This is mostly stuff we saw last time, but from Wyatt's POV. A little new stuff at the end. I'm so busy right now, guys. If you're still reading, thanks!

Wyatt decided to pick up some breakfast for his prisoner before going to the livery stable. He asked the hotel clerk if he could get something simple in a covered dish, and soon he had a little pot of porridge to take with him.

The rain was still heavy when he set out to the rudimentary jail. He unlocked the door and took a step back, drawing his gun. "Jackson!" When there was no answer, he called, "If I send a bullet through this door, will it hit you?"

"Are you crazy?" came Jackson's husky growl. He wasn't right next to the door.

Wyatt nudged the door open and stepped inside. "Good morning," he said, observing Jackson sitting on the spartan cot at the other end of the one-room structure. "I've got your breakfast. I'm going to set that down and take your refuse out. You move, I shoot. Got it?"

Jackson glared, but he gave a nod.

Wyatt hadn't had to empty many chamber pots in his time, but the posted instructions inside the little jail made it clear: you use it, you clean it. At least the bucket had a lid. He set the porridge dish on the one-person table, fished the spoon from his pocket, and then picked up the bucket while watching Jackson carefully. He backed toward the door. "Have a nice breakfast. We're probably going to stay right here today, so after I bring this back, I'll see you at lunch time."

Jackson's eyes never left him. He put Wyatt in mind of a cat watching a mouse hole. It was the same when he returned the bucket. He knew he was being sized up.

Glad that task was behind him, Wyatt took the used dishes with him and went to talk to the livery man. Then it was back to the hotel to see if Doc was up.

Doc seemed a little terse as they headed down to breakfast. When they sat down, he said, "Perhaps it'll rain through 'til tomorrow... and there'll be no need to turn in early."

Wyatt shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't know it would turn out this way..."

"Wyatt's not responsible for the weather," James put in. "For all he knew, we could have gotten an early start today. Although, we did talk about the possibility of a storm right here in this room last night, as you may recall. You said nothing then."

"I was too busy workin' on my dinner to please Wyatt," Doc snapped. "Why I let him sway my humor so, I can't imagine."

He's really put out, Wyatt thought. He wasn't sure how to placate his friend.

"He's a conniver, all right," James said.

Wyatt looked up to see his brother smirking. He started to protest but got tongue-tied.

"Don't try to deny it. We're all out here on your fanciful idea, and I'm guessin' you'll have me and Doc and maybe Virg and Morgan out doing more wild things with you too before long. You could talk a squirrel down from a tree or an antelope up into one."

Doc chuckled. At least he didn't seem as sore now.

When James offered to read aloud and Doc said he had already read the book, Wyatt felt somewhat left out as the only one who hadn't read it.

"Of course, maybe you oughta be studyin' that Bible so you'll be ready for your churchin' when you get back to Dodge." Doc smirked.

Don't remind me. Wyatt felt as if he ought to crack the Bible open at least once during the trip - just so he could say he had without lying. But he didn't feel like it.

"Besides, I reckon Jackson's gang will hit us shortly after we leave this town. If they don't try to take him tonight."

Doc explained his reasoning, and they began making plans. When Doc suggested moving across the hall, Wyatt said, "If there's trouble, we want you as close as possible. You should stay with us." He would give his bed to Doc and share with James. When they traveled with the wagon train, he and his siblings had often slept packed in like sardines.

Looking around the room, Doc said, "Is someone going to be keeping watch at all hours? Or are we going to move another bed in here?"

"James and I can share. It wouldn't be the first time. Are those soldiers still in town?"

"They might be," said James. "They wouldn't want to travel in this weather any more than we do."

"Maybe I can get their advice on this."

Doc was still playing his game of solitaire, looking preoccupied.

"Doc, you should move your things in here. I'll go speak to the manager about bringing Jackson in to make sure no one opens the door of two-thirteen. Then we need to bring him over. I might need a hand with him." Wyatt remembered those dark eyes watching his every move.

"I'm your huckleberry," Doc said, pushing his chair back.

Wyatt had heard the turn of phrase only rarely, but he knew it. Such slang seemed a little too informal for someone of Doc's usual, polite manner, but then again, he was a bit eccentric. "No, you need to get the room ready. James can come with me." And the rain is bad for your condition.

Doc didn't argue.

When Wyatt opened the lock-up door, Jackson had the same hair-trigger look he'd had earlier that morning. It lost a little intensity when James came into view. He was smart enough not to like being outnumbered in spite of his size.

"Change of plans, Jackson. We're moving you into the hotel."

The outlaw merely stared.

"Come on, get up. You'd rather have a real bed, wouldn't you?"

Jackson grunted and got to his feet. He put on his hat and awkwardly shrugged into his coat with the aid of his cuffed hands, unable to make use of the sleeves.

"Lead the way, James," Wyatt said. To Jackson, he said, "You follow a few paces behind him. If you try to run, I'll wing you. I don't think you want to fall bleeding in the muddy street, only to be dragged off to a doctor, patched up, and locked up again."

Jackson still said nothing, but he followed instructions.

Finally, they made it to the second floor of the hotel. Doc opened the door to 213 for them.

"Any trouble?" Doc asked.

The room echoed. It looked like someone was selling all of the fixtures to avoid an eviction.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," James answered. "What happened here?"

"I didn't want Mister Jackson to have anything that might facilitate his escape."

Wyatt was impressed. He even took down the curtains... less material for a rope ladder. "Good thinking. A bed's all he really needs anyway."

"I want to visit the privy before you lock me in here," Jackson said, glaring at Wyatt.

"All right." Wyatt motioned to the doorway. "You could have said that a little sooner."

Doc followed Wyatt, but James went through to their room, no doubt eager to get out of his wet things. Wyatt didn't mind; he was sure that he and Doc could handle Jackson.

"I need my hands free," Jackson said when they reached the washroom.

"You made do with cuffed hands when I took you breakfast."

"It's inhumane. You ever tried to get your britches up and down without full use of your hands?"

The prisoner's voice was irritating. Wyatt decided it was worth the risk to shut him up. "Fine." He handed his gun to Doc to cover him. "If you try anything, you won't get this courtesy again."

"Courtesy," Jackson snorted.

After a little wait during which Wyatt and Doc pointedly ignored their surroundings, Jackson emerged from his stall and washed his hands slowly, probably stalling for time before he would have to be cuffed again.

"You want to cuff him, or hold the gun?" Wyatt asked, pretty sure he knew how Doc would answer.

"Gun," Doc said immediately.

Wyatt handed over his revolver and approached Jackson with the cuffs.

Jackson put out his hands, but as Wyatt moved to put the cuffs on his wrists, he suddenly moved his hands apart, one up and one down.

Wyatt instinctively dodged the hand coming at his face, but the other landed in his stomach. He could take a punch, but Jackson was beefy and a heavy hitter; the wind was knocked out of him. He heard Doc shout something but couldn't pay attention to it at the moment. He aimed a punch at Jackson's throat, wanting to get on equal ground with him, but his throw didn't have nearly his usual strength behind it and Jackson dodged with surprising ease. The outlaw moved to take a grappling hold, and Wyatt did his best to block him.

Starting this altercation at such a disadvantage meant that all of his moves were slowed and weakened. Wyatt rued his decision not to have James come along with them. Things might go badly from here, especially if Doc had an itchy trigger finger.

Eventually, Jackson got Wyatt in a solid hold around the neck with one his enormous arms, his other tight around Wyatt's ribs. "I'll break his neck!" he shouted.

"No, you won't," Doc drawled. "Why would you do a thing like that? I've still got a gun on you, and you'd only be standin' trial for two murders then. Don't be foolish."

Good, he's keeping his head. Wyatt tried struggling a bit, but Jackson was solid, almost immovable.

"You're friends," Jackson said. "I seen you talkin' thick as thieves."

"Saw," Doc interrupted.

"What?"

"You saw us talking, not seen."

Wyatt would have laughed if he hadn't been in such a serious position.

"Shut up, you Dixie bastard. It'd break your little heart if I break his neck. Drop the gun."

"Wyatt, is the reward the same if we bring him in dead?"

Believe me, I wish it were. But Wyatt couldn't get enough air to say all that. "Nope," he wheezed. He tried to stomp on Jackson's foot, but the moment he moved, Jackson jerked him off balance and he had to focus on staying upright. He had no desire to fall with this buffalo of a man on top of him - or under him, for that matter.

Meanwhile, Doc went on trying to reason with Jackson. "...And you're right: Wyatt Earp is my friend. If you kill him, I won't worry about the reward money anymore. I'll just drop you right here and now and think nothin' of it."

Wyatt saw James come up to the doorway, holding his own gun pointed at the floor.

"James?" Doc didn't look around at him.

"Yeah, Doc." James asked no questions.

In spite of his predicament, Wyatt was proud of James for staying so calm and simply backing Doc up with his presence.

Doc picked up where he had left off, intimidating the enormous Jackson in his own quiet way until the outlaw's grip felt a little clammy and Wyatt heard him swallow.

"I think shoulder's best, don't you, James?" Doc asked casually. "I don't fancy having to drag him or help him limp around."

"Wait." Jackson shoved Wyatt away.

Wyatt felt rather undignified, but at least he managed not to fall over.

"So rough," Doc scolded. "There was no call for that."

"You all right, Wyatt?" James asked.

Other than a little wounded pride? "Fine," Wyatt said. He retrieved the handcuffs from where they had fallen and put them on Jackson. Then he punched the outlaw in the nose. "Come on." He was getting his wind back.

Jackson howled with pain and grabbed his bleeding nose as Wyatt steered him down the hall. His complaints of "unnecessary force" and similar fell on deaf ears.

"Behave yourself, and we'll bring you lunch," Wyatt said, not actually considering making him go without his meal. Jackson safely in 213, he locked the adjoining door first. Then he walked back across the room to Doc, who was having a minor coughing fit in the doorway, and took his gun back from his friend. James was just outside the door.

"How did he get loose?" James asked quietly as Wyatt locked the outside door.

"I let him have the cuffs off. A mistake I won't make again. Thanks for talking sense to him, Doc." It was only now sinking in that he could have been seriously hurt, and that Doc had done well to keep a cool head and be so persuasive.

"No worry," Doc said after a last cough into his handkerchief. He opened the door of 215 and they filed inside.

The room was crowded with the discarded furnishings of 213. Wyatt picked up the extra pitcher and poured the water out into the basin. Then he went to the door.

"What are you doing?" James asked.

"Making sure he can't sneak away if he manages to get the door open somehow." He went out into the hall and set the pitcher on the floor in front of 213's door. In the dim light of the hallway, it was doubtful that Jackson would glance down before stepping out the door. He would probably kick this obstacle, which would be sure to draw attention or wake at least one of them if they were asleep.

Back in their own quarters, Wyatt poured the water from the extra basin out the window and set it in front of the adjoining door. He found that his hands were shaking a little. His body seemed to be having a delayed reaction to the excitement. He rejoined the others, who were sitting on the beds, facing one another.

"So," he said, sitting next to Doc, "why did Jackson pull something just now? Why not wait until his gang shows up?"

Hmm, why indeed?