Ezra and Chaucer pulled into Dixon right around lunch time. The well-dressed gambler boarded his horse and headed immediately towards the saloon. It was a quaint little town. The saloon was cleaner than most, and Standish didn't have to step over any passed-out drunks to enter. In fact, it was early enough though that there weren't many patrons at all.

"What can I do for ya?" the bartender asked as Standish approached.

"Do you offer any nourishment in your fine establishment?" Ezra asked, as he continued to look around.

"Just the liquid variety," the bartender replied, "but the girls'll go next door to the restaurant and bring ya back somethin' if you tip well."

Ezra sat down at the bar with his whiskey, to wait for the homely barmaid/working girl to bring him his sandwich. "Would you happen to know of any local property for sale?" Standish asked the bartender, "something close to the river and good for raising crops?"

"Ya don't look much like a farmer to me, mister."

"It is for an associate of mine," Ezra downed his shot of whiskey.

"I'm not much up on that sort of thing, but there's a feller named Jim who usually comes in later. Ya should talk to him; owns a whole bunch of the land 'round here."

"Thank you very much sir," Ezra paid for his whiskey and tipped both the bartender and the girl waiting with his food. He then sat down at a table and ate his roast-beef sandwich.

Buck awoke with a headache, and the sensation of blood running down the side of his head. His hands were cuffed, so there wasn't anything he could do about it. He was bound to a very tall tree and had only been moved about ten yards from where he had been knocked out. Chris was tied to the tree just to his left. Larabee was slumped over and appeared to still be unconscious.

"Finally decided to wake up huh?" Buck jumped at the sound of Wiles' voice just behind him.

"What the hell's goin' on, Wiley?" Buck closed his eyes to try and relieve the pounding headache. It was obvious, looking at the now more-apparent bruises and swelling on both Chris and George, that the two had fought. "Did Chris say somethin' to make ya angry?"

Wiles turned away to tend his fire about 30 feet away.

Buck didn't continue the questioning. A groan to his left claimed his attention.

"Chris?" Wilmington turned and asked, "you awake?"

"I hope not," Larabee hissed as the movement caused pain just about everywhere, "was wishin' this whole mess was some kind of nightmare."

"What happened between you two?" Buck asked, hoping to hear some sort of reasonable explanation for Wiley's behavior.

"What the hell ya askin' me for?" Chris wiggled his hands, testing the ropes that held him. "I came up here to help him set up a friggin' target…next thing I knew, he was tryin' to take me out."

"You didn't say anything to him?"

"You think this was my fault?" Chris locked his green eyes with Buck's dark blue ones. "Maybe we should get good ol' Wiley to untie your hands, so you can get a few licks in on me too?"

"Damnit Chris, I didn't mean it like that," Buck sighed. "I just can't make any sense of it." The tall man stopped and looked over Larabee. "How bad are you hurt?"

Chris took a deep breath. Being angry at Buck wasn't going to help anything. Larabee was having a hard time getting his eyes to focus, and he recognized the tell-tale pain of cracked ribs, but replied, "nothin' too serious…..how're you doin'?" The seven's leader didn't know what had happened after he was knocked out. He could see blood on the side of Buck's head, and he had no idea if Wiles had also fought with Wilmington.

"I'm fine," Buck smiled. "Wiley conked me on the noggin and tied me up. From the looks of him, you musta got a few good blows in before you went down."

"Obviously not enough," Chris closed his eyes against the rhythmic thumping in his head.

George walked back to the two captives and offered them a drink out of their canteen. Each accepted, and Buck tried again to figure out what was going on. "Wiley, why are you doin' this?"

Damn, this was going to be harder than he thought. George knew he owed Buck an explanation; the man had been his friend for 13 years, but he just couldn't bring himself to say anything. Larabee looked like hell; he hadn't intended to hurt the man so badly. The intial blow with the branch was supposed to hit Chris in the head and knock him out, but it was too heavy and struck the gunslinger in the chest instead. He didn't have a choice once Larabee attacked; he had to fight back or risk ruining everything. Chris always could withstand an unbelievable amount of punishment. The blond could hold his own in a bar fight, right along side himself and Buck, who were at least a few inches taller and more than twenty pounds heavier.

Wiles walked back to the campfire without so much as an acknowledgment of Buck's question.

"Vin?" Mary Travis approached carrying an armload of letters and packages. The stage had just arrived, and the blonde woman collected the mail to hand out to the town folks.

"Can I help you with that, Mrs. Travis?" Vin ran over to her.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," she smiled. "It's just that there was a letter addressed to Mr. Wiles. The stage driver said that the mail had gotten held up for a few days, so I suspect Mr. Wiles was supposed to receive this upon arriving in town."

"I can give it to him when he gets back," Vin answered. "Wiles, Buck, Chris, and Ezra are supposed to be back tomorrow night or Friday morning."

"Thanks a lot Vin," Mary handed over the letter, turned and headed into Mrs. Potter's store.

The tracker made his way over to the saloon, where Nathan was having lunch. "Hey Nate," Vin sat down.

"Vin, what ya got?" Nathan looked at the letter in the Texan's hand.

"It's a letter for Buck's friend, Wiles," Vin said, "told Mary I'd give it to him when they got back."

Nathan could sense the tracker was holding something back. "And?" Nathan had been called out to deliver a baby and never got a chance to meet George Wiles.

Vin sighed, "there was something about him, Nate. Let's just say I'll feel a lot better when Chris, Buck and Ezra come ridin' back in here tomorrow night."

Tanner was quiet for another couple of minutes, and followed with, "ya don't think I should open the letter, do ya?"

"Nope," Nathan quickly answered. "Whether you like him or not, a man's mail is his own business."

"I s'pose you're right," Vin looked more closely at the envelope. "I never got many letters, but isn't there usually something that tells who it's from?"

"A return address, you mean," Nathan grabbed the letter and said, "yeah, it's usually up here, but this one ain't got one. That is a bit strange…but it don't change the fact that it's clearly addressed to Mr. Wiles. Ya want me to keep the letter, Vin?"

"Nah, I ain't gonna open it. Don't worry."

Ezra had been gambling with the locals in Dixon all day, and most had been fairly cordial and informative about property for sale in the area. All had agreed that "Jim" would be the man to talk to, and "Jim" entered the saloon for dinner and drinks at around 5 o'clock.

"I hear you're lookin' for me," a tall, thin man of about 50 approached Ezra's table at precisely 5:05 PM.

"Is your name Jim?" Standish looked up. The man was well-dressed, not as well as himself of course, but better than anyone else in the saloon.

"It is," the man sat down with his drink, "and you are?"

"The name is Ezra Standish, sir, and a number of saloon patrons have informed me that you are the man to speak with about local farm properties for sale."

"You interested in buyin'?"

"Not for myself, but for an associate. He is looking for at least a hundred good farm acres to purchase. May I inquire as to your last name, sir?"

"Name's Reading, James Reading, and I own a number of parcels along the Rio Grande. There's probably one or two I could part with, if they suit your friend….and he's willing to pay a fair price."

"That sounds perfect, my good man," Ezra beckoned to the young lady waiting to give Mr. Reading his meal. "Why don't you enjoy your meal, and we can talk over a game of chance afterwards."

"Very good, Mr. Standish. I do enjoy a fine game of cards."

Ezra had allowed the gentleman to win all but one hand, so Jim was in an excellent mood and very forth-coming about the land and the price that he would want per acre. Standish could already see his 10% commission starting to materialize, as he had set up a meeting between Mr. Reading, himself, and Mr. Wiles for the next evening.

It was nearly midnight when Standish headed over to the hotel. Ezra pulled his coat tighter around himself as he made his way to his room. The wind was swift and cold out of the north. He laughed and felt a twinge of guilt that Misters Wilmington, Larabee, and Wiles would be sleeping outside in these lovely conditions.

Chris knew he was not going to get any sleep. He was sore and stiff from his fight with Wiles and being tied in the same position all day, and he was so damn cold that his teeth were chattering. Larabee had been working and pulling at the ropes binding his hands for hours. Maybe he had made a little head-way, but he still had a long way to go to get himself free.

"Damn!" Buck said, as he shivered and tried to scoot around to the more wind-shielded side of the tree, "is it gonna snow or what?" It had been warm during the day, so neither he nor Chris were wearing their coats when Wiles tied them up.

"Chris?" Buck asked when he got no response. "Ya still awake?"

"Hell yes I'm awake," Chris growled back.

"I've been thinkin', and I can't come up with any reason for Wiley to want to get back at me, at us, for anything."

Damn, how Buck was like a big kid; always searching for the best in people. Chris supposed that was what kept Wilmington at his side all these years, but Buck had to know by now that sometimes people just went bad. "Somebody's probably payin' him to capture us or kill us, Buck."

"I served with George Wiles for nearly a year before I moved to your regiment, Chris. He wouldn't do somethin' like that for money."

"Folks do a lot of crazy things for money. You can ask Ezra all about it when he gets here tomorrow."

"Ah hell," the ladies' man sighed, "Ezra's gonna walk right into a trap." Buck kicked at the ground in front of him. "He's gonna come up here lookin' for us, and he's gonna fall victim to Wiles just like we did."

"You never know, Buck," Chris' voice was quaking from the cold, "Ezra's got a pretty good sixth sense about things…."

Just then, a strong, cold wind blew through the valley, and it started to rain – a drenching, icy rain.

Vin couldn't sleep. He lay in his wagon, listening to the ice pellets hit the roof. He could handle about any kind of conditions – wind, dust, heat – but damn he hated the bitter cold. Even with his buckskin coat and two blankets, he could not get warm. That wasn't what was keeping him awake though. He couldn't stop thinking about his friends, especially Chris Larabee. Tanner and Larabee had known each other for less than a year, but he trusted the fair-haired gunslinger more than he had trusted anyone in his adult life. Larabee was far from perfect. He drank too much and had a nasty temper, but Chris' soul was innately good. The man would fight to the death to help an innocent person in need, whether the judge was paying him to do it or not. Vin sighed as he rolled over and tried once again to force his mind to relax and allow his tired body to rest.

Buck thought he couldn't get more miserable, but now he had "wet" to add to his growing list of complaints. It had stopped raining after about an hour, but now the cold seemed to seep clear through to his bones. Wilmington usually tolerated cool weather quite well, but he couldn't ever remember feeling this miserably chilled.

Chris had his legs pulled up as tightly to his chest as he could, and his head down. He was trying to keep the cold wind from blowing across his wet clothing and body.

The one thing Buck was thankful for tonight was that Larabee was his companion. He knew Chris was suffering just as greatly as he was, but his stoic friend was not the type to complain about it. If Ezra were here, they would never hear the end of it. He would go on and on all night about how ridiculous the weather was and how he should have never taken up with the likes of the other six. Vin could not tolerate the cold, and although, like Chris, he wouldn't moan about it, he would likely come down with pneumonia the following day. Nathan would be fretting about everyone's health, Josiah would be cursing the heavens, and JD would just be talking – all night and all day about anything and everything that popped into his head.

In fact, Buck thought his companion was a bit too quiet….even for Larabee. "Chris, you doin' ok?"

No answer.

"Chris?" Buck paused again. "Damnit, say somethin'."

"Shut up, Buck," was all Larabee could manage. Chris prided himself on being able to keep calm in dangerous situations, but he was on the verge of losing it tonight. He just wanted to be back in Four Corners in his bed…alone and warm. He felt like crap. He'd gotten the shit beat out of him earlier, his headache still pulsed with every heartbeat, his clothes and eyelashes were starting to freeze, and he could not stop shivering….violently.

"Well, that's gratitude for you," Wilmington yelled out. "Screw you too Larabee."

Just before dawn, Wiles appeared out of the darkness. He had gotten up to see to the call of nature and realized how terribly cold it was away from the campfire.

He walked up and placed Buck's duster over him. "Thanks," Buck said. George said nothing, as usual, and approached Chris to do the same. Larabee had gotten his hands free of the rope less than one minute earlier, and he had no idea if his limbs would do as he commanded. He knew, however, that it was now or never and kicked Wiles hard in the stomach.

As the big man staggered backwards, Chris jumped to his feet and hit George with a double-fisted uppercut to the jaw. The ex-soldier bit his tongue and howled. In a very uncoordinated fashion, Chris made a run to where Buck was tied to see if he could get Wilmington's hands free.

"Shit," Chris cursed. Buck wasn't tied up with ropes as he had been. His hands were held with a set of metal cuffs. Wiles must have only had one pair of cuffs, and he must have thought Buck was a bigger threat than Chris if he got loose.

Wiley had re-gained his composure while Larabee fumbled with the handcuffs. George lifted the smaller man in a bear hug from behind. Despite the wound on his scalp, Larabee head-butted Wiles. George let go but didn't fall. Chris knew he had to get Wiles on the ground. The man was too big to fight hand-to-hand. So, the exhausted peacekeeper plowed into Wiles with all his weight, and both men toppled to the dirt.

Buck was going crazy sitting there watching Chris struggle with Wiles. He wiggled and tugged at the handcuffs and screamed at the two combatants. He saw Larabee tackle his old war buddy and begin pummeling with everything he had. He could also see that Chris' strength was waning fast. Larabee had been hurt more than he had let on. George was able to block most of the blows with his arms, and it only took one of Wiles' punches up through the middle to knock Chris on his backside.

Wiley stomped on the downed-man's side, back, and midsection as Chris tried to roll away. George finally hauled the man, forcibly, to his feet and flung him hard into a large tree trunk. Chris' back and head slammed with a sickening thud, and he sat slouched up against the tree unmoving. Buck screamed, "No!" as Wiles went to grab at Larabee's shirt to pull him back up.

Buck continued to plead for his friend, "Wiley! Please stop. Chris can't take anymore. You're gonna kill him….is that what you want?"

George stopped, released his grip on Chris, and turned to look at Wilmington.

The impact with the tree hurt like hell, and it dazed Chris for a moment….but he wasn't as injured as he let on. Once Wiles was distracted with Buck, Chris turned the tides and rammed the bigger man into another tree behind him. This time it was George's head that smacked, and Wiles fought to stay conscious.

"Chris, run!" Buck yelled. "Get out of here!"

"I ain't leavin' you," Chris grunted out between breaths, as his lungs tried to take in some much-needed oxygen.

"You have to! Go find Ezra," Buck's blue eyes pleaded with his friend. "Go….NOW!"

Deep down, Chris knew Buck was right. Reluctantly, he nodded and took off into the trees.

Wiles got to his knees, pulled his gun, and started shooting into the forest. The sun was starting to come up, but it was still too dark to make out Larabee's retreating form.

Ezra rose the next morning and wasted little time getting his horse ready and on the road. He was excited to share his findings with Mr. Wiles, and he needed to make sure they all had time to get back this evening to meet with the property owner, Mr. Reading. It was still cool outside, but the wind and rain from the previous night had moved on. The sun was shining, and Standish was enjoying the leisurely ride up north.

When he was less than an hour away from where he left his friends the day before, he caught a glimpse of something dark lying in the tall grass to his left. It never moved, so Standish ignored it and rode on past. Something kept nagging at his mind though, and he turned around after a few minutes. He dismounted from Chaucer, pulled out his gun, and made his way through the knee-deep grass to take a closer look.

Ezra gasped when he saw legs and realized it was a body. His knees grew weak when he saw the familiar boots and spurs.