JD pursed his lips with determination as he strode out of the hardware store. In one hand he held a long, sharp wooden tent stake, and his hand closed firmly around it. This all just had to work.

With a short hop he moved off the boardwalk and began walking down the street towards the boarding house to put his things in final order before leaving. He didn't notice much of anything as he walked, his mind totally absorbed with thoughts of what was happening, and what lay in the very near future.

Wonder how Ezra's doin', he said to himself. A shiver ran through him as he remembered how Ezra was the night before, the awful words he'd said. He'd never heard anyone swear like that, or talk with such hatred. It had all been very frightening, and now that he had time to think about it, he marveled that he'd been able to bear it. But there hadn't been time to think then; maybe that was it. He'd been too busy worrying about Ezra to be bothered by what he said. But it would be worse tonight; tonight they faced Montreux–

"JD! Look out!"

Blinking, JD stopped, coming back to himself with a rush and grimacing as he knocked his right shin against the rough hard surface of a horse trough. He gasped just a little, deeply embarrassed that he had almost tripped over the dang thing, and looked up to see a young girl of about sixteen, clad in jeans and a rough shirt, staring at him with wide brown eyes.

"Hey, Casey," he muttered, still gathering his wits.

"Best take your head out of them clouds, JD, it's kinda late in the year for a swim," she said with a laugh in her voice as she walked over to him, her long brown hair bouncing beneath the wide–brimmed hat she wore. Her clothes were covered with dust, and in one arm she held a heavy–looking burlap sack.

JD smiled, chagrined. "I'm a pretty good swimmer, even in a horse trough," he replied lightly to hide his embarrassment. "You in town with your aunt?"

She shrugged. "She's back at the house peelin' apples for pies. Sent me into town to get some flour, ours went an' spoiled. Hey, what's this I'm hearin' about Ezra?"

JD glanced up sharply. "Why, what'd you hear?"

"Oh," she said, sitting down on the edge of the trough, putting down the flour and digging into one pocket, "some folks at the grocer's was sayin' he's actin' crazy, real mean–like, an' that he took this poor farmer's last dime an' almost shot some fat ol' city feller. An' then he beat Chris up somethin' awful. Is that true?"

The young man hesitated. "You know better than to listen to store gossip, Casey," he chided her, unwilling to feed her curiosity.

"Oh, I know it's probably just hen–cacklin'," she admitted," but I saw Chris over by the livery just now, an' Lord, JD, he looks about half–beat to death!"

Dang! JD thought. "Well, okay, Chris an' Ezra had a little fight, but it's gonna be all cleared up soon. Nothin' to worry about."

She fished a near–empty bag of lemon drops from her pocket and opened it, popping one into her mouth as she stared down the street. "You fellers an' your fights," she muttered, shaking her head. "If you ain't shootin' you're punchin'. What'd they fight about?"

"That ain't important no more," JD insisted, slightly irritated. It was getting late.

She peered at him, frowning. "You're mighty jumpy, JD. You all right?"

"Oh, sure," he shot back. "Just–uh, worried about that party comin' up."

"Oh." She accepted this explanation completely and stood. "Want a lemon drop? Maybe that'll calm you down some."

"Sure, thanks," he said quickly, pulling one out of the bag as he looked at her.

"You do seem rattled," she noticed as she put the bag back into her pocket. "Ain't you found no scary stories yet?"

JD grunted as he put the candy into his mouth. "Ooh, that really hasn't been a problem," he replied, looking away and thinking about the real–life horror he was involved in. A horror Casey could know nothing about.

"Oh, well, that's good," she said casually as she stooped to pick the flour up. "Best be gettin' on home, Aunt Nettie's waitin' for this. See ya, JD."

She turned and began walking away.

JD looked after her, suddenly seized by a cold fear; there was no knowing what might happen tonight, he might never see her again.

"Hey! Casey?" he yelled.

She stopped and turned, eyeing him with bewildered expectance. "Yeah?"

JD thought fast. What could he say? "Uh...you...you take care of yourself."

He immediately kicked himself, aware of how stupid he sounded. She didn't seem to mind, however, and smiled at him as she shifted the heavy bag of flour in her arm.

"Don't you worry, JD, I won't let the goblins get me," she said lightly, and smiled again before heading off to the livery.

The young man snorted softly to himself as he glanced down at the stake he held. "We'll probably be fightin' them next," he whispered ruefully to no one. He watched Casey as she hurried away down the street until her slim form disappeared from view, then turned his own steps in the opposite direction, grimly resolved to stop Montreux's evil and protect his friends, no matter the cost.


The sun was setting, its brilliant rays fading into a gentle orange glow as they slipped over the cooling rocks of the rough desert floor. Seated safely in the depths of the cave, Ezra watched the coming dusk with increasing apprehension, well aware of what would occur once the day was ended. There was little time now.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the letter he was writing; he'd been working on it all day, but it was proving to be a very difficult missive to compose. How could he say goodbye to his mother in one short letter when there was still so much to say to her? And why couldn't he find the words to commit any of it to paper?

Perhaps because it was couched in a lie, he thought to himself as he put down the pen and sat back, running one hand through his hair as he watched the shadows lengthen outside the yawning mouth of the cave. According to the letter, he was dying of a bullet wound. Lying usually came so easily to him–he'd based his entire career upon it–but this time, it felt awkward and wrong.

But then, he chuckled as he studied the words he'd written again, the truth would completely confound her. 'Dear Mother, my apologies for all this, but I've become a blood–sucking monster and will soon be dying in a battle against the bastardly villain who made me this way. You'll be happy to know I'll soon be in hell, which should actually be a relief after the day I've had, contemplating the suffering I've caused and the horrific things I never thought myself capable of until now. I hope you're not too disappointed. Love, Ezra.'

He smiled to himself, appreciating his own dark wit as he imagined those words on the half–blank page before him. No, he could not burden Mother with the truth; he was only now beginning to believe it himself, and could never hope to explain it to her. Thinking about what had happened to him was bad enough; trying to put it into words, impossible.

Ezra rose from the rock he'd been sitting on and began to pace, trying to collect his thoughts. How could he tell his mother what he'd done, the terrible joy he'd felt at causing others pain? It still sickened him to remember–as he knew he would, always, even if he survived this–the shameful glee with which he had caused ruin and contemplated the most heinous crimes.

Unbidden but unstoppable, the awful memories came back. He had beaten Chris for no reason other than he had tried to stop Ezra from killing someone–he still felt the joyous thrill which had accompanied every brutal blow. He'd struck Buck, of all people, cheerful easy–going Buck who had been his partner in card games and joking around. And JD–God, the things he'd said to JD, that poor kid, who still showed him mercy despite all he'd done and was repaid with the worst possible savagery. He'd tried to kill Vin–Vin, his comrade and ally, an honorable man, one he could even call friend–tried to kill him, and truly enjoyed it!

The shame was almost crushing him.

The worst part was knowing that the darkness still lurked within him, eager for a chance to break free yet again. It had been driven deep into his heart by the return of his soul, but it still prowled the edges of his consciousness, whispering its demented urgings into his ear. He could control it now, ignore its enticing words, but it was undoubtedly there, boiling just beneath his self–control, looking for a chance to erupt and consume him once more.

He lifted his head and stared sadly out into the desert twilight; night was fast approaching, the sky bathed in a purplish–pink as the sun neared the western horizon. Damn it, Ezra thought as anger swelled through his heart, why did they restore his soul? It was better to be without it, and not have to suffer this unrelenting anguish. To know the depths of one's own depravity, to feel the searing pangs of remorse–this had to be even a worse hell than the one which still yawned before him, should he not survive the coming battle.

And even if he did survive, what then? He wiped his eyes and gazed over the dry rocks and barren trees beyond the cave's doorstep. If Montreux died, and he regained his humanity, he would still carry this terrible burden the rest of his days, still be forced to go back to town and try to rebuild the shattered trust between himself and the townfolk. They'd seen him beat Chris, cheat the other poker players, punch Buck. When the Judge heard about it–doubtless he'd been wired already–there would be little recourse. Ezra would have to go.

He sighed, steeling himself, the anger rising again. No, he wouldn't let that happen, damn it, not after all this. He'd found a home there, and he was going to keep it, even if he had to throw every card game and even do menial labor–labor? yes!–to win back their trust. Montreux's evil had cost Ezra his pride, he was not going to take this from him as well. After this, it would be all he had left.

Another scene loomed, and Ezra shivered to contemplate it, but he had to study all of the possible outcomes, as any gambler worth his salt would. What if they succeeded in killing Montreux, but this did not release him from his terrible condition? Already he could sense the savagery growing within him, struggling to overcome the steadying influence of his soul. It was a pitched struggle, one he would not be able to win forever. The violent, angry thoughts broke to the surface now and then, the lethal urges grew harder to brush aside.

He looked back at his saddlebags instinctively as the call within him began to intensify. But all of the cattle's blood was gone now. What would he do, when the hunger grew intolerable? The thought of being driven into the desert to live alone forever, preying on the beasts of the wilderness so that he did not have to bear the agony of becoming a murderer, was horrifying to him. Even more terrible, however, was the thought that one day he might not be able to still the killing impulses within him. He would become a beast himself, slaughtering for blood, apart from the rest of humanity for the rest of his life except for his dark and suffering soul.

Ezra shuddered, appalled at this vision. Never, he could never live like that. He would ask one of his friends to dispatch him, or allow the morning sun to consume him, before allowing himself to sink to such depths. Even the fires of perdition were preferable to such a fate.

Suddenly he shook himself, frustrated at his own helplessness. How had things come to such an intolerable pass? he mused as he stood and walked back further into the cave. This was most absurd, he never would have thought such a nightmare could enter his own life. Four days ago he was happily pursuing his dreams of wealth and a good game of poker, now he was living a cursed life and fighting thoughts of murder and suicide. He had definitely had better weeks.

But a gentleman did not allow despair to cloud his purpose, Ezra told himself as he sat down once again, the letter before him. A gentleman faced adversity and overcame it, or went down fighting. Self–pity was a weakness, and Ezra could not be weak when so much depended on his strength.

He took a deep breath and picked up the pen with one hand, while with the other he tossed aside the half–written letter and began a new one. With time running out and his focus clear, the words came quickly, and when he finally finished he read them over and smiled a little. Perhaps one day they would help her forgive him.

Looking up, he saw that the sun was almost behind the mountains. Quickly he stood, folded and sealed the letter in an envelope, and gathered his things. Uncertainty and a little fear brushed his heart, but Ezra did his best to set them aside; he almost anticipated the coming fight, if for no other reason than to lay his hands on the bastard who did this to him, to all of them. Montreux deserved a good thrashing, at the very least, and Ezra felt ready to give him one.

The last light of the setting sun slid over the dusty ground, fading at last into the pale glimmering of twilight.

It was time for battle.

Ezra saddled up his stolen mount, and as the last cinch was checked and tightened he heard the noise of several hoofbeats nearing the cave. Taking the horse by the bridle, he gently led it outside. There he found the six other men, his friends, all mounted and ready for the coming fight, waiting only for him. For a silent moment they regarded each other, their faces reflecting the sensation of grim purpose now encircling their small group.

"Ready?" Chris whispered as he gazed evenly at the gambler.

"As I will ever be," was the firm reply as Ezra swung himself into his saddle. he ducked his head as he gathered up the reins. "I cannot adequately express my gratitude to all of you for facing such a risk on my account."

"Hell, I wouldn't miss this fight for anything!" Buck replied heartily. "Ain't too often we get to whip a vampire's ass, an' we *are* gonna whip 'im, pard. You can bet on that."

"Here, Ezra," JD piped up, pulling the wooden tent stake from his bed roll and handing it to the Southerner. "It was the biggest Mr. Watson had."

"My thanks, JD, it should prove quite sufficient," Ezra said as he accepted it, studying the sharp point before storing it away.

"You'll be wantin' to get 'im here, Ezra," Nathan offered, indicating a point on his chest just below his left pectoral. "That's where the heart is."

"I will endeavor to aim true, Mr. Jackson," Ezra said with a nod.

"I got some holy water for ya too, Ezra," Josiah added, indicating the canteen slung around his shoulder. He began to remove it before a sharp noise from Ezra stopped him.

"You may hold on to it for now, Josiah," the gambler said quickly, a nervous edge to his voice. "I fear I cannot have it close to me without suffering some rather inconvenient ill affects. I'll...take it when the proper time comes."

With understanding in his solemn blue eyes, Josiah nodded.

Ezra sighed and studied them all in turn. "I would suggest you follow at a distance and set yourselves up far enough away from me so that Montreux's suspicions are not aroused. With any luck, this entire affair will soon be over." He paused, his smooth, pale face working against the efforts of strong emotion. Finally he simply looked at them and tapped the brim of his flat–crowned black hat.

"Gentlemen, I will see you on the field of battle," he said softly, and turning his horse's head to the east, spurred the beast into a gallop and rode away.

The other six men watched him go. He had diminished to a small, indistinct speck against the barren desert landscape before Chris finally turned to them and said with gritty resolution, "Let's go."

The six horsemen said nothing in response, but picked up their reins and followed after their accursed comrade.



Night was well on its way by the time Ezra reached the split rock. The sky was a deep bluish–purple, fading quickly into black, its expanse cloudless. Stars were beginning to appear, and the full moon's gentle white glow already illuminated the wide, dusty wilderness before him. There was still no sign of Montreux.

Ezra resisted the urge to look behind him. He knew Chris and the others were camped out on a ridge some twenty yards behind him–though not too close, hopefully, for Montreux to notice them. Vin would be preparing his sights; the moment Montreux was in range, the sharpshooter would fire, paralyzing the vampire long enough for Ezra to begin his attack. Ezra had full confidence that even in the moonlight, Vin would not miss.

He took a deep breath and fidgeted in the saddle, impatient. Hunger assailed him; he tried to ignore it, thankful that his comrades were too far away to be in danger. He could feel the animal savagery stirring within him, the nearly irresistible urge to hunt and kill fed by the darkness now settling around him. Was it always this way for them? he wondered idly, marveling at the powerful craving. Did every night bring this terrible violent longing? It was far worse than any desire he had ever experienced, but with stern will he pushed it away, hoping that soon it would be done away with forever. If not, he felt he would either stoop to murder, or go mad.

Something made him look up, and he saw a figure riding towards him, still far away but discernible in the pale moonlight. A tall, darkly clad shape on a white horse. Ezra froze, a tingle going up his spine. Montreux.

Mr. Tanner, he thought quickly, if you ever made an accurate shot in your life, make it now.



"There he is!"

JD's whisper went along the lip of the ridge where Chris and the others had placed themselves. As the others crouched down to hide, Chris glanced up at the tall outcropping of rocks to their left. Vin was perched at its apex, his rifle aimed and ready. The rest waited and watched.

Vin shifted in his place; he was standing on a boulder near the apex of the the outcropping, his rifle laid across the smooth surface of the rock which hid from view. It was a beautiful long–range weapon, the bequest of an assassin whose career had ended in Four Corners. Vin ordinarily shunned the weapon as the tool of a killer, keeping it stored and unused in his wagon, but tonight he had decided that a good use had finally come for it.

He looked carefully down the telescopic sight as Montreux neared; Vi could see the man's handsome face and flowing white hair plainly in the pale moonlight. His nimble finger danced on the trigger as he aimed for Montreux's head; just a few more yards...

Then suddenly, everything went black.

"Shit!" Vin breathed, but the word had scarcely left his lips when the pain hit him, crushing in its weight and blinding in its intensity. He felt as if he'd been shot in the head. Reflexively he dropped the rifle, his hands flying to grab his eyes as he heard the weapon clatter away onto the rocks. The most appalling cry shattered his ears, and it an instant before he realized that the frightening sound had been torn from his own throat. A powerful wave of dizziness crashed over him, and before he knew it, he was falling, tumbling roughly over the sharp rocks of the hill towards the unforgiving ground of the desert several hundred feet below. He heard someone yell his name and felt the painful force as his body slammed helplessly into the cold rock; then, nothing.


Ezra felt a coldness rush over him as Vin's scream pierced the desert air. he knew what it meant, knew that Montreux had found them and that Vin was probably dead, but before he could think of what to do, Montreux was upon him.

"So, Ezra, I see you were punctual," the tall man purred as he rode up to the gambler, his long white hair dancing slightly in the chilly autumn wind. The vampire appeared much stronger than when Ezra saw him last, and regarded his protege with a cool smile. Ezra could only stare at him, his green eyes wide with anger.

Montreux only laughed. "Oh, come now, Ezra, did you really think I was going to let him shoot me? Did the return of your soul mean the losing of your mind?"

Ezra licked his lips. "Our accounts are between ourselves, sir," he whispered urgently. "There is no need to induce further suffering on their part."

"Lord, how sentimental you are now!" was the amused reply. "Could these be the same men you spoke so casually of slaughtering the other day? I thought they meant nothing to you."

"The other day I labored beneath the curse you inflicted on me," Ezra shot back, rage creeping into his voice. "Today I am a bit more clear–headed."

Montreux sighed and crossed his hands over the pommel of his saddle, shaking his head. "Oh, Ezra, Ezra! It breaks my heart to see how they've crippled you. You had such promise. You must remember how much your new life thrilled you, the glories of power, the miracle of immortality?"

"Indeed I do, sir," was the cold response, "and I will carry the horror of those memories to my dying day. I have become an animal now through your dealings, and mean to see an end to it here, tonight."

"No, Ezra, it's they who are the animals, not us," Montreux replied with a smile. "We are their masters; you felt that, and know it to be true. Just as you feel the impossibility of living on as you are now, with the chains of soul and conscience dragging you down. They did you no favors, did they, giving you the ability to feel the shame of your deeds? Beings such as we cannot live with that burden, Ezra. That's why we cast it off, and live as truly free creatures."

Ezra eyed him evenly, wary of every move. "It is not easy, I admit, but it is far preferable to mindless barbarity."

"But it isn't mindless," was the quick answer. "It's pure rationality. Besides, you know you can't stay this way; eventually you must hunt and kill, or go mad. It is the way we live, Ezra, and you can't deny it forever. Even now it must be driving you near insanity, to feel the lure of the hunt and be unable to answer it."

Ezra stared at him, speechless, wondering wildly what was happening behind him at the cliffs.

Montreux spurred his horse to ride closer, his expression mild. "I can help you calm those screams inside you, Ezra," he promised. "Those men trapped you, gave you back what you didn't want, but that can be changed. It can all be yours again, the power, the wealth, and best of all, the ability to pursue it without the pangs of your soul. Then we can kill them all and ride away, and you will never suffer like this again."

"No," Ezra said without hesitation, sitting up straight in his saddle. "That life holds no further charms for me, Montreux. I will not consent to entering it a second time."

Montreux looked at him and chuckled. "Brave words, my friend," he said smoothly. "But as I recall, I didn't need your consent then. What would induce you to believe that I need it now?"


"Vin! VIN!"

They were gathered around the tracker's bloodied, motionless form where it lay at the base of the outcropping, Nathan doing his best to revive the tracker as the rest watched in horror. Only JD remained at his place, watching the proceedings at the split rock.

"C'mon, Vin," Chris whispered from his place at the sharpshooter's shoulder, his good hand resting on Vin's torn buckskin sleeve. Blood trickled from places where the rocks had raked his skin, and bruises were beginning to color his flesh.

Suddenly Vin groaned and stirred, one hand going to his head.

"Aaaah, shit! Shit..." he breathed.

"Easy, Vin, just lay still!" Nathan commanded, squeezing Vin's shoulder.

Vin completely ignored him as he tried to sit up. his blue eyes blinked open, but focused on nothing. "I been shot?" he rasped.

"I said lay still, dammit!" Nathan replied. "No, you ain't been shot, but you mighta broke somethin'."

Vin shook his head. "Nothin' feels broke, but–God, Nathan, I can't see an' my head feels like it's been split open," he moaned.

"Ain't surprised, from that fall," Buck observed.

"No, it's that bastard, Montreux, he's doin' it," Vin spat as he very slowly sat up. "He done it before. Aaah...what's happenin' with Ezra?"

"He an' Montreux are talkin'," JD said from his lookout perch.

Vin sat still for a moment, then said, "Where's my rifle?"

"Didn't see it fall, must still be up on the rock," Josiah said, craning his neck upwards.

Vin's breathing was heavy as his sightless blue eyes darted back and forth. "One...shit, that smarts!...one of you fellers got that rifle to me. I can still get 'im."

"Now how you gonna do that?" Buck wondered aloud, amazement in his voice. "Thought you said you can't see!"

Vin shook his head. "If I can hear 'im, I don't need to see. Now we gonna sit here jawin' or is someone gonna get me that damned rifle so's we can end this!"



Ezra's green eyes stared at Montreux as the implication of his softly spoken words quickly sank in. He guided his horse back a few steps, steeling himself.

"It would only be against my will that you would take my soul again, Montreux," he said fiercely. "And I promise you, this time I will defend myself with all of the strength available to me."

Montreux sighed and took off his tall hat, tossing it aside with seeming nonchalance. "If that's the way you want it, Ezra," he said lightly, with a slight smile. Then, with the suddenness of a mountain lion, he sprang from his saddle with a savage growl.

Ezra had prepared himself for it, but was still unable to prevent his opponent from sinking his fingers into Ezra's shoulders and dragging him to the desert floor. Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder, drawing blood, and Ezra let out a yell of pain and rage as they dropped into the dust. The raging animal roared to life within him, and he saw now that he could put its power to the best of purposes: ridding the world of Montreux. The urge to kill could not be stopped now, but he would use it against his attacker, and by doing so silence it once and for all.

The other men watched in horrified fascination as Ezra uttered an unearthly howl and tore himself from Montreux's grasp, jumping to his feet and whipping off his jacket and hat. Reaching down he grabbed Montreux and hauled him to his feet with seeming ease, fairly snarling with rage. His green eyes were wild and blazed with savagery; his newest and deadliest weapons–a pair of razor–sharp fangs–glinted in the autumn moonlight.

JD saw this and almost ducked behind the rock, terrified at what he was witnessing. That can't be Ezra, he thought, just can't be.

"What's happenin'?" Vin demanded to know, as he slumped against a rock holding his head in agony.

"They're fightin'!" was all JD could say.

Chris looked at Vin, his friend's anguish clearly visible in the pale moonlight.

"Stay here," the gunslinger said in a sharp, no–argument tone, and without hesitation raced for the outcropping and began to climb the jagged boulders to the top where Vin's rifle still lay.

Vin's head shot up, his sightless blue eyes searching in vain. "Chris!You can't climb with that shoulder!" he gasped, before sighing in frustrated resignation, "Dammit, Larabee!"

"You go on, Chris, we'll make sure the odds stay even!" Josiah urged as he stood, eyeing the contest keenly. Around his shoulder was looped the canteen containing the last of the holy water.

"Reckon it's about time we got this to Ezra," he muttered, and began to make his way around the ridge, closer to the battle.

"Wait, Josiah!" Nathan said, standing up. "You go over there, Montreux's bound t'notice. Ain't no good you gettin' killed–let me go."

"Now hold on there, doc," said Buck as he stepped forward, "you got to stay here an' look after Vin."

"I ain't dyin'!" Vin protested, his voice thick with pain.

"Yep, an' I'd like to keep it that way," Buck responded, taking the canteen. "I can run mighty fast when I need to, reckon I can get this over to Ezra with no problem."

Before anyone could argue, Buck trotted away.


Montreux shook himself fiercely from Ezra's grip with a vicious cry, his violet eyes burning as he glared at the Southerner, his own fangs bared now.

"I'll gladly oblige if it's a battle you want, Ezra," he said as they circled each other. "But I have two hundred years behind me."

"Then I'd say you're about due for a thrashing, Mr. Montreux," was the cold reply, and Ezra leaped forward, smashing Montreux against the side of the massive split rock.

The taller man let out a yell and lashed out, striking Ezra squarely in the face. The gambler's head snapped back, red gashes now standing out against his ivory skin. As he staggered back a step or two, Montreux pounced, his weight carrying them both to the hard desert floor where Ezra landed with a dusty thud.

Ezra gasped as Montreux began to choke him, clawing at the other man's face in an attempt to stop the assault. As he gasped and coughed he turned his eyes to the ridge, and saw the dim form of Buck making his way towards them. Their eyes locked, and Buck stopped in his tracks, crouching down behind a rock.

The gambler understood at once; Buck was trying to get him the holy water, but could come no closer without alerting Montreux to his presence. Ezra would have to break Montreux's hold on him quickly.

Ezra's right hand shot out, swiftly gathering up as much sand and pebbles as he could and flinging the entire handful into Montreux's face. As the vampire let out a cry of pain and surprise, Ezra drove his fist into his stomach, then heaved him to the side and scrambled to his feet, giving his former mentor a vicious kick to the head for good measure, knowing that at best it would only stun him.

The dust billowed in silvery clouds as Ezra dashed towards the rock where Buck lay hidden. The gunslinger's head suddenly appeared, and when he saw Ezra running in his direction, Buck hurriedly tossed the canteen at him.

Deftly Ezra snatched the vessel from the air, ignoring the stinging pain in his hands, but as he did so a piercing groan reached his ears. He looked over in horror to see Buck slump to the ground, his face screwed up in pain. He hurried to Buck's side, his green eyes anxious. As he ran he threw a hateful glance at Montreux, knowing full well that it was he who was tormenting Buck, using the strength of his mind. The only way to end it was Montreux's death, a feat Ezra hoped to soon accomplish.

He bent over Buck, grasping his friend's shoulders to steady him in his agony. Buck gasped and waved him away. "Don't fret on me, pard!" he panted, his voice tremulous with strain. "Take care of Montreux!"

Ezra stared at him for a moment in wild indecision, then looked up to see Montreux, dusty and bleeding but fully recovered, getting to his feet and glaring at Ezra.

"Really, Ezra," Montreux panted as he shook his head, his long white hair now hanging in dusty strands, "these associates of yours are positively disappointing."

Ezra stepped a few feet in front of Buck to protect him and pulled open the canteen, but within an instant Montreux was upon him. The gambler was knocked roughly against the unforgiving rock, the canteen wrested from his hand and flung out of reach, its precious contents spraying onto the ground in a glittering stream as it spun away. It hit the ground with a thump some distance away, rocked a little, and settled into stillness.

Desperately Ezra made after it, hoping that a few drops might still linger in the canteen, enough to at least cripple Montreux. Iron fingers closed around his shoulder, pulling him back, and in one lightning move Ezra spun around and buried his teeth in Montreux's arm.

The other man burst forth with a yowl as they fell to the ground. For a moment Ezra tightened his bite, reveling with pure animal savagery in the thrill of the attack. During the span of that surreal minute, his entire being gloried in the brutal sensation of sinking his teeth into his victim. It was his entire reason for existing, the one goal whose sanguinary call he would be forced to heed irresistibly for the rest of his immortal life.

But unlike the rest of his kind, he could choose another way.

The moment passed, and he pushed it away with all of the force his outraged, disgusted soul could muster. He tore his teeth from Montreux's arm and whipped up his head to stare furiously into his opponent's eyes.

To his surprise, the man was laughing.

"There, you see, Ezra?" he gasped as they grappled. "You're not so immune to this after all. Soul or no soul, it's what you are. Take it!"

Ezra stared at him evenly. "Much obliged," he panted in reply, "but I believe I'd rather not."

This did not seem to bother Montreux. "In that case," he said, tightening his grip on Ezra, "I hope you enjoy your eternity in hell."


Chris gritted his teeth as he slowly climbed up the sharp, cutting boulders of the outcropping. He had to hurry; Ezra would be able to hold Montreux for so long, and from the sound of things the fight was becoming vicious.

His healing shoulder screamed in protest with every movement; it almost felt as if it were becoming dislocated again. Chris bit down harder and ignored the pain; he wasn't going to be soft enough to give in to his agony when so much was at stake. As long as he could still move it, he had to continue.

The rocks were sharp and dug relentlessly into his hands as he pulled himself up the steep incline. Every few minutes he would glance down at the others waiting around the base of the outcropping. In the bright moonlight he could see Nathan crouched over Vin while the tracker sat on the ground, holding his head in mute agony.

The sight of his friend and brother in such pain spurred Chris's resolve, and he resumed his climb, determined to see Montreux dead and Vin and Ezra–all of them–freed from this evil for good.


Buck could barely see through the waves of pain as he tried to make out what was happening between Ezra and Montreux. His entire body felt as if it were on fire, the searing sensation seeming to come from everywhere.

"Buck!" Josiah's voice called, and in an instant he felt the preacher's strong hands on his shoulders, pulling him back to safety behind the rocks and away from where the two men were fighting.

"Much obliged, Josiah," Buck gasped, scarcely able to talk as he slumped against the cool rock. "Dang, feel like there's a burnin' stove on my chest! What's goin' on?"

Josiah peered over the rock. "Can't rightly see. But we still got a fighting chance." He patted Buck's arm carefully. "You did good, brother. Just take it easy now."

Buck grunted. "Damn hard t'take it easy when the Union army's ridin' through your skull," he said with a grimace, grasping his head with one hand.

JD ran up, his hazel eyes wide. "Buck, you okay?"

The older man chuckled as he rubbed his eyes. "I'll live, kid. What's goin' on with Chris?"

"He's still tryin' to get Vin's gun," JD replied, looking back to the outcropping where Chris's dark form could still be seen inching up the face of the rocks. "Vin's hurtin' pretty bad, though. This better end soon."

Josiah was watching Ezra and Montreux. "I think it will, JD. One way or the other."



Ezra tightened his grip on Montreux, using all of his rage at what he had become to strengthen him in his fight. Montreux's blood still flecked his lips, the bitter taste in his mouth reminding him of the depths to which he had descended. Shame and revulsion filled his soul, and fueled his efforts against the creature who now struggled in his grasp.

Despite the wound, Montreux's fighting spirit remained unabated, and he quickly bared his fangs and leaped at Ezra, driving them both back to the ground. Before Ezra could stop him, his opponent buried his teeth into the gambler's shoulder, which erupted in a burst of blazing pain.

Ezra let out a cry of agonized anger, and was surprised at how feral it sounded, almost like an animal's scream. With more strength than he had ever dreamed of possessing he grasped Montreux and wrenched him away before he lost more of his blood.

Montreux, his white hair swinging wildly and now spotted with crimson, got to his knees for a moment, staring at Ezra with blazing violet eyes, then struck again with a furious snarl and catlike swiftness. The two men tumbled back into the dust, their cries and groans mingling into a cacophony of brutal combat.

Gritting his teeth in rage, Ezra grasped Montreux's collar tightly, rolling over and slamming his opponent into the ground. Rearing back, he crashed his fist across Montreux's jaw. As he brought his arm back to repeat the blow, Montreux's head snapped back, and he stared at Ezra with devilish fury before letting out a crazed roar and grabbing Ezra's arm, stopping its descent. With inhuman strength, he wrenched then gambler's arm aside and tossed him off of him, kicking him to the ground. Before Ezra could brace himself for the attack, Montreux was upon him.

Montreux assaulted his apprentice savagely, clawing and biting at every opportunity. The blood flowed freely, the pain almost blinding. Ezra felt each bite and gash and returned as many as he could, but his strength was beginning to ebb before the merciless onslaught. If he only had a moment to rest he knew he could recover, but Montreux was relentless, raining blows down on him with the ferocity of a mountain lion.

Then, suddenly, the blows stopped, and as Ezra gasped for air he saw Montreux sitting back and staring at him, now drenched in sweat and dappled with blood. One slender hand was tightly grasping Ezra's collar.

They stared at each other for a moment, Montreux wild–eyed and triumphant, Ezra dazed and bloodied. Ezra braced himself; if Montreux was going to kill him, why didn't he just get it over with?

Then he looked into his sire's eyes, and suddenly realized why. Montreux wasn't going to kill him after all; he was planning instead to reclaim Ezra's soul, knowing that this was the fate Ezra feared most. His green eyes widened at the same instant Montreux bared his fangs and dove down, intent on plunging them into Ezra's throat.

"No!" Ezra screamed, strength rushing back into his arms as the horror at the thought of returning to that cursed existence flooded his being. They struggled, Montreux's fangs grazing Ezra's neck, before the desperate Southerner flung the creature to one side and rolled away.

Ezra's fists dug at the dust as he lay, trembling and spent, trying to gather together the power to keep fighting. He would rather die and face hell than become like that again, but there seemed no way to prevent it. He needed time to regain his strength and there was no time.

He braced himself for another attack, but instead another pain struck him, sharp and searing, as if a thousand knives were piercing his skin. But this pain was oddly familiar, and with an effort he opened his eyes, frowning. It felt just like...like...

Oh, Lord! he thought.

With a gasp, he pulled himself up on one elbow and raised his head, straining to see. The full moon still flooded the rocky plain with light, and in its silver glow he could see Montreux standing some twenty feet away, glaring at Ezra like a baffled tiger. But he made no move towards him, and after focusing his eyes Ezra saw the reason why, with a mixture of concern and amazement.

Josiah was standing between them, his huge hands balled into mighty fists as he stared the vampire down.

Ezra coughed, a tight feeling constricting his heart as he realized the severity of Josiah's actions. "Josiah," he gasped, his voice rough and weak, "for God's sake, don't...this is...not your fight..."

"Any fight against evil is my fight, Ezra," the preacher replied in a loud, firm voice as he stared Montreux in the eye. "You just get your wind back. I reckon I can hold this demon til then."

Montreux laughed as he paced back and forth. "Is that what you think, holy man? I've slain your kind before, you know. You may be immune to my more intangible abilities, but you can still bleed and die."

Josiah regarded him with a quiet smile as he shucked his coat and put up his huge fists, being careful to stay between Montreux and Ezra. "So can you."

The creature snorted a little, his violet eyes watching Josiah's every move. They watched each other for a few silent moments, Josiah tensed and ready, Montreux pacing with the leisurely stride of a jungle cat sizing up a dangerous victim.

Behind Josiah, Ezra pulled himself up against a pile of rocks and rested, feeling the strength flow back into him as his regenerative powers healed his torn, bruised flesh. As he waited, his wide green eyes remained riveted to the scene before him, awed by the fact that Josiah was facing down such a deadly foe for his sake. Resolution flooded his healing frame; he had to stop all this, no matter what. He couldn't let the suffering and sacrifice of his friends be in vain. Even if he died in the attempt, it had to end.

He fixed his eyes upon Josiah and Montreux, and kept alert for his chance to continue the battle.


Chris finally reached the top of the outcropping, panting and covered with sweat. His hands were cut and bleeding, his shoulder on fire with agony, but he ignored their ceaseless throbbing as he looked about anxiously for Vin's rifle.

All seemed silent below, and Chris couldn't tell if this was a good sign or a bad one. This thought, too, was quickly set aside; if Ezra was dead, well, they could use the holy bullet to avenge his death, and go down fighting.

His green eyes quickly scanned the uneven surface until the glint of moonlight on metal caught their attention. At the far end of the plateau before him, the gun lay where it had fallen, its glittering muzzle pointed at the sky.

Chris hauled himself up and crawled over to the gun, his bloody fingers curling quickly around its cold barrel. From here he could see the whole scene below, and felt his heart go as cold as the icy metal when he saw Josiah facing down Montreux, with Ezra sprawled behind him, apparently motionless. Buck was behind some rocks nearby, bent over double as if he'd been wounded, with JD trying to support him.

"Shit!" he muttered, and whirled. He couldn't risk tossing the gun down; if Nathan or JD went to catch it and missed, Montreux would hear it strike the ground, and probably kill Vin to prevent him using it.

Tucking the gun under one arm, Chris began to climb back down, his heart hammering in his ears, his injured shoulder so stiff and painful now he could barely move it. They had to hurry.



Montreux took a deep breath and paused in his restless movement, his gestures becoming increasingly agitated as if he were preparing himself for a costly decision. But his expression was gleeful, almost triumphant, as he regarded his holy opponent.

"This will cause me no small amount of pain, as you know, holy man," he finally announced in a pleased whisper, "but for the pain it will inflict upon you, and Ezra, I believe it will be completely worth it."

With that, he sprang at the preacher.

Josiah stepped back, surprised at Montreux's agility. The vampire swiped at him with one hand, the sharp nails raking across Josiah's face and drawing blood. Both men cried out in pain, Montreux staggering back to clutch his hand with its burnt fingertips while Josiah turned his face away to collect himself. It quickly passed, and as Josiah looked back up Montreux was leaping at him again, a flashing knife held in one red–smeared hand.

Instinctively Josiah reached out, grabbing Montreux's hand as it descended. The momentum of the attack pinned them both against a nearby rock, Josiah straining to keep the creature's hand from going any farther while Montreux, eyes full of as much hatred as pain, strove to drive the blade into Josiah's chest.

"Ain't a knife a little ordinary for you?" Josiah gasped, his body trembling from the strain. The vampire was much stronger than he'd anticipated.

His enemy laughed as he stared into Josiah's blue eyes. "Whatever does the job, holy man."

The blade dipped lower, its razor–sharp tip touching the shirt covering Josiah's shoulder.

Josiah returned the vampire's stare and tightened his grip on Montreux's arm, knowing that even through cloth his touch would hurt his attacker. Montreux's expression didn't flinch, but his breath grew faster, and his lips curled even tighter over his fanged teeth.

"Why are you all doing this?" Montreux hissed as they stared each other down. "He's just a gambler, hardly important enough to bother about, yet you risk your lives for him!"

Josiah shook his head as the sweat dripped into his eyes. "Sorry, Montreux," he muttered, "but you traded off the only part of you that'd ever let you understand."

Montreux began to tremble violently as he glared at Josiah, sweat dripping from his smooth white brow. Finally with a demonic howl he overcame Josiah's grip and plunged the knife downwards, forcing its blade an inch into the preacher's shoulder.

Josiah cried out and wrenched his other arm free of Montreux's grasp, grabbing Montreux by the face to stop his assault. At Josiah's touch Montreux howled, and the smell of burning skin instantly filled the air. The knife flashed again, slicing Josiah across his chest and breaking his grip on Montreux. As Josiah fell back to the ground, grasping his wounded shoulder and panting for air, Montreux stumbled a few feet away, one trembling hand covering the burned side of his face.


"Vin!"

Vin lifted his head, trying to see through the pain and darkness. It was Chris, coming closer.

"Chris? You get it?" he asked, trying to sit up despite the dizzying anguish. He received his reply when he felt the cool, welcome weight of the gun settle in his hands.

Vin smiled with vast relief. "Thanks, pard," he muttered as he tightened his grip, his finger sliding with smooth familiarity onto the trigger. "Now gimme a hand up so's I can see about endin' this. I just need to hear him make some noise t'know where to shoot."

Chris helped him to his feet, turning him in the general direction of the fight and settling him behind a sheltering rock.

"You sure you can do this?" Vin heard Chris mutter.

Vin settled the rifle on the rock and crouched down, placing the butt of the weapon in its usual position against his shoulder.

"I'm bettin' our lives on it, ain't I?" was the soft reply, and they fell silent as he waited for a chance to aim.


Josiah was panting for breath, keeping a sharp blue eye on Montreux as he kneeled panting in the dust. He could tell he was bleeding badly, and the wounds in his shoulder and chest were throbbing painfully. But he dared not take his attention away from the vampire who now stood motionless some ten feet from him, his hands covering his injured face.

A cold dizziness assailed him, but he could not give in to it; his battle was still before him, and he could not waver. As Josiah grasped his blood–soaked shoulder, he grit his teeth and bit back the groans which threatened to escape his lips. They needed him to hold Montreux at bay until Ezra was strong enough to fight once more, and he would not abandon the field to evil.

He tried to move his arm just a little, and was immediately seized by a ferocious agony. As he bit back the cry rising in his throat, he glared at Montreux, thinking, Lord, just give me the strength for this one fight. Just this one, and then you can have what you want from me. We'd all be much obliged.

Finally Montreux moved, slowly, as he lifted his head. The skin on his face was healing rapidly, but it was still red and inflamed where Josiah had touched it. His violet eyes locked with Josiah's, and the preacher felt a shiver run through him; if ever he had stared hell in the face, this was the time.

"You're going to pay for that, holy man," Montreux finally whispered, his lilting drawl permeated with pure hatred. He drew his knife once more and gripped it tightly as he began to advance towards the wounded lawman.

Josiah began to stand, aware that he could do little to stop the demon but unwilling to die in the dust. He stumbled backwards a bit as he gained his feet, but before he could straighten fully Montreux was nearly on him, the blade flashing in the silver moonlight. Montreux reached for Josiah's arm, determined to pull his enemy to him and drive the knife into his gut. His fingers touched the bloody sleeve–

A loud cry exploded in Josiah's right ear, and a blur raced past him, knocking Montreux to the ground with a tremendous crash. As Josiah fell backwards, he saw Ezra, now revived enough to continue the fight, rolling over the desert rocks with Montreux locked in his arms.

As Josiah and the others watched, Ezra grabbed Montreux's arm, pulling it straight and sinking his teeth deep into the vampire's arm close to the shoulder. Montreux howled, the knife falling from his hand, before he pulled free of Ezra's grip and gave the gambler a solid blow across the jaw.


A hand fell on Josiah's unwounded shoulder, and he looked up to see Nathan bending over him.

"Thought we'd best get you outta the way," he muttered, kneeling down and draping Josiah's arm over his shoulder. A small smile crossed his face. "Dang, Josiah, why you got to be so brave all the time?"

"Just stubborn, I guess," the preacher grunted, and together they rose slowly, Nathan guiding his bleeding friend out of the arena. Josiah finally regained enough wind to ask, "How we doin'?"

"Vin an' Buck ain't so good," was the anxious reply, "an' I can't do nothin' for 'im. Looks like it's all up to Ezra now."


Chris looked at Vin. "Can you get 'im?"

The tracker's unseeing eyes were staring ahead, his hands coiled on the rifle as he strained to hear. He shook his head. "I got to be sure it's him I'm aimin' at," he whispered. "He's got to yell or somethin'."

His friend looked out at the raging battle. "Will you know it's him an' not Ezra?"

Vin's jaw tightened as he gripped the weapon. "I'll know."



The two vampires fought savagely across the rocky desert floor; all niceties had been set aside, and the duel was now to the bloody death. Teeth flashed and bit, nails clawed and tore, each one determined to emerge the victor. Ezra had never done such savage fighting, but now he indulged in it with fierce abandon, using every ounce of his inhuman strength to inch his way closer to humanity. He had seen Chris hand Vin his rifle, knew the time was at hand for this to be over. All Vin needed was a chance, and Ezra had an idea how to give it to him.

Montreux, however, was not in a generous mood. He had fully abandoned all of his sophisticated manners of fighting, and had devolved into a raging beast, with only one goal in mind: to conquer Ezra. Death was not his plan; since Ezra had attacked him, Montreux had made every effort to sink his razor–sharp fangs into the Southerner's neck, knowing that this fate would be even worse than death to his former comrade. It would be the perfect revenge.

At this point, it had become difficult to tell the two combatants apart; both were now covered with dirt and blood, distinguishable only by Montreux's long, now–filthy white hair. As they struggled, Ezra broke free and rolled away, keeping his eyes locked on Montreux as he did so. The gambler had only gone a few feet when Montreux was on him again, kicking and biting with great ferocity. Ezra twisted, cried out, and once more retreated, scrambling madly over the rocks.


"What's goin' on?" Buck asked JD from the place where he crouched, still in pain.

JD swallowed, disbelieving. "It–it looks like..."

"What?" Buck gasped, worried when JD said nothing.

The younger man gripped the rocks he was peering over and shook his head. "Can't be, but–I think Ezra's givin' up."


Ezra was on his back, surrounded by boulders, staring at Montreux as the vampire advanced on him. Green eyes met violet as Montreux laughed a little, swinging his tangled, dust–caked hair out of his face.

"Don't worry, Ezra," he whispered as he drew near, "you'll thank me for this, just like last time."

He was only a few steps away, walking faster now. Ezra tensed, seemingly unable to move.

Faster than the human eye could see, his right arm suddenly whipped up. In his hand was the canteen, lifted from its hidden resting place among the large rocks; Ezra had seen it there and maneuvered the fight to bring him within its reach. Montreux had no time to react as Ezra swung his arm through the air in a large arc, the vessel's remaining contents streaming out in a glittering spray straight into Montreux's eyes.

Montreux let out a terrifying scream and staggered back, his hands going to his injured eyes. Ezra quickly threw away the empty canteen, wincing as a few drops seared his fingers.

Vin straightened, his keen ears focusing in on the horrific sound of Montreux's wails. As Chris watched him, his quickly nestled the rifle's butt against his cheek, waited, listened, and fired.

The bullet struck Montreux between his shoulder blades, and he stiffened and choked before collapsing to the ground.

Vin and Buck each let out a cry and fell back, grabbing at their heads.

Chris grabbed Vin's arm as the tracker gasped and blinked. "Is it gone?"

"Yeah," Vin panted as he slowly lifted his eyes, shaking his head and massaging his temple. He slowly straightened and looked at Chris, his blue eyes now unclouded, and gave a tight nod.

Reassured, Chris looked over to where JD was crouching beside Buck. "Buck?"

"I'm fine, pard!" was the vastly relieved reply. Chris watched as JD helped a slightly wobbly Buck to his feet. "Whew! Feels like a thousand pounds just got lifted offa me. Thanks, JD."

His young friend nodded, unable to speak.

Chris pursed his lips, thankful that his friends were now released from Montreux's grip, but as he turned his eyes back to the scene before them his jaw tightened. They had not completely won just yet.


The dust had barely begun to settle before Ezra stumbled to his feet and ran to his horse with staggering steps, throwing cautious glances back at Montreux's motionless form every few feet. With trembling, bloody hands he retrieved the wooden stake and hastened back to his sire's body, knowing that with every passing second Montreux was regaining his strength.

All eyes were on Ezra as the gambler reached Montreux. The vampire still lay where he fell on his back, gagging and twitching as he watched Ezra approach. His eyes had healed enough now to stare at his protege as he stood over him, stake in hand.

"It's not too late, Ezra," he gasped as they locked eyes. "Don't be a fool and throw away everything you've ever desired."

They regarded each other for a moment, then Ezra's hand tightened around the wooden post.

"Quite excellent advice, Mr. Montreux. I will certainly follow it," Ezra said softly, and in one swift motion, he reared back and plunged the stake directly through the vampire's heart.

Montreux let out a horrific screaming roar as his body arced upwards, the noise seeming to echo from every rock and splitting the air with its strength. There was a loud rushing sound, as if all of the surrounding air was being drawn with tornadic force to the spot where Montreux lay dying. There was a deep, booming sound louder than the loudest explosion any of them had ever heard, and the air rushed out again, blooming in an enormous circle as it rushed back out into the desert. A final, shattering cry, and the creature's body shuddered and broke into an uncountable number of dusty fragments.

As Montreux's earthly remains fell to the earth, Ezra felt the most remarkable sensation consume him. There was no pain, only a strange, quick pulsation which surged through his entire body. Something dark and heavy seemed to lift away from him, and the resulting relief he felt was so strong he gasped aloud. He fell to his knees, oblivious to the howling wind around him and the pain of his bleeding wounds, his eyes filling with tears of joy. There was only time for one thought to cross his whirling mind–*Free*–before the darkness bore him away.

The wind rushed away, and with it came a tremendous, unearthly feeling, a crushing pressure which swept over all of them. The pent–up mass of Montreux's power, accumulated over two hundred years, had been released with his death and was now billowing away in a mighty, invisible surge. It passed over them quickly, knocking all of the men to the ground with its irresistible force, then rolled out into the desert, over the rocks and brush, growing wider and weaker as it went, until it finally slowed, faded, and died out.

The dust then settled, and all was still.


Josiah stirred and groaned. If he was dead, he thought, he was going to be mighty disappointed because he didn't think you could feel like hell in heaven.

He drew a deep breath and tried to move. His shoulder protested strongly, and he grit his teeth with a grunt. What had happened? The everything came rushing back at once, and he opened his eyes with a gasp.

He was shocked to see that it was nearly dawn; the sky was very light, the eastern horizon pink–gold with the approach of the sun. Josiah braced himself and began to sit up, still woozy but determined. Noises reached his ears, groans and gasps similar to his own, and he looked over to see the other men rising as he was, all blinking and looking around in confusion.

"Dang!" Buck gasped, shaking his head. "What'n hell was *that*?"

"Ain't rightly sure, Buck," Nathan moaned as he ran one hand over his head. "Y'all all right?Josiah?"

"I been worse off than this, Nate," Josiah assured him as he hauled himself to his knees. "Few bandages, I'll be fine."

"I feel like I been knocked into next week," JD commented as he very slowly got to his feet.

"How long we been out?" Vin muttered, squinting at the horizon.

"I'm guessin' several hours," Chris replied in a hoarse voice as he stood, rubbing his face.

JD shook his head, then looked out towards the desert and gasped. "Ezra!"

Instantly the other men followed his gaze, getting to their feet with renewed purpose. Ezra still lay where he had fallen by the place where Montreux had died, his bloodied form unmoving.

"Heavens above," Josiah muttered, and as quickly as they could manage it, they went to their friend's side.

Of Montreux, there was nothing left but a small pile of dusty ashes and the blood–smeared wooden stake. A dark, charred spot marked the place where he had perished, but none of the men gave it more than a glance.

Nathan reached Ezra first, and crouched behind him as the others gathered around. Every wound inflicted by Montreux still marked the gambler's body, the gashes and bruises ugly in the dawn's growing light. His clothes were caked with dried blood and dirt, rendering his appearance frightful, but his expression as he lay unconscious was as peaceful as that of a sleeping child.

The healer put a hand on Ezra's shoulder and very gently rolled him back until Ezra's head and shoulders were resting in his lap. After a few moments announced, "He's still breathin'. It's mighty slow, though."

JD studied his friend's pale face with mounting anxiety. "Did we...I mean, is Ezra...all right now?"

Josiah looked to the horizon; the sun was almost up. If Ezra was still accursed, they had to know now.

As the other men watched solemnly, Josiah knelt in front of Ezra. Slowly, with some hesitation, he reached out for Ezra's hand and very lightly touched the back of it.

Nothing happened. There was no blistering, blood or evidence of the slightest pain.

The small knot of men breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief. As they exchanged exhausted, happy looks, the first glimmer of morning sunlight brushed over them, and they turned their eyes to see the gleaming rim of the sun now cresting the eastern horizon. The blazing orb rose slowly, its precious light growing stronger as it cleared the mountains.

After a moment the men all looked to Ezra as the Southerner felt the first touch of the sun in several days. It apeared to cause him no discomfort at all as its warm rays caressed his pale, bruised features. He stirred a bit, took a very long, deep breath, then seemed to relax into a deeper sleep and became completely still.

Silence fell for a minute or two.

"Looks like it worked," Vin murmured.

"Sure seems promisin'," Nathan agreed, "but we best get 'im back to town fast. That fight took a lot out of 'im."

"He gonna make it?" Chris asked, frowning at the Southerner's pale complexion.

Buck helped Nathan up, both men lifting Ezra carefully as they got to their feet. "Can't rightly say, Chris," was the healer's anxious reply. "These wounds didn't vex 'im too bad when he was strong, but now that Ezra's human again they might be too much for him. But I'll do all I can for him."

Vin brought his horse over, and with great caution they lifted Ezra onto the saddle. The gambler was now completely limp, utterly unaware of anything around him. As Vin climbed into the saddle behind Ezra and wrapped one arm around the Southerner's waist, Buck helped Josiah onto his horse.

"You okay to ride, Josiah?" Buck inquired with a frown.

The large man nodded as he gathered up the reins. "Sure am, Buck," he answered, gritting his teeth. "Winnin' over evil does wonderful things for a man's constitution. Reckon I can make it back to town just fine."

"I bet you can," was the reassuring response, as Buck grinned up at the preacher. "You sure done good tonight, Josiah. Ezra's gonna be buyin' you the steak dinner of a lifetime."

Josiah glanced at the unconscious gambler and pursed his lips. Even if Ezra survived, a long road of regret and guilt still lay ahead for him, and Josiah could not help recalling Ezra's angry, frightened words in the cave spoken to him the day before. Would Ezra be happy to live, with the burden of remembering he would now have to bear?

He sighed and looked down at Buck with a nod. "Guess we'll see, Buck," was all he could think of to say. The other man seemed to understand the dark tone in the preacher's voice, and he gave a nod himself and went off to mount up.

Montreux's horse had disappeared, but JD had managed to find the mount that Ezra had stolen from the stables, and walked it back to where the others were preparing to leave. As the young man walked by the spot where Montreux had died, he could see that the vampire's ashes were smoldering slightly in the sunlight, the gray wisps of the gray smoke dancing restlessly in the clear morning air. After a moment's thought, he stopped, picked up the bloody stake, and shoved it behind the saddle of the stolen horse. Then he continued his journey and rejoined the others.

Soon the small band was riding away from the split rock, back to home and healing. Behind them, the last of Montreux's ashes dissolved into a feeble plume of smoke. The next hard rain would rinse away the blood now staining the rocks, and a traveler riding by the spot in the future would not have been able to tell that anything momentous had occurred there.