, motioning to Mrs. Watson to be quiet. She was hiding behind a barrel of nails,, and held up one finger, pointing to the front of the store. Chris tipped his hat, and moved in as quiet as he was able. He dropped his .44 back into his holster when he saw the man staring out the store's front window. and picked up an axe handle from a barrel by the storeroom door. The aisle to the front was loaded with merchandise, and Chris had to watch himself to keep from upending the things and himself. Just as he made it, the man started to turn, started to reach for his gun. Chris threw the wood hard, catching the man on the side of the head. He finished him off with the butt of his .44, remembering for some strange reason how Buck had yelled at J.D. for doing the same thing at the Seminole village.

Mrs. Watson, not really that timid, brought rope from the back room and made a tie any wrangler would have praised. The man wasn't going anywhere, not any time soon. She turned with a smile to Chris to thank him, but found him holding to a nearby counter, grimacing in pain. His eyes were glassy, and he was breathing hard.

"Mr. Larabee! What's the matter?"

"Give me a minute."

"Your bleeding! Are you injured?"

"A bit, ma'am. You wouldn't happen to have any medicinal supplies in this place, would you?" He felt the room spin and his stomach lurch.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Larabee. It's hardware... maybe Gloria has something."

"Yes, ma'am. Maybe got some water?"

"Of course." She went to a big barrel, filled the dipper, and brought it to the man. He straightened, held the ladel in a shaking hand, and downed it all. "Don't you want more?"

"No, ma'am. Thanks... just a little at a time... don't want to puke."

"I would think not. Who was that man? Why's the town so quiet?"

"Men from Eagle Bend."

"Enough said. You be careful around those devils. Those people ain't got a sense of decency at all. Now, I'm going to leave you to your work. Thank you for gettin' that no good out of my store. He said if I made a sound, he's going to shoot me! Of all the--"

"Yes, ma'am. Glad you're okay. Thanks for the help. Fine knot there... don't let him slip it, okay."

"Yes, sir. He's down 'til I say he's up."

Chris had no doubt that was true. He stepped past the man, who was using his most colorful language to the top of his lungs since he was awake again. "Ma'am... might want to stuff a sock in his mouth."

"Good idea... but this is hardware, not dry goods, Mr. Larabee. How about a bucket over his head?"

"Sounds like a plan." He smiled at her and eased out the door. He leaned over the front of the boardwalk and lost the water. He forced himself upright, and caught sight of something in the window across the street... at Potter's store. Gloria motioned to him, her face a knit of worry. He just whispered, "Medicinal... please, just a little something medicinal."

"Sit down now, Mr. Larabee. Why in the world are you doing this alone?"

"Ain't alone. Got all you people watching my back." His legs buckled, and he found himself with another chair behind his knees. "Thanks. Mrs. Potter? Do you maybe have some pain powder or laudanum in the store... just a little?"

"No, Mr. Larabee... this is a mercantile store. I don't keep medicinals. Mr. Waak at the Everything Store, end of the street, is your best bet. He keeps one apothecary shelf." She handed him a cup of water. He dropped the cup, his eyes closing as he swayed where he sat. She handed him another cup and watched him gulp it. "Mr. Larabee... you need to be in bed. You know that, and I won't harp at you. But hurry up and finish this."

Chris laughed, near exhaustion. "I'll try. Got any jerky... just a tiny piece?"

"Here! I should have asked. You haven't eaten much." She handed him a piece. He stuck it in his mouth, began to chew, and spit it clear across the room.

"Sorry, ma'am. That's Devil's Red... don't think my guts gonna take it." He groaned and lurched for the counter, where he puked into her trash bin. "Sorry."

"Here." She gave him a piece from another jar.

Chris eased it into his parched mouth. It was soft, chewy, tasty. He sighed. "Thanks, Mrs. Potter. Think that will hold me for a bit."

"Put these in your pocket for later." She saw him turn, and finally saw the blood on his back and realized he had blood on his leg, too. "CHRIS LARABEE!"

"Ma'am?" He turned back too quickly and ran his good leg into a display of kitchen knives. He let out an oath. "Sorry. That didn't feel so good."

"You poor man. Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Not unless you got some of Mr. Waak's medicinals. I'll get there eventually. You stay low and keep a lookout. So far, I only found two of 'em, and according to Maria, there's lots more."

"Looked like a big meeting when they rode in. That's for sure, but they all split up. I don't know where they are."

"Thanks, Gloria. Don't come out of the store... not for nothing. I'm headed next door. Charley said Mary was there."

"She moved, Mr. Larabee. I saw her when I was out back. She went up the street, probably headed for the Clarion."

"Saves me the walk... thanks. Guess I'll head for the saloon."

"Mr. Larabee... "

"At least one of 'em's gonna be in the saloon, Gloria... either Ezra's or Digger's. I ain't going for a bottle, though I'd really love to have a whole one right this minute."

"All I was going to say is be careful of those stairs... a good hiding place for riff-raff."

"Oh... thanks."

"I'm sorry, Chris. You be careful. You look like you're going to fall down."

"I hope not. I fall down, I won't get up too damn quick. Sorry."

"Get on with you now... hurry up and finish this mess."

The batwing doors of Ezra's saloon opened on a room that had often offered Chris Larabee a place to think, play, eat, or rest. Today, he didn't know what it offered, but he wasn't in much of a mood to find out. Still, it was the next stop up the street, and Inez needed to know what was going on. He set his teeth and hobbled straight across the dirt path that was the main street of the town. He smiled when he saw Inez just inside the door. He shoved open the batwings with what strength he had left. He tipped his hat, "Afternoon, Inez."

"GO BACK!"

The room was suddenly more than full of guns, and men, and pain... and Stains.

Chapter 17

"You're under arrest, Larabee!" Stains jeered at him. Then he punched him in the gut, and shoved him back into the crowd of hired guns that surrounded Chris. A big one picked him up and threw him onto the bar. A bunch drug him the whole length of it, then somebody turned him onto his back. Chris yelled and got in at least one good punch... before somebody clamped down on his bleeding legs. He hurled the puke in their face and got punched in the gut again. The room spun and he passed out.

Stains eyes were staring down into Chris's face. Totally happy with the result of his plan, he lost no time pronouncing his verdict, "You're under arrest for horse theft, and since I seen ya do it, and it was my horses you stole, I think we'll just take you down there to that fancy gallows you people keep, and we're gonna have us a little hanging."

"NO!" Chris tried to fight, but there were hands surrounding him. Inez screamed, but a group of the men surrounded her and pinned her where she was. There was a rope already tied, and Stains reached out to loop it over Chris's neck.

One last chance. Chris took the moment Stains stopped to brag to his cohorts to try to make a break. He hadn't seen Horton... not until the man came up from behind the bar and shot him.

"Ought to slow him down for ya, Sheriff." Horton laughed as he watched Chris grab his right side.

It wasn't much of a wound. Any other day, Chris would have cursed the shooter and gone to fighting. Now, he didn't have a bit of moisture left in his mouth to spit... and he was fiercely tired of pain.

Someone yanked his broken arm behind his back and tied it to the other one. The noose was already around his neck now, but somebody tightened it and handed the end of the rope to Stains. The hemp cut into his neck as they pulled him out into the street, pushing and shoving him back the way he had come. There at the end of a very short walk, Chris could see the place where he was about to die.

The gunmen surrounded him. The townspeople knew what was about to happen, and unlike they had been when it had been Nathan Jackson about to hang, they found their courage and came to stop it. It was a mad house, people pushing, trying to reach him. Chris only had a little time and energy to appreciate their attempt.

Stains and Horton, guns trained on the small band of town people, drug him quickly past the livery and up the steps to the top of the gallows, to a spot just feet from where Chris had meant to sit in his chair and wait. No one was there to watch his back now. There would be no formality about this. Stains would just do it. Chris fought as best he could, yanking and jerking, trying to free his good arm, trying to find any break. Horton slugged him in the gut with the butt of Chris's own rifle.

Chris knew this place so well. He had helped build it. He had helped drop at least three down the trap door he now knelt on, too weak to stand up on his own. He had hated this place, but had done what was expected of him by these people. They stood there, below him... faces horror stricken as they knew he was about to die.

Someone had found the two in the church. They had flattened Charley. He was there, in Gloria Potter's arms. At least he had someone to help him get through it. Maria's eyes stared up at him from below, and he shut out the eyes, wishing she wasn't there to see. He couldn't really see the extent of the full crowd... the back of it seemed to pulse as people pushed against one another.

"Stand up, Larabee! Face this like a man!" Chris felt Stains haul him up, felt his boots make contact with the wood of the trap door. His neck stretched up as they tied the rope over the support beam and adjusted the noose. They knew how it was done... there was enough slack to make sure the fall snapped his neck. The details seemed to float through his swimming brain. Something shiny flash in his eyes from somewhere across the street. He heard a sharp whistle somewhere, and he thought of Vin... but Vin... none of them were here. Good enough that they didn't have to see.

He felt the small shift of the trap, and a tug at the end of his bound wrists. He felt his heart lurch, a sudden burst of panic as he felt his feet burst into openness. He made some kind of strangled sound, and felt his one good arm spring out free. A sharp crack, the tug on his neck suddenly stopped, still falling, still hurting. 'God, please no more', just an echo in his mind. Desperation and horror and panic, he caught the side of the trap with both arms, landing hard on both broken and sound. Wedged between broken ribs and bloody side, afraid to fall, afraid the loose rope was just an illusion, something pushing on his dangling legs, he puked on Stains' boots and he saw nothing but black.

Chapter 18

"Dag-nab-it, Larabee, be still!"

"Doc? Am I in hell? Don't... please... don't. It hurts!"

"What hurts?"

"EVERYTHING! PLEASE, DOC. NATE? Where's Nate?"

It was Buck he heard. "No... be still, Stud. We got to get this damn hole big enough to get you out without breaking anything else open. We got a rope around ya to keep from dropping ya, but if you move, you're gonna break more of those ribs... on both sides."

Then there was Simmons. It had been Simmons he heard. "Don't move that arm... either arm... just be still for once, dag-nab-it."

"Chris... don't wiggle. You're heavy. I might drop ya! Trying not to let that rope squeeze nothing."

"J.D.? That you down there?" He was only whispering... his head was swimming and his stomach lurched, He puked. "Hell, sorry J.D... didn't think there was nothing left."

Simmons pushed him forward in the hole, trying to stop the bleeding on his back. "Hell... was it just seven, what eight, days ago I seen you? How in the hell did you manage to get in this mess this quick?"

"Just a talent, I guess. God, Doc... please stop."

Then there was Vin Tanner, and Chris felt safe again. "Look, Cowboy. You be still, it's gonna be over quick. We'll get you to Nathan's."

"Hell, Vin! You call that OVER! AWHHHHHHH!"

"Now don't you start on me, Chris. Was me that cut your arms loose. Think you'd be just a little grateful."

"Nathan, I'm alive. I didn't hang. I'm grateful." He was serious as he looked into all their faces. "Where'd you come from?"

"Been chasing you and three damn kids all over the hills, Chris. Why didn't you tell them it was us?"

"I was sort a sick." He cried out again as something moved. "Hell, I hate being pinned down. Get me LOOSE!"

"Yeah, Stud. You're your own ornery self."

"What happened? Vin, you shoot that rope?"

"No. We'd just got to Mary's, just found out what was happening in town. Heard the commotion start. I's in the back of the crowd... couldn't get a bead. It was Tiny who done it."

"Where's Tiny?"

"He's gone to get something to put you on when we get you loose."

"How'd you get to me? How'd you stop them two?"

"Well, little ole Ez worked himself through the crowd. Distracted a bunch of them Eagle Bend boys with a nice display of cold, loose cash. He threw it; they jumped for it. Made a nice size hole to get Nathan close enough to use a knife on the ropes. J.D. snuck 'neath the gallows, grabbed your legs so ya wouldn't fall. Josiah went and got the one in the church so he couldn't shoot ya or anybody else."

"Where were you and Buck? What did you do?"

"We's at the back of the crowd, not being much damn use at all. Sorry, pard."

Someone moved his shoulder, and he was out again... for a minute.

"Charley okay? Where's Maria?" He moved feebly, trying to free himself from the torture they used to help him.

"Maria? Who's Maria, there Stud."

"Little girl... my Nightingale."

"Oh, a little hell cat about yeah high to a jackrabbit?"

"Sounds right. PLEASE... don't pull on my shoulder! My back! Where is she?" He fought to breathe, talked to avoid the pain.

"We sent her packing!"

"No... God, Buck. She saved my life!"

"Dag-nab-it, Larabee. Shut up and get still. Don't move those arms... you hear me?"

"Shut up, Doc. God, my back! Buck... where'd you send her?"

"Oh, she's just packed to the clinic. Promised her we would let her help nurse ya, once we got you loose. You know that kid calls you papa, don't ya? You got some explaining to do there, Stud?"

"Hell, Buck. "

"Just funning ya, Chris."

"Ain't no damn time for funning, Buck. They nearly hung me!"

"Ain't the first time ya nearly hung. Nearly's the important word, don't ya think?"

"Yeah. Nathan, Doc? Either of you got a little laudanum, or a pain powder maybe? God, this hurts!"

"Dag-nab-it, Larabee. Where's them powders I give ya at my place?"

"Gone."

"I TOLD YOU--"

"Been a rough eight days. Please... please... just stop. Who's doing this to me?"

"Ezra's helping to take the trap apart. Got to go slow so we don't puncture your lungs."

"Can't we do anything to make it stop? Please... so tired, Nate."

"Easy, Chris. I've got a good supply at the clinic. Get you fixed up soon as we get you there."

"Glad somebody knows where it is. God. Just, please, hurry up. J.D.?"

"Yeah, Chris."

"Duck." He puked. "Sorry. Vin... Buck... make em stop. I can't do this anymore."

Ezra's voice sounded relieved and proud of his work. "Okay, gentlemen. That's the last of it. Hold on to him, J.D. Mr. Larabee, prepare to move."

"NO!"

Nathan made sure he was still breathing. "Okay, Tiny. He's out again. Let's get him home."

Ezra seemed confused. "Mr. Jackson... you do mean to move him no further than your clinic, right? I fear there is no inch of his person that is without terrible injury."

"Hell, Ezra. Sometimes I think my clinic IS his home. You boys, watch it... move him real slow."

Chapter 19

"Vin, just let me work! Back up so I can see. Head wound's old, just red. Know the neck's from the rope. His left arm's splinted, so I figure it's broke, but both shoulders are out of socket. That on his side's a fresh gun shot, but just a crease. He's been shot in the back more than once and both legs are bleeding. Right one's old, left one looks like somebody stabbed a bunch of times... it's new. You boys get quiet. Chris is trying to come to, and he's gonna hurt, and he's probably gonna be real scared. HUSH! ALL OF YOU GET OUT!"

"Hell, Nate... we ought ta be here when he wakes up."

"Vin... look... you boys go out 'til he can deal with this. I'll call ya when it's time." The medic pushed all of them from the room, then looked around, worried, at Simmons. "You do think he's gonna come to, don't ya?"

"Worst thing Larabee's got is infections. These wounds have been tended to, just didn't have the right medicine to stop the festering. We got what he needs. After that, this man's just plum worn out. Oh, and he's had way to much of those pain powders. He's gonna be a little touched in the head for a bit, but ain't like he ain't had a hangover before, is it?"

Nathan finally smiled, "No... Chris's had plenty of those. Last was was a long while ago though... he may not appreciate a new one."

"Well, let's just see how much of this we can ease BEFORE he wakes up."

"You gonna cut or am I?"

"You hold, I'll cut."

"You do know when this man comes to he's gonna be one mad cuss."

"Well, Nate... maybe it's best if we just get some rope and tie him down tight! Done it to him before. Rope's gonna be kinder than those manacles I used on him. Was sure glad he didn't come up swinging at me! Let's tie him."

"Gonna be one doubly mad cuss!"

"Well, we sure can't give him nothing for pain. Loaded as he is with those pain powders. Laudanum'll just make that headache doubly worse. Have to save that blessing for later... a few days from now."

"We're gonna definitely need rope."

The first scream let them know how bad it was in his back. The old bullet trenches were filled with corruption. The rope held him, but he struggled fiercely against their work. Thankfully, Chris passed out quickly, and even more mercifully, he refused to wake up. During the hours that followed the last of the surgery, they cleaned and stitched his other wounds and soothed him as he fought dreams and pain. They lost count of the many times he thought he was being hung.

The door opened. "Nathan... he come to yet?"

"I swear, VIN! You and those boys don't stay out a here--"

"Dag-nab-it, Tanner! He's sick, and we got a lot of work to do. You men don't stay out of here, I'm gonna dose the lot of you!"

"Nate... you promise? You'll call us the minute he wakes up?"

"Yeah, Vin. And doc's not fooling."

"I'm gone. We're ALL gone!"

"Doc. You sure got a way with those boys."

"Figure if I can get Larabee's attention. Well, them boys are tough... but they ain't near as tough as this one here. Come on, Chris... easy. Ah, hell, son... to hell with this... let's give ya a little laudanum anyway."

Chapter 20

"No! No! Don't let me fall... don't let me hang. Stains...NO! VIN! BUCK! NATHAN MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE DOC, PLEASE!"

"Come on Larabee, dag-nab-it. You're scaring this little girl! Come on... not gonna hang. You know you're not gonna hang... known that for a couple days... just gotta heal. Drink this. Damn it, Nathan. Something's got to bring this fever down... get him out of hell. This ain't as easy as I thought it'd be."

"No... No. Don't let me fall... don't hang me... Caballo... no take caballo. Stains, get away from me. Doc... pain... Nathan, where are you?"

"Easy, Chris." Nathan touched him, trying to reach Chris's tortured brain.

"Little bird. Nightingale. WHERE ARE YOU?! FIND HER... KEEP HER SAFE! NATHAN? DOC? Caballo... caballo... Pony? Good Pony... Home boy, get us home. STAINS! Don't let me fall!"

Nathan had worked through the night trying to cool the unrelenting burning in Larabee's body. "I just don't know how to get him out of this, Doc. He's burning up. Just can't seem to drag his mind away from all this hell."

"Nathan, the thing isn't so much the dreams, it's something somewhere we ain't found. He's got something inside we ain't treated yet. Least that's what I think it is."

"Maria! SNAKE! Nightingale? So tired... Canteen? Water?"

"Look here, missy... do you know something we ain't doing for Chris? He hurt somewhere we just ain't seen?" Nathan knelt in front of her, seeing her tears.

"Si," she pointed to his left arm, tied tight against his chest."

"She don't understand, Doc. She thinks we're talking about Chris's broke arm."

She shook her head frantically and pulled on the bandages that surrounded him and kept the arm still.

"You're gonna bust it again, Girl. Get away from that!" Simmons tried to move her.

Maria stamped her foot, and she drew back a little hand and smacked Simmon's on the top of his head. She made frantic motions, and when that didn't work, she looked at Nathan and said, "Inez... Maria tell Inez." Nathan was out the door and gone in a flash.

"Gun shot AND broken ribs. Dag-nab-it, I thought we looked everywhere."

"And all that infection. Thousand wonders we didn't kill him trying to heal that arm."

"Well, you gonna cut this time, or am I?"

"You cut, I'll still hold. Lord, he comes to, he's gonna be one angry cuss."

"Nathan, I think we best just tie him down again."

"I'm tellin' ya... we're addin' misery to misery. He's gonna be one hellacious cuss to deal with!"

"Least he's too busted up to hurt you and me. Pain ought to hold him still a bit."

"You'd think that, wouldn't ya? He took out two and survived a beating AND a hanging with every bit of this. I think we better tie him down tight!" Nathan still sounded worried... but not so much for Chris.

Chapter 21

"Dag-nab-it, Larabee. Am I gonna have to hold your nose to make you take this?"

He had been faking sleep, trying to avoid the dose of laudanum. Doc always knew when Larabee tried to fake anything. The doctor tapped his broken arm with the spoon, and grinned when Chris opened his eyes.

"Huh? Hell, Doc. I told ya I don't hurt so much no more. I don't need any more of that laudanum! Doc, this headaches worse than the one from them pain powders... and that one beat rot-gut whiskey all to hell."

"Larabee... quit your bellyaching. You don't calm down, I'm gonna dose ya hard."

"Look... it just don't hurt no more. Let me alone!"

"Don't hurt?" He clamped down on Chris's shoulder, pounded his back, and grasped both legs. He took pity on the man and didn't poke his ribs, but he had immense satisfaction in hearing the man screech from the rest. "Thought so."

"Give it!" Chris took in the big spoon of nasty laudanum that Bill Simmons shoved down his throat. "Don't have to choke me, you old reprobate."

"Look, Larabee. You give me grief, I'll find a whole new way to dose ya."

"No, you won't. You son-of-a-bitch. Thought you said I could go outside today. Said yourself that I need fresh air to clear my head!"

"You ain't got no head! And I changed my mind."

"Why? Hell, Doc... I done everything you and Nathan said for the last ten days... my back's about to die in this bed. You've let me up a bit yesterday. Why can't I go outside?"

"Larabee, just shut it up. You know you've got at least another ten to go, mostly in that bed. I ain't in a mood to listen to you complain. Oh, and the Judge finally came back yesterday."

"He did? Now, I know where I'm going... or is he coming here? When's the trial?"

"Tried Horton yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Bishop and her oldest, and Maria and the boys were fine witnesses. Vin and Charley brought the two horses back in as proof that Horton done all the thieving as well as all the killings."

"Hate I missed it. I could a made it there, ya know."

"Know. But you weren't needed. Thought it was best to let ya rest."

"They get them both?"

"No... couldn't prove nothing against Stains."

"Don't they call trying to hang me just a little bit of a no? And what about Maria's land?"

"The land's civil. Judge is looking into it, but that's gonna take a spell. Stains claimed he didn't know nothing about what Horton had done. Said he believed him when he said you stole those horses. He gave real good testimony against that partner of his. Guess he figured if someone was gonna hang for all this, he'd let Horton do it. Course, him being the law in Eagle Bend... the Judge had to go by his word. Had himself a whole bunch of good character witnesses come in from home to boot. Sorry, Chris."

"Hell. This is one I OWE that son-of-a-bitch for sure. Don't tell me they didn't convict Horton!"

"No, convicted on all counts. Shoot, everybody KNEW Horton done the killing. Stains didn't pull no trigger. Horton's guilty as hell. That's why I don't want ya out there right now."

"Why's that?"

"They're fixing to hang him."

"Oh."

"Didn't think ya needed to see that happen. You ain't nearly had long enough to forget that drop, and from my experience, ya ain't near 'bout mean enough to enjoy watching somebody else do it if you don't have it to do. And I SURE don't want anybody suggesting that you do it to him. You been deep enough into revenge before."

"Thanks, Doc. Think I'm glad I missed all of it on this one. Do me a favor?"

"Yeah? What. And don't say you want up. You're here, I want ya to just rest a while longer. Ain't gonna kill ya."

"No... would ya maybe send for Maria? I'd like to see her, and the boys. And you might ask Mrs. Bishop and her bunch, Mary, and Inez, and Gloria Potter to come too."

"When's that?"

"Oh... get them here a little before the time they're gonna start Horton's walk."

"Don't want them watching it, or you planning on a ring-side view?"

"Figure them people, and me, have been through enough, Doc, especially them kids. Mary, Inez, and Mrs. Potter won't mind missing the show, and they're the best to be here to help 'em forget what's going on outside. Get somebody to close the shutters."

"How you gonna keep their minds off a thing like that?"

"That's easy, Doc. Maria'll do it. She makes all the pain go away. When I hurt so bad out there, she sang and I forgot how much it hurt. No... they'll forget, at least for a few minutes. For me, all I got to do for now is get my Nightingale to sing."

"Sounds like it's something you need."

"Is. Sure is. And when they've done what they're gonna do outside, you tell 'em I don't ever want to see that gallows again. Tell Vin I said to pull it down and burn it."

Chapter 22 (One month later)

"Papa Chris! You're here! Mama Cuomo said you were coming today. You are well... you can ride now?"

Chris's smile was blazing, like she had never seen before. His eyes sparkled, and he laughed a laugh that made her happy. "You're English has sure picked up in the last month! Wish I could say the same for my Spanish! Yeah, I think I'm pretty well mended except this busted arm's a real bitch."

She giggled, thrilled to see him whole and well. She noticed that he was even more handsome when he wasn't hurting. Chris blushed at her stare and his slip of the tongue... again.

"Sorry. You like it here? They good to you and the boys? Where are the boys?"

"Papa Chris... we have food! And we sleep so warm. Mrs. Cuomo show Maria how to make new blouse! Michael and Ricardo enjoy working caballo again. They work now."

"So it's good?"

"I miss my home, Papa Chris. I wish I could go home."

"Well, it's gonna be a time... you know that."

"Mr. Cuomo say the same. Says have to prove that Papa paid for his land. Says it will do... just long time."

"Yeah. Don't ever think nothing's gonna move fast in a court. That's for sure. Know what?"

"What?"

"The boys... my friends... want to see where I was when they were looking for me. I told 'em I'd show 'em if they agreed to take you and the boys with us. You'll get a chance to see your place, and my friends said they'd get some supplies and start a few repairs while we're there. Now, you understand, these are my friends, a bunch of real yahoos, and I can't promise exactly how much work they'll get done, but it's a start. You, Michael and Ricardo want to go?"

"Oh, Papa CHRIS!" She hugged him, jarring his arm. He didn't let on that it still hurt like that. He just hugged her.

He still couldn't fool her. "Papa Chris. You still hurt, do you not?"

"Well, some. It's better though."

"You are sure?"

"I'm sure. Trust me?"

"Yes, Maria always trusts. Know what?"

He laughed, "What? What's got you so sparkly?"

"I make fried chicken... just for you!"

"You made enough to eat with me, didn't you."

"Well, yes. Mama Cuomo says I must eat... not be so scrawny as Papa Chris."

He grinned, "Well let's put some flesh on us both."

They saddled Diablo together and rode out to sit beside the small stream on the edge of the property where she was living. Pony and Diablo grazed nearby. They ate like they'd seen starvation before, but knew it was a thing of the past.

Maria saw him beginning to nod, when his stomach could hold no more. "Papa Chris still tired, no. You rest." Her words left no room for misinterpretation. She reached up and pulled his eyes shut. "Take nap... okay?"

"Sounds good. Love this place you've found. I like the river, and the breeze, and... " He was dozing peacefully in the grass. She wondered what he was dreaming about. A soft smile played across his face.

"You gonna sit there and stare at me, or are you gonna sing me to sleep?" He opened one cocky eye and smiled.

"Papa Chris trick Maria!"

"Nightingale, don't you know I'm a real bad element? I am ya know... trust me. But I'm not so bad when there's something beautiful around... like you, and your voice. Come on, little bird, I'll rest if you sing."

THE END