Candy woke with painful slowness. He was dazed, confused and cold. Even before he opened his eyes, he was uncomfortably aware that he had no idea where he was. Looking around was not at all reassuring. He was indoors somewhere, but he had no idea where. Nothing looked familiar and his anxiety increased as his memory began to piece itself back together.

He started to try to sit up, not really remembering why exactly but knowing he had to get home. He had to do something. He had to warn Mr. Cartwright, tell him... Candy searched his groggy memory. His head ached, and the attempt to sit up sent a flaming bolt of pain across his back that made him gasp.

"I wouldn't sit up just yet if I were you."

He didn't know the voice and flinched. His eyes met those of a blond beauty, one who was very pregnant by the looks of it. He blinked at her in a turmoil of confusion. She gazed back calmly, as if all of this were very normal and nothing to be upset about.

"My name is Laura," she said, and Candy was relieved to find that she was a stranger after all because he had no memory of her, "We found you outside our barn, passed out."

"We?" Candy inquired, still half-sitting up, gripping the back of the couch he was lying on and looking around for the rest of whoever 'we' happened to be.

"Clint and I," Laura replied mildly, "He's in the kitchen, getting more hot water and bandages. I'm afraid my initial patch job was a bit rushed. You were bleeding quite a bit, and it seemed more important to get that stopped than to do a pretty job of it."

"Oh," Candy nodded vaguely, his mind beginning to fill in the blanks.

He'd been shot. He remembered that now. Shot while trying to escape. But why? What was he running from? He felt light-headed and dizzy, even though he wasn't moving, but he refused to lie back down. He had to go... to get back to the Ponderosa and Mr. Cartwright. He didn't quite know why, but he was sure it would come to him, and he knew somehow that there was no time to waste.

Gradually, he worked his way to a more upright position, and rotated so his back was against the couch. The effort left him gasping, and he had no idea how he'd sit a horse in the condition he was in now. A horse... that reminded him, he didn't have one of those. What had happened to his? Faintly, he recalled being rocked painfully on the back of a limping horse. It had been cold, and there had been wind.

"Oh, my head," Candy mumbled, putting a hand to his forehead and trying to breathe deeply.

The agony in his back that resulted caused him to forget deeply, and he just breathed as best he could.

"You really shouldn't be sitting up," Laura advised, "You could reopen the wound. And the bullet's still inside, moving around could make things worse for you."

"I... have to go," Candy said hesitantly, wondering what standing up would be like, "I need to... get home."

"So you've said," Laura told him gently, "You talked quite a bit in your sleep."

He looked at her sharply, wondering what all he might have said, and if it should worry him.

"And it's a good thing for you that you did," the sound of a masculine voice coming from somewhere behind him made Candy jump, and he winced, "Because otherwise we'd have turned you over to those sheriff's deputies that were here looking for you."

From around behind the couch, there came a tall man with dark hair and a mustache. Candy imagined that this must be Clint. Based on his -very limited- knowledge, it could hardly be anyone else.

"What did I say?" Candy asked uneasily, hoping not only to find out what these people knew, but also to jog his memory.

"You told us about the Cartwright boys being in trouble. Hoss and Joe, you called them. You said you had to get word to their father. You said the sheriff in Elodie wanted you dead."

Candy's brow furrowed. Slowly, his memory began to surface, and he realized why he needed to go home. He also realized that he didn't even have to get there. All he needed was to get word there, which meant sending a message via the nearest telegraph office.

"I need to get a message to Mr. Cartwright, right away," Candy said, then asked, "What's the nearest town that has a telegraph office?"

"That'd be Dewton," Clint replied, "That's only about fifteen miles as the crow flies."

"Could you send a message to Mr. Cartwright for me?" Candy asked, "It's urgent. I haven't got money on me now, but I swear I'd pay you for it once I do."

"No," Clint replied, "I can't leave Laura. Not for anything."

"Then I'm afraid I need to borrow a horse from you, if you've got one," Candy said.

"No," Clint repeated, a hard edge to his voice.

Candy felt a twinge of frustration, but he didn't let it touch his tone when he said, "Look, I know you've got no reason to trust me, but I'll find a way to pay for the use of the horse, and I'll see it gets back to you."

"We've only got one horse without a foal clinging to her, and she's the most valuable animal we own," Clint said, "And, besides, you'd never make it in your condition. You can't stand, much less sit a horse."

"You'd be surprised what a man can do with the proper motivation," Candy told him.

"Why is it so important to you?" Laura asked, "Who are these Cartwrights that you would risk your life for them in such a reckless way?"

Instead of answering, Candy shot back, "Who am I that you didn't turn me over to the deputies?"

"It was the right thing to do," Laura said simply, "We could not do otherwise."

"There's your answer," Candy said.

It wasn't the whole truth, or even most of it, but he figured it was sufficient to convince her, and he could see from the way she and Clint exchanged looks that she was the one he needed to convince. He was not wrong, for Laura looked up at Clint, and he seemed to deflate on seeing the look in her eyes.

"I'll go saddle the mare," Clint said quietly.

Candy watched him go, half-suspicious and not really knowing why.

"At the very least you have to let me redo the bandaging," Laura said, "Only I'll do it right this time. I don't want to disturb the first layer, but the rest needs some work."

It was not the first time Candy had been shot, and so he saw easily the wisdom of her request. He acceded to it, and thanked her when she was finished. He noted that she worked with no small amount of skill. It wasn't just in her hands though. In her voice when she spoke there was also a quiet and gentle but undeniable tone of authority. It was the sort of voice one would use to settle down a wildly frightened horse, or to tame an equally unruly youth.

Candy then experimented with actually getting up. He found he had a reserve of strength left after all. Though it was not much, he hoped it might get him the fifteen miles to Dewton. While he was figuring how best to move around without making the injury all the angrier, Laura picked up the cloth she had used and the bowl of now lukewarm water.

"You must love them very much," she said as she went into the kitchen.

"I suppose you could put it that way," Candy replied somewhat guardedly.

Clint returned then, coming in and closing the door quietly in time to hear Laura's further remark.

"It's good to have someone to love that much."

"Yes," Candy said, taking in the strange look on Clint's face and recognizing it for what it was, "I guess it is."

"The horse is ready," Clint said, "She's waiting out front."

"Thank you," Candy said, "I'll make sure she gets back to you alright."

Just as he started to pass Clint, the man caught his shoulder briefly.

"Be careful," Clint warned, "Your courage might cost you your life if you aren't."

Candy looked at the floor briefly, embarrassed.

"It's not courage," Candy assured him with a wry grin, "Just sheer ornery stubbornness. I take a notion into my head to do something, and then I don't quit, no matter how stupid it is."

"Sure," Clint said, but it was clear that he did not believe that.

He watched Candy go, and a thought began to form in his mind. If Candy could do such a thing for the people he loved, how much harder then would it be for Clint to do what he should have done long ago? Slowly, he turned towards the kitchen where he knew Laura was.

As he heard the sound of the horse cantering away through the snow, Clint said hesitantly, "Laura, there's something I need to tell you. Something you need to know."

Laura appeared then in the doorway of the kitchen, and smiled in that special way of hers.

"I think I already know," she said, "But tell me anyway."

Of course she knew. She always had. Long before Jeff ever worked up the courage to propose, Laura had let on to Clint that she knew he wanted to. She'd known even before Jeff himself. So of course she knew. But she was too much a lady to say it for him, and had waited for Clint to work it out for himself.

She was that kind of woman, and Clint loved her for it.

Josh Jones listened to the instructions of Sheriff Holt as relayed by Lacy Jane, but when she was finished, he shook his head emphatically.

"I got a better idea," he pronounced the last as 'ID', "Them horses is worth more money apiece than every critter in Elodie put together. I plan to sell 'em."

"To who?" Lacy asked incredulously, "Sheriff Holt wouldn't let anybody in Elodie keep 'em."

"Who said anythin' 'bout Elodie?" Josh shook his head again, "Nobody here's got the money them horses is worth. I gotta take 'em outta town. If I sell 'em off outside o' town, it still gets rid o' 'em, and that's what the sheriff wants anyhow. What's he care how they go or where, jus' so long as they ain't here no more?"

It sounded pretty reasonable to Lacy. After all, the only real concern was that the horses not be found here in Elodie. Nobody Josh tried to sell to would know until too late (if ever) that the horses weren't his. By then he would be long gone, nobody would be able to find out where.

"Well, you'd best get started then," Lacy recommended.

"Nope," Josh shook his head one more time, "I ain't goin' nowhere 'til the snow clears out a bit. Can't drive a pack o' horses through snow like this without riskin' damage to 'em, maybe even losin' 'em."

"Sheriff Holt wants those horses gone, and fast," Lacy said, "If anyone found them here-"

"Who's gonna find 'em here? Even if Cartwright goes lookin' for his boys or hires a whole posse to, why would they come to Elodie? Cartwrights ain't never been here before, and you talked to that Canaday fella first thing this morning. You remember he said this town wasn't in any plan o' theirs. It just sorta happened that they stopped here."

"I suppose that's true," Lacy admitted.

"So all we gotta do with them horses is keep 'em until the snow thaws. Any strangers come into town, we jus' keep them outta sight."

"Would that be difficult? Keeping horses locked up like that?" Lacy inquired.

"Doubt it," Josh replied, "Horses huddle up together in winter anyhow, stick to shelter and don't move around much if they don't have to."

As though it had understood the ludicrous statement, the pinto suddenly kicked out at the wood of his stall and whinnied impatiently.

"He doesn't sound very happy," Lacy observed.

"Ain't," Josh confirmed, "That one's the only wrinkle. Bad tempered cuss, that one. Crankier by the minute, like as not used to spoilin', bein' a rich man's horse an' all."

The pinto nipped at the air and bobbed his head irritably, then kicked at his stall when another gust of wind blew across his hocks. He snorted and turned around in his stall, then turned again.

"Won't he attract a lot of notice?" Lacy asked.

"It comes to that, I'll shoot 'im to keep 'im quiet. Likely it won't. Like I said, Lacy Jane, ain't nobody comin' to Elodie to look for them Cartwrights."

Cochise snorted and pawed at the floor of his stall, laying back his ears in frustration. He was a work horse, used to labor and sometimes unpleasant environments, but he was accustomed to being stabled properly, cared for, well-fed and exercised. Josh hadn't even fed the horses this morning, and their water buckets were iced over now on account of the drafts in the stable. Candy's chestnut and Hoss' dark brown were quiet in their misery, but the little pinto was angry, and he wanted the man to know it.

Though he owned a livery stable, Josh was not a horseman, and he ignored the pinto.

"Awful cold day for a casual ride, isn't it, Ben?" Sheriff Coffee inquired, offering Ben a hot mug of his namesake.

Ben took it, grateful for the warm brew after the cold air outside. He'd already asked Roy if there was anything going on that ought to concern him. Roy Coffee had been adamant that things were peaceful and quiet, the way it was intended to be at this time of year. He said it seemed like most folks knew better than to cause a lot of trouble around Christmastime. Like as not, most of the criminal types in the county were at home with their own families instead of roaming the countryside looking for trouble.

"They say crime goes up on holidays in those big cities back east," Roy had remarked, "Folks see law enforcement wants to take the day off, and they just naturally take advantage of it. I guess they have more sense out here."

Ben had nodded sagely, but made no comment. He'd spent enough time in those cities to know it went a lot deeper than that. In the city, people seemed to feel more keenly the need for things and money, because they had to keep up appearances or prove to themselves they were equal or superior to the people around them. Out here in the wide open spaces, it wasn't like that. A man could have space to breathe and think out here, and it was a long ride to anywhere he might commit a crime, and that took care of most people who would become criminals on impulse because they had time to think on it.

Before they could continue, a boy of about fifteen came running into the office.

"Mr. Cartwright!" the boy exclaimed, "I saw your horse outside and, well, I was sent to bring this to you," he held out a telegram, which Ben took and read silently.

Seeing his grim look, Roy asked, "What is it, Ben?"

"My reason for coming to town," Ben replied grimly.

The paper he held in his hands was a ransom note.