TGF2

A large and rowdy crowd had gathered for the fight by the time Julian and Ezra arrived at the makeshift ring just outside of town. Ezra, stripped to the waist and gleaming with sweat from his warm-up session, glanced around as he climbed over the ropes. Most of the crowd from the saloon was there, plus a small knot of tough-looking men who seemed to be of the same uncivilized stripe as Barber. At the very edge of the throng stood George, who waved to Ezra with an encouraging smile. Rev. Peters, it seemed, had been forsaken.

Barber was there as well, standing in the other corner and glaring at Ezra as he flexed his arms. He was bare to the waist as well, and although he was only slightly more muscular than Ezra, his menacing demeanor and broad frame made him seem much larger.

Overhead, the hazy sunshine of the morning had given way to low, large clouds, their edges blurred against the soft blue sky. The mugginess had become oppressive, and there was the definite feel in the air of the approach of a summer storm.

"All right now, Eli," Julian was saying in a low, anxious voice as he leaned towards his partner, "just keep your mind clear and focused, and try to wear him out. Oh, and use your right hook, that's pretty good."

"Understood," Ezra agreed, jogging in place slightly. His heart was pounding in his ears, but he couldn't tell if it was from fear or excitement.

The referee walked over, with Barber behind him. Ezra could not help noticing that Barber was quite hairy, and sported a tattoo of a Bowie knife on his right arm.

"Mr. Row, Mr. Simpson," the clerk said with a nod. "For this bout we'll be using the Marquis of Queensbury rules, which I am sure you know, as does Mr. Barber. This fight will end when one of you is either unconscious or is too seriously injured to continue. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Julian and Ezra said together. The younger man took a deep breath and braced himself, wondering vaguely what sort of 'serious injury' the referee was talking about.

Barber had retired to his corner, and Ezra flexed his fists in preparation. He knew he could whip this lout, and then he and Julian could get out of here. All he had to do was keep his eye on the money, and not be distracted, as Julian had advised him. That was all he should care about, anyhow.

Suddenly he felt a touch at his elbow, and turning was startled to see George behind him. Next to George stood his lovely young sister, who was looking at Ezra with a mixture of fear and admiration.

As he was getting over his surprise at seeing a young woman at a boxing match, Anne leaned forward and said in a halting voice, "I just wanted to wish you luck, Mr. Simpson. Many of us here have been the victims of Mr. Barber's cruel whims-please be assured that there are many hearts here today who wish you well!"

For a moment, Ezra could only stare at the lovely young woman in a mute, bewildered fashion. It suddenly occurred to him that he was fighting for more than simply a huge amount of money, and there were actually people here who wanted him to win for reasons other than lining their pockets. He swallowed, unsure if he truly wanted this sort of responsibility-things seemed so much more simple when it was all just a scam. Now, it appeared, he was fighting for a principle, and Ezra had never done that before in his life.

Suddenly Julian was standing beside him, putting one hand on Ezra's arm as he tipped his hat to Anne and George. "Pleasure to see you again, my friends," he said smoothly as he gently pushed Ezra away. "Pray forgive us, but we're ready to start. So good of you to come!"

George and Anne nodded a little and disappeared into the crowd.

"That was certainly rude," Ezra sniped as they reached his corner, shooting Julian an annoyed look.

"Merely an act of rescue, my friend," Julian muttered, scanning the crowd. "I didn't hear what she said to you, but you looked rather confused by it, and I-er, we can't afford to have your judgment clouded at the moment."

Ezra sighed as he loosened up. "She was merely wishing me well, and conveying the good wishes of the town onto my shoulders."

A cynical snort burst through Julian's lips. "Merely making sure you know your task, I warrant. You'd think her brother bet more on you than a miserable five dollars."

The referee and Barber walked out into the middle of the ring.

"All right, Eli, time for battle," Julian muttered, giving Ezra a slap on the shoulder before climbing outside of the ring. Ezra braced himself and approached the center of the dirt ring, trying to stay focused. If he simply thought of the huge amount of money they stood to make from this fight, and how badly he wanted it, everything would be fine.

Barber didn't seem to have any questions in his mind over the goal of this fight. He was glaring at Ezra with blazing blue eyes full of simple fury, and although he was not much larger than Ezra, to the Southern con man he seemed enormous.

"Very well, gentlemen," the referee said, his tone brisk and businesslike. "We're ready to start. The rounds will last for three minutes, with a one-minute break between rounds. If one of you goes down, you've got ten seconds to get up or you lose the match. At the sound of the bell, you may begin."

Ezra and Barber lifted their clenched fists and assumed their pugilistic stances as the crowd erupted into anticipatory cheers rife with bloodlust. Ezra steeled himself; no matter how this came out, this was probably going to be very, very painful.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the townsmen lift up a large brass bell and a hammer. Any second now-

*DING!*

The clear tone of the bell had not faded from the hot summer air before Barber lashed out, striking Ezra squarely on the jaw. Ezra absorbed the blow and shook his head; it wasn't that bad, really, he could take this.

He backed up a pace, regaining his balance quickly, and with catlike swiftness struck back, catching Barber on the cheek and following quickly with a blow to the stomach. It was like punching a tightly stuffed leather bag, and Ezra winced inwardly at how solid Barber was. Still, the man grunted a little and fell back, so Ezra allowed himself to feel a little encouraged.

They began to circle each other slowly, each man figuring out how to best land their next blow. Vaguely Ezra could hear the shouts of the crowd, mixed with the rough epithets of Barber's supporters. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Julian leaning on the post at his corner of the ring, watching intently, but he was unable to tell if his partner was concerned for his safety, or the fact that so much was riding on his victory.

Suddenly Barber struck, catching Ezra full on the chin. Stunned, Ezra spun to the ground, one hand grabbing at the rope as he landed hard on one knee.

The crowd gasped, but their shock quickly dissolved. Ezra quickly climbed back to his feet, knowing full well that he only had ten seconds to rise before forfeiting the fight. A cheer arose from his backers as he righted himself. He quickly caught Julian's eye and nodded to signal that he was all right. Julian visibly relaxed and let go of the post he'd been clutching in an iron grip.

*DING!*

Ezra blinked; the round was over already. He tried to calm his breathing as he went to his corner, watching as a clearly disappointed Barber did the same.

"That was close," Julian muttered as he lifted up a bucket of water with a ladle in it to Ezra.

"Much less so than it appeared, I assure you," Ezra replied as he dipped some water from the bucket with the ladle and took a long drink. "I could not have been down for more than a few seconds."

"You're doing just fine," Julian said, peering at Barber and studying him closely. "If you just keep watching him, you might be able to spot a weakness that can be exploited."

Ezra splashed some of the water on his face and shook the excess liquid from his hands. "It's not so different than the poker tables at New Orleans, is it?" he said with a smile.

*DING!*

The bucket was handed back to Julian, and Ezra went back into the ring with hope in his heart. This might work out after all.

The two men faced each other and raised their bare fists as the crowd resumed its roar. Ezra squared his shoulders and allowed a small smile to crease his lips as he locked eyes with his opponent.

Barber seemed amused at this and smiled as well, although there was nothing pleasant about this expression. "Feelin' good, Reb?" His left arm jabbed out quickly.

Ezra dodged the blow, his grin never fading. "I'm still on my feet, Mr. Barber," he replied smugly before sending his right fist at Barber's jaw.

Barber grunted as he, too, barely ducked the punch. "That won't last long," he said as they began to circle. "I whipped plenty of you Southerners durin' the War, don't guess you'll be too tough."

"Indeed," was Ezra's unimpressed response as he kept a keen eye on Barber's movements. "Perhaps this is a good opportunity for me to return the favor on behalf of my brethren."

He swiftly threw a right hook and connected solidly with Barber's jaw. The man's head snapped back as he stumbled backwards, and for a moment he seemed dazed. Ezra almost laughed as the crowd erupted into a mix of amazed cheers and outraged shouts; Barber wasn't so much, after all.

Sweat flew from Barber's thick black curls as he shook his head. After blinking his eyes a few times, he opened them fully and gave Ezra the most hate-filled glare he had ever received. Ezra waited, fists raised, eager for another chance to send Barber to the ground.

Barber drew a deep breath and took two steps towards Ezra, fairly growling in anticipation of delivering a mighty blow. Ezra braced himself-

*DING!*

Barber's head spun around to glare at the bell-tender. "What the hell was that!" he bellowed.

The man managing the bell, a smallish fellow in a green suit and black bowler, shrugged helplessly as he held up a pocketwatch in one hand. "Er, time, Mr. Barber. That was three minutes."

"Tempus fugit, eh, my friend?" Ezra said with a wide grin as he went back to his corner. Barber's only reply was a sullen stare as he retired.

"Another round or two and we'll have him," Ezra muttered as Julian held up the bucket once again.

"He certainly isn't proving much of a challenge," Julian observed in a puzzled tone. "Careful, it might be a trick."

Ezra grunted as he splashed water over his face and chest. "I doubt he has the mental capacity to formulate anything devious," was his reply.

"I don't think he's ever had to," his partner said, watching as Barber conversed with several tough-looking men standing on the other side of the ropes. "His fists probably do most of his talking." He chewed his lip in thought for a moment, then slapped Ezra's arm. "But you're doing great, my friend. Now go send him to the dirt so we can get our money and get out of here."

"With pleasure," Ezra replied as the bell sounded again.

Turning, he walked back to the center of the ring, still optimistic. He lifted his fists and raised his eyes to his opponent, taking a deep breath to settle himself. "I trust that-"

WHAM!

Ezra did not even see the blow coming, Barber had moved so fast. All he had perceived was a bare glimpse of the man's scowling face and blazing blue eyes, then suddenly the world has simply exploded in pain. It was as if he had been struck across the face with a brick, and for a split second he became completely disoriented.

When the world settled back into place, he found himself still on his feet, facing the crowd. Something was trickling down the right side of his face and dripping onto his hand, and he absently glanced down in disconnected curiosity.

Blood. *His* blood.

He shook his head, despite the agony the action caused him. Behind him he heard Barber say in a frighteningly close voice, "Like that, Reb? Turn around an' I'll give ya some more."

Rapidly Ezra collected himself, a habit honed through years of saloon brawls and backalley scrapes in which one had to be quick-witted to survive. Spinning on his heel, he found Barber, brought up his fists and struck back, catching the man first in the ribs, then in the face.

The fierce blows threw Ezra off balance, and as Barber staggered back with an oath, Ezra tumbled to the ground, catching himself with his hands. It was only for a moment, and Ezra was back on his feet swiftly, gratified to see that Barber appeared to be dazed. The man was not invincible, but he wasn't going to go down easy, either.

Barber steadied himself as he shook his head quickly. The crowd was roaring now, urging Barber on. The larger man took a deep breath and advanced on Ezra, his teeth clenched in rage.

With the smallest of confident smiles, Ezra threw another solid punch at Barber's head, clipping him across the temple. This time Barber stumbled and fell to one knee, one arm shooting out to stop his fall.

The crowd gasped and surged forward as Ezra watched Barber, hoping that he would stay where he was. As long as he was on one knee, he was considered down, and if he stayed there for a brief ten seconds-

The referee dashed out and began to count. "One-two-three-"

"C'mon, Barber, get up!" one of the toughs yelled.

Barber lifted his head to stare directly at Ezra, and in a few seconds was back on his feet, bloody and a little unsteady but definitely upright.

A loud cheer arose from Barber's supporters as he steadied himself. Ezra resumed his fighting stance, but he only had a second to prepare himself before Barber charged across the ring at him and sent his fist straight into Ezra's gut.

All of the air seemed to leave Ezra's body as he absorbed the blow, pain lancing up through his chest. He staggered away and doubled over, and fought mightily to keep from falling to his knees. But God, he couldn't breathe-

*DING!*

Ezra pulled himself upright, panting for air. Barber was going back to his corner, but his blue eyes stayed on Ezra, their depths holding a painful promise for the next round.

"Lord, Ez-er, Eli, are you all right?" Julian was saying as Ezra quickly went to his corner, one bloodied hand grasping the wooden pole for support.

"Merely a temporary setback," Ezra gasped, as the sweet air once more filled his lungs.

His partner looked doubtful, but hoisted up the water bucket. "Water?"

Ezra gagged. "No! Thank you, but my stomach isn't ready for that right now," he replied in a strangled voice. His breathing was becoming more even.

Julian was eying Barber anxiously as he set the pail back down. "Be careful, my friend, he's got murder in his eyes."

"And I have money in mine," Ezra replied in a soft, even tone as he took a full breath. "We'll see who has the fortitude to accomplish their goal."

The other man paused, then grinned as the bell sounded once more. "Keep thinking that way, my friend, and we'll ride out of here rich men," he whispered.

Ezra nodded and turned, returning to the fight. Barber's manner as he faced Ezra indicated that things were going to get serious now. Ezra pursed his lips and raised his fists, determined to get serious as well. If only his head would stop buzzing...

He was able to land the first punch, catching Barber in the face. Barber took a step back, recovered, and struck back, striking Ezra first in the chest, then in the jaw. There was force behind the blows, and Ezra staggered back, the cheers of the crowd sounding unusually loud as he righted himself. Barber was indeed out for blood now, he could tell that much, and he had to steel himself for the trial ahead if they were to succeed.

Suddenly Barber was in front of him, preparing to strike again. Ezra stood and lashed out first, the punch landing solidly on Barber's sternum. Barber gasped, recovered too quickly for Ezra's liking, and sent his reply in the form of a blow into Ezra's ribs.

Knife-sharp pain lanced through his chest as Ezra gagged and stepped back; had Barber broken one of his ribs? He gasped and looked up to see Barber coming towards him, his brows knit together in rage.

Ezra grit his teeth and lashed out, catching Barber in the jaw and pushing him back halfway across the ring. As both men gasped for air and fought to steady themselves, the bell rang once more.

"Lord!" Ezra couldn't stop the word from escaping his lips as he walked haltingly to his corner.

Julian looked apprehensive. "Did he hurt you?"

The other man rubbed his ribs gingerly; his knuckles were becoming raw. "He made a good attempt at breaking my ribs, but I believe they are intact."

"Good," Julian said firmly. "You've got to stay in there, Eli, no matter what. Think of the money. After this fight we'll have enough to take it easy for a long time, maybe in Mexico."

Ezra took a few more breaths and gave his partner a sideways glance. "I'll take that as a promise."

"Call it an incentive," Julian said as he gave Ezra a swift pat on the shoulder.

The bell sounded again.

Ezra gave Julian one more glance, then turned and reentered the ring. He was very sore and tired now, his hands felt as if they were fire, and every breath was painful. But certainly if he could continue, the money would be worth it. He had to think on that.

The clouds were becoming thicker now, blotting out the sun in a shapeless, hazy mass. The breeze was becoming cooler; a storm was coming.

Barber's expression hadn't changed much; sweat and blood clouded his face, but his eyes still burned with savage anger. Ezra had barely gotten into his fighting pose before Barber struck, the blow landing once more in his ribs. Ezra gasped but kept his feet.

"Think you're mighty tough, huh?" he heard Barber say in a low voice.

Ezra looked up at him as he regained his footing. "At least your equal, I'd say," he replied before sending his fist crashing across Barber's mouth.

Barber's head whipped around and he stumbled to one side, blood dripping from a cut on his lip. After a pause he stood and looked back at Ezra, lifting his fists and completely ignoring his bleeding mouth.

"You'll soon know different," he whispered back. "Nobody gets in my way around here, least of all Southern trash like you."

He lunged forward and drove his fist firmly into Ezra stomach once more, following the blow quickly with one straight across his temple. The blows landed like a sledgehammer; before he even realized it, Ezra found himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air. For a moment he wondered why everything was brown and hazy; then he realized he was staring at the ground.

The crowd was roaring, but he could make out none of what they were saying. He lifted his head; the referee was getting into the ring to begin the count. He had to get up. The money, he thought, think of the money.

And he did, focusing on the large sum, enough for all the fine clothes and food and lodgings he and Julian could hope for. Enough to prove himself a success, to the world, to his mother, to himself. Yes, he was fighting for that-he had to get up-

"-four-five-six-"

His head clearer now, he took a deep breath and climbed to his feet. There were some cheers, mostly drowned out by disappointed groans. After a pause, Ezra raised his sweat-drenched eyes to look at Barber, who was staring at him with no emotion.

*DING!*

As Barber went back to his corner, where he was greeted by several toughs offering words of encouragement, Ezra stayed where he was. If he tried to move, he figured, he might fall over.

The sky was growing darker, and in the far distance, a rumble of thunder gently stirred the heavy air.

"Eli!"

It was Julian, standing right at Ezra's elbow, gripping his arm and looking into his friend's face with deep concern.

Ezra sighed and tried to grin. "No problem, my friend, I'm simply-a little dazed-"

"Dazed, hell," Julian hissed, carefully leading Ezra to his corner. "He almost flattened you!"

Ezra shook off Julian's hand and plunged his hands into the bucket of water, wincing as the liquid stung his bleeding knuckles. He gasped for a moment, doused his sweat-drenched face with the warm water, and said nothing.

Julian's voice was much closer. "Look, Eli, are you *sure* you're all right? We can always ask them to postpone the rest of the match, with this storm coming, and get out of town in the meantime. They'll never find us."

Ezra paused, gazing unseeing into the crowd. His body throbbed in pain, he felt dizzy and nauseated, and he wasn't so sure the money was worth it anymore. He weighed the idea.

Suddenly he realized someone was waving at him from the crowd. Focusing his water-logged vision, he saw that it was Anne, waving at him with a small, encouraging smile. He nodded at her, acknowledging her attention, and a new vision of the near future flashed through his brain: Anne, and everyone here who had been hurt by Barber and were cheering him on, realizing with bitterness that he and Julian had swindled them, and were gone.

For some reason, the pain of that idea was much worse than any of his cuts or bruises.

The bell rang again, and Ezra looked at his partner. "I'm fine," he whispered.

Julian hesitated. "All right," he said, his voice edged with doubt as he climbed back out of the ring, "all right, but remember it's always an option."

Anne waved at him again, unseen by Julian, and Ezra returned the gesture, wondering how he'd ever gotten himself involved in anything so damn complicated. Riding away would be simple, but it wouldn't be easy.

He nodded once more to Anne and turned back to Barber, steeling himself as he prepared once more to fight. He was startled to see that Barber's angry blue eyes were not looking at him, but rather past and behind him.

At Anne.

As Barber walked back up to Ezra, he locked eyes with the Southerner, and the churning light in them indicated that his rage had found new fuel. He had seen Anne wave at Ezra.

"Sparkin' my girl?" he growled, as he poised himself to strike.

Ezra could barely breath, his ribs hurt so much, but he clenched his fists tighter. "I do not believe she wants to be your girl," he pointed out. A second later he launched a blow at Barber's chin. The other man turned his head quickly, but the fists caught his jaw and he staggered.

A flash of realization thrilled through Ezra's weary body. His jaw, he thought, that's his weak spot. If he could only stay upright long enough to exploit it-

Barber regained his ground and lifted himself. "That ain't your concern," he snarled before throwing a punch towards Ezra's face. Ezra stepped back, avoiding the blow, but he stumbled a little and cursed the growing weakness in his knees.

The two men steadied themselves, and Ezra clenched his teeth as he mentally dug in his heels. He'd fought off men in more dire conditions-the memories of a dozen fights flashed through his aching head-surely he could still hold his own against this uncouth specimen.

Barber's fist lashed out, connecting with Ezra's shoulder; Ezra absorbed the blow, tried to ignore it, and struck back, aiming for his opponent's jaw. Barber dodged the blow and swiftly returned it, his bloody knuckles barely missing the Southerner's face.

For a good minute the two men traded swift, brutal blows, no longer waiting between punches in their attempt to wear the other man down. Ezra tried to land a solid blow to Barber's vulnerable jaw; Barber seemed content to simply pummel whatever part of Ezra's body he could reach.

The crowd was loving it, shouting and jeering as the two men whaled on each other, drenched in blood-tinged sweat. Ezra and Barber seemed oblivious to all but their opponent. The contest swung wildly back and forth; now Barber would stagger off, apparently dazed by one of Ezra's ferocious right hooks, then Ezra would be thrown by a blow from his adversary.

By the time the bell rang once again, they were both panting heavily, dripping wet and near exhaustion.

Ezra could not even summon words as he dragged himself back to where Julian stood, his black eyes wide with-amazement? Fear? Ezra couldn't even summon the strength to care as he sagged against the wooden post holding up the ropes and gulped for air.

Wordlessly Julian held up the bucket to him, his gaze never leaving Ezra's face. Equally mute, Ezra accepted it; it was almost empty, and he was content to take one last drink from the ladle, then pour the remainder over his aching head. Lord, he had never felt so thoroughly mangled in his life, and he had been through some pretty rough brawls. His knees shook with fatigue.

"Eli?" It was Julian's voice, spoken very low, so that only he could hear it. Ezra took in a deep breath and raised his head to see his partner gazing at him with large, deadly serious eyes.

Julian's voice went still lower, a bare whisper. "Are you *sure* you don't want to stop the fight and ride out of here?"

An enthusiastic acceptance of that idea leapt to Ezra's lips. This was damn crazy, getting the tar beaten out of himself, and he wanted nothing more in all the world than to get as far away from the pain as possible. He knew, now more than ever, that he was not noble or heroic, not the savior these people wanted him to be. Surely it was asking too much of him, to endure this a moment longer. Yes, they could stop the fight-a storm was obviously coming-then ride out when nobody was looking, far away, and he could rest and heal and never fight for anyone but himself ever again.

But still-still he hesitated, still the word caught in his throat. He scanned the crowd, his green eyes picking out Anne, her brother, others who were cheering him on. He recognized their expressions as they watched him, hope and fear that perhaps the brute Barber might be stopped. He had worn that look, harbored that hope, often, as a lonely child growing up, with no friends or defenders to stand between himself and his tormentors. No one had answered his hope, and he never forgot how bitter that abandonment had left him.

But this wasn't his fight-and he was so damn tired-

"Eli?" Julian's voice was sharper now, insistent. The minute was almost up.

Ezra opened his mouth, his breath hitching, and he met Julian's eyes. "No," he whispered firmly, just as the bell sounded summoning him back to battle.

Julian appeared none too optimistic at this reply, but Ezra said nothing as he handed the empty bucket back and walked into the ring. 'I must be insane', he thought. He hated this, didn't want to do it, knew it was madness to continue, Mother would have a fit.

But still he squared his shoulders and stood straight as he faced Barber again. Perhaps later-provided he survived this-he could sort it all out. He only knew that he couldn't walk away, even if he wasn't sure why.

The sparring began again, but this time the blows were heavier and harder, the recovery time longer than before. Both men were weary and covered with sweat and blood, and each determined to make this the final round.

Finally Barber sent a blow into Ezra's chest which spun the Southerner away into the ropes. Ezra hung there for a moment, gasping for breath.

His adversary continued to approach him, a smile lining his hirsute face. Sweat dripped from his thick sideburns. "You ain't lookin' so good there, Reb," he panted, ignoring his own bleeding wounds and heaving breath. Before Ezra could brace himself the blows fell, one hard one to the stomach, another slamming into his left ribcage, the third crashing across his jaw.

This time Ezra felt himself strike the ground. A fierce agony flooded over him, a confusing roar sweeping through his brain. Or was it the approaching thunder? He gasped for air as the world spun around him. Time seemed to stop as the hot oppressive air closed around him, choking off everything but the pain.

He could hear the referee begin to count, and lifted his head, thinking, I have to rise. But he couldn't this time, not for the money or the townspeople or anything in the world. He was too weary, in too much pain. He'd done his best, hadn't he? That should be good enough.

With a supreme effort, he lifted his head, and the first eyes he met belonged to Barber. The man was watching him, a triumphant smirk on his face, but almost as soon as Ezra met his gaze he looked elsewhere. Ezra followed his gaze, and was not surprised to see that it led to Anne, who stared back at Ezra, her lovely face full of fear. For him? For herself? He couldn't tell. The same expression seemed to mark the face of everyone who had cheered him only moments before, as if his defeat would bring them down as well.

He saw her look at Barber and take a step back.

The referee continued to count, and Barber looked back at Ezra, still grinning, merely awaiting his victory. A bracing anger erupted behind Ezra's bloodied eyes, springing from an unknown source and pouring through him to every exhausted part of his soul. It was pure instinct driving his actions, a desire of his heart he couldn't even give a name to.

Planting his feet firmly, he gathered up every ounce of his remaining strength, and launched himself at Barber. There was a heavy *thud* which resounded through every bone in his body as his fist connected solidly with Barber's jaw, carrying with it everything Ezra had left in him.

Thunder split the air.

Ezra fell back to the ground, certain that this time he would not be able to get back up. But he saw Barber fall too, saw him hit the dirt like a sack of wet flour only an instant after he did.

The crowd shouted, Julian was at his side, rain began to fall as the cheers and thunder blended into one long distant roar which swirled around him, wrapping him in its numbing embrace and spinning away with him into oblivion.


Rain.

It was the first sound to pierce the heavy darkness around him, the gentle, rhythmic tapping of the raindrops as they pattered against a nearby glass window. Ezra didn't move, simply allowed himself to float back slowly from the dreamless void he'd been drifting in, and waited to see what happened next.

Pain followed closely on the heels of consciousness, and he moaned softly. God, everything hurt, and as he tried to draw a breath he realized his ribs were tightly wrapped. His head felt ready to split in half, and his mouth throbbed ferociously.

Fight, he thought absently without moving. The fight! It was over-did he win? Barber had fallen-but Ezra had fallen first-but-

He stirred, and realized he was lying on a very soft bed, and not the cheap one in the room he and Julian had rented.

"He's awake, I think," said an unfamiliar voice. Confusion overrode the pain-where the hell was he?

After a few attempts, he blinked his eyes open. His vision was dim and hazy, but gradually he made out the trappings of a small room, the walls covered with green wallpaper, a dresser standing nearby next to the window. It was dark outside, and the only light in the room came from the wavering yellow light of a kerosene lamp.

Ezra squinted into the dim light. Standing over him was a middle-aged man with graying hair and spectacles, clad in a dark coat and studying Ezra intently. At the end of the bed, leaning on the brass footboard, stood Julian, without hat or coat, peering at his partner just as closely.

"Wha-?" Ezra groaned, staring up at the stranger with apprehension. Had they been discovered? Were they under arrest?

The older man put a steadying hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Relax, Mr. Simpson, you're going to be fine," he said in a slow, loud voice. "Can you understand me?"

Confused, Ezra frowned and nodded. "Yes, yes," he said impatiently, eager for an explanation. At least their aliases appeared to be intact.

"I believe he just wants some answers, Dr. Greeves," Julian said lightly as he walked around the bed to the other side. Julian looked very tired in the flickering firelight, and Ezra noticed the definite light of relief in his dark eyes.

"Ah, of course," the other man said as he stood with a smile. "I'll let you explain, sir, while I go see if we have some soup ready."

He turned and left, closing the door as he walked out. Sighing, and grateful for the privacy, Ezra looked up at his friend. "What happened?"

Julian put one hand on the headboard and leaned a little as he talked. "Well, you just caused a minor revolution, is all, my friend. Your punch knocked Barber flat to the ground, and as far as I know he's still unconscious. They've been getting drunk in the saloon all night long in celebration, it's been damn noisy outside."

Ezra scowled. "All night-? What time..."

"Oh, about two o'clock," Julian replied casually, although his tone was not as light as it had been a moment before. "They brought you here right after the fight. Dr. Greeves fixed you up-you have the most amazing gallery of bruises right now, and Barber cracked two of your ribs. Not to mention your tooth."

"My-?" Ezra felt with his tongue, puzzled, then winced as it went over his right canine. Part of it was gone, leaving only a sharp, jagged edge and a painful throbbing.

"Must've been that last punch he threw at your face," Julian surmised.

"Aw, hell!" Ezra groaned, smacking the pillow with his head gently in frustration. He'd have to get it pulled now, a prospect he dreaded.

Suddenly a new question occurred to him, and he looked at Julian eagerly. "Did I win?"

Julian's hesitant expression confirmed his worst fears. "Well...no. They decided that since you struck the ground first, you couldn't claim a victory."

A horrible sinking feeling twisted Ezra's stomach. But Julian seemed mighty calm about losing a fortune. "Then-I lost?"

"Well, no, again," was the somewhat brighter reply. "You hit the ground first, but Barber lost consciousness before you did. They decided to declare it a tie, so everyone simply got their money back."

Ezra's eyes widened. "A *tie*?"

"Look, it's better than letting them give it to Barber," Julian said quickly, casting a cautious look at the doorway. "I hate the idea too, but at least we're no poorer than when we got here. And God, Ezra, you scared me. I thought that gorilla was going to kill you."

"You were not the only subscriber to that belief," Ezra muttered back, gingerly probing his broken tooth with his tongue. At least the nerve wasn't exposed, but it was still quite sore. He grimaced and glanced back up at his comrade. "I suppose I should apologize, then, for not taking your advice when we still had the chance to run out with the money."

Julian shrugged. "I won't lie to you and say I'm glad you didn't, but hell, this whole venture was a gamble anyway. You gave it an excellent shot, my friend, and that's what a good gambler does. Do the best with the cards you're dealt." He paused. "Next time, however, I might be more insistent."

Ezra chuckled a little, relieved that Julian wasn't furious at him for losing their fortune. But his heart hadn't really been in the apology; he couldn't truly say he was sorry he stayed, even though it meant the forfeiture of a large sum of money. Such a loss should upset him more, he mused, and wondered why it didn't. He knew he should have taken Julian's advice and stopped the fight-they'd be rich now if he had, and that was the most important thing, after all-but he just couldn't make himself regret his actions. Another puzzle to add to the pile, he supposed.

Julian was smiling. "Lord, though, you should've heard the crowd when you flattened Barber. I don't think he'll have quite such a frightening reputation around here anymore. I guess thinking about the money really helped, eh?"

Ezra thought a moment as he stared at Julian, surprised. He clearly remembered the final moments of the fight, and knew that the money had never entered his mind then. Not once. Something else had given him the strength to deliver the final blow, but he couldn't pin it down. He had wanted to stop Barber, but the thought that his strength had sprung from that desire bewildered him deeply. He was no crusader against injustice and wrong; if he were, he'd have to lock himself up, as he was at least as much a sinner as Barber was. Perhaps it had been a brief bout of insanity...

The doctor appeared again, a steaming bowl of soup held in his large hands. "Hungry, Mr. Simpson? My wife makes an excellent chicken broth."

Ezra blinked, amazed at the kindness. He was very hungry, come to think of it. "Yes, sir, thank you."

The doctor set down the bowl, and in a few moments he and Julian had managed to settle Ezra into a sitting position.

"Your hospitality is most appreciated, sir," Ezra continued as he sat back, and fought down a twinge of guilt that he and Julian had come to town to swindle these people.

"Not at all," the doctor said, handing Ezra the bowl. "Merely repaying the favor you did for my daughter."

Ezra looked up at the older man, realizing. "Your daughter...Miss Anne?"

"Indeed," was the smiling reply, and Julian appeared to be enjoying Ezra's surprise as well. "She thinks the world of you, you know, for standing up to Barber. Nobody else here ever has. I wager he'll be moving on, once he has the power to move at all. You're a brave young fellow, my boy, and we're all very grateful to you."

The guilt almost choked him, but he managed to force it down. "It was completely my pleasure, sir," he replied.

"You're welcome to stay the night," the doctor went on as he began to walk out of the room, "and if you'd like, I'll be happy to see what I can do with that tooth."

Ezra glanced up, hopeful. "You're trained in the dental arts as well, sir?"

"Yes, indeed, my boy," was the proud reply. "That's my main profession. In return for your service to us, I'd be happy to help you out."

A glum sigh escaped Ezra's lips. "I suppose a painless extraction is all I can ask for," he murmured, staring into his soup.

"Don't worry, son," Dr. Greeves replied cheerfully. "I'm pretty sure that won't be necessary. A simple cap should be all you need, judging from the mild nature of the damage. I might even be able to fit you out with a gold one, if I have any, all at no charge."

Ezra's tired green eyes widened, and at first he could only stammer in surprise. "Sir, I-your generosity astounds me, Doctor."

The older man laughed heartily. "Mr. Simpson, I'd swap a whole mouthful of gold teeth for the chance to see someone knock Barber on his ass. You have no idea what it means to us." He patted Ezra lightly on the shoulder. "You rest up, now, and I'll be by in the morning."

He nodded and walked out, leaving Ezra to finish his meal.

"Well," Ezra mused with a grin, looking up at his partner with delight. "It appears that I will be able to bear my disfigurement in style after all."

"Hmm," was Julian's unimpressed response as he crossed his arms. "I suppose you'll think yourself quite the fancy fellow."

"If you are jealous, sir, I humbly suggest that you step into the ring next time," Ezra said as he sipped another spoonful of soup.

"Oh, no!" Julian said with upraised hands as he sat down in the chair next to the bed. "No, we're through with this con. It's too dangerous."

"To my health or our pocketbooks?" Ezra inquired, after a swallow.

"Both, actually," Julian replied casually, rubbing his chin as he studied his friend. "You really did have me worried there, Ezra," he went on in a more serious tone. "He could have crippled or killed you, you know, and I-" He stopped, paused, thought for a moment, his expression full of confusion and concern which he could not voice. "Well," he said, taking a full, unsteady breath as if to blow away the intrusive emotions, "At any rate, I'm certainly glad you survived."

"No more so than I, I assure you," Ezra returned with a smile, accepting the friendship Julian was unable to express.

"It certainly looked bad there for a while," Julian said as he settled back in the chair and folded his hands. "Why you went back into that ring when we could have ridden away safe and rich, I'll never know."

Ezra drained the last spoonful of soup and contemplated the thought as he sat holding the empty bowl.

"I suppose that makes two of us, my friend," he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a few moments, both occupied with their own thoughts. Then Julian rose and took the bowl.

"Well, I'm going back to our room for the night," he announced. "I'll be back tomorrow morning after I find Patterson and let him know he can return to his corn-shucking duties on the farm."

"I'm sure he will be thrilled," Ezra yawned, wincing at his sore ribs.

"Get some rest," Julian instructed as he turned down the lamp. "I figure we'll ride back East next, maybe see what's happening in Chicago. It'll be cooler there, at any rate." He straightened and walked out. "Good night."

"Night," was the drowsy reply as Ezra settled down into the bed. For a few moments he thought about the day's events, how it had all started out so clear and simple and turned into something very wild and confusing. Why had he continued the fight? What made him do such an insane thing? He felt oddly proud of himself, but that was so strange considering the outcome. They had made no money and he had received a hard beating. He should regard his decision as something obviously foolish and wrong, as it had profited him nothing. But his gut told him different, and he didn't know why.

His mind chewed on the questions for a few minutes, but he was far too weary to think about it for long. The soothing sound of the rain falling gently against the windowpane proved too lulling to resist, and he found himself quickly drifting off. The answers would have to be found another day, perhaps far in the future, perhaps never.

Or perhaps they were already there, right in front of him, and he only needed the courage to see them.

With that possibility in his mind, Ezra fell gratefully asleep.

Four Corners, 1883

 "After that, Julian and I ventured back East, plying various new cons until we parted company the following year."

Ezra's wistful voice drifted over the boardwalk as he, JD and Buck continued their watch over the growing crowds. Dusk was approaching now, and several people were already making their way to the end of town for the fireworks.

"So that's where that gold tooth came from," JD mused as he gazed at Ezra.

"Shoot, I always figured you just skinned somebody out of it," Buck said as he leaned back in his chair. He had an admiring light in his eyes, however, as he regarded his comrade.

"So what happened to Miss Anne an' her family?" inquired JD as he leaned forward in his chair, taking off his bowler and mopping sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

Ezra looked into the sky as the memory returned. "Oh, they decided to stay where they were after all. I kept in touch for a while, mostly through the father. She married a lawyer, and had at least two children. All in all, I'd say she recovered from Barber's attention quite nicely."

Buck eyed him keenly. "She ever know who you fellas really were?"

There was a pause, then Ezra shook his head. "No, I never saw any reason to undeceive her. She seemed perfectly happy to believe me a hero, it would have been cruel to shatter that illusion."

"Aw, hell, don't sell yourself so short there, pard," Buck shot back, slapping Ezra's arm. "You did right good, near as I can figure."

Ezra shrugged, uncomfortable.

"Hey, what happened to Barber?" was JD's next question.

"Ah, yes," Ezra said, tilting his head back as a grin split his face. "If what I heard has any validity, he left town shortly after the fight-Dr. Greeves said I gave him a concussion-and a year later, he was knifed to death during a barroom brawl in a silver mining town in Colorado. Apparently he was making unwelcome advances towards a local's sister."

Buck snorted. "Guess he didn't never learn."

The street had cleared out, everyone having moved off to watch the fireworks. The sun had set, bathing the town in a gentle pink glow.

"Well, gentlemen," Ezra said, rising and tucking his cards back into his pocket, "shall we repair to the end of town and watch the festivities? I believe Chris and the others will be awaiting us there."

"An' Miss Viola, I hope," Buck piped as he jumped eagerly to his feet.

"Casey said Miss Nettie was bringin' a whole hamper of food," said JD as he stood and shoved the wooden chair back against the wall. "Sure hope that's true, cause I'm starvin'!"

"Then let us away," Ezra suggested, and they walked into the fading glow of the sunset towards the edge of town. "With luck, we will be able to find something to satisfy both your appetites."

They soon arrived at the end of the street. Before them spread the wide, open expanse of the desert, with the mountains rising over the horizon, tinged with a golden-pink hue in the dimming sunlight. The entire town, it seemed, had gathered there, the men, women and children who lived under the protection of the seven hired guns. People were gathered everywhere, laughing and talking, while the young ones ran and played, impatient for the fireworks to begin.

"'Bout time you showed up!"

Buck's face broke into a grin. "Hey, Nathan!" he said as he greeted the speaker, a handsome young black man who was walking up to them from the crowd. "Guess we're just in time, huh?"

"S'pose so," Nathan said as he returned the smile. "Chris an' everyone else is over yonder, eatin' up the fine spreads Nettie an' Mrs. Travis brought. Y'all better run if you want to get any."

JD's face lit up. "Guess I'll go see if Casey needs any help," he said quickly, and dashed off into the crowd.

Ezra sighed, amused. "I propose we follow him, gentlemen, he is liable to empty the tables in his zeal."

"Darn good idea there, Ezra," Buck agreed, scanning the throng as they waded into it. "I just know Miss Viola's here somewhere."

"I'll go fetch Rain an' be right over," Nathan added, and disappeared.

"Dang, just when you need t'find a gal she plum vanishes on ya," Buck muttered as he and Ezra walked to the edge of the throng.

They found the rest of their small group seated at the edge of the crowd, where they could watch the fireworks and keep an eye on things. There was a general round of greetings and assurances that everything was staying quiet. The long-haired sharpshooter Vin Tanner was perched atop a rock, hand dangling on one raised knee, keeping a keen eye on the crowd. below him stood the tall preacher Josiah Sanchez, leaning against the rock and talking with one of the locals.

Lean, green-eyed Chris Larabee sat nearby, watching with quiet amusement as young Billy Travis and a few other local children raced around in eager anticipation of the coming show. JD had found the picnic spread and was trying to eat a large slice of apple pie and talk to young, pretty Casey Wells at the same time, much to the delight of Casey's aunt Nettie who stood watching close by while talking with Mary Travis, the stately blonde owner of the town's only newspaper.

Ezra found a place to lean against the tall rocks just as the first rocket sped upwards into the air. It exploded into a large ball of red light, eliciting exclamations and applause from the crowd. The children squealed and jumped, the adults laughed and tried to calm them. The attention of the entire crowd had turned to the sky as the fireworks exploded, bathing the desert landscape below in an eerie but beautiful glow.

The gambler took his green eyes from the display and thoughtfully studied the throng around him. It wasn't so different, really, from the crowd who had looked to him all those years ago, a large crowd of strangers he had no ties to other than proximity. He owed them nothing, but yet risked his life on their behalf for what seemed like a truly paltry reward.

And still he did not understand why. This time it surely could not be the money-a dollar a day was hardly a fortune. As before, he was placing himself in danger, and he could tell himself it was for any of a host of reasons-amusement, excitement, the lure of a safe place to stop and rest while he planned what money-making venture to try next. Any of these might explain why he had chosen this life, with these men, in this place.

Then, of course, there was another idea, one which caused him to almost laugh out loud every time it presented itself. The notion that he was doing this out of any deeply buried, little-used sense of decency never failed to amuse him. He was no hero, merely a wayward, sinning gambler, and he had never harbored any delusions as to his state of grace. It was far less complicated to think he had fought Barber because he was young and foolish, and he was staying in Four Corners because it was a good place to wait until the road called again.

Besides, he told himself as the sky lit up with a rainbow of blossoming fire, this was a holiday, and such heavy thoughts should be set aside for another day. He was perfectly content to enjoy the present and leave the questions for the future.

With any luck, he would find the answers there as well.

Ezra settled back against the rock and enjoyed the fireworks with a wide smile, their sun-like brilliance bathing the crowd in its light and glinting brightly off of Ezra's gleaming gold tooth.

THE END

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Sue :)