There was a time when men were kind

When their voices were soft

And their words inviting

There was a time when love was blind

And the world was a song

And the song was exciting

There was a time

Then it all went wrong …

Ezra Standish walked into the saloon after a long, hot and extra dusty patrol of his town and both its near and far outskirts. The high desert was especially dry just now, the rain that had fallen regularly during the last two summers he had spent in the frontier town of Four Corners had been notably absent this year. It had a cruel impact on the already dry landscape, this withholding by Mother Earth of such a precious commodity. The dust was thicker than normal, the land cracked and devastatingly parched. Even the southerner's silky voice had been affected, the grit impossible to keep from his nose and throat entirely, despite borrowing one of his friend's colorful scarves and his willingness to wear such a gauche but necessary embellishment to his otherwise fine wardrobe. The cough the dust caused, though not persistent, certainly felt like it was; the gambler seemed ever on the precipice of the next cough that, no matter if it was persistent, never truly had the desired result of clearing whatever had caught deep into his nose or unpleasantly tickled the back of his throat.

There was but one thing that would soothe this beast, and though as precious to the refined southern gentleman as water was to the residents of this territory, partaking of it would be worth the sacrifice of running out before he was able to arrange for delivery of more of the prized ambrosia.

As he walked in, Ezra spotted the man who had lent him the dreaded, garish scarf that had successfully saved him from the choking, swirling dust. Buck Wilmington was sitting alone at a table, far away from the action, far from the center of the establishment where the gregarious ladies man usually held court. He had a well-on-its-way to empty bottle sitting in front of him. As though all of these indicators weren't enough for the professional poker player to read that something was awry, the table at which the tall, lean gunman sat was the one where a certain Chris Larabee could be found when he found the only thing that could soothe his demons was sitting alone, solitary in his grief … by choice … the bottom of one bottle readily making way for the full contents of another.

"Senorita Recillos, the Kentucky bourbon, my dear?" he asked with a tired smile. Her worried glance toward Buck was the only sign he needed before adding, "dos vasos, por favor." Inez Recillos smiled, knowing that the right man for this job had arrived. She brought the requested special blend and two clean glasses to the handsome card sharp.

"Gracias," she said, her concern for the goings-on in the far corner a far cry from her regular flirtations with the man who seemed forever hopeful for an outcome with the pretty Mexican bar keep that Ezra Standish felt certain would never, ever be. He was well-convinced that someone else held the inside track on the lovely lady's affections.

He turned and made his way to his friend. "Might Ah convince you to join me in a far more palatable libation?"

"Ain't lookin' for nothin' fancy today, Ezra. This," he said as he tossed back a full to the rim shot, "is doin' me just fine." He took the bottle before him and refilled his glass.

"Very well. In that case, do you mind if Ah join you?" Ezra cleared his throat. Buck looked at him with a worried eye, but seeing the blanket of dust, he understood the need and chose to provide friendly warning to his fellow lawman.

"Ain't good company today, but it's a free country."

"For the most part," the dusty lawman said, not nearly under his breath as he took a seat and thought back to a pretty Chinese doll and her people and how very not free they seemed. And the more he learned of Kojay's people – with Vin's help – after the incident with Chanu, just reinforced how though the country may have freed one people, it still managed to not understand the plight of immigrants to her shores or these proud first peoples who had resided here far longer than the white men who had opened the frontier and in doing so thoughtlessly broke a proud civilization.

Buck shot his brilliant blue eyes at the gambler as he tiredly took a seat. "I ain't in the mood," he growled.

Ezra raised both hands before him, palms toward Buck. "Ah am heah for a drink," he assured the angry man before him, "that is all. Ah will leave you to … this," he said, looking distastefully to the liquor bottle and then the glass, and then worriedly stared Buck in the eye. "Ah will be soaking this filth from mah person post-haste," he added as he dusted off his sleeve.

The two men drank in uncomfortable silence for no more than a minute before Buck finally spoke.

"Do you remember Essie Lou? From Silver Spring?"

Ezra frowned. He didn't generally keep track of Buck's conquests, primarily because of the full-time nature of the endeavor. He already had a job, one that, as surprising as it was to the former grifter, suited him just fine. He didn't need this additional full-time position, and he certainly wouldn't perform its duties without some form of remuneration. And as much as he was pleased with his position among the seven men who protected this town, he was forever grateful that it did not require a full-time commitment, other than his presence. The job as it was fitted perfectly with his other more lucrative occupation.

But the fact was, Ezra did recall Miss Esmeralda Louise Francis, the pretty and petite blond-haired, blue-eyed girl from Miss Monique Ravenel's place in Silver Spring. A charming, sweet girl with the three first names, she was one of several working girls that the madam from New Orleans had brought with her when she set up shop in the dusty village near the dried-up springs from which sprung the town's name. Buck made her acquaintance on an early trip that Ezra, Buck and Chris had made together not long after Judge Travis hired them to protect Four Corners.

Silver Spring was out of their way … it was always out of their way, but it took no convincing at all from the gambler to encourage his traveling companions to divert that way for, well, a little diversion.

Buck had been a regular since that first time. Chris still preferred the offerings in Purgatorio, his tastes leaning in a different direction than the more romantic inclinations of the territory's famed Lothario. And Ezra? He would partake of the glories of Miss Monique, one of his favorites when he'd spent time in the southern Louisiana parish that was the home to the famous city at the mouth of the mighty Mississippi. As a rule, his dalliances tended to be few but particular; Ezra was as disciplined with his sex life as he was with keeping his poker playing secrets or letting anyone other than his law enforcement brethren know the full extent of his personal arsenal.

"Of course Ah remember the lovely lady. Have you had opportunity to enjoy her company of late?"

"No." Buck looked into the reddish-amber contents of his glass. The rotgut was an unusual choice for Buck; he tended more to enjoy a beer and maybe one shot, but it was apparent the man had been drinking this swill for a while. The glassy look of his eyes was a sure tell. The dark-haired man shook his head sadly, tossed back the contents of the glass as easily as he did the last shot. He looked up, now more sad than angry, and said, "She's gone."

Ezra blinked his eyes at the news. Buck seemed more upset at the news that this girl had moved on than he'd been when Louisa Perkins left town, both the first and second time.

"Ah am certain you are aware that these … ladies do tend to move along, on occasion to an even bettah life."

"She's dead."

"Dead? Wh … Ah mean … how …?" Ezra couldn't believe what he'd been told. The girl was so young; vibrant, and still quite pretty despite her rugged occupation. The life could age women before their time. Ezra had seen that result more often than not.

"You know how some o' those men can be. Not all of 'em are like you and me."

"Yes, but … "

"You remember that fella over to Wickestown, how he treated Nora? And that pile o' dung Wickes himself?"

Ezra could feel his body practically ache with sadness, and then ratchet up further to hate for any man who would treat a woman in such a way. Being a 'professional' was no reason for a man to beat her bloody, like Nora. Or kill her. He could think of only one woman he wished ill of in that way, and despite occasional evidence to the contrary, that woman was not named Maude Standish. He hoped that one day that bitch Ella Gaines would get what was coming to her.

"Of course Ah remember that."

"Well, some son-of-a-bitch beat on her. Killed her."

Ezra had already surmised that. He asked softly, menacingly, "Was he caught?"

"Caught and killed by some other customers. Wish I'd been there, got my hands on 'im."

"Ah know you do, but it is bettah that others took care of this."

"Aw, hell, Ez. I know that. I just … I will never understand how a man … " Buck didn't continue, allowing the thought to finish silently on its own.

"Certainly not, except … " Ezra started in reply. Buck, who had poured another drink and been staring at it morosely, looked into Ezra's eyes once more, the anger back fully, and didn't let him finish.

"What the hell," he started.

"Ella Gaines."

"Oh." The lean gunman cocked his head. "Yeah, yeah, I'd like to see her dead. Don't even see her as a woman anymore." Ezra nodded. "It's different, what happened to Essie Lou."

"Indeed. When we think of the women in our lives … mothers," he started with a wry smile, knowing that his relationship with his mother was more tempestuous than most, "siblings, wives, cousins," he added, a sweet smile adorning his face at an obvious pleasant memory, "daughters," he continued, his face now showing sadness, maybe for what might never be … or what might already have been, there was no way to know for sure. Ezra kept his past his own to this day, now three years into their friendship with the southerner. "Even ladies like Miss Essie Lou. They are all only doing what will please us, help us, nurture us. Give us hope for what could be." Buck knew from the expression on his friend's face that Ezra meant women like Louisa Perkins, even Li Pong, maybe Mary Travis or Casey Wells. The thought of any of those women suffering the same end … . Both men turned to their drinks. Moments later, Buck spoke up again.

"You know, she never, ever made it feel like I was with, well, you know."

"Ah do, but Ah didn't think that was of consequence to you."

"It ain't. What I mean is, sometimes, what they do … the ladies … they can't hide their shame. I wish that none of them felt that way. It's a hard life for a woman out here. She can't be blamed if sometimes she falls into that life."

Ezra nodded. He wasn't sure he agreed with Buck on that, certainly not in every circumstance. But now was not the time for that discussion.

"She probably nevah made it feel like it was … work," Ezra said gently, a little worried about Buck's reaction. The compassionate ladies man took it as the southerner intended. "Because with you it nevah felt like that for her."

Buck's blue eyes grew big and a little misty at the thought. "I hope you're right."

"Ah usually am," Ezra replied with a wide grin. Buck punched him in the shoulder, unleashing a cloud of dust, and Ezra faked that it hurt, which made Buck smile for the first time since the card sharp had entered the drinking establishment. Ezra yawned, and that made the caring lawman finally take notice of the condition of his friend.

"You best get over and get that bath or you're likely to fall asleep before you finish. Boys'll have my hide if they find out it's my fault you drowned."

"Ah am warmed-through by your concern," Ezra offered, his sarcasm dripping with just the right humorous tone. He looked directly into Buck's eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I think so. Thanks for listening, Ez."

"Despite the circumstances, if our talk helped at all, it was, as evah, mah pleasure."

"It did help. A lot."

Ezra stood. "Then Ah shall bid you adieu until later this evenin'. A drink, a bath, some sleep and then some cards. Will Ah see you later?"

"I got a coupla dollars that probably have your name on 'em."

"Excellent," Ezra said with a final smile. He tipped his hat to Buck and turned, then offered the same salute toward their leader as Chris Larabee entered the building. "Mistah Larabee," he said.

"Ezra. How was patrol?"

"Uneventful, save for the pound of dirt Ah brought back with me."

"Good," Chris said as they crossed through the threshold together.

"Most assuredly a matter of opinion," Ezra offered as he stepped out onto the boardwalk, looked to the east, where he saw what he sincerely hoped were rain clouds in the near-distance, and then turned to the west, squinted into the setting sun and headed toward the bathhouse, his set of clean clothes awaiting him, having known the state he would be returning in. It had been a longer-than-usual shift as Vin Tanner took time away to spend out in the wilderness, as he was wont to do from time to time.

Chris smiled at the response from the gambler and moved over to Buck's table.

"Everything all right?" he asked his oldest friend. Inez brought over a clean glass. As Chris reached for Ezra's special swill as he sat down, the pretty Mexican leaned in and took it away. The former gunslinger frowned but then smiled as he thought of how dangerous she might be with a gun in her hand instead of a towel to keep her patrons in line with a stinging swat.

"I think so," Buck said as he raised his glass to the air, paused in honor of a lovely lost soul … as well as to good friends. He held dear most of the ladies he'd known in his life, but oh how much poorer his life would be – mind, heart and soul – without these men by his side.

The End.

This story begins with the intro to the song "I Dreamed a Dream" from the musical "Les Miserables" by Claude-Michel Shoenberg and Alain Boublil, with additional lyrics by Jean-Marc Natel, with an English language libretto by Herbert Kretzmer, based on Victor Hugo's 1862 novel of the same name.