Hard Lessons

by DeniseV

Ezra and Buck are out on patrol when trouble happens.

Chaucer and Clyde, the names of Ezra and Buck's horses in this story, are borrowed without permission from other writers in this fandom. I think they perfectly reflect how these two men would name their trusted steeds.

On to the story…

---

"Come on, Hoss. Don't do this to me," Buck Wilmington pleaded as he continued to press firmly on the bloody gash on the right side of his friend's head. The lawman from Four Corners had been out patrolling the far reaches of the town, checking in with the farmers and ranchers who lived, save for the occasional Guy Royal or Stuart James, modest lives in the challenging high desert environment and relied on the occasional visit from one or more of the seven to keep them up-to-date on important news from town or the territory. They also, as on this occasion, were checked on by the men who protected the town after a particularly bad stretch of weather. This stretch had been especially hot and dry, going on twenty days of the unrelenting heat. Just yesterday two of the other men who made up the now famous 'Magnificent Seven', Josiah Sanchez and J.D. Dunne, had found one of their population dead in his home. The town's healer and a man counted among the seven, Nathan Jackson, had determined that the man died from exposure to the heat: his well had run dry, seemingly days earlier.

In the last day, the winds had picked up, and so had the temperatures, making for a dangerous, even ominous combination. Any relief the area might have benefited from the sustained winds was offset by worry of fires and their potential to spread wild. Chris Larabee, the leader of the group of seven, had kept regular teams of two men out of town, checking on folks but, more importantly, canvassing the area for smoke and flame. He'd enlisted many townspeople to help in the effort. He knew they couldn't completely cover the vast territory within their jurisdiction, but they could at least try to remain a step ahead, and ready with reinforcements should they need to redirect any wildfires from populated areas. And they'd gotten the word out, warning against open fires for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, Buck and his partner this day, Ezra Standish, had been riding feverishly in the direction of a smoky blaze that they'd seen in the distance as they breached the first rise upon leaving the confines of Jack and Ellen Yancy's property. Also unfortunate: the fire had been a set-up, a lure to get the two men within shooting distance. Too determined to make it to the fire, knowing that if it reached the dry shrub it would take no time at all for the flames to spread to the Yancy's corrals, outbuildings and home, they had let their guard down. The gambler had paid the price: a long, far-too-deep graze to the head from a bullet fired from the shrub-covered rock to their right. Ezra's misfortune had been enough warning for Buck, who took the man out who shot his friend, with a well-placed round from his rifle. The man's partner had tried to leave at that point, but Buck had shot him, too, in the leg. The man was currently tied uncomfortably to a nearby tree.

Buck had been torn about what to do first. When Ezra was shot, they were both still unaware that the fire had been set purposefully; the billowing smoke, as it turned out, was the result of a carefully contained fire, a jagged hole through the bottom of a full pot of water – suspended over the fire – had encouraged the extra puffs and flame. Wilmington had quickly tied up the second man, and then went to the fire. His rage upon seeing it was only tempered by the fact that he had a far more urgent priority: seeing to the wounded Standish.

"Ezra, wake up, will ya? I know you don't wanna spend the night out here." The injured man had been out now for nearly twenty minutes. It had taken just about all of that time to get the bleeding down to the slow ooze that stubbornly refused to clot. "I'm gonna wrap this up good for ya, Ez. Hopefully tyin' it up real tight and careful-like will get that hard head o' yours to stop leaking."

The day was blisteringly hot. They'd been lucky to be in a stand of cottonwoods, and they'd come out with extra water, and made sure to fill all of their canteens before leaving the Yancy's. They were fortunate, too, that their horses were smart enough to take their fill of water before they'd left the small ranch. They were both grateful that they didn't have to deal with Peso, Vin tanner's stubborn excuse for a horse, who would rather frolic with his equine companions than satisfy his thirst.

Buck wet one of the leftover bandages from his saddlebag and wiped the sweat from Ezra's face. "How's that feel?" he asked, hoping the one-sided conversation would soon be reciprocated.

"Hey! How's about some o' that water over here?" the tied up second shooter asked.

"Shut up," Buck hissed.

"You can't just let me sit here. I'm shot."

Buck looked at the man with hate-filled eyes. "I patched ya up, it's just a flesh wound. I gave ya a drink. You'll get another when I do. Now shut up or I'll gag ya." The young man opened his mouth to speak but seemed, with distinct effort, to think better of it and clamped his mouth shut.

At last, a moan came from the man who'd been unconscious for far too long in Buck's book.

"Ezra?" he asked. He could see Ezra's eyes moving under the closed lids, a furrowed brow demonstrating the pain he was in. "Come on now, time to wake up."

The injured man moaned again. There was definitely an attempt there to open his eyes, but it was clear to Buck the effort it was taking. Another moan and then the southerner tried to lift his hand to where he'd been hit.

"Nah, nah, Ez. Leave that be," Buck instructed. "Come on, now," he encouraged.

Ezra finally managed to open his eyes, just barely. He squeezed them shut quickly at the glare from the bright sun, but then tried again as he heard a familiar voice. He looked at Buck, then around at his surroundings, and then back to Buck.

"Auntie Evelyn?" he asked as he attempted to shake his head as though to gain a clearer picture. He immediately regretted the action, even though his head had hardly moved at all. What little movement he managed forced a pained, cautious breath. "Good lord, mah head," he cried. He tried to curl in on himself, a defensive, protective instinct, and then he made another grab for his head. Buck successfully intercepted the hand. He snorted a laugh as he responded to the quizzical reaction from his hurt friend.

"That's the first time I've ever been mistaken for a lady, Ezra," he said as he watched carefully for his partner's eyes to open once more. He kneeled overtop of the card sharp, holding the right hand that had twice now drifted up toward the bloody, painful injury. "Did your Aunt Evelyn have a moustache, a day's worth o' stubble and stand over six feet tall?" he asked in jest, hoping to push the man into full wakefulness.

Ezra snorted and then frowned at the pain it caused. "Buck?" he asked.

"Good god, Ezra. Don't scare me like that again. I thought you were dyin'."

"Feels like ah may be." He opened his eyes but quickly closed them once again, the light and the pain just too much.

"One minute, Ez. Let me take a look at your eyes. Nate says we should see if your pupils are equal in size."

"Mistah Wilmin'ton," Ezra slurred.

"Just take a minute, Hoss." Ezra smiled, on the inside, at the moniker. He was sure he wasn't the only person Buck referred to in that way. What he knew, though, was the warm feeling that washed over him whenever the tall gunman did. He put up no fight as he forced his eyes to remain open, or when Buck propped one open with his fingers as Ezra lost the battle to do it of his own free will.

"Do ah pass muster?" Ezra asked.

"Well, they don't seem exactly even. Nathan says we should check to see what kind of reaction you have in each of your eyes."

"Mistah Jackson is not here," Ezra noted, more a question in his current sluggish fog of pain.

"Not right now, Ez. Just in those lessons he's had up in the clinic." The con man looked at Buck, dumbfounded. "You don't have a clue what the hell I'm talkin' about, do ya?"

"Mistah Jacks'n has been holdin' instruction'l courses on healin'?"

"Yeah. Just basic stuff: how to clean wounds, how to pack bad ones, what plants you can find just 'bout anywhere that might help. Scorpion and snake bites. You know … basics."

"No," Ezra said softly. "Ah was unaware."

"'m pretty sure he let us all know about 'em," Buck said. After hearing the disappointment in Ezra's voice, Buck had been sorry that he'd brought the subject up. Ezra sighed and closed his eyes. "Ez, look, yer eyes are not equal, or as Nathan would describe, unequal."

"An' based on th' lessons you have receiv'd from Mistah Jacks'n, this 's bad news?"

"It ain't good. But first things first. You feelin' sick at all?"

"Ah suspect that ah may as ah start movin' around."

"But not now?"

"No."

"Okay. Let's leave that bandage on for now. See if the bleedin' stops."

"V'ry well." Ezra looked done in, but they needed to get back home and to Nathan.

"We can still get home this afternoon even if we let you rest some before we get goin'."

"Don't have t' wait. Ah c'n get up now," Ezra slurred. He tried just that and ended up tipped on his side, his face planted across Buck's knees. Buck, still in his crouched position, could not take the sudden additional weight, and fell over to the side, aware of Ezra's head as he grabbed it before it landed hard on the ground.

"Aw, hell," Ezra moaned.

"Think maybe we should wait?" Buck asked, his jovial tone only just masking his true feelings: he was real worried about Ezra making it very far very soon on horseback. And though it was only just nine in the morning, an early start having gotten them this far out, the heat of the day had already overtaken any relief they might have had from the overnight lows of the desert.

Ezra moaned as Buck helped him back into a prone position. "If ah must r'main in this envir'nm'nt longer, could ah please be set up in a more upright manner?"

"You sure?"

"Yes, Buck. Ah'm dizzy down or up, but ah feel less unwell sittin' up."

"Sure thing," Buck said, noting the inadvertent truth Ezra had let escape that he was feeling sick. "Hold on," he added as he left the immediate vicinity. He came back with the gambler's saddle. The gunman put his arm around Ezra's back and lifted him forward. The poker player's chin came to rest on Buck's shoulder with a sigh. "Y'all right?"

"Yes," Ezra answered softly, but Buck had noted the immediate tilt away of the head – and more significantly – the hiding of his eyes so that Buck couldn't readily read them. He grasped the chin gently and raised Ezra's head and got himself a better look.

"I need the truth here, Ezra."

The southerner sighed and, not for the first time, rued the day that he'd gotten so close to these men, except he didn't really. He no longer held any regret for meeting and joining and remaining with these fine men that he was so lucky to now call his friends.

"Ah do not feel well … " he started, but paused and went no further.

"And?" Buck asked.

"And ah see two of you, which would be dauntin' all by itself if ah wasn't more disturbed by the sight of an entire series of Buck faces when you move."

"I don't think 'daunting' is the word the ladies would use, even your Aunt Evelyn," Buck said with a wink.

"Aunt Evelyn?" Ezra asked, his face gone more pale and wracked with worry and confusion.

"You don't remember wakin' up and callin' me Auntie Evelyn?"

"Ah do not."

Buck patted him affectionately on the shoulder as he set the injured man back down against his saddle. "Don't worry 'bout it. You comfortable?"

"As comfortable as is humanly poss'ble under these lamentable conditions," Ezra answered, his speech a little less slurred.

"Okay, then. Y'ain't lost your words so I reckon ya didn't knock your head too bad."

"'s a matter of opinion," Ezra said, his eyes closed as he rubbed his forehead just beneath the bandage.

"Well, just rest. I'm gonna go check on our prisoner."

Ezra's eyes popped open with worry. "Prisoner?" He squinted, the quick action of simply opening his eyes causing him renewed pain.

Buck frowned. "You don't … " He was going to ask if the gambler remembered hearing the second shooter, but Ezra hadn't even been awake then. Looked like he had a fair amount he needed to get the man up-to-date on.

"Yeah. The one who shot you is dead. His compadre over there," he noted with a nod of his head to the farthest tree from where they sat, "is shot and tied to that nice tree trunk." Buck looked down at his friend and found him asleep. "Rest up," he said as he pressed his hand comfortingly on Ezra's chest. He stood and walked over to check on his prisoner.

"He all right?" the man asked as Wilmington approached.

"What do you care?" Buck asked as he removed the bandage to check on the wound on the upper part of his thigh. The bullet had gone straight through and didn't seem to have hit anything vital, like bone, muscle or a major vein. He had used some of the things in the saddlebag that Nathan had prepared, and it seemed to be keeping the wound well in hand and helped to stop the bleeding. Buck cleaned it once more, covered it with some more of the herbal mixture, and re-wrapped the entry and exit holes.

The young man, just more than a boy, didn't answer the question, rather, he asked one of his own. "Why're ya takin' care of my leg?"

"Need to make sure you stay alive for your trial."

"Trial?" he asked with a squeal. "What trial?"

Buck laughed derisively. "Let's see. Attempted murder and startin' a dangerous fire that could easily threaten lives?" Buck asked. "There's at least one trial in your future, maybe two."

"I didn't even fire a shot!"

"Don't matter. You were in cahoots to shoot an officer of the law."

"But … I … and that fire. You know that weren't gonna amount to nothin'."

"Don't know 'bout that. Winds pickin' up … spark coulda flew to this dry grass," Buck said as he waved his hand toward the dry desert flora. "Who knows?"

"But, that ain't right. You got no evidence I had anything to do with any o' this."

"'s that right? Guess we'll just wait and see." Buck thought on what the kid had just disclosed. "You knew we were the law from Four Corners when you shot at us, didn't ya?"

"I didn't shoot," the young man insisted.

"Answer the question!"

"Yeah. Jimmy and Hank figured you'd all be easy pickin's out here, bein' distracted with the heat and helpin' people."

"Really? So this was all to rob us of what we got on us?"

"Som'in's better'n nothin', Hank said," the kid noted as he looked toward the dead body.

"That Hank?" Buck asked. He swiped for what seemed the fiftieth time at the sweat that had accumulated on this brow.

"Yeah."

"Who's Jimmy?"

"My other brother."

"What's your name?"

"Lyle."

"Lyle what?"

"Forest."

Buck frowned. "Forest. Forest. Why's that sound familiar?"

"Jimmy said we'd be famous," Lyle Forest said.

Buck's blue eyes grew wide. "Jimmy Forest. James Forest?"

"Guess he was right," Lyle said with a stupid grin on his face.

"He and his gang … " Buck wondered if the gang was made up solely of the two he had here with him now – one dead, the other a half-witted kid. "Robbed three banks, left one person dead at each of 'em?"

"Jimmy called it his 'calling card' or somethin'." Buck's face grew red with rage. How could this young kid talk about the deaths of these people like it was nothing? Wilmington felt a note of compassion for the kid, brief though it was, figuring he'd been dragged into this life of crime by his older brothers. It seemed he didn't have enough brains, or conscience - or both – to recognize right from wrong, but there was no time to dwell on that. This kid and his brother could have killed Ezra. Killed them both.

"Where's Jimmy?"

Lyle looked down. "Don't know."

Buck shook his head. Hadn't he just gone through this with Ezra? He'd been able to play the guilt card on his friend; could he make the same play with this stupid kid?

"He's gonna be mad that you let your brother get killed."

"It wasn't me. He took the shot too early."

Buck found his opening. "When were you supposed to shoot?"

"Not 'til you were both past us. Hank said it'd be easier ta git yer stuff from yer dead bodies."

Buck's smile didn't make it to his eyes. "Still figure you'll get time in jail for intendin' to kill two officers of the law."

The kid's brow furrowed. "Wait … no." When it finally dawned on him that he'd said too much, he added, "Ah, shit."

"That just about covers it. Now, where is your brother?"

"We were supposed to meet up with him at that big oak along the creek on the way to Eagle Bend."

Buck thought for a moment. He needed to get Ezra back to town, out of this heat, which in just another hour or so would be too much for someone in the gambler's condition. He needed to get him to Nathan. It would be a lot to manage; he would need to get Ezra up with him on Clyde, which he hated to do to his horse. There weren't many options open to him. He gave the kid a quick drink and then started over to his wounded friend.

"Whatcha gonna do?" Lyle asked.

Buck ignored him and kept walking. He kneeled down next to the restlessly sleeping man. Ezra's face was coated with sweat. Shit. It was too hot for the tall ladies man, let alone for someone in the shape Ezra was in. Buck took one of the cloths, wet it and wiped Ezra down, not worrying about the gambler's fine clothes getting wet in the process; they would dry in seconds in this heat and wind. Ezra moaned.

"Hey, can ya wake up, Ez?" he asked.

Ezra frowned, his eyes more unfocused than before, if that was possible. "You look won'erful for your age, Auntie Evelyn."

Here we go again. "Do I look that much like her?" Buck asked. "Was she a blood relation?" Neither Ezra nor his mother looked like they came from a family of particularly hairy descent.

Ezra focused as best he could, realizing what he'd just said. He snorted a discomfited laugh and said, "Aunt Evelyn was not a blood relation." He blinked his eyes and, whether due to his weary state or just needing to give his friend the full picture, he added, his voice tinged with pain, "But she loved me like she was." He blinked away suddenly appearing pools of wetness in his eyes and said, "She was a dear lady."

Buck smiled. "But not a beauty?"

"What she lacked on the outside she more than made up for on the inside," Ezra said, trying for indignant but ending up, for all his efforts not to, endearing.

"Needed a shave, huh?"

"Indeed," Ezra laughed lightly. It was obvious to Buck that the man's head was still hurting badly, but it was even more evident that Ezra wanted to tell his story, despite how much telling it might hurt, in more ways than just the physical. "As a child it never occurred to me that her hirsute tendency was anythin' other than just the way life was. She fed me, played with me, bathed and clothed me, did more for my literary education than any actual schoolin' ever could, instilled in me a love of the arts 'n' languages, both our own and others, tended me when I was sick. She was simply … Auntie Evelyn."

"And she looked like me," Buck said with a smile.

"Not exactly. You are far prettier."

"Hey!"

"But mah affection for you is headin' toward Auntie Evelyn levels the longer ah know you." Ezra smiled, his face growing redder than the heat and the hurt had already made it. "Listenin' to me ramble on about her like you have … ah am deeply thankful for that, Buck."

"Hell, Ezra, I feel honored that ya did. I look forward to hearing more about her, but we gotta get movin'. It's gonna get hotter than … well, never mind. It's too hot to stay here any longer," Buck said. "You think you can get up on your horse?"

Ezra looked down and then away, and then finally back to Buck. He knew that the right thing to do, the only thing to do, was to tell the truth.

"Ah cannot imagine how," he reluctantly admitted.

"That's all right. Clyde can handle us both for most of the way home. Chaucer's gonna have to break him a spell once or twice."

"Chaucer will behave," Ezra assured his friend. "What about … " Ezra looked to the tree that Buck had tied the Forest kid to, " … him?"

"He'll be tied to his horse and I'll rig it so he won't be able to get far even if he tries somethin'."

"Ah can help to keep an eye on him," Ezra insisted even as his eyes drifted inevitably toward sleep.

"Sure ya can," Buck agreed sadly, doubting his friend's ability to stay awake but fully confident that he wanted and intended to try.

---

Buck and Lyle had placed Hank's body up against a rock outcropping and then filled the area with as many loose rocks as they could find. It was the best they could do, with the ground too hard to dig. Animals would still probably get to the body, eventually, but Lyle had thanked Buck for helping him anyway.

About ten minutes later, once they had gotten Ezra properly settled in front of Buck up on Clyde, the gunman felt Ezra's head sag heavier against his shoulder.

"Ezra?" he asked. He tried to get a look at the con man's face, but he wasn't in a position to see. "Ezra, pard, ya okay?" he tried as he tapped his hand against the southerner's cheek. "I hope yer just sleepin'," he added. Buck made sure Ezra was solidly seated and that his injured head was nestled safely against his chest. He continued to lead Chaucer, and remain just a stride or two behind Lyle Forest. The threat of a bullet in his back seemed all that was needed to keep the kid in check.

They had been traveling for well over half the distance back to town when Buck felt the heat starting to affect him. His shirt was soaked; having Ezra leaned up against him wasn't helping to keep either one of them cool. Buck had already switched them from Clyde to Chaucer and then back again, each time taking ten minutes to rest. Ezra had remained unconscious through all of it. They had been riding for just over two hours; at this pace, they were a solid hour away from getting the gambler into Nathan's hands. The small creek coming up was a good opportunity for a longer break. Buck hated to do it, but he doubted they would make it the rest of the way without stopping for a longer rest.

"Forest, hold up," Buck ordered.

Lyle Forest did as he was told. He did his best to pull the horse around, his wrists tied together as they were, and then gasped at what he saw.

"What?" Buck demanded.

"He's bleedin' all over yer shirt."

Buck looked down and carefully pushed Ezra's head away from him. "Shit," he said. "Get down easy," he instructed Lyle as he cocked his pistol and aimed it at the young man. "When I release him I want you to catch him like he was the most precious little baby. You hurt him any more and I will kill you."

"I didn't hurt him this time."

"Just do what you're told."

"Can't catch him with my hands tied." Buck had decided against re-tying his hands to the saddle each time they had stopped previously, but they had remained tied at the wrist while they slowly made their way.

"Get off your horse, come stand next to Clyde and I'll cut you loose. Don't do nothin' stupid now, kid. I'm gonna put my gun away, but don't think I won't pull it out if I have to."

"I wont' do nothin'." Lyle got down and followed Buck's directions to the letter. The lawman quickly got down, threw Clyde's reins over a low-hanging cottonwood branch, did the same with Chaucer's, and started to make up a bed for Ezra.

"Can ya hurry?" Lyle asked. "He's heavy."

"Shut up and hold 'im." Buck used his own bedroll and Ezra's to make as comfortable a bed as he could. He gently took his still-unconscious friend from Forest's hands. "Get that saddle off his horse," Buck ordered. Lyle walked up to Chaucer, and the horse promptly nipped at his arm.

"Hey!" the kid yelled. Buck looked over and saw what had happened.

"Chaucer, now, your man needs your help." The chestnut gelding stood looking innocently at both men. "Try again." Lyle did, and Chaucer went for him once more. "God damned insufferable gluepot," Buck groused.

"Chaucer," Ezra called, soft and weak. The horse looked toward his master. "'s he payin' attent'n?" he asked in barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Buck answered, annoyance in his tone. The gambler was lean, but he was solid and starting to weigh down on Buck's already pained upper body. It took more effort than it looked holding someone in front of you while riding a horse.

"Good," Ezra croaked, just getting it out. He cleared his throat and followed up with a more commanding, "Chaucer, mon ami, behave."

Buck looked to the frightened kid. "Go on, get it over with." Lyle quickly had the saddle off the ornery horse and practically ran away from the beast as soon as he could.

"Put it up against the tree." Lyle followed Buck's instruction once more. Buck set Ezra up against the saddle. "You okay, Hoss?"

Ezra huffed out a decidedly unhappy, "No."

Buck put his hand on his gun as he turned to Lyle. "Go get all the saddlebags, yours, too."

"Why … " he started to ask, but Buck cut him off.

"'Cause you might have somethin' I'll need. Gettin' low on bandages and his need changin'." Lyle Forest limped away and did as he was told.

Ezra lay, eyes closed, with his head and shoulders up against the saddle. Lyle brought back the saddlebags and Buck tied him to another tree. He then got on his knees next to his injured friend and said, "Ez, I'm gonna change your bandage."

Weary eyes opened in response, but no verbal reply seemed forthcoming from the normally verbose man.

"You're bleedin' again. Need to try to stop it."

Ezra nodded, sighed and said, "Ah do not mean to worry you, Buck, but ah feel … " He did not finish as he passed out cold.

"Shit. Ezra?" Buck swore some more but as quickly and as gently as possible, he removed the blood-soaked binding, cleaned the deep groove on Ezra's head, and then re-bandaged the injury. He looked over to Lyle, who looked back with what appeared to be genuine concern for Ezra's plight. Buck put the few supplies that remained back in the saddlebag and went to the kid.

"I need your help," he said as he undid the rope that held the kid to the tree. He then removed the rope that held the young man's hands together. Lyle Forest rubbed his wrists and looked with wide eyes at Wilmington.

"What?"

Buck thought he'd read this kid pretty well. Forced into doing whatever his decidedly older brothers told him to do. Not likely dealing with a full deck. Uneducated. Buck had taken care of his injury, given him a bite of his food on the trail, and made sure he had plenty to drink. He'd treated him good, probably better than his brothers ever had. So he went ahead and made the decision that could get them help for Ezra faster … or give the kid a chance to escape and meet up with his murderer brother. It was a great risk he was taking; if Lyle was allowed to meet up with James Forest it probably meant a death sentence for himself and his injured companion. Buck had to make the call, though. There was no way around it. He grabbed Ezra's saddlebag, found the fountain pen, a bottle of ink and a small book with some blank pages.

"Need ya to head on to Four Corners. If ya ride hard," he said as he pulled the top off the pen and then fumbled with the stopper of the bottle of ink. "Never heard of a damn pencil" he groused softly to himself as he started to write his note, "you should get there in just about half an hour." He looked down and wrote more of his note. "I'm trustin' you to do this," he added, finishing the note and then folding it over and handing it over. He did not let go as Lyle grasped the paper. "I'm trusting you with my friend's life." He looked into Lyle's eyes and asked, "Can I trust you to do the right thing here?"

Lyle looked down at the injured lawman, and then into the piercing blue gaze of Buck Wilmington. He didn't know what to do. This was the man who killed his brother now asking him for a favor. Despite knowing that Wilmington had killed Hank, he still felt like doing this, helping these men, was the right thing to do. Neither of these men had done him any real harm. Once his brother had been killed, it would have been easy for them to just get rid of him, too. Both of brothers had done it any number of times in the past. It never stopped making him feel sick when they did. But didn't he have to do right by his only surviving kin? Did he?

"I … I can do it," he said.

"Good. Just go to the jail in town and give that note to whoever's there. If nobody's there, find the lady who runs the newspaper and give it to her. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"If you can't find her, then just make a ruckus 'til somebody notices ya."

"All right."

"And hurry."

"I will." He started to leave and then turned back to Buck. "I really am sorry about what happened."

"I know." Buck wasn't completely convinced of that, but he was leaning toward believing the kid. But he needed the kid on his side so he figured giving him the benefit of the doubt would only help his and Ezra's current predicament. He looked down at Ezra and wondered where he'd learned that little trick. He looked back up and said, "Now git goin'." And Lyle did.

---

Twenty minutes later Buck and Ezra and their horses found themselves in the middle of a light rainfall.

"Really?" Buck demanded as he looked up to the sky. He placed his coat over Ezra and then stood, took one of the blankets and draped it between several limbs that were more reachable of a nearby tree. The tree they'd been under provided more shelter from the sun, but Ezra didn't need to get sick from being wet adding to his misery. He moved Chaucer and Clyde under the tree where Ezra lay and then picked up his unconscious friend in order to get him to better protection from the rain. Ezra moaned.

"Sorry, pard. Gotta get ya out of this rain."

"'s rainin'?" Ezra asked.

"Damn if it ain't. Hard to imagine that we got this kinda luck."

"Buck?"

"Yeah, Ez," the tall man answered as he set Ezra down. He had an extra blanket in his hand, but needed both hands to get it even a little bit flat on the ground. He leaned Ezra's head against his left shoulder; his right chest and shoulder still had the stains from Ezra's blood from earlier. The con man, who appeared anything but that at the moment, sighed and Buck could feel his friend's head sag heavily on his shoulder. "Ez?" he asked, worried that the man had passed out again.

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna lay ya down now." Buck did, though this time the ground was only slightly damp, the thicker branches down low having protected the sparse grass as the rain started. Ezra trembled … Buck doubted it was from cold; the rain felt blessedly refreshing, but the gunman knew that this reaction was likely not from a chill. He also knew that it didn't matter the reason why; Nathan's classes had taught him that warmth could help with the body's reaction to such shocks to the system. He lay down next to Ezra, face-to-face, on his side, and worked his one arm under the prone man, and pulled the gambler in close to his chest with the other.

"Buck?"

Buck could barely speak, so glad was he that Ezra was still talking, even if it was only his name. He squeezed the man tighter and said past a tightened throat, "Yeah?"

"Wh't happ'n'd?"

"Some idiots tried to rob us. You got shot."

"Don't r'memb'r. Mah head … hurts. Ev'rythin' spins when ah attempt to op'n mah eyes."

"Well, a smart man would stop openin' 'em," Buck suggested jokingly.

"Hah," Ezra snorted, followed by a moan of pain. "Lord, don't make me laugh."

"Sorry."

"No. Ah wond'r how ah could have forgott'n how funny you can be?"

Buck was incredulous at the tone coming from the injured man. "Are you makin' fun of me?" Buck looked up to the sky and noted the darkening, threatening clouds. This easy rain was just the beginning, it seemed. Buck Wilmington was astonished that the day could get any worse than it already was, but Mother Nature was in a bitch of a mood and hell-bent on taking it out on the pair of lawmen.

"No," Ezra replied.

Despite his relief at the one word from Ezra earlier, he had to admit he didn't really like one word answers from Ezra Standish. Didn't like it one bit.

"So, you're sayin' I am funny?" he asked, hoping his friend could stay awake a little longer this time.

"Most enjoy'ble comp'ny," Ezra agreed lazily. His body trembled uncontrollably, followed by a moaned, "D … Does Mistah Jackson have anythin' for mah head?" He pressed his head harder into Buck's chest; Buck was pretty sure that the gambler would have pounded his head into the trunk of the tree if he had the strength to move to it.

"Hey now, quit that," Buck admonished, gently removing the bandaged head. He pillowed it into the crook of his neck and said, "Nate's not here. Remember?"

Ezra blinked, his eyes catching Buck's, a furrow developing on his forehead. It didn't stay long because it clearly added to Ezra's hurt. "Ah … ah do remember now,' he answered hesitantly, closing his eyes so that the compassionate man beside him wouldn't be able to see his embarrassment at not recalling the conversation at all.

Buck looked sadly at the man trembling in his arms. He doubted Ezra remembered much of anything that had happened since getting shot nearly three hours before. He rubbed the man's back. "Don't worry, Ez. Nathan'll have ya all fixed up soon enough."

The rains increased, Buck's protection up in the branches of the trees threatened to come down on them if it kept up. Ezra seemed the same, trembling and listless. He looked up, opened his eyes and murmured, "Buck," plaintively, and then his eyes closed too soon.

"Ezra?" Buck asked. He received no reply. "Ez?" he asked again, but the injured man had passed out once more. "Hold on, Ez. Hold on."

---

Lyle Forest walked up to the jail in Four Corners. For as long as he'd lived, neither he nor his brothers had ever walked into a jailhouse willingly. But here he was, bringing a message to lawmen in order to help other lawmen. He'd seen something in the tall, dark-haired gunman, how he'd cared for his friend, how he'd let him live. And how he trusted him to do the right thing. So many times in his life he had been ignored, or worse, told that he was worth less than the value of the horse he rode, oftentimes told these things by his own brothers. He felt the note in his pocket, wished he knew how to read. He knew he was risking a lot going into the jailhouse, risked being arrested, risked the wrath of his older brother. He possibly even risked death once Jimmy found out what he had done. But he was so tired. He thought he was sixteen, maybe seventeen years old, at least that's what he'd heard Hank say. He wasn't exactly sure how it was supposed to feel to be sixteen or seventeen years old, but it sure felt like he was a lot older. As he continued to mull over going through the door before him, the decision was taken from him. The door opened and a tall, darkly dressed man with a severe look on his face stood before him and stared him down.

"Somethin' I can do for you?" Chris Larabee asked.

"I … I … " he stammered. He tried again, "I … " but again, fear – so many fears – stopped him cold.

"Spit it out, son."

"I have a m … message for you," he said as he reached for the note in his now rain-drenched jacket pocket.

"Nice and easy," Chris said, resting his hand on his gun.

"Y … Yes, sir." Lyle found the note and handed it over. Chris opened it and read it, noticing the fine paper and light blue ink as belonging to their resident professional gambler.

But the handwriting was all Buck:

Fellas,

Got trouble. Ezra shot and in bad shape.

Head wound. Outside Yancy's, near Josephine's cottonwoods.

Hold on to the kid, for now. Hurry.

Buck

Not knowing why Buck wanted the kid held, and also not wanting to scare him for no reason, Chris placed his hand gently on Lyle Forest's shoulder.

"Can you show me where they are?" he asked evenly.

"Sure I can," Lyle responded.

"All right. Come with me while I get Nathan, he's our healer." Lyle followed quietly, obediently as Chris gathered Jackson and his gear. They stopped in to see Josiah Sanchez, who would be the only one of the seven left in town until Vin and J.D. returned from their patrol. Chris headed to the livery to arrange for a wagon. There was no need to read between the lines with Buck: Ezra was in no shape to get back home on his horse.

---

Chris had encouraged Lyle to leave his tired horse behind and now rode in the back of the wagon. Nathan peppered him with questions. Where was Ezra shot? What kind of weapon? How close? Exactly where on his head? Did Buck get the bleeding stopped? Was Ezra's sight, hearing, speaking affected by his injury? Was he dizzy? Been sick? Lyle did the best he could, answering what he knew, but he had been tied up and away from the injured man for most of the time. He chose not to mention that part. He couldn't help feeling guilty at the odd looks he got from the Negro healer when he was unable to answer some of the questions. They rode in silence the rest of the near hour out to the cottonwoods, the sound of the persistent rain on their hats and clothes, and the creaking of the wagon all that was heard for the remainder of the trip.

"There they are," Nathan said as he jumped from the wagon and ran to his friends under the tree. The rain had stopped, temporarily, though the clouds rolling in from the north told of more wetness to come. Chris pulled the wagon as close as possible and he and the kid carried the rest of Nathan's supplies to where Buck had made 'camp', such that it was.

"Nathan, I ain't never been happier to see you," Buck noted, worry evident in his greeting.

"How's he doin'?" Nathan asked as he set the bags he carried down and set himself down on his knees next to both men. "Can ya help me get him down flat?"

"Sure," Buck said as they both worked to get Ezra laying flat on the ground. He had snuggled up into Buck, though Buck showed no sign of embarrassment as he saw Chris approaching with the kid in tow. "He comes to, says a word or two, or just moans, and then passes out. Last time was about fifteen minutes ago."

"It's good that he's wakeful," Nathan assured. "He been sick at all?"

"Not at all., though he admitted that he wasn't feelin' too good. I been waitin' for that," Buck admitted.

"He hates that," Chris said as he towered over his friends. "Just stubborn enough to keep himself from doin'it, even if it'd make him feel better."

Nathan sucked in his breath. "This is nasty. Not surprised he's so out of it. Good thing it's up near his hairline, 'cause I won't be able to stitch back some of this skin here. His hair'll hide it."

"Large caliber, left a mess," Buck agreed as he looked to Lyle Forest. Chris noted the exchange between his longtime friend and the young man.

"You shoot him?" Chris asked.

"I … " Lyle started.

"Chris, let's deal with this later," Buck pleaded with his good friend.

"All right," Chris said, though he decided that he wouldn't take his eyes from the kid from here on out.

"Buck, get a fire goin' will ya?" Nathan suggested.

"I'll do it," Lyle offered. Anything to get away from Larabee's glare. When he'd overheard the guy at the livery say that this was Chris Larabee, the Chris Larabee, Lyle Forest had wanted to run, but he'd never gotten the chance to get away, and he really wasn't sure he had wanted to. Right this second, with Larabee not taking his eyes from him, he wanted to be anywhere but there.

"We'll do it together. Come on, kid." Buck and Lyle took the two pots from the back of the wagon and headed to the water.

"How's he look, Nathan?" Chris asked.

"Got hit pretty bad, Chris. But if he's been talkin' … probably just needs rest, but it's gonna be a week before he'll be able to walk straight."

"Son of a bitch," he growled. He wanted to know what had happened, but Buck was sending clear signals that he didn't want to talk about it, at least not with the kid around. Larabee was sure this kid had something to do with Ezra being hurt. Why was Buck trying to protect him?

"Sorry," Ezra said as he made an attempt to rise.

"Whoa, there. Stay put. What do you think you're doin'?" Nathan chastised and he easily pushed the man back into the bedroll.

"Ah thought ah heard Mistah Lar'bee," he answered. Chris kneeled before the confused man.

"You did, but I wasn't yellin' at you, this time," Chris answered. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like ah got kicked in th' head by Peso." Chris and Nathan smiled at each other. Their friend may be hurting and out of commission for a while, but he was still with them, the, for-a-change welcome smart-ass replies the proof.

"Buck says you got shot," Chris said.

"Ah did? Ah … ah don't recall … "

"Hey, Hoss, good to see you awake again," Buck said as he left the kid next to the two pots on the fire. Chris stepped closer to watch him.

"Buck … ah do recall that you have been here with me. Thank you," Ezra said.

"That's the most you've said in a while. Sure sounds good," Buck answered with a big grin.

"Ah believe you said somethin' amusin'," Ezra said with a frown. He closed his eyes and put his hand up to rub his forehead. Nathan stopped him.

"Not as amusin' as what you've had to say," Buck retorted. Ezra frowned more, but it turned to a grimace of pain. "I'll tell ya 'bout it later."

"Buck, why don't you get the healing salve mixture goin' for me?" Nathan suggested. The healer could tell that the conversation was adding to the pain of Ezra's injury.

"I can do that. How's it look?" Buck asked.

"You did a good job. This kind of wound is frustrating, it will ooze a long time before it gets stitched or scabs over. Go on, go get the salve." Buck left and Nathan turned back to his patient. "Ezra, I need you to drink some water. I'll have some tea for you later."

"Nathan, ah b'lieve ah will not keep the water down."

"Ain't Buck been givin' you some water?" Nathan asked worriedly.

"He has. But ah am at the end of mah proverbial tether, ah fear." Ezra was wiped out and washed out, but he needed to replenish the fluids he'd lost from the bleeding.

"I know you don't like to be sick, but you need to take more water. Now come on." Nathan lifted Ezra up and the gambler reluctantly took a drink. His throat seemed to lock up on him and he immediately started to cough and choke and push Nathan away for fear that he would spit up all over him.

"Sorry, Nathan," Ezra said as his friend wiped up the water that had splashed out of his mouth.

"It's all right, but ya need to try again." Ezra tried, and did better, until he turned terribly pale and Nathan pushed him over to his side and he threw up what he just drank. Nathan was worried because that's all he vomited up. The man needed to get some water down him, and soon. He helped Ezra lay down and said, "Just rest here. I'll be right back." Ezra moaned and curled onto his side. Nathan went to the bag that Buck had taken with him to the fire.

"Buck, we need some of that tea to help settle his stomach."

"He got sick?"

"Yeah. He needs to drink." He looked up and out over the now-damp but still very dried out landscape. "He's been sweatin' out what he's not bled out, but he ain't got much left to give up."

"Damn," Buck said regretfully. "I should have made him drink more."

"Hell, Buck," Chris said. "You know how he is. You're damn lucky he didn't insist on drinkin' from his flask."

"You didn't let him, did you?" Nathan asked quickly.

"'Course not!" Buck returned, somewhat offended. "I know better 'n that. So does he. He never even tried, but he ain't been too with it, either." He looked to Nathan. "He's gonna be okay, ain't he?"

"I think so. I want to get movin', out of this heat … and rain," he added as he looked to the dark gray clouds to the north.

"Then let's get this stuff ready for him and get him loaded up on the wagon."

---

Ezra finally managed to down a satisfactory amount of water and tea and was now resting comfortably in the back of the wagon. Buck sat back there with him, the injured man's head once more cushioned by the bigger man's arm and chest. He was sleeping now rather than unconscious; Buck was so relieved he found it nearly impossible to sit still, except he had the very best of reasons to remain so. He just kept nodding his head in gratitude, to Nathan, to God, even if he wasn't too sure that there really was one, and to the wonder of the healing abilities of the human body. He would never be a healer, but those few lessons that Buck had taken from Nathan taught him things that he would forever be thankful that he knew about. He knew that he hadn't healed Ezra – the gambler had a ways to go there – but he knew that he'd treated the wound well and had comforted the man as best he could. The satisfaction he felt at this moment he knew he could never place a proper value on.

"Buck?" Ezra called softly.

"You should be resting, Ez," Buck admonished.

"Ah was and will be again momentarily," he said with a yawn. "Mah apologies."

"No need for that. What did you want?"

"Am ah recollectin' correctly that we had a discussion about mah Auntie Evelyn?"

Buck snorted a laugh. "Why, yes we did. Quite a woman," he added wryly.

Ezra frowned. "Ah … ah hope that I did not say anythin' untoward about her. I only remember that we conversed about her. Why would we have done that?"

"Don't worry. We talked about her 'cause you were hurtin' and thinkin' on her. You spoke about her with lots of love," Buck reassured his friend. The wagon hit a deep rut, the sudden dip rattling Ezra's head. He moaned and leaned his head into Buck's chest.

"Sorry 'bout that," Chris yelled back.

Buck squeezed Ezra tight and said quietly to him, "I got ya." To Chris he said, "We're all right back here, but if you avoid them bumps we'd both appreciate it." The dark clouds had rolled quickly by and the sun was now beating down on them once more, hot and oppressive. Nathan handed a damp cloth back to Buck. "Thanks," he said, and then gently wiped the sweat from Ezra's face. Ezra sighed and blinked and tried to focus. He could barely keep his eyes open as the sun burned like daggers, but he was able to keep his eyes open enough to see the multiple images of Buck looking down at him. He laughed lightly.

"What's so funny?"

"Never thought ah would happily accept seein' sev'ral of you at one time."

"Why, I done told ya, Ezra, the ladies could only wish for such a thing," Buck replied, wiggling his eyebrows seductively. Ezra laughed heartily, and then regretted it.

"Buck, don't make me laugh." Ezra moaned and snuggled in closer.

"How 'bout you two settle down back there," Nathan suggested sternly.

Buck looked down and saw that Ezra had fallen asleep. He whispered back, "Already there, Nate." And Buck remained quiet for the rest of the slow ride home. He figured they'd have Ezra settled up in the clinic in another fifteen minutes. It had been a hell of a day. And though he was happy to get Ezra back to town and in the hands of their kind healer, he still had to deal with what to do about Lyle Forest. It was starting to irritate him that they needed to even think about the kid, what with Ezra and the heat and the worries brought on by the heat and the wind. The light rain wouldn't have amounted to much in the dry, high desert, so they were still on alert as they had been. And it wasn't just Lyle Forest they had to worry about. When the boy didn't show up to meet his brother, they were soon likely to have James Forest to deal with, too.

Chris stopped the wagon near the stairs of the clinic. Buck tried to wake the man lying against his side.

"Ezra, we're home. Time to get up."

"Nnghh, mah head," he complained.

"I know. Let's get you up to the clinic," Buck suggested. Ezra didn't move.

"Ah wish to return to mah room," he said with decided petulance.

"I don't think so, stud," Buck said. "Come on, let's get ya movin'."

"I can help from this side," Lyle said.

"No. Ah am goin' to mah room."

"No you're not, Ezra," Chris ordered. "You can't stand up. You can't even sit up without bein' propped up. You're stayin' at Nathan's for a while."

"If ah cannot stand or sit, and I can only lay down, why can that not be done in mah own room in mah own bed?"

"Because ya ain't got the sense God gave ya and you'll try to get up and there won't be no one there to catch ya," Nathan argued back. "You could hurt yourself real bad, and we ain't got extra people around to keep an eye on you." With the men of the town on constant lookout for fire, the women of the town had taken on added responsibilities of watching the goings-on in Four Corners.

The guilt he felt about the amount of time his care would demand was the deciding factor for Ezra. "Fine, ah will remain in Mistah Jackson's fine establishment for one," he looked up as he spoke to see Chris Larabee glaring at him, "maybe two days."

"Good of you to concede, Ezra," Chris said with a smile.

Ezra sat up, Buck playing catch up, and then promptly fell back against the big man, who fell back into the blanket-topped straw covered bed of the wagon.

"No sense at all," Nathan groused. "Get on that side," Nathan told Lyle, "Buck, steady him from the back. On three, we're going to pull and push him to the end of the wagon."

Chris stepped in and pulled Forest away. "I'll do it."

"Don't matter to me who does it. Ready?" Nathan asked. Buck and Chris nodded as Ezra fuzzily watched the goings-on. "One-two-three." They managed to get the shocked gambler to the end of the wagon with surprising swiftness and ease. Ezra blinked, looking perplexed.

"What just happened?"

---

The first three days of Ezra's recovery at the clinic had been difficult for both him and Nathan. Though he slept most of the time, the times he was awake he remained in severe pain. Nathan had to cajole the man into eating and drinking because nearly every time the gambler took in some food, some part of it was sure to make a return appearance.

Nathan had finally given up and assigned the job of getting him to take his meals to the women of the town, all of whom seemed better able to convince Ezra to eat when it truly was the last thing he wanted to do. Mary Travis, Mrs. Potter, Inez Recillos, Casey and Nettie Wells had put together a schedule to help with Ezra. The healer had been called out a number of times to help with folks who had been overtaken by the heat, or for any number of other everyday ailments, but it remained too dangerous to leave Ezra alone. His injury had deviled his equilibrium but good.

By the fourth day, though not feeling all that much better save for having been able to keep a little more food down, Ezra began complaining in earnest about his 'incarceration'. The annoyance everyone felt at the incessant griping was far superseded by the relief they felt at these familiar signs that their injured friend was coming back to life. Watching the normally animated gambler lay pale, sick and unmoving had just added to the town's overall depression that had started with the onset of the long heat wave. After three weeks of the scorching high temperatures, hearing Ezra grumble had the effect of knocking down a solid twenty degrees from the thermometer. At least, most of the time it did.

"Ah am," Ezra insisted late the morning of that fourth day.

"You are not," Inez insisted.

"Inez, mah dear, certainly it makes sense for this bed to be made available for others. Mistah Jackson has had to remove himself to care for them when he should be able to apply his gentle ministrations to them here."

"None of those people are as sick as you've been, Ezra," Nathan assured him.

"Ah fail to see why ah cannot continue mah convalescence in mah own room," he doggedly argued.

"Do you want to try again?" Inez questioned heatedly.

"Inez," Nathan warned.

"No, Señor Jackson. I believe we should have Señor Standish try once more," the fiery Mexican insisted. Nathan sent a silent apology Ezra's way.

"Ah do believe I will try again, and I will succeed."

Nathan shook his head, stood up, and walked to the bed.

Ezra kept his eyes on him the whole way. "Your confidence in me is overwhelmin', Mistah Jackson," Ezra muttered.

"Oh, I got confidence, all right." Inez laughed, ending with an unladylike snort.

"Ah will have the last laugh," Ezra assured his two friends.

"Sí, this may be so, but you will be laughing from the floor," Inez shot back.

"Nah, I'll catch him, again, before I let that happen," Nathan said with a knowing smile.

"Are you two through?" Inez and Nathan looked at each other, Inez smiling brightly, Nathan sending her back a wink of the knowing. "Good." Ezra removed the sheet – he still, much to his consternation, wore a nightshirt throughout the day – placed his feet on the floor … and closed his eyes. It happened every time, the vertigo that had sent him careening to the floor each and every time he tried to stand. Despite the fun that his friends were having at his expense, Ezra Standish no longer found any of this amusing. It was only his gentlemanly ways that kept him from punching Nathan in the face.

And the lovely Señorita Recillos, once he was able to figure out which of the multiple Nathans or Inezes or his other friends was the real one to take a swing at.

He breathed in and out, willing the requisite nausea away that followed each bout of vertigo. He opened his eyes, ready to try it again. He saw the same thing he had each time he tried: Nathan's face, gone from humored to concerned - with a small bucket at the ready – and one of his other friends, this time Inez, also no longer finding Ezra's struggle funny. He grabbed the top of the brass headboard, held on tight, and pushed himself up and promptly dropped, this time into the support and safety of the mattress, and Nathan's steadying grasp. Somewhere in his muddled mind he thought maybe that counted as progress, since he didn't find himself on the hard, wood floor. A cold sweat swiped its evil tendrils over his body. He could feel Inez there with a wet cloth, wiping his face and speaking to him. He tried to listen, but though his Spanish was far better than rudimentary, he would have lost a bet wagering on what language the beautiful woman was speaking at the moment. He felt someone re-position him on the bed, but that movement turned out to be the last straw for his traitorous body. He sat up, his eyes opening but snapping shut quickly as the room swirled and swirled. He leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited into the bucket that Nathan held ready.

"I do not understand him," Inez said, frustrated.

"Take it easy, Ezra," Nathan soothed. Quieter to Inez, he said, "It's just his way." A knock was heard at the door, the sound of it opening followed, and then Buck's voice interrupted the conversation.

"Everybody decent?" he asked jokingly. He sobered up quickly at what he saw. "Ah, hell," he said, removing his hat and coat and tossing them on a chair. "What can I do?" he asked.

"Go on, Inez. I know you gotta get back to the saloon," Nathan suggested. The Mexican beauty looked sadly at Ezra as he continued with the choking retching that was now only resulting in miserable pain for her friend. She left, knowing how much the con man hated being seen like this. "Buck, come on and hold this while I get some tea goin'." It was a testament to how worried Buck was for his friend that he missed his opportunity to flirt with Inez before she headed out the door.

The gunman took the healer's place. Ezra said, "Ah … think ah am … done," through panting breaths.

"You sure?" Buck asked, lowering his head to get a look at Ezra's face. He sat on the edge of the bed now, using his left arm to hold Ezra over the bucket. His right, along with both of the gambler's hands, held onto the bucket, though Buck could tell that Ezra was really holding on to it, not holding it up.

"Please," Ezra insisted, letting go and breathing hard. Buck set the container as far away as possible. Nathan handed him a wet cloth that he used to clean up the still-healing man. Buck plumped up the pillows as well as he could with one hand and then eased Ezra down.

"What happened?" Buck finally asked, sending his question to Nathan.

"It was mah fault. Ah thought ah … would try risin' from this … well, you know the rest," he finished tiredly, dejection evident.

"Ezra, you gotta be patient. Nathan doesn't want you here any longer than is necessary. You know that, right? You're a right pain in the ass when you're sick."

"Ah am not sick," Ezra insisted.

"You know what I mean," Buck countered crossly. "You gotta listen to Nate. You'll get outta here sooner than you realize if you do."

Ezra's breathing had calmed. He kept his eyes closed because the room continued to spin, and when he did open them, he knew he'd be confronted with two each of his two worried friends. He definitely did not want to see that look, that look that he put on their faces. He put his hands to his temples and rubbed both sides of his head, careful on the area where his wound was still healing. His voice was pained and shaky when he spoke.

"Ah … ah h … hate feelin' like this." Ezra Standish never used that word. Hate was an emotion that someone in his position could ill-afford. It could cause rash decisions that could result in unpredictable outcomes. It ran against the grain of the prime directive of his life: never leave anything to chance. But he was too weary to not feel the unwanted emotion, but more importantly, he was with people now who would not use these feelings against him.

"I know," Buck said as he re-wet the cloth and wiped the man's face, his hands, which had not gone unscathed when he'd been sick. Buck washed the small spot of spittle from the con man's nightshirt. He sat back, eyed Ezra up carefully, spit dramatically into his fingertips and then pushed Ezra's hair back out of his eyes.

"Good lord," the convalescing man said. "Please tell me that was not what it sounded like," he added, opening his eyes enough to attempt a scowl. He heard Nathan laughing lightly in the background.

Buck obliged. "That was not what it sounded like." Ezra moaned, closed his eyes and settled further into his pillow.

"Stay awake for a little while, Ezra," Nathan warned.

"Mistah Jackson, ah sleep all of the time anymore. Ah b'lieve ah can … r'main … awake … " he didn't finish the sentence.

"Better hurry up, Nate. Think he's headin' to la-la land." The healer hurried over with the tea, a particularly drinkable blend that even Ezra liked and helped greatly with pain.

"Ezra, sit up a minute … " Before he could finish, Vin Tanner burst into the room.

"Got trouble," he said to Buck and Nathan. He looked over to Ezra, who was now wide awake, but he looked quickly away.

"Both of us?" Buck asked.

"What's wrong?" Ezra asked, seeing Vin's quick glance to him as some sort of a sign.

"Need as many as we can," Vin said warningly, answering Buck but ignoring Ezra.

"Drink this," Nathan ordered.

"Ah will not," the con man challenged.

"Ezra, you need to, followed by that glass of water," Nathan demanded.

"Not until this crisis, whatever it is, is resolved," he said, looking to Vin, who refused to look at the southerner.

"You ain't gonna win this one, Nathan," Buck said. "Let's go resolve this," he added, using Ezra's words and looking at the card sharp as he said it. "Stay in bed," he pleaded.

"Go," Ezra said urgently, purposefully refusing to acknowledge the request.

"Drink that water, at least," Nathan said. "You need to repl … " Ezra didn't let him finish.

"Yes, replenish what ah just lost. Ah know." Buck and Nathan followed Vin out the door as Ezra picked up the glass.

"You put somethin' in his water," Buck said softly as they hurried down the staircase from the clinic.

"I been puttin' nutrients in his water. Sometimes I put somethin' in to help him sleep. What he don't know won't hurt him," Nathan replied seriously. Buck smiled as they headed over to the jail.

---

Ezra set the glass down without drinking it and willed the dizziness away. He knew from the looks he was getting from Vin, and more specifically, from the way the tracker refused to look him in the eye, that this had to do with the Forests, and if the Forests were involved, then Ezra was involved. For days he'd been watching his set of clean clothes sitting over in a neat pile and on hangers just out of reach. At least it seemed like days. In actuality, they had only been taunting him every time he was awake as he struggled to recover in Nathan's clinic, and he had not been awake all that much until late the previous day. The gunshot to the head had been nearly the end for him; Nathan had said just a fraction of an inch farther in and he would have been dead. As it was, Nathan had appeared to be correct in his assessment that he would not be able to walk a straight line, let alone a crooked one, for several more days. But he couldn't sit in this room and allow his friends to fight this fight without him. He turned and placed his feet on the floor once more, stood up, and forced his eyes to remain open. The room spun, he immediately felt the cold sweat on his brow. "Courage, Ezra," he said softly, forcing himself to remain standing. He took a tentative step, knowing that he needed just a couple of steps from the bed to his clothes. He kept his hand on the wall, conscious that it would remain on his left as he felt his way over, despite the fact that his eyes told him that the entire room was moving all about him. He reached his clothing. He would prefer to change into the clean undergarments, but time and the impossible effort to manage everything had the gambler choosing carefully what would happen. No socks, pants, shirt, no tie, suspenders, unless he wanted to shock the women of the town once again. Waistcoat? Yes. He knew that Nathan kept his weapons in the bottom drawer of the dresser on the other side of the room. God damn it! He grabbed his jacket and then with painstaking, frustrating slowness, made it over to the dresser. He put on his gun belts, stowed his weapons and then put on his jacket, just as the door opened.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Nettie Wells asked. She was followed into the room by Mary Travis.

"Going to help," he said as he stood, hoping that these far-too-smart women couldn't see his extreme dizziness. He also hoped he was looking at the actual Nettie and Mary and not the other ones who flipped around next to each of them.

"They'll be fine. You, on the other hand, won't be if you don't get back to bed."

"Ladies, ah am fine and ah am leavin'," he insisted.

Nettie stepped up to him. "No ya ain't," she said, and grabbed his arm and turned him back toward the bed. Just that slight movement made Ezra lose sight of where he was as the room began to spin out of control.

"Mrs. Wells," he complained as he tried to free his arm from her grasp. He stepped back, successfully managed to remove himself from the impressive grasp of the older woman, and ran right into Mary Travis. He thought he was reaching for the doorknob; Mary intercepted the hand as it closed in on her breast.

"Ezra, please, come on back," she insisted softly. The green of her eyes was mesmerizing as it swirled about him.

"Mrs. Travis, ah … " he paused and then frowned, not quite sure for a moment what was going on. He looked down, saw that he was dressed and had his weapons, but no boots, and remembered. "Ah must go … to … Mistah Tanner … " he added as he walked to the door. Mary tried to grab his arm, but he shook it loose. He opened the door, and then stepped back as an unfamiliar presence filled the doorway.

"You Standish?" he asked.

Ezra saw two of this person as well. Lovely. "Ezra P. Standish, at your service. Ah do not believe ah have had the pleasure," he said as he looked at the newcomer. He was fairly certain he was looking at James Forest. A killer. He could only look upon this moment as fortuitous; if he'd gotten himself together sooner this murderer might have arrived with Nettie Wells and Mary Travis here alone, and that would simply not do.

"Don't need no introduction. You know who I am. You're comin' with me," he said, cocking his gun and aiming it at Ezra's chest.

"Well, sir, if the threat is that you will shoot me if ah do not accompany you, ah am at a loss as to just what you would hope to accomplish dragging mah dead body about Four Corners." Mary rolled her eyes and sighed softly. Did he have a death wish? For some time after Ezra had saved her life, she had wondered that. He had tried to leave town with the money, but he'd stopped when he saw the hired killer in amongst the crowd. He knew that meant an up close attempt rather than long range, and when Chris told him that Mary was the target, he turned immediately around to look for the man he'd seen earlier. And then he stepped right in front of the man as he aimed the gun at Mary. She had never had anyone do such a thing, risk so much for her. She would be forever grateful for his actions that day; she had a very special place in her heart for the gambler, in spite of his profession and his history as a con man. She knew, at heart, from his actions if not from his words, that he was a good man. Ezra had seemed torn after than day, not sure of his place any longer. His embarrassment at having been found out had seemed profound to her. She watched as the other lawmen, his friends, had joked about it with him; it was their way of making him understand that they wanted him with them, that they were happy to still be able to count him as one of them, even if they would never trust him with their or anyone else's money. But she had seen the pain, and she had impressed upon Chris Larabee the need to talk to him. And he had and things had gotten, more or less, back to normal. But moments like this took her back to that time, and made her wonder.

"Huh. I ain't gonna shoot you," he said. "I'm gonna shoot her," he added, aiming the gun at Mary Travis' head.

"You are aware, ah am sure, that ah cannot allow that," Ezra said as he had the Derringer in his hand and took his two shots, one to the stomach of the first James Forest, and then one to the head of the other one. A shocked gasp from Forest was all that was heard before the man crashed to the floor of the clinic, his gun landing hard, and going off, sending a bullet into the mirror above the dresser. Nettie rushed over to Forest and kicked the gun away, and then kicked the body. No response gave her the go-ahead to bend down and check his pulse. She had to admit relief at finding none.

"That was a good shot, Ezra," Mary said.

Ezra tried really hard to focus on Mary's face. His head pounded with pain, but he didn't want to frighten the women any more than they already had been. He knew that his fellow lawmen would be on their way now, so he tried to relax and not give away how poorly he felt.

"Was it? Which one?" he asked. "Ah saw two of the miscreant, so ah went for a head shot with one and a gut shot with the other." Mary and Nettie looked at each other in shock and worry. Just how much Ezra had risked for both of them was becoming clear.

"The head wound, a clean shot. The second shot looks like it made its way into the second story of the granary," Nettie responded as she gently took Ezra by the elbow and walked him over to the bed. Mary followed and between the two of them they started undressing him and removing his impressive armaments. Chris and Vin stormed into the room and saw the results of the gunfire they'd heard; it was easy to recognize the distinctive percussion of Ezra's small weapon.

"Everybody all right?" Chris asked as Vin kneeled beside the body of James Forest and checked for a pulse.

"We're fine," Mary answered. The women had successfully gotten Ezra's jacket and waistcoat off of him before he finally put a stop to their ministrations.

"Ladies, ah b'lieve ah can finish," he said as he swayed on his feet.

"Mister Standish, what do you think we've been missin' these last days as we've come to care for ya, feed ya and spell Mister Jackson?" Ezra looked first at Nettie, and then Mary, with wide eyes and an appalled expression. "Nothin'. We ain't missed nothin', son. So," she went on as she pushed Ezra down onto the bed. "You gonna unbutton those fancy pants or am I?" Ezra looked to Chris and Vin, who both had grins on their faces. They both quickly looked over to the dead body and realized there was serious work yet to be done, and left Ezra to his embarrassment.

"Vin, let's get this one down to the undertaker, too."

Ezra blinked and looked worriedly from the two Vins to the two Chrises. "Too?" he asked. Buck and Nathan walked in, Nathan going over to Ezra and taking over from the women. "Mistah Larabee? Who else … " he started to ask, but a sudden, severe dizziness overtook him. His face grew white as the sheets on the bed that he sat upon. Nathan knew the mortification his friend would feel at throwing up now. He pushed his head down.

"Breath through it, Ez," he ordered.

Ezra followed the directive, but asked plaintively from the uncomfortable and embarrassing position, "Wh … What happened?"

"James Forest killed his brother Lyle." Ezra raised his head and looked to Buck, who had answered the question. Devastated. That was the only word that Buck could come up with to describe how Ezra looked. "Came into town, real low and quiet. Asked around, got the answers he needed. Snuck up on the kid as he was muckin' a stall for Yosemite and shot the kid in the back of the head."

"But … we … we … " Ezra tried to talk but was coming up empty. He, Buck and Chris had talked earlier in the morning about what to do with Lyle Forest. He had been part of a gang that was responsible for the deaths of people during bank robberies. They had stolen money that belonged to others. But based on what they had learned about Lyle Forest, he had not truly participated in these crimes. He certainly hadn't benefited any: he had no money on him but a few coins in his pants pocket. Buck and Chris had talked with him enough to know that he was being honest with them. And the kid had certainly helped to save Ezra's life. They had contacted the sheriffs in the towns where the robberies had taken place and found out that it seemed just so, that there had only ever been two men involved in the actual thefts and killings. Lyle had just waited outside town to join up with his brothers. Buck was pretty sure that the kid's slow mind was part of why his brothers couldn't trust him to be in on the robberies. Lyle had been able to give them more details on other crimes his brothers had committed, stagecoach robberies, some just highway robberies, as Lyle and Hank Forest had tried with Buck and Ezra. They had agreed that there seemed little point in prosecuting the kid for actions that he would never have taken on his own, and would not do by himself in the future. Yosemite had agreed to take him on at the livery while one of his other men recovered from a bad kick he'd taken from one of the newer rental horses. They were going to have to find him some other work once this short-term job was over, but that wouldn't be required now.

"Ezra?" Nathan asked. He had gotten the man out of his clothes and back into a nightshirt, but the gambler seemed off in his own world. The healer was glad that he was down on the bed, because it had appeared that Ezra was just about ready to keel over. Instead, the con man lay down on the bed and moved onto his side, facing away from all of the people in the room, his friends with their worried countenances looking his way. It was too much. He didn't want to see them. He was tired. Sick and tired. Sick about how life could be so unfair. He closed his eyes and pleaded silently for sleep to take him.

Chris spoke softly. "Let's get him out of here," he said to Vin as he looked at the body on the floor. He looked up to Mary and Nettie. "You sure you're both all right?"

"We aren't the ones you should be worried about," Mary said as she looked sadly to the prone man. To Nathan she said, "Casey will come and sit with him for supper."

"Thank you, Mrs. Travis." Mary and Nettie stepped around the body of James Forest and left the small room. Chris and Vin carried the body out. Buck stayed behind and took a seat next to Ezra.

"Nathan, he's okay for now, right? Mind if I sit with him for a while?"

"No. Think it might be a nice thing. I've got to get this cream over to Mrs. Pritchett, anyway. I shouldn't be too long."

Buck didn't answer as he sat and looked at his friend. "I know you're not sleepin', Hoss."

Ezra sighed deeply, moved to lie on his back and wiped the sweat from his brow. He put his hand over his eyes and pleaded, "Leave me alone, Buck."

"Now, Ezra, I don't think I can. I think you're feelin' guilty for that boy being dead, and I'm here to set you straight on that. You ain't. Hell, you ain't even been out of this room. And he and his brother did set us up to shoot at us. He wasn't innocent."

Ezra dropped his hand, scooted up some against the headboard and answered back, "He was innocent enough for us to agree to give him a second chance."

"Yeah, he was."

"So why? Why this? Why could we not have come up with some plan to save that boy from his brother? Would it have been so wrong? So hard? Maybe we should have sent him to another town."

"You know that James Forest just would've tracked him down."

"Then what? Are you sayin' to me that we were just fooling ourselves when we talked this morning? Wouldn't it have been kinder to just put a bullet in the child's head, put him down like an injured animal, rather than to make him think he had some sort of a future? Are we so cruel that we were going to allow that injured soul to live with the thought that he actually might when we knew that there was no chance of that?"

"I think you're getting a little carried away there. We were only trying to help him. Give him a life that his own family never could."

"I reiterate, what kind of a life, Buck? And who the hell are we to make that choice? And look what the results are!" Ezra threw the blankets off and placed his feet on the floor. "Ah have to get out of here," he said as he rose. He promptly swayed dangerously, and fell into Buck's arms.

"Damn it, Ezra. Get back in bed." Buck sat him down, and then helped him back under the covers. He placed his arm on the con man's shoulder and could feel the man trembling. He sat down next to him on the bed and rubbed his back. Ezra had his face shoved into the pillow, so Buck started talking to the back of his head. "Look, think on it like this. Lyle had a terrible, terrible life, but in the past few days he had people treat him like he was someone worth knowing. People thanked him for helping you. Mrs. Potter made him lemon pastry each of the last three days because he tried one, told her it was the best thing he'd ever had, that he'd never had lemon before in his life. He couldn't believe the kindness that was available to him. Ez, I know you've been sick and haven't seen it, but Lyle Forest learned and saw things these last few days that changed his life. In a few short days, a boy's life was changed for the better. He never saw the bullet coming. He was happily doin' his job, he didn't suffer. There's a lot to be said for what we did for that boy. I think when you're feelin' better you'll see it." Buck felt the shaking under his hand, thinking that the trembling had gotten worse, that Ezra had gotten worse and was getting a chill. He looked down, trying to see his face, and he saw that it wasn't the cold. Ezra was crying. "Aw, Ez," Buck said. He picked the weak man up from the bed and smothered him with a hug. "You need to know that you and me, we didn't do anything but good for that kid." He squeezed harder, and felt Ezra finally put his hands around his back. "You're feelin' a little down right now, and I think it's messin' with you some. You'll think clearer on it as you get better. I know you will." He rubbed Ezra's back affectionately as his friend continued to cry. The door opened at that moment with a soft creak. Nathan stepped in and looked immediately to the bed. He saw Buck's eyes as he acknowledged him over Ezra's shoulder. Buck shook his head, nodded toward the door. Nathan took the two steps back that he'd taken into his clinic and left his two friends alone.

---

"She sounds like a pretty amazing lady."

"She was indeed. Ah never wanted to disappoint her again after seeing that look in her eye. My Auntie Evelyn showed me in one painful lesson what it would have taken dear Mother a lifetime to teach me."

"I'm thinkin' Chris would like to take a lesson or two from your aunt on how to handle Ezra Standish."

"No doubt." They continued toward the end of their leisurely patrol. Ezra took a deep breath and said, "Lord, it feels good to be out, don't you agree, Mistah Wilmington?"

"I certainly do, Mister Standish. You sure you're up to this? Not feelin' too tired after nearly eight hours in the saddle?"

"Our fine healer has approved mah return to active duty. Ah passed Mistah Larabee's tests."

"Yeah, you sure did. Put poor J.D. to shame with that fancy ridin'," Buck said, humor in his voice. The two men took Clyde and Chaucer on a leisurely stroll as they finished up the gambler's first full day of work since his convalescence. The weather had finally turned for the better, bringing in several days of rain and decidedly cooler temperatures.

"Ah admit that ah have an advantage with Chaucer. He could make even an inexperienced rider seem to possess expertise."

"I don't know about that, pard. That would only be if the rider could get up close enough to get on the stubborn thing."

"True," Ezra agreed companionably as he took another long breath of fresh air. It had been three weeks since the shooting. Nathan had finally agreed to release the gambler to his room after a full week, but persistent headaches and malaise from all that he had gone through had kept the con man down and out for some time thereafter. Buck had been right, though, about time healing the open wound of what had gone on with the Forest brothers. And his friends never once let him down – or left him alone for long to dwell on the events. Ezra Standish was a man who, once he'd started to truly heal, was able to see what had been so hard to see when he'd been dizzy and sick and in the throes of such a terrible tragedy, for it was a tragedy that young Lyle Forest had never lived the life that he could have. But just as it was not for him to say why the boy only had a few days of freedom to live his life, it was also not for him to say that the young man's choice – Ezra's life over his own, for that is what he had chosen when he agreed to take Buck's note into town – wasn't the only choice he could make. Ezra Standish had some experience with making difficult choices. He had learned the hard way that when you really studied the situation, there often never was an actual choice before you. There was often just the one, right thing to do. He had made that choice when he'd come back to the Seminole village. Lyle Forest had done the same thing with Buck's note. He shook his head. He was so lucky. So very lucky. He shook his head once more as he realized that his mind had gone off on a tangent in the middle of his conversation with his friend.

"Mah apologies, Buck. What were we sayin'?"

Buck ignored the question, because he could see that what Ezra had been thinking about had nothing to do with his riding skills. "Ezra, you understand that the consequences of Lyle's decision had nothing to do with the right or wrong of it. He would have made the same call, even if he'd known."

"Ah know. Ah still … feel badly things ended as they did."

"I know." They rode a little longer in silence, and then Ezra said, "We were havin' a conversation earlier that I rudely interrupted with mah own ruminations. What were we discussin'?"

"Nothin', not really. Just glad you were able to convince Nathan and Chris that you were ready to ride."

"It took no convincing, Buck. Ah am ready to ride." Ezra smiled at the tall gunman, saying with his sparkling eyes and his gold-studded smile what he would normally say verbally.

"I'll take that bet," Buck said as he and Ezra and their trusted steeds raced for home.

The End.