Vin ambled into the smoke-filled saloon, his eyes roving around the noisy room as he headed for the bar to order a drink.

"Keep, one gut-warmer."

Lifting the filled glass up, the tracker suddenly paused as he felt a familiar sensation ripple through him. Vin’s recent experiences as a wanted man had made him doubly cautious, had taught him to listen carefully to what his body and senses were telling him. So when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he instantly went on the alert. Someone was watching him. Turning his head slowly and keeping the movement casual, Vin spotted Lydia sitting close to the fireplace, alone, but studying him intently.

The peacekeeper’s return gaze of neutral enquiry made the woman smile disarmingly, and she stood, spreading her arms wide to convey her innocence. "Don’t worry, I’m not working."

"It don’t matter to me," Tanner replied truthfully as Lydia approached him.

"I really appreciated your help this morning. We agreed amongst ourselves; we will obey your rules while we’re here," the woman hastily assured the tracker.

"Shouldn’t you be laying low? Somebody could recognise you and tell Wicks."

"Your friend Larabee send you here to say that?"

There was an infinitesimal narrowing of Vin’s eyes at that inquiry, although it was in amusement, not irritation, and a tiny, secret smile tugged at the corners of the Texan’s mouth. "I look like a messenger boy?" he wanted to know.

Lydia was an excellent judge of people – an absolute must in her line of work – but as she stared at the man for a few seconds, and weighed up his character, she realised her mistake. "Sorry," the woman murmured contritely, looking away in mild embarrassment. "Mister Larabee ain’t as friendly as he usually is."

"Maybe he don't want to get caught 'tween you and the town," Vin reasoned.

"You mean 'tween me and Missus Travis," Lydia amended. There was the briefest of pauses before she continued. "Anyway, I'm tired of making decisions depending on what other people want."

Vin lowered his eyes and remained silent at this statement, but Lydia could feel the uneasy aura that suddenly settled around the peacekeeper. Her innocuous – and somewhat frustrated - words had somehow hit a raw nerve with him, and she would have liked to find out more about this enigmatic man before her. However, she was astute enough to know that Vin Tanner wasn’t in the mood to be communicative, and was unlikely to share his thoughts with her, a relative stranger. Setting down her empty glass, she threw the man a challenging look, one that was almost defiant. "I'm going to go check in on Nora."

It was a pointless exercise to try and stop the strong-willed, and feisty, woman from doing exactly what she wanted, so Vin didn’t even bother trying. Instead, he scanned the room as she left, making sure that no one followed after her. Satisfied that Lydia’s departure had elicited no interest from within the saloon, he strode over to the batwing doors, and watched her unhurried progress down the empty streets. He didn’t relax his vigilant pose until he’d seen her climb the stairs to the clinic, and enter Nathan Jackson’s safe domain. Returning to the bar, the tracker lounged against the counter to finish his interrupted drink, and to mull over the conversation he’d just had with the perspicacious woman.

Vin grasped the underlying meaning of Lydia’s penultimate remark, and guessed it had been triggered by the intolerant attitude shown to the working girls by some of the more puritanical residents of Four Corners. Unfortunately, prejudice and bigotry was akin to a canker, spreading like wildfire until even the most permissive moderate’s within a community were infected. The ‘good’ of today’s society had established parameters, acceptable standards of conduct, and to be different from the norm was wrong to the majority of people. So anyone who did not conform to these narrow-minded tenets was ostracised, cast out and effectively shunned.

Like Lydia, the former bounty hunter had also had folk coming to unfair and unjust conclusions about him and his ways, and had endured the hostile, but watchful, glances whenever he’d ridden into a new town. Over the years Vin had become immune to the disdainful looks and spiteful whispers, although he recalled his shock, the confused hurt, the first time he’d hit a wall of antipathy erected by supposedly civilised people. That had occurred not long after the Army had ‘rescued’ him from the Comanche band he lived with, and was still firmly entrenched in his memory. Taking another sip of whiskey, he couldn’t stop those deliberately submerged, and extremely painful, remembrances from rolling into his mind.

Following the cessation of the War Between the States, there was great upheaval in the southern half of the country, and many men – young and old – were dispossessed. The were left without family or land, and the Confederate States’ paper currency had been rendered worthless, giving these men no financial means to support themselves. Vin was one such unfortunate; a penniless orphan in his teens who drifted from town to town in search of the odd job or chore, willing to do virtually anything for a meal or a few supplies - although his pride would never allow him to accept charity. He existed mainly in the wilderness, alone, isolated by circumstance from his countrymen, forgotten and abandoned after the turmoil and hardship of the bloodiest war in American history.

Coping without kinfolk or friend was tough for one so young, but Vin got by and, knowing no different, was reasonably content with his lot. However, at the end of what had been a particularly harsh winter, a debilitating fever struck down the malnourished and inadequately clothed youngster, and he’d been forced to ride in search of help.

As luck would have it, a Comanche hunting party - which thankfully for the ailing youth consisted mainly of tehnap, or experienced, braves - found him in the middle of nowhere, slumped over his horse’s neck and barely conscious. The men from the Yamparikuh - Yap-Eater – band took the sick boy to their camp, tended to his needs and nursed him back to full health. As was their way, the Indian band took in the homeless drifter, and Vin soon discovered the joys of having a family who cared about him.

Several years went by, and the boy from Texas grew into a man. Always a fast learner, Vin quickly picked up the Comanche language, and was totally integrated into the group, becoming one of The People. He learned the skills of a young Comanche buck, and was taught by his adoptive father how to fight with a knife, how to hunt, track and survive in the wilderness whatever the weather or terrain. The white man was fully accepted into the band when he gained the honourable title of warrior, and for the first time since his mother’s death, Vin’s future seemed bright and reasonably secure. He’d finally found happiness and a purposeful life.

That idyllic existence ended on the day the US Army rode into the Yamparikuh’s beautiful valley to claim the land for white settlers. The soldiers attacked without provocation, callously throwing fire-brands into the occupied lodges and shooting at the warriors who made a stand to protect their families. A breechclout-clad Vin Tanner also went on the defensive, uncaring that he was trading bullets with his fellow countrymen. The bloody skirmish raged on, but it was a hopeless fight for the Yamparikuh. Outnumbered by more than ten to one, and with a Gatling gun being used to indiscriminately cut down groups of men wholesale, the band was decimated. The ground and nearby river ran red with blood, and once the Army’s horrific killing machine had done its evil work, the soldiers moved in on foot to finish off the survivors and to burn any remaining structures. Hatred, fear and greed impelled the white men on, and no Comanche was spared – not even the woman, children and old folk.

The solitary exception to this was Vin. A grizzled corporal, a veteran of the war, found the unconscious Texan sprawled amongst the bodies, and immediately recognised what, if not who, the wounded youngster was. Leaving the carnage that had become the Indian camp, the soldiers transported Vin to their fort, a day’s hard riding away. Wracked by fever, weak from blood loss and with his life hanging on by the merest thread, a surprisingly capable surgeon operated to remove one bullet from the lone survivor’s back, plus another from his thigh.

The weeks passed, and gradually Vin’s health and strength returned. But as this happened, the bereft man also felt the brazen hostility directed at him by the officers’ families billeted at the fort. The youngster was regarded as a freak of nature, incorrectly labelled a half-breed and called Indian lover, or worse, to his face. These so-called sophisticates were also afraid that Vin might revert to the barbaric ways and customs of the ‘savages’ he’d lived with, while some of the more highly-strung women questioned the regiment’s rationale of saving the man. Inflamed by nasty gossip and ill-conceived rumours, the women and children in the close community avoided him, and wherever he went within the military enclave Vin was stared at, blatantly goaded, publicly ridiculed.

It was exactly three months to the day of the slaughter when the still grief-stricken man was deemed fit enough to ride. After talking to the fort’s commanding officer, Tanner was provided with a mount that was too old and footsore to be of much use to the Army, plus some provisions and other necessary supplies. There was relief all round when Vin finally left the place that held so much sorrow and so many torturous memories for him.

The general noise and hubbub of the crowded saloon brought the tracker back to the present day with an agonising jolt, and he swiftly tipped the remainder of his drink down his throat. The bite of neat alcohol helped restore him somewhat, but Vin swallowed hard, briefly squeezing his eyes shut as the faces of those spirits from his past whisked through his mind. This last vision was totally unexpected, and his hand trembled slightly as he placed the empty glass on the counter. The peacekeeper couldn’t seem to breathe, and he suddenly felt like the saloon’s walls were pressing in on him, robbing him of oxygen along with his faculties. He had to get out into the open.

Vin stumbled blindly from the suffocating atmosphere of the barroom, gratefully gulping in the cool night air as he leant against a roof upright for support. The vivid flashbacks had shaken him badly, and he clung to the rough timber, desperately trying to ride out the shock-induced tremors that were now bombarding him. Lord, he’d thought that tragedy, and the terrible sense of loss from that day, had faded from his mind years before. Vin was stunned at how graphic the images of the massacre had been, and appalled at how comprehensively they had overpowered him.

"Hey, Vin! Have you seen Chris around?"

Nathan Jackson’s voice suddenly cut through Vin’s troubled thoughts, providing a welcome release from the emotional distress encasing him. Pushing away from the wooden post, the tracker quickly schooled his features into his normal, calm and stoic mask as the healer came towards him.

Vin cleared his throat and swallowed hard before replying. "Can’t say that I have, Nate," he rasped.

"Dammit!" Nathan swore in annoyance, running a hand over his cropped hair as he gazed around the deserted main street. He was pre-occupied with his own problems, so failed to pick up the slight quaver in the other man’s voice. Nor did the healer notice how Vin’s head dipped downwards to obscure his face under the brim of his hat.

"Ain’t that just like him?" Jackson demanded heatedly of the tracker. "He tells me to keep him informed on things wit’ Nora, but then disappears quicker’n one of Miz Nettie’s pumpkin pies at Thanksgivin’!"

Nathan muttered another mild oath under his breath, before knuckling at his tired, red-rimmed eyes. He could feel the grittiness that had accumulated there from the lost sleep of the previous night, and the last thing he wanted to do tonight was spend precious time searching for the absent gunslinger.

"I’ll find Chris an’ give him yer message, if you want," the tracker offered.

The former slave puffed out a grateful sigh, and nodded to his young friend. "I’d appreciate that, Vin, ‘cause I really need to catch up on some sleep. Tell Chris, I reckon that girl should be able t’travel th’ day after tomorrow."

"I’s glad t’hear she’s doin’ better. Are you staying with her ag’in tonight?"

"Yep. Lydia’s up there at present…."

The words tapered off, and Nathan grinned when he saw Vin squint concernedly through the darkness in the direction of the clinic. "They’ll be fine for a short while," the healer assured his colleague. "Especially as I left Lydia my gun, an’ told her to shoot if anyone from Wicks Town found their way to my place. That gal will do it too!"

Vin chuckled at the healer’s predictive remark. "I don’t doubt that fer one minute."

"She’s a mighty strong woman, headstrong, an’ like a mama bear to them girls. That’s why I’m confused at her lack o’ reaction to Ezra’s money-makin’ scheme. Why’s she letting him make profit from that damned charm school a’his?”

"Maybe she figures he’s harmless, or jis’ means well," the tracker countered.

"That ain’t how I see it. But then, I guess if those ladies didn’t want Standish stickin’ his nose in their business, they’d simply ignore him."

"Uh-huh," Vin grunted noncommittally. "Doc, ya look awful. Go grab yerself some shuteye an’ I’ll come an’ keep a watch after I’ve talked to Chris."

"Thanks, Vin, that’ll take a load off m’mind. Aside from looking fer Mister Chris ‘I’m-meltin’-into-thin-air’ Larabee, I was off to get supper for me and Nora. So don’t you rush on my account, ‘cause I won’t be hitting m’bed for an hour or so. It ain’t much, but I’ll make sure the coffee pot’s full and stays hot for you during the night."

Vin touched his hat as a sign of agreement and thanks, saying nothing when Nathan turned and walked away. Glancing up and down the street, the tracker wondered where he would find the elusive gunslinger. It had only just gone eight o’clock, and Chris’ usual practice was to spend the evening in a saloon, sometimes alone, but usually with one or more of the other peacekeepers.

"P’rhaps he’s at Digger Dan’s," Vin mused, as he strode along the sidewalk.

-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-

After spending twenty minutes fruitlessly searching in the other saloons, the restaurant, hotels, and finally the livery, Vin was considering calling a halt and going to take up his promised duty of guarding the clinic. He’d begun to think that the gunslinger had left town to spend the night at his cabin – a possibility, although unlikely due to the current situation - but Chris’ black gelding was still in its stall next to the tracker’s horse. This only left one place to check.

Vin went into the boarding house, and headed up to the top floor where the seven of them were quartered. He tapped quietly several times on Larabee’s bedroom door, frowning at the silence from within, although he’d spotted a tiny sliver of light running along the hinged side of the doorjamb signifying occupancy. Determined to pass Nathan’s message on to the gunslinger, Vin sucked in a deep breath and knocked again, but with greater urgency. "Chris? Chris!" he called to his friend.

A sudden scrape of wood on wood, and then the sound of footsteps, stayed the tracker’s hand as he was about to rap for a third time. A key turned in the lock, and then the door slowly opened a fraction. The Texan never got a glimpse of the man inside, nor did the other speak, but taking the unlocked door as an invitation of sorts, Vin pushed it open a little wider and quietly slipped into the room.

The interior wasn’t very well lit, as the only light source was from a lamp set on a small, round table in the corner by the curtained window. Bare-headed, stripped to the waist and with a lit cheroot clamped between his teeth, Chris sat at that table, the flickering lamplight illuminating his muscled torso, making his tanned skin glow eerily white. This bright and ghostly phenomenon was in stark contrast to the remainder of the room, which was bathed in shadows and velvety darkness. The blond peacekeeper was evidently in the process of overhauling his main firearm plus the spare, as all the paraphernalia for cleaning weapons was in front of him, along with his dismantled Colts and a small pile of bullets. However, like any experienced gunman, Chris had kept a stand-by gun close to hand, and a functional-looking Smith & Wesson was tucked into his belt.

Larabee still hadn’t said anything, or even acknowledged his colleague’s presence, but the tracker knew that if the other hadn’t wanted company, then he simply wouldn’t have opened the door. Undeterred by his friend’s off-hand manner and the lack of hospitality, Vin shot Chris a sardonic grin. "Was startin’ to think ya’d run out on us," the younger man drawled.

"I needed some quiet."

Chris still didn’t look up, but as he spoke his foot hooked around the spare chair’s front leg, and he dragged it to the table, nodding for the tracker to sit. Deftly reaching down beside him, the gunslinger then placed an uncorked bottle of whiskey in front of Vin and smiled. "Help yourself, pard," he directed, looking into the other man’s blue eyes.

With that gaze an unspoken message seemed to arc between the pair, and Vin got the impression that Chris had something weighing heavily on his mind, maybe a problem that needed to be shared to be solved. Well, Tanner had nowhere to go at this precise moment, and he was a patient man. He would wait for his friend to work it out in his mind first, and then offer any advice he could if that’s what Chris wanted. Pushing his hat off his head to hang from its storm strap, the former bounty hunter got comfortable in his seat and took a long swig of liquor.

There was silence for some considerable time, but it was a relaxed and companionable quiet between the two men. Chris’ main attention was focused on cleaning and reconstructing his revolvers, and Vin was happy to just sit and watch the other show off the skills of his craft. After re-checking the trigger mechanisms and percussion caps, Chris wiped off the excess oil with a rag before replacing the bullet chambers on both weapons. Stubbing out his cigar, the gunman finally began to talk.

"One bullet. It don’t look that deadly when you see it like this, does it?" Chris said, holding up a solitary bullet.

"Can’t say I’ve ever thought about it."

"Neither had I, until…"

The unfinished comment hung heavy in the air, and Vin could tell the other was fighting some inner battle, was recalling another time and place; a place that was evidently shrouded in misery and woe for Chris. The gunman sat up straighter in his chair, his whole body going as taut as a string on a bow, whilst the tips of his fingers holding the bullet turned white from the pressure he exerted on the lead. Hazel eyes stared blankly at the cylindrical object for several long seconds, and Chris’ mouth settled into a thin, straight line, his lips all but disappearing.

"Until?" Vin softly prompted.

Chris blinked rapidly as if attempting to banish a singularly disturbing memory. Pursing his lips, the blond considered the tracker’s question, jiggling his hand distractedly and allowing the bullet to roll into and then around and around his cupped palm. The hesitancy, the reluctance to speak, soon passed and the gunslinger curled his fingers around the metal shell before stretching across for the bottle. Once he’d taken several gulps of whiskey, Larabee answered Vin. "Until the night I met Lydia."

The Texan’s chin dipped in a knowing nod. This revelation from his friend merely confirmed what he’d thought when Lydia first arrived in their town; she and Chris had history. Vin had sensed the familiarity between the pair, but he’d also felt a vague edginess on the gunslinger’s part, like he was uncomfortable in the woman’s presence. That had piqued Vin’s curiosity a little, especially as Buck had mentioned to him how relaxed Chris had been when in Lydia’s company out at Wicks Town. But with the woman now staying in Four Corners, Tanner noticed that Chris appeared to be avoiding her as much as possible, and was keen to see her and her girls depart at the earliest convenience. It was a puzzling situation, but the tracker guessed the older man was about to shed some light on this particular mystery.

"I was really fucked up," Chris murmured. "Sarah, Adam…. I missed them so much, but I’d gone past the anger stage, had got beyond the need for liquor to kill the pain. Nothing ever touched that hurt anyways. I don’t know the name of the town I was in, but I sat in a dark corner of a crowded saloon, and felt utterly alone… numb, lost and bone weary. It was like my innards had been ripped out, leaving me empty inside. I was dead, Vin, but my mind didn’t know it."

Chris shifted in his chair, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table as he peered at his friend. "The fire… it wiped out everything," he continued, his voice hushed and strained. "There wasn’t much to go on, but I chased down every lead I could, and even sought out those I’d had trouble with in the past. All that searching got me nowhere and, that night in the saloon, it finally hit me that I may never find out who’d killed them. I’d built up a bad reputation by then, had made a lot of enemies, and become a target for any trigger fast yahoo wanting to make a mark. But I was tired of it all, finished, and I just wanted to be with my family again. So, I downed my drink, pulled my gun, put the barrel to my head… and squeezed the trigger."

The tracker grimaced in sympathy, feeling the echo of pain, the anguish and desperation his friend must have felt to even consider such a drastic course of action, especially in a public place. Suicide was a terrible sin – unforgivable and dishonourable - in the eyes of God, and anyone who took their own life, or even attempted to, was branded a coward. No one who knew him could refute Chris’ courage, but his resolve had been tested to the limit following the brutal murder of his family, with grief and despair almost breaking his spirit. Vin knew how badly his friend had suffered, so there was no shocked outrage on Tanner’s part after hearing the older man’s confession, just complete understanding.

"I was ready to die, but even that went wrong," Chris said, with a wry grin. "I’d not re-loaded that day, and only had one bullet in the chamber. As I opened the gun to fix that, Lydia appeared beside me and snatched the cartridge box right out of my hand."

Vin’s eyebrows shot up and he whistled in astonishment. "Damn! I ain’t sure if that’s courageous…. or jis’ plain stupid. What did ya do?"

"Nothing. She’d been working the saloon, although I hadn’t noticed her… Hell, I wasn’t seeing anything or anybody! But she saw me. I remember the disgust on her face as she put the bullets in her pocket, and it hit home then, made me question what I’d tried to do. We didn’t speak, not one word, but there was something between us…. a kindred spirit, longing… loneliness… I dunno, some sort of need we both had to fill. Then she took the bottle of whisky off the table, grabbed my hand, dragged me to my feet and led me to her room upstairs. She saved my life that night, rescued me from the pit I’d crawled into. I expect you could call her my guardian angel, ‘though" – Chris snorted sarcastically – "most folk would argue with the angel part! Anyhow, we spent the next six weeks together, and I’ll always be grateful for what she did."

"Does she think ya owe her? Is that why she came here?"

Chris shook his head emphatically. "That’s not Lydia’s way, ‘cause the only person she relies on is herself. I know how stubborn she can be, so I bet that ain’t changed. If help’s offered, she’ll accept it up to a point, but she’s too proud to ask."

"Hmm," Vin grunted in approval. He’d liked Lydia from the minute he’d set eyes on her, and thought she was the gutsiest, most big-hearted and honest woman he’d ever encountered. On hearing how she’d saved the grieving Chris Larabee from the brink of self-destruction and stopped him from doing the unthinkable, raised her even higher in the tracker’s estimation. "I’s glad we’re getting her and her girls away from that bastard Wicks. They deserve better," he said to the older man.

"Yep, they do. Helping Lydia out repays some of that debt."

"So you feel ya owe her, even if she don’t," the tracker surmised.

"I suppose I must. Wouldn’t you?"

"I reckon."

There was a slight catch in Vin’s voice as he replied. Fidgeting in his seat, the younger man’s head suddenly dropped lower as he hunched down in the chair, and his arms wrapped tightly around his midriff like he was attempting to push himself inwards.

Chris instantly read the message behind Vin’s body unusual movement. Although the pair had only met a few short weeks ago, they both had an uncanny knowledge of each other’s personal traits and habits, and Chris knew this was the tracker’s way of concealing his emotions, a protective measure to disguise his true feelings. The gunman had seen the Texan behave in a similar manner when upset or embarrassed, so he wondered whether his astounding disclosure about attempted suicide had opened up a festering wound for his young friend. "Have you ever been to that dark place, Vin? Where you can’t find a reason to go on?"

The other man’s forthright enquiry must have startled Vin, because his head immediately jerked up, and even in the meagre light of the room Chris saw the anguish etched on his features. Yes, there was no doubt in the gunslinger’s mind now; Vin Tanner had also hit the lowest depths at some point in his past, and it still caused him pain. Pushing the whiskey bottle across to his friend, Larabee fell silent again as he began to systematically clear the table and sort out his weapons.

Vin stared blankly at Chris’ hands as they deftly re-loaded the first of the two Colts. The years suddenly rolled back, and the tracker saw in his mind’s eye his own fingers, rock-steady and resolute as they worked a bullet into a gun. That weapon had been an old single firing revolver - possibly a relic from the War of Independence – and was Vin’s prized possession as a Yamparikuh warrior, won during a fierce battle with Comancheros. This particular period in his life had already resurfaced once this evening, so Tanner wasn’t surprised when other, and perhaps more harrowing, memories of that era started to well into his consciousness.

"I’s been there," Vin responded at length.

There was a wealth of sorrow in that soft, husky drawl, making Chris regret asking the personal questions. He was about to tell Vin to forget what he’d said, to apologise for stirring up the past, when the younger man spoke again.

"I was living with a Comanche band, and part of becoming a man – a named warrior - meant ya took a wife. Her name was Crescent Moon, an’ she was blessed by the Great Spirit, ‘cause she was born wit’ this mark on her shoulder shaped like a moon. Yep, she was truly blessed," Vin whispered, staring unseeingly into the lamp. There was a faraway look on his face, and a smile ghosted the Texan’s lips as he was transported back to those halcyon days of first love.

The memory ebbed away as quickly as it came, and Vin sucked in a deep breath before continuing his narration. "I tell ya, Chris, she was the sweetest, prettiest little thing I’d ever seen. We were a pair o’ kids in love, an’ she was my world. Moon spoilt me fer other women, ‘cause I don’t reckon I’ll ever meet someone like her ag’in."

Chris nodded knowingly as he listened, only too aware of what Vin meant. His wife had been the hub of his existence, had meant everything to him, and he couldn’t imagine falling in love with another woman. How did you replace someone as special as Sarah? With her he’d shared a special type of love, a solid and bountiful marriage built upon a framework of friendship, trust and openness. That kind of relationship was difficult enough to acquire just once in a lifetime, so the gunslinger didn’t believe such good fortune would visit him for a second time - no man could be that lucky. "I hear what you’re saying. Vin, I don’t mean to pry, but what happened to her?" Chris queried.

"She died birthin’ our child."

That flat, inflectionless statement from Vin made Chris’ stomach lurch, and he gazed compassionately at his friend, unable to find any words to express his sympathy. He knew the other had had his share of heartache in his short life, but Larabee would never have guessed the tracker had also lost a much-loved wife. Vin was such a private man, keeping so much of himself cloistered away, deeply hidden, but Chris knew from personal experience how such traumas could make a man close-mouthed. Of course, with the price on his head, the Texan had more reason than most to be circumspect. The gunman suddenly wondered whether Vin’s child had survived, although he wasn’t prepared to push this particular conversation any further by asking.

"I buried my daughter wit’ her mama," Vin added, almost as if he’d read the older man’s thoughts.

A concentrated dart of pain pierced Chris’ heart making him wince, and he visualised his own son’s tiny grave lying next to Sarah’s. "That’s hard on any man," was all he could say.

"I blamed m’self at the time. Moon had always been fragile, delicate like a flower, an’ carrying a babe was too much fer her. After the funeral I needed to talk about her, but that ain’t the way of The People, ‘cause it’s bad medicine to speak of or name the dead. I… I couldn’t take that, so I left fer a while, went out in the wilderness to make m’peace wit’ her spirit. Thing is, I was grievin’ hard, not thinkin’ straight, an’ I jis’ wanted to be with Moon again. That’s when I thought about using m’gun on m’self. I would’ve done it too, if it hadn’t been fer…"

Hearing a sharp intake of breath from Chris, the tracker allowed the sentence to trail off. "Yep, I had me a guardian angel too!" he interjected, exchanging a rueful grin with his companion.

"I hadn’t noticed, but my best friend an’ lodge brother followed me," Vin went on by way of explanation. "He stopped me from pulling that trigger. I got real mad wit’ him though, an’ we fought, wrestled and slugged it out for a while. But that kind’a helped me through m’sorrow, gave me strength to carry on, to accept what happened. I owed him my life, an’ swore I’d repay him one day."

Chris heard the tone of regret in his friend’s voice at the last part, but he remained silent, patiently waiting for Vin to elaborate.

"But I never got the chance. The Army saw to that," Tanner said bitterly after the brief pause.

"He’s dead?" The question was rhetorical. Chris was sure he knew the answer.

Vin sighed, nodding slowly. "They’s all gone. The soldiers came, stole their land, an’ made payment wit’ blood and death. The only reason I got spared was ‘cause my skin was white. Guess it’s the way the Army works," he declared gruffly.

"That don’t make it right."

"I know, but I can’t see it changing any time soon. The Indian lands are bein’ taken fer new settlers, an’ their way of life is vanishing, along wit’ the buffalo. I cain’t see the white man sharin’ wit’ people they call savages, can you?"

"Nope," Chris agreed. "Perhaps one day, regardless of skin colour, family background, or what folk do for a living, we’ll all learn to exist together," he said optimistically.

"P’rhaps."

There was a note of finality in that one word from Vin, and the blond knew that his friend had said all he was going to on the subject. Picking up his spare Colt, Chris wrapped it in an oilskin cloth and stowed it in a shallow drawer under the table’s top. After re-corking the whiskey bottle, he got to his feet and, plucked his shirt from the back of the chair. "Have you seen Nathan tonight?" he asked Vin, as he shrugged into the garment.

"Damn! I forgot to say - he was lookin’ fer ya earlier. He said Nora’s healin’ fine, an’ should be up to travelling the day after t’morrow."

"That’s good news," Chris grunted distractedly, as he tucked his shirt into his pants. He wasn’t in the habit of talking through personal problems, but following the frank conversation with Vin, the gunslinger felt like some of his past burdens had lifted. Meeting Lydia again had rekindled a few unpleasant memories for Chris, had transported him back to an incident he’d thought buried. The unexpected reunion brought to the surface the shame – a guilty stigma he didn’t realise he carried - of his thwarted suicide bid. However, sharing those painful reminiscences, and discovering that his young friend had also contemplated taking his own life when at a low ebb, had helped eradicate a little of the remorse he’d unwittingly harboured.

Vin watched Chris holster his Peacemaker, noticing the thoughtful look on his friend’s features as he fingered the handgun’s grip. "Chris, I couldn’t repay my Comanche brother, so I’ll take that debt to m’grave."

There was an unspoken charge in Vin’s comment and, as Chris’ eyes locked with the tracker’s, he suddenly realised what the other was implying. Larabee had been presented with the opportunity to bring closure to a sordid event in his life; something the younger man had been denied. It was time to confront this particular demon head on, allowing another sad chapter from his past to vanish and fade into nothingness. And the only person who could help him achieve this was Lydia.

"She went to visit Nora," Vin said helpfully.

Chris grinned at his friend, taking no offence at Vin’s assumptive pronouncement. Couldn’t he hide anything from the shrewd Texan? "You’re pretty damned sure of yourself, ain’t you Tanner?"

"I have m’moments."

"I’m discovering that by the hour, pard!"

"Ya only jis’ scratched the surface, cowboy," Vin drawled, giving his friend an exaggerated wink as he too got to his feet.

The two men were silent as they prepared to leave the gunslinger’s room. After ramming his hat on and refastening his buckskin jacket, Vin held out his right hand to Chris. "It helps t’talk wit’ a friend, Chris. That’s somethin’ I’ve been discovering lately ‘n’ all."

Chris nodded wordlessly, grasping the proffered arm in the forearm clasp he and Vin used. "It’ll take time, but maybe we’ve both made a start on chasing away some bad memories."

"I reckon we have, partner," the tracker replied in a soft voice, as he gripped Chris’ arm in return.

Vin savoured the strength and companionship that seemed to flow through that handshake, and as he and Chris broke the hold, the Texan knew he was richer for having this man as a friend and brother. After all those years alone, living a nomadic existence, Vin had finally found a home and a family.