TITLE: Captives
AUTHOR: Sue
EMAIL: DelanySis1@aol.com

DISCLAIMER: The characters from the program The Magnificent Seven in this story are not mine and are owned by Trilogy, CBS and MGM. I am making no profit from their use. Honest.

RATINGS: PG-13 for violence and language

WARNINGS: Physical abuse, female sexual abuse hinted at but not described

ARCHIVE: Will be archived at www.thewateringhole.com

NOTES/COMMENTS: This is the rough draft of a story which was published in 2000 by Kathy Agel's Criterion Press. For an edited and slightly expanded version of this story in zine form, please visit:



It was written as a birthday fic for Dina, who requested an Ezra h/c story. This is a rampant Ezra h/c and angst fic, with some Buck and JD angst thrown into the mix for good measure! All feedback is very welcome!!!

A lot of people helped me with this fic. I'd like to thank Carla and Dina for their great suggestions, and Cat, Chris, Kelly, Kathy, and my sister Sarah for being such wonderful betas! Y'all are super!!

Hope you enjoy the fic!!

Sue :)

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THE CAPTIVE
by Sue Bartholomew


He stared into the darkness, and waited.

The cold, filthy floor was rough against his skin as he shifted a bit, trying to find a comfortable position for his wounded, pain-wracked body. It was a futile effort, of course, but the motion at least let him know he was still capable of it.

A faint clinking echoed against the stone walls of his pitch-black cell, and a smile creased his bruised face. How absurd to chain him to the wall, he thought. He hardly had the strength to lift his head, let alone try to escape. But he knew it was a measure of control, not prevention. They wanted to make sure he knew they had him. As if there was any doubt...

A sigh escaped his lips as he curled himself up on the floor, shivers coursing through his body as he fought to stay warm. He had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be warm, or clean, just as he could not recall a day without pain. But he could not allow either thought to drive him to the despair which always lurked at the edges of his mind; he had to be sharp, and sane, for the day when his friends would come to free him.

Did they even know? he wondered as he tucked his head into his chest. How long had it been, anyway? There was no way to know here, where no glimmer of light was allowed to penetrate. Except when his captors came to have their fun beating him, of course. He always suspected they made the torches and lanterns extra bright for their visits, just to torment his now-sensitive eyes. That would be just like them.

But there was no way to judge the passage of time, with no night or day to reckon by. It felt as if it had been a lifetime since that day this all started. His mind wandered back, as it had a million times since they'd thrown him in here. The stagecoach ride, chatting amiably with the charming female passengers. Then the holdup by an outlaw gang, there was almost a dozen of them; he'd tried to protect his fellow passengers, but it was no use. Here's a fancy-looking one, the robbers said. Bet his family'd pay a ton for him.

Then they were all brought here. An old army fort, he remembered that much, now used by this outlaw gang and the foul-smelling one-eyed cretin who ran it. He and the female passengers had been tied up and herded into the courtyard as the criminals laughed. There were other people there, hostages and prisoners too by the looks of it. And they were in the middle of nowhere, with no one to help.

He could still hear the hoots of the outlaws as the boss said, work's over men, now let's have some fun for our chores. And they'd come for the women, those bastards, ignoring their screams and pleas for mercy. He couldn't stand by and watch that, could he? It was a gentleman's duty to protect the fair sex, even when he was as helpless as the were.

Only they didn't know he wasn't helpless. Their men had done a poor job of tying the knots of the ropes; others may have been unable to free themselves, but he had learned early how to undo any knot even when tightly bound. It had proven quite helpful when pulling a con, or escaping jail. They also didn't know about his sleeve gun. So when two of them came to take the women, he was ready.

He sighed at the memory, frustration surging through his wracked body. He should've been able to save them, and kill more than one of the brutes. He'd thought he could get both of them and they could escape. But then more had shown up, just as they were running for the gate. It had been over too quickly, there had been too many of them, and they had not been saved. He should have spared himself the grief.

But no, he told himself firmly even as new pain stiffened his breathing, he couldn't allow himself to sink into that pit. He could not have stood by and allowed the women to be violated, not as a gentleman, and certainly not as a sworn keeper of the law. Chris and the others would not have tolerated it; how could he have held his head up, when his friends came for him, if he had ignored their screams?

And they would come for him. He had to hold on to that belief. Otherwise, he would allow the darkness to simply have him, and go mad.

That's what they want, he realized grimly. They'd been furious that he'd interfered with their fun. This guy needs to be taught a lesson, they'd shouted after the fight was over. No ransom for you, fancy boy, the outlaw leader had sneered. We got other plans.

And they had brought him here.

It was a small room, he knew that much, deep in the bowels of the fort, where no light could reach. They left him here alone for days at a time, giving him only enough food and water to stay alive until the next time they felt like beating him. Afterwards the bleeding wounds would be roughly tended to; didn't want him dying too fast, they'd say. But they did nothing for the pain.

And this had gone on, in a blur of days and weeks and possibly months, blinding intervals of searing agony separated by endless stretches of isolation and darkness. All attempts at escape had failed, and only brought new suffering. He tried to keep his mind busy, concocting elaborate cons that would have done his mother proud, and devising surefire poker strategies which would certainly assure his fortune. He had to be whole, and in his right mind, when his friends came for him.

He knew they would, or at least he did most of the time. Sometimes, when the anguish of his torn body was almost unbearable, the crueler voices in his mind would tell him that they didn't care what happened to him and would just as soon let him rot. But he could not allow himself to believe that, and through sheer force of will drove the demons away. The men he rode with were an uncivilized bunch, and often rude, but he had seen them fight to protect their own.

And, he now realized, he was one of their own, and would fight just as hard to remain in their number. It would be so easy to give up to the agony and madness, or to allow himself to slip off into painless sleep forever, but he knew he had to force himself to keep fighting. Even if he died, he would know he had not taken the coward's way out, that he had found true courage in himself at last. And that knowledge would render his death as his triumph, not theirs. Even if no one knew but himself.

A sound reached his ear, and he froze. It was faint but familiar: the noise of the huge door at the top of the landing being unlocked and swung open. Footsteps thudded on the stairway leading down to his cell. There were many of them, and under the door to his room he could see the glow of torches growing brighter by the second. Rough talk and coarse laughter floated through the air, disturbing the normal deathly silence of the room. Apparently it was time, once again, for fun.

He braced himself, burying his head in his arms for just a moment and praying to a God he had never really believed in before for the strength to endure. He would survive and return to his friends, get rich and end his days old and happy, and see to it that these bastards paid for what they had done.

Or die trying.

He stared into the darkness, and waited.



TO MRS MAUDE STANDISH GOLDEN LION HOTEL ST LOUIS REGRET TO INFORM YOU EZRA STILL MISSING STOP WILL SEND WORD IF THIS CHANGES STOP CHRIS LARABEE.

Chris scowled to himself as studied the words he had just written as he stood at the counter of the telegraph office. Damn, how he hated the message held in those seemingly innocent ink scrawls, but he'd promised to let her know.

He looked up to see the operator eying him in bored impatience and dug into the pocket of his black pants for the money. With the other hand he pushed the paper across the counter, where the operator read it with nonchalance.

"Still ain't come back, eh?" the man grunted as he scratched his beard.

Chris fidgeted as he counted out the coin, his green eyes smoldering. "Nope."

"Huh." The old man shook his head. "Musta run off on ya, huh?"

Chris's head shot up and he threw the coins at the man with an arm strengthened by angry disgust.

"I ain't payin' to hear your opinions," he snarled, his expression deadly. Without another word he turned and strode out of the office, his black duster swirling around his legs.

The operator merely shrugged and went to send the telegram, thinking only the words, "Damn hired guns!"

Chris's anger continued to simmer as he made his way down to the saloon, his green eyes skimming the early morning crowds parading down the boardwalk of the small frontier town. Some folks just won't accept a man no matter what he does, he thought angrily, reflecting on how he and the other men hired to guard this town were still regarded with suspicion even after all this time.

Normally that was fine with him-he'd never paid much mind to what other people thought, long as the pay was steady and the company good-but it seemed downright cold how none of them cared what happened to Ezra. Their indifference made him wonder if they were wasting their time helping folks who couldn't even summon up the guts to be grateful.

They weren't all like that, of course, he remembered as he skirted around the tobacco shop. When Ezra didn't come back from his trip to Eagle Bend, Mary was certainly worried, and Inez and Mrs. Potter. And there had been some others who asked from time to time. But they'd stopped asking now, now that two months had passed and there was no sign of where the gambler might have gone. Chris could hear the talk in the saloons. Ran off, he heard them say. Or, got himself shot somewhere. Or fell in with another gang that offered more money.

None of it mattered. Ezra was gone, regardless.

He looked up the street, squinting in the morning sun as he neared the saloon. The damnedest thing was not knowing. Any moment, Ezra could come riding back, hopefully with a damn good explanation. Or, they might never see him again. Chris frowned at the twisting feeling in his gut; Ezra had proven himself to be a reliable gun and even earned a measure of trust among their hard-bitten group. Didn't seem right for him to just ride off with no word, and that meant he'd probably run into trouble. Worst part was, they'd most likely never know.

As he approached the building which housed Mary's newspaper, the door of the Clarion opened, and Mary stepped out, smudged with ink, her hair untidy from the day's labors. In her arms she carried a bucket full of inky water, and as she prepared to dump it into the street she saw Chris and stopped.

"Mornin', Mary," he said, giving his hat brim a tug. but he was not in the mood to even try to smile.

"Good morning, Chris," she replied, studying his face closely. "Though from the look on your face, I'd say it hasn't been all that good."

"Ah," Chris spat, turning his gaze away, slightly embarrassed that his anger had been so evident. "Just fightin' the urge to knock some heads together, is all."

She gave him a quiet smile as she poured the dirty water onto the hot dusty street. "Well, since you don't appear to have been in a brawl, you must be winning the fight."

He shrugged. "Fight ain't over yet."

They stood silent for a moment, and Mary looked up the street where Chris had been walking from. "Were you telegraphing Mrs. Standish again?"

"Yup." Chris sighed, looking at her with soldering green eyes. "The old fool behind the counter just couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. Felt about ready to buffalo 'im."

She examined his angry expression, hugging the empty bucket to her as she nodded. "I'm glad you didn't," she said as she turned to go back inside. "It wouldn't have helped matters any."

"Would've made *me* feel better," he replied as he followed her into the printing shop.

Inside, the newly cleaned press stood ready for the day's work amid piles of blank newsprint. As Mary set the bucket down and wiped her hands on her ink-stained apron, Chris leaned on the doorway, his face thoughtful.

"Yes, but you know how folks around here think," Mary said as she prepared to ink the press. "Gamblers aren't looked on as the cream of frontier society, no matter who they are or what they've done for the town. Clubbing people to the ground won't change their minds."

"Neither will fightin' to save their miserable skins, apparently," Chris observed with a scowl.

Mary opened a jar of ink and looked at Chris while she stirred it with a wooden spoon. "You know not everyone here feels that way," she said in a soothing tone. "There are those here who appreciate what you and the others have done for us."

The light in Chris's eyes was doubtful, but he gave her a short nod anyway. "Maybe," he said quietly, "but they ain't talkin' as loud." He sighed, then straightened. "Best get on down to the saloon."

Mary nodded. "Well...if you hear anything, please let me know," she said in a soft, serious tone. "Billy and I both hope that Ezra comes back to us soon. And you know no amount of gossip's going to change that."

Chris tugged at his hat brim. "Yeah, I know," he said, and walked away.



Chris reached the saloon and stepped inside; it was still quiet, most of the townsfolk were at the hotel getting breakfast, but there were usually one or two of his men here visiting with Inez or getting coffee. Sure enough, there were Buck and Vin in the corner, and Chris made his way to them, bracing himself for another hard conversation.

As he walked over, the lifted their heads to silently greet him, and Chris studied Buck carefully. Buck had taken Ezra's disappearance hard; at first he thought the gambler was in trouble somewhere, but some hard searching had turned up nothing. Buck and Ezra had found an easy friendship together; Chris knew the wandering gunslinger enjoyed the gambler's sense of humor and amiable company, and truly missed the nights they'd spent together playing cards and joking in the saloon. Now, that seemed to be over, leaving only the painful question of why.

So, Chris looked Buck over to see if there were any signs of hard drinking or getting into fights just for the hell of it. But there were none; he seemed all right, if still somewhat less energetic than usual. So Chris turned his attention to what was coming.

"Send it?" Vin asked as he looked up at Chris, his blue eyes regarding him keenly over his morning coffee.

Chris nodded, glancing at the long-haired tracker as he sat down. "Yep."

Buck sighed. "Hell of a thing, Chris. Don't seem right not t'have that smooth-talkin' rascal around."

Chris nodded, his gut tightening again as he glanced at the area where Ezra usually held his poker games. "Sure don't. But it ain't lookin' good."

Vin shook his head, his handsome face somber. "Never thought he'd just run off, though. He was makin' good money at the tables, at least." He grinned a little, sadly. "Mostly ours."

Buck looked down at his hands. "I'm thinkin' of ridin' out again, takin' another look around. Men just don't drop off the earth, Chris, somebody's got to know where he is."

His friend sighed as he sat forward, folding his hands. "Unless he just don't want t'be found." He looked up at Buck. "Maybe he crossed somebody gamblin' an' had to run."

"Or the wilderness got 'im," Vin added softly. "This land ain't very forgivin' just yet. Lots of places for a feller to get lost in."

They sat in mournful thought for a few moments, listening to the sounds of continuing life as it rattled by outside. Then Buck shook his head.

"Can't see Ezra runnin' without sendin' word, at least to his ma," he said quietly. "An' if the land got 'im, well, then I reckon we oughta at least find 'im an' give him a proper burial. Beats sittin' here an' just wonderin'."

Chris sat back, his expression thoughtful. "Know how you feel, Buck. I'm thinkin' that way, too. Judge Travis is comin' to town tomorrow, we'll see if he can spare us for a while. If nothin' happens that he'll need us for, we'll ride."

The other two men nodded, knowing that the others in their number would agree, and hoping the coming day would prove quiet enough to free them to search for their missing comrade.


JD sighed to himself as he trotted alongside Nathan on the road home from Eagle Bend. It was a beautiful day, but he was hardly in the mood to pay any attention to it.

"Them bank robbers didn't look too happy to be carted back to Eagle Bend, huh?" he heard Nathan say as they rode along. The young man lifted his head to look at the healer, recognizing the strained tone in his comrade's voice which so closely matched the heavy feeling in his own heart. It was the tight sound of words spoken to avoid saying something else.

JD nodded. "Yeah, don't guess their sheriff was too happy to see 'em."

Nathan looked back a the road. "Yup."

Silence fell between them again, and JD directed his eyes to the west, where the traces of vegetation ended and the desert stretched out wide and wild as far as he could see. His throat tightened as he imagined what secrets it might hold, and the one secret he was truly interested in.

"Y'all right, JD?"

JD ducked his head, relieved; at last Nathan wanted to talk about it. "Yeah, doc, just...thinkin' about Ezra."

He looked back at the healer, to see a sad expression on his friend's face which mirrored his own feelings. Nathan sighed and shook his head, his dark eyes dropping to his hands.

"Yeah, I been thinkin' on 'im to," Nathan confessed. "We didn't always get along, but it don't seem right not t'have him around."

"Boy, that's the truth," JD agreed, guiding Hero around a fallen branch. "What do you think happened to him?"

Nathan sighed, rubbing the back of is neck with one hand. "Can't rightly say, JD. Gamblin's a hard life, he mighta run into someone he'd crossed before."

JD studied his friend carefully. "Think he ran off?"

Nathan looked over at the young man, startled.

"That's what folks in town are sayin'," JD said quickly, to explain. "Had a guy tell me just yesterday after we got the bank robbers, he said, 'Too bad that gambler ran off an' left you boys with all the work. Reckon he's livin' it up in Frisco by now.'" JD looked away. "Boy, that made me mad. They oughta know Ezra wouldn't do that."

The healer pursed his lips and studied the scenery as they rode by, his expression sad and knowing. "Some folks just don't want t'accept that a man can change, JD. He can work all his life doin' good, but all they see is what's outside."

JD was silent for a moment before he asked, "So, you don't think he ran off, right?"

Nathan gave him as reassuring a glance as he could. "Naw, JD, I don't. At one time, maybe, but not now. At the very least he wouldn't want Chris comin' after him."

JD smiled a little and nodded in agreement.

"An' too," Nathan went on, "I thought he was kinda likin' the life we had in town. But that just means he mighta run into trouble, an' that's even worse'n him runnin' off. Cause we can't help 'im."

JD nodded, his lip twitching in sorrow as he stared at Hero's mane. "I hope he knows we ain't forgot 'im, I mean, if he is still alive." He lifted his eyes to the desert. "I was just lookin' out there an' wonderin' if he was...uh...Nathan? You see that?"

JD had reined in and was staring out into the sandy wastes of the desert. Nathan followed suit, his brown eyes scanning the tan-gray stretches.

"You see somethin', JD?" he asked, squinting into the sun.

"Yeah," JD replied. "There-there's someone walking out there-look!"

JD pointed; Nathan followed his finger, and saw a small dark speck, growing larger, struggling and stumbling in the heat.

"Looks like they're in trouble," Nathan said, gathering up his reins. "Let's go see if we can help."

"Right behind ya, doc," JD replied, and together they rode quickly out into the desert.

As they rode closer, they saw that it was a woman, or more accurately a young girl, staggering along in dire distress. Shoeless, her dress torn and bloodied, she appeared to have been walking for quite some time, and when she saw them approaching she lifted one arm and weakly waved, crying for assistance in Spanish. As they reined in beside her, she collapsed to the dust, her long dark hair tangled in her face as she sobbed.

Nathan was off of his horse before it stopped and beside her, helping her up. "Easy, miss, " he said gently, "We got you."

She looked into his eyes, and he was shocked at the bruises which disfigured her young face. Closer inspection found them all over her body; she had been very roughly used.

Swiftly Nathan pulled his canteen out and opened it, giving it to the girl. She clutched it desperately, taking long pulls of the precious liquid as Nathan held it up for her. Finally it was drained; she pushed the empty container away with a gasp, muttering "Gracias" several times.

Nathan smiled and nodded as he recapped the canteen. "You're welcome, miss. C'mon, we'll take you to town an' fix them bruises."

He tried to help her to the horses, but she pulled away, becoming agitated. In heavy, panting breaths she beseeched them in Spanish, weakly clutching at Nathan's dusty shirt.

"What's she sayin'?" JD asked as he crouched beside Nathan.

Nathan frowned as he pulled off his jacket and threw it over her sunburned shoulders. "She's been walkin' for two days across the desert," Nathan said. "Can't make it all out. We best get 'er back to town." He gently helped her to her feet with a few softly spoken words of Spanish. She began sobbing again, falling against his chest and covering her face in her hands.

JD helped her onto Nathan's horse, his face aghast. "She looks awful, Nathan, she gonna be okay?"

The healer sighed as he mounted his horse and wrapped one arm around the girl. "I don't know, JD," he said sadly, and with one flap of the reins they began their trip home at a faster pace than before.



"Here you are, chiquita."

Inez's voice was as soft and gentle as possible as she handed the frightened girl a cup of hot tea. They were in Nathan's clinic now, the girl sitting on Nathan's bed with Inez, her wounds now tended to by the healer's skilled hands, wearing a new dress. The sun was setting, the small room bathed in the orange glow of its final rays.

The young girl accepted the cup with a halfhearted smile and drank eagerly, her hand still shaking a bit. Behind Inez stood Chris and Vin, watching carefully from the corner, trying not to intrude, and Mary, her blue eyes filled with worry and horror.

"Gracias," the girl whispered, handing the cup back.

"See if she wants to tell us her name," Nathan suggested, leaning forward on the bed rail at the foot of the bed.

Inez nodded and said a few words in Spanish to the young girl. She looked up at them in reply and whispered, "Contessa Almarez."

Inez smiled and nodded, said a few more words, and received a few back. She turned to Chris and Vin.

"She says she is thirteen, and from San Lupe, a village near the border."

"Best try t'find her folks," Vin said with a nod.

Mary was writing down the name. "I'll send a telegraph right away,' she said, and hurried away.

"She ready t'say what she was doin' out in the desert?' Chris asked with concern, but before Inez could ask the question Contessa was plucking at her sleeve, becoming agitated.

"Senorita, senorita,' she whispered urgently. Inez turned to the girl, taking her hand gently and listening as words tumbled from her mouth, quickly spoken, frightened, and pleading.

Nathan frowned, disturbed by the alarm which filled Inez's eyes. "What is it?"

When Contessa finished, Inez turned to them, her pretty face wreathed in anger. "She says she was kidnapped and taken to an Army fort in the desert. It was run by a one-eyed man and a woman, bad people, who had many men with them."

Chris sighed, fury building in his eyes. "A gang. Might've known."

"There's a old fort out past Eagle Bend," Vin said thoughtfully. "Troops cleared out long ago, might be what she's talkin' about."

More words, frantic and tearful now. Inez swallowed and looked at them all again. "She says they have many people there, prisoners like her. Some they beat for fun, and the women are hurt even more. She was in a room with one of the bad men for this purpose when he was struck by the hand of God and fell dead, so she climbed out of a window and ran."

Vin shook his head. "Bastards."

The girl sighed and said more, the words less tumultuous, more sorrowful.

"She says they have no one to help those who are captive," Inez translated in a mournful voice, always keeping her eyes on the girl. "One man tried to protect them and he was taken away and killed, she thinks. No one dares try to stop what they do."

"That's gonna change," Chris said simply, shifting and placing his hands on his belt. "Tell 'er she's safe now, we'll get her back to her family, an' that them men are gonna pay for what they done to her."

Inez nodded with a smile, and repeated the words softly to the young girl. In response, Contessa threw her arms around Inez's neck, burying her face in the young woman's shoulder and sobbing with relief and gratitude.

"Think she'll be all right now," Nathan nodded, smiling a bit.

"Gracias, senors," Inez whispered, as she held the girl tightly to her, stroking her hair.

Chris and Vin nodded, and prepared to leave.

"You know the way to this fort?' Chris asked his friend as he opened the door of Nathan's room.

Vin fingered the Winchester which hung by his side and nodded his head, a deadly light in his blue eyes. "Been by there some. Reckon I can find it again with no trouble."

"I'll be comin' too," Nathan said. "Sounds like them folks will be needin' some help."

Chris nodded, his handsome face dark with rage in the last light of the setting sun. "Not as much help as these sons of bitches are gonna need, once we get our hands on them."


Dawn the next day found the six gunmen cautiously approaching the fort, alert and ready for anything. Vin led the way, his mind tracing the trail to the place while the others trotted behind. The sparse vegetation soon gave way to barren rocks and scrub brush, surrounded by lofty mesas and ringed by distant mountains.

"Sure wish we could've waited for the Judge," JD muttered as they moved forward.

"He ain't comin' in til the afternoon stage, JD," Buck relied, his expression grim. "Best we take care of these vermin now before they can hurt anyone else."

"Did that poor girl say anything else about the evildoer behind all this?" Josiah asked as he spurred Prophet forward to ride beside Nathan.

The healer shrugged. "Just that he had one eye, an' there was a woman helpin' 'im. That's all she knew."

"Least we know it ain't that Top Hat Bob guy," JD observed. "He's dead."

Buck looked over at him, his face suddenly white. "One eye?"

Nathan nodded, turning in his saddle to look at his friend. "Yup. Sound familiar?"

JD perked up. "Hey, yeah, that's right, Buck, you used to be a lawman. Maybe you've heard of these guys before."

But Buck quickly shook his head. "If it's who I'm thinkin' on, JD, I sure hope to Hell I ain't."

With that Buck rode on ahead, an expression of dread blanketing his handsome face.

Vin held up his hand to signal a halt. "There it is, boys-Fort Gilbert."

The five other men halted beside him just beneath the lip of a small rise. before them some distance away sat the unassuming wooden form of a large fort, its fence composed of spiked logs which reached silently for the clear blue sky. The scene was silent and motionless, except for a feeble plume of smoke which sputtered into the sky from somewhere within the fort's walls.

JD cocked his head. "Looks deserted," he said, glancing at the other men.

Chris's expression was grim, his green eyes wide with a horrifying realization. "Vin?"

The tracker nodded. "I'm thinkin' the same thing, Chris. Let's go have a look."

They rode forward slowly, meeting no resistance. No living soul appeared at the rim of the fort, no sound disturbed the eerie silence of the desert morning. Each man's heart pounded as they neared the structure, eyes gazing the walls for any hint of trouble.

None appeared.

They finally arrived at the gate, which stood slightly open. Quickly the men dismounted, guns drawn, eyes wide with dread anticipation. Chris and Vin went first, creeping low to the ground in a crouch as they approached the gate, expecting an ambush at any minute.

Chris arrived at the opening, gun held in the air as he stood preparing to peer around the gate. Vin took his position on the other side, Winchester primed and gripped tightly. After making sure everyone was ready, Chris very slowly peered into the courtyard of the fort.

There was a breathless pause as all the men tensed, prepared for a hail of bullets to greet their appearance. Instead, they saw Chris look inside for a moment, straighten and say loudly, "Damn!"

Vin was one second behind Chris, and also reacted to what he saw with grim resignation. "Aw, hell. Aw, *hell*."

The rest of the men relaxed as much as the dread in their hearts would allow, and stood waiting while Chris and Vin pulled open the door, all fear of an attack now gone. When they were all able to look inside, they could see the horrifying reason why.

Inside the fort was a bedlam of carnage, all still and silent under the merciless morning sun. Bodies lay everywhere, their blood pooling in the hard-baked sand, at least two dozen men and women of all varieties of age and description.

Chris cursed as he looked around, his gun kept ready in case of a surprise attack. The other men fanned out, searching the corpses for any sign of life.

"What happened?" JD gasped, appalled.

"They killed the hostages an' lit out, JD," Vin said quickly as he stepped carefully among the bodies. "Shot 'em, looks like."

"Oh," JD gagged, turning completely white at the sight before him, "oh..." He whirled and stumbled away, ducking behind a stand of boxes to be violently, wretchedly ill.

"Merciful father," Josiah breathed, a heartbroken tone in his voice.

Chris grit his teeth, fury smoldering in his green eyes. "Look around. See if anyone's alive."

The other men were already performing this task, but the search proved fruitless.

"God above, Chris," Buck whispered in shock as he checked the bodies. "Ain't never seen anythin' like this."

Chris could say nothing but, "Let's check inside."

All of the doors to the fort were hanging open. Inside were more scenes of depravity, rooms where women lay bound and shot, and a few corpses of men whose limp forms hung from the walls where they had been chained.

"Looks like they kept some prisoners," Vin said in a rage-choked voice as they studied these rooms. "Didn't let them live neither."

Speech soon became impossible as the awful sights continued. JD reappeared, pale and shaken, his wide hazel eyes unbelieving at the extent of brutality he was witnessing.

In the last hallway they encountered a passageway choked with bodies, but these were different than the pitiful remains in the courtyard. They were all men, rough-looking and clad in dirty clothes worn through with rough work and hard living. Like their victims in the courtyard, they had all been shot dead.

Josiah surveyed the scene with despair. "Looks like the leader didn't want nobody talkin'," he observed with sorrow.

"He shot down his own men?" JD gasped.

At that moment a groan split the air, issuing from the pile of bodies before them.

Nathan sprang forward, stepping over the sprawled bodies of the outlaws. "One of 'em's alive," he announced, pushing the stiff bodies aside to find the survivor.

"Won't be for long, by the sounds of it," Vin said, following him.

Beneath a heavy-set corpse they found a younger man, ugly and stubble-faced, blood saturating his shirt, but still with enough breath in him to moan aloud. As light broke on him and he gazed up at Nathan, he cried aloud in surprise.

"He send you t'finish me off?" he cried weakly.

Nathan reached down and began pulling the man from the pile of bodies which threatened to suffocate him. "Not just yet. Hold on!"

The man was in no shape to resist, and was soon propped up against the wall, surrounded by the grim-faced gunslingers as he guzzled water from Nathan's canteen.

"What happened here?" Chris demanded, careless of the man's condition.

The man ignored him, gasping as Nathan took the canteen away. "Am I gonna live?"

"You don't deserve it," Buck growled, his blue eyes blazing.

"Easy, Buck," Nathan muttered as he examined the man's wounds. No words were spoken for a few moments, then Nathan sighed and sat back, his face grim.

"Sorry, mister," he said, with the barest tinge of sincerity," ain't nothin' I can do."

The man slammed his head against the wall in feeble frustration. "Aw, shit!"

Josiah knelt by his side. "I used to be a preacher, son. You want to unburden your soul, you can tell us what happened here an' maybe help us catch the men that did it."

The man looked at him skeptically. "You'll never catch Wolf."

JD frowned. "Wolf?"

The man nodded. "Got no reason t'save his skin now. One-Eyed Wolf Parsons. He's the man who done this."

Vin was nodding slowly. "Heard of him. Used t'run wild in Montana territory. Real hard case."

The dying outlaw nodded. "Him an' that gal of his, Rio, they ran this whole fort."

Chris suddenly surged forward, grabbing the man by his collar and hoisting him up until their faces almost touched.

"You bastards been hurtin' women an' killin' folks?" he snarled in a lethal whisper, his wide eyes showing no hint of mercy.

The man gasped, pain filling his eyes. "Yeah, mister, I-I guess we did. Paid for it, too. When one of the gals ran off Wolf thought we'd get caught out so he told us t'kill all the prisoners an' then we'd leave. Had us meet 'im in here, then him an' Rio shot us all an' lit out."

Vin scowled. "How'd two people shoot all these men without gettin' gunned down?"

The dying man coughed and gasped. "Three of the men helped him, I think...he told them they'd be leaving with him. Probably promised 'em a bigger cut of the money. But in the end they were done in too."

Chris's grasp tightened. "Where'd he go?"

His captive thought for a moment. "I...I dunno. Purgatory, maybe, he likes it there. Look, mister, I been lyin' here dyin' for a whole day, so if you're gonna kill me I'd be obliged if you'd do it quick."

The expression on Chris's face did not soften as he flung the man back to the ground. "You ain't suffered enough," he said angrily, looking around.

"You got anythin' else to say, son?" Josiah asked.

The man coughed and shook his head. "Wolf shot the prisoners, then us, an' rode out. That's...all I know. You really a preacher?"

Josiah smiled. "Was once. Could be again, if need be."

The man's face was becoming white. "Then I got to talk to you. Want to try an' set a few things right before I die."

The other men drifted away, reluctantly giving the dying man his privacy with Josiah. Chris walked, seething, into the courtyard, seeking privacy of his own for the time being.

JD joined Vin. "We gonna go hunt this guy down?"

Vin was watching Chris carefully, not looking at JD as he nodded. "Think that's gonna be the plan, once we get these folks buried. If the Judge agrees to it."

The young man looked around, his face ashen. "I-I never seen nothin' like this, Vin. It's..." He paused, looked around again, puzzled. "Where's Buck?"


Buck gasped for air as he leaned against the wall of the empty hallway. his heart hammered within him, his chest tightening until he thought for sure it would crush him.

Wolf Parsons. Damn him to Hell.

His mind swirled, a long-ago scene playing before his mind of a memory long buried. A younger Buck Wilmington appeared, smiling, cocksure, a lawman's badge pinned to his shirt. The dangerous criminal Wolf Parsons in jail, put there by Buck's able hands. And he was happy to have caught such a notorious killer. It was a real prize, enough to catch the attention of a beautiful red-haired woman in the saloon. A newcomer to town. She and Buck hit it off instantly.

Then, that night in the jail a few days later, watching over Parsons. The knock on the door, the beautiful woman entered, confessing that she just couldn't stop herself, she had to be with him. He smiled, feeling flattered, he'd been wanting her since they met. An empty cell provided the perfect place. She was wonderful.

Then, the hard blow to the head, and waking up hours later to find the woman and Parsons gone, his cell door open wide. She'd been working with him. Buck had searched for weeks to find them, but they were gone. The badge was tossed away; he didn't think he deserved it any more. Time had eased the pain of that incident, but he had never been able to repair his mistake.

Now it had cost other people their lives. Those women...

Oh, *God*...

"Buck!"

Buck started, and wiped the sweat from his face as he turned to see JD jogging towards him. Concern shone in the young man's face as he neared.

"Jesus, Buck, are you all right?"

The other man sighed deeply and rubbed his face. "Yeah, kid, just-this is bringin' up some bad memories, that's all."

JD's eyes were somber. "Yeah, well, we'll catch that Wolf guy. I think Chris is about ready to chase him all the way to Brazil."

Buck nodded. "Hell's more like it, kid."

JD shook his head. "That too, I'll bet." He gulped and directed his eyes down the hall. "This is the worst thing I've ever seen, Buck. Never felt so sick to my stomach in my life."

Buck sighed and stood up. "That just means you're human, kid. We ready to move?"

JD nodded. "Yeah, Chris wants us to check all the rooms."

Buck nodded gravely, not sure he could take any more grim sights. "Let's go then."

They searched the rooms in the hallway and found nothing. As they headed back to the courtyard, JD suddenly stopped, frowning, as he studied the walls.

Buck looked at him. "What's wrong, JD?"

"I think we missed one, Buck," JD said, heading towards a dingy curtain which hung on the wall. "There's a door behind here-look!"

He lifted up the heavy green fabric, and sure enough there was a door there, thick and wooden with a padlock on its handle.

"Huh," Buck grunted in curiosity as he drew his gun. "Must be where they stashed their loot. Let's take a look."

He pointed the gun at the lock and fired. JD ducked as the device exploded into a shower of metal bits. As the smoke cleared, Buck holstered his gun and pulled the door open, peering inside.

"Looks like a stairway," he muttered. "Mighty dark too. Better get us a lantern, else we'll break our necks goin' down these stairs."

A light was soon procured, and they soon found themselves descending into the deeper regions of the fort. The stairs were carved from the desert rock itself, and the air became noticeably cooler as they descended.

Another door appeared at the bottom, similar to the first.

"Must be a cellar or somethin'," JD offered.

"We'll know in a minute," Buck replied, pulling out his gun once more. "Look out, kid."

Another loud report, and the door swung open, only a little ways this time. It was thicker and heavier than the first one, and Buck had to pull to open it wide enough for him to pass through it. Once inside, he held up the dim lantern and strained to see where he was.

It was a room, no larger than twenty feet square, and completely devoid of light. To his right was a wall, the sight of which froze Buck's blood in his veins. Two manacles hung limply from its grimy surface, about four feet apart, and the gray wall between them was stained with a sickening red-brown substance. In one corner nearby sat a tin bucket containing a few implements Buck could only glance at; he didn't really want to know what they were.

Sick sons of bitches, he thought, and turned his gaze to the rest of the room.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

There was someone lying in the corner of the room, a man by all appearances in the flickering lamplight, curled up tightly with his back to them. A long chain tethered the prisoner to the wall, but Buck could see little else, besides the fact that whoever it was had been savagely beaten.

Another dead prisoner, Buck realized, and took a few steps towards him.

Then stopped, and looked again.

"Jesus," he breathed, almost dropping the lantern. For an instant he couldn't move, then he bolted across the room, falling to his knees frantically in front of the motionless figure.

JD watched him, puzzled. "Buck, what-"

"JD, get Nathan!" Buck almost screamed as he bent over the prisoner. "Now!"

The young man whirled, and Buck heard his footsteps pound up the stairs as he ran off.

He was shaking now, beside himself with shock and sorrow at the sight before him. His blue eyes quickly studied the still figure for some unwounded place to put his hand, to try and rouse the motionless form, but there was nowhere on the prisoner's body that had been left untouched by the outlaws' brutality. Some of the wounds had been crudely bandaged, others were still healing, and they all looked painful.

"Aw, dammit," he breathed, still stunned. "Aw, hell...Ezra?"

The form didn't move, didn't react in any way, and Buck's heart sank. He's dead, he thought, those bastards killed him, and for an instant he felt as if he could murder those responsible with his bare hands. Christ, how long had he been here? He was covered with blood and dirt, almost unrecognizable, and all Buck wanted to do now was let him know they were here. If only Ezra could hear him...

"C'mon, now," he whispered, when he finally could speak again. Very carefully he placed one hand on Ezra's shoulder, hoping it wouldn't startle him too much. "Ezra, buddy, it's ol' Buck-"

The body shuddered to life, and the shoulder jerked away in an agonized reflex. From where Ezra's face was buried in his arm there arose a choked, muffled noise, almost a sob.

Buck bent over him, wondering what the hell was keeping Nathan. "Ezra, listen up, it's Buck." He hesitated, then gingerly placed his hand on Ezra's head, trying to show that he wasn't going to hurt him. "It's okay."

There was a moment of silence; Buck could feel his friend trembling under his hand, although he couldn't tell if it was from fear, pain, or the clammy cold which pervaded the air of the small room. In the dim light he saw the gambler's eyes blink open a little, his breath coming in very short, stabbing gasps. But at least he seemed aware.

"There, that's it, c'mon now," Buck urged.

He heard Ezra draw a sharp, almost frightened breath, and very slowly he lifted his face to stare at Buck. He looked horrible, as if he'd been in the worst barroom brawl imaginable. The gunslinger's heart fell into his boots at how pale and bruised Ezra was, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way he was squinting terribly even in the dim lamplight, as if he was staring into a blinding sun.

Buck grinned, trying to encourage him even though the last thing in the world he felt like doing was smiling. "Hey, there ya are," he said gently. "C'mon now."

Ezra said nothing, still staring at him and trembling. In the flickering glow of the lantern Buck saw tears glisten at the corners of Ezra's eyes.

"Buck?" he whispered, one hand reaching up slowly to weakly clutch at the other man's sleeve. He frowned. "Is this-" he swallowed, "-a dream?"

Buck smiled, despite the tightness in his throat. "If it is, buddy, you gotta put us in Frisco next time."

A small smile touched the corners of Ezra's lips, his fingers convulsing as he gripped Buck's sleeve. An instant later his grip on Buck's sleeve tightened and he slumped back to the floor, unconscious.

"Ezra? Aw, dammit," Buck breathed, quickly putting out a hand to keep his friend's head from hitting the filthy straw-covered ground. From outside came the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairway, and a second later Nathan appeared, followed by JD and the rest of the men.

"Find a live prisoner, Buck?" Nathan asked as he ran in.

Buck looked up, fear in his blue eyes. "Nathan, you gotta hurry on over here. It's Ezra."

An electric shock seemed to run through the small group. Nathan almost stumbled in surprise, his eyes growing wide as he ran the last few steps. "Ezra? God Almighty!"

The other men watched, amazed and horrified, as Nathan bent over the unconscious body of their friend.

"Aw hell," Vin whispered, aghast at the sight before him. JD was leaning against the wall, stunned and looking ill as he stared at the bloodied form. Josiah paused, an expression of deep sorrow settling on his face, before he stepped quickly over to stand by Nathan and Buck. Chris hung back by the doorway, observing the scene with smoldering green eyes, his fury mounting with every passing minute.

"Ain't never seen nothin' like this," Nathan whispered in horror as he looked over Ezra's beaten form, "not even on the plantation." He licked his lips and looked over to JD. "JD, run an' see if you can find some sheets an' water."

JD stood rooted to the spot for a moment, his hazel eyes glued to the scene. Then he nodded, turned, and ran up the stairs with staggering steps.

"He say anything?" Nathan asked as his hands gently felt the gambler's arms and ribs, looking for broken bones.

Buck sighed. "He knew I was here, but he didn't stay awake for long." His voice caught in his throat. "He gonna make it?"

Nathan bent over, looking at Ezra's whip-scarred back. "Think so, Buck, but he's in a mighty bad way. Looks like they were treatin' him just enough to keep him alive."

Vin ducked his head in anger, then looked at Chris. The black-clad gunslinger was staring intensely at Ezra, his expression lethal.

"We're goin' after 'em, Vin," he whispered. "No matter what it takes, they're gonna pay for this."

Vin nodded. "Right behind ya, pard."

JD appeared, holding a bunch of sheets and a bucket slopping over with clear water. "Found these just upstairs, doc. An' I think these might be the for that, uh, that chain." He held up a rusty set of keys.

He handed the armload to Buck and Nathan. While Nathan busied himself ripping up the sheets with Josiah's help, Buck carefully tested the keys on the old rough metal manacle enclosing Ezra's wrist. With the third key, there was a hollow click, and the cuff loosened and gave way. Gently Buck eased the chain away, wincing at the sight of the raw skin beneath it.

"Aw, hell," he whispered, then threw the chain against the wall. It landed harmlessly with a clatter and lay forgotten as they turned all of their attention to Ezra.

"Best bind 'im up quick as we can an' get 'im back to town," Nathan said. "We can wash his wounds best at the bath house."

Josiah nodded, and he and Buck gently helped the healer wrap as many of the gambler's wounds as possible. Throughout the operation, Ezra remained deeply unconscious, uttering no sound as his battered skin was tenderly bathed and bandaged. Josiah held the gambler in his arms while Nathan worked, but there was no indication that Ezra knew anything of what was happening.

JD stayed in the doorway, appearing increasingly sick. "My God, Chris," he gasped, barely able to talk, "why'd they do that to Ezra?"

Chris drew a deep, angry breath. "Cause they're scum, JD," was the furious reply. "But they ain't gonna be free scum for much longer."

"Or live scum, if we can help it," Vin added.

JD looked on and said nothing more, horrified.

Finally they were finished. "Reckon we can take 'im out now," Nathan said. "Have to ride careful back to town, he can't take much jostlin'."

Buck reached up and began to untie the bandanna around his neck. "Hold on, Nathan-he's been in this damn hole so long he can't stand the light. Best tie this over his eyes so's he don't get blinded."

He whipped the bandanna off and beat the dust off of it. Folding the cloth carefully, he wrapped it over Ezra's closed eyes and knotted it in place. The expression on Buck's face as he did so was as lethal as Chris'; all of the easygoing nature normally found there was gone, replaced with guilt and rage.

"There you go, buddy," he whispered as he finished his task. "You're gonna be okay soon." He looked at Nathan. "Right?"

The healer's response was a worried look. "Let's get 'im home."

They gently wrapped Ezra in the last whole sheet, and as they stood Josiah carefully slipped his arms beneath the gambler and lifted him up. Solemnly they left the small, hellish room, determined to leave its darkness behind forever as they brought Ezra back into the light of day.

As Josiah eased Ezra back into the sunlight, the group grew even more appalled at their comrade's condition. In the full light every whip mark, bruise and gash was visible in all of its horror, and as they studied their injured friend it almost seemed impossible that he would survive it. He looked so frail and thin, much of his lean muscle melted away from his time in captivity. As the sunlight washed over his face for the first time in two months, Ezra made a small, half-awake noise of surprise and pain, and he turned his face into Josiah's shoulder, burying it there to hide from the brilliant glare.

Josiah looked down at him. "Ezra?"

The gambler sighed, but said nothing more, relaxing completely in the preacher's arms.

"Is he awake?" JD asked, still ill at his friend's appearance.

"Don't think so, JD, least not any more," was Josiah's sad reply. "I'll take 'im on Prophet, he can bear the weight of both of us."

Chris nodded, looking around once more at the deathly still scene surrounding them. "We'll go tell the Judge about this, he can have the Army come an' bury the bodies. Then we ride."

This was assented to with mutual grim-faced silence by the entire group. They mounted up without speaking, Josiah wrapping his arms carefully around Ezra as Buck helped him settle the gambler on his horse. No words were spoken as they rode away from the grisly scene, each man knowing in his heart that this situation was far from over.


The sun was beginning to set as they rode into town, dusty, weary and deeply saddened by what they had seen. The ride had been slow so as not to disturb Ezra too much; the gambler was still perched before Josiah, profoundly unconscious.

As they rode towards Nathan's room, the townsfolk turned and stared, many of them openly shocked. Murmurs ran rampant-was that the gambler? It couldn't be, look at him, he's a mess. That fellow was always neat as a pin. Besides, everyone knows that guy ran off. But, you know, it does look like him...

They saw Mary coming out of Mrs. Potter's store. As she glanced up, her fair face turned white, and she quickly darted back inside. Within a moment she reappeared, followed closely by Mrs. Potter. Both women wore faces of dumbfounded shock, but neither flinched from the awful sight as they clutched one another for support. Billy appeared in the doorway of the store, staring with the grim fascination of a five-year-old, and Mary broke with Mrs. Potter long enough to hustle the little boy back inside.

They passed by where Inez was playing with Contessa on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Inez met Chris's eyes as she realized what she was seeing, her expression turning to one of horror and grief. Quickly she put her hands gently on Contessa's shoulders, to lead the girl inside and protect her from such an awful sight.

Puzzled, Contessa twisted in Inez's grasp, consumed with a child's curiosity to see what she wasn't being permitted to see. As her eyes fell on Ezra she let out a gasp and turned to Inez, speaking quickly in Spanish and pointing at Ezra wildy.

Chris reined in, frowning. "She all right? What is it?"

Inez seemed almost on the verge of tears as she finally looked up at Chris.

"She is saying that this is the man who tried to stop the women from being hurt," she said with a gasp. "She...she wants to know if he will be all right."

The other men sat silent for a few moments as they absorbed this new information. Deep respect and admiration shone in their eyes as they once more regarded their wounded colleague, realizing the sacrifice he had made. But then, what else could they expect from the gentleman gambler?

Chris looked down at them, trying to sound optimistic. "He ain't gonna die if we can help it," was all he could say.

Inez nodded, understanding. "We will go to the church and pray for him," was her reply, and taking Contessa's hand she led her down the street towards the church.

Mary walked up, her eyes wide but her face set, ready to do whatever was required. "Chris, Mrs. Potter has offered whatever supplies you need," she said quickly.

Nathan waved her over. They talked for a few moments, the healer rattling off a list as Mary wrote down every word. Then she was off, her skirts flying as she ran back to the general store.

Chris watched her go, then turned to the other men. "I'll go wire Maude an' talk to the Judge, you go see to Ezra. We'll meet in the saloon later to figure out how we're gonna catch Parsons."

They all signaled their agreement, and parted.



The first thing Ezra noticed as he floated back to half-consciousness was that he was warm.

This seemed so peculiar that he dwelled on the subject at length. He was only barely awake now, unable to do much more with his foggy thoughts than form the most basic impressions. Everything was still dark; he did not have the strength to open his eyes or move, so he simply lay still, trying to piece together the sounds and sensations he was experiencing. It was all very puzzling.

Memories floated by his mind's eye-Buck, he'd seen Buck bending over him. Or was that just a dream? He'd dreamt of rescue so often during his torment that he could easily believe it had only been another illusion. He tried to struggle further into awareness, so he could open his eyes and see for himself, but it was no use. He was too exhausted. But he could feel and hear enough to hope that perhaps he truly was safe now.

The fact that he was warm was remarkable in itself, and a good place to start. He was awake enough to tell that he was sitting up, his torn back resting against what felt like down pillows. Surely the outlaws were too uncouth to know about such finery. As he drew further from the darkness of sleep the sound of distant splashing reached his ears. Water, of course. The splashing grew closer, then he felt a wet cloth being rubbed with the utmost care over his wounded skin. There was a minimal amount of pain, but Ezra mostly marveled at how wonderful it was-he had not felt the miracle of warm, clean water against his body for what seemed like an eternity.

Gradually he realized he was being bathed, and was sitting in a tub full of warm water, the pillows propped up against a wall or something which kept them out of the water. Confusion spilled into his mind again-who was doing this? Perhaps the outlaws had decided he should be cleaned up so he would last longer. Someone took his arm and held it out, and Ezra's heart began to hammer in wild bewilderment. Weakly he tried to pull away, if for no other reason than to give the beings around him an opportunity to tell him who they were.

A hand wrapped itself gently around his head as another was placed on his shoulder. The grip on his arm loosened a little, but did not let go, and after a moment Ezra felt a warm, soapy cloth gently dab at his bloodied skin.

"Easy now, it's all right," a low voice whispered gently into his ear, and Ezra's heart leaped a little. Josiah. Then maybe it was true, maybe he really was free.

"He wakin' up?" another voice said, one he instantly recognized as Nathan. Either he was truly home, or he was still lost in the dream, and in his weak, half-asleep state he could not truly say which was more likely. For the moment, the dream was infinitely preferable, and he accepted it gladly, grateful for even the temporary illusion of peace.

"He might be," he heard Josiah say, and felt the hand move slightly against his damp hair. "You with us, brother?"

I am most certainly with you, he wanted to say. The question I have is, are you with me?

He had only the strength, however, to turn his head a little and let out a very feeble moan.

"That's all right, Ezra, you just hang on," he heard Josiah say softly; the voice was becoming very distant and hard to hear. "We'll have you back at the tables in no time."

The dimly perceived surroundings began to fade away, leaving only feelings behind, the water cleansing his abused body, the soothing motion of Josiah's hand as it stroked his hair, the slight pain as Nathan cleaned his wounds. He felt himself start to slip back into slumber, lulled by the warmth of the water and the impossibly soft pillows cradling his back and head.

He drifted for a while, then awoke enough to realize that the bath had ended. Soft, dry towels were dabbing at his skin now, followed by a cool lotion which stung a little but eased his pain immeasurably. He could feel bandages being wrapped around the worst of his wounds; he knew this process should take quite a while, but it seemed as if only a very short time elapsed. Then a soft, warm blanket was folded around him-or at least it felt very soft and warm, to him-and he sensed that he was being carried somewhere. Thoroughly puzzled, he forced himself to stay awake at least long enough to see what was going to happen.

By now he was aware enough only to sense that he was moving; then, being lifted up a flight of stairs. Remembered scents reached him, the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey and cheap perfume. The Standish Tavern, he realized, although he had to think very hard to remember the name.

They stopped moving, and he felt himself being lowered onto something incredibly yielding and comfortable. Vaguely he recognized the feel of his old featherbed, and the down pillow which so gently cradled his head. No sensation had ever felt so marvelous to him after spending all that time sleeping on the cold stone floor of his cell.

With a deeply relieved sigh he nestled into the soft, warm bed, a solemn rejoicing sounding in his heart. It was true, it had to be, they had come for him and he was home again and safe. His weary soul felt ready to weep at the thought. When he recovered enough he would have to tell them just how much that simple fact meant to him.

For now, however, he could resist the call of sleep no longer, now that his wounded body was finally allowed to rest. As someone pulled the eiderdown quilt over his shoulders, he nestled as far as he could into the featherbed and slipped quietly back into unconsciousness.



Chris watched with intense satisfaction as the puzzled telegraph operator looked over the message. Finally the man looked up at Chris, his ugly face wrinkled in confusion.


"Ya found 'im, huh?" he asked, clearly embarrassed.

The gunslinger's expression was grim. "Yep."

There was a pause, during which the man read the words again, as if he thought they'd changed in the meantime. Then he lifted his small eyes to Chris.

"So he, uh, didn't run off?"

Chris didn't move, but the green eyes continued to stare. "Nope."

"Oh." The man coughed. "Ah. Oh." He cleared his throat and stamped the outgoing message with unusual vigor. "Well, you, uh, boys must be awful relieved."

"Feel better when he's walkin' again," Chris muttered in a heavy tone, looking away as anger stabbed his heart.

"He ain't walkin'?" the operator asked casually as he straightened some already straight papers in his hand.

Chris fixed the man with an icy stare. "He's spent the last two months chained up an' beat like an animal by a bunch of no-account scum. So no, he ain't walkin'."

The man seemed shocked, then infinitely chagrined. He glanced up at Chris with a shamefaced expression but said nothing.

"Well, don't worry," Chris said as he straightened and looked the man square in the eye. "We got every hope he'll be up an' around again soon. Who knows, one day he might even be able to save your ungrateful ass."

With that, Chris gave his hat brim an overly vigorous tug, turned and walked straight out of the telegraph office. This time the man he left behind stayed silent.

With long and angry strides Chris headed straight for the jail, knowing that Judge Travis waited for him there. He was eager to tell him what had happened, anxious to get after these animals who saw fit to beat and rape and rob. He simply couldn't wait a moment longer to get on their trail; it was already growing cold, and his building rage had to be released soon, or he would go mad. And the only release which would satisfy him would be to see One-Eyed Wolf Parsons at the end of a rope.

He glanced at the townsfolk as he walked by; they had all seen them bring Ezra home, and Chris hoped they all felt like shit about the sight which had met their eyes. He hoped those who'd said Ezra had run off got a real good look at the gambler's pale, broken body, and the horrible wounds which had been inflicted on him. Next time don't be so quick to judge a man, he wanted to tell them all, knowing that some of them would never trust him and his men. If it had been up to them, they would not have cared if Ezra died in that squalid cell.

Sometimes, Chris mused, he hated this job...

He reached the jail, pulling the door open with a jerk, the enraged words on his lips as he prepared to tell the Judge of the atrocities they'd seen. he walked a few feet into the office-and stopped.

Judge Travis was there, looking as wise and official as ever, but so was another man, an Army sergeant Chris didn't know. But something about the tall, red-bearded man struck him as wrong instantly, and he felt himself bristle. For his part, the sergeant seemed to recognize Chris and regard him as an unwelcome necessity, like a garden spider kept to kill insects.

"Ah! Chris," the old Judge greeted him, shaking his hand as a friendly smile creased his weathered, handsome face. "How's Mr. Standish? Is he resting comfortably?"

Chris nodded, not taking his eyes off of the Army man. "He'll live," he replied tersely.

"Ah, good, good." Judge Travis indicated the Army man. "Chris Larabee, this is Sgt. Trevor Stephenson. We were traveling together, and when Mr. Tanner told us about what happened he offered the services of his troops."

Stephenson nodded a little and offered a cold smile. Chris didn't nod or smile.

"That's great," he said without enthusiasm, not liking where he thought this was leading, "we could sure use the help."

Stephenson coughed and smiled, an oily grin which slid across his face like a snake. "I think you misunderstand, Mr. Larabee. You needn't risk your men in tracking Parsons, my men will handle it."

Chris's green eyes began snapping, and he took a step towards the sergeant. "You're the one misunderstandin'," he said in a whisper. "We're lookin' to take the risk after what they done to them folks an' Ezra."

Stephenson chuckled a little and glanced at Travis. "Hot-headed, isn't he?"

Travis held up a hand to stop Chris when the gunslinger took another step towards the smiling sergeant. "Now, Chris-just calm down. The sergeant here can cover a wider range of territory than your men. Plus, it's an Army matter now-those men destroyed Federal property."

Chris glared at him. "An' you're agreein' to this?"

Stephenson smiled. "The Judge is quite venerable, but I'm afraid this is now out of his jurisdiction. My commander has said this man is ours to find, and so be it."

Chris frowned. "How long you plan on lookin'?"

The other man shrugged. "As long as necessary."

"Yeah?" Chris was skeptical. "Scum like Parsons, they can hole up for months. Your men know where to look?"

Stephenson scowled. "I assure you, we're quite skilled at tracking this sort of vermin."

"You get even better skills when you do it every day," Chris replied, and looked back at the Judge. "Judge, we got every right to go lookin' for Parsons."

"I'd advise you not to interfere, Mr. Larabee," the sergeant said in a stern tone of voice. "This is no longer your concern."

There was silence as Chris stepped up to Stephenson and stared at him with open fury. "You go take a look at what that bastard did to Ezra an' tell me it ain't my concern."

The sergeant fidgeted a little, but held firm. "I'm sorry for what happened to your colleague, Mr. Larabee, but I must insist you stay out of our way. I don't think you would find our stockade very comfortable." he looked at the Judge. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go organize my troops for the burial of the victims and the search."

With that, he retreated out the door. Chris watched him go, his face contorting with rage, and finally looked at the Judge.

"This is bull," he spat. "You're really tellin' us we can't go hunt down those bastards?"

Travis sighed, looking very weary as he sat down at the sheriff's desk. "Sorry, Chris, but Stephenson's powers override my own. I argued like hell for him to budge, but he's an old Army hand and doesn't like civilians interferin' with the Army."

"Army!" Chris snarled, beginning to pace. "They don't know nothin' about trackin' a man like Parsons. Hell, they ride into Purgatory, he'll see 'em comin' a mile away and ride out the other end."

Travis nodded slowly. "That's what I'm afraid of. But as a sworn upholder of the law, I'm afraid I can't officially sanction any action on your part to assist in the hunt for Wolf Parsons."

He rose slowly and made his way towards the door. Then he paused, and placed his hat on his head while he turned to face Chris.

"Unofficially, I hope you catch the son of a bitch."