Ghost of a Chance:An M7 Christmas Carol

by Sue

The Dickens classic, Magnificent Seven style! Ezra goes on a harrowing spiritual journey after deciding to forgo the group's Christmas gathering for a high-stakes poker game.

2. Default Chapter Title

In an instant they were enveloped by a night sky; Ezra looked around and recognized the area as the front yard of Nettie Wells' ranch. It was a clear, cold evening; the sky overhead blazed with millions of brilliant stars surrounding a full, silvery moon whose light bathed the snow-covered yard in a soft radiance. The windows of the small house glowed with light and celebration; even from the yard Ezra could smell the aromas of a lavish Christmas dinner, as the smell of roasted venison and chicken wafted through the air. In the corral nearby, five horses trotted and blew in the frosty air, their breath forming white plumes against the blackness of the night.

After a moment there came the muffled noises of a door opening, then being drawn shut again; Nettie Wells appeared from around the side of the house, her elderly frame bundled up well against the chill. She made her way quickly, with her typical feisty step, towards one of the pens near the corral; with practiced ease she lifted a bucket of scraps and dumped it over the fence. After a slight pause and some grunts and scuffles, two pigs emerged from the barn and trundled over to the welcome feast, burying their soft warm snouts in the steaming pile.

Nettie gave a satisfied nod to her accomplished deed, then set the bucket down next to the fence and began to make her way back to the house.

The front door opened, and Vin emerged, framed in darkness against the light inside before he pulled the door closed again. With slow strides he walked over to meet Nettie at the end of the porch, shaking his head as a smile creased his face.

"Mrs. Wells, you're th' only woman I know who'd have a houseful of fellers over and still slop the hogs yourself."

Nettie laughed, a sound rich with years and memories. "The day I ask for help when I can do for myself is the day you'll be speakin' over my grave, son," she said as she mounted the steps easily. "Party's goin' so well it'd be a sin to spoil it with chores."

Vin chuckled and cast a look over his shoulder at the window behind them, his wide hat almost hiding his face. "Reckon it is." He looked back at her, and in the gentle moonlight Ezra could see Vin's eyes shining with gratitude. "I'd just like to thank you, Mrs. Wells, for lettin' us come over like this. Can't say when the last time was some of us had a proper Christmas dinner."

She regarded him with amused surprise. "First real one in a long time for me as well, Mr. Tanner. Feels real good to be havin' folks over again, it's a nice break from work and livin' in general, for Casey and me. An' you boys earned every bite, believe me. "

Vin shrugged a little, but smiled, his blue eyes soft in the moonlight. "Now you're makin' us sound downright noble, m'am. Just some rough men doin' our job, is all. But-" he paused, looked back at the warmly lit house, a thoughtful light in his eyes as he leaned against one of the wooden porch posts, his thumbs in his belt. "I seen enough to know the good men from the bad, Miss Nettie, an' they're good men. Been a hard life for all of em, even JD, but they ain't let it beat down their hearts."

He looked out across the moonlit landscape, drew a deep breath as a gentle winter breeze tugged at his golden-brown curls. "After bein' a bounty hunter for so long I pretty much reckoned no man'd ever win my respect again, but...these are men worth respectin', ma'am, and I'm right grateful for your kindness to em."

Nettie smiled. "No need for thanks, Mr. Tanner, you know you boys are welcome. Even your gamblin' friend, if he ever shows himself."

Vin chuckled a bit, the moonlight sparkling in his eyes. "Well, I'm still hopin' he'll show, ma'am. He's surprised us all before."

At that moment the soft thudding of snow-muffled hoofbeats sounded on the cold night air; Vin and Nettie looked to the road, the tracker's hand surreptitiously dropping to his mare's leg. After a few tense moments Nathan rode into the bright patch of moonlight, alone. The pair on the porch relaxed, and Vin eased down the steps to greet his friend.

"Any luck?" he called, as Nathan trotted up the hitching post. The healer sighed and shook his head.

"Went to Eagle Bend, but Doc Harrison's gone to Phoenix for the holiday, an' nobody else was around."

Vin pursed his lips in thought and looked away.

"Did manage to swing by the town an' get what supplies I could," Nathan continued, sliding off of his saddle and plopping to the ground. "Dropped a few things off for em, but–the boy's gettin' worse. When I left the village he was burnin' up."

Nettie's expression was grim. "Poor boy."

Nathan nodded. "I'm spendin' the night there tonight, just wanted to let y'all know."

Vin glanced at him, gave a short nod. "They'll appreciate that, Nathan."

The healer shrugged, a quiet anger in his eyes. "Not much I can do, but at least..." he let the thought trail off.

Vin had a new thought. "Did y'see Ezra?"

"Nope," Nathan shook his head, "did hear some interestin' news about him, though."

Every ear, including Ezra's, perked up.

"Y'know he was playin' that big poker game?" Nathan continued.

Vin cocked his head. "What happened, he lose his shirt?"

Nathan shook his head. "Nope, he won. Real big, from what the barkeep told me, almost a thousand dollars, on top of what he already had."

Nettie gasped; Vin seemed amused. Ezra was stunned-he had never won more than three hundred at once in his life. Was this true? My God, he'd have over twelve hundred dollars, enough for that saloon he'd been dying to own. All from one game...

As they pondered this, the front door opened and Casey stepped quickly onto the porch, gathering up a huge handful of snow that had accumulated on the railing. She gave a quick smile to the others.

"Hi," she said in a preoccupied, breathy voice, then ducked back inside, the snow cradled carefully in one hand. The others exchanged glances, but did not even want to venture a guess as to what she was up to.

"Musta been one hell of a game," Vin grunted, going back to Ezra's incredible stroke of fortune and trying to picture it.

Nathan shrugged. "Guess so. One of the men got real mad, Ezra had to haul him outta town before he left."

Vin looked up. "Left?"

"Yup. Seems him an' the other players went off for a big celebration. Real shame, too, cause the barkeep thinks one of them men was a doctor, but he didn't know where they went or who the man was, an' there ain't no doctors stayin' at the hotel. I looked all over town but I couldn't find em. So I left a message for Ezra at the saloon an' came out here."

Vin patted Nathan's shoulder.

"You did all you could, pard. Now c'mon an' get some of Nettie's fine cookin' before you go to the village."

"There's plenty left, Mr. Jackson," Nettie smiled. Nathan returned the smile and tipped his hat.

"Much obliged, ma'am. Been a long ride."

They were stomping up to the front steps when the front door to the house burst open, and Casey flew in a giggling streak down the front steps, stumbling a bit in the snow as she whirled around and began scooping up a handful of the wet, white substance. JD was close on her heels, a wide determined grin on his face as he chased her down the steps. As he passed the group they could see that his collar had been yanked back and that bits of snow were clinging to the long black curls hanging at the base of his neck.

"Dangit, Casey, just you wait!" the young sheriff laughed as he spilled down the stairs, digging his bare hands into the snow and heaving clumps at his laughing assailant. "I'll teach you to put snow down my back when I ain't lookin'!"

"You gotta catch me first, city boy!" she responded with glee, falling backwards as she focused her attention on making the largest snowball she could. As the two chased each other around the yard, exchanging laughing insults and challenges along with their harmless snowballs, the rest of Nettie's guests wandered onto the porch to watch the melee.

"Nathan," Josiah nodded. "What's the good word?"

Nathan sighed. "The good word ain't so good. Couldn't find the doctor, but I got some things here that might help, an' I'll be spendin' the night there. Oh, an' Ezra's rich now."

Buck snorted. "Well, reckon HE had a merry Christmas. Guess he made the right choice stayin' in town after all."

They watched as JD and Casey tumbled together in a heap of laughter. Vin and Nettie exchanged smiling glances, then Nettie took a step forward.

"Casey, that's enough–I won't have you roughhousin' an' breakin' Mr. Dunne's arm when he's a guest an' all. Now come inside before you two get pneumonia."

As the group on the porch watched the young people pick themselves up out of the snow, still giggling and sniffing from the cold, Josiah cocked his head and looked at Buck.

"Ezra might have his money, Buck, but I don't think I'd call him rich."

They all began to amble back inside; Casey and JD were the last to go in.

"That was fun," the young girl laughed, unsuccessfully trying to brush the clinging snow from her soaking clothes.

JD nodded as he slicked his damp hair back. "Yeah, reminds me of Boston, we'd have snow there three feet deep. You could get lost in it."

When they reached the bottom of the porch stairs, she paused to wring out the hem of her sodden skirt. After a moment she looked up to see him staring at her standing in the winter moonlight, the flakes of snow melting in her long brown hair.

His expression was serious. "Casey?"

She found herself staring at him too; he looked so different now, almost glowing in the gentle white light, glittering drops of water clinging to his long eyelashes, his silky black hair. It took her a moment to realize he was expecting a response.

She cleared her throat. "Um, yes, JD?"

He seemed to hesitate, unsure;when he spoke his voice was quiet. "Well, I-I just wanted to say, I'm real glad your aunt invited us over."

She nodded, still staring at the way the moonlight lit up his hazel eyes. "Uh-huh."

He shifted a little and coughed, shooting a quick glance at the porch. "Do you think it'd be all right-I mean, I ain't got no money for gifts, an' I just-I mean, I wanted to ask you..." He trailed off.

"JD?"

He looked up, biting his lip. "Hm?"

"If you don't kiss me quick I think I'll just bust."

JD stood still for a moment, then smiled with joy, and they went into each other's arms in a sweet embrace, brief but full of tenderness and youthful passion. As JD drew back he looked incredibly relieved.

"I was hopin' that'd be all right with you," he smiled. "Now, next year I swear you'll get a real gift."

She gazed into his eyes with a smile and took his hand. "Funny, JD, I can't think of anythin' else I'd rather get."

They stood still for a moment, holding hands and looking at each other in the soft moonlit glow; then the front door opened, and Buck appeared.

"JD, boy, if you don't hustle yourself in here we're gonna eat all this delicious apple pie ourselves, an' while I don't mind that at all I do have to keep myself trim for the ladies."

JD and Casey exchanged guilty smiles and mounted the porch. JD gave his older friend a suspiciously happy smile as he passed him by; Buck replied with a knowing expression which said, you ain't foolin' ol' Buck for a minute. They entered the warm glow of the house, and Buck threw one last look out at the cold, starlit night.

"Now how come that snowball-fight routine never worked for me?" he muttered to himself as he slowly pulled the door closed. The yard was empty now, except for Ezra and the Spirit.

"Sure looked like a good time to me," the Ghost commented as they stood together. "Ain't no thousand-dollar poker game, but that didn't seem all that important to me, did it seem important to you?"

Ezra barely heard, he was still trying to sort out everything that he had seen and heard. Nathan was going to see to Toshi, so maybe the boy would be all right. He had been feeling very strange watching the other men; it reminded him of the times when, as a lonely child forced to live with unfeeling relatives, he had watched the other children celebrate Christmas without feeling truly a part of their warm circle. But, he knew, he was a part of this circle, there was no need here to be outside. It would be so simple to change his plans, abandon the card game, and join in. Unlike the lonely child, the lonely man had a choice.

He had been in the process of nearly reconsidering his plans until he learned of the outcome of the poker game. A thousand dollars, almost...he'd been playing for years and had only saved four hundred. With that money he could shake off the dust of Four Corners, buy that saloon, take care of himself and his mother in style. The hazy disappointments of childhood swirled and vanished in the cold reality of adult life; he could hardly afford to lose control of his emotions and allow them to override his better judgment. He had always taken care of himself first and foremost, and what better revenge could the lonely boy have than to live in ease for the rest of his life?

His gaze traveled up across the expanse of the snow-covered lawn, now churned up with the evidence of laughter and love; he studied the soft yellow glow of the lighted windows, heard the muffled noises of talk and fellowship inside, and sighed. This was not going to be easy.

Finally he noticed that the ghost seemed to be waiting for him to say something; so he drew himself up and took a deep breath, blinking. "Well, all I can say is that they seem to be having a perfectly fine time without my presence, and as it appears my staying in town resulted in quite a windfall, I would say we have all come out of this Christmas ahead."

The Ghost chuckled and stood before Ezra, shaking his head. "You're a gold-lovin' weasel, Ezra Standish, but I don't believe the only thing you've gotten out of all this is a mess of money at the poker table. What you men have built is somethin' special, an' it was built for a special purpose, even if you're too gold-blind to see it."

Ezra tried to laugh. "I believe you overestimate our association, my good spirit. We are only a band of hired guns, nothing more."

A smile appeared behind the Ghost's mustache. "I was hopin' you'd say that, Ezra, cause you couldn't be more wrong if you said today was the Fourth of July. An' I think it's time to show you some folk who think you men are a whole lot more than just hired guns workin' for a buck."

He grabbed Ezra's arm in a tight grip; before the startled gambler could protest, they were soaring through a thick haze of clouds. The earth was gone, and nothing seemed to exist except the clouds and the rush of the wind.

"Hang on there," the Ghost warned, "we're gonna be makin' some fast stops, an' you'll want to remember what you see."

The haze parted, and a series of images swirled and flowed before them, each clear and distinct yet melting into each other in rapid succession. Ezra saw a brightly lit Christmas tree situated in a comfortable middle-class parlor; Mary Travis was laughing as Billy eagerly tore into one of his gaily-wrapped presents while Orin and Evie Travis watched, their mature faces beaming with joy. As the boy removed a shiny train from the box, he gave an animated cry of joy and leaped into Mary's arms; she gave him a quick kiss and hugged him tightly, unashamed of the tears in her eyes. For a moment Ezra could almost feel her happiness, her gratitude that the boy's nightmare over his father's death was over-and hers as well.

The scene faded, washed away, was replaced by a smaller, more modest image; a bedroom, plain but warm, a fireplace with a low fire in it, and a small stocking hanging on the mantle. The door opened, a woman walked in surrounded by the glowing halo of the lighted hallway; she crossed to the small bed, peered at the little girl who lay on it, and bending over the quiet form gave her a gentle kiss before tucking her in. Terry Greer then gently stroked her daughter Olivia's cheek for a moment, looking at her in deep contemplation, a serious light in her brown eyes. She turned her face to the moonlight streaming in through the window, tears of happiness glistening on her cheeks; then she gave a final, loving smile to her daughter before rising and silently slipping out again, gently closing the door.

The images were coming faster now, so fast that Ezra could scarcely keep up with them; but he did, each one registering sharply in his mind. There was a festively decorated house, and a group of laughing women celebrating around a beautiful tree; Ezra recognized them as the working girls he and the other men had rescued from Wickestown, he could even see the lovely and strong Lydia giving a quick hug and kiss to the shy, girlish Nora, now recovered from her beating at the hands of their former pimp. It was incredible to see her a lovely young woman, full of hope and promise again.

Another change; now they saw a succession of men, some old, some young, all bearing the scars of hard work and misery, but recovering now, in the arms of their loved ones and families. Ezra realized he knew them all, but the last time he had laid eyes on them they had been covered in dirt and weariness, wearing prisoner's uniforms and walking out of hellhole prison from which the Seven had just released them. The scenes were rapid and constantly moving, here a man sitting in a modest home with a careworn woman and a young boy, now another, older man walking to church with his arm around his female partner's waist, now a younger man surrounded by his parents and siblings; and more, several more, all happy, all full of gratitude and joy, because none of them had thought they would live to see this day. And now they were home.

Other scenes swirled by, all containing images of people the men had helped in ways large and small, and all seemingly having a happy Christmas. Finally the scenes faded; the wind slowed, then stopped, and they were standing in a snowswept street. Ezra staggered a little; it had all been a bit dizzying.

"Interestin' tour, huh?" the Ghost grinned. "Now, I don't wanna hear no more of that lip of yours. You men have made a big difference in them people's lives, an' you were part of that. I'd think a man'd be proud of that, an' not try to deny it."

Ezra had recovered, and sighed in exasperation. "Look, my ectoplasmic friend, I am quite happy that our efforts have aided these people in restoring their lives. I would add the caveat, however, that we should reserve the right to better our own lives as well, and I do not think these fine folk would deny us the opportunity to improve our venues if the situation permits."

The Ghost folded his arms and leaned back, regarding Ezra with a critical eye. "Meanin' if you get rich you oughta have the right to head on out?"

Ezra started a bit; was he really saying he'd leave the group if he won that money? He hadn't really thought much about it, but now that the matter crossed his mind, it seemed foolish, if not dangerous, to be in possession of such a fortune and not take advantage of it. It was what he had been working toward since the day he left the South.

The gambler sighed, trying to work out his confusion; he began to pace in the snow as the Ghost watched in bemused silence.

"After tonight I don't know what to think anymore," he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck in thought, his voice agitated and unsure. "I've lived this way my whole life, you can't ask a man to forsake his most dearly held beliefs for an ill-defined ideal just like that. And I must admit," he said in a sterner voice, stopping in front of the Ghost and lifting up an accusing finger, "to a small degree of resentment concerning your attitude towards my chosen way of life. How I comport myself is entirely my choice, and it should be noone else's concern, least of all a satyritic apparition such as yourself."

The Ghost laughed, much to Ezra's consternation. "Nice little speech, Ezra, but you ain't even convinced yourself with that one, let alone me. An' your life may have been yours alone once, but it ain't that way no more, is it? It's mixed in somewhere else now."

He turned, and Ezra followed his gaze to see Chris and the others coming out of Nettie's house, talking and laughing as they pulled on coats and hats in preparation for departure. The Ghost looked back at Ezra with a smile, noting with satisfaction the thoughtful look on the gambler's face as he regarded the men he had spent the last several months with.

Ezra suddenly realized he was being observed and quickly waved the Ghost away. "A touching thought, to be sure, but I can hardly flatter myself to believe that my presence or absence would truly make that much of a difference to our operation. We have gotten along well enough, I suppose, but they would not deny myself, or any of the others, the right to move on if the chance arose. For our purposes, one gun is as good as another."

The Ghost stared at him somberly as the wind picked up, blowing gusts of snow around them; Ezra watched as the warm scene of fellowship before him was swallowed up in a rushing swirl of thick white waves. Soon their entire surroundings were obscured, leaving just the two of them standing on the snowy ground.

"I know you'd like to think that, Ezra, but it just plain ain't so an' you know it," said the Ghost as he stood back, hitching his thumbs into his belt and tilting his head to eye his companion in a serious, appraising manner. "There was a reason you men came together, an' it'd be a sin for you to go an' pull apart what you men have built before your task is done. You can't just act like you're alone anymore, cause you ain't, an' we're just tryin' to make you see what it is you're close to losin' here, because before you know it, it's gonna be too late."

At the Ghost's last words there was a ferocious clap of thunder and a blinding flash of lightning; as Ezra instinctively ducked, he heard the thunder crackle and rumble away, taking with it the echo of the Ghost's words: too late...too late...too late...

Ezra looked around. The Ghost was gone; the wind had stopped, and all was cold, dark and still. He couldn't tell where he was, but it seemed to be out in the desert somewhere; there was no moon, stars, or light of any kind. He shivered, suddenly afraid, and became aware that the small hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

Then he heard them: footsteps, soft and crunching in the icy snow, advancing towards him from behind. Finally they stopped, not ten feet away. Swallowing hard, Ezra turned slowly, an empty sense of fear clutching his heart.

Despite the lack of moonlight, the figure before him was bathed in a white glow, faint but cold and harsh. It was Chris, or looked like Chris, clad in his long black duster and wide-brimmed black hat, leaning slightly to one side as if sizing him up for a gunfight. The darkness of his clothing absorbed every ounce of life and light from the air around him; it seemed to be made of the blackness of eternity, or oblivion. But his eyes...Ezra knew Chris Larabee's green eyes could pretty much drill through iron, but the eyes of the Ghost standing before him were infinitely more penetrating, almost glowing in their intensity.

Ezra caught himself staring, and swallowed again before asking as the wind tugged at his clothes, "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?"

The Ghost moved finally, walking forward with a small, deadly smile as he said in Chris' voice, "Good guess."

The gambler nodded, not at all happy with his accuracy. He shuddered as the wind returned, colder now. "And may I presume we are to see my life in the future?"

The Ghost's smile grew more chilling as he reached out and took Ezra's arm with a surprising gentleness. "Not exactly, Ezra. Not exactly."

There was a crack of thunder and a blinding flash of brilliant light; as his eyes cleared, Ezra realized that they were standing in the middle of the main street of Four Corners. A few moments of observation made it plain, however, that things had drastically changed; all of the shops and homes Ezra was familiar with were looted, boarded up and deserted, and only a few miserable people prowled the splintering sidewalks. His gaze flew up and down the street, lighting on familiar landmarks, all vacant now-the opera house, the building where Nathan lived, the boarding house. The Clarion looked as if it had been long abandoned; at the end of the street Ezra could see the charred, overgrown remains of the church, its blackened skeleton rotting in the winter sun.

As Ezra looked at the silent wreckage, he felt a strange sickness in his gut, a peculiar sensation of loss and bereavement. The last time he had seen the streets in daylight, they had been full of people, all excited with the holidays; now it was bleak and empty, obviously on the way out. He wondered at the strange feeling; after all, it wasn't as if Four Corners was anything more to him than another stopping place, another venue for working his trade. But...to see the Clarion closed, Mrs. Potter's store empty, its windows broken, the saloon where they had all drank and laughed together now all but shuttered, it felt to Ezra as if he were learning of the destruction of his old neighborhood in New Orleans all over again, the irretrievable end of a place he had felt secure. His home.

"All right," the gambler finally said, licking his lips and regarding the Ghost with impatience, "will I be getting any answers to what's going on, or is this some sort of morbid game of charades?"

The Ghost gave him a small smile, his arms folded in a casual pose. "Reckon that oughta be obvious, Standish, even to you. Town's dyin'."

"I can see that," Ezra insisted, feeling a headache coming on, "but we have clearly missed some crucial step here. How could the town have gotten like this? Mr. Larabee and the others would never have permitted it."

"Reckon not, but they ain't here," the Ghost replied.

Ezra cast him a skeptical glance. "I hardly believe that he and the others would simply abandon their posts."

The Ghost shrugged. "Why not? You did, after winnin' all that money."

The gambler blinked, wondered why he felt a twinge of guilt.

The Ghost saw his expression and smiled; they began to walk along the empty street, listening as the wind howled through broken windows and rotting timbers.

"Yep, you were long gone when all the fuss happened. Seemed the boys finally ran into some bad guys they couldn't handle, and the town went insane during the gunfight. Church got burned, some of the local trash got excited, and, well, you can see the rest. Four Corners ain't been the same since." He cast a sideways glance at Ezra. "They understood when you left, but they really could have used you that day."

Ezra blinked, taken aback for a moment. But only a moment. He had always followed his own ambitions, and was not about to let this black-clad phantom tell him how to run his life, despite the hollow feeling burning in his stomach at the town's condition. "Well-yes, but my situation was unique. I mean, even if I did decide to pursue my ambitions with my winnings, one could hardly call it an abandonment of duty. I would simply be moving on to better things."

The Ghost nodded a little, his black hat bobbing in the harsh sun. "You think takin' that money and runnin' would be movin' on to better things, Ezra?"

Feeling defensive, the gambler drew himself up. "Of course. With a fortune of that size it could hardly be otherwise."

"Oh, I think it could be otherwise, Ezra," the Ghost smiled. "I really think it could."

The deserted street vanished in a rush as a violent winter wind swirled around them; before Ezra could even blink, they were somewhere else entirely. He realized that it was Nettie Wells' ranch again, on another Christmas afternoon. The sun was valiantly trying to poke through the sifting gray-gold clouds which scudded across the December sky; snowflakes drifted and sparkled in the sunlight as they slowly fell onto the already whitened ground. Ezra saw that smoke was curling from the ranch house's chimney; another party, he supposed. Perhaps he would now find out what had happened, and where he was in all this.

The front door opened, and Nettie stepped out, wiping her hands on an apron and looking down the road. She did not appear much older, but there seemed to be a weariness about her now; some of her energy was gone, the lively heartiness replaced by a solemn determination which had little joy in it.

Ezra followed her gaze, and saw two riders trotting up the road; he instantly recognized them as Josiah and Nathan. Nathan's clothing resembled Josiah's now, a mixture of Native American and white styles; he now had a beard which did little to disguise the somewhat haunted look in his eyes. Josiah looked pretty much the same, but like Nathan and Nettie he seemed to have a cloud following him, an unspoken tragedy which shouted its presence without a sound.

Despite the sadness in the air, Nettie smiled as she greeted her visitors. "Merry Christmas, boys. Glad you could make it."

Nathan returned her smile as he reined in. "Can't miss your cookin', Miss Nettie. Not that Rain ain't a fine cook, but she still can't beat your biscuits."

"Be happy to give her the recipe, if she wants to try," was the easy reply, but it had a tinge of strain to it. The old woman sighed. "Guess she decided to stay with Anawei today."

Nathan nodded with a sigh as he slid to the ground. "Yup, this day's always hard on her. Losin' Toshi to that fever on Christmas just about broke her heart, don't think she'll ever get over it."

Ezra felt himself go colder than the winter day could ever make him. So Toshi died anyway-my God, that poor kid, he thought. His gut tightened as he remembered the boy, his quick mind, his youthful spirit, so much like himself at that age yet still innocent enough to admire a man like Ezra. He could still hear the boy asking bravely if he could come with them when they were leaving the village; despite his youth and the horrors he had seen, Toshi was still ready to face whatever lay beyond his home's borders. But the gambler had insisted that he stay and protect the village like the brave warrior he knew the child to be; leaving home and throwing yourself on the mercy of the world, Ezra knew, was no way for a young boy to spend his youth. The boy's lively intelligence and openness had borne deeper into Ezra's heart than he had realized, and he marveled at the depth of his grief. Another childhood gone.

He turned to the Ghost, his eyes burning with anger. "How could this be allowed to happen?"

The Ghost seemed completely unperturbed as he regarded Ezra coolly, his arms crossed. "Don't look at me, I didn't kill the kid."

Ezra felt his face turn hot. "He was only a child! A very promising one, I might add, who hardly deserved this monstrous fate."

"Easy, now, Ezra," the Ghost replied calmly. "You're gettin' awful hot over a kid who wasn't worth the price of a poker game to you."

Ezra stammered a little, staggered by the accusation. "What-why, I'll have you know I was quite fond of that boy."

The Ghost laughed bitterly. "What a load of bull, Standish. You had the chance to see him before he died, an' you decided you'd rather win some money. So don't give me any crap about caring about him."

"Well-but-if I'd known-"

"You never know, do you, Ezra?" the Ghost shot back, unfolding his arms and regarding him sternly. "If you learn anything from tonight, I hope it's that you can't always just assume that you can dispense friendship at your convenience. You've got to take every opportunity as it comes, and not put it off with the thought that there will always be another chance. Because pretty soon you'll find yourself all out of chances."

Taken aback by the Ghost's words, Ezra found himself speechless, and after a moment of confusion turned his attention back to the ranch. Perhaps he could learn more there.

Nettie was shaking her head. "Poor thing, I know what she's feelin'. Buried a few children of my own."

"It ain't never easy," Nathan agreed as he followed Josiah. "But Rain'll do what she can, an' meanwhile she sends her best."

Nettie smiled. "That's sweet of her." She peered up the road. "Will the others be comin'?"

Nathan nodded. "Oh yeah, Buck'll be here. Just said he had somethin' to do first. An' Chris is with Vin up in the mountains."

The old woman nodded. "Well, come on inside. Reckon it'll be a while before they show up."

Josiah was about to voice his agreement when the door opened and Casey stepped onto the porch. Ezra was shocked; she had grown into a beautiful young woman, but her face bore the weight of a lifetime. She smiled at Nathan and Josiah, but there was no youthful life in her eyes.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered, smiling, as she kissed them both. They murmured something in response, took her hands and spoke softly; the tones were hushed but friendly, but Ezra could not make out what they were saying.

"Well, let's go on inside," Nettie said, herding them all towards the door. "It's gettin' colder, an' it won't do for us all to come down with anything. I do hope Mr. Tanner, Mr. Larabee and Mr. Wilmington are all right."

"My guess, ma'am," Nathan said as he passed into the house, "is that none of em are thinkin' much on the weather right now."

They went inside and closed the door, and the yard fell silent once more. Ezra blinked; he was obviously missing something- he surmised that JD was inside, and Vin and Chris must be hunting in the mountains. But where was he in all this? He turned to the spirit.

"How much time has passed since-?"

"Two years," the Ghost replied. "Lot of changes in that time."

"Obviously," Ezra said, looking around. "Nathan's dressing habits have altered considerably."

"Well, that's what happens when you go to live in an Indian village," the Ghost replied lazily. "He an' Josiah have been there, oh, bout two years, tho Josiah wanders off quite a bit. His heart broke when that church burned down, you know."

"Yes," Ezra muttered sadly, thinking about how dedicated the former preacher had been to rehabilitating that church. He had rather admired Josiah's grit; the man had barely healed from the wounds he received at the hands of Anderson and his crazed men than he was up on the roof pounding nails. He was determined to see that church renewed no matter the cost in toil or pain, and Ezra could only marvel at that sort of endeavor, because he knew he himself could never attempt it. And now it was all gone, and the gambler felt a sympathetic pain in his heart for his friend.

The Ghost noted his thoughtful expression and hitched his thumbs in his gunbelt. "Well, you don't got to be sad. You were safe an' sound outta town when the gunfight occurred. Long as you were OK, what difference does a burned-down church make?"

Ezra glanced back at him. "Where was I?"

"Why, you were out seekin' your fortune," the Ghost replied, as if it was obvious. "After winnin' that pile, you were a rich man, so it was goodbye Four Corners. Judge Travis understood, even wished you well. It's what you always wanted, right?"

Ezra bit his lip, thinking. The answer had been fairly clear before, but it did not seem to come as easily as it used to.

"Right?"

The gambler decided that he was not about to let this bothersome specter see his discomfort, and squared his shoulders. "I fail to see the point of ridiculing my desires. It seems plain that my departure has had little effect on the others-" he wondered at the burning in his gut as he said this-"so I must question your harsh judgment of my actions. We all seem to have turned out just fine."

The Ghost stared at him in a very unsettling manner, and Ezra watched as a grin slowly spread over his face.

"You got no idea," the Ghost finally said, "how much I've been hoping you'd say that."

With a bang and a flash the scene changed; they were now standing in a clearing in the middle of a very thick forest. The sky had become cloudy, and a steady fall of snow was drifting to the ground in a tranquil scene of winter beauty. Time had flown; judging by the daylight, Ezra guessed it to be midafternoon. Given the setting, he supposed that they were going to come upon Chris and Vin hunting, and he looked around expectantly.

"You may like to think," the Ghost was saying, as he folded his arms and ignored the white dusting his ebony clothing was accumulating, "that your decision to leave town didn't make any difference. That would make everything neat and uncomplicated, wouldn't it? But you couldn't be more wrong, an' it's my job to show you just what sort of impact that one selfish act had on the lives of the men you worked with. Then it'll be up to you whether it was worth it or not."

The soft crunching of horse's hooves gently stirred the frigid air, and through the trees Ezra could see a rider slowly making his way towards the clearing. As he got closer, Ezra realized that it was Chris, still wearing all black and still as cautious as ever; as he rode he kept a sharp eye on every tree and rock, alert as a cat. Ezra presumed he was hunting, then noticed that he had no gun in his hand.

Suddenly Chris sat straight up in his saddle, instantly at the ready as the noises of another horse reached his ears and those of Ezra and the Ghost. Then he relaxed, and Ezra was amazed at the tormented expression which then appeared on his face. It was a curious mixture of joy and pain, and Ezra looked to see what could possibly be causing Chris Larabee so much anguish.

The other horseman appeared; it was Vin, looking much rougher and more haggard that Ezra had ever seen him. His hair was longer and his clothes bore the evidence of many years of hard living. As the tracker slowly guided Sire to stand near Chris, his face bore the same tormented look that Chris's did, as if he were overjoyed to see Chris and deathly frightened at the same time.

But he tried to replace it with a small smile as he said in a low voice, "Hey, cowboy."

Ezra saw Chris start and take a hard swallow, not even trying to smile as his face twitched with deep emotion, his voice rough. "Hey, Vin."

Vin's eyes shifted to behind Chris. "See anybody else out there?"

"Hell, Vin," Chris replied, shifting in his saddle. "Ain't nobody on this whole Goddamned mountain but us. No Federal commander's gonna send his troops out to look for you on Christmas."

The tracker nodded, but looked less than reassured. "I can tell you, the blues were pretty thick between here an' the border. Thought for sure they saw me a couple of times, didn't want em followin' you here an' catchin' you out too." He paused and eyed Chris warmly. "God, I'm glad you made it, though. Been a long lonely year. How're the boys?"

Chris shrugged, still not trusting himself to talk much. "Oh, fine. They'll be up later."

Vin's eyes grew wide. "Aw, dammit, Chris, they know that's too dangerous. I ain't runnin' from no piss-ant bounty hunters no more, this is the Federal army that's after me. They get caught with me they'll be hung."

The other man remained calm. "They know the risks, Vin. But they ain't seen you in a year, an' besides, if any trouble starts we can handle it." A sad smile spread across his pale face. "It'll be just like old times, us fightin' together again."

A wistful look crossed Vin's face, then he lowered his head. "But this time we'll be fightin' against the law, not for it."

"They'd do it for you. We all would."

Vin looked up, his blue eyes bright with pain. "I know. Just wish I could see you boys more'n once a year. Things in Mexico are pretty grim."

Chris watched him carefully, then cleared his throat. "Vin, look-when Buck and I are through up here, we'll come down-"

Vin was already shaking his head. "We talked about this, Chris. I can't let you do that. This ain't like Tascosa. They think I killed a Federal soldier."

Chris nodded in sad frustration, toying with the reins and looking off into the snowy woods. "I know," he sighed, then looked back. "Still don't regret stoppin' that lynch mob from hangin' you, but I reckon things just went from bad to worse. If there weren't so many people in that damn square we might know who really shot that soldier."

Vin smiled a bit, snowflakes clinging to his long lashes. "Can't fault you an' the others for savin' my hide, Chris. Most other men would've just let me swing an' not risk their own necks."

Chris looked at him seriously, his eyes glinting like steel in the winter light. "Won't none of us let the others fall, Vin. That won't ever change, no matter what else does."

The tracker returned his gaze, a warm gratitude filling the depths of his blue eyes. Then he sighed. "Yeah, I know. But since then it's been nothin' but runnin' an' fightin', an' I can't put you boys through that hell."

Chris's eyes grew grim as he leaned forward. "Vin, we're already in hell. Might as well be there together."

The other man regarded him with surprised gratitude, then slowly nodded. "Guess we are. Y'know," he said softly, allowing his gaze to wander to the snow-covered forest around them and the white flakes falling silently to the ground, "I was just thinkin' as I was riding' up here, how much this reminds me of the times we'd ride home through the mountains in the winter, just the seven of us an' the fallin' snow. Seemed like it was only us in the whole world, an' that was just fine. It was mighty odd," Vin continued, looking back at Chris, and his blue eyes were warm with remembrance, "but that always made me feel like there weren't anythin' in the world we couldn't lick, long as we were together.."

Chris leaned over in his saddle and nodded sadly, his eyes distant, looking at something long gone. "Yep. I remember."

Vin looked down at the worn reins in his hands, shook his head. "Sure do miss that." Then he looked up again. "How's Buck doin'?"

Chris looked into the distance and winced. "Still the same. Been keepin' a close eye on im, his drinkin's not as bad as before, but he's still lettin' the rage get to im."

Vin looked away into the gently falling snow and let out a mournful grunt. "Never thought you'd be takin' care of Buck." He looked back at Chris. "Maybe it'll stop when you find Brecknell."

Ezra's head snapped up; Brecknell-that was the name of one of the men he was to play poker with, the surly man with the sleeve gun like his own. What did he have to do with all this?

Chris was nodding. "I hope so. Don't know how much longer he can go on like this."

The snow was falling thicker now; both men sat quietly, watching the delicate flakes blanket the rough ground. Finally Vin sighed.

"Well, you tell im for me," he said softly, "that when you boys do find that sonuvabitch I hope you give him hell for me."

Chris nodded somberly, a cold light in his green eyes.

Vin looked up, another thought behind his eyes. "Ever hear from Ezra?"

The gambler listened intently, but Chris was shaking his head.

"Nope, still nothing. Like he vanished or something. Guess he's too busy bein' rich to think on us anymore."

"Huh," Vin said, tilting his head. "Would've thought he'd at least answer Buck's telegram."

"Said they couldn't find him," Chris replied. "Can't find his mother either. Guess they just don't want to be found."

Vin grunted. "I always thought he had a lot of grit under that fancy exterior. But it don't seem right of him to forget his friends like that."

Chris scowled as he sat up. "Don't reckon we ever were his friends, Vin. He preferred to go it alone, an' that's what he's doin', so I say we leave Ezra Standish where he is and solve our own problems."

His comrade looked thoughtful, nodded, then squinted at the sky.

"You better go," Vin breathed, his voice soft in the falling snow. "They might be trackin' me."

Chris turned to him. "Two make better odds than one."

"Dammit, Chris," Vin said fervently, "I can't let you go an' get yourself killed. Buck needs you, an' so do the others. You're all they got left to remind em. I'll be fine, I been fine for two years now, an' if I don't come back next year-"

He stopped, his expression stricken; Chris's was too, as both men realized the possibility that they might never meet again. Vin swallowed and continued, his voice stronger now.

"If I don't come back you'll know I went down fightin'."

They stared at each other in silence, each man knowing the wisdom of Vin's words but fighting to accept it. Finally Chris drew in a fierce, angry breath.

"You'll come back," he said. "You're a Tanner."

The two men clasped arms tightly, said nothing more; but their emotions lay plain on their faces, friendship battling with grief. Vin's eyes were wet; Chris's burned with a rage too deep for tears. Finally they separated; a last look, then Vin gave a small wave and rode quickly away into the cover of the falling snow. Chris watched him go, stood still for a long time, then muttered an oath and turned Valor around to head back down the mountain.

The Ghost looked at Ezra, who was watching Chris ride away in confusion as he tried to sort out what he had seen. But only one person had the answers, and he looked at the Ghost.

"Vin Tanner's hiding out in Mexico?"

"Yep," the Ghost replied casually; they began to walk through the forest, the snow falling around them. When no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Ezra came up beside him and practically grabbed him in anxiety for information.

"I don't understand," he admitted. "What's he doing down there? And what the devil does that Brecknell fellow have to do with all this?"

The Ghost stuck his hands into his duster pockets as he walked. "Well, for starters, there is no Charles Brecknell. His real name is Laurence Lancaster-least that's what his wanted posters call him."

Ezra wasn't all that surprised. "He's on the run as well?"

"For armed robbery," the Ghost affirmed, stepping over a fallen branch. "He's been gamblin' his way from Cedar City in the Utah territory tryin' to get south. Hittin' little towns like Four Corners, tryin' not to get noticed. You takin' his kitty away when you won that money made him mighty sore."

"Yes-but-" Ezra ducked a low-hanging limb as he tried to remember. "Didn't Mr. Jackson say I threw him out of Four Corners?"

"Sure you did, for causin' a fuss in the saloon, but none of you knew he was a wanted man, an' it didn't take long for him an' some of his pals to come back lookin' for you," the Ghost replied. "You weren't there, of course-you'd already left for San Francisco. But the other men were, and Vin got collared by a bounty hunter during the gunfight. The other men tried to stop the hanging, a soldier got killed, Vin got away and he's been on the run ever since. It was pretty easy to pin the killing on him and up the bounty on his head to $3000."

Ezra stopped, astonished. "$3000?"

"Well, sure," the Ghost replied. "Not only is the army looking for him, every bounty hunter in the Southwest is too. So naturally, he keeps a pretty low profile. That's only the second time he's seen Chris Larabee in two years. So I guess that poker game produced more than your fortune, didn't it?"

Ezra felt something clutch at his throat as he turned wide eyes towards the Ghost. "You mean, all this has happened because of that accursed poker game?"

The Ghost folded his arms and looked up before turning his gaze back to Ezra, as if trying to explain a complicated matter to a small child. "No, Ezra, it wasn't the poker game, it was what you did after the poker game. You were already planning to leave when you returned to Four Corners that Christmas and found out about Toshi. But by the time you got out to the village, the boy was dead."

Ezra let out a soft moan, picturing himself riding into the village and finding himself too late to help. He could almost see the kid, waiting for him as Ezra had waited for his mother when he was a child; Ezra's hope was doomed to disappointment, and he had always felt sorry for himself over it, but Toshi had suffered a far crueler fate.

"So, after that happened," the Ghost went on, "you decided to bury the pain and guilt by turning to your old standby, gettin' rich. You still had the money, and the chance, so rather than try to deal with the situation, you decided to leave. You thought if you got rich enough fast enough the pain would go away, that money was the only reliable cure; you didn't need the other men to help, in fact you decided it was better to avoid further hurt and cut yourself off from them altogether. And you left, and they had one less gun to guard their backs when Brecknell and his men showed up."

He waved his arm after Chris and Vin. "I don't suppose the lives of these men matter all that much as long as you were comfortable and made your pile."

"Well," Ezra sputtered, "I certainly wouldn't have wished this on them. They may be a tad uncouth and uncivilized, but they are honorable men-I know Tanner would never kill a Federal soldier."

"He didn't," the Ghost remarked, turning to Ezra, "someone else killed that man, but who cares? It's blood they want, not justice. The kind of justice you men fought for once, before that gunfight changed everything. And I'm not just talking about Tanner, either."

Ezra gulped. "There's more?"

"Oh, yes," the Ghost grinned. Ezra's eyes grew wide and he took a step backwards.

"I refuse to go on," he said, a tremor of fear in his voice. "I'm starting to doubt the veracity of this, this can't possibly all be because of me."

"That's an easy attitude to take, Standish," the Ghost said; the snow was blinding now. "Easy, but wrong, and if you don't see it all you'll never understand how wrong it is."

The snow slowed, then stopped; the white curtain melted away to reveal the Four Corners cemetery. The sun was well on its way to the western horizon; the clouds had parted enough to allow for a dazzling winter sunset ablaze with pinks and purples. Ezra looked around, puzzled; what were they doing back in Four Corners? The area was completely deserted, and he was about to turn to the Ghost and voice his question when a faint voice reached his ears.

"It's Christmas again, kid."

Ezra whirled, shocked; that sounded like Buck, but where was he? Searching the graveyard, he finally saw a dark form seated next to one of the newer headstones, tucked away in the corner. Curious, Ezra moved closer, fighting down an increasingly painful anticipation of what he would find; but he had to know.

As he drew closer, he saw that Buck was looking rather peaked and worn; the face was thinner, and had lost its youthful ardor Ezra had always known it to possess. Buck was sitting casually, knees drawn up, hands barely crossed over them; but his eyes were red, and his voice low and laden with deep grief. When Ezra got close enough to read the tombstone it confirmed his worst fears, and he gripped the fenceposts in horrified realization.

The sharply chiseled letters read JONATHAN DANIEL DUNNE 1860-1880.

"Oh my God," he whispered, as he deciphered the scene. He turned anguished eyes to the Ghost, who only watched him impassively.

"How could you be so heartless to show me this?" he demanded, his throat burning with grief and rage. The Ghost remained calm.

"Now how is this heartless, Standish?" he asked in surprise. "You men weren't friends or anything, right? Just a bunch of hired guns. I thought you'd be curious, that's all. Didn't think you'd actually give a damn."

Ezra found he was trembling; my God, JD was dead, the kid didn't deserve that, what happened? Before he could ask any questions Buck began to speak again, and Ezra listened closely, hoping for some answers.

"Don't know if it's Christmas where you are, kid, if you're anywhere," Buck was saying quietly, and Ezra's heart ached at the lost tone in his voice. "Sure hope you are, but I don't reckon I really believe in that anymore. Josiah says you are, but he don't sound so sure either. But hell, even if you can't hear me, it won't hurt none to just set an' talk to you for a while. You don't mind neither way, right?"

He paused, looked down, drew a breath. "We all still miss ya somethin' awful, kid. Still don't seem possible that we won't never have to keep you from goin' an' gettin' yourself into trouble. Used to drive me up a wall with them crazy dime-novel notions of yours. God, JD," he dragged one hand roughly across his eyes. "I sure could use some of them notions right now, cause the real-life ones ain't too good."

Ezra's trembling grew worse; he turned to the Ghost and grabbed his coat. "Get me out of here."

The specter threw him an angry glance. "Are you going to disrespect his grief by pretending it won't exist if you can't see it?"

The gambler was speechless, unwilling to admit that his own grief was threatening to overwhelm him. He'd kind of liked JD; despite the boy's occasionally annoying inexperience, he had an innocent bravery which Ezra found refreshingly different from the types of men he usually encountered in his travels. He could still remember his grudging admiration the day Judge Travis walked into the Four Corners saloon and asked for a volunteer to be sheriff; Ezra had ducked down and tried not to be noticed, but JD had stepped forward without hesitation, ignoring the danger, his eyes shining with excitement, ready for whatever lay ahead, while Ezra stayed in the shadows.

Ezra recalled that he had been trying to convince JD that they should all move on; the boy seemed genuinely disappointed that they were splitting up, an attitude which Ezra found both naive and oddly touching. Of course, once he became sheriff, JD had arrested him on the Judge's orders for bail jumping at Fort Laramie, and Ezra had been pretty sore about that, but he had to admire the boy's courage, because Ezra knew the answer when Travis asked if the boy was the only brave man in the bar that day. Now, just like Toshi, he was gone, and listening to Buck's mourning only worsened the horrible, unfamiliar feeling in Ezra's own gut.

"Sorry, kid," Buck sniffed loudly, trying to compose himself. "I-I reckon you'd like to know, Chris an' me, we're still lookin' for the bastard that done this to you, an' we ain't gonna stop til he's put away for good. You got my blood oath on that, kid. Brecknell's gonna rue the day he gunned you down."

Ezra's blood froze; Brecknell again?

"I know you'd hate it, JD," Buck was saying, taking off his hat and running one shaking hand through his black hair, "but I can't stop dwellin' on the day you got hit. Chris an' the others, they're tryin' to help, but they can't do nothin'. Cause the only thing that'd really help is for you..." he paused, his throat constricting; he fought a hitching sob, struggled to talk, "...is for you to be sittin' there in the sheriff's chair when I walk in to the jail, lookin' ready to take on the world in that dang stupid hat. Remember the fights we'd have over that hat? You said you'd never change it cause Bat Masterson wore one just like it. God, kid," he sighed, lifting his tear-stained face to the sky, "far as I'm concerned you had Bat beat all to hell."

Ezra listened in anguish; more than once he had to restrain himself from trying to help Buck, realizing that there was nothing he could do. He had never seen Buck–or anyone, really–so distraught. Throughout his life Ezra had made it a point to avoid such intense emotions-they clouded the mind and affected the judgment, after all- but here he was forced to face them, and the depth of Buck's grief struck Ezra to his soul. Of all the men, Ezra had felt closest to the good-natured gunslinger, and to see him transformed into the bitter, angry person before him twisted something in Ezra's stomach. He found himself grieving not only for JD, but for Buck as well, for it was obvious that the Buck Wilmington he had known had been dead for two years as well.

So intent was Ezra on his reverie that he didn't notice the approach of Chris Larabee; but suddenly there he was, standing in the cemetery close to Buck, watching silently, waiting for the proper moment to speak. Buck finally noticed him too; he lifted his head but didn't look at him.

"Chris," he said simply, sniffing.

"Buck," was the quiet reply. "Want me to come back?"

"Uh-" Buck looked around, as if he wasn't sure where he was. "Uh, no, I'm-I'm OK. It's just-just such a goddamned shame."

He wiped his face with the bandanna but didn't rise, just sat next to the grave for a moment.

"JD wouldn't want you to keep beatin' yourself up like this," Chris observed.

Buck laughed, an ugly, hollow sound. "Yeah, I know. He'd say, c'mon now, Buck, none of them men in the novels ever acted this way. But I-I just keep thinkin' Chris, that there was somethin' I coulda done-if we'd just known Brecknell had that sleeve gun-"

Ezra felt himself go completely numb.

"Don't go blamin' yourself for that, Buck," Chris urged. "There was no way any of us coulda known about that. It wasn't your fault he used it when JD tried to arrest him."

Buck shook his head, becoming agitated. "Well, it might not have been my fault, Chris, but it was my arms that boy died in, an' it was my hands that dug his grave, an' I ain't never gonna forget seein' him put in the ground if I live to a thousand. So don't even try helpin' me. I can't be helped."

Chris stood silent; Ezra was stunned at the bitterness in Buck's voice. Finally the black-clad gunslinger cleared his throat, his expression hesitant.

"You been drinkin' again, Buck?"

Buck shot the black-clad gunslinger a savage look and staggered to his feet, his face turning red with fury.

"God damn you, Chris Larabee," he hissed, coming to within an inch of his old friend's face, "God damn you for even THINKIN' I'd come to the boy's grave drunk. I oughta blow your brains out for sayin' it." And he drew back and took a swing at Chris; the other man blocked it, and grappled with the gunslinger for a moment, ending up in a rough embrace.

Buck clutched at Chris, his anger spent but his grief still tearing at him, as the two men slowly sank to their knees in the frozen dust. Chris was steadying Buck, trying to keep him from falling as the trembling gunslinger made an effort to gather himself back together. Ezra watched, feeling drained himself; he had never seen Larabee so gentle with any human being before.

"Just worried about you, that's all," Chris said in a low voice. "C'mon now, Buck? Buck? You know I'd never think you'd hurt JD's memory. But I know what grief can do to a man–eat out his soul from the inside til there's nothin' left. Don't turn that grief on yourself, Buck, listen to me. Turn it on Brecknell, and save it for when we catch him, and then you can give it all to him, for JD."

Buck choked a few times, then sniffed loudly and drew himself up, detaching himself from Chris's arms. He sat back on his heels and wiped his eyes with his bandanna, nodding as he cleared his throat.

"Yeah, you're right, Chris," he whispered in a tear-roughened voice. "Sorry, I just...forgot who to get mad at, for a second there."

Chris placed his hand consolingly on Buck's back as he stood. "It's OK, Buck, I know. if you don't want to come to Nettie's we'll understand."

Buck shook his head as he stood, his knees still a little shaky. "No, no, I'm OK. JD, he'd want Casey to know his friends ain't gonna desert her, or Nettie neither. An' besides, I ain't ashamed to say you boys are all that's keepin' me goin' now, that an' puttin' Brecknell to an early, painful death."

His friend smiled a bit. "Then I reckon we'd best eat first."

They walked out of the cemetery towards the horses. Buck looked at Chris. "Did you see Vin?"

"Yup." The muscles in Chris' jaw twitched.

"He OK? You tell im we'll be up tonight?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, but be careful, Vin thinks they might be tailin' him. I told im after we took care of Brecknell we'd join him in Mexico. Maybe Josiah can come too, but I don't want to ask Nathan to leave Rain."

They reached Valor and Beauty, and prepared to mount up.

"Hell, Chris," Buck said as he put one foot in the stirrup, "Nathan ain't gonna stay behind on this."

"Guess you're right," Chris agreed as he swung himself up and gathered his reins. "Spose it'll almost be like old times."

Buck was in his saddle; he glanced at the tombstone shining in the light of the soft pink winter sunset, and his face grew dark.

"I don't think so, Chris," he said quietly, and tipped his hat in the direction of the grave before turning Beauty around and riding up the empty street. Chris glanced first at Buck, then at the cemetery; Ezra saw his expression turn to one of respect mingled with an almost uncontrollable sadness as he looked back at JD's quiet resting place. Then Chris looked at the retreating form of Buck, and the gambler could see his face take on an air of concern as he considered his friend's tenuous state. A moment of reflection, then Chris Larabee spurred Valor forward into the gathering Christmas night, and he was soon swallowed up by the wintry gloom.

Ezra watched as they were swallowed up by the falling darkness, then looked back at the cemetery, a blank expression on his face; but his eyes were filled with a numb horror. He walked slowly through the gate, across the snow-covered ground, and stood in front of JD's grave, still not able to believe that the young sheriff was dead. No, that simply wasn't possible; JD had too much life to be dead, too much ahead of him to be a cold body, lying under an uncaring blanket of dirt and snow.

But Ezra blinked, shut his eyes, shook his head. And JD was still dead.

After an eternity of staring at the horrific headstone in mounting shame, he murmured, "I could have stopped it. If I'd just..." he swallowed, then turned anguished eyes to the Ghost, who was standing nearby. "It was me Brecknell wanted, wasn't it?"

"Of course," the Ghost replied, leaning on the rickety picket fence. "But JD did just fine as a substitute, and managing to ride off with Vin as well soothed Brecknell's pride just fine. Of course, if you had been there you could have helped the men fight off Brecknell and his group, warned JD about the gun, probably stopped Vin from getting captured. But you'd already decided that what happened to them didn't matter half as much as what happened to you."

Ezra's breath was coming in short, angry gasps as he stalked up to the Ghost. "Yes, but dammit, I never thought it would come to this! Why didn't they tell me JD was dead? Why am I not with them trying to find that bastard? I should be here now, not in San Francisco. They don't deserve this, none of them do."

The Ghost smiled. "Suddenly feeling all chummy, are we?"

The reply was an angry scowl. "Of course, damn you. These men are-"

He caught himself, surprised; was he really going to say "my friends"? Impossible, but the words were on his tongue. Why would he call them friends, they were business acquaintances only, the other men old Travis had hired with him to protect the town. When this was over, maybe before, he'd move on as he always had, nothing to keep him here certainly, these men were no different than all the others he'd run into. They were drifters like him, outcasts and vagabonds, caring for nothing beyond the next day.

But...no, that wasn't right. He couldn't say that Chris Larabee, Vin Tanner and the others were like anyone he'd ever met before. They gave a damn about other people, about justice, a trait so rare in Ezra's experience that he hadn't recognized it until now, when he thought about it. They'd be the last to call themselves saints, certainly, but Ezra realized that when they rode together, something was there, something he'd never noticed before, intangible and undefinable but powerful beyond anything they could claim alone. It wasn't just Chris, or Vin, or Buck, it was all of them together, a combined force which moved among them and through them to bind them in a united stand against whatever they had to face. Maybe only now, as he witnessed the absence of that unity, could he see where it had existed and understand what had been lost.

He shook his head, trying to clear the confusion; something in him was aching and lost, but he didn't know what, this was all too much. He could hear his mother's voice again, the old words: Don't get close to anyone, don't accept friendship. They'll only die, or leave, like your father, like Amelia. It's not worth the pain, best to stay away, why get hurt again, money's the only thing that lasts, that you can count on. Get rich and you'll have all the friends you need, and if they're not real friends so what, at least they won't hurt you. You'll be safe that way.

Ezra thought of what he had seen, stared at the forlorn little cemetery plot in front of him, and realized that for the first time since he could remember he didn't care if he was safe. Something far more important than his safety was in jeopardy, and he didn't understand it or even like it, but he knew it was right. Maybe he and the other men weren't really friends; they were more than that, although exactly what, Ezra couldn't say. Whatever was tying him to the others went deeper than friendship; Ezra had never had a brother, but he supposed this might be what brotherhood felt like, and the intensity of this feeling surprised him and scared the hell out of him at the same time.

He became aware that the Ghost was looking at him patiently, and he swallowed, wincing at the dryness in his throat.

"As I was saying," he continued, his voice slightly hoarse, "these men are my friends and I hardly feel that this should be the reward for all they have done."

The Ghost shrugged. "That's kind of out of my hands, Ezra. And it's a little late for you to give a damn. Time to do that was when you were making the decision to go to San Francisco."

A sharp wind began to blow down the street and through the bleached, broken tombstones; it seemed to pause and caress JD's gleaming marker before moving on. Ezra stared at the bleak headstone, felt an uncomfortable burning sensation crawl up his throat and try to choke him. He slowly shook his head.

"It can't be too late," he insisted. "There has to be something I can do. Please," he turned his gaze towards the Ghost, his green eyes ablaze with desperation, "tell me that I came back and helped them. Give me that reassurance, I feel as if they're already dead."

The Ghost looked at him somberly, took off his hat and let it hang down his back. His blond hair fell across his eyes as he looked at Ezra with a drilling glare. "The chance you had to be with these men and help them is past, Ezra. You dealt yourself out of this particular hand, content to walk away with your winnings. But only you would know how much that fortune cost you."

Ezra stared at him, frightened by the darkness which immediately fell around them. After a second the gloom lifted; they were somewhere on the plains, a wild, unkempt hillside of tall prairie grass and gnarled trees blasted by the desert winds. The sky was clear, and a full moon was out; its silvery rays illuminated a bleak landscape; they seemed to be on the outskirts of a small frontier town.

Nearby was a large building standing dark against the starlit sky, a few windows blinking at them with unsteady lamplight. In the distance stood a collection of smaller buildings; on the near horizon stood the mountains, their jagged peaks black and dangerous-looking in the moonlight. Nobody was about on this bitterly cold night, but the wind carried the faint tunes of a church choir singing Christmas carols; somewhere in the town, its inhabitants were celebrating. But that was far away; here there was only darkness, cold, and loneliness.

Ezra looked around, saw a few neat rows of rough polished blocks standing in the waving grass. He took a step back, horrified; they were in a graveyard, the most desolate one he had ever seen. Some of the stones had names carved on them, but many bore only the word "Unknown" and a number.

He gave a puzzled look to the Ghost. "Why are we here?"

He received a disgusted look. "Now Ezra, I'd think even you could figure this one out."

"Don't play games with me now, dammit!" Ezra replied fiercely. "I thought you were going to show me my future."

The Ghost stood back, his green eyes boring into Ezra's soul. "I'd love to, Ezra. Cept you didn't have one. We're here," he continued, raising a finger to point, "because YOU'RE here."

Ezra felt every sense in his body go numb; the Ghost was pointing to one of the nameless headstones, which one he couldn't even tell. but that didn't matter; his mind reeled, that couldn't be. He lunged forward and grabbed the Ghost by his black lapels, shaking him.

"That's not possible!" he screamed, against the wailing wind. "I can't be dead! They need my help!"

"They needed it when you decided to leave, too," the Ghost returned, unfazed by Ezra's action. "But after Toshi's death you didn't care, figured you'd be safer from further hurt in Frisco. You didn't think you needed anybody, and that's why there was noone to help you when you needed it. You didn't think someone might rob you, and beat you into unconsciousness, and leave you to rot on a deserted mountain road. You didn't think that the others would never find out what happened to you, because there wasn't enough left to identify when you were found."

The Ghost pointed to the large building. "That's a hospital over there, and this is where they bury the paupers, people who die with no family or name that they know of. Every once in a while they'll find someone dead in the desert and put them here too. Like you."

Ezra's eyes were round as he heard the words; his grip loosened, and he released the Ghost, his face frozen in terror.

"Oh my God," he whispered, then grabbed the Ghost again, throttling him despite the fact that Ezra knew he couldn't harm the spirit. "You're lying!"

"Sorry, Ezra," the Ghost replied, with Chris Larabee's smile, "but we ain't showed you nothing tonight but the truth. You never got to Frisco, you've been dead for two years, and nobody ever knew. You died alone, just like you lived, and lie forgotten in a pauper's grave."

Ezra stood still for a moment, his eyes locked with the spirit's; he searched those icy green eyes desperately, but found only truth in their eternal depths. He began to shake violently; his fists loosened, then tightened once more as another question leapt to his mind.

"My mother?" he asked in a pleading, strangled whisper.

The Ghost s gaze was level. "She's still alive, and searching for you. But she'll never find you, and it's going to break her heart. "

Ezra let out a choking gasp and released the Ghost; he stumbled backwards a bit and looked out at the small sea of faceless markers, feeling his blood freeze in his body. So this was where his life had ended-an unmarked grave in an unknown town, and his riches lining the pockets of a thief–just like his former partner Henry Dodge, he realized, and shuddered. Ezra sank to his knees in the frozen grass, clutching his head in despair; and he realized that the piercing agony he felt was not due to his loss of the money, or his lonely fate. It was the idea that his decision to leave the Seven had lead to its destruction, and that there was no longer any way he could help them. The only good thing he had ever done with his life was now irretrievably lost.

Vin might be gunned down or hung; Buck might go mad with mourning and drink himself into an early grave; Chris and the others could only try to stay alive and preserve what they could of their former strength. But it would never be the same, and there was nothing Ezra could do about it. He had ridden away from the group once before, the first time they fought together; but he had reconsidered, ridden back, and helped them defeat their enemies. This time there would be no redemption, and he felt utterly damned.

An idea struck him; his head whipped up, and he clutched at the hem of the Ghost's black duster which was whipping wildly in the winter wind.

"This isn't it, is it?' he gasped, standing on his knees. "For God's sake, tell me I can change this!"

"Course you can change it, Ezra," the Ghost replied, heedless of the icy blast and gazing at Ezra with an unrelentingly piercing stare. "There's always a second chance. The only time it's too late is when you're in your grave."

The wind began to howl, the grass slicing through the air like a million sharp-tounged whips; a thick darkness descended as the stars, the moon, the town all vanished in a swirling blackness which seemed to emanate from the Ghost's black clothing. Ezra grabbed at him, terrified; was he going to be left here, without hope of erasing what he had seen? His hands closed around the spirit's garments, but they turned to smoke in his grasp and seemed to melt away; there was nothing substantial for him to hold on to, and Ezra found himself falling into the void. He let out a loud cry, thinking his heart would burst; just as it seemed that the rushing wind would deafen him and the darkness blind him forever, he slammed into something hard and cold, and let out a yell as he did so. Then he realized that he had stopped moving.

Something was on top of him; he flailed a bit, throwing it off, and saw that it was the fancy bedspread which had apparently fallen with him from the bed. He lay still for a moment, blinking and looking around wildly; he was lying on the cold wooden floor of his rented room above the saloon. The chamber was dim, but he could see the pearly glow of a winter morning creeping softly through the lace curtains. A sharp gasping sound reached his ears; he searched for its source in confusion until he realized it was his own ragged breathing.

Ezra sat up slowly, trembling, still partially wound in the bedspread. His wide green eyes searched the room; everything was as it should be, there were his things on the bureau, the stove, cold and dark now, the ashes of his turkey sandwich quietly rotting inside. He leaned his back against the bed and ran one shaky hand across his face; my God, he thought, was it all a dream?

He ran over the entire event, feeling his horror mount as he recalled every detail. He knew it was an insane notion, but every fiber of his soul spoke to him of the reality of what had happened. But–he could change it now. None of that had to happen, if he could just act quick enough. He staggered to his feet, wiped the tears from his eyes as he grabbed his pocketwatch; almost nine. What if he was too late? How long had he been gone? Was it even Christmas any more?

Ezra steadied himself and went to the window; it was a beautiful clear day, just as he remembered from his vision with the Ghost of the Present. Pushing aside the curtains, he pulled up the sash and looked outside; a few people were about, and up the street he could hear the piano playing at Josiah's morning worship service.

He saw a man walking down the street, huddled against the cold. Leaning out of the window Ezra cried, "Excuse me, sir?"

The man stopped, looked up at Ezra in annoyance. "What?"

"This may sound like a foolish question, but–it is Christmas, isn't it?"

The man looked at him for a moment, then waved him away. "Go back to bed and sleep it off, you lousy drunk!"

"No, wait!" Ezra called as the man began to walk away. "I realize how absurd this is, but I, ah, do need to know."

The man paused, sighed, and looked up at Ezra. "Course it's Christmas. You think I'd be going to open my butcher shop at this time of the day if it wasn't?"

Ezra heaved a sigh of relief, dug a coin out of his pocket and tossed it at the man. "My thanks, sir."

The man picked up the coin, delighted now, and smiled up at Ezra. "Don't mention it. Hey–wanna buy a goose?"

"No, thank you!" Ezra replied, and quickly closed the window. The man shrugged, pocketed the coin, and went to tell his wife about that crazy Southern guy who yelled at him from the saloon.

Ezra felt giddy with hope as he swiftly completed his ablutions; it was still Christmas, he wasn't too late, there was still time. And he knew where he had to start.

The activity in the saloon was already picking up as he ran headlong down the stairs, almost tripping in his agitation. He struck the bottom steps very loudly and clumsily, attracting the attention of some of the patrons. He quickly recovered upon reaching the bottom of the stairs and saw Chris and the others sitting at a corner table, enjoying a quiet drink before heading out to the hunt.

He stood for a moment, not wanting them to see him just yet, and looked at the six men talking and laughing as they sat together. A strange feeling came over him as it realized that, even if it was all a dream, what that dream told him was true; God help them, there was something there when they were together. Even across the room Ezra could feel it, because he knew he was a part of it; it reached over and drew him in, saying, you belong here, too. Here was a home that could not be destroyed, a family that would stand beside him. And maybe someday he'd understand what was behind it; for now, its mere existence was enough, and he felt almost overwhelmed with emotion.

Somebody stood up; it was JD, mug of milk in hand. "Ezra! Over here!"

Ezra staggered a little, but tried to walk as nonchalantly as he could over to the table. but he couldn't help staring at JD, who seemed honestly happy that Ezra had shown up.

"Boy, sure glad we saw you before we left this morning," JD was saying as Ezra approached. "Some of us were, um, kind of wondering if you'd changed your mind about comin' with us."

"JD, now, let the man alone," Buck said as he worked his way through a particularly hard-boiled egg. "Ezra's got the right to make his own decisions, no matter how wrong-headed they are."

JD looked back at Buck and shrugged a bit, embarrassed. "Oh, hey, I didn't mean nothin'. Honest, Ezra, I was just-" He turned back to face Ezra, and found the gambler staring at him with a very strange, joyful light in his eyes.

The young sheriff stood still for a moment, waiting for Ezra to explain, wondering if he'd done something really wrong. But Ezra didn't speak, didn't move, didn't do anything. Finally, feeling a little uneasy at the intensity of Ezra's stare, JD said defensively, "What?"

Ezra blinked. "Ah, forgive me, Mr. Dunne, it's just such a pleasure to see you looking so, um, fit."

JD laughed as he sat down. "I looked this way yesterday, Ezra. But thanks anyway, I guess."

Josiah sat back in his chair and cocked his head. "You're lookin' mighty inspired today, Ezra. Would've liked to have you at services today."

"Yes, well," Ezra smiled, "I regret my absence, Mr. Sanchez, I had a rather...long night."

"Decide to come huntin' with us?" Vin inquired over his black coffee.

"Alas, Mr. Tanner, I cannot join you this morning," was Ezra's reply, as he scanned the room for the men he was to meet for poker. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nathan, cigar in hand, nudge Buck with a look which said, "Told you so!"

A dignified elderly gentleman came up on Ezra's right; he looked very pleased to see Ezra and extended his hand. "Ah, Mr. Standish, merry Christmas, sir. I trust you are prepared to try and win your money back today?"

Most of the other men thought they knew the answer, and had gone back to breakfast; so they were only half listening when Ezra said, "Unfortunately, sir, I will be unable to participate today. My apologies."

JD's head snapped up, followed by the rest of the men; Vin and Chris sat quietly, their eyes calmly puzzled.

"So you are comin', then?" Nathan asked, astonished.

"Not right now, Mr. Jackson," Ezra said, his voice tight as he found who he was looking for. "There are a few matters I must attend to first."

Without further explanation he strode over to the large poker table where several of the men were sitting. One of them, a dour-looking man in a beaten leather jacket, eyed Ezra suspiciously as he walked straight up to him.

"Something' I can do for you, Standish? Besides take more of your money, I mean?"

A few of the other men laughed, but Ezra's eyes were on fire as he glared at the man.

"As a matter of fact, there is, Mr. Brecknell–or should I say, Mr. Lancaster," Ezra replied, his voice tight. "You may surrender yourself for arrest."

The man's head shot up and he stared at Ezra for a second. Then he bolted for the door, knocking several patrons over in his haste to escape. He had almost reached it when Ezra tackled him, and both men fell to the ground in a tangle of flailing fists. As Chris and the others leapt to their feet and rushed over, guns at the ready, they saw a derringer spring from Lancaster's sleeve, aimed at Ezra's head; but Ezra seemed to have expected it, and with one violent motion wrenched the gun from the fugitive's grasp, pointing it straight into his face and cocking the hammer.

"Shall we try that again?' Ezra panted. He looked up as JD appeared, amazed.

"Mr. Dunne," he breathed, satisfied at the stunned look on Lancaster's face, "if you will have the goodness to telegraph Cedar City in the Utah territory I believe you will find that Mr. Lancaster here is wanted for armed robbery in their area."

JD blinked, then assumed his sheriff's air as he pulled out his guns. Ezra hauled the man to his feet and shoved him into Josiah's waiting grip.

"That was somethin', Ezra," JD said in admiration as he prepared to follow Josiah and Lancaster to the jail. "How'd you know he was a robber?"

Ezra shrugged. "Consider it a Christmas miracle. Oh-" he glanced at the derringer in his palm, remembered that it once was to end JD's life, and gripped it tightly in his fist before handing it to the young sheriff. He looked at JD seriously. "Be good enough to see that he doesn't get that back, would you?"

"Uh, sure," JD said, slightly bewildered, and pocketed the gun. He turned to the others. "We'll meet you guys on the mountain."

Vin nodded. "Can't start the hunt without you, JD."

The young man smiled, then dashed out after Josiah and the felon. Buck breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whew, nice job, Ezra, sure you don't wanna come punch out a few deer for us?"

Ezra searched the poker crowd again, looking for another face. "Mr. Wilmington, I'm afraid there is a more pressing matter I must attend to...ah, am I right in thinking that one of you gentlemen is a doctor?"

The elderly gentleman looked up. "That's me, Mr. Standish."

"Ah." Ezra walked up to him quickly. "Sir, may I procure your services today? I have a matter of vital medical importance which must be attended to immediately. I will pay whatever you see fit, but we must hurry."

The other man considered it. "Well, I hadn't planned on practicing today. What seems to be the problem? Are you ill?"

Ezra shook his head. "Not me. It's for a–um, I've had it on good authority that there is a fever striking the Seminole village. I fear I know someone who might be affected."

Nathan looked up. "Really? Where'd you hear that?"

"Oh–" Ezra shrugged and waved one hand, "just call it a highly reliable source." He looked back at the doctor. "Will you accompany me, sir?"

The man hesitated, then shrugged. "Very well, but I must insist on cash payment, and a good meal when I return."

Ezra was so visibly relieved that every witness wondered what could have caused him such distress. "Sir, for this favor you shall receive a meal at the finest restaurant in the territory."

Vin got to his feet. "Maybe we should all go."

"No, no," Ezra insisted, "the doctor will be quite sufficient , I'm sure. Mrs. Wells is counting on that hunt for the meat, and besides, you must all be there to instruct Mr. Dunne in the art of mountain hunting. I shudder to consider the consequences should he be unleashed on our wildlife unsupervised."

Buck thought about this and shrugged. "Well, OK, sounds good. But, are you really throwin' over your poker game?"

Ezra's eyes traveled to the men he was to play against, who were standing nearby, waiting for his answer. The thought of the money fluttered through his mind, almost a thousand dollars. He'd never see that kind of money again probably, and part of him protested at the idea of bypassing such an opportunity.

Then he looked at Buck and the other men, who were also waiting for his reply. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Mr. Wilmington, I'm afraid the muse of fortune will have to do without me today. I believe I shall accompany you gentlemen to Mrs. Wells' soiree after all."

The poker players made varying noises of disappointment over the missed chance to take any more of Ezra's money and wandered back to their table. Buck and the others exchanged glances of mild surprise; Nathan seemed particularly astonished, but then they all shrugged. The man had a right to change his mind, even if it did seem all but inexplicable.

"Right, then, we'll see you at the village then, Ezra," Vin said, finishing his coffee and tying his coat. The others rose, taking final bites and gulps and muttering similar sentiments as they moved towards the door.

The doctor turned to Ezra. "I shall meet you at the livery, Mr. Standish. I must say, though, you're a brave man to walk away from the chance to regain your fortune. You might have won quite a bit of money today."

Ezra watched as Chris and the other men filed out, felt that odd sensation of belonging again. He looked back at the doctor and smiled a bit.

"That may be so, sir, but I have a feeling that what I might have lost would have been infinitely more precious."



The crowd at Nettie Wells' ranch was becoming loud and boisterous, but she never for one minute regretted inviting seven men into her small ranch house. They had overflowed the table and were seated on every chair and box available, all talking, laughing and sharing the adventures of the day. Since Ezra had missed it, JD excitedly related his first experience at mountain hunting, and seemed very pleased at the gambler's praise for his assistance in bringing down the deer they were feasting on. Ezra also congratulated Vin on being able to kill the deer so cleanly with just a shot through the head, although he offered no explanation as to how he could have known the tracker had done this.

"Gentlemen," Josiah had intoned at the beginning of the feast, lifting his glass, "may I propose a toast of thanksgiving, that we are all able to gather here tonight healthy and whole. May the Lord see fit to do the same for us next year."

Although they were mostly hardened gunmen who had seen too much of the world's brutality, they all agreed with this and voiced their assent as they drank the toast. JD, though, stopped to wonder why Ezra had to pause and look away for a moment before downing his glass. The gambler seemed to recover quickly, though, and JD concluded that maybe he didn't like the wine. It was a fair guess, for JD had no way of knowing that Ezra was lifting his glass to the memory of Henry Dodge, and was swearing to himself that he would not waste the chance his old friend had given him.

Ezra had been fairly reticent most of the evening, spending his time listening to the other men talk and reflecting on how thankful he was that none of the future he had witnessed would transpire. He noticed Vin and Chris sitting together quietly off to the side, not saying much, just enjoying the rare peace, and Ezra felt eternally grateful that Chris would never have to watch Vin ride away alone to an uncertain fate, perhaps never to return, all because of Ezra's selfishness. He laughed with the rest of them as Buck and JD teased each other throughout dinner, and was truly glad that the horrific image of Buck dissolving in tears and rage over JD's grave as a result of Brecknell's brutality would remain only an unrealized nightmare. He shuddered at the thought of his mother spending her remaining years in agonized wonder over his disappearance, and resolved to write her a long-overdue letter, perhaps including an invitation to visit. None of the other men had any idea why the flashy gambler looked so wistful, and guessed he was still sore about losing his money the day before.

"Boy, Ezra," Buck was saying around a mouthful of apple cobbler, "that Toshi sure seemed happy to see you."

"Yeah, he must've shown you that card trick of his a million times," JD added, as he dug his fork into some stuffing, being careful not to bump his arm into Buck, who was sitting very close to him in the small living room.

"Good thing you took that doctor to im, tho," Nathan remarked. "That fever of his coulda been pretty bad."

Casey looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, a plate of food in her hands. "Is he gonna be OK?"

"Yeah, he's a tough little feller," Vin assured her, leaning against the wall nearby with his plate. "Doc gave him some stuff an' said he'll be better real soon."

"Long as he don't bug Ezra no more," JD smiled. "I swear, Ezra, you were with him all day, it's a wonder he didn't wear you out."

Ezra had eaten silently and said nothing during this exchange, but his green eyes turned thoughtful. Finally he shrugged, affecting disinterest. "The boy has quite a bit of intelligence. Such a gift should be encouraged."

"I'll say you encouraged it," Chris said quietly from his chair nearby. "The doctor said Toshi would've been dead by tomorrow if he hadn't treated him."

"Yeah, how about that," Nathan said with admiration, "Ezra saved a life. Maybe we should switch jobs."

Ezra gave him a skeptical glance. "I'll stick to the tables, thank you, Mr. Jackson. I still fully intend to attain affluence someday."

"Plus it'd be awful hard to get bloodstains outta them nice duds," Josiah noted lightly as he scraped his plate.

"That, too," Ezra nodded.

Nettie appeared wiping her hands on her apron. "Casey, I'm goin' out to dump them scraps to the hogs. Do me a favor and keep an eye on things, would you, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Casey replied, and Nettie slipped out. Ezra watched as Vin slipped out too a few moments later, and the gambler knew he was going to talk to Nettie and thank her for giving them all a place to come to for Christmas dinner. He would have to thank her himself as well.

"Hey, Ezra," JD said, looking over, "I telegraphed Cedar City like you said, an' sure enough that guy was wanted for robbin' a bank. Had a description and everything."

Ezra smiled as he lifted his drink to his lips. "Well, well. Imagine that."

"Yeah, said he's been makin' trouble in towns all over the map," JD remarked. "Good thing you knew he was there."

Ezra shrugged. "You receive the most remarkable information in my line of work, Mr. Dunne. I'm just pleased he's on his way back to Cedar City to be tried."

At this point Casey rose to her feet and quietly slipped out of the front door. Ezra noticed this and, remembering that Casey was planning to put snow down JD's back, leaned over towards Buck, who was sitting very close to the young sheriff.

"Um, Mr. Wilmington?"

Buck looked at him. "Hmm?"

"I believe you may want to situate yourself a bit further from Mr. Dunne."

The other man looked confused. "Why?"

Ezra looked expectantly at the door. "Call it gambler's intuition."

Buck scowled at him, puzzled, and didn't move.

Nathan sat back and smiled. "Well, folks, I think overall this been a right good Christmas."

"Amen, brother," Josiah said. "Even got you boys to church, an' I'd call that a miracle all by itself."

"It's looking really good," JD said, finishing his meal. "You shoulda been there, Ezra. Josiah an' Nathan, they got the place lookin' practically new."

"I'm sure they have," Ezra replied with a smile, remembering. "Long may it stay that way."

"Well, I'm feelin' a mite frustrated, to tell y'all the truth," Buck stated, putting down his plate. "Day's almost over an' I ain't kissed a pretty gal once."

"You kissed Casey," JD pointed out in a slightly insulted tone. Buck grinned a bit.

"That's true, JD, but I was thinkin' of someone a bit more...mature."

Chris chuckled and regarded his old friend. "Buck, am I always gonna have to watch out for you?"

Buck shot Chris a defensive look. "I look on it as my Christmas duty to give the gals a little of the Wilmington charm. Might as well be generous with what I got."

Only Ezra noticed when Casey slipped back in, one hand held behind her back and a devilish gleam in her eye. He scooted away from JD a bit, then glanced at Buck, who had ignored his advice to move, and shrugged. He'd tried, anyway.

In a lightning move Casey yanked open the back of JD's collar and dumped the snow she'd been holding in her hand down his shirt. With a yelp JD leapt to his feet, vainly grappling for the snow and almost knocking Buck off of his chair in the process. The gunslinger flailed his arms, trying to keep his balance, but was soon sprawled on the floor, shooting Ezra a decidedly astonished look. The gambler merely shrugged, his raised eyebrows and blank expression saying, "I tried to warn you."

"Dang it, Casey!" he yelled, and catapulted after her as the other men laughed.

"This oughta be good," Nathan chuckled as he got up and headed for the porch; from outside came the shouts and squeals as the two young people began battling it out. Eager to watch the fray, they all filed outside, shaking their heads in amusement.

The winter night was crisp and cold, the black velvet sky ablaze with stars just as Ezra remembered. Casey and JD were chasing each other around the yard, laughing and falling and getting up, while the others watched from the porch.

"That's one way to get your winter exercise," Nathan remarked.

"Thanks, I've got a few ideas of my own," Buck replied.

"Looks like JD learned a few things about huntin' today," Vin noted as JD got close enough to his prey to pelt her with a large handful of snow.

Ezra looked over to see Chris standing apart, watching the snowball fight; his expression was more wistful than amused. The gambler walked over to him, Chris nodded at the happy scene.

"Tonight it's snowballs," he said softly. "Tomorrow he'll be fighting with bullets. Seems a shame nights like this one can't last."

Ezra nodded, tilted his head back to look at the starlit sky, and said nothing. he knew what Chris was thinking, that after the peace and fellowship of this day the world would intrude again, and they'd have to return to the task of defending Four Corners from the various forms of evil that came its way.

"That is a shame, Mr. Larabee," Ezra finally drawled softly, "but I have a reason to hope that he–that we all–will survive. In fact," he looked at Chris and smiled, "I would bet on it."

The gunslinger gave him a puzzled smile in return, but said nothing.

Finally Nettie clapped her hands. "All right, now, that's enough, Casey. Let's not give poor Mr. Dunne pneumonia."

Casey and JD got up, sniffling and laughing, as the men began to go back inside. Ezra was the last to go in; as he crossed the threshold he looked back, saw JD and Casey approaching the porch, exchanging smiles. He wasn't sure if the romantic interlude he had witnessed with the Ghost of Christmas Present would happen this time, but his hope that it would was enough to make him gently close the door behind him so as to allow the two their privacy.

As he did so, his thoughts turned sadly to Amelia, the girl he had rejected so long ago in St. Louis; what was she doing now, he wondered as he took his seat. He hoped that JD would not make the same mistake that Ezra had made as a young man, and his hopes were realized when it took a full three minutes for Casey and JD, both flushed and rather embarrassed, to make their reappearance.

It was nearly midnight when the men finally said their goodnights, expressing their thanks as they climbed onto their mounts. The clear sky had given way to high, silvery clouds; a few flakes drifted lazily to the whitened ground. As they waited for the last goodbyes to be said, Ezra mused on everything that had happened, and the choice he had made. It would take a long time, he knew, to accept what he had learned, going as it did against a lifetime of caution and isolation; but he also knew that he didn't have to be frightened of what lay ahead. There would be pain, and hardship, and loss–all the things he had been convinced he was not able to handle. But what they had together, and the cause which they fought for, would endure far beyond anything he might suffer today, and he realized that he found greater peace by joining this fight than he would in a lifetime of ease and safety. Strange, that such a perilous situation would make him feel so secure, but he could not deny the fact that it did. It was a mystery indeed.

"Well, boys," Chris said as he mounted Valor and gathered up the reins, "better go get ready for another day on the job."

As they waved goodbye and headed down the road, the snow began to fall in a gentle silent shower of white. The men rode along, quietly enjoying the pure beauty of the midnight scene, Ezra glancing at Vin and remembering what the tracker had said during his vision of the future, about feeling the strength among them whenever they rode together through the snowy hillside forests. They had not gone far when Ezra's quiet voice was heard in the wintry air, as soft and lilting as the Christmas snow.

"May I suggest," he said, "that we ride home through the mountains?"

THE END

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Sue :)
DelanySis1@aol.com