The jail seemed three sizes smaller with all of the people who insisted on being present, but Chris had convinced Judge Travis that they all had a right to be there. Standing behind the judge, Chris glared over the desk at Preston Bannister, who was wringing his hat in his hands as he had done on the witness stand.

The door to Ezra's cell was open but Ezra sat on his cot, his expression guarded as usual; Harker sat beside him. The other five lawmen were arrayed around the room, while Trevor Jacob sat to Travis's right, looking at Bannister like a wolf might stare at a rabbit. Chris couldn't blame the prosecutor; he was hired to represent the bank, not its manager, and he was sure that Jacob was not going to be happy to learn he'd been prosecuting the wrong man.

Judge Travis cleared his throat. "Very well, Mr. Bannister, let's hear it."

"I want protection," Bannister said, his voice breaking on the last word.

"You ain't getting nothing until you talk," Chris growled.

Travis held up his hand before the gunslinger could take a step towards the manager. "Protection from whom?"

Bannister reached into his coat and pulled out a folded-up telegram, which he pushed across the desk. Travis took it and read it aloud. "Regret to inform you George Bannister found murdered. Request you come to Denver at once. I await your reply. Marshal Cook." He tossed the telegram back onto the desk; Bannister grabbed it and shoved it back into his coat. "I assume George Bannister is a relative of yours?"

"He's my brother. He was waiting for me in Denver, but now he's been killed and I'll be next!"

"Why? You know who killed him?" Buck asked.

"Yes, aren't you listening? His name is John Foster; you have to protect me from him!"

"Why do you think he'll come after you?" Travis asked impatiently.

"Because…because…" Bannister looked around the room like a cornered animal but found no sympathy from any quarter. Suddenly he slumped in his chair and said quietly, "Because I'm the only other person who knows he—we—robbed the bank."

There were various sounds of triumph around the room. Chris glanced over at Ezra, but the gambler had not moved, nor had his expression changed except, perhaps, to grow more intense.

"All right," Travis finally said, "you'd better start from the top."

"From the top?"

"Tell us about the robbery, jackass," Chris said, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Oh. Yes. I…it wasn't supposed to happen like this, you know. No one was ever supposed to get hurt—"

"Save it," Vin interrupted angrily. "Just tell us about that night."

Bannister shrank further into his chair and stared down at his hat as he continued. "It was Foster's idea. He and my brother, George, they worked for the Western Sky Mining Company. They'd been fired for theft, but they didn't do it—"

"I find that hard to believe," Josiah muttered drily, and Travis held his hand up again to shush him as Bannister continued.

"Well Foster may have done it, for all I know, but George wouldn't have!" Bannister insisted. "But he was so angry at being fired, and when he told Foster that I worked at the bank, well, I guess they decided they should rob the mining company for real. That's when they came to me."

"Why would you go along with that?" Jacob asked, incredulous. "You've been a loyal employee for, what, eighteen years? And a manager for seven—"

"And look where it got me!" Bannister shouted, finally looking up. "Dumped in this dusty backwater of a town! I was promised a bank in Denver and then they just fobbed me off here, like I was nothing. I deserved better!"

"What did Henry deserve?" Ezra's quiet question hung in the air. He stared hard at the bank manager but Bannister refused to look at him.

"He wasn't supposed to be there that night," Bannister finally choked out. "No one was. That's why we did in on a Sunday; Foster wanted to do it on Saturday, when there would be a lot of noise from the saloons and hotels, but I thought it would be better to do it when there were fewer people around, no one to see anything. We were going to make it look like a professional bank robber had gotten into the safe. It was so simple; it was perfect! But you…" he glanced towards Ezra but couldn't bring himself to actually meet the southerner's furious gaze. He fell silent.

"What happened during the robbery?" Travis finally prompted.

"Everything was going fine. I was kneeling in front of the safe, pulling everything out, when I heard the sound of a hammer being cocked. It's an awful thing to hear, I tell you. I thought it was Foster at first but then I heard a voice…"


"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your evening, but I don't believe that belongs to you," Standish drawled. "Put the money down and turn around slowly with your hands in the air."

Preston froze, his mind racing, searching for a reasonable explanation. He set the money back in the safe but couldn't bring himself to face Standish. Of all the people to stumble on him, why did it have to be that detestable gambler? How did he have the nerve to try to arrest anyone when he belonged in jail himself?

"I said turn around." Standish's tone had taken on a menacing edge.

Whatever else happened, Preston didn't want to be shot; perhaps there was still a chance that he could talk his way out of this. Of course! He was the bank manager; he was just making sure the money was undisturbed! No one could say otherwise. Still facing the safe, he stood up with his hands raised and was opening his mouth to explain when he heard a solid thump. He turned in time to see Standish fall to the floor, George standing over him and holding his shotgun by the barrel.

"You…you hit him with a shotgun?" Preston asked.

"Well if I shot him, we'd have even more people dropping by," George replied.

Preston fearfully stepped closer to the prone gambler, then nudged him with his foot. Standish's eyes were open but he didn't move and he didn't appear to be breathing. "Is he dead?"

George knelt beside Standish and put a hand on his neck. "Seen a doctor do this once at the mine; supposed to be able to feel a person's heartbeat like this." After a few seconds, he shook his head. "Nope." He held his hand near Standish's nose and mouth, then shook his head again and sighed. "Yeah, he's dead. Sorry, Preston; I didn't mean to hit him that hard."

"Sorry?" Preston said, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice. "He's part of the law in this town! We'll be hanged!"

"What did you want me to do, let him arrest you?"

"I don't know but—" He was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle coming from the back, then Henry Erickson stumbled into view, shoved by Foster, who followed close behind.

George grabbed his shotgun and leveled it at the teller. "Who are you? You part of the law too?"

"N-No, I'm a teller…Mr. Bannister, is that you?"

"What are you doing here, Henry?" Preston asked angrily.

"I thought the bank was being robbed. I asked Ezra…" glancing around for the gambler, Henry finally noticed the body on the floor. "Ezra!" He made a move towards Standish but George held the shotgun in his face and he froze. "Mr. Bannister? What's going on?"

"Dammit, Henry…" Preston put a hand to his head and paced back towards the safe. Now what? Standish was dead, Henry had caught him red-handed…how was he going to get out of this? He turned back to the frightened young teller. "Look, Henry, I know this looks bad, but it's not what you think. Now, if you'll just walk out of here and promise not to say anything, I'll pay you…I'll pay you five hundred dollars—"

"What?" Foster exclaimed. "The hell with that!"

Preston never even saw the knife come out. He just saw Foster grab Henry and make a motion across his throat and then the boy was falling to his knees, blood pouring over the hand he held to his neck, then he was on the floor next to Standish and the blood was pooling between them, until it looked as if both of them had bled to death in that small space…


"Jesus…" JD murmured, repulsed.

Everyone looked at Ezra, whose eyes were wide with shock, staring at nothing in particular. He raised his hand to the side of his face as if expecting to find it covered in blood. "It was everywhere…" he whispered.

Chris, Vin and Buck looked at each other, aghast, as they all remembered Ezra's terrified reaction to the water in that very cell:

his face and hands landed in the still-puddled water and he was suddenly sobbing as he pushed himself to his knees. "Oh my god…it's everywhere…"

As they made the connection, they each opened their mouths to say something, but no words came.

Harker gently pulled Ezra's hand away and the touch seemed to snap Ezra out of his daze. He looked at Bannister with undisguised horror and disgust, then stood and walked out of the jail. JD moved to follow him, but Buck grabbed his arm and shook his head. "Give him some space," he said gently.

A stifling silence descended on the room, mitigated only slightly by the faint sounds of life from the street outside.

"There was nothing I could do," Bannister said cautiously.

Chris lunged at him so quickly, he had him out of the chair and up against the bars before anyone else could take a step. "You could'a said 'no' to the whole idea, you miserable bastard!" he shouted, slamming Bannister back forcefully. The manager whimpered pitifully, but no one stepped forward to stop the furious gunslinger. "Everything that's happened is because of what…you…did!" He shoved Bannister on each word for emphasis, and Judge Travis finally raised a hand.

"Mr. Larabee, that's enough," he said calmly.

Chris held Bannister against the bars for several more seconds, fighting back the almost overwhelming desire to beat the very life out of the cowering manager. Finally, with a last shove, he stepped back and allowed Bannister to retake his chair.

Judge Travis raised his eyebrows slightly but otherwise made no comment on Chris's outburst. "So whose idea was it to frame Ezra?" he asked, as though everything were proceeding normally.

Bannister's hands were trembling and sweat was running down the sides of his face, but he seemed to want the interview to end as quickly as possible and answered without hesitation. "Foster's. I just wanted to leave, but Foster said we'd come so far, there was no point in giving up now. He said we could hide the bodies and then I was supposed to…supposed to…" he trailed off and cast a fearful gaze towards Chris, who exhaled in disgust.

"You were supposed to point the finger at them."

"Y-yes. Mr. Standish doesn't exactly have a spotless reputation; I thought if I just said that I had told him about the payroll, it would naturally lead you to suspect him."

"And the ring?" Josiah asked.

"When George and Foster picked up Mr. Standish to, er, remove him from the bank, Foster noticed the ring and was going to keep it, but George said we should leave it in the bank for me to, ah, 'find' in the morning. I was so nervous, I forgot about it until you'd left the bank but then…well, you know the rest."

"But why leave Henry's glasses?" Buck asked.

"We didn't mean to; they must have fallen off."

"I can't believe you had the gall to accuse Ezra to his face after what you done," Vin said.

"I know!" Bannister said, with a slightly crazed laugh. "I was so stunned when I walked into the saloon and saw him sitting there. I mean, he was dead! But there he was! I was sure it was all over. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he just sat there! And then I realized that he had never seen my face or heard my voice and I thought, well now it's him or me and I still had his ring so I just…I just did it! I did it!" He broke off, laughing harder, but it quickly turned to sobs. "I don't know, I don't know…I'm so sorry…I never meant for any of this…my brother, my poor brother…"

"All right now, Mr. Bannister, just take it easy," Nathan said, his healer's sympathy overtaking his revulsion as he knelt next to the hysterical man. "Try to take a deep breath…that's it…" After several moments, Bannister had calmed enough to continue and Nathan was happy to step away.

"And now you believe your brother has been murdered by John Foster?" Judge Travis asked.

"Yes," Bannister said, sniffling miserably. "They rode out towards Denver that night. I was originally supposed to stay in town for a day or two, then say I'd been fired because of the robbery and join them. Only I couldn't leave because of the trial; I had to stay and testify. Then a few days ago, George started sending me telegrams that Foster was going through his share so fast and getting tired of waiting. And then I got this telegram," he patted his coat pocket, "and I knew he'd killed George. He killed Henry without a thought; I'm sure he killed George for the rest of the money. And now it was all for nothing! He's gone and it's all for nothing!"

"'For the wages of sin is death...'" Josiah said softly.

"Speaking of which," Vin said to Bannister, "you never told us what you did with Henry and Ezra. Where the hell did you take them?"

"I…I didn't." Bannister stammered.

"Goddammit, Bannister, I swear I'll take your head off," Chris snarled.

"It's the truth! I couldn't…I-I just couldn't…so George and Foster took care of them. I don't know what they did, I swear! I don't know how Mr. Standish got away; no one said that anything had gone wrong." He stared at Chris, his breathing anxious, then he suddenly straightened, adjusting his coat and smoothing his hair. "There. I've told you everything I know, now I want protection!" The imperious Bannister had returned, brandishing a warning finger at Judge Travis.

Chris grabbed the outstretched hand and twisted until Bannister stumbled out of his chair with a howl, then hauled him to the far right cell and flung him inside.

Buck slammed the door shut and locked it with a satisfied smirk. "There, you're protected."

For a moment, it appeared that Bannister would protest but then his face fell and he sank to the cot without another word. The others gathered around Judge Travis, who rubbed his brow tiredly and sighed. "Well, I've seen my share of unexpected outcomes, but this is certainly one of the more…unusual…cases." He cast a thin smile at Harker, "It appears you've won, Gideon; your client is free to go."

"Glad to hear it. If you'll excuse me, I'll see if I can find him to tell him." With a nod to the lawmen, Harker left, accompanied by Jacob, who now had to wire his clients at the bank to explain the turn of events.

As the door shut behind them, Chris thought again about the terrible scene that Bannister had described and shook his head in sorrow. "Guess you were right, Nathan." The healer looked at him in confusion so he explained, "About why Ezra might not remember anything."

The healer nodded in understanding. "Yeah, between the blow to the head and seeing Henry die like that, it's not surprising."

"How come Ezra didn't notice the injury though? No one did." Vin asked, his eyes clouded with guilt.

Nathan shrugged. "If it didn't break the skin, it wouldn't necessarily be obvious to anyone else. Head wounds don't have to look bad or even feel bad to actually be bad. Plus he said when he was testifying that he didn't remember much of the first day after the robbery; by the time he was thinking clearly, it just may not have registered." He put a hand on the tracker's shoulder reassuringly. "Ain't nobody's fault, Vin."

"Except Bannister's," Chris added, glancing over his shoulder at the man who was now slumped with his back against the wall and his head hanging low over his chest. It might have been pitiable, if he hadn't been the architect of such misery.

"What's gonna happen to him now?" JD asked in a low voice.

"I don't know yet; I have a lot to think about," Judge Travis replied. "Obviously prison at the very least; the question is whether he deserves to hang," he held up a hand to forestall the comments that all six men were about to make, "and I'll make that decision on my own, thank you, after I've had a chance to digest all of this."

"At least we finally got answers though," Buck said.

"Yeah, mostly," JD replied, "but now there's nobody who knows where Henry is."

Chris gazed out the front windows at the street and sighed. "I think maybe Ezra does."