Captives

by Sue

After discovering a long-missing Ezra close to death in the abandoned fortress hideout of a sadistic outlaw, Chris, Vin and Buck go in pursuit of his tormentor while Buck and JD deal with their own demons in the aftermath of the traumatic event. Complete.

5. Chapter 5

They quickly caught up with Vin and the others at the foot of the hills. Most of the soldiers had dismounted and were combing the moonlit area, rifles at the ready. Vin had his rifle in hand, and cast a quick look at his comrades as they arrived.

"Went off into the caves," the tracker announced, nodding at the large tangle of boulders that lay half-buried in the hills before them. They stretched on for almost the entire length of the hillside, providing the perfect place to hide and pick off pursuers.

"We'll flush 'im out," Buck promised as he hopped off of Beauty and drew his guns.

"Keep sharp," Chris warned, drawing his own weapons, and the men set off to comb the rocks and hills for the killer.

Silently they fanned out across the area, their boots thudding softly against the dusty earth and hard stones. Soon the area was alive with dark figures inching across the landscape, lit by the moon's pale glow as they went about their duty. The ground was very rocky and uncertain, small rocks giving way to immense, jumbled boulders, any of which could easily conceal a sniper. All was still and hushed except for the gentle sounds of their movement, until Buck felt he would go mad with anticipation.

A single gunshot shattered the illusory tranquility; one of the soldiers uttered a strangled cry and fell, his rifle clattering uselessly onto the rocky ground. More shots, and the soldiers returned the favor.

"He's over there!" one cried; they concentrated their fire on one spot. In the darkness they could see a dim form moving ahead, between the huge rocks, running further into the sheltering maze, firing as it ran.

"Vin!" Chris cried as he hopped form rock to rock, his back duster flapping as he ran. "You got 'im?"

"Just about," was the reply as Vin dashed along further up the hill, slightly ahead of his comrades. The firing stopped, but the soldiers continued to run, converging on the area where Parsons had emerged. Buck was panting now, running close behind Chris, his blue eyes sharply searching the dimly lit caverns and outcroppings which surrounded them. Damn, he thought, he could be anywhere.

Then, a quick movement, too fast for anyone but the sharp-eyed tracker to see. In half a second Vin's rifle was raised to his shoulder, one keen blue eye sighting down the barrel; there was an explosion as he quickly squeezed off a shot. From somewhere in the rocks came a loud curse, and Buck saw a gun spin onto the rocks, shot out of its owner's hand not far away. The tracker got off another round, then lowered his rifle, his face twisted in anger.

"Damn, missed!" he said, and nodded towards a large cluster of boulders sheltered by an enormous dead tree. "He's over there!"

"Parsons!" Buck cried, gripping his gun as he charged ahead.

"Buck, wait!" Chris cried.

But Buck couldn't wait for this. He'd already waited too long.

He ran ahead into the maze of rocks. High stone walls towered over him as he plunged into the mass, an array of bright shafts of moonlight and the darkest of shadows. Buck slowed his pace, his heart pounding as he studied the depths for any sign of movement. Overhead the dead tree loomed, its lifeless branches dissecting the moonlight into a spidery mottled pool of light.

Buck kept walking, slowly, listening, his gun held in a tight grip. The maze opened up into a clearing just beneath the hill where the tree stood, bounded on three sides by the huge rocks, the fourth by the eroded, rocky soil of the dying hill. Buck stopped and looked around, listening. Then realized, and turned, a moment too late.

Someone grabbed him from behind and threw him to the ground in a fierce embrace, clawing desperately to get at the gun Buck held in his hand. Buck growled and struck back, twisting in his assailant's grasp until he saw the face he had not laid eyes on, except in nightmares, for so many years: the ugly visage of One-Eyed Wolf Parsons.

"Well," Wolf gasped, a hideous smile spreading across his thin face, "Buck Wilmington. Still playin' lawman, I see."

He reared back and struck Buck viciously across the face.

Transported by fury, Buck barely felt the blow, and returned one just as ferocious.

"An' you're still playin' at bein' smart," he replied, and threw Wolf off him. The taller man rolled a short distance away, then leapt to his feet and landed a solid punch to Buck's gut as the other man was getting to his feet. Buck gasped, and Wolf was on him again, both hands trying to wrench the gun from his fist.

Gritting his teeth, Buck drove his elbow into Wolf's chest, grimly satisfied at the pained grunt which resulted. He did it again, and as Wolf bent double he lifted both hands and brought both fists and the butt of his gun down on the back of Wolf's head.

Wolf staggered and fell, pushing Buck down with him, slamming the lawman hard onto the rocky ground. Buck gasped a pain jolted his entire body, and lay stunned for the briefest second. Seeing his chance, Wolf clambered over Buck's supine body and grabbed the gun, his face twisting into a leer of triumph as his fingers curled around the trigger.

Buck came fully awake and dove at Wolf, knocking him sideways back onto the ground. he gun went off, the bullet striking the rock and sending a shower of rock splinters over both of them. They fell to the ground and grappled wildly, clawing, punching, Buck using all of his strength to push the gun away from his chest while Wolf used all of his power to aim it there.

Violent tremors shook Buck's body as all of the rage carried within him boiled through his soul. Years of shame and anger, and new memories of the agonies caused by Wolf's hand, lent strength to his efforts, and he battled with a power he had never felt before. He fought like a man possessed, and even with a gun, Wolf Parsons was outmatched.

Transported with fury, he lunged back and struck Parsons across the face with one fist. Wolf shook, tried to bring the gun towards Buck's chest. Buck pushed it away as if it were of no consequence and struck him again, almost howling in savage fury in the memory of what Parsons had done, the people at the fort, Ezra, Contessa, Henry Thomas.

Parsons tried to aim the gun again; Buck grabbed his arm, trying to force it away, and for a moment they struggled in a mute battle of strength, staring at each other in open savage hatred. Both men shook with the effort, sweat dripping from their dust-smeared faces. After several tense moments, Buck let out a angry gasp and slammed Parsons' hand to the ground, wrenching the gun from his hand and tossing it far away.

Parsons uttered an oath and delivered a swift kick into Buck's side. Buck grunted but didn't move, and retaliated by quickly burying his fist into Parsons' gut. Parsons gurgled, blood seeping from his lips, and attempted a return blow. Buck met and deflected it, and reaching out grabbed the outlaw by a handful of his long black hair. With one hand keeping a grip on Parsons' scalp, Buck let fly with one more blow across the killer's jaw.

The blow landed with a crack which resounded throughout the small grotto; Parsons shuddered, stunned, his jaw streaked with blood. Buck grit his teeth and delivered one more punch, releasing Parson's hair as he did so. The outlaw tumbled in a heap to the dusty stone floor and lay there motionless, bloody and gasping, beaten down at last.

As Parsons tried to pull his senses together, Buck got to his feet, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Buck was spent and covered with sweat, but wasted no time in scooping up the gun and aiming it at Parsons.

Parsons struggled to his knees and stayed there gulping for air, his face a mass of blood, his long hair hanging in sweaty, tangled strings. A few of the soldiers arrived; two of them ran forward and wasted no time tying Parsons up. In moments the outlaw's arms were bound tightly behind him. Buck watched silently, glaring, and when the soldiers were finished he told them with his eyes that he wasn't finished yet.

They took a few steps back and waited.

"There now," Buck gasped as he regarded his prisoner, his chest heaving as he tried to draw breath. "Feelin' more cooperative? Huh?"

Parsons shook his head. "Go to hell, Wilmington," he choked.

"Soon enough, I reckon," Buck replied faintly as he panted. "But I think you're gonna beat me there." He paused, shaking his head as he studied Parsons. "Dang, I oughta just shoot you right now. Hell with any trial."

He began walking slowly back and forth, not even noticing when Chris and the others arrived and stood at the mouth of the clearing, watching.

"Course, I could have some fun with you first. That's what you liked to do, wasn't it?" Buck snarled, pacing back and forth like a tiger perusing its future meal. "Yeah, reckon if I wanted to, I could make you howl. Just like you did to them poor prisoners at that fort. You wanna know what it feels like to scream your lungs out? Right now I bet I could let you know."

Parsons said nothing. Behind him, Chris, Vin, JD and the soldiers and townsmen watched silently.

Buck nodded as he walked back and forth, never taking his eyes off Parsons. "You like feelin' beat an' helpless, Wolf? Just like them people you an' Rio killed? I saw what you did to my friend Ezra Standish. Maybe you'd like to feel what he felt when you beat him almost to death."

Parsons grunted and looked up. "That guy was your friend?"

Buck stopped, his eyes blazing at the mocking tone in his voice.

"Huh." Parsons chuckled. "Wish I'd known that. Wouldn't have taken it so easy on him." He drew a deep breath and tossed his head back, a smug smile spreading over his face. "But he's dead now, an' all this bullshit talk of yours ain't gonna change that."

Buck looked at Vin and Chris, his expression surprised but skeptical. With a growl he charged at Wolf and yanked him up by his collar, pressing the barrel of the gun against the man's temple, their faces only a few inches apart.

"If that's true, you twisted son of a bitch," Buck said in a low, vicious whisper, "then you're gonna suffer everything he did, an' I'm gonna enjoy every damn minute of it." He shook Parsons once, violently. "You *hear* me?"

Parsons glared at him with his single eye and said nothing, his face a blank mask.

"Okay, Buck," Chris said, walking up, Vin and the soldiers behind him. Buck blinked a little, as if just remembering that they were there. After throwing one last foul look at Parsons, he slowly stood and backed away, leaving the wounded outlaw to the soldiers. The Army men surrounded Parsons, yanked him to his feet and dragged him off while Buck staggered off to one side, holstering his gun with a shaking hand and wiping his face with the other.

"You all right?" Chris asked quietly as he, JD and Vin came to stand by him, studying his old friend with concerned green eyes.

Buck took a deep breath and gave a curt nod. "Yeah, think so, ol' pard," he muttered. "Just...God, Chris, you got no idea. I just got to thinkin' on that fort, an' Ezra an' that Almarez gal, an..." His voice trailed away, and he let out a breath. "It just all came rushin' out an' I couldn't stop it." He was still gasping a little as his gaze landed on JD. "Hey, kid."

JD holstered his guns, nodded to Buck, and gave them all a weary half-smile. "Sure glad you fellas got here when you did."

"JD, what did Parsons mean about Ezra bein' dead?" Chris asked.

"That ain't true," Buck added, his expression plainly hopeful, "is it?"

JD hesitated, then let his shoulders droop. "I-I don't know. I heard some guy come and get Nathan to look after him, he said Parsons attacked Ezra and he looked real bad. I think he was alive when we left, but..." He didn't want to finish the sentence, so he let it fade away.

Buck's expression was murderous as he glanced over to where Parsons was being shoved onto a horse. "That son of a bitch," he muttered.

The light in Chris's eyes was no less lethal as he looked over his men. "Let's get 'im to town and lock him up," he said. The others nodded a little, all exhausted by the ordeal, and moved towards their horses, eager-and perhaps dreading-to get home and see the truth for themselves.



Buck's heart was pounding as they arrived in Four Corners, every nerve afire with apprehension. It seemed as if the ride into town had taken forever.

As they reined in at the jail, he turned to Chris. "You get this scum locked up," he said quietly. "I'm gonna go check on Ezra."

Chris nodded without a word, understanding in his green eyes, and went back to where the soldiers were hauling Parsons off of his horse. Vin and JD were already there, their guns trained on their catch.

Buck didn't waste a single glance backwards as the outlaw was hauled into jail, instead spurring his horse up the street towards the saloon.

As he neared he saw the lean form of Josiah amble onto the porch, one arm in a sling.

"How'd it go?" the preacher asked anxiously, too concerned for formal greetings.

Buck swiftly reined in and dismounted, out of breath. "Got 'im," was all he could say as he tethered his mount. "An' we're all alive to see 'im hang."

Josiah sighed and lowered his head for a moment, his expression somber. "Thank the Lord," he muttered.

Buck strode over to stand before his friend. "Josiah?" His voice was rough and tentative.

The other man lifted his head and looked at him, waiting.

Buck took a deep breath. "That bastard said he killed Ezra. Is that true?"

A mild look of surprise crossed the preacher's face, then he shook his head. "Gave it a good try, but no, it ain't true. Ezra's still alive."

A soft gasp of relief escaped Buck's lips as he relaxed a little. He glanced up a moment later, meeting Josiah's blue eyes. "How's he doin' now?"

There was just enough hesitation in Josiah's reply to cause a new knot of worry to tighten in Buck's gut. "The fight opened a lot of his wounds an' took all his strength. Nathan was seein' to him, should be done by now."

Buck took a few steps towards the saloon doors. "Think he's awake? I'd...well, I'd like to tell 'im we got Parsons. Reckon he'd like to know that soon as possible."

Josiah shrugged as well as he could with the bandaged arm. "You can go see, but that fight with Parsons wore him out pretty bad. Another few minutes with him and he'd probably be dead."

"Damn," Buck whispered as he walked into the saloon. "That bastard's gonna have a lot to answer for come the trial."

Josiah nodded wordlessly and followed him in.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, and Buck was surprised to see a couple of men gathered around the door to Ezra's room, watching something inside. One of them, Mr. Fahler, Buck recognized as a long-time resident. He couldn't place the lean older gentleman beside him, but right now he was too tired to really care.

The men stepped aside as Buck and Josiah approached, and Buck was the first to enter the room. One glance told of the recent struggle which had taken place there; a pile of broken porcelain sat in one corner, along with a bucket and mop. The floor was still damp and stained with water. Buck only barely noticed these things before turning his attention to Ezra.

The gambler lay on his back on the bed, his face turned towards the door, and for one horrible moment Buck thought he really was dead. His skin was very pale and clammy, his eyes closed, the bruises even more ugly and pronounced. Nathan, his medical kit beside him, was buttoning Ezra's nightshirt and looked up as Buck and Josiah entered.

Buck paused before asking, "How's he doin', Nathan?"

Guessing the intent of his friend's question, Nathan answered quickly. "Don't worry, Buck, he's just sleepin'. The fight with Parsons took just 'bout all he had. Should heal up fine if he don't get in no more trouble, it'll just take longer now. Did y'all find Parsons?"

Buck nodded as he sat down in the chair next to Ezra's bed. "Chris's puttin' him in the jail now. With any luck he'll be hangin' soon."

A grim light flickered in the healer's dark eye as he nodded and finished dressing Ezra.

A few moments later, the gambler drew a deep, hitching breath, and his eyelids fluttered and opened a little, and he stared at Buck in sleepy confusion. Heartened, Buck drew closer, hoping Ezra would be able to understand the important news he had to tell.

"Well, now, that's more like it," Buck said quietly in a rough voice as he grinned from ear to ear. "Hey there, Ezra."

Ezra stared at his friend with clear eyes for the first time in two months. His green eyes flickered over Buck's filthy clothes and dirt-smeared face.

"You, sir," he finally whispered, a faint smile on his lips, "are...in dire need...of a bath."

Buck laughed and nodded as he leaned closer; Ezra's voice was so soft he could barely hear it. "Yeah, guess I am. Been bustin' my ass, but now the job's done I guess I can go clean up."

An urgent light flickered weakly in Ezra's eyes. He lifted his head a bit from the pillow and licked his lips, fighting for the strength to speak. "Parsons..."

"Hey, easy there, buddy," Buck cautioned, placing a calming hand on Ezra's arm. "He's coolin' his heels in the jail, waitin' for the rope soon as you're fit enough to testify against him. Everyone's safe an' sound. Don't you worry about that no more. It's all over with now."

There was a pause as Ezra seemed to be trying to absorb this news. He lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes as if overcome at the thought, and lay unmoving for a few moments.

"Over," he whispered to himself, as if trying to grasp the idea that an end had come to the seemingly endless madness. Buck waited to see if Ezra would say anything else, but after a minute or two it fully appeared that the conversation was finished.

"Well," Buck finally said quietly, "I'll get on outta here an' let you get rested up." He prepared to stand.

"Buck?"

The word was faintly spoken, but it caught Buck's ear anyway, and he looked down at Ezra. The gambler hadn't moved, and seemed to still be unconscious.

Buck leaned closer, unsure he had heard anything. "Yeah, Ezra?"

He saw Ezra stir slightly, and lick his lips as if summoning sufficient will to speak. At length he said, in a low but heartfelt whisper, "Thank you."

Buck swallowed. How could Ezra thank him when it was Buck's fault this whole mess even happened? He pursed his lips as the guilt plucked at his stomach, but left the angry words which sprung to his lips unspoken. It would be best to accept his wounded friend's gratitude, he decided, even if he didn't deserve it.

"You just hurry up an' get better now," Buck said softly, around the bitter lump in his throat. "I got two month's worth of pay waitin' for the day you get back to the tables."

Ezra didn't seem to react, except for a very slight smile which seemed to brush his lips. After a few moments his face relaxed and his breathing evened out into a slow, peaceful rhythm.

Nathan stood and motioned them out of the room, turning down the lamps as he went. Once they were all in the hall the healer softly closed the door.

"Best let 'im sleep now," Nathan advised.

"I could do with some of that myself," Buck groaned softly. Now that his anxieties had been dispelled, he was beginning to notice that he was damn tired, and he needed some time to himself to sort out all that had happened. He glanced at Josiah. "How's that arm?"

Josiah shook his head. "Nothin' that won't heal up." He looked over at the two boarders standing nearby. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Fahler, Mr. Gardner. Looks like everything worked out."

"Glad to help," the man Buck didn't recognize mumbled, and they both went off to their own beds.

"Whew!" Josiah breathed as they went downstairs. "Been some evenin'. Wonder if Inez has any whiskey handy?"

"None for me," Buck said with a weary sigh. "I'm headin' for some shut-eye. Chris an' them soldiers got things in hand down at the jail."

"You'll have to tell us how you got hold of Parsons," Nathan said as he stopped at the landing. "Bet that was some fight."

Buck halted and thought a bit, then shook his head, a sad glint in his blue eyes. "Ain't nothin' worth recollectin', Nathan. Just doin' a duty I shoulda done a long time ago."



Judge Travis cleared his throat as he sat at his paper-covered desk in the Four Corners Grain exchange, a large, dusty building which served as the town's courtroom when the need arose. Its large, empty interior glowed in the early morning sunlight as the newborn rays filtered through the dusty air. As the older man settled into his creaking wooden chair, he adjusted his spectacles and gave a sharp glance to the two men standing before him.

Chris looked like hell. Dusty and exhausted, he had not slept all night, spending his time first getting Parsons locked up, then checking in on Ezra and Josiah. He wasn't surprised to find that Parsons had been lying about the gambler's demise, but he could tell with one look that the outlaw's attack had taken its toll. It had taken all of Chris's self-control not to go to the jail and simply break Parsons' neck.

Stephenson stood beside him, and to Travis's surprise looked almost as worn out as Chris, despite the fact that he had spent all night at his camp. His uniform was clean, if dusty from his morning's ride to town, but his expression was one of weariness. He had not said anything since his arrival.

"Well, gentlemen," Travis finally said, leaning forward and folding his hands, "it would seem the apprehension of Wolf Parsons has been successful. I've called this meeting to see about proceeding with his prosecution, and I'd like to thank you both for coming in."

"I got no reason not to," Chris said quietly, in a defiant tone.

"I'm sure you feel that is the case, Mr. Larabee," Travis replied evenly, "but there is a small matter of Army protocol to deal with here. Sgt. Stephenson?"

The sergeant looked up silently.

"I must confess that I agree with Mr. Larabee's action, but as a sworn upholder of the law in this territory I also must acknowledge your superior say in this matter. We do have a case of a civilian breaking martial law before us, and I want it cleared up with as little fuss as possible."

He coughed and picked up a piece of paper in front of him, glancing at it through his spectacles. "Now, I'm assuming you'll be filing formal charges against Mr. Larabee-"

"That...won't be necessary, Judge Travis." The words were said very quietly, in a voice laden with sadness, and there was silence as the judge glanced up at Stephenson in mild puzzlement.

The sergeant cleared his throat roughly and continued. "On behalf of the Army, Your Honor, I've decided not to bring Mr. Larabee and his men up on charges. I...was hasty in my earlier words, and formally withdraw them."

A slight curiosity flickered across the old man's face, but he seemed able to conquer it. Chris looked over at his former adversary, observing his stooped shoulders and pale expression. There was no triumph on the gunslinger's dusty face, only gratitude and perhaps even sympathy.

Stephenson seemed to feel the gaze, and turned his head to face the other man. He drew a deep breath. "I'm told Henry will live," he said in almost a whisper, "but his future is still highly uncertain. They're...not sure he'll ever walk again."

Chris eyed him steadily. "The boy's got grit," he murmured with a slight nod. "He'll make it."

Stephenson absorbed this remark, nodded a little, then turned back to Judge Travis. "Your Honor, since the only living witnesses to Parsons' crimes apart from my nephew are in your town, I've decided to allow his trial to be conducted here under your guidance. My men will be happy to supply you with any assistance you need."

Travis nodded once, firmly. "As soon as the witnesses can provide testimony, we'll get started. But I don't think there's going to be much suspense over the outcome."

"No." Stephenson nodded faintly, as if his mind was elsewhere. "No, I don't suppose. Well. I'm leaving to take my nephew to the hospital in Phoenix soon, my replacement will be Sgt. McCans."

"Very well," the judge agreed, taking off his glasses. "Thank you for your understanding, Sergeant."

Stephenson sighed. "I only wish to God I'd come to it sooner," he muttered in a heartbroken tone. He straightened and saluted. "Your Honor."

Travis nodded.

Stephenson dropped his hand and turned to go, catching Chris's eye as he did so. He paused awkwardly. "I wish I could be here to help you hang Wolf Parsons, Larabee," he finally said. "I...don't suppose I have to tell you not to show that bastard any mercy."

Chris shook his head. "He won't be gettin' none, trust me."

Stephenson nodded and began to go.

"Say, about your nephew-" Chris said.

Stephenson stopped and looked at him expectantly.

"When he gets to walkin' an' ridin' again," the gunslinger continued in a quiet tone, "you might want to think about lettin' him come back West if he wants. Maybe even let him join the Rangers, or be a lawman, if he can. I got a feelin' he's more of a mind for that type of life than soldierin'. Just an idea."

Stephenson seemed confused, but nodded. "All right, Larabee. I'll keep that in mind," he said. Then he put on his hat and walked quickly out to his horse, his expression sober and preoccupied.

"That was damn lucky, Chris," Travis noted from his desk as they watched Stephenson mount his horse through the window. "You could have wound up in the stockade."

"Can't call it luck after what Parsons did to his nephew," Chris replied, watching soberly as the sergeant trotted away. "Just a man learnin' the hard way."

"I suppose so," was the soft response. Then he looked at Chris. "Have to say, Chris, I'm glad you got back in one piece. What you did took a lot of grit, even if it was insubordinate. I've never been so glad to be disobeyed."

Chris leaned on one corner of the desk. "I appreciate your bein' fair minded about the whole damn mess. Don't know too many men who would've been. When's Parsons' trial?"

"Well, we'll give Mr. Standish a little time to recover," Travis said in a conversational voice as he gathered up some papers on his desk. "I don't think he'll have to testify in court, a deposition should be sufficient and much less taxing. Same for Miss Almarez. Mary can help me with the paperwork, and we should be able to begin by the end of the week."

"Good," Chris muttered, sliding off of the desk to his feet.

Travis put the papers down and peered closely at Chris. "Go get some food and rest, Chris, you and your men deserve it. It's not every day we're able to deliver scum like Parsons to justice. It's too bad we'll probably never really know what drives men like him to do such horrible things."

Chris gazed at him with tired, haunted eyes which held the painful memories of a long-ago time. "I ain't too concerned with that, Judge," he confessed. "Got my hands full just tryin' to stop 'em."

With those words he put on his hat and walked out of the dark room into the brightness of the early morning light.



JD shook his head as he finished off the last of his scrambled eggs. "Gotta confess, preacher, I never thought it would happen that way."

The morning crowd in the saloon was sparse and quiet as Josiah and JD sat at breakfast, both still weary but satisfied. It was a later hour than they were accustomed to rising, but nobody seemed to begrudge them the extra rest, especially as the patrons around them buzzed about the capture of Wolf Parsons. Outside the morning sun had been replaced with a light, steely sky and spitting raindrops.

Josiah eyed his young friend as he lifted his almost-empty mug of coffee. "So now you can say you looked evil in the eye an' survived it, JD," he observed, taking a sip.

"It was so weird," was the quick reply as JD scraped his plate. "It was like...I knew I should have been scared, but I wasn't. Well...maybe a little. But most all I could think of was that he'd hurt people an' I had a chance to stop him. An' really, when it was just him an' me, he didn't seem so awful. Just a crazy guy lookin' to get himself hung." He lifted his forkful of eggs and paused, thinking, then laughed. "Or hell, maybe I was just too stupid to be scared."

Josiah smiled a bit as he set down his depleted mug. "Wouldn't say that so fast, JD," he said. "I think you were just findin' your way to let your desire to stop Parsons overcome your fear."

JD looked at him thoughtfully, chewing, then nodded. "Guess I was, Josiah. An' remember how I said I was so worried about him comin' after me? That never even crossed my mind. Not once. It was like I didn't care, long as I could stop him."

His friend sat back in his chair, regarding JD with a sage grin. "Reckon you're becomin' your brother's keeper, JD. Better be careful or you might find yourself doin' this for the rest of your life."

The young man swallowed his food and laughed. "Sure hope the pay goes up!"

A loud rattling signaled the arrival of the morning stagecoach, and both men watched as it pounded by down the damp street. Lashed to the top of it was a very familiar-looking set of French leather luggage. JD looked at Josiah almost with concern and rose, going to the doors and peering out as the conveyance stopped up the street.

After a few minutes, he stood back on his heels and turned to Josiah. "She's here."



By the time they reached the stagecoach most of the passengers were off, including one handsome, well-dressed woman of Josiah's age, her finely braided blonde hair topped with the smartest of fashionable hats. She stood in the street anxiously waiting, and as they approached her she faced them, her beautiful face creased with worry.

"Maude!" Josiah called.

She almost melted with relief as she recognized them and stepped forward. There was none of the characteristic smoothness and charm which normally marked her demeanor; instead of the usual flattering greeting, she said simply and anxiously, "Where is he?"

"Relax, ma'am, he's restin' in his room," Josiah said, taking her hand. "He's still alive. Your son's a fighter."

Maude Standish breathed a quick sigh and nodded. "Of course, Josiah," she replied, some of her normal spirit creeping back into her voice as she flashed an awkward smile. "If there's anything I taught that boy, it's how to survive."

JD had been standing by the coach watching, and saw the last passenger emerge, a short, thin, smartly clad gentleman with a sharp face and thick wavy white hair topped by a bowler. In one hand he carried a large black satchel, and as JD gathered Maude's luggage-only a couple of bags, much fewer than normal-the stranger wandered over to where Maude and Josiah were standing.

"Thank God that's over," the man muttered, wiping his dusty face with a blue handkerchief and managing a smile as he squinted through his small round spectacles at the group. "Are we ready, Mrs. Standish?"

"I think so," was the reply as Maude glanced at him. "Dr. Godfrey, these gentlemen are my son's associates, Josiah Sanchez and JD Dunne."

JD and Josiah nodded politely, but their eyes were puzzled and slightly apprehensive.

The doctor nodded back and smiled. "Gentleman," he said pleasantly in greeting.

Josiah looked at her. "You brought a doctor, Maude?"

She patted his arm. "I'll explain later, Josiah. Right now I want to see my son."



The hallway outside of Ezra's room was still as JD and Josiah stood in the half-light, waiting for Maude to come out. They had allowed her a private reunion with her son at her request, and she had spent twenty minutes alone with him before asking for the doctor to join her. In the forty-five minutes since, the two men had remained where they were, glancing at each other with questioning looks.

Suddenly the door opened and she appeared, closing it quickly behind her as she eased herself out, a handkerchief clasped firmly to her mouth. Concerned, Josiah took a step toward her, but she motioned him away almost angrily and quickly walked a few steps away to compose herself. There was a stifled sob, followed soon by another one, and a few minutes later she turned to them, white-faced but controlled.

"My apologies," she sniffed, still trembling slightly as she stepped towards them.

"Ain't no need to apologize, Maude," Josiah assured her gently. "Any mother would cry if they had to see their child in Ezra's condition."

Maude gave him a sharp glance and sniffed again. "Well, I-I just...didn't expect it to affect me so. That's all," she said, as if she still felt the need to apologize. She drew a deep breath and looked at them. "Have you found this Parsons yet?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," JD said with a nod. "He's all locked up in the jail. We'll be tryin' him soon."

"Good." Maude's eyes grew distant for a moment as if she were planning something, then she blinked and looked at them. "After the trial I must speak to Judge Travis about releasing Ezra from his service. I want him to return with me to St. Louis to get his health back."

JD and Josiah both tensed; this was just what they thought Maude would do.

"Seems to me Nathan's takin' right good care of him," Josiah said softly.

Maude smiled. "Nathan's a darlin' man, to be sure, but-well, we all know he lacks the professional expertise in these matters. Dr. Godfrey's lookin' him over now, but I'm sure he'll agree with me that this dusty backwater is no place to regain one's strength."

The preacher considered these words. "Does Ezra get a say in this?"

"Of course," Maude replied easily, "but don't be surprised if he decides to return with me. He understands these matters just as well as I do."

Silence fell as JD and Josiah both stared at Maude.

The sound of the door opening shattered the quiet like a thunderclap, and all eyes turned to the white-haired doctor as he emerged, slightly perspiring. He softly closed the door and turned to them.

"Well," he gasped, wiping his face down again with the blue handkerchief, "gentlemen, your friend in there is very lucky. I've seen dead men in better condition. Now," he sniffed, stuffing the handkerchief into his coat pocket, "where's the doctor that's been treating him?"

JD shifted uncomfortably before Josiah said, "His name's Nathan Jackson, Dr. Godfrey, but he ain't a doctor. Just a healer."

"He isn't!" the doctor exclaimed, looking through his spectacles at Josiah. "You don't say! Amazing work for a healer. Should be a doctor if he isn't, I'd say. Damned fine work. How'd he come by his learning?"

Josiah glanced at JD, surprised, then back at the doctor. "Worked in the field hospitals durin' the war."

"Incredible!" Dr. Godfrey breathed. "Worked in some of those myself. He's got more skill than some of the butchers I saw there, I'll say that. Well!" He turned to Maude. "Mr. Standish will be very weak for a long time, madam, but as long as he doesn't get overly excited he should recover fully in time. Dr.-er, Mr. Jackson has done an excellent job in mending him up." He gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder and turned to Josiah. "Now where the hell can I get a decent meal around here?"

"Dr. Godfrey," Maude said quickly, stepping around him to bring herself back into his sight, "what about the question of St. Louis?"

The doctor sniffed. "I assure you that would be unneccesary, madam. He's healing just fine here, and the trip might kill him. He's certainly getting better care than some of those St. Louis doctors can give him."

He paused, and looked at Josiah.

The preacher jerked his head down the stairs. "Try the saloon, they got a pretty good menu."

"Thank you, sir," was the congenial reply, and with a small wave the doctor headed down the stairs.

JD and Josiah watched Maude carefully as she stood still, her lips pressed tightly in furious thought. She looked up at them, her eyes bright and snapping.

"Are you still taking him away?" JD asked.

Maude took a quick breath and opened her mouth, then just as quickly closed it again. Her eyes flickered between JD and Josiah, and she seemed on the verge of an angry reply. After a few moments, however, she let out a sigh and went limp, her shoulders slumping.

"Oh, hell," she muttered, shaking her head a little as she turned away to stare at nothing.

Josiah took a step towards her. "You all right, Maude?"

She didn't answer right away and finally waved her hand at him. "Yes, Josiah, it's just..." She choked and sniffed. "I came here all ready to take him home with me, but if the doctor says he should stay here...well, I just don't have the strength to fight it."

"Two months of wonderin' must've been mighty hard on you, ma'am," Josiah said sympathetically, taking a step towards her.

She gasped and tried to smile as she turned to face them. "Oh, at first it wasn't-it isn't the first time one of us has had to disappear for a spell. But we always found ways to contact each other. After the first few weeks of no word, I knew..." She stopped, looking away. "Well, you know, it's been a very trying time since. I'm not going to drag Ezra away from here and cause a fuss. I'm just too damn worn out."

Josiah offered his hand to her. "You know you're more than welcome to stay as long as you like, Maude. I know Ezra would want that."

A long sigh escaped Maude's carefully painted lips as she looked up at the preacher and took his hand. "Thank you, Josiah, I believe that will suit me just fine. Right now I just need a nice room and a glass of good wine."

Josiah allowed a small grin to cross his lips. "I think Inez has some quality stuff tucked away somewhere. C'mon."

He offered his arm to Maude, who took it gracefully and together the group moved towards the stairs.

"How long will it be before the trial begins?" Maude inquired as they began their descent.

"Should be about ten days, ma'am, that's what the Judge says," JD replied.

Maude gave a firm nod. "Good. That should be plenty of time. Would it be possible for me to see Parsons privately?"

Josiah looked hesitant. "He's a mighty hard character, ma'am."

She laughed. "I am well used to dealing with that type, darlin'. I think I can handle him."

JD and the preacher looked at each other before Josiah asked, "An' why would you wanna talk to a man like Parsons?"

Her handsome face was hard, her eyes glittering like diamonds as she replied. "That man's going to go to the gallows knowing full well what I think of him," she said in a low and bitter voice.

They reached the landing, and Josiah turned to her, his expression serious.

"In that case, Miss Maude," he said quietly, a slight grin tugging at his mouth, "I think we can get you in."



Nathan checked his tin pocket watch as he walked briskly up the street towards the saloon. Parsons' sentencing was due to begin soon, and he didn't want to miss it. But first he had to check on Ezra.

The past ten days had been rough on the gambler, Nathan reflected as he walked, but at least he was out of danger now. A steady regimen of sleep, food and the proper medicines has lessened Ezra's pallor and set him well on his way back to full health. It would be a long time before he was completely recovered, but now there was no doubt that it would occur.

At least he had the sense not to go to the trial of Parsons, Nathan thought gratefully. His testimony had been delivered by deposition, and the gambler had wisely spent the entire time resting, out of the heat and excitement of the courtroom. Maybe he's finally listening to good advice, Nathan said to himself optimistically.

He entered the saloon and headed towards the stairs. Dr. Godfrey was sitting near the bar reading a newspaper and smoking a cigar; he gave Nathan a jovial wave as he passed, and Nathan returned it with a grin. It was almost embarrassing the way the doctor enthused over Nathan's ability. But it felt great to get some respect, not to mention advice and a fine batch of medicines to aid Ezra's healing. It seemed as if the doctor would be around for a while, and when this was all over Nathan was looking forward to having a good long talk with the garrulous old man.

He reached Ezra's room and found the door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he saw Josiah and Maude standing by the window. Sitting on the bed, to Nathan's amazement and annoyance, was Ezra, fully dressed and attempting to tie his cravat.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Nathan exploded.

Ezra glanced up at him, his pale face with its still-healing bruises barely registering an expression of pique. "And a cheerful good morning to you too, Mr. Jackson," he replied in a thin but steady voice. "As you can see, I am preparing to accompany you all to the courtroom."

"Like hell you are!" the healer said sharply, entering the room. "You ain't even sposed to be sittin' up yet. Dr. Godfrey says you got to take it easy, no excitement."

"Yes, a very dear man, the doctor," Ezra said in a distracted manner as his thin fingers very slowly succeeded in knotting the cravat. "But I assure you and him that I will be indulging in no more excitement than sitting in a wheelchair."

Nathan let out a sigh of frustration and looked at the room's other two occupants. "Maude, Josiah, you gonna help me with this?"

Josiah leaned back. "Sorry, brother Nate. I ain't gonna tell a man he can't see his justice done."

The healer scowled at Josiah, then flicked his gaze over to Maude. "Ma'am, I gotta warn you, if Ezra does this he might get even more sick."

The golden-haired con woman glanced at Josiah, then walked over to Nathan, folding her hands as she spoke. "Nathan, you're a sweet darlin' man, but you have to know by now how stubborn my son can be. I tried all mornin' to talk him out of this, but he just plumb won't hear a word I say. Thought I'd better stop before we both wound up in a hospital."

"Nathan."

The softly drawled voice caught the healer's attention, and he turned to face Ezra, still angry. The gambler was eying him with complete seriousness, his clear green eyes grave.

Ezra licked his lips and began, his words low and carefully spoken. "I promise you, my friend, I am undertaking this under the most careful consideration. But I believe you of all people will understand my desire to witness the handing down of justice to the man who so violently abused others and myself and attempted to escape the hand of retribution."

Nathan realized the meaning behind Ezra's words; he was referring to the story Nathan had told him earlier, when the healer had been whipped as a child. Reflecting on this, he began to understand the power behind Ezra's determination; if there had ever been any way for Nathan to see his tormentors face justice for their crimes, he would have done so, even if it meant rising from his deathbed to do it.

Nathan looked up, noticing that Ezra was staring at him. The gambler still looked so pale, so thin, and he had not really been out since his return home. Hesitation gripped Nathan's heart; he knew why Ezra wanted to do this, but that didn't mean he could condone it yet. Watching Parsons receive his death sentence would be a small triumph if they had to bury Ezra right next to him.

"I know what you're sayin', Ezra," he said aloud, "an' I know you've earned the right to see Parsons get justice. But this courtroom's gonna be a mob scene, an' you ain't even strong enough to walk yet."

Ezra lifted his head sharply, an intense light in his eyes. He looked over to his mother and Josiah, then back to Nathan, his eyes even wider than before. Carefully he gripped the edge of the mattress and eased himself off of the featherbed, the soles of his boots gradually touching the hardwood floor.

Amazement flooded Nathan as he watched his friend brace himself, then very slowly push his thin body away from the bed, standing for the first time in two months on his own two feet. Ezra turned to Nathan, his face white and covered with sweat but wearing a triumphant gleam in his eyes. His healing body was trembling slightly from the strain, but there was an undeniable strength in his expression which more than made up for the lack of physical power. With cautious stride he painstakingly took two halting steps and stood before the healer, a grin spreading across his face.

"You were saying, Mr. Jackson?" he gasped.

Nathan eyed his friend in astonishment, then shook his head, laughing slightly in wonder. "All right, Ezra, you don't got to kill yourself! Go on an' sit back down now before I change my mind."

"A wise decision," Ezra breathed, and made his way back to the bed as quickly as he could manage it. Nathan watched with concern as Ezra sat himself back down, obviously exhausted but doing all he could to hide it. Inwardly, Nathan shook his head: same old damn stubborn Ezra never listenin' to a word I say an' causin' nothin' but trouble. As he watched his friend, he couldn't stop a wide grin from splitting his face.

Ezra sat up and noticed the healer's expression. "And what is the cause of such mirth, my friend?"

Nathan could only nod. "It's good to argue with you again, Ezra," he said with all honesty.

Ezra looked at him for a moment, then smiled back, his own eyes warm with unspoken emotion. Then he sat up and smoothed his hair. "Well, justice awaits."

"Spose it does," Nathan said firmly as Maude and Josiah came forward. "I'll go get the wheelchair. But I got to say, Ezra, I'm damn glad t'see you able to walk again so soon."

Ezra pulled his vest straight and tilted his head back, regarding Nathan with a bemused expression, his face still shining with sweat. "And I, sir, am thankful you were not standing one step farther away."

Nathan laughed, then left the room to get the oak wheelchair. Ezra had been waiting a long time for this day, and it would be a crime in itself if he should miss it.



The Grain Exchange was full, the crowd of mostly men packing every available seat and standing space as Judge Travis prepared to read the sentence of One-Eyed Wolf Parsons. It was a hot, bright afternoon, the sun filtering through the large windows in shimmering, dusty columns and splashing over its sweating occupants. It was an uncomfortable setting, but none of those present would have missed it for the world. Except, most certainly, Wolf Parsons.

The trial had been quick. The prisoner had been brought in, arrogant and defiant despite the certain outcome of his hearing. A few of the soldiers who had found Henry Thomas had testified, as well as the prisoner Peters, who proved more than happy to rat out Wolf. Chris gave a description of what he and his men found in the fort and described the dying words of the outlaw they'd found there.

Neither Ezra nor Contessa Almarez appeared in court for any of the trial. Ezra had been too weak to withstand the rigors of testifying, but had delivered a deposition filled with such harrowing detail that Judge Travis had to read it to the jury in private. Publicly, Travis revealed only what he had to about the deposition-that Ezra positively identified Wolf Parsons as the chief perpetrator of the crimes at the fort, along with Rio, now deceased; that he had been imprisoned in an unlit cell and brutally beaten for two months under Parsons' orders, with Parsons often taking part in his torment; and that Parsons had tried on one occasion afterwards to kill him. Such testimony was more than sufficient to damn the one-eyed outlaw; the young Contessa Almarez, it was decided, did not have to undergo a similar questioning, although her suffering was acknowledged and added to Parsons' long list of crimes.

After hearing such words, there was little wonder at what the outcome would be. The greatest surprise on this day was the appearance of Ezra Standish in the courtroom with his mother by his side. Town gossip had had him at death's door, yet there he was, very pale and frail-looking as he sat wrapped in a blanket in a wheelchair guided by Nathan Jackson, but definitely very much alive. A small murmur went through the crowd as the gambler was brought in, followed by a hush of respect as he was taken to the side near his comrades to watch his tormenter receive justice. Despite the bruises and bandages, there was a clear spark of grim triumph in his green eyes, and noone there would dare say that he had not earned the right to be there.

Contessa Almarez was there as well, accompanied by her parents, both bearing the appearance of hard-working people used to a simple life. They were standing to the side as well, and as soon as Ezra was situated the young girl stole next to him and touched his arm. He looked up at her and took her hand, holding it for a moment as he smiled at the brave young girl. She gave him a shy smile in return, then slipped away to rejoin her parents as the judge gaveled for silence.

When all was quiet, Judge Travis cleared his throat and signaled the two Army men guarding Parsons to bring him forward. They reached down and each grabbed an arm, hauling Wolf to his feet with a clanking of irons. Parsons appeared, as he had throughout the trial, completely unmoved by the whole experience, and he seemed almost bored as he stood before Travis.

"Richard Mark Parsons," Travis intoned, addressing the outlaw by his true name, "after considering the evidence against you, I am prepared now to pass your sentence." He looked up briefly. "Before I do, I would just like to say that I am only sorry it could not be more severe. I have seldom in my career come across a record as vile and depraved as yours."

Parsons' only response was a small, proud grin.

Travis scowled and dropped his eyes back to the paper. "It is the decision of this court that you be taken tomorrow to a place of execution and there hanged by your neck until you are dead. In my opinion it is far too merciful a fate for you, but it is all the law will allow me."

Parsons chuckled. "Guess it's my lucky day then, huh?"

Travis stared at him furiously for a moment, then looked at his guards. "You may escort the prisoner back to his cell," he said in an icy tone. The soldiers seemed only too happy to do so, and they pulled Parsons out of the courtroom with as little gentleness as possible.

The crowd began to break up with satisfied murmurings; many were excited at the prospect of watching a hanging, but most were pleased that the outlaw would get his just rewards very soon. The town's lawmen were soon on their feet, surrounding their injured comrade.

"Damn fool stunt, comin' out here," Buck remarked as he studied Ezra's pale visage.

Maude shrugged. "I tried to talk him out of it, Buck, but you know how stubborn he is."

Ezra looked up, an expression of annoyance on his wan face. "It was not stubbornness, mother, I assure you. I believe I have earned the right to witness that vermin receive his sentence."

"I'd say you have, Ezra," Josiah agreed. He had been been present while the town clerk took Ezra's deposition; it had been in private and taken quite a while, as relating something so personal was very difficult for the usually closely-guarded gambler. Afterwards, a shaken Josiah had said nothing to the others, but remembered ordering a few more whiskeys than usual that night.

"Guess it's all over now but the hangin' far as Parsons is concerned," Chris noted, watching as the crowds filed out.

"He got off easy," JD griped.

Nathan smiled a bit. "You wasn't there when Maude came over an' lit into him." He looked over at Ezra's mother in admiration. "Couldn't hear everything you said, ma'am, but it sure sounded like you gave 'im a piece of your mind."

Maude tossed her head slightly. "They're words he'll take to hell with him, Nathan, if there is such a place. I simply told him exactly what I thought of him."

"A crueler fate than hanging, I assure you gentlemen," Ezra yawned.

"That's enough excitement for today there, Ezra," Nathan warned him. They were alone now, the last ones to leave. "Let's get you on back to bed."

Nathan had pushed the wheelchair only a few inches when Ezra suddenly and quietly said, "Wait."

The chair stopped, and Nathan, along with the other lawmen, turned and looked at him in expectant surprise.

The gambler was studying them with an earnest expression, his eyes lighting on each one as he spoke in a hushed but steady voice. "I...just wanted to express my gratitude to you all for your efforts in assuring Parsons' capture. I..." he paused, the strong emotion plain on his pale face as he struggled to compose his thoughts. "I know it could not have been easy. And also," Another pause, and a deep breath, "I do not believe I can adequately describe my feelings when I realized you had freed me from that dungeon cell. No matter how much of your money I may win at the tables in the months ahead, trust me when I say that I will be forever in debt to all of you."

He looked up at them, honest appreciation shining profoundly in his pale green eyes. His friends stood close to him, each man smiling quietly as a warm sense of camaraderie settled around them, binding them together.

"Hell, Ezra, you're welcome," Buck finally said, placing a hand gently on the gambler's shoulder. "You'd do the same for us. An' you'll probably get the chance to somewhere down the road, if our luck holds true to form."

Ezra allowed a grin to brighten his weary face, and the other men chuckled, the unspoken, deeper emotion lying just beneath the laughter.

After a few moments Nathan resumed his duties, and wheeled Ezra outside, followed by most of their comrades. Buck lingered behind, a wistful look on his face, and only looked up when he realized Chris was watching him.

"Bout time to let it go, Buck," the gunslinger said in a hushed voice, taking a step towards his friend. "They've both faced justice now."

Buck's gaze fell to the floor as his heaved a deep, sad sigh. "Yeah, I know, Chris," he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he held his hat in the other. "But I carried this so long it's feelin' strange to drop it all at once." He looked up and shook his head. "Seems kinda hard to believe t's really over."

Chris regarded him for a moment. "It ain't gonna be over for a while, Buck," he said finally. "But it's gettin' there, an' you've fought like hell to make it that way. It ain't every day a man gets a chance to right somethin' he's done and has the guts to take it."

Buck drew one hand over his eyes. "I know what you're sayin', Chris, but still..." He paused, looked around, and sighed. "Wish I coulda done this sooner."

"You done it now. That's what counts." Chris gave him a slight whap on the shoulder. "C'mon."

Buck looked up, and their eyes met for a moment, each man's eyes holding a look of understanding. They both knew the difficulties of leaving the painful past behind, but they also knew the even more agonizing consequences of not being able to do so.

After a few moments Buck nodded and put on his hat, and they walked together out of the now-empty room.


The sun's morning rays had just begun to warm the dusty streets of Four Corners as Josiah walked down the boardwalk towards the jail, Bible in hand. Few people were about during this time, which suited the preacher just fine; he really had no heart in what he was doing, and this put him in a less than sociable mood.

He reached the jail, hesitated, then opened the door. It was dim and quiet inside, and JD had an expression close to relief as he saw his friend's large frame fill the door. Two armed soldiers stood nearby, watching Parsons carefully.

"Mornin', JD," Josiah mumbled. "Our guest been any trouble?"

"Mornin', Josiah," JD replied, standing up and glancing back at the cells. Wolf Parsons was sitting silently on his bunk, watching them both with patient anger. "Nope, ain't heard a peep out of him all night. He's just been sittin' an' starin'."

"Hm." The older man kept his eyes on the prisoner as he walked forward. Wolf followed his every move with his solitary eye, but the thin malicious features showed no expression other than vigilance.

When he reached the bars he stopped, and Wolf lifted his head slightly. "What the hell do you want?" he snarled.

Josiah eyed him sharply. "They're gonna hang you today, Richard Parsons, an' though I ain't too keen on doin' it, I thought I might see if you had any interest in gettin' your soul in order before you go."

Parsons gazed a him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"God, that's rich!" he gasped. "You was the ones got me here, now you're tryin' to save my soul before you hang me."

Josiah seemed unmoved. "Your evil deeds put you in that cell, Parsons, not us," he pointed out quietly.

"'Evil deeds'," was the sneering reply, as Parsons sat back and propped one leg up on his bunk. "You damn gunslingin' outlaws think you're so high an' mighty." He pointed an accusing finger. "I ain't done nothin' you all wouldn't do, given the chance. You just don't wanna admit it."

JD shook his head and took a step towards the cell. "Who the hell do you think you are, spoutin' off like that?" he exclaimed, indignant. "I could never do what you did, killin' people like they were animals."

Wolf chuckled. "Ain't that what you're doin' now, sonny? Shootin' people? Hell, you sure were tryin' to shoot me."

The young man stared at him, perplexed, and shook his head. "That's different," he replied.

The prisoner grinned. "Only difference is, I did it for fun an' never lied about it. An' I did have fun."

"Were you havin' fun when you shot Rio in the gut?" Josiah asked quietly.

Wolf glared at him, then shrugged. "Always told 'er I worked best alone," he offered casually. He looked back over to JD. "You think you couldn't ever be like me. You just wait, sonny boy. Life ain't got to you yet."

He turned his single-eyed gaze back to Josiah. "It's got to you, though, hasn't it, preacher man? Yeah, I seen that look in your eyes before. Bet you got some dark parts in your past you don't want folks like this kid knowin' about. If they did you'd be swingin' right next to me, I bet." He laughed softly to himself.

For a few moments no words were spoken as the prisoner and his guards studied each other, Josiah and JD wearing serious expressions, Wolf wearing a greasy smirk.

Finally Josiah straightened. "Reckon we all got some things to work out between ourselves an' God, Parsons," he said. "But we got time to mend our ways. Your time's just about gone. It ain't too late for you to avoid the fires of hell, but it's gonna be very soon."

Parsons cocked his head and grinned even wider. "I ain't worried, preacher man. So you can go on an' find some other fools to preach to. I'm gettin' pretty sick of your face."

With that he slid down the wall and pulled his hat over his eye, effectively ending the conversation.

Josiah stepped away from the bars, palming the Bible as he walked up to JD. "Well, I tried," he said without any regret.

JD was shaking his head. "I can't figure that guy out, preacher," he said, his voice still confused.

"You'll probably be happier if you don't try, son," Josiah said, patting him once on the shoulder. "Guess I'll go see about gettin' everything ready. We'll be back to fetch Parsons in about an hour."

JD nodded wordlessly, still watching Parsons with a pensive expression. Josiah tucked the Bible under his arm and walked out into the sunlit street, sparing not a single backwards glance at the doomed prisoner as he directed his steps down the street towards the gallows.



Ezra sat by his window alone, gazing out at the crowd as they made their way towards the end of town and the deadly instrument which waited there. He was dressed and ready to go; Maude would be there soon, and with Josiah's help they would go to the place of justice and watch One-Eyed Wolf Parsons hang.

The gambler dropped his eyes, wincing as a stab of pain tore through one leg. A small grin crossed his face; he should be used to pain by now, he thought, he'd lived with it for so long. At least this was the pain of healing. He could endure that without too much complaint, because of the promise it held. The promise that one day, he would walk from this room a truly free man.

He sat back with a sigh as his eyes danced over the crowds. It felt so strange to look at them now, the ordinary townsfolk who led ordinary lives, never seeing what he had seen or suffering what he had suffered. The feeling of isolation this reflection had previously produced was gone now, but the thought still caused a certain sadness. Did they realize how fragile this all was? he wondered. How the trial of a lifetime could descend at any moment, without warning, and force one to call on all his strengths just to survive?

He paused and shook his head, smiling slightly at himself in amazement. God, he thought, I've been by myself too long. I'll be philosophizing as much as Josiah if I'm not careful.

He shifted a little in the seat, trying not to feel too hemmed in by his weakness. But it was so damn frustrating. He wanted to be strong and healthy again, and walk out into the crowds. He wanted to go down to the saloon and have a good shot of whiskey, and eat the finest steak dinner the hotel could serve him. He wanted to sit in the smoke-filled saloon with a good cigar, playing poker until the small hours of the morning.

Most of all he wanted to just live and enjoy it as he never had before, determined to appreciate every moment in defiance of the darkness which had failed to claim him. And if that was philosophizing, well, he could bear it. Nobody ever had to know.

As he watched the crowd he saw Vin and Chris walk by, keeping their own eyes out. Ezra watched as they walked down the street unaware of his eyes on them. Over the past several days as he lay in bed, they'd told him everything, of Stephenson and the Army, and Purgatorio, and Peters. It amazed Ezra then, and now, that they had actually endured all that for him. Well, not just for him, others had suffered too, but he was a part of it.

Dark memories drifted back, of the endless nights waiting, hoping that one day his friends would come to set him free. And they really had done that, a fact which could not fail to astonish him. He was so used to disappointment where trusting others was concerned that the simple fulfillment of his hopeful expectations was enough to send him reeling. A sense of belonging beyond description welled through him, and he settled back with a slight smile, enjoying the unfamiliar but welcome sensation as it blotted out al thoughts of pain.

The door opened, and Ezra composed himself quickly as Maude entered the room, her stylish bustle bouncing as she walked over to her son.

"Josiah will be up soon, son, and then we can go," she announced.

Ezra sighed. "Oh the indignity of being carted around like a sack of potatoes," he muttered.

She cocked her head. "It trumps the indignity of trying to get that infernal wheelchair down a flight of stairs," she replied. She peered closely at him and put two fingers under his chin. "You sure you're up to this, Ezra? You're lookin' mighty peaked."

He gave her a reassuring smile and took her hand, gently guiding it away from his face. "Fine, mother, just waiting for this to be over so we can all go back to our lives."

She eyed him carefully, then looked down at her purse, as if uncomfortable in what she was going to say. "Yes, well, speakin' of that, I want you to know that Dr. Godfrey and I are leavin' for St. Louis tomorrow."

A hint of disappointment crossed Ezra's face as he gazed up at her. "So soon?"

She met his eyes and forced a laugh. "Oh now sugar, you won't even miss me. Both Nathan and Dr. Godfrey say you're healin' up fine, you don't need me here any more. And Inez says the Standish Tavern is doin' just wonderful business, so there's no need to fret over that. I just feel like it's time to go home."

He hesitated, gripping her hand loosely and looking away, his mouth twitching as he struggled to collect his thoughts. At length he sighed and returned his gaze to her, an aspect of sadness in his eyes.

"I had hoped," he said in as offhand a manner as he could feign, "that your visit might be longer. We have not seen each other for ages, after all."

Maude allowed a tiny smile to curl her carefully painted lips. "Now, Ezra, we've gone longer than two months between visits before."

The green-eyed gambler didn't move. "I was not reckoning by the calender, mother."

He saw her pause, and wondered if she was able to discern the meaning beneath his words. Of course, he could never tell her the honest truth–that he simply wasn't ready to watch her go yet, when he was still quietly marveling at the fact that he had lived to see her again at all. If he had confessed to her that he had survived his ordeal partly through his desire to see her again, she would only become uncomfortable and probably laugh. The open expression of familial love was not in their vocabulary. But it was still possible to express it, through carefully chosen words, and Ezra deeply hoped she would understand what he was trying to say.

After a minute's thought he saw her eyes flicker, and she relaxed a little. "Well," she breathed, "I suppose St. Louis would survive if we remained here a little while longer." The smile returned, slightly wider than before. "After all, someone's going to have to help you warm up your gaming skills."

Ezra grinned a little, feeling greatly relieved at the warm sentiment lying just beneath the gaily spoken words. "I assure you, madam, such an exercise, if it is needed at all, will be brief indeed," he said, holding her hand a few moments longer before releasing it. Someday, if he was able, he would have to tell her how much it meant to him that she had decided to stay.

A footstep sounded at the door, and both of them turned to see Josiah waiting, his figure clad in a dark suit appropriate for the somber occasion.

"Ready?" was all he said.

Ezra sighed to himself, preparing for the event which lay ahead. He had long yearned for Parsons to face his punishment; now that it was finally happening, it seemed impossible. But it was not an occasion for rejoicing. Instead, a solemn, melancholy spirit settled over him, at the thought of all those who did not live to see this day. At least he and Contessa could witness it for them, and hope that perhaps it would put their spirits to rest.

He lifted his head and gazed at Maude and Josiah with sad green eyes.

"Well," he said softly, "Let's not keep justice waiting."



The crowd was large and boisterous as the time for the execution drew near. The end of town near the gallows was jammed with all manner of spectators. Plainly dressed townsfolk pushed through the throng, some eager to see the man who hurt one of their lawmen hang, others just looking for some excitement. A few visitors were sprinkled throughout the mass, curiosity seekers who only wanted to see a man swing, caring little for his name or crimes. Blue uniforms moved through the crowd, friends of Henry Thomas and Wes, some of whom probably contemplated the sort of punishments Parsons might have faced had he been given a military trial. And here and there, families in black, newly arrived in the territory, there to collect their loved ones murdered at the fort, and eager to witness the death of the author of their grief.

At the back of the crowd sat Ezra, with Maude beside him, on the porch of a nearby business and out of the sun. Neither of them spoke, but every once in a while someone would address Ezra, offering words of admiration and encouragement. Maude said nothing but seemed impressed at how many people seemed genuinely affected by her son's situation.

The hour drew near. As Ezra waited he heard someone approach him from behind, and before he could turn he heard a soft, young voice say, "Senor Ezra?"

Surprised, Ezra turned to see Contessa standing at his elbow, her parents behind her. He smiled as much as the situation would allow and took her hand.

"Miss Almarez!" he exclaimed in Spanish, looking up and nodding at her parents in greeting. "How are you feeling today?"

She grinned. "I am very well, senor. The doctor says I am well enough to go back home."

A warm expression spread over Ezra's face. "That is truly a miracle, my dear. I could not be more happy for you."

"We wanted to thank you once again, senor, and your gracious mother as well," the father said, his stout face serious as he nodded at Maude. She returned the gesture. "None of us will ever forget your bravery."

Ezra fidgeted a little, embarrassed. "Many thanks, senor," he replied, "but I am sure your daughter's courage surpasses my own. She is a remarkable young lady."

The crowd stirred suddenly, a low murmur rising up. Ezra looked over, trying to see over the swarms of people, but he could guess what was happening.

"What is it?" Contessa asked, watching curiously.

Ezra took a deep breath. "They are bringing Parsons out to hang," he replied in a low voice.

A moment later this was proven true, as Parsons appeared at the end of the street, escorted by two soldiers, Chris, Vin, JD and Josiah. Boos and obscenities swept over the prisoner as he took the final walk to eternity, but he seemed to be completely ignoring them. As his long black hair whipped about in the warm morning sun, he allowed his single cold eye to play over the crowd, and smiled.

Contessa stepped next to Ezra and touched his hand. He looked at her and put his arm around her shoulder, and together the two survivors watched their enemy mount the fateful steps, taking courage from each other's strength.

At the top of the gallows stood Buck, his face set in the hardest expression, his blue eyes grim as they stayed riveted on Parsons. Parsons only grinned at him as they positioned him and placed the noose around his neck. When all was prepared Buck took out the black hood and stepped forward to drape it over the outlaw's face.

Parsons caught his eye and grinned. "See you in Hell, Wilmington," he said lightly.

Buck glared at him for a moment. "Say hello to Rio for me when you get there," he said in a bitter whisper, and quickly pulled the hood over Parsons' ugly, smiling face.

The rope was pulled tight, and Buck stepped away. He glanced in expectation at Josiah, who stood holding his Bible a few feet from the condemned man. Josiah met his gaze, then shook his head; there would be no words of comfort given over Parsons' last moments. Buck nodded, understanding completely, and in one concerted motion reached forward and pulled the lever of the trap door.

The door plunged open with a resounding crash, and Parsons toppled through it, the rope bringing his body to a deadly halt. The horrific sound echoed down the street, and Contessa let out a gasp and threw herself into Ezra's arms, burying her small face in his shoulder. He held her tightly, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort as his sober green eyes watched the scene intently. He would remember this sight for the both of them.

"It's all right, darlin'," he whispered as he hugged her to him. "Just hold on to me and don't mind anything else. It'll all be over soon."

Parsons had not died instantly; he was jerking and bouncing at the end of the rope, the violent motion answered by the creaking and groaning of the gallows. Some in the crowd cheered and laughed; most of them watched in silence, willing to wait until he was dead to rejoice. The soldiers and lawmen of Four Corners were serious and somber, their eyes cold and without sympathy. The relatives of the dead clutched each other and wept.

Finally Parsons' body heaved upwards, shuddered, and fell back towards the earth, motionless save for the easy swinging of the rope. After a few minutes Josiah pulled out his knife and cut the rope in two; the body plummeted to the earth and landed with a heavy, lifeless thud. Nathan stepped from the crowd, which was now quiet again, and walked to where the body had fallen. He disappeared from Ezra's view, but there was little doubt as to his diagnosis when a cheer erupted from the crowd a moment later.

Ezra pressed his lips together and looked up at his mother, knowing that the grim satisfaction in her eyes was mirrored in his own. Then he turned to the child still held tightly in his arms and forced a small smile onto his lips.

"It's all right, senorita, it's over now," he whispered. She stirred and stood, blinking.

"Is he dead?" she murmured, staring at the now-empty gallows.

Ezra nodded, brushing her tangled hair away from her face. "Yes, darlin', he is," he said in the gentlest of voices. "He can't hurt anyone anymore."

Contessa listened to the crowd cheering, and looked at Ezra, confused. "Should I be cheering too?"

The gambler took her hand and looked at her seriously. "I think you should be happy that you are going home," he said simply, "and perhaps sad that he did not use his life to a better purpose. But you mustn't think about him anymore."

She gripped his hand. "I'll try, senor." She looked behind her as her parents stepped forward, then back at Ezra. "We have to go now. Will you write to me?"

Ezra smiled. "I certainly will, my dear. Be a good girl for your parents and I'll come see you as soon as I can." He lifted her hand and kissed it.

"I will be," she promised, and throwing her arms around his neck gave him a small kiss on the cheek. "Adios, senor Ezra!"

They embraced briefly, then she pulled away and began walking back towards town, waving all the while along with her parents. Ezra returned the farewell until they were out of sight.

As soon as they were gone his hand fell, and he let out a sigh as he dropped his face into one hand, massaging his eyes.

"Are you all right, son?" Maude asked quickly, bending over him.

"Yes, yes," he replied almost impatiently. "Just highly fatigued. What's happening now?"

Maude stood and looked over the crowd. "They appear to be taking Parsons' body away. To the vultures, I hope."

The crowd was beginning to disperse now, among many mutterings over what a splendid hanging that was. Nathan and JD emerged from the crowd and approached Ezra, their faces worn with concern.

"How you doin', Ezra?" JD asked, seeing his friend's pale complexion. Nathan walked swiftly to the gambler's side and checked his pulse.

Ezra looked up, his face white but wearing a look of satisfaction. "Now that Parsons has gone where he belongs, JD, I can say I've never felt better."

"You ain't gonna con me that easy," Nathan remarked. "Your heart's goin' fast as a rabbit's. Better get you on back to your bed."

"I won't argue, Mr. Jackson," Ezra promised as he settled in and closed his eyes. "I saw what I came to see."

The small group moved away from the porch and melted into the scattering throng. Behind them the rope which had ended Parson's life danced forgotten in the summer breeze, and none gave the unmourned outlaw's place of death more than a curious backwards glance.

Josiah and a few of the townsmen carried Parsons' body past the edge of town. A shallow grave was scraped in the dry soil, and the corpse carelessly pushed in. As the limp body fell the head dragged along one side of the small pit, and the black hood which had covered Parsons' head was pulled off, revealing his final expression, now frozen forever on his face.

Later that evening in the saloon, Josiah would tell the others that he had never seen such a look of wide-eyed terror on any dead man's face before. Although none of them could say what had frightened the outlaw so much in his final living moment, they all agreed that whatever it was, he deserved it.



"You busy, Mary?"

Mary looked up at Chris as she finished pulling the proof for that week's edition of the Clarion. The warm sunlight of morning streamed through the glass windows of the newspaper office, lighting the entire room with a golden, enticing glow.

"Good morning, Chris," she said with a smile, laying the sheet down carefully and wiping sweat from her brow with one gloved hand. "Come in, I'm just finishing the proof of the first page."

Chris grinned quietly as he moved inside, leaving the door open. "Gonna be a pretty borin' front page, seein' that nothin's happened lately."

She laughed a little and wiped her ink-stained hands on her apron. "Well, the Parsons hanging was three weeks ago. Even I can't drag a story out that long."

"Best you don't," Chris grunted, leaning on one of the tables. "The sooner scum like him's forgotten the better."

She nodded, her golden hair bobbing in the sunlight as she bustled around getting ready to print her paper. "I agree. But you'd be surprised at how much attention the case has gotten. Orin wrote me that even the papers in Phoenix covered his hanging. I think the whole territory was after him."

"Wouldn't be surprised," Chris said, shaking his head as he glanced idly out of the window at the passing crowd.

"How's Ezra doing?" Mary inquired as she prepared to ink the press.

The gunslinger straightened. "Better. He's walkin' a little an' eatin' more. Nathan thinks he'll be able to ride by the end of next month." He paused, looked away, then back again. "It was good of the judge to agree t'give him backpay an' cover his board while he's healin'."

Mary smiled, a hint of sadness in her blue eyes as she looked at him. "Ezra earned it, Chris. Orin understands that everything he went through was in the line of duty."

Chris nodded, a slight smile brightening his green eyes. "He's a fair man. I found that out, myself."

Mary met his eyes, and smiled in return.

He stood away from the table. "Reckon I better get back to work," he said. "Just wanted to stop by an' say thanks for all the help you were to us in all this mess."

Mary wiped some hair out of her face. "You and your men deserve our assistance, Chris. I hope the townspeople are treating you better, at least."

Chris shrugged. "Some are, some ain't. Same as usual. Can't worry on it too much when there's a job to do."

He tugged his hat in farewell and turned to leave.

"Chris?"

He stopped and looked back to see her eying him with great concern.

She hesitated, then said, "Be careful."

He watched her carefully for a moment, then nodded once, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, before turning and heading out into the street.

Mary watched him go, her blue eyes thoughtful and worried. After a moment, she glanced down at the proof, full of stories about the cruel outlaws and evildoers still awaiting their justice. She shook herself and went back to work, trying not to think about what might lay in store for Chris and his men. Chris was right, after all.

She couldn't worry on it too much, because she had a job to do.



Ezra smiled to himself as he studied the cards he held. It appeared that things were looking up for him at last.

He shifted his weight a bit as he lay stretched out in the invalid's chair on the porch in front of the Standish Tavern. The warm morning required only a light blanket to cover his legs and lap, and he had elected to go without his jacket and hat in the balmy weather. Beside him, Buck, JD and Nathan were studying their own cards, looking from time to time at the small pot on the table between them and mulling over their decisions.

The gambler waited; he had become quite good at it, as he had done little else in the past weeks besides sleep, eat whatever Nathan allowed him, and count the days until he could once more be a useful member of their group. It would be a long and frustrating time until that happened, however; he was still weak, his wounds and bruises still healing. But it would happen, of that he had no doubt. Well, as long as he kept winning, he had no problem with being patient.

"I'm out," JD sighed, tossing his cards down. "If I lose any more Casey's gonna kill me."

"You could tell your sweet lady that it went to the continuing care of an invalid," Ezra offered with a grin as he sat back on his down pillow, cards still in hand.

"Invalid my behind," Buck chuckled. "You already won enough to pay for two of them fancy chairs. If I didn't know better I'd say you were playin' on our sympathies an' gettin' our guard down."

Ezra grinned, then his face fell a bit as he arranged his cards. "But you do know better, Buck."

The other man nodded sadly, looking away. "Yeah, I do."

Nathan eyed him sharply. "C'mon now Buck, you ain't still blamin' yourself, are you? You already done made amends for what happened with Parsons."

"And heaven knows I have more than forgiven you," Ezra added, giving Buck an empathetic glance. "I bear you no ill will for my misfortunes, and I am sure Miss Almarez does not either."

Buck looked at them all and shrugged, embarrassed. "That's right fine of you all to say that. Reckon I just ain't ready to forget about it all yet."

Ezra kept his eyes on his cards as he talked. "We all have aspects of the past we would like to forget, Buck," he said quietly as his fingers pulled the cards into neat alignment. "But unlike most men you had the opportunity to correct your mistake. Perhaps you should dwell on that fortunate occurrence rather than the unfortunate one which preceded it."

Buck mulled over the words and nodded.

"Speakin' of unfortunate occurrences," Nathan muttered, closing his cards, "I'm foldin'."

The rumble of hoofbeats sounded up the street, and the men looked up to see Chris and Josiah riding towards them. As they neared the saloon they reined in.

"Trouble?" Buck asked, seeing their grim expressions.

"Nothin' much," Chris replied as his horse danced slightly. "Heard that Blue Daniel McClellan just robbed the stagecoach on the road to Eagle Bend. They want us to look around, see what we can find. Vin's out there now."

"Blue Daniel!" whistled Buck. "He's one mean hombre, Chris. I wouldn't call him 'nothin' much'."

JD stood, his handsome features showing no sign of fear. "You fellas need any help?"

Buck looked back at the young man and smiled a bit, pleased that any misgivings over his chosen profession seemed to have been quelled.

"We can always use another pair of eyes," Josiah replied, apparently just as impressed as Buck.

"I'll be right behind you," JD said, and turned to the reclining gambler. "I'll see you later, Ezra, okay?"

Ezra smiled and nodded his farewell. "Best of luck in your pursuit."

There was only enough time for JD to wave his goodbyes before he hopped off of the porch and sprinted for the livery.

Chris looked at the remaining men on the porch. "We'll be back by sundown," he said, and he and Josiah spurred on up the street as puffs of hot dust trailed behind them.

Ezra watched them go, a dim light of frustration in his eyes.

"I spose I best get the clinic ready in case they run into McClellan out there," Nathan remarked, rising.

"A mere precaution, let us hope," Ezra noted.

Nathan nodded. "You take it easy," he said to Ezra in a cautioning tone, and went off in the direction of his room above the livery.

The gambler sighed to himself as his green eyes wandered over the cards in his hand. "If I take it any easier, I'll be unconscious," he muttered.

"Aw, don't worry, pard," Buck said lightly as he moved to a closer chair, "you'll be back in the saddle before you know it."

"That is what Nathan tells me, but it still feels like an eternity until then," was the weary reply. He sat for a moment, staring into the street and thinking.

Buck sat sadly, studying his friend closely. Then he glanced at the cards he still held in his hand. "How bout if I call? Would that help?"

The other man turned his head and looked at him, allowing a grin to slowly spread over his face. "Why, yes, Mr. Wilmington, it would."

"Right, then," Buck replied, and showed his cards.

"Quite an excellent hand," Ezra observed.

Buck nodded firmly with a confident smile.

"It so happens," the gambler continued, "that I have an excellent hand too."

He lay his cards down one by one, and by the time he put down the last one Buck's enthusiasm was considerably deflated.

"Thank you, Buck, that was indeed a superior suggestion," Ezra said happily as he picked up the money at the center of the table.

"Glad I could help," Buck moaned, picking up his nearby mug and downing a drink to hide his disappointment. After he swallowed he put the vessel down. "Want to go another round?"

The smile faded from Ezra's pale face as he tucked the money in his vest pocket, picked up the cards and lay back against the pillow. "Perhaps later, Buck, I'm feeling a bit weary at the moment." He juggled the cards back into their usual neat alignment and shifted into a more comfortable position with a very slight grin. "The enjoyment of winning will only take me so far."

Concern darkened Buck's features. "Wanna go back upstairs?"

"No, no," the gambler insisted, "a short respite is all I require."

His friend considered this and nodded, picking up his coffee once more. "Fair enough."

They sat and watched the morning crowd move by in silence, Ezra resting while Buck leaned his chair back against the wall of the saloon and sipped his coffee.

"Looks like a quiet mornin' here," Buck observed. "Guess the other boys are gettin' all the excitement."

Ezra's eyes were closed, but he still mustered a smile. "As long as they do not run into any problems, that is fine with me," he murmured.

The other man nodded, his eyes sad. "Yeah, me too. Done had enough fuss for a while."

"As Josiah would say, amen to that," was the light reply.

Buck looked over at him. "You decided yet about stayin' on? I know your ma was tryin' to get you to quit after what happened."

His friend opened his eyes. "Oh, she made her arguments, but when the time comes I will be strapping my guns on in the name of justice once more."

A surprised smile tugged at Buck's lips. "I would've thought you'd take the chance to live it easy for a while," he exclaimed. "Lord know you been through enough. Nobody'd blame you if you wanted to call it quits."

The shadow of sad reflection floated over Ezra's pale face as he looked into the street. "As you might imagine, Buck, I had plenty of time to think during my ordeal. And one of the conclusions I came to was that if I was ever able to try and stop what was happening to me from happening to anyone else, I should take it. And too," he said in a quieter tone, his gaze dropping to his hands, "it was impressed upon me that my association with you gentlemen might be more important to me than I once believed."

Buck smiled at him, touched. "Is that a fact?"

"Yes," Ezra nodded. Then he looked up quickly. "But if you ever repeat this to any of the others I will deny it."

"Oh, don't worry," Buck assured him, throwing up his hands. "I won't breathe a word. But I'm much obliged you feel that way, pard."

Ezra shrugged, looking away. "It's not quite time for me to move on yet, Buck. I can't explain why, but the thoughts of our imperfect group sustained me more than I would have expected. I suppose I must now remain to find out why."

His friend contemplated this and raised his mug a bit. "Well, here's to it bein' a long search so you'll stick around a while. You got a lot more money to win off me yet, after all."

Ezra laughed, looking down at the cards in his hands to hide how moved he was by the sentiment.

There was a pause, then Buck's expression grew more serious. "We're sure glad you're back home, Ezra."

The gambler lifted his eyes and looked at his friend, a small, warm smile spreading over his face.

"So am I, Buck," Ezra replied softly, taking a deep breath as he nestled into the large, soft pillow, his entire body relaxing into a gentle repose. "More than I can ever express."

Buck returned the smile, and they settled back and continued to enjoy the lazy morning, mindful that the peace would likely not last. Ezra gazed thoughtfully at the passing throng, calmly enjoying the tranquil scene. He felt the darkness was truly moving behind him now, its ghosts settling to rest. There was still much to do, both in the recovery of his health and after, but he felt secure that he would be up to the task ahead. He owed it to those who had perished, and to the brave young girl Contessa, who had shown him the courage in himself that he had been blind to. For her, and them, he would once more take up the unfamiliar burden of duty and ride beside his friends into battle. Whether the journey would lead them to heaven or hell remained to be seen, but he knew he would not miss the ride for the world.

And he looked out into the brilliant morning sunlight, and smiled.

The End!

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!

Sue :)