Magnificent Seven Old West
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Dark Night by The Neon Gang

WARNING: RAPE FIC

Author's Note: This story owes its origins to two strangers who I will be forever indebted to. The first, an author. I tip my hat to and readily confess that – in the longstanding tradition of imitation being the sincerest form of flattery – I borrowed her basic plot, gleefully recycling it with Chris and Vin rather than Heyes and Curry, which it was in the original. This has been one of my absolute favorite slash stories ever written, in any fandom, from the first time I read it many, many years ago. The second, an artist, did a piece of Chris/Vin slash art where Vin is on his knees, his arms wrapped around Chris's waist, his cheek pressed to Chris's belly. Larabee is shirtless. This has got to be my absolute favorite piece of Magnificent Seven slash art and I gaze upon often. When I saw that piece of art for the first time it immediately turned my memories of the story I mentioned above into a Chris/Vin tale in my head, and then that *$!#*%@ story haunted me, and haunted me, and haunted me until I gave up and wrote the damn thing just to shut it up and get it the hell out of my head. I used the same basic plotline and elements as the original story, but added in the ghost of the old miner since that was the way I felt the pesky story haunted me until I caved-in and surrendered to it. However, I want to apologize for not getting permission to recycle the story from the original author, but I didn't know who that was, or how to reach them. I only hope that I did the original justice here in the world of Magnificent Seven. And Cinda has agreed to pull it from the web site if she hears from the author and she objects to my tampering with her baby. Now, with my karmic ass covered, I now return you to your regular scheduled reading…


A hot summer sun blazed down on the two weary peacekeepers as they rode along a faint Indian trail. Cactus and short mesquites dotted the canyon floor they moved down, while sun-baked earth, sparsely covered with clumps of stiff, bleached stalks of long-dead grass littered the land that stretched out in the near distance.

Chris Larabee squinted against the relentless glare, trying to see past the waves of heat rising off the ground as he scanned the landscape in front of him. He hadn't seen any signs of the outlaw they were trailing for three days, although the man riding slightly ahead of him was sure that they were still on his heels. He hoped the tracker was right, but had no reason to doubt the man. Vin Tanner could track a flea through a wolf pack. But the man they were after was good too, and they'd had to do some hard riding – and Tanner some careful sign reading – to decipher a few of the man's more desperate tricks to throw them off his track. But, so far, Tanner had managed to stay on the man's trail, and Larabee knew that, eventually, Vin would run the man to ground and their duty would be done.

It was nearing the time when they'd have to stop and make camp for the night, and Larabee knew that he, at least, would be glad to stop. He was tired, hungry, and fed up with the relentless heat. If Tanner felt the same, he hadn't said so.

"Got someplace in mind to make camp?" he asked the tracker after he cleared his throat.

Vin turned in the saddle to speak, unaware that his tired horse was stepping over a heat-dazed rattlesnake. The snake, however, gathered itself and was able to give a warning rattle just before it lunged for the black gelding's rear leg.

Peso squealed in fright and tried to twist himself in two, his contortions dumping Tanner into the dust.

Larabee's own horse started and leapt forward, but the gunslinger managed to whirl his nervous mount around as Peso shot past them. It was then that he saw Vin, lying on his back, still stunned, as the coiled snake refocused on the fallen man. Before he could really think, his hand was drawing and firing his Colt, the bullet catching the snake's head in mid-strike, not two feet away from its intended victim.

"Vin!" Chris yelled, leaping off his horse and hurrying over to his friend. He kicked the writhing remains of the rattler a safe distance away and then knelt beside the man, noting with concern the dusty hoof print that had been stamped onto the front of Tanner's shirt.

"Vin?" he called again, the tracker's blue eyes looking dazed and a little confused. He reached out and grasped the man's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "Rattler spooked your horse," he explained. "Ya hurt?"

Vin continued to stare up at him, his mouth open, but no words came out.

Worried, Chris unbuttoned the tracker's faded red shirt to investigate further. As he stared at the hoof-shaped abrasion near Tanner's right shoulder, he realized that the man wasn't breathing. "Must've knocked the wind out of ya," he said, reaching down to press his hands on either side of Vin's ribcage. He squeezed a few times – a trick he'd seen Nathan use on Billy when the boy had fallen a few weeks back, knocking the wind out his lungs when he hit the hard-packed dirt of the street. And, sure enough, Tanner managed a ragged breath and coughed weakly.

Larabee sat back. "You all right?" he asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

Vin nodded that he was, but then moaned and curled up on his side, his hand coming up to his chest to cover the injured site as he sucked more air into his empty lungs.

Chris patted the tracker's back and stood. "I'll go hunt down that mule you call a horse before he gets too far." He stopped, looking down at Vin, the unasked question hanging in the air between them: Will you be all right?

Vin nodded and made a shooing gesture with his free hand.

Larabee grinned, knowing the tracker would be all right once he recovered his wind. He swung up onto his horse and galloped off after Peso, hoping the black hadn't gotten too far, or found any more trouble.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

As his breathing slowly returned to normal, Vin carefully sat up. The fall had done more than knock the wind from him. He'd struck the back of his head hard enough to make him see stars when he'd hit the ground and he still felt a little dizzy, but he was determined to be on his feet when Larabee got back with his horse.

He propped himself up with his left arm and waited for his right shoulder to quit aching and his head to stop spinning before trying to go any farther. As his vision cleared slightly, the headless snake came into view, its rattles still shaking now and then as its dying body contracted reflexively. He stared at it sourly.

When Chris led his limping horse into view a few minutes later, Tanner sighed. His day had just gone from bad to worse.

He checked Peso over, both men agreeing that the black had pulled a muscle in his lively reaction to the snake. At least, that's all the tracker hoped it was. As much as he hated to admit it, he genuinely cared for the cantankerous beast and he didn't want to lose the animal to a damn snake.

He decided Peso needed rest in order to recover, a day or two, at least. Tanner cursed softly. Three days of hard riding and harder tracking had been wasted. But he had a more pressing concern than the outlaw who was going to get away. They were going to have to find a sheltered spot near some water before they could settle in for any length of time.

He forced himself to think, a difficult task for him at the moment, but he remembered a spot not too far off… a narrow canyon with a creek in it that opened into a small secluded valley where they could be comfortable.

But where was it exactly?

He glanced around at the landscape, letting landmarks fall into place in his memory. Then he remembered. He nodded to himself and told Larabee his plans.

To lessen the possibility of any additional injury to man or horse, he and Chris would ride double on Pony. So Larabee took Peso's reins and then mounted his own horse, getting settled and then offering Vin a stirrup and his arm.

As Tanner settled behind him, the rattler buzzed briefly again and Pony shied slightly, stepping swiftly away from the now-harmless snake.

Vin cursed, wrapping one arm around Chris's waist and wedging his other hand under the man's gun belt.

Larabee chuckled softly and gigged Pony forward, saying, "Guess I don't have to tell you to hold on."

"Go t' hell, Lar'bee," Vin growled behind him.

"Oh, probably," the gunslinger replied. "But at least the company will be familiar."

"More 'n likely," Tanner agreed, glad Larabee couldn't see his grin.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A couple of hours later they found the creek, and after men and horses had drank their fill, they rested a while and then turned upstream and headed toward the mountains.

Later, when the creek forked, Vin told the gunslinger to follow the larger tributary, and Chris did, trailing it until he found where it gushed out of a narrow, nearly hidden entrance to a canyon. Tanner had slept most of that time, leaning heavily against his back, but he awoke quickly when Larabee asked, "This it?"

It took Vin a moment to clear his head, but then he nodded. "Yeah, that's it," he said, his voice a little thick with sleep. "'S gonna be a tight fit, but we'll make it."

Chris hoped the tracker was right as he urged Pony on. Next to them, Peso snorted and tossed his head, unhappy with the narrow passage.

"Don't give me no lip, y' damn mule," Tanner snarled at the black gelding. "Y' hadn't run off, we wouldn't need someplace t' hole up and let y' heal."

Peso blew out what sounded like a long sigh and limped along, making noises that sounded a lot like muttering to Larabee's ear. The blond grinned. The two were made for each other.

The passage contracted, the creek rushing through the V-channel forcefully. The horses nearly refused to continue on the narrow path, but Chris managed to convince them. Vin just hung on tightly and rested, enjoying a physical closeness that he hadn't been able to enjoy with Larabee before. The feel of the blond's muscles moving under his shirt aroused the tracker, and he hoped Chris wouldn't notice. He reckoned he'd have to wander off and take care of himself as soon as they found a place to camp, but it would be worth it. His day- and night-dreams had been vivid before, but now he knew they would be enhanced by the memory of those powerful muscles.

He inhaled the scent of the man – a mixture of sweat, trail dust, leather and tobacco, and an underlying smell that belonged to the gunslinger alone. Closing his eyes, Vin splayed his fingers out, feeling the ripple of muscles on Chris's abdomen as he fought with both Pony and Peso. His other hand was still curled around the man's black gun belt, but his fingers ached to reach out and touch the black-clad ass. He shook his head to chase away that thought. He didn't need to do anything that might get himself shot.

Once clear of the short, narrow canyon, the two peacekeepers came out into a secluded valley. It wasn't big, maybe a half-mile across at its widest point and not quite three miles long. Here the creek they had been following widened into a small river that cut through the center of the flat bottom of the valley. Cottonwoods grew in profusion along the banks of the river, and there was plenty of grass for the horses, much of it still sprinkled with late spring wildflowers.

The west side of the canyon was made up of a steep rock face that rose almost vertically from the valley floor, while the east side, although also steep, was covered with loose soil and dotted with mesquite and palo verde.

After riding along the river a little farther, Larabee chose a spot for their camp. He helped Vin down and then dismounted himself, watching as the tracker immediately headed off to the small corpse of trees. He grinned and shook his head, wondering why Tanner hadn't asked him to stop if he'd needed to take a piss that badly. He turned and began unsaddling the horses.

When that was done, he gave the two geldings a quick but thorough rub down with some twists of grass while Vin, having returned looking a little more steady on his feet, removed hobbles from his saddlebags to keep Peso from wandering off too far.

Their animals cared for, the two men quickly went about setting up a camp for themselves.

When Chris straightened from digging a fire pit, he noticed Vin was eyeing the river, a bar of Ezra's fancy-smelling soap in his hand. He ambled over to the tracker and pushed his hat back on his head a little. "Ezra know his order of fancy store-bought soaps from New Orleans was short a bar?" he asked casually, trying not to smile. For someone who acted like he was half-savage, Vin Tanner had a real affinity for soap and water. He just avoided the bathhouse whenever he could, fancying the privacy of a slow moving creek, preferably one with a deep pool he could soak in.

Tanner grinned, but he didn't look at the older man. "Yep, he knows. Owed it to me fer takin' his patrols a month or so back."

"You pulled two patrols for a week just to get a bar of sweet smellin' soap?" Chris asked, surprised. "Mrs. Potter's got some just like that in her store, you know."

"Nope, ain't the same as this." He raised it to his nose and took a sniff, his eyes as his expression shifted to one of pure rapture. "This here stuff is creamy as froth in a milk bucket; smells a mite better 'n Miz Potter's soaps, too. But don't y' ever tell her I said that. Wouldn't want t' hurt her feelings." Vin glanced at the handsome gunslinger, glad he'd already sated his needs or he wouldn't be able to make the offer he voiced next. "'S goin' t' stay warm t'night. Think I'll wash the dust outta m' clothes while 'm at it. They'll have plenty 'a time t' dry 'fore sunset, or dawn if needs be."

Chris nodded. "Sounds like a good idea," he agreed, then asked of the outlaw they'd been trailing, "Any idea where Horner might be going?" He removed his gun belt and began to undress.

"From the direction he's headed, I'd say he'll be tryin' fer Mexico. We c'n head out once Peso's healed up; I'll find 'im."

Larabee shook his head. "We'll head home, wire the Judge and let him know Horner slipped over the border. Maybe he can have the Army check the towns on this side, in case he decides to cross back over."

Vin quickly pulled off his boots and then slipped out of his clothes, carrying them down to the edge of the water and using the soap and a couple of rocks to clean them. That done, he rinsed the soap out, wrung them out, and draped them over the lower branches of the trees growing along the riverbank, then waded into the water himself to soak while he watched Larabee wash his own clothes before splashing out to join him.

The blond handed over the bar of soap. "That does smell awful nice," he admitted.

Vin just grinned and began to work up a lather in his hands, rubbing it over his body as he inhaled the fragrance.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

An hour later both men were lying naked on their bedrolls. Although it was late in the afternoon, the sun was still hot enough to rouse Chris from the light doze he'd fallen into.

He felt boneless from the heat, unable to do more than breathe in the heady scent the soap had left on his body as he listened to the sounds of the moving water. Finally, he glanced over at Vin and noticed a faint redness to the man's sun-browned skin.

He glanced down, his own skin feeling a little tight, and found he was slightly red as well. He stood and walked over, nudging Tanner awake.

"Huh?" the tracker managed, eyes blinking open much more sluggishly than normal.

"We need to move into the shade," Chris told him.

It took a moment for the words to penetrate Tanner's foggy mind, but then he grunted and climbed slowly to his feet.

"You all right?" Chris asked him, noting the man's stiff movements and his less than sharp responses.

"Yeah, 'm fine… Jist got a headache."

Larabee frowned. "You hit your head when Peso threw you?"

Tanner nodded.

"Goddamn it, Tanner, why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Why? Ain't nothin' a good night's sleep won't cure," the tracker replied dismissively.

Larabee sighed, frustrated. Sometimes he wondered if Tanner would ever understand that he wasn't alone any more. He had friends now, family, and they worried about him, wanted to help him and take care of him when he needed taking care of.

The two men moved their bedrolls into the shade of the largest cottonwood near by, Larabee frowning when he also saw how the tracker's shoulders were pinched up almost to his ears. The man was in a lot of pain, no matter what he might say.

Chris waited until Vin eased himself down onto his belly, his head pillowed on his arms, then stepped over to the man. There had to be something he could do to help him. Then he remembered the tin of liniment he still had in his saddlebags. Nathan had given it to him after an ornery mustang he'd been trying to break had thrown him into the corral fence at the livery. He'd expected to be sore for a week after that, but the oily stuff had him feeling almost normal again after just a couple of days.

He squatted down and shoved his hand into his saddlebags, feeling around until he located the tin. Opening it, he found it was still more than half full, and that was more than enough for what he had in mind.

Taking the tin, he stepped over to Vin and paused, trying to decide how best to sit in order to rub the stuff into the tracker's muscles. Finally, unable to come up with anything better, he sat down on Vin, resting his butt on his friend's rump and letting his knees tighten on either side of the tracker's ribs.

Vin started awake and tried to push himself up. "What th' hell 're y' doin'?" he yelped as he collapsed back down, securely pinned beneath Larabee's weight.

"Easy," Chris soothed as he started to massage the liniment into the younger man's back. "This is the stuff Nathan gave me after that mustang tried to kill me. It should help the soreness."

Tanner drew in a breath to protest Larabee's highhanded treatment, but the gunslinger dug his thumbs into the back of his neck. "Ow! Damn it, Lar'bee y' ain't gotta go so damn hard!"

Chris kept working, saying, "Nathan went hard; said that was the only way to work the liniment in deep enough to do some good."

"Don't think he meant fer y' t' break m' damn neck," Tanner groused, but Chris could already feel the tracker's shoulders beginning to relax.

"Better?" the blond asked a few minutes later.

The reply was little more than a soft grunt, but it sounded like a more relaxed grunt to the gunslinger, so he smiled to himself and settled in to finish his task.

As he worked on the lean body lying beneath him, Chris slowly became more and more aware of the smoothness of Tanner's skin between the various scars that decorated his back. He wondered where the blemishes had all come from, but decided he probably didn't want to know. They all knew Vin's life had been a hard one, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to know the details about just how hard. Not given what he could see written on the man's skin.

He tried to push those thoughts away, concentrating instead on the feel of the man's unblemished skin and the well-honed muscles underneath. Tanner was put together a lot better than he would have guessed, having only seen him in those loose clothes the man favored. He suspected that was intentional on Vin's part. After all, what an enemy didn't know about him Vin might be able to use to his advantage.

Chris found, much to his surprise, that he actually liked the feel of the man's body, hard and sharp. He also liked the warmth that was generated wherever their bodies touched.

He leaned forward to reach Vin's neck again and, with his palms pressed flat, and rubbed straight down the tracker's back to the base of his spine. And, with a sudden clarity that nearly stole his breath away, Chris became acutely aware of how his balls had slide over Vin's now-slick back, and then over his ass as he'd made that move. It had felt good, very good, and without hesitation he repeated the action.

In the time it took for Chris to release the breath he'd been holding that time, the friendly backrub became a sensual, physical experience.

Each time he touched the tracker afterward, Chris could feel a buzzing tingle in his hands and balls. The sensation aroused him and he paused, consciously biting back a groan as he felt the painful sweetness of his member swelling.

Vin was relaxed, but he still noticed the hesitation and asked a little worriedly, "Somethin' up?"

Larabee rolled his eyes at the choice of words. "Nothing you need to worry about," he said a little tightly.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

You didn't live cheek to jowl with another man for almost a year without getting to know the man's moods, especially when you were as observant and as sharp as the tracker was. So Vin realized almost immediately the cause of Chris's discomfort. He grinned, experiencing a similar problem himself.

Larabee's movements pressed his groin rhythmically into his bedroll, stimulating his member and making it swell. But he had embraced the sensation, allowing the images from his usual night dreams to surface.

A small smile played at the corners of Vin's mouth as he recalled the nighttime fantasy he'd been enjoying most recently, one where Chris made sweet love to his body.

The tracker was a man who saw things simply, so even though he had bedded a few women along the way, he had also loved a few men and, to him, it didn't matter one bit if the one who now held his heart was a man. Vin believed in goodness, and he knew love was good. Therefore, loving a man had to be good, and just as normal, to him, as loving a woman.

Yes, it was as simple as could be for Vin Tanner, but then he'd spent a good portion of his nearly thirty years living among the tribes, and a lot of things were simpler for them than for the white man.

Larabee, on the other hand, was a few years older than Vin, and some of those years had been hard ones, especially those following the deaths of his wife and son. Those years had taught Chris cynicism, and Vin doubted the man would ever be able to open his heart again enough to love. But he had opened it far enough to call him friend, and for that Vin was grateful. And if that was all he was going to get, then he'd take it and be happy. At least he was at Chris's side.

But oh, the man wasn't making it easy on him. Especially the way he was rubbing his balls along his back and ass.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Chris's thoughts raced one direction and then another. He understood physical need. He was a man, and men, he knew, had those needs, but he'd never sated them with another man before. He did, however, know men who had, and he didn't judge them like some might, figuring that they did what they had to in order to get by. And getting by was something he understood completely.

But now, here he was, touching another man and getting aroused by that touch.

And Tanner wasn't just any man. The soft-spoken tracker had restored some part of Larabee's faith in his fellow man. Vin's intrinsic goodness had made him realize that there was still good in the world, even if he hadn't lived among it much for three long years.

Vin had also filled an emptiness inside Chris's heart that he'd never expected to have filled again. But he'd never thought about Tanner as a potential lover – before now.

He did, however, love the tracker. And one of the things he loved most about him was what Josiah had once called Tanner's "innate innocence." There had been many times when Chris had known with certainty that he was beyond redemption, and Tanner had said much the same thing, but he knew the younger man was wrong. Vin didn't need redemption, he just needed to belong somewhere – and now he did. Vin belonged with him, and the other peacekeepers keeping Four Corners safe.

Larabee's hands continued to rub up and down the tracker's back, they moved over his shoulders, and ribs, and hips. Chris swallowed hard, his erection growing harder.

And then Vin made a noise – something between a whimper of want and a begging whine – and Chris's hands pressed down on the man's shoulders and he ground his balls against the man's lower back, the liniment allowing him to friction himself against the tracker's skin.

"Chrisss," Tanner breathed out in a groan.

The sound of his name set Larabee's blood on fire. "Turn over," the blond husked, letting the man up.

Vin twisted beneath him until he was lying face up, his body trembling with need and excitement. "Chris?" he said softly, the question obvious: What are you doing?

But Larabee wasn't sure what the hell he was doing. He just knew that he wanted Vin, needed him in a way he hadn't wanted or needed anyone since Sarah.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the ground at either side of the tracker's head. Then, he bent down slowly, enjoying the suddenly serious expectation that sprang into his friend's blue eyes. He stopped, hovering just inches above Tanner.

Vin licked his lips in anxious anticipation and waited, eyes silently begging Chris to kiss him. Larabee grinned and gave the tracker a quick peck on lips.

Tanner's startled look quickly turned into a hungry glower. "Y' want somethin' done right…" he mumbled, arms snaking up behind Larabee's head and pulling him down on top of him, hard cocks trapped between them. He captured the blond's mouth in a kiss that quickly grew into a passionate embrace that couldn't be ignored. It had been far too long since either of them had had this kind of intimate encounter and their desire caught fire like dried prairie grass in a summer lightning storm.

One of Chris's hands snaked down Vin's side to the tracker's thigh, then back up to his neck. His fingers carded through the man's long chestnut hair, while his other hand found a nipple to rub and pull at. God, he had no idea that touching Vin could excite him like this, and his hips bucked reflexively, mashing and grinding his cock against Vin's hip.

"Chrissss…" the tracker moaned, his attention shifting to Larabee's neck. He sucked on the weathered skin, marking the man, as his hands rubbed down the blond's broad back, his fingers kneading at Larabee's ass cheeks. He began to move, rubbing himself against Chris's stomach, letting the heat and exquisite friction carrying him closer to his release. "Oh, yeah…" he gasped as both of them began to fuck harder, striving blindly for the sweet release that finally came moments later.

Their bodies convulsed as their seed shot out, first Larabee's, then Vin's.

And, when it was over, Chris rested his head limply against Tanner's shoulder, aware of the faintly sweet odor of Vin's sweat-soaked clean hair. Spotting the hoof-shaped bruise on the man's shoulder, he tenderly kissed it before he rolled off the tracker, still breathing hard from their fast and furious lovemaking.

Staring up into the sky, he reached down and wiped the sticky fluid from his penis and stomach as he laid his other hand on Vin's chest and slowly caressed him, relaxing in the afterglow of release.

Turning his head so he could see Tanner, he said softly, "Never thought I'd feel like that again." But the open sky above him suddenly made Chris feel exposed and uncomfortable. His desire and passion sated, he was now too aware that they had made love out in the open. Tempting fate unsettled him. Still, he captured Vin's hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the palm for a long moment before he placed it back on his chest.

"Never wanted it with anyone like I want it from you," Vin replied quietly.

Chris smiled at that. "Think we've got time for another swim before we need to get some dinner started?"

Tanner nodded. "I'll see if I c'n find us somethin' after we clean up."

Larabee frowned. "You sure? How do you feel?"

"Better. Think that liniment did me some good."

Chris looked like he might argue, but then he reached out and helped the tracker to his feet and, together, they headed for the river, Vin being sure to grab his precious bar of soap again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Darkness fell slowly, the temperature remaining warm even after the sun dropped below the canyon walls. Neither man had bothered to get dressed, even though their clothes were dry.

They had finished eating and cleaned up, and were now laying on their bedrolls next to a tiny campfire and staring up at the stars, watching as more and more blinked into existence as the night grew deeper.

Vin rolled his head to the side and glanced over at Chris, catching him looking away quickly. The tracker grinned and looked back at the heavens as well, noting that the air was starting to feel damp.

"Feels like we might get a thunderstorm later tonight," Larabee said softly before Vin could voice his own concern on that very notion.

"Yep," the tracker replied.

"Riverbed's cut pretty deep; flash floods must come down through here on a regular basis."

"We'll be safe here," Tanner said after a pause, "but the river's gonna be full t'marra."

Eventually, Larabee stood and moved to lean over the tracker. "Was thinkin' I'd go take me another swim," he said huskily.

In the light from the fire, Vin could see that Chris's penis was filling. He looked up at the man, Larabee's green eyes full of wonder and lust. And Tanner grinned, taking in the full length of Larabee again, the light of the fire making his body glow with a golden light, the dancing shadows etching in sharp clarity his well-defined muscles. There was no doubt in Vin's mind why the ladies were drawn to this man. With his golden body and his blond hair, he was a vision of light, even if he tried to hide it under those black clothes he always wore.

And if Chris was light, he thought, then it matched him rather well since he sometimes felt like he belonged to the world of shadows and darkness – places he knew Larabee also understood intimately well.

The tracker pushed himself up and held out his hand. "Think that swim c'n wait fer a bit, stud," he rasped. "Looks like I got some business here that needs tendin' to."

Chris hesitated for a moment, then took a step closer, but he still wasn't within reach of the tracker.

"Come a little closer, pard," Vin ordered in a rough whisper, reaching out with both hands for Chris's hips.

Larabee felt his heart begin to race as he stepped up and Tanner hugged his arms around his waist and pressed his cheek flat against his stomach. He cradled Vin's head in his arms and stroked his fingers through the man's long hair, whispering, "God, you're beautiful."

"Nowhere near as you," Tanner whispered back, then dipped his head and kissed Larabee's erect cock and added, "Yer the most beautiful thing I ever saw, Chris."

The gunslinger's back arched as Vin ran his tongue back and forth along his penis. And when the younger man engulfed his organ with his mouth and began to suck in earnest, he gasped and nearly cried out and came right where he stood.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Unbeknownst to the two peacekeepers, a pair of eyes hungrily watched them from high up on the eastern side of the canyon.

Amel Fortier was a drifter, doing whatever work he found at hand to keep body and soul together. He was a sometime cowboy, handyman, and outlaw. But at the moment he was a sometime miner, having killed an old prospector he'd found heading into town one day.

After drinking and whoring away the small stash of gold dust he had found on the old prospector at the nearest town, Fortier had headed out with the man's map, finding his mine here in the canyon. He explored the shafts, finding the small vein of ore the old man had been working by himself.

Amel had worked that same vein by himself, going on almost eleven months now, haunted occasionally by the old miner's ghost. But a few more months and the vein would be played out, then he'd pack up head to the nearest town to cash in his dust and find something to do that was less taxing on his back over the winter months.

Amel Fortier was a man who had been on his own for far too long.

He had stepped out of the mine after finishing his supper and had immediately spotted the campfire glow on the valley floor. Visitors to the canyon were unknown to him, and at first he'd reckoned these wouldn't stay long.

That suited him just fine. He didn't want anyone doing to him what he'd done to the old man. It'd been too easy that day, the old prospector flashing him a toothless grin as he'd ridded by on his mule. Amel had simply waited for him to pass, then drew his gun and shot the old man in the back. He'd been dead by the time Amel had rolled him over to check his pockets, but he'd laid there, laughing for a long while before he finally died.

That had been the first time he'd shot a man in the back, but he reckoned it wouldn't be his last. It was a hell of a lot easier than he'd thought it might be, and a whole lot safer for him.

He frowned. Maybe whoever was down there had known that old man was out here. Maybe these strangers were out here looking for him. What might they do if they found Amel working the old man's claim?

He glowered down at the dancing fire and spat out the reminder of his chewing tobacco. Well, if that was the case, he'd just have to shoot these strangers, just like he had the old man. He could leave their bodies at the back of one of the spent shafts. No one would ever find them there, and their ghosts could keep the old man's company. Maybe get the old geezer to finally leave him be.

He started to turn and go back inside to get his guns, but the shadows on the canyon wall opposite him caught his attention. He frowned, at first unable to make heads or tails out of what the strangers were doing, but then the reasons for their positions became all too clear to him.

"What the hell!" he muttered, stalking down the faint trail that ran in front of the mine opening until he could see the men themselves below.

And, sure enough, they were both naked as the day they were born, one of them on his knees in front of the other, touching him in intimate and forbidden ways.

"Goddamn sons 'a bitches… sodomites!" he said, shocked and disgusted. He knew then that he was witnessing pure wickedness and it unsettled him in ways he'd never experienced before. But it was also mesmerizing… and arousing.

Uncertain as to what he should do, Amel settled down on the ground to watch, leaning back against the canyon face. He licked his lips, sweat beginning to bead on his upper lip.

He heard the cackle of the old miner's voice, but tried to ignore it.

What's th' matter, sonny? Ain'tcha never seen a couple 'a cadamites a'fore? Bet y' used t' touch yerself like that Injun's touchin' his lover, didn'tcha… bet yer mama used t' whip ya good fer it, too! The ghost cackled loudly, but Amel refused to be baited. He couldn't stop staring at the men below him… couldn't stop watching what they were doing to each other.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin knew if he kept up the same pace Chris would be finished off soon, and that would be far too quick for the tracker, so he drew back off of Larabee's cock and bent down a little, kissing and laving its base, wondering if it was a spot of particular sensitivity for the man since it made his legs shake something fierce. Vin smiled. It seemed they had some things in common…

Larabee groaned, shuddering in response to Tanner's ministrations.

The tracker stopped what was doing all together, wanting something he hadn't had for several years.

Chris moaned, pleading, "Vin…?"

But the tracker just eyed the blond's cock as it strained tautly toward him, glistening and flushed in the warm tones from the firelight. It was beautiful, full of power and vitality, and he desired it… had to have it.

He leaned back onto his heels and stared up at Chris, his blue eyes dilated almost black from the emotions he was feeling. He reached out and rubbed Chris's thighs and stomach.

"Why'd… you stop?" Larabee gasped as he gazed back at Tanner, fully aware that he was rapidly becoming lost in the love and warmth shining in the tracker's eyes. How the hell had he been so blind before now?

"I need y', Chris. Need t' feel y' inside me," Tanner whispered, his tone half-begging, half-afraid

Chris was practically bursting with the desire to do exactly that, but he hadn't dared to ask. He reached out and stroked Vin's hair, saying softly, "Are you sure?"

Vin flashed him a slightly lopsided grin. "Sure as I'll ever be, I reckon." He pushed forward and kissed the head of Chris's cock again, then turned around and settled on his hands and knees in the middle of his bedroll.

Larabee swallowed hard, but forced himself to hurry back to the fire where he grabbed the tin of liniment and returned to the waiting tracker.

Kneeling behind the younger man, Chris scooped out some of the ointment and rubbed it along the length of his weeping cock. Then he dipped out some more and rubbed it over and into the tight pucker of Vin's most intimate entrance. He pressed one finger into the tight, hot channel, pushing some of the oily substance into Vin, who moaned softly and pressed his hips back, forcing Larabee's finger in deeper.

Chris smiled, glad that Tanner seemed to be enjoying the foreign invasion. He poked his finger in and out of the man a few times and then tried pressing two fingers inside. It took a moment, but then he felt Vin's muscles relax and he was able to sink both fingers in to the third knuckles. He twisted them carefully, making the tracker's hips buck and grind in response.

"Chris…" Vin groaned. "Hurry… need y' inside me… hurry…"

Larabee shifted position, kneeling behind Vin and gripping his friend by his hips as he inched up close. With his thumbs, he spread Tanner's ass cheeks, then positioned himself and began to shove into the soft, tight heat. When the tracker squirmed and groaned, he stopped, only halfway in.

"God, Vin, you're so tight," he hissed, then groaned himself as he felt the muscles jumping wildly around him before he felt them give way. The feeling of that surrender was too much for Chris and his grip on Tanner's hips tightened and he plunged the rest of the way into the tracker's body.

Both men gasped and then sighed, their bodies trembling with barely contained need.

Larabee pulled back a little ways and slid back in. He shuddered, his hips beginning to jerk.

Vin cried out and Chris froze.

"No, don't stop… feels good… s' good," Tanner said as he shifted, pushing himself back on Chris's firmness.

Reassured, Larabee continued, but more slowly. Fully sheathed again a few moments later, though, the only thing he was aware of was the heat and the pressure wrapped around his throbbing cock, and the love he felt for the man who could make him feel this way. He pulled out and slowly pushed back into that paradise again.

Tanner groaned lowly, rocking his hips, forcing Larabee to pick up the pace.

Chris reached down, groping for Vin's cock and was pleased to find him fully erect and leaking. He started to pull on the organ at the same time he thrust into the tracker and was rewarded with another throaty groan as Tanner twisted, tensing his muscles around Larabee's cock.

But the gunslinger wanted this to last as long as possible, so he continued slowly, pouring as much love and pleasure into Vin Tanner as was humanly possible. And Vin responded, rocking back against him, muscles squeezing him, pleasuring him…

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Up near the mine entrance, Amel Fortier felt his own penis going hard as he watched the blond man's cock sink into the long-haired one's ass.

"God damn savage!" he snarled, reaching down to absently rub his throbbing organ through his canvas trousers. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the old miner still laughing at him.

His momma had always slapped his hands, and whipped his bottom, when he was caught doing this as a boy, but he was alone now and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Even still, he glanced around, feeling guilty. Maybe she could still see him. Maybe she knew what he was doing, just like the old miner did.

But the fear and guilt faded away as he continued to watch the two men, and before long he had started rubbing himself again, watching, his gaze locked on the long-haired man who was being mounted. From the looks of him, he was probably a half-breed of some kind. Figured. His mama had told him about the Indians, and the breed. Animals. Foul heathen rituals.

Amel stared intently, noting the breed's every movement, every gasp of pleasure as he writhed with apparent delight at the wickedness that was being done to him. "Dirty fuckin' breed," he breathed, his hand rubbing faster.

When the long-haired man went down on his elbows, crying out, his hands grasping spasmodically at the blanket beneath him while his head tossed, Amel climaxed, shooting semen into his pants.

Oh, what he'd give to have that breed in front of him right now! Or, even better, if he had him deep inside the mine where he'd be available to service his needs whenever they became too distracting. A breed like that, he wasn't worth a plug nickel, but if he could sate his needs…

Fortier held on to that thought, turning it over in his mind as his lust-filled eyes hungrily watched the long-haired man continue to respond to what was being done to him. It was obvious the man was a wanton, so why shouldn't Amel use him for his own pleasure? It wasn't like the savage had a soul, after all.

And that idea was so appealing that it kept Amel up all night, long after the two men below were fast asleep, lying in each other's arms, their legs tangled together.

Fortier got his guns and broke them open, cleaning the weapons as he planned and waited for daybreak.

Gonna git yerself a breed whore, are ya? the old prospector asked him.

"Shut up, old man!" he growled at the ghost.

What d'ya think yer mama'd think 'a that? Think she'd approve of ya pokin' that breed ass with your cock?

"I said shut up!" Amel bellowed at the ghost, but the old man just started laughing, that dry cackle echoing though the mine shafts.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The sun had been up for more than an hour before Larabee finally woke. The canyon walls were steep, and deep enough that the sunlight hadn't yet reached their camp. A slight chill still clung to the floor of the canyon, but he was warm, Vin's arms and legs still tangled up with his. He grinned, the closeness of their bodies awakening his passion as well.

Tanner was sleeping with his head on Chris's chest, his left arm and leg thrown over the gunslinger's torso and leg, hugging him like he was some huge pillow. It gave Larabee real pleasure to find the tracker asleep like that, so open, so vulnerable, trusting him to keep him safe. That trust meant more to Chris than words could ever say.

So he lay quietly, enjoying the intimacy with a contentment he never expected to experience again. It was a contentment he knew only being with Vin could bring him. And it was only when the pressing need to empty his bladder became so insistent that he couldn't ignore it that he reached up and softly stroke the tracker's back.

Tanner mumbled contentedly and nestled closer.

"Vin," he called quietly, a smile on his lips. "Hey, Tanner, it's time to get up, pard." He continued the tender caresses, once more enjoying the feel of the man's skin under his touch.

His eyes still closed, Tanner sighed. "Y' sure?" he asked, somewhat grumpily.

"Not a case of want to… have to," Chris explained.

"Oh." Vin chuckled softly and pushed himself up, blinking his eyes to clear the sleep away. He glanced around at their camp, then cleared his throat and said, "Nice place, ain't it?"

Chris sat up and stretched. "Yep, real nice," he agreed. "I don't see why we can't stay here for a few days, let that mountain cat you call a horse heal up."

Tanner nodded and grinned. "Yeah, don't see why not."

Chris smiled fondly. "I'm sure we'll find some interesting ways to pass the time."

"'M sure we will," Vin purred, reaching down to stroke himself.

His own cock jumping in response, Larabee rolled his eyes and headed off to relieve himself, the sound of Tanner's laughter following him. "Damn pesky Texan…"

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

It was midday before Chris finally pulled on his clothes and buckled his holster around his hips. He'd been relaxing with Vin under the cottonwoods when his stomach let him know that it was time he found them something to eat. "I'm gonna go see what I can find for dinner. You want t' come?"

Tanner looked up from the poultice he was preparing. "Naw, I want t' get this on Peso. Y' mind?"

"Nope. Sounds like a good idea. I saw some rabbit holes near the mouth of the canyon," he said. "Shouldn't be too long."

Vin nodded, looking interested. "Y' want 'em roasted or stewed?"

Chris thought for a moment, then said, "There's some wild potatoes over by the river. Stew sounds good to me."

"All righty," Tanner said. "But y' watch them thunderheads. Y' have t' cross the river over them rocks t' get downstream, but the water's gonna rise fast if it's been rainin' up in the hills."

Vin was referring to a spot just below their camp where the river was at its widest, and its shallowest. A man on foot could move from stone to stone and not get wet crossing, but that was assuming the river didn't rise too far.

Chris nodded. "Don't plan to be gone long. 'Sides, some rabbit stew sounds worth the risk. I'm tired of beans and hardtack."

Vin grinned. "Ain't gonna hear me argue." He stood, heading over to Peso to tie the poultice onto the gelding's injured leg, Larabee watching, admiring the man's nakedness.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

When Amel saw the blond head off down the canyon, he knew the time to act had finally come. He'd thought about sneaking up on the men while they'd slept, getting the drop on them and just shooting the blond. But, down deep, he was a coward, and the thought of possibly facing down two men if he gave himself away had kept him hidden until one of them finally left the camp.

He made his way down a narrow path to the valley floor, moving slowly, quietly, holding his loaded pistol in one hand and two lengths of rope in the other. His shotgun rode across his back, held by another piece of rope.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Almost an hour after Chris had left, Vin was standing on the riverbank, watching as the water rose. He reckoned it had risen nearly a foot in the last few minutes, and what had been clear water yesterday was now brown and churning as the river carried the runoff from a summer cloudburst farther up in the mountains.

He looked up at the sky and frowned at the black thunderheads that were moving directly over the valley. He'd heard gunshots a little earlier and he figured Chris ought to be coming back any time now. But if he didn't arrive soon, Larabee was going to get stranded on the wrong side of the river.

Not something Tanner wanted to happen. He had other plans for after dinner. Besides, he'd found the wild potatoes and some wild berries, which he had soaking in cool river water in the coffeepot. Larabee should be pleased when he returned, but if that wasn't soon, their rabbit stew would have to wait until tomorrow when the river would be safe for him to cross.

The wind started to pick up, trees limbs beginning to sway and creak. A few large raindrops struck the leaves and Vin moved closer to the river, his gaze on the path Chris had taken as he tried to will the blond into view.

The sudden sound of a pistol being cocked froze Vin where he stood, but his gaze shot to where his Mare's Leg lay on a nearby rock. It was within easy reach, but he'd have to grab it and turn, and do it before he got himself shot. He lifted his arms slowly away from his body and waited, hoping that whoever had drawn a gun on him wanted him alive.

"Git down on yer belly – now!" The voice came from directly behind Vin and sounded quite agitated.

"All right…" the tracker said reasonably, keeping his voice low and calm as he slowly got down on his hands and knees. He was glad he'd pulled his pants on earlier, but that was all he was wearing.

A booted foot kicked him in the thigh, sending him sprawling into the dirt. "All the way down!" The voice was high pitched, definitely more wound-up. "Put yer hands behind yer back."

Vin complied and, in short order, his wrists were tied securely together.

"Look, mister, I think y' made a mistake," Vin said.

"Ya keep talkin', the mistake'll be yers, Breed."

Vin grimaced, but kept quiet. The man didn't sound all too bright, and he didn't want to push his luck. Besides, he knew he still had Larabee as an ace up his sleeve. Maybe he could distract the man when Chris showed up.

"Yessiree," the man said more to himself than to Vin as he stepped past the tracker to get closer to the river. "This is gonna be a good night."

Vin twisted around to get a better view, then groaned softly. Larabee was in sight, carrying a gutted rabbit in each hand. It was raining harder now and he was concentrating on hopping from stone to stone, some of which were already slightly under the turbulent water. It was obvious that, in his haste, he hadn't looked over at the camp yet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vin saw his scruffy captor raise his pistol and take aim.

"Chris!" he shouted, throwing himself to the side and kicking out his legs. He caught Fortier behind one knee, the blow sending the man lurching forward, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Angry, Amel turned and scuttled back to Vin, kicking at him and catching him just above his ear. The blow stunned the tracker and he dropped to the ground, a loud roaring sound filling his ears.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Chris had been teetering on a partially submerged stone, close to losing his balance when he thought he heard Vin call out. He recovered and, looking up, saw a large, burly man pointing a gun at him from the riverbank.

Shocked by the sudden danger, he dropped the rabbits into the river and drew his Colt.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin heard a thunderous explosion, realizing a moment later that it was the stranger's gun going off. He jerked his head up, his vision clearing just enough to see Larabee topple into the flood waters.

"Chris!" he yelled thickly, struggling to get to his feet, but a wave of nausea hit him, forcing him onto his side as he vomited into the dust. He was frantic to help Larabee, but he couldn't move from where he lay on the ground, helplessly retching.

A shadow fell over him and Vin squinted up at it, his vision blurry. It was the stranger, that much Tanner was sure of, and the man was reaching out for him. He tried to pull away, but the man's hand closed around his throat.

Vin's vision dimmed and he passed out.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The whole thing had gone almost as smoothly as Amel had hoped it would. Now all he had to do was get his prize safely back to the mine. He watched the brown, turbulent waters for a little while longer, his gun still in his hand in case the blond man surfaced, but he never did.

Fortier laughed and slapped his thigh, pleased by his accuracy, especially being off-balance like he was. "Got 'im on the first try," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He walked back over to his captive and, leaning down, he pulled the man over and pressed his hand to the bare chest, greedy to experience the feel of his prize's flesh. Then his hand slid up to the savage's throat and he squeezed, watching as the pale blue eyes slid closed.

"I'm 'a gonna git you on the first try, too," he promised as he leered at the unconscious man.

He sure is a purty one, ain't he? the old prospector commented. Yessiree, almost a purty as one 'a them saloon whores y' like to think 'bout while y' pull on yer poker.

"Shut up, ol' man," Amel snarled, reaching out and rubbing his hand over Vin's chest. The damn ghost was right, though. The breed was purty, especially with all that chestnut hair…

He reached down and grabbed the flaccid cock inside the tracker's soft buckskin pants, giving it a hard squeeze. That drew a soft whimper from the unconscious man and Amel licked his lips, starting to breathe hard as he felt the beginnings of an erection stir inside his own pants.

His hand continued to fondle Vin's penis through his pants as he tried to decide if he could wait until he got the long-haired man home.

Ya gonna poke him here, Amel? the ghost asked. Out here where anyone could see ya?

The rain began to fall more heavily and Amel decided that he didn't like the wet, or the openness. He'd grown to enjoy the dark security of the old mine over the past year, even if he did have to share it with the ghost.

So, shoving the gun under his waistband, Amel grabbed Vin's thigh and arm, hefting the slim stranger up over his shoulders. With a shrug, he settled his load and then started back uphill, carefully following the barely discernible path back to the safety and the privacy of his mine.

As he walked, he thought back to everything he'd seen the night before, knowing that, before too long, he would be sampling the breed's ass for himself.

The ghost cackled. Yer mama ain't gonna like ya fornicatin' with that breed, ya know. Gonna make her madder 'n a wet hen… yessiree. She'll take a strap t' ya fer sure over this one. Ya jist wait an' see if I ain't right.

"Shut up, ol' man!" Amel hollered. "Ain't none 'a yer business, nor her'n. This here breed's mine. Was sent t' help relieve m' needs… A man's got needs… A man's got needs." He nodded. How could his mother possibly understand that? She wasn't anything more than a damn woman. Cold, bitch. But he was a man. And a man needed to sate his needs… with a whore, or his own hand, if need be. But not with a wife. Hell no. A wife was only good for getting children with. They didn't understand the needs a man had.

Now he had him his own whore and by God he was going to use it. So he kept his eyes on the trail and tried to ignore that damn cackling laugh that was following him back to the mine. He found it didn't bother him quite so badly when he concentrated on what he'd seen the night before….

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

By the time Amel reached the mine, his cock was hard and aching, his thoughts about what he'd seen last night and his own plans of what he'd like to do to the breed he carried keeping him aroused for most of the hike.

He dumped his burden onto a mound of old blankets, empty flour sacks, and dried grass he called his bed and then dropped to his knees beside him. His captive groaned when he hit, the impact rousing him slightly.

Fortier jerked the breed over onto his back and rubbed his hand over Vin's chest, enjoying the feel of the pebble-hard nipples.

Amel's cock throbbed harder as he pulled at the young man's belt and fumbled with the fastenings of his pants. He grabbed the buckskin garment at the hips and yanked, pulling it off and tossing it away.

The sight of all that sun-kissed nakedness made his balls tighten painfully and he jerked his prize over onto his stomach, knowing that he didn't have much time. He was so close to coming in his own pants he was almost afraid to try and pull them down.

Spreading the breed's legs apart with his knees, he unbuttoned his own fly and shoved his pants down over his hips. His cock sprang up, fluid dribbling from the narrow, bullet-shaped head. Unable to contain himself any longer, he threw himself down, fumbling with the rain-damp body beneath him as he thrust blindly against his prisoner's ass. His excitement was intense, but he knew he wasn't getting inside the man like the blond had.

He growled and stopped, panting hard as he tried to decide what to do about that. Finally, he reached down and pulled the breed up onto his thighs, then grabbed the base of his cock and poked it into the man's crack. He found the pucker and pressed against it, but the head of his cock slipped away from the tight opening instead of going in.

"Goddamn sonuvabitch," he snarled.

He yanked Vin up farther and bent over him, guiding his cock back to press against that sweet promise of release. He humped and thrust, finally penetrating the tracker.

As the breed's tight heat engulfed him, Amel froze, his body shaking uncontrollably. He thrust again, harder, distantly hearing a yelp, but he didn't care. All he knew was the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling at that moment.

Then his captive tensed and began to squirm. Amel gripped the breed's hips hard, giving a final, brutal thrust as he climaxed with a growling cry.

Was it good? How'd he feel? the ghost demanded.

But Amel didn't hear him, lost in his orgasm. This was better than any whore he'd ever had, better than his own hand, and he wondered how soon he'd be able to do it again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The fall onto the sleeping pallet jolted Vin back to semi-consciousness, but he was nowhere near being awake. He was distantly aware of his pants being stripped off, but he was floating in a numbing haze and felt no particular connection to the action.

He wondered where he was, but found no answer was forthcoming.

Then he felt movement, and a heavy weight settled on his back. It made it hard for him to breathe and he thought he should turn his head, but he couldn't find the strength to do it.

He was just beginning to realize that there was a cock poking at his ass when the dry penetration sent a sharp stab of pain shooting through his guts. He cried out, the burning hurt continuing as his attacker forced himself deeper inside of him. Vin tried to fight back, struggling weakly under the heavy weight, but his head was throbbing so badly it left his limbs weak and uncooperative.

Then the weight pressing down on him increased, and molten liquid was spurting inside of him. The assault was over as quickly as it had begun.

His attacker shoved him roughly aside, but the numbing haze returned, swallowing him before he could act, and Vin slid back into oblivion.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The next several attacks were similar to the first. In each case, Vin was stirred from unconsciousness first by the awareness of a heavy weight bearing down on his back, then woke more fully with the stabbing pain of a dry penetration.

The tracker resisted the assaults as best he could, but with his hands tied and his mind still half lost in the disorienting fog, there was very little he could do to stop the attacks, or to protect himself.

When he finally did awake, he was alone.

He lay quietly, trying to piece together what had happened to him, his throbbing head and aching backside making that more than a little difficult.

He squinted into the darkness that surrounded him and sighed, frustrated. All he could be sure of was that he was in a mine or a cave of some sort, the complete and utter silence, and the cool, unmoving air convincing him that much was real. He also knew his hands were tied behind his back. And he could feel the grass, blankets, and cotton bags he was laying upon.

He twisted over to ease the strain on his neck. Judging from the ache in his shoulders, and how numb his arms were, he guessed he'd probably been tied up for a day already, maybe a little more.

He rolled over onto his stomach and tested his bonds, grimacing at how tight the ropes were. The stench of sweat and urine that lingered on the bedding nearly gagged him and he rolled back onto his side to get his face away from the smell.

That movement made him aware of something wrapped around his ankle and, using his other foot, he felt around, finding that he was also tethered by a heavy rope. He tested that binding as well, only to find that he wasn't going to be able to pull himself free.

Inching backward on a hunch, Vin found the wall the bedding lay against and he carefully pushed himself up into a seated position. He shivered as his back pressed against the wall of cave or mine, giving him a chill that made his limbs ache dully. He wasn't wet, but without any clothes, the cold was slowly seeping into his bones, making him even more miserable than he already was.

Leaning his head back against the wall, he tried to remember what he could about the shooting earlier. Chris had been maybe two hundred feet away, an easy shot for someone proficient with a gun, but how good was the man who had taken him?

Vin desperately hoped he wasn't very good. He couldn't remember seeing any blood on Larabee's chest, but it had all happened so fast, and the blood might not necessarily have been visible. He sighed. His blurred vision made any assumptions baseless. The rocks, he knew, must have been slippery, though. There was a chance that Chris might not have been shot at all. He might have just lost his footing while reaching for his Colt.

He sighed as he fought back a sudden burst of fear. But what if Chris was dead?

If Chris had escaped a bullet, then where was he? At least a day had passed and he was still a prisoner. He knew Chris, and if Larabee had been able, he would have freed him by now.

Unless Chris had already tried, and failed, while he'd laid here unconscious.

Or maybe Chris was wounded. Maybe he was lying hurt and bleeding somewhere farther downriver.

That possibility sent a tremor of horror coursing through the tracker and he tugged at the ropes securing his wrists again. He had to escape, not just to save himself but, more importantly, to find out if Chris was all right. But the bindings held tight, refusing to give even a fraction.

Vin growled his frustration, trying desperately to come up with a plan, but all he could see was Chris, shot or drowned, lying dead along the riverbank. And that image made his stomach clinch into what felt like a lump of ice.

Chris had to be alive, he had to be. Except that Vin knew, all too well, that he didn't have to be at all. Chris, one of the fastest gunfighters in the West, could be lying dead, bushwhacked by a crazed miner who wanted Vin for nothing more than a way to sate his carnal desires.

Of all the bad ends Vin had imagined for them, this hadn't been one of them.

He shifted back onto his side as the ache in his gut became more uncomfortable. But what hurt the worst was knowing that there wasn't anything he could do about it. He settled in to wait for the return of his kidnapper. The man would probably have a lantern with him and maybe, with the light, Vin could see some way out of this terrible mess.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A fiery sunset painted the cloud-dappled sky above him an angry blood red. Chris sat under the large cottonwood tree at their camp, despair raging through him. He was oblivious to the vivid colors overhead, knowing only that the light would soon be gone and with it any chance to continue his search for the man he knew he loved.

The last twenty-four hours had been pure hell for Larabee. First, he had been shot, the impact knocking him into the churning flood waters where the swift current had pulled him under and rolled him along the riverbed until the next wide bend tamed the current enough that he could rise to the surface.

Gasping for air, he'd tried frantically to grab hold of anything to keep from being carried away, but the current was simply too powerful.

Still clutching his gun in his hand, he was carried along by the river to the mouth of the canyon, battered on submerged rocks all along the way.

It was only after the river had merged with the swollen creek beyond the entrance of the canyon that he careened into a felled tree that was stuck fast in the flood waters. He grabbed hold, afraid that if he lost his grip he wouldn't have the strength to keep his head above the angry waters any longer.

Slowly, he was able to catch his breath and take stock of his situation. He was turning numb from being in the water for so long, the cold stealing his strength away and threatening to return him to the deadly flood. Miraculously, he still had hold of his gun.

Carefully, he slipped it back into his holster and slid the loop over it, tying it down. He double-checked, then triple-checked it, cautiously tugging at it with numb fingers to make sure it couldn't fall out. Satisfied that he now had both hands free, he pulled himself up onto the branches of the felled tree.

The smaller limbs tore at his skin and clothes and he had to stop frequently in order to work himself loose from the tangle they created. After what felt like an eternity of painstaking effort, he finally reached dry ground.

On hands and knees he crawled up the riverbank until he was clear of the maelstrom and, exhausted, he collapsed there.

He awoke the next morning only to discover that he was stiff and aching, hurting in more places than he knew he had. Sitting up slowly, he checked himself over. His clothes were a mess, muddy and ripped, his skin a network of scratches and bruises.

He investigated further, more amazed than worried by the mess he was in. When he pulled his shirttail out completely, the lead slug dropped into the sand with a soft thud. He picked it up, his other hand rubbing his ribs where he had felt the bullet strike him. Looking down, he saw yet another bruise, although this one was small and circular.

"I'll be damned…" he said, astonished. He tucked the slug into his pant pocket, deciding that it had either been packed with faulty gunpowder or else divine intervention had saved him. He guessed he'd never know for sure, but he thought it much more likely it was a poorly packed shell. Still, he was grateful for the second chance.

The walk back to his and Vin's camp in the valley took most of the day and the river had almost shrunk back to its previous level by the time he got reached the narrow entrance to the valley. Once inside, he hurried as best he could to the camp, more afraid of what he might find there than he'd ever admit to himself.

But the camp was empty, and there wasn't a trace of where Vin had gone. Chris found the pile of wild vegetables, Vin's Mare's Leg, his shirt and hat, and all their belongings, completely untouched.

Puzzled, Chris noted that even their horses were still there. He stood where he remembered seeing Vin lying on the ground, and was able to make out the impression the tracker had left, as well as the almost faded boot prints of the big man who had shot him the day before.

He knelt down and scuffed up the earth, looking for blood and finding none. The tightness that had gripped Larabee's throat since he'd started the walk back was somewhat relieved. At least Vin hadn't been murdered while he was lying helpless on the ground.

He stood and followed the big man's tracks until they left the protective canopy of the cottonwoods. Beyond that, the rain had erased the tracks.

Discouraged, Chris had returned to camp and sat down under the tree, watching as night fell. He took out oil and rags and broke down his Colt, determined to have it in perfect working condition for his hunt tomorrow.

When he was finished, he felt calmer, his mind soothed by the familiar activity. He looked wistfully at the fire pit, then made himself a cold dinner of hardtack, berries, and raw vegetables.

He knew Vin must be a prisoner somewhere close by since he hadn't found the man's body. And his horse was still here, so it was unlikely that whoever had him planned to take him back to Texas for the $500 reward. Therefore, whoever had taken him must have taken him someplace within walking distance. On the chance that the camp might be within visual range, Chris decided it would be a fireless night. He didn't want to alert Vin's captor, or captors, to his return.

Chris thought things through again, his first meal since yesterday morning making him feel more optimistic. Vin had to be nearby and, if he was, he would find him tomorrow. It would be all right. And any doubts that crowded into his thoughts, he blindly stuffed back down and refused to think about. He would find Vin tomorrow, one way or another. He couldn't fail.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Amel straightened, wiping the sweat dripping off his forehead with his dirty hand. He was getting a little tired and while he would have usually kept working for at least a couple of more hours, today he glanced back toward his living quarters and licked his lips in anticipation.

Ya thinkin' 'bout that breed a'gin? the ghost asked him. Bet ya are… Bet yer thinking how good it felt t' bury yer poker in his tight ass.

Amel grinned and nodded. Being able to have the breed whenever he wanted him was as much fun as he'd hoped it would be.

Yeah, it feels good all right, the ghost told him. But it's cuttin' into yer time fer minin'. Ya ain't gonna tap out this here vein if ya keep runnin' back to poke that heathen's hole. Gonna mean yer stuck out here fer another winter…

Amel looked down at the pile of ore, watching the specks of gold glinting cheerily at him. For almost a year that had been the best sight he could imagine. But now… his thoughts returned to his prisoner. And that sent the heat coursing into his groin.

"'Nother winter wouldn't be so bad," he muttered to the ghost. "Long as I got that breed t' keep me comp'ny."

He reached down and rubbed his crotch a few times, feeling himself begin to swell as he called up the images of the blond mounting his breed. He turned away from the gold, which had waited for the old prospector to stumble across it, and for him to find the old man. It could wait for another day. He had better things to do right now.

That breed's leadin' ya inta sin, Amel! the ghost called. He's stealin' yer soul… makin' it so ya can't think 'a nothin' else but humpin' his ass!

But right then, all Amel wanted was to sink into the breed ass and shoot his seed. He needed that. If he didn't, his balls would start to ache so bad he couldn't stand it. The breed belonged to him. He was the one who decided what he'd do, not the breed.

The breed didn't have any power over him.

He's stealin' yer soul, the ghost repeated. He's turnin' ya inta nothin' more 'n a dirty cadamite!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

When Amel entered the chamber that served as his living quarters, he was disconcerted to find his captive awake, sitting up, and glaring angrily at him.

See, he's givin' ya the evil eye, the ghost whispered in his ear.

Amel hung his lantern up on a nail that had been driven into a support post and considered the situation.

Nothing's changed, he told the old prospector. There's just the two of us, and I'm the one who's in control. It's only what I want that matters here. The boy's just a dirty breed. I can do whatever I want to 'im…

He reached down and rubbed at his penis again, then advanced, eyeing his victim hungrily.

Do what ya want to 'im… Ya want t' fuck 'im! A man lyin' with another man, like he was a woman? That ain't right Amel. Yer mama taught ya that. I know she did. She told me she done whooped ya good. She tried t' make a good man out 'a ya, but ya wouldn't listen.

"Shut up, ya damn devil!" Amel shouted, trying to chase the ghost off so he could take what he needed from the breed.

Vin went completely still as he realized the man approaching him wasn't completely sane. Then the man looked at him and he knew that it was going to happen again. He'd known that it would, but he still felt himself go pale with fear. He swallowed his terror and said, "Y' ain't got no right t–"

"Got every right I need, boy," Amel growled at him, moving closer, staring down at him like some demented predator who was about to take its prey. "Yer jist a half-breed sodomite. The Devil done took yer soul already." He toed off his old boots and unbuttoned his pants, tugging them down his thighs and stepping out of them.

Vin felt his guts turn to ice as the man's cock sprang up away from his body. It was thin, but long, and his ass was still cramping and hurting from the last time he'd been taken. Still, he knew he had to try and save himself from further damage. Unable to keep the anger from his voice he snarled, "If y' took the time t' slick yerself up with some grease or soapy water, you'd enjoy it more."

Amel just stared down at him as he stroked and pulled his cock to complete fullness.

See! the ghost yelled. He's teachin' ya how t' take him his way! Teachin' y' how to sin like he does! Ya remember that blond? He used somethin'… prob'ly made it easier fer him t' slip inside…

"Ya mean you'd enjoy it more, don'tcha, whore?" Amel growled, his fingers fondling his balls.

Vin gave the man a hard, deadly look that backed him off a step. "Why don't y' try it 'fore y' go callin' me a liar."

Look at him, Amel. Look at him. Oh, he's afeared 'a ya all right, but he aint backin' down none… nosiree… Breed like that, he's prob'ly kilt plenty 'a white men like you… raped plenty 'a white women and girls, too, I'd bet. Reckon you wouldn't be doin' to him nothin' he ain't done to good, God-fearing white women…

For some reason, that rattled Amel. The ghost was right, the boy wasn't backing down like he'd expected him to and, while he was obviously scared, he wasn't acting like he was, and that bothered the big man. It gave the breed an edge of danger that frightened him and he took a step back, hesitating.

"You're nothin' but a damn killer," he muttered softly at Vin. "But ya ain't gonna kill me… ain't gonna do nothing but what I tell ya…" The ache in his balls was building, and he couldn't take his gaze off the of the breed's eyes. They were so blue, just like a white woman's. Then his gaze slipped to the breed's cock. It was flaccid, unlike it had been that night the blond had fucked his ass. Amel wanted to see it looking like that.

The strength of will in his opponent, however, was palpable, and Amel found himself turning to the water bucket almost against his will. He found the bar of soap and picked it up, starting to get angry. This wasn't the way it was supposed to work. He glanced back at the younger man, who was watching at him like some feral wolf just looking for an opening before he lunged for his throat.

He soaped himself, growling, "If'n ya ain't right 'bout this, 'm gonna make ya wish yer were lyin' dead in the river next t' yer friend."

Although Vin had halfway expected something like that, the words still struck him like a mule kick to the belly. Could it be true?

His imagination instantly supplied a vision of Chris's body, floating in the swollen river, and a dreadful sorrow overwhelmed him. He's lyin', Tanner told himself to quell the flash of panic. He had to stay calm. He had to get some control over the situation. That was the only way he was going to get out of this alive and find out for sure about what had happened to Chris.

And when he did get out, and he knew he would, eventually, if he discovered Chris's body, Vin knew he'd come back and kill this murderous animal as slowly and as painfully as he could. He'd enjoy every moment of it, too.

Amel finished soaping himself and walked to the edge of the bedding. Kneeling down, he grabbed the rope secured to Vin's ankle and pulled, dragging the breed toward him as he started pumping himself erect again with his free hand.

"You ready ta be bedded, Breed?"

Vin knew it was useless to resist, but he couldn't stop himself. He placed his free foot on Amel's chest, trying to keep himself from being dragged any closer to the animal. His mouth went dry, and anxiety made his throat tighten as well.

Fortier flashed an unpleasant smile that revealed a set of rotting teeth as the ghost whispered, Lookee that! He's still got some fight left in 'im! Good! Let the breed fight, might make it a little more fun…

Amel grabbed the foot Vin had pressed against his chest and slowly twisted it, forcing the tracker to roll over onto his stomach or end up with a dislocated or broken ankle.

The sight of the breed's squirming ass sent flashes of pleasure shooting down Amel's cock and he threw himself down on top the struggling man. At first he just enjoyed the feel of the boy fighting beneath him. This was already much better than it had been when he'd taken the breed when he was unconscious.

He reached out and pushed himself up on his hands, then wedged a knee between the breed's legs. Holding the man down on his stomach by pressing his weight onto his shoulders, he pinned Vin's legs open with his own.

Listening as the breed hissed and fought harder, Amel laughed. Using one hand, he groped roughly between the breed's legs, finding his balls and giving them a hard squeeze. The man howled, making Amel laugh harder.

Letting the little whore go, he reached up and petted his ass cheeks before he finally grabbed his hips and starting hunting for the breed's hole.

Before long he had Vin penetrated, the soap on his cock letting him ride in effortlessly this time. He pumped a few times, enjoying the new sensation, then grunted as he thrust hard and slid all the way in to the breed's tight, hot channel.

Grabbing Vin's shoulders to hold himself in place, Amel pumped in and out of that incredible hole, grunting with each thrust.

He leaned forward, his hips still jerking and whispered next to the tracker's ear, "D'ya like it, Breed? Ya sure liked it when that dead man mounted ya… I saw the way ya liked it… saw the way ya let him take ya… like a damn whore…"

He licked along Vin's neck and cheek, Tanner jerked his head away from the repulsive intimacy.

Amel grunted as the reaction made the breed's muscles grab at his aching cock. He bit Vin hard on the shoulder, making him jump and tense again, his muscles tightly squeezing Amel's cock. The big man groaned in pleasure at the sensation.

"Damn, whore, ya got the tightest, sweetest ass I ever had!" And he started to fuck Vin with short, violent thrusts. Now and then he slapped or bit the breed to make him jump, increasing the tightness on his cock and his pleasure.

Tanner clenched his teeth and endured. The soap had diminished the pain of being scraped raw, but it created a new hot burning sensation that he knew would last for hours. Still, it was better than getting torn up inside.

As Vin waited for it to be over, he kept telling himself that this didn't matter, that there was nothing he could do to stop or prevent the assault. Fighting back only seemed make it worse. All that was important was that he survived this attack, that he got loose, and then he found Chris.

The pounding continued and Vin realized that, during the first few attacks, the man had been so excited that he'd climaxed almost immediately after the first penetration. Either he was getting better at staving off a quick shoot, or the soap was allowing him to go longer this time. In either case, the rape was stretching from seconds into minutes. But the end finally came, and he felt the hot semen draining into him, the feel of it nearly making him sick to his stomach.

Amel pushed himself up and roughly jerked his penis free. He sat back in a kneeling position and eyed the Breed with satisfaction. "Yer the best damn whore I ever had, Breed!" he stated proudly, then reached down and slapped Vin smartly on the ass. "Gonna keep ya 'round fer a good long time… take m' time with ya." Then he stood and pulled on his pants and boots. "We'll do that again, real soon."

Vin grimaced as he slowly rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up against the wall. He sat there, bleakly watching as the man went about his business. Now that he could get a better look at his captor, he guessed the man was probably in his late forties with a powerful build. His hair was a stringy mess, and his best guess at its color was "dark." The man's face was covered with a salt and pepper growth that obviously hadn't been trimmed in many months.

As the man went about fixing himself dinner, Vin studied the chamber where he was secured. The place was as dirty as a pigsty but, unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any sharp edges or useful tools or pieces of metal lying within reach. In fact, the only thing that looked even vaguely promising was a thick nail that was sticking halfway out of a nearby support beam, similar to the one the lamp was hanging on, but that one was out of his reach. It wasn't much, but if he could work it free and get a couple of hours of privacy, he might be able to worry his ropes in two.

Vin heard water splash as the man took a drink from a large bucket and it reminded him just how thirsty he was. Clearing his throat, he asked, "What's yer name?"

The man paused, wiping the water off his lips. "Knowin' m' name ain't gonna do ya any good, Breed."

Vin tried to hide his irritation as he asked, "Think y' might let me have a drink of that water?"

Amel glanced down at the water, then over at Vin. The tracker watched as he cocked his head to one side, like he was listening to someone talking in his ear. Then the man smiled that unpleasant smile again.

"Sure thing, Breed," he said as he picked up the bucket and walked over to Vin. Kneeling down beside him, he lifted the ladle and hesitated, wishing he could somehow force the want onto his whore's face, but Tanner refused. Bringing the dipper to his own lips, Amel sucked in a huge mouthful, but he didn't swallow it.

Vin turned his head to the side, sure that the man was going to spit the water on him. Instead, though, Amel grabbed a handful of Tanner's hair with one hand and bent his head back, holding his chin with the other hand. Then he leaned in close, bringing his mouth down next to Tanner's.

Vin kept his jaw clenched tightly shut, disgusted by Fortier's intention.

Unperturbed, the big man released his chin and reached down, grabbing Vin's genitals and giving them a warning squeeze as he pressed his lips to the tracker's mouth.

With a silent curse, Tanner opened his mouth. The water poured in and he swallowed the warm liquid reluctantly.

Amel took full advantage of his opened mouth, exploring it with a deep kiss that nearly turned Vin's stomach.

The man ended the kiss and picked up another ladle full of water. "Want some more, whore?"

Vin shook his head mutely.

The man laughed and stood. "Well, anytime ya want some more, or maybe some vittles, ya be sure t' let me know, Breed. But they's all gonna cost ya."

Vin glared up at his tormentor.

The evil eye! the ghost screeched.

Faster than the tracker expected, Amel leaned over and slapped his face – hard. "Don't you ever give me that evil eye again, Breed. Best ya remember that. I catch ya doin' that again, I'll tie down on yer belly so's I can take yer ass when I want it and not ever have t' look at ya." And with that he turned and walked away.

Vowing to keep his temper in check, Vin watched the man for a few more minutes. And, as he did, he felt the chill creeping into him again. He slid down into the dried grass and grabbed a rough flour sack with his bound hands. Rolling somewhat, he pulled it over his legs as best he could and tried to ignore the man as he went about his business, talking to someone or something the tracker couldn't see.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin watched the man as he ate, knowing that he meant to fuck him again when he was done, but he kept asking for some of the food, and the man kept eating it, until he'd eaten too much, and it dulled his ardor.

Ya don't feed 'im, he ain't gonna live through the winter, the ghost told him. Yer gonna need 'im when it gets cold and yer balls start achin'…

Amel grunted and dipped a ladleful of beans onto a plate and tossed it onto the ground next to the bed.

Give 'im some water, too. Even a breed like him needs water. 'Sides, it'll be close so's ya can soap yerself in the mornin'…

Amel placed the water bucket close by, too, and tossed the soap bar down next to it. "First thing in the mornin', Breed," he promised, reaching down to fondle himself. "Gives ya somethin' t' look forward to, don't it," he said as he lay down beside Vin, patting the tracker's naked hip like he was a dog. Soon, he was snoring loudly.

Vin closed his eyes and allowed some of the tension to leave his body. He needed to make good use of this reprieve, because he was sure the man would wake and take him again in the morning, and he wasn't sure what kind of shape he'd be in after.

Carefully, the tracker rolled onto his stomach, hoping to reach that nail tonight.

He inched toward it, but the movement shifted the bedding and the big man quit snoring. Vin went still until the man's breathing slowed again and the buzzing snore began again.

Disappointed, Tanner realized that getting the nail would have to wait until after the man left in the morning; to try for it now might expose his plans. It meant that he'd have to face another rape in the morning, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Frustration and anger rose in him, but he quickly pushed both down. He couldn't afford those emotions right now. Instead, he began to slowly flex his arms, working them as best he could. If he was going to try to use that nail with any efficiency, he needed to relieve the cramps and restore at least some of his circulation to his hands tonight so he'd be ready to get to work in the morning.

He also needed to eat what he'd been given, and drink some of the water. His thirst was worst than his hunger, so he worked his way over to the bucket, not caring if the stranger was aware of his movements this time. By kneeling over the bucket and carefully bobbing up and down, he was able to drink his fill in a short period of time. He looked over at the dirty plate and sighed; food was food.

Eating the beans was easier than drinking had been, but considerably messier. After he had licked the plate clean, he drank from the bucket again, then swished his face in the cool liquid to clean off what he could.

He straightened and paused, feeling stronger, his mind clearer. The headache remained, but it had dulled.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered his resolve. He had been in bad situations before and he'd gotten himself out of them. If he was careful, he'd get out of this one, too. And he had to. He had to know what had happened to Chris.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Chris woke suddenly, his body soaked in sweat from a bad dream. His hand went reflexively to where his gun lay beside him, his disorientation easing somewhat when he felt the reassuring stag grip that seemed to mold itself to his hand. Still drawing comfort from the weapon, he let the disturbing images of the dream return.

He had been standing alone in a place that was darker than the blackest night he'd ever experienced. He was frozen in place by some unseen force and was straining to hear a faint voice calling in the distant.

"Chris?"

It was Vin's voice, but he couldn't tell which direction it was coming from.

"Chris, I can't find ya." The tracker sounded puzzled, lost… and frightened. "Please, Chris… I need ya… Help me," he pleaded.

The sound of the man's voice tore at Larabee's heart. He'd never heard Vin sound so lost, so frightened, and he fought to move, to speak, to do anything, but he simply couldn't.

Vin kept calling for him, the sound of his voice drifting farther and farther away, but there wasn't a damn thing Chris could do to stop him from leaving. Larabee's powerlessness and anxiety tore into him, and he felt his legs weaken with desperation.

Suddenly, a knife blade glinted in front of Chris's eyes and he drew back in horror as it flashed again, then arched, slashing down toward its target. He felt the blade enter his chest, but, at the same time, he knew the white-hot pain had actually penetrated Vin's chest, and that it was his friend, not him, who would die.

Chris had woken at that point, his stomach twisted into an icy knot.

Now he sat up and glanced around the camp, glad the sky was beginning to grey in the east. Soon it would be light enough for him to start his search.

It was just a dream, he told himself. Still, he couldn't shake the cold foreboding that lay like a blanket of fog across the valley floor.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin balanced on his side in the dark cavity in the mine. Tightly gripping the nail, he worked the point into the side of the hemp rope that tethered his leg. By using his free foot to stretch the line taut underneath him, he was able to worry apart a few fibers at a time. It was slow going, but he'd been alone for several hours now and figured that he had more than three-quarters of the rope frayed. With a little luck, he'd soon be free.

The hard-packed floor made the ache in his shoulders almost unbearable, and whatever relief he'd gotten the night before had been destroyed by the harsh treatment the big man had inflicted on him earlier that morning.

As he'd expected, the man had awoken with an erection straining against his trousers, and planned to relieve himself with Vin.

"Glad ya told me 'bout the soap, Breed," he said, dropping his pants and pulling the bucket over to him. He dipped the bar of soap into the water and began to lather his aching penis. "Makes it feel good."

Then he cursed, his own touch and thoughts had excited him so much his balls had already begun to hurt. That wasn't a good sign. He wanted to make this last, so he wouldn't have to come back to relieve himself again in a few hours. He had gold to dig.

So, after tossing the water out, he stood and walked over, grabbing an old wooden saddle tree and carrying it over to what he called his bed. He dropped it on the blankets, and then reached down, grabbing Vin by the arms and jerking him up onto his knees. He twisted the tracker around and threw him on the saddle tree and forced his head over to the blankets.

Vin yelped and tried to twist away, but he couldn't.

"Got ya on that saddle fer a reason, Breed," Amel growled into Tanner's ear. "Gonna ride ya hard this mornin'."

And with that Amel gripped his arms, still tied behind him, holding them like reins. He pulled back and up on them, forcing Vin to lift his hips to keep his shoulder joints from being dislocated. And, when he did, the man lined himself up and forced himself into the tracker's ass again.

Vin felt the man's groin slapping against the back of his thighs as he pounded into him. And he kept pulling on his arms, the strain in the tracker's shoulders hurting worse than the violation did.

Splinters from the wood tree dug into his belly, tearing his skin as the big man continued to thrust violently into him.

Then the pain in his shoulders was gone, the man releasing him as he grabbed his hips instead, drilling him with savage stabs until he was shooting his load.

Amel pulled out, panting for breath. God that felt good! He stared at the breed, his face buried in the blankets, his ass lifted up so he could take him… and then he saw his seed, mixed with blood, dribbling from that forbidden hole and running down to drop off the breed's balls…

Sodomite, sodomite, sodomite… the ghost chanted. He's marked ya, Amel… His blood's inside ya now… Yer a breed now… just like him!

Amel glanced down at his cock. It was covered with blood and soap, and it was already hard again.

Fortier surged to his feet. He grabbed Vin, jerking him up and dragging him to a wooden table just at the limit of his ankle tether. He bent the tracker over it, reaching for a second bucket of water he kept there and pulling it over to him. Then he grabbed it and splashed the contents over Vin's ass and his own cock.

Tanner jerked and yelped, surprised by the cold. The man reacted instantly, punching him in the side, just below the ribs. "Shut up, Breed!"

The agony of the kidney blow blotted out everything else and the tracker simply tried to continue breathing.

Amel looked frantically for the bar of soap and, spotting it, he lunged away from his captive just long enough to grab it and then stepped back, his hands working frantically to wash the blood off his hard, weeping penis.

Sodomite, sodomite, sodomite… the ghost was chanting again.

Eyes wild, Amel looked down at Tanner, seemingly confused about what he should do next. He wanted to take the man a second time, but he was afraid of what it might cost him. Angry, he brought his clasped hands down hard between Vin's shoulders.

The tracker's breath exploded from his body and his body spasmed, muscles jerking in protest of the hash treatment.

Amel's gaze returned to the boy's ass and, unable to stop himself, he pried open those cheeks and thrust himself completely inside his whore with one savage stroke.

Vin screamed, the brutal assault spurring him to act. But he couldn't fight the man, not while he was gasping for air, his body a firestorm of pain that refused to obey any of his commands. But still he tried.

Amel's hips jerked wildly, sinking him into the breed's depths. He closed his eyes, still hearing the ghost as he continued to chant, Sodomite, sodomite, sodomite… and before long he was screaming the word over and over again as he fucked his prisoner.

Fortunately for Vin, the brutal attack ended soon after, Amel pounding on his back as he climaxed for a second time. He withdrew and, still in the grips of the savage excitement, grabbed Tanner and threw him back onto the bed.

He looked down at the breed, then kicked him in the stomach and stormed away, grabbing the lantern and taking it with him. He'd show that goddamn whore he wasn't a breed! He wouldn't let the heathen make him one either; wouldn't let him make him a sodomite, either.

The tracker lay curled up on his side, waiting for the pain to ease. He didn't know why the man had attacked him so viciously, but one thing was certain, the man was crazy and Vin knew his life would be short indeed if he stayed here any longer. The stranger seemed to be growing more and more unpredictable, his madness emerging more strongly each day.

When he was finally able to move again, Vin crawled over to the nail and worked it loose from the post. Grimly, he had positioned himself and started to work on the rope binding his ankle, barely concealed desperation spurring him along despite the pain.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Amel worked for several hours like a man possessed, gripped by a panic rooted in guilt and fear. He was losing control of himself, becoming more and more obsessed with his captive, and that scared the hell out of him.

The dream that had awakened him this morning had left him filled with rage, although he couldn't remember many of the details. But he could remember enough: his mother with her strap… a preacher, telling him he was going straight to Hell for what he'd done with the breed… and the whore himself, laughing at him as the Devil came to claim his soul.

I told ya! the ghost cackled. I told ya that breed was gonna steal yer soul! Ya can't think 'a thing 'cept fuckin' 'im, can ya? Ya can't! Ya want 'im, don't ya? Right now! All ya want t' do is go back there and poke him again! The good Lord is gonna smite ya, Amel, ya jist watch and see!

The frightening stories of biblical retaliation against sinners flashed through Amel's mind throughout the morning, spurred on by the damn ghost's constant harassment.

The man dug blindly into the vein, trying to beat back the desire he felt for the filthy breed with honest hard work, but it never quite worked. He could still feel the whore's blood on his penis, could feel it seeping into his flesh, corrupting it.

Finally, exhausted, he collapsed to his knees and dug his hands into the dirt. "I never did nothin' like this b'fore," he moaned, half to himself, half to the vengeful God he knew was damning him. And that damn ghost, it wouldn't stop laughing!

"It's all his fault!" Amel screamed. "That damn breed did this t' me! He bewitched me! I never—" He froze as he heard his own words. "That must be it. That goddamn breed… filthy Injun… why, I bet he was been sent here by the Devil hisself to steal m' soul from me!"

He stood and grabbed the pickax he'd been swinging seconds earlier. "Well, he ain't gonna get it! I'm gonna send that whore back t' Hell where he belongs!"

But first, he thought, he'd take the heathen once more – just one more time.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Only a few strings of the rope were still intact when Vin twisted onto his other side. He held the cord tight with the foot it was tied to and kicked at it with his other, the tether finally snapping on the fourth try. The tracker immediately rolled onto his knees and staggered to his feet.

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he started forward, following the rough surface around to the entrance of the chamber where he paused. He listened, but the steady ring of the man's work had stopped a short time ago. There were no sounds to tell him where the man was now. But he had come in from the right the last time and that was reason enough for Vin to go left now. He didn't know if that was the way out, or if he might be stumbling into an unseen mine shaft, but he didn't really care. He only wanted to get as far away from the madman as possible.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Chris was on his horse, slowly making his way toward the north end of the valley, crisscrossing the flat landscape as he went, searching for any signs of the tracker, or whoever took him. It was mid-afternoon and he had finished his search in the south. He'd found evidence of their arrival in the valley, but that was all, and he was beginning to wonder if he might have better luck if he widened his search to outside the valley.

One way or another, he knew he had to find Vin.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin burst from the mouth of the mine and slid to a stop, leaning up against a rock and squinting into the bright sunlight. It was another hot summer's day.

He blinked, hoping his eyes adjusted quickly. He needed to get his bearings.

Then, realizing that he was high up on a hillside, he quickly scanned the landscape below, spotting almost immediately where he and Chris had camped. If his belongings were still there, all he had to do was get to his knife, cut his hands free, and strap on his gun. He'd be ready for the man then.

He looked down at the slope of loose dirt that dropped away in front of him. It was steep, but it was the quickest way to the valley floor. Taking a deep breath, he jumped, his bare feet landing in the soft earth. Staggering at first, unable to properly balance himself with his arms still bound behind him, he found he could control his descent more if he leaned back and slid down the hillside. That also helped to slow his momentum.

He reached the bottom with a small avalanche of dirt and stones. Struggling in the loose footing, he clumsily waded free and then began to run. He could see the huge cottonwood he and Chris had camped under and increased his speed.

He was halfway across the warm meadow when he heard the man shouting at him. His heart, already straining from the sudden effort after two days of captivity, leapt with fright. He had hoped to have his hands free before the big man followed him, but now it was going to be close.

If the man had spotted him, then he would know where Vin was headed, and there was no point trying to hide any more. Fear gave him a needed burst of energy and the tracker put his head down and sprinted forward.

Desperation fired another hope – that, somehow, Chris was alive and nearby.

"Chris!" he shouted. "Chris!" He stumbled into the camp and was both elated and frantic. Things had changed, so Larabee had been there. He was alive! But he'd put Vin's belongings away! His Mare's Leg was nowhere in sight and his saddlebags were hanging from a tree branch to keep it safe from any animals that might wander into the camp.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and yelled. "Chris! Help me – now!"

He ran to the tree and was just able to reach the saddlebags. He bit down on the hard leather and pulled.

The saddlebags dropped to the ground and he slumped down next to them, rolling over onto his side so he could reach the buckles with his hands. As he fumbled with the clasps, trying to work them open, he turned so he could check to see where the man was.

And what he saw wasn't encouraging. The madman was sliding down the hillside just like he had earlier, a pickax in his hand.

Vin took a deep breath and continued working on the buckles and yelling, "Chris!"

The miner tripped and tumbled head over heels down the hill.

"Hope y' break yer goddamn neck, y' crazy bastard," Vin muttered as the first of the saddlebags opened. He shook the contents out and turned around so he could see them.

There was no knife. Cursing, he grabbed the saddlebags again, fingers clawing at the second buckle. As he pulled at it he saw the big man stagger to his feet.

"Chris!" he screamed.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Amel Fortier, dizzy from his fall, stood and glanced around drunkenly. Where was his pickax? He dropped to his knees, clawing through the loose dirt, but it was gone. He cursed and stood. Well, he didn't need the ax, there were plenty of other ways to kill a man.

He started off across the meadow to where he knew the breed was.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Chris froze in his saddle, his head cocking to the side as he strained to hear whatever it was that had captured his attention. After the dream he'd had, he'd imagined hearing Vin calling to him on every breeze that rustled through the leaves. But this time it was different.

Uncertain, he turned his horse back, spurring it to a trot. As he got closer to where he and Vin had camped, he heard the hissing rumble of a dirt avalanche and saw dust wafting up into the air. The foreboding from this morning came back, stronger than before. He gigged his horse hard and bent low over the animal's neck as it stretched out to a full gallop.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Chris!" Vin yelled. C'mon, Chris! he pleaded silently.

The second buckle on the saddlebags opened and he shook that bag out. Turning, he saw the knife. Grasping the hilt, he pulled it free of its scabbard and turned the blade toward himself, immediately sawing at the rope binding him. His grip, however, started to fail as the handle got slick, though with sweat or blood he wasn't sure. His arms were weak, and completely numb, so God only knew what kind of damage he might be doing to himself.

He secured his grip again and began again.

"Ya need some help, whore?"

Shit!

Fortier dropped down beside Vin and yanked the knife away.

"Chris!" Vin shouted desperately. He jerked at his bonds – hard – praying that he'd cut them deep enough to fray them open, but they held. His breath came in short gasps, fear sending adrenaline coursing through him. "Get away from me!" he snarled at the man.

Amel ran his hand along the tracker's naked back, staring at the breed's ass and the dried blood on the backs of the man's thighs. Should he kill him now, or fuck him one last time?

Ya jist can't leave 'im be, can ya? the ghost asked him.

"Ya tried t' git away, whore," Amel growled. "I can't let that happen." He was getting hard again, his desire blotting out his earlier contrition. He threw his leg over Vin and knelt, straddling the struggling man as he began to unbuttoned his fly.

Vin felt a sense of calm settled over him and he ceased his frantic struggles. This was it, either he was going to survive this, or he was going to die, but he'd taken all he could, and silently vowed to go out fighting rather than be violated again.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered all his strength, then arched and bucked violently, trying and throw the big man off him.

And Fortier was tossed to one side, but he recovered quickly, scrabbling forward and grabbing hold of Vin's hair and pulling back sharply, "Hold still, ya goddamn breed!"

Vin tried to shake his head loose, but the madman only tightened his hold. Gritting his teeth, Tanner snarled, "Go t' hell!"

"Not me, whore, but it's sure as hell where yer goin', an' I'm just the man t' send ya there."

Amel reached down and picked up the tracker's knife, the blade already red with blood and he was momentarily distracted by the vivid color. He could imagine it rolling down the breed's throat as he cut it… while plunging his cock into his sweet ass one last time. But the exciting image turned sour as it also conjured up the image of his mother, cold and stern, her face pinched with disapproval as she quoted from her huge, old bible.

Angry, he jerked back harder on the breed's hair, forcing the boy's head back and baring his throat. Resting the edge of the knife against his exposed flesh, he snarled, "Say yer prayers, Breed, yer goin' back t' where ya belong! Ya cursed me, ya damn whore. Ya gave me these feelin's! Ya filthy devil…"

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"No!" Chris whispered when he saw a large man bending over Vin, the tracker's own knife glinting at Tanner's throat.

Larabee was too far away for an accurate shot, especially since Vin's attacker had pulled the tracker up so far that Tanner's body was mostly shielding him. But Chris still drew his Colt and fired a warning shot into the dirt in front of the man.

"Hold it right there!" he yelled and was relieved when the man hesitated, his attention drawn away from his captive.

Fifty yards away now, Chris pulled his gelding to a sliding halt and threw himself out of the saddle. He needed a firm footing if he was going to try any fancy shooting.

The man squinted at Chris, the shock of recognition springing into his eyes. "Yer dead!" he accused. "I shot ya! I saw the river take ya! A ghost! Yer another ghost!"

Chris advanced slowly, his revolver fixed unerringly on his target. "Put the knife down," he demanded.

Realization sprang into the madman's eyes. "Ya came back fer him, didn't ya! Ya come t' take him back t' Hell with ya." He straightened, pulling Vin up with him. Shifting his grip on the knife, he leaned over, extending the blade to reach the far side of Vin's throat.

"Don't do it!" Larabee snarled, his voice soft but intense.

"I took him," Fortier hissed. "I took him jist like I saw ya do… it was good, so damn good… but he bewitched me… can't think 'a nothin' else… goddamn sodomites… devils…"

The ghost was laughing hysterically now, the cackling drowning out the new ghost's words.

Chris saw the man's hand start to move and, a split second later, he fired, striking the man in the head. The man jerked reflexively and slumped over his victim. Amel Fortier's last thought was to wonder why the old prospector had finally stopped laughing.

"Damn!" Chris snarled, sprinting forward. He skidded to a stop beside Vin and the stranger, grabbing the big man's shoulder and belt and hauling him off his friend. Blood was spattered and pooling everywhere. Tanner lay motionless, his head turned to one side.

"Vin?" he called softly, pushing the long hair off the tracker's face, his hands shaking strongly.

Tanner's eyes snapped open. He hadn't been able to breathe after the man fell on him and had figured the knife had done its job. "M' throat…" he rasped. "It cut?"

Chris pulled him over onto his side and peered at the wound closely. There was blood, but not too much. He smeared it away and spotted a small cut, maybe an inch across, and shallow. His stomach lurched as he realized how close Vin had come to being killed right there in front of him.

He leaned in closer, gathering Vin into his arms and holding him close. "You got a small cut, but you're gonna be fine."

"M' arms…" Vin moaned.

Chris picked up the bloody knife and used it to free Tanner's wrists. It was then that the full impact of Vin's condition hit him. The tracker was completely naked, bruises marring his back, torso, arms, and thighs, which were bloody. His wrists bled freely under the ropes, too. His calves and feet were a mess, all manner of scratches and cuts on them. And there was what looked like a bite marks on his shoulder, too.

Chris carefully cut the ropes from Vin's wrists, and with a flick of the knife, removed the one still secured around his ankle as well, his mind slowly, reluctantly, piecing together the evidence with the big man's last words.

Vin groaned as he closely brought his arms forward, his elbows and shoulders stiff and slow to respond. The pain was almost unbearable. Bending his head, he caught sight of his hands, which were blue and puffy from being bound too tightly. "Sonuvabitch," he hissed.

Then, in a blind rage, the tracker grabbed up a hoof-sized rock and began pounding the madman's face into a bloody pulp.

And, as quickly as he'd exploded in fury, Vin spun away from the dead man. He curled forward and dropped back to the ground, his body shaking with rage and sobs that tore out of chest. He could feel Chris's arm circling him, holding him, rocking him, and he fell into the promise of those arms, slipping into the blackness.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

It was afternoon when Tanner finally woke. He tried to sit up, Chris immediately at his side, slipping an arm under his back to support and steadied him.

Tanner stared around the camp, but the madman was no longer there. "He dead?" he asked, his voice flat.

Larabee nodded, saying, "Yep."

Vin nodded to himself, then checked Chris's expression. Larabee looked shocked, uncertain, probably about what had happened, and also what he should do next.

The tracker sighed. "Help me up… want t' get t' the river… gotta get clean."

Chris helped the shaking tracker to his feet. And once he had Tanner situated near a shallow, sandy pool with some soap, he asked, "There any more where he came from?"

Picking up the soap and sliding stiffly into the water, Vin said, "Doubt it. Only saw him."

"I'll make sure. Where's his camp?"

"Straight up the hillside, near the top. A mine." He paused, then added, "Leave me m' gun where I c'n reach it b'fore y' go."

When Chris went back to the trees to fetch the weapon, he glanced at the man's body, knowing it would have to be moved before Vin finished and returned to find it. The man looked too heavy to carry, and he didn't have a shovel to dig a grave with.

Chris glanced around, finally studying the side of the canyon and its loose soil and deciding it was perfect. It also had the advantage of being quick and easy, which was more than the bastard deserved.

He retrieved the Mare's Leg and returned with it to the river's edge, placing it on a large flat rock near where Vin was scrubbing himself. Chris watched in silence as Tanner's hands frequently fumbled with the soap, his long fingers, normally so quick and nimble, failing at such a common task. It made his heart hurt, but he knew the tracker didn't want his help right now.

When Vin picked up a handful of river bottom sand to scrub at his skin, Chris swallowed hard and spoke, "Here's your gun."

Vin nodded, but he didn't look at the man. "Obliged." It sounded strained, even to his own ears, but he didn't know what else to say. He knew Larabee had figured out what had happened to him, and was upset about it, but he didn't want to talk about now. Not yet.

"I'm gonna drag the body over to that slope and bury it," Chris said.

Vin nodded, wishing he could bring himself to do more violence to the stranger's body, to vent some of the anger he felt coursing through him, but decent folks didn't abuse the dead. It was probably better if he just buried the past few days right along with the man's body. "C'n handle it by yerself?" he asked Larabee.

"Yeah. I'll see you back at the camp." Chris turned and strode up the river bank.

Vin stopped to watch him go and frowned. A few hours ago he had been willing to give anything to have Chris beside him, but now that he was, things felt strained and awkward and he didn't know how to make it better.

He finished washing, then stood slowly and climbed out of the river, making his way back to the camp. He had just finished shaving when he was startled by the rumble of a landslide. He looked up and saw Chris standing between some trees, kicking angrily at the soil. Another cloud of dust rose as more dirt tumbled down the hillside.

With a sigh, Vin wished that events from the past could be buried just as easily.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Later, when Chris reached the mine entrance, he paused to catch his breath. It had been a steep, hot climb and he wiped the sweat from his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Looking back, he saw their camp directly below, Vin was visible standing there, shaving. He shook his head. They had been sitting ducks.

Turning, he picked up a lit lantern that was resting just inside the mine's mouth and, Colt in his other hand, quietly advanced, following the dusty tracks into the cool interior. When he had explored the different tunnels and was satisfied that the mine was empty, he returned to the chamber that had obviously served as the man's living quarters.

Circling the room, his nose wrinkling in disgust, he stared at the filthy bedding, his imagination filling in the details. He spotted the other half of the frayed rope that he had cut off of Vin, his expression going cold. He forced himself to search the rest of the chamber. The food stores were mostly beans and flour, but he did find a bottle of whiskey that he set aside to take back with him.

He also found a cache of gold dust. He hesitated, knowing that Vin would tell him to leave it, that they weren't thieves, but Chris's practical nature overcame his qualms and he stuffed the small pouches into his pockets. The dust was the least the man owed Vin for what he'd done to the tracker.

The last thing Chris picked up was Vin's buckskin pants, which he found tossed into a corner. He slung the garment over his shoulder.

Standing at the chamber's exit, he picked up the whiskey. There was nothing else of value there so he tossed the lantern into the grass and bedding, stepping back as it caught fire. Everything was going to burn. It was what people did to clean out vermin, or disease. It didn't lessen his anger, not until he remembered that he had killed the man who had hurt Vin.

The flames rushed up, eager tongues of red heat turning outward as the ceiling stopped their fiery progress. He backed out, the scorching smoke billowing out after him. Witnessing the destruction of the fire, Chris felt his anger diminish and it was with a sudden calmness that he realized justice had been served. Now all that remained was to make sure that Vin would be all right.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

When he reached camp, Larabee found the tracker leaning back against the trunk of the large cottonwood, dressed in his long johns, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Chris eyed the holster in the tracker's lap, noticing that Vin's hand was resting on his Mare's Leg's. He tossed the buckskin pants down next to him, saying, "I thought you might need these."

Vin stared at his pants, then looked up at the blond, his expression unreadable. "Y' find what y' were lookin' fer?"

Tanner's voice sounded a little odd and Chris didn't know what to make of the question, or the hint of challenge it contained. "Set the place on fire," he said in lieu of an answer.

Vin nodded once. "Good."

Chris shifted his weight from foot to foot and stared up at the late afternoon sky. It was going to be another clear, warm night. "You hungry?"

The tracker ran his fingers through his damp hair and sighed. "Some, I reckon."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The evening drew to a close, an awkward silence having fallen between the two men. Larabee started a fire and prepared dinner. He wanted to ask about Vin's injuries, but Tanner wasn't talking and he didn't want to upset the man any more than he already was by just being there. Vin would talk when he was ready, and until then he'd just have to wait.

So, instead of talking, he watched surreptitiously as Vin moved stiffly around the camp, absentmindedly hugging himself as he slowly rubbed his aching arms. The tracker was restless, pacing, staring out at the countryside.

"You want to move the camp?"

Vin jerked slightly, startled by Chris's voice, then shook his head, saying, "No." Knowing that Larabee was watching him, he tried to sit down, but it was too uncomfortable and he had to shift around until he found a position he could tolerate, his legs curled under him. But he was back on his feet a few minutes later, slowly walking the perimeter of the firelight and looking anywhere but at Chris. His thoughts were chaotic as he tried to put his churning emotions into some kind of order. He really didn't want to talk about what had happened until he'd had time to deal with it himself. He needed to put it behind him, get in control of himself again. Unfortunately, he hadn't been too successful thus far. It didn't help that the discomfort he felt was a constant reminder of what exactly he wanted to forget.

What if he'd been wearing his gun like he should have been? Or what if he'd gone with Chris? Or if Chris hadn't left at all?

He was angry at himself, angry at Larabee and, at the same time, he felt guilty, too, believing he should have been able to stop the man from taking him from the camp, or at least stopped the subsequent assaults. He was damn near a lawman, he'd been a bounty hunter, ridden with Comanche and Kiowa, but he'd been totally ineffective against a single, ignorant miner. How had he let that happen?

And how could Chris ever want him after this? Knowing someone had used him like a common whore?

The questions left Vin feeling shaken to the core.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

By the time dinner was ready, the stars were beginning to appear above them. Chris dished up a plate of food and set it down across from him. He considered taking the food to Vin, but decided against it. It was time Tanner settled down for the night.

He poured two cups of coffee, dosing both with the whiskey he'd brought back from the mine. After a pause, he added a second dollop to Vin's. The man needed to relax, and this would help him, if he could get him to drink it.

"Supper's ready," he called quietly. Without waiting, he dug into the food on his own plate, enjoying his first hot meal in days.

Vin appeared out of the darkness and picked up his plate. He hesitated only briefly as he considered how best to sit, finally opting to just lean back against the tree. He wolfed down the beans and rabbit, and the pan biscuits.

Chris nodded toward the fire. "I made plenty; wasn't sure how many meals you'd missed."

"Most of 'em," the tracker replied, helping himself to seconds as soon as he was finished. "How many days it been?"

"Two."

Vin grunted. Could that be all? "Where y' been?" He'd meant to ask what had happened to Larabee during that same time, but the question came out sounding more like an accusation. He saw Chris's surprised expression and hurried on to cover up the slip. "He said y' were shot when y' fell in the river," he added quickly.

Chris was more than a little taken aback by the tracker's tone, but at least Vin was talking, and that had to be a good start. "It was the strangest thing," he said. "Bullet hit me, knocked me over, but it didn't break the skin." He set down his plate and unbuttoned his shirt. "Take a look."

Vin was surprised to see the circular blue-green bruise on Larabee's chest, along with a multitude of other scratches and bruises. He hadn't realized that the gunslinger had been hurt and his guilt intensified. For days he'd worried about the man's safety, but when they'd finally been reunited, he was so caught up in his own injuries he'd forgotten to ask Chris if he had any.

"Looks like y' were dragged," he said, frowning.

"That's what it felt like, too. What the river did to me. When I got clear, I was pretty far downstream; took me 'til yesterday near sunset to get back here."

"Oh," Vin said. That explained a lot.

"I figured you were still nearby since your horse was still here, but I couldn't find any tracks after the rain." When Vin didn't comment, Chris continued, "To tell you the truth, I didn't think there was any way up that hillside. Good thing you got loose when you did."

Vin gave him a weak smile. "Guess I's lucky."

Chris set his plate down, annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know what I meant."

Tanner stared down at his food. "'M sorry, Chris… Hell, I don't know what's got into me… We're both alive, an' that makes me lucky… Jist don't feel very lucky, is all."

Chris nodded his understanding. "You want to talk about it?"

Tanner shook his head. "Would you?" he asked him.

Larabee considered the question, feeling the awkwardness between them again. "Tomorrow's a new day. Things will look better then."

Vin nodded and offered a shrug. "Sure."

Chris waited for Vin to continue the conversation, but he didn't.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A short while later both men were lying on their bedrolls, separated by the campfire, which was banked for the night and casting a soft glow into the darkness, but it was enough so Larabee could see that Vin was lying on his side, a blanket pulled up to his chin as he stared into the embers, eyes wide and unfocused, lost in his own thoughts and memories.

He rolled onto his back and gazed up into the glittering canopy above him. Tonight it felt as if Vin were as distant as those stars. He was used to the silences they had always shared but, in the past, a lack of words hadn't meant that he didn't feel close to the tracker. Now, however, Tanner felt closed off. They were friends, lovers now, and to Chris, that meant sharing everything – the good and the bad. It just didn't seem right that Vin was keeping him out like this.

A yawn overtook him and he decided he couldn't do anything else tonight. The whiskey was taking effect, its warmth spreading through his limbs and helping him relax. Chris smiled. Vin hadn't said a word when he'd first sipped his coffee. In fact, he'd asked for seconds of that, too.

The blond rolled onto his side, his hand reaching to check where his gun lay without him even thinking about it. He shut his eyes and was soon asleep.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

It was several hours later when Chris awoke. There was a chill in the air that accompanied the darkest hours of the night. He lay still, listening, taking stock of their surroundings. Hearing nothing out of place, he relaxed and almost dozed off again, but then he heard a mumble coming from Vin's direction, followed by a soft groan as Tanner tossed his head from side to side.

Chris frowned. Vin wasn't usually one to be bothered by dreams, or if he was, there were no outward signs of it.

He sat up, debating whether to wake the tracker or not, then Vin quieted on his own.

Noticing that the fire wasn't going to last until dawn, Chris leaned over and added a little more wood, then stirred up the embers, waiting until the new fuel caught.

Realizing that he needed to urinate, the blond got up, walking stiffly away from the camp. He was headed back to his bedroll when he caught sight of Vin, who was now awake too, looking frightened and gripping the Mare's Leg like it was his only hold on life. That was the final straw as far as Chris was concerned.

Instead of walking back to his own bedroll, he went to Vin's, slipping in behind the tracker and lying down. He snuggled up close to the man and then reached around him and pulled Vin close. He could feel the tracker tense, but ignored it; the man needed support and comfort whether he realized it or not.

And, finally, Vin seemed to see that too.

The tracker had awoken from a nightmare, sweating, heart pounding. He was being chased down dark passages, pursued by something he couldn't see. Hands reached out of nowhere, grabbing him, holding him down. His legs were forced apart and he was pierced by a sharp pain; a huge cock, tearing into him.

Snapping awake at that moment, he'd grabbed the Mare's Leg without conscious thought. He looked around for Chris, but the man's bedroll was empty.

When he saw Larabee wandering back into camp, Vin was overcome with relief. Then he saw the blond glance at him, his expression darkening with concern and worry. As he'd searched for some words to say, Chris had simply walked over and lay down beside him, pulling him close.

The touch startled him, but Chris only held him tighter when he jumped, and for that Vin was grateful. Chris's strength reached through his confusion, giving him something to hold onto in a world that was suddenly far more dangerous and threatening than it had ever been before. But, slowly, the fears and doubts drained away, leaving him feeling strangely calm. The only reality that mattered was Chris; all others faded away. He placed his hand over Chris's and squeezed it, pulling it up near his heart, drawing his partner closer still.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Chris smiled and pressed his cheek against the back of Tanner's head, thankful that his instincts had been right. "Bad dream?"

Vin sighed. "Y' could call it that."

Chris took a deep breath and asked the question he'd wanted to ask all day. "How badly were you hurt?" His voice was gentle, caring.

Vin stared vacantly into the flames, the question not bothering him as it might have earlier. "Nothin' that won't heal in a few days."

Chris leaned forward and laid a warm, breathy kiss on Vin's neck. "God, I missed you. I thought I'd lost you."

Vin's body shook. "Thought y' was dead, too."

"I can see why you might've thought that." He nuzzled Vin's neck. "But I'm not, and neither are you."

They lay quietly together for a time, simply drawing comfort from each other as they stared, lost in their own thoughts, at the flames. But Chris's thoughts soon returned to Vin's skittishness and to the flinch when he'd first touched him. It reminded him of other things, and one disturbing thought led to another. "You've been raped before, haven't you?" Chris asked him in a soft whisper.

Vin didn't see how it mattered, or how Larabee had guessed. "First time was in the orphanage they sent me to when they found me livin' with the Kiowa… happened again in a Union POW camp…"

The stillness of the night was only broken by the fire as it snapped and popped.

"Vin…. Hell, nobody should have to face that, and if you don't want— If we can't be together anymore, I— Hell, you know what I'm trying to say."

"Y' mean you'd want t' be with me again?" Vin asked, honestly surprised. "After what he done t' me?"

"Of course I would," Chris replied, completely confused. "Damn it, Vin, I love you, and those aren't words I ever expected to say again, but it's the God's honest truth."

Vin was genuinely baffled. He twisted around so he could look at Chris. And even in the dim light, Tanner could see the feelings in Larabee's eyes. Finally, he grasped Larabee's hand tighter. "Love y', too, Cowboy," he managed, and felt Chris's tighten his hold on him. Realization hit Vin like the proverbial bolt of lightning: the physical expression of their love was important, to both of them.

He leaned forward, his mouth seeking Chris's. The kiss was gentle, full of caring as he sucked on the gunslinger's lower lip and ran his tongue lightly over it.

Chris drew back. "Vin, you don't have to do this, not now." He seemed almost embarrassed.

Vin gave him a slight smile. "Y' want t' make up yer mind? First y' want to, then y' don't?"

Larabee still looked uncomfortable. "It doesn't seem right… after what happened. You need some time to heal…"

Vin looked thoughtful for a moment, then he found Chris's hand with his own again and entwined their fingers together. Laying his other hand against the side of Larabee's face, he let his fingers tenderly trace the man's features. "This mornin', I was afraid I'd never get t' do this again," he said with a gentle sadness. Then, slowly, he smiled, the warmth of his expression tentatively taking root in his pale blue eyes. "Y' know," he said finally, "reckon I feel purty lucky after all."

There was a sudden lump in Chris's throat. He swallowed, but the painful sweetness only grew larger and threatened to make his eyes water.

"Vin…" he said hoarsely, all too aware of how close he'd come to never being able to share a moment like this again with the man. He pulled his lover close, letting his head rest against the shaggy long hair as he breathed in the man's familiar scent. The yearning to be even closer seemed to be wrenched from his heart and his gut, powered by the terrible near-loss. His hug grew tighter as he tried to hold onto the moment.

Vin basked in the affection and warmth that flowed from Larabee. The chill that had held him in its grip disappeared under the power of Chris's love. He might have been forced to face the darkness again, but he realized that all he needed to do to leave the shadows behind was to walk into the light of Larabee's love, and it drew him like a moth to a dancing flame.

Vin pressed himself closer to his lover, his doubts and the darkness that had haunted him vanquished, and in their place love pulsed through him, starting to heal him and lifting some of the burden of his past.

He knew his body would heal, and when it did, he'd seek Larabee out again. He'd make love with someone he loved, and hoped that when he did the images of being taken in that old mine would be burned from his memory. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn't, but he vowed to himself that he wouldn't let that madman destroy the one thing that mattered most to him.

He fell asleep, wrapped in Larabee's arms.

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