The Countess 01

by JeanGenie

Vin becomes the victim in a deadly game and Ezra is forced to play for the highest stakes imaginable - a man's life.

1. The Countess

It plummeted out of the sky like a lightning bolt, a blur of movement sensed rather than seen, to fasten vice-like talons on its hapless prey. Caught in mid-flight some fifty feet off the ground its victim died in a flurry of blood and feathers as the falcon triumphantly sounded its victory cry and swept once again skywards on outspread wings.

Ezra Standish watched the magnificent bird fly away and urged his horse forward once more, his curiosity piqued. The falcon was not a native of these parts and he was sure he had seen the characteristic jesses of a trained hunting bird trailing from its feet. Who, he mused, would be in possession of a sporting falcon in these parts?

Four Corners and its environs was hardly a place in which falconry was likely to be a recreational pursuit. Losing sight of the bird and its kill, he turned his thoughts to the more mundane reminded at a primeval level by the falcon's actions that he had missed the midday meal. For that he had only himself to blame, having left Bitter Creek far later in the day than he had planned. He had less than fond memories of that particular town but he owed a significant debt of gratitude to its doctor. He now counted John Mason among his limited but select circle of friends, besides which the good doctor kept a mighty fine selection of vintage wines. His late start heading back to Four Corners had been caused by a sociable evening the night before spent sampling some of Mason's very best. This had resulted in him remaining closeted in the darkness of his room for longer than he intended until his head had cleared sufficiently to contemplate attempting the ride back. No doubt Mr. Larabee and Co. would have something to say about his extended absence.

He flexed his shoulders, feeling the stiffness of the recently healed scars across his back and quickly pushed the recollection of the lash descending on his unprotected flesh to the furthest recesses of his mind only to be brought out and re-examined later when the memory no longer had the power to hurt. As his horse pranced nervously sideways, Ezra instantly shut out any thoughts of the past focusing totally on the here and now; one tended, he reflected, to live longer that way. Glancing around he patted the fretting animal on the neck and wondered what had disturbed the normally placid beast. Unable to find any reason for the horse's behaviour he tentatively urged the gelding forward, trusting its instincts as much as his own. A few yards along the track, the roan baulked and sidestepped obviously reluctant to continue. Ezra decided that discretion was definitely the better part of valour and drew his Remington, keeping it loosely in his left hand while keeping the reins in his right. Although his arm had mended he preferred to rely on the known performance of his left hand if he needed to shoot with any degree of accuracy at anything.

He heard a faint but insistent humming in the air and paused to listen, trying to get both a bearing on its source and identify its cause. As he moved forward, using his knees to guide the equally suspicious gelding forward the intensity of the sound increased. The horse reared suddenly almost unseating the Southerner as something flew within inches of man and animal, uttering a piercing screech. Intent on calming the spooked horse and keeping himself in the saddle, Ezra did not immediately notice the rider approaching from his right.

"I do apologise for Kia's bad manners. Please forgive us for causing distress to your animal."

The Southerner brought the unsettled roan under control and turned the beast around, keeping his gun at the ready until he could assess the situation and estimate if this unexpected rider was any kind of threat.

"Please," the lightly accented voice continued, "your gun is entirely unnecessary. I have no weapon."

Ezra kicked his horse forward. What he had taken for a young man he discovered was actually a mature woman riding astride and dressed in close fitting tailored pants, short jacket and flat brimmed hat. On her left wrist, which was protected by the cuff of a heavy leather gauntlet perched the falcon he had seen earlier and which had been the apparent cause of the gelding's upset. The woman had the reins looped over the pommel, her hands occupied with winding a length of twine around her fingers into a convenient bundle which she tucked into her waistband. This simple device -- the lure -- had been the source of the humming; a bait whirled in the air to bring the bird back home.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he nodded graciously, "It wasn't my intention to intrude."

Holstering his gun, he rested his forearms across the saddle horn intentionally maintaining some distance between himself and the rider. His prudence was as much to avoid getting too close to the large bird which seemed to stare at him with malicious intensity as keep a buffer between himself and the unknown woman.

"No intrusion. The hunt is finished for today."

She signalled her horse, a well-bred and handsome grey, with her knees and moved closer putting herself between him and the bird. He noticed that the leather jesses were now threaded through her gloved fingers and with a knowing smile she slipped the falcon's hood into place.

"Do not worry about her. Kia is really very sweet."

"I'm sure she is ma'am. A peregrine falcon is just not what I expected to see in this particular locale."

The woman's gaze travelled over him, and Ezra believed the experience was the closest he was ever likely to come to being stripped naked in public. He kept his expression neutral but the woman's brazen appraisal of him left him feeling more than a little uncomfortable. There was something about this confident and aristocratic woman sitting astride a powerful horse with a menacing bird of prey perched on her arm that raised the Southerner's hackles, making him unusually reticent.

"Tell me. Do you travel this road often?"

Ezra returned her gaze, deliberately offering the same degree of scrutiny that she had expended on him.

"I have reason to journey between Four Corners and Bitter Creek on occasion," he admitted guardedly, reluctant to give anything away.

The ghost of a smile played across her full lips and she seemed to find the situation amusing.

"Let me introduce myself." She held out a gloved hand in introduction. "I am Countess von Hohenstaffel. My brother and I have acquired a property a few miles from here."

Standish considered the possibilities and by a process of elimination decided that she was probably talking about the Williams ranch which he knew had been vacant for some time. He merely nodded, more out of politeness than interest -- Europe was overflowing with the lesser nobility -- but etiquette dictated that he should make his own introduction.

"Ezra Standish."

She held his hand a fraction longer than was proper before releasing it, then sighing regretfully she gathered the reins into her right hand.

"Well, Herr Standish. It was a pleasure. I have no doubt that we shall meet again very soon. Auf Wiedersehen."

Ezra tipped his hat, waiting until she had nudged her horse into a canter and had gone some distance before urging his own mount along the road back to Four Corners.

**********

Vin Tanner leaned easily back in his chair, long legs stretched out across the boards as he watched the activity in the street and considered the question Larabee had just put to him. The two men were in their customary place in front of the saloon ostensibly keeping the peace but in essence just shooting the breeze as the town sweltered in the mid-afternoon heat. The temperature had risen to such a degree that even Tanner who rarely acknowledged either heat or cold had made a seldom seen concession and removed his buckskin jacket. Chris too sat hatless and in his shirtsleeves occasionally taking a pull on his beer in an attempt to obtain some relief, but it seemed as fast as he poured fluid in he sweated it out.

"Well?"

Tanner turned his head at Chris' prompt then squinted down the street along which a few citizens still went about their business.

"I reckon it won't take more'n a coupla days either way."

Chris wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

"This sure ain't the time for travelling, Vin and it's a fair haul over to the mission."

The Texan swallowed a healthy measure of his own beer and again his keen blue eyes flicked to the end of the street, uncharacteristically distracted. Chris twisted in his chair to follow the sharpshooter's gaze and realised that Tanner's mind was far from the forthcoming trip to San Juan.

"You lookin' out for Ezra?"

"It's gettin' late. Should've been back by now."

"This is Ezra we're talkin' about. Seems to me that man don't rightly understand the notion of time, at least not the same way as other folks see it."

Tanner nodded in mute acceptance of Larabee's words. It was true that the gambler had an unusually flexible interpretation of minutes and hours which at times drove the rest of the seven to distraction and it was not beyond the realms of possibility that the Southerner was still in Bitter Creek. That knowledge did little to overcome Vin's unease.

"Ezra can take care of himself, Vin," he reminded the ex-bounty hunter quietly, "Been doing it a long time 'fore you and I came along, and will be doing it a long time after we're gone."

Tanner's attitude to the gambler had undergone a subtle change since Ezra's flogging, an act of violence which even in their violent world had engendered a sense of outrage among his fellow peace-keepers. That the dapper Southerner had endured the ordeal and its aftermath alone had struck a chord with the wiry tracker and it had been Vin who had kept Ezra from being blamed for a murder he did not commit. The three men would carry that secret to their graves, and an unspoken oath now bonded them together closer than ties of blood.

"Guess you're right." He pulled his gaze away from the street but with obvious reluctance. "Want another beer?"

**********

Ezra crouched in front of the horse's offside foreleg and ran a practiced hand over the animal's fetlock. Lame. Damn! He sighed and resigned himself to a long walk wondering if he would see Four Corners before nightfall. Looking skywards he squinted against the bright orb of the sun and decided that at least darkness would bring some relief from the unrelenting heat. Rising he patted the gelding's neck.

"Well, fellah. Looks like it's Shanks' mare for the rest of the way. Puts us on equal footing wouldn't you say?"

The horse, understandably, refrained from comment.

The Southerner shrugged out of his jacket, carefully folded it and tucked it behind the cantle before taking the reins in his hand and starting the long walk home with the foundered horse in tow.

It was at times like this, the gambler reflected, that he regretted his rejection of company on these trips. Had he accepted the offer of either Josiah or Vin to accompany him he would not now be in this unenviable position of being reduced to independent locomotion. Indeed his horse may still have pulled up lame but at least he would have had the option of sharing the second mount.

Several miles down the track Ezra paused to drink from his water canteen, sweat now soaking the back of his linen shirt and dust coating his boots and pant legs. Stoppering the bottle he glanced around to get his bearings and considered striking out further East whether he might be able to reach the Wells homestead quicker than he could get back to town. After brief consideration he dismissed the notion and wiping the sweat from his brow continued along the same road, once again wondering what had prompted him to travel West in the first place and more to the point, why he continued to stay in such a remote backwater. But of course, he mused, there had been that unpleasant misunderstanding in New Orleans, then he had been forced to leave St. Louis rather sooner than he had planned and Kansas City -- well the less he dwelled on that the better. Four Corners then. Was this where he was destined to play out the remainder of his life? Unbidden, a thought that actually had the power to frighten him emerged from his consciousness: Why not? For probably the first time in his life he felt that he had found a place where he could belong and was doing something where he had succeeded in giving as much as he took. Well almost if one didn't count poker winnings. Maude, he knew, would be disappointed in these alarmingly domesticated thoughts. Sometimes, he would have to confess, he disappointed himself -- but for entirely different reasons.

The distinctive sound of hoofs, a large number of them if Ezra was any judge, thundered in the near distance and the Southerner halted cautiously guiding the gelding off the main track. While in his current predicament he would welcome the appearance of a friendly face he was not trusting enough to believe that all travellers, especially those in a large company, were likely to be benevolent.

There were five or six of them, and Ezra believed at first that they would pass him by, a single horseman of no particular consequence but just as the last rider had passed the lead horseman wheeled and started back towards him. The gambler rested his hand on the butt of his Remington and stood close enough to his horse to reach his rifle should that become necessary. Two of the riders separated from the group and closed in. He stood impassively at the side of the well-defined track while the horsemen brought their beasts to a showy stop, one mount rearing and pawing the air so abrupt was the command to halt. This particular animal at the urging of its rider then high-stepped in short, controlled movements to within five feet of the Southerner and his horse.

"Herr Standish! I told you we would meet again but I did not dream that it would be so soon."

Ezra tipped the brim of his hat not certain if he should consider this meeting particularly fortuitous.

"Countess."

She dismounted, casually throwing the reins of her grey to the second rider. She no longer had the falcon he noted and she had changed her clothes for something a little less masculine. Pushing back her hat she let it hang down her back from the braided cord around her neck and shook out her hair then bent to examine his gelding's leg.

"You will not object if I offer you a remount, Herr Standish?"

Ezra thought about the alternatives and decided he would rather be indebted to this enigmatic woman than continue his journey on foot.

"I would not wish to impose..."

"Nonsense." She turned to her companion and uttered a stream of what the gambler assumed to be the woman's native tongue before continuing in English. "Friedrich will give you his horse."

Indeed the tall man was already dismounting and leading the horse towards him.

"It is best I think, that you leave your horse with us. The ranch is very close and my ostler will take good care of him. You can bring Kaiser back whenever you are ready."

Ezra, although loathe to leave the sorrel, recognised that the woman was making both a very generous offer as well as talking sense, and began to remove his possessions from the saddle before the exchange took place. He reluctantly surrendered the reins to Friedrich and transferred his equipment to the big black, realising at close quarters that the animal had a good two hands on his own horse.

The Countess took off her glove as Ezra finished securing his belongings to his satisfaction and extended her hand.

"It is now certain that we will be meeting again, Herr Standish, is this not so? I look forward to offering you the hospitality of my house very soon."

"My thanks, Countess. I am in your debt."

She paused and smiled archly before striding to her own horse.

"I do believe you are right. How very nice."

Ezra swung into the saddle and turned the horse towards Four Corners, wondering why he suddenly felt so ill at ease.

**********

Vin rose slowly from his chair and took a step forward, his gaze fixed on the end of the street. He swatted Chris' arm with the back of his hand and a broad smile split his tanned face.

"Will you take a look at this?"

Larabee leaned forward and followed the tracker's line of sight frowning slightly, finally realising that the elegant piece of horseflesh prancing down main street was ridden by none other than Ezra.

"That man could fall into a midden and come out smelling of lilacs," he commented, his voice tinged with reluctant admiration.

Ezra drew rein in front of the saloon and dismounted, brushing the accumulated dust off his jacket before securing the animal to the tether rail.

"Poker stakes must be getting' higher," observed Vin, walking forward to inspect the Southerner's new mount.

He ran an appraising hand over the glossy black hide, circling the impressive animal then rapidly sidestepped, laughing, as the beast flattened its ears and tried to bite him.

"Got yourself a passel of trouble here, Ezra. This fella's not been cut."

Standish took off his hat and dusted the brim.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This here's a stallion."

"I assure you, Mr. Tanner, that I am quite aware of that particular fact. This animal is the spawn of Satan and I, for one, will not be in the least perturbed to return him to his rightful owner."

"Never seen a horse like this around these parts before. Where'd you get him?" Chris stepped off the boardwalk and made his own inspection of the horse.

Ezra straightened realising just how weary he was and sighed heavily.

"That Mr. Larabee is a long story. One I shall be more than happy to relate after I have partaken of some liquid refreshment. Gentlemen?"

With a sweeping gesture he ushered the two men into the saloon, pausing as he entered to cast a last glance at the beautiful but high spirited animal.

"I think I may live to regret this day, my fine friend," he muttered beneath his breath, before turning his back and vanishing into the cool, darkness of the bar.

"So she's a real Countess, Ezra?"

J.D. was finding it difficult to contain his excitement. He had already fallen in love with the black horse, so much so that he had volunteered to take the animal to the livery for the gambler and had not returned for an hour. Now the prospect of having genuine nobility in the vicinity of

Ezra dealt cards to the four men around the table then fanned his own hand and discarded before answering.

"That is what the lady claims, Mr. Dunne, and I have no reason to suspect any artifice."

"What?" The youngest of the seven looked confused as once again Ezra threw out a word he had never heard.

Josiah, his chair pulled close to the table but outside of the poker game, leaned towards a frowning J.D.

"He doesn't think she's lying."

The Southerner smiled and waited for the others to discard.

"The Countess certainly has the accoutrements appropriate to landed gentry, and a most impressive retinue."

Chris raised his head from his cards.

"Two. And just how many is impressive, Ezra?"

"There were five men accompanying the lady when I saw her the second time, although at our first meeting she was unescorted."

"Five servants or five guns?"

The gambler raised the ante and waited for the others to either continue or fold.

"I believe all the riders were armed, Mr. Larabee, other than that I would not care to hazard a guess."

Chris called and spread out his cards. Two pair, kings over eights.

"I reckon it'd be right neighbourly if we made a call on our newest residents tomorrow. What d'ya think, Vin?"

Tanner threw his cards down. Three jacks.

"Can stop off at the old Williams place on my way to the mission."

"Von Hohenstaffel," corrected Ezra absently, not noticing the rapid exchange of glances around the table as the six men tried to make some sense of the alien name.

Chris' expression remained neutral as Standish laid down a full house and took the pot.

"I think we should maybe consider a friendly show of force."

The Southerner shuffled and dealt another hand.

"An oxymoron I believe, Mr. Larabee."

"A what moron?" This time it was Buck who had difficulty deciphering the gambler's words.

"Friendly and force are not words that are customarily paired," he elaborated, "As I understand they embrace two opposing concepts."

Chris downed the last of his whiskey and checked his cards.

"Whatever you want to call it, we go together. Tomorrow."

*****

It was obvious that Larabee was keen to get the 'friendly' show of force over with. The seven set out just after sunup, Chris riding point and setting a punishing pace flanked by Ezra and Vin. A little way behind and at a slightly slower speed the remaining four rode line abreast, trying to keep out of Larabee's dust and fathom exactly why this particular excursion was necessary.

"What d'you reckon's gotten into Chris, Buck?" asked a puzzled JD of his friend, "He's in a mighty big hurry."

"Hell, boy. I don't know but he's sure got a burr under his saddle over this Countess thing."

The youngest member of the group looked wistfully after Ezra's borrowed mount. He had desperately tried to convince the gambler that he could be trusted to ride the big stallion but Ezra had politely declined his offer.

"Sure wish I was in Ezra's boots right now."

"If truth be told, JD" offered Josiah, "I reckon Ezra'd be a sight happier if you were in his boots. While it's not unlike our gambling friend to be completely selfish, I believe the reason he didn't want you to ride that horse had nothing to do with your skills as a horseman but because he's the kind of man who sets store by appearances"

"So?"

"It wouldn't be the act of a gentleman to front up to the Countess with someone else riding the horse she had loaned to him. First off she might think he was afraid and then again she might be just downright insulted."

"Oh, yeah," agreed JD, finally making some sense of what the preacher was saying, "You could be right. Do you think she really is a Countess?"

Josiah smiled.

"I'm sure we'll soon find out. Ezra certainly seems to think she is."

"What was her name again?"

"Von Hohenstaffel."

Dunne shook his head wondering how anyone got their tongue around a name like that. A Countess with an impossible name and a magnificent horse that he couldn't ride. He had a bad feeling that the day wasn't about to get any easier.

Chris reined in within sight of the ranch which until recently had belonged to Zack Williams. The last time any of the men had been near the place it had been in a state of disrepair, fences broken and the house in need of work. Even the stock had dwindled to a few rangy head of cattle lost to either rustlers or disease. Now there was no sign of neglect, instead the ranch had about it a distinct air of prosperity. Rather than cattle the new owners were running horses and the perimeter fence was now painted a pristine white. Vin let out a low whistle at the impressive transformation.

"Holy Hell! How come no one let on about was goin' on out here?"

Chris shrugged.

"No cause for people to come out this way much. Not even on our patrols."

Ezra, momentarily distracted by the fractious Kaiser fighting the bit and eager to run, brought the horse back under control and pointed to a plume of dust moving rapidly towards them.

"Gentlemen, I believe a welcoming committee has been dispatched in our honour. Do we proceed?"

Chris turned to look over his shoulder and waited for the rest of the party to close up, then spurred his horse onto a slow walk.

"We do."

The seven spread out into a loose flying wedge formation with Chris at the centre moving at a leisurely pace towards the ranch as an unknown number of riders continued to approach them at speed. Several minutes later Chris halted as the welcoming party fanned out in front of the seven lawmen effectively blocking any further progress. Six men in all.

One man, tall and very blond, rode forward stopping a few feet from Chris.

"You have business here?" His voice was heavily accented, the delivery haughty and abrupt, the question a demand.

No pretense at welcome here.

"I make it my business to know who's new in these parts," drawled Chris slowly, "Live longer that way."

The man, drew himself up and with an arrogant tilt of the head first looked Chris up and down as if he was an unusual specimen requiring closer examination, then allowed his gaze to rove along the line of riders before turning his icy blue eyes back on the man in black, condescension written plainly on his face.

"And you might be?"

Chris ducked his head and smiled.

"Well, mister. We're what you might call the law in these parts and I'm more interested in who the hell you might be."

The blond man's lips curved into a sneer and he urged his horse close enough to make Chris' mount back up a step.

"My name is Count Erik Von Hohenstaffel and you are on my property."

Ezra coughed politely and kneed the stallion forward.

"If I may be so bold, sir. I am here at the invitation of your sister, the Countess. You may in fact recognise this fine specimen of horseflesh as one of your own stock. Kaiser I believe."

Von Hohenstaffel immediately turned his attention to the impeccably dressed Southerner.

"Ah so! The owner of the lame horse." He openly appraised the gambler. "Ja, Katrin was quite taken with you Herr...Standish, is it not?"

Ezra tipped his hat in acknowledgement.

"And these men?" He waved his arm in a sweeping gesture to encompass the remaining six peacekeepers.

"My friends."

The Count stood briefly in his stirrups and turned to the men ranged behind him, uttering a sharp command in a foreign tongue. The five riders immediately wheeled their mounts and rode back towards the ranch. Von Hohenstaffel once again addressed Ezra.

"My apologies. I have been most inhospitable, but you understand that when seven armed men approach it is wise to take some precautions. I beg your forgiveness. I am sure Katrin will be most pleased to see you again, Herr Standish."

He manoeuvred his horse in a tight circle until he was facing the ranch again and urged the animal into a walk, indicating to Ezra and presumably the others, to follow.

Buck closed the gap where Ezra had moved out of line.

"I smell trouble, Chris. This fella's about as friendly as a rattlesnake."

"Know what you mean," Larabee agreed, "Just keep your eyes and ears open."

"Think Ezra knows what he's doin'?"

"I'm counting on it."

Chris was not a happy man. The intended show of force had somehow deteriorated into a social occasion for which he totally blamed the gambler. Admitted he had been given the opportunity to check out the both property and its new owners but he was as uncomfortable with the outcome as he had been with the idea of these decidedly odd foreigners with their hired guns moving into his territory.

Buck, unsurprisingly had immediately set his sights on the Countess, and had spent the better part of an hour flirting with the woman, who if anything was encouraging the ladies' man. JD was certainly enamoured but not of the Countess, rather his interest lay with her fine bloodstock. Chris decided he would be lucky if he ever managed to tear the kid away from the corral. Vin had simply vanished; having no time for social niceties he had wandered away soon after they had arrived and while Chris had every confidence that he would discover more in his casual sortie than any of the others he would have preferred to have had the tracker on hand. Josiah and Nathan were engaged in conversation with some of the ranch hands and in spite of a difference in language, for it seemed that all the Von Hohenstaffel's reinue had been imported, the two men seemed to be managing quite capably.

Ezra was another story. The Southerner had disappeared early in the proceedings into the house with Erik Von Hohenstaffel and Chris had seen neither of them since. No one else had been invited inside, in fact refreshments had been served in the yard. Chris had been irritated by the obvious distinction made between the gambler and the rest of them and while it suited his purposes to let Ezra have free reign to do what he did best, he hoped that the gambler would not be too tempted by the obviously rich pickings and get himself into trouble.

Unable to resist a smile, Chris watched with interest as Buck persisted in his predictable antics with the raven-haired Katrin. One thing could be said for Buck Wilmington, he never let a minor consideration such as class distinction ever get in the way of his ardour. And the woman was undoubtedly beautiful. Dangerous too, he imagined. Although Ezra had said nothing openly he had the impression that the gambler found something vaguely disturbing in the Countess, and given the situation they now found themselves in he felt he would for once be in total agreement with the canny Southerner on nothing more than a gut feeling.

"So, Herr Standish," started the Count as he offered the gambler a brandy, "You tell me that you are a gambler. Are you familiar with the game of chemin de fer?"

"Baccarat?" Ezra took a drink of the fiery spirit, appreciating its quality as it burned a path to his stomach, "I prefer poker, Sir. Baccarat requires little skill and holds no challenge for a man of my talents."

Von Hohenstaffel laughed.

"Ah, poker. The game of the masses. Still you would have little opportunity here to indulge yourself in anything more than relieving a ranch hand of his hard earned wages, nicht wahr?"

"Oh, it keeps me amused."

"Amused certainly, but rich? I think not."

Ezra shrugged not caring to pursue any further inquiries into his current financial status and downed the rest of the brandy.

Continuing the count waved his hand expansively to encompass the room and by inference the entire holding.

"Would you believe that this all became mine at the turn of a card?"

Ezra had no trouble believing it at all. Fortunes could be won and lost at the gaming table in the time it took to draw a breath and he had himself experienced both ends of the gambling spectrum. But his high rolling days were behind him. In spite of his mother's disapproval of his most recently acquired vocation, his life had changed considerably since he had first set foot in Four Corners and while he would never admit it to his colleagues, he found a certain degree of satisfaction in his new role of peace keeper.

"Indeed, sir. But you are unlikely to find such high stakes on offer here."

The Count inclined his head abruptly and took the gambler's empty glass.

"So say you, Herr Standish. Yet I believe you may still discover otherwise."

Ezra retrieved his hat from the sideboard.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Count Von Hohenstaffel but we have business to attend in town. I trust we shall meet again soon."

The man extended his hand.

"I look forward to matching wits with you over a game of cards, Herr Standish. I believe that you may prove to be a formidable opponent and worthy of my attention."

Ezra smiled and completed the handshake.

"My dear, sir. I would be honoured."

Chris moved the moment he saw Standish emerge from the house, intercepting the Southerner as he crossed the yard towards the corral. The two men fell into step neither of them missing a beat.

"Mr. Larabee, might I suggest we make our farewells and depart from this fine establishment post-haste. I see no valid reason for us to remain here any longer."

The man in black did not dispute the gamblers assessment, merely nodding his agreement.

"I've seen enough."

If Ezra was at all surprised by Larabee's ready acquiescence he made nothing of it, instead he gestured to the remainder of the group.

"I believe however, Mr. Larabee, that you may require all your excellent powers of persuasion to induce our colleagues to depart quite so readily."

Chris shot a bemused sidelong glance at Standish and strode towards his horse. He didn't shout but his gravelly voice carried clearly across the yard as without preamble he prepared to mount the beast.

"Okay, boys! Mount up. We got other business to take care of!"

Five men responded almost as one and within minutes were all astride their respective horses and ready to ride. Ezra, refusing to show any signs of haste, gathered Kaiser's reins from the rail.

"Of course, a direct order may be equally effective," he commented sotto voce in a respectfully amused aside.

Leading the big animal forward he made a half bow in front of Katrin.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Madame.You have been most gracious."

She smiled.

"You are most welcome, Herr Standish. Please visit us often." She leaned forward to kiss him on both cheeks murmuring as she did so: "But, Liebling, I would prefer to see you alone next time."

Standish inclined his head politely, neither accepting nor declining her invitation, and swung with an elegant economy of movement into the saddle. The Countess stepped forward and held the bridle fast in her hand as she moved in beside horse and man pressing sinuously against the Southerner's leg.

"It is possible," she purred, her voice low, "That I shall make the effort to visit your delightful little town very soon. I would wish for us to become better acquainted."

Her hand crept suggestively from his knee to thigh and he kneed the horse sharply forward as she persisted in stroking ever higher towards his groin, using the animal's shoulder to nudge her out of the way before she embarrassed him totally. He tipped his hat and she laughed throatily.

"Adieu, mein Liebe."

The gambler kicked the strongly muscled horse into a canter and quickly surged ahead of the other riders, relieved to put some distance between himself and the amorous noblewoman who had succeeded in both exciting him and repelling him at the same time.

The others spurred their horses on to catch up with the stallion and its distracted rider, but for once Ezra was not content to dally at the back of the posse and allowed the beast its head forcing the remaining six to keep up with him.

"What's the hurry?" asked J.D. More than a little puzzled by the gambler's behaviour, "You'd think all the hounds of hell were after him?"

Vin and Buck traded knowing grins.

"You see how that woman was lookin' at Ezra, Vin?"

"Like a cat with a canary."

Buck laughed.

"One with a mighty big appetite, and I reckon she's hungerin' after that boy."

"Poor Ezra," sympathised the tracker insincerely.

"Poor Ezra? Don't ya mean lucky son of a gun?"

J.D. shook his head as if pondering a weighty question.

"Don't know so much about being lucky, Buck. You notice the way that lady looks you up and down as if..." he hesitated for a moment, "..as if you got no clothes on? You know what I mean?"

The two men shifted uncomfortably in their saddles and exchanged a look of mutual understanding. They knew exactly what he meant.

**********

Chris pushed through the batwing doors of the saloon, allowing his eyes to adjust to the shadows after the bright sunlight for a moment before scanning the meagre crowd for the elusive gambler. Ezra had been a missing link since they had returned to town more than an hour ago, and Chris was running out of options as to where the Southerner might be found. Damn! That man could go to ground quicker than a gopher. He fronted up to the bar and signalled Inez to serve him. The attractive Mexican woman poured him a shot of whiskey and smiled in genuine pleasure.

"Senor, Chris. You want that I make you something to eat?"

Larabee shook his head and quickly swallowed the fiery amber liquid, immediately holding out the glass for a refill.

"Ezra showed up yet?"

She wiped down the bar in front of the gunman more out of habit than necessity.

"No. You wish to see him?"

Chris leaned his elbow on the bar and turned to face the room, his gaze once again sweeping the patrons as if Standish may have suddenly appeared while his back was turned. How the hell could one man manage to be so hard to pin down in a town this size? He had to admit a grudging respect for the wily gambler's ability to make himself scarce but his temper wasn't improved by the fact. He turned to the woman again and set his glass down on the bar top refusing a third shot.

"When he comes in, tell him I'm looking for him."

Inez nodded.

"Si."

Stern-faced, Larabee strode out of the saloon and Inez decided that in his present mood if he was looking for her, she wouldn't particularly want to be found.

Ezra liked watching Mary work. As the woman's hands deftly set the type in the press she exuded an air of confident efficiency that appealed to that part of the Southerner that craved order and routine. He certainly admired her dedication to the business yet the more he watched her, the more he realised that he was not cut out for the tedious routine of manual labour. While he could in part understand the attraction of the creative process involved and the sense of achievement in producing a daily broadsheet, the sheer drudgery of the entire procedure lead him to believe that such a mundane existence would never satisfy his own ambitions.

"What was that name again?" Mary lifted her head and brushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Von Hohenstaffel," he repeated, "Count Erik."

"I can make some enquiries for you, if you like. I still have a few contacts in the East."

"I would be eternally grateful, Miz Travis, for any assistance you can offer. I shall pursue my own line of enquiry, of course, but I have no doubt that you have access to sources outside my own circle of influence."

The gambler slowly rotated the brim of his hat though his fingers. His expression gave nothing away yet his actions signalled more clearly than he would have wished his troubled state of mind.

The blonde woman frowned and wiped a trace of ink from her hands with a rag.

"Is there something you want to talk about, Ezra?"

The sandy head came up and Mary was once again struck by the man's extraordinarily green eyes.

"No," he sighed, "I am merely dwelling on the fact that I enjoy watching you at work far more than any gentleman should. Were I not such a cad I declare I would be offering my assistance however I confess to an inherent aversion to menial tasks."

Mary looked at him steadily for several moments recognising the underlying melancholy in his self-critical analysis.

"We each follow our path, Ezra. Ours just happen to be a little different."

The Southerner stood up abruptly and smiled brightly, setting his hat back on his head.

"My dear, you are absolutely right. I shall now repair to the saloon and put my own particular talents to good use."

His hand was already on the door handle when Mary's voice called him back.

"Ezra! Whatever it isbe careful."

The gambler acknowledged her concern with a quick tip of his hat, and a moment later he was gone.

"Ezra!"

The Southerner heard the familiar roar of an irate Chris Larabee before he saw the man himself and turning without any display of haste he waited for the man in black to catch up with him.

"Mr. Larabee. You called?"

Chris' steel blue eyes bored chillingly into the gambler's own.

"Ezra, where the hell have you been? I want to talk to you."

Standish adjusted his cuffs and straightened his jacket, mannerisms he knew infuriated the blond gunfighter.

"That, Mr. Larabee is clearly evident from the vigour with which you pursued me. Pray tell, is there a calamity of which I am as yet unaware?"

"Ezra!" His name uttered through clenched teeth carried a warning that only Larabee could attach to a single word.

The gambler was wise enough to know when to heed such a warning from the taciturn gunfighter, especially when to further inflame his wrath could result in the very real possibility of physical violence.

"Might I suggest then that we retire to the saloon to conduct this most urgent dialogue? I feel myself in need of liquid sustenance."

Chris sighed. Nothing was ever straightforward where Ezra was concerned.

The ever-present deck of cards was in Ezra's hands before Chris had even sat down across the table from the urbane gambler, the Southerner's nimble fingers shuffling the pasteboards with impressive dexterity.

"Now, Mr. Larabee, is there something I can help you with?"

"For one I'd like to know why you took off from the ranch this morning like a scalded cat!" He looked levelly at the younger man for a moment, then relaxed slightly, "That woman sure acts more like a working girl than any lady."

"You noticed," replied Ezra drily, remembering too well the touch of her hand on his thigh.

"So she gave you the come on! I'm more interested if you turned anything up since you were the only one that got to talk to the Count."

"The man is an inveterate gambler and in fact acquired the William's spread in a card game. I believe that he enjoys playing for very high stakes, so what could possibly interest him in this particular social backwater I cannot begin to imagine. They are hedonists not ranchers."

"Hedo what?"

"Hedonists, Mr. Larabee. Devoted purely to the pursuit of pleasure. I doubt that either one of them has done a stroke of work in their lives."

"A bit like you, Ezra?"

The Southerner smiled flashing his gold tooth at the slight.

"Touché, Mr. Larabee."

"Something's not right out there, I can feel it. Can't put my finger on it yet -- it's like an itch I can't scratch."

Standish flipped a card over - the Queen of Clubs

"Well, Mr. Larabee I'm sure if you'd like to pay the Countess a social call she'll offer to scratch it for you."

The blond man's fierce stare merely made the gambler laugh as he imagined the fiery Countess' seduction of the coldly aloof gunman.

"I'm sure you're right, but from what I saw she's got her eye on you so I'd watch my back if I were you."

"On the contrary, Mr. Larabee," he muttered, "It's not my back I'm particularly concerned about."

The gunfighter picked up the whiskey bottle and poured himself a drink.

"I s'pose all we can do is keep a close eye on them," sighed Larabee, "They ain't done nothin' wrong."

"No, they haven't but I have to confess that I share your unease at their proximity. The further the distance I am able to maintain between the Countess Katrin and myself, the happier I shall be."

Vin pulled up a chair in time to overhear the last of the conversation.

"What, and miss a chance to get your hands on some of that money?"

"Oh, rest assured Mr.Tanner I believe I shall soon have the opportunity to relieve the Count of some of his cash reserves. The man is a keen gambler and in the not too distant future I intend to ascertain the extent of the man' skill. It should alleviate the boredom of playing for the pennies I now garner from the working populace of this town."

Tanner shook his head.

"You never worried none about takin' pennies before."

"And fear not, the possibility of engaging in a high stakes game will not in any way prevent me from taking your meagre earnings Mr. Tanner."

The Texan looked offended.

"You don't earn no more'n me."

"No, Mr. Tanner but I have other means by which to augment my income. I'm afraid seven dollars a week is barely enough to cover my hotel expenses."

"Shoot, Ezra. One day that appetite you have for money is going to get you into big trouble."

The gambler merely grinned and held up the cards.

"Care for a game, Mr. Tanner? Mr.Larabee?

**********

Vin checked the saddle cinch and allowed the stirrup to drop back into place. The sun had barely risen above the horizon and the morning was still cool but the cloudless sky suggested the coming of another hot day. He checked the saddlebags one more time and although he had done so twice already, made certain that the spare canteens of water he was carrying were full. A man didn't survive in this kind of country for long by being careless and no-one would ever accuse the Texan of being the least bit careless.

He looked up as he heard the familiar jingle of spurs already knowing who was approaching.

"You sure you don't want company?"

The black clad gunfighter stepped down from the wooden walkway and rested a hand on the packhorse's rump.

"Ain't we been through this already? Seems I remember talkin' this over last night."

Larabee ducked his head a little guiltily and smiled.

"Thought you might've changed your mind."

Tanner paused and leaned both arms across his saddle.

"Don't know what's gotten you so antsy lately, but you're startin' to crowd me some, Cowboy."

"Don't mean nothin' by it, Vin. I know you can take care of yourself."

Vin nodded, satisfied.

"See you in three, maybe four days then." He swung easily up into the saddle and reached for the pack horse's lead rein. "If I'm not back by Friday, then you can start worryin'."

Larabee stood back as the tracker kicked his horse into a trot and the two men exchanged brief nods as their only farewell.

Chris watched the sharpshooter until he disappeared from sight then turned to step back onto the boardwalk. First coffee then breakfast. He smiled and shook his head. Antsy? Hell, Vin was right, he'd been skittering around all week like virgin on her wedding night. Damned heatwave was enough to send anybody loco.

Vin was glad to leave the town behind. A man needed space to stretch out a little, breathe some fresh air away from the smoke and fumes of the saloon and the suffocating claustrophobia of being surrounded by too many people. He was beginning to feel the constraints of being in one place too long. When had getting to Tuscosa lost its urgency for him? At one time Chris had been fully prepared to go with him, back to Texas, but somewhere along the way the need of the town for protection had seduced him -- no, not only him -- all of them. And the longer he stayed, the harder it was to leave. There was always a reason to put off going for another day, and another, and another until the notion of pulling up stakes became too difficult to imagine. One thing he knew for certain was that he couldn't hide forever in Four Corners; even if he had to leave the closest thing he had ever had to a family behind.

He turned his mind to his destination. The mission at San Juan. Remote and peaceful, and within a stone's throw of the Mexican border. Freedom lay beyond that invisible line. Just keep ridin', cross the Rio Grande and the bounty on his head could be just a bad memory. But he knew he couldn't do it. He was a Tanner and whatever else that stood for it meant he didn't run and more importantly didn't turn his back on his friends. No, he would go back to Four Corners but whether Chris liked it or not it was time for him to start thinking about Tuscosa again.

Mindful of the growing heat of the day, he stopped to spell the horses. He planned on being at San Juan by nightfall and that meant a hard ride in front of him but not at the expense of the horses. He took a mouthful of warm water from his canteen before stoppering it again and moving to check the pack saddle. The distant cry of a bird drew his attention and he squinted into the sky finally fixing on a speck circling high in the air almost out of sight. Out of curiosity he took out his telescope and trained the lens on the slowly moving shape, impressed by the graceful beauty of the bird as it rode the thermal currents high in the sky. Just as he had thought, this was the Countess' hunting falcon Ezra had described obviously looking for a meal. He closed the brass instrument and tucked it safely in his saddle bag before collecting the lead rope of the pack animal and mounting up. For some reason he couldn't name he found the prospect of meeting up with any of the Hohenstaffel's retinue not entirely to his liking, and with no further hesitation he set about putting as much distance between himself and the old Williams' spread as he could.

There was no warning. The first Vin knew was that he heard -- and felt -- a sudden rush of air and almost simultaneously something struck him with great force in the side of the head. The horse, panicking at the sudden, silent attack reared and in the moment he was thrown violently from the saddle he felt an agonising pain in his neck then his head connected with the ground detonating coloured flashes that exploded in front of his eyes and he slid without any resistance into unconsciousness.

Something was not right. Aside from the fact that his head felt as if it was splitting in two and the fierce burning pain in his neck and shoulder he felt...wet? Panicking, he tried to struggle up but the attempt, as half-hearted as it was, made him dizzy and sick and he fell back again with a groan. Through the fog still lingering in his mind he could identify the sounds of voices pitched low although he didn't understand what was being said and he realised then that he was lying on something soft -- a bed. At that same moment he felt the unmistakable sensation of something warm and wet being moved across his exposed skin and he simultaneously tried to open his eyes, avoid the intrusive touch and cover himself. Hell and damnation! He was naked and he was being washed, and of the two he wasn't exactly sure which bothered him most. Unfortunately he achieved none of those goals. When he tried to move pain lanced through not only the wound in his neck but through his lower back and he was unable to prevent another groan escaping. The third time he tried to move a firm hand in the middle of his chest that he was too weak to resist convinced him that he should remain where he was.

"Please, you will only hurt yourself."

A woman.

He fought the lethargy that seemed to be slowing his every action and with a huge effort of will opened his eyes. Where was he? He remembered being thrown from his horse and the stabbing pain in his neck and shoulder but no more. That someone had found him and was taking care of him was obvious. Who that might be was another question.

The room was shaded by heavy drapes at the window and the light was a muted glow but he guessed it was early afternoon; several hours since he had fallen from his horse. What had happened to the horses? He was supposed to be taking supplies to San Juan. He closed his eyes again, partly because the effort in holding them open was more taxing than he could have imagined but partly because he reasoned that he wouldn't feel quite so embarrassed if he couldn't see who was tending his needs. He was wrong. As soon as he felt hands on his body again he wanted to crawl away and hide. Then he felt something soft and light being drawn over him and he was finally able to relax.

"Sir. You must drink."

The woman's voice again.

He felt his head and shoulders being gently raised and a cup held to his lips. The water tasted slightly bitter but he drank thirstily and within a few minutes he found the soothing murmur of voices was once again lulling him to sleep and the pain in his head did not seem quite so intense.

**********

The horse was magnificent. J.D. had groomed and tended the fractious stallion with the care a mother showed a newborn child and now the animal stood sleek and glossy in the corral, occasionally pawing the ground but reasonably placid. The livery had charged Ezra extra for stabling the animal after it had kicked one of the stalls to kindling and if truth be told the Southerner was glad to be finally taking the beast back to its rightful owner. This time he had accepted J.D.'s offer to ride with him recalling too well his last solitary excursion and this time he had also suggested that Dunne ride the stallion; as much to show his appreciation for J.D.s assistance over the past few days as to avoid the hard work of having to continually demonstrate his mastery over the big black. He had come to the conclusion that one did not so much ride the animal as be taken on a journey of enlightenment in which the dominance of man over beast was put severely to the question.

Ezra happily led J.D.s well-behaved bay from the livery and waited for the younger man to finish saddling Kaiser before mounting up. The stallion's ears flicked back then forward as if deciding whether it was going to bite, kick or buck and Ezra's mount danced nimbly sideways to avoid a confrontation. Shortening the reins the Southerner settled his hat firmly on his head before turning to his companion.

"Ready, Mr. Dunne?"

Dunne swung himself into the English saddle and grinned hugely.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Ezra."

The stallion was more than ready and J.D. was forced to put the lively animal under a tight rein to curb his enthusiasm before he took off at a run. Ezra merely laughed recalling his own similar difficulties, pleased that someone other than himself was being put to the test.

"Whatever you do Mr. Dunne I advise you not to give him his head, otherwise you may find yourself a good way south of the border before he tires enough to stop. That is of course provided he hasn't already thrown you into some ditch along the way."

He urged the bay forward still grinning broadly and left J.D. to follow, presuming of course he could convince the animal to at least make a start in the direction that he was expecting it to go.

Ezra found J.D. an unexpectedly entertaining companion and the ride was far pleasanter than his previous two forays into the same territory. The day was hot and cloudless, an exact copy of the countless days that had preceded it, and the two men maintained a leisurely pace frequently passing the water canteen between them as they rode. Grimacing at the metallic taste of the lukewarm liquid Ezra recapped the bottle and hung it once again from his saddle. He was tempted to take a drink from his hip flask but experience told him that although far more desirable in taste, the whiskey would merely increase his thirst. He glanced up to find J.D. had reined in the black and was preparing to dismount.

"Mr. Dunne. Might I inquire as to your intentions?"

The younger man squatted and looked closely at the signs in the dust.

"Look here, Ezra. I think this is blood. And it looks like someone took a tumble from a horse."

The Southerner rolled his eyes and nudged his horse forward, looking down at the ground where J.D. had indicated.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Dunne, until now I believed Mr. Tanner to be the only tracker in our worthy band of brothers."

J.D. looked up sharply, not certain if Ezra was being serious or, as was usually the case, mocking him. He could read nothing from the man's expression and decided that he was being complimented. Working his way around the confusing jumble of signs he finally rested back on his heels.

"There were two or three riders here, Ezra. My guess is someone rode into an ambush."

The gambler looked around, his hand hovering over his sidearm. A quick assessment of the terrain indicated that it was not the best place to be caught unawares and after a moment's hesitation he drew his gun.

"I believe, Mr. Dunne that we should not tarry here any longer unless you are particularly keen on experiencing a similar fate to that which obviously befell our predecessor."

J.D. stood up and moved further along the trail.

"But what if there's someone injured who needs help, Ezra? We can't just go without at least having a look around."

Ezra sighed wearily and reluctantly dismounted.

"God Almighty, save me from the good intentions of a man with a conscience."

The younger man scouted ahead, trailing the big horse behind him by the reins as he followed a side trail for a short distance. Ezra followed at a modest distance, eyes and ears attuned to the minute sounds of the quiet morning, his weapon cocked, and ready for any trouble.

"Find anything, my good Samaritan?" the easy tone belying his true concern.

Dunne stooped to pick something up from the ground and the Southerner joined him when no response was forthcoming. The younger man held out a small piece of bloodstained leather, a frown creasing his brow.

"Does this look familiar, Ezra?"

The gambler turned the scrap over in his fingers. He knew exactly what the boy was thinking; that it was a close match for Tanner's familiar buckskin jacket.

"This could belong to anyone J.D. I think it would be unwise to read anything into it at this time."

Both men turned their attention back to the dust beneath their feet but the ground had been churned by many hooves and feet and there was nothing to be gleaned from the confusion of footprints by either man. Ezra finally holstered his gun and remounted.

"I think we should continue on to our destination, Mr. Dunne. Afterwards I believe it may be prudent for us to pay a visit to Mercyville and ascertain Mr. Tanner's whereabouts. It was his intention to deliver some documents from the Judge to the Sheriff there."

J.D. nodded and threw himself athletically into the saddle.

"Let's get going then."

Standish shook his head and followed. Was nothing ever simple?

**********

It was dark; a total absence of light that was unnatural. His head buzzed unpleasantly and he was having difficulty following a logical train of thought. He thought he remembered waking up in a bed. He certainly remembered being struck by something and falling from his horse and the painful throbbing in his neck confirmed at least that much to be true. Struggling with the gaps in his memory he recalled a woman's voice, kind words and a soft feather bed but here he was huddled in a small, dark place shivering from the cold. Where was he? Mustering enough energy to move he started to explore his environment -- his prison -- for without doubt he recognised it for what it was.

He found he could kneel but not stand, and that he had enough room to stretch out full length but no more than that; so a six foot by six foot cell with a four or five foot ceiling. Already the oppressiveness of close confinement was causing his heart to race but he pushed aside the panic. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Sliding into a corner he felt the rough wall against his bare skin and realised he was naked except for a pair of rough woven pants. Everything else was gone; his boots, his buckskins, his weapon. They had left him the mountain lion's tooth on a leather thong around his neck but that was all.

Vin felt his stomach rumble and tried not to think of food. Or drink. Pointless when there was none to be had. Breathing evenly he stretched out and concentrated on conserving his strength and maintaining his sanity. If the opportunity arose to extricate himself from this he wanted to be ready; if it didn't it wouldn't matter because he would simply die. He was wagering on the fact that if someone had bothered to keep him alive so far that his immediate death was not part of the plan.

The sound of footsteps overhead dragged him out of a semi-trance but he remained motionless, eyes closed as he listened intently to the sounds above. One person, a man he thought, walking then pausing at intervals then walking again. Maybe now he would be given at least something to drink. He sighed. Of course that would bring its own torment for if he was permitted to eat and drink he would eventually have to answer the call of nature and the thought of languishing in his own filth in a black pit made him shiver from something other than cold.

The light was not particularly bright but it seared like a bolt of lightning, creating a red haze, as his closed eyelids filtered the worst it. He controlled the impulse to open his eyes, maintaining his relaxed pose and ignoring the fact that his prison cell had finally been broached. No good reacting until he knew if it was worth it. His skin prickled as he heard another sound, a sigh almost followed by a low, throaty growl. Still he contained himself, determined not to display any fear although the seeds of it were spreading rapidly through his belly.

"You will open your eyes now." It was a command. An unspoken threat woven between the words.

Vin heard a sigh and a scuffle of boots, followed by a clink of metal on metal, then a soft thud as something heavy landed in the pit with him. Something very much alive. He opened his eyes then, blinking, waiting for his pupils to adjust to the sudden assault. He was already wedged in the corner otherwise he would have scooted backwards as far as he could from the malevolent eyes of the beast now sharing his cell. It was a dog, he was sure of it, but unlike any dog he had ever seen and it eyed him hungrily, saliva dripping from its jaws as it stared unwinkingly at him.

"You would like some food, no? Maybe a little water?"

Vin did not take his eyes off the dog.

"Answer me!"

The Texan started at the shout and the dog lunged forward snarling.

"Yes!" The reply was out before he could even think about it.

"Yes, sir," prompted the voice, silkily.

Vin' first instinct was to refuse. To say instead exactly what this man could do with his food but he knew he needed to eat if he was going to survive.

"Yes, sir."

"That's better."

He heard another thud and realised that the bone on which still hung a few shreds of stringy meat which had landed between him and the dog was to be his meal. He looked at the dog and at the unappetising morsel. He wasn't that hungry yet. His captor must have guessed what was going through his mind.

"You eat first, or you will not drink -- today or tomorrow."

He knew when to accept defeat. Bide your time, Tanner. He reached for the bone, pulling his hand away with a curse as the dog lunged again its teeth snapping shut within a hair's breadth of the Texan's fingers.

"Goddamn!"

He heard a soft laugh.

"Teufel believes the food to be his. I think you will have to fight him for it."

Toyfell? What the hell kind of a name is that? He didn't have the strength for this. The dog was heavily muscled in the shoulder and probably weighed ninety pounds; he was injured and weak. He knew for a fact that Ezra would have put his money on the dog.

He feinted and the dog snarled a warning. Three times he feinted with his right hand, distracting the animal, becoming predictable. On the fourth pass he dived forward with both hands grabbing the bone with his left as the dog leapt for his right. Teeth sank into his wrist and he yelled in pain but he had the food and would not surrender it. White hot lances of fire shot through his arm as he pulled free, feeling the warm blood pour from the deep puncture wounds just above his wrist. Son of a bitch.

The dog suddenly sprang out of the pit at the call of its master and a tin flask was tossed into the cell before the grid in the ceiling was once again lowered and the Texan was once more plunged into darkness. Swearing he reached out and fumbled for the flask. Not full. He shook the container and figured there was maybe a cupful. Just enough to slake his thirst.

Leaning back against the wall again he hefted the measly bone in one hand and the flask in the other. Well, he had eaten worse in his time. He pulled of some of the meat with his teeth hoping it wasn't tainted; the last thing he needed on top of everything else was a dose of the squitters.

**********

Ezra slowed his horse to a walk as the arched entrance to the von Hohenstaffel spread loomed before him. He had to admit that he preferred riding away from this particular place rather than toward it but he had business to attend and surely the Countess would be able to conduct herself in a seemly manner for the short amount of time it would take fro him to reclaim his mount. He had known New Orleans courtesans who were less forward at displaying their wares than this lady and, he reminded himself, he was using the term very loosely. On his previous visit he had believed her quite capable of pulling him from his horse and rutting with him publicly in the dust. Dear Lord! He could only hope that the woman was otherwise engaged. Dealing with the Count was less likely to involve personal risk and, he decided, more likely to result in financial gain.

J.D. rode slightly ahead of the recalcitrant gambler, looking back every few seconds and concerned that Ezra looked more like a man going to the gallows that someone paying a visit to a Countess. The Southerner had been quiet for the last few miles and the younger man had respected his mood but now they were within a hundred yards of the ranch house and Ezra seemed more reluctant than ever to continue. Dunne was puzzled by the gambler's uncharacteristically reticent behaviour but put it down to his concern about Vin.

"Hey, Ezra. How soon d'you think we can get to Mercyville?"

He could see the change come over Standish as he assumed a different persona. Goddamn, Dunne realised, he could change his mood and personality like he changed his clothes!

"Well, Mr. Dunne, I hardly see any reason to tarry here once we have effected the change in mounts." He pulled out his silver pocket watch. "In which case we should be in Mercyville by mid-afternoon."

J.D. dropped back to ride beside the Southerner.

"You don't like the Countess, do you?"

Ezra gave a sardonic smile.

"My dear boy, whatever brought you to that conclusion?"

"Vin says she's no lady and all she wants to do is get into your britches. Called her a high class whore."

The gambler struggled to maintain his composure, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or defend the woman's honour so maligned by the outspoken bounty-hunter. Tugging at his collar which suddenly seemed to have become too tight he settled on an amused smile.

"Mr. Tanner is at times most astute if a trifle indelicate."

"Is that why you don't like her? "Cause of what Vin says?"

"J.D.," began Ezra patiently, "It is not a matter of disliking the lady, it's a question of personal integrity."

Dunne began to laugh.

"Chris reckons she's like a fox in a hen-house -- and you're one of the chickens."

Standish straightened in the saddle, the fact that he had finally taken offence clearly evident, and urged his horse forwards.

"Yes, well, we shall see about that, Mr. Dunne. Pay attention and you might learn something."

The yard although deserted when they first approached soon became a mass of noise and confusion as a pack of hounds emerged from an outbuilding and swarmed around the horses legs baying and snapping at each other. Kaiser kicked out and sent one unfortunate animal flying but the dog merely shook itself and returned undaunted to the fray. J.D. shot a quick look at the Southerner who was leaning casually on the saddle horn, unperturbed by the madness swirling and boiling at his feet. A shrill whistle followed by gutteral shouts and the dogs suddenly peeled away, charging towards an unseen master.

"Hunting hounds," mused Ezra, "I wonder what our friends intend pursuing in this inhospitable neck of the woods. Finding a jackrabbit around here let alone game worthy of the chase would be an achievement indeed."

"There's wolves," pointed out J.D. "If you go into the hills."

"Yes," agreed the gambler absently, "There are wolves."

But J.D. didn't think he sounded as if he meant quite the same thing.

"Ah, mein freund, Herr Standish! Wie geht es ihnen?" The Count appeared from the stable, a horse-whip in one hand which he struck against his boot as he walked. "My apologies. How are you today?"

J.D. watched the colour drain from Ezra's face and he realised with a sick lurch of his stomach that the source of his discomfiture was the whip in Erik's hand. The young man had seen the scars the gambler now carried on his back and could understand his reaction. He quickly dismounted and the Southerner followed suit, managing to regain his composure if not his colour by the time the Count had reached them.

"You have come for your horse, yes?"

"Indeed. I have already imposed on your generosity far too much. Please accept my sincere thanks."

Erik waved an elegantly dismissive hand.

"It is nothing. I will have my groom ready your own horse for you immediately." He called out a rapid stream of what the two men took to be instructions before turning his attention back to them. "Pease, if you will follow me I will see to it that you given refreshments while you wait."

Ezra nodded.

"Thank you. You are most kind."

J.D. hurried to catch up with the Southerner, afraid he would become distracted under the Count's influence. Ezra had already mentioned von Hohenstaffel's predilection for gambling, and J.D. knew all too well Standish's flexible interpretation of time if he became involved in a card game.

"Mercyville," he hissed, as a reminder as they were ushered inside the cool interior of the ranch house.

"Mr. Dunne," Ezra muttered quietly, "In spite of my advanced years I am not yet feeble-minded. Be assured I do recall the urgency of our mission."

The Count offered drinks, amused when J.D. refused alcohol.

"Young man, maybe it is appropriate that I seek a wet nurse for you?" He was smiling but the words were viciously barbed and J.D. felt a shiver of fear run through him. He was glad Ezra was there.

"I believe Mr. Dunne will be perfectly happy with water, Erik," interrupted Ezra with abrupt finality, "But I could be persuaded to indulge in some of your most excellent brandy."

The Count inclined his head graciously accepting the unspoken rebuke, first offering Ezra a fine cognac and then with a slight bow presenting J.D. with a glass of water.

"You have some time to spare, Herr Standish? I have not yet had the opportunity to challenge you to a game of cards and I'm sorely in need of some entertainment in this hell hole. Not even any decent game for the hunt!"

"Ah, the hounds. Do you have something particular in mind? As you have so accurately pointed out game is undeniably scarce in these parts."

"Oh, I make do," commented the Count, off-handedly, "One adapts."

"I'm sure one does." Ezra finished off the cognac and placed his glass down on an elegantly turned ormolu side table. "You must excuse us. I regret my young friend and I have some urgent business to attend. Maybe we can arrange a hand or two of poker some other time?"

"Come now," protested the Count, somewhat petulantly, "What can be so important that you cannot spare an hour or two? I can assure you of some entertaining play and some very interesting stakes."

"I'm sorry. We're looking for a friend of ours who may have suffered a misfortune," explained Ezra, "You may indeed remember him from our last visit."

"He's a tracker," interrupted J.D. enthusiastically, "Name's Vin Tanner."

Von Hohenstaffel frowned slightly and swirled the amber liquid in the bottom of his glass. Finally he looked up settling his gaze on the younger of the two, a cold smile touching his lips but never reaching his eyes.

"I believe I do remember, Herr Standish. Dressed in skins and smelling like a wild animal?"

Ezra cut off J.D.'s forthcoming protest with a warning glare.

"That would indeed be our Mr. Tanner," agreed the Southerner, "The man is not a subscriber to the regular custom of bathing."

The Count laughed then and moved around behind Dunne, resting a carefully manicured hand on his shoulder.

"And this one, Herr Standish. A mere youth. An innocent indeed. Such good fortune that he has a sophisticated man of the world such as yourself to instruct him."

The gambler retrieved his hat from the sideboard, signalling that he was ready to leave.

"Indeed." His voice was flat and expressionless. "Now we really must be on our way."

He extended his hand and smiled but it matched von Hohenstaffel's in its chill. Dunne was confused at the undercurrent of tension in the room but he knew that both men were operating on two levels. Saying one thing but meaning another entirely. He hoped Ezra knew what he was doing because he had the sudden premonition that Count Erik von Hohenstaffel was a very dangerous man.

"Of course. I understand your concern for your friend. We can match our wits at the tables some other time."

"I look forward to it, Sir."

Ezra tipped his hat and ushered a more than willing J.D. back into the yard.

**********

Vin sat with his injured hand tucked in his armpit. He couldn't tell whether an hour had passed or a day since he had been bitten by the hell-hound. Minute after black minute had followed one after the other, the monotony only broken by his need to sleep, eat or relieve himself. His wrist throbbed where the dog had sunk its teeth into his arm and it felt tender and swollen. Having no way of cleaning it he fully expected it to fester. Damn! He didn't need to be weakened any more and a fever would certainly do that. If he'd been out on the trail he could have at least cauterised the punctures. Hell, the dog might be rabid. He had a little water remaining but he couldn't spare any; it was little enough for him to drink. He had gnawed the bone to nothing, even sucking out the marrow but it had barely taken the edge of his hunger, now he drew himself into a ball and curled up in the corner. He could do nothing now but wait and hope that eventually Chris would realise that he was in trouble. Of course by the time that happened it might be too late.

He was no stranger to deprivation. He had learned to live off the land and as a buffalo hunter he had spent weeks out on the trail with no company save his own. Out of necessity he had learned to tend his own wounds, had learned to eat a rattlesnake raw, had learned to eat roots and grubs if necessary to stay alive but here, in this dark empty pit his skills meant nothing. Whether he lived or died was solely at the mercy of whoever held the key to his prison. He reached for the tin flask and swirled the remaining mouthful in the bottom just to reassure himself that it was still there. He was thirsty but not desperate -- not yet.

He would try to sleep. At least he could conserve energy that way and for a short while the hopelessness of his situation might be forgotten. He raised his fingers to the side of his neck and winced. Damn that hurt! Again he tried to remember what had happened but his head ached too much and he gave up. Sleep, Tanner, there's nothing else to do.

**********

Chris had been unable to shake the feeling of unease that had dogged him since Vin left. Shoot! He knew Tanner was a grown man and had been looking out for himself a long time before he'd happened along but that didn't stop him from worrying. He poured himself another rot-gut and scanned the almost empty saloon. Ezra and J.D. too, he thought absently, a whole passel of trouble right there with those two together and unchaperoned. The kid stood no chance against the gambler's manipulative ways and God alone knew where the pair of them might end up. Buck was frettin' over J.D. like a mother whose virgin daughter had just been stolen by the Comanches. He smiled at that; considering the boy was with Ezra, maybe he had a right to be concerned after all. The Southerner was likely to lead Dunne to hell and damnation given half a chance. Hell, what was he thinking? Since when had he signed on as nursemaid? He quickly disposed of another shot of whiskey and decided it was still too goddamned hot.

The heat-induced torpidity of the township was contagious. The jail was empty, the streets were quiet and almost everyone was indoors seeking respite from the midday sun. Chris was loath to stir himself from his comfortable spot in the corner but the Judge paid him to be the law in the town, he could hardly spend his entire day with a bottle of whiskey as a companion. As it was the almost too difficult decision as to whether he should stay or go was made for him. The rising rumble of many voices in the street was enough to capture his interest; the shrill, horror-filled scream of a woman brought him to his feet and the familiar voice of Josiah summoning him prompted his rapid exit from the relative coolness of the saloon.

"What is it, Josiah?"

A small crowd had gathered around a wagon driven by a man and woman of middle-years, and from the awed expressions on the faces of the onlookers he gathered the ruckus was over whatever they had brought in the wagon with them. He pushed forward, the crowd stepping back a a pace to let him through. That the shapeless bundle on the wagon bed was a body was clear enough, and there was blood enough on both the boards and the blanket to make an educated guess that Nathan's assistance would not be required. The preacher stood with his head down, his look of extreme sorrow mirroring exactly Nathan's expression and for a moment Chris' gut clenched in anticipation of what he was about to see.

"Josiah? Nathan?"

The bigger man threw back the old blanket which had offered the man underneath its protection some degree of dignity and a soft gasp issued from the assembled townsfolk. Larabee was no stranger to violent death but he felt his gorge rise at the sight which Josiah had exposed to view. That this had been a young man in the prime of his life was evident and the long brown hair and lean body reminded Chris so much of Vin that he had to clutch at the wagon for support until reason took hold and he was able to shake the awful vision that it was the Texan lying there. The body had been savagely mauled, by what manner of creature Chris could not hazard a guess but surely not human at any rate. There was not much left of the face to afford a ready identification but the townsfolk knew enough to put two and two together and name the corpse.

"It's the McKenzie boy," whispered one woman, "The Lord have mercy on the poor lad's soul."

The man who had been at the reins moved with wooden precision to the back of the wagon.

"Aye. That's my son, Angus," He looked to Chris. "Found him this mornin'. Been missin' for nigh on three days. The lad had tried to get home."

Josiah grasped the man's arm in unspoken sympathy and the man nodded dourly, keeping a firm hold on his emotions.

Chris moved to the side of the wagon and stared for a long moment at the pitiful remains of what had been a young man; someone's son.

"This is how you found him?"

"Just so. About two miles from my boundary fence."

"Is this how he was dressed when he went missing?"

The man seemed to suddenly realise what was being asked of him. The body was dressed in nothing more than rough homespun pants tied at the waist with twine; no boots, no shirt, no hat.

"Lord, no. Angus was dressed proper and all. Had his working clothes on."

"Was he wearing a gun?"

"Not a sidearm; not Angus, but he always carried a shotgun with him."

"And he was on horseback?"

"A sure thing. But Bessie came home yesterday. That's when I knew something was wrong and went looking for the lad."

Josiah pulled the blanket back over the ruined face.

"May the Lord Bless You and Keep You," he intoned, "And may you find eternal peace in his care."

The elder McKenzie nodded his thanks and started to move back to the front of the wagon but turned and looked sadly at the three men.

"I don't know what killed my boy, but man or beast I'd appreciate some help tracking it down."

Chris nodded.

"We'll take care of it. You just take care of your family."

McKenzie tipped his hat.

"Much obliged."

Slowly the man led the pair of horses drawing the wagon and its grisly load down the street in the direction of the undertaker, a symbol of sorrow and defeat.

Chris shook his head slowly.

"Never seen nothin' like that before. Not even a mountain lion does that to a man."

Nathan looked thoughtfully after the wagon then turned to Chris and Josiah, his face troubled.

"I've seen it before." He paused. "On the plantation, they'd sometimes send the coonhounds after a runaway. That's pretty much how a man looks when he's been mauled over by a pack of dogs."

"Dogs?" Chris frowned. "Ain't no dogs around here that I know of in any number. Wolves maybe?"

Nathan shook his head.

"I'm tellin' you, Chris. That man was killed by dogs and if we don't find 'em he mayn't be the last."

Larabee ran his hands through his hair.

"Damn, I could sure use Vin on this and he ain't due back until tomorrow at the earliest. Can't say how long J.D. and Ezra'll be gone so it looks like it's just the four of us. Nathan, you stay...no Josiah you stay and keep an eye on things...we might need you, Nathan, so you and Buck come with me." He looked around suddenly. "Where the hell is, Buck?"

As if summoned the mustached ladies' man came jogging out of the boarding house, hurriedly fastening his braces and looking slightly used, his gun belt over his shoulder and his hat tucked under his arm.

"What's the ruckus? Did I miss something?"

Chris shook his head and strode away towards the livery.

"Tell him, Nathan! We leave in ten."

**********

Ezra was not happy. He was already hot and tired, and Mercyville was nothing more than a cess pit of a town which in his estimation made Purgatorio look like the streets of Paris in comparison. J.D. seemed not to notice either its status as a pestilential hole or the stench that emanated from the tannery on the edge of the town.

"Dear God," uttered the Southerner, looking with undisguised horror at his surroundings, "I will never again complain of the rude facilities offered by our own fair town.'

"I expect you'll want to go to the saloon first, before we see the sheriff."

"On the contrary, dear boy. I believe it would be prudent to terminate our business here as soon as humanly possible and remove ourselves from this noxious environment."

"Huh?"

Ezra sighed and shook his head. The day was definitely getting longer.

"No, J.D. We'll go find the sheriff first."

The younger man pointed to what appeared to be the most strongly-built structure in the town; the jailhouse.

"Guess this is it, Ezra."

"Most observant, Mr. Dunne," muttered the gambler, as he dismounted and stretched, feeling the tightness of his scarred back under his jacket, "Let us proceed."

The Sheriff, a grizzled man in his early fifties, shook his head.

"Ain't seen no one like that. Been expecting those papers though. In fact thought you was the ones sent by the Judge. Yesterday you say?" He scratched his head. "You know I don't know what's happening round here lately, folks going missing and all."

Ezra slowly raised his eyes from the wanted posters he'd been casually scanning.

"Missing?"

"Oh, coupla young fellas didn't come back after a spell boundary riding. Reckon they lit out for Kansas City looking for some fun."

"How long ago was this?"

The Sheriff scratched his beard thoughtfully.

"Let's see, Jimmy Fryer he went about a month back, and Tom Gaynor's been missing 'bout two weeks now."

Ezra brushed the dust of his hat and settled it on his head.

"Well, thank-you, Sheriff but we must be on our way." He started to leave then turned back to look over his shoulder. "There is a telegraph office in this fair town I assume?"

The Sheriff jerked a thumb which seemed to indicate the latter end of the main street.

"Just next to the blacksmith."

"Thank you."

"Say, I hope you find your friend."

The Southerner nodded once and stepped out into the street looking in both directions, his gaze finally resting on a hotel which seemed slightly less repulsive than the other establishments of a similar nature. He pointed across the street.

"Mr. Dunne. Much as it against my better judgement we need to rest the horses before starting back, so I suggest you repair to the hotel across the street and see if you can't find something remotely edible to sustain us."

"What about you?"

"I intend to telegraph Mr. Larabee and inform him that Mr. Tanner seems to be lost."

J.D. laughed.

"Vin? Lost? Ha, he couldn't ever get lost!"

Ezra sighed.

"No, I fear you are absolutely correct, Mr. Dunne but I don't believe I have the right or indeed the courage to inform Mr. Larabee of our suspicions just yet. If Mr. Tanner has suffered a misfortune we shall find out soon enough."

The Queen Charlotte turned out to be a modest but respectable hotel and by the time Ezra had arranged for a telegram to be sent to Chris, J.D. had organised something for them to eat.

"I wired Mr. Larabee and have asked him to meet us at the Von Hohenstaffel ranch."

J.D.'s head snapped up from his food.

"We're going back there?"

Ezra calmly put his loaded fork back down on his plate.

"Why, Mr. Dunne, am I to understand you have misgivings about renewing your acquaintance with the Count and Countess?"

"There's something wrong with that place, Ezra. Don't you feel it?"

The gambler pushed aside his half-finished meal, appetite suddenly gone.

"Would you care to elaborate, Mr. Dunne?"

"Shoot, Ezra. You know. It's like when you were talking to the Count this morning. Neither of you saying what you really meant."

Standish smiled.

"I admit I have my own reservations about the Count and his sister. They are indeed a strange couple and by all appearances indulge in every vice imaginable but the ranch is a convenient half-way house and it would seem prudent to meet there."

J.D. stabbed a fork into his food.

"You gonna play poker with him?"

Ezra leaned back.

"My dear boy, if the stakes were high enough I'd play poker with the Devil himself."

The younger man glanced up and eyed the Southerner carefully.

"You know what, Ezra. I really think you would."

**********

Mary Travis was only too glad to leave the oppressive heat of the newspaper office behind. On such days even wearing her lightest dress the tightly cinched waist and the constrictive stays made her feel faint. She lifted the hair from the back of her neck and sighed, wishing she could just take off her clothes and sit in a cool bath. My God! What was she thinking? Starting guiltily as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud in a room full of strangers she started to walk down to the hotel. Perhaps a cool draught of cordial would be the thing.

"Miz Travis?" She turned at the sound of her name being called and found Ted Booth, the clerk from the telegraph office hailing her from across the street. "Wire for you Miz Travis. Come all the way from Boston too."

Mary quickly crossed the street and took the flimsy from the man.

"Thank you, Ted. I've been waiting for this."

The clerk held out a second slip of paper.

"This just came in for Chris Larabee. You seen him around?"

"I think he rode out to the McKenzie place an hour or two ago, Ted."

"Well, this here's from Mr. Standish. I reckon Chris'll want to see this right soon."

"It's important? I could give it to Josiah..."

"I ain't supposed to give this to anybody but Chris, but," he lowered his voice, "I reckon I should make sure one of them boys gets to see it."

He pressed the slip into her hand.

"If you could give this to Josiah I'd be mighty obliged."

She nodded and smiled.

"Certainly, Ted."

With a swish of her skirts she turned and crossed to the saloon, knowing she would be able to find the preacher either there or in the church. She unfolded the paper in her hand.

"Courier missed appointment in Mercyville. Suggest meet von Hohenstaffel ranch soonest. Ezra."

Courier? What was Ezra doing in Mercyville? She shrugged and pushed through the batwing doors, slipping her own telegram into her apron pocket. Now, just to find Josiah would be the trick.

*********

His head buzzed, feeling too light and the heat of fever was upon him, robbing his body of the little moisture he had managed to conserve, burning him up. He ran his tongue over dry lips and wondered if he was going to die. Not how he would have chosen to go; already buried, out of the sun. If he had to die he wanted to feel the wind on his face, the warmth of the sun on his skin and be able to touch the earth, not be under it. He shivered again and wrapped his arms around his knees, his misery complete.

The trapdoor swung up almost soundlessly on well oiled hinges and the small cell was flooded once again with warm light thrown from a shielded lantern. Vin did not stir. He didn't care. He would not dance to a madman's tune whatever the cost.

"Wake up, my Sleeping Beauty. I have need of you my friend."

"Fuck off."

A laugh.

"I see the spirit is not yet broken. You should do nicely."

Vin heard movement above and fully expected to share his prison with the hell-hound again but instead he was shocked into alertness as he was unexpectedly doused with a bucketful cold water. He shook his head, flicking the water from his face and hair, tasting the salt and feeling the bite of it in his wounds. Still he did not move, biding his time; a spark of defiance flickering uncertainly deep in his psyche.

"Get up!" It was a command.

The Texan threw back his head, allowing his eyes time to adjust to the light.

"You want me, you bastard. You come and get me."

"I think not. You either get up now, or you die -- now."

Vin waited, not sure how much strength he had left in him to put up any kind of resistance. He was hungry, thirsty, tired and feverish but he'd been that road before. Hell, this was nothing on what the Comanches could dish out to a prisoner. Given the chance he would kill with his bare hands -- he'd done that before as well. If his captor wanted an animal then that's just what he'd get. He got up.

"Excellent. You're no good to me if you can't move."

"I'm no good to you dead then am I?"

"Do not tempt me. You could still be useful as dog meat -- but the entertainment value would no longer be there." The lamp moved and Vin realised the man had moved away. "Hans! Dieter! Get him ready."

He struggled only slightly as he was dragged from the pit, the wound in his neck and shoulder breaking open as his arms were wrenched behind his back. Wild-eyed he breathed heavily through clenched teeth, wondering if he could summon the strength to bolt. He shuddered as another chill wracked his body. Not now, Tanner. Now was not the time.

**********

The sun was well past its zenith but none of the punishing heat seemed yet to have gone out of the day. The two riders ignoring their own discomfort had maintained a steady ground-eating canter since leaving Mercyville, driven by an urgency that neither man could articulate but which both men felt equally. They had spoken no more than a dozen words in the two hours they had been travelling; each aware that this was no longer a social outing but a mission, and that mission had but one goal: to find Tanner.

Ezra's horse stumbled and the gambler abruptly reined in, calling out a warning to his companion who promptly followed suit and circled back to join the Southerner, a mixture of concern and impatience on his young face.

"What? We ain't got time to stop. Not this close."

Standish leaned on the saddle horn and sighed.

"My horse cannot sustain this pace any longer, Mr. Dunne. And while I understand your compunction to make haste, it will serve us ill indeed if either horse founders." He unhooked his water canteen from the saddle and took a drink before passing it to Dunne. "It would also not be in our best interests to arrive at our destination without something in reserve."

The younger man took a long swallow of the tepid liquid and handed the canteen back to the gambler.

"You expecting trouble, Ezra."

The Southerner capped the water bottle and looked seriously at his young companion.

"Just bein' prudent, Mr. Dunne. I rather think in this case it would be reasonable to leave the back door open, so to speak."

J.D. took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve, looking up at the cause of his discomfort then out into the distance, his expression a study of doubt and concern. The older man leaned forward and in an unusual gesture of solidarity squeezed Dunne's shoulder.

"Vin can take care of himself, J.D. He'll be alright."

Dunne firmly fixed his hat back on his head and took up the reins, nudging his horse into a walk.

"I hope you're right, Ezra."

The Southerner secured the canteen and watched J.D. for a moment before kicking his own mount into motion.

"So do I, kid."

Larabee had spent the last hour backtracking the blood trail from the spot where McKenzie had found his son. Buck and Nathan had fanned out on wither side of him and had been quartering a square mile of scrub between them. Chris was no slouch at tracking but he knew he did not have anything like the skill of Tanner and he sorely missed having the Texan at his side. He had picked up the boy's tracks easily enough, bare and bloodied feet leaving distinct impressions at regular enough intervals to make it a simple trail to follow. What Chris knew he was missing were the more subtle signs. He had found no other spoor, no sign of dogs or any other animal for that matter and he wondered just how far this boy had travelled. A yell from Buck brought his head up.

"Chris! I think you should take a look at this."

Larabee tugged at his horse's reins and jogged over to where Buck squatted on his heels indicating a spot on the ground. The gunslinger tried to decipher the confused signs, identifying blood, numerous four-toed animal prints -- the dogs, hoofs and what looked like boot prints.

"Seems it weren't just dogs, Chris. There was a man here." He gestured at the distinct footprints. "Looks like this is where the kid was brought to ground. Lots of blood."

Chris circled, gradually widening his perimeter as he searched the ground.

"How did he get away, Buck? If he was brought down here, why didn't he die here."

Buck shrugged and stood up.

"Beats me, but Nathan was right about one thing. The dogs."

Larabee dropped into a crouch, his hand reaching out to touch a deep, clearly defined print unlike the others.

"Well, Buck, if this here belongs to a dog then I sure as hell don't want to come face to face with it."

Wilmington joined him and leaned over his shoulder.

"Jesus! That's some big fucking dog."

Chris looked away towards their starting point.

"I think this is the one that killed Angus McKenzie. The tracks head back that way." He stood up and pointed. "Look. The kid was brought down here by the pack, but he got away and kept going. This one circled behind and it's my guess it finished him off where his Pa found him this morning."

Buck looked unhappily at his oldest friend.

"We gotta see this through, Chris. We keep going?"

Larabee sighed and looked back over the vast emptiness of scrub.

"We keep going."

**********

Josiah stretched his long frame out on the roof and rested for a moment, feeling the heat of the sun relentlessly hammering at his skin and bringing him out in a fresh welter of perspiration. The shingles could wait a while longer, he decided releasing his grip on the hammer, it was just too damned hot to keep up any sort of physical exertion for long. If he had any sense he'd be sitting in the saloon with a beer in his hand. If J.D. and Ezra would just get their carcasses back to town he could at least ride out and join Chris in some purposeful activity. Knowing the Southerner he was probably sitting comfortably in the shade with a shot of whiskey in his hand attempting to fleece the Count out of his inheritance. He smiled at the image it conjured. The street was almost deserted; a few folk were out and about but those with more sense were indoors; even the blacksmith had shut up shop for the day and Josiah recalled seeing him head towards the saloon some time before. Finally he sat up and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand, his gaze unintentionally drifting to the north where he knew Chris had gone. He sighed, not particularly envying the three men but still chafing at the inactivity of remaining the watchman.

"Josiah?"

The big man scooted to the edge of the roof, dangling his legs over the eaves.

"Mary?"

The blonde woman looked up, startled not expecting to see the preacher looking down at her from the rooftop.

"No wonder I couldn't find you, Josiah," she sighed, "That's where you've been hiding."

Sanchez laughed, a deep rumble.

"Just fixin' a few loose shingles, Mary." He hefted the hammer. "Or at least tryin' to."

The woman squinted against the sun and waved a slip of paper in his direction.

"A telegram came in for Chris a little while ago. Ted thought it might be important. It's from Ezra."

Josiah got to his feet. No wonder Ezra and J.D. still weren't back. Where the hell was he to be sending a telegraph?

"Ezra? What's he gotten himself into this time? Be right down Mary."

He scrambled crab-wise across the sloping roof and swung down onto the ladder, making an economical but nonetheless rapid descent. He took the message slip from Mary and quickly scanned the few words his face creasing in a worried frown. The gambler had not said much but it was what he had left unsaid that concerned Sanchez.

"Courier? I guess he means Vin. He was supposed to make a delivery for the Judge in Mercyville before going on to the mission."

Mary looked over his shoulder.

"Maybe he decided to go on to the mission first?" she suggested helpfully

Josiah gnawed his lip and re-read the message. It was definitely a summons for Chris; a clear request for help.

"Maybe."

"You don't think Vin's in some kind of trouble do you?"

He handed Mary the hammer and took her by the shoulders.

"I think I'd better go after Chris. Can you keep an eye on things here?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, half-smiling.

"Me? I'll just load up with some double-ought buck shall I?"

Josiah laughed.

"I hope it doesn't come to that but it might be worth keeping the old shotgun handy just in case."

She patted his arm.

"I'm sure there'll be no trouble. You go."

He nodded once and retrieved his gun belt from the ladder where it had been hanging while he worked.

"Thanks, Mary."

She watched him stride away towards the livery, the hammer still in her hand.

"Don't mention it."

**********

Ezra slowly dismounted and looked around the empty yard, as beside him J.D. mirrored his actions.

"I must say I expected Mr. Larabee to arrive before us," he muttered, "I can only hope we don't have to spend too much time in the company of our noble friends while we wait."

J.D. nudged the Southerner.

"Here they come."

The gambler closed his eyes for a brief moment and sighed.

"Once more into the breach."

"What?"

"Never mind, Mr. Dunne." He looked seriously at the younger man, concern in his vivid green eyes. "Let me do the talking and try to stay out of trouble."

"Herr Standish! Back so soon? You were unsuccessful in your search?"

The Count and Countess stood together, arms linked, smiling benignly at the two travellers.

"Alas, it seems Mr. Tanner may have suffered a misfortune on his journey. I have taken the liberty of summoning assistance and expect my friends to meet us here within the hour. I trust you have no objection to that?"

The pair exchanged enigmatic glances before Katrin detached herself from her brother, moved forward sinuously and placed a familiar hand on the Southerner's arm.

"Of course not, Liebling. Now come inside. You can freshen up while you wait for your friends to arrive."

Standish nodded his acceptance and allowed the Countess to take his arm. Erik fell into step beside the much shorter J.D. and draped an arm around his shoulders, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"Tell me, jungend. Is Herr Standish a formidable opponent at cards? I have so missed having a challenge of late!"

Dunne squirmed uncomfortably.

"Ezra don't lose much if that's what you mean. And he reckons when he does it's because he feels sorry for us! Heard he used to be a high roller down in New Orleans 'fore he came out West."

"How interesting. Do you play cards too?"

"Just poker and faro."

"You play well?'

"Not as good as Ezra," he admitted, "But then, no one's as good as Ezra."

The Count laughed, an unpleasant sound.

"We shall see, my young man. We shall see."

Ezra looked around the room; at any other time he would have been more than impressed but right now the expensive decor and heavy European furniture meant little beside his own general weariness and his increasing concern for the Texan's safety. He smiled wanly as he peeled off his jacket and removed his gun belt and shoulder rig before sliding his suspenders off his shoulders. Not like you, Ezra. Concerned for someone else's welfare other than your own? He poured water from the ewer into the basin and stripped off his shirt, smelling the subtle aroma of lavender from the wash basin. The water was cool and refreshing as he doused first his head then his chest, allowing the water to run off his skin in rivulets as for a moment he leaned with his hands on the wash stand suddenly very tired.

He didn't hear the door open but his eye caught the movement in the mirror which stood on the shelf in front of him. He reached for the towel and at the same time slid his Colt out of the shoulder holster, holding the gun loosely in his left hand as he dried his face and chest, slowly turning to present the business end of the short-barrelled gun to his unannounced visitor.

"Why, Herr Standish. Do you mean to shoot me?"

Katrin von Hohenstaffel seemed to find the prospect amusing as she continued blithely into the room ignoring the weapon.

"I believe it is customary to knock," admonished the Southerner, placing the gun on the night stand and picking up his shirt, "And where I come from a lady does not enter a gentleman's room uninvited."

"I'm sure you are making that up. I go where I wish, but then I am no lady."

Ezra wisely decided to refrain from comment, deciding she would hardly appreciate it if he was boorish enough to agree with her. He wiped the last of the moisture from his chest and dropped the towel on the bed, wishing he had a clean shirt as he inspected the well creased and sweaty item in his hand. As if reading his mind she moved forward and took the garment.

"This will not do. Erik will have a shirt that you can have. You are not very different in size, although," she put a hand on his chest, then stepped back her eyes appraising him, lingering on his crotch, "I think you are maybe bigger."

Ezra maintained his composure and turned his back on her busying himself with the shaving equipment on the wash stand although he questioned his sanity in using a razor anywhere near this woman. He was certainly beginning to question her sanity.

He tensed as he felt her hand brush the newly-healed skin of his back. Damn. He had not intended that she should see let alone touch but now he almost dared not move as light fingers traced the path of the whip strokes. Sinuous. Sensuous.

"Liebling," she breathed, awed, "You have suffered."

He leaned on the washstand again, head bowed.

"A misunderstanding," he countered easily, his words at odds with the emotions churning inside him.

"This caused you much pain."

He suddenly realised that the rapid breathing sounding in his ears was not his own, that the touch had become a caress. More, that the woman was excited by the scars, by the very suggestion of pain. He slowly turned around and looked into almost black eyes, pupils so large that the coloured iris had all but disappeared. That she was beautiful was undeniable but there was something about her which sent a chill through the gambler. Madness? Lust? Whatever he did not trust her and for the first time in his life he found himself wishing harm to a woman.

"I think it would be best, Madame, if you left."

She smiled, a feral curving of the lips that signalled predator.

"Of course, Herr Standish," she replied evenly, "I shall send Erik's valet with a clean shirt for you."

The Southerner reached out and retrieved his own damp shirt from the woman's hands.

"Thank you but that won't be necessary." He took her arm and escorted her to the door. "Now if you would be so kind as to allow me to finish dressing..."

She laughed and again ran her fingers down his chest.

"Herr Standish, you are so modest. I shall expect you downstairs in no more than a quarter hour, nein?"

He inclined his head, closing the door behind her and quickly sliding home the bolt wondering if it hadn't been a huge mistake to come to this place after all. He hoped J.D. had had the sense to lock his door.

Vin eyed the pitcher of water in front of him feeling his thirst increase at the very thought of the soothing liquid flowing down his parched throat. He knew was being watched as he knew that they expected him to greedily drink his fill; the usual instinct if a man dying of thirst. Of course if he did he would then suffer the agonies of violent stomach cramps and he would probably puke back up whatever he had drunk. Be smart, Tanner. He reached out and took a generous swig of the water, swilling it around his mouth before spitting it out. The next mouthful he swallowed, resisting the urge to chug the entire gallon. He limited himself to a cupful and returned the jug to a level spot on the floor his hands shaking with the effort. Flexing his fingers he looked at the swollen inflammation of his wrist, and the yellow liquid oozing from the teeth marks in his flesh. No wonder he felt so sick.

He had exchanged one prison for another; the only difference was that this was above ground. he thought he was in a barn but couldn't be sure. It certainly stank of livestock but he began to wonder if it wasn't just himself he could smell. He knew it was still light outside from the fingers of sunlight that found their way through the chinks in the wooden walls but whether it was morning or afternoon and of what day he had no idea. Had anyone missed him yet?

He drank a second cupful of water; the first had barely taken the edge of his thirst and felt the liquid hit his stomach. For a moment he felt as if he would indeed puke but his body accepted the offering and he breathed easier. Stretching a cramp out of his leg he looked around again. No chance of escape here. His ankles were fastened in leg irons; he could barely take a step let alone run so he rested. No doubt he would find out soon enough what they intended to do with him. His biggest question was not particularly what but why?

He had identified his jailer and his prison. This was the old William's ranch and his captor was none other than Erik von Hohenstaffel; the voice had given him away in the end. Knowing these facts of course did not help him a great deal. He was still a prisoner, still sick and injured, still hungry but he was now angry and he intended to use that anger to his own advantage. Weakened he might be, defeated -- never. He would give this bastard a run for his money and then he would kill him.

**********

Buck stopped and waited for Chris and Nathan to draw level.

"Do you know how far we've come? That's a mighty long way for a kid to run."

Chris rubbed his eyes.

"How fast d'you think you'd go Buck with a pack o' hounds on your tail?"

"Chris is right. Some of those runaway slaves I told you about, ran clean into the next county before they were brought down. Heard tell of a few even getting away. A desperate man will do anything to stay alive."

"Guess you're right at that, Nathan." He shifted in his saddle and stared off into the West. "But you know where we're headin' right now, don't you?"

Chris brought his head up squinting against the setting sun.

"Yes I do, Buck. And I don't like what I'm thinkin'."

Nathan looked from one to the other.

"And what are you thinking?"

"We're almost on the old William's spread. Soon as we cross the dry creek bed over there."

Buck sighed heavily.

"Do we go back?"

Chris tightened his grip on the reins and pulled his horse's head up with more force than he intended.

"No. We go on."

"It'll be dark pretty soon, Chris," pointed out Nathan reasonably.

"I ain't afraid of the dark."

Buck coughed.

"Nor me, Chris but I'm a mite worried about just what might be out there waitin' for us."

Larabee looked from one to other of his companions.

"We still have a few hours of daylight left. I say we go on. If you ladies are quite finished the social chit chat!"

He spurred his horse forward leaving Buck and Nathan to exchange wistfully amused glances.

"Best do as he says, Nate, else there'll be hell to pay. Once he's gotten a burr in his drawers there's no reasoning with him."

Nathan laughed richly.

"Know what you mean, Buck. Come on, or he'll be over the border before we catch up."

The two men urged their horses forward in pursuit.

"Is that the Mexican border or the Canadian border?"

Josiah realised he was going to be overtaken by nightfall before he had any chance of catching up with Chris and the others. His only other option was to go straight to the von Hohenstaffel ranch and meet up with Ezra and J.D. then join up with Chris once it got light. The pressure of time wasted weighed heavily on him and he turned his horse reluctantly in the direction of the old William's spread hoping he was making the right decision. He looked around the vast emptiness that surrounded him and realised he would rather not be caught out alone if there was any chance of a pack of dogs or wolves being on the loose. He had his carbine and a loaded sidearm but he knew he'd feel a lot better around a few more people. Safety in numbers and all that. With that he kicked his mount into a trot and hoped he could reach the ranch before full dark.

**********

The game had been in progress for an hour. Ezra had finally succumbed when it had become clear that Chris had been delayed; even if he arrived within the next hour a search by night would dangerous if not impossible. There was nothing for it but to accept the Count's invitation to stay and to indulge his passion for cards. He was also gambler enough to understand that the evening could be financially advantageous and he was not a man to let an opportunity pass.

The Count was a skillful player but Ezra suspected the count cheated and the knowledge merely gave him the excuse he needed to freely exercise his own dexterity at card manipulation with impunity. If von Hohenstaffel doubted that the Southerner's run of luck was anything but he kept his skepticism to himself. Finally the Count threw down his cards and laughed.

"Herr Standish, you are indeed a master. You have beaten me in nine out of ten hands. Either you are exceptionally lucky or you are an exceptional trickster."

Ezra levelled a cool green stare at his host as he shuffled the deck.

"I take it skill is not an option?" he drawled sarcastically.

"Oh, you are most skillful, Herr Standish." He leaned across and poured another cognac for the gambler. "However I have the impression that you are bored. All this," he gestured at the table, "is all too easy for you, nicht wahr? There is no challenge for you any more."

Ezra tilted his head to one side, recalling Erik's previous comments about high stakes.

"Your point being?"

Von Hohenstaffel drew deeply on his cigar and blew an aromatic cloud of smoke into the air.

"Would you consider playing for significantly higher stakes, Herr Standish? Something a little more interesting than money?"

Ezra spread his hands. He had close on six hundred dollars in winnings, several pieces of valuable jewellery acquired over the course of ten years of successful gaming and himself, although he hardly placed any great value on that particular piece of property.

"What do you suggest? My assets are purely liquid in nature, Sir."

The Count leaned back, a spark of fanaticism in his clear blue eyes.

"Would you be willing to stake a man's life on the turn of a card?"

Ezra puffed leisurely on his own cigar, then took another drink before answering.

"An interesting concept."

Erik leaned forward.

"I'm afraid I cannot giving you a choice in this. The game must be played."

The Southerner straightened and looked around the room suspecting a trap. J.D. still sat quietly by the window looking out into the night.

"I will have your weapons, Herr Standish."

With a smile von Hohenstaffel brought a Navy Colt from under the table and aimed it Ezra's heart. Slowly the Southerner pulled the Remington from his gunbelt and slid it across the table, then took the Colt from his shoulder rig and did the same. He regretted not having his Derringer; this was exactly the situation it was made for.

"Thank you. I knew you would be sensible. Now your friend." He moved the gun back under the table and out of sight. "You will not warn the young man in any way or I be assured you will die a painful and prolonged death. How is it they express it? Gut shot, I believe."

"J.D.!"

The young rose and came over.

"Finished already, Ezra?"

Ezra held out his hand.

"Your guns, Mr. Dunne."

J.D. took a step back, resting his hands on the butts of his pearl-handled Colts.

"Ezra, you ain't bettin' my guns."

The gambler laughed.

"I have no intention of wagering your weapons, Mr. Dunne, however I would like to borrow them for a moment."

Reluctantly the younger man handed over the guns, not understanding but trusting the Southerner. Standish carefully laid the weapons on the baize surface and pushed them across to von Hohenstaffel. The Count then brought his own weapon back into view and J.D. looked accusingly at the gambler.

"Geez, Ezra. What did you go and do that for? What's going on?"

"Young man, your friend Herr Standish is merely avoiding the possibility of experiencing several rounds of lead in his viscera and at the same time ensuring your own life is not forfeit. Now sit down, Herr Dunne." He picked up Ezra's Remington with his left hand and pointed it at J.D. "Please."

J.D. struggled briefly against the rope that tied him to the chair but it was secure and all he had succeeded in doing was rubbing the skin off his wrists.

"This is merely an insurance, shall we say." The Count waved a gun in Dunne's direction. "The stakes I propose are much more interesting than a mere callow youth's insignificant life."

Ezra still affected a nonchalant ease, slouched in his chair with a cigar in one hand and a glass of fine cognac in the other.

"I am yet to learn what am I playing for, Sir."

"As I have already said, a man's life. So simple really, you lose -- he dies."

"And this man. Might I have the benefit of knowing for whose life I am playing?"

The Count struck a gong at his side, some sort of summons, and looked levelly at the Southerner.

"But Herr Standish, you already know this man and I believe he might have some value to you."

Two brutish, muscular men appeared dragging a slightly smaller man between them. Dirty, unkempt, dressed in homespun pants, the man hung his head and seemed on the point of exhaustion. Ezra noted angry looking wound at the junction of his neck and shoulder and the bruised ribs, he guessed the man had been ill-used. At a signal from von Hohenstaffel one of the lackeys jerked the man's head up by its long, ratty hair.

Ezra resisted the urge to leap to his feet although the muscles in his legs twitched in anticipation. Instead he squinted through the smoke at the sorry spectacle in front of him.

"Why, Mr. Tanner," he drawled, "As I suspected, you have indeed fallen upon grave misfortune. I would offer to come to your assistance but the Count is assuring my co-operation with the persuasive power of a Navy Colt, so you will forgive me if I don't rise."

The Texan looked from Ezra to J.D. and back.

"Whatever he's askin' you to do, Ezra, don't do it."

He grunted as one of his escorts fisted him in the kidney but continued to glare defiance at von Hohenstaffel.

"So, Herr Standish, tell me. Is this man worth your time. Will you accept the wager?"

"What are the terms, Sir?"

"This man is about to become the object of the hunt. I did warn you I had to find my own game in these parts did I not? My men will now take him and release him. Each hand you win will allow him the length of time the hand is played to make his escape. The first hand you lose, I release the dogs and the hunt begins."

"Noooo!" J.D. struggled against his bonds. "Don't do it, Ezra! He's crazy!"

The Southerner looked sadly at his young companion.

"I accept." He looked up at the bedraggled Texan. "My apologies Mr. Tanner. I will do my best to afford you the time you need."

Tanner nodded once.

"I know you will, pard. Play well."

The Count waved a hand in dismissal and the two men hauled the weary man out of the room. Von Hohenstaffel settled down in his chair, the Colt aimed casually but effectively at the gambler.

"You will see that this adds a little spice to the game, Herr Standish. After all what is money really against a human life."

Standish raised an eyebrow and aimed a sceptical stare in the nobleman's direction.

"I'm surprised you know the difference."

Vin was disorientated and he felt as if he was trying to move his limbs through a river of molasses. Bastards had forced him to take opium. He rolled lazily onto his back and feeling the hard stones digging into his flesh recollected a ride in a wagon and later being unceremoniously dumped from the tailgate. Scrambling to his knees he concentrated on getting his bearings, wondering how much time he had. Jesus, Ezra, I hope your luck's with you tonight. It sure as hell ain't with me. He managed to get to his feet, swaying dangerously for a moment until he regained his equilibrium then shaking his head, he stumbled forward a few steps falling heavily again and cursing as he hit the hard ground. His right thigh burned fiercely and felt the sticky wetness down his leg where they had cut him in order to provide a blood trail. Goddamn! Taking a deep breath he tried again and succeeded in remaining on his feet. Fine; one thing at a time, Vin. Direction. He looked up at the sky thankful for a cloudless night and found the star groupings he was looking for. He would have to strike east and hope for the best. He was guessing that he had been brought north of the ranch house yet he could be wrong about that but heading east he knew would ultimately bring him towards town, then all he needed was a landmark to set him on the right track. He moved as quickly as he was able, ignoring the stones under his bare feet as he focused on covering as much ground as he could in the time he had been given.

Katrin Von Hohenstaffel swept into the room a vision of elegant formality dressed in a black riding habit, a whip in her hand, a petulant expression on her face and madness in her eyes. Ezra spared her a momentary and casually dismissive glance and promptly turned his attention back to his cards. Leaning over Erik's shoulder she kissed his cheek.

"Mein liebe, when do I get to hunt? My babies are restless; they need to feed."

"You sick bitch!" J.D. spat at the woman, unable to contain his rage and frustration a moment longer.

Katrin moved with a speed the young Easterner would not have believed possible. He jerked his head sideways to avoid the blow he almost didn't see coming but the crop slashed across his face and tears sprang to his eyes from the pain of it. He gasped, and allowed his head to fall forward, the side of his face on fire. The ominous click of a pistol being cocked forced him to lift his head. God, he was going to die! He blinked the tears away and found that rather than his imminent demise it appeared he was about to witness Ezra's. The Southerner had launched himself from the gaming table and had a vice-like grip on the Countess' wrist, forcing her arm back as she raised it to strike him a second time; across the Count had trained the Colt on the gambler and had it cocked and ready to fire.

"Where do you prefer I shoot you, Herr Standish?" He questioned mildly, as if asking if the gambler would like another drink. "You see I should hate to terminate the game at this early stage, but if you persist in this foolish show of loyalty to your young friend I shall be forced to pull the trigger. Unfortunately I cannot guarantee my marksmanship."

Ezra hesitated a moment, casting a quick glance at Dunne, his green eyes questioning.

"I'm fine, Ezra."

The Southerner held his gaze for a moment longer then released his grip on the woman and Katrin flounced angrily away to stand behind Erik slashing the air with her riding crop. The count gestured with the gun inviting Ezra to take his seat again. The gambler straightened his jacket and adjusted his cuffs with a meticulous deliberation that was almost a challenge in itself, finally returning to his seat and wordlessly picking up his cards.

"I believe you called, Sir?" He threw his cards down fanning them for display. "A full house. Kings and Tens."

The Count tossed down three nines and twisted to look at his sister.

"Katrin, I fear the dogs may go hungry a while longer yet. The man is indeed blessed with the Devil's own luck."

The Countess wet her lips and looked at the Southerner from hooded eyes.

"Then let me have the boy, Erik. It's very boring just watching you play cards. I could show him the meaning of pleasure." She was almost purring, pleading.

Von Hohenstaffel dealt another hand.

"Later, darling, later. Can't you see we're busy. You'll have your fun soon enough." He smiled wolfishly at Ezra. "After all, Herr Standish's luck cannot hold forever."

The gambler kept his face neutral. That's what you think you bastard.

Chris was angry. No Chris was furious. Neither man wanted to be the one to suggest that they make camp but it was dark enough now to be dangerous for the horses and they needed to stop. In the end Buck just halted, dismounted and started unpacking his bedroll. Nathan followed suit.

"If Chris wants to go on, he can go alone," muttered Buck in irritation, "Cain't see a trail no more. Following ghosts is what we're doin'."

Chris circled his horse and came back to where Nathan and he were setting up camp. He looked for a long moment at the two men, his eyes blazing then wordlessly got down from his horse. As much as he disliked the idea of having to stop and rest, he recognised the practicality. They weren't so much following a trail anymore as being drawn towards a final destination, one that left the gunslinger with a distinctly bad feeling. Whatever the circumstances, Angus McKenzie had been killed, and no matter which way Larabee tried to look at it, the von Hohenstaffel's were somehow involved. McKenzie had been running from their property. He hobbled his mount and stripped it of his gear, throwing his saddle down next to the fire Nathan was already building. A man had aright to protect his property but if that included setting dogs on trespassers -- dogs that killed -- then he was overstepping the bounds of morality, if not the law.

"It'll all still be there in the mornin', Chris," pointed out Bick reasonably, "Don't matter how fast we move, it won't bring the McKenzie boy back."

"He was just a kid." Chris shook his head mourning yet another wasted life. "No older than J.D."

Buck nodded and Chris knew he wasn't telling him anything he hadn't already crossed his mind.

"We'll start out again at first light. Might as well get some rest now."

Chris nodded.

"I'll take first watch."

Sanchez pulled his woollen poncho around him and wondered again at the vagaries of nature that could change scorching heat through the day to freezing cold at night. He had not been able to decide in all his time in the territory which was worse. He kicked his horse back into a walk, not wanting to risk injury to either the animal or himself over the treacherous ground. It certainly slowed his journey but at least he would get there in one piece. He scanned the empty landscape and was surprised to see a flicker of light at the extreme of his visual field. He stopped again and rose in the stirrups, focusing on the distant flame. Campfire? He settled back in the saddle and crossed his arms over the pommel. Strike north towards the light, or keep going west to the ranch? Choice made he tugged the reins to change the animal's direction and nudged the beast forward again. At least he could see the light to the north, the ranch was still out of sight.

His mount baulked as the night echoed with the baying of a solitary hound and Josiah patted the skittish animal. Not even a full moon. The single howl, became a chorus and Josiah kicked the horse into a trot. This was not a night to be travelling alone he reminded himself, still unsettled by the knowledge that Angus McKenzie might have met his end against a pack of wild dogs. He drew his rifle from its scabbard and rested it across his knees. Trust in God and a loaded Winchester.

Chris was out of his bedroll and on his feet before the last echo of the howl had died, his gaze fixed on the source of the sound. Buck stood with his rifle loosely tucked under his arm. The still night air echoed again with mournful howls, a canine chorus that drifted on the wind, rising and dying only to rise again and taper to an uncertain silence.

"There's our dogs," whispered Buck, the hair on the back of his neck still standing on end.

The howling started again with renewed vigour, this time over-ridden by a deeper, sharper bark. A single voice that silenced the howls to hesitant whimpers as it stamped its authority over the pack.

"How far d'you reckon, Chris?"

"Not far enough, if you ask me," chimed in Nathan, still sleepy and with his blanket thrown around his shoulders, "Them sound mighty mean animals."

Chris turned on his heel and returned to his bed roll.

"They ain't met me yet."

The three men turned in unison at the sound of hoof beats, each drawing a weapon as they spun in the direction of the sound.

"Who's there? Identify yourself."

"Josiah. Comin' in, boys. Put your guns away."

Chris holstered his gun and strode forward.

"Josiah! What's up? Somethin' wrong in town?"

Sanchez jumped down from his horse and brushed dust from his clothes.

"No. Town's fine. Thought I'd never find you. Been lookin' since late afternoon. You boys sure covered some distance." He paused for breath. "Ezra sent a wire from Mercyville..."

"Jesus! What the hell...?" interrupted Larabee, his frustration evident at the gambler who had a penchant for seeking out trouble.

"Hold on, Chris, before you go callin' Ezra." He handed the crumpled message to the gunfighter. "Don't say too much but it seems Vin didn't make it to Mercyville. Ezra and J.D. must've had reason to think he might be in some trouble."

The blond man dropped his gaze to the note and leaned towards the firelight to bring the words into focus.

"Ezra's at the William's place?" He couldn't get his tongue around the new owners' foreign name quite the way Ezra could. "I don't understand."

Josiah shrugged.

"I reckon he'll still be waiting on us there."

Buck shifted restlessly, obviously not happy with the way the conversation was heading, and certainly not happy that J.D. might be in some way involved.

"Well, it seems we're all goin' in the same direction whether we like it or not and I'm not so sure I like it. Them people are plain strange if you ask me and I'm surprised Ezra would set foot anywhere near that place!"

Josiah stared thoughtfully off to the west.

"All roads lead to Rome, Buck. Let's hope this particular road also leads us to some answers."

Chris looked blankly at the three men, his face study in confusion.

"So where's Vin?"

*********

One man was not going in the same direction.

One man was trying to put as much distance between himself and the von Hohenstaffel's as was humanly possible.

It was no longer warm. The crushing heat of the day had given way to the chilling night of the desert and Vin shivered. Even his fever could no longer warm him, as the sweat generated from his expended energy and his raging body temperature cooled rapidly on his skin. He sat for a moment resting and licked some of the salt from his own body; no sense in wasting what might just keep him alive. Now at least was a good time to travel. Come sun up, if he was still running, the heat of the day would soon finish him off. He wondered if Chris had started to worry yet. He'd said Friday. Was it Friday? No matter. Right now, he couldn't rely on anyone but himself and Ezra's poker skills to ensure his continued existence.

The opium was wearing off and his head was at least clearer but as its mind-altering properties waned so did its pain-killing abilities. His neck had stiffened and the wound there throbbed in time with the beating of his heart, his wrist was a constant source of pain but neither were incapacitating, just debilitating. He got to his feet again and stared up into the sky, checking his bearings before he set out again.

The haunting bay of a single hound carried on the night wind froze him in his tracks and sent a thrill of fear through his vitals the like of which he had never experienced before. He listened, his ears straining. Again. The sound was repeated with additional voices joining in the song and he looked away to his right, pinpointing the source. He tried to judge the distance but he could only estimate that they were not close -- not yet. Once the pack was released there was no way he would be able to outrun them; his only chance would be to outsmart them. He looked around the barren surroundings. Right! How hard could that be?

A deeper, sharper bark started in counterpoint to the baying and Vin started to run. The hell-hound was loose. He had to run now, and he knew he was running for his life.

**********

Mary Travis was afraid. Not that being afraid was sufficient to stop her but she was now wondering at the wisdom of her impulsiveness. She had taken the buggy and driven out of town. Alone and in the dark. On the seat beside her she had a heavy pistol which had beonged to her husband, Stephen and wedged beside her seat, the loaded shotgun gave her an additional sense of security but it didn't take away the fear. There were other dangers on the roads besides the dogs that Chris was looking for; dangers on two legs.

She kept the horse to the established track, not really a road but at least defined pathway that she she could follow with ease even in the wan light of half moon. She had cursed herself over and over again for not having remembered the telegram until after Josiah had left. No, she had been too concerned with what the message to Chris had said to pay attention to her own wire. So, now she was having to do something of which she knew any of the seven men who represented the law in the town would disapprove. Mary flicked the reins again, urging the animal onward, telling herself that she had been looking after herself for a long time before Chris Larabee and the others had shown up.

The telegram. She had promised that she would do some checking on the von Hohenstaffel's for him and finally a response had been forthcoming. It had come and she had ignored it. In that act of omission she may have placed Ezra, J.D. and possibly the others in grave danger. This was no European nobility they were dealing with, but common criminals wanted from New York to St. Louis. Con artists and, if the rumours were to believed, cold blooded murderers.

The least she could do was try to warn them. Now, before it was too late. She pulled the gun into her lap. Please God, don't let it be too late.

**********

Ezra resisted the temptation to look at his pocket watch. They had played seven or eight hands of poker already and the longer they played the more difficult it became to convince von Hohenstaffel that he was winning legitimately. So far he had been obliged to cheat only once; a quick deal from the bottom of the deck and his lowly pair had been transformed into three of a kind, enough to win the hand. He had gained Vin another hour on his life at least but even he knew that the insanity would have to end soon. The Count would be forced to change the rules of engagement once it became clear that Ezra would never allow him to win. As Ezra shuffled and cut the deck yet again he understood quite clearly that whatever happened this night his own life was probably forfeit; for there could be no witnesses to this mad game. Still, he would play it out to its conclusion and could only hope that at the end of it he might still be alive. One thing he was sure of; he had never enjoyed gambling less.

He dealt quickly and picked up his cards. He still had one or two aces up his sleeve -- he grinned sardonically, more like a pair of kings to be truthful -- and he believed he was good for stringing out the game for at least another twenty minutes. How far can you travel in twenty minutes, Vin?

"Cards, Erik?"

He poured himself another glass of cognac. At least he could go out in as civilised a manner as possible. No point in being churlish about it.

The Count threw down three cards. Ezra had elected to throw down only one and saw the uncertainty in von Hohenstaffel's eyes feeling a degree of satisfaction in unsettling the blond haired noble. The man was not to know that the Southerner had precisely nothing in his hand worth a damn.

J.D., forced into the role of captive audience, watched the game with a mixture of excitement and dread. He had every confidence that that the gambler could finesse his way out of any situation where cards and money were involved; after all, that was what he was best at. The hands of the clock seemed to creep at a snail's pace around the dial but J.D. had watched each minute as it passed. It was already well after nine, and the two men had been playing for just over an hour. Dunne started to think of the other player in this game -- Vin. He had not even recognised the Texan when they had dragged him in! Hell, he looked just about ready to drop then and he was still expected to outrun a pack of dogs? He switched his gaze to the woman -- the Countess -- who had been so ready to lay into him with the whip. She watched Ezra with a predatory gaze, a hunger almost that he did not understand. Not love certainly, nor was it hate, something more primitive and bestial. Something very dangerous he decided. His attention which had been wandering was drawn abruptly back to the game as the click of a weapon being cocked registered in his brain. The Count was standing, the Navy Colt aimed straight at Ezra.

"Katrin is correct, Herr Standish. I regret to say that this has become boring."

Ezra threw his cards down.

"My dear, Count. Surely you don't intend to renege on your agreement? After all I cannot be held responsible for either your appalling skill at poker or your ineptitude at cheating."

The green eyes held those of the nobleman, the challenge in them as clear as if he had spoken it aloud.

J.D. jerked violently in reaction to the report of the gun, scarcely able to comprehend that the Count had fired the weapon. The Southerner looked slightly surprised, as if the last thing he expected was to be shot. That was not in the rules; that was not how a gentleman behaved. He watched as the gambler touched the spreading stain on the left side of his chest in disbelief before sliding untidily from his chair to the floor where he lay unmoving.

The Count threw down the gun on the table and looked down at the fallen man almost apologetically.

"I will not tolerate rudeness, Herr Standish." He turned to his sister. "I think I will join you tonight, Katrin. I have missed the thrill of the chase and I believe our quarry tonight may prove to be quite a challenge."

Von Hohenstaffel raised his eyes to Dunne.

"I am sorry about your friend but there really was no other way. I do not believe the shot was fatal, but without assistance I fear he may die anyway. Pity. He played poker so well. A worthy opponent." Without a second glance he took Katrin's arm and the two of them swept regally out of the room.

J.D. realised he had not said anything. Made no protest. Had not cried out in alarm. Struck dumb by the casual brutality of the Count's actions. He struggled briefly but the ropes binding him were secure.

"Ezra!" Desperate. Willing an answer.

No response.

"Ezra?" A whisper. Fearful.

J.D. hung his head sadly and wondered again why Chris and the others had not come. It was too late now.

**********

The Texan stood for a moment and listened. He could hear the excited yipping of the dogs as they caught a scent -- his scent -- and gave voice. How far? He estimated they were still a long way behind but they were covering the distance far quicker than he could. At this rate they would be on him in less than fifteen minutes. He smiled. It had cost him in blood but he had set a false trail, hoping it would buy him some time in the long run. That the pack would lose the scent was too much to hope for but he would take any reprieve he could get however small. He wondered for a moment what would happen to Ezra and J.D. A fate like his own? He tried to imagine Ezra in a similar situation and failed; the Southerner would rather die where he stood than be reduced to this. So what does that say for you, Tanner? He set off at a jog trot again and answered his own question. It says you want to live.

Buck knew better than to argue with Chris when he had made up his mind. Instead he rode at his side, his right arm, prepared to follow wherever the blond gunfighter led. That Larabee was a man on a mission was obvious and Buck felt a moment's pity for whoever was destined to be on the receiving end of his fury. For now they followed the sound of the dogs.

The intermittent barking became an excited cacophony of yipping and baying in the distance. Nathan drew his horse level with Chris.

"They've got a scent, Chris. Them hounds is on the hunt."

Chris nodded, his face grim.

"But huntin' what?"

No one answered and the four of them pushed on with increased urgency.

Mary saw the lights of the ranch in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief. She had driven recklessly and the horse was tiring but she was at least within sight of her goal. Now she just hoped that she would find at least one of the seven still there. If not she might have a difficult time explaining to the von Hohenstaffel's what she was doing roaming the countryside in full dark when most chaste and dutiful women were safely indoors. She raised her head at the sound of dogs barking in the distance and closed her hand around the butt of the pistol in her lap, hoping she wouldn't need to use it.

Ezra did not want to think about being shot. It reminded him that he had severely underestimated the Count's sense of honour. That he was indeed alive to reflect upon it reassured him somewhat but he could still feel blood trickling warmly through his fingers and the left side of his chest was a solid band of pain. Mr. Jackson where are you when a man needs you? He would have tried to get up, but parts of him seemed not to want to co-operate, so he gave up on that idea and instead closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on not bleeding his life out onto the rug.