To Nurture the Son

by DeniseV

Ezra didn't really deal with the aftermath of what happened in the summer. As the holiday approaches, a familiar attack has brought unresolved feelings back, though it's his friends who are left trying to figure it out. Some darker themes.

Present

"What the hell, Erza."

"Out of my way."

"Aw, hell. It's almost Christmas. Shit."

"Then watch yer language, kid."

"Anyone know when this happened?"

"Reckon overnight. Lucky he ain't froze ta death."

If Ezra hadn't been so profoundly unconscious, he would have seconded that thought.

Summertime

"Come children. Let us proceed to Missus Potter's garden. Our lesson today will be about one of the vilest pests in the summertime garden, the tomato hornworm."

"Oooh! Worms are great," little Ralph Burberry said.

"No they aren't. Worms are horrible," Josephine Milton replied. The picture of the toweringly tall eleven-year-old girl arguing with the tiny and very bright seven-year-old was quite a sight. Little Ralph was certainly holding his own, so long as things didn't escalate to fisticuffs.

"They're great!" Ralph declared, his voice extra high, demonstrating both his agitation and his excitement. Ezra wished all children were as enthralled with learning as he looked toward the back of the group.

"Awful!" Josephine said, a hint of condescension in her tone.

Ezra Standish stopped along the side of the main avenue of his adopted hometown of Four Corners. His students gathered around him, even as Ralph and Josephine continued to argue.

"All right, Master Ralph and Miss Josephine. You are both correct, dependin' on the circumstances. And even today's discussion affords us two separate courses of action for the same creature. We will chat about that momentarily."

"But Mr. Ezra, when would a worm ever be something that we shouldn't just squish under our boots? I think I have to agree with Jo. I hate worms." Young Maria Martinez scrunched up her face at the thought of the large, green worm that she seemed afraid to even look at.

"Gather around, children." A couple of the older boys were hanging well back, far more interested in their own interaction than today's lesson.

"Master Arnold. Master Orlando!" Ezra called more harshly on the second boy's name; Orlando Martinez was a young man who normally did not behave so poorly. "Ah must insist on your silence and your attention for the duration of today's lesson."

"Don't know why we gotta know this stuff, anyhow," Arnold grumbled miserably. "My name's Arnie," he added bitterly.

"That, Master Arnold, is a question you should put to your mothah and fathah. For now, assume that you will be tested on all of the knowledge you gain during your schooling and pay attention."

The two boys remained quiet, and at the back of the group, as Ezra moved on with the lesson. He didn't miss, though, how Orlando stepped up closer to the other students, and away from the other older boy.

"You will find the tomato hornworm is very good at hiding. It prefers the underside of a leaf or stem, and it is green and therefore blends in with its host plant in its deception of we mere mortals."

"How big are they?" Vivian Watson asked. It was the first class she had been able to attend in weeks. Her grandfather finally broke down and hired someone at the hardware store now that business was picking up, freeing the child to be where she should be, in a classroom, hopeful, interested, not a mere child laborer.

"That would depend on how long they have been feedin' on a plant," Ezra answered. "Come, try to get as close as you can. You can see the telltale damage done on one of these tomato plants in this first row. Master Willie, which one looks different from the others?" Ezra looked to Arnold Young as he called William Stanton by his shortened name.

If looks could kill.

"It's the second one. There are no leaves on the top."

"That is correct. The tomato hornworm has made its way through the top of this plant, a most unfortunate circumstance as this will retard the production of fruit. They will get bettah, but we will need to be diligent through the growing season."

"Mr. Ezra, I thought tomatoes were vegetables," Mabel Morton commented. They had not yet been through the classroom lesson, so the six-year-old would be understandably confused by what the gambler just said.

"Indeed, the tomato is considered a vegetable, but any plant that provides something for us to eat is said to 'bear fruit'. Also, the tomato is actually considered a berry, so though we think of it as a vegetable, it is, in reality, a fruit. We will discuss that in more detail in class on another day." The gentlemanly southerner had learned his lesson about allowing children to wrest control of the class from him.

"Oh! I found one!" Hannah Timmons shrieked gleefully. "It's horrible looking," she added, followed by a nervous giggle as she took half a step away from the unmoving creature.

Little Jeremiah Pike tried to reach for the worm that appeared surprisingly still, though Ezra knew it was busy doing its damage to the plant. Ezra reached his arm over the head of a couple of other smaller children and pulled the tiny hand away just in time.

"They will not bite, Master Jeremiah, but they will fight." The gambler took his knife and cut the stem from which the sizable green worm hung. "Watch," he said as he picked a thick blade of grass from alongside the mercantile. He used the root end and rubbed it against the head of the hornworm. The green monster immediately began to flail back and forth.

The student who had made her way up beside Ezra screamed. Ezra jumped.

Present

"What's he thinkin' about?" J.D. Dunne asked.

"Don't know. He's all fevered, could be anything," Nathan Jackson said. The poker player moaned and mumbled and tossed his blanket repeatedly, actions he suffered through now going on half a day.

"Do you know what this is?" Chris Larabee asked. As the leader of the seven men who protected their town, Ezra Standish among them, Chris felt a responsibility to his men whenever they were hurt or sick. Ezra had been knifed overnight when two drummers got into a scuffle in the alley alongside Gloria Potter's store. Unfortunately, it happened well after everyone was thought to have gone to sleep, and regular patrols had been suspended due to a quiet time as Christmas approached. Ezra had a habit of taking moonlight walks when he couldn't sleep, and several of the peacekeepers were at the poker tables and knew that he hadn't had his most profitable night. There was no reason to expect him to be attacked, he hadn't made any money off of the two men. The whiskey salesmen were found beaten and bloody, one with Ezra's ruby ring, the other with his pocket watch. Both were currently spending time in the jail.

"The knife must have had somethin' on it. The wound is fine, but something seems to have got into his blood," the healer replied.

"Is that bad?"

"Could be. Got a poultice on the cut, but it may be too late to pull anything from it. Need to get him to drink more of this tea, but he ain't with it enough to get enough down him." Nathan shook his head. "Probably just have to wait and see. Hope for the best."

Chris Larabee didn't like that answer, not one bit. He turned and left the clinic.

Summertime

"It looks like it's dancing," Hyacinth Anne Simpson said once she'd calmed down from getting her first look.

Ezra nodded. "Somewhat, but what it's actually doin' is protecting its territory."

"Kind o' like what you and Mr. Chris and the others do for us," Hyacinth said as she looked at her teacher with what Ezra feared might be more emotion than she should. He might have to have a chat with her mother, as dealing with a child who had developed too much of a fixation on him was something that the southerner really wasn't too keen on doing.

"Sort of, Miss Hyacinth Anne."

"Hey, kids, how is everyone today?" Buck Wilmington asked as he came upon the class from behind, placing a hand firmly on the shoulders of Orlando Martinez and Arnold Young and forcing them closer to the group. A series of 'Good, Mr. Buck', 'Fine, Mr. Buck' and 'Hungry, Mr. Buck' was heard, the last coming from tiny Ralph.

"Didn't Mr. Ezra let you have your breakfast first?" the ladies' man asked the hungry little boy.

"Yeah, but I could eat a second breakfast."

"He's a growin' boy," Ezra noted with a touch of annoyance directed at Buck for interrupting the lesson rather than at the child's answer.

A big, dopey smile came to Buck's face when he replied, "Me, too." The students all laughed. "What's today's lesson?"

"We're learning about tomato hornworms," Stella del Rossi said. "Come closer and you can see one," she added enthusiastically.

"Well, all right. I can honestly say I haven't ever seen one before." The former Texas Ranger stooped his tall, lean body down to look where several small fingers were pointing. "Whoa! Ugly son-of-a-gun, ain't it?"

"Isn't it," Josephine Milton corrected.

"Isn't it," Buck adjusted his grammar and tipped his hat to the helpful child. He stepped closer and leaned in. "It's a big … " the lawman began, but what came out next was an astonished yelp, followed by Buck jumping away from the tomato plant, knocking a couple of kids to the ground as he did so. "What the … " he started to yell, just barely stopping himself from finishing with 'hell'. "Ouch!" was heard next, followed by "Son-of-a …." Once again, Buck stopped himself from using what was sure to be far too colorful language for most of the impressionable children who surrounded him. Ezra was impressed.

The youngsters were all laughing, save for Arnold Young. Buck's hat had fallen to his back, which made the sight of the tomato hornworm clutching to his nose, down his moustache and to his bottom lip an image none present would soon forget. Buck grabbed the offending worm, which kept a serious hold on the hairs of his moustache. He yelled, "Ow!" as he tried to pull the worm from his nose while the worm made every effort to hold on tight to the easy-to-attach-to hairs. "Ezra!"

"Ah b'lieve you scared it with that caterpillar on your lip," Ezra laughed. The children giggled more. "And you can say 'Ow' all you like, Buck, but the worm does not bite or sting people. They certainly hold on tight, though, don't they class?" The children laughed even louder.

"I don' c're 'bout tha'!" Buck screeched, though it came out more of a mumble, unable to open his mouth for fear of the nasty green creature going where it shouldn't go.

"Calm down. I will pull it off. It will not hurt," Ezra said as Buck groaned at his very bad luck. "Ah will try not to cut it so as not to get any of its innards all over your face." The gambler did as he said that he would, but the handsome gunman squealed like a pig, anyway. And the children kept on laughing. Ezra tossed the fat green worm with the distinct black horn on its back end hard to the ground. "Master Orlando, would you kindly take mah knife and cut the hornworm in half?"

"Sure!" the recent immigrant from Mexico answered excitedly, happy for a good reason to move away from Arnold Young. He quickly did as he was told and watched delightedly as the creature oozed green into the soil.

"Neat!" was heard from most of the boys. Several of the girls joined in, mesmerized. Shrieks from some of the girls were easily overpowered by the shrieks of the grown man moments earlier.

"Am I bleedin'?" Buck asked.

"No, Mr. Buck," Josephine noted with an unapologetic roll of the eyes.

"Miss Josephine, please go inside and ask Missus Potter for a wet cloth." The tall-for-her-age girl ran off to run the requested errand. "Mistah Wilmington won't like the aftertaste if this creature slimed him," Ezra said, mostly for his fellow peacekeeper's benefit.

"Slimed me?" Buck said, indignant, but he quickly shut his mouth, just in case. He started to put his hand up to his face, but Ezra stopped the action.

"The correct course of action, when one gets … detritus on one's person from a creature such as this, is to wash the area immediately. This is primarily a simple matter of proper garden hygiene." Ezra chose to keep from his friend the knowledge that this was more of a concern for the garden than for the gardener.

"Is there some other way to get rid of them? Other than finding them and killing them?" Edgar Rivers asked. The card sharp knew that the little boy was concerned about killing any living thing. It was a wonderful aspect of a young child's character that he would worry about such a thing when living in the harsh environment of the high desert southwest. The gambler hated to burst the naïve youngster's bubble, but what he would tell Edgar would be told gently and properly; Ezra could only hope that it was the worst thing the boy experienced during these early years of his life.

"Ah am afraid we must destroy it. They are a terrible pest in the garden, this larval stage of the hawk moth. Who remembers the Latin name?"

"Menduca quinquemaculata," well over half of the class answered in near-unison.

"Very good. Now, back to Master Edgar's question. There is the possibility that nature will take care of the pest on her own. If ever you see a tomato hornworm with white sacs on its back, leave it be. Those white nodules are the egg sacs of a wasp that is the mortal enemy of the hornworm. The wasps will not only eat these vociferous green eaters of the tomato and pepper plants, and some other plants in the garden, but they will also guard the vegetable garden against other unpleasant and unwanted insects."

"Oh," Edgar said. "So they're gonna die, anyway?"

"No, not necessarily. There is no guarantee that this particular wasp will choose this spot to lay its eggs."

"Is there a way to keep the hawk moth from laying its eggs in the garden at all?" Emily Merton asked.

"Not that we are aware of, however, there is work that can be done at the end of the growing season and before planting in the spring to lessen the chances of the pupa to become such an unwanted pest."

"Here, Mr. Buck," Josephine said, handing the wet rag to the lawman.

"Th'nk you, d'rlin'," Buck said, still not wanting to get any of the 'detritus' in his mouth. He started on his mouth and worked the cloth well around his moustache and nose. When he was done, a noise came from him, a sound he appeared to have little chance of stifling, a sound of relief, followed by a loud, purposeful breath in and sigh out.

"All bettah, Mistah Wilmington?" the professional poker player asked.

"Yeah, thanks. I think you enjoyed that too much, Ez," he said into the gambler's ear. "So, what do you have to do to keep 'em from coming back?" the town Lothario asked, completely enthralled by the class, despite the attack of the killer hornworm. He had been listening intently the entire time he refused to speak.

"As we put the garden to bed for the winter," Ezra started, eliciting a couple of giggles at the turn of phrase, "we must till the soil well. Whatevah pupal sacs we find should be gathered and removed from the garden. And we would do the same in the spring."

"Do you think it will work?" asked Emily Merton and her new brother Aaron at the same time. The siblings, along with their sister Annie, laughed together. Ezra smiled at the trio, and Buck smiled at the look of unfathomable affection that the southerner simply could not hide in his countenance. The ladies' man didn't think that Ezra even tried to hide his feelings for these three. Ezra Standish truly had a seemingly unquenchable thirst for being with children, as well as an intuitive sense of how to interact with them. Tom Arnold's son and daughter would always hold a special place in the card sharp's heart. He and the large animal veterinarian and town undertaker had become friends, better friends than Ezra probably realized until it was too late. It wasn't only Tom's two children who mourned his passing and missed his warm heart and kind manner.

"It will. We must now be diligent throughout the growing season to pull them off in the garden. So, let us examine all of the tomato and pepper plants for this unpleasant pest. What is another way that we can tell that the tomato hornworm has been about?"

"It leaves black, um, stuff behind," Hannah answered, not sure of the right word to use, but definitely sure of the wrong ones. Arnold Young was not so shy.

"It's shit!" he exclaimed. "It leaves shit coming from its behind." Quiet gasps were heard amongst the group. "That's what it is. Might as well call it by its name. Shit."

Buck started toward the young delinquent, but Ezra shook his head as he approached.

"Watch the children, would you?" he asked his friend.

"Sure. Best not to kill 'im, Ez."

"Pity," was the fancy-dressed man's reply. As he stopped before Arnold, he said, "Come with me, Master Arnold."

"Arnie," the boy returned angrily through gritted teeth.

"You must earn the moniker of choice, Master Arnold. Thus far, you have earned no favors."

"I ain't goin' with you."

"You will come with me. Ah cannot have you speaking that way during lessons. There are very young children …." Ezra paused as Arnold stood in place. "Come along. Ah am not going to strike you or shoot you or place you in jail." Arnold stood still. "You cannot remain here this day. Ah strongly suggest that you not fight me on this. If you make the attempt, Ah shall defend mahself, and Ah have quite a number of witnesses who would testify of your belligerent behavior."

Arnold Young stood still another minute before he realized that it would be a losing fight. He'd seen his teacher fight and he knew he wouldn't stand a chance. He kicked a pile of stone and small rock toward the group that remained, eliciting yelps and cries of pain.

Ezra looked toward his students and watched as the more mature children, and Buck, handled the ones who had been the inadvertent target of Arnold Young's aggressive behavior. He turned back to find the boy heading up the alley to the main street.

"Ah don't think so," the angry former con man said to himself as he ran after the boy. No doubt figuring that Ezra would stay to care for the children, Arnold had slowed considerably, which made it easy for the very quick and very fit lawman to catch up.

"You," Ezra ground out, his anger dampened because he knew the boy was only fifteen and was without a father much of the time. His mother, a woman left alone too often by her husband to tend the farm and her three small children and her husband's son from a previous marriage, seemed to be doing her best. It did not help that Arnold's mother abandoned he and his father soon after he turned one year of age, a fact that was unfortunate common knowledge and was likely a significant factor in how the boy was turning out.

Present

"It's all right, Ez," Buck said as he took the now nearly dry cloth from the gambler's head and wet it again.

"He don't talk much about his daddy," Nathan said.

"Didn't think he knew him," Buck replied as he placed the cool, damp cloth back on the fevered man's forehead.

"Guess he did."

"Papa, please," Ezra cried softly, followed quickly by, "Yes, Mothah. Sorry, Mothah. Ah won't talk 'bout him. Ah promise."

"Damned woman," Buck ground out. "I didn't know my daddy, but Ez … it looks like he did, but Maude … "

"Taught him to forget about him. That ain't right. Even though daddy lied about what happened to my momma, he never stopped talkin' about her, never let us forget her," Nathan remembered, sadly but still with a fondness for the man and woman he loved and still missed every day of his life.

"Don't know why he don't," Buck began, but stopped, shook his head, then added, "Ain't my place, I guess. But someone should let her have it. She's earned a good talking to."

"That's the truth," Nathan agreed.

Buck smiled sadly. "Maybe we should lock her in somewhere with Chris next time she comes for a visit."

"Or Chris and Josiah. She won't know what hit her," Nathan smiled back. He stood and headed to the stove to prepare the next cup of tea that they would force down the southerner once he was alert enough.

"He won't like it," Buck said.

"He won't let us. And he'd be right. We'll need to work on him more, make him know it's all right to rely on us and not let Maude step all over him."

Buck nodded. "He allows it less than he used to already."

"Then it's the right time to work on him some more."

"Then that's what we'll do," the ladies' man agreed as he looked at the tiny Christmas tree that the children decorated for their ailing teacher.

Summertime

"You!" Ezra said louder, more commanding, after taking a calming breath, "will return to your home." The gambler grabbed a hold of the boy's left arm, just above the elbow, and pinched it hard. "No doubt your mothah could use some help around the house."

"She ain't my damn mother!" Arnold spat viciously as he attempted to get out of the painful grasp of the poker player.

"Calm down, son. Whether or not she gave birth to you, she is doin' all of the hard work that a mother would normally do for a son." Normally.

"How would you know?"

"Ah know," Ezra said, holding eye contact with the unhappy person before him. "Now, will you inform your … Missus Young that you are expelled from school or shall Ah?"

"Expelled?"

"Yes, no longer allowed back with the class."

"I know what it means!" Arnold yelled. "Why?"

"You have made several things abundantly clear over these last weeks. First, you have no desire to be here. Secondly, you do not feel that you are learnin' anything that will help you in life."

"That's 'cause you ain't teachin' nothin' important."

Ezra ignored the response. This boy understood nothing of what he would be missing out on. Ezra, with the help of Josiah and on rare occasion Mrs. Young, had worked hard over the last months, including the boy in the infrequent summertime classes. Disgruntled was the best that could be said of his enthusiasm to participate, non-participatory the proper description of what he did while in class. This was true through the last weeks of the regular school year and was true for this fourth meeting they'd gathered for during the summer. Ezra sensed that a small audience had formed. Mary Travis and Chris Larabee stood behind Arnold. The leader of the peacekeepers of Four Corners made note of the boy's anger and rested his hand on his gun.

"Third, your behavior around the smaller children, as Ah mentioned to you last week, is disturbing and seems to be escalating to a rather violent nature. Today was a good example … "

"I didn't hurt anyone," Arnold interrupted in angry challenge.

"You did, but you will no longer," the southerner said. He spoke calmly, but both Chris and Mary, and the newly arrived Gloria Potter, caught the heightened tension in his demeanor.

"This ain't right. This is shit!" the boy said as he turned, saw the small audience, and then ran down the avenue in the opposite direction of his home.

"Got trouble, Ezra?" Chris asked.

"So it seems. Unfortunately, Ah cannot discuss it further at the moment as Ah have left the children in the hands of Buck Wilmington. Lord knows what they have all gotten into already."

"Should I go after him?" the tall blond asked. Gloria Potter asked her question before Ezra had a chance to answer the one from the former gunslinger.

"Is this the same problem as last week?" the owner of the mercantile asked. Her two children were visiting with their grandparents and their aunt in Saint Louis and were not in today's class. They both, however, were present for last week's unpleasantness.

"Yes," Ezra answered the widow's question first.

"Oh, dear," Gloria said sorrowfully.

"Ah am afraid his behavior continues to grow more combative." Ezra turned to his fellow lawman. "Chris, Master Arnold exhibited some deep anger regarding his step-mothah, though Ah do admit that the anger might have been just as equally directed to mahself. Ah am somewhat concerned for her welfare, and what might happen to the younger ones. His fathah is, once again, not in town."

"I'll head over to talk to her. Maybe he'll show up while I'm there."

"Perhaps." Ezra started to make his way toward Gloria's garden. He turned back to his friend and said, "It might be best … "

"Send Buck over here. We'll go together." Mary could be heard breathing a sigh of obvious relief.

"Ah believe that would be best." Ezra heaved a sigh of his own and then added, "Ah suppose it was too much to hope for that every child in our dusty burg would exhibit good behavior."

Mary and Gloria laughed lightly. "Of course they are not always good," the older of the two widows reminded the well-dressed card sharp.

"No, but none of them have been remotely like Arnold Young," Ezra countered. Mary and Gloria nodded, understanding perfectly well what Ezra was saying. A little innocent mischief, an occasional tantrum was one thing. Arnold Young had advanced to something far beyond that, something far more concerning. Ezra's conscience would never have allowed him to retain the status quo with a young man who, even unintentionally, could seriously injure a child with how he had been lashing out of late. With a sad, "Good day, ladies," the clearly unsettled man tipped his hat and hurried back to his students.

Mary looked to Chris. "Be careful."

"We will." The leader of the team of seven men who protected the town of Four Corners leaned in for a kiss, and then Mary and Gloria continued to Potter's Mercantile. Ezra would be bringing the children to the boardwalk in front of the store for a snack after today's lesson. The two town leaders needed a few minutes to prepare; Gloria would be opening up her shop late this day.

As Ezra neared his turn to the garden he could hear shrieks and oohs and hurrahs echoing out from the wide alley. He hurried to the corner and witnessed what would best be described as sheer bedlam. Most of the boys were jumping up and down, as were a few of the girls. The shrieking had died down, nominally, but only because the likely screamers were huddled together, Buck Wilmington kneeled before them making his best attempt to comfort the girls.

"Mr. Ezra! Mr. Ezra!" Edgar called.

"Yes, Ah am right here."

"Guess what?"

Ezra looked around, checking to make sure there was nothing for him to worry about. He saw nothing awry so answered, "Ah do not believe Ah could venture a guess," though the tell-tale signs were all over the ground. Puddles of green goo standing out along the edge of the garden would hopefully not uncover the southerner's statement for the lie that it was.

"We found five of 'em," Edgar said, his voice cracking with excitement.

"And we killed them all," Hannah said. It was obvious that she had participated in the insect assassinations.

"None were found with the white sacs on their backs?" Ezra asked. He caught Buck glance his way and silently called his friend over with the tilt of his head.

"No," Stella replied helpfully.

"Ah trust that no one stained their clothing," the card sharp started but did not finish as he saw the brilliant green smears on the front of Willie's otherwise immaculate white shirt. He turned to Buck as the taller man now stood beside him.

"Ah was not gone that long, Mistah Wilmington."

"I know."

Ezra rolled his eyes, took young Willie and positioned him before the ladies' man and waved dramatically at the shirt. "Were you supervisin' at all?" the irritated gambler asked.

"Oh. Well, Miss Stella, Miss Josephine, Miss Emily and me, well, we got ourselves interested in some o' the other bugs. Well, that is until some o' the other girls got scared by them green buggers."

Ezra stared at his friend, shook his head and then said softly so the children could not hear, "Chris would like you to accompany him to the Young homestead."

The countenance of the smiling gunman turned from playful to serious in a quick second. "Did the kid take off?"

"Indeed."

"All right. Meet up with the fellas at the jail when you're done here."

Ezra nodded. "We will be finishing early." A number of the children were clearly losing focus, between the disruptions and the fear still in the eyes from the earlier dustup.

Buck turned to the class. "I've gotta go, kids. Be good for Mr. Standish."

"We will," "Bye!" and "Thank you," were heard from different members of the class.

"Be careful, Buck."

"We will. You keep your eyes open, too."

Present

"Damn. Why's he keep on about that?" Vin Tanner asked.

"He's been all over the place, Vin. Way back when he was a kid, last week when he won all that money then lost half of it the next day, last summer when Arnold Young … well, he's delirious. Can't predict what he's gonna fret over," Josiah said. It wasn't something that needed explaining to the tracker. He'd been spending more time with Ezra than anyone.

"Jest wish he knew that none of us thinks on that anymore, not even Chris."

"I think he knows." The preacher bowed his head and clasped his hands and prayed for more than just Ezra's immediate recovery.

Summertime

"Stay alert," Chris said to Josiah, Nathan and J.D."

"Hey," Buck Wilmington said as he joined them, noticing that Clyde was saddled for him and ready to go. "Thanks, kid," he said to the youngest member of their law enforcement group.

"'s nothin'," J.D. Dunne replied. He tried not to let his worry show that Buck and Chris might be meeting up with someone who could pose a danger not only to his friends but to the boy's own family as well.

Buck smiled, accepting the unspoken concern from his 'little brother'. He leaned in for a private conversation and then turned to Chris. "When's Vin due back?"

"Sometime today," J.D. answered for his boss. "Didn't say when."

"All right. Guess we should get goin'."

"Yep," the former gunslinger agreed.

"Watch your backs, brothers," Josiah Sanchez, lawman and de facto preacher for their small town said.

"We will," Buck replied as he and his oldest friend headed out to the Young's homestead.

"I'll keep watch from the church," Josiah said.

"I'll head to the other end of town," J.D. offered.

"I'm gonna be at the jail," Nathan added. "Vin oughta be coming in from your end of town, J.D. Make sure you let him know what's happening as soon as he gets here."

"All right. Ezra's lettin' class out early, Nate. Buck told him to come see whoever's at the jail when he's done. Guess that's you."

"I'll be ready for him," the former slave said as he watched the young man walk to his designated post.

Not long after the law enforcers disbursed, laughter emanated from the boardwalk of Gloria Potter's mercantile. Mary and the shop owner just barely finished their set-up when Ezra Standish led a train of enthusiastic learners, two-by-two, over for the pre-arranged mid-morning snack.

"Ah must commend you, ladies, on this fine assortment of pastries," the gambler said as he tried the strawberry tart. He'd already eaten one each of the peach crisp squares and the gooey walnut-raisin confection, a treat that had not been offered before from any of the fine bakers in the town.

"It is nice to see you enjoying them as much as the children do," Gloria told him. She watched as the children grabbed a final treat and headed to their homes.

"Gloria, I think it might be possible that Ezra is enjoying them more," Mary said with a knowing smile as he reached for a sugary cinnamon delight on the next tray. The southerner looked to Mary; he knew from the look on her face that she'd been witness to each one of the tasty baked treats that he'd tried. His face pinked up a bit, but he wasn't embarrassed enough to loosen his grip on his fourth pastry.

Present

"Ah should not. Mah apologies … "

"Now what's he worryin' about?" Nathan said as he walked in on the murmurings of his patient.

"Miss Nettie."

"Miss Nettie?"

"Yeah, Nate. When he called her a crone," Vin said.

"A wizened crone," Nathan said. "Think he's apologized to her half a dozen times about that," the former stretched bearer and now healer said as he placed the clean cloths in their place in the cabinet above his work table.

Vin smiled sadly. "He has. He's been worryin' that he might not be able to eat no more of Nettie's pies."

"Man likes his sweets," Nathan said as he joined in the amusing memories.

"Yeah. Nettie never told him he couldn't have any of her pies. She read him right as soon as she met him. Took some of us longer to figure him out." Nathan accepted that the comment was directed to himself, and quite a bit toward their leader. Nathan knew Vin wasn't speaking of himself; Vin might have been a little suspect of Ezra, but he was also the first of their group to see past the façade that Ezra purposely placed in their way. Getting to know Ezra Standish had been harder than it need be because of the card sharp's own machinations, but they all held some blame in seeing things wrong for so long.

"Ah will," Ezra said, followed by the smacking of lips, then, "miss the strawberry-rhubarb …. " The rest ended up a mumbled, incoherent mess. Nathan and Vin shook their heads. Vin reached for the dried cloth to wet it once again.

Summertime

Ezra replied before sampling what he had in his hand. "Sans doute," he said to Mary with a smile, then took half of the cinnamony crescent into his mouth.

"You finished early today," Abigail Merton said as she joined the gathering. "Emily came to tell me."

"Yes. We covered the material that was necessary," the handsome man in the pretty green jacket and the striking complimentary waistcoat responded. "And we removed all evidence of the hornworm carnage." The ladies all laughed.

"Emily said there was trouble."

"Ah assure you, Missus Merton, we handled it as soon as it was readily apparent that we had a problem."

"I know you did, Ezra. I wonder what is to become of the child."

Ezra looked to the other half of his pastry. He could hardly believe that talk of the Young boy had affected his appetite so dramatically. He stuffed the rest of the goodie in his mouth, hoping that someone else would pick up the conversation, or even better, that the topic would be staunched and not allowed to fester like the bleeding, out-of-control mess that was Arnold Young's life.

"With his fathah gone so much, and the way he treats his mothah … "

"Step-mother," came a voice from down the steps, on the dusty avenue.

"Mr. Young," Mary said. "I'm sorry … "

"No need fer that. Did Arnie do somethin' wrong?"

"Mistah Young … " Ezra began, but the big man and father to the young man who caused such trouble earlier that morning interrupted.

"I didn't ask you," he said as he looked with contempt at the poker player. "Mrs. Travis?"

"He did. Mr. Standish was forced to have him removed from class. You haven't been around, but …" the newspaperwoman started to go on, but the man interrupted, rudely.

"That right."

"I'm afraid it is," Abigail Merton said. "His actions were endangering the little ones."

"He don't need educatin'," the elder Young said, showing no concern for any injury that might have befallen any of the children. "Hard work is what he needs."

"I disagree," Mary said.

"Well, you ain't his mother."

"Mistah Young, Ah would suggest you head on home. Your son made some concerning comments about his … about Missus Young."

"He ain't gonna hurt her," the angry man said, what looked like a grimace coming to his face.

"Ah will say once more that your son's comments and actions have led me to believe … "

"Don't give a damn what you think, gambler." The man made no effort to excuse his harsh language in front of the ladies.

Ezra stared at the man before him. There was little doubt that Arnold had learned much from his father. "Be that as it may," he started, "Mistahs Larabee and Wilmington are on their way to be there when Arnold arrives. Since you are in town you might wish to rendezvous with them at your domicile."

"Think yer better'n me with yer fancy clothes and yer fancy talk. I don't want my boy or any o' my kin gettin' any more … learnin' from the likes o' you," Clayton Young said, contempt clear in each word he spoke. "I'm goin' home."

Nobody present said another word as the man callously spurred his horse hard as he rode out of town.

"Oh, dear," Gloria said.

"Ezra, you did your best," Mary told the man who was normally an expert in hiding his feelings, but was unable to hide his hurt and his distress at what just transpired.

"It was a miracle that you were able to keep him out of trouble for as long as you did," Gloria added.

"Yes, Missus Potter, that may be, but that was not the goal." It was by no means the 'miracle' he hoped to achieve with any child. "In regard to mah hopes for the boy, Ah would have to deem what was accomplished more of a failure than a miracle." The disappointment radiated from the gambler's being as he looked in the direction of the Young's house a couple of miles out of town.

"Ezra," Mary started, but the former con man said at the same time, "Good day, ladies," a faint tip of the hat the last they saw of his face as he walked to the saloon, head down in apparent deep thought.

"Oh, goodness, that poor man. He tries so very hard and does so well with the children."

"I know, Gloria," Mary said.

"The rest of us are so grateful for what he does," Abigail said. "I even think Mary Young is grateful."

"I think we all know that education is sometimes not a good fit." The looks Mary got from both Gloria and Abigail were evidence that her friends didn't necessarily agree. "No, that's not what I mean. I just mean that timing, and circumstances and desire … "

Gloria nodded. "Yes."

"I've got to go," Mary said as she realized the time as well as the length of time it took to get her press moving these days.

"I've got to open the store," Gloria agreed.

"And I have at least two pieces of Ezra's clothing to mend," Abigail, the town's seamstress said.

"You'll let us know if you hear anything else?" Gloria asked Mary.

"I will."

Present

"Ah refuse to go," Ezra said as he whipped his head back and forth on the sweat-damp pillow.

"Calm down, Ezra," Chris said as he wiped the sweat from his friend's forehead.

"No. You said … said Ah could take them."

"Take what, Ezra?" The leader of The Seven was taking his turn with Ezra while Nathan and Josiah both got some sleep. It was now into the second day of high fever and delirium for the professional poker player. The healer had said the blood loss and the wound remaining untreated for so long was wreaking havoc on the lawman. Nathan was very worried, worried that something else might be going on with his sick friend.

"Mah books. You said … if Ah have to go elsewhere for Chris … Christmas … " Ezra began to cough, a cough that seemed to wake him from this particular dream.

"Ezra?" Chris asked as he leaned closer to the ailing man. Ezra blinked, keeping his head still as though listening intently, but then rested deeply into his pillow and fell back asleep. The door opened and closed quickly. Vin walked over to the bed.

"How's he doin'?" he asked as he handed a cup of coffee to the former gunslinger. The tracker noted that his friend was looking none-too-fresh.

"Hell. He's back when he was a kid. Seems Maude made him leave some place just before Christmas and she wouldn't let him take his books."

"Chris, you know that some o' these fever dreams aren't necessarily real."

"There's no way that one wasn't. What kind of a mother removes a kid from a place just before the holiday?"

"The kind that needs to use him for some con."

"That ain't no kind of a mother."

Summertime

"Hello Mr. Larabee, Mr. Wilmington. Is there something wrong?" the second Mrs. Young asked. She was fully aware that both men arriving like this was not part of a routine patrol.

"Looks like there was some trouble with Arnie," Buck said.

"Oh," she responded, though the utterance was not one of surprise.

"Have you seen him?" Chris asked.

"Not since he went into town for Mr. Standish's class."

Chris observed a fairly nervous woman before him. "Did he ride or walk in?" The tall blond noted the empty corral down the slope from the house.

"He … He wasn't supposed to take her," the woman replied, distressed. "She's still … "

Chris and Buck waited as she looked out to the empty corral. There was no sign of Midge, the Young family's older horse. "Why wasn't he supposed to take her?" Buck asked.

"She, um, she was supposed to have some, um, more time to, uh, recover."

Chris could feel Buck's anger brewing across the few feet that separated them. "Recover from what?" the ladies' man and friend to animals, horses in particular, asked through gritted teeth.

"Colic." Buck shifted in his saddle. Chris knew that his friend wanted to head back fast toward town, fetch the horse, and get her somewhere safe from the unstable youth.

"When?" Chris asked, just as angry as Buck but knowing that this woman was caught in the middle of something. She didn't need nor likely deserve recrimination for something she had no control over.

"Night before last."

"Hell," Buck said, unable to hide his ire. Thoughts came to mind of getting his hands around Arnie Young's throat. He shook his head to trip up that thought.

"Mrs. Young, Arnold said some things about you, and acted in a reckless way with the other kids today."

"Mr. Larabee, I am thick-skinned where Arnie's … talk is concerned. Did he … did he hurt anyone?"

"Not seriously, but Ezra can't have him back, his behavior has been gettin' worse … unpredictable," Buck said.

Mary Young nodded. "I understand, of course."

"No, I don't think you do. We're here because we're worried about what Arnie might do to you," Chris explained.

"You needn't be. He won't hurt me."

"I don't know, ma'am," Buck said. "I was with him this mornin'. He was very angry."

Mary nodded again, and then attempted a smile. "He usually walks home. It gives him plenty of time to calm down," she said.

"Well, ma'am, if you don't mind, Chris and me, we'll just wait here 'til the boy comes home."

"You don't have to do that. I told you, Arnie won't hurt me, I can assure you of that." The mother of three little ones, and step-mother to this troubled young man, looked over to the barn and then back to the two lawmen. "Did either of you see Arnie with Midge?"

"No, ma'am," Buck replied. Chris offered a cold, 'No.'

"Well, I'm sure he's taken care of her." The looks on the faces of the men standing before her was evidence that they were not so sure. The unsettled woman looked back to the house. She could tell they had no plans to leave until her step-son arrived home. "Please come in. I've got a fresh pot of coffee."

"Thank you, Mrs. Young," Buck said as he and Chris dismounted. "Where're the little ones?"

"Oh, they're napping. They'll be down for a bit longer."

Chris frowned. It was just shy of ten o'clock in the morning. It made sense, maybe, that the three-year-old might be napping, but not for the five and six-year-olds. Ezra had discussed bringing up with the Youngs that it was time for the two older youngsters to start their schooling, which was why Chris knew their ages. Buck looked at his old friend quizzically, but Chris shook his head, an indication that they would discuss later whatever it was that was bothering the former gunslinger.

The men sat at the rickety chairs at the kitchen table as they drank their coffee, which was decidedly more chicory than coffee and nothing remotely resembling the good stuff that Ezra occasionally treated them to. Mary Young grabbed a basket of wet laundry and said, "I'll be back. I need to get this out on the line."

As she closed the door behind her, Buck turned and asked, "What?"

"How many kids do you know that have a nap in the middle of the morning?"

"Well, old pard, I don't … " Buck began, but Chris cut him off.

"Even if they were napping, do you think most kids would sleep through visitors?"

"It does seem strange, I'll admit."

"Wonder when that husband of hers is due back next," Chris said. He stepped to the window and saw significant proof of neglect and disrepair in the yard and on the outside of the barn. The house seemed in only nominally better shape, but if her children were sleeping all hours of the day, that fact seemed to just barely be helping her maintain the cleanliness of the home while her husband and fifteen-year-old step-son did little to nothing to help around the place.

"Don't know," Buck said. "She sure don't seem to be gettin' much help around here."

"No. Hopefully the boy shows up soon and we can get some idea if there's really something to worry about here."

Back in town, a familiar figure rode in. "Welcome back, Vin!" J.D. called. The youngest of the lawmen had been keeping an eye on the end of town where he expected the former bounty hunter to return from.

"Thanks, kid. Is Chris around?"

"No. He and Buck're out at the Youngs."

"Clayton Young?"

"Yeah, but he ain't there, least not yet. He was here in town about fifteen minutes ago."

"Chris and Buck're there 'cause o' somethin' Arnie did?"

"Yeah, Vin. Ezra had to kick him outta class."

"Shit."

"What's the matter?"

"Found Midge out at the turnoff, in some tall scrub. Only saw her 'cause critters were already startin' on her."

"What? She's dead?"

"Yep."

"Oh, no! Oh, hell! She was a sweet girl. I wonder what happened."

"Weren't nothin' broke, no cuts, no snake bites," Vin remembered, at least none that he could see, and no sign of animals other than the pair of vultures. "No bullet holes," the tracker added disgustedly. He knew from the foamy mouth and the general condition of the horse that her death had not been peaceful, but J.D. didn't need to hear him say it. Vin was pretty sure based on the look on his friend's face that he'd already figured that out.

"Sh … Should we let Mr. Young know about Midge, or go take care of her ourselves?"

"We'll take care of her. Is Josiah or Nate around?"

"Josiah's at the reservation. Nathan's just over to Byron Miller's to check his foot. Should be back soon," the official sheriff of Four Corners replied. The sometime rancher's daughter had frantically requested that the healer take a look at the foot, even though Nathan saw the man the day before. He warned them that the appendage would look worse in the next days, but that knowledge had gone out the door once they got a good look at what that actually meant.

"Where's Ez?"

"Think he's groomin' Chaucer before he starts patrol."

"No one's on patrol right now?"

"Nah. Chris figured with everyone scattered all over the place, the morning patrol could be skipped." The easterner looked to the sky, noting the clear, brilliant blue above and pleasant, unexpected August coolness and said, "Shame. It's a nice day."

"Yep. I'm gonna go see Ezra, tell him to hold off on goin' out. Can you help me with Midge, then take a quick patrol, just outside o' town each way, then walk the town?"

"Sure, Vin."

Present

"Should've known. Could've helped her."

"Wish I knew what he was talkin' about," Josiah fretted.

"Ain't no point in worryin'. He's not likely to remember when he does come to his senses," Nathan reminded his friend.

"I know." The big preacher looked to the healer. "Do you think he'll be with us for Christmas? I mean, will he be awake?"

"I hope so."

Summertime

Chris and Buck heard the wild whinny of a distressed horse, and the hard stop as Clayton Young arrived home. They heard the agitated back and forth between husband and wife, a hard slap, and then Young barreling through the front door of the house, the wood smacking hard against the rustic post that helped to hold up the roof. A building in this condition in town would have been condemned and torn down.

"Get the hell out!"

Chris looked at the angry man as Buck watched Mary Young walk in, her cheek bright red.

"Aren't you worried you're gonna wake your kids?" Chris asked. The man turned, glared at his wife, and then returned his attention to Chris. "Get out."

"You all right, Mrs. Young?" Buck asked.

Clayton Young stepped up to Buck and seethed, "I said get out."

"We'll leave as soon as I tell you that we're worried for your wife's safety," Chris explained.

"Get out!"

"Your son has been threatening … "

"My boy ain't gonna hurt her, is he Mary?" Mary Young looked away. Buck was sure he saw shame on her face. He definitely saw fear. The woman did not answer her husband. He asked again with a growled, "Mary?"

"No. I told them that."

The lawmen stared at the couple. The veiled threats from Arnold were real, but it was obvious that if there truly was trouble brewing, the adults in the family were unconcerned and more interested in hiding that fact than in dealing with it.

"Are you sure, Mrs. Young?" Buck persisted.

"Get out and get off my land," Clayton Young barked.

"Let's go, Buck." To the father, Chris said, "I hope you understand the price that you might pay … "

"I said go. The only reason you ain't shot is 'cause yer the law. Anyone else done what you two done would be considered trespassin' and would o' had bullets in 'em by now."

"Like father, like son," Buck whispered into Chris' ear as he passed his partner and headed out the door. Chris' steely stare held a moment longer and then he followed the former Texas Ranger.

Buck handed his friend Pony's reins. The tall blond knew Buck had something to say, but told him, "Let's head back." Both men mounted their horses and made their way back to Four Corners.

"Somethin' ain't right about that family, Chris."

"I know."

Buck shook his head. "I didn't really think much o' those kids not wakin' when we showed up, but all that racket Young made … no one should sleep through that."

"I got some reasons why those kids didn't come out, and none of 'em are good. One, they aren't there."

"That'd probably be the best, but then she would o' been lyin' to us."

"Two, they're afraid to show themselves, and not just to their father. Three, they've been given something to make 'em sleep."

"At the beginning of the day," Buck added.

"Yeah." Chris contemplated the fourth reason, but he hated to even voice it. Buck let him off the hook.

"Could they be dead?"

"I hope not, but it has to be considered. We're gonna have to come back out and check on her and the kids. Arnold Young is still a problem."

"Yeah," Buck agreed. "Let's get on back to town, see if Arnie's still there." They made quick time leaving the homestead, but the road from the house to the main thoroughfare to Four Corners was seriously eroded, the rocky path forcing slow-going for some time. "I think Ezra's been havin' trouble with Arnie for a while," Buck said.

"Ezra has kind of a blind spot where kids are concerned," Chris noted.

"Arnie ain't hardly a kid anymore. He's a big kid for fifteen: tall, thin but strong. Seems confused."

"And angry."

"That ain't never a good combination, 'specially when ya don't have one or other of a momma or a daddy helpin' ya to keep things straight." The handsome ladies' man looked up to the sky and then said, "Wish more kids had a momma like mine."

"Or mine," Chris agreed.

"But not Ezra's," they both said at once. They chuckled but stopped laughing soon enough at both the light rain that started to fall, and because the situation just didn't allow for remaining amused for any reason.

"You think that's Ezra gettin' back at us for talkin' bad 'bout his ma?" Buck asked with a crooked grin.

"Wouldn't be surprised," Chris sighed.

The chill rain stayed with Chris and Buck all the way back to town. When they arrived they found Ezra sitting alone at his regular table, playing a game of solitaire, his glass filled with bourbon, his bottle half empty.

"You give up on lookin' for the Young boy?" Chris asked as he took two of the empty glasses stacked in the center of the table and filled one for himself and one for Buck. Ezra snorted a bitter laugh.

"Young' and 'boy'. That's amusin'."

"Ezra … "

"Mistah Young senior returned today."

"Yeah, Ez. We saw him," Buck told his clearly drunk friend.

"Ah have to think … hope, that Master Arnold might have turned out differently had his fathah been more available to nurture the son," the gambler said, though with no true conviction of its veracity, despite how much he hoped it might have been true for himself.

Chris looked to Buck. They had both just spent enough time with Clayton Young to last a lifetime, and they both knew how untrue the hoped for result would have been.

"Somethin' peculiar is goin' on with that family," Buck said as he knocked back his first shot. Though a few people in town might look askance at the peacekeepers drinking before the noontime hour, there would be none actively seeking to get the men reprimanded for the activity.

The gambler drank his current measure of bourbon and then said, "Indu … Indub … Indubib … Imbu … no doubt."

"Maybe you've had enough to drink?" Chris asked as he kept the bottle away from Ezra's reaching hand. The green-eyed man's glassy, unfocussed gaze told the honest answer to that question.

"Ah s'pose there is a mod … modi … modic … some truth to that. Ah shall repair to mah room aftah Ah have used the … " Ezra pointed toward the back of the building and then added, "facilities." Chris and Buck watched as the southerner zig-zagged his way down the hallway to the back door.

Present

"Papa."

"Damn it."

"What?" Chris asked as he sopped up the sweat that continued to accumulate on the gambler's forehead.

"He ain't hardly had any decent rest. Now he's goin' on about his daddy."

"Don't go, Papa."

Chris gently took the cloth down to capture the line of sweat trickling down Ezra's neck to his chest. "Didn't know he even knew his father."

"Me, either. Wish he'd settle down and get some rest. He'd be able to fight this better," Nathan said worriedly.

"How's the wound?"

"Better."

"He'll get better."

Nathan looked at their leader in law enforcement. It seemed to Nathan that what they were in need of more than anything else was a Christmas miracle. "How can you be so sure?"

Chris gave the healer a look that said the gambler wouldn't dare leave them, not like this, not when Chris Larabee was taking the other side.

Summertime

"I'm gonna follow him. Make sure he don't fall. Or fall in."

"I'll do it, Buck. Why don't you go check things at the jail, check in with J.D.," Chris said. The leader of The Seven looked at his oldest friend's hand as the shot glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

"Aw, hell," the lean gunman said as he handed the poured drink to Chris. He'd forgotten that J.D. was heading over to the Wells' ranch to take Casey on a picnic. The rain might force the romantic rendezvous inside; Buck doubted either of the two young lovers would notice the raindrops. Chris took the glass and Buck grabbed the corked bottle. "I'll have this put away," Buck said as he headed for the bar before making his way out of the saloon.

"See ya later," Chris said after he'd drunk Buck's shot. He then strode down the hall toward the outdoor privy. As he stepped out the door and down one step the former gunslinger was met by Arnold Young's body flying into the bottom stair tread.

"You will," Arnold warned menacingly.

"No. There will be no more chances."

Chris looked to his friend and found him already bloodied. The fact that he was drunk would account for him being caught unawares, but the amount of blood on Ezra's face and neck told him that something more than a fistfight had happened. Chris bounded down to the boy and grabbed Arnold before he could attack the cardsharp again. The boy turned, knife in hand, and swung out at his much taller foe who, already suspicious, jumped away and quickly kicked out, catching Arnold square in the hand. Ezra's assailant dropped the knife due to the pain from the kick from the hard boot.

"Enough!" Chris yelled as he pulled his gun and aimed it at the boy, who was fighting like a man, a man with seemingly no concern for whether he caused mortal injury. "Ezra?" Chris asked, not taking his eyes from the boy laying on the muddy ground.

"Yes, Mistah Larabee," Ezra replied. Chris heard a bang, recognizing the sound as the southerner sinking to the ground and leaning against the outhouse.

Present

Ezra remained sick from the blood loss and what Nathan felt was blood poisoning. His ramblings were all over the place, from his boyhood to this past summer and lots and lots in between.

"Carter! Stop!" Ezra sighed and then added, "Aaron, Ah'm sorry." A moan was followed by, "He's a slave but that … tha's no reason to treat'm like a rabid dog."

"Calm down, Ez," Vin said. "You need to rest. Nate'll have my head if he knows you been frettin' like this while he left for a spell."

"Mothah, how could you?"

"Easy," Vin said softly.

Ezra sighed again. "Why … how could you leave me with … such … " Ezra stopped talking and then felt his chest, rubbing it as though in pain. Vin looked closely and noticed a faint scar.

"What happened, Ez?"

"He cut me."

"Who?" Vin felt a little guilty, but maybe if his friend talked about what happened to him he might rest easier, even subconsciously. The man needed some decent rest.

"Mistah Jacobson. Ashley Plantation. Ah tried to save Aaron."

"Aaron?"

"Mah friend. He didn't try to escape." Ezra shook his head, a tear trickling from his eye.

"Aaron was a slave?"

"Mah friend. He wouldn't go. It was Christmas. His wife and mothah. He wouldn't survive another knifin'."

"So they cut you, instead?"

"No. Cut me aftah they slashed Aaron's throat."

"Oh, Ezra."

Summertime

"You gotta let me back in! She … "

"Shut up!" Chris growled at the boy.

"Come on. I need another chance."

"I said shut up." Chris could see the moment Arnold Young decided on his next course of action. He made a quick move toward Ezra. Chris fired once, his bullet hitting the mud at the boy's feet, but ricocheting into the building from the hard pack beneath. Arnold stopped in his tracks. "Get on the ground, on your stomach."

Vin came running from the alley, mare's leg in hand, as first Buck and then Inez rushed out from the saloon. The tracker looked around, found nobody dead or mortally wounded, and eased his gun in his hand, pointing it to the ground.

"Everything under control?" Buck asked.

"More or less," Chris replied. "Take this one to the jail."

"Mister Ezra?" Arnold pleaded.

"Get 'im outta here," Chris snarled.

"Ezra?" Inez asked worriedly. She hadn't been working in the saloon but came running from upstairs when she heard the gunshot. Ezra didn't answer immediately. He blinked when he saw the concern in the pretty woman's face.

"Ah am fine, darlin'."

"No he ain't. Check for a knife wound," Chris said to the Mexican barkeep. "Vin?"

""I'll go get 'im," the long-haired former bounty hunter said, knowing what Chris wanted without having to hear more than his own name.

"Thanks."

Chris kneeled next to Inez, who had quickly found the slashes on Ezra's face and neck. The attack could easily have killed the gambler. What was that kid thinking? Inez used her apron to wipe away the blood, but the amount of it was persistent and worrying. She pressed against his neck, eliciting a groan from the injured man.

"What happened?" Chris asked.

"Ah seem to have acquired a new enemy."

"You think all this is because you kicked him out of class?"

Ezra had sobered up quickly. "Ah believe bein' removed from school is the least of what caused this assault." The former con man groaned at the pressure from Inez' attempt to stop the bleeding. "Inez, dear, please … " he started, but talking seemed to be bothering him, too. He reached his hand to the hand pushing on his neck, but Chris grabbed it. The pain Ezra was feeling was obvious in the strength he exhibited as he squeezed Chris' hand. The former gunslinger accepted this job he'd been corralled for, even though he knew it was doing just so much to ease the man's pain.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked, trying whatever he could to distract Ezra from his current situation.

"Señor Chris," Inez pleaded.

"It is all right, Inez," Ezra said. "Perhaps you could," he started, took a careful breath and then added, "see to the hot water that N … Nathan will certainly demand?"

"Of course." She leaned in and kissed his forehead, nearly the only spot on Ezra's face, neck and chest not smeared with blood or soiled with mud. The Mexican beauty gathered her skirts and rushed inside.

"Chris, might Ah ask for your assistance?" Ezra put his hand up, but Chris wasn't inclined to allow Ezra to move until Nathan got a good look at the wounded man.

"Think maybe we should wait for … "

"And as you may recall, Ah came out heah," Ezra interrupted, taking another careful breath and then continuing, "for a reason." The gambler grabbed for the wall of the privy and worked his way halfway up before falling back down on his behind. He groaned at the added pain.

"Let me help ya," Chris conceded. "You gonna be all right in there?" Ezra returned a withering glare. "I'll wait for you here."

"Much obliged."

About an hour and a half later, Nathan came down the staircase from Ezra's room and joined Chris, Vin and J.D. at their regular table.

"He all right?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, he'll be fine."

"You were up there a while," J.D. said as he took a swig from his mug of milk. He had cancelled his picnic with Casey, letting Nettie know as she headed back home with her wagon loaded for the month. He felt that is was more important to help in town now that Ezra would be out of commission for a while. All four men raised their heads as they saw Inez descend from the second floor, followed by young Tommy with a couple of buckets.

"Both cuts were deep, needed stitching. He'll be sore for a while, and he shouldn't move too much while those cuts heal. There'll be a scar, shouldn't see much visible evidence with all the clothes he wears."

"Visible?"

The healer shook his head. "Can't get lucky every time, Chris. That cut on his neck? There will be a scar."

"And just 'cause he can hide it don't mean the wound is cured. Scars are lots o' times more'n skin deep," the tracker noted.

"I know. So does he. He's got the long scar on the other side, and the smaller one on his stomach. One behind his knee." They all nodded at that one. "He's been cut a number of times before. Scars are all old."

"He tell ya 'bout any of 'em?

"No. Did he tell you?" Vin didn't answer, so Nathan pressed him. "Did he?"

"Some. It's not my story ta tell. But he ain't forgot what happened to him. Remembers 'em, clear-like." They looked to the batwing doors as Buck entered.

"Robert's at the jail." The lean gunman sat at the table and asked, "You think that boy's daddy's gonna try to break 'im out?"

Chris took a sip from his beer. "Don't know. I think Ezra knows more about what's goin' on with that family than he's said." The leader of the now famous Magnificent Seven looked to the former slave and the nearest person to a doctor that the town had and asked, "Is it all right if I ask him some questions?"

Nathan wanted to say no, but he knew that Ezra's insight might help them figure out why the Young boy's behavior had grown first erratic but quickly moved on to violent.

"He lost some blood, too much, and he's sore. Gave him some tea so he might be asleep already. Left Josiah up with him." The preacher had gotten back to town as they moved Ezra up to his room.

"He practically ran up there when he got back from the reservation," J.D. said.

"You know how he is about Ezra when he's hurt," Buck said.

"A lot like you are when the kid is, reckon," Vin said with a warm smile that brought his crow's feet out around his eyes.

"Reckon you're right there, junior," Buck returned with an equally affectionate grin.

"I'm goin' up," Chris said.

"I'll come with ya," Nathan said as he followed the tall blond to the staircase.

Chris turned to Buck. "Head back to the jail with Robert."

"All right," Buck answered as they turned away from each other and headed in opposite directions.

Present

"No!"

"Come on, now. You need to stop this, Ezra," Nathan said pleadingly.

"Mah leg … Ah can't … can't walk."

"Could tell he been hurt that way somehow. Ever watch him walk?" The preacher brushed the sweaty bangs back from Ezra's face. It seemed to ease the gambler's fretful sleep.

Nathan looked at his friend. The black man had noticed the injury, but if anyone else was going to, it would be Josiah. He spent an inordinate amount of time observing Ezra and worrying over him, and not just about his physical well-being.

"Yeah. He's got a slight limp," the former slave said.

"Hides it well with that swagger," Josiah added.

"Healed good, though. Runs like the wind."

"Not like we've seen that very often." The big man sighed. "It wouldn't be right if he wasn't able to watch the kids open their presents."

"No. I'm hopin' it don't come to that."

Summertime

"You can't go around attacking people, especially lawmen," Robert Merton said as he attempted to get Arnold Young to talk.

"He shouldn't've kicked me out o' class."

"From what I understand, he had to." The angry young man glared at the sometime member of the law in Four Corners. "I've got children in that class, Arnold."

"Don't call me that!"

"It's your name, right? A person should grow up proud of the name his parents gave him." Arnold ignored the comment.

"Didn't mean to hurt anyone," the person sitting behind bars admitted.

"Several of the little kids got hit hard by the pile of stones you kicked their way. Cuts and bruises. That stings bad, especially for the little ones with delicate skin." Robert waited for a response, but didn't get one. "That's all beside the fact that you're scaring those kids. They are not in school to be terrorized."

"I'm not doin' that! Look, I need to talk to Mr. Ezra," Arnold said just as Buck opened the door.

"That's not gonna happen, least not today."

"But he needs to understand … "

"What? He needs to understand what? You cut 'im bad, kid. Doubt he'll be up to seein' you for a couple o' days," Buck said.

Arnold Young jumped to the bars of the cell and shook them furiously. "A couple of days? I can't wait that long! I need … " he started to go on, but frowned and said, "I don't have to stay in here all that time, do I?"

"That's up to Chris and Ezra, but you assaulted an officer of the law. Think you're here to stay for a while."

"No!" The first yell was followed by, "No! No! No! No! No! I gotta get back. I can't be away."

Buck saw fear in the boy's eyes, but this unfiltered passion was coming from something. The peacekeeper whose mother was a working girl had seen that look in the eyes of many a man.

"Can't be away from what, Arnie? Your little brother? Your two sisters?" The former Texas Ranger, who had some experience interviewing suspects paused, then added, "Can you not be away from your mother?"

Arnold screamed, a blood-curdling scream, followed by the screeched utterance, delivered with a venom that proved to Buck that his friend Ezra Standish was lucky to be alive, "She is not my mother! She is not my mother!"

"Calm down. You ain't gonna tell us why you gotta get home, are ya?" Arnold said nothing.

Buck Wilmington was angry. He'd heard from J.D. about Midge. The boy had to have known that she wasn't fit for riding. He basically killed her, only he let her die a painful death rather than doing right by her and taking care of her suffering, like a man. There was a pattern with this boy, with the way he treated the horse. The children. Ezra. Getting up close and causing serious injury to someone with a knife was a cold and calculating and, despite that, a far too personal way to hurt a man. Yes, this boy, nearly a man, would need watching.

Robert looked to Buck. "How's Ezra?"

"Sleeping. Nate gave him something. He's hurtin' pretty bad. Nathan says he'll be all right, though."

"That's good to hear."

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

Buck and Robert looked over to the young man in the jail cell. "Then why'd it happen?" Arnold once more went silent. "You'd best hope Nathan is right, boy," Buck said as he walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee.

As Buck waited in vain for Arnold to explain himself, Chris' wait in the room on the second floor of the saloon was finally over. A groan from the man in the nice featherbed was followed by a hiss of pain. A barely uttered 'Lord' followed.

"Ezra?"

The card sharp opened his eyes but otherwise did not move. Turning his face just moments ago had been terribly painful, shockingly so. What had happened to him? Ezra blinked tiredly, and even that slight movement seemed to bring more pain. He feared what talking would feel like, but he knew his companion was aware that he was awake.

"Mistah Larabee?" he asked, followed by a hiss of pain.

"It's Chris," the former gunslinger replied. "Did you forget?"

"No, Mist … Chris. Ah … uh, Ah am not thinkin' very clearly. At the moment."

"You feel up to some questions?" Chris asked.

"Ye … " the southerner attempted to answer in the affirmative, but first a choking at the utterance, followed by a cough had the gunslinger quickly pouring him a glass of water. "Mah face, mah n … neck," he eked out as he put his hand to the pain.

"Don't bother, you're all bandaged up," Chris said as he helped Ezra to sit up. He handed the glass to his friend and added, "Arnold Young beat you and cut you up."

"Ah recall," Ezra said as he handed the glass back.

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on with him?"

"Ah do not b'lieve Ah should … "

"He killed Midge."

Ezra looked up, pain of another kind overtaking the physical pain of his injuries.

"She had colic a couple of days ago. He took her out to come to town today. Vin found her out at the crossroads to the Youngs' place." Chris saw the question in Ezra's eyes. "He left her there, didn't do a damned thing to help ease her death." Ezra shook his head in disgust, but stopped fast with the pain of the action. It was obvious to Chris that Ezra knew more than he'd said up until now. "Tell me what you know."

"The boy is … confused, to put it mildly. What he and … " Ezra paused, but he knew he had to tell what he'd found out. "Ah was somewhat inebriated and the boy jumped me. Ah asked him what Ah had done to cause his anger toward me and he told me that Ah would not be the cause of separatin' them."

"Separating who?"

"Arnold and Mary Young."

"You're kidding. He's been telling everyone that she's not his mother."

"Yes."

"So why does he care if … he …." Chris stopped talking as the realization came to him of the reason why a young man might not want to be separated from a woman.

"Yes."

"How … How long?"

Ezra looked to the window. "Ah do not know. For some time, Ah suspect. Ah was not allowed the time to ascertain any details as Arnold made his attempt on mah life."

"He says he didn't mean to hurt you."

Ezra stared at his friend. "Do you believe him?"

The tall blond frowned as he pulled the rocking chair over and sat. "He sounds convincing. I figure he's learned to lie pretty convincingly based on what we now know." Ezra nodded, but Chris saw a hint of uncertainty on the bruised visage before him. "And I would never take his word over yours. I'm pretty sure he intended to kill you."

The gambler eased into the pillows. Chris hadn't realized how tense Ezra had become with the conversation. The former gunslinger would never truly forgive himself for the length of time he allowed Ezra to doubt his worth, at least not until Ezra truly got over it himself. As infrequent as that self-doubt showed, it was still there. Chris knew he still had work to go with his friend on this point, but that effort needed to remain on the back-burner for now as they figured out what to do next.

"Arnold is in the jail. I'm keeping two men there at all times. His father was pretty belligerent when he was in town."

"Ah know. Ah was there."

"Did Arnold say, specifically, that they were, well … "

"Fornicatin'? He did not use that word nor any more pedestrian terminology. He did say that they would not be separated, either by me or by his fathah. He said that they were together and he would take care of anyone who tried to stop them from bein' together. Ah attempted to explain that his step-mothah had no right to abuse him in that way, and that was when he slashed out with the knife. Ah was … ill-prepared for such an attack." Ezra reached for his throat, the talking obviously bothering him.

"Don't. Nate won't want you touchin' it." Chris watched as Ezra closed his eyes and rested his hand on the bed. "You were unprepared because you want to see the best in kids." Not that Arnold really qualified as that anymore. Ezra just shook his head again, just barely. "I'm going to have him officially charged with attempted murder."

"Ah regret that the charge seems appropriate."

"All right. Nate should be back in a minute. I'm gonna have someone stay with you until this whole thing gets cleared up."

"That is not necess … "

"Don't. You're not going to be able to move real well the next couple of days. Nathan wants those stitches to heal more before he's even gonna let you out of bed, probably at least a day." The card sharp looked annoyed. "If Young senior comes lookin' for you, I want someone here." Ezra seemed prepare to speak, but Chris cut him off. "No arguments."

"Very well."

"Get some rest."

Ezra was asleep in moments.

Present

"Ah can hide it."

J.D. frowned. Ezra seemed to be awake. "Ezra?"

"Ah am a con man, right mothah?"

Oh. Still not with it.

"No one will notice. Ah can hide it."

'What are you talking about, Ezra?' J.D. wondered. Vin walked in and found J.D. watching the injured man.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"No. He's just ramblin' on. Don't make any sense."

"Yeah."

"Should hang, they said," Ezra muttered.

"Who should hang, Ezra?"

"Just like his contemptible fathah, they said."

J.D. and Vin looked at each other sadly.

Summertime

"Doubt it. Both'll likely hang."

"Reckon they should."

"Ssssh."

"Sorry, Nathan."

"Yeah, sorry."

"It doesn't mattah."

"Aw, hell. Sorry, Ezra."

"It is quite all right, Mistah Tanner." Ezra saw the sun shining through his partially open drapes. "Ah feel well-rested, but Ah see Ah have not slept long." The southerner watched as Chris, Vin and Nathan shared glances. "What?"

"You've been asleep for almost eighteen hours," Nathan informed his patient.

"Ah have not." The wounded lawman tried to sit up in his bed, moaned at the pull of his stiched-up cuts and the myriad bruises and then stopped moving. His eyes grew wide and he added, "If you gentlemen would excuse me … "

"Gotta pee, dontcha?" Vin asked with a wry grin. Ezra returned a withering glare.

"Let me help you up," Nathan offered. The card sharp accepted the assistance to the chamber pot. He stood there but it was apparent nobody planned on leaving the room.

"If you all would not mind?" Ezra suggested in as gentlemanly a manner as he could manage.

"What?" Chris asked.

"Ah would like some privacy."

"We locked the door. Figured you wouldn't want anyone 'privy' to what you'd need to do when you woke up."

Ezra stared at Chris, his mouth open. Finally moved from his shock, Ezra said, "Precisely."

"You've gone in front of us before," the healer said.

"Not all three of you!"

"Just go," Vin said, exasperated.

"The indignities Ah suffer," Ezra complained as he stood before the chamber pot, lifted his nightshirt and prepared to go. He had to go, he could feel the pressure, but the longer he stood there the more he knew he would not be able to.

"Thought you had to go?" Chris asked.

Ezra muttered what sounded distinctly like the growl of a wild animal, followed by, "Ah do."

"Then go."

"Vin," the former con man ground out in frustration.

Nathan watched Chris and Vin taunt his patient. He shook his head, went to the dresser, picked up the water pitcher and poured the water into a glass as he held it up close to Ezra's ear. Ezra's bladder finally found its release.

"Thank you," he said through a relieved sigh.

After a startlingly long period of time, Ezra finished, put himself back together, washed his hands, sighed as he saw what he looked like in the mirror, attempting not to worry about the bruises and the bandage on his neck and how painful it felt underneath. He felt like hell so he chose to keep the beard and hobbled to the bed. Nathan helped him to get comfortable.

"We'll get you some breakfast in a bit," Chris said.

"And after you eat, I'll take a look at those cuts and get you to drink some tea."

Ezra frowned at both men. And then Vin added, "Need ta tell you somethin'."

"Good lord! Arnold escaped. Ah would have hoped to go somewhat longer than a couple of days not worryin' about another attempt on mah life."

"Arnie's still in the jail," Vin replied. "So's his daddy."

"Mister Young is in jail? Did he threaten to kill me?" The looks on his three friends' faces told Ezra that it was something worse that had the angry man locked up. "Did he make an attempt on mah life while Ah was in the hands of Morpheus?"

"No." Chris looked at him, a look of anger … and something else.

"What then?"

"He killed Mary Young."

"He … He killed his wife?" Ezra paled, so worryingly fast that Nathan rushed back to the head of the bed.

"Ezra?" the black man asked as he felt his friend's pulse, not surprised at the feel of cold, clammy skin. "Chris, get Ezra's satchel out from under the bed, raise his legs with it." Nathan pulled one of the pillows out from under Ezra's head, carefully set his friend on the remaining one and said, "Ezra, what's wrong?"

"Ah … Ah am to blame for her death."

Chris stepped up to the bed. "Like hell. All you did was try to keep little kids from gettin' hurt. And you tried to talk sense into a messed up young man. That's it."

Ezra blinked rapidly as he attempted to keep his tears from flowing. "If Ah had not found out their secret … "

"No. Look, Buck and I saw how he was treating his wife. As wrong as what she did with that boy was, it's not surprising that she turned to someone for comfort. He ain't talkin', but we figure he worked her over enough that she finally told him her secret."

"And then he killed her," Vin concluded.

The shock Ezra was feeling dissipated soon enough, leaving him tired, listless. He looked to each of his friends, hoping that they were right in their interpretation of what happened. He could never condone what Mary Young did, but he would never have wanted to place her in jeopardy.

"Maybe if Ah had not kicked him out of class … "

Nathan jumped in this time. "You knew Mr. Young didn't want Arnold in class. From what Chris says he was happy the boy would no longer be going to school. And you gotta know that was a secret that was bound to come out. You know that she was giving those little ones something to keep them asleep so that she and Arnold had …." Nathan did not have to finish. He saw the moment Ezra accepted that he had no control of the fact that Mary Young's husband would eventually learn the awful knowledge that spiraled into the rage that would result in her death.

"You all right now, Ezra?"

"Ah … Ah am feelin' quite tired," the gambler admitted.

"Yeah," Nathan patted Ezra's shoulder lightly. "Close your eyes, take a nap."

"Ah could no' poss'bly … " the poker player started to say, but he fell fast asleep before he could finish the thought.

"Hell, Nathan. Is he all right?" Chris asked. It was disconcerting to see a man talking one second and then out cold the next like that.

"Yeah. His emotions got the better of him, was a shock to his system. This can happen, like experiencing too much too fast, and then the sudden relief. His body feels like it's been runnin' after a train for couple o' miles. I'll watch him as he sleeps. This may not last too long."

"We still gotta tell 'im 'bout the little ones," Vin said sadly.

"This is all shit," Chris said.

"Shur is."

Present

"Fever's down. Should be comin' to soon," Nathan said.

"He don't do nothin' by half, does he?" Vin asked.

"No he don't," Nathan answered as he spread the healing balm to Ezra's wounds. It was a shame that the southerner wasn't awake to enjoy the scent. It reminded Vin of the smells of Christmas. Nathan grumbled when Vin said so. The former slave explained that he had to switch out some ingredients, as though making it smell nice was sacrilege in the healer's mind.

Summertime

"Come on, son. You need to eat."

"Ah ate this mornin'."

Josiah shook his head. Yes, Ezra had eaten a few bites of his breakfast, but it was nowhere near enough for him to get his strength back.

"That's not enough and you know it. Now you eat that, all of it."

"Ah know as fact that mah fathah is deceased, and you most assuredly do not resemble mah mothah." Ezra paused and added in a passing whisper, "Or Inez."

"Ezra, I may be gettin' old, but I still have my hearing. If getting Inez in here will get you to eat … "

"Oh good lord, Josiah. Set me up, give me the tray and, most importantly, desist."

"Gladly." Josiah was rougher than necessary in sitting the card sharp upright for his meal, as evidenced by the not successfully stifled grunt from the healing man. The preacher set the tray in place, poured Ezra a cup of coffee and then sat down to watch the man eat.

"Really?"

"You can't be trusted and you know it." Josiah caught the wince from the gambler before the frustrating man quickly switched to his poker face. "I didn't mean that," Josiah apologized, realizing how Ezra might take it.

Ezra ignored him other than a dismissive, "Very well," and unenthusiastically began to eat his eggs and potatoes, biscuits and jam. The southerner ate whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, but that rarely included three square meals, which Nathan had insisted on for the next few days. As much as Josiah was against keeping information from his fellow lawman, he agreed that, based on his reaction to the murder of Mary Young, the remainder of the story should not be told to the man before him until he was more recovered.

Both men were surprised to find the former con man did have an appetite. The coffee, his favorite dark roast, aided in his enjoyment of the noontime repast. Within ten short minutes he had finished everything on his plate and the big man who couldn't help but act in a fatherly manner toward the gambler poured them both a second cup of coffee.

"Mah apologies, Josiah, for bein' so … "

"Contrary?" The two men shared an agreeable smile and nod.

"Indeed, that sounds like the appropriate phrasing," Ezra conceded.

Josiah picked up the tray and removed it to the dresser. He rearranged everything on the tray as he spoke to the healing man. "I have a hard time, Ezra, I know. Guess I take the chance to nurture when I can," the preacher said as he folded first one napkin and then the next. "Feel like you, well, you say you don't want it, don't need it, but it seems to come out all right, in the end. I know it ain't right." Josiah added as he stacked everything on the tray for ease of transport. "You should be allowed to decide for yourself whether you want my advice. I'm gonna try to do better by you, son." Once finished, Josiah turned around, and found Ezra fast asleep.

"Been a hard time," Josiah said sadly. "Still got more to grieve you."

Present

"You've been fevered and delirious for near forty-eight hours."

Ezra frowned as he listened to the healer tell him of his symptoms.

"And what was it that happened to me?" he added as he looked from Nathan and Vin and finally to Chris.

"As best we can tell, you got some locoweed in ya," Vin told him.

"But how? Ah mean, Ah thought the stabbing … "

"That was part of it," Nathan told his confused friend.

"The flour Mrs. Potter used was stone-ground wheat from the rez," Vin explained. "You were the first to eat anything from those bags."

"And you ate four scones and three apples fritters," Chris said. "Nate says that if you'd eat like a normal person that you wouldn't've got so sick."

Ezra turned to look at the former slave. Nathan shrugged his shoulder. "It's true. The amount of weed in one scone would probably have made you sick, but only laid you low for a couple of hours, maybe not even that. Might just not have felt your best and passed before you even realized it. Since you ate so much you didn't get anything else in your system that might have absorbed the toxin or flushed it out."

"Did anyone else get sick?"

"Just a couple of folks. Once you got so sick so fast, we tracked where you'd been and found out right quick what happened," Vin told his friend. "Got rid of all that baked stuff and the rest of the flour."

"That is a pity," Ezra sighed.

"No it ain't," Chris growled. "What's wrong with you?"

"No, of course not," the gambler agreed. He rubbed his forehead. "Ah remembah … strange things." All those wondrous pastries from that terrible time over the summer …

"You were ramblin' a lot, not yourself. Most of it didn't make sense," Nathan said.

"That ain't unusual," Vin said dryly.

Ezra ignored the jibe. "Ah remembah … things from mah youth. Ah remembah thinkin' of this past summer … the Youngs." Ezra covered his eyes with his hands. "Why?" he said, nearly a sob. The question may as well have been rhetorical in as much as there was any answer to it. "Why the children?"

Nathan handed Ezra one of the southerner's handkerchiefs as Chris patted the man's shoulder. He squeezed harder and then moved his hand to rub the distraught man's neck. If anyone understood the grief of losing a child it was Chris Larabee. What they all knew was that the loss of a child always hit Ezra hard. He hadn't taken the time to cry back then, he had thrown himself into helping the families understand the shock of what happened. The children needed the compassionate southerner more than ever after the murders. It gave him little time to himself to properly grieve or recover.

"Guess we'll never know fer shur," Vin answered.

"No, ah know." Ezra's emotions, after days of illness and now thinking on the images he recalled over the last days, were on edge. He sniffed back the tears and composed himself far too quickly. "Ah will nevah understand how a man could kill his entire family, especially the little, innocent babes."

Nathan grasped Ezra's leg affectionately. "Best not to dwell on it." All of the gambler's friends agreed with that sentiment, but they also knew that, despite what Ezra had said after the trial and the judge's sentences of death by hanging for the father and twenty years in prison for the son, the man in the bed still harbored some serious level of grief, if not guilt, over the entire affair.

"Ah know."

A tap at the door heralded the arrival of J.D. and Josiah.

"Hey, he's awake!" the youngest member of The Magnificent Seven said. "Looks like he knows what's what, too." Ezra rolled his eyes.

"Thank the lord," Josiah said. They hadn't gotten what they wanted, what they'd all hoped for: Ezra missed Christmas, by a day. They would remedy that when the gambler was feeling better. The most important prayers, though, had been answered.

"Where's … " Chris started, but was interrupted by the door bursting open once more.

"Hey, lookee there! Your man is awake." The orange and white hound's eyes grew wide at the sight of his favorite person laying abed. Fred's collar had been switched out to something red, decked with what would surely come to be known as an annoying bell. For now, it helped envelope everyone in the room in the holiday spirit, something that was sorely lacking as they'd waited for Ezra to get better.

Nathan did not seem pleased. "I'm not sure … " he started as he saw the ladies' man's plan. Well, they had to wash the bedding soon anyway.

"Fred," Ezra sighed. Buck set the dog beside his still-pale fellow lawman.

"He missed you," Buck said as he touched his friend on the shoulder where Chris' touch still seemed to offer comfort even as he stepped away to make room for the mustachioed man.

"And Ah him as well."

"Good to see you lookin' better, hoss."

"The sentiment is appreciated," Ezra responded, followed by a yawn. "Mah apologies," he added as he settled in with his arm around the little hound dog. As the two friends of different species reminisced, the rest of Ezra's friends got the hint from the quiet glare of the healer that they should clear the room.

Nathan walked the last of the lawmen to the door.

"He's gonna be all right?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. Just needs some undisturbed rest." Chris grinned and nodded his head to the bed where both men found Ezra and his dog fast asleep. Nathan smiled as Chris left him to watch over the gambler and his sidekick.

"Merry Christmas," Nathan said to his sleeping patient as he checked Ezra's forehead, nodded in satisfaction, and then gave the little dog a friendly rub under his collar. Fred stretched lightly but did not wake up. Nathan snorted a laugh and quietly started his inventory.

The End.