I didn't know it then, but I know it now.

At the time, I figured he was just clearin' his conscience. Maybe he thought he owed me somethin' for standin' up with him against that lynch mob that was out for Nathan's neck. Maybe he just thought it'd be damn funny if he did get killed and somebody who wasn't huntin' him cashed in on his hide. The last laugh and all that. Hell, I don't know. It just didn't hit me right then.

But I was watchin' him today as three strangers rode into town, dusty and trail worn and armed better than any cowpunchers should be. He watched them in his usual bored way, as only Vin can, from a chair outside the saloon. But all the while I knew he was categorizin' 'em and decidin' if they were a threat or not, and if so, who should be worried and what needed to be done about it. He probably had their bullets counted and could tell you which one would have to be taken down first in a fight before they even dismounted. Three hours later as they rode out of town with their bellies full of food and beer, I saw Vin nod his head to them as they went past him. And somethin' occurred to me: He's not hidin' anymore. Not in the shadows of the buildings, not in the back corner of the saloon, not in the jailhouse. Hell, he's not even duckin' under his hat brim anymore. He's wary, but he's not hidin'.

Back at that village when he told me he was wanted for a murder he didn't commit, it was probably the first time that he had let himself out of hidin' like that. It's like when you're a kid, hidin' from all the other kids and you know when one finds you they're gonna holler. And then your cover will be blown and your ass is gonna get kicked. But maybe, just maybe, the right kid will find you first. The kid you feel that for some reason you can trust. Maybe he's got the look of someone who's been there. And that kid will just stay quiet. He'll keep your secret. He might just let you hide. Or better yet, stand up with you and watch your back for you.

Vin probably was surprised to find six friends who wouldn't holler. I don't know, and he never talks about it much. And he might be amazed that he found a whole town full of folks who haven't hollered. I don't think he's gettin' careless, but I do think he's finally catchin' his breath. Maybe gettin' a decent night's sleep. Lettin' himself rest just a bit.

And I didn't know it then, but I know it now.

Vin Tanner needed to be found. Not by bounty hunters, not by Eli Joe, not by the law. He needed to be found by somebody who was willin' to let him stay hidden or take his side when he made a stand. Somebody who didn't look at him and see five hundred dollars or revenge at the end of a rope. He'd been runnin' long enough, and for a man who thrives on being free and clear, the very fear of being caught is a prison itself. It can wear a man down, change him, make him somebody he doesn't care about anymore. And it's not long after that nobody else will ever care, either.

Runnin' from a noose isn't all that different than runnin' from bad memories. You can ride clear across the country, go north or south, high country or low, but you'll always have it with you. It'll be in every stranger's face, every unexpected sound in the night, and at the bottom of every bottle. Then one day your cover will get blown. Somebody will holler and your ass will get kicked. And if you've been runnin' long enough you might not even give a shit.

The day they tried to lynch Nathan Jackson, I'd been runnin' long enough.

And when Vin Tanner saw me, he didn't holler.

I think he knew it then. I know that now.

The End