A/N: I just want y'all to know that this story is almost finished, and I do actually intend to finish it, hopefully within the coming month. Thank you to everyone who has been patient through the entirety of my writing this story - I know I'm a very slow writer, so know that I am grateful to those of you who were willing to wait as I posted this story. Hope it has been enjoyable! Thanks again!

The whole town had come to a standstill. Every citizen was locked in whichever building they could duck into the fastest. An expectant breeze blew through the town, sending a tumbleweed rolling down the muddy street until it ran up against a hitching post. A cat scuttled across the street just as the two groups of men advanced towards each other. Their steps were slow as they surveyed their opponents, sizing them up, studying their specialties, picking a target. Rowdy took an immediate dislike to the confident man in the front dressed all in black, and his mouth curled up in a snarl. You're going down, Mister, he thought to himself. All he needed to do was remember the picture of his best friend, slumped against the wall of the livery stable stall with a bullet in his chest. All he had to do was remember the feeling he'd had when he thought Jess was dead, the feeling he still had knowing that Jess still wasn't in the clear, and he could have mowed down every man in front of him, every man who'd aligned himself against Jess.

On the other side, Bret Maverick leaned aside to Bart. "Remind me why we're still going after Jones?" he hissed. Bart rolled his eyes.

"Because we're do-gooders, Brother Bret, and do-gooders can't just let criminals walk around free." Bret raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, thanks for telling me about myself. I might be misinformed." The rest of the men stayed silent, for the gravity of the situation was hard to shake. Lucas thought of his son, immensely grateful that he was out of harm's way. Gil looked aside at Rowdy, slightly fearful of what his ramrod might be capable of doing in the midst of his intense anger.

"This is it, Matthew," Festus whispered to the marshall.

"Yeah, it sure is, Festus. Keep a sharp eye out." The deputy nodded and put a hand on his gunbelt.

The two lines of men had now come close enough to see each other clearly. Both lines came to a stop, as the inevitable shootout drew near. Stepping forward, Paladin cut a confident figure as he sent his offer across to his opponents.

"We want Jesse Jones. We know you're hiding him, and we don't want to kill anyone if we don't have to." Rowdy's snarl curled up in an even more distinct line. "If you'll give him up then we can all walk away." Matt stepped forward.

"We're taking Jones back to Dodge for a fair trial, Mister. If you want to see justice done, you don't have to worry. We'll see that it is." Paladin shook his head with a chuckle.

"No, Marshall, from what I hear your idea of justice is hard to trust. I'll feel better if I have Jones in my own care." Matt's lips came together in a hard line. It appeared the time for talking was over.

"We're not handing him over." Flint's statement was the last thing that would be said on this matter. Eyes narrowed, hands tightened on pistols, mouths became dry, and stances widened as every man waited for the first shot to issue forth.

Gil would later say that he was a fool not to have seen it coming. Of course Rowdy would be the first one to pull a gun and start the mass of confusion that followed. Once the shot came from Gil's side, he only had time to risk an angrily disappointed glance aside at his headstrong ramrod before pulling his own gun and throwing himself to the ground to avoid the bullets that came raining in their direction. Several shots peppered the ground beside him, and one almost nicked his arm, but Gil was grateful that he escaped the first barrage unscathed. The same could not be said for everyone else. A cry from their side made him throw a look to his right, and he saw Josh clutching his arm with a grimace of pain. A sharp groan came from the line opposite them, and the man in black dropped to his knees. Unsure of the total damage, Gil looked around at the others. As they were reloading, Gil jumped to his feet and ran to get behind a barrel on the boardwalk. Rowdy had run to the other side of the street and was using the corner of a building to shield him from the aim of his opponents. As Gil watched, a young dark-haired man on the other side sent a shot at Rowdy, and the bullet hit the very corner of the building, narrowly missing the ramrod and sending pieces of dust and debris into his face. His trademark snarl appeared after this, and Gil watched helplessly as he barreled out from his hiding spot, shooting wildly into the crowd before him.

"Rowdy!" Gil tried to call authoritatively, but the young cowboy wasn't listening. The world suddenly seemed to slow down as the trail boss watched his ramrod, having used up his bullets, trying to reload. A very tall man with a rifle aimed at him, and Gil whirled his pistol over at him and fired. The bullet found his hand and he dropped his rifle with a cry. However, even as this had been taking place, a man with a badge had taken a shot at Rowdy, and while he found his mark, it appeared that his aim may not have been quite what it should have been. Gil saw the bullet hit his ramrod in the head, and Rowdy's whole body immediately wilted and hit the muddy street. The trail boss nearly whipped from behind his barrel, but his common sense reminded him that it would do no good for anybody if they both got killed. Several more shots were exchanged from the various hiding spots that all the men had taken, and then, just like that, the shootout stilled. As Gil tried to see how Rowdy was doing, he saw the men that were unharmed on his side, the deputy Marshall and the scout from the wagon train, emerge from their shelter with their hands held high in the air. All the rest of their allies were nursing some wound they had sustained. Josh had a nasty hole in his arm, while the Marshall held a hand to his side where a bullet had clipped him. And then there was Rowdy, and Gil hurried to raise his hands and step from behind the barrel, just so he could check on his ramrod. The boy hadn't made one move, but as Gil knelt down beside him to check his wound, he saw that the sheriff's bullet had merely grazed the side of his head, enough to make him lose consciousness but nothing more serious than that. He heaved a great sigh of relief. He often wondered how many hits to the head this boy could take before something serious happened.

"Keep your hands up," the sheriff from the other side barked. "Don't try anything fancy." The man in black had been shot in the leg, and the Rifleman still cradled his injured hand, but aside from those two, the rest of the members of that side were hale and hearty. Gil thought it was surprisingly providential that Rowdy was not awake to see them take his friend. No telling what he might have tried.

However, even as they were about to enter the doctor's office, they came face to face with the doctor himself. "If you're looking for Jones, you'd better check somewhere else," he told them. "He's gone." Surprise shot through Gil, who knew what kind of shape the young man was in. Could he really have pulled himself out of the bed and climbed out the window? If so, Gil felt a new respect for him growing inside. Maybe Rowdy was onto something when he teamed up with this Jess Harper.

"How do I know you're not just saying that?" The sheriff asked firmly. Then, motioning to the two Maverick brothers, he sent them inside to investigate. They were out in only a minute, confirming what the doctor had said.

"He's right, Sheriff. Jones ain't in there." Shaking his head with a grunt, the sheriff said,

"Well, I guess we'll have to spread out and search the town." He threw his head towards the men who had opposed them. "Hoss, you take these men into the doc's place and watch over them there. Doc, take a look at the men that need you out here. We'll be back soon with Jones."

Mark heard the shots start, and his insides felt like they were all getting pushed around to places they weren't supposed to be. Even though the young man still needed attention, Mark couldn't keep himself from jumping up from his side and running to the door to look out. All he could see in his mind was his father with a bullet in him, bleeding out like the young man inside, possibly dying.

As he stood in the doorway, peering towards the direction of the shootout, someone came galloping up, right past his doorway. Frantically Mark waved at him, but he couldn't decide whether to ask for help for his father, who could be in trouble, or for the young man inside who desperately needed help. Unable to come to a decision fast enough, all he could shout at the man was,

"Help, Mister! Oh, please help!"