Dillon could see the outline of a dead horse coming into view in front of him and he slowed his gelding down to a trot. He pulled up on the reins as he approached and dismounted, walking over to the dead animal. He knelt down and saw the bullet in the mare's head, and breathed a slight sigh of relief: until he saw the outline of a man lying a few feet away. Scrambling to his feet, Matt quickly went to the downed body. He rolled him over and could see it wasn't Doc, and he let out a breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The man was dead, and as far as Dillon could tell, it was from the blow he took on his head. He looked down at the prairie floor and saw a rock covered in blood. The marshal figured that the man's horse must have spooked or hit a hole and thrown him; the shot he heard must have been another member of the Russo gang putting the mare out of her misery.

He checked the sign in the dirt and could see the tracks of two horses continuing on; at least Doc Adams was all right for the moment.

Adams could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead as Stan guided the horses through some trees and down into a clearing, where a small shack stood. As the horses walked up to it, Stan jumped off his animal, tied him up to a tree and then turned to the old doctor.

"How is it, Doc?"

"Not so good."

Stan reached up and as gently as he could, helped the old doctor out of the saddle and onto the ground. Doc practically crumbled in pain, and Stan put an arm around his waist.

"Just lean on me a little and we'll getcha inside."

"I'll need my bag..."

"I'll come back out and get it."

Stan carefully helped the old doctor into the shack, and as soon as they had stepped inside they stared down a double-barrel shotgun.

"Easy, Mike," Stan said.

"What the hell happened to him?" Mike indicated the doctor. "And where's Larry?"

"Larry's dead."

"What?"

Stan gently put Doc in a chair and turned to Russo. "His horse got spooked and took off at a run, got tangled up with Doc's old mare. The gelding threw Larry and he hit his head on a rock; snapped his neck like a twig. The Doc here broke his leg when his mare went down. I had to shoot her. I'm gonna go get his doctorin' bag."

Doc stared at Mike, who had put the gun down. When the man didn't say anything, Adams glanced around the room, and saw Chester asleep in a chair in the corner, next to a bunk that had a very pale young man on it. Doc looked back at Mike.

"Help me over there."

"I ain't helpin' you do nuthin'."

"Fine. You're the one who brought me out here to help that young whelp, if you don't want me to, that's just fine."

Russo looked over at his little brother, then leaned over and roughly pulled Adams up, causing him to grunt at the pain in his leg. Mike moved Adams over to the bed, and grabbing Chester by the shirt with his free hand, yanked him from the chair, tossing him to the floor.

"Wha...what the--? Doc? Doc!" Chester scrambled up quickly and went to the old doctor whom Mike had dumped in the chair. "Doc, what happened to ya?"

"Broke my leg." He reached into his vest pocket, and pulled out his glasses; he put them on his face, and marveled at the fact that they weren't broken. Adams examined the wound and silently exchanged a glance with Goode, then he said, "Chester, I need my scalpel, forceps, some alcohol and cloths. We gotta get that bullet outta there."

Adams grimaced as he tried to shift in the chair to gain better access to the young man. "Doc?" Chester's worried eyes communicated his deep concern. "What about your leg?"

"You ain't doin' nuthin' 'bout that 'til after you see to my little brother Joey," Mike growled.

Doc looked up at the man over the rim of his glasses, his pale eyes filled with disdain. "I had no intention of setting my leg before taking out that bullet." Russo relaxed slightly and Adams continued, "However, I ain't touching this boy until you let Chester go."

"Doc!" Chester scolded, "I ain't leavin' you here alone like this."

"Oh yes you are." Adams looked at Russo. "What about it?"

"No."

Doc leaned back in his chair then, crossing his arms. "Then I guess this young man's gonna die, because I ain't liftin' a finger to help him until Chester is on a horse ridin' away from here."

"Doc--"

"--You hush up, Chester," Doc rumbled.

The doctor and the outlaw stared at each other, neither willing to budge. Joey groaned and Mike swallowed hard.

"Do something ya damned sawbones!"

"I will, but you let Chester go first."

Joey moaned again. "Doc...do something," Mike pleaded.

Adams glanced down at the boy and knew it was only a matter of time; it was far too late for him, there was nothing Adams could do. His only option was to try and save Chester, but he needed to get Mike to agree to it before the boy died and he lost the only leverage he had.

"Look Russo, I don't want to leave this boy unattended; but there's no reason for you to keep Chester. I'm here, and I'll do all I can, you have my word on that, you don't need to hold anything over my head to convince me to try and save a life."

At some point Stan had slipped back in carrying Doc's bag, and he spoke. "Mike, the old man's right. We don't need this other man. He'll only be a burden to us later anyway. We got the Doc, Dillon ain't gonna do nuthin' long as we have him."

Joey cried out in pain again, and Mike could no longer stand it. "All right! Stan, get Chester outta here, but he gits no horse."

"Wait a minute--" Doc began to balk.

"--No!" Mike yelled. "He can go, but he's goin' on foot. We ain't got the horse to spare now, and I don't want him gettin' nowhere very fast. Take it or leave it, Doc, but that's the way it's gonna be."

Adams nodded. "All right. But he goes right now, before I do anything for this boy."

Chester put a hand on Adams' shoulder. "Doc..."

Adams didn't have to turn to look into the big brown eyes to know that they were misty with sadness. "I'll be fine, Chester. You just go on now," Doc said without turning.

"But Doc--"

"--Get outta here, Chester!" Doc growled.

Stan gripped Goode's arm and walked him to the door. Chester looked back once more at Mike.

"You harm one hair on his head, mister, and I'll kill you, I swear it."

Russo glared at Goode, about to retort when Doc interrupted. "Chester damn you, get outta here, now!" The two men's eyes met and Adams could read the caring and worry in Goode's. His voice softened considerably, "Be careful out there in the dark, Chester, don't get lost."

Stan pulled Goode through the door, closing it behind them, and with Mike hovering over his shoulder, Doc Adams set to work on a wound he knew was mortal. He prayed that the boy would last long enough to give Chester time to put as much distance between himself and the shack that he could. Matt Dillon was out there somewhere; Doc could feel it. He hoped that Chester would find him sooner rather than later.