Buck sat alone that night in the corner table of the Standish Tavern, awaiting the others and consumed by his own thoughts. Most of them were very unwelcome company.

Wolf Parsons, he thought bitterly as he stared into his half-empty mug of beer. Who'd have thought he would turn up here, now, after Buck had searched for him all this time with no luck? And he still had Rio with him. Damn.

His mind flew back to that night, and that woman, one of the few who had truly amazed him. She was remarkable, full of fire, and so experienced that she even taught Buck a thing or two. It had been a wild night, there in the jail, so wild that everything including the prisoner had been forgotten in the burning oblivion of passion. Yes, Rio had really been something.

And one of the things she was, was a killer.

He could still feel the burning shame of that morning, when he woke up to the angry shouts of the sheriff and a head pounding from the blow he'd taken. Where the hell is Parsons, his boss was shouting, his cell's empty. Parsons was gone, and Rio was gone, and it didn't take long for him to realize that she and Parsons worked together. It had all been a trick, and he'd fallen for it completely.

Buck shuddered and took a drink, but the images in his mind wouldn't go away. All those people dead, because of his mistake. Ezra beaten to within an inch of his life. Who knew what else Parsons had been up to that he didn't even know about. And Rio, still with him, just as evil as he was, probably still laughing over that stupid lawman she fooled so long ago.

He drew a deep breath and set his jaw. You ain't gonna get away from me this time, Parsons, he vowed. An' as for you, Rio darlin', you're gonna find out ol' Buck don't fool so easy no more.

"Hey, Buck."

It was JD, looking very tired but still awake enough to slump in a nearby chair and toss his bowler hat onto the large round table.

"Hey there, kid," Buck sighed, picking up his drink. "Hope you don't mind, I ain't feelin' too sociable tonight."

JD shook his head, dragging one hand through his thick black hair. "Naw, that's okay. I'm still, uh, kinda shook up myself." He swallowed and looked away, and Buck noticed fear in the young man's hazel eyes.

"Don't you worry, JD, Nathan's gonna fix Ezra up just fine," Buck assured him before draining his glass. "He'll be back in here cleanin' us out before you know it."

His friend nodded. "Yeah, I know," he muttered, his tone indicating that this was not the source of his anxiety. "I just-I ain't never seen nobody beat up like that, Buck. It looked like they got him with just about everything."

Buck eyed JD solemnly and nodded very slowly. "'Fraid they did, JD. But he hung on, he's a fighter." He smiled a little. "Hell, he's one of us, right? Takes more'n a few bruises to put us away."

JD looked uneasy, then nodded once, as if to hide his discomfort. "Yeah, guess so," he said, in a halfhearted voice.

Buck frowned, puzzled by his young friend's behavior, but further inquiry was prevented by the arrival of Josiah, looking very worn out.

"Evenin'," Josiah sighed as he settled into a seat and swung the whiskey bottle in his hand onto the table with a hollow thud. It was already nearly half empty.

"How's Ezra?" JD asked, leaning forward as Josiah took off his huge hat and mopped his brow.

"Deep in the Lord's slumber at the moment," the preacher replied in sluggish tones, leaning back in his chair. "Nate an' I washed 'im up an' put him to bed. Inez said she'd watch 'im while we're over here."

"He wake up at all?" Buck asked in a sad voice.

The preacher sighed. "A little, I think. We tried our best to let him know he was safe. Sure hope he heard us."

"Wonder how he wound up in that place," JD murmured.

Buck looked at his young friend. "Reckon we'll find that out when he's ready to tell us, JD. At least now he's back where we can help him."

The young gunslinger glanced at him, nodded, then looked around. "Where's Nathan?"

"Sent him off to get some rest too," Josiah yawned as he rubbed his eyes. "He was workin' like a demon over Ezra. There wasn't hardly a spot on that man's flesh that wasn't tore up or beat black and blue." He shook his head as an expression of pained sorrow crossed his face. "I swear he had an angel watchin' over him, to survive it. But it must've been Hell."

JD shuddered, and Buck's expression was deadly serious.

"We'll send Parsons to a deeper Hell, once we find 'im," Buck swore quietly, his blue eyes burning with determination.

"That might not be so easy, Buck."

It was Chris's voice, sharp and serious, and those at the table looked up to see the black-clad gunslinger walking towards them, his own eyes smoldering.

Buck furrowed his brow as his old friend joined them. "Hell, Chris, we've tracked scum like him before."

"Doesn't the Judge want us to find him?" asked JD, who was just as puzzled.

Chjris leaned forward, folding his hands and speaking in a deliberate manner. "Judge don't have a say in this no more. The Army's in charge of it now, an' they don't want us goin' anywhere near Parsons."

The other men sat up quickly, shocked.

"Damn, Chris, after what he done to Ezra, we got all the right in the world to take Parsons down!" Buck cried, infuriated.

"They can't mean we're supposed to just sit on our backsides an' wait for them to find him," JD exclaimed in an amazed voice.

Chris glanced at them all. "That's just what they want us to do," he replied quietly, "an' the Judge can't do nothing about it." He took a deep breath. "But I ain't aimin' to let no Army bullshit around while Parsons gets away."

Josiah studied his friend carefully. "You goin' against the Judge, Chris?"

Chris paused, thinking as he stared at his hands. When he spoke, his words were slow and laden with anger.

"I don't like doin' it," he confessed, "but the Army don't know nothin' about trackin' men like Parsons. They'll look for a few weeks, then call it off. That don't sit right with me." He looked each man in the eye. "Tomorrow Vin an' I are headin' out to find him ourselves. He's out there lookin' for the trail right now. We're actin' on our own, an' I ain't askin' noone else to join us. It'll be hard ridin', an' if we're caught Stephenson will have our asses in irons in two seconds. An' the Judge won't be able to help us."

Buck returned the gaze firmly. "Hell, Chris, you got to know we're with you. I'll ride wherever it takes to bring that bastard down, an' I reckon we can handle the Army too if it comes to that."

His friend nodded. "Best if it doesn't come to that, Buck." He looked at Josiah. "I think you an' Nathan should stay here, Ezra might be needin' you an' someone needs to look after the town."

Josiah's blue eyes shone somberly. "We'll help Ezra along, Chris. But if you need help, you know where to send for it."

A hint of a smile touched Chris's lips as he nodded.

JD shifted in his seat. "I, uh, think I'll stay here," he said, a little nervously. "Help Josiah an' Nathan out."

Buck glanced at him, confused; the kid usually was the first on the trail when they were riding out.

JD noticed his concern. "It's all right, Buck, just feel like stayin' in town, that's all."

The words didn't sound too convincing, and Buck thought he saw the fear rekindling itself in JD's hazel eyes. But now was not the time, so he merely nodded and aid, "All right, kid."

"We'll leave at dawn," Chris said as he stood up. "Could be gone a while. we'll telegraph when we can. You can let us know how Ezra's doin'."

Josiah smiled. "He'll be doin' fine once we catch Parsons. Justice is a remarkable medicine."

Buck rose as well, his expression grim in the dim lamplight.

"Amen, Josiah," he said with feeling, "an' we're gonna give Parsons a damn big dose of it."



The faint golden light of dusk still glowed slightly on the western horizon, battling the encroaching darkness in a valiant but vain manner. The wide and rocky desert plain was slowly being swallowed up in the purple-blue gloom of evening, soon to be the stage for the nocturnal appearance of its wild night-loving inhabitants. The quiet of the warm twilight was broken only by the soft chirps and skitterings of the nightly creatures as they scurried from their holes and burrows, eager to begin their appointed fight for survival.

As the snakes and scorpions began scouring the barren rocks and scrub plants for food, a faint noise stirred the cooling air, growing louder with every pasing second. Hoofbeats, two riders, pounding swiftly across the burning rocks. The unthinking beasts cared little for such trespassers, except when they were foolish enough to try and assert their superiority. But these riders had no intention of disturbing the poisonous witnesses to their journey; they simply gallopped over the rocks and left the scene as fast as they had entered it, intent only on flight.

The first rider was a man, very thin and tall, his waist-length black hair trailing after him as he rode like the tail of a comet whose coming foretold only evil. The wind ruffled over his wolfskin vest, and the moon glinted over the three wolf's teeth which hung from his neck on a rawhide string. His long, lean face blazed with intensity as he rode bent over his mount's neck, his large hands gripping the reins tightly. Two guns bounced on his hips, and a full bandolier was slung across his chest. He had only one eye, green and deeply set. It swept the desert as he rode, his coiled posture indicating that he was expecting a fight at any moment, and was more than ready for it.

Slightly behind him rode a woman, as beautiful as the man was frightening, dressed in a torn and dirty duster which billowed after her as she rode. Beneath the duster could be caught glimpses of a blue traveling dress, its hem spattered with dark reddish-brown stains. Her thick red hair was tightly arranged against her head, ending in a mass of curls which bobbed against the back of her head. Like her partner, she wore an expression of the severest intensity, her gaze set on the horizon and the promise of sanctuary it held.

At the top of a small rise, he reined in, and she stopped behind him, their horses panting and blowing at the rare chance to rest. The man scanned the landscape, his single eye studying each rock and stand of brush with the careful diligence of a practiced fugitive.

After a long, silent while, he turned to the woman, his face set in a smile of smug triumph. "Almost there," he said, his tone deep. "And no one to stop us."

She wiped the sweat from her brow and returned the smile, her heavily-lidded eyes sparkling with malevolent arrogance. For a moment they stared at each other silently. Then, with animal ferocity, he reached over and drew her to him. She leaned forward eagerly, and they shred a brief, passionate kiss, groping at each other in the deepening twilight. Then they parted, sharing grins of self-assured victory as they settled back into their saddles.

She picked up her reins and said in a throaty voice, a soft smile on her full lips, "Let's go, Wolf. I can't wait any longer for the fun to start again."

His sadistic smile indicated that he shared his companion's sentiments. He spurred his horse on, and they galloped away into the night towards the ever-nearing border of Mexico and the walled criminal sanctuary of Purgatory.



Buck's legs seemed so heavy as he climbed the stairs leading to the second floor of the Standish Tavern. He felt exhausted, and it was well past midnight-he should be in bed resting for the ride tomorrow. But sleep had evaded him, and he knew why. There would be no rest, tonight or during the long journey ahead, if he did not do this. It would hurt like hell, but not doing it would hurt more.

He reached the landing and paused, staring at the door to Ezra's room as if it concealed a horrible nightmare. One hand dragged nervously through his hair, the noise from the crowd downstairs suddenly seeming very loud in his ears. Maybe this was a mistake-maybe he should just go-

No, he thought firmly, arguing against his inclinations. If I don't do this, and something happens while I'm gone, I won't never forgive myself.

He took a deep breath, then stepped over and very quietly knocked on the door. After a few moments it opened, revealing a weary-looking Nathan.

Buck was surprised. "Hey, Nathan. Thought Josiah sent you home for some shut-eye."

Nathan tried to shrug it off. "I can sleep just as easy in Ezra's ol' rockin' chair. 'Sides, don't feel right goin' off when he ain't out of the woods yet."

Buck sighed, looking at the floor for a moment sadly before raising his blue eyes to meet Nathan's. "Still not sure, huh?"

Nathan hesitated, but he knew they had both been through too much, and seen too much, to think that lying would help things any. "Didn't want to say it before," he confessed, "but...he's still plenty weak, Buck. They didn't feed 'im right, an' that cell gave 'im a powerful bad chill. An' with the beatin's they gave 'im on top of that..." His voice trailed off, and he wiped his face angrily. "Damn, Buck, I'm with Josiah on this one. It's a miracle he's alive at all."

Buck nodded, swallowing against the hot feeling rising in his throat. "Look, Nate, why don't you go on down an' get yourself some food an' a cup of Inez's coffee? I'll...watch things for a bit."

The other man considered this idea, then nodded. "Thanks, Buck," he muttered, his brown eyes weary and grateful for the rest. He slipped past his comrade and headed towards the stairs. Buck stared at the open door for a moment, petrified, then braced himself and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

Inside it was very dark and warm; a small lamp on a far table, its wick raised to afford the barest amount of light, was the only illumination. For a few moments Buck was blind in the dim room; then very slowly he could make out the dresser, the rocking chair, the heavy curtains arranged across the window to protect the gambler's still-sensitive eyes. Buck noticed these things only superficially; his full attention was drawn to the bed, and the wounded figure which lay sleeping in its soft embrace.

Ezra lay on his side, his back being too badly lacerated to bear his weight without excruciating pain. The gambler appeared to be deeply unconscious, his face half-buried in the folds of the down pillow. There was no sound except the slow rhthym of his labored breathing, no motion except the rise and fall of the bedcovers.

Buck couldn't see much of his friend's condition-what wasn't covered up by the eiderdown quilt or the fancy nightshirt was hidden by bandages. But even in the dim light he could tell how much damage the past two months had done, and his anger grew to bursting. Ezra had always been tough; Buck could remember the gambler regaling him often with highly amusing tales of the quick getaways he'd had to accomplish, and the brawls he'd fought to defend his honor and escape one bad situation or another. He even told Buck once he'd broken his tooth in a boxing con which had gone awry-that was where he'd gotten the gold one-but Ezra had then boasted that his boxing prowess was really very good, and if need be he could do it again.

And now...Buck sighed as sorrow overwhelmed him. Pain and deprivation had stolen almost all of Ezra's strength; he looked so damn hollow-cheeked and thin, like the war prisoners Buck had seen after the conflict ended. It would be a long time before Ezra would be able to hold his own in a fight, and it galled Buck to think how much Ezra would hate that.

Buck sank into the rocking chair next to the bed, his eyes sadly traveling over his friend's face. The lines of pain were still very evident, even in sleep, and when he looked closely Buck could see that Ezra was shivering ever so slightly, despite the warm covers which enfolded him. The bandages hid the wounds and scars, but deep black, blue and purple bruises still marred the Southerner's handsome face, and his closed eyes were sunken in dark circles. Looking over, Buck noticed a blindfold on the table beside the bed, and his gut churned with rage. Even though he was free, Ezra still couldn't look on the light of day. Not yet, anyway.

He bowed his head, consumed with outrage and guilt. Finally he looked up, gazing at Ezra with sorrowful eyes as he spoke, his voice just barely a whisper.

"Been waitin' a long time to see you again, buddy," he said softly, fiddling with his hat in his hands as he spoke. "Hope you knew we never gave up on you. Didn't know where you were, but we knew you didn't run off. We..." he glanced around the room, "...we saved your things, knowin' you'd want 'em. Waited an' waited. Fought the bad guys, won some an' lost some. Same as usual."

He chuckled quietly to himself and leaned back, looking at the ceiling. "Well, now, it weren't really the same as usual. We didn't have that smart-assed Southern sass of yours t'liven things up, or them damned quick fingers shufflin' us all out of our weeks' pay. I didn't have nobody to contend against when it came to sparkin' the ladies. We didn't have them bullshit stories, or that quick trigger finger." He sighed and bent forward. "Guess what I ought to say is, we sure as hell missed you, pard. Some day I'll tell you that, when you can hear me. We all will. Might not come out right, an' it might sound mighty foolish, but you'll know what we mean. I can promise you that."

His eyes took in the bruises and welts, and he sat still, his eyes blazing now. "An' I got to promise you somethin' else, Ezra. We are gonna get the bastards that did this to you, an' all them folks in that fort. Y'see...y'see, most of this is my fault, an' I'm gonna make it right or not come back. Bad enough findin' out Wolf Parsons done that to them ladies, but when we found you in that damned hellhole, an' I saw what that son of a bitch did to you..."

Buck choked, shook, fought to control himself. "Well," he said swallowing, "I got to confess my heart just about broke with rage, at them an' myself. If Wolf was there I woulda ripped his throat out. But his day is comin', an' Rio's too. You got my oath on that. An'..." He paused, swallowed, unsure if he could talk. "I just got to say, before I ride out tomorrow...I'm sorry, Ezra. God, I'm sorry. If I don't come back, I wanted you to know that, even if you can't hear me."

He rubbed his face vigorously with one hand, feeling very weary all of a sudden. Taking a deep sniff to compose himself, he looked once more into his slumbering friend's face.

"Anyways, Ezra, just wanted to come here an' let you know what we aim to do. That's my end of it, but you got to fill your part of the bargain too. You ain't dyin' on us, okay? I wanna see your sorry ass back in that saloon quick as you can. I wanna lose my pay to you, an' hear some more of them damn lies you call stories. That's your end of the deal, an' I ain't gonna put up with no excuses."

He rose stiffly, as if he had been sitting for a very long time, and put his hat on as he looked down at Ezra.

"Me an' the boys are gonna bring 'em in for you, Ezra, an' for all them people they hurt," he whispered, his voice rough and broken. "Maybe that'll give you the strength to get better an' ride with us again. An' then maybe you'll forgive me."

There was nothing more to say. Buck drew a deep breath and opened the door, giving his friend one last look before slipping outside and shutting it noiselessly behind him. He leaned against the door for a moment, spent and slightly shaken, staring at the wall as he tried to pull himself together.

"Buck?"

At the soft calling of his name, Buck turned to see Nathan climbing the stairs. He was giving the gunslinger a look of concern.

Buck nodded in reply to the unasked question and pulled himself up. "I'm all right, Nathan, just...kinda rattled."

Nathan nodded sympathetically as he stepped up to his comrade. "Yeah, seein' Ezra shook me up, too. All this time we been wantin' t'see him again, but...never thought it'd be like that." He gave Buck a sharp look. "You best go rest up, else you ain't gonna be in no shape t'catch them folks that done this."

Buck straightened, his exhausted blue eyes burning anew as an expression of determination flooded his face. "Don't you worry, Nathan," he breathed as he began to walk away, "we'll bring them devils in, even if we got to ride to Hell to do it."

Every inch of his body echoed the truth of this remark, and Nathan could only nod a wordless 'good night' as Buck gave a slight wave and headed down the stairs. He looked after his friend for a moment, still worried, then silently opened the door to Ezra's room and went back in, to continue the night of watching and hoping.



The citizens of Four Corners were just beginning to stir as Vin walked slowly out of the livery, saddlebags slung over his shoulder as he headed for the saloon. Dust clung in sandy layers to his skin, his fringed buckskin coat, and fell from his long brown curls as they danced lightly in the morning breeze. As he trod down the boardwalk, he ignored the startled expressions of the townsfolk as they regarded his rumpled, dirty appearance. He never gave much of a damn for his looks, and right now he could not have cared less. Not when justice was calling so loudly for help.

Vin's mind worked furiously as he walked on through the growing crowds, staring sightlessly ahead. He had searched the grounds around the fort long and hard; Wolf knew well how to throw off any pursuers. But he had not reckoned with Vin's determination to avenge his friend and the innocent civilians he had murdered. The trail had been hard to find, but Vin had located it at last, and it confirmed what the tracker had suspected: One-Eyed Wolf Parsons was heading for Purgatorio.

He reached the livery and walked inside. The stables were dim, the air dusty and cool. Sire blew and stamped at his master's arrival, as eager for the hunt as Vin was. Vin gave Sire a pat and saddled him up, his handsome face still wearing a grim expression as he contemplated the task ahead. It would not be an easy ride, or a safe one, with both Wolf and the Army to worry about. But for Ezra's sake, and that of the others who had suffered, the journey had to be undertaken. It was as simple as that.

He finished his task, and taking the bridle in hand gently led the horse back into the bright morning sunlight. Standing in the street, he settled the saddlebags and bedroll on Sire's back, glancing up above the livery at Nathan's clinic occasionally and wondering if the healer had in fact gotten any rest. Concern gripped Vin's heart as he worked; as long as the road ahead of them was, Ezra's road was twice as long, and even more uncertain. It would take all of Nathan's skill, and Ezra's strength, to see them both safely to the end of it. He could only wish them well and hope that they would all find success waiting for them at the end of their travels.

"Excuse me...Mr. Tanner?"

It was a strong, high-pitched woman's voice, and it caught Vin by surprise. Turning, he saw two of the townsfolk standing behind him. He recognized them immediately: Mr. Kline, the owner of the bakery, and his wife. Both of them were thin and close to fifty years of age, sharp-featured and quite officious in their dress and demeanor.

Vin was taken aback that they were talking to him at all; they had been one of the most vocal opponents of his presence in town, his and the other hired guns. A scene flashed in his mind, not long after Ezra's disappearance, in which Mr. Kline stood in the saloon and told everyone who would listen how he'd known all along that the Southerner was a scam artist who had run out on them, and good riddance.

This stance had not abated during the following two months; whenever Ezra's disappearance was discussed, Kline was in the middle of it, loudly berating the gambler's character for all to hear. The wife had been busy gossiping as well; Vin recalled passing her several times in the street, where she had been with a knot of other townswomen all clucking their tongues over Ezra's unreliable behavior.

He nodded and tipped his hat to them, but his blue eyes narrowed with caution.

"Mr. Kline, ma'am," he said politely, looking from one of them to the other. "What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Kline stepped forward, clearing her throat loudly. "We just wanted to express our concern for Mr. Standish," she said, her voice reedy and somewhat strained. Vin noticed she glanced to the side a few times, to see if anyone was watching them. "Mr. Kline saw him when you boys brought him back yesterday. We thought he might like to have this."

Vin looked down and saw that she was holding something out to him. It looked like an apple pie, and not a very fresh one at that. One edge of the crust was slightly burned and broken off, and the pie rested in a tin whose bottom showed the early stages of rusting.

The tracker looked up at them, his blue eyes beginning to smolder. "That's right generous of you," he said, his voice rough, "considerin' how you been sayin' all along Ezra was a no-good con who'd run out on us."

Mr. Kline didn't bother to hide his scowl. "I had every right to that opinion, Tanner," the older man shot back. "And as you know I wasn't the only one who held it. But I'm willing to admit to you I was wrong."

"How 'bout them people you talked Ezra down to?" Vin replied, cocking his head. "You gonna tell all them you was wrong?"

Kline huffed and straightened the lapels of his tailored suit. "I'll tell who I please what I please. In the meantime, you might be a gentleman and accept our gift."

Vin glanced down at the day-old pie, then looked Kline squarely in his watery hazel eyes. "You givin' it cause you mean it," he asked slowly, "or cause you're just feelin' guilty an' want to think better of yourselves?"

Mrs. Kline gasped. "Mr. Tanner! Of-of course we want Mr. Standish to know how much he's appreciated around here. It's our Christian duty."

Vin's eyes widened slightly in anger as he stepped closer. The Klines stepped back, a little afraid.

"I didn't see too many of you actin' Christian when he was gone," Vin replied heatedly. "Did hear a lot of you jawin' about what a mangy lyin' dog he was an' what a good thing it was that he was gone. You didn't appreciate him none then or come to his defense, so you'll forgive me if I'm findin' this sudden change of heart a mite hard t'swallow."

The Klines stared at him, shocked.

"How absurd!" Mr. Kline finally coughed. "This is a fine way to treat us, Tanner, after we've come here in a show of good faith."

Vin fixed him with a blue-eyed stare. "Ezra needed that good faith a lot more when there wasn't nobody believin' in him, Mr. Kline," he pointed out. "You an' your friends spent the last two months sayin' Ezra was scum, an' now you think bringin' round a day-old pie's gonna fix that right up."

Mrs. Kline snorted. "Well, what else would you have us *do*, Mr. Tanner, we're not doctors!"

Vin studied her. "No, ma'am, but I heard tell you were a nurse once, durin' the war."

She started. "Uh-well-I did do some nursing in Washington-"

Vin nodded. "Ezra's gonna need a heap of care t'get back on his feet again, ma'am. Nathan's a good man but he sure could use some help. Reckon he wouldn't mind you givin' him a hand."

She sputtered, then recovered, her vice becoming smooth and patronizing. "Well now-well, that's impossible, Mr. Tanner, simply impossible, I have far too many obligations as it is. No, no, I just can't."

Vin eyed her sadly for a moment, then looked at Mr. Kline. "I was just on my way over to the saloon. Maybe you could join me, an' tell all them men you was wrong about Ezra."

Kline frowned. "Now Mr. Tanner, you know I have to open the bakery."

The tracker glanced at the sun. "Bakery opens at eleven, that's two hours away yet. This wouldn't take more'n a minute."

Kline glared at him. "It can't be done. I'll tell them-later."

Vin sighed and nodded slowly, his blue eyes traveling over their faces. "Sounds t'me like you're here t'make yourselves feel better, not Ezra." he tugged at his hat brim and turned away.

"Don't you want the pie?" Mrs. Kline asked sharply.

Vin looked back at her, and without a word accepted the aging confection from her hands. He gave her a slight nod which she did not return.

"Let's go, Norma," Mr. Kline said, taking her arm and shooting a final insulted look at Vin. Vin did not react and watched them as they walked away, both of them muttering loud enough for him to hear.

"I told you, Norma, they're all like that, ruffians, all of them! Travis is insane to keep them on here."

"Well, we've done all *we* can do," he heard her huff back. "The idea! That I would touch that awful gambler-you know what they say about those men, they get such vile diseases from those gambling halls-"

A loud clattering noise commanded their attention, and they turned back to Vin. The tracker had tossed his grooming brush into a nearby bucket, but this action had clearly been performed just so they would turn around. He didn't look at them, but simply took the stale pie and placed it on the ground in front of Sire. The horse bent its head down eagerly and began munching on the pastry as its master straightened and walked back into the livery, throwing one last look at their shocked faces before disappearing into the dusty shadows.



"And he can have a few of these shirts too, I'm sure his old ones won't fit him, poor soul."

Mrs. Potter's voice carried a busy, efficient tone as she placed two fine white mens' shirts on the counter in front of Josiah. He was her only customer in the small general store at the moment, but the expression of genuine concern in her brown eyes revealed that the stout proprietress would be giving him her full attention, even if she were surrounded by a dozen other patrons.

The former preacher nodded at the small mountain of wares which lay before him, mostly toilet articles and clothing. "Thank you, Mrs. Potter, I'm sure Ezra'll be right grateful to your for your kindness."

"Well, he deserves it," she replied firmly. "You just tell him we want to see him up and about quick as possible, and that the whole town missed him terribly. Well," she averred, "some of us, anyway. And he's not to give me a penny for any of this, it's my contribution to his gettin' better."

Josiah smiled gently. "He'll sure appreciate that, ma'am."

She peered at him sharply as her practiced hands swiftly wrapped the goods. "And if you don't mind my sayin' so, Mr. Sanchez, you're looking a trifle peaked yourself. Did you stay up with Mr. Standish all night?"

He barely stifled a yawn. "'Fraid so, Mrs. Potter, but I'll be all right. The Lord worked for six days straight, reckon I can too."

She eyed him with disapproval. "I believe the good Lord has a bit more stamina than you do, Josiah." She handed him the large paper-wrapped bundle. "Now if you or Mr. Jackson need anything else, just let me know. I'll be more than happy to sit with Mr. Standish for a while if it'll relieve the burden on you boys any."

Josiah accepted the parcel with a somber expression. "That's right Christian of you, ma'am, but-" he hesitated- "well, I should warn you, you'd be mighty shocked at the way Ezra is right now. Might not be a sight you ought to see."

She met his gaze with clear eyes. "I know he's in a bad way, Mr. Sanchez, but after everything he and all of you have done for us, I want to help in any way I can. I believe I could bear the shock, if I knew my bein' there was helping him. He shouldn't have to suffer alone."

Her concern brought a somber smile to Josiah's face, and he nodded slightly. "With such souls as yours around, ma'am, I'm sure he won't. Much obliged."

He gave his battered hat brim a brief tug as he regarded her with a grateful expression, settled the bundle in his arms, and left the store. As he stepped outside onto the busy boardwalk, he took a deep breath, his mind full of reflective thoughts. It never ceased to amaze him that brutality and compassion could exist together in such degrees without one destroying the other. Another riddle of God's, he supposed as he hastened down the street towards the saloon, and as such he could not hope to understand it. He was too weary to try anyway.

As he strode down the road, he saw Chris walking towards him, head down, smoking a cheroot and looking intensely occupied. As they drew near to each other, something-perhaps his gunslingers' instinct-caused Chris to look up, and he nodded to the preacher as they met.

"Bout ready to ride?" Josiah asked, noticing his friend's alert expression. The man's green eyes were fairly glowing with energy.

Chris took the cheroot from his mouth and blew a thin stream of blue-gray smoke angrily into the air. "Been ready since we rode into that fort," he replied. "Vin figures they're headed to Purgatorio, that's where we'll start."

Josiah shook his head. "Amazin' how they call it Purgatory but the sinners there never get cleansed," he observed.

"We'll clean out Wolf Parsons soon enough," the other man promised, placing the cheroot back in his mouth. He glanced at the package in Josiah's arms. "Spendin' your wages?"

"Hm? Oh," Josiah looked down at the bundle. "Few things from Mrs. Potter for Ezra. She wants to help, even offered to sit with 'im, but...I don't think she should see 'im yet. Not til he's healed up some."

Chris nodded, looking away at the growing crowd bustling around them. "Might want to take her up on it later, you likely won't be gettin' too many offers like that from this bunch."

"Just might have to, at that," his comrade agreed sadly. "He's got a long journey ahead of him. Now I reckon I best go see how our friend is farin' today. God speed you on your journey, Chris."

He nodded at Chris and stepped off the boardwalk towards the saloon.

"Josiah?" Chris called.

The preacher turned back and looked at Chris expectantly. The other man was regarding him with a deadly expression.

"Tell Ezra we're gonna find the scum who did this to him," Chris said in a low and lethal whisper. "Maybe that'll help."

Josiah smiled a bit. "I'll be sure t'tell 'im, Chris. But I bet he already knows."



Buck pushed his way through the batwing doors of the Standish Tavern and stood for a moment, taking stock of the room. He sighed and ran one hand through his thick, unkempt black hair; he hadn't slept well at all, but was determined to shake it off. They had work to do.

He finally spied JD seated alone in the back corner and began making his way to the table. Concern clouded his eyes; JD almost never sat in the back to eat. The kid loved the bustle and activity of the morning and rarely shunned people. Damn, he thought wearily, something's up with the kid and I got to ride. Can't any of us find some good luck for a change?

Quickly he sidled up to the bar where Inez was scraping some plates. She looked up and flashed a pleasant but busy smile.

"Buenes dias, Senor Buck."

"Howdy, Inez," Buck replied in a preoccupied tone, still studying JD. the young man was picking absently at a plate of food, but eating nothing, and that really worried Buck. Normally the kid had the appetite of a horse. "Gimme a coffee, darlin', I'm ridin' out."

"Very well," she said, laying down her chore and picking up the coffee pot and a clean cup. When she saw Buck reach for his money, she stopped him with a small, sharp sound. "This one is on the house, Senor. You are going after those evil men, and I want to make my contribution to your fight in any way I can."

Buck sighed as he leaned on the counter. "Thank you kindly, Inez. How's that little gal doin'?"

"Well enough," was the cautious reply as she poured the coffee out in a brown, steaming stream. "We have wired her town, her family should be here soon. But she still cries in the night and cannot sleep." She set down the pot with an aggravated thump. "It will be a long time before she is well again."

Buck's mouth twitched with sorrow as he dropped his eyes. The guilt burning his gut was painful, but he accepted it, determined to draw strength from the anguish.

Inez's brown eyes were dark with anger as she handed the cup to Buck. "You must find them, Senor. I want her to know they will not be coming after her in the night."

"Don't you worry on that, Inez," Buck promised her, as he sipped the strong brew. "We won't be comin' back without 'em."

She drew a deep breath and wiped her brow. "I pray you do not. She wants to see Senor Ezra too, but...he is not well either, such a sight will only upset her."

He winced, remembering how the sight of Ezra had cut him to the soul. "You're right on that, darlin'."

She shook her head. "My heart aches for him so much, Senor." She glanced at the corner and sighed. "Then there is JD. He has been staring at that food for an hour, and not taken a bite."

Buck frowned. "Now that ain't like the boy." He picked up the cup. "'Scuse me, Inez. Reckon I ought to try an' get to the bottom of this before I leave."

"I wish you luck, Senor," Inez said sadly, and went back to cleaning the plates as Buck moved off.

Buck took another sip of coffee and walked over to the corner table, trying to read JD's mood. The boy seemed upset, no doubt about it, and so preoccupied that he didn't notice Bucks' approach.

"Hey there, JD," he said as he sat down at the table.

JD looked up in a rather apathetic manner. "Mornin', Buck," he said in a tone of forced friendliness. A false smile pushed onto his lips. "Ready for the ride?"

Buck looked at his young friend closely; the kid looked like hell, all baggy-eyed and tuckered out. "You look 'bout ready for the undertaker there, JD. You feelin' all right?"

JD pretended to be surprised at such a question. "Huh? Oh yeah, sure, fine. Uh, just a bad night is all."

Buck put down his cup and straightened himself in his seat, his face settling into stern lines. "Looks like a bunch of bad nights t'me, son. Look here, JD, if I'm gonna ride out of here leavin' you to help watch after things, I got to know if you're up to it. Ol' Buck's been around enough to know a shovelful when he hears it. Somethin's eatin' you."

He saw JD wince and look down at his plate, as if he wanted to hide.

"Is it 'cause of what happened to Ezra?" Buck pressed.

An uncertain look crossed JD's tired face, and he swallowed, growing slightly pale.

Buck nodded. "Thought so. Now don't you worry, Nathan'll have that ol' hustler back here fleecin' folks before you know it."

JD sighed angrily and faced Buck, his hazel eyes snapping. "Dammit, Buck, I ain't a child!" he said in a frustrated voice. "Everyone keeps tellin' me Ezra's gonna be just fine, like I wasn't there. Like I didn't see what they...what they did to him. He ain't gonna be fine, Buck, not for a long time, is he?"

This caught Buck by surprise, and he sat back, considering. Finally he drew a long breath.

"I know you ain't no child, JD," he said quietly. "They hurt Ezra pretty bad, there's no denyin' that, but Nathan's doin' all he can to see he gets through this. You an' Josiah can help too, an' when we get Parsons back here we'll see he swings for what he done. An' I reckon that's all we can do."

JD nodded absently, but his eyes were distant as he whispered, "I know. But...I don't know if I can help Nathan any, Buck. I-I don't think I can stand to go in that room, and see Ezra all tore up like that. It makes me sick to think..." his voice trailed off, and he looked away, his face wreathed in anguish. "I can't stop thinkin' about what we saw in there, Buck, all them dead people shot down like they was cattle. I don't want to think about it, but I can't make it stop. I-I've never seen nothin' like that. Ever."

Buck eyed his friend sadly, knowing that he was witnessing the death of some of the young man's illusions. It always hit a man hard to learn firsthand about the existence of cruelty in the world and realize just what he had to face. JD's lesson had to come sometime, but damn, this was a tough way to learn.

"I'm sorry, kid," he finally said in a hushed voice. "But that's what we're fightin' out here. I know it's rough, but if you want to join that fight, you best get used to it."

JD sighed and rubbed his face as he looked back at Buck, the anger still shining in his eyes. "Get used to what, Buck? Seein' my friends beat up, an' dozens of innocent people shot to death?" he shook his head as he dragged one hand through his hair. "Don't think I could get used to that, Buck. Not ever."

Silence fell between them for a long time, JD staring morosely at his cold food lost in thought, while Buck watched him carefully. More people filtered into the saloon; in the glare of sunlight streaming through the doors, Buck saw the dark figure of Chris approaching them. It would be time to go soon.

He leaned towards JD. "We got to ride son, kid. You gonna be all right?"

JD didn't look at him as he nodded, pushing a few stray strands of long black hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe. Just...have to do some thinkin', I guess. Have to admit it's a part of bein' in the West that I didn't count on."

His older friend gave him a sympathetic nod as he put his hat on. "Yeah, I know, kid. I know."

Chris walked up to them, full saddlebags slung over his shoulder. "Vin says they're headed for Purgatorio," he said in greeting.

"Then so're we, I reckon," Buck replied, and drained his coffee cup.

Chris looked over at JD. "JD, you an' Josiah an' Nathan can watch things here." He looked closer. "You feelin' all right?"

JD nodded quickly, after a sharp glance at Buck. "Yeah, just tired. What should I tell folks if they ask where you went?"

"Just tell 'em we went ridin' an' you don't know when we'll be back," was the firm reply. "Don't imagine they'll be curious, unless somethin' happens."

"Don't you worry on that, ol' pard," Buck assured him as he rose. "Let's just go get on Parsons' trail an' make him do some worryin' for a change."

Chris nodded to JD and turned, making his way back out of the saloon.

"Shouldn't be gone too long, kid," Buck said, giving JD a whap on the shoulder. "You just do the thinkin' you got to do, an' we'll see you when we got Parsons' ass in irons."

JD looked up at his friend, and Buck could see the concern there even in the dim light of the saloon. "All right, Buck, but...This Parsons, he seems like he's crazy for blood or somethin'. Watch your back, okay?"

Buck gave him a solemn nod. "Don't worry, JD, I won't go doin' nothin' foolish with Parsons around." To which he silently added, "not this time."



Few of the townspeople bothered to watch as Chris, Vin and Buck rode out of town. Most of them were too busy speculating on how the gambler had gotten so badly injured, with the comments ranging from a stagecoach accident to a particularly nasty barroom brawl. None of them ventured the opinion that his wounds had been sustained by anything resembling a selfless act; that seemed too fantastic.

They trotted by the Clarion. Mary was on the porch sorting out the remainders of her weekly issue; as Chris rode by, their eyes locked. Since they were disobeying the Judge's official wishes, Mary could not give any hint that she knew where there were going, lest suspicion be aroused. But there was enough contained in that glance to convey her wish that their journey be successful, and that they all might return unharmed.

The men tapped their brims to her without a word, continued onward, and were soon thundering away from the edges of town, into the desert and the dangerous prey it held spread wide before them.



As Ezra left the dark confines of oblivion, he realized something was terribly wrong, something which froze the blood in his veins and set his heart to pounding with beast-like terror.

The first thing he felt was cold, rough stone scraping against his face. A damp, all-consuming chill enveloped his body, accompanied by deep and total pain burning through his entire being. Confusion swamped his half-conscious mind; what was happening? It felt like-like-

Like he was back in his cell.

He tried to move, and found that it was impossible. Sharp iron manacles bound his wrists to the stone wall he was facing, spreading his arms out to almost their full breadth. He could feel their malicious bite as they ate into his wrists; it was a familiar feeling, one he had thought was over for good. Almost panicked now, he opened his eyes, then quickly squeezed them shut again as they met a painfully blinding glare-the glare of lamps and torches made purposefully bright.

"He's wakin' up!" one remembered voice called.

"About time," he heard another grunt.

Oh Lord, Ezra moaned to himself, trying to struggle. Oh Lord, he was back in the dungeon room, but that was impossible. His friends had rescued him, he'd seen them, this had to be a dream. Unless...that was the dream, and this was the reality.

His heart sank at the hellish prospect, and he couldn't prevent a broken moan from escaping his bloodied lips.

"Hey, he is awake!" a third voice laughed, and he felt someone grab his hair, pulling his head back in a sharp, agonizing gesture. "Ready for more, are ya, Reb?"

Ezra could only open his eyes for a moment, tears streaming from his eyes, and not only from the brilliant light which seared them. But he could see that he was in fact in his cell, which he had thought he had escaped forever, surrounded by the men who had tortured him. They were regarding him with mocking faces.

He tried to shake his head, despite the iron grip of his captor. "No," he whispered, closing his eyes again, "no, this...can't be real..."

The man laughed. "Real? Course it's real, you Southern bastard, and in a minute you're gonna feel just how real this is."

"Bet he thought he'd been rescued," one of the other men sneered. "I've heard they dream that sometimes an' think it's true."

"That it?" the first man grinned, shaking Ezra's head. "As if anyone would come after a piece of shit like you. Well, you can forget that idea. You ain't learned your lesson yet."

Ezra's throat was so dry it burned; no, he kept telling himself, that can't be true, I saw Chris and the others, they were here. I know they were. Lord, am I going mad?

The man let go of his hair, and Ezra sagged in the chains, momentarily stunned. This felt real, as real as the other experience, and he started to believe that maybe it was true. He'd dreamt the whole thing, and was still a prisoner.

Oh God, he thought as he choked back a sob; he didn't want to break down in front of these vermin, but it was almost too much to bear. He'd been so relieved, so glad to be home, only to find now that none of it had been real. The pain would continue, and he didn't think he could hang on anymore. A few tears trickled down his bloodied cheeks as he fought the urge to scream, to cry out, to just let go and the hell with dignity. He could hear them laughing behind him; they were really enjoying this.

He shuddered, trying desperately to control himself. He couldn't let himself go mad, although his heart was broken with despair. There was still a chance, as long as he was alive, that they could still come for him. His rescue had been a dream, but perhaps he could remember that dream and use it to give himself strength. It might be true, someday, as true as this was now. But it was so hard, and his weary soul felt so heavy...

The cold became freezing, the bright torches like blazing suns even to his closed eyes; for a moment his entire body was consumed by a single sensation of agony, such as he had never felt before. He cried out, unable to stop himself, and pulled once more on the chains which bound him to the wall, his anguished soul calling for the friends he knew would come, if they could only find him.

As he pulled on the chains, they suddenly gave way, and he felt himself falling backwards, unable to break his fall to the hard rock floor. None of his captors came to his aid, and he braced himself, dreading the agony to come. A blast of cold wind whipped his falling body, extinguishing the torches, and he found himself falling in darkness.

Terror seized him as he felt himself plummet backwards through the seemingly endless abyss. The darkness around him was so thick he could almost feel it wrapping around him, grasping at his torn body and pulling it down.

He continued to fall, and a strange sensation overtook his exhausted body. His descent slowed, it seemed, until he felt more like he was floating downwards. The harsh chill of the surrounding darkness changed as well, becoming very soft and warm. And still he did not strike the floor. He frowned; what as happening? Perhaps he had finally gone mad.

Arms wrapped around him, and he gasped. They had him; soon he would be bound to the wall again, and it would continue. It remained dark, and he could not see who held him. His struggles were ineffectual, but he felt compelled to make them nonetheless.

These arms, however, did not seem intent on torturing him. Instead, they continued to hold him in what seemed like an embrace, cradling his bruised and bleeding body in their comforting touch. Ezra lay for a moment, panting and puzzled, shaking violently from the pain and fear.

"Easy there, brother," he heard a voice say. Ezra gasped to himself; Josiah! Oh Lord, had he been brought to this hell on earth as well? It was bad enough to suffer himself, but if he had to endure watching Josiah suffer too...Gingerly he reached up, taking a handful of Josiah's shirt in his hand. He was real, and here. Here...

"It's all right now, Ezra," he heard his friend say; the embrace tightened a little, and Ezra found the motion indescribably soothing. He clutched weakly at Josiah's shirt, the burning sobs in his chest rising to his throat as he lay powerless to stop them. But he had to control himself, his captors were probably still nearby, watching...

"Got that tea ready, Nate?" he heard Josiah say, and Ezra's heart almost stopped. Nathan! Was he here too? God, they'd kill him. It was more than he could take, to see Nathan suffer too. But how could Nathan make tea here, and in the dark?

"Almost," he heard Nathan say. "Should keep them nightmares from comin' back for a while. Sounds like this one was powerful bad."

"He might be wakin' up again," Josiah replied. "C'mon now, Ezra, you got nothin' to shout about. You're home, remember?"

Ezra frowned to himself; now that really didn't make sense. He settled, still trembling, in Josiah's arms and tried desperately to assess the situation. He could feel his mind beginning to clear, the terror and pain dissipating. He was lying-not on the floor of his cell, but on something warm and yielding. His featherbed. He felt the smooth cotton sheets rubbing his healing skin, and the eiderdown quilt tangled around his bare legs. It all felt real, but so had the cell.

God, he thought, what on earth is going on here? Was this a dream, or had he been trapped in the worst of nightmares? He tried to open his eyes, but found he couldn't. Something was wrapped around his head. A blindfold.

He coughed, choking on the tears of anguish still burning his chest. He gripped Josiah's arm. "Josiah?" he said; it was no more than a whisper.

A voice reached his ear, gentle and welcome. "Yeah. Just relax, you were dreamin'."

Ezra gasped, disbelieving. "Have...to see..."

"Your eyes can't take the light just yet," Nathan cautioned; Ezra felt a restraining arm lightly placed on his shoulder.

But he shook his head as strongly as he could, trembling even more now. "Take it off, please," he whispered firmly, "just...for a moment."

There was a pause. Josiah said, "It's dark enough in here, Nathan, it should be all right. He seems a mite confused, we got to let him know he's safe."

"All right," Nathan said, and Ezra felt him loosening the knots at the back of the wrapping. "Just for a moment. Open 'em nice an' slow, Ezra."

The cloth came away, and Ezra winced as the dim light struck his closed eyes. But he had to see for himself; he was feeling more awake, and a joyous suspicion was building in his heart. He had to know if it was true.

Very slowly, he opened his eyes.

The light in the room was very dim, but still it pierced his eyes like a sun, and for a moment he closed them again, unsure if he could do this. Then, gradually, he forced them open again. It would only be for a moment.

In the glare he could see his room, a sight which had not met his gaze for what seemed like an eternity. Through an uncertain haze he could make out only a few things, but enough to see that he was lying on his bed, in his room above the saloon. Heavy curtains over the window masked the sunlight; only a few rays dribbled in at the edges. He looked up to see Josiah bending over him, and Nathan sitting nearby.

For a moment he could not move, overwhelmed with emotion. This was real, he realized; he could tell, he was awake now, enough to know that he was not trapped in the nightmare any longer. It was true, they had come for him and he was home. The desperate prayers he had uttered in agony and isolation had been answered; his torment was over, and he was free.

He stared at them for a few moments, then choked; the burning sobs which had lay in his chest came bursting out as he buried his face in Josiah's shoulder. It was unseemly for a gentleman to give way so, he knew, but his joy and relief were too great to bear any other way. The anguish of his ordeal poured from him in a hot, unstoppable flood, and as he clung to Josiah he gave vent to his agony, the tears wrung from the depths of his soul.

The preacher seemed to understand; he simply held Ezra as he sobbed, stroking his hair slightly and murmuring words of comfort. Ezra accepted the touch with the desperation of a soul which had known only horrific pain and loneliness for so long, a soul which now rejoiced that its ordeal was at an end. There were no words to tell them the feelings in his heart that they had found him, no voice he could use to tell them what it felt like to gain sanctuary after suffering the torments of the damned. Ezra could only hang on to Josiah and endure the violent sobs as they tore through his frail body, every tear cleansing his weary soul.

How long he wept in Josiah's arms, Ezra had no idea. The sobs died down; Ezra blinked back the hot tears as they slowed to a trickle, suddenly ashamed of himself for such a display.

"You all right now?" he heard Josiah ask.

Ezra took a few deep, very shaky breaths, and slowly nodded. "Yes," he whispered, "I...was simply..." He faltered; what words could he use to describe it?

"Don't worry on it, Ezra," he heard Nathan say, in a voice which suggested to Ezra that the former slave had some idea of what he was enduring.

The gambler nodded, grateful that he didn't have to explain, and tried to squeeze his closed eyes more tightly shut; the light, though dim, was beginning to trouble him, now that the explosive emotion of the moment had passed.

"I'm gonna put you back down now, Ezra," Josiah said, and Ezra felt himself being lowered very carefully on his side back onto the featherbed. Drained and exhausted, Ezra sighed as he felt the welcome embrace of the bed once more enfold him. A cloth gently dabbed his face, cleaning away the tears.

Ezra licked his lips. "I...apologize for the outburst," he breathed, the shame returning. "Most...unmanly of me..."

"Hell, Ezra, what you been through would make most men wake up screamin'," he heard Nathan say. The cloth disappeared. "Got some tea here that should keep them nightmares away for a while. Hold on."

He felt someone gently lift his head, and the blindfold was tied back around his eyes, plunging him once more into darkness. But this time it was welcome; it promised rest, and relief from the glaring light.

"Is this...permanent?' he gasped, touching the blindfold, suddenly afraid.

"Naw, just til your eyes get used t'light again," Nathan assured him. "Here."

He felt the cold lip of a tin cup touch his mouth. He parted his lips a little and drank the sweet brew eagerly; the relentless torrent of tears had left him parched. As the cup was taken away he settled back down.

"Bet you got a million questions," he heard Josiah say as the covers were arranged over his shoulder.

"Million and one," Ezra yawned, nestling his head into the down pillow and reveling in its reality. His fears now soothed, Ezra wanted only to sleep, and whatever Nathan had put in the tea was working rapidly to fulfill that wish.

"They'll be answered," was the reassuring reply. "Just get some rest now an' don't worry. You're home."

A few more words were spoken, but Ezra was too overwhelmed by the tea's powerful effect to make them out. An overpowering drowsiness consumed him, and he did not resist as it bore him swiftly into a soft darkness too deep for dreams.


Josiah sat up, watching with worried blue eyes as Ezra drifted off.

"Think he'll be all right now?" he asked Nathan as he straightened his tear-stained shirt.

Nathan drew a heavy sigh, placing the empty cup down on the nightstand. "Can't rightly say, Josiah. I can give 'im this tea for a while, but sooner or later he'll have t'stop drinkin' it. Otherwise he'll get to where he can't do without it."

His friend nodded, dropping his gaze to Ezra's peaceful face, still so gaunt and battered. "He won't much like what we got to tell 'im about the fort, neither. That he an' Contessa are the only ones who survived."

"Best to take this one step at a time," Nathan cautioned. "Now that Chris an' Vin an' Buck have gone after Parsons, maybe we'll have some good news to give t'Ezra before long."

"I think he'll be needin' it," Josiah observed as he stood. "I'm goin' over to the church an' get a clean shirt, Nate. Be right back."

Nathan's expression was thoughtful as he nodded. "Only time I ever saw men weep like that was durin' the war, when the slaves got their freedom. Never thought I'd see Ezra cry like that."

The other man's face was solemn. "Salvation has the power to drive the hardest man to tears, Nathan. We can only hope that Ezra's time for tears is done."

He opened the door and slipped out. Nathan watched him leave, then sat back and prepared to keep watch over the slumbering gambler, his mind deep in contemplation. The former slaves' tears had not ended when freedom came, and he could not quell the fear that Ezra's path would follow the same difficult course.



The desert wind gently ruffled the tall prairie grass as it strove to cool the hot summer afternoon. It was a beautiful day, full of azure blue skies and bright sunshine, but all of the efforts of nature could not distract the three riders as they rode through the landscape without paying the slightest bit of attention to its grandeur. At this moment, the only part of the land they had any care for was the ground, which they were all studying with intense concentration.

"We're on the right track," Vin announced. "They came this way."

"Can you make out how many?" Buck inquired as he mopped his perspiring brow. "They mighta got the idea of pickin' up some new guns on the way South."

Vin shook his head. "Looks like just two, Buck. Must be Wolf an' that lady of his."

Buck's blue eyes grew grim. He nodded and said nothing.

"I know it'll be hard, but we got to take 'em alive," Chris said in a voice tight with anger. "These bastards don't deserve nothin' but the noose."

"Hangin's too good for 'em," Buck whispered, mostly to himself, as he rode along.

Vin and Chris glanced at him, and Vin shook his head. "Never thought I'd hear Wilmington say the rope was too good for a lady," he observed with mild surprise.

Chris merely shrugged. "Reckon Buck don't think she's a lady. I'd agree."

They rode on for a while in silence, Vin keeping a close eye on the trail, Chris and Buck watching the surrounding rocks and hills for any signs of their prey.

Dusk was still a few hours away when they crested the hill overlooking the border crossing into Mexico. As they did so, each man glanced at the landscape, careful to determine what lay before them.

"Aw, *Hell*," Chris muttered.

Spread before them in the near distance was a small army of blue-coated Federal army troops, mostly cavalry, camped at the edge of the United States line. They could make out the dark forms of the men and their horses as they stood in small groups, talking and eating, but Chris and the others were too far away to be seen by the soldiers.

"Dang, that Stephenson fella moves fast," Buck noted sourly, leaning forward in his saddle and looking over the troops with a frown.

"Looks like he's stopped movin'," was Chris's remark as his green eyes flicked over the bluecoats.

"Reckon he's bein' careful goin' over the border," Vin noted as his blue eyes darted up to the area where Mexico lay. "If he just marched into Mexico he'd risk startin' a fight."

"He's doin' it nice an' safe, all right," Chris said as he sat up. "Meanwhile, Parsons is gettin' away." He looked at the others. "If we get caught it'll be the stockade, so we'll have to go around 'em."

Vin nodded and pulled his hat low. "I know a few back ways in. C'mon."

He rode away, followed by his two comrades, both of whom carefully glanced at the soldiers who were still unaware of their presence.

They had ridden some distance when the jangling of an approaching horsemen set them all on edge. Chris looked up and saw a Union rider trotting towards them from the camp, rifle in one hand. As he neared, the men could tell he was a private, young and fresh-faced, barely nineteen.

"Great," Chris sighed in a tight voice as the boy drew closer. Well aware that trying to outride the soldier would only lead to pursuit and possible arrest, the three men reined in and waited, Chris's eyes darting furiously as his mind worked.

"Halt!" the young trooper shouted when he was close enough; his voice was thin but strong, full of naive confidence. He seemed to get younger as he got closer, and as he reined in his mount in front of the three lawmen, they could all see that the boy was even younger than JD. Unruly blonde hair insisted on tugging itself from underneath his kepi, and his fair skin had yet to feel its first bad sunburn. But his blue eyes were bright with eagerness to do his duty well.

"Just ridin' by, son," Chris replied in a calm tone as the soldier steadied his horse.

The young private's eyes swept over them, and he sat up in his saddle a bit, as if to add authoritative stature to his still-growing form. "This is a Federal Army campground, sir. The commander has deemed it off limits to civilian riders. I'll have to ask your business."

"Is that really necessary?" Chris replied smoothly, giving the young man a dangerously steady glare.

The soldier winced a bit, losing some of his puff. "Yes, sir. The, uh, commander demands it."

"What's your name, son?" Buck inquired with a slight grin.

The private glanced at him, then sat as straight in the saddle as he could. "Private Henry Thomas, U.S. Cavalry."

Buck nodded a little and smiled wider. "Got you pullin' guard duty, huh? You musta just got out here."

Pvt. Thomas gave a slight shrug as some of his enthusiasm seemed to drift off. "Yes, well, it's a small price to pay for the honor of serving my country. At least that's what my uncle tells me."

He suddenly recollected himself, and pulled himself up a bit. "All right, now, all I can tell you gentlemen is we're after some mighty bad desperadoes, so if I don't get some answers I'll have to take you before our Commander, and he's not the type to go easy on anyone even if they are civilians."

"Fair enough, Private," Buck replied. "We're just passin' by on our way south an' will be more'n happy to ride around your army."

Thomas nodded, then glanced over at Chris, his eyes widening. "Hey-are you gunmen?"

All three men tensed. Chris said nothing, but Buck saw a muscle in his jaw twitch slightly.

"Sorry if you're not," the soldier said quickly, "it's just, if you are, I've heard of men like you, from the papers. All them wild stories about life out here, you know."

Buck grinned. "Hate t'tell you this, Private, but most of that stuff's pure hooey."

"Well, even if only a small part's true, it'd be enough for me," was the excited reply. "Are you men cattle drivers or Rangers?"

"Sorry, kid," Vin said quietly. "Nothin' quite that interestin'." He was becoming worried at the long detention.

"You want excitement, Private, I'm sure you'll find enough in the Army t'last you a lifetime," Buck assured him as he gathered up the reins.

Thomas shrugged. "That's what my uncle tells me, but it's been pretty boring so far."

"You want it to stay that way, trust me," Chris admonished him. "We through here?"

The soldier hefted his rifle against his shoulder. "You can ride around the perimeter of the camp. And remember, you're traveling at your own risk. We think there's a murdering outlaw somewhere close by. But as soon as we get permission from the Mexican government we'll be going down there to catch him."

"We'll be sure to keep our eyes out," Buck said with a nod, and the three men rode off into the dust. The private watched them go with a slightly wistful expression, then spurred his mount along to continue his patrol.

"Looks like JD ain't the only one fooled by them dang dime novels," Buck muttered as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Least he didn't shoot us," Chris remarked.

"Best get to Purgatorio before the Army does," Vin said. "One look at that bunch an' Parsons'll know he's bein' chased. It'll make 'im that much harder t'find."

"We'll find 'im," Chris promised, and kicked his horse into a run with a loud, angry shout. Vin and Buck followed, a plum of golden dust swirling in their wake as they tore towards the border and Purgatorio.



Josiah carefully trimmed the wick of the small oil lamp, turning it down as far as it would go without being extinguished completely. The dim glow from the tiny, flickering flame threw the barest illumination upon the walls of Ezra's room, and the preacher knew it would be difficult to read by. But it would serve. He carefully placed the glass chimney over the fragile light and sat back, ready to keep his watch from the corner of the small rented chamber.

It was night now. Down below in the saloon, all was the usual noise and laughter could be softly heard through the polished floorboards and closed door. As Josiah settled into the rocking chair, he glanced with concern at Ezra, hoping the ruckus from below would not interrupt the gambler's much-needed rest.

From all appearances, however, there was no need to worry. Ezra continued to sleep undisturbed, still firmly huddled beneath the soft quilt. The blindfold lay on the table next to the bed. No more nightmares had tormented his rest, but as Josiah endeavored to read his book by the faint lamplight, his heart lay far from easy. It seemed too much to hope that the worst was over.

Two hours passed; the crowd below grew more vigorous in their revels; Ezra slept on. Midnight came and went, and the noise finally began to abate as the drunk and disorderly patrons passed out or staggered home to bed.

As Josiah checked his pocketwatch a short time later, he heard a slight rustling sound. He glanced up, and saw Ezra beginning to stir beneath the warm covers. Quickly the preacher lay down his book and drew closer, unsure of what frame of mind his friend would be in when he opened his eyes. He braced himself, prepared for anything.

Ezra's gentle motion stopped, and Josiah watched as the gambler nestled his head into the down pillow, paused for a moment, then very slowly blinked open his eyes. He winced at first, squinting severely against the glow streaming from the barely-lit lamp, but after a few moments managed to open his eyes wide enough to see. He lay unmoving as his eyes traveled around the room, their expression one of amazement. There was no confusion in those ice-green depths this time, only the faint cloudiness of the newly awakened.

Josiah smiled a little as Ezra's gaze rested on him. "Evenin', Ezra," he said softly, encouraged by the awareness in his friend's expression.

Ezra shifted a little in the bed as he licked his lips. "You'll forgive me if I am somewhat at a loss for words, Josiah," he whispered. "I fear my social skills are a little...out of practice."

"Aw hell, that's all right," was the easy reply as Josiah reached behind him for a cup of water. "I think I can promise absolution for that sin."

He lifted the cup to Ezra's lips, holding it carefully while the gambler drank. He knew Ezra would be thirsty, but it still surprised him how eagerly his comrade gulped at the cup's contents. But then, he thought sadly, it had probably been a while since Ezra had been able to have all the water he wanted.

Ezra sighed slightly as he settled back into the bed on his side. "I never thought water would taste better than brandy," he murmured.

"Fraid you'll have to wait a while til you're up to the brandy again," Josiah replied. "But it'll be waitin' for you."

Ezra gave a slight nod as his head sank back into the pillow. His bruised face now wore a distant, thoughtful expression, and Josiah prepared himself for the hard questions he knew were coming.

"How long?" Ezra finally asked in a soft whisper.

Josiah's face was solemn. "Two months."

The green eyes went to Josiah's face sharply, a somewhat shocked light burning in them. "Two months?" he breathed.

Josiah nodded.

Disbelief flashed across Ezra's face. "Is that all?"

Sadness stabbed at Josiah's heart; the surprise in Ezra's voice spoke immeasurably of the timeless agony he had endured. How many months or even years had passed for the gambler, locked alone in that dark cell undergoing the harshest cruelties? Here Josiah had been thinking how long those two months had been for them, but how much longer it must have been for Ezra, who did not even have the luxury of light or company to distract him from his suffering.

"I would have thought it a year, at least," Ezra continued with a sigh, closing his eyes again.

Josiah leaned forward. "I hope you knew we were sufferin' with you, brother," he said quietly, "an' not a minute of that time went by when we didn't miss your bein' here."

Ezra swallowed, his eyes staying closed. "I knew it, Josiah," he said softly, then opened his eyes a little as a smile touched his lips. "Well, most of the time, anyway. But it was quite...trying." The smile died, and a new, darker expression was born behind his eyes. His breathing hitched a bit.

"Easy, Ezra," Josiah said quickly, gently touching his friend's hand.

The gambler squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, weakly shaking his head. "I apologize, Josiah, it's just..." He swallowed once more, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. "I'm still having a little difficulty believing it's over. It...felt like forever."

Josiah nodded a little, his blue eyes shining with sympathy. "You'll believe it soon enough, Ezra. We're still gettin' over it ourselves. We all went near crazy lookin' for you, wonderin' where you went. All we knew was you were goin' to Clariston."

The other man's bruised face wrinkled in thought as he struggled to remember. "Yes," he said softly, "yes, I made it that far. While there I came across a gentleman who was selling his stagecoach ticket to Merrills Crossing; he couldn't use it, why I don't recall. I was feeling bored and bought it from him, thinking to inspect some saloons there for possible purchase. That's when our coach was robbed, and we were taken."

The words were faintly and slowly spoken, and by the end Ezra's voice had become laden with sorrow and a hint of fear at the recollection of how his suffering began.

Josiah leaned forward and gently gripped his shoulder, concerned. "You all right, Ezra?"

"Yes, yes," was the whispered reply. Ezra closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and gazed at Josiah, the haunted light gone now. He let his head sink farther into the pillow. "Does Mother know of any if this?"

Josiah smiled a little. "Yeah, she's been drivin' us crazy the whole time, wantin' to know where you were. Chris sent her a telegram, she should be here before too long. She's been mighty worried about you."

"Hm." Ezra's expression was pensive as he contemplated this idea; it seemed to be a mixture of surprise and puzzlement. Then he looked up at Josiah. "How on earth did you find me?"

"Nathan an' JD found a gal named Contessa wanderin' in the desert," Josiah replied, taking his hand from Ezra's and sitting back. "She told us what was happenin'. We rode on out to the fort, an' JD found the stairway to where they were holdin' you."

Ezra nodded a little, his eyes distant. "Hm. Did you find the vermin responsible?"

The preacher shook his head. "They rode off long before we got there, but Chris an' Buck an' Vin are after 'em. Shouldn't take 'em too long t'round 'em up."

"I should hope not," Ezra murmured, then chuckled a bit. "I imagine poor Nathan's gone about insane carin' for all those people."

Josiah glanced at him. "People?"

"Yes, you know," Ezra said as if it were obvious as he shifted a little in the soft bed. "All the others who were incarcerated with me in the fort. Lord, there must have been at least twenty. They were holding them for ransom, I believe, when I-"

He stopped and suddenly looked keenly at Josiah. The preacher gazed back, dreading the question that was probably coming.

"Josiah, what's wrong?" The words were softly whispered, a note of dire fear running through them.

His friend took a deep breath, hoping he could conceal the horrible news from Ezra just a little longer. It was too damn soon for him to have to know. "Ain't nothin' wrong. Now you best just lie-"

The wounded gambler lifted his head, a horrified gleam in his green eyes. "You are too fine a man to also be a fine liar, Mr. Sanchez," was the reply, "and I am receiving the distinct impression that you are hiding something from me." He licked his lips, a sudden, terrible thought occurring to him. "Is one of our number dead?"

"No, no," Josiah insisted. "We're all fine."

Relief flooded Ezra's pale face, but was soon replaced by dread. "Then...may I assume it has to do with those you rescued from the fort?"

Lying seemed impossible; even if Ezra hadn't been trained from infancy to be able to perceive the slightest falsehood, it would have been beyond Josiah's abilities to mislead his injured friend in such a way. But the truth seemed hardly less cruel, and he could find no words to frame it in.

He looked earnestly at Ezra. "I just don't think we ought to talk about it, Ezra. Not til you're well enough."

He never knew where Ezra got the strength, but the gambler managed to grasp Josiah's arm with one weak, trembling hand. The expression on Ezra's face was one of pure pleading as he looked up into Josiah's eyes.

"Josiah, please," he implored, "I promise you I can bear it, but I will not be able to close my eyes again until know the truth. I believe I have earned it."

Josiah thought for a few moments, then slowly nodded. "Yes, you have, Ezra, but it ain't a truth I want to share."

Ezra's insistent gaze compelled him to continue.

Josiah drew a deep breath. "The little gal, Contessa, told us about the fort. But when we got there the leader was gone, an' the woman he was with, but...they didn't leave anybody alive when they left."

The green eyes were round with horror as the implication of the words sank in. "Do you mean," he whispered in a rough voice, "that...out of all those people, even the women, *no* one else escaped alive?"

His friend uttered a very deep sigh as he folded his hands and gazed with the utmost compassion into Ezra's eyes. "I'm sorry, Ezra. You an' the gal were the only ones."

Ezra went pale as he slumped back against the pillow. "My God," he breathed, his wide gaze directed at nothing. One trembling hand came up to cover his eyes. He turned his face into the pillow, and for several minutes neither man said a word. Ezra's shoulders heaved repeatedly, and when he finally lifted his eyes they were wet with tears.

"Bastards," he whispered, looking past Josiah as he fell back wearily against the pillow, "bastards..."

Josiah reached out and gripped his shoulder. "If it'll help any, Ezra, most of the evildoers were sent to Hell by their boss's own hand. So the men who tormented you have already met with more justice than we could hope t'dish out."

Ezra wiped at his eyes with one trembling hand. "A hundred Hells could not hold enough punishment for those...those..." He swallowed hard. "There were two women, I met them on the stagecoach...I was...hoping they'd somehow found their way to freedom..."

Josiah shrugged a little. "Maybe they did, Ezra. It's been two months, an' we ain't sure who all the outlaws shot."

Ezra gasped a little and shuddered. "Forgive me, Josiah, but I am feeling less than optimistic at the moment." He huddled down into the bed, tears still glistening on his face. He glanced up at Josiah after a few moments, calmer now but puzzled. "But...if they executed all of their prisoners...why was I spared?"

The other man shook his head. "Don't know, Ezra, but I plan to thank God for the next ten years that you were. I reckon in all the fuss they just forgot you were down there."

Ezra gazed at him for a few moments, his eyes wide. Then the eyes moved away, but Ezra continued to lay completely still, contemplating what had happened and trying to comprehend it.

Josiah kept his hand on Ezra's shoulder. "I'm sorry you had t'be burdened with all this so soon, Ezra," he said quietly as he leaned closer. "But you know you don't got to carry it alone. Nathan an' JD an' me, we'll be by every step of the way. All you got to do is say the word."

For several moments Ezra didn't move, speak or react in any way. Just before Josiah became alarmed, the Southerner took a deep breath, and without looking at his friend whispered. "Thank you, Josiah, but for now I...I believe it would be best if I were left alone for a while."

Josiah hesitated. "You sure?"

Ezra closed his eyes tightly, as if fighting off a wave of intense emotion. "Yes, please. Just for a while."

Silence fell as Josiah contemplated the request, then slowly nodded. "All right then," he said as he rose. "One of us'll be just outside, though, if you need anything." He reached for the lamp. "Want me to douse the light so's you can get some-"

"NO!" The cry was almost panicked as Ezra's head shot up from the pillow, his eyes staring at the feeble light which was about to be extinguished. Josiah eyed him, worried, as the gambler regained control of himself. "No, it's...the light is fine, Josiah. Forgive me, but...I have had enough darkness to last the rest of my life."

"All right," Josiah said quickly, stepping away from the precious light as he took hold of the doorknob. "You just get some rest. We'll be by later. Cover your eyes, now, the light in the hallway's pretty bright."

Once he saw that Ezra had obeyed him, he carefully opened the door and stepped through, closing it once again softly behind him. He stood in the hallway for a short time, then walked slowly towards the stairs, contemplating with heavy sorrow the notion that while Ezra had finally been released his cell, it would be some time before the darkness which imprisoned him there would be fully lifted.

He said a silent, heartfelt prayer for his friend, and went downstairs.