FLASHBACK

The seven peacekeepers of Four Corners all had their own style of watching over the town just as they had their own style of riding patrol in the outlying territories.

Nathan Jackson learned a lot watching the streets from the balcony of his clinic. Josiah Sanchez often used the roof of the church at the end of town to observe goings-on. Considering they were often on these roosts, no one paid them much mind. If anyone was worrisome or furtive or a fight was brewing, no one gave much thought that these two were watching for it.

That Vin Tanner often prowled the rooftops might be more ominous or threatening to anyone up to no good – if they ever saw him. Somehow he was mostly invisible except to the other protectors.

Ezra Standish was confident that, unless the threat level had already been raised, the body language of men who walked in through the batwing doors or past the windows, told him all he needed to know about the pulse of the town.

Chris Larabee, the unspoken but undeniable leader of the group, as often as not sat on the boardwalk as if defying anyone to start trouble. No matter how low his hat was pulled over his eyes, he didn't miss a thing.

And what made their observations easier were the last two peacekeepers. Buck Wilmington swaggered through the streets with an in-your-face greeting for any potential trouble. And all the while Wilmington knew he was the distraction that gave the others the chance to assess any danger.

JD Dunne, the youngest of the peacekeepers, the one who wore the badge, was even more of a distraction than Wilmington but he had yet to recognize the part he played. He had the energy and friendliness of a puppy. He was just as eager to help a rancher toss supplies into a buckboard as he was to scan every face he saw and compare it to the wanted posters he delighted in memorizing. He was the sheriff. He rode with Chris Larabee. He was living his dream, imagining how maybe, someday, he'd be a dime novel hero.

Today was different.

There was something in the air none of the townspeople could put a finger on, but something was wrong. Something was ... off. It could be that there were more strangers in town than usual. Confident, strong looking men, mostly well dressed. There was a rumor that the town's resident gambler, Ezra Standish, was about to initiate a high stakes poker game and these men were players.

Conklin, one of the small town's more prominent shopkeepers and self-appointed civic leader, had been feeling his oats lately trying to unseat the regulators and replace them with more conventional law. And, since that sort of conflict sold newspapers... well, Mary Travis was doing her part to report, promote and drag out the drama.

The air was heavy and humid like a storm was brewing.

But what was off were the seven peacekeepers. Nathan Jackson and Josiah Sanchez had quietly but resolutely left for the Seminole village. Overtly they said it was part of making sure all was well in the territories. Covertly there was a feeling they didn't want to be in town.

Vin Tanner was on edge and chose to study body language in the cool of the saloon where he and Standish could watch each other's backs. On more than one occasion they would share the instincts of a gambler and a former bounty hunter in the glances they exchanged to compare their evaluation of a man with each other.

What maturity young Dunne had developed over the months had evaporated and he couldn't sit still. It was like he had a secret, but it wasn't his secret to share.

Chris Larabee had disappeared into his rented room three days ago. He had only been seen once since then when he demanded two bottles of Red Eye from Inez Recillos and returned to his quarters. No one intruded on his self-imposed isolation, but it was disrupting. The room was like a pressure cooker. Those in the know were waiting for it to explode.

It was Buck Wilmington who sat on the boardwalk and watched the world go by from beneath the brim of his hat. He waited.

And then, there it was. Chris Larabee, dressed all in black, the occasional glint of conchos beneath the long duster, strode with determination down the middle of the street. The ever so slight stagger told Buck that his friend was so drunk that an average man would have been unconscious on the floor. No one dared approach him.

Suddenly Buck was tired. He wanted to close his eyes and ignore how out of kilter this town could get when the seven were out of whack. And how off kilter they were when Larabee was on a binge.

PRESENT

"Chris?" Buck's voice was a question as he crabbed over to hand Chris his bandana to help bandage Tanner's wound. It seemed to bring their friend back to the moment.

"Robert Niven..." Chris repeated.

"You know him?"

"The son of a bitch that robbed Ezra's poker game." The realization dawned on the other gunfighter.

Buck's eyes widened, "But he's ... shit..." What had it been? A year? More? Wilmington didn't remember this one's name but he remembered all the rest ...

Chris took the bandana and focused on tying off the wound to avoid any discussion of the man or the events.

Buck shared a glance with Tanner. Through his obvious pain, it was clear he shared part of a memory with the older man ...

FLASHBACK

Larabee melted into the shadows of the livery. It didn't take long before he led his horse back out, mounted and headed out of town. Pony stutter-stepped with the tension of his rider. He sensed he was barely held back and was ready to run.

That's when JD came out of the General Store. He couldn't read Larabee or seemed to interpret something else from the man's recent absence.

Wilmington cringed as the Kid hurried onto the street all friendly-like and patted Pony as he asked his hero an excited question. Wilmington watched the boy pale and stagger back from the bitter response he got. Larabee actually bumped the kid with his horse as he kicked it into a gallop to get out of town.

JD looked lost and embarrassed as he watched his hero disappear.

Larabee's tongue could be just as vicious and deadly as his gun when demons haunted him. It was bad this time; JD just found that out.

Buck would work the Kid through it, but later when the sharpness had time to wear off some. JD was enough like Larabee that when he was embarrassed, hurt or confused, he would take it out on anyone that came within reach of his temper. They both reminded Buck of a rattlesnake during the season they were shedding and the dead skin over their eyes blinded them. They would strike out at anything that came in range.

Larabee was headed out to his place. He could work it out there on his own. Buck had learned that was the best ... aw, hell.

Vin Tanner walked out of the saloon and didn't give much away, but he headed for the livery. There was no doubt he had seen the interaction on the street and was going to follow their friend.

With a resigned sigh, Buck levered out of the chair and followed.