One.

An 'easy job' was how Chris had described it.

Ezra had been leaning back in a chair, feet propped up on a small table, enjoying the shade cast by the covering over the boardwalk, shifting a pack of cards from one hand to the other, watching the blacks and reds blur into one as the deck slid backwards and forwards.

Initially he'd been surprised that their esteemed leader had chosen him for the task, but, as Chris had begun to explain how supremely simple the task was, Ezra had realised that, one, he was the last resort, and two, Chris was not happy about it. Buck and JD were still laid up from shoulder and leg injuries respectively, as a reminder of a group of outlaws that had passed through the town several weeks earlier, Josiah and Nathan were up at the Indian reserve tending to the wounded and keeping the olive branch extended, and Chris, as he had explained grimly, was headed off with Vin to track an escaped prisoner who had jumped his guards not two miles off and was presumed still in the area.

"Don't screw this up Ezra," Chris had growled, the high-noon sun no doubt stretching his irritability even further than normal.

Ezra had flicked the deck into his right hand and then tucked them briskly into his jacket pocket, looking up with a cheeky grin,

"I have no intention of doing so."

That had been two days ago, and, Ezra had to admit, Chris had been correct. Perfectly simple. Though of course, all he'd done so far was ride.

He was on his way to escort two quarrelling farmers, embroiled in a dispute over their land, back to Four Corners, where, if timed correctly, Judge Travis would be present to settle the dispute. Easy. The short trip had also given Ezra time to take in some fresh surroundings, and enjoy being alone with his horse and his thoughts. It was almost like the old days he thought to himself as, spotting two pitched roofs in the distance, he sped to a trot. But something about the trip had been different also, for the first time, he'd realised that instead of moving on, he had somewhere to return to. Home. That had been both a pleasing and terrifying realisation, along with the jolt that that made the other six his family of sorts. He grinned, better not let Maude cotton on to that one.

He heard the men before he saw them. A chorus of shouting and protesting, followed by a loud rifle shot and a yell of fright. He frowned, the dispute sounded a lot less simple than he'd imagined, and he slowed his horse cautiously and drew his gun.

The two houses were barely twenty feet from one another at the bottom of a small slope, with a tall mountain face climbing up from behind them in the distance. The surrounding land was surprisingly flat and barren, with few shrubs and the odd tree protruding from the ground and looking uncomfortable in the heat. Assembled on the veranda of each house appeared to be makeshift gun posts. On one, a table, trough and armchair had been modified with wood to create an L-shaped hide, out of which the barrel of a rifle was pointing, the other was assembled from the remnants of an old small two-seater carriage and broken wooden creating a similar sort of fortress. It was from the carriage-formed hide that a voice rang out, high-pitched, panicky and desperate,

"You could have killed me!"

The voice that replied from the other side was harsher, less forgiving and deeper,

"Good!"

"You're a damn lunatic!" the first voice again, only a little bit angrier,

"If I am it's because you've driven me to it!" the second voice, just as angry.

Ezra, bemused by the banter and small-scale scenes of warfare, wheeled his horse closer to the houses, listening to the heated debate,

"You're the one that started shooting first!" the panicky man,

"So?"

As a small silence elapsed, the owner of the more pitched, timid voice slowly rose his head above the spoke where a wheel used to be and peered across at his neighbour's veranda. The response nearly took his head off, and he ducked sharply to avoid the bullet.

"Gentlemen?"

At the sound of the mildly amused sounding Southern accent, both men raised their heads slowly to take in the gambler, dressed in a sharp black coat and grinning widely at them from on top of his horse, where he was casually resting one arm on the pommel, the other limply holding a gun, the ease with which it hung from his fingers suggesting that were it called for, it would waste no time in discharging.

Ezra watched as the two men took him in, before the man holding the rifle rose, pushing back a big straw hat, underneath which his face had been completely obscured.

"Who the hell are you?" the voice was twangy, and the face both puzzled and angry.

Ezra smiled once more, hoping to impress upon the man his honest intentions,

"I am Ezra P. Standish at your service."

The man continued to stare blankly, and as Ezra's horse shifted, he swallowed and tried another approach,

"I have come to escort you two gentlemen to Four Corners...to meet the Judge,"

Recognition flickered across the man's face, and he nodded slowly, his face still full of caution,

"Oh, you one of them law fellas?"

Ezra dipped the brim of his hat and grinned,

"Indeed I am. And you I presume, are Mr. MacReedy?"

The man's face filled with scorn, and he shook his head,

"No I ain't!" he gestured with his rifle to his neighbour whose head had just been slowly emerging from his shelter. On seeing the barrel swing in his direction, he ducked once more, "I'm Danielson,"

Ezra nodded gracefully,

"Ah, Mr. Danielson, I see. Well then gentlemen, I am ready to leave whenever you are, and I suggest the sooner the better. There's only a few hours of daylight left and I believe it's best to make some headway tonight."

Mr. Danielson stared at him through narrow eyes, almost as if trying to read him. As Ezra watched the man watching him, MacReedy rose slowly from his covering and also stared, although his eyes were wide behind thick, dusty glasses and he clutched at a small cap timidly.

"We leaving tonight then?" he asked in a whisper.

Ezra turned to him, glad to have a reprieve from Danielson's glare.

"Well, I believe that would be best. Pray how long will you gentlemen need to prepare yourselves for the journey?"

Danielson snorted and swung his rifle over his back, jerking his thumb to a ramshackle building that Ezra presumed was a stable,

"Once I saddle up ole' Duke there I'm as good as gone,"

Ezra nodded,

"Good. Mr. MacReedy?"

Mr. MacReedy looked startled at being addressed, and fumbled with his hat some more,

"Err...well, I'll need to pack some clothes...provisions, tell mother..." Danielson snorted loudly and MacReedy flinched and swallowed before frowning at his neighbour. Before anything could break out however, Ezra interjected,

"Well, how about a quarter of an hour? Would that satisfy Mr. MacReedy?"

MacReedy looked back and nodded gratefully, pushing his hat back on and clambering from his fort. He pushed open his door and strode in, calling out meekly as he disappeared inside.

"Mother!...Mother I'm going away for a bit..."

Ezra ignored Danielson's snort and instead turned to look at the horizon. He narrowed his eyes. He was sure he could see a figure shimmering in the distance. A dark figure a top a horse. However when he blinked, it disappeared.

"I don't know how long! Mother...no I'm not abandoning you like pa did!..."

Ezra sighed. It was going to be a very long two days.