Confession is Good for the Soul

by L. E. Smith

Part 1

With one hand Micah pushed back the lank brown hair that persistently fell in his eyes. Something inside him stirred as he gazed over the vast empty land. It was far more beautiful than he had expected. Silently he thanked his maker for its very existence. Urging the handsome roan forward he proceeded on toward his destination. The man he wanted was rumored to be in Four Corners -- just a few more miles.

Micah had rehearsed a dozen different ways how he was going to handle this, but had yet to settle on an approach. Too confrontational and abrupt and his quarry might run before he learned anything. Too hesitant and he had no chance of getting anywhere at all. Then there was always the possibility he'd say the wrong thing and wind up getting himself shot. Interesting thought. Micah had a fine touch for handling his fellow man, but he'd never wrestled with a situation so much before, never felt so unsure. Even so that didn't weigh him down now. The land was too grand, the exhilaration of the open air and constant wind too much not to give in to.

+ + + + + + +

Chris Larabee was at his usual post on the porch outside the jail when the new man rode into town. No one came through Four Corners that Chris didn't study and size up. It was an ingrained part of his nature, and it came with the territory. On first sight he liked what he saw -- an open, honest countenance, a confident bearing that in no way seemed cocky. The stranger swung down from his roan horse in front of the livery. With mild surprise Chris saw that he wasn't packing a gun. Didn't even have one holstered by his saddle. Not many men took to the road in this country unarmed. With a casual air, Chris wandered across the street for a closer look. He was leaning against the livery door when the man emerged.

"Its a beautiful mornin' friend," Chris opined. "You got business in town or you just passing through."

"I've got business everywhere," Micah answered with an easy smile. "But mine's here for the time being. Name's Micah."

"Chris Larabee."

The man before him was tall and slender. Hair the color of Kentucky bourbon fell loosely across his brow, and brown eyes the same shade studied Chris for a while. Micah gestured with his head for Chris to join him as he walked down the dusty street to the only hotel the town sported.

"What's your business here?" the blond gunman asked with his usual directness.

"Mostly personal," the tall man answered with an easy smile.

At the hotel's front desk Micah asked for a room and put down his dollar. After signing the ledger, he hoisted his saddle bags.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Larabee" he offered extending his hand. Chris found the grasp solid and steady.

Leaning idly over, he reached for the ledger as soon as Micah disappeared at the top of the stairs. At least this one shouldn't be any trouble he thought as he examined the wet ink. The sprawling signature read "Reverend Micah McCallum".

+ + + + + + +

The local saloon had become Chris' customary evening spot. This night was no exception. Larabee sat playing poker with two of his companions, Ezra Standish and Josiah Sanchez when Micah walked in to look around. Vin Tanner stood at the bar sharing a quiet drink with Buck Wilmington. At Micah's entrance Vin turned around. Resting both elbows on the hard polished wood, he leaned back on the bar. Micah had been doing a lot of looking around that day. A fact that Vin and Ezra had both noted. No asking, just looking, as if for someone in particular. Approaching the bar at Vin's side, he asked for a cup of black coffee and casually introduced himself to the men nearby.

"No question about your origins Mr. Standish," he remarked to Ezra. "South Carolina I would say."

"A fact of which I am justifiably proud," Ezra rejoined.

"What about you Vin? Would Texas be a good guess."

"Reckon so," Vin replied noncommittally. His gut told him this was a sparring match, but he could sense no real danger. Tossing down the last of his whiskey he settled back to enjoy himself.

Throughout the evening Micah provided a little information while as the same time collecting a lot. He opened up the most when talking with Josiah on divinity, and did let it be known he was from Kentucky. At the same time he managed to gather the names of most of the pivotal characters in town, along with a sense of how they fit in the scheme of things. It seemed he took a special interest in the seven hired guns in charge of the town's peace.

+ + + + + + +

The next day at noon Buck steered Nathan Jackson straight for a chair in the hotel dining room, insisting that the black healer turned gunman sit in just the right spot to have a clear view of the kitchens. Then drawing up a chair opposite him Buck sat triumphantly and grinned.

"Okay, Buck," Nathan said patiently. "What are we doing here?" Nathan was a patient man, far more so than any of his companions. Over the years he had come through too much himself, and seen too much of what an unfair life did to others, not to have learned what it meant to endure. He was never riled at being made the target of some good, clean fun. It was only injustice that provoked him.

"I got plenty of grub back at my own place, you know," he continued. Though he would never have said anything, Nathan seldom wasted money on meals out or even excessive drinks. To Nathan money was a scarce and precious commodity, and unlike Buck he had plenty of long term plans for what he would do with his. Nathan had always been frugal, but after a certain young gal at a nearby Indian village had caught his eye a few months back, he was harboring some special reasons for wanting to save what little hard cash he got his hands on.

"Let's just say, I thought you might wanna sit here and enjoy the view," rejoined Buck, struggling mightily to control his face muscles.

Just as Nathan was preparing to come back at him, Buck's meaning became perfectly clear. The hotel's new waitress maneuvered her way carefully out of the kitchen carrying a tray heavily laden with plates and coffee. The slim young negress was a sight to behold. Thick, wavy hair was barely contained by the combs that held it up off her delicately arched neck. Her face was slender, marked by high cheekbones and liquid black eyes. But what really set the room alight was her teasing smile.

"Now is that a view or what?" Buck asked. He could barely contain himself waiting for Nathan's response. "Tell me that ain't the woman of your dreams."

"She a fine looking woman, Buck," Nathan ventured hesitantly.

"Fine my ….. my,.. ah,.. my word," Buck stumbled lamely, just as Mary Travis sat down at a nearby table and nodded hello.

"Good day, Selma," Mary greeted the young woman. "Is the job working out to your liking?"

"Oh, yes, Mz Travis," the girl answered. Over her shoulder, she cast an appreciative glance in Nathan's direction. One that didn't escape Mary's notice.

"Selma, I'm sure you haven't had a chance to meet Mr. Nathan Jackson." Mary supplied the introduction. "Nathan, this is Selma Thompson. She's only been in Four Corners a few days now."

Nathan mumbled something polite. Selma's appearance had thrown him off guard. She was indeed a handsome woman. Still, there had been another woman occupying his dreams for a while now, and admiring Selma didn't seem quite right. Nathan managed to order coffee, without getting too embarrassed, but could think of nothing else to say.

"Is that the best you can do!" exclaimed Buck the minute Selma was out of earshot.

"Seems to me he ordered coffee like a real gentleman," interjected a new voice. They looked up to find Micah McCallum standing over them, a broad grin splitting his slender face. Brown eyes twinkled with good humor. Humor seemed to be a requisite part of Micah's nature. "Or was obtaining coffee not the point of the conversation?"

Nathan motioned for Micah to join them. "Buck here was just sticking his nose into other people's business," he offered by way of explanation.

Micah turned one of the chairs around backwards and straddled it. "Well, you gotta admire his idea of meddling."

At that comment, Buck threw the preacher a mystified glance. He was pretty sure Micah couldn't be approving what he'd had in mind. However, with a guilty flush, he had the distinct impression that Micah knew exactly what that was.

"Not a thing wrong with a man keeping an eye out for the right woman to come along. Pleasurable occupation." Micah seemed to be enjoying Buck's discomfiture immensely. Then he glanced thoughtfully at Nathan. "That assumes, of course, that you are still looking."

"Well, now, that's the thing, ya see, Reverend," Nathan answered. "I mean, if a man got his eye on one filly, ain't it kind of a sin to be looking over another."

"Probably depends on whether he's just had his eye on the first filly, or been out riding her."

"Oh, he's just been eyein' her," said Nathan, who was beginning to take a good deal of pleasure in Micah's company. "Been lookin' her over pretty good though."

"Well, no harm in checking out all the merchandise if you're in the market to buy."

"You recommend buying do you, Reverend?"

"Yeah, I think rather highly of it myself. I believe the good Lord recommends it as well." Micah leaned over to a speechless Buck. "Don't worry, Mr. Wilmington, Nathan and I'll sure to be on the lookout for the right one for you, too. Never knew anybody happier than a married man."

Buck had a hard time swallowing his coffee without choking.

A loud commotion at the hotel's front desk interupted their good natured banter. Abandoning their coffee, the three men went into the lobby to see what was causing the ruckus.

The gentleman in the process of registering was by far the most impressive individual that this small town had ever seen. His suit of clothes alone would have cost any ordinary man a year's wages; the watch he pulled from his pocket was encrusted with diamonds, and would easily have cost three. He was a tall, broad man with a smooth bald head that gleamed in the light as though it had been lovingly polished. His voice boomed as he ordered rooms not only for himself, but for several companions. A small crowd had gathered to watch what was going on.

"Wonder who he is?" Buck asked of no one in particular.

"Our next headache," answered Chris Larabee from behind them. "Name's Barringer," Chris continued as the others glanced back to where the tall figure dressed in black leaned against the door jam. "Seems he's some high up with the railroad. Doesn't strike me as the kind who's in town to make himself popular."

"What about the others?" asked Nathan, indicating Berringer's companions.

"Assistant? Private secretary?" Micah hazarded. "Men with that kind of money are never alone."

"Be a good guess," agreed Chris. "Better keep an eye on the lot of them though."

+ + + + + + +

Vin Tanner didn't know whether to cuss or laugh when Micah threw himself down in the empty chair beside the table where Vin had sequestered himself in the saloon. Over the past couple of days the newcomer had made it a point to engage each of the seven gunmen in frequent conversation, but he'd spent more time probing the reserved bounty hunter than any of the others. Up to this point Vin had always found a saloon a pretty good place to hide out from church folk. That tactic didn't work with Micah. Vin thought idly that this was the most saloon loving preacher he'd ever seen, excepting of course Josiah. But Josiah was a category to himself in any case and unlike Josiah, Micah's saloon loving had nothing to do with beer or whiskey. In the past two days Vin had yet to see him with anything stronger than coffee, and Vin had watched in quiet appreciation as Micah had hauled two of the town's stumbling drunks away from the bar and over to the hotel to sober them up.

"Early in the day for a man to make himself at home here, isn't it?" Micah asked.

"You aimin' to save my soul, Reverend?" challenged Vin with a thin half smile.

"Believe me friend, nothing would please me more."

"Then you got your work cut out for you," Vin countered. "As I got it figured, it's gonna take a powerful lot of saving."

"Figured it might," Micah answered. He drummed one finger idly against the side of his perennial coffee cup, drifting off in thought before continuing abruptly. "From what I hear you're wanted over in Texas."

That snapped Vin's eyes sharply to Micah's face, stirring his danger sense. The smile vanished. He nodded cautiously. He and the others had been too visible, too much a source for small talk. He chided himself for letting it happen, but he couldn't think what he'd done that he would have changed. Besides he'd already learned the hard way that there was no profit in dwelling on what was over.

"What happened back there?" Micah asked him. "How'd you get the law after you?"

"First tell me why you wanna know." Vin stared long and hard at the young man. Young, thought Vin, shoot he can't be more than a couple of years older than J.D.

"Every story's got more than one side. Let's say I'm interested in hearing yours."

"Not that much to tell," Vin said quietly. "I spent a good bit of time bounty hunting. Got the wrong man nervous. He figured the best way to get me off his trail was to set me up instead. Only thing I got to regret is that I fell for it." He sipped his whiskey. " Folks back there didn't much wanna listen to my side. I didn't much wanna get hung, so I left."

"I'd wager it rubs you the wrong way, running from something like that," Micah ventured.

Vin contemplated the tall preacher. He felt as if they were two dogs cautiously circling each other. Proffering the barely touched bottle at his side he shoved a glass across the table. Micah smiled as he took it.

Part 2

Examining the glass thoughtfully for a moment Micah put it down and slowly shoved it back. A frank smile spread across his face.

"Not so easily corrupted my friend, but it was a charitable thought."

Vin gave a soft chuckle. "You got a refreshin' definition of charity, Micah." He had to admit, sparring with this newcomer was proving to be a good form of recreation.

" I figure it all depends on a man's intent," Micah told him.

Micah leaned thoughtfully forward. "You running from many things in life?" he prodded Vin.

Deliberately, Vin set down his glass, pushing both it and the bottle out of the way. The room was empty except for a couple of early patrons at the bar. Hearing Micah's question and watching Vin's response, they both edged nervously out of the way.

"Man might take that as an insult," the hunter told him in a soft, even voice.

"But you won't," guessed Micah.

Vin was surprised at how hard it was to unnerve the man. In the ten years he'd wandered the southwest more than one man had backed down when Vin Tanner used that soft, even voice. But eyeing the slender figure seated next to him, Vin had the distinct impression that there was something in his manner that Micah found amusing. Damned if he knew what. Vin decided to try a different approach.

"You believe in hell, preacher?"

"Oh yeah," answered Micah. "Pretty much a qualification for the job."

"Then ya gotta figure hell a' one kind or another is trying to chase down every man."

"A roaring lion, walking about, seeking whom he may devour," quoted Micah. Then seeing the question in Vin's narrowed blue eyes he clarified. "Book of First Peter. That's the way he describes the devil."

"Hungry mountain lion tracking a man down." Vin nodded. "Yeah that about describes it. Trick is to stay ahead of the cat as long as you can."

"What happens when you get tired of running?"

"Cat makes you his supper," Vin answered with a grim smile. "Happens sooner or later."

"I see it differently. I think when you get tired of running, that's the time when, with the good Lord's help, you turn around and shoot the cat."

Micah rose on that line and strode out. The swinging saloon doors faced due east. Icy cold crept up the back of Vin's neck as the tall form suddenly vanished in the glare of the morning sun.

+ + + + + + +

The day had turned stormy. Early spring rains were rapidly turning the town's dusty streets to mud and Nathan Jackson pulled his worn coat tightly around him to ward off the damp chill that seeped under a man's skin and started an aching in his bones. His stint of duty for the day was done and his own dry room held a powerful appeal at the moment. If it were not for the fact that for most of the day his private thoughts had been weighing up the merits of two competing females, he would have hurried past the secluded alley behind the hotel oblivious to any outside influence. As it was the sound of a voice that had just been playing in his head brought him up short.

The alley's thin passageway opened off the hotel's kitchens, and a smell of damp refuse permeated the area. Hardly an inviting place to hold a conversation. But in the shadows by the inn's back stoop, Nathan could make out Selma Thompson and one of the dandies that had checked in the day before. ‘Caldwell' he'd heard someone say the man's name was, Mr. Berringer's right hand man. While Nathan's instinctive response was to respect the woman's privacy, inherent caution made him pause silently out of their line of sight. It seemed he was catching the tail end of an intimate exchange.

"You're not gonna rush me," Selma said. "We gonna take our time if you want this done right."

"Time is running real short," Caldwell snapped. "Another couple of days and we'll meet up with the rest of Berringer's crew. That's gonna give him too much backing. The man I hired just got into town and he wants to move soon. Besides, I want this thing a done deed before anyone else from the railroad thinks it through."

"You better be planning to treat Selma real nice once you step into Berringer's shoes," she purred.

Nathan could hardly miss the seductive tone or the way her hand ran lightly up his arm. He waited frozen where he stood until Caldwell finished his business. The man gave Selma a suggestive pat on the rear and retreated back inside. Selma remained shivering in the rain long enough for Caldwell to reach his room. She had just set her slender hand to the back door when Nathan approached.

"Nasty weather to be out in Selma," he observed quietly. "There be anything I can help you with." Part of Nathan was desperately hoping the handsome lass would break down and give him half a reason to be her savior. It seemed that wasn't his bit of luck.

"Aren't you being gallant, Mr. Jackson," she said coyly. "I just needed some air, kitchen being so hot and all." Her dark liquid eyes raked over him speculatively. That look hit Nathan like a blow. She was giving him the same type of appraisal his white master had a dozen years before - like he was cattle to be bought. It turned something cold inside his soul.

+ + + + + + +

"I can't figure that fellow, McCallum," grumbled JD the following evening. "I'm willing to bet you he's up to no good."

"And what would be the size of that wager, my friend?" Ezra cut in.

"Figure of speech," snapped J.D. shoving back his chair. He strode over to join Chris who was concentrating on keeping his mouth shut at the bar. J.D. was getting agitated again, thought Chris. Someday he was going to have to outgrow that.

"Why's he keep doggin' Vin that way? Shouldn't we do something about it?"

"Last I looked, Vin could take pretty good care of himself," Chris told him.

"He's after something," JD insisted. "Look, what if he's trying to set Vin up or something. Maybe he's really a bounty hunter."

"Hell of a disguise!" Buck threw in, trying not to choke on the beer he'd been nursing.

"JD, that is no bounty hunter," Ezra informed the boy. "Either that is the best con man that ever walked the face of this earth, or that most rare of all creatures, a truly righteous man." Ezra studied his cards thoughtfully for a moment. It was getting mighty lonely playing solitaire. "When I find out which, I'll be sure and inform you."

Chris listened silently to the by play while still leaning on the bar with his back to the rest. Micah was a puzzle that irritated him. The lanky young preacher showed too much interest in Vin. That disturbed Chris. What disturbed him just as much was that he was inclined to like the man. Still, he thought it was about time for some straight answers. Without comment, Chris shoved away from the bar. The others stopped talking and let their eyes follow him out. Buck glanced significantly at Ezra, who silently folded his hand.

Scanning both sides of the muddy street, Chris picked out Micah emerging from the telegraph office. Steering a course to intercept the man, he forcefully guided his quarry through the door into the jail. If Micah took offense he didn't bother to say so, but looked candidly at Chris waiting for him to speak. Buck pushed through the door to stand behind Chris, while JD and Ezra lounged just outside.

"Why don't you tell me real plain what your interest is in Vin Tanner?" Chris' low, hard tone would have made most men nervous. Micah remained implacable.

"I don't mean your friend harm, if that's what you're asking," he answered finally.

"No, that's not what we're asking," growled Buck. With one hand he grabbed the front of Micah's shirt and shoved him back against the wall. Chris silently pulled him off by gesturing for Buck to get back with a sharp movement of his head.

"I don't think that's good enough, Micah," Chris continued. "I asked what your interest was."

"It's not in any 500 dollar bounty."

"But you know about that!" JD broke in. Chris glared at him. The interruptions were beginning to irritate Chris as much as Micah's reticence.

"Yes, I know about it," Micah continued. "I knew before I ever came here." His voice had acquired a softer, more intense note. "And I swear to God I've got no call to be interested in blood money. And no intention of bringing Vin Tanner to harm. But for my own reasons, I have a powerful interest in what manner of man he is." With fierce intensity he closed on Chris. "Is he a murderer? Can you tell me that?"

A low growl broke from Buck's throat.

"He's no cold blooded killer," said Chris evenly. "And he's a damned sight better man than most I've ridden with. Now, I'm gonna ask you one more time. What's your interest in Vin Tanner?"

Micah turned thoughtfully away. Running one hand through his loose hair, he took a slow breath. After a moment he seemed to come to a decision. A calculating look transformed his face.

"All right, Larabee, ," he said slowly. "I'll make you a deal. I'm willing to tell you the reason for my interest," his emphasis clearly excluded the others, " if you give me your word on one thing. After you've heard me out, if you grant that I've got a right to some answers - whether you like my methods or not - you back off and let me go about my business my own way?"

For the hundredth time Chris weighed his instincts about the man. Something didn't fit. And maybe he was about to get some of the missing pieces. Slowly he nodded. "You give me decent cause why you're so all fired nosy about Vin. One I can understand. Then it's your business how you work it out. Providing it doesn't end up in shooting."

Micah smiled sardonically and indicated his lack of weaponry.

Abruptly, Chris motioned for the others to clear out.

+ + + + + + +

Vin was stretched full length in a chair tilted back against the far wall of the saloon. Like most men of his kind, he never sat in a position where he couldn't see the door. Berringer's two assistants, visible across the street, took up most of his attention. Within the past few minutes a short blond newcomer had joined them. For all the man was young, he had a hardened look about him. Something in the way they had their heads together made Vin nervous. Treacherous currents seemed to surround the ostentatious railroad magnate, and Vin had the feeling those currents just might sweep this town clean off the map. With a brief gesture of his glass he invited Chris to join him.

"Hear you been talkin' to Micah," Vin commented in his usual quiet drawl.

"Interesting man," said Chris. He pulled up a chair alongside Vin, but shook his head at the drink his friend offered. He studied the younger man thoughtfully.

Vin could hardly miss his friend's close scrutiny, but as always he let nothing show on his face but a slight half smile. He trusted Chris' judgment, probably more than anyone's but his own. But at the moment he had the uneasy feeling that he was the one being judged. Abruptly, he decided to play a safe hand.

"So do I head out of town. Is he JD's conniving bounty hunter after all?" Vin was already sure what the answer to that question would be.

"Not hardly," Chris said with a soft laugh. "His only interest in Tuscosa was whether or not you did it."

"Well ain't that a relief," Vin said sarcastically. "Guess I can sleep easy nights….Or maybe not," he continued noting Chris' solemn demeanor. "You trust him?"

Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair Chris steepled his hands. He pressed his lips hard against the straight fingertips as he thought.

"Yeah," he said at last.

"An' you're thinking I should, too." Vin's response was a statement, not a question.

"I think you and Micah've got to work something out."

That brought a thoughtful stare from Vin. So that was how it was. Slowly Vin nodded and slid out of his chair. Flipping his money on the bar, he walked out the saloon door, leaving Chris silently staring at his back. From the bar where he had been blatantly eavesdropping, JD watched the scene open mouthed.

"I can't believe you'd back Micah against Vin!" he rounded on Chris as soon as Vin was out the door.

"I'm not backing anyone," Chris said coldly. "I'm keeping my word."

Part 3

Ezra Standish rested one elegantly attired arm on the polished newel post at the bottom of the hotel stairs. He had gone out of his way to stop Micah when he came in and strike up a chat. Ezra was a practiced gambler and this was a technique he had frequently used in the course of a game. It gave him a chance to size up another player. In spite of several days of subtle probing, Micah remained an enigma in Ezra's book. He invariably managed to turn a conversation off of himself and onto the other party. People had an uncanny tendency to open up with Micah, and Ezra found himself falling smoothly into the trap.

"I'm interested," Micah said casually. "Is it the risk you find so appealing in gambling?"

"Not at all," Ezra replied. "I take no risk when I gamble, I assure you."

"Not even the risk you'll be found out?" Micah asked.

"Ah now, there's the appeal," Ezra shot back. "It's the battle of wits, the theater. ‘The play's the thing' in the words of the bard. Tell me you don't find contests of the mind a worthy pursuit."

Before Micah could reply, Ezra's attention was forced elsewhere. Berringer had appeared at the top of the stairs, loosing a steady stream of invectives. His assistants, Caldwell and a heavy set man called Aldrich, trailed him as he descended the stairs, meekly tolerating the man's bad temper and abuse.

A powerful but petty man, Berringer was not only intent on reminding his underlings of every one of their smallest failures. With practiced spite he accosted Micah and Ezra, volubly describing the stupidity he attributed to the men attending him. The room fell quiet as painful embarrassment overtook the other occupants. People hurried to find business outside, unwilling to witness the humiliation Berringer was dishing out to Caldwell and his unfortunate associate.

Ezra had known more than a few men of Berringer's ilk. They always confirmed his lowest opinions of the human race. As Berringer continued spewing malice, Ezra glanced sympathetically at the victims. Caldwell hung back, carefully silent, but his jaw was tense and his face was beet red. The look he had fixed on his boss's back was one of pure, unadulterated hate.

Ezra noticed Micah wince visibly at the man's scathing tone and applauded the sentiment. It was a positive relief when the man finally continued on his way. "Might I hazard a guess, that you wouldn't find cause to intervene if I invited that man to a little game of chance?" he asked after Berringer was out of earshot.

"I wouldn't mind in the least" Micah told him. "I imagine when he falls he's going to come down real hard."

+ + + + + + +

Shaking his head in disgust over the scene he had just witnessed, Micah let himself into his room. The curtains were drawn leaving the interior cool and dim.

"So what is it we gotta talk about?" asked a gravelly voice from a dark corner. Micah swung around. Staring hard he picked Vin out of the shadows. For the first time since coming to Four Corners it dawned on Micah just how dangerous a man Vin Tanner was. His pulse edged up.

The time had finally come to play his hand. For months now he had been assimilating information about Vin Tanner. How did the pieces all fit? He needed to reconcile that poster he'd seen in Tuscosa with the man he'd tried to read these past few days. He needed it for his own peace of mind.

"Why don't we start with your family," he answered keeping his voice casual. It was the best way he could think of to ease into the topic that weighed on his mind.

"Got no family," Vin told him brusquely.

"No one?" asked Micah slowly. " No one at all."

"Ma died when I was five. Pa when I was eighteen."

No one else?" asked Micah, acutely aware that there was someone Vin was leaving out. He was puzzled that the man would deliberately avoid the subject. "Thought you had a sister?"

Slowly and soundlessly Vin emerged from the shadows, never taking his eyes from Micah's face. This was the last place he had expected Micah to take him, a road he hadn't been down in ten long years. It was a road he had painstakingly disciplined himself not to travel.

"You're headin' somewhere I'm not gonna go," he said. His raspy voice took on an even rougher tone, a warning Micah should have heeded.

With a swifter motion than Vin would have credited, Micah grabbed Vin's shoulder, shaking him. "You've got a sister, doesn't that mean anything to you?" he asked in exasperation.

Vin jerked away as though he'd been burned. It surprised him how painful the distant memories could still be.

"Somebody make you my personal demon?" he hissed. His eyes were haunted, his face pale, as though for a moment he literally believed Micah had sprung from hell. No matter how many times he'd tried to do the good and decent thing, to live up to the mark he'd set himself, there would always be that one failure. There was one time he'd called the shots all wrong, and somebody else had paid the price. Shoving roughly past the man he made for the door. Micah grabbed for him once more, but Vin whirled around throwing him violently against the wall and driving his fist into the young man's face. Never taking his eyes off Micah, Vin backed slowly out the door.

"My sister died a long time ago," he told Micah hoarsely. He watched the other man as if he expected him to transform into some black, cloven-hoofed apparition. "I've never denied you can lay that at my door. But I can't do a thing to bring her back."

Vin shoved his way down the stairs and into the street leaving other men scrambling to stay out of his path. Jerking his horse's reins free from the hitching post, he threw himself up on the black's back and dug in his heels.

Chris threaded his way through the gathering crowd up the hotel stairs to where Micah sat slumped on the floor of his room spitting blood into cupped hands. Ezra and JD followed immediately behind.

"That's not my idea of working it out," he said curtly.

Micah stared up at him with bewilderment filling his eyes. Shaking his head to clear it, he hauled himself to his feet. That, Chris saw, was a big mistake. He lunged forward and grabbed Micah before the man could keel over. None too gently Chris felt Micah's nose and jaw, checking for broken bones. Finding none he dumped Micah unceremoniously onto the bed, but the man immediately made to rise.

"Stay put," Chris ordered.

"I'm going after him," Micah mumbled. Rapid swelling around his jaw already made it painful to speak. "I'm not sure what he thinks, but he's got something terribly wrong."

"I said stay put, McCallum. Give him time to cool down." Chris was ready to explode. The others milled around the door debating the best course of action. It seemed as if he was the only one with enough sense to know when to give Tanner some breathing room. "That goes for the rest of you, too," he shouted for their benefit.

Vin Tanner was the most controlled, deliberate man Chris knew. He couldn't fathom what had caused him to react so violently to Micah, but there had to be something deeper going on than the young preacher had given him cause to believe. Glancing at the man, Chris noted that bewilderment still filled his eyes. Looking around at the others, he shook his head angrily. "If he's not back in a while, I'll ride out after him."

+ + + + + + +

Micah lay on his bed trying to ignore his bruised and throbbing face. Nathan Jackson had been kind enough to check over Micah's injuries. Nathan had gone out to the wellhouse to see if he could get hold of a piece of cold meat to use in keeping down the swelling. Nathan's friend Josiah Sanchez sat just inside the open door of Micah's room, out of view from the hallway but effectively covering the space between Micah and the door. Josiah was a large, brawny man and Micah watched him warily. He wasn't sure if Josiah had stationed himself there to keep him from further harm or to ensure he stayed put as Chris Larabee had ordered. Josiah in turn noted that for once Micah didn't feel like talking.

As they contemplated one another in silence, the two men heard a soft, sultry voice in the hall. Berringer's room was immediately adjacent to Micah's and glancing out Josiah saw the handsome black woman Selma a step ahead of Berringer in the hall. With her arms full she balanced her load as best she could while politely opening the door to Berringer's room and ushering him inside.

"You go on in now, Mr. Berringer, sir," she told him. "I'll just set this water and these towels ready for when you be wantin' ‘em."

As Berringer strode into his room, Josiah noted that his assistants, Aldrich and Caldwell, hung back. Selma cast one quick look at the two men and followed Berringer inside. Only a moment had passed when Josiah and Micah clearly heard a sharp curse from the other side of the wall. It occurred to both men at once that a man like Berringer was quite capable of forcing his attentions on a good looking woman, especially one he regarded as a mere servant. Selma, they imagined, would have little recourse against a man of his prestige and power. Briefly exchanging glances, both men rose to investigate.

Micah went straight to Berringer's door, intent on ensuring Selma's safety, but Josiah, with a more practiced and suspicious eye, immediately took in Caldwell and Aldrich keeping watch. The two men were positioned so that they effectively covered both the stairs and the hall, and they reacted instantly when Josiah and Micah appeared.

Ignorant of any threat behind him Micah pounded on Berringer's locked door. "I think you'd better get out of the way," Josiah called to him. Stepping calmly into Caldwell and Aldrich's way, Josiah leveled a gun that brought them up short. Motioning them back, Josiah kicked open the flimsy door the instant Micah stepped aside. What caught him off guard was the fact that it was not Selma who needed rescuing. A short, blond stranger Josiah had never seen before held Berringer at gunpoint. Josiah realized he was young, probably no more than a boy, but he had the cold, empty eyes of a soul that had long since sold out to Satan. With Berringer's attention fixed on the gunman, Selma had slipped around behind the bald tycoon. The weapon she was prepared to use had one immense advantage over the stranger's gun; it was silent. Unbeknownst to Berringer she held a wicked kitchen knife ready to plunge it into his expansive back.

Josiah's entrance arrested the attention of all three of the room's occupants. The stranger swiveled and fired almost instantly. The shot took Josiah in the forearm sending his gun dropping from his nerveless hand. Before the kid could snap off another shot Josiah lowered his head and rammed him. Selma struck wildly, but Berringer had started forward and her knife only raked his back, drawing blood but causing little damage. With an oath she slipped deftly through the door and ran. Unwilling and unable to take his attention off the blond stranger, Josiah let her go. He might have kept the boy pinned if Caldwell hadn't come up from behind. One hard blow was enough to stun Josiah, and as he struggled to clear his head his two opponents had time to get away. Avoiding the hallway, they chose the window as the safest route.

In the hall, Micah had done his best to block Caldwell's path, but he had neglected the fact that Caldwell had backing. The odds were two to one. Before Micah had landed more than one blow on Caldwell, Aldrich pulled a knife. Reluctantly shifting his attention, Micah had turned to concentrate on the greater threat. Aldrich viciously slashed the air in front of him keeping the unarmed minister at bay. Trying to duck underneath the knife, Micah tackled his opponent, sending them both crashing to the floor. Rolling over, Aldrich threw his superior weight on top of Micah. Then with Micah effectively pinned to the floor, he brought his knife hand into play.

Micah desperately struggled under his opponent's weight trying to worm his way free. Just as Aldrich's knife arced across his throat, a recovered Josiah grabbed the would-be killer in a headlock, hauling him up sharply by the neck. With a thorough shake Josiah wrenched the knife away and dumped a gasping Aldrich on the floor. With a broad grin he offered Micah a hand to rise. "Must be they left survival out of your seminary training, brother."

Micah fingered the burning line that scored his throat. His fingers came away stained with tiny drops of blood. "I didn't realize it was a required course," he said keeping his voice considerably steadier than he himself felt.

Nathan had just come back into the lobby carrying a slab of cold beef, when the thuds and crashes from the upstairs hall roused the rest of the hotel. As he and several other men ran up the stairs, a disheveled Selma flew into their path. The first thing he took in was the bloody knife in her hand. Reacting instinctively he grabbed her wrist wrenching the weapon free.

"You wanna tell me who you used that on?" he asked bluntly. Selma could see he no longer found her appealing. She struggled to pull free, but Nathan none to gently pinned both arms behind her back. A few minutes later, when JD cuffed her and led her away, she turned and with visible contempt spat in his face. That's what you get, Nathan thought, for trusting Buck's taste in women.

Josiah and Micah followed shortly bringing a pitiably whining Aldrich. While Selma sat in distainful silence, Aldrich was more than happy to provide the men with details. He and Caldwell had hired Selma and the young gunman to kill Berringer, allowing Caldwell to smoothly step into his lucrative position and lining both their pockets as a result. Facing the reality of an attempted murder charge, Aldrich clearly didn't find the money and power Caldwell had promised him so appealing. He jumped at a chance to turn on his former friend.

Leaving Josiah behind, Chris Larabee formed his remaining men into a posse, hoping to track Caldwell and the other conspirator down before that could build up too great a lead. Without Vin, who was their expert tracker, staying close on their trail would be a lot harder task.

+ + + + + + +

When the others called it quits, admitting that they'd lost the trail, Chris continued on alone. At this point he wanted to find Vin. He didn't like the idea of Vin encountering the fugitives unaware of their desperation. He also didn't want the rest of the men peppering Vin with questions that might provoke another rabid response. The light was failing when he spotted Vin's horse hobbled near an ephemeral stream. Recent rains had filled the bed for at least a short time. Catching the quiet hunter's eye, he wordlessly joined him. Vin silently gestured to a pair of rabbits he'd set roasting, inviting Chris to help himself.

Chris took his time over the meal. With a few sparse words he filled Vin in on the recent turn of events. Chris couldn't shake the suspicion that the would be killers hadn't gone that far. Only the barest breeze stirred the sparse trees around them. Night had fully descended before Chris deemed it time to bring up the subject of Micah. For a long spell the crackling of the campfire had been the only sound.

"Think you were a little rough with him?" Chris asked.

"He dug up something I was trying not to remember," Vin answered softly.

"Your sister," Chris supplied. Vin gave him a sharp, assessing glance and then nodded.

"Funny thing is, her name was Sarah, too," Vin murmured remembering Sarah Larabee, Chris' dead wife. Chris flinched slightly on hearing the name. He eyed his stoic companion by the flickering light.

Vin sipped his coffee, staring up at the clear night sky. His words came out slow and halting, as if they'd spent a decade locked away from the light of day. "It was a long time ago."

Chris set silently cradling his steaming cup in his hands. Vin had walled away his past, but tonight that fortress shuddered and slowly crumbled in the chilly breeze.

"My pa died when I was eighteen," he went on. "Horse threw ‘im. Sarah was a little thing, only nine. My ma'd been gone fer years. Sarah's, too. I loved her plenty, but I wasn't aimin' to raise no kid. I guess there was too much hell I wanted to get into," he said with a sigh. "Her ma's kin in Kentucky offered to take Sarah, an' I jumped at the chance. I sent her on the coach outta Clearwater. Lord knows she put up a fuss about going. Week later word came back that Red Haggard and his gang'd hit the stage. Took all the valuables and a good sized payroll as well. Coach was burned out, nobody left alive."

Vin idly picked at the red coals with a pliant green branch. He refused to meet Chris' eyes.

Chris watched his companion's tense form. The obvious pain struck such a resonating chord with what he carried around in his own soul. "That's what set you hunting people." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Pretty much," Vin agreed. "Took me over a year to bring down Haggard. Once I started, didn't seem much cause to turn back."

"Whatever Haggard did, it wasn't your fault," he ventured, offering Vin solace he would never have offered himself.

"Don't sell me cheap grace, Chris," Vin bit back, his tone suddenly filled with ice. "I couldn't be bothered with her… Too full of my own plans. My selfishness killed Sarah," he whispered bitterly. "I reckon there probably is a God out there that knows a man's heart. As I see it, He ain't likely to forgive what was in mine."

A dark, lonely minute crept by.

"Vin, I need to tell you something," Chris had just launched in when the click of a gun being cocked froze both men.

"Move into the light of the fire," said a hard voice.

Chris recognized Caldwell. "You're a damned fool," he told the man, who trained a lethal looking colt on him. The hard, wiry blond kid, was just visible in the heavy shadows to Caldwell's right. "Why didn't you just keep riding?"

"Horse is lame. We're taking both of yours," said Caldwell. "Besides, you're no threat to us out here once we relieve you of your guns and horses."

"They're not going to be a threat to us anyway," the young blond said coldly. Leveling his gun he aimed straight at Chris' head.

The next second Vin kicked a small log into the fire sending flaring sparks showering in Caldwell's face. Chris dove immediately at Caldwell's legs sending him crashing into the burning coals. Vin threw himself aside as Caldwell's young companion fired. Rolling clear of the firelight, he drew his own gun.

Caldwell's piercing screams filled the night as he struggled frantically against the flames igniting his hair and shirt. Head and shoulders wreathed in flame, he was a horrifying sight. In pain and rage he came at Chris, oblivious to the weapon Chris now held in his hand. With one well-placed shot Chris finished it, firing as much out of pity as self defense.

Without warning splinters flew in his face as a bullet slammed into a young tree beside him. Throwing himself into what limited shelter the sapling could provide, Chris returned fire. He flinched as the next bullet scored his cheek, burning pain distracting him for a spilt second. No doubt about it, his opponent was good. The kid's hungry colt spat bullets that came way too close, and Chris had to draw on all his reserves to stand in the face of the onslaught and return as good as he got. Flattening himself to the ground he strove to present as small a target as possible.

While the blond killer was unnervingly fast and accurate, Chris banked on the fact that he had years more experience than his enemy. With a sharp cry of pain, he rolled over and huddled motionless behind the sapling's trunk. With his gun leveled, the kid advanced. He aimed a vicious kick at Chris' shoulder where he lay curled on the ground. Instantly bringing up his own gun, Chris nailed the boy.

That last shot was followed by cold, dead silence causing Chris to look around. With a sickening sensation he realized that for several minutes, his had been the only gun returning fire.

Part 4

Ezra emerged from the jail and caught his breath sharply at the sight that met his eyes. He called back over his shoulder for the others to get outside. Chris rode his black slowly up the street. Behind him, he led Vin's horse, saddle empty. The horse pulled a crudely made travois and the group could hardly miss the import of the swathed figure lying cradled between its poles.

Chris jerked his head at Nathan, who came running. "He's bad off," he said tersely.

Nathan swore softly as he loosened the wrapping to get a look. The bullet had taken Vin square in the chest. Only Chris registered the fact that Micah had joined the group. As he took in Vin's quiet, blood stained form, all trace of color drained from the man's face. With haunted eyes he looked at Chris, who shook his head. He followed tamely when Chris motioned him aside. It tore him up as Chris relayed the things Vin had said.

"If you're going to fetch her, you'd better do it now," the gunman softly informed him.

Carefully, Buck and Josiah lifted Vin, carrying him to Nathan's small rooms, the closest thing to an infirmary the frontier town had.

Micah nodded dazedly. "It'll take me six, maybe eight hours," he said. Shaking himself, he turned and sprinted for the stables.

"Let's hope he can hang on," Chris whispered to the empty street. Silently he made his way to join the others, entering the room as Nathan rose from Vin's side.

"I gotta tell you," the black man said unhappily, "he ain't likely to survive having that bullet cut out."

"Leave it be," Chris told him. "Do what else you can."

Nathan shook his head. "He ain't gonna survive with it in there either."

Chris took a deep breath. He felt trapped. "Hold off then, at least for a few hours."

Nathan's expression was one of abject despair. Again he shook his head. "Chris, he's just gonna get weaker. Best to try it now."

A mask descended over the gunman's face revealing only quiet determination and not the awful struggle within. "No," he said softly. His eyes swiveled round at Buck's half spoken protest.

Chris could feel the rebellion washing through the tiny room. Eyes watched him from all sides, eyes filled with disbelief. In truth, the decision to be made froze his own gut, but the bitter guilt he'd heard in Vin's voice had been like a festering boil in the man's soul. It needed to be lanced. "Whatever it takes, keep him alive until Micah makes it back," he said levelly.

"For the love of God, Chris," Buck challenged. "I don't know what you and Micah are up to, but this is Vin's life we're talking about. Give him whatever chance you can."

"Get out!" Chris countered fiercely. The tense fighter had never dealt in explanations. He refused to take either the time or the energy to deal with Buck's accusations now. He could only pray he understood enough to make the choice Vin would have made himself. In a moment only Nathan remained behind, fighting his own better judgment and accepting Chris' directions.

+ + + + + + +

Hours shuffled past, as the others drifted back taking up stations around the room. Steering well clear of Chris, they kept a wary vigil.

The day was far gone when the creak of the opening door usurped their attention. The young girl silhouetted there flicked her gaze rapidly over each man in the room and then settled steadily on Vin's still form. A ragged breath escaped her lips, a brief moment of weakness that she instantly suppressed. Gathering her strength back around her she looked squarely at Chris where he sat at Vin's side. Brown wavy hair was pulled back loosely, away from a face with a firm jaw. Piercing blue eyes met his without wavering. It was a poker face, unreadable. Nothing showed her inner fears.

"I'll be wanting that place now," she told him quietly.

"Yes, ma'm." Chris nodded briefly to the girl, rose and moved aside.

Each man in the room felt the jarring shock of recognition. Even Chris, forewarned, hadn't been prepared for how obviously she resembled her brother. Almost hesitantly, Sarah made her way through the group to Vin's side. A slender hand gently brushed a lock of his brown hair. The men found themselves respectfully backing out of the room. Micah, worn from hard riding, remained quietly outside. After the first few minutes, only Chris and Nathan remained.

"Vin," she said softly. "Vin, it's Sarah. I need you to hear me."

For the first time in hours, the eyelids fluttered. She continued coaxing in a gentle voice, though Chris was unsure whether or not Vin understood what she was saying. At last the wounded man moved a hand to touch her arm. "Sarah?" he whispered. "God girl, please forgive me."

"I don't know why," she told him. "Lord knows I'm as alive as anyone."

"Didn't mean for you to be hurt," he gasped.

"I was never hurt," she assured him. "I ran off from the coach the second day out. Local pastor's wife had to grab me and sit on me till they wired Aunt Delia to come." The girl shook hot tears from her eyes remembering. "I never meant to worry you."

Leaning closer she continued, "I waited so long for you to send for me to come on home, Vin. Never understood why word didn't come. I said some awful things that last morning. Lawd, I've wanted to take ‘em back."

His eyes focused clearly for a moment. At last she was sure Vin had accepted the fact that she was still alive. "You're not going to die," she assured him.

Taking a steadying breath, she looked around to find Nathan. "You ready to take that bullet out," she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," the healer told her.

Chris moved forward to guide Sarah out of the way, but she brusquely shook her head. Kneeling at her brother's side, she placed a steady arm across his chest, guiding his hands to grasp it tightly as Nathan went to work. Vin's fingers dug into that arm viciously but briefly. He drew one quick, sharp breath between clenched teeth and then slipped under, eyes rolling back.

+ + + + + + +

Just after dusk, a weary Chris walked into the abandoned mission building where the others had chosen to wait. Josiah's unfinished dream, thought Chris, taking in the partially restored walls. Or maybe Josiah's penance would be a better description. Every man, he supposed, did penance in his own way.

"Bullet's out," he told them bluntly. "He's holding his own."

Thoughtfully examining the group, he took in Micah. Apart from the rest, the young minister sat on the cold, rough mission floor, slumped against the bare wall. He looked exhausted, but his eyes followed Chris intently. Chris considered him for a moment and nodded approvingly.

"Your wife's a strong woman, Micah," he said quietly, ignoring quizzical stares from the others.

JD drew his breath as if to launch a question, but stopped, for once thinking better of his words before it was too late. Maybe listening was a skill he would master after all, Chris thought.

For a moment, a tired smile touched Micah's lips as he leaned his head back to rest against the wall. "My wife's a Tanner," he answered looking over the group. "They come that way."

Chris could only nod in agreement.

+ + + + + + +

Another day and a night passed before Nathan was sure Vin was out of danger. The signs of fever finally passed and left the man clear headed, though almost too weak to move. In the afternoon sun, Sarah kept watch, speaking only briefly so as not to tire him.

Nathan placed his hand on the girl's shoulder before leaving the room for a respite. "You need anything, Mz. McCallum, you call me," he told her.

Vin's eyes shifted questioningly at his form of address. He looked at Sarah appraisingly, absorbing the information.

Sarah met his gaze frankly, a mirror of his own familiar half smile on her face. "Don't you like my choice?" she challenged in a soft, even tone.

His eyes drank in the sight of her, amazed at the woman the little girl had become.

"Your choice is just fine, girl," he answered.

END