Proving Ground

Chapter 1

Digger Dave's was an old, worn, corner saloon in Four Corners, Arizona. Nobody knew or cared who the original proprietor had been. Chris Larabee, considered by most to be the leading protector in town, didn't really care who owned it now. He just knew it was a dark, generally quiet spot, and a place where the rest of his wild and wooly bunch were less likely to be. He wanted...no, he really needed...time alone, so he had come here for a hopefully quiet hour or two. The trouble was that today... when he so badly needed quiet and peace...J.D. Dunne had discovered where he was, and nothing was quiet anymore.

"You never, ever think I can do a job! It's Vin do this, Buck do that. You'll send Josiah or Nathan. You hardly ever send Ezra, but you dang sure don't ever send me!!!" A young man hired as one of a team of seven to protect Four Corners, J.D. was in Larabee's face, eyes challenging, anger flaring, and Chris didn't like it one bit. He didn't like it primarily because he had been sipping whiskey at a dark corner table in Digger Dave's for about an hour now. That always made his temper more than a little ragged. But he didn't like it more because deep inside he knew it was true.

"Behave yourself, Kid. I just always count on you to take care of things around town. Always have, probably always will. Frees the rest of us..."

"Frees you? Yeah, frees you all right....frees you so you can go carousing, you mean. Frees you all to just have a great time....don't it? J.D. just gets a little pat on the head, gets to sit home and be a good boy...a little Mama's boy!! Dang it, Chris...I am a full grown man!!!"

"I know you think you are, but...."

"But, HELL. I can read people as good as Buck. I can track as good as Vin, and I can shoot as good as you. Maybe you're just getting so dang OLD everybody looks like a kid to you!"

Chris' hands doubled into fists below the table. He would have started counting to ten, but he knew what was going to happen before he even got close. The kid had been getting on his last nerve for the full month or more since he came back from Jericho. Between fighting the pain and the nightmares of beatings, infirmaries, and snakes that still plagued him since his time in the work camp; fighting with Mary; and avoiding Nathan, life was just straight out of hell. He felt old, tired, and more often than not, more than a little angry. He didn't really hurt that bad, had definitely hurt worse many times before, but right now, everything seemed to be one gigantic nag. Getting on his last nerve wasn't hard for any of them to do, but J.D. Dunne had been good at being a full-blown pest since the first day they met. "Nobody can track as good as Vin. As for shooting, you're always bragging how fast you are...how you're as good as me. Not hardly, you little weasel!!! Get outside!!"

"What?" The boy had barely a moment to understand before the older man stood up, shoved him out of his face, away from the bar, and out of the saloon into the street.

"Let me see those pistols of yours." A lesson was about to begin, and Chris Larabee was going to deliver it, bad mood or no.

"What?"

"Give 'em here, J.D."

Chris took the younger man's two pearl-handled .44s and, without asking, dumped all the shells into his hand, dumping ten of them into the pocket of his tight black pants. He kept only two. These he returned, one to each pistol and closed the cylinders. "Okay, holster these." He took his own shooter out and removed all but two bullets from it as well.

He walked to a nearby grocer's cart and picked out four firm oranges. "Okay, kid. All you got to do is hit two of these while they're in the air...One orange with each pistol. Simple enough, if you know how."

J.D. knew it was a challenge, a Larabee challenge. It made the young man slightly nervous. The older man was standing not three feet away from him. His head was tilted slightly. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were slightly cold. There was a smart-ass grin on his face that J.D. recognized very well. That cocky grin was noted for starting, or stopping, fights with fists and guns.... whichever way Chris Larabee planned it would.

Larabee tempered this challenge by lightening his stare. He did that for this one because he didn't really plan to fight...not for real or for keeps. He wasn't drunk, at least not yet. "You think you're ready?" He suddenly tossed two oranges high into the air and yelled, "Go!!"

J.D. snatched his guns from their place and fired them both. He hit one target, but missed the other. "Dang!" The sound of gunfire in the middle of town began to attract attention. One of the first people arriving was Buck Wilmington, another of the protectors of the town.

Chris tossed two more into the air and with grace and ease pumped one bullet neatly through the center of each. He definitely wasn't drunk enough to miss.

"That's not fair! You only had to use one gun. I had to use two!"

"You missed the second one because you didn't check your pistol, you little knot head! The hammer on the right was sitting next to an empty chamber. If you're gonna wear two of those, you better know how to use em. If you can't handle em, you're dead. Let me see that rig of yours....you take mine."

He handed his holster and gun to J.D., and quickly buckled the twin holstered set on his own hips. He handed the boy two additional bullets and watched him load the weapon. He took cartridges from the stash in his pocket and loaded each of the pistols he now wore. He checked the chambers, then returned the pistols to the holster. He appropriated more oranges. As he returned, he noticed the growing crowd beginning to gather for the 'contest.' "Okay, kid....same thing." Vin Tanner, their hunter, and Nathan Jackson, the healer and knife wielder, joined the crowd...Vin grinning, Nathan even more serious than usual.

"But I've never used your piece."

"So? I've never used yours, and I don't really prefer wearing two. Are you ready or not?"

He suddenly tossed two pieces of fruit into the air and yelled "Go!!"

J.D. pulled the .44 and fired twice. He hit one orange and missed the other. Without waiting Chris tossed four more into the air and with grace and ease pumped a bullet neatly into the center of each, two with each gun.

"So much for speed and accuracy, kid. Let's try coordination....you think you've got maybe a little? Give me back my rig." He checked the boy's two and then held them out to him. They swapped quickly.

"You draw...I catch."

"What?"

"You draw your gun...either one you want. I'll catch it while you draw."

"Dang! How?!." He drew, and he drew, and he drew. Like a well- oiled machine, Chris caught the barrel between his hands every time just as the chosen gun reached its zenith.

"Just like that." The grin was, by now, a real work of scorn. "Your turn."

"Okay....I'm ready.....draw!"

It was a false start, a mock draw from the senior gunman that produced chuckles from the waiting crowd.

"Are you sure you're ready?" The cocky grin was back.

"Come on, Larabee. Sure I'm sure. Get on with it!"

"Did you check my shooter before you gave it back?" His expression turned serious.

"No? So?"

"Are you sure it's not loaded? You willing to catch it whether it's loaded or not?"

"It's not....at least it wasn't, You didn't check....."

"Like hell, I didn't. Wouldn't be playing catch with a gun I didn't KNOW was empty. YOU just might have had an itchy trigger finger.."

J.D. checked the pistol. It was empty. "Thought you said...."

"I asked if you were sure..... big difference."

"Clever, real clever.....draw!"

Chris drew like lightening. J.D. caught it, but not until the third try. "Third try...not bad kid. Of course you were dead the first time. Who's the 'old man' now?" The grin was back. The crowd burst into laughter.

"What's that got to do with anything?!!" Even Ezra Standish, a gambler, and Josiah Sanchez, a spiritual man with a talent for fighting, had joined the crowd. With them there, all of the seven protectors were on the street. Being humiliated by Chris Larabee in front of the rest of his group and the town was not something the young man enjoyed.

The lesson continued. "Nobody ever tell you that if you could catch the barrel, you could beat the one pulling the gun? You need to KNOW you can win, J.D.....not THINK you can. KNOW you can."

Once again, the older man had made him feel like a little, know- nothing boy. "Well, I've proved myself in enough fights up until now. I still say I can shoot... and as well as you...that is, if we're not standing around playing dang-fool games!"

The well-recognized voice of Buck Wilmington, another of their band, came into the boy's ear, close by, scolding him just as the other man mocked him. "Boy, how many times have I told you not to EVER play games with guns...and ESPECIALLY not to play any games at all with Chris Larabee. He'll just about kick your butt any old time, in any old way, and if he don't....it's just because he's being real, real kind."

"Shut up, Buck. You're as bad as he is...always telling me what to do...never thinking I can do nothing right at all."

"Now, hold on there, kid. He beat you fair and square. You gonna get mad about it, or you gonna learn something from it?"

"Learn what?"

"Weren't you listening?"

"No, Buck, he wasn't listening. He's just trying to be a big, big man." Chris started to walk away.

"Now wait, Stud. He's just a little ole cub, even if he thinks he's a big ole grizzly. What say you and me try to put a little more learning in that thick skull of his."

"You think this boy's ever gonna listen to anything we say?" He continued to walk back toward the saloon.

"Not hardly, Pard. He knows every damn thing there is, to hear him tell it." Vin seldom approved of the boy's attitude, and agreed wholeheartedly with the lesson Chris had given. "Well, I got an idea. Buck can take him first and get some of the rougher edges off. Then you take him and add some finishing touches. Between the two of you, he ought to turn out to be a fair little gunfighting fella. Later we'll see if he can maybe track his way out of a box."

"You boys think any of this is gonna improve his disposition any?"

"Probably not, Josiah. But if he stays as ornery as he is this minute, Chris and me will teach him a whole new lesson." Buck swatted the younger man, knocking the derby hat he wore into the dust. J.D. fumed as he reached to pick it up and dust it off.

"It just might improve my disposition a whole lot if I just finish this lesson myself. See you at the livery in an hour, kid." Chris was walking away, the 'threat/promise' hanging in the air. Vin dropped in beside him, quickly joined by the rest.

They left J.D. in the middle of the street, alone and red-faced.

"Chris, you be real careful about this. You go starting trouble with J.D., you're apt to be the one I have to patch up...again. That side okay?"

"Side's okay, and J.D.'s not one damn bit likely to beat me at nothing, Nathan. Let it alone."

"Where you going, Pard?" Vin didn't really have to wait for the answer. He was just tagging along.

"Saloon."

Chapter 2

"Why'd you go do that to him, Chris?" Buck talked as they walked to the livery. The cool beer had helped to cool the man's bad humor, but not by much. "You see how red his face was?" Chris' face was red enough for both. The tips of his ears fairly glowed. He puffed on a little black sheroot, sending small clouds of smoke into the air as he walked. Buck knew the boy was in for trouble now.

"Buck, he's just getting too damn big for his britches, and I'm damn tired of it. He's gonna get hurt, might get killed, and another thing, he talks all the time, generally about nothing unless it's somebody else's business. Lately, it's damn near always about my business. He needs a lesson."

The man's friend hoped to cool this one down considerably before the next part of the lesson began. A body just never knew what Larabee, especially a Larabee who was in a hell-raising mood, was going to do. "Awh, he's just a boy. He don't deserve no three-'damn' reprimand. That was a pretty humiliating lesson already, don't you think?"

"He's a boy I'd rather not see die just yet. He ain't gonna die from embarrassment, but he just might from being stupid."

"Well if anybody knows about that, it ought to be you. Been stupid enough more than once in your life. You know, J.D.'s pretty good with those pistols of his. Wouldn't be many who could best him."

"Yeah...he's good. Just good enough to think he can't be taken. I've made arrangements for funerals for a few just like him. Most of us could take him pretty easy. You could take him."

"Oh, I know I could take him."

"Shoot, even Ezra could take him on a real good day! Ezra not lightening fast, but he shoots practical, don't try to be fancy unless he's cheating at card tricks."

"That's another one you're gonna insult too often, and it's not gonna be long coming. You go after him like you did J.D., he just might take you on."

"Shoot. Not in this lifetime. Ezra ain't that brainless. He knows he don't have a chance in hell of taking me...at least not unless it's with a deck of card. Now, with those, he just might win."

"Ain't no doubt he could at that."

"Why not? He'd cheat."

"See, it's that type of stupid observation that makes him mad as a Southern blueblood talking to a Yankee general. Hell, Stud, you play so bad, he wouldn't have to cheat.... even I don't have to. Now, exactly what's the plan for this little lesson. You gonna let me go first, or you going at him?"

"I've got him. You can soothe the hurt feelings later."

"You gonna go easy on him?"

"Who me? Why sure, Buck. I'm gonna go real easy on him....be just about as easy as a little breeze straight out of Hell!"

Chris remembered the days when he thought he knew it all. The days when a very good friend, a very patient teacher, had literally beaten it into his obstinate skull just how little he really knew. For every lesson he forgot, he had paid dearly...then and throughout his highly eventful life. Well, now he got to pass it on, and J.D. was going to be the recipient. Buck could "smooth the rougher edges" later.

He was ruthless, drilling the boy mercilessly, making him fight whenever he found J.D. lacking in attention, hammering at him for every fault.

"Fancy's for the side show, J.D. Buck's tried to teach you that since you rode in here. You work on hitting what's shooting back at you." "You didn't reload. How many bullets are there in the right...how many in the left. How many spares you got?" "Make them face the sun if you can." "From what I can see the only things you know how to do right is to clean that thing and to wear that holster straight and high on your hips....otherwise, I don't think you even remember that today's Sunday." "If you don't go to ground, if you don't find cover, you're gonna die...just that simple." "You hear that? What was it? How far away?" "It's all one motion, kid. You try to snatch that gun, you'll wind up so slow at aiming, you'll miss the bastard or shoot yourself in the foot."

Chris remembered his own lessons, the bruises he had from fighting. J.D. had one black eye and a cut on his lip early on. Chris remembered his friend, Ethan Collins, the one who had trained him with many of the exact same words, who had punched him almost senseless during the early days. Ethan would have laughed to see who was giving the lessons now.

The leader devised his own hellish little lesson just for the 'boy.' Tired of telling him to get good with one before he tried to master two, early one morning, he caught the "little ingrate" off guard. He reached out a hand, smiling as if to greet him. When J.D. took it, Chris slipped a slender leather band quickly over his wrist, yanked his arm around, and tied his hand to the back of his holster belt.

"You turn me loose! Sure can't beat you if I'm tied up like this! What's the matter....you afraid of a little competition, old man? How am I supposed to draw like this?"

"You're not! Not with the right...not today. When you can draw the left and hit what you're supposed to hit six straight times, reload with one hand, and do it all again, then we'll work on the right. When you've got em both down, we'll work on putting things together. Now quit fidgeting, and let's finish this!" Every waking hour that they didn't have to ride, or protect the town, for a full week, Chris made the boy pay for any claim he had ever made about being this "old man's" equal. The problem was that, after a few days, every time J.D. paid for being inattentive or stupid, Chris paid too. The boy learned fast, and he was learning to fight extremely well.

Chapter 3

Chris didn't hate the boy, he was just tired of absolutely everything. Ever since his return from Jericho, Chris' body had refused to heal completely. The amount of damage heaped on him by the now-dead warden proved to be enormous, far worse than any of the rest of them had suspected. He'd refused to acknowledge it, riding his own horse back, pushing himself relentlessly, refusing to admit that he needed to stop, to rest, or to ask for help. He had paid for the mistake ever since. But he refused to learn the lesson.

He thought Buck was the only one who suspected anything; but it was Nathan, the healer, who watched him for several days, who recognized where the problems lay. He pulled Chris aside, informing him that it was going to take a great deal of work, infinite patience, and a lot of time to get strong again. The worst part was he had insisted that Chris just do what he was told. That was bad enough, doing what he was told, but then Nathan had convinced the Judge to tie him to town, limiting him to walking tour a few hours during the quiet early hours of the evening. He hadn't been stuck walking tour for years. Now, in addition to being tired of being told what to do, he was simply worn out from hearing J.D. complain about the lessons at the livery, about the lack of work elsewhere, about the way he was treated, the way he was ignored. Putting his exhaustion, ragged emotions, and total impatience together with the pain and a nagging J.D., Chris Larabee decided it was time to be alone. When the next Sunday came, just after sun-up, he literally dragged his ill-tempered black gelding to Mary's and announced that he was leaving.

She was barely awake herself, so the argument started quickly "You're not supposed to go anywhere. You're still hurt. You're supposed to rest. You're not supposed to take on anything any harder than walking tour once a day. Where do you think you're going?"

"Shoot! I'm just going. I won't go far, and I won't stay long, but I've got to get out of here. I've got a fishing pole, a little coffee, and few beans, a little jerky. When I get tired of fresh air and quiet, when I run out of supplies or get hungry, I'll be back. Give me, say, two, maybe three days before you send out a posse...and don't send J.D."

"When you get tired of quiet? When you get hungry? You won't ever decide it's time to head back! Well, at least give me a direction for them to come if you don't show up."

"West...where else? I'll probably just pick the first comfortable spot that I find with cool running water...someplace where there ain't nobody talking."

Chris had been gone no more than an hour when Orrin Travis, the circuit judge and his boss, came looking for him. No one was at the jail. Chris didn't answer the door at his room. When the judge stuck his head in at his now widowed daughter-in-law's place behind her newspaper office, all she said was, "He went off somewhere by himself. He's in one of his moods."

"He's not supposed to leave town. I thought I had him confined...I had no idea he'd be going anywhere. I need him."

"There's Vin, Buck...everyone else is here. Have you tried the saloon?"

"This early, on a Sunday, I just came here. Figured you two would be having breakfast or at least arguing about something over coffee."

"Now....we don't argue all the time..."

"Could fool me. Well, I've got a job, and I need the boys to ride. I generally leave such arrangements to him. I guess I best go get the others myself. After that I'm heading to Eagle Bend for a trial."

As it happened, they were all close by, sitting or leaning on buildings or posts on the boardwalk outside the jail. Six men, talking and gossiping about everything and nothing in particular in the cool morning air. Why was it that if the one particular man was gone, Orrin always felt the others were at very loose ends. Well, he had a fire to light under them today.

"Okay, boys, it's time to ride. I got a note from Guy Royal this morning that he's losing cattle. He says it's a bunch of rustlers, but his boys have been pretty shot up trying to catch em, and he's asking for help. If he's asking you bunch to help him, he's in pretty bad shape."

"Ought to just let em strip him and James both bare and leave them out there...maybe over a dang anthill." Vin didn't like either of the cattlemen one bit. They had a mean reputation for disturbing the local farmers.

"He's a citizen of this area, and whether we like him or not, he's entitled to protection. Now, all of you...get on your horses and ride. When you show up, I expect those rustlers won't stay around for long. Get going....but, one of you best stay here. J.D., you stay behind."

"What?!!!"

"You heard me. One of you has to stay to guard the town. It being Sunday, I'm sure you can handle it alone."

Buck couldn't resist, "I expect you can 'handle' Sunday just fine...don't you? Come on boys, let's go see if we can't wrangle some rustlers." He left the younger man on the boardwalk, fuming at being left behind again.

Chapter 4

They didn't come back on Monday. They hadn't shown up by Tuesday morning either, and neither had Chris. J. D. had taken care of two minor barroom dust-ups and chased a bunch of kids out of the livery corral. Basically, life was boring. That was about to change.

Tuesday, well before noon, Mary interrupted his game of mumbly-peg with a bit of information. "I have a telegram for Chris from the Judge. He wants him to go look for a man who disappeared on his way to, Mexican Hat, up in Utah Territory. Says the man left home about three weeks ago and was supposed to be back by now, but he hasn't gotten home."

"Why does the Judge only want Chris to go? Who's the man? Do we know him? Is he trouble?"

"No. He's a friend of a friend of the Judge. His name is Werner Kruner. You know how the Judge is...if someone asks, he'll help or make arrangements for help. When he thinks about help, he thinks about Chris...and the rest of you, of course."

"Of course, except Chris isn't here."

"He'll probably be back tomorrow."

"Yeah, and he's not supposed to be riding out like that...is he?"

"No....not yet. I hope he's just sitting on a nice river bank fishing for a little while. He needs to let himself rest a little."

"Well, there's no need bothering him with this. I can go find Kruner."

"You're supposed to stay here...guard the town."

"It's dead as a beaver hat around here. Anyway, when Chris gets back, he can watch the town. Where exactly was the missing man headed?"

"All it says is around Mexican Hat. I don't know about this."

"Now, Mrs. Travis, don't you start on me, too. If Chris don't like the fact that I left, he can send one of the other boys after me. I won't get that far by the time they all get back, but we won't be putting Chris on the trail all the way to Mexican Hat, will we?"

"Are you sure this is best?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's the best way to get what the Judge wants tended to, keep Chris from taking off and hurting something again, and, if you don't mind my saying so, get me the hell out of here for a while. It's just finding one man....sort of a game of hide and seek. I'll be fine, be back before anyone misses me at all."

"All right. I think you're probably right. I'll get you a few dollars to tide you over."

"Thanks, ma'am. And Mrs. Travis?"

"Yes, J.D."

"Can you tell me which way I go to reach Mexican Hat?"

"Northwest, J.D. That way."

---

J.D. had only been gone a little more than a day when Chris rode back in and headed to the jail. Not finding the "sheriff," as they all called their youngest partner, he made a straight line for the saloon. Nothing. There wasn't a single one of his bunch anywhere. It didn't help his temper. His next stop was the Clarion News. If anybody knew anything, Mary was the one.

"Where's J.D.? I can't find him, and nobody's seen him. I can't seem to find anybody around at all."

"Well, you finally decided to come back? Did you actually rest a bit?" He still seemed mighty pale, and his moves weren't those of the normal Chris Larabee.

"Never mind...where's J.D.?"

"On his way to Mexican Hat."

"Mexican Hat? Why in blue blazes is he on his way to Mexican Hat? That's one miserable hell hole. Why'd he leave town for a place like that?"

"The Judge wanted a man named Werner Kruner found. J.D. went to find him. Just a simple job....the town was so quiet, I didn't think it would be any trouble."

"You know it don't take ten minutes for things in this place to go to hell. He left the place unprotected. I think that's gonna be his next lesson. Just exactly how long has he been gone."

"Just a little more than a day."

"Damn! Where are Buck, and Vin? Where's everybody? Wasn't one of them at either of the saloons....that means something ain't right."

"They're out looking for rustlers for Guy Royal."

"Since when do we protect Guy Royal...that son-of-a-bitch..."

"Since the Judge sent them there on Sunday."

"Sunday? And they ain't back yet?"

"Should they be?"

"I wouldn't know. Didn't anybody ask me if they needed to go in the first place. Damn! Let me be gone just a few days....One of them could have come to find me. I wasn't even out of town good on Sunday."

"They did what they were told. It wasn't their fault you were nowhere around. You didn't ask them, or the judge, for permission to go, now did you?"

"Shoot....now what do I do? Go find them, or go haul J.D. back where he belongs?"

"If the five are in trouble, you're not going to help them now. If they needed help, they would have sent word. Royal's got his own riders doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does."

"You don't look like you need to go anywhere. Are you still hurting?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Did something else happen?"

"It's nothing."

"What's nothing?"

"That stupid lug........"

"You fell off your horse?"

"Didn't fall off...miserable s.o.b. kicked me. Got my side again."

"That's why you're not supposed to be doing things like this. Are you sure you're ..."

"I'm fine. Just let it go. No big problem, just sore as hell.....again. And don't you go telling the others. I'll never live it down."

"Okay...okay...if you say you're fine...."

"I'm fine, and I'm heading after J.D. What in the hell were you two thinking?!! Letting him ride off alone like that!!! When you see Vin, Buck and the others, if we're not back, you give them the details and send them after us. If he's a day ahead of me, better tell them to just come on, I'll meet up with them somewhere around Poncho House or Mexican Hat...with or without J.D."

"Why don't you want J.D. doing this alone. He seems capable enough of finding one missing man. He's not a child."

"No, he's not a child...I didn't say he was. He can probably find a missing man. But exactly what's he gonna do with him if he don't want to be found or don't want to come back? How's he gonna handle a wooly bunch if the first one's in trouble? I guess I've made a big mistake."

"Chris Larabee make a mistake? What do you know!! What kind of mistake would Chris Larabee ever make?"

"I've been teaching the kid how to shoot and fight. I should have been teaching you both how to think. Should be two on this ride...two's always better than one."

On a different day, she might have scolded him harshly for it, but for now, she simply ignored the insult he had dealt her. "It's not fair to treat him like that. You know it's not!!!"

"Fair don't matter one damn bit. I just don't want to see him die young. That's what wouldn't be fair. I'm gonna get a bite to eat, pick up some supplies, then I'm headed out."

"You're not supposed to ...."

"Mary," he held her in his "no arguments" gaze. "If you think you're gonna stop me...you best think again. It's just finding one man. Ain't that what you said? I'll be fine. I'll be back before anyone misses me."

Chapter 5

Neither Chris nor J.D. was there when the rest of the boys rode in a day later. They all looked like hell. Buck was pretty well in one piece, though his temper was in sore need of repair. Nathan was asleep in the saddle. Ezra simply muttered to himself, incessantly brushing at his much mangled jacket. The little that could be heard was unsuitable for civilized ears and would have made most trail drovers blush. Josiah was Josiah.... long suffering, saddle worn, Josiah....talking to himself seriously about a desire to call down the wrath of God. And Vin? He didn't say a word.... he just held his obviously damaged shoulder close to his side, headed to his wagon, threw his rifle inside, and crawled in after it. None of them could be seen for hours.

She spotted Buck first, and followed him into the saloon, right up to the bar. "Just what took you so long?"

Buck looked at her, sipping on what he hoped would be the first of many beers, "Don't ask!"

"Well...don't get comfortable...any of you."

"And why not?"

"You've got to go find Chris and J.D."

Ezra fairly spit the cool beer he was sipping across the bar, "Oh, hell. What have they done now?!!"

"J.D. left Tuesday on a man hunt the Judge sent for Chris. Chris came in yesterday, threw a fit, and headed out after him. He said if they weren't back to tell you all to come after him. Said he would meet you in Poncho House or Mexican Hat, whether he'd found J.D. or not. Chris wasn't exactly rested when he came back."

"Well...of all the STUPID....." Buck's temper had not improved.

"What do we gotta do now?" Vin stood, propped against the bar.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we prepare to ride...Good Lord give us all strength..." Josiah ambled in, not amused.

"I ain't moving no place...not until I get a bath, some supper, and some sleep. Tomorrow morning's soon enough. He ain't done one thing to make himself any better. Why should I kill myself chasing after him?" With that, Nathan, who had been propped in a chair at a side table, simply stood up and left, headed for the Bath House to get started on his own preparations.

"Now, that my friends, sums up my sentiments exactly." Ezra followed close behind him.

"But Chris said to come right away."

"Mary, first that miserable fool leaves us to go off fishing; don't show up to help us herd beeves for Guy Royal, who's one mangy, no count, lying, misbegotten son-of-a-.."

"Whoa, pard. She gets the picture." It was the first smile on Vin's face since he rode in.

"Then he orders us to come hunt J.D.? No 'please', no 'when you're ready'. Who does he think he is? Well, it's just like him to...."

"Just like him? Of course it's just like him. You all know it. Why are you so surprised?" It was bad enough being a lone woman dealing with one of these men when they were in a bad mood.

"Well...it IS just like him. That's why this time he can sit and cool his own damn a---....heels until we get there! Me, I think I'm just gonna have me another beer, maybe go see Blossom."

"Now, Pard, that sounds like a mighty good plan." Vin motioned to the bartender, making no move to head anywhere, "Barkeep...let me have another gut warmer. Soon as I finish this, I think I'll just soak a good while myself."

"Amen, brothers!" Josiah stretched lazily. "Bath....dinner...sleep. Nathan makes real good sense. You boys coming?"

"Lead on, Pard."

Mary was left alone, watching their backs as they all went about their own business.

Chapter 6

On that same morning, day three of his 'adventure,' J.D. arrived at Mexican Hat. The little "dusty backwater", as Ezra would have called it, boasted only one dark saloon, one blacksmith shop, a tiny hotel, and a mercantile. The town people were distant, almost hostile, glaring at him as he road down the center street of the 'town.' He walked into the mercantile, and smiled politely as he approached the shopkeeper, "Excuse me, sir. I'm J.D. Dunne from Four Corners. I've been asked by Judge Orrin Travis to check on the where-abouts of a friend named Werner Kruner. He was supposed to have passed through here about a week or so ago. Have you by any chance seen him? Do you know where I might find him?"

"No."

J.D. stopped. Not only was the reply cold, it was rude. "Well, you see, Mr. Kruner's family and friends are concerned that he might have gotten lost or hurt along the way, and Judge Travis asked me to see if I could find out how he is....no trouble for him or anyone else....just want to make certain he's okay."

"I said I don't know him. You best move on."

"Well, yes sir. Do you know of anyone else who might have knowledge of him?"

"I said no, boy!"

"Thanks, anyway." He stepped out onto the debris-filled street, and walked the short distance up to the hotel. He received a welcome and an answer from the man behind the counter much the same as he had from the mercantile. "Well, thanks sir, I'll just move on then. Maybe he didn't make it into town...maybe he's a little farther west. I guess I'd better keep looking." As he put back on his derby hat, a young woman stepped up to take over the counter, the man moving quickly out of sight. She gave J.D. a small, but warm smile. "Ma'am...you wouldn't know anything above a man named Werner Kruner, would you?"

Her smile dimmed, and she glanced behind her to see if anyone watched. "No, sir. I don't know anyone by that name. But you might just try Gooseneck...it's about fifteen miles from here. Lots of people stay there...they have a really nice hotel there."

"And how would I find Gooseneck?"

"You go straight west from here, past the plateau, then go south at the fork in the road."

He mounted his horse and determined that riding on was probably the best. Maybe the man was a little further south from here. Maybe he hadn't made it this far. It wouldn't hurt to give it another day's hunt. He passed the limits of the small community, heading on for Gooseneck.

He had ridden for about an hour when the trail narrowed sharply between two plateaus that seemed to rise straight out of the ground. There were small ridges on either side, forming a small pass for as far as he could see. Somewhere in his mind, he thought about one of Buck's rules..."Never go through a blind alley if you don't know nothing about it....go around...better a few miles than a few bullets." He laughed. Buck had a rule for everything...mostly made up from his head or superstitions and other men's tall tales. He wasn't willing to go around when he had his directions to Gooseneck anyway.

He should have listened to Buck. Halfway into the pass, two men on horseback suddenly blocked his passage. Behind him, two more blocked any chance for escape. "Well, hey, boys. Just passing through...looking for a friend. Any of you hear tell of a man name Werner Kruner? He's lost around here somewhere."

He never got an answer...all he got was a pistol butt up side the head. The first place he woke up, he was in a wooden shack. Three of the four men who had surrounded him on the road stood around waiting for him to come to. "Okay, we're gonna ask once. How'd you know about this place? Who have you told?"

"Place? What place? Where are we?"

"Not the right answer." He quickly wished he knew what they wanted. They tried hard to make him remember. Two of them hauled him to his feet. The third one just hit him, then hit him, then hit him some more. He tasted blood and saw lots of bright shiny stars. The second one kicked him around for a while. He lay as tightly clinched into a ball as he could. That was one good lesson he remembered that Buck had taught him before, after he'd taken a vicious kick during a barroom fight. The third one hauled off his belt and began a beating like the boy had never felt before. "Come on, now. You don't want me to keep on with this, do you? Why'd a judge send you here?"

"Here?" It was all he could do to whisper. "Here? Came to find Werner Kruner. He came up here on a short trip. He didn't come home. I just came to see if he needed help. Don't want no trouble. Honest. I swear that's all."

"I told you before, that ain't the right answer."

When he woke up again, he was lying on hard-packed dirt. He hurt all over. From somewhere light filtered into the place, falling in sharp pools. Except for small lanterns that gave feeble light, there was no other illumination. He sat up slowly, a groan escaping his lips, to find a man sitting a few feet away, staring at him. The man placed a wet, folded cloth across his brow then pressed it firmly against the nasty cut J.D. could feel on the side of his head. His face was bathed and he was given a sip of water. The man was a slightly build man...neither tall nor heavily set. He was older, but not old. He had once been dressed well, but his clothes were now dirty and tattered. His hair was salted liberally with gray.

The stranger offered him another drink of the tepid water. When J.D. accepted the drink with thanks, the man nodded. Then he handed him a large pickaxe and gestured toward the back of the cavern that swept into the earth beyond. The man moved back and, gesturing still, began to pound at the rock on the floor beyond with a large hammer. Shovels rested against the wall closest to him.

"This a mine?" Without an answer, J.D. got the point. With a head and body that were filled with misery, he picked himself up, joined the man at the back of the opening, and began to slowly chip away at the wall. He didn't know what he was looking for...not until the man spotted something and made gestures for the young one to pick that particular piece of rock up. He showed him a blocked opening near the front and motioned for the rock to be placed there with others already collected by the dozen men who were also enclosed in the mine.

He didn't know how long he worked in silence, side by side with the man. Any time he stopped, the man gestured pointedly for him to begin again. After a good while, the others all seemed to understand that it was time to quit. When the stranger and J.D. placed their last finds among the others at the opening, he noticed no pools of light and no light shining through the meager slit around the barricade. Darkness had finally come outside, and it seemed a time of rest was beginning in this place.

A few minutes later, the barricade was removed, a small trolley car pushed into the opening, and the captives gathered to place the days gleanings into the car. Three times the car came, three times it was pulled back, then the opening was slammed shut. The sound of a large something falling into place echoed through the chamber.

His mentor put down his hammer, gestured for J.D. to do the same with the axe, then moved to the side of the wall and walked toward the opening of the corridor, taking a small water bucket and a plate with him. At the narrow opening, an opening so small only one man could approach at a time, and all of them, even the small J.D., had to bend down to talk to the one outside, the fourth man who had captured him waited. The guard took his friend's bucket, replacing it with one filled with fresh water. He took the man's plate, filling it with beans and something that looked like meat. He added a large chunk of thick brown bread. "Danke." It was the first sound J.D. had heard the man make.

The 'jailer' glared at J.D. as he approached. "First night, huh, boy? Well, we didn't plan on you. Tomorrow's coming. Maybe you won't get too hungry by then. If you do? Tough." He laughed and simply said "Next." By now, J.D. was so tired and miserable from the beating and the hard afternoon of labor, he didn't feel hungry anyway. The other man sat on the dirt nearby. "Mitmachen?"

His raised plate of meager rations, offered for a stranger to join in some of the food, was a more-than-noble gesture to J.D. He accepted a small piece of the bread, with a taste of the meat and beans. He ate slowly, willing his body to accept the only food he would have, probably until this time tomorrow. He smiled a small but genuine smile of appreciation at the man.

Not much later, he was sorry he had taken even the small amount of nourishment. He looked around the confined area. "Wo ist die Toilette?" The man smiled at the young man's embarrassment and obvious discomfort. The small bit of food was causing a major rebellion in the pit of his sore stomach. "Drueben. Rechtsherum." He pointed down the corridor, handing him the lantern. He indicated two turns, pointing right.

"Danke schoen." J.D. repeated it instinctively, almost naturally. He remembered something...a small flicker of returning memory. "Englisch?" He asked the man.

"Nein. Deutsch. Ich sprechen Deutsch und Spanisch...Ja."

"Ja." Maybe more later. Maybe childhood wasn't that far gone after all. J.D. left, limping badly on bruised legs, moving slowly with his battered and abused body, down the hall to the right.

When he returned the man motioned to another large chamber of the cave. There, well-worn blankets were dumped in the corner. The man picked one up, picked a spot on the floor, lay down, covered himself as best he could and closed his eyes to sleep. J.D. approached the pile of coverings, only to be shoved roughly aside by one of the other men who toiled in this place. He allowed the man to make his selection. The blankets were so thin, it could make little difference which one he got. The others made their selections as well. His opportunity finally came, so he picked up one of the last available coverings...one with so many holes he reconsidered the importance of not being last in line...then he wrapped himself in the threadbare cloth and lay down to rest.

He woke stiff, incredibly sore, and hungry. Thin light fell into the place. His head ached. He lay there for a few minutes, thinking of other men who should be waking about now. He especially thought of the one who had so recently looked as bad and moved as stiffly as he felt this morning. As much as he hurt, as old as his own body felt, maybe he shouldn't call that one "old man" any more either. That one had been in hell more than a month. "Damn, boys, I hope you're not playing poker and waiting no ten days to start hunting for me." He pushed himself up onto his feet.

His new 'friend' rose stiffly as well, and noticed the younger man's bruised face and slow movements.

"Wie geht es Ihnen? Verletzt er jedoch??" (How are you? Does it still hurt?)

"Es ist nicht so falsch." (It's not so bad.) J.D. realized he had responded in the man's own language.

The man smiled. "Was ist Ihr Namens-, junger Mann?"

" J.D. Dunne, und Ihr?"

"Werner Kruner, Ihr sprechen Sie Deutsch sehr gut." The man was elated to find someone who seemed to know well how to talk with him.

"Nein, mein Herr. Ich spreche nur Schulejunge Deutsch." J.D. readily admitted that his German was learned as a school-aged boy. He was quickly running out of what he could remember. Suddenly the man's response hit him as hard as yesterday's blows, "Sagten Sie Werner Kruner? Sie sind der Mann, den ich gesucht habe." (Did you say Werner Kruner? You're the man I've been looking for!) There was little satisfaction in knowing he had accomplished his task. He wondered if they would ever be able to tell the judge he had finished the job.

It would have been a miserable existence without Kruner. The other men who shared the hell hole wasted no time on them, never had anything to say. Each worked to himself, sullen and uncaring for the plight of the others. Several showed the effects of long stays in this pit with no sunshine, no fresh air. One coughed incessantly. J.D. determined quickly that he and Werner would not share that fate...and the others wouldn't have much more of it, not if he could figure a way out. He worked, but as he worked, he studied the cavern...looking for a good way out.

By the number of meals he had received, plus the one Werner had shared with him, he determined he had been in the cave four days. He was certainly getting thinner, but the captors fed enough to keep body and soul together, at least. The older bruises had mostly faded, though the colors of black, blue, yellow and purple were still visible. He worked only enough to avoid penalty... Werner showed him how to maintain an appearance of productivity and the appropriate 'respect' to placate the guards.

Chapter 7

"It's about time you showed up, Stud." Poncho House offered no interesting feminine company, which Buck highly preferred in a dismal little town, so he was more than ready to go back home to the arms of the voluptuous, every welcoming Blossom. He had determined to head out, unless something truly interesting came along real quick.

Chris came through the rough plank door covered in trail dust. He ordered a shot of tequila and dropped his hat on the bar. He brushed his damp hair back off of his forehead. As he knocked back his first, he realized all the others were glaring at him just like Buck. He just stood still, ordered another, and, as he sipped it, let them have their say. He was way too tired, too sore, too hot, and too concerned about J.D. to worry if they were mad at him or not.

"It's a miserable cuss who tells a man to come hunting, then leaves him without a trail to follow. I was about to come hunting your hide." Vin hated having to wait.

"Where exactly is that little reprehensible reprobate J.D.?"

"Shut up, Ezra. I can't find him no place. I've been all up and down the line to Mexican Hat, and nobody seems to remember seeing him or that fella Kruner either." Chris crooked his finger at the bartender, indicating that he needed another.

"You're not supposed to be out here riding like this anyway. You maybe gonna eat a little something to go with that?"

"Not now."

"You know, you're just a fool. Damn fool riding off to go fishing, damn big fool sitting on a horse for days, jarring all those stitches and bruises...that side of yours must be giving you fits. Do you realize you've been in the saddle almost a solid week."

"Little more than five days. Let it alone."

"You're hunting for a boy that's probably back at the saloon in Four Corners by now. You're gonna wind up hurting yourself more if you keep on like this. I think I'll check that side right now."

"No."

"Sometimes I think I ought to just hog tie you the way Doc Simmons suggested I do you after Jericho. Told me you'd never learn to stay out of trouble on your own. Said if I'd tie you down a few days, at least the rest of us could have a little chance to stay put for a while and get a little rest."

"Nathan, you could maybe try that ... maybe live to tell about it."

"I don't like this, Chris," the tracker in Vin was trying to work out the details, "he was coming to Poncho House or Mexican Hat. So, where the hell is he?"

"Having a beer, and most likely laughing at us in fits of raucous merriment."

"Shut up, Ezra."

"Truth is sometimes hard to accept, Mr. Larabee. I suggest you consider a different reality in this situation. The boy has undoubtedly gone home."

"Ezra's probably right, Chris. Face it. Most likely, he's gone home or some other place to just cut loose. He's been feeling a might rebellious lately. Maybe he just needed to make a visit to a nice little brothel somewhere. It's what I'd do."

"Shoot! That's just like you or me, Buck. That ain't J.D....not yet anyway. Let's give it another try. Spread out. All of you take a different direction. I've gone over every place I can think of except Mexican Hat. I might as well just finish that one. Got to be a saloon. Meet me at the one in Mexican Hat no later than two days. Let's ride."

---

The two men in the mine spoke little but had developed a fashion of conversation through signs and gestures. Occasionally, Werner taught him new bits of German, and he in return taught Werner more English. They were becoming friends.

The younger man had made it safely through day four when the first fight came. This Sunday had been no day of rest either. As he picked up a tattered blanket for the pile, the same brute of a man knocked him to the floor, taking the blanket from his hands. Finally mended and feeling stronger, J.D. attacked without thought. A shout went up from the captive population, attracting two guards to quell the uproar. The big man was driven to the back of the mob, unharmed. The two guards held J.D. between them, pushing him to the wall, forcing his arms into metal cuffs that hung there. J.D. had seen the shackles before, but since they had gone unused during his stay, he hadn't considered what they were for. He found out quickly. The same guard who had hurt him on day one began a meaner round on day four. The belt was thick and the beating was thorough.

Werner, unable to do anything to help him or to even marginally save him from the blows, dragged him into the sleeping chamber as soon as the guards unshackled him and left. He bathed the welts that quickly sprang up along his back. He gave him water, wrapped him in the best of the available blankets, and guarded him as he shook in reaction then fell into exhausted sleep. The markings showed fresh and colorful against his skin on the morning of day five, but by afternoon he was beginning to move with less discomfort.

---

"Just where the hell do you think he is now?" Vin hated to wait, but he hated being on the worry more.

"Knowing Chris...just late. Taking his own sweet time, checking out all the little details."

"Mr. Wilmington, he instructed us most sternly to return to this establishment in no more than two days. It is now the second day. Do we wait or do we just leave this establishment and head home?"

"Well, Chris said to wait here....so we'll just wait here. Another day's not gonna hurt anything. Everybody agree?"

They all agreed.

"But Buckley if he ain't here by noon tomorrow," Vin spoke with worry still on his breath, "I ain't asking again, and we're all going hunting."

Chapter 8

In the late afternoon of day five, the guards came unexpectedly through the gate into the cavern. Between them, they half supported, half dragged a man who was barely conscious. He had been beaten, much as J.D. remembered his own first ordeal. When the guards dumped him roughly in the middle of the open area, the young man noted the dusty black clothing he wore. The man groaned, but stubbornly tried to sit up, his reddish blonde hair falling into green eyes. He fell back, obviously too done in to move any more for a time. He clutched at the bloody shirt that was plastered to his side.

"Chris?" J.D. knelt beside him. The beating had been hard, but it was the bullet hole in his left shoulder, still wet with blood, that sapped his strength. He slumped over in a heap, breathing hard. "Herr Kruner....help me!"

Together the two moved the newcomer into the chamber reserved for sleeping, away from the eyes of the guards. J.D. inspected his wound, finding that the bullet had cut a small deep hole, but the slug had not come out the back. The bullet remained inside.

"J.D.?" The man tried again to pick himself up. "Where are we? Who are these people?"

"You're in the same trap as me, I guess. Four men out on the trail got the drop on me. We're somewhere just west of Mexican Hat, probably. I haven't got a clue who they are. I haven't seen anybody except those four. I'll get this bullet out if you'll be real still."

"Nathan'll be here. He'll do it. He'll have to see to my arm anyway. I think the bastards might have broken it." He lay back down.

Werner came close, handing J.D. a cloth dipped in the precious water. "Erlaubt er Ihnen, die Wunde zu säubern?" (Will he allow you to clean the wound?)

"Hängt davon ab, wie Mittel er sein möchte." (Depends on how stubborn he wants to be.)

"What? What did you say?"

"Chris, this is Werner Kruner...the man I came looking for. He only speaks German and Spanish."

"But you don't speak either...do you?"

"Not much...not real good...but I used to speak a little German when I was growing up, and Werner's been teaching me. Look, the bullet's still inside. It needs to come out. Just be still."

He reached for a flattened utensil that he had fashioned from a scrap of metal he found in the cave. The scrap had been sharp, so the edge of the tool was sharp as well. He washed it as well as he could in water from the bucket. He pulled Chris' shirt away and pressed hard to force open the wound enough to reach for the slug inside.

"God, J.D. No." The edge of the tool was sharp but ragged. It tore at Chris' senses as it tore deep into the wound. He struggled to break the hold that trapped him in suffering. "Let it alone. Nathan knows how to get to it. We'll just give them a few days to find us."

"You're in a dang mine. They ain't gonna find us easy. These bastards are gonna expect you to pound rock here, and I don't see how you're going to do it with a bullet in your shoulder."

"Let it alone." He pushed the boy's hands away . "Damn, J.D., leave it to you to get into a place like this!! How'd I get lucky enough to be the one to come find you? I looked everywhere. Met the boys two days ago at Poncho House. We split up to cover more territory. We're supposed to meet back at Mexican Hat today or tomorrow."

"That was the last place I stopped. Well, maybe it won't be too long before they find us then."

"Or wind up in here with us."

"Look, you gonna sit here and lose that arm waiting on Nathan, or are you gonna let me get that bullet out?"

"You don't know nothing about taking out a bullet...and I don't want to lose my arm to you digging around in there!"

"There you go again. Why do you think I don't know how to do this? Shoulder's not that hard. I helped Nathan take one out of you once before."

"When?"

"When Cooper Jones came after you last year. Nathan needed somebody to help, and I was the somebody who was there to do it. Well, I might have wanted to puke, but I did what he told me to. Now, you've either got me to do this, or you can let it get real good and infected real fast."

"It's gonna get infected anyway...you don't have nothing to clean it."

"Yeah? Well I do."

"Like what?"

"Fire ought to do it. Herr Werner." J.D. motioned to the man to hold Chris down. Werner was small, but tough enough, and Chris was weak enough, that there was quickly no way for the injured man to escape. "You want a stick to bite on?"

"Just finish the damn thing, J.D."

---

"Hell, J.D.! Haven't you found that damn thing yet."

The night was becoming Chris' hell and J.D.'s proving ground. As much as his own body rebelled at the pain he had taken and the fatigue that had settled in every bone, the determined young man remained with the task of finding the elusive slug in Chris' body. When at last the bullet was pulled free, J.D. quickly began to cauterize the hole with the same tool, now heated red hot over the small central fire. Even Chris had given up by then and lapsed into semi-consciousness. By the time the arm was braced as well, fever set in, but they weren't done yet. Kruner was the one who drew their attention back to the wound in the man's side.

"Dieses ist ein falsches." (This is a bad one.)

"I know, Herr Kruner. I need to fix that...but there's nothing to stitch it with."

"Gut benötigen wir Süßwasser und Sie beide müssen etwas essen. Ich hole es." (Well, we need fresh water and you both must eat something. I will bring it.) Kruner left to bring something for the men to share.

"Where's he going?"

"To bring water and food. Think you can eat?"

"No...not hungry."

"Well, maybe just a bite. We'll see."

"Don't push it, J.D." Chris closed his eyes, trying to let the pain in his shoulder ease before these two tried something new.

Kruner returned with two plates. How he had managed that, J.D. didn't ask. He also brought water, and that was the most important thing of all.

"Drink." Kruner insistently held out a cup to Chris, who took it without argument. "Now eat!" The English was rough, but the commands were crisply given.

"Don't think that's gonna work."

"Er ist ein störrisches, kein?" (He is a stubborn one, no?)

"Störrisch? OH-, ja!" (Stubborn? Oh, yes.)

It was becoming a habit that they each spoke their own language, but understood each other well enough, as long as the comments were simple. This time, J.D. kept the reply just for his new friend. Then, he put a small amount of the beans and meat on a piece of the thick brown bread and held it out to his partner. "Eat it. Maybe you'll have better luck than I did the first time I tried."

"Do I want to know?"

"Not really."

"Jetzt mein Freund, versuchen wir, dieses zu regeln....yes." (Now, my friend, we will try to fix this...yes.)

While Chris finished the small amount of food, Kruner and J.D. discussed how they would attempt to fix his bleeding side.

Hearing but not understanding anything of their conversation, other than the word 'fire,' Chris decided quickly that he didn't want any more. "J.D....Enough, okay...just leave it alone. It's just the old knife wound from Jericho. They tore it open again when they were working me over. It'll be okay."

"Won't be okay. It's the third, or is it the fourth, time it's been pulled open since you got back to town. Everybody keeps telling you it'll heal, but it's got Nathan worried. It needs stitching again, but we don't have anything to do that. I need to burn it to stop the bleeding."

"Just leave me alone! Look, I'm tired J.D. I just don't think that's anything I want done right now." The man was almost pleading, but J.D. was determined. Feeling the searing pain as the young man sealed the wound again was the last thing Chris remembered of the whole wretched day.

Chapter 9

"Get up, you bum. You're not gonna gold brick while these other men do your work." The guard nudged Chris, who had spent a sleepless, fever-racked night on the cold hard floor. The nudge came a second time, none too gently with the pointed toe of a heavy boot. "Get up, now." The second keeper followed the nudge with a blow from a long, thick cane.

Memories of Jericho flooded the man's mind. Anger came unbidden as his reaction to the additional torment. "You son-of-a-bitch!!! Go to hell!" He came to his knees, always seeming to have just a little too much will to fight...to take on trouble.

"That's not the right answer." From the guard's hand, the same long leather strap they had all felt snaked out to make contact with Chris' body. It caught him full in the chest, then across the stomach, and on the backstroke it caught his side again. He doubled into himself as he let loose a strangled screech. Blood began to bubble slowly from the freshly retorn flesh.

"Leave him alone!!" J.D. stepped into the guard's line of sight.

"You gonna take it for him, boy? You ain't man enough to take what I'm gonna do to him."

"J.D., back off. Get out of there."

"He can't work...busted up too much by you sons-of-bitches...leave him be."

"J.D., stop it. Back off."

"Then you gonna take on his load? Every man in here's responsible for his share of ore...every day. He don't work, he don't get food or water. You gonna take on what he needs to do?"

"Yeah....I'll do it for him."

"No, J.D. Leave him alone. You want to fight...you fight me!" Chris came off the ground. He was instantly struck with the cane, knocked back to his knees.

"So you'll do it...you'll take on his part? Including this?" The man waved the strap at the younger. He drew back the belt and began another lesson in pain and humiliation that J.D. would find hard to forget.

When the brute was gone, and J.D. was finally able to will his body to move, he found Chris sitting beside him, managing to hold himself in an upright position by leaning heavily against one of the boulders. He was pale, but his hand rested against the base of the young man's throat, making certain his pulse remained steady. He noticed the slowly opening hazel eyes. "Kid, I told you to get out of there. Why'd you have to go and try to protect me? If anybody's gonna take a beating for some stupid thing I do, you let it be me." He held a cup of water to his lips.

Werner pressed the cloth to Chris' side, pressing hard one more time to stop the seeping blood. "It is not the first such that this one has taken, Ja," Kruner said as he moved to the opposite side of the boy, soaking the same cloth in more water, hoping to soothe the newly forming welts on his back. He eased J.D. onto his side, working to remove the now badly worn shirt.

"No, Herr Kruner. I'm okay." He tried as hard as Chris had done to rise from the floor.

"This is your good friend! Ja. He must know these things. He must see." As he finished removing the cloth, Chris cursed.

"Damn, J.D. Damn, son, just what have they done to you?"

"It's okay, Chris. You've had worse."

"I don't know that I've had worse, and sure not today."

"I've seen the scars. You think nobody knows, but they're there. Your whole body's full of scars. Nathan said somebody cut you bad and more than once, and he says that long thin scar down your left shoulder blade's from a whip. He says there's lots of new marks and bruises from Jericho that ain't healing real good. If those bruises still show after more than a month, that must have been a hell of a beating. At least on me, so far, they haven't done any cutting. Don't know if I could hold up to that."

"Wasn't a whip, thank God. It was just my pa with a razor strop. Hit me so long and so hard, he finally ripped it open. Thought I was gonna die."

"Well, it sure didn't keep you from facing nothing hard."

"That and the cuttings were a long time ago, J.D. Don't know that I could hold up to either of those again. Don't make it, or me, more than it is. Look, try to sleep if you can. I'll keep watch so they don't come back for more."

"But they'll want ore dug before tonight. You can't do nothing with that arm and shoulder...that side."

"Then they'll just have to be disappointed. You can't do nothing about it either."

"Chris? How'd you wind up in here?"

"Just plain stupid."

"You?"

"Yeah...me...no other explanation. I can be almost as stupid as you at times...and I should know better."

"But why''d you head here."

"Girl in Mexican Hat said she thought you probably went this way. You sure weren't nowhere else. I just thought I'd come see."

"Where'd they get you?"

"Came to that plateau, I thought about either going on to Gooseneck or just going back to wait for the boys. You remember what Buck told you about not riding into a blind alley...about going around?"

"Yeah...thought about that just before I went into that last one."

"So did I. Did it stop you for going in?"

"No...."

"Didn't stop me either. Buck's got a real good sense of self- preservation you know. Wouldn't hurt either of us to listen to him now and then." He smiled just a little.

"But you're not gonna tell him that are you?"

"Hell, no! His hat don't fit now!"

"You know they're looking for a reason to beat us again. We've both been causing trouble. They open up that side of yours more...I don't think we can stop it from bleeding."

"My problem. My business. Let it go. Get some rest." He watched the man close his eyes, then he put his head against the hard rock surface and did the same.

---

They didn't rest long. The other men from the mining crew stood in the doorway to the chamber a scant hour later. The sun was shining brightly on the mine floor. The group in front of them resembled a pack of wild dogs ready for the kill. The one who stole blankets, whose name happened to be Cavanaugh, was the spokesman. "Get on your feet! You two ain't doing nothing but creating trouble for the rest of us. You get on your feet now and get this ore done. You ain't got long to get your part finished."

Werner moved between the small army and his friends. What he could do against so many, he did not know, but he could try.

"Get up...you two."

"Go to hell!"

"Dang, Chris...don't start none of that." J.D. was too bruised to think about going through more. "You start a fight, we'll just get beat again, by them, then by the guards. I can work if I have to."

"Not this time. You just be still. It's time we got to planning, not hurting." He spoke under his breath to J.D. and Werner. Then he clawed his way to his feet, swaying almost drunkenly with fatigue and pain. He starred at the ruffians before him. "I said Go to Hell. I'm not mining nothing for that bunch of low-lifes, not today and not ever, and, if you're smart, you won't either."

"Just how you gonna avoid it, mister? You got that boy beat once already."

"Any of you know how many of them there really is? I ain't seen but four. We'll just tell them no. I think they just might understand the concept. "

"And the next thing they bring in here will be shotguns. Won't none of us last too long then."

"Maybe. You boys ever thought about just getting the hell out of this little grave yard? How many graves they dug for people in here anyhow?"

The others became quiet. "Okay, who's been here longest?" The crew leader began to keep the count.

"Well," said the man with the cough, "I guess I'm the one who's been here most...that'd be about four-five months. Was two here when I got took, they're both dead. Then there was this little guy...looked sort of like your friend...he was stubborn...didn't do what he was told. They just beat him till there weren't nothing left. Finally broke him up so bad inside, he drowned in his own blood. Since I came in, must have lost five, maybe six."

"And you haven't tried nothing to get out?"

"Some of them did, Mister. They're the ones we've buried. We've got more sense."

"Ever tried anything together?"

"How?...There's one little ole opening....we can't rush em. We've got shovels, axes, and hammers, but they've got guns. First one out the door will get it full blast. When they come charging in here, we'll all die. All they want are backs...they can find plenty of those where they found us."

"Maybe they can...maybe they can't. Ain't there no other way out? Any of you boys ever check this place real good?"

"Mister, we just work. Figure somebody'll come break this place open one day and we'll get ourselves out. Til then, we just work and you do too....if you want to stay alive."

"I ain't willing to wait for no rescue party, and I'm not gonna be any man's mule. Come on Werner, J.D., let's see what else there is to this place." He helped his young partner to his feet and along with Kruner, they walked toward the small mob. He held himself tall in spite of his discomfort.

Chris was full of audacity, always would be. The look he used was close to, but meaner than, the one he had given J.D. in Four Corners, the same look he had used countless times to get himself out of possibly deadly confrontations. When he came face to face with the thief, he simply starred at the men until the line broke and let them through.

When they passed into the corridor beyond, J.D. let out a small laugh. "Dang, Chris. You sure had him buffaloed back there with that look of yours. 'Course, you scared me a good bit in Four Corners the other day, and I knew you were just playing around."

"Don't ever trust that somebody with a gun is playing around, J.D. That can get you killed."

"Well, you sure got that one back there."

"And sometimes pulling a stunt like the one I just pulled can get you killed, too. He's a big son-of-a-bitch. Bad as this side is, with my shoulder, he could have beat me into the dirt. He just wasn't as interested as I was in winning."

"You mean if I had gone after you the other day, been willing to fight you, you'd have backed off?"

"No. I was mad as hell, J.D....You couldn't have stopped me no matter how hard you tried. Couldn't you see that coming yourself? And you picked one real sore spot to jump on."

"Didn't think you'd get that mad!"

"Hell. When I'm in that kind of mood? You were being a real pain in my backside. But I still shouldn't have come at you like that though."

"Why? Nobody got hurt. It was all in fun, right?"

"It makes you look less a man. Makes me look like I deserve my bad reputation."

He stopped, resting his hand on his side, giving in for a moment to the continuing pain. He made himself take a slow breath, then straightened. "Werner, you've been here longer than us....you got any ideas about where another way out might be?"

J.D. had to translate, but the answer came back quickly. "He says when he first got here, he found an opening, but it was too high up for him to do anything about it. Come on, he'll show us."

It wasn't that high up...but enough that one man alone couldn't manage it. "What do you think, J.D.?"

"Tricks getting to that first ledge. If somebody gets there, they've got a pretty good path up to the top. Steep, but not impossible."

"Okay, you give me a foot up, and I'll see what I can do."

"Why are you going? I'll go."

"No. You stay here."

"Why?"

"You've just been beat, and I've had more experience with stuff like this..."

"So? You're hurt bad enough you can't make it up that high. You've only got one arm to use. I'm bruised, but I can do it."

"You're hurt too bad."

"Bruised....not shot, not a sprained arm, not a stubborn side."

"I don't think..."

"Hell, Chris! You're at it again....J.D. can't.....damn!"

"No....no....didn't mean that....I just don't...."

J.D. stopped and looked at him in rising anger. "You don't? You don't what? Dang, Chris. I ain't no KID."

"No...you're not....but by the time I was your age, I'd been stupid enough, and pig headed enough, to get more than a little banged up. Like to spare you a little of what I let myself in for."

"But I can't be a coward and hide behind you and the rest. We all have to pull our own load. If you all think I'm not able to pull my share, you just let yourselves get beat up more. It ain't fair to you, and it ain't fair to me. Now, shut up and tell me how we're gonna do this?"

"All right, then. Come on, I'll boost you up."

"You can't do that. That shoulder and arm won't hold up...you break that side open again, I don't think even burning it will make it hold."

"It'll hold. If it don't, I'll pay for it later. But if one of us don't get out of here, it ain't gonna matter a hell of a lot anyhow. Come on....let's get this done."

"You sure you want me to..."

"Yes, J.D. I don't want to be in this hell hole tomorrow. It's getting too much like Jericho, and nobody's thought of snakes yet. Climb."

J.D. stepped onto the offered hands Chris presented, trying to avoid holding to his damaged arm. He had to grab on anyway, then stand on both the man's shoulders to reach the small outcropping that provided access to the way out. He heard the man's indrawn gasp as one boot found the burned, gouged flesh. "Maybe I shouldn't do this..maybe wait a few...."

"Get on with it J.D.! Go!!!! Just get it done!! Can't you catch hold yet?"

"Almost got it." On the pull up, he slipped, kicking the man's shoulder again.

"Hell, J.D....."

"Got it." He was looking down from his perch. "Now what?"

"Climb. But when you get up there, you watch out. We don't know what's outside that opening. May be guards posted. You go slow and check the situation before you go popping your head up or you're liable to get the damn thing blown off."

"What are you and Werner going to do?"

"Go join the others. Maybe fake a little work to keep everybody quiet. Wait for you to bring help. Think of something....later."

"How long you think it'll take."

"Don't have a clue. The boys ought to be at Mexican Hat by now. It'll take a night and part of a day of hard walking to get there. If you need to wait until real dark night, we'll be okay til you get there and bring them back."

"How will you explain that I'm gone?"

"Think of something....but later, J.D. You get going. Tomorrow night, if at all possible, I'd like to eat something and in someplace well away from here."

"Okay...right..."

"J.D."

"Yeah?"

"Move as fast as you can, okay. I'm beginning to hate that son-of-a- bitch with the belt, but I don't need to be tempted to do nothing about him just now."

"Understood. I'll be back fast..."

"How?"

"Shoot....I'll just go steal back my horse!"

"Now that's a plan......but..."

"But, nothing....Shouldn't be that hard."

"All I was gonna say, knot head, is Watch Your Back."

The young man grinned and began to climb.

Chapter 10

Chris meant exactly what he said about saying no. He returned to the main section, and holding to his bleeding shoulder and aching side, took a seat in one corner of the sleeping chamber. He closed his eyes, appearing to sleep, but inside he was thinking of his partner and trying to make a plan to get them all out of here. If he could get it done before J.D. got back with the boys, so much the better. He let himself remain still for a long time, needing the rest and solitude. The chamber was getting dark and the lanterns were being lit when he finally seemed to rally. " Werner, see if the boys out there would be up to a little town meeting just about now."

"What is?"

"Ah...sorry....bring those bastards here."

"Ja!!! Ja!!!" The man smiled and went to gather the others.

"Mister," Chris could see that Cavanaugh still had a burr up his backside. He didn't care. "Just where the hell is that little dwarf? I just don't want no part of any trouble you two are thinking of causing. All you and that kid have been since you got here is trouble." Chris grinned...so what else was new. If that s-o-b thought two of them were trouble, wait until he met the other five.

"He's at the bottom of the latrine." Chris said it low...not loosing the grin...just left it hanging like a half-crazy threat.

Cavanaugh swallowed before he got his courage back, "You're lying."

"Don't believe me? Go fish him out yourself."

"You're lying. You two were way to friendly..."

"Strange situation....strange friends. Boy got on my nerves once too often." He let the grin fade, turning it into a glare that bore into the man.

"I still say you're a lying son-of-a-bitch."

Chris let the glare turn into cold and intensely threatening. He let himself build a head of steam. He was tired and sore, he hadn't eaten much since he got there, and he was worried about J.D. He knew that none of that mattered in finishing his plan....what he had to do. He just released his words like the steam was about to blow... "You call me that one more time, and I'll make room for another one in that privy. Sit down and shut up." Not one man doubted that he would do it. He had their undivided attention.

"We're gonna make a plan and then you are gonna help me do it...and before tonight's up. The first one who messes with me, or refuses to do what he's told....let's just put it this way...you won't have to worry about them bringing in guns. First thing I want you to do is finish the day....go deliver the ore, get food and water. When that's done, you get back here so I can tell you what we're gonna do. You let anything slip to anyone outside...figure you're dead."

"Just how you gonna do that?" Cavanaugh had rediscovered his courage.

"Just like this." Chris was suddenly on his feet directly in the man's face. He hit the giant with an uppercut that rocked him backward. Then a thin, flat blade was against the man's neck, held in Chris' hand. No matter the pain from the shoulder, no matter the braced arm, the pain of his side. None of it was that bad. He had hurt before. His life, Werner's, J.D.'s might all depend on what he did next. He pulled the man back against his chest, digging the jagged edge of the tool into the man's throat. "This thing makes a real ragged cut...mean as hell feeling it cut into you...I know, I've been there....you want to try it?"

"No....no...please mister."

"Okay, then," he shoved the man away from him, "Go to work. We leave this place the minute I say."

---

J.D. had made it to the top. Knowing it had taken longer than he had thought it would to make it, but knowing too that he was even more bruised than when he started the climb, he rested a few minutes before he inched his head up through the open shaft. He found himself at the very top of the plateau. He dropped back down quickly when he realized the late afternoon sun was shining almost directly on the opening...he could be seen. He decided the best course was to wait a short time, gather strength, and give the light a chance to fade a little before he made a move.

He thought even Chris Larabee would admit he had a good plan...rest a bit, then move. But while his body wanted to stop, his mind stayed busy, thinking about how he had gotten here and the men who were hunting to find him. He had thought the men were his friends, had really felt they were...but somehow he always thought they might feel they would be better off if he wasn't around. Most of them probably felt that way, but Chris Larabee? J.D. most often thought the gunman liked this group well enough, but with the possible exception of Vin, and Buck of course, if things hadn't worked to his liking on any given day, Chris could have simply ridden away without looking back. He might miss the rest of the bunch...but miss J.D. Dunne? The young gunman just hadn't much thought the man would even cared.

Now, he had to consider the real truth. Larabee cared...about them all...and maybe just a little too much. Hurt, tired, pestered to death by a young fool, Chris had devoted two full weeks to help him learn, no to make certain he learned. He had taken the complaints and the insults until it was just the last thing he could take. Then rather than punch him or scold him anymore, he had simply walked away.

Then when J.D. had left the job the judge gave him, taken a job meant for Chris, the man had ridden out alone to find him, and even left word for the others to come...all of them. He hadn't left a single one behind the protect the town. That could cost him if the judge found out. Why would he try to find him, if he didn't care? Why did he try to stop him from climbing out of the mine? Because he didn't want to see him hurt? Because he wanted to protect a little hothead? Maybe protect a hothead that was just a little too much like the man had once been himself?

Could a man who would call him out and humiliate him in front of the whole town really care about what happened to him? He shook his head, then smiled a little as he came to realize that the man probably could, and probably did, care.

Then his smile faded a little. What would that same man do while he waited for J.D. to come back? Would he be patient? No, not hardly... that wasn't part of his makeup. Would he try to do something alone? No, but Werner Kruner would be all the help he thought he needed for taking action. Would he pull something, even as hurt as he was? Probably... he always had a plan. No, not probably, Definitely. J.D. got to his feet and pushed himself out into the open air beyond. If he didn't finish his part of this job, and soon, already hurt; still bleeding; still his own stubborn, take- charge self, Chris Larabee just might get himself killed.

Chapter 11

Once outside the opening, J.D. stopped to see exactly where he was. First, he noticed the road coming from Mexican Hat. Looking like a slowly twisting snake, it passed through the opening between the two plateaus. In another low pass cutting through the plateau floor, there was also open space that could allow him to ride around a moderate sized lake and then across open land to the town. He didn't have to go through the pass again.

One level down, he could see the access openings to the mine…one to the left for the prisoners to enter and never leave, a large kettle and oven stood nearby to provide the evening meals. The opening to the right was a short rail line to provide entrance for the trolley cars. Between the two entrances stood a wooden supply shack, on the same level, a level above the workers' camp. It was obvious that the cavern he had worked in was deeper inside the mountain, else the air shaft wouldn't have been so far up. The wooden shack reminded him of his introduction to a new world of pain and hardship.

A corral was below him and to the right, but the embankment of the plateau left no easy access. There were numerous horses. Maybe they kept the ones they stole from the men inside the mine. Maybe they were there just to pull the trolley. He could see his own Morgan from where he was; Chris' black stood nearby, but to get to either, he would have to travel down a central path, almost to the trolley door, then down again along the railings to the bottom of the work yard. From the corral, his choices were either turn to the right and go past the lake or go straight to pick up the pass between the plateaus. Toward the lake, the ground was open and visible. Once inside the pass, he would be hidden, but the four that trapped him before might be waiting there again.

He remained hidden among the scraggly brush on the top of the plateau for some time trying to decide what the best choice would be. He needed to move, and he needed to reach the others as fast as possible. The sky was beginning to lose the light he would need to see his way down.

He chose. Down, then south to the pass. If they didn't see him, he could make better time. He crept low and inched his way down the first path, waiting to be spotted and carried back inside the mine, or killed where he stood. As he began his move, he glanced toward the town. In the late afternoon light, he thought he made out a group of riders coming from the direction of Mexican Hat. He had a glimmer of hope, but that was all he would allow himself.

He approached the trolley doors, hoping for a quick release of the prisoners inside; but try as he could, he couldn't lift the heavy blockade across the opening. Giving up the effort, he headed toward the wooden shack, which offered better protection. He had made it to the shadows of the building when he heard the first movement. The four who started the whole mess came out of a building in the camp below and walked up the winding path to the prisoners' entrance. Preparations were being made for the evening meal. J.D. slipped inside the shed and stayed there the few minutes until he could no longer hear their voices. He slipped back out, taking along a few things he thought might come in handy for his escape.

His objective was the corral. He moved over to the trolley rails, walking cautiously to avoid sound, staying low among the surrounding boulders. He had made it to the fence when he heard some sort of commotion back on the level above. He looked up in surprise and alarm as he heard a bellow from one of the four, who disappeared suddenly into the mouth of the mine. The other three followed him inside, clubs wielded in their hands, shouts coming as they moved.

"Awh, hell, Chris….couldn't you have waited just a little longer to start something."

Leave now, or see how to help the ones inside? He glanced to the east. The riders were still coming….maybe, just maybe. He wished for Vin's spy glass. As he watched, the riders just stopped…they almost appeared to run into one another. One moved to block the trail in front of the rest. The sun reflected the animal's white coat. It looked like a more than lively conversation had started among five riders in the middle of the road…or was it an argument? J.D. smiled and made his choice.

He moved to capture his horse. The Morgan had sensed a presence. His ears were forward, his finely shaped head turned toward the fence, his delicate nose testing the air. He turned to face the scent he recognized, nickering softly. J.D. crept forward and reached out a hand to silence him, to make him calm, taking a bridle from the fence. He eased it over the animal's nose and up over his ears. He was gathering the horse's mane in his hand, poised to swing onto its back, when he heard a louder yell. One man returned from the mine, and suddenly what seemed like an army of others burst from the buildings not far from where he stood and swarmed toward the openings above.

"Hell…Chris….it ain't just four anymore."

He couldn't leave…not now. One more might not make much difference, but one more added to the one inside just might. He decided again. He drew the Morgan close to him, tying a long rope around the silken neck. From the other materials he had gathered in the supply shed, he drew another length of rope and tied it to the horse's mane and another piece to his long silky tail. He made the adjustments he felt necessary, then, regretting what he was about to do to his mount, he scream and struck the horse a terrible blow with one of the branches lying on the ground. The noise and abuse sent the sensitive beast flying from the corral and away in the direction of the lake. J.D.'s last vision of him was a glimpse of flying hooves and streaming hair.

---

He blinked and dabbed at his bleeding nose as he stumbled back into the mine, pushed and prodded by the last man who had come out of the bunkhouse below and caught him at the corral. It was obvious that this time Chris' plan had failed miserably. Not a willing bunch to begin with, the miners, in complete agreement with Cavanaugh, were quickly distancing themselves from anything to do with Chris Larabee and Werner Kruner. They quickly left to find shelter in the sleeping chamber, out of reach of the guards, at least for now. Kruner had remained the sole ally, and already he had paid. He lay in a heap on the floor. His shirt was in tatters, his back a bruised and pulpy mess. Blood trickled down his face. J.D. thought he was breathing, but he wasn't sure.

But what drew his attention was Chris. He was shackled, face forward, to the metal cuffs on the wall. His face and exposed ribs showed blue, swollen patches from previous blows. J.D. wasn't sure how badly he had been hurt, but he heard the yell that tore from him as one of the men hit him with the long wooden cane. The blow connected solidly with the side, the man's legs finally refusing to hold him upright. The next one opened the shoulder a little more.

"No!!!" J.D. bolted to stop the punishment, only to be felled himself with a blow to the side of his head.

"J.D., no….don't…." Chris' voice was raspy from exertion. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth. "Why'd you come back? Back off. My problem."

"Turn him around." It was the one who had wielded the belt since day one, but even through half-closed eyes, Chris knew the belt had been exchanged for a whip this time. He struggled to get free, but it was of absolutely no use.

"You son-of-a-bitch….." J.D. yanked at those who held him. One fist yanked loose and the boy delivered a blow to his captor.

"Seems like you'd learn to let him take his own medicine. But if you're stupid enough to want it…I'll give it to you, too. We'll just do him next, boys."

Strong men janked Chris from the manacles, holding him between them as another clamped the cuffs around J.D.'s wrists, then tore his shirt to expose his unmarked skin.

"You do this to him….I'll come back and I'll kill you all." Chris knew he had kept his word at Jericho, and he would keep it now. His captors understood well that the older one would do exactly what he said…if they let him live. But they didn't mean to let either of them live. The two of them, whether individually or together, were nothing but trouble.

The brute enjoyed beating the smaller one…using the cane to wreak havoc on young muscles. Then the whip sang as it whistled through the air on its way to mark the boy's body. Chris fought wildly, trying to force himself free. J.D.'s cries were almost more than he could stand. The second blow produced a bright red streak of blood down J.D.'s left shoulder blade, and the boy went completely limp.

"Not as strong as he thought he was. Was he mister? Didn't save you a whole lot, or for long, now did he. Your turn."

They pulled J.D. free, shoving his still form to the ground. Then they placed the struggling Chris in the manacles face against the rough wall. But this time, his back too was bared, the black shirt ripped from his body. He drew in as much of a ragged breath as he could manage, but he couldn't stop the fear and the trembling that seized him. He remembered the first time. He knew how it would feel. Once again the whip whistled and then it bit. He didn't try to be silent, he just screamed. His body writhed as the whip whistled and bit again, and once again.

But it didn't whistle any more.

An explosion flung the trolley doors clear of their hinges, and five men who looked as if they brought all of hell with them walked much too calmly into the cavern and opened fire. The odds were three to one against the five who walked in. That was nothing. The odds were five to none for them when they were through.

Chapter 12

The men inside the mine, the ones who were still able to move, had gotten what they wanted. Free, they unceremoniously dumped the dead bodies at the rear of the mine, then gathered horses and swiftly made their escape. Only one stopped to offer any thanks for their rescue, and it wasn't Cavanaugh.

Three other men soon lay on bunks layered with soft blankets, in the bunkhouse where their captors had rested just before they died. Kruner was awake, but barely. At least he had no cuts to deal with, just a head and back that would hurt for days. Nathan's laudanum was beginning to help. As the first eased, the healer moved to help their leader.

"J.D. first, Nathan. I'm fine." The man spoke in spite of his fatigue, awake only because of pain, concern for his friend, and pure stubborn will.

"Sure you are...just like he said...you're both real fine. Swear if he gets any more like you, I'm gonna just..." He pushed a cloth loaded with whiskey down onto Chris' back, taking little satisfaction in hearing his sharply indrawn breath. "How many times you get hit this time?"

"Don't know....lost count. Not so bad this time though. J.D.?"

"Yeah?" the boy whispered. He hadn't screamed when Vin poured whiskey on his back either, but that didn't mean he didn't want to.

"Thought I told you to let me handle my own problems. You okay, son?"

"Yeah."

"Like hell he is. Okay, Chris, I want you to drink all of this."

"What's that?"

"Cheap rot gut whiskey."

"Thank God. J.D. first....I'm fine."

Rather than argue will the man, Nathan coaxed the first of the liquid down J.D.'s throat, following the firey draft with a cup of water...satisfied that the boy drank it easily. "Okay, Chris. J.D.'s been first...he's had his, now you drink all of this." The healer was pleased to hear no argument this time, and to see that his friend drank freely from the water he was offered. He was even more relieved as he saw them both fall into a deep, though drug-induced, sleep.

None of the three injured men remembered anything of the next two days, bundled into the back of wagons on all the available blankets, settled into oblivion by the whiskey which was liberally laced with Nathan's small supply of laudanum. He replenished his pouch on their way past Poncho House.

He allowed Kruner to wake first, battered and bruised, but uncut. The man was startled to find himself alive and again among men who knew nothing of what he said. "Haben meine Freunde ganz Recht? Wohin gehen wir?" (Will my friends be all right? Where are we going?)

Josiah became his companion for the duration. Mostly the preacher man did a great deal of smiling. "You boys reckon Chris could talk to him? He seems to know them pretty well."

"Tut jedermann sprechen Deutsch?" (Does anyone speak German?)

"Naw. I don't think Chris speaks American more than a few words at a time. Whatever this fellas saying...it sure ain't in American."

"I think it must be Dutch, Vin. I think he keeps saying something about Dutch."

"Sprechen irgendwelche von Ihnen Herren Spanischen?" (Do any of you gentlemen speak Spanish?)

Vin tried..."Maybe it's Spanish, Josiah. But dang, it don't sound like any Mexican I've ever come across."

"Gentlemen, I propose a small wager. Three to one it's Dutch. Four to one it's Spanish. Ten to one our Mr. Larabee can actually speak it."

"Shut up, Ezra."

"Mr. Tanner, it is a most auspicious wager. Not demeaning to anyone in any way, and a chance to while away the tedious hours of transport in a more social manner."

"Ezra...." Josiah smiled at him.

"Yes, Mr. Sanchez? A wager, perhaps?"

"No....Shut up."

They rode slowly on. The stops were frequent, encouraging the injured ones to rest, changing bandages, restitching skin that broke and bled. Chris woke briefly while his side was being redone, but with the 'water' Nathan got him to drink, he wasn't awake for long.

He slept through to the next day...not as damaged as Nathan feared, but still too weak to offer much resistance to the others. He rejected the 'water' the following morning, recognizing what was in it. "Come on, Nathan, no more...I need to be able to think."

Nathan refused to stop the boy's laudanum. "You're just too used to taking stuff like this and trying to move anyway. J.D. ain't never been though anything like this that I know of and he's just done in. Chris...you let him rest, now, and you just rest too. Jericho wasn't that long ago, and we're bouncing you around pretty good trying to get you home. You just settle back and try to get some sleep. I can give you more of this stuff whenever it gets too much. You lost a lot of blood, and that side of yours is about as blue as the ears on a blue tick hound."

"Now that was a good one....Doc. Got any more?" Buck rode close to the wagon, ready to stop any foolish hothead who tried to stir too soon. "How's it going there, Stud?"

"I can ride now, Buck. Look, Nathan, I'm fine. Anybody find my black?"

"We got him. You ain't getting on him. Not anytime soon. Just be still, now."

"Come on, Nathan! I'm really doing fine."

"Herr Chris! Mein Freund, bin ich, also glücklich zu sehen sind Sie besser." (Chris, my friend, I am so happy to see you are better.)

"Well, if you're so all fire fine...what's this fella saying?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"You got any idea even what words it is he's speaking? Josiah says Dutch, I'm guessing Spanish."

"J.D. said it was German."

"J.D.? How'd he know?"

"He was carrying on in it right along. That man helped him find the way out. Kept us both from being beat a couple of different times, took a pretty bad beating himself, and showed us the way out. His name's Werner Kruner....he's J.D.'s missing man."

"Pard, you telling me the little rooster actually found what he was looking for?"

"Yeah, he did, Vin. He can tell you all about it later. Nathan, come on, let me out of this thing. I'm fine."

"I hear you, you're just fine. Do you even know what fine is anymore? You just stay in the wagon til we get back to Four Corners...then I'm gonna check everything out real good all over again."

"Damn." But as soon as he would let his eyes close, he slept.

Chapter 13

When J.D. finally woke from the drugs...on his stomach on the soft bed in Nathan's room...the first thing he noticed was that Chris was asleep in the chair next to his bed. "Does it ever stop hurting so dang much?"

"Eventually." Chris roused and blinked tired eyes. He stood up stiffly, but only allowed a small groan to escape. He offered J.D. something cool to drink, then reached for a small jar and rubbed salve along his friend's left shoulder blade and into the bruises as well. "You'll get past the worst in a few days. This one ain't too deep. Best thing you can do is ignore it...just pretend it don't exist."

"Not easy to do."

"No, not easy. Don't make a habit of none of this. Taking it sure don't ever get any easier, and you damn sure won't ever get used to it."

"You talking from experience?"

"Yeah...too damn much experience."

"Anything make it better?"

"No, not really...but tell you what might help us ignore it for a while. You ready to move just a little? If you can, we'll go get a little fresh air and exercise. You need to move soon as you can, as much as you can. Even Nathan can't fault us for that."

"You sure? Nathan said not to move around too much."

"Yeah. Be stiff as a board if you listen to him. I was thinking this morning that a little Rye whiskey might help things look a little better, make it easier to move things around a bit...for you and for me."

"Nathan said no whiskey. Does beer count?" He was more than interested.

"Shoot. You gonna listen to him or do what I say? What do you think he's been shoveling down your throat? Laudanum's nothing but opium and whiskey. You've had a snoot full of both. If you hadn't been sleeping, you'd most likely have been singing."

"You reckon we just might try?" J.D. pushed against the mattress. Chris braced him and helped him make it to his feet. "You seen my pants anywhere?"

"No...couldn't find mine anywhere. Nathan thinks keeping our pants is gonna let him control what we do. Shoot, not hardly! I just pulled on my drawers early this morning and went and got a pair for myself." He was still too sore, paying for the antic, but he was very pleased to have pulled it off. He grinned one of his better grins at the younger man. "I thought to bring along another pair of my britches for you....rolled up the legs a might so you wouldn't hit the floor. We'll go hunting for yours after we get us some whiskey."

"Thanks." J.D. pulled them on, surprised to find how small the pants were. "Dang things are just a might tight.."

Chris grinned, "You think so, Stud?" He watched the young man blush furiously. He was glad he hadn't made a different, much cockier, retort. He didn't want to risk damaging the boy's pride any more just now. "Brought you a new shirt, too. Yours got a little torn up on account of me." He eased the younger man into the cloth. J.D. found it uncomfortable but bearable. "You ready?"

"Sounds like a great idea to me." Managing the stairs down from Nathan's room to the street was the tricky part. Moving across the street to the saloon, they both looked absolutely pitiful. "Chris, you sure you're up to this. You don't look so good."

"I'm fine. Don't worry about people looking. They'll just think you're helping me, and they suspect I'm drunk most of the time anyway. Hell. I AM fine. Nathan's just got my side stitched so damn tight, it's all I can do to stand up straight."

"How many stitches he finally put in it?"

"I don't have a clue....lost count somewhere around fifty."

"You get him back?"

"Not this time...I think I've had enough of his attention for awhile....I don't wanna start nothing new. If I do, Nathan's liable to retaliate with something real mean." He paused as they approached swinging doors. "Look, J.D., don't go making a lot of noise when we get in here, not til we see who's around...you just might get Nathan all riled up."

The saloon was the no-name one closer to the center of the little town. The one they both knew well...where all the others were bound to be. When they arrived, they eased to the bar. Chris said no word, just motioned to the barkeep to bring two. The man didn't have to ask what two. As pale as the two men before him were, and the identity of the taller one, the glasses were filled to the brim with good stout Rye. They had managed to knock back the first, before Nathan noticed them both.

"YOU'D THINK THE TWO OF YOU WAS LESS THAN FIVE YEARS OLD!!! THIS AIN'T A GAME. YOU KEEP THIS UP, I'M LIKELY TO FIND A LIMBER LITTLE TREE LIMB AND JUST TAN THE BOTH OF YOU!!!! THEN I'M GONNA FIND SOMETHING REAL NASTY AND SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR THROATS!!"

"Whoa! J.D. first, Nathan. You've done enough to me already. I'm fine."

J.D. glared at him, "Coward."

"Sure you are...just like he said...he's just fine too. Swear if he gets any more like you, I'm gonna just..." Nathan ground his hand into Chris' shoulder, then into his back, taking little satisfaction in hearing his sharply indrawn breath. "You just got yourself beat up again. Now, you won't stay down...up before dawn walking all over town. I heard about it, so don't you deny it."

"Just went to get my pants, Nathan."

"Then you come dragging yourself and J.D. over here. Look at this. Your shoulder's bleeding, and that side's open again.

"Damn...hadn't noticed that."

"You're just too used to trying to ignore any damage you take. Just exactly how much did you get hit this time?"

"Wasn't that bad, thanks to J.D. Shoot...I need to be doing something. Don't like being tied down." I don't think you're ever gonna learn. If you'd just stay down for a day or two, you could get up a whole lot sooner. Sit down over here. J.D., you too." In the middle of the saloon, he ripped the packing from Chris' shoulder, drew a thin knife from his pouch, and began to probe the wound.

The patient hissed at his handling of the wound.

"J.D.? How many?"

"How many what?" the boy contemplated his glass. He hadn't screamed on the ride home when Vin poured whiskey on his back , but that didn't mean he wanted to try something like that again. Chris obviously wanted to yell now. J.D. didn't think his own back had eased enough for him to risk sitting as close as Chris was to the doc. "Anybody seen Herr Kruner?

"Herr Kruner?"

"Herr......yeah....Mr.....Mr. Kruner."

Ezra brightened. "All right, gentlemen, one last change to place bets on our wager.... Let's see...the book is open for three to one it's Dutch. Four to one it's Spanish. Ten to one Larabee can actually speak it.....but since he has already proven that he has a possible clue...I intend to retire that wager from the table. Takers? What's your pleasure?"

There were none. J.D. reached out and appropriated the small stack of bills from Ezra's hand...."Neither. It's German. I win."

"Now, just a minute...."

"Ezra," Vin gave him a sharp jab on the shoulder, "Shut up."

Chris sipped another Rye, "I told you boys that J.D. said it was German. You should have trusted him, played the bet and cleaned Ezra out."

"Beside those cuts, he sure came up with a whole lot of bruises. How'd you let him get so hurt?" Nathan pounced on his nerves again.

"Me? Let him? I didn't do nothing."

"Sure looks like a whole lot of nothing. Boy's back's worse than yours. You got a couple more cuts, maybe, but he's just plain burned from being hit so much. You ought to have looked after him better than that."

"Hell. J.D. made his own plans. I told him more than once to let me handle my own problems. He nearly got himself killed being my hero. Not that I'm not more than grateful now."

He sipped the Rye, noticing how pale the younger one seemed to be. "We could go back for awhile if you need to J.D.. You hurting too much?" He said it, but he hoped he didn't have to do it.

"Nah, Chris...not too bad. Want another Rye?"

"Pour it." "You'd think a man as old as you would be able to control himself better than this...and wouldn't go setting a bad example for this kid."

"Nathan, I ain't no KID! I AIN'T NO BOY!!"

"Easy, J.D. Don't go bustin' a gut...Nathan's just not in control any more and it makes him just a might ornery." Chris jerked as the man found the deepest part of the wound. "Damn."

"Wouldn't be near so ornery if you'd just rest a bit, least let yourself heal proper. Hate doing all this stuff over and over because of some old fool like you. I think I might just give you a new lesson in a little bit...help you understand."

"Nathan, you call me 'old' again, we're gonna have a serious conversation. And, I ain't no fool either!!" He stopped for a minute, knocking back the drink; then tried to change the subject.

"How'd you boys find us, anyhow?" Chris was curious about it, but he really just wanted anything to take his mind off what Nathan had said he was going to do next. A person just never knew if the man was serious.

Werner entered the saloon, returned to his normal self, dressed in a stylish new suit, complete with a neat derby hat. The only remaining visible evidence of his time in the mine were red, calloused hands, and the shining remnants of a black eye. What bruises remained were hidden beneath his dapper apparel.

"Herr Kruner! Welcomen!"

"Herr Dunne! Mein Freund. Es ist gut, Sie oben zu sehen wieder. Sind Sie wohl?" (My friend, it is good to see you up again. Are you well?)

"Nicht zu falsch. Er heilt bald." (Not too bad. It will heal soon.)

"How rude," Josiah deadpanned. "At least you ought to introduce us and tell us just exactly what the hell he's saying, J.D."

"My friend. I said it was good to see this one again, and asked if he was well."

"I didn't think you spoke English!"

"Herr Sanchez. Your young friend here is an excellent teacher. You should let him instruct you sometime."

"Oh, sure..." Josiah looked up for divine guidance and much patience, but they all laughed together anyway.

The man smiled and took a seat beside J.D., accepting a glass of the whiskey, and saluting the boy in return. In German, he began to speak slowly and quietly to the man. "J.D., thank you for coming to find me. You are a good friend, and your friend Chris is almost as courageous as you. I wish you well. My home is in a place called Flagstaff, just south of Mexican Hat. You will come visit me, yes. And bring that one with you. He could use a little rest. As for the rest of these gunslingers, have patience. They will learn."

He continued in English for them all..."Gentlemen, the stage leaves. I must too. I leave you my thanks for my life and for trusting this one to come to find me. You give me a rare gift." He rose, taking another glass of the good, stout Rye, toasted J.D. first and then Chris. He toasted the rest with one more round, then left to meet the stage.

When he walked away...everything was solemn, until Buck began to laugh, "Rare gift? J.D.? Boy, what'd you put in that man's whiskey?"

"Shut up, Buck." Chris said it with more sharpness than anyone expected. Under the circumstances, nobody faulted him for it.

"Must have been a great plan you cooked up there, Chris."

"Plan? My plan? Hell."

"You always have a plan, Stud! What was it this time?"

"Whatever happened outside that mine wasn't any of my planning. All my plan for inside got us was near dead. Damn it to hell, Nathan.... stop!"

"Stop when I'm through. You asked for this..."

"Who thought it up then? It most certainly was not one of our bunch. Was it Herr Kruner?"

"Well, Ezra, just who the hell would have understood what he was saying? I don't think Chris would of..."

"Plan had to be J.D.'s, Vin. He was the one who climbed out to get us help. Is somebody gonna tell me what happened?"

Buck had been itching to tell the tale. "Well, we'd stopped just outside this passage like, between those two plateaus. Vin wanted to go through, but you know how I am. I hate going through a blind alley of all kind...especially when there's a way to go around. Well, we were having us a bit of a conversation..."

"A conversation?" Chris actually smiled, just before he drew in another sharp breath as Nathan began to examine the mangled wound in his side.

"A conversation." Josiah contributed as he braced the man for Nathan's hellish ministrations. "A conversation that sounded like a chorus of Medusa's hair curls."

"Damn, Josiah. Don't make me laugh." J.D. was listening intently, following the lead of the other one who was putting up with a bit of needle and new thread about then. "Ain't there any whiskey left around here?"

"Not to drink, J.D. You've just had enough. We need what we've got to clean this stuff."

"Then somebody ought to check this place real good, Buck. Ought to be a bottle of something somewhere a man can drink. It is a saloon."

"Nathan'll just pour it on your back, J.D. Stop your bellyaching." Vin said it, but as he did, he picked up a jar of salve, walked over, removed the shirt and bandages, and began to rub some of the smelly but soothing stuff into the cut and bruises on the young man's back. He spoke low to his friend, "Ought to ease it some. Think I might do this just a touch more gentle than that one, pard. You two went and made him mad....again. Don't fret too much over this...you're gonna heal real good." When he was finished, he walked over to the bar and poured two more glasses of Rye, and walking in front of their physician, handed one to J.D. and the other to Chris.

"Damn, Nathan, will you finish that and let me up." Chris' shot of Rye disappeared, followed by another Vin quickly poured. As pale as J.D. had been, Chris was quickly getting worse.

"Vin! No more now. Might start him bleeding again if he gets too much. Chris, you just stay still. I'll be through when I'm through."

He gritted his teeth, "Go on, Buck....talk.....gees....somebody talk...." He tried his best to twist away from Nathan and his needle. He could in no way slip Josiah's grasp.

"Be still...I've got to get your back after I finish this side."

"Shut up, Nathan...just finish this would you! Barkeep....bring a bottle for J.D. and one for me."

"Ain't gonna happen. You be still....drink this water if you're thirsty. You know you're just starting all over again, especially with that side. I ain't got the first bit of sympathy for you. What did you think you were doing? Fishing? And Mary's told me you got pitched off that horse."

"I DID NOT GET PITCHED OFF MY HORSE!!! Stupid lughead kicked me." To Chris the suggestion that any horse had thrown him was a major insult.

"Okay, Stud! You'll have to give us a complete confession on that little story later. Finally, Chris Larabee got pitched!!! I'll be horns waggled."

"DID NOT GET PITCHED. I see I'm gonna have to have a little conversation of my own with that fool woman too!!" He started to rise from the chair.

"Now, my friend, be reasonable...." Josiah pushed him back into his seat.

"Yeah. Don't think you ought to go starting even a little ole fight with that one... not just now. Condition you're in, she just might win, and that would truly damage your fine reputation."

"Shoot, Buck. Have you just about insulted me enough for one day?"

"So, do you boys think she just might....I think I'll start a wager on the outcome..."

"Ezra...do I have to..." He tried to rise again.

"Now, boys...it's time for peace and tranquility....let's all just take a moment for silence before one of us.." he glanced at Chris, " commences stirring up a tempest."

Nathan clamped down on his damaged shoulder, "Now, Chris, you gonna get still and let me finish, or do I have to do something else you'll regret."

"Hell, Nathan!"

Vin just laughed...but he could see Larabee's ears turning red again. "Buckley, maybe you best finish telling them what happened."

Chapter 14

"Right. Well, we decided to go around. We had just turned a little south to make the detour when J.D.'s horse came flying around this lake like a bat out of hell. I thought mine wasn't gonna be able to catch up to him. You've never seen a horse rigged up like that one."

"Well..." Chris gave him full attention.

"Horse was wearing J.D.'s hat. It was tied with rope stuck through the crown, and the rope was tied to his mane. Damn hat was just blowing in the breeze...." Buck and the rest burst into laughter.

"What?"

"And the hat had all these little sissy feathers sticking out of it...."

"Wasn't feathers, Buck, it was straw....fifteen pieces of straw. If you're gonna tell this at my expense, least you can do is get it right!"

Even as Nathan ripped a scab from his back, Chris grinned, though he cursed too, "Why fifteen?"

"Trying to tell them there was fifteen of em....only thing I had that I could think to use."

"And...." Buck laughed again.....

"And what?"

"And he had decorated the poor unfortunate creature with flowers in its tail... merciful heaven."

"Ezra, it wasn't flowers. It was branches...."

"Good idea, kid. They didn't see it, but I did. Him dragging all that brush behind him made easy tracking back to the mine. Thought it was real well done....just didn't think it was you that done it. Sorry, pard."

"Vin...one of these days I'm gonna prove I can track just as good as you!"

"Right, kid....you just let me know what lifetime that's gonna be in."

"You're overlooking the most important decoration, gentlemen. A true bit of divine inspiration."

"And what would that be, Josiah?" Chris felt a few minutes short of passing out, but he wanted to hear it all."

"Tied into the mane at that horse's shoulder, nestled all snug and tender, there were four of the nicest sticks of dynamite you ever saw...complete with a goodly length of the world's finest fusing."

"I do admit Josiah, it was a real nice invitation to come and blow something to hell."

"That it was, brother Buck....that it was. Leads men into temptation, though."

"And to think, this little ole puppy, this still-wet-behind-the-ears gunfighter was the one who thought it all up. My friends, we have trained him quite well...quite well. I, for one, am extremely proud."

"Shut up, Ezra. I can do anything any of you can..." J.D. tried to rise from the chair. Vin quickly pushed him down, only succeeding in making him angrier.

"Whoa, J.D. Easy." Chris closed tired green eyes, suddenly feeling more than woozy. Shaking his head sharply, he opened them again to look straight into the tired but hotheaded hazel ones, "You just rest easy, son. You don't owe them anything...no apologies, no explanations.... no nothing. It ain't none of their business."

He suddenly stopped talking. Quiet...too quiet. His hand was pressed against the throbbing side trying to stop the stinging pain. He didn't seem to hear anything at all.

"Nathan? You ain't hurt him too much have you?" Josiah reached down, feeling his forehead, checking to make certain he was okay.

"Naw. Don't think so. But he'll hurt for a day or two more...they both will. Thing is, Chris could have avoided most of this if he'd just been a little patient..could have waited for us to come back."

"Well, J.D., I'd have thought you'd just have blown that little ole place yourself. Get a little timid, did you? Maybe just have to leave you here next time."

"Buck, I...."

Through the descending fog, Chris heard the anger in the boy's voice again. It just wasn't fair...not now. He shook himself awake. "Buck, leave him alone!!! You boys just give him a little peace."

"Chris, I can handle this..."

"Know you can." He would have passed out, but there was something important he wanted to say...something more important than sleep. Something he felt was owed. He struggled to get it said.

"J.D., you've proved you can finish anything you put your mind to, and you finished all this just fine. They give you more grief, we'll just call em out in the middle of the street... together." His head nodded and he slept where he sat, a mixture of fatigue, stout Rye whiskey, and the dose of laudanum Nathan had slipped into the water.

"Thought that wasn't ever gonna kick in."

"Now, Nathan," Buck watched their leader with concern, "why'd you go do that to him. Thought you told us he was getting better."

"Yeah, but sometimes he just gets too big for his britches, and I get tired of it. He gets better a minute, then just has to go pull something real mule-headed like he did this morning. Thought I'd just see to it that he gets a little bit of rest."

"Nathan, he's fine, and he's just gonna raise hell again when he wakes up. You ought to just leave him alone."

"You ain't any better than he is, J.D. Come on...Buck, Josiah...You get Chris. Ezra, Vin...this one's yours. Let's get em back to my place."

"But..."

"But nothing. You've done proved you can be as big a trouble maker as Chris Larabee ever thought to be....you just ain't learned all his tricks yet. And if I have my way...you won't."

"But, I'm fine....I'm fine."

"I hear you. Here, you just drink this."

The youngest of them all recognized the heavy taste of laudanum hidden in the whiskey and tried to spit it out. Josiah put a stop to it, clamping a hand over his nose and mouth. "Oh, no, you don't. Come on boys....pick him up if you have to, but we're going. Wait too long, the kid'll be out on his feet, just like Larabee."

"Hell, Josiah, I ain't no KID!" He shook his suddenly woozy head. "Nathan, what did you do?"

"Kid, you just move right along with your two keepers. I want you and Chris both bedded down fast. Sleep...shoot, after as much whiskey the two of you've had this morning, you shouldn't have any problem at all. What you get for listening to a dang carouser like Chris."

"But, I don't want to..." The full force of the laudanum hit, and J.D. was out, head down on the table, snoring softly.

Buck snickered, "But I bet he has a headache the size of the whole territory by tomorrow morning."

"Probably. Well, he'll have earned it...both of em will. I won't have one bit of sympathy for either of em. It took Chris so long to pass out, I gave J.D. a double dose. As for me, I want a bath, some food, and a little sleep sometime today. And I need these two where they ought to be before I can get myself a little rest."

"Best idea you've had all day. Do we maybe need to tie em both down before they go wandering again? That way maybe all of us can get to have us a real good time."

"Amen, brother Buck, Amen. A most divine inspiration!"

Even Vin warmed to the idea, tossing back his final gut warmer. "All right Buck, Josiah, you got Chris? Ezra, help me with this little weasel. If we get em both tied down in the next few minutes, we might just have time to enjoy a little life for a whole day before one of em decides to try it again."

The End