Chris didn't know why he was going back to Four Corners. There was nothing for him there, nothing but a saloon and a bed. Then again, it might bring some satisfaction, a sense of finality to it, the completion of coming full circle from the job. That was where they'd started from, that was where they'd end up. After the saloon and the bed, he'd take things as they came.

The journey led through dry and windswept terrain. Chris felt he should probably get away from this place, away from a landscape as bleak as his spirit. He rode in the lead, all the others behind, single file, no one disposed to making conversation. Everyone lost in their own thoughts and indistinct plans, he suspected, and he was inclined to his own silence as well, but motion and sound to his right told him a horse was coming up alongside. Buck.

Well, they hadn't really had time to talk, just the two of them, to go down memory lane, if that's what Buck wanted. It wasn't any desire of his, but he guessed he could listen if Buck had things to say.

It wasn't the old days on his friend's mind, though, Chris discovered as soon as the other horse drew even. Buck's posture was a little too straight, his grip on the reins too tight, and Chris knew he was busting to get something off his chest.

He saw Buck look back at the men riding behind, and beyond, in the direction from where they'd come. Buck's face was grim, eyes hard and dark, his lips set in a thin line. Then he spoke. "That kid. Back there." He shook his head with frustration. "I never seen one more stupid."

There it was. Sensing the coming tirade, Chris scrubbed one hand over dirt-gritted eyes. "Buck...don't start."

"I mean it, Chris." Buck was ready to unload. He spoke fast, gaining speed and volume as he went. "I still can't believe you didn't make him leave. You think us two were bad when we were young, with all the chances we took? At least we weren't stupid. We always had some inkling of what we were up against. That one? 'Headed for a fight,' he says." Buck let one arm fly in a chopping motion. "No idea what we were ridin' into. Then it's up to me to teach him not to fan his guns and all them other foolhardy things he was doin'."

The rant ended, the expectant silence a signal for validation, but Chris breathed an exasperated sigh. They'd been here before – good old Buck carrying on over one of his "stray pups", as Chris liked to call them. There was always another doe-eyed kid needing guidance or pulling out of a jam, and Buck had a tender heart for that sort.

"Always gotta be looking after someone, don't you?" Chris said at last. "You get tangled up with trying to fix 'em, and all it gets you is mad. Can you ever just – stand back? Some day you gotta figure out you're not responsible for every reckless kid." He glanced over at Buck, who now rode with his head bowed, whether absorbing the words or not, Chris did not know.

Part of the trouble, he thought, was that the ones Buck latched onto seldom lived up to what Buck hoped for. They often disappeared, drifted off, sometimes without even a word. Considering that, Chris plowed on. "You know, some people are just a lost cause."

Buck turned to regard him with serious, sad eyes. "You can't mean that."

Chris saw how hurt and denial had softened his friend's face. Tipping his head slightly, he assented. "Sorry, you're right. You never considered me one."

"Damn right I'm right." Buck nodded and seemed to ponder a minute. "You were always redeemable, pard," he said finally. Several more seconds of reflection passed before he went on. "That one, though... Somethin' wrong with him. Knowin' he shot that man in the back at the graveyard, I was surprised, after he followed us, you let him stay. Wondered why you'd want to use a cold blooded snake like that."

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. "Like I said then," Chris said, "we might need one. And we did. When you're up against ruthless men, might as well take along a snake of your own. Saved your life, didn't he? Up in the rocks?"

It was true. Buck had been attacked by the knife wielding Seminole, Imala, who didn't know they were fighting on the same side. "Yeah, but I swear he would've emptied both those pistols into that guy, and liked doin' it too," he said. "I was lucky to get things turned around. Kinda doubt one of us killin' their leader's son would have set well with those people."

"That man you saved ended up dead later anyway."

The cold fatalism was no surprise, but Buck hated to see it in his friend. It had become clear that Chris had not lost any of the hard edges since they'd last seen each other. Buck had hoped that going along on this job would spark some of their old closeness, restore a long friendship, but Chris's temperament was brittle, and carrying on a conversation with him was an exercise in caution. Buck changed the subject. "Didn't get around to tellin' you, Chris, it feels real good ridin' with you again."

Chris was not one to waste words. "Same here."

The two rode on together toward the buildings that lay ahead, but the talk stopped. Buck began to think of the comforts and pleasures that came with spending time in a town. He looked back at the other riders. No one had broken away from the group, not even the preacher Josiah, who had first joined them at the ruined church in the desert. "Looks like we're all endin' up in the same place. You gonna stick around?"

"Vin's headed for Texas. Said I might tag along. You?"

Relaxing in the saddle, Buck spoke expansively. "Well, I been thinkin'. I am broke and in need of a job that pays actual money." He threw a flippant look Chris's way. "There's no law in this town, so I might just see about – y'know..."

Chris laughed a little. "Sheriff? Already headed for the next fight? Well, I guess being a lawman is as good a way as any to find strays."

At the outer edge of town, Buck looked the place over with new interest. Four Corners had not gained any appeal in the time they'd been gone. The dusty street was lined by gray weather-beaten buildings, many with boarded up store fronts. Even the open businesses were unadorned by paint, with only minimal, faded signage. The men rode in slowly. Buck glanced back again at the other riders. "Six of us," he murmured.

"Same as we rode out with. He didn't have to follow us." Chris spoke tersely, hoping to keep Buck from starting in again. It didn't work.

"He was so young, Chris."

"With old eyes, Buck. Didn't you notice? The kid was older than he looked."

Buck was quiet for a moment, but he just couldn't keep still on it. He had to worry at it, get the sorrow out. His voice was soft. "Talkin' about eyes. One day back there I told that boy, if you can see their eyes, you're too close. You know what he said back? Said he liked lookin' 'em in the eyes while they died." He shook his head with regret. "I wonder what makes a sweet looking kid rotten inside like that."

Chris was tired of this. Why did Buck have to dwell on the demise of some bad kid he'd met less than two weeks ago? "You can wonder all you want, but he ain't telling now, is he?"

"I coulda saved him. I was just too slow."

Leaning out, Chris stared, astonished, at his friend. "Saved him for what? Are you saying you'd've taken that sword for him?" That was a bit much, even for Buck, and Chris let his voice rise. "He wasn't worth it, Buck. That kid was rotten inside like you just said, through and through. He was born headed for a fight, and if he hadn't died in that one, it'd been the next one, or the next."

Lord. Chris just turned his head away. This habit Buck had of picking up strays, well it must satisfy some need in him, a need for family, maybe. That was a painful thought, and Chris gratefully pushed it aside as some commotion farther up caught his eye. "What's going on up there?"

In the street ahead, a well dressed man with a short barreled shotgun stood his ground, facing three younger men who had planted themselves defiantly on the boardwalk. A woman approached the older man. At his firm gesture, she backed away, but not far enough. Townsfolk milled and gawked from the sidelines.

"Three against one? Hardly seems fair," said Buck.

"Here's the next fight you were looking for," Chris joked. "Could be your chance to apply for that job."

M7M7M7M7M7

The confrontation had been just the thing to break the monotony of the long ride back. It hadn't been hard to tell who the "bad guys" were, and without a word of planning, the six returning riders inserted themselves into the situation, defusing it with a combination of menace and cocky humor. The man in the street turned out to be a circuit judge named Travis. He arrested a young tough who had just murdered a local storekeeper.

Now, with a glass in one hand, Buck stood with his back to the bar, considering the men he had ridden in with. No one watching their actions outside would have guessed that some of them were still virtual strangers to one another. Though Ezra stood next to Buck at the bar, the two had exchanged less than ten words.

When they all ended up in the saloon, the group who worked as one unit in the street had fragmented. Together at one table, Chris and Vin shared a bottle and a serious discussion. Closer to the bar, Nathan was listening to Josiah's ramblings. The preacher had foretold his own death in the Seminole village. Since it had not come to pass, he seemed to think it was a sign calling for some action on his part. "Look around you, Nathan," Buck heard him say. "What do you see? Lost souls, every one of them."

Gazing around, Buck had to agree. The saloon was not lacking in customers. Various unambitious looking men took up space, and Buck had to wonder, aside from his own crew, what they were all doing there in the middle of the day. The citizens of Four Corners had merely watched as three thugs faced down the judge, while only one woman dared to stand with him. Knowing this town needed a lawman, Buck could not picture any of these apathetic men stepping up. He nodded to himself as he gave thought to the possibilities. He could see himself doing the job for a while.

Scraps of conversation reached his ears. Vin issued a take-it-or-leave-it invitation to Chris to join him in leaving town. That was followed by Chris's "see you in the morning" and his abrupt departure. No goodbye, but that didn't surprise Buck. Chris had known Buck was in town earlier, and didn't even seek him out until the job at the village came up. Truth be told, he was actually relieved to know the gunslinger was heading out. At least he wouldn't have to deal with Chris's hair trigger if he did take on the job of sheriff.

With those two leaving soon, Buck wondered idly what Ezra's plans were. He directed a few words to the gambler. "So everyone's going their own way."

"As well they should," Ezra drawled, and drained his glass.

Something blocked light at the doorway, and the batwings swung open to admit Judge Travis. Ezra curled into himself, leaning against the bar murmuring, "Good Lord." Buck only glanced at him as the judge wasted no time in making an announcement. "I've got twenty dollars for any man who wants to be sheriff. A week's work."

Near silence came over the room. Card games and conversation stopped. Men looked awkwardly around, some even getting up to leave. Buck settled back to watch with amusement. He ran a finger down each side of his mustache. He hadn't quite made up his mind yet, but there was obviously no rush.

"All right. Thirty."

Buck grinned to himself. That number might go up. People in the saloon were flat out ignoring the judge now. The card games and quietly muttered talk had started back up.

"I am deeply moved by this exhibition of courage," Judge Travis intoned dryly.

Well, never let it be said that Buck Wilmington was a coward. He set his glass down, ready to advance if the judge upped that offer just a little bit more.

At the far end of the bar, a greenhorn kid in city slicker clothes and a bowler hat turned around and stepped forward. "Sir? I'd like the job."

END