Ezra's bare feet were leaving a thin blood trail as he was led inside the prisoner of war camp. The rocks and thorns had done their damage. He was limping despite himself. The soldiers had only occasionally cantered their horses at a gait that made keeping up difficult. But the noose was undignified and was rubbing rope burns around his neck. The back of his shirt was stiff and tacky from dried blood.

The gash on his shoulder blade stung and the sweat only made it worse. The damn blue bottle flies were insufferable. He felt every bite from the blood-sucking horse flies. The irritating gnats and no-see-'ums buzzing around for the moisture in his eyes were the most maddening. With his bound hands limiting his reach he had to endure the little devils. He forced their ever-present, torturous annoyance to the back of his mind as he cataloged his surroundings for future use.

The double fences of barbed wire that defined the boundaries of this prison would only slow down and not prevent an attempted escape. But that would be enough. It would give the armed guards who paced outside the wire enough time to use their rifles as a more permanent solution to any such effort. As far as the guards themselves, they appeared confident and alert. Too bad.

Ragged, overcrowded tents passed as shelter. A creek that ran though the prison had been damned up and was stagnant. He could smell it from here.

The land was still dead and yellow from the winter months. The grass was almost the same color as the rocks. Limestone outcrops rose both inside and outside the compound but offered no avenues for escape.

The men within the camp looked sick, beaten and defeated. If there had been any attempt at sanitation, it had apparently been given up to apathy as the men's incarceration dragged on. Most of the captives barely glanced up to acknowledge the new arrival.

Outside of the wire, the guards seemed to live a little better than their charges. There had been slats of wood braced against the tents here to add protection from the elements. Campfires seemed to supply a constant source of warmth and coffee for the watchmen.

There was one small, solid wood cabin erected among the guard's tents. The door to the cabin opened. Ezra felt bile well up in his throat as the man stepped out onto the small porch. His hair was a course, unkempt gray. His potbelly hung over his belt like fallen yeast bread. He held the riding crop under one arm. His one squinty pig eye fell on Ezra immediately. The other eye was sewn shut and an ugly white scar ran through it from his forehead to his chin. He paraded over. The taller man with him sauntered along pacifyingly.

Ezra forced himself not to draw back when they approached. A history passed between their eyes. Bridger ran his riding crop from Ezra's shoulder to his belt. "Well EZ, I hear the name is really Standish." He droned. Ezra didn't respond. He looked Standish over from head to toe and noticed the torn feet. He turned to Jordan. "Why's he walking?"

"He let his horse go."

Bridger laughed out loud. "Afraid we'd eat it?"

"I simply abhorred the thought that you might ride such a noble animal."

"There's never no tellin' what you're gonna care about is there?" He studied the small man in front of him. "But I will figure it out. And then you will come to me. On my terms this time. You will beg me to let you come to me." He waited for a reaction.

The gambler's poker face served him well. Bridger was even the first to break eye contact. He had to turn his body to move the eye contact and acknowledge the man beside him. "This is Benjamin Francis Carlisle. He is the commandant at our little facility. He will be the judge in your trial."

"And my defense council?"

"Still insolent? We'll see how long that lasts. Maybe you should spend the first night in the pit. For old times sake." Bridger laughed again. "Enjoy yourself. Drop him in, boys."

Buck thought he was dead when he heard Vin's soft drawl calling to him. "Hey, Pard? Buck? Can you open your eyes for me?" Buck thought about it, but wasn't quiet ready. It didn't feel too warm; in fact there was a chill in the air. Maybe they weren't in hell just yet. It'd be rough on Chris, losing both of them. And the Kid probably never lost anyone close other than his Ma. Nathan would feel guilty...

"Nathan, I think he's wakin' up. You got any more of that tea made?" Nathan? Tea? It was hell. Buck smiled. He finally opened his eyes and met the tracker's relieved grin. "Welcome back."

"I thought you got blown to kingdom-come."

"Aw, hell, I was closer to the front of the wagon than the back. Figured that was the quickest way out."

"Good thinking."

Buck started to chuckle before it turned into a harsh cough.

Vin smiled wider. Buck wasn't exactly with them yet. "What's so funny?"

"Thought I was dead, but maybe I'd skirted hell, 'til I heard you call Nathan for that tea."

Vin's laugh was mixed with a healthy dose of relief. "Felt that way a few times myself."

"Very funny. Get away from my patient." Nathan fussed good-naturedly. He was glad to see Buck as alert as he appeared.

Buck tried to set up and grimaced. He had to freeze for a moment to fight the pain.

"Let that be a lesson to ya." Nathan lectured. "Don't move. You didn't do your head any good." He talked to himself as much as the lady's man. "I can't keep that gash on your back clean enough out here that you ain't gonna fight a little infection and fever. And now you've got a hoof mark nearly to the bone."

"Hell, Nathan... "

"If it was JD wouldn't that be enough of a reason for you to make him lie still?"

Buck nodded, unable to say more through the pain. Nathan realized this and sympathetically and with infinite care helped him drink the tonic.

A call from across the way got Nathan's attention and he moved away from Buck with the last reprimand, "Rest. Sleep. Don't move."

Nathan turned out to be responding to a call from the wounded rebel soldier.

Kestrel appeared at Buck's side as soon as he was alone. "How's everyone doing?" Buck asked.

"Sodbuster'll live. The baby's fine. It's Ma's shaken up. Josiah's a little worse off than bruises and scratches. Vin landed rough when he jumped out of the front of the wagon with the baby."

Buck laughed at Clay's words, went out the front of the wagon, not the back. Just that simple. Buck was almost embarrassed to have been so worried, but then he remembered the look on JD's face and knew he hadn't been alone in thinking the worst.

"Bonner?"

"Grazed along the side. Painful but not dangerous. He'll ride with us tomorrow."

"What time do we leave?"

"Sunrise. But you're going back with the young family over there."

"What?"

"Chris says it's for the best. You're not fit to keep up."

"Your man's riding." Buck coughed. He was on a slow boil.

"I let my men make their own decisions."

"Nobody decides for me."

Clay's continuingly cool, almost pacifying attitude intentionally left the impression Larabee had said more. "I know how hard it is to stand up to Larabee."

"I ain't never backed down from that man. What did he say?"

In response, Kestrel stood up, tossed a full bottle of whiskey to the wounded man lying beside him and grinned, "I suggest you not let them catch you with it this time."

Buck already had the bottle to his lips before Kestrel walked away trying to hide the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Ezra tried to relax in the hole in the ground. At least he could sit. He remembered the other one, too narrow to sit, bars on top that kept a man from standing erect. He could tolerate this.

Small clouds of condensation formed with each breath. He had been cold and hungry before, but he had to admit, it hadn't seemed this desolate in a long time. Lately, if he was suffering the elements. it was with one of the other seven lawmakers. Misery loves company, he mused. And considering where he was, the isolation was preferable to the alternative. So put your observation skills to work. He told himself.

He could hear coughing and soft moans from the prisoners. The guards were calling to each other, so they had a night shift. He would have to wait until he could observe them to see how alert or lax they were in that assignment.

A plan. Unfortunately everything he came up with involved the assistance of others. He had lost a measurable degree of his self-sufficiency. He had come to rely on the others being there. So why the hell weren't they? Because you didn't ask them. You didn't tell them what was going on. Were you afraid they wouldn't help you? Granted he'd been careful to never test the loyalty as it applied to himself beyond the peacekeeping duties, but what's the worse that could have happened? They could say no? Oh, god, they could say no. The illusion would be gone.

Stop it. Think. Now that he had the location of this hell on earth, the easiest escape would be on his own and go for help. But would that be considered running out on these others? Damn you, Mr. Larabee, there may be times when one must run. But what if that caused them to move their camp? What if they chose to kill the witnesses?

There was always the chance Kestrel and his rebel soldiers would actually find the place.

Maybe when Mr. Wilmington had related his story to the others... if he was still alive. No. Don't think like that. If that's what you would dwell on, maybe that's enough thought for tonight. On some level he knew he was giving Bridger too much credit, but putting him here, leaving him alone with his thoughts and memories... if he wasn't careful it could do more damage than physical pain. So remember that and don't let it happen. Ezra admonished himself. At least he was thinking. There were options, just none of them good.