ONE brief note I want to make before I go any further:  I've never been to Colorado.  Shoot, I've never been further west than Indianapolis!  I grew up in the Appalachian Mountains, so all the whole gully/forest descriptions are based on the lay of the land in this part of the country.  I don't know, really, what the scenery looks like in the surrounding areas of Denver, or what is indigenous (big, word, huh?) to that area, so I'm just using what I'm familiar with.  I tried to look up pictures and such on the internet, but didn't have much success.  Anyway, just please keep an open mind about the whole thing.  It is fiction, after all….

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CHAPTER 21

           Time seemed to freeze in that instant.

The sounds of the wind through the trees, the gunshots in the distance, Vitalis's mighty yell, even his own harsh breathing—it all faded into the background for the agent as his world narrowed down to the glint off the shiny blade sweeping for his chest.  In an act of pure desperation, Ezra threw himself bodily at Vitalis's legs as the man stepped in to deal the death blow, forcing Tony to jump up to avoid being knocked to the ground and giving Ezra one precious opening.  He rolled underneath the thug and grasped for his salvation even as the other man whirled around, arm pivoted to throw the knife.  Ezra stopped on his right side and flung his left arm up, firing the pistol on blind instinct.

He watched, as if in slow motion, the bullet slammed into Vitalis's chest, dead center into the man's heart.  Tony stumbled backwards a little from the force, but stayed on his feet and looked down at his chest in shock.  He dropped the knife to the ground, reaching instead to finger the steadily growing dark stain on his front, and looked up at Ezra, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide with surprise.  He took one step forward before his legs gave out, taking him to the ground where he landed with a bone-jarring thud and rolled onto his back, his slack features and lifeless eyes raised emptily towards the sky.

Ezra slumped back to the ground in relief and laid his arm over his eyes as he took deep breaths, trying to expel the adrenaline from his system and gain control over the tremors that came with the realization of how close he had just come to death.  After a moment, he pushed himself up into a sitting position with a groan and pulled the damaged leg up for inspection. 

It hurt like h**l, but after a few moments of applied pressure, he could see that it was slowly starting to clot.  He ripped the bottom of his shirt off and secured it around the wound as a makeshift bandage before climbing stiff-leggedly to his feet and crossing over to the body.  The other cuts he had sustained on his arms and upper body were shallow and thus inconsequential in his estimation.  He reached down for the knife with a grimace and snapped it shut before slipping it into his pocket.  He quickly re-supplied himself with ammunition from Vitalis's pockets then stood back up, reloading the pistol as he limped out of the grove.  He paused at the entrance, looking back at the still form staring sightlessly at the canopy above, and closed his eyes for a moment as a feeling of regret washed over him.

Even though he had been in this business for what seemed to be a lifetime to him, and even though he was willing to and had used a weapon against another countless times during his career, he never enjoyed the taking of another human being's life, no matter how necessary the action was.   In fact, he welcomed the regret each time it came, seeing it as proof to himself that he was still human, that he was still Ezra Standish on the inside.

As far as he was concerned, the day he lost that regret was the day he hung up his guns and walked away.

Shots from the direction of the ranch house pulled his attention away from the body and he began trotting in that direction as fast as he could, dread and determination filling him as he silently prayed that those left behind were alright.

* * * * * * *

           Alex silently ghosted her way through the trees, trying to circle around back to the house to get help.  If she had known the area better, she would have risked going cross-country to the nearest neighbor, but since she had no idea what direction to head in, she settled for the riskier option.  She wanted a chance to call Larabee, check on Buck and Eddie, and get a weapon, all in that order.  Back behind her, she could hear her pursuers searching for a sign of her, and she quickened her pace.

           She came out onto the graveled driveway a few minutes later, about a half mile from the main house.  As she stepped out onto the drive, muddy tire prints leading off the gravel onto a run-down dirt road that disappeared into the trees caught her attention and she followed them, being careful to stay out of sight.  Just as she turned the bend in the road, three vehicles—two luxury cars and one beat-up old escort—came into view.  She immediately realized who the cars belonged to and wasted no time in digging her pocket knife out and slashing the tires before she again slipped into the forest, a faint smile on her lips.

           That put three escape routes for the bad guys out of play, and she figured that if she could disable the remaining three vehicles belonging to Buck and the federal agents who had been on guard, then Bartinol and Randolph would have no way to escape.  Then all she and Ezra would have to do was survive long enough until the cavalry arrived.

           Piece of cake, right?

* * * * * * *

           Bartinol worked his way through the dense forest, his pistol in hand, looking for any sign of the girl.  His man was somewhere up ahead while Randolph trailed behind, a disgusted look on his face as he picked through the mud gingerly, grimacing at the damage being done to his Italian loafers and more importantly, at the damage said loafers were doing to his feet.

           He hated the outdoors.

Bartinol glanced back at the man and shook his head in annoyance before he stepped out onto the graveled driveway.  Randolph came up behind him as the gunman jogged up from where the dirt pathway ended further down the road.  "Well?"  Randolph asked impatiently.  "Any sign of her?"

           "I think she's cutting back, sir," the man answered, glancing at the other crime lord before turning his attention back to Bartinol.  "She found the cars.  All the tires are slashed."

           "D**n!"  Randolph cursed.  He turned to Bartinol with a slight sneer on his lips.  "Now how do you propose we escape from here?"

           Bartinol frowned at the crime lord, his disproval obvious.  "We use the vehicles left by the agents, sir," he answered, his tone one of barely concealed irritation.  "That is, if we can get to them before the girl does."  He turned to his lackey.  "Follow the dirt road back to the ranch—Mr. Randolph and I will proceed up the driveway.  We'll catch her between us."

           The gunman nodded and headed off into the woods while Bartinol set a quick pace up the driveway.  Randolph growled under his breath in frustration before following the other man, vowing vengeance on the ones responsible for his misery.

* * * * * * *

Alex made her way to the three vehicles hidden at the edge of the paddock a few hundred yards behind the barn, trying to erase the images of the grisly scene she had just stumbled upon from her mind.  She had wondered what had become of the four guards who were supposed to have been on watch outside, and had gotten her answer as she exited the woods that lined the small field behind the barn.  The first body had been sprawled not far from the road in the grass, a nasty stab wound in its back, its throat slit from ear to ear and a horrid look of ghastly surprise on its face.  She didn't scream, but she did turn her head quickly as she made her way around it, making a mental note of its exact location and wishing she had been able to at least give the poor man the respect of being covered from the elements.

           The second body was lying beside the first car, the cold remains of a half-burned cigarette lying next to the nearly severed head.  Bile rose into her throat at the sight of that one, but she swallowed it back down and turned her attention to the task at hand, hoping that she didn't find the other two.  Though she had seen death in many gruesome forms during her tenure on the streets of some of America's largest cities, the sight of it still bothered her greatly.  Many who ended up on the streets became hardened to death in all it forms, but street life, while forcing her to become resilient against life's harshest injustices, had not hardened her heart.  Indeed, if anything, life to her had become something quite precious, and the blatant waste of it was still something that grieved her deeply.

           She quickly pulled her knife back out and slashed the tires of the two government vehicles, but when she got to Buck's truck, she paused, realizing that she, Ezra, and the others might need transportation off the ranch.  Instead, she took the time to pop the hood of the old truck and pull one of the distributor wires from the motor.  Just as the wire came loose in her hand, a bullet pinged off the raised hood right beside her head.  She turned to see the gunman running towards her across the field and immediately took off in the opposite direction, heading for the house.  She vaulted over the low rail fence with cat-like grace and hit the ground on the opposite side running, but was forced to change direction again when a shout from the front alerted her to Bartinol and Randolph's approach.

           "There she is!" Randolph yelled unnecessarily as he watched the girl duck out of sight behind the tool shed.

           "She's gotten to the other vehicles!"  Bartinol pointed out.

           Randolph answered with a curse as they headed toward the small building, intent on catching their prey between themselves and the gunman.  As they reached the building, Bartinol motioned for Randolph to head around the barn and approach her from that direction, thus cutting off that means of escape as well.

           Alex ripped the door to the shed open, frantically searching for anything she could use as a weapon.  Spying the snow shovel propped up against the wall just inside the door, she grabbed it up and ducked back outside, hunkering down between the side of the building and the large barrel filled with used motor oil just as the gunman rounded the corner.  She watched as he approached the door cautiously, his gun cocked and ready to fire.  As soon as he stepped over the threshold of the door to search the interior, she jumped up and with a mighty swing, brought the shovel down on the man's head.

           The man dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks, his gun discharging harmlessly into the ceiling.

           Barely taking the time to ensure that the man was indeed unconscious, Alex dropped the shovel and sprinted to the barn, ducking at the entrance as Bartinol rounded the corner of the shed and let off a shot in her direction.

           Just as she made it into the murky interior, the sound of sirens in the distance reached her ears, and she nearly dropped to the floor in relief.  She realized that someone—either Ezra or Buck or even Eddie—had been able to get a call out.

           Help was on its way.

           Now, if she could just survive the next five minutes….

           The sirens reached Bartinol's ears as well and he paused at the side of the shed.  A frown creased his face as he glanced from the driveway to the barn and back again.  Realizing that his window of opportunity for escape was quickly closing, he made his decision and raced across the paddock, slipping across the fence to head for the trees beyond.  He paused at the tree line and looked back toward the ranch house and barn, a slight smile on his features.  "You are indeed worthy opponents, Miss Sanders, Agent Standish," he whispered to himself.  "Until we meet again."  He tipped the barrel of his pistol to his forehead in a salute before he disappeared into the forest.

           As he reached the opposite side of the barn, the sound of the sirens reached Randolph as well and he cursed to himself bitterly, realizing that his arrest was imminent.  His eyes narrowed and he entered the building, determination in his step.  "If I am to go down, then I am taking at least one of you with me," he vowed to himself as he quietly worked his way toward the front entrance of the building, stalking one of the causes of his downfall.

* * * * * * *

Ezra burst through the backdoor of the house only to pull up short at the sight of the gun leveled in his direction.  "Whoa, Mr. Wilmington!  It's just me!" he protested, raising his hands in the air.

Buck slumped back against the wall with a sigh and lowered the weapon.  "That's a fine way to get your fool head blown off, Hoss," he smirked, a relieved grin coming unbidden to his lips.

Ezra just shook his head as he knelt down beside his teammate and reached for his head.  "It is indeed fortuitous that you are still among the living," he observed as he poked at the cut.

Buck hissed at the probing and pulled away but turned a huge, mischievous grin towards the other man.

"Does that mean you was worried about me?" he asked in good humor.

           Ezra rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels.  "Actually, I was thinking about the thirty dollars you owe me from last month's poker game," he quipped, a bemused expression on his face.  His features turned serious.  "Are you feeling alright?"

           Buck nodded.  "A bit dizzy and sick to my stomach, but I've felt worse after a tag-football game with JD," he reassured his friend.  He gestured to the makeshift bandage on Ezra's leg and the cut on his face as he leaned over to check on Eddie.  "What about you?"

           Ezra fingered the swollen but non-bleeding gash on his face and shrugged off Buck's concern.  "A mere scratch.  How is agent Thomas?"

           Buck glanced back up and shook his head, his mouth dropping into a grim line.  "Not good.   Chris and the other's better get here soon."

           Ezra met his gaze, a hopeful glint in his eyes.  "You contacted them, then?"

           "Yep," Buck smiled.  "They should be here any minute."

           Ezra slumped back and let out a sigh of relief.  "In the words of our notable Mr. Sanchez, 'Thank the Lord!'"

           Buck nodded in agreement then frowned as he realized one of their number was missing.  "Where's the girl?" he asked apprehensively.

           "I'm not sure," Ezra answered with a worried frown of his own.  "I'm afraid I lost track of her during my jaunt through the woods and subsequent showdown with Mr. Vitalis."  He stood to his feet.  "But I am assuming that wherever she is, Mr. Bartinol and Randolph are on her heels."

            "Well, let's go out and look for her," Buck exclaimed as he climbed to his feet only to sway dangerously as the world tilted on him.  "Whoa," he groaned, slumping back to the ground and closing his eyes, swallowing against the nausea that welled up from his stomach.

           Ezra started forward to check on him, an admonishment on his lips, but an echoing shot from alarmingly nearby caused him to pause and glance toward the living room windows at the barn beyond before exchanging a worried look with the big man.  "Stay here," he ordered when Buck made to climb to his feet.  "Buck, I mean it!"  He snapped with a warning glare before he slipped out the door and sprinted around the corner of the house, heading toward the barn with his pistol in hand.

           Buck hit his fist against the floor in frustration at his weakness and looked out the window in worry.  "Hurry, Chris," he whispered, even as he heard the sirens approaching.

* * * * * * *

           Horses had been a passion that Chris and Sarah had both shared, and they had worked hard to build their business and reputations as horse breeders.  Sarah had devoted herself full-time to the enterprise, putting her college degrees in business and equine studies to good use while Chris split his time between the ranch and the police force and Buck chipped in wholeheartedly wherever he was needed. It had been a life and an occupation that they had both loved, and the ranch had shown it.  The horse barn was huge and well-built with a large area on the left lined with stalls for the animals, a well-equipped tack room, and a small, one room apartment that they had used during foaling time.  They had added an indoor training arena to the right side of the building about a year after Adam's birth.  The arena was separated from the main structure by the tack room and the apartment, but connected to it by another aisle running lengthwise through the middle of the building.  A large hayloft extended the length of the original structure overhead.

           After the deaths of his family, Chris's love for the ranch had also died—or at least, had been buried deep under the grief.  He had sold off most of his stock and had let the place go while he plunged into the bottle, trying to drown the painful memories.  Indeed, by the time he finally surfaced from his drunken haze a year later, the ranch would have been in sad disrepair if it hadn't been for Buck.  Buck had worked tirelessly to keep the buildings in good shape, the fences mended, and the closer pastures clear, perhaps using the work as a way to deal with his own grief and guilt while he strove to pull his friend back from the edge.  Once Chris had sobered up, Buck talked him into taking on a few boarders and hiring a couple of the neighbor kids to help care for them.  Working with the horses seemed to be a sort of balm to Chris's spirit, a small, calm shelter in the midst of the dark, raging storm that filled him.  Vin Tanner also held a great love for horses, and as his friendship deepened with the outdoorsman, Chris's passion for the beasts slowly rekindled and grew into a small flame, serving as a place of common ground between them as they worked together to train and care for the animals.

Chris had taken advantage of the warm spell and had turned the horses out into the pasture, leaving the barn empty.  Alex made her way down the stall aisle of the barn, looking desperately around for some kind of weapon.  She glanced briefly at the ladder leading to the hay loft, but dismissed it, realizing that to climb up there would only serve to entrap herself for the enemy.  As she passed by the aisle leading to the arena, a shot suddenly sounded nearby and a bullet buried itself in the post beside her.  She caught a glimpse of Randolph standing in the arena with his gun aimed right at her as she made a desperate dive for the shelter of the tack room, another bullet following close behind her.  She slid down behind a saddle bench, her heart pounding in her chest while she searched frantically for a way to protect herself.

           The sirens in the distance grew closer.

           Randolph worked his way to the tack room doorway and paused outside the entrance.  He glanced inside and, seeing that there was no other way out, grinned wickedly to himself.  "Well, well, well," he said conversationally as he checked the loads in his gun, "it seems that our little game of chase is about to come to an end."

           Alex leaned back against the bench and squeezed her eyes shut tight as she gulped hard to try to steady her breathing, fear pumping icy adrenaline through her veins.  "Larabee and his men are going to be here any minute," she called out, sounding much braver than she was actually feeling.  "It's over, Randolph.  You've lost.  Why don't you give yourself up?"

           Randolph nodded.  "Yes, it does indeed seem that I've been dealt a losing hand in this game, thanks to you and Agent Standish.  All those years of hard work, lost in a single blow," he sighed loudly as he glanced back into the room, trying to get an idea of where she was hiding.  "I realized that you were the one who must have taken those ledgers from the hangar, you know," he continued.  "And I also realized that you must have witnessed the demise of Mr. Banning as well. That does indeed make you quite the liability."

           "Well, it seemed to be a good idea at the time," she muttered as she pulled herself back against the wall in a tighter crouch and scanned the room one more time.  Her gaze landed on an old dust-covered bridle lying on the bottom of the shelf behind her, and she grabbed it up.

           It was better than nothing.

           Randolph narrowed his eyes.  "My business is destroyed, my life is destroyed, and my carefully constructed reputation will soon fall to the dust."  He stepped slowly into the room.  "And now, I'm about to face arrest and imprisonment, all due to the over-zealousness of a cocky, arrogant reject from the FBI and the interference of a street kid."

"Glad I could help," Alex quipped as she clutched the bridle tightly and glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, sending a desperate prayer skyward and readying herself for a desperate spring.

The sirens' incessant wail grew ever closer, the sounds of the whining engines of the vehicles now reaching their ears as the Ram and its entourage barreled up the long driveway to screech to a stop in front of the house.

Randolph zeroed in on the saddle bench and cocked his pistol.  "I may be going down," he growled, "but at least I will have my revenge on you before I go.  And as for Agent Standish, if Tony hasn't already dispensed of him—well, I should have plenty of time to plan a suitable demise for him in the future."  He turned the corner of the bench and grinned evilly down on the girl crouched in the corner, her face pale and her eyes wide as she looked up at him.  He leveled the gun at her face, his smile turning feral.  "Goodbye, Miss Sanders."

Suddenly, with a wild yell, the girl sprang to life.  She swung the bridle with all her might right at his face and shoved him backwards across a stool, slamming his gun arm up and back.  The gun discharged harmlessly into the ceiling as she pushed by him on a mad dash for the doorway, but Randolph managed to roll to one knee and get off another shot at her just as she reached the opening.  The bullet punched through her right arm, spraying blood down the side of her t-shirt and throwing her step off.  A pain-filled gasp escaped her lips as she stumbled to one knee, clutching at the wounded arm tightly, but she managed to get to her feet and stumble back down the aisle, the adrenaline rushing through her veins giving her the added strength.

Randolph came out of the tack room and fired another shot at her, forcing her to duck into one of the empty stalls.  She fell to her good hand and knees, clutching the injured arm tightly to her body as she pulled herself towards the back wall through the hay and huddled in the corner.  She turned toward the man who hunted her as his shadow fell across her face and looked up into his cold eyes with a courage born of the certain knowledge that she was about to die, her teeth gritted against her pain and her blue eyes flashing with anger.  Randolph smiled down at her and brought his pistol to bear, aiming directly between her eyes.  She watched, mesmerized, as the trigger was slowly depressed, the hammer sliding slowly back—

The shots resounded through the barn like a thunder clap, echoing across the fields and through the trees with an eerie finality, and Alex slammed back against the wall, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.  It took a moment for it to register that she hadn't been further harmed.  At that realization, she slowly opened one eye, then the other, looking down at her chest before glancing back up towards the opening.  Randolph lay on the pavement, a red stain on his chest slowly growing in size as he moaned once before falling completely still.

As she tried to figure out what had just happened, another shadow crept down the aisle towards the body.  She couldn't stop the peep from escaping her lips nor the flinch from shuddering through her body as a man suddenly stepped into view and kicked Randolph's gun well away from his bloody, bullet-pierced hand before turning to face her.  She found herself looking up into the mud-smudged features of Ezra Standish and slumped against the wall in relief.  He noticed the blood on her arm and slipped into the stall to kneel beside her, reaching for the wounded appendage.  "Are you alright, my dear?" he asked as he poked at the hole.  He grinned slightly at her sudden intake of breath.

"Never better," she muttered through clenched teeth.  She glanced up into his face, a mischievous light entering her eyes.  "What took you so long?"

Ezra paused a moment, then returned her smile with a large one of his own.  "My little jaunt through the forest with Mr. Vitalis and his guard took a bit longer than I expected," he answered glibly as he turned her arm in search of the exit hole.  He nodded to himself when he found it.

"Enjoy yourself?" she quipped even as another hiss escaped her lips.

TV never let on how much this hurt!

Ezra raised an eyebrow at her before reaching down to rip another section off the bottom of his shirt.  "Hardly," he grumbled good-naturedly as he wadded the cloth up and pressing it tightly against her arm.  "My hundred and twenty dollar oxfords are ruined, let alone this shirt and these pants, what with all these rips and tears in them.  And all of this mud will never come out."

"Not to mention the blood stains," she observed dryly, taking notice of the bandage around his leg as she reached up to take the compress.  She motioned toward the wound with her free hand.  "Are you all right?"

He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand as he settled back against the wall of the stall beside her.  "It's nothing."

"Uh-huh," she snorted, but let it pass.  Something in his hair caught her attention and she reached up with a chuckle, pulling down a clump of mud and a twig off of a pine tree.  "You're beginning to look like a regular Daniel Boone," she giggled.

He took the twig from her with a frown and ran his hands through his hair, trying to dislodge the rest of the mud.  "Heaven forbid," he groused.  "I was meant for much better."  He sat back with a sigh.  "Nothing would make me happier right now than a long, hot soak in a Jacuzzi, clean clothes, and a nice long nap."

"Can't argue with you there," she agreed.  She leaned back as well and closed her eyes.  "What happened to the guard and Vitalis?"

"The guard is tied up somewhere down the trail.  Vitalis is dead," he answered quietly.

Alex cracked one eye open to look at him in concern then turned her gaze away.  "So much death," she sighed, shaking her head morosely, remembering the dead guards she had stumbled upon.

Ezra glanced over at her and patted her on the shoulder.  "Yes, but our efforts here today will ensure that these villains no longer harm anyone else.  And that," he said as he chucked her chin slightly and smiled at her, "you can take satisfaction in.  It may not be much when one looks at the entire deplorable picture, but every little bit helps."

She returned his smile with one of her own, but before she could comment, the sound of footsteps running down the aisle caught their attention.  Ezra was up on his knee in an instant, the gun aimed for the stall entrance, but he lowered his arm as the worried features of Vin Tanner came into view.  "You guys alright in there?" the tracker asked with a huff, his breath coming in gasps after his mad dash toward the barn and the source of the gunshots that he had heard.

           "Fine, fine," Ezra answered as he struggled to his feet and reached down to give Alex some help getting up, keeping his hand on her shoulder to steady her as they stepped out of the stall.  "Mr. Tanner," he smiled at the sharpshooter brightly, "I must say your timing is impeccable."

           Vin just shrugged with a grin as he knelt down to check on Randolph.  "Shoot, Ez, you guys done had all the fun.  All you left us was the clean up detail." He felt for the man's pulse then nodded as he climbed back to his feet.  "He's still alive," he assured them.  He motioned to the small hole that pierced Randolph's wrist as well as the one in the man's lower right chest, realizing that Ezra must have shot the gun out of the man's grasp a second before adjusting his aim to take the shot that put the man out of action.  "Nice shooting, Pard," he commented as he led them back outside to the controlled chaos that was now Larabee's front yard.

           Ezra shook his head.  "Deplorable," he disagreed.  "I was aiming for his heart, but he moved at the last second."

           Vin shook his head with a laugh before calling for medical aid for the wounded man inside and jogging off to report to Larabee.

           As they limped down to the ambulance, Alex glanced over at her companion with a slight smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.  "I told you so," she commented casually, a twinkle gleaming in her eye as she carefully picked her way across the graveled expanse, her injured arm held tightly against her body and the bloody compress pressed firmly against the wound.

           "Excuse me?" Ezra asked in confusion, side-stepping to avoid the agents headed for the barn, grimacing slightly as his wounded leg protested the movement.

           "You saved my life back there.  I told you that you would get your chance," she answered knowingly.

           He guided her to the waiting hands of a paramedic and smiled in amusement.  "That you did, my dear, that you did."

           "So, does that mean we're friends?" she asked as she settled on the bumper of the ambulance to allow the medic room to work.

           Ezra leaned back on the side of the vehicle and laughed.  "Indubitably."

           She looked back up at him and grinned.  "Good."

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Well, folks, it's been a nice, long ride, and we're nearly there.  1 chapter left to go.  I've got to tie up all those loose ends, ya know, and I'm sure some of you're dying to know what I decide to do with Ally : )  I promise, the next chapter will be following shortly.

So, what did you think?  Was that what you were expecting?  Was the action heart-stopping enough for you?  And what do you think will happen to Ally?  Stay tuned to find out!