Best Served Cold

by Kath Tate

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven and characters belong to MGM and Trilogy Entertainment. This story does not intend to infringe on that copyright.

Kath's Notes:  This is my first Mag7 story and I haven't had the privilege of seeing all the episodes, so I apologize if anything below runs contrary to established canon. Many many thanks to Vicki for her proofing and support! =) 

*****

Prologue

Charles St. James leaned against the window frame staring out into the dark night. The desert heat was nearly oppressive and he was encouraged by a slight breeze that ruffled the curtains. Far off, he saw some forked lightening strike ground, a piercing stab of brightness in an otherwise black landscape. Maybe it was the heat or the coming storm that had his skin itching. It was more likely the storm about to hit inside this room.

Reflected in the upper pane’s glass Charlie could see the indistinct form of his brother, Lawrence, seated at the table. Eating. Charlie was so out of sorts his stomach felt like he’d swallowed a boulder for supper. How could Lawrence eat at a time like this?

It was just like his brother, Charlie thought bitterly, to eat in defiance of anxiety or excitement. As though he had to prove to the world that nothing ruffled his calm exterior. As if Charlie had never seen just how ruffled Lawrence could get when sufficiently riled.

Danny was the only one who got away with riling Lawrence without reprisal. Also the only one who got away with calling him Larry. Sure, Lawrence would glare, even threaten maybe, but Danny would just laugh and do it again. No one had called Lawrence by that name for a long time now. One year, eight months, and twenty-seven days, to be exact. Not that Charlie was keeping track. That was Lawrence, with his ordered mind.

Charlie’s eyes focussed on more lightening in the distance. 'Ah, Danny, you who could laugh at just about any situation. Would you be laughing at us now?' Charlie wasn’t laughing. He had never had such a feeling of certain doom before.

Behind him the door opened but Charlie didn’t need to turn around to know who had entered.

"Well?" Just as Lawrence was orderly and precise, their father was blunt and to the point.

"We found him," Lawrence said coolly, as though they’d been looking for a lost puppy.

"We leave at first light then," William St. James stated.

"Not so fast," Lawrence disagreed, his fork paused in mid air on its way to his mouth. "He’s not going anywhere soon."

"He’s not going anywhere PERIOD!" William leaned over his eldest son. Lawrence eyed his father without a reaction and then finally put the fork in his mouth.

"There’s a problem," Charlie told his father without turning from the window. "Six of them, actually."

William frowned, straightening up to regard what he saw as indifference from his middle boy.

"I don’t want to hear about any problems, even if there’s a dozen of them. We've wasted enough time as it is! I made a promise to your dying mother that I would see that man dead and if it’s the last thing I do..."

"The only person you’re going to see dead is yourself if you don’t listen to what we have to say!" snapped Lawrence.

Charlie swiveled his head for a clearer look at his brother’s expression. No one could ruffle Lawrence so quickly quite like Pa. Lawrence glared at him, so he returned his gaze to the night.

"Like I said," continued Lawrence more calmly, "he’s not going anywhere. He’s been hired by a judge to watch out for a town. A kind of renegade marshall setup."

"To watch out for a town?" William’s voice was laced with disbelief. "Do they realize the danger of having that man watch out for anything?"

"And the six problems Charlie referred to," went on Lawrence, as though his father hadn’t interrupted, "are the other men also hired by the judge."

A distant rumbling sound indicated the storm was moving closer. William split his gaze between his boys, one cool as ice, the other as jumpy as a cat.

"We can’t take them all out," Charlie finally said to break the silence.

"And why not?" asked William. "We have right on our side. We have vengeance to make us strong!"

"For starters, there’s three of us and seven of them," pointed out Lawrence.

"And they are hired guns," added Charlie, finally turning to face the interior of the room. "They know what they’re doing. If even half the stories are only partially true, there’s no way we can take them all on and win."

"He can’t stay in that town all the time," countered William, pondering this snag in their plans. "He must venture out on his own once in awhile."

"I think we should be cautious," Charlie argued. "Otherwise we’re liable to have six angry gunslingers hunting us down for revenge!"

"Unless..." Lawrence lifted his glass and sloshed the liquid around slowly as he thought. "Unless we lay a plan so that they don’t come looking for us."

"How are we going to do that?" asked Charlie with a sinking feeling. ‘You didn’t really think they were going to let the matter drop, did you old boy? After Pa’s promise to Ma?’

"We’ll just have to take things very slowly and leave no trail." Then Lawrence smiled. It was an expression that held no joy, only bitter satisfaction. Charlie’s stomach tightened almost painfully. "We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer."

Suddenly the lightening brightened the room with a flash and a roaring boom followed almost immediately on its heels. Charlie was startled but he didn’t let it show. He was almost mesmerized by his brother’s eerie serenity. Lawrence’s certainty was something Charlie envied. He had enough doubts for the entire family, but Lawrence had never conveyed anything but absolute trust that they would get the deed done.

"A job for you, Charlie," Lawrence said softly, rising to place a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. "I need you to find the location of any abandoned mines in the vicinity of Four Corners. As many as you can find so that our options are open."

Charlie nodded. He didn’t ask what they were going to do with a mine. He didn’t want to know.

*****

Three months later...

Vin Tanner leaned against the livery door with a relaxed posture that belied his wary glance up and down the street. There wasn't much in his field of vision that he wasn't acutely aware of from the hanging goods outside the general store to Inez sweeping outside the saloon. He noticed Mary Travis offering congratulations to young Mr. Roberts on his engagement to Sally Thompson. His eyes took in JD surveying the town from a chair leaning back on the jail's front in a pose so similar to Chris Larabee that Vin might have been amused on any other day. Vin was also keenly aware of the empty stall in the darkness behind him.

What he couldn't decide -- as he calculated the time to travel to and from Red Rock, allowing for any possible mishap or diversion from a lame horse to a violent attack -- was whether he felt more concerned, or irritated, or, 'let's be honest Tanner,' relieved that Chris was overdue to return to Four Corners. Chris had been in a right foul mood when he'd left town and unless something in the past seven days had exorcised those ghosts maybe it was best that he stayed away. Of course, Vin also couldn't decide if that was best for Chris, to be alone, angry, and as miserable as a wounded bear, or best for the town's inhabitants, many of whom had fallen victim to Larabee's wrath prior to his departure.

Now Vin turned his irritation on himself for pondering gloomy thoughts about matters well and truly beyond his control. Chris would be back when he'd be back. In the meantime, there was the town to occupy Vin's attention.

Strolling towards the saloon with half an inclination to continue on to talk with JD, Vin hadn't moved far before he heard his name being called.

"Mr. Tanner." Mr. Peterson, the telegraph operator, spoke only loud enough to be heard and lowered his tone upon approaching Vin. "A word?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Peterson," Vin agreed, noting immediately the obvious anxiety of the small man.

"Perhaps..." Peterson tore his glasses from his nose and wiped them hastily on his shirt before replacing them lopsided. "Perhaps we could get out of the centre of the street?"

"Everything all right?" Vin asked calmly as he followed the other man over to the wooden sidewalk and partially into the alley.

"Got a telegram for the sheriff," Peterson told him quietly. He paused so long Vin was forced to speak.

"I saw JD sitting outside the jail."

"Um...yes...I saw him too."

"Do you want me to take it to him?" asked Vin gently, puzzled by the man's obvious reluctance. Who in this town was fearful of JD? He was the polar opposite to Chris.

"Well, now, I actually thought...I guess it's not really up to me but given the..." Peterson babbled and then seemed to give himself a mental shake. "I thought it best to give it to you first." He held out the slip of paper.

Vin felt suddenly sure, as sure as he'd been of anything in his life, that he did not want to know what the telegram said. He couldn't seem to make his hand reach out for it.

"Please." The appeal was made with more than the whispered word.

Vin was a little afraid the other man might faint. He took the paper, saying gruffly, "If it's for JD then I don't got cause to be reading..."

"Mr. Tanner." Peterson's voice was urgent. "You are as much a sheriff for this town as that boy and I think you'll agree that this requires a more...experienced reaction."

Vin sighed and unfolded the note. Reading wasn't his strongest skill by any means and he inwardly cursed that Peterson hadn't run into Josiah or Ezra instead. But there weren't that many words to decipher and he recognized the most important ones immediately.

"Aw...hell...no..." He forgot Peterson entirely as he slumped against the wall. He felt extraordinarily tired. Suddenly the implications of the consequences hit him and he looked up at Peterson's anxious face. "Not a word to anyone!" he warned and Peterson nodded frantically.

"I agree. That's why I came to you instead of..."

"Aw hell," Vin muttered again, thinking of JD. He took a deep breath continuing with an almost fierce tone. "I'll take care of the others. You send a message back asking how. I want to know."

"Right away," agreed Peterson, leaving before the words left his mouth.

Vin stared at the paper again. He pushed himself off the wall and continued to the jail.

"JD," he called, surprised that his voice sounded relatively normal. "Get everyone together. It's important."

"Something happen?" JD asked as he sprang to his feet.

"Yeah," was all Vin said before entering the jail.

JD knew Vin to be a man of few words but something in his manner spurred the sheriff to immediate action. In very little time he rounded up the other four and returned.

Vin was seated at the desk contemplating the seven words. Seven words, seven days, seven men...it seemed significant. Perhaps Josiah would make something of it. Probably didn't mean a goddamn thing.

"...man's gotta right to know what in hell..."

"Buck!" snapped JD more harshly than seemed warranted. "I don't know anything. Ask Vin."

Vin didn't even look up. Buck thought he seemed smaller, almost withdrawn into himself.

"What, pray tell, is so all-important as to require our presence?" asked Ezra, none too happy to be dragged from sleep this early in the day.

There was silence.

"Vin?" asked Josiah gently. Vin took a breath.

"Telegram came this morning from the sheriff's office in Red Rock." Vin pushed it across the desk towards the preacher. "Read it."

Josiah picked it up and almost immediately closed his eyes. "Lord..." he breathed.

"What?" bit out Buck.

Josiah read:

Larabee dead STOP
Await your arrival STOP

*****

Vin visibly braced himself for the onslaught of questions he knew would be coming. Questions for which he had no answers. But there was a moment of stunned silence after Josiah read the seven words. The silence was finally broken by Buck’s laughter. It sounded jarring in the stillness of the jail.

"That’s just plain absurd!" Buck spluttered as five shocked faces turned on him. "There’s gotta be some kind of mistake. Chris ain’t dead!"

"Buck, it’s from the sheriff," JD spoke in a soft tone, as dazed by the news as the others.

"That don’t make it gospel, boy!" snapped Buck. "Hell, you’re a sheriff and that don’t make every word outta your mouth worth listening to!"

"Sheriff’s got no cause to lie to us, Buck," Nathan put in softly.

"I’m not saying he’s lying, just...mistaken," insisted Buck. "Look, Chris rode out of here madder than a bee stung bear. Now, more than likely he pissed somebody off and got into some trouble. Could happen! Hell, I seen it happen..." his voice trailed off. He added more forcefully, "That don’t mean he’s dead!"

Vin felt their attention turn back to him, as though by being the bearer of the message he somehow held up the other side of the argument. He didn’t want to believe it either. But the fact was it was all too possible that Chris had gotten himself into trouble and that this trouble had been fatal.

"I asked Peterson to send a message back asking what happened," Vin finally said. "And I guess as soon as we hear then we should head out."

"You’ll see," Buck said, with a forced chuckle. "We’ll get out there and find it’s all been some kind of misunderstanding. We’ll have a good laugh about it, with Chris."

"I also asked Peterson to keep this under his hat," Vin continued, not acknowledging Buck’s optimism. "No sense in getting folks all upset, and with the rest of us gone for a few days we don’t need any yahoos blowing into town and disturbing the peace."

"I should make arrangements for a wagon," Nathan murmured. "Do we want to bring him back here, or take him to his ranch?"

"You listen to me, Nate!" Buck exploded. "We’re not taking him anywhere! No wagon!"

Nathan’s protest died as he faced Buck’s blustery anger. He turned instead to Vin. Vin sighed. He really didn’t want this responsibility.

"All of us riding out together, nothing much unusual about that," commented Josiah. "But all of riding out and with a wagon? That’s a bit more out of the ordinary."

"In the event that Mr. Larabee’s demise has been exaggerated and he is in need of our assistance, I should think it advantageous that we travel with as much swiftness as we can muster," put in Ezra.

Vin shifted his eyes to look at all of them.

"No wagon," he finally decided. Nathan looked resigned; Buck triumphant. "Everyone get your gear and meet up at the livery. If anyone comes asking, we’re just riding back country for a few days."

"Shouldn’t we tell Mrs. Travis?" JD asked timidly. "I mean, doesn’t she deserve to know the truth?"

"No!" Buck and Vin both sharply spoke. Vin continued in a gentler tone, "We don’t really know the truth ourselves right now, JD. Time enough for explanations when we get back."

Not one of them moved a muscle, as if to begin preparations for departure would somehow make the words from the telegram real. After a few moments, Vin nodded decisively and strode towards the door.

"Ezra, come with me to see if Peterson’s got that reply yet." Vin wanted someone with book learning around in case the explanation was beyond his limited literacy.

*****

Mary Travis knew something was up. It wasn’t just an instinctual feeling of something being off. She’d used deductive reasoning combined with keen observation and a little bit of investigating.

For starters, she’d seen Mr. Peterson intercept Vin Tanner in the street earlier. For something more than just a ‘Good morning, how d’you do’ kind of conversation, given that the telegraph operator had practically hauled the young man into the alley. Peterson had left Vin to return to his office in a great hurry, while Vin’s approach to the jail could only be considered subdued.

Not that she was spying on them, far from it. However, Mary couldn’t help but notice that the remaining regulators congregated in the jail shortly thereafter. This wasn’t necessarily indicative of much, but the early hour of the morning and Mr. Standish’s presence, however reluctant it was, meant that Peterson had given Vin some news of import. Something that required all of them – well, all that was left in town anyway – to sort out.

Mary was just itching to walk over to the jail and find out. But before she could come up with a reason besides idle curiosity and the need for a front page story, they emerged from the jail and scattered. Not with their usual determined pace, but a more disheartened, sober stride, as though they were heading for a task no one wanted to take on.

Only Vin walked with any kind of haste, as Ezra trailed him with a defeated posture. Mary’s eyes followed the pair to the telegraph office. Josiah had gone to the church, Nathan to his room, Buck and JD to the boarding house.

Mary chose the telegraph office for her point of attack. Something was going on and she was determined to find out what it was.

*****

Vin needn’t have worried about not understanding the reply from Red Rock.

"That’s it?" he asked Peterson as Ezra peered over his shoulder to read the words. Only two this time. Was that any better? "Are you sure he didn’t say anything else?"

"Mr. Tanner!" Peterson was affronted. "I am not in the habit of editing messages. What you see there is the only information I was given."

Vin looked over at Ezra with a disgusted look. Ezra was still a bit stunned by the turn of events and he shrugged.

"It appears our sheriff at Red Rock is a man of even fewer words than you, Mr. Tanner," he commented. "I would not have thought it possible."

Vin glared at Ezra. "There’s a lot of that going around. You!" He pointed a finger at Peterson, not really wanting to take out his frustration on the other man but not able to keep it fully in check either. "Remember what I said earlier. We don’t want anyone questioning until we’ve got some answers."

"I am the soul of discretion, I assure you, Mr. Tanner," Peterson told him, still bristling from the earlier insult. Vin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Ezra pulled on his arm.

"He means he won’t say a word," Ezra translated. "Good day Mr. Peterson, or as good as it can be under the circumstances."

They exited the office swiftly nearly bowling over Mary Travis. Vin pulled away quickly, not meeting her eyes.

"Ma’am," he mumbled, touching his hat.

"What circumstances are those, Mr. Standish?" Mary asked, revealing that she’d heard at least part of their conversation.

"We got to get going, Ezra," Vin said sternly, nodding again to Mary. He turned and walked away, feeling a bit disrespectful but not at all sure he could lie to the woman. Best not to say anything, since he couldn’t tell her the truth.

Ezra put on his best pleasant face, sure that Mary could see the strain but not able to do any better.

"My apologies, Mrs. Travis. We are about to take our leave of you for a few days. I believe the continuing tranquility has upset some of my colleagues’ equilibrium. They feel the need to change locales in the pursuit of disposing of their excess vigor."

Ezra tipped his hat and moved to follow Vin but he was dismayed to find Mary staying by his side.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Ezra!" Vin called back from further ahead.

"Duty calls, Mrs. Travis," Ezra said sadly. "Good day."

"Or as good as it can be, under the circumstances," finished Mary for him as she watched him catch up with Vin. Then, as though suddenly realizing he hadn’t answered either of her questions, Mary picked up her skirts to hurry after them.

*****

Still off balance from the encounter with Mary Travis, Vin took a moment to contemplate the empty stall before leading his horse out to the others. Ezra had left him alone a moment ago, sensing perhaps that Vin needed some time to pull himself together.

The stall seemed to mock him with its bareness. In it he could almost see Chris giving him a cocky grin, tilting up his chin with a challenge like, "Whatcha going to do now, Tanner?" Vin had no answer for that. Caught between the angry words of the past, and the unhappy confusion of the present, he was reluctant to face his friends without coming to terms with his last memory of Chris.

It had been right here. Except the stall hadn’t been empty then, and Chris hadn’t been grinning...

***

They didn't know what the trigger was. It wasn't something Chris had volunteered nor something anyone wanted to ask. None of them, with the possible exception of Buck, had ever seen Chris behave this way. It was unsettling, almost frightening, to watch someone they cared about seek refuge in anger and sorrow. It made Vin wonder how well any of them, including Buck, really knew Chris.

"Is it just me," drawled Ezra from the saloon's doorway, "or has our illustrious leader's temperament plummeted to yet a new level on the scale of disagreeable?"

Vin turned from the post by the steps and pushed up off it to stand upright. He shrugged.

"I would not have thought it possible," murmured Ezra.

Buck's eyes shifted in tandem with Ezra's as they tracked Chris's determined stride down the busy street. Most people were giving the gunslinger a wide berth, his own friends included.

"When it comes to Chris and bad moods, anything is possible," Buck commented sadly, tipping his chair back to lean against the wall outside the saloon.

"What set him off?" asked JD anxiously.

Buck shrugged. Ezra took a sip from his flask. And Vin leaned against the post once more, eyes downcast.

"Maybe if we knew what it was we could help," suggested JD. "Don't you think we should help him?"

The front legs of Buck's chair hit the sidewalk with a decisive clunk.

"Listen and understand, JD," Buck said with an intensity Vin had never seen him use with the kid. "There is no logical reason for that man's bad temper. It could be something as innocent as a child's laugh, as sweet as two lovers kissing, as fleeting as the smell of smoke. It could be the day of the week, or the month, or the year. It could be the taste of his eggs in the morning. Or any one of 100 other things that remind him of what he used to have but no longer does."

Ezra exchanged a startled glance with Vin at this outburst.

"But Buck," protested JD. "He's obviously hurting. There must be something we can do to cheer him up!"

Buck shook his head.

"You're not understanding me, boy! You don't cheer Chris up. You can't give help to a man who's not willing to accept it. The best thing to do is stay out of his way and leave him alone."

JD looked like he might protest some more but just then Chris rode past them so quickly he churned up a cloud of dust.

"I think we must bow to your long time expertise in these matters, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said mildly. He wasn't nearly as amused as he sounded since he was a more likely target of Chris's temper than JD or Vin. He retreated to the interior of the saloon.

JD mumbled something about it not being right and shuffled off to the jail. Vin stepped off the sidewalk, half-turning to Buck, who was leaning his chair back again.

"If it's space the man wants I can respect that," Vin told him softly. "But I get the feeling maybe Chris is looking for something else." He wandered off before Buck offered a comment.

***

The following day Chris was in no better spirits and some argued he was much worse. Vin returned in the morning from an overnight scout to find the town wary and on edge. As tempted as he was to just turn around and head out again, he reluctantly tended his horse and went to investigate the sense of unease.

His first stop was the Clarion office. Mary Travis sat staring off to one side so deep in thought he had to call her name twice before she became aware of his presence.

"Everything all right, Miz Travis?" he asked, passing his hat from hand to hand.

"That man is going to kill someone soon," she said sadly. Vin didn't bother asking which man she meant. He knew. Mary stood with a rueful laugh. "And if I'm not careful it might be me."

"Hardly, ma'am," Vin offered with a smile. "He's far more likely to shoot Ezra first."

Mary returned his smile but it was short-lived humour. She didn't go into any details about her disagreement with Chris but she did tell Vin that Josiah and JD had rounded up a couple of thieves who were currently warming the jailhouse bunks.

Vin's next stop was the saloon. He half expected to see Chris drinking in there, despite the early hour, but the place was all but deserted.

"Morning Senor Vin," greeted Inez, the sole occupant, politely. She continued what seemed to be a perpetual clean up.

"No one else around?" Vin asked, although it was obvious.

"Senor Ezra is hiding from Senor Chris who is with Senor JD at the jail. The others?" Inez shrugged. "I cannot say."

"Thanks, Inez." Vin tipped his hat as he pushed aside one of the batwing doors.

"I'm just as happy Senor Chris is leaving town," Inez called after him. "He's very bad for business these days."

Vin hesitated. "Leaving town?" Mary hadn't mentioned that. But Inez had retreated to the kitchen and didn't respond.

Vin then found Buck eating breakfast at the hotel. In between mouthfuls he discovered Chris and JD were taking the two thieves over to Stoney Creek to remain in custody there before their trial.

Somewhat more relieved about the "leaving town" comment, Vin wandered over to the jail. He missed JD's initial question, hearing only, "Doncha think, Chris?" as he came through the door. Before Vin could even open his mouth with a greeting Chris swung around on JD, slamming him back so hard the kid's teeth must have rattled as much as the wall.

"Chris!" cried Vin, alarmed as he saw the gunfighter's hands tighten around JD's neck. The kid gasped and feebly flailed at the older man, but he was stunned by the crack to his head and rapidly running out of air. "Chris, let go of him!" Vin grabbed Chris by his arms and yanked, hard. "Let go!"

Chris dropped his hands and stepped back so suddenly that Vin tripped, landing on the floor at the same time as JD. The kid coughed and shook himself slightly as he gulped in huge breaths.

"Get them ready to ride," Chris ordered, jerking his thumb in the direction of the prisoners. They gaped with amazement from behind the safety of the bars. Chris exited without a word or even a glance at his men.

Vin scrambled to his feet and went over to JD, who had recovered enough to sit up against the wall. Vin hadn't missed the apprehensive look JD gave Chris's retreating back.

"You okay, kid?" Vin held out a hand. "Look at me. Look at me, JD." JD turned a dazed expression towards Vin. "That's right. Now, you okay? You need me to get Nathan for you?"

"No," JD said, pushing up to his feet while still leaning on the wall. He rubbed his throat cautiously. "I'm fine, really."

Vin looked over at the two thieves and then back to JD.

"You get them ready; I'll send Buck over to ride with you."

"But Buck's going to..." JD began.

Vin interrupted him firmly. "Buck's going with you now."

"I don't think Chris..." JD tried again.

"You let me handle Chris," Vin said fiercely, leaving a bewildered JD in the jail.

***

By the time he caught up to Chris, after intercepting Buck with the change of plans, Vin was as angry as he could remember being. He found his friend in the final stages of readying his horse and when the older man deliberately turned his back to Vin it was like lighting a fuse.

"What the hell was that all about?" Vin demanded. "You damn near killed the kid! What were you thinking?"

Vin grabbed Chris's arm to swing him around and Chris shrugged him off violently.

"Kid asks too many goddamned questions," Chris snarled.

Vin's brow furled with further anger. "So you decide to strangle him to death? JD's been asking too many questions since the day you decided to teach him the ways of the West by nearly shooting off his toes."

Chris didn't respond and when he looked to return to his task Vin let his rage boil over in a punch to Chris's jaw.

"That's for JD and I'll keep going until you give me a better explanation than that sorry excuse! Just count yourself lucky it was me and not Buck who pulled you off him."

Chris recovered from the blow easily and held himself in a defensive posture but did not, surprisingly, retaliate.

"Leave me alone, Vin. I don't have any quarrel with you."

"Well too damn bad 'cause I sure as hell have a quarrel with you!" Vin snapped. "You've been meaner than a caged cougar all week. You've been frightening the townsfolk, arguing with Miz Travis, fighting with all of us. Giving you space hasn't seemed to help. Did beating on JD make you feel better?"

"Back off, Vin," warned Chris with a low voice.

Vin suddenly unclenched his fists and took a step back.

"You don't want my help, well fine. I'm not at all sure I want to give it to you."

Chris's expression turned surprised and then wary. Vin retrieved a satchel he'd thrown to the ground when he'd entered the livery. He shoved it into Chris's chest.

"Here. Take this to Red Rock."

"I'm going with JD to..."

"You ain't going nowhere near JD until you're of a mind to apologize to that boy!" Vin ordered. "You're not fit company for man nor beast right now."

Chris's initial shock that anyone would dare tell him what to do saved Vin from another angry outpouring; perhaps one punctuated with fists.

"Buck was heading to Red Rock to deliver that to the land title office there. He'll go with JD. You go to Red Rock."

"Land title?" Chris examined the satchel with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "What are we, the pony express now?"

"No." Vin was calmer now but no less angry. "We're just doing what we always do, which is to help out folks when they need it. If that's not a good enough reason for you then just look at it as an excuse to leave town."

"Fine!" snapped Chris, throwing the satchel on top of the horse and securing it to his saddlebag. He looked back at Vin who was almost quivering with rage. Vin was as even tempered a man as Chris had ever known, but when riled the results were impressive.

"That boy admired you and now he's afraid. That make you feel good, Larabee?" Vin challenged. "To have that starry-eyed hero worship turn to fear? Is that how you hold folks at arm's length? By scaring them away?"

"You afraid of me, Tanner?" Chris returned coldly.

"No, I ain't!" flashed Vin defiantly. "Although I reckon I'm the only one around here left. Now I'd sure hate to shoot you but I will if you don't get your sorry ass out of here."

Chris drew up rigidly at the threat.

"Now Larabee!" yelled Vin. Taking a deep breath he continued with a low, fierce tone, "Whatever you've got prickling your skin get rid of it before you come back."

Chris looked steadily at Vin for several seconds before mounting and leaving without a word. Vin slumped against the empty stall, all his anger suddenly spent. He wasn't sure what bothered him more about the exchange: that he'd threatened to shoot his friend, or that Chris had left with such a sense of defeat. That hadn't been anger in Chris's eyes as they'd held Vin's stormy ones. That had been despair.

***

Now, one week later, as he led his horse out to meet the others who were waiting with various levels of patience, Vin felt something close to despair weigh on him. He had run Chris out of town and told him not to come back until he was feeling better. Vin didn’t yet know what happened after that, and he tried not to think that he’d chased a friend to meet his death.

"When will you be back?" Mary Travis was asking Buck.

Buck’s eyes were fixed firmly on his saddle horn.

"Don’t rightly know, Miz Travis," he told her curtly.

Mary saw Vin coming out of the livery, she saw JD giving Buck an anxious glance, she saw Nathan’s downcast expression and Josiah’s bowed head. She saw Ezra's impatience.

"Do you all have to go?" she asked, surprised at the sudden sense of worry that swept aside her irritation at their evasiveness.

"It’s been mighty quiet lately," Josiah spoke up. "No need for any concern." He knew there was no way any of them would stay behind voluntarily.

Vin mounted and they prepared to move off.

"Wait!" called Mary. "What should I tell Chris when he returns?"

The others kept riding but Vin stopped and turned back to her with an expression of sadness so clearly displayed that Mary caught her breath.

"You...you are coming back, aren’t you?" she whispered.

Vin nodded slowly. "Yes’m, we are and that’s a promise. And we’ll bring Chris home with us."

Before she could ask anything more of him, he spurred his horse to follow the others.

*****

JD couldn’t remember them ever riding with such intensity before. It wasn’t that they’d never ridden harder or with the same great urgency – they’d done plenty of that. But never with such silence between them. Certainly, riding with Chris or Vin was not usually an exercise in conversation. Even Josiah was a man of few words unless pushed and then he usually rambled on with stories JD found hard to follow. Nathan could be quiet or talkative depending on his mood and the situation. But Ezra loved talking, and although JD didn’t always understand what the gambler said, he could be counted on to complain about the conditions, if nothing else. And Buck! Buck could talk the hind leg off a mule.

It was unnerving to JD that they rode, in such haste, without any talking. No bantering, or teasing, or consulting on the best route, no trading comments or advice, no planning, no speculating on what they might find once they reached Red Rock. He found himself unable to break the stillness between them even though he was bursting with questions and feeling a strong desire to express his grief. He couldn’t quite believe that Chris was gone and was torn between his loyalty to Buck, who was adamant that there’d been a mistake, and his trust of Vin, who seemed resigned to accept the sheriff’s words.

Not that there wasn’t communication. JD wasn’t so oblivious that he didn’t know they were keeping tabs on each other. Vin, especially, seemed to take constant stock of both men and horses, ensuring that neither was over taxed in their need for speed. JD always sat up a little straighter when Vin’s eyes scanned his way. It would not be for JD Dunne that they would have to stop!

But the atmosphere wasn’t the relaxed camaraderie of the past, or the wary approach to a conflict. Everyone seemed lost in thought.

The dull thudding of the horse’s hooves and the jarring rhythm of their paces accented for JD a series of memories. Each one flew by his mind more quickly than the last as though his head was trying to desperately catalogue his time with Chris.

There was their introduction, with those bullets landing at his toes and making him jump back as though burned. No one had ever shot at JD before! He didn’t need to know any more than what he’d just witnessed to realize that if Chris had wanted to hit him that’s exactly what would have happened.

"You don’t shoot nobody in their back!" There was nothing kind or nurturing in Chris’s tone; nothing that could have encouraged JD to think this man would step into a role of mentor. Yet as a first lesson it was extraordinarily powerful and JD wanted to learn more. He wanted to be taught more.

Filed away in the corner of JD’s head where he kept advice from Chris was the second lesson. "Go easy on the whiskey." This one had been imparted with a more caring, gentler tone and no gunshots. JD was ashamed, even now, that he’d not only spurned the guidance he so craved but actually challenged the man’s right to give it.

In their time since that beginning Chris’s words of wisdom had been few and far between but JD treasured every one of them. They were held in higher regard because of their infrequency.

This in complete contrast to the corner of JD’s brain that held the advice given by Buck. Buck never ceased telling JD what to do and how to do it, so his words required careful filtering. For every ten of Buck’s suggestions only one was worth filing for future reference. Taking off one’s hat so as not to be visible, not fanning one’s guns – these were worth remembering. How to use an intangible animal magnetism on anything in a skirt was best forgotten.

JD had learned more than what Chris had chosen to tell him personally. He wasn’t nearly as stupid as Buck made him out to be and he could learn by example without needing it spelled out for him. JD had seen Chris fight at great risk to his own life to help others who could not do battle themselves. While some may have labelled Larabee’s behaviour as reckless or suicidal, JD knew that underneath his gruff detachment Chris believed in justice and he genuinely cared about people.

Chris may have tried to chase JD away, he may have only just tolerated JD’s presence, he may have basically ignored JD – leaving him to Buck’s mentorship – but JD knew that Chris cared. He had not missed the flash of concern over JD’s blood stained shirt at their first battle. Nor was he unaware of being included in Chris’s relief when they were all still standing after a fight.

In fact, if JD learned nothing else from Chris Larabee besides never to shoot someone in the back and to go easy on whiskey, he considered himself well taught. Chris himself had learned that first lesson a little better than the second. Sadly, JD reflected on his most recent memories of Chris.

Despite Buck’s advice to steer clear of the gunslinger’s bad temper, JD had stuck close. He knew Chris had taken refuge from his anger in some heavy drinking at the saloon the night before going to Red Rock. Then the following morning he’d shoved JD against the wall in the jail and nearly strangled him. JD didn’t like to dwell on what might have happened if Vin hadn’t shown up. He wanted to believe Chris wouldn’t hurt him, but the feeling of those strong hands on his throat was too vivid. He didn’t know what had transpired between Chris and Vin, only that the tracker had convinced Chris to trade places with Buck. Whatever the nature of that convincing, Vin had been on edge awaiting Chris’s return.

JD had been over the scene at least 100 times since it happened and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done to warrant such violence. ‘Take a note, JD, that was some of Buck’s advice you should have left unfiltered.’

He wondered what might have happened if Chris had gone to Stoney Creek as they originally planned. Would it have meant Buck’s death? Did Vin feel responsible for sending Chris to Red Rock? Still, it could be that what happened to Chris had been more related to who he was and not where he was.

During a break by a stream Josiah finally asked the question JD had been pondering since they’d left Mary Travis behind at the livery.

"What did the telegram say?"

When Vin said nothing Ezra spoke up, "In keeping with brevity being the soul of wit our esteemed constable was short on detail, supplying us with only the means rather than the hows and..."

"Ezra! For Christ’s sake, what did the goddamned telegram say?" Buck snapped.

"Ah..." Ezra took a breath and cleared his throat. "Fire."

"What?" Nathan’s fingers fumbled with the canteens he was filling and snatched them back quickly. "That’s all?"

"Well, technically it said ‘Fire stop’ but..." Ezra bit back his sarcastic retort as if realizing that taking out his own frustrated impatience on his friends was hardly helpful. "Hell," he cursed softly, turning away. "Obviously," he continued, keeping his back to them, "the explanation is either just that simple, or it is far more complex than the sheriff felt he could convey given the limited form of communication."

Josiah looked from Ezra to Nathan to Buck. Buck gave a snort – of disbelief or disgust JD couldn’t tell – and walked away. JD met Josiah’s sad gaze and they both looked to Vin, who was leaning against his horse’s neck. Vin closed his eyes.

"Fire?" questioned Josiah. "That’s..."

"Unexpected," finished Nathan.

"Are we going to get moving or are we hanging around here all day?" Buck returned and mounted in a swift motion. He trotted away from them without waiting for a response. They quickly followed, with Nathan distributing the now full canteens.

Then they returned to their driven pace, even more intense than before, each man pondering the significance, if any, that Chris’s death was by the same means as his family’s.

Was it merely coincidence? JD wondered. Or were they going to be drawn into the search for justice for the Larabee murders that had eluded Chris?

*****

Sheriff Andy Wilson strode purposely down the main street in Red Rock, making his presence known. He projected a confidence that conveyed he was all knowing about what went on in his domain. He’d been sheriff for ten years now, and he kept the peace. Anyone who thought otherwise was in for some time behind the bars of Wilson’s jail.

Red Rock had changed quite a bit in the last decade. It had started as a collection of shacks, mostly, and grown into a thriving frontier town. It was a hive of activity in the middle of nowhere. Days like these, and Wilson almost wished he could find another collection of shacks to just start over. The usual hustle and bustle had been severely disrupted last week with the arrival of not one, not two, but three cattle drives on the outskirts. ‘Damn cowboys were enough of a nuisance in small batches,’ Wilson thought, ‘but get a gaggle of them together and all Hell breaks loose.’

By themselves, the cowboys wouldn’t have been much of a challenge, but their convergence on Red Rock coincided with a large party of railroad muckety-mucks. City folk and workers alike, they all seemed to have more money than brains, and more arrogance than prudence.

Even the volatile mix of free range and future progress thinkers wasn’t anything Wilson and his three deputies couldn’t handle. Unfortunately, this had been topped by speculative prospectors claiming to have found gold on a nearby property. Wilson gave a snort as he passed the land title office. ‘Gold my fanny,’ he thought. ‘If there’s gold on Baker’s land then I’m Abraham Lincoln!’

Things were a lot calmer than they’d been last week but still a little too rowdy for Wilson’s tastes. He’d be happy when all these folks moved on and left his town in peace. Still standing, or he’d have something to say about it!

He tried walking on a more or less direct path to the jail, hoping that his no nonsense stride would deter anyone from interrupting him. But he was the sheriff after all and that meant he was the one who heard all the problems. He was stopped four times in his journey, deflecting each of the concerns easily enough, while mentally delegating responsibility for dealing with things later.

Wilson had his hand on the jailhouse door when an interruption came that he couldn’t deflect. This one arrived on six horses, whose riders looked as though they’d been on a hard trail without respite. They pulled up right to the jail and Wilson set his jaw with exasperation. ‘For Pete’s sake now what?’

It hit him almost immediately after the initial annoyance at their appearance. These were Larabee’s men. He nodded a greeting, looking them over with well hidden curiosity. He’d heard a lot about this group but had only ever met their leader.

"You boys made good time," he commented as they began to dismount. "I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow or even the day after."

One of them, with longish hair and a buckskin jacket, acknowledged this with a soft, "We had reason to be quick."

‘I guess you did, son, I guess you did,’ thought Wilson sadly. He opened the jail door and leaned in. "Go find Ben for me, will you, Harry? Tell him Larabee’s friends have arrived."

His deputy hopped up and was down the street without even glancing at the newcomers.

"Come on in," Wilson called over his shoulder, as he finally entered his jail. "I expect you have some questions."

They shuffled in slowly, fatigue from their hard journey evident but it was also a different kind of weariness that seemed to weigh them down. Ben Jenkins entered from the back door at almost the same time and Wilson quickly introduced himself and the deputy.

The soft-spoken man, Vin Tanner, gave their names as well and then turned a questioning almost accusing look on Wilson.

"You weren’t exactly long on details. We want to know what happened."

"I’m not sure I know exactly what happened, Mr. Tanner, but I’ll try to give you the picture as I saw it."

Vin nodded. He liked the sheriff’s straightforward manner.

"Chris Larabee rode into town about five days ago with a delivery for our land title office. Our town was a little crowded at that time so I suggested to him that he head out down the old mine road about three miles. There’s an abandoned shack along out there and I figured he could use a roof over his head after being on the road. Two days later Jimmy O’Brien stopped by to say he thought there might have been a fire. So I sent Ben ‘round to take a look. He found Larabee’s body, his horse, and some of his belongings."

Wilson paused a moment and then bent down underneath his desk to bring up a box. "This is what was collected."

Vin was closest to the desk and he forced himself to reach into the box. His hands felt numb as he lifted out Chris’s gun. The belt was in there too, and spurs, and folded at the bottom was a striped serape topped with a dusty black hat. The cloth smelled heavily of smoke.

"Oh, and also this." Wilson unlocked one of his desk drawers and rooted around for a moment before coming up with a gold ring. He reached out to hand it to Vin who took it reluctantly, still holding the gun in his other hand.

Ben watched the six men carefully and with compassion. He’d had to deliver news of loved ones passing over the years and it never got easier. People dealt with death in different ways, some of them violently. Ben didn’t think these men would take their grief out using bullets, but they did have reputations for being talented fighters. They’d sure have to know how to use those weapons to run with the likes of Larabee. That they were deeply affected by their friend's death was very apparent.

Tanner seemed to be holding the objects out for inspection by the others, staring at his hands with shuttered disbelief. The young one, Dunne, turned away, as if by not seeing he could deny what had happened. Sanchez had closed his eyes and bowed his head, while Jackson examined the gun and ring carefully, either memorizing every detail or seeking some anomaly that might disprove their discovery. Standish ran a hand through his hair and let out a barely audible sigh. Wilmington glared openly at Wilson, at Ben, and then at Tanner before turning to stare out the window as though disinterested in whatever they were saying.

"Where is he now?" asked Nathan.

Vin pocketed the ring and placed the gun back in the box, his fingers lightly touching the rim of the hat. He almost didn’t hear Sheriff Wilson telling Nathan about the marked grave in the cemetery. Instead, ringing in his ears was Chris’s hard voice.

"Leave me alone, Vin. I don't have any quarrel with you...You afraid of me, Tanner?"

At this point the sheriff’s explanations were interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door and a young man poking his head in.

"Sheriff? I think you’d best come down to the general store. There’s some folks a mite riled about paying their credit."

Wilson and Ben exchanged a look. ‘Can’t leave ‘em alone for two minutes without some fuss being kicked up,’ thought Wilson. He sighed.

"I don’t really have much else to tell you boys. Ben here can give you more information; he’s the one who saw the shack." Wilson picked up his hat and gestured to the young man to head out to the street. At the door he paused, turning back. "I...I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You and Larabee were doing fine work in your town. My sympathies for your loss." It was awkwardly put, but sincere enough. He nodded to Ben and then shut the door.

"Deputy Jenkins," Josiah spoke up. "Was there anything that gave you any idea who started the fire?"

Ben could not hide his surprise at the question.

"It was pretty obviously set by Larabee," he answered, trying to interpret the looks now being exchanged by the others.

"What makes you think that?" asked Vin.

Ben recognized the warning in his tone but knew of no other way than the most direct approach.

"There was nothing to indicate anyone else had been there for a long time, ‘cept him. The fire was started on the floor, across the room from the fireplace, right near the bed where I found him."

"Pretty hot time of year for needing a fire," commented Josiah. "And even if he needed one, why not use the fireplace?"

"It’s possible his judgement was influenced by the two bottles of whiskey he’d drunk," stated Ben, not unkindly. He hesitated. "It seemed to me very likely that he set that fire deliberately."

He might very well have dropped a bomb for the reaction he got. Everyone stood up a little straighter. JD stepped forward angrily, shrugging off the restraining hand Josiah placed on his arm.

"Just what are you saying, mister?" he demanded.

Ben was not intimidated by these men. He’d been a lawman as long as Wilson, and could have filled the sheriff’s shoes easily. He was also not without sympathy for them, as their team was legendary even in Red Rock. But he couldn’t pretend that the situation was any different, just to make them feel better.

"I’m saying that I think Mr. Larabee set the fire knowing full well that he would die either from the smoke or the flames."

"I don’t have to stand here and listen to this bullshit!" Buck stepped away from the window and pulled his hat on hard. "I’m going to tend to his horse," he mumbled, leaving quickly.

No one moved to stop him and attention returned to Ben.

"May I suggest," Ezra hissed icily, "that you stick to relaying only the facts that you know and refrain from regaling us with idle speculation."

Ben nodded, acknowledging their disbelief with sad eyes.

"Fair enough, Mr. Standish. The facts are these. Chris Larabee wasn’t in town an hour before getting into a fight with some cowboys. Witnesses say he didn’t instigate it, but he didn’t do much to diffuse it either. Myself, I might have thrown him in a cell for accommodations but out of respect for his status in Four Corners we let it slide. Cowboys were leaving town anyway. Mr. Larabee seemed genuinely remorseful over dinner with me and Sheriff Wilson although it was obvious that he’d rather not be sharing company. Before leaving for the old mine road he bought two bottles of whiskey from the saloon."

So far Ben didn’t have the feeling he was saying anything they couldn’t believe of their friend. He took a breath and continued.

"I rode out to the hut after Jimmy mentioned the fire. I found the horse, unsaddled and grazing. I found Mr. Larabee face down on the bed next to the remains of the whiskey bottles. I found his belongings on a chair near the door. The origin of the fire was by the head of the bed, near one wall, without any provision made to prevent its spreading – in fact, the remaining wood was placed in a way that indicated it was encouraged to spread onto the walls and roof."

"So far all you’re telling us was that it wasn’t an accident," Vin pointed out. "Doesn’t mean that somebody ‘sides Chris didn’t light that fire."

"Is there any reason you think someone else did?" Ben asked. "I would have thought that Mr. Larabee’s enemies would be more likely to shoot him."

"And we’ve all been very impressed with your thought process up to now," shot Ezra sarcastically.

Ben didn’t react in kind, keeping his expression neutral. He merely commented, "If I was going to kill someone with a fire I’d stick around to make sure the building actually burned." He gave a little shrug. "Maybe I’m too practical."

Vin glanced uneasily at the others before speaking. He seemed to be almost choking on the words. "Chris’s family was killed in a fire a few years ago. It is...possible that whoever...whoever did that might have tried it again."

Ben thought about his brief encounter with Chris Larabee prior to the gunslinger leaving Red Rock. He looked carefully at the expressions and body language of the remaining five friends. They must have been living with the man’s state of mind before he left Four Corners. They knew. They just didn’t want to accept.

"Mr. Tanner," Ben said gently, "I will admit that I have no experience with someone using this method to end his own life. Most folks would probably use a pistol or a rope instead. But your friend was as unhappy a man as I’ve seen in a long while." Ben’s voice was somber. "No one travels that road. No one followed him out there; he was alone. I wish I could say different. Hell, I wish we weren’t even having this conversation! But everything I saw leads me to believe Chris Larabee is dead because he killed himself."

Ben decided they could use some time to themselves. He, like the sheriff, paused at the door and felt suddenly awkward. "If you find differently, I’ll lead the posse to bring in the person responsible. Larabee was a fine man. ‘m sorry for your loss."

*****

Buck saw nothing of the town as he stormed down the street towards the livery. If he'd stopped to think about it he was literally seeing red -- not quite the colour of Ezra's jacket, darker, more like blood. But Buck wasn't stopping to think, he didn't want to think because to do so would be to absorb all that had happened over the last week or so.

In contrast to the rest of Red Rock, the livery was quiet, with only the occasional snort from an animal disturbing the calm. Buck found Chris's horse immediately as though drawn by instinct. He reached out to touch the head, finding himself unwinding with the action. The horse nickered and rubbed up against Buck.

"Hey there fella, you must be glad to see a familiar face in all these strangers, eh buddy?" Buck whispered. His eyes took in the rest of Chris's gear; his saddle and bridle carefully stowed. For a moment the only thing Buck could do was to lean against the horse as though the presence of the animal with the absence of Chris made it all seem too real.

Buck quickly decided he needed to busy his hands if he was going to finally acknowledge events. He stepped into the stall and began to rub down the horse, his hands gentle in contrast to the turmoil of his mind.

Anger. That was the red colour he'd been seeing earlier. It was unfocused and wild, clinging to any poor soul who stepped into its way. Buck was angry with himself for not coming to Red Rock as was planned. He was angry with Vin for changing that plan. He was angry with Vin for not telling him the truth! He was angry with JD for not staying out of Chris's way. And boy, was he angry with Chris. For what he'd done to JD and for...well, for leaving and not coming back.

Buck thought about the day Chris left and wondered why he hadn't seen all that was going on...

***

Buck had finished his breakfast and had pushed back his chair when Vin came storming back in. Not storming exactly, that wasn't really Vin's style. But considering that he'd left Buck not five minutes before in search of Chris at the jail, his entrance was both unexpected and overly energetic.

"Hey there Vin, didn't we just have a conversation?" Buck asked with amusement.

Vin stopped short, as though suddenly becoming aware of the momentum that had carried him through the door.

"I think you should go with JD to Stoney Creek," he told Buck without preamble.

Buck raised an eyebrow. "You think it'll take three of us to get those fellas down the trail? I mean, they're a nuisance but mostly harmless..."

"I think," interrupted Vin, fixing his eyes on a distant point on the wall, "that it would be best if Chris didn't go, and you went instead."

Buck laughed as he stood up. "You think Chris is likely to kill one of them?" Buck laughed again. "Given his mood lately that's a fair bet!" Buck rubbed his moustache thoughtfully. "Trouble is, I'm supposed to be riding out to Red Rock and that's the opposite direction."

Vin's eyes shifted around, not meeting up with Buck's. If Buck had been paying attention he might have thought it odd that Vin was fidgeting so much.

"What's the ride to Red Rock like, you figure?"

"Oh, 'bout two days good riding, three if you're not in any hurry," answered Buck. He wasn't planning on being in any hurry.

"Plenty of space, on the trail by yourself, don't you think?" Vin looked at his boots.

Buck grinned and clapped Vin on the back. "What you're thinking is that maybe we'll send Chris to Red Rock while I go to Stoney Creek?"

"You're the one who said he needed space," Vin pointed out, looking up at Buck finally.

"I won't deny it," Buck said, turning to look around the room. He found the satchel on the other side of the table. "I'll just take this over to..."

"No!" interrupted Vin sharply, startling Buck. Upset, Vin continued with his usual soft tone, "I mean, you best get over to JD because he's about ready to leave. I'll tell Chris about the change."

"Okay," Buck agreed, a little puzzled but not concerned. He grinned again. "Chris'll probably be happy to get outta three days on the road with the young chatterbox."

"Yeah, I bet," Vin said quietly, picking up the satchel.

***

Buck didn't find out anything about the altercation that Vin had disrupted until he and JD were almost back in Four Corners. The kid had been a little quieter than normal, but Buck didn't push him. He figured JD was probably contemplating a fishing trip with Casey or something. 'The innocence of youth,' sighed Buck.

However, as they approached home and Buck could only think to hurry it along so they could get to the bathhouse and then the saloon, JD showed such reluctance to return he actually slowed his horse.

"You think Chris is back by now?" JD asked, trying for casual.

"Unlikely, unless he 'bout rode his horse to death. And I doubt Chris was of a mind to do that for some land title papers," Buck told him. "He'll be another day or so I reckon."

JD stopped his horse, looking thoughtfully towards the town which was now in view. Buck turned to his friend, puzzled.

"You think he's feeling better?" wondered JD, obviously worried.

Buck sighed, looking at the town and the distance beyond. "Now, kid, you know what I told you about Chris and his moods. There's no figuring it out. It just is."

"I don't believe that," JD said, challenging Buck. "I don't believe that a person feels that bad for no reason. I can't believe that there wasn't something...something..." His voice trailed off. "I just don't know what it was," he mumbled.

Buck's eyes narrowed as he examined JD. "Did Chris have words with you before he left?" he guessed. JD lapped up Chris's meagerly meted out wisdom like it was water in a dust storm. But if Chris had snapped at JD the kid might have taken it personally.

"No words," JD responded, lifting his head. The breeze brushed his hair back and he rubbed his neck unconsciously.

Buck recalled Vin's odd behaviour when suggesting the switch and pondered JD's silence on the trip and his unwillingness to return. Now some anxiety around the subject of Chris. Chris and his foul temper...

"Damn boy! Did he hit you?"

JD looked startled and didn't manage to deny it fast enough for Buck.

"Hell kid, didn't I tell you to stay away from him? You get in the way of a wounded animal, son, and you're going to get hurt! Don't you listen to anything I say?"

"I listen plenty, Buck!" flashed JD, annoyed. His cheeks were splotched with colour although Buck wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or anger at this point. "And I didn't do anything to provoke him. At least, I can't think what I did...I don't know."

Buck was trying to gather his incoherent thoughts. He wasn't sure who was more liable to hear words from him, Vin or Chris. Chances were not good for Vin, being the one who was only a short distance away and also the one less likely to pull his weapon. His annoyance washed away with a sad sigh. No one knew better than Buck that it didn't take much provocation to be on the receiving end of an attack from Chris.

"You didn't do anything, JD," he assured the boy with a resigned tone. "Trust me."

***

Buck had stopped his ministrations so long that Chris's horse swiveled his head around to rub his nose against Buck's arm.

"Sorry there, fella," Buck murmured. He moved around to the other side and resumed his task. It was lulling him out of the rage that had held him up during the hard ride to Red Rock, held him up right until the deputy had suggested that Chris had wanted to die so much he would seek his own end in alcohol and fire. Without the anger Buck felt a cold sorrow fill him. A sense of loss so tangible that his stomach felt queasy.

Should he have seen this coming? He'd known what was going on with Chris and his advice, taken stoically by the others -- even Vin who disagreed with him, hell even JD who had disagreed with him and told him so -- was to stay back, not get too close. Buck had been worried that confronting Chris, even with kindness, would have driven him away, just like it had before. But had he been right to avoid it and hope it would get better? Or had the space he'd so graciously provided been interpreted as indifference?

The result had been a disaster from beginning to end. JD's encounter with Chris's wrath could have been much worse, as Buck well knew. But Chris running away and then ... and it was so unthinkable that Buck couldn't even put words to it.

"Oh buddy, I know, I know you wouldn't leave without apologizing to the kid. You owe him that and you owe me, and the others, a better explanation."

The horse snorted softly, as if he understood what Buck was pleading for and did not agree.

The fallout was only just beginning to be felt. Buck knew JD still couldn't give up the idea that he'd somehow inflamed the situation. Vin, as well, bore the weight of misguided responsibility for being the one to push Chris away from them, nearly at gunpoint, if Buck had interpreted the tracker's terse explanation correctly. And the townsfolk that Chris so carefully looked after, what would they feel once the news was out? Relief that the fearsome gunslinger was gone, or fear that his absence opened the door for something worse?

Buck paused again in tending the horse as something flickered on the edge of his thoughts. Before he could marshal it into focus he nearly jumped at the sound of a tentative voice.

"Buck, you okay?"

"Damn boy." Buck's voice was hoarse. "Don't sneak up on a man."

"Sorry."

JD shuffled into view, his eyes raking over the horse and the gear but avoiding Buck altogether.

"Vin and Ezra are riding out to the shack with Deputy Jenkins," JD told him. "And, uh, Nathan and Josiah are going to the cemetery to get...to get the coffin."

Buck nodded shortly to acknowledge this.

"And where are you going, kid?" Buck asked finally when JD offered no more.

"Oh! I, well, I thought I'd..." JD fumbled awkwardly with his hat. "I thought I'd stick with you. Although, you know, I don't think I really want to see, I mean, I just don't think I could take seeing...him."

Buck's look was missed entirely by JD, who'd lowered his eyes as though ashamed of his cowardice, but the older man's gaze softened with fondness at the boy's loyalty and sensitivity.

"That's a sight I could do without myself," Buck admitted. "So why don't we go with Vin and Ezra."

*****

It was after dark when Josiah entered the church. The interior, lit by a few oil lamps and numerous candles, revealed a more ordered house of worship than his own back in Four Corners. There was always something in his church to work on that required his tools to be ever present. It meant that one had to make do with what was on hand, from makeshift pews and pulpit to windows boarded up when glass got broken.

A quick glance around and Josiah knew the preacher in Red Rock had no such difficulties. Neither did he lack for a flock, if the number of pews was any indication. The minister in question was deep in conversation with a woman in the far corner; their voices too low to be distinct over the noise bleeding from the saloon a few doors down.

'Handy,' thought Josiah, 'to have the church so near the sinners.'

He nodded by way of greeting when the minister looked up at the door's closing. Moving off to one side, he lit a candle slowly, almost automatically, and watched as it flared brightly, momentarily eclipsing those around it. And that seemed only appropriate, considering the man for whom it was lit.

Josiah never remembered Chris coming to his church with any comfort. Whenever he'd entered he'd always hung close to the door, as though maybe he'd anticipated needing a quick getaway. But if ever a man had reason to lose his faith...

Josiah sighed. How far had Chris fallen? So low that none of them had been able to give him the hand back up he'd needed. That was a heavy burden to bear and not one that was sitting well on their shoulders.

Josiah thought he'd come to pray for Chris but found himself instead transfixed by the candle flame. It was still flaring, in defiance almost. It made Josiah wonder exactly what should be illuminated by its unnatural brightness.

His pondering was interrupted by Nathan, who sat down on the end of the pew. He looked at the candles and then at Josiah. A question, but no answers.

Nathan rubbed his face with his palms. He was exhausted.

"I spoke with Ben Jenkins before coming over here," Josiah told him quietly. "He said he left the others camped out 'bout halfway along that road."

"They find anything?" Nathan asked.

Josiah didn't answer. After a moment he commented instead, "No room at the inn, so I s'pose we should go join up with them."

"Funny," said Nathan as though he hadn't heard. "I keep remembering the first time I saw him. Standing there with Vin, as cool as ice, like he wasn't staring down the barrel of all those guns..." Nathan's voice trailed away with the memory. "I can't quite reckon how that man could be the same one we dug outta the ground this afternoon."

He turned sad eyes up to Josiah, but the preacher had no answers for him. Josiah placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Chris was always strongest when fighting for others. Could be that he just didn't have any fight left for himself." Josiah wished he had a better explanation. He, too, was finding it hard to accept. "Let's go."

Following Nathan out the door, Josiah glanced back. He found the brightness of the single candle, standing out amongst the other dim ones, to be a strange comfort.

*****

The sound of the flames crackling and the occasional snap from the fire was all that could be heard in their camp that evening. Ezra sat against a log and observed his companions with a practiced neutral expression that hid his concern.

Buck was pacing slowly just beyond the circle of light cast by the fire to Ezra's left. Every so often he'd stop as though contemplating something elusive in the dark night. The crunch of his boots on the hard ground was soft enough to be nearly silent over the burning wood.

JD sat cross-legged to Ezra's right, nervous energy evident in the twitching of his knees alternated by the drumming of his fingers on his leg. If Ezra didn't understand the need of perpetual motion to calm anxiety he would have been tempted to lay a hand on the boy and beg him to stop. As it was, he was itching to pull out his deck of cards just to occupy his hands with some task.

Vin lay across from Ezra, his form distorted by the heat of the fire. He was leaning back against his saddle, looking relaxed, maybe even asleep. That was until you looked at his eyes and saw the light reflected in the half-opened slits. Eyes that stared intently at the flames, seeking some knowledge that remained locked in the heat and light, or maybe even the smoke that rose up to the starlit sky.

Overcome with the need for activity, JD sprang to his feet suddenly and went over to his saddlebag to search for something. Ezra rubbed his temple briefly trying not to wince when he saw JD return with a wooden reed and a small boring tool. The boy's latest project was an attempt at fashioning a flute, although to call it that was a grave injustice to musical instruments everywhere. He'd managed to hollow out the reed and somehow mangle the top into a mouthpiece of sorts. He'd yet to put any holes along the tube, unsure where exactly to place them and not at all confident how to do it without ruining his hard work to date.

Ezra couldn't blame JD for needing to busy his hands and at any other time he'd have praised the boy for his efforts. But now he wished JD had limited his musical attempts to tapping his fingers on his knees.

JD sat again, turning the tube over several times in his fingers, trying to decide how best to proceed. He picked up his tool, hesitated, and put it down again. He briefly brought the mouthpiece to his lips only to be startled nearly out of his skin by Buck's bellow.

"Kid, you blow one note on that thing and I'll snap it across my knee and throw it on the fire where it belongs!"

JD stared at Buck with amazement. Vin shifted up on one elbow.

"Aw, leave off him, Buck," he growled, annoyed. "He ain't hurting anything," he added quietly.

"He's hurting my ears and he ain't even started yet," disagreed Buck.

"I said let him alone!"

Ezra glanced uneasily between them. JD had hung his head, a bit embarrassed to have a defender. He put the reed aside.

"It's okay," he said softly.

"Like you would know anything about music, the way you torture that harmonica," muttered Buck, retreating to pace some more. Vin narrowed his eyes with a bit of a glare in Buck's direction, but did not respond.

Sighing, JD tossed another piece of wood onto the fire, more for something to do than because the fuel was needed. Sparks flew briefly, disturbing everyone's thoughts and drawing attention to the increased heat as the new source was consumed.

'It all comes back to fire,' thought Ezra, suddenly depressed. He hadn't until this very moment really considered what the death of Chris Larabee would mean to him. He'd wondered and worried on the effects to their group as a whole, in particular to Buck who had been Chris's old friend, and to Vin, a new one but no less close. To the town of Four Corners, who relied on Larabee's leadership of the seven men for its law and order. To JD, who held Chris at first with such awe and later with respect. To Nathan, who would always owe Chris a life-debt. To Josiah, on whom the loss of hope always weighed heavily.

But Ezra personally? He had not really thought about his own feelings towards Chris. Certainly, he'd felt obligated to prove himself trustworthy, even useful, to Chris; feelings he'd never been too concerned about before. He'd feared Chris's temper, even though he doubted very much Larabee would ever do him harm. He had been more worried about being forcibly removed from the group by its volatile leader. The loss of Chris was more complicated and it brought to the forefront an emotional reaction which Ezra preferred would stay hidden.

While all of them contemplated the fire before them, none of them could help but see the fire whose effects they'd sifted through in the afternoon.

"What are we going to do now?" asked JD finally. Although he spoke quietly his voice seemed loud in the stillness of the camp.

No one seemed inclined to answer him so JD turned to face Ezra.

"I imagine that we'll arrange some kind of transport for Mr. Larabee's remains so that we can convey him back to Four Corners," Ezra said, with some caution as he remembered Buck's reaction when Nathan had made that same suggestion.

Vin turned his head so that his eyes were no longer visible in the firelight.

"I s'pose we should take him up to his ranch and bury him with his family."

"But..." JD's voice cracked a bit and Ezra sucked in a breath in wary anticipation.

'Please Mr. Dunne, do not cry now, because I don't think it will take much to tip this right over the edge,' he silently begged.

"I think," Vin continued softly, "when we take him there we have to believe that he's finally found some kind of the peace that he'd lost. He'd been looking for a long time and he took a hard road to get it. But he's got it now. And maybe he's back with those he loved. I guess Josiah'd have a fancier way of putting it but..."

"No, that is an admirable image, Mr. Tanner," Ezra put in quietly when Vin's voice trailed away. "And one from which we must certainly draw comfort."

Buck came abruptly to a halt in his pacing, unintentionally kicking a few stones towards the small group. He stood just inside the light, his hands on his hips, with a determined expression.

"Now, I've been trying to figure on a way to say this all afternoon and I can't come up with any way that doesn't make me sound like a raving lunatic. So I've just got to do it and hope that you believe me." He rocked back and forth on his feet a bit, like he wanted to pace again but was forcing himself to stay in one place. "Chris didn't kill himself."

JD sat straighter, startled by this announcement. Ezra narrowed his eyes while Vin raised his to look carefully at Buck.

"I know, I know," Buck forestalled any comment they might have at this point. "I haven't been exactly open minded on this trip. So I don't blame you for jumping immediately to the conclusion that ol' Buck is just ranting again. All I ask is that you hear me out. I wish I had Ezra's way of putting things but since I don't I'll just speak as plainly as I know how."

"We're listening," Vin told him.

Buck nodded. Took a breath and nodded again.

"First off, I don't blame that deputy a bit for his thinking. If I was him I'd probably think the same. But he didn't know Chris the way I did. Ain't none of you," Buck made eye contact with each of them, "none of you knew Chris the way I did. We all know how...how hard to live with he was lately. How low he's been feeling. But you have to trust me when I say this -- I've seen him lower. Much lower."

JD looked like he might interrupt but a quick glance from Ezra forestalled him.

"Right after the fire Chris was just about as low as a person can go on this earth and no one, 'specially not me, could blame him for that. He ran from everything; he ran from me. He drank too much and tried to stop his pain by either feeling nothing or inflicting greater pain on himself. Now I ain't never told nobody about this but..." Buck took a deep breath and sat down. He had everyone's rapt attention at this point; even Vin was sitting all the way up. "One time when I was seeing that he made it safe to bed after too many whiskey bottles Chris asked what I thought it would feel like -- to die in a fire. Would the heat kill you, or would the smoke get you, or would you actually burn to death; this is what he wanted to know."

"Good Lord," murmured Ezra.

"I don't mind saying that this kind of talk scared me half to death," Buck admitted, shaking his head. "I was really worried he was going to try to find out for himself, you see. But he didn't. I don't honestly know what stopped him from doing what he so obviously wanted to do. There are a lot of easier methods and Chris would have been able to do any one of them. Something stopped him. Maybe he felt, deep down -- some place even deeper than his pain -- that it just wasn't right."

Buck seemed lost in thought for a moment. He looked across the fire at JD's wide-eyed expression and smiled sadly.

"I wish you could have known him before. I wish..." He looked away abruptly and cleared his throat. "Even if Chris wasn't able to do it himself that didn't mean he wasn't looking to get himself killed. I guess he thought if somebody else pulled the trigger then it took away the blame or something. Because what happened then was a path of self-destruction so terrible that it's a miracle he walked through it alive. Josiah'd call it the will of God maybe; Chris would more likely call it a curse."

"Buck," Ezra spoke softly, unsure of where his friend was going with his logic. "All that you've divulged has only added credence to Deputy Jenkins' theory that..."

"No!" Buck interrupted strongly. "No, what I'm saying is that if Chris was of a mind to do that to himself he'd have already done it! He'd have done it three years ago! You see, he did make it through the pain -- he survived. And lately he's been working on building something up instead of tearing it down. Don't you see? It occurred to me this afternoon when I was wondering how the town was going to react to the news. Three years ago Chris never would have stopped to help Nathan. Hell, he'd have walked into the street hoping to catch a stray bullet! Protecting people, it gave him back a reason to keep living."

"Chris said there were things worth fighting for," JD put in tentatively.

"That's right, kid!" Buck agreed, seizing on his thought. "And a man who has things worth fighting for doesn't give up the fight. Not like this. Not now."

"If what you're saying is true," Vin said slowly, thinking through it carefully, "then somebody went to a lot of trouble to make it look like Chris killed himself."

"What better way to deflect the attention of the law than to place the blame squarely on the shoulders of the victim?" Ezra suggested.

Buck stood and began pacing again. He ran a hand roughly through his hair, unconcerned that it was now standing up at odd angles.

"There must be something that we're not seeing. Some clue as to what really happened here."

There was a pause while each man considered carefully the remains of the shack they'd examined that afternoon.

"Jenkins was very thorough," Ezra stated, grudgingly.

"There were all kinds of tracks," Vin told them. "But that's to be expected given that Jenkins was out there a couple of times, and that kid who reported the fire as well, plus all of us today."

Buck had been unable to bring himself to enter the burned out hovel earlier, so he looked to JD for impressions.

"Kid? You see anything that doesn't sit right? Anything at all?"

JD looked desperately like he wanted to provide them with the key to the mystery but he was baffled.

"It's not that important really," he mumbled.

"Just tell us, JD, and we'll decide," urged Buck.

"Well..." JD's forehead creased with a frown as he imagined the scene. "I asked the deputy to tell me where he found stuff. You know, where was the fire started and where were the bottles."

"Yeah, and?" prompted Buck when JD fell silent.

"It just struck me as odd, that's all. He said he found Chris's hat and serape with his gunbelt hanging from a chair close to the door. That's why the stuff wasn't burnt, more just singed. And it just seems to me that I ain't never seen Chris not have his gun where he could reach it in a second, if he needed to."

"Kid's got a point," Vin said, as he turned to see Buck's reaction to this observation.

"Out of the mouths of babes," whispered Ezra.

"I mean," continued JD as though oblivious to the reaction of the others, "I'd guess he'd have to be pretty drunk to do something so foolish, so it makes me wonder if he was that drunk how'd he manage to light the fire that carefully, you know?"

"One could argue, if I may be devil's advocate for a moment gentlemen, that he no longer felt the need of his weapon, considering his course of action," Ezra spoke cautiously, eyes flicking between Buck and Vin.

"I'd say that keeping his gun close to him was as natural as breathing," Buck pronounced. "He'd not give it a thought but to either leave it strapped to him or put it down right near the bed. Drunk or about to kill himself, it doesn't matter. JD's right. He'd never put his gun down across the room from him."

"Which would mean somebody else did that for him," Vin said, his voice growing cold. "Well, damn!" He stood up suddenly, aggression making him want to do something violent but he settled for clenching his fists. "Damn!"

Buck nodded with some satisfaction. He still felt that coldness that made his stomach hurt, but now at least he had a purpose, a goal on which to focus his pain.

"You asked what we're going to do now, JD? We're going to catch ourselves a killer."

*****

Ezra stepped out of the gloomy, smoke-filled saloon and hesitated on the sidewalk. Squinting slightly to allow his eyes to adjust to the late morning sunshine he casually dusted off his hat and perched it on his head. He idly looked up and down the busy street appearing to any observer as though bemused but unbothered by the town moving around him. In reality, Ezra was anxiously scanning to find his five companions.

Their cause, as rallied by Buck's passionate speech the evening before, had prompted them to rise at dawn and return to Red Rock. Seeking information and answers they'd spread themselves out. Ezra had gone immediately to find a game and make subtle enquiries over drinks and cards. He had struck the proverbial gold mine - well, in information that is. He tried not to dwell on the number of weeks' salary he'd lost acquiring it.

Spying Buck and JD with Ben Jenkins Ezra made motion to round up. Before long the others joined him at the back of the livery.

"Anything?" asked Vin.

"There's been too many people around," complained JD. "This place is so big people don't notice the strangers!"

"Gentlemen, I believe I may have discovered something." Ezra tried not to be smug. "A few games of chance with a rather chatty brute of a cowboy - a likeable enough fellow to be sure, even if one could wish he partook in bathing as frequently as he..."

"Ezra!" Vin's soft voice managed to be sharp at the same time. Ezra blinked and rallied his thoughts.

"It seems my new acquaintance was witness to the altercation between Mr. Larabee and a young hoodlum last week. The circumstances of the disagreement were forever etched in, ah, Hank's imagination because of two factors which he, even given his limited capacity for logical reasoning, found odd."

"Those factors being?" asked Nathan when Ezra paused for breath.

"The first that one would have to be either incredibly brave or stupid to goad one such as Mr. Larabee into the possibility of physical violence. It seems even in such a far reaching metropolis as this fair town our leader had a reputation for...well, for his temper."

"Oh, Chris had a reputation all right," Buck agreed grimly.

"Deputy Jenkins said it was more the cowboy's fault than Chris's," remembered JD.

"However," continued Ezra, "despite this ill-mannered ruffian's obvious desire to seek out the angels at Mr. Larabee's hand, he was prevented from doing so by the intervention of his companion."

"Well shoot, Ezra!" Buck interjected with impatience. "That don't sound all that outta the ordinary to me."

"Perhaps not," conceded Ezra. "But Hank was fairly certain that the interceding gentleman held a paternal role to the unfortunate instigator."

A few blank looks and Vin shaking his head caused Ezra to blurt out, "His father, the man who stopped him was his father."

"Kind of natural, a pa protecting his son from a gunfighter," Nathan pointed out.

"Furthermore," Ezra went on, unfazed by the interruption, "Hank found the younger hooligan to have a decidedly frightening manner - more so even than his intended target."

"Somebody scarier than Chris?" JD laughed nervously. "That would be worth remembering."

"I am perhaps leaping to conclusions prematurely," Ezra said after they pondered his tale. "But given our limited knowledge of the key players in this locale it seems prudent to investigate why this person sought to so antagonize our late friend. And given that he was prevented satisfaction at that time it is not unlikely that he might have attempted another opportunity for violence against Chris."

"Kinda different tactic, though," Vin said, thoughtfully. "To go from a street fight to burning a man in his sleep."

"We don't have much else to go on," Josiah commented.

"I thought Jenkins said the cowboys involved left town," Vin said, remembering. "So where do we find this guy to investigate him?"

Ezra smiled with satisfaction. Here was his trump card.

"It just so happens that Hank was able to provide information on the ruffian's whereabouts. Our good cowhand has spent the intervening days in search of some wayward bovines and espied the pair in his travels. Needless to say, he gave them a wide berth. But, and I'm sure you're going to appreciate the significance of this location, he spotted them on the old mine road."

One second was all it took to absorb this information before they spurred into action, with JD moving into the livery to saddle their horses, Nathan a step behind. Buck and Vin exchanged startled glances and Buck swiped at Ezra with his hat.

"Damn Ezra, why didn't you say that to begin with?"

Chagrined, Ezra opened his mouth to reply, but Josiah spoke instead, "Awful big coincidence, them being on an abandoned road like that."

"That was precisely my analysis," agreed Ezra with a grim expression. Now that the euphoria of bearing the news was gone, he was left only with the cold determination of the night before.

"Let's ride then," Vin said calmly. To any observer he might have been talking about going fishing. In reality he was wound up like a spring, uncomfortable with the anxiety he felt and frustrated by the lack of action. He knew now that the morning hadn't been a waste of time, or backtracking. Thanks to Ezra, they now had a destination.

*****

They made good time out to the shack and waited patiently while Vin examined again the tracks leading up to and away from the burnt out hovel. Vin moved further out from what he'd seen the previous day, seeking something besides the deputy's and young O'Brien's marks.

"Hey Buck," JD spoke, keeping his voice low. "What's a wayward bovine?"

Buck gave him a stern look.

"What do you reckon a cowboy might be looking for way out here?"

JD sighed with impatience but was interrupted by a small exclamation from the tracker.

"Got it," Vin said quietly, straightening up. He frowned, following the trail a few steps. "Not back to town though, and it look like there were three, no four of them."

"Could our offensive miscreant have acquired some accomplices along the way?" wondered Ezra.

Vin remounted his horse and led the way.

"They didn't come from town either. Looks like they hit the road past the shack here." Vin shook his head. "Heading farther out. Think they were heading for the mine?"

"But why?" asked JD. "Why not just use the road? And why go to a mine that's no longer in use?"

"Probably didn't want to be seen leaving town in this direction," Vin suggested in answer to one of the questions.

"Why don't we go have a look-see at what is so interesting about this mine?" Buck made a suggestion of his own.

It was late in the day by the time they'd made their way up the narrow hilly trail to spot the derelict buildings of the old camp. They stopped on the outskirts to look around. There was no sign of life anywhere.

"Tracks definitely came here," Vin told them.

"That doesn't mean they're still around," Nathan commented.

"Well, it can't hurt to examine the facilities more closely," Ezra said, hoping he hadn't sent them on a fool's errand.

They spread out slightly to start looking. JD suddenly snapped his fingers.

"Stray cows! He was looking for stray cows!"

Triumphant, he sought out Buck but before any insults could be traded the ground shook and an enormous roar echoed around the hills.

*****

Four days earlier...

Awareness was slow to arrive and brought with it only pain. Long before conscious thought pierced through the muddiness of his brain he knew only a stabbing agony of the worst headache he'd ever suffered. It was as if he could feel his own veins throbbing a steady drumbeat against the inside of his skull and with each waking moment the banging grew more pervasive and insistent. Even his hair hurt.

Christ that must have been some whiskey!

Eyelids fluttered open very briefly but the flash of light only added to his misery so he quickly squeezed them shut. He still wasn't thinking very coherently. While letting himself slide back to oblivion was tempting through his confusion a sense of self preservation kicked in. Something wasn't right and it was something more than waking with the worst hangover he'd had in years.

For a few moments he focused on taking deep breaths to calm an increasingly queasy stomach. Trying to get up the courage to open his eyes once more he moved to lift a hand to cover them. That's when he discovered his hands were bound around a post at his back.

Startled, his eyes shot open. Ignoring the blinding stab of pain the light sent straight through his aching skull, he frantically sought some sense of his situation. Where was he and why was he here?

When his vision cleared he could see that he was lying on a dusty wooden floor in a large room with a high beamed roof. Tall windows lined two long walls while directly ahead of him was a set of double doors. Benches and tables were evenly spaced throughout the room. He could feel a breeze over his face, coming from the windows he guessed, since many of the panes were missing. The air was cool enough to tell him that he was no longer in Red Rock.

While his eyes took in his surroundings his fingers twitched and wiggled, testing the rope that securely tied him to one of the square pillars that supported the roof. With a grunt and a brief struggle he pushed himself up to a sitting position, one corner of the beam pressing cruelly into his back.

His head swam with dizziness and his chin bobbed to his chest causing another burst of pain to flare within his cranium. Unfocused images flittered on the edge of his tenuous consciousness. He couldn't remember...he couldn't remember. Vin was angry with him for some reason, had hit him. But no, wait, he hadn't seen Vin since leaving Four Corners and that had been...when had he left? Yesterday? No, it was longer than that.

JD! JD had asked him something, was it something important? Vin had threatened to shoot him. He'd shoved JD against the wall. He was in jail. That must be it. Vin had locked him in jail until he apologized to JD. Except he wasn't in jail. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know why his head hurt so much or why his hands were tied.

The heavy doors flung open, the bang reverberating through his skull. He swung his head up to see two men enter. The first one stopped about ten feet away and looked down at him with an openly contemptuous smirk. The second one was more hesitant to approach. In his hands was a canteen and some cloth. Dark hair fell forward on his face, obscuring his eyes but his expression was sad.

"Mr. Larabee, how good of you to join us," the first one said with mocking triumph.

Chris concentrated on breathing deeply to keep his stomach settled. He leaned his head back against the post to prevent it from falling forward again since his neck no longer seemed capable of offering support. He decided a response was not only too much effort but also not in his best interests.

"I imagine your head is feeling a bit tender from its contact with my brother's rifle butt."

Still Chris said nothing. He struggled to maintain a focus on the man, trying to sort through his scrambled brain to figure out if he knew him and if so from where. Unfortunately he kept drawing a blank.

"I sense your confusion." The man sighed dramatically. "What do you think, Charlie? I think he doesn't have a clue who we are."

Charlie made a soft sound at this pronouncement although whether it was agreement or merely acknowledgement Chris couldn't tell.

"Who...?" God, was that his voice that croaked so? He licked his lips and tried again. "Who...are you then?"

For a moment Chris wasn't sure he'd get a reply and as the silence stretched out he couldn't even be sure he was still fully aware of the scene. But finally a cold voice told him, "My name is Lawrence St. James and I am your judge, your jury, your executioner!"

At some point, Chris couldn't say exactly when, Lawrence had moved closer to him, leaning down to put his face level with Chris's. In a flash of lucidity, Chris saw a malicious glint to the other man's eyes, a reflection of evil that made him shudder. If he was feeling better, or more in control, he might have pondered what roads Lawrence had walked to become so consumed with hatred. Then again, that was the sort of wondering he usually left to Josiah as Chris knew himself to be a little too familiar with the feeling of an angry heart.

Whatever possessed him to open his mouth must have been controlled by the part of his brain still not quite functioning. So much for protecting his best interests.

"What's the charge?" he rasped, a little shocked at how insolent he could sound, even beaten and tied at this man's mercy. Mercy that had yet to be demonstrated, he reminded himself.

"You really don't know?" Lawrence sounded amused but Chris wasn't fooled. Lawrence looked back at Charlie who'd remained closer to the door. "He really doesn't know. Can you believe that?"

Whatever Charlie might have said in response was lost on Chris as Lawrence yanked on his hair, cracking an already abused skull back on the post. Chris grunted with the increased pain and his eyelids fluttered closed but Lawrence wasn't quite finished yet. He lightly slapped both Chris's cheeks until awareness returned somewhat.

"Don't our surroundings give you a hint?" Lawrence asked. "Although, I can't really blame you if they don't, seeing how run down this place is." Still holding Chris's head Lawrence looked around the room. "You'll just have to use your imagination. Can't you just see the miners coming in for a morning meal, getting the tiniest glimpse of daylight before retreating underground, deep down, deep down..."

Chris must have lost touch with reality again. A few more deep breaths and he saw that no, Lawrence was indeed intoning on the life of the average miner. It was obvious to Chris, even in his foggy state, that Lawrence had never worked a day underground in his life. But they were at a mine and this was supposed to be a clue. Chris had never been a miner either so he was at a loss.

He could think of many a reason someone, and his brother, might come looking for him with a rifle, but he still didn't know the name St. James or how to associate him with any mine.

Lawrence abruptly let go of Chris's face and his head bobbed forward without the support. With effort he raised it again.

"This is intolerable!" boomed a voice from behind the post. Chris turned his head sharply with surprise and hissed at the results.

Another man strode around to stand beside Lawrence; an older man, Chris saw, but the family resemblance was striking. Ah, it must be a family vendetta then. He was very unsettled to realize this man must have been behind him the entire time.

"Who'd I kill?" There was that insolence again. 'Larabee, some day soon you're going to have to seriously learn some diplomacy -- that is, if you survive this little expedition.'

"You have the gall to sit there and ask such a question?" The older man was truly angry now. Not the burning rage of hatred that was so evident in Lawrence, but a hot flash of anger that takes away reason. "You cheeky bastard! You will KNOW your crime and you WILL repent!"

'That's all I'm asking is to know what I did.' Chris was becoming puzzled again. Fortunately his self-preservation instinct was stronger than his runaway mouth and he didn't voice that thought.

"His name was Daniel," Charlie spoke up. "And he was only 17."

Chris ducked his head to look at the floor. He wasn't sure but he didn't think it was his head injury causing this memory problem. He truly didn't remember a Daniel St. James, or his family, or their mine.

"He looked up to you, you worthless scum!" Old man St. James was at it again. "You were supposed to protect him and where were you when he died? WHERE WERE YOU?"

Realization hit Chris at the same time as astonishment. He lifted his head to meet their accusing gazes, an expression of incredulity on his face.

"Danny St. James?" he whispered. "I didn't kill Danny St. James. He died in an accident. It was..."

"He was killed through your interference and your negligence," interrupted Lawrence. "And for his murder so shall you die."

Chris couldn't seem to help himself. It was all too confusing and he hurt too much to make any sense of it. He laughed. This really couldn't be happening. He must be having some kind of drunken hallucination.

"You can't be...serious," he gasped.

He didn't know which of them hit him; he was only aware of a bright light of pain. The force of fists was accented by the unyielding sharpness of the solid wooden pillar. He groaned and slipped briefly into darkness, their angry accusations deafening to a dull roar in his ears.

Then a calm voice, one with reason still left, spoke, "Stop and take some care, Lawrence. You'll kill him otherwise."

Footsteps all around him and the babble of voices not making sense. Then another loud noise, maybe the walls collapsing, or the roof caving, or the door slamming shut. Then nothingness.

Chris started out of his stupor when he felt a cool dampness on his forehead. What had happened? Where was he? Vin was angry, had hit him, threatened to draw on him.

"C'mon now." A voice. Was it Vin? Had he hit him so hard he'd been knocked out?

A slight pressure on the back of his head and when the sharpness of it struck him he saw JD's face as he hit the jail wall.

"C'mon now, try to drink some of this." The voice again. Chris blinked rapidly, seeing a blurry face close to his own and dark hair.

"JD?" he whispered, squinting. "JD?"

Steady hands held the canteen for him. Why was that? Oh yes, because his own were tied behind him.

"I'm sorry," Chris mumbled.

"Somehow I don't think Lawrence is going to accept your apology," said a wry voice.

The coolness was gently wiping his neck, his temples, his eyes. Blood, Chris realized with a shock, as the water he'd swallowed helped to rouse him again.

He took a shuddering breath and looked clearly at Charlie St. James. "Wasn't meant for him," Chris told him hoarsely.

The young man did not acknowledge this, but sat back on his heels examining his work.

"Looks like you'll live after all," he informed Chris.

"I'm not to blame for Danny's death."

Charlie held the canteen for him again and patted once more on the bleeding gash on his forehead.

"Someone has to be," he said softly and left Chris to the silence.

*****

Rope. Chris's entire world had been reduced to the driving need to cut the rope that bound his wrists. After Charlie left him, he'd sat in a doze for an undetermined time. Jerking upright out of a haze of memories he'd rubbed his back painfully on the post.

The sharpness of the pain made Chris focus a moment on the ridges of the post's corners. Sharp. Like a blade. Wiggling a little, and hissing with the discomfort, he positioned himself to rub his hands up and down one corner. He hoped he was sawing through the tight cord; it was hard to tell if he was doing anything more than further bruising his wrists.

It was dark now. Completely black. Chris could only just make out the outline of the windowpanes high up on the wall. But here on the floor there was blackness. And it was cold. Chris felt the chill keenly, as his shirt was loose and he had nothing on his feet.

He paused a moment in his rubbing. These weren't his clothes he realized with a shock. And where were his boots? More disturbing, he thought with consternation, why hadn't he noticed this before?

"Keep cutting, Larabee," he told himself grimly, as he resumed his task. "Time enough for answers when you're not stuck to a post."

Up, down. Up, down. The steady rhythm was both soothing and exhausting. Chris's head nodded and he snapped it up, angry with himself. He had to stay awake if was going to escape. The darkness and cold suited his mood and matched his thoughts.

Now that he was thinking more clearly Chris wondered how Lawrence St. James and his father could possibly hold him responsible for Danny's death. Based on Charlie's sad expression while he'd gently tended Chris's wounds earlier Chris wasn't sure the younger St. James fully agreed with the pronouncement of guilt. Charlie's sympathy was a coin to keep for possible future spending.

Chris remembered Danny St. James fairly well but he was pretty sure he'd never before met Lawrence, Charlie, or their father. He'd been hired by Silver Spring Mine's foreman, an ox of a man more able with his brawn than his brain. Funny how Chris could remember the man's physical bearing with acute clarity, from his beady eyes, to his trunk of a neck, to his enormous hands...but he could not recall his name.

In any case, it was the foreman who'd hired Chris and he was sure that's where he'd learned that the proprietor of Silver Springs had gone back East when his wife had taken ill. This left the mine in the hands of his sons, or more specifically, Lawrence. It had been Lawrence's idea to hire the gunfighters to protect the mining camp from theft and sabotage.

Chris had been of the opinion that the mine's owner would do better to spend his money having someone investigate the crimes. The foreman hadn't been willing to discuss such an idea with the "boy." At the time Chris hadn't been of a mind to argue the point; he was hired to do a job and he'd do it. But some nagging sense of responsibility, or maybe an impatient intolerance of blatant stupidity, had urged him to track down some evidence that might stop the problems at Silver Springs. After all, someone might get hurt.

Danny had hung around, observing, asking questions, and making suggestions. Chris had never done anything to encourage the boy. In fact, as he recalled it, he'd rebuffed the kid rather gruffly. Not that this had any effect. Danny's personality was all smiles and laughter and teasing. He'd never had a sorrowful day in his life and could not honestly understand what it meant.

Up, down. Up, down.

Chris somberly pondered the remaining St. James men. He could not have picked two more unlikely brothers for the sunny natured Danny. Lawrence had only a tenuous hold on sanity while Charlie was a melancholy soul.

Chris hadn't been at Silver Springs on the day Danny was killed. He'd tracked a shipment of stolen dynamite to a neighbouring town and was in the process of providing his evidence to the sheriff there.

Apparently, Danny had been doing some investigating on his own. Something had taken him into the mine that day and he'd died in a freak cave in. Chris remembered asking the foreman if sabotage was suspected. There hadn't been any inquiry. Shortly thereafter the gunfighters were relieved of their duties when the family sold Silver Springs.

Up, down. Up, down.

The muscles in Chris's arms were screaming with protest but he was sure now that his labours were taking effect. He could feel the rope fraying.

How Lawrence could possibly connect Chris to Danny's death was a mystery. But it was painfully obvious that not only did Lawrence blame Chris but he was also seeking retribution. Lawrence had said Chris would die for his crime, yet Charlie had stopped him from beating Chris to death. A temporary reprieve at best and not one Chris was willing to take for granted.

It was nearly dawn when the last of the strands of rope gave way against the wood. Chris nearly fell over with the momentum of his arms swinging free. Flexing his fingers, he pushed up into a crouch and made his way over to the windows. Peering out into the gray light he could see the other abandoned building of the Red Rock mine. No sign of the St. James clan but that didn't mean there wasn't someone sitting outside the door.

Chris didn't think so. It had been cold in the night and there was no reason for anyone to stand guard over a beaten and bound prisoner. If they had felt the need he was sure they would have stayed inside the mess hall with him.

He cautiously made his way to the door acutely aware of his bare feet and continued dizziness. If he was going, it had to be now, before the sun rose any further. Taking a breath, he opened the door and bolted out into the camp.

*****

It wasn't until Lawrence shoved him back through the mess hall door and Chris stumbled, falling to his knees, that he realized how exhausted he truly was. Spending a day -- or more, he wasn't sure -- unconscious with a head injury hadn't helped. Then he'd been awake most of the night cutting his bonds. His morning flight had sapped all his reserve. He was at the end of his resources for resistance.

Lawrence grabbed his collar and dragged Chris over to the hated post. Charlie followed more slowly and Chris could hear a clinking sound with his footsteps. Bile rose in Chris's throat as Lawrence roughly attached the cold metal to his already abused wrists. Charlie contributed by looping a length of chain around the post and securing it to the manacles.

Chris now sat facing the post, staring at the metal bonds with a helpless fury he'd not felt for some time. He'd been silent on their journey back to the mining camp, refusing to grant Lawrence satisfaction to his taunts.

Lawrence glared down at Chris with contempt and then kicked him in the hip hard enough to elicit a grunt but nothing more. Slowly Chris raised his head to fix a cold store on Lawrence. Charlie stepped back slightly. Even knowing Larabee was chained he felt the menace coming from the man. Lawrence, however, appeared completely unfazed.

"You won't be going anywhere this time," Lawrence told Chris. "So get comfortable."

Chris clenched his jaw but stayed silent. Lawrence turned and walked towards the door a few steps before casually tossing behind him, "And I wouldn't expect any help from those fellow gunfighters of Four Corners if I were you."

Chris's blood turned to ice. For a second he couldn't form a coherent thought and then his brain flung at him a myriad of possible fates that Lawrence might have dealt his friends. He lurched to his feet with a growl, lunging towards Lawrence as far as the chain would allow.

Charlie leapt back even though he was well out of range of the enraged gunfighter. He'd seen Chris's expression change from hate to fear and found himself very unsettled by this shift. Lawrence merely pivoted, grinning maliciously at Chris while staying just beyond his reach.

"If you've hurt any one of them I will kill you," Chris threatened, somehow believable despite his state.

"Dead men can't kill," Lawrence stated calmly. "But you don't have to worry yourself about avenging them. They are all in perfect health. In fact, at this moment they are most likely en route to Red Rock."

Chris was confused. He remained standing with the chain stretched taut, clenching and unclenching his fists in an effort to control his rage. He wasn't convinced that Lawrence hadn't arranged for something terrible to befall the others. He also couldn't think of any reason for them to be coming to Red Rock.

"Yes, I imagine they tore out of Four Corners pretty quickly once receiving the news of your demise," continued Lawrence, smirking.

Charlie glanced uneasily between his brother and Chris as he made his way closer to the door. That Lawrence was greatly enjoying his torment of Chris was obvious to Charlie. He was saddened but not totally surprised at his brother's tactics.

Chris didn't know anyone, with the possible exception of Ezra Standish, who spoke in such riddles.

"Why don't you just say what you mean, St. James," he growled.

"I think it's a safe bet that the sheriff will have discovered the evidence by now. We made arrangements for your friends to be too occupied with your funeral to cause us any problems." Lawrence regarded Chris with an almost gleeful expression. "They all think you're already dead, you see. I must say, the planning of that subterfuge was extremely enjoyable! And since you soon will be dead, they just started their mourning a little early."

Chris felt his fatigue suddenly, with a trembling in his knees; he dropped his arms down, stepping back from Lawrence and lowering his head. Charlie placed a light hand on his brother's shoulder, intending to steer him towards the door. But Lawrence appeared not to be aware as he thoughtfully watched all the fight drain from Chris.

"Of course," Lawrence's voice was deadly soft, "that is assuming they will be mourning your death. Perhaps it will be a more celebratory event."

Chris looked up again, not giving Lawrence the satisfaction of a response or even a reaction. At Charlie's urging Lawrence finally exited. Swinging the door shut behind him, Charlie stole a glance back at Chris. His posture remained proud but his expression was sorrowful. Yet Charlie was under no illusions that they'd defeated him.

*****

Chris must have fallen asleep because when he next became aware of his surroundings it was dark again. Curled up on his side he realized it wasn't quite as black as the night before. He also noticed a tray with food and a canteen placed carefully within his reach. Sitting up he discovered that Charlie was across the room from him, on the floor with his back to the wall. A lantern flickered from one of the benches between them, casting shadows into the black murkiness beyond its circle of light. Charlie had a shotgun with him, which had been by his side but he picked it up and placed it across his lap when he saw Chris stirring.

Chris looked from the food to Charlie to the shotgun. He slowly pulled himself over to lean against the post and cautiously took a drink of water.

"I don't think you need to worry about me breaking through this chain," he said. Charlie's anxiousness and possession of a loaded weapon made Chris nervous.

Charlie made some kind of snort which may have been amusement. "Mister, at this point it wouldn't surprise me if you tore down the building to get away from that post -- chains or no chains."

These same chains rattled slightly as Chris leaned over to pull the tray closer to him. He was about to pick up a piece of bread and then hesitated.

"I didn't kill your brother," he told Charlie softly. "And I don't really think you believe I'm responsible for his death."

Charlie snorted again but this time it did sound more like a laugh. "It doesn't matter squat what I believe!"

Chris chewed in silence for a moment.

"Well, if I'm gonna die the least you could do is explain to me just how I'm to blame here. Because as I recall I wasn't even at the mine when he died."

"You remember Danny?" asked Charlie quietly, studying Chris carefully. Chris nodded. Charlie looked up to the dark beams of the ceiling, smiling with a fond memory. "I remember him too. Every day, I remember."

"Grieving for a loved one doesn't make it right to murder another man," Chris said.

Charlie's gaze snapped down to the gunfighter and he narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you tell yourself as you hunt for your family's killers?"

Chris froze with his arm halfway to his mouth, the morsel of bread forgotten.

Charlie nodded wisely. "Yes, we found out quite a bit about you, Mr. Chris Larabee. Know thy enemy is one of Lawrence's favourite sayings. So don't pretend to me that you are unfamiliar with the driving motivation of revenge!"

Finally Chris willed his arm to lower, dropping the bread back to the plate from lifeless fingers. His cold glare went unnoticed by Charlie, who had gone back to pondering the rafters.

"Your little boy was how old? Five? Six?"

Chris pressed his lips together tightly. The room was so quiet that only the occasional hiss from the lantern could be heard.

"When I think on Danny, I always remember his smile, his laugh. What do you remember when you think of your son?"

Charlie brought his eyes down from the dark to regard the furious man across from him. When Chris showed no sign of speaking Charlie shifted slightly, raising the shotgun off his knees. He tapped it with his fingers.

"I asked you a question, mister!" When it came to projecting menacing evil Charlie was a far cry from Lawrence.

"You drag me here against my will, chain me, and threaten me, and now you want to have a conversation?" Chris spat. "I don't think so!"

Charlie inclined his head, unfazed by this outburst. He was across the room after all, and holding a weapon. "You said you wanted an explanation. I'm trying to give you one. You cooperate with me and I'll cooperate with you, understand?"

Chris was silent.

"What do you remember when you think of your little boy, Chris Larabee?" Charlie repeated the question slowly, keeping eye contact.

"That he's gone," Chris spoke harshly.

The look on Charlie's face changed so suddenly, melting from defiance to confusion, almost disbelief, and then compassion when he heard Chris's words. Chris turned his head away, preferring to contemplate the wood of the post rather than face the pity so plainly displayed. Charlie had enough of his little brother's sensitivity to make his emotions easily read by his expression.

"My God," breathed Charlie. "How awful! If all you have to cling to is the idea that he's no longer with you..."

'Shut up, just shut up,' Chris willed silently, trying not to hear him.

"I'll never forget that Danny is gone, but I have very happy memories of him to think on when I miss him. And I know that he'd be the first to tell us to stop this nonsense...he'd be the only one Lawrence might listen to as well."

Chris didn't know what possessed him. He didn't like talking about his family with anyone, neither friend nor stranger. In fact, he preferred to avoid anything that might trigger the memories he tried so hard to bury yet still managed to cherish. Whether it was Charlie's wistfulness, or his honest admissions, or maybe just plain fatigue after all that had happened in the last few days, Chris couldn't say. But unexpectedly memories started flashing by, like a train roaring through an empty prairie and he found himself carried away by them without any way of stopping. More surprising was that he didn't even try.

His little boy's voice rang in his ears.

"Pa, how fast can horses run? Can they run faster than a train?"
"How does such a big colt get out of its Mama?"
"When will I be big enough for a full size horse, Pa? I'm too big for a pony."
"Why do we have to break 'em like that?"
"Why do we use saddles? Does everyone use spurs?"
"Does it hurt when a horse gets kicked?"
"Why don't we drink Mama horses' milk when we drink Mama cows' milk?"

Then, clear as if he was standing right there in the yard he remembered a day he and Buck had been working with a nervous new acquisition. The horse had been ill-used by his former owner and was fearful of his handlers. The skittish animal had been reluctant to enter the barn, despite the gentle coaxing of the two men. Adam came running over from the house, ready to leap up onto the corral fence and perch there to watch, as he often did.

Seeing him out of the corner of his eye, Chris called out a warning, "Adam! Go on back to your Ma."

Confused, the little boy stopped about halfway. He looked back to the house and then over to his father, which was where he'd rather be. Rather than returning to his mother he opened his mouth to ask clarification.

Chris's attention was back on the horse, who had been finally moving towards the barn door. Without warning, the animal bolted, plowing straight at Chris and crashing the two of them into the corral fence at precisely the spot where Adam usually sat.

Chris heard his son cry out and felt a cold fear clutch at him. For a moment it obliterated any pain he should have felt from the abusive treatment of the horse, not to mention the breaking of the fence at his back. He heard the sound of the hoofbeats growing fainter. And he thought he might have heard Buck shout something.

His next memory was sitting awkwardly at the table by the fireplace while Sarah tended to his bruised and aching body. Buck was by the door, telling him that he'd rounded up the stray horse and gotten him settled. Interspersed in this explanation was Adam, so worked up by events that he could hardly get the words out of his mouth.

"What did he...? I mean, why would, why would, why, what...?"

Sarah turned from her ministrations to softly scold her son. "Will you hush for five minutes, love, and give your father some peace and quiet, please?"

The expression on Adam's face was a cross between consternation at being told to be quiet and contrite guilt at causing his father any more duress than he'd already experienced that day.

"It's all right," Chris said. "What was your question, son?"

"Why did the horse run away like that? Right through the fence!"

So Chris pulled him onto his lap, ignoring both the pain and the disapproving frown of his wife, and explained to his son about how when animals are mistreated they grow to be fearful of humans, even those who are kind to them. It was a concept that Adam found hard to accept, given that he'd never seen a horse treated with anything but caring and respect.

Many questions and explanations later, Sarah intervened again and Chris was somewhat relieved. His head was aching so much...

Just like now, realized Chris coming back to the present abruptly. Funny how he hadn't thought about that day for what seemed an eternity and yet he remembered it so clearly all of a sudden.

"He was always asking questions." Chris's voice was so low after being quiet so long that Charlie had to strain to hear. The gunfighter remained turned to the post, not meeting Charlie's intent gaze. "That's what I remember. Him asking me questions. Always wanting to know how things worked. Why this, why that, what do you think Pa? Always questions."

Charlie didn't say anything, not wanting to break into the other man's thoughts.

"I didn't mind answering them. I found them fascinating. The way that little mind of his worked... I thought... I thought I was teaching him, helping him grow to be a man his Ma'd be proud of, not make all the stupid mistakes I did. But we never had the chance to see... So I guess it was all for nothing."

"No," Charlie protested quietly but with force. "It wasn't."

Chris looked over to him now, the pain evident on his face as well as a kind of perplexed frustration.

"Charlie..." he began, then sighed and looked away again. "Killing me ain't gonna bring your brother back, you know."

"I know," Charlie agreed. "And I'm even pretty sure that it's not going to make anyone, including Lawrence, feel any better."

"Then why do it?" Chris had to ask.

Charlie appeared to think about his reply carefully before expressing it. "Did you know that Danny thought you were something so special? He talked about you all the time after you fellas came. Lawrence didn't feel you were a very good role model -- he didn't like the idea that you were some kind of hero for Danny."

"I didn't..." Chris started to protest but Charlie interrupted him.

"I know. But just as you didn't ask Danny to latch onto you, you couldn't do anything about Lawrence's reaction when that happened."

"Is that what this is all about?" Chris asked with disbelief. "Lawrence needs vengeance because I was his little brother's hero?"

"Danny went into the mine that day to look for evidence -- just like you. Because he wanted to stop the sabotage -- just like you." Charlie's statement held no bitterness; his words were spoken flatly. "Lawrence told Pa that you weren't doing your job, which was to protect the mine, and that's why Danny died. But he blames you for firing up Danny's imagination about protecting justice!"

"Interference and negligence," Chris muttered to himself, remembering Lawrence's contradictory accusation.

"If you thought you had the person responsible for your family's deaths in your sites, wouldn't you fire?" Charlie asked. "Honestly?"

"Honestly, I don't know...probably I would," Chris admitted. "But you know that what your brother is doing is wrong. What he told your father is wrong. Killing me," Chris paused, hoping he wasn't spending his sympathy coin at the wrong moment. "Killing me for it is wrong."

"Maybe so. But there's nothing I can do."

"Lawrence said my friends were coming to Red Rock. If you got a message to them somehow..." Chris tried. But the other man was shaking his head. "Please Charlie."

"You don't understand. Your pals think you're dead." Charlie's expression was sad. "Even worse really, the way Lawrence set things up."

"What do you mean?" asked Chris, not sure he wanted to know what could be worse than his six friends mourning his demise prematurely. Unless, he thought as his stomach turned over with the possibility, they were celebrating as Lawrence had suggested.

"Well, if things went according to Lawrence's plan, they think you've killed yourself in a fire. He wanted to be sure they wouldn't come looking for us, you see."

The lantern light wasn't strong enough to reveal how Chris's face had paled with this bit of information. Surely they wouldn't believe such a thing? How could they think he would...? 'And why not, Larabee, considering the miserable son of a bitch you were being before you left town? Why shouldn't they think you'd go and do something crazy like that? When you'd slam JD Dunne up against a wall simply for...oh God, simply for asking a bunch of questions!'

Chris hung his head. 'Ah, JD, I'm so sorry. And I'm so very sorry that I won't have the chance to tell you that.'

*****

Charlie nearly died when he saw them ride into town. For a second he was sure his heart had stopped at the sight of those six riders. His wasn't the only head to turn and watch their determined progress to the jailhouse. They were a fierce looking group, with both urgency and danger surrounding them. Their control only added to their fearsomeness. Compared to the wild carousers let loose on the streets recently these men were sober, and although their weapons were not in hand, they were visible.

As the six men followed the sheriff into the jail Charlie remembered to breathe. My God, they'd ridden right past him and hadn't given him a glance! Charlie frowned with inwardly directed disgust. 'Why should they take any notice of you?' Lawrence's plan, so meticulously thought out, had gone off without a hitch. The main benefit of those consuming details was anonymity.

Charlie hovered outside the general store, reluctant to enter as there was a heated dispute erupting between the shop's owner and several brutish looking characters. He kept glancing over at the jail, half expecting the six to come bursting out the door at any moment heading straight for him, Lawrence's plan be damned.

But when the door opened it was the sheriff who emerged, following the store owner's assistant who'd been worried about the possibility of violence. The sheriff shouldered past Charlie to enter the store without even a glance at him. Distracted a moment by the way Sheriff Wilson diffused an angry situation Charlie nearly missed it when the jail door did burst open and a very irate looking Buck Wilmington charged out.

Charlie tried to swallow on a throat gone dry as Buck passed him on a direct path to the livery.

'Am I invisible?' wondered Charlie, as he was again ignored. At least his heart could return to its regular pace.

Now that it was safe to enter the shop Charlie wasted no time gathering up his supplies. He'd come alone into town. After Lawrence's fool stunt playing cowboy and baiting Larabee in the street -- in front of everyone! -- Pa had decided it best if Charlie be the one to go. Not that anyone would recognize Lawrence. Hell, even Larabee hadn't recognized him. Charlie wasn't the only one to think Lawrence had lost his senses for that little maneuver. Pa had been sure that Larabee would shoot them both and had diffused the situation. Lawrence remained cool through the tongue lashing that followed but that didn't mean he'd risk being seen in Red Rock again. Particularly with six more gunfighters on their way.

Charlie hadn't expected to see them. When he'd struck out for town that morning, with Chris's plea to help him still rattling in his brain, he'd comforted himself with the thought that he wouldn't be able to get a message to Larabee's friends if they hadn't arrived yet. And now here they were.

Charlie began packing his purchases into his saddlebags and glanced uneasily at Sheriff Wilson as the deputy approached. Charlie's hands slowed as he focused his attention on the bags and his ears on their conversation.

"How'd it go, Ben?"

Ben sighed. "'Bout as well as you'd expect."

"Well, it's a lot to accept, 'specially from a man like Larabee," Wilson commented.

"I'm pretty sure they're going to want to take a look for themselves. Is it okay if I take 'em out there this afternoon?"

"Good idea," agreed Wilson.

Charlie risked a peek over his saddle at the two men; Wilson, with keen eyes surveying the street and Jenkins, looking glumly back towards the jail.

Five men were exiting the jail now, the last one pulling the door closed behind him. It was Vin Tanner, Charlie recognized, the one Lawrence had discovered was wanted in Texas. He carried a black gunbelt slung across his shoulder, folded over one arm was some striped fabric, and a black hat dangled from his hand. Charlie gasped. Larabee's belongings, he realized with a twist in his gut.

He wondered at the courage it would take for him to approach this man and with two words remove his unhappy expression and lighten the burden he bore. More courage than Charlie knew. Although whether he more feared Tanner's retaliation -- the man was wanted for murder after all -- or Lawrence's wrath, it was hard to say.

The young one, Dunne, walked past ahead of his friends, with his head down. Charlie almost had to side step to avoid a collision with him. Charlie mounted and guided his horse down the street away from the jail, in the opposite direction of the mine.

His heart was heavy with guilt and indecision. At least tomorrow night it would finally be over. Maybe then they could put Danny's spirit to rest, two years to the day after his death.

*****

Charlie held the shotgun while Lawrence secured the chains this time. Chris sat, helpless, with the gun's barrel pressed into his chest as Lawrence shackled his ankles after looping the chain around a fallen support beam at the end of the narrow mine tunnel.

The ground beneath him was cold and very damp, but Chris wasn't feeling much. He looked at Charlie, trying to hold the younger man's attention, trying to appeal to his conscience, his sense of justice. It was a futile effort, as Charlie would not meet Chris's eyes locking all of his attention on the chains instead.

"Don't do this, Charlie," Chris said. "You know this isn't a solution. You know this won't help your pain."

"Quiet!" snapped Lawrence. He had no problem glaring at his captive but Chris ignored him completely.

"C'mon Charlie, don't do this. This isn't right."

Charlie and Lawrence stepped back together and Charlie lowered the shotgun. Chris pushed himself up onto his feet.

"Charlie!" he yelled as the brothers retreated. "Charlie!"

He was alone. All Chris could hear in the cold darkness was his own harsh breathing and the trickling of water along the tunnel's floor. Damn it! He gave into anger briefly, pounding the earthen wall behind him.

'Well, you got yourself into this mess alone, Larabee, and that's just how you're going to get out of it.'

He bent over to tightly grip the fallen beam and pulled. He groaned with the effort but thought he had moved it up slightly at one end. Encouraged he took a deep breath and tried again.

Just then a huge blast shook the ground beneath him, causing him to lose his grip and fall over. Debris from the tunnel's ceiling, no longer fully supported, crashed down around him. He coughed and choked as another blast erupted in the tunnel. Chris flung his arms up to protect his head when the sidewall support toppled over onto the one to which he was chained.

Then silence, particularly quiet after the rumbling crack of moving earth. Chris coughed and pushed up, gasping as he realized his right foot was now caught under the beam he'd been trying to shift before the blast. He couldn't stand unless he got it free and he wasn't able to lift the fallen beams from a seated position.

Eyes closed he breathed deeply for a few seconds, trying to formulate a plan. Opening his eyes didn't help much. It was completely black. Chris knew, rather than saw, that the tunnel down which Lawrence and Charlie had escaped was now blocked. That was their plan all along -- to kill him in the same manner as Danny had died.

The sound of water trickling seemed louder now and Chris's alarm grew as he realized why. His tomb was flooding.

*****

Lawrence and Pa may have thought it appropriate to return to the bunkhouse after the blast but Charlie found the idea stifling. He dropped the shotgun and turned in the other direction after the charges went off, mumbling something about needing some air.

He'd just rounded past some old, rusting washer equipment when he was startled by the sight of Larabee's six friends. They were dismounting and heading in his direction. Charlie pivoted but not fast enough.

"Hey you!" a voice called.

Charlie froze. He wished he hadn't left the shotgun behind. Maybe then he'd appear threatening and they'd kill him right off and it would truly be over. He slowly turned to face them.

Funny, they didn't look nearly as scary as he remembered them being in town. They looked more confused, a bit wary perhaps, but on the whole concerned.

"You okay, mister?" Dunne asked him. "We heard an explosion."

Charlie stared at him with dazed amazement. Then Jackson, their healer, stepped forward.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

'Am I hurt?' Charlie thought. 'My God, I've just killed their friend and they think I'm hurt?'

Even though he knew it was impossible, Charlie could swear he still heard Chris calling out for him to defy Lawrence and end this madness. In fact, he could hear Chris a lot more distinctly than the voices of the men in front of him. He sensed they were trying to decide what to do with him, whether to help him or demand answers from him. Somebody was saying something about being in shock. But what he heard was:

"I didn't kill your brother."
"What you're doing isn't right."
"Don't do this."
"This won't help your pain."
"I'm not responsible for Danny's death."
"Please Charlie."

"There's still time to save him," Charlie blurted out suddenly, interrupting their debate. They silenced immediately, their faces a single question.

"Still time to save who?" asked Sanchez, with a gentle tone that belied his size.

"I can't help you!" Charlie cried, anguished. "But you might still save him."

"Save who?" repeated Tanner as he stepped closer.

Charlie backed away, stumbling a few steps.

"Save Larabee. If he survived the blast you might still get him out in time."

For a moment they simply stared at him in shock.

"God almighty boy! Are you telling us Chris is still alive?" Wilmington loomed over Charlie who tried not to cower. Buck grabbed him by his shirt and nearly lifted him right up off his toes. "Speak. Now," he hissed, almost nose to nose.

How could Charlie have thought they weren't threatening? His mouth opened but no sound came out.

"Buck, ease off. He can't tell us anything if you've scared him to death," JD urged, pulling on Buck's arm.

Buck lowered Charlie down so he was standing by himself again but kept a firm grasp on the shirt.

"We chained him in the tunnel before it blew," Charlie told them. "It was how we lost Danny and Lawrence wanted him to know exactly how...and it was Lawrence who arranged the fire so's you wouldn't come after us but you did anyway so all his planning..." Charlie was babbling and he knew it. He shook his head. "It wasn't right, what we did, but I couldn't stop them."

"Where is he?" Vin asked, his face tight with concern.

Charlie gestured behind him.

"Lower tunnel."

"Show us," growled Buck, turning him around and shoving, hard. Charlie kept his balance but only barely and led them back to the tunnel's access. He couldn't imagine what might happen if Lawrence and Pa discovered them now.

Charlie was all but abandoned at the entrance as the six men scrambled in. Ezra paused only long enough to retrieve the torch that Lawrence had discarded and light it.

They didn't get very far down the tunnel before running into the blockage caused by the blast. Vin grabbed a few moveable rocks, hurling them down as he nearly climbed up the rubble, as though he could push his way through by sheer determination alone.

"Chris!" he yelled and his call was echoed by JD.

"Hush a minute," urged Nathan, holding up a hand. Nothing but stillness.

Vin turned an anguished expression to Buck who contemplated their obstacle.

"I don't know how quickly we can break through here." Buck eyed the ceiling of the tunnel. "This whole structure is just a cave in waiting to happen."

"Our information source indicated that this was the lower level," Ezra put in. "Perhaps access would be better facilitated by the upper one?"

"Buck, Nate, Ezra -- you stay here and get started on this. JD, Josiah, you're with me," Vin ordered, already moving back outside.

Charlie, who had overheard, silently handed Josiah another torch and pointed towards the upper entrance.

Vin scrambled quickly up the steep incline, not waiting to see if his two companions were following. As his boots pounded down the narrow passage he could feel how unstable the old shaft was. If they weren't careful they might crash down on top of the others.

He slowed as he came to approximately the location of the blockage below. Cautiously moving further down Vin jumped back, startled, when his foot stepped down into nothing.

"Josiah," he called back. "Get that light over here."

JD and Josiah were suddenly there; the torch flaring with the air's movement. Just below Vin's feet was a narrow hole where the floor of this tunnel had fallen through the ceiling of the one below.

"What's that sound?" asked JD quietly. Vin's eyes were still examining the hole and moving around to what little he could see in the torchlight.

"It's water," he told JD. "The lower passage is filling with water."

Vin knelt by the hole, noticing how the dirt crumbled more easily on one side than the other.

"Chris!" he yelled. "Chris, are you there?"

The three listened with increasing anxiety, as all they heard was the bubbling of water. Then very faintly they got a response.

"Vin?"

"Chris!" Vin called, feeling light headed with relief. He reached lower to see if he could fit down the hole.

"Yeah," was the response.

Vin stood with his hands on his hips and then looked to his friends. He seemed to reach a decision and started pulling off his hat and coat and gun, dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

"I'm gonna take a look," he said, kneeling by the hole again.

"Are you sure you can fit down there?" asked JD, dubious.

"Nope," replied Vin, testing the edges of the opening carefully to be sure he wouldn't cause the entire floor to collapse. "Hand me the torch."

He held back a hand and Josiah passed it to him. Gripping it by the very end so as not to burn himself Vin lowered the torch down the hole, following it with his other arm, then his head, then his shoulders, until his whole torso was wiggling itself downward. Josiah and JD crouched down to hold Vin's legs.

The hole wasn't very deep before it opened up into the cavern of the tunnel below. Vin saw with alarm just how close the ceiling was to falling. His apprehension only increased when he caught sight of Chris's face, pale even in the low light, and the water which was now about halfway up Chris's chest.

Vin found a niche where the support beam met the cave in and he jammed the torch's handle there so that both his hands were free.

"Nice to see you, cowboy," Vin drawled, swallowing his anxiety.

"Get outta here," rasped Chris. "This whole place is a death trap."

Vin winced as he tried to wiggle himself into a more maneuverable position.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

"Foot's pinned," Chris told him.

"Okay," Vin said, like this was a minor consideration. "Don't go anywhere; I'll be right back."

"No," protested Chris, but Vin was already wiggling his way back to the upper tunnel.

In the gloom above Vin told the others what he'd seen.

"Small space, filling with water, he can't stand. We're going to need something to bust that chain or lift the beam."

"I'll see what's available," Josiah said.

"JD, you'll be my go between with the others," Vin said. "Just be careful tromping through here that you don't collapse the ceiling below."

JD nodded anxiously.

"You going back down?"

Vin grinned. "Feet first this time."

*****

Vin had prepared himself for the water to be cold but it was still a shock as he dropped from the ceiling into the darkness of Chris's prison. He gasped, trying to catch his breath and reorient himself.

Chris regarded him sadly.

"Not quite the reunion I was hoping for," Vin said. "But damn, Chris, we all thought that you were..."

"Still might happen," Chris interrupted. Vin's expression was grim.

"Not on my watch."

He waded through the ever rising water to examine the fallen beams. The top one he was able to move by wedging his body between it and the wall. After a few good shoves it rolled off the bottom one and dropped with a splash to the floor.

The water was up to Chris's shoulders now and his hands gripped the wall, scraping to hold himself as high as possible.

Vin reached down to feel around where the chain was looped and where Chris's foot was jammed underneath.

"Anything broken?" asked Vin, feeling his way from one end of the beam to the other.

"Nope, just can't get it to move," Chris said through gritted teeth.

The beam was on a slight angle so Vin was able to grip it with both hands along the bottom. He strained to lift it but despite all his strength it barely moved.

"Not enough," Chris told him.

Vin growled with frustration, slapping the beam and smacking water in Chris's face in the process. Chris shook his head.

"You better get outta here, Vin," he said.

"I'm not leaving without you so don't bother mentioning it again," Vin told him fiercely.

They were both quiet for a moment while Vin desperately tried to think of a plan.

"You gonna shoot my sorry ass if I don't get going?" Chris finally asked calmly.

"If I thought it would help I'd..." Vin couldn't finish the barb. He looked away, and moved back to where the hole in the ceiling was.

"JD?" he called up. "Josiah find any tools yet?"

"I think he's coming now," was the faint response.

Vin was worried about the rising water; it was nearly at Chris's chin now.

"Where's the water coming from?" he asked. "Maybe I can plug it up with something."

He felt along the wall and down near the floor but couldn't find a single source for the output. JD was calling him.

"Stay clear Vin. I'm going to drop a crow bar down to you."

"Go ahead, JD," hollered Vin back.

There was another splash and then Vin's frantic fingers searched under water for the tool. He was able to wedge it underneath the beam but still could not seem to move the heavy wood.

"ARGH!" bellowed Vin with uncharacteristic anger.

The torch flickered, noticeably dimmer now and Vin saw with dismay that it was on the verge of going out altogether.

"Vin...I want...you to...apologize...to JD...for me," Chris gasped. He tipped his chin up so that water would not seep in while he spoke.

"Tell him yourself," growled Vin as he felt the wall by the beam's end. From his explorations he realized that the reason the beam wasn't moving was because it was solidly wedged under a rock jutting out from the wall. He began to chip away at it with the bar.

"Not...gonna...have...the chance," Chris managed, as he struggled for breath. His arms were straining to hold him upright when suddenly his hands slipped on the wet rock and he slid under.

"Chris!" cried Vin, dropping the bar and surging over to yank his friend up by the arms. He grasped Chris's chin to raise it above the water level. Chris's hands flailed against the wall seeking purchase to support himself. Vin held his head tipped back while Chris gulped in air.

"You okay?" Vin asked and Chris made a strangled noise.

"Right...as rain."

They were in total darkness now.

Vin felt despair creep slowly through him. He couldn't support Chris and work to free him at the same time. It would be a moot dilemma soon enough as the water level would rise above Chris's face shortly.

"JD," whispered Chris. "Vin...please...JD...I'm sorry...'s important...questions notta problem." He struggled with the words, spitting out the water that flowed into his mouth.

Vin's head snapped up with a thought.

"JD!" he yelled. "JD, get your wooden whistle and throw it down here!"

"Vin?" called JD, not sure he'd heard correctly.

"Right quick, kid. We need something to help him breathe under water. Go now!" Vin hollered. By the silence he assumed JD had heard and understood. "Hang in there, Larabee," Vin whispered. "Don't be leaving us just yet."

Chris brought his hands off the slippery wall to clutch at Vin's shirt, grabbing the material with panicked hands and trying to haul himself up further. Vin bent over, bending his knees slightly, to allow Chris to support himself by gripping Vin's shoulders. Vin could feel how tired and how desperate Chris was by the trembling in his fingers.

"Just hold on now. I won't let you go," Vin told him softly and Chris calmed slightly.

Chris was suddenly ashamed to realize how grateful he was that Vin was there. He was going to die; he had known that from the time the blast had gone off. But at least now he wouldn't die alone, in the dark, with his friends believing he'd killed himself. At least now he knew JD would know he was sorry. At least Vin's final words to him were not spoken in anger. He had to believe that Vin, who unlike Chris was unfettered in this tomb, would escape after he was beyond saving.

Although he couldn't see Vin's expression clearly in the inky blackness he could imagine his friend's face. He felt Vin's strength holding him up, supporting him, and his panic ebbed. He was not alone anymore and he could let go.

Vin sensed an easing in Chris, a relaxing of the panicked grasping, and it frightened him more than the desperation. Where the hell was JD? It was taking the kid an eternity to return with the reed.

As if summoned by Vin's thoughts, JD's voice called out from above and a scattering of dirt sifted down onto their heads with his arrival.

"I'm dropping it down!"

A muted splash sounded behind them and Vin shifted.

"Chris, you gotta hang on to the wall now so's I can go get it."

Chris nodded slightly but couldn't make his fingers let go of Vin's shoulders. Vin shifted again.

"C'mon Chris, let go now," he urged.

"Don't...leave..."

"I'm not leaving you; I'm trying to help you," Vin told him. "Now, can you hold yourself up for a second?" Vin didn't allow any of his own fear to creep into his tone. Chris let go one hand at a time to scratch at the wall until he found something to hold onto.

Vin waited only long enough to be sure Chris wouldn't slip under again and then he let go. Scrambling and splashing around, he searched for the piece of wood. His fingers brushed it and he pounced, shaking all the water from it while wading back over to Chris.

Feeling his way, his hands bumped across Chris's cheeks at the surface of the water. He placed a hand under Chris's neck and pulled him as high as he could.

Chris let out a cry as his body protested movement beyond its abilities. Vin's fingers felt down Chris's cheek to his lips and he brought the reed closer.

"Here," he said softly. "Put this in your mouth. It's hollow."

Chris got the idea immediately, putting one hand on Vin's shoulder and another on the reed.

"There you go," Vin said, taking the hand that gripped his shoulder and guiding it back to the wall. "Now, I need to get back to the beam, so do you think you can hang on by yourself for a bit?"

Vin turned, his movements made sluggish by the water, and retrieved the bar. He felt around for the beam's end and continued wearing down the rocky wall, all the while trying to edge the beam up enough to move Chris's foot from underneath. From the faint whistling sound he knew Chris was still breathing and that the tube was still above the water.

*****

Vin had never been in a place as cold or dark as that cavern in the Red Rock mine. He worked frantically, ignoring the burning pain of fatigue in his muscles. He shoved his fear into another place and focused solely on moving that beam.

Vin hooked his toes in the narrow gap where the beam lifted from the floor. He bent over, having to plunge his head and shoulders fully under the cold water to get leverage on the stubborn rock that was holding back his progress.

Lifting up he took a great gulp of air before submerging for another attack. He couldn't see his hand before his face. Nor could he spare any time to check on Chris. Every time he resurfaced to take a breath he listened for the whistle that told him Chris could still breathe.

He didn't think about what would happen if he couldn't get the rock to move. He didn't think about how close the water may be getting to the top of that wooden reed. He didn't wonder how the hell he was going to get them out once that damned beam was lifted.

All his energy, all his thought, was on getting -- that -- rock -- to -- move.

Movement! No he'd imagined it. Splash, breathe, under again. Up once more and Vin cursed the water for slowing his motion. Uneven and faint but there was the whistling. Another gulping breath and he was chipping, chipping, chipping... Yes, it was definitely working!

As Vin's head came up for air this time he called out, "JD! Go get a length of rope!"

Barely waiting for acknowledgement he plunged under again. He wasn't sure whether the rope would help but he couldn't be sure Buck and the others would be able to clear the blockage in time.

As he went down for another round, Vin became aware that more and more of the ceiling seemed to be sifting down on them, like rain that was threatening to pour. 'That's all we need down here, Tanner -- a rainstorm!'

He heard JD calling to him that he had a rope but Vin was under again before forming a reply.

The rock gave way, suddenly and without hardly any effort, taking a good chunk of the wall with it. Vin stood to take a huge breath this time and sank down right to the floor to grip his fingers under the slippery wood and pull. Damn but it was heavy!

But it was moving. Vin braced his back against a crumbling wall and used his knees to help him hold it up.

Chris felt the weight lesson and scrambled to try to stand while keeping his lifeline above the water. He didn't fully succeed; making it to his feet only to stumble and fall over, dropping the reed and nearly knocking the beam onto Vin.

But then he was standing upright and Vin was there standing beside him asking him something. It was all Chris could do to breathe in and out, great huge breaths. In the darkness he reached out a hand to grip onto something. It was Vin's arm as it turned out, and suddenly the words made it through his brain.

"...okay...it's okay..."

Chris nearly started laughing but choked on it, coughing a bit. Trust Vin to calmly offer reassurance when they were so close to drowning in their own grave.

"You with me? Chris, you all right?"

Chris was nodding and then he realized Vin probably couldn't see him well enough for the gesture to have any meaning.

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm with you."

Vin patted the hand that still clutched at his arm.

"Well, good, 'cause that chain is still under the beam. So's I'm gonna have to go back under and lift it again. You slide it off at this end."

"Right," agreed Chris faintly.

"Okay, you ready?" Vin asked, pulling the fingers that tightly gripped his elbow. "Try not to trip on me this time," he added with a grin that Chris could hear, even if he couldn't see it.

"I'll do my best," Chris assured. "Least I can do."

"Right. Here I go."

With another big breath Vin was under again. He slowly lifted the beam's end up high enough for Chris to pull the chain over next to the disintegrating wall. Vin came up for another breath and then lifted the hated beam one last time so Chris could yank the chain free.

There was a brief confused tangle of the two of them in the corner as Chris scraped raw fingers at the wall for balance and Vin choked on a mouthful of water when a clump of the ceiling landed on his head. They had to get out of here and right quick before there wasn't any wall or ceiling left.

"JD!" Vin hollered. "Toss that rope down here and keep yourself right above the blockage. The ceiling's falling on us down here."

JD understood. There was a splash and Vin reached blindly about to find the rope. He then turned to Chris and began looping the rope around his friend's chest, under his arms. Even in his dazed state Chris realized Vin's intentions.

"I can't fit through there," he rasped. "You barely made it coming down."

"Well things have shifted some since then," Vin said curtly.

"You go first," Chris urged. "If I get stuck..."

"Then JD'll just have to give a good yank on his end," finished Vin. He completed tying the rope and tugged experimentally on it. "You on solid ground up there, kid?"

"As solid as there is, I reckon," JD answered. "And Josiah is here too. We're ready."

"Vin!" protested Chris.

Vin clapped his shoulder.

"Wanna leg up, cowboy?"

*****

Josiah left JD hovering anxiously over a gasping and disoriented Chris just at the entrance to the tunnel. He'd managed to pull off the muddy and wet rope, thinking he'd need it to help Vin up out of the cavern.

But as he made his way quickly back into the tunnel he sensed a change, a portent of danger so obvious that his skin prickled with anxiety. The ground beneath his feet no longer seemed at all stable and ahead there was a terrible stirring of dust. Josiah abandoned the knotted rope and ran towards the cavern.

Vin also sensed a change and knew instinctively it was not for the better. Great chunks of the ceiling were dropping now, sinking into the water-filled space with large splashes.

Then the blockage shifted. Vin felt himself slammed against it as the water surged in the direction of escape, like a dam had burst. Gasping, Vin clawed uselessly at the rubble that had been a temporary wall, trying desperately to keep his head above water. It was debatable whether he was more likely to drown or be buried at this point. He felt himself being sucked under by the surging water and raised his arms frantically seeking a handhold.

He got one in the form of two strong arms that gripped his wrists. Suddenly Vin felt himself being pulled higher and he kicked at that water in an effort to help.

Josiah lay on his stomach with his torso leaning down into the cavern, his arms the strength that pulled Vin out of the collapsing watery grave. With a surge of power he yanked Vin through the narrow gap and onto the floor of the upper tunnel.

The pair did not dally long with Vin scrambling to he feet almost as soon as he hit ground. Dirt and rocks rained down and a rumbling reverberated in the confined space. Josiah pulled on Vin's arm and the two of them ran towards the tunnel's entrance while all around them earth moved. Their feet stumbled as the floor shifted to settle on the tunnel below and the dust raised by collapsing walls was enough to choke them. But they ran on.

With an extra burst of speed, just when Vin thought he'd gone as far as he could make it, they dove from the tunnel, a great cloud of dirt and debris billowing out behind them. Vin groaned and rolled onto his back staring through teary eyes at the evening sky. 'Clouds,' he thought. 'How wonderful.'

Josiah remained on his stomach feeling a sudden desire to kiss the ground in thankful appreciation for his life and those of his friends. Speaking of which... He raised his head to see Vin looking with awe at the heavens and Chris hunched over with JD still by his side.

"If it's all the same to you fellas," Vin drawled, "I'd just as soon never do that again."

'Amen to that!' Josiah fervently agreed.

Vin rolled to his side and sat up.

"Where are the others?" he asked with concern. If they'd still been in the lower tunnel...

JD stood up straight and took some tentative steps towards the path.

"I think they were..."

Just then, shots rang out.

*****

Ezra had been in the middle of reassuring Nathan that he was, indeed, alive, and still in possession of all required limbs and digits when a bullet winged past them and ricocheted harmlessly off a rock. They instinctively ducked, seeking some cover. Unfortunately, their best protection had recently flooded and then collapsed completely, leaving only a few niches in the rock face to hide behind. Precious little in the way of shielding, thought Ezra, as another bullet struck too close.

"Ezra!" called Buck. "You see where they are?"

A multitude of sarcastic retorts came to Ezra's lips but his response was an abbreviated version. "No."

"Is it that young fella?" wondered Nathan, looking anxiously around for Charlie.

"More likely his compatriots," was Ezra's opinion. He reached out an arm and fired blind in the general direction of their attackers.

"We're pinned down here but good," muttered Buck with annoyance.

"Can we get to the path above?" Nathan asked, twisting around to try to see a clear, but safe route.

"I'm not at all certain that would be advantageous," Ezra said.

The three returned fire, still unsure of where their foe was, or even how many they were fighting. The sun, nearly setting, cast an orange glow onto the mountain face, illuminating them while blinding them at the same time.

"You boys doin' all right?" came Josiah's calm voice, punctuated with the crack of his pistol.

"I would request a definition of 'all right' before I'd venture to offer an opinion," Ezra told him.

"Damn Ezra, why don't you just talk 'em to death since it's easier than shooting," Buck complained.

"There are two to the side of the far bunkhouse," Josiah told them. "And one at the closer building, but he's not firing."

"We need better cover, or some longer range weapons," Nathan assessed.

"Both of which are under a ton of rock at the moment," Buck added.

There was a moment of silence and they tensed in anticipation of a renewed attack.

*****

Above, Vin helped JD get Chris, still encumbered by chains on his feet, behind the pitiful protection offered near the collapsed tunnel. A deflected bullet shot a piece of rock across JD's cheek, leaving a trail of red. He blinked rapidly at the sting of it, but didn't falter in his guidance of Chris.

"Hell, Larabee, you sure gotta way of making enemies," cursed Vin.

"St. James...has...unique take...on guilt," whispered Chris.

Vin kept instinctively trying to draw a weapon that was no longer strapped to his waist.

"Here you go," called JD and tossed the gun at Vin. He grinned. "I figured you might be needing it so I brought your stuff out while you were helping Chris."

"Good thinking ahead, kid," Vin said, returning the grin. He'd been afraid the weapon had been lost in the tunnel.

Just then there was a pause in the fighting and an unnatural stillness settled on the camp. Vin shifted uncomfortably and cocked his gun. He glanced over at Chris, who was in such a sorry state he barely seemed aware of his surroundings. JD's wide eyes were anxious, his face made pale by the contrasting blood on his cheek. 'You're a sorry sight yourself, Tanner, covered in mud and sopping wet!'

Well, damn the man responsible for this mess! Vin felt cold, colder than that water underground, at the thought of all they'd been through in the last few days. And all that Chris had endured. To survive that, for what? To be picked off like tin cans on a fence!

Vin let out a curse of frustration and lurched to his feet, startling JD into crying out, "Get down Vin! What are you doing?"

"This has gotta end," Vin said. "Now."

The sun was in his eyes but was lowering to the horizon. He raised his weapon and focused carefully on the camp below. He could make out the shadows of their combatants moving closer. They were getting bold, thought Vin, to leave their cover; obviously thinking the bright sunset was sufficient to hide them.

"Mistake," whispered Vin as he fired.

*****

Charlie found the noise of the gun battle as unsettling as the dynamite explosion. Except this kept going on and on and on and didn't end. He couldn't tell if Lawrence and Pa had wounded any of the gunfighters. It was hard to be sure, as they were very still, moving only to return fire. But experienced and fearsome or not, they were at a serious disadvantage being so exposed.

Lawrence stepped away from the protection of the dilapidated building to move closer where his aim would be better. Surprisingly he wasn't cut down immediately by a shot from the men. Then Charlie realized that they couldn't see Lawrence clearly with the sun in their eyes.

"How dare they interfere with our plans," seethed Lawrence. "Now they'll all have to die!"

"No!" Charlie stepped forward too, and raised the shotgun.

Lawrence looked over his shoulder without lowering his own weapon.

"Charlie!" he snapped. "Where the devil have you been? They're here!"

"I know," Charlie said quietly. "And you're not going to kill them."

Now Lawrence did a half turn, keeping his gun trained on the hill as he glared at his brother with amazement.

"They've pulled Larabee out. They've ruined everything! We owe Danny..."

"They had nothing to do with Danny!" roared Charlie.

Lawrence looked at him like he'd gone mad and then, in typical Lawrence fashion, dismissed him. He turned back to his prey.

"Lawrence," Charlie's voice was pleading, "I won't let you do this. Stop. Please."

William St. James had also broken cover to come out in the open for a better aim.

"Charles!" he called sternly over his shoulder. "Help us fulfill your ma's dying wish to have her boy avenged."

"It wasn't Ma's wish for us to kill innocent people," whispered Charlie. "And it would never have been Danny's wish to see this!"

"This ends now," Lawrence said coldly aiming carefully at the gunfighter so foolish to stand in plain sight.

Charlie fired.

*****

Five days later...

Vin slowly sauntered up the street from the livery to the boarding house. It was only mid morning but he was hoping to scare up some dinner as he'd been up since before dawn. It was good to be home, although Vin chuckled to himself at the idea that he was so settled in Four Corners to call it home.

Ezra stepped out the door, placing his hat carefully on his head and moving to the steps just as Vin approached.

"Good morning, Mr. Tanner. I hesitate to encourage you in a quest for nourishment. Obviously our humble hostess is not as acquainted with haute cuisine as that charming hotel proprietress in Red Rock."

Vin blinked in the morning light, nodding thoughtfully while he sorted through what he thought he'd heard.

"Slim pickings, huh?"

Ezra grinned and Vin chuckled again. Yes, it was good to be home.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

They both turned to see Mary walking towards them down the sidewalk.

"Ma'am," acknowledged Vin as Ezra added his greeting.

"I just wanted to thank you," Mary said.

"For what?" asked Vin, confused.

"For keeping your promise," Mary told him. Ezra's eyebrows flew up. "To come back," Mary added when Vin still looked perplexed.

Vin smiled and tipped his hat. "No thanks necessary, Miz Travis."

"Although." Now Mary's expression changed to stern and Ezra felt a little like a schoolboy about to receive a scolding. "The next time you promise to bring Mr. Larabee back with you I sincerely hope he's in better shape!"

Startled by her tone Vin opened his mouth to respond and found he had nothing to say. Instead he grinned, nodding slowly with agreement.

"I'll do my best, ma'am," he offered.

Mary gave him a smile to offset her arched brow and continued down the sidewalk. Ezra stared after her with amazement.

"The ingratitude towards our heroic efforts to extend Mr. Larabee's life expectancy -- which were particularly onerous for you, I might add -- is truly staggering. Considering that we left here to retrieve a corpse..."

"She doesn't know that, Ezra," Vin cut in swiftly. "And no point in her finding that out now."

Ezra harrumphed a bit at downplaying the glory of their adventure, which was really the only satisfying part of an otherwise horrendous expedition. He turned his attention to where Vin was now looking, to see their formerly deceased friend seated outside the jail with JD on one side and Buck on the other. JD was beaming, Buck was laughing, and Chris was...

"Good Lord! Is it possible that Mr. Larabee is displaying indications of an agreeable mood?"

"Any reason he shouldn't?" asked Vin, sliding his eyes over to Ezra's.

"None whatsoever. Let us ascertain the cause and bottle it immediately!"

*****

Distracted from his goal of finding a meal, Vin wandered over to the three men at the jail.

"I still can't believe you let Charlie go after all they did to you," JD said seriously.

Chris looked thoughtful and for a moment Vin wondered if he'd offer an explanation.

"Charlie didn't want to hurt anyone. He loved his brother Danny, and mourned him, but he wasn't consumed by the need for revenge the way Lawrence was."

"The way you told it, sounded like Lawrence was a few spokes short of a wheel," commented Buck soberly.

"And Charlie paid a high price, shooting his brother," added Chris sadly. "Hell, poor fella's lost his whole family now."

"We never would've found Chris without Charlie's help," pointed out Vin.

"But don't you want justice for what happened?" persisted JD. "Don't you want revenge?"

Vin noticed an almost imperceptible flinch from Chris at these words.

"Kid, justice and revenge are not the same thing at all," Chris tried to explain. "The person who deserved punishment for what happened to me was Lawrence and he got it. He's dead. So's William, who was equally guilty. For me to take revenge on Charlie would make me just as bad as Lawrence; hurting someone who wasn't to blame just to ease my own pain."

"And if he was to blame? Would it be justice or revenge to hurt him?"

Vin tensed a little at the direction of the conversation but Chris remained patient.

"Justice is bringing him to jail, making him face a judge. Revenge is me beating him within an inch of his life or putting a bullet in his head."

JD opened his mouth again and Buck intervened.

"You ask too many questions, kid. Give it a rest for a minute, would you?"

JD shot Buck an irritated look but remained quiet. Chris glanced over at Buck and then back to JD.

"I don't mind, JD. What's your question?"

"Well, I was just wondering, I mean, what you'd do in their place, if you had the chance with your family's killer, I mean."

Chris contemplated his hands in his lap for a moment. When he raised his head again his expression was unhappy.

"I can't honestly say, JD. I'd like to think, after this, that I'd be more rational and focus on the justice rather than the revenge. With evidence, that person would hang. Would that be enough to satisfy my revenge? Probably not."

Buck and Vin exchanged surprised glances.

"But I did a lot of thinking while chained to that post. Danny St. James was a kid who didn't know the meaning of hatred and he would have hated to see what Lawrence became. I have to admit, I don't think Sarah would be too proud of the man I've become."

Buck made some kind of protesting noise but Chris stopped him.

"You see JD, when all that drives you is revenge, and you get all twisted with anger and hate, then the person you hurt most is yourself. Even knowing that, it's hard to just let go because as awful as it is, it's better than feeling nothing."

JD nodded slowly. "I think I understand, Chris."

Vin shuffled his feet feeling awkward as Chris went back to staring at his hands and rubbing his sore wrists. Buck fiddled with his hat. Vin reached into his pocket, fished something out, and held out a hand to Chris.

"Well, here's something to hold onto then."

Chris looked up at Vin a moment before slowly extending his arm to take the item from his friend. His fingers curled around it tightly and he knew without seeing that it was his ring. Chris nodded his thanks wordlessly which Vin acknowledged, equally silent.

Nathan reined in, patting his horse's neck.

"I'm heading out to the Johnson place," he informed them. "You feeling all right?" This was directed at Chris.

"Never better," Chris responded with a grin.

Nathan looked dubious. "Would you tell me if you weren't?" he asked suspiciously.

Chris's grin widened. "Have a good afternoon, Nate."

Nathan shook his head with fond exasperation and departed. Josiah gave him a wave as he crossed the street to stand with Vin.

"Well boys, Ezra has started the most ridiculous rumour around this town and I just had to see if there was any truth to it."

"What's he saying?" asked Buck.

Josiah shook his head with disbelief. "Something about Chris's newfound congenial attitude."

"Actually, the word was amiable," Ezra corrected, coming to stand by Buck.

"You betting on how long it'll last?" asked Chris, amused.

"A wager could be arranged," Ezra said. "And how fortuitous that most of the good folk in our domain do not know the meaning of the word."

"Never stopped 'em from betting with you before now," observed Vin.

"So Mr. Larabee? Care to open the bid?" Ezra pulled out his notepad and pencil.

"Well Ezra." Chris tipped his chair back and rested his legs on the railing. "Put me down for a real long while."

The End!

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