Four Corners of the Ponderosa

Chapter One

Ezra was dog tired, literally sleeping in the saddle as Chaucer picked his way along the trail, following Chris's big black without any need to be nudged or driven by his rider. Wherever Solon led, Chaucer would follow, blindly and without urging.

Chris sighed, turning around in the saddle to check up on the men behind him. He smiled at the sight of the black riverboat gambler hat where a face should have been, hiding the exhausted man following directly at Solon's heels, bowed head bobbing unconsciously with each step of his chestnut horse. The smile lessened at the sight of the white bandage wrapped around his upper left shoulder, stained dark with blood. That would need changing soon. At least the bullet wasn't in there anymore, but it obviously hadn't stopped bleeding despite the tight bandage. That was not good.

Leaning out a little, Chris looked past Ezra to where Josiah was slumped heavily in his own saddle, his sloppy hat also pulled down low. Like Chaucer, Quincy was following the line, really not caring one way or another where they were going or when they would stop. The colorful poncho the preacher wore looked gray and dingy in the twilight, mainly due to the fact that the older man was covered nearly head to toe in dust and sand--it wasn't obvious where the buckskin horse ended and the man began. From what Ezra had told him and Vin, the fall Quincy took this morning into the soft earth during their mad dash had sent Josiah rolling across the dry desert floor—both horse and rider had been lucky it hadn't done much to either slow them down or cause them much harm.

Chris's eyes flicked past Josiah and landed on a similar pair of sparkling eyes, as Vin smiled softly back at him from the rear atop Peso. The tracker gave a tiny nod.

All quiet.

Chris turned around again, peering into the nearly lightless sky. In a moment, they would be riding by moonlight. Around them, the Sierra's began to rise black, blue and purple against the indigo sky.

Chris looked back at Ezra, then shifted his horse a little to the side, intending to get beside the gambler's horse.

Chaucer, on the other hand, simply turned and shifted sideways with Solon, keeping his nose neatly up against Solon's rump.

Chris tried not to roll his eyes, and changed his mind, pulling Solon to a stop.

Chaucer stopped automatically. The horse really wasn't up to making its own decisions right now.

Next in line, Quincy actually ran into Chaucer before stopping, not having noticed the chestnut had stopped. Of course, this wasn't necessarily because Quincy was tired—the horse was just that dumb. The dumbest in the territory, Buck often remarked, and even Josiah had to concede the truth of that the fifth or sixth time Quincy tried to make friends with a polecat. The animal honestly never learned.

Peso, never one to follow a leader even when tired, didn't feel like stopping, and had to be stopped by a hard tug from Vin. The horse threw his head in annoyance, then lowered it to eat some of the scrub on the side of the trail, earning another tug.

"Not yet, boy," Vin whispered, patting the fractious black horse's neck and pulling him in tight next to Quincy.

"Ezra," Chris turned more in the saddle and backed the big black up a little, accidentally bumping into the chestnut. It earned them some weakly bared teeth from Chaucer, but not much else as Solon continued to move Chris in range for him to touch Ezra's hurt arm if he needed to. Chris tilted his head to look at the man's chin under the hat brim. "Ezra, wake up."

The gambler sighed, surprising Chris. The black brim lifted, revealing shadowed and sleepy green eyes, looking surprisingly awake for someone he thought had been sleeping. A dark bruise and tiny cut still colored one cheekbone, where that deputy sheriff Slade's fist had hit him, but otherwise the skin was as clear and flawless as ever.

"We across the border yet?" Ezra yawned.

Chris gave a small smile and shook his head.

"No, something else. Vin, can you wake the preacher?"

"Surely." Vin reached over and tapped Josiah's arm. "Wake up, Josiah."

Josiah jerked awake, the gray haired man reaching for his gun without thinking, relaxing only when he saw Vin's grizzled mug smiling back at him. He snorted, took his hand off of the weapon and leaned his forearms forward on the saddlehorn.

"Already?" he asked softly, then, slowly, his face cracked a grin, his blue eyes surprisingly merry despite the situation. "Shame, I was having a fairly nice dream…."

"A dream," Vin chuckled, "Josiah, I'd hate to know what you dream about when in the saddle."

"Well, I have to admit," the big man's grin broadened, "Ezra's mother might have been present."

Ezra's head snapped around, and there was no mistaking the growl that escaped his lips, even as his face winced in pain from the unintended pull on his shoulder muscles. Josiah chuckled.

"Now, now, son, be mindful of that shoulder—it's telling you to be more careful."

Ezra's eyes narrowed, "Now, now, Josiah," he mocked, "be mindful of your teeth—they're telling me to knock them out."

"Aw Ezra," Vin's smile was innocent, "You know he can't help it. After all, you have to admit," his expression grew wicked, "your mother's got a real pretty—"

"Vin!" The gambler eyes were wide.

"Smile," Vin finished, all innocence again. "I was going to say smile! Honest! Though," Vin's eyes glittered, "she also has a damn, fine pair a'—"

"Don't!"

"Hands! I was going to say hands," Vin looked at Josiah for support, and just got laughter in return. "Really! After all, the way she manipulates cards, why, just imagine what else those hands could do…."

Ezra growled again, Vin clammed up with a grin and Josiah laughed harder. Up at the front, Chris hid his smile under his hat, happy to see them bantering again, aware Vin was joshing Ezra on purpose to keep him alert. He wished he didn't have to change the mood….

Grimacing, he cleared his throat to get their attention. Three sets of eyes looked forward, and Chris raised his to meet them. Their smiles faded.

"Boys," Chris said, changing the tone, "we have some decisions to make."

They had all been talking softly, even when joking, perhaps in deference to the tranquility of the landscape, but Chris's words quieted them even more.

"There's water up ahead," Chris informed them, to explain the stop. "I can hear it running. Good place to stop for a little while."

"Stop?" Ezra's tired face frowned, "I thought we weren't going to stop."

"The posse will have stopped, because they'll be relying on their tracker. No use our killing the horses," Chris answered, patting Solon's lathered neck.

"But, surely, the logic of widening any distance between us and them…."

"We'll be out of California tomorrow, and the horses need a rest."

"Well, yes, that I agree with," Ezra sighed, patting his maligned best friend and wishing he hadn't had to ride him so hard. Chris's eyes caught the slight shiver that shook the gambler's frame as he pet Chaucer—it wasn't just the horses that needed to sit still for a while. Off in the distance a coyote barked, but other than that, nothing broke the serenity of the rapidly darkening world around them. The smell of sage and juniper filled the air as a light breeze touched their faces, heralding the cooler temperatures of the oncoming night.

"So," Ezra peered up at the shadowed mountains in front of him, "where exactly are we?"

Chris turned and looked in a particular direction where the mountains clearly opened for a pass, and Ezra and Josiah both instinctively looked in the same direction. "Over those hills ahead is Lake Tahoe," he answered. "Our choices are, we either take the pass to the North, and look for some real law to help us in Virginia City. Or we cut to the South and aim for Carson City. Both places are supposed to be honest. Carson is, obviously, closer to home and, since we'd be following the main overland stage route, might get us there faster."

"South would seem to be the desirable direction, then," Ezra remarked.

"But they'll be expecting us to go that way. It's an easier road, particularly when you have wounded. The north pass is steeper and higher up," Chris looked past him to Vin for affirmation. The tracker accepted the assessment with a nod. He didn't know the area around here, having never ventured this far north and west, but he trusted Chris's judgment. Chris nodded, "North, on the other hand, would also probably get us to help quicker—more justice, less politics, at least right now."

"Then let's go North," Josiah yawned, "if that seems more right to you, Chris. Go ahead, we'll follow." He lowered his head again, pleased a decision had been made.

"There's another reason," Chris said, causing Josiah to look up again. Chris grimaced, "I don't think the posse will leave California—at least not the members who are chasing us because they think Josiah killed that man. However, the ones who are after those deeds will keep coming."

"Most likely," Ezra agreed, yawning just as Josiah had.

"So, we can gain some time by heading north and then cutting through the Ponderosa when the road goes around it. Fellas chasing us won't follow, I don't think. They won't risk it. They'll go around, assuming we did as well, if we cover our tracks well enough, and we'll gain some time on them."

"Ponderosa?" Josiah frowned, "What's the Ponderosa?"

The question earned startled silence from Chris. Ezra snorted, turning his head again to peer at the preacher over his shoulder with a disdainful air.

"You're not serious," he drawled.

Josiah frowned, and next to him Vin also had a look of puzzlement on his face. Ezra arched an eyebrow at both of them, then chuckled.

"Gentlemen, that is embarrassing! The two of you have never heard of the Cartwrights? First the Nichols Brothers and now this—it makes me wonder if all the famous families of the West haven't somehow slipped past your grasp!"

"I don't kin to know city folks as well as you, Ezra," Vin muttered defensively. Josiah just shrugged, he just didn't care about famous people one way or another.

"They're not city folk," Chris amended, "They're ranchers."

"Ranchers?" This time Vin's tone was angrier, his first thoughts turning to the two evils of Four Corners.

"Not like Royale and James, Vin," Chris rubbed at his forehead, knowing without asking exactly what the tracker was thinking. "The Cartwrights…are more like Nettie. They've been taking care of their land for many years, and they share it with homesteaders and the Indians. But they are territorial. They protect their land and don't suffer trespassers lightly. We get caught by them on the Ponderosa, and they're likely to order us back the way we came, probably right back into the posse members who are following us."

"So, you're saying there's a risk," Josiah said calmly.

"Yup," Chris looked at him, then at Vin and finally to Ezra. "And I'm willing to listen if you'd rather we go around or head south. But cutting through will likely take half a day off the ride, at least. And once we're in Virginia City, we can get a wire to Travis and maybe get some back-up. The Central Pacific's got to have a presence there, however small. From what you've told us, the line they're planning will run not too far north of there."

Ezra didn't offer any words, just stared back at Chris, frankly just too tired to think. Josiah eyes strayed to Ezra's back, seeing the hunched shoulders and the weary way he sat on Chaucer's back. Vin watched Josiah, then looked up at Chris.

"If we do get caught by these Cartwrights," Vin's gray eyes narrowed, "any chance we could talk them into helping us?"

Chris shrugged, "That I don't know, but I doubt it. Even if they believed we are who we are, Ben Cartwright's got the reputation of having a streak of righteousness in him wider than Mary, Nathan and the Judge combined. And his sons aren't supposed to be much better. They've the reputation of being arrogant, proud and judgmental. I'm not sure any of them would give us the chance to explain once they learn it’s the law we're running from."

"Some law!" Ezra laughed, and suddenly started coughing, leaning forward in the saddle. Chris watched him a moment, then reached out a feather touch to Ezra's bowed back, knowing it was the bruised ribs and back that caused the attack. After a moment, the coughing subsided and Ezra managed to sit up a little straighter, his breathing shallow but evening out even as his hammering heart calmed down. He glanced askance at Chris, who pulled his hand back, and nodded a brief thanks for not asking the unnecessary question of if he was all right.

Josiah's voice sounded strained as he spoke, that cough making his decision, "Get us the quickest way to someplace he can rest, Chris."

"Where both of you can rest," Vin added, knowing Josiah's body was no less bruised. He just hid it better. Of course, he didn't also have a still bleeding gunshot wound tying up his arm.

"Okay then," Chris nodded at them, "We go through the Ponderosa."

Chapter Two

They broke camp before dawn, taking advantage the clear skies creating a long stretch of false dawn before the sun actually rose. Making good time, they were climbing up into the pass before noon, the horses never wavering. By the time the sun hit its zenith, the road had turned and was now heading almost due east along the plateau.

The distinctly cooler air had brought their jackets back out, though Ezra didn't bother to put his useless left arm through the sleeve of his red coat—it hurt too much to lift. The shoulder burned, and he knew that, even with all the care the others were taking to help him keep it clean, the wound was not healing well, if at all. It couldn't, not until he actually got some real rest. The three or four hours on the cold ground last night didn't count and he felt like hell this morning. He was sure that whoever was banging away on the timpani drums inside his skull was going to give up and start banging a hole through his skull at any moment.

"Could you wear your purple coat?" Chris asked, pulling up next to Ezra and startling him from his reverie. The gambler glanced sideways at the gunslinger. Ezra knew his red jacket was as close as he could get to actually wearing a bullseye, but it was much warmer and more durable than his purple one, which was currently carefully stowed in one of the saddlebags.

"I'm cold," Ezra finally admitted softly. "Colder than…normal. My red coat is wool. The purple jacket is not."

"I see," Chris nodded understanding, his eyes shifting away so Ezra didn't see the flash of worry in them. Colder "than normal" meant Ezra was probably chilled to the bone, his shoulder wound obviously the reason. A slight breeze in Four Corners when the southerner was healthy would have him complaining of "freezing, Arctic temperatures," but when he was ill, and reluctant to admit any weakness even to his friends, his words would run the opposite way, severely understating everything, not to mention the actual words themselves tended to be simple ones. Grimacing at the insight, the black-clad gunslinger quickly moved away before he let Ezra know that he'd been understood all too well what Ezra had just told him, knowing the embarrassment it would bring.

The gambler sighed, finding it difficult to really think about anything this morning. He was, of course, the only one with two coats. The others wore the same ones they always did. Maybe he should switch….

A blast of cold air sent another sharp chill through him, causing him to shiver uncontrollably, and his left arm lost more sensation.

Then again, he thought, pulling the thicker coat together with the numb fingers of his left hand as he finally got the shuddering to subside, maybe not.

+ + + + + + +

Vin trailed behind, scouting down the pass and looking for signs that they were being followed. He'd been doing so constantly since they broke camp, the tracker not trusting his ability to completely hide their passing. If the scout Slade and his men was using was any good, they'd be easy to follow. His only hope was that the trick he'd left, creating a false trail from their campsite to the south, would send them that way first and thus delay them long enough to….

He grimaced.

Movement. Too many men to be just wayfarers, especially without a wagon.

Damn.

Wheeling Peso around, he kicked the horse into a quick trot, catching up to Chris.

+ + + + + + +

"How far back?" the gunslinger asked.

"Half a day, at most," Vin replied, his frustration clear in his voice. "And Chris, I've been thinking…they know we're headed this way now, and they might also think that we're going to try to cut through this Ponderosa of yours. If they do, they're going to try and stop us before we do. How long before we get there?"

"Actually," Chris looked up, measuring the distance of the plateau of the ridge, "we're already past its most western boundary. We head in that direction," he pointed off the main road to the south, "I think we'd hit it in a couple of hours. Straight ahead," he frowned for a moment, mentally guessing distances, "we probably will hit it by dinner time. It creeps up on this road, and the road shifts north to go around it. That's where I meant it would save us time to cut through."

"It's that big?" Vin asked wonderingly.

"The largest in Nevada," Ezra spoke up from behind them, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Vin turned and looked at him, then back at Chris.

"Well…thing is," Vin frowned, "Chris, we're moving too slow." He didn't need to explain it was because of Ezra and Josiah's injuries that they were forced to a slower pace than their hunters. "They'll catch up to us before we hit your shortcut, if we stay on this road."

"What are you saying?"

"That we head south, as you pointed out first. A couple of hours, you said. We can stay ahead of them for a couple of hours, and if I hide our trail well enough—"

"We do that now, we'll lose the advantage of distance," Chris shook his head. "They keep following the main road, they'll get ahead of us. They'll be heading almost directly east, we'll be heading south, then northeast on an angle. And the country to the south is much harder to travel, especially for….And if they do figure out what we've done…." Chris frowned.

"I'll use everything I know to keep them from figuring it out, Chris. If you really think the Ponderosa will protect us, it's the only way." Vin's eyes narrowed, "But that's only if you're sure they won't follow us onto it."

Chris turned around, looking behind him. Both Ezra and Josiah were sitting slumped in their saddles, waiting for him to make his decision. Neither attempted to suggest that they be left behind—it would be a waste of breathe.

In answer Vin's unspoken question, the gunslinger's jaw muscles flexed then relaxed. He turned dark eyes on the tracker.

"Hell, Vin, truth is, I don't know anything at all. I don't know if they will follow us or not. I can only guess. I don't think they'll follow us, but they might think that's safer than trying to convince the sheriff of Virginia City or Reno or Carson City, or the army in any of the local forts, that we're dangerous and must be extracted. They may think it's safer than letting us possibly slip past them to a different city than the one they aim for. They may think it'll be safer than letting us…possibly…running into the Cartwrights and getting them on our side." He shook his head, "All I know is, the Ponderosa is our best chance."

Vin stared at him a moment, then shrugged, "So…let's go now. Let's not wait. We'll lose time, but it's better than staying on this road like sittin' ducks."

Chris took a deep breath, hating that he had to make the decision. For the hundredth time in his life, he wondered how he'd ended up the leader of these men. He'd never asked for it. He just…seemed to become it. Vin watched him, waiting, his advice given. It was, as always, up to Chris.

The gunslinger quickly weighed the options, the pros and cons rippling through his head like cards through Ezra's fingers.

He looked back at Vin, then behind him at Ezra and Josiah.

"All right. We head south," he announced, exuding the confidence he knew they needed, even if he didn't honestly feel it. He looked back at Vin, "Cover our tracks. I want them blind until it's too late, you got me?"

"I gotcha," Vin nodded solemnly.

Chapter Three

Chris was wrong—it was barely an hour before they hit the edge of the Ponderosa. The four men halted their horses and stared at the large, obvious "No Trespassing" sign posted on a tall Ponderosa Pine.

"I wonder," Ezra said nonchalantly, glancing at Chris, "do you think they use dogs?"

"Dogs?" Chris replied, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"To catch trespassers. Great big, snarling German Shepherds or Dobermans, their sharp, flesh-tearing teeth dripping with saliva and hunger, just waiting to tear any foolish interloper—"

"Ezra," Chris growled, "Shut up."

The gambler couldn't resist a grin. Vin smiled as well, happy to see the gambler making jokes. Perhaps it meant he was feeling better. But it was more than that—they all felt it: for some strange reason, this sign promising dire consequences to anyone caught on the Ponderosa had made them feel like they'd found salvation.

Very strange indeed.

+ + + + + + +

They rode more slowly now, no longer on any obvious trail. At one time, they'd even stopped, because the view had been too much to ignore.

It was when they saw Lake Tahoe clearly for the first time.

The blue lake shimmered and shifted beneath the perfectly blue sky, the sun casting a glittering glow off the wind blown ripples, as if pure gold was somehow hidden beneath its surface. The lush pine and timber surrounded it on all sides, and the mountains in the distance were purple against the sky. It was the sort of sight that humbled a man, and the four men staring in wonder at the vision were not immune.

Not long after they saw the lake, Chris turned them more east, and the horses found themselves climbing up a gentle hill between the pines, the lake now at their backs.

When they reached the top, the found themselves on a logging road that followed the ridge, wagon ruts clearly work into the ground. Without much thought, they followed it for a while. After a short time, they came across an unoccupied line shack, and the horses were more than happy to stop and get some water and feed. They also found a storage place filled with dried food, and Josiah made a quick lunch much tastier than the hard tack and scrub they'd been eating for two days. In return, Ezra was "encouraged" by the others to leave a couple of silver dollars to replace what they took.

As they made their way back to the horses, Ezra suddenly found himself thinking that Chaucer looked bigger than normal. Taller. Gamely ignoring the obvious illusion, he put his left foot in the stirrup, intending to push himself up and use his balance to get on the horse without help as he had done for the last two days without the use of his left arm. That was as far as he got. For some reason, he couldn't do it. Somewhere between the shack and Chaucer, the rest of his energy had been sapped.

He had probably stood there trying to work up his nerve for a few seconds when he found Chris next to him.

The gunslinger placed a hand on his back, not saying a word. Ezra did not to look at him, though he was internally grateful for the unasked help.

With a grunt, the exhausted gambler pushed up and, as his foresight had told him, he probably would have fallen backwards if Chris had given the extra push he needed to pitch forward and get his right leg over the saddle.

The gunslinger patted his left leg and walked away, never once looking Ezra in the eye.

Ezra sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

When did it get so hot?

+ + + + + + +

"He's damn good," the scout said, peering off to the south. Slade frowned, the deputy sheriff of Iowa Town rubbing a rough thumb across his grizzled chin. He didn't like the sound of that.

Growling, he asked, "What does that mean, Toby?"

"It means," the scout turned to look at him, wide open blue eyes and shaggy white hair making him seem pale in the sun, "they're not on this road anymore. They got off it somewhere's back. Probably to head south into the Ponderosa." He stood up from where he'd been trying to find fresh tracks in this muddy section of the road. There should have been four sets of horse's hooves not more than a few hours old, and one with the distinctive gait the gambler's horse had been showing to compensate for his rider's favoring one side, but there was nothing like that here. "That tracker of theirs musta hid their passage but good. I never even saw it."

"If that's true, how do you know they went south?" one of the other men asked.

"Same way we guessed they came this way rather than go around the south side of the lake," Slade spat in answer for the scout. "They're hoping the Ponderosa will hide 'em."

"Big enough place," another man remarked. "If they did, how we gonna find 'em now?"

Slade grimaced, silently agreeing with the comment, watching the distrustful eyes of the men surrounding him. There were still eight men strong, including himself, now that they'd crossed the border. All of them had been promised a cut of the profits those deeds would bring—land that the Central Pacific was planning to buy to build that railroad of theirs. The deals had already been cut, but in the area around Iowa Town, the sheriff and the bank manager had colluded to foreclose every mortgage and evict the owners, taking, of course, the rights to any proceeds the railroad had promised upon consummation of the sales. It didn't matter that none of the mortgages were due, or that the evictions hadn't been particularly lawful. And everything would have been perfect if the damn bank manager and his moron of a teller hadn't then gambled all nine deeds away before the sheriff and Slade knew what was happening. Worth almost fifty thousand dollars, those deeds. They had to get them back from that gambler.

"They still got to be headed for a city. Either to find an honest sheriff or an honest judge. That means, no matter how far south they went, they gotta turn east at some point. And they're going to avoid the pastures, so they won't get spotted by any of Cartwright's ranch hands. So…we head forward a ways, enough so that we know we're ahead of 'em, then cut south ourselves. We do this right, we'll still catch 'em."

"But," one of the men shifted nervously in the saddle, "that means…we'd be on the Ponderosa, Slade. We start anything and the Cartwrights'll…."

"I'm a deputy sheriff, Nash," Slade's black eyes glittered angrily, "The Cartwright's try to intervene, I'll just tell the truth. Sanchez is wanted for murder, Standish and them other two for helping him escape, and we're taking 'em back. Cartwright'll be glad to hand 'em over."

"But…."

"Fifty Thousand Dollars, Nash. You gonna let them four Cartwrights get in our way?"

Nash frowned, but didn't reply. Slade gave him a sharp nod to indicate the conversation was over, and looked back at his scout, "Take us down the road a ways then find us a way in Toby, and figure out where they are in there. No mistakes."

Toby screwed up his face, but shrugged. It wouldn't be too hard. Two men were injured. They'd need a lot of water and they'd look for the easier passages but stick to the trees. That meant following streams and probably following logging roads, maybe even stopping at line shacks and waystations.

As he mounted and started leading them forward down the road, Slade at his heels, the other six men followed, their reluctance at coming up against the Cartwrights quickly fading in the face of their greed.

Chapter Four

Chris looked up, measuring the amount of time left in the day, and not happy with the reckoning. They hadn't gotten as far as he'd liked, with Ezra half out of the saddle with exhaustion. It was obvious he had a fever, one that had been growing since the morning. He'd been sluggish since lunch and the flush in his cheeks wasn't from the sun, which had disappeared behind the thin clouds a while back. It meant they were moving even more slowly than before--riding quicker than a fast walk just hadn't been possible.

The rush of another stream, this one faster and clearly wider than the smaller ones they'd crossed so far, met Chris's ears. Turning, he glanced back at Vin, and saw the tracker nodding. Vin knew what he was thinking, and he agreed. They'd take the risk. The way Ezra was looking, they'd have to.

"We'll make camp up ahead," Chris said, glancing at Josiah. The preacher raised a weary head and met his eye, then looked up, easily noting that there was still a good two or three hours of daylight left. Josiah grimaced, but didn't make any remarks as they reached the fast moving stream—about six feet wide—and Chris turned to follow it downhill. He understood too well, having been riding next to Ezra and expecting the smaller man to topple over at any time. If the gambler had even heard Chris's order, he didn't make it known, just turned Chaucer to follow Solon as he always did.

They were on a logging road again, this one cut about halfway down a hillside, and the stream waterfalled from above, tumbled over the rocks marking the sides of the road, and then disappeared downwards. Chris had crossed the stream, found a deer track on the far side leading down, and was now following it, looking for a sheltered location.

The rocks grew in size, as large as small shacks in some places, rising up on both sides of the stream. The horses maneuvered around them, navigating fairly narrow passages. As long as Chris's big black could get through—Solon was not exactly a slim horse—the others had no problem.

Perhaps about twenty feet down, the boulders opened up to reveal a flat, open clearing. The rocks offered protection and quiet, and a small overhang would protect from rain, should it come down. Vin scouted a little further, then came back, indicating that this was their best bet.

Of course, it also had the danger of being a box. If Slade came upon them, they'd be trapped. He could approach from any angle and they probably wouldn't know it until he was on top of them.

Ezra didn't care. He slid off the saddle and probably would have fallen if Josiah hadn't helped him to the ground. He barely spoke, and even let himself be half-carried to where Chris had put a blanket on the ground. As soon as he was lying down, he curled up on his good side and fell asleep.

There was no question. They had to take the risk.

+ + + + + + +

They spent two nights there, as Ezra's fever spiked in the morning of the day after they arrived. Vin prowled around the site like a caged tiger, hating to see his friend sick, and he often found excuses to disappear. Josiah never left Ezra's side. He was as tired as Ezra was, but he refused to rest until Ezra's fever fell. He sat next to him under the overhang, mopping the younger man's brow and telling him stories, random ones, just to keep Ezra company. Chris, meanwhile, acted as sentinel. Constantly on alert, expecting any moment to be found—either by Slade or by Cartwright men—he never put his gun down and never seemed to blink.

The weather didn't help Ezra either—it drizzled for much of the day, and the temperatures rose and fell without logic.

The strain was obvious in all of them. Chris's temper grew shorter and shorter, so that he flared up at the smallest thing. Vin's voice disappeared, as if his jaw had steeled together. Josiah's hands shook as he read from a small book, reading aloud to Ezra the poems in it, and his usually booming voice suffered a tremor that was unnatural.

Ezra's fever broke by nightfall of that same day, at almost the same time as the stars came out in a finally clear sky—and as soon as it did, Josiah fell asleep, dead to the world. Vin came back to camp, and Chris relaxed his vigil, trusting Vin to take some of the watch. They stayed the second night, only to ensure that Ezra's fever stayed down and that he was on the mend. In the morning, provided Ezra seemed strong enough, they knew they had to move on.

At least, that had been the plan.

+ + + + + + +

"It's them all right," Toby said, standing up and smiling, brushing his hands off on his trousers. He looked down the logging road towards the east. "They came through here a couple days back, movin' real slow. The gambler's horse is weaving something bad—compensating for a rider who isn't solid in the saddle. They can't have gone far."

Slade smiled and looked back at his men, glad to see the shine of soon to be fulfilled avarice and pent up vengeance back on their faces.

"What do you reckon they did, Toby?"

"Holed up somewhere near water, somewheres dry and outta the wet yesterday," Toby answered, looking up at the brightening day. It was just past dawn, and they'd been traveling south and west for the last two days, checking each road they'd come across, for the right tracks. "And I'd bet there still there."

"Then find them."

"Yessir!" Toby grinned, jogging to his mount and vaulting into the saddle like a young man. "Jes' follow me, boys."

+ + + + + + +

Chris was tightening the cinch on Solon's saddle when he heard it—or rather, stopped hearing it. He looked up, staring around at the tops of the trees from which, moments before, chattering birds had been loudly welcoming the morning. The sudden silence was disconcerting.

Vin grabbed his rifle off of Peso's saddle, his jaw muscles flexing. Checking the barrel, he walked a little down the hill a ways, intending to get to a better view of whatever might have spooked them.

Ezra frowned, watching as Chris hit Solon's rump, sending the horse to the far side of the clearing. The gunslinger had grabbed his rifle from the saddle before doing so and was now climbing up between two of the boulders at the top of the camp, eyes alert for danger. The gambler's right hand moved to rest on the Remington he'd just finished strapping to his hip, and he stood up slowly, still feeling weak but not about to hide from a fight. He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to look for Josiah.

The preacher was, in fact, walking back from having filled up the canteens, several of them hanging off his back. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and something had him moving faster…by the time he'd reached the camp again, he was running.

The first bullet shattered the soft sandstone rock above Ezra's head, maybe only six inches above his head, and the gambler was still marveling at the closeness of the shot as Josiah reached him. Ezra felt himself slammed to the ground in a half tackle, Josiah’s oppressively heavy hand holding him down as slivers of rock and shale shattered the stillness of a moment ago. Bullets shaved the pink sand and limestone boulders they hid behind, skidding and ricocheting over their bowed heads.

After a few moments, once the fear faded and anger took over, Ezra shoved off the heavy hand and rolled over, ignoring the pain in his left side as his good arm pulled the Remington off his hip. He found a space between two rocks, just wide enough for his arm and his eye, and he began returning the favor to the shadowed figures that seemed to have appeared from nowhere on the far side of the rushing stream. Josiah grimaced at having been pushed off, but pulled his own Smith & Wesson, hunkering down between two large boulders near to Ezra's position, trying to spot movement in the same trees that Ezra now fired upon.

Vin and Chris, rifles at the ready, attempted to pinpoint their attackers from their higher and lower positions, shooting off carefully aimed bullets in an attempt to both locate and take down the threats. But Slade and his men were well hidden and in far better positions. If it weren’t for the fact that Chris knew they were on Ponderosa land, he wouldn’t have given much on their survival.

But they were on Ponderosa land.

And sound traveled.

Chapter Five

“Hey Little Joe!” Hoss called, riding up quickly to where his younger brother was leaning against his saddlehorn atop Cochise, staring dreamily out across the Ponderosa. Joe heaved a sigh and sat up, turning to look in the direction of the voice, smiling crookedly at the ever present grin on Hoss’s face.

“Little Joe, I just came to warn you,” Hoss’s grin turned wicked as he pulled up along-side his little brother, “Adam’s lookin’ for ya.”

Joe’s expression soured, “For what?”

“Somethin’ about,” Hoss thought for a moment, his eyes searching the heavens--or perhaps the brim of his ten gallon hat--for answers, “about moving the steers back up to the high country for summer.”

Joe’s attitude changed abruptly. Gone was the scornful expression, replaced by one almost akin to nervousness.

“Aw nuts!” he muttered, grabbing the reins of his paint tightly, “he asked me to do that two days ago!”

“And did ya?”

“Look at my face! You think I did?” The youngest Cartwright worried his bottom lip, thinking about what he'd been doing for the past two days, which certainly hadn't involved cattle, and had, in fact, involved quite a bit of Betsy Kline. “I had other things to do. Didn’t see the need to do it until today.”

“Today?” Hoss looked around at the near empty field, “But ain't the mornin' half gone already, Joe?”

“Yeah, well,” Joe shrugged, “I forgot, now, didn’t I? Oh, I’ll never hear the end of his from our perfect older brother, will I. Oh no. Adam never forgets anything! Shoot!” He wheeled his horse around, planning to charge down to the low pastures where the herd was, and to gather up as many hands as he could along the way.

“Need a hand?” Hoss called after him, as Little Joe sped up into a gallop down the hill away from him.

“No!” Joe yelled back, halfway down the slope. "Don't tell Adam!"

Just then, a sorrel horse glided out of the trees from the lower pasture Joe was aiming for, and on its back sat a familiar looking man dressed nearly head to toe in black. The sorrel came to a stop just as Joe’s paint skidded to a halt about twenty feet away from it, bits of grass flying from under the shod hooves still on the uphill.

"Don't tell Adam what?" Adam asked, his expression stern, though there was a distinct twinkle in his eye. “And where are you going in such a hurry, younger brother?”

Joe didn’t notice the twinkle--all he saw was the set of the Adam's lips in a frown.

“Now, now, Adam, look here,” Joe backed his paint up a little, turning him ever so slightly in a different direction from where his eldest brother now regarded him, “about the herd….”

“Yes,” Adam’s head tilted slightly, “About the herd.”

“Well, see, I was just on my way and, um, Hoss, there, he distracted me!” Joe’s hand waved in the direction of the big man still sitting atop the crest of the hill, obviously grinning down at the both of them.

“Really?” Adam’s eyes lifted up, gazed for a moment at Hoss, then rested back on his younger brother. “Is that a fact?”

“Oh, he’s a dastardly one, that Hoss, Adam. He’s trying to stir up trouble, I’m sure of it. He’d like nothing better than to keep me from my chores, just so he can get in your good graces. He’s really awful clever.”

Adam had to work not to laugh out loud, trying to imagine Hoss caring one whit about whether or not he was in Adam's “good graces.” Joe was the only one who seemed to care about that, though he'd never admit it. Adam managed to keep his lips tightly shut, but he did lower his hat for a moment to hide the smirk. Taking a deep breath, he looked up again, his face a mask of sternness once again.

Little Joe knew that face, knew it very well, but, by this time, Cochise had been maneuvered into the right position.

“Anyway, Adam, here’s the thing,” Little Joe tapped his horse’s neck, as if petting him, “See…truth is….I, uh….HYAH!”

The paint took off like a shot, tearing sideways along the slope and on a less steep angle, to land Little Joe very neatly about fifty feet away from where his older brother was staring dumbfounded at the boy’s “escape.” Joe grinned and was halfway across the pasture before Adam started to laugh, nudging Sport up the slope to meet Hoss on his way down. Stopping next to each other, they watched as Little Joe finally slowed Cochise down in the lower meadow and came to a stop, looking around as if surprised he weren’t being chased. They watched as he lifted his head, spotting them watching him from the hillside together. Adam nudged his horse down the hill, as if to take up the chase, and Joe instantly spurred Cochise back into a gallop, disappearing into the trees. Adam started laughing.

Hoss pulled up alongside, wide grin still evident as Adam laughed. He glanced askance at his older brother. Adam sighed after a moment and leaned back in the saddle, a smug look on his face. Hoss nodded.

“You weren’t really expecting him to move that herd two days ago, now, was ya?” the big man asked.

“No,” Adam admitted happily, “I wasn’t expecting him to move it today, either. I told him I just wanted it done sometime this week, but I think he forgot that part. Now he’ll have them all up at the high pasture before the sun’s down,” he grinned wickedly. Hoss chuckled.

“You’re a mean one, Adam. Sly, but mean.”

“It’s a gift,” Adam agreed. He looked over at Hoss, and tilted his head again. “So where’d you leave Pa? I thought he was riding with you today.”

“He was," Hoss looked vaguely up behind him, "But I think he said he was going to check on the new fenceline you're supposed to be putting up over near the new homesteaders."

"No!" Adam's face went instantly from rosy to white, and he pulled on Sport's reins, causing the sorrel to dance nervously, "He…he can't. I haven't even…." Suddenly, the deep brown eyes narrowed, recognizing the goofy grin on his younger brother's face. Hoss was kidding him.

Adam pursed his lips, "You know perfectly well I told Pa I was waiting for the weekend, Hoss. He's done no such thing."

Hoss's smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin, "Nope."

Adam sighed, "Well, I guess I deserved that."

"Yup."

Adam gave him a dark look, then smiled, unable to stay mad at Hoss for more than a moment. No one could.

"He just stopped off to say howdy to them new folks, the Monroes," Hoss explained. "He'll be here any moment. In fact," Hoss sat up straighter in the saddle, looking over Adam's head. Adam turned his head in the same direction, recognizing the figure riding towards them. His father rode easily, raising a hand in welcome. Adam and Hoss returned the wave. "There he is now," the middle brother added unnecessarily.

That's when the first shots were heard. All three horses flinched with their riders, and all three heads turned in the direction of the big lake glittering in the distance beyond the treeline. Without a word, the Cartwrights started galloping in the direction of the shots, Adam quickly pulling out in the lead.

Two fields away, Little Joe pulled up and looked to his left. He glanced behind him, knowing that, though he couldn't see them any longer, Adam and Hoss would already be heading in the direction of the gunfire. Turning Cochise around, he kicked the horse into a gallop, speeding off in the same direction.

+ + + + + + +

Chris ducked, feeling the bits of stone like shrapnel hitting his shoulders and raining on his hat. He'd have taken it off to hide himself better, but it offered too much protection. Turning his head, he saw Ezra intent on reloading his Remington, the action difficult as his left hand wasn't working all that well, and his Colt was lying on the ground nearby, probably also empty. Josiah had shifted his position further away from the gambler, trying to find a better range. Vin he could make out further down, but only because he could see part of a white clad leg and part of an arm behind the timber and rocks the tracker had chosen as cover.

They were, effectively, cornered. Inside the little bowl they were in, they couldn't climb either up the hill or down without exposing themselves. And the stream tumbling down between them and their ambushers was doing an admirable job of confusing their attackers locations by hiding the sound of their movements.

Worse, if they were being snuck up upon from behind, it was likely they wouldn't know it until the man appeared.

As if hearing his thoughts, he saw Ezra look up suddenly. Something had startled the gambler, and he had his gun up and was firing at something almost directly ahead of him on top of a rock. A hoarse yell, and a man fell into the camp, holding his gut where Ezra's bullet had hit him. Then Ezra switched his aim, pointing towards Chris. The gunslinger didn't think, he rolled forward, getting out of Ezra's line of sight, hearing the Remington's report and another grunt. Twisting onto his back, he looked back at where he'd just been standing and saw another dead man.

Chris looked back at the gambler, eyes wide, and got closer to him.

"Thank you."

"Thank that hawk. That's why I looked up. I just happened to see the two men signaling each other. Pure luck."

"Hawk?"

Ezra blinked, "You didn't hear it call? It was quite loud."

Chris just shook his head. It wasn't important right now. Patting Ezra on his good shoulder, he got back to his feet and went to find a new position, letting Ezra keep an eye now on their surroundings. The gambler would keep a keen watch now that it seemed the shooters were indeed going to try and get them from behind.

Josiah and Vin hadn't stopped firing across the stream.

+ + + + + + +

Adam turned his head, nodding to Little Joe as he joined them atop the ridge overlooking the thick tumbling stream. The youngest of the brothers had made the hawk call to announce his presence, and he was a welcome addition; there were a large number of men down there.

"All right," Ben frowned, "What have we got?"

“Looks like four men on that side, Pa,” Hoss informed him, peering down the stream to the left, his expression part curiosity, part annoyance. "They just shot two men coming up behind 'em, but they’re stuck worse'n fish in a barrel."

“And at least four more to the right,” Adam added, leading his sorrel across the stream and peering down in that direction. “Hoss is right—it's easy to see that the men on the right have the better position. Thing is, seeing as two already crossed the stream and got behind the men on the left once, there may be more than four on the right. I can't tell from here.”

"That's not good," Joe noted coolly. "It's bad odds."

“Can you tell who they are?” Ben asked, jumping down off of his horse’s back to get closer to the edge.

“Nah, they all look dirty, about the same color, nothin' indentifyin',” Hoss replied, his head turning back and forth.

"Hold on. One of the one's on the left has a red jacket," Joe noted curiously. "I can just see a corner of it between them rocks."

"Gambler?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, looks like."

“What do you want to do, Pa?” Adam asked, looking back at his father.

“Well,” the Cartwright patriarch frowned, “part of me wants to let them shoot it out­­—”

“But the better part of you wants to stop it, then get the sheriff,” Adam interrupted quietly. It was more a suggestion than a completion of his father’s thought, and Ben gave his eldest a sharp glance in response. Adam pretended not to notice. Ben finally shrugged, deciding that, right now, he just wanted to noise to stop frightening his cattle.

“Well, for now, let’s just try and put a stop it and find out what is going on. We can bring in Roy later. Hoss, Joe, you get down closer to the four men on the left. Adam and I’ll take the right. Follow my lead.”

Pulling out their pistols, and Ben, Adam and Hoss also grabbing their rifles where they were tied to their saddles, they quickly made their way into better, more protected vantage points. Ben waited until he got a nod from either Joe or Hoss that they were ready, then stood up and sent two very loud shots from his rifle into the air.

The new, distinctive sound from above caused the men firing down below to pause, and Ben got the moment he wanted.

“You men!” he shouted, “My name is Ben Cartwright and you’re on my land! Stop what you’re doing right now!”

“Can’t do that, mister!” a voice from the right side called back. “Them boys there are murderers—can't afford to stop and let 'em get away again. We aim to take ‘em back, dead or alive!”

“The only murderers here are you and your boys, Slade!” a different, darker voice shouted from the left. “And your sheriff’s corruption doesn’t reach to this side of the mountains!”

Ben arched and eyebrow at Adam, who shrugged back.

"Who are you!" Adam yelled, purposefully not directing the question to either side in particular.

"Name's Slade," the voice from the right yelled. "I'm deputy sheriff out of Iowa Town, two n' a half days ride from here in California. We've been hunting—"

"His name is Slade and he is a deputy, that much is true," a voice yelled from the right, a hint of southern accent underlying it, "but do not believe he has chased us all this way because of he is upholding the law, Mr. Cartwright! Those men are bandits, using the badges they wear as weapons!"

"And who are you?" Adam yelled.

"We're…the law of Four Corners," the southerner replied.

"Now who is lying!" Slade shouted.

"Two sets of lawmen?" Adam said, his voice curious. "Or two sets of liars?" he added. He tilted his head to his father, asking him silently if he should move further down hill to the men on the right.

"I've never heard of Four Corners," Ben yelled, not responding to his son's vocal question, but he did respond to the silent one, by shaking his head at Adam. His free hand clearly made a motion that he wanted Adam to stay put. Adam's jaw tensed. Ben looked downhill again, "Where is it?"

Silence had answered his question about Four Corners, until someone down on the right hand of the stream started laughing.

"They don't even know…."

"Four Corners is several hundred miles away from here," the southerner interrupted, a hint of reluctance in the voice. "In New Mexico Territory."

"Then you're awfully far from home," Ben replied.

+ + + + + + +

"Don't we know it," Chris said, looking at his three men. Ezra was resting with his back again a large rock, watching every direction but the stream. He was breathing hard from yelling, which had to have hurt his ribs. Chris could see the tremor in the man's legs despite the steady hand with which Ezra held his gun—despite appearances, he definitely wasn't well enough for this. Not far from Ezra, Josiah was wiping blood from his own face. A stone had gauged a furrow across his forehead, and it had yet to stop bleeding. It was amazing the older man was still conscious. Vin had shifted back a little, so he could see Chris's face. The gunslinger nodded at him. Vin nodded back. Then, slowly, his eyes shifted upwards.

Chris was uphill of the tracker, and he knew Vin was telling him that there was movement in the rocks leading up to the ridge. Question was, was it more of Slade's men, or was it a Cartwright?

Ezra's eyes flicked in the same direction suddenly, and his Remington pointed uphill.

But, this time, he didn't fire. The green eyes narrowed…and, slowly, the hand holding the gun lowered.

Joe Cartwright stared directly at those depthless pale green eyes, knowing that he'd just escaped being shot by the red coated gambler. He'd made a bad move, his foot slipping on a wet rock and resulting in his being well in sight of the camp below. Had the red coated man been a killer, he would have been shot dead. At least now he knew what sort of man one of them was.

Correction, two of them. He saw one in a buckskin coat watching him as well. He was about to call to them when the buckskin clad man held up a hand and motioned him back. Joe frowned, not understanding. The man then pointed to his eyes, pointed across the stream, then waved him back again. This time Joe did understand. One more step and Slade and his men would see him as well. He nodded at the buckskin man, smiled at the red coated man, and slipped back into the rocks. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he looked across the stream.

Chris turned slowly, looking up into the rocks. From his position, he couldn't see the man whom Ezra had decided not to shoot and to whom Vin had made hand motions, but he still felt too exposed where they were. Something had to happen soon.

Ben Cartwright's voice boomed from over their heads again, and Chris could tell the man was closer than before. He'd come down off the ridge some. Slade was yelling something about arresting them for murder and theft and taking them back to California. The gunslinger's jaw clenched. What could he do to prove that Slade was lying?

Little did he know his men already had, simply by being who they were.

+ + + + + + +

“If you have arrest warrants for these men, then it sounds to me like you boys need to talk with the sheriff down in Virginia City, especially as you're in Nevada now, not California,” Ben shouted in response, “Why don't you all surrender to us, and we'll….”

“No thanks, mister,” the voice from the right yelled back. “We can handle it.”

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Ben bellowed. “I’m not going to let you drag men off my land without evidence that they’ve done wrong. Seems to me that….”

“You don’t want to get in our way, Cartwright,” the same voice yelled again. “This ain’t your fight.”

“You’re making it our fight,” Joe shouted, his temper shorter now that he'd decided who to fight for, “Now drop your guns!”

"Well, listen to that! One of you's moved! Closer to Sanchez and his men!" Slade laughed, his voice tinged with amusement. "You better watch yourself Cartwright junior! Those men in that camp are killers! They'll shoot you as soon as look as you."

Joe couldn't resist smiling—it was the first lie he truly knew to be a lie. "You're lying!"

+ + + + + + +

Ben's head snapped up at Joe's decisive response. What? How could he know that?

Adam, while his father was distracted, moved further down the hill towards toward Slade and his men. Ben hissed, and Adam looked back at him. Again, father made it clear to son that he was to stop moving. Adam stared at him a moment, then shifted a little further down.

"Adam!" Ben's voice was strained with frustration at the disobedience. Adam looked up at him again, then pointed to a set of rocks. If he reached them, he'd have a perfect position to threaten Slade. Ben shook his head. Too risky.

Adam sighed, and looked back over to where Joe's yell had come from as Slade's slick voice answered the boy's shout.

+ + + + + + +

"And how do you know that, boy?" Slade challenged. "They got you in their clutches already? Gun to your head? I told you they were killers, Ben Cartwright!"

"He's lying, Pa!" Joe yelled again. "No one's got anything on me!"

"Listen to him, Pa!" Hoss suddenly yelled. "Joe's fine! I kin see him!"

"How can you be so sure Slade is lying, Little Joe!" Ben yelled.

"Trust me, Pa; I know!"

Ben grimaced, but, truth was, he did trust his sons. He looked at Adam. His eldest matched his gaze. Adam wasn't going to make any suggestions, though he did shake his head a little. He trusted Joe, sure, but the youngest Cartwright's judgment was not always the best.

Ben frowned. Damn these men!

"Okay, Slade and….Sanchez?" Ben remembered the name from Slade's previous yell, "I'm giving you one last chance…."

Josiah's head had come up at hearing his name, but his eyes suddenly lost their focus and his vision blackened. It was if the surprise at hearing his name from Ben Cartwright's lips was too much, for he suddenly keeled over, the rifle clattering into the rocks.

"Josiah!" Ezra whispered fearfully, nearly dropping his gun as he crawled over to the former preacher's side, pressing fingers against the older man's neck.

Hoss had a perfect view of the four men in the camp, something even Vin didn't know. He saw the red coated gambler go to the older man's side, saw him shaking an arm though the older one was obviously out cold. The gambler then looked back at the man dressed all in black, who was holding up a boulder a ways up from the camp.

The man in black was obviously the one in charge, because the red coated one was obviously looking for direction. The gambler hissed something and the man in black heaved a sigh, paused, then gave a single nod.

He then saw the leader draw in a deep breath.

"All right, Ben Cartwright," the man in black yelled, still watching the gambler and the older man, "We'll surrender to you."

"Like hell!" Slade's voice shouted from across the way. "Don't trust these murdering thieves, Cartwright! They've tricked your boy somehow!"

"Joe?" Ben's yell was clear. He was asking Joe's opinion again. This time, though, it was Hoss who answered.

"One of 'em's hurt, Pa! Looks to me like they mean it!"

Vin's head snapped around, eyes wide as he saw Hoss Cartwright smiling down at him. The tracker was completely flabbergasted—how had such a big man snuck up on him! On HIM!

Hoss grinned some more at the slack jawed surprise of the one in the buckskin coat, then looked at the rest of the camp. The other two saw him as well now. The gambler had shifted, moving to shield the man on the ground with his body, watching Hoss warily. The man in black just looked thoughtful. It reminded him a little of Adam when he didn't want his emotions to show.

Speaking of Adam….

+ + + + + + +

Ben gripped his hand into a fist as Adam dashed out from his cover down to the rocks he told his Pa he wanted to get too. Damn that boy!

No bullets heralded Adam's run, but Slade and his men had to have seen it. Adam turned and grinned back at his pa, then settled into a good covering position over Slade's camp below.

"Okay, Slade," Ben licked his lips, silently screaming bloody murder at his disobedient first born, "you willing to let us take them in?"

"Hell no! They're ours, Cartwright! And they're killers to boot! We can't let you take that risk!"

"We've handled worse, Slade. You head out, go to Virginia City, and we'll meet you at the Sheriff's office. You have my word!"

"You can't trust Sanchez, his boy or them two gunslingers with them, Cartwright! You're making a huge mistake! And your family will pay for it, in blood! I promise you that!"

"We'll take that risk, Slade! Now get off my land!"

"No!"

"Slade!"

"You try and stop us doing our duty, Cartwright, and we'll take you down too!"

+ + + + + + +

Chris breathed some more, turning his eyes back again towards the opposite side of the stream. Ezra was watching Hoss while staying close to Josiah, and Vin just seemed to be watching everything. He listened to the shouting between Ben Cartwright and Slade, trying to determine exactly which way the wind was blowing.

He'd wanted help, yes, but he didn't mean for the Cartwrights to get in harm's way as a result. Not like this.

"…And we'll take you down too!" Slade yelled.

Hell. This had gone too far.

"Wait!" Chris yelled, making a snap decision, "Cartwright, wait! They…Look, Slade…don't hurt them! They're not involved in this!"

"Oh ho!" Slade shouted, "What's this? A conscience blooming? Tell me another one, gunslinger!"

"Shut up, Slade! Listen to me, they're not part of this, and I promise—"

"Chris," Ezra hissed, interrupting, "what are you doing?! The Cartwrights can help us—"

"Slade will kill them," Chris hissed back. "It's not their fight. I won't let—"

"A little late for that," Joe Cartwright said, vaulting off the rock over their heads into the camp, and grinning at their startled expressions. "You're on Ponderosa land. That makes you our responsibility." Still grinning, he kept down and headed over to Ezra and Josiah, eyes quickly examining the older man, then Ezra. Wary green eyes stared openly back. Joe smiled. "Don't worry, gambler, I ain't gonna shoot ya."

Ezra swallowed and looked back at Chris. The gunslinger shrugged, and looked back across the river. Had Slade seen Joe's entrance?

"You gonna finish that sentence, gunslinger? Promise what?" Slade yelled.

Guess not, Chris thought, thankful for small favors. Still, the Cartwright boy had just complicated the heroism he'd been about to volunteer his men for. Okay, what did he say now?

"Slade, uh…."

"It doesn't matter anymore!" Ben Cartwright yelled, cutting Chris off, for which the gunslinger was, for the first time that he could remember, actually grateful. "They've surrendered to us, Slade. Now, get off our land, before I have you thrown off!"

+ + + + + + +

Slade ground his teeth together, looking over at Toby and Nash, the two men he could see in visual range. Mark, Randy and Orrie he'd sent off already, and he hoped they had followed the quick instructions he'd given to them earlier.

Damn it! Damn the Cartwrights!

He breathed out through his cheeks, then looked up at the rifle end he could see over their heads. The Cartwright dressed in black had a good shot at them from up there. While he was there, they couldn't start fighting again—they'd just be picked off by him.

He just need to stall a little longer. Until Randy did as he had been ordered, and got around behind that damn Cartwright….

"All right, Cartwright," Slade yelled, shaking his head at Toby and Nash, "We're leaving."

And, with deliberate slowness, Slade got himself up and pretended to move down the hill, away from the stream and towards the horses. Nash and Toby imitated him.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra arched an eyebrow, and looked up at Chris. The gunslinger was watching the shadows across the river with an unwavering gaze. He didn't trust Slade, with obvious reason.

Joe watched as well, but he was more interested in the men he had jumped into the middle of than those across the stream. He watched their expressions and how they handled their guns, trying to guess who and what they were. None had turned on him, for which he was grateful, even if he did trust both his instincts and, of course, Hoss's aim. It certainly helped knowing Hoss was backing him up.

So, he focused on assessing the unconscious older man's injury, clearing away some of the blood from Josiah's face and looking a little at the man's clothes for answers. The cross around his neck was certainly an interesting thing—holy man of some sort?

Chris suddenly jerked, and Joe and Ezra both looked across at him. The gunslinger raised his rifle, pointing across the stream, but not in the direction he'd been pointing before.

He was pointing uphill.

A horrible sensation wrenched Joe's gut—God no please…he couldn't have been wrong!

+ + + + + + +

Adam watched as Slade glanced a number of times up in his direction, obviously aware that Adam had the advantage over him, but strangely he didn't make any moves to threaten him. The eldest Cartwright boy's eyes narrowed slightly, feeling a little like he was missing something.

Slade turned and looked up at him again.

Adam's lips parted slightly—oh God, he was waiting for something. That's what it was! How could he have been so stupid!

"Adam!" his father's warning was loud, but it came too late. Adam had twisted the moment he realized someone was probably coming up behind him, swinging his rifle around, but he wasn't fast enough.

Slade's man was standing over him, finger about to pull the trigger, a gruesome smile on his face.

The gunshot split the air, and Adam cringed, throwing his left arm over his face in a useless effort to ward off the bullet. At almost the same moment, a second shot was fired, like an echo, and he heard someone from the other camp yell the name, "Chris!"

+ + + + + + +

Chris didn't think, just stood up, aimed and fired, shooting the man standing over the older Cartwright. Joe's startled gasp did nothing to stop him, and, had Chris been looking in the right direction, he would have seen Ezra shove Joe's arm away before the youngest Cartwright could fire at Chris.

But Chris had opened himself up when he took his shot, and Slade took instant advantage, cracking a rifle shot at the gunslinger, and Chris jerked at being hit, head impacting the rock behind his head as he fell back.

"Chris!" Ezra's yell punctuated the air.

+ + + + + + +

And Adam realized he wasn't dead.

"Adam!" Ben's yell was different this time, and Adam lifted the arm of his face, trying to understand how the man standing over him could have missed.

"Adam, are you all right!" Ben yelled.

But Adam still didn't answer—he was too surprised by the sight of the dead man of Slade's lying a foot away from him, the bullet in his forehead dead center.

+ + + + + + +

"Move! Move!" Slade yelled, as Adam turned and furiously started pelting their camp with bullets, his anger palpable as he shot at anything that moved. The deputy sheriff and his remaining men ran into the woods to their horses, and took off, not looking back.

+ + + + + + +

"Adam, are you all right!" Ben yelled, his own anger clear. "Answer me!"

Adam was breathing hard, staring down at the deserted camp, wiping the sweat from his lip.

"Yeah, I’m all right," he spat angrily.

"Thank God," Ben said, scrambling down to join him. Once he was sure Adam was telling him the truth, he stood and looked around, to make sure Slade and his men were indeed gone. Once he did, he looked across the stream. "Joe! Hoss!"

"Yeah, Pa!" Hoss yelled back.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, Pa. But they're not."

"All right," Ben looked at his eldest son, "Adam, ride to Virginia City, fast as you can, and fetch the doctor and the sheriff. We'll get them to the ranch."

"Right, Pa," Adam pushed himself up off the rock he was leaning on and scrambled back uphill. "I'll be back home before nightfall."

Ben nodded, accepting the statement as fact, and carefully made his way across the stream, using a felled log, and found his way into the other camp.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra was shaking, leaning against a boulder as the two Cartwright boys took care of Chris and Josiah, both still unconscious. Vin stood a little ways away, not liking the strangers, his rifle resting on his shoulder, watching everything like a hawk. He hadn't been asked to give up his rifle or the Mare's Leg strapped to his leg and he wasn't about to. Ezra still held his Remington in his right hand as well, but it was a loose hold.

"Both of 'em just got bad knocks on the head, and the man in black a gouged arm," Joe said, drawing Ezra's attention. "Your friend and your old man here will be fine."

Ezra smiled softly at the reference to Josiah, "Oh, Josiah, he's," he took a shallow breath, "he's not my old man. They're both," he took another breath, "friends. We work together."

"Ez," Vin ordered quietly, "Sit down."

Ezra sat down by leaning against a rock. He never argued with orders he agreed with.

"Oh," Joe's forehead screwed up a little, "but I thought Slade said…."

"Josiah...tends to…act that way sometimes, and…people make assumptions," Ezra stuttered in explanation, his breathing still shallow. "We're…it…," Ezra sighed, falling back against the rock and slumping down a little, closing his eyes. The action forced the red coat open a little, and Joe got a good look at the wounded shoulder for the first time. He gave a low whistle, meeting Ezra's eyes again when the gambler opened them.

"That been tended to?"

"Not well enough," Vin answered. "Needs stitches. We can't keep it closed. He had a bad fever all day yesterday too."

"Sounds like you boys had a rough time of it," Hoss muttered, standing up from where he'd been checking on Chris, who was groaning a little as he came around. Vin gave a nod.

"Yup." Suddenly, the rifle was in hand and pointed towards the stream. A moment later, it was lowered as Ben Cartwright slid in between two boulders. The older man gave him a single nod, and looked around. He looked at Vin again, who returned the rifle to his shoulder.

"You in charge of these men?"

"Me? Hell no," Vin sighed. "I'm just the only one not hurt."

"Gambler listened to ya," Hoss noted, glancing at Ezra. The gambler offered him a crooked smile in response. Vin snorted.

"Nah, he just ain't stupid. He sat down 'cause he I reminded him he needed to. I was also just letting him know he could. If he'd been more well, he'd have laughed at me."

"Thanks…for not calling me stupid…Mr. Tanner," Ezra said, a hint of a smile on his face. "Otherwise…his…assessment of my condition…is accurate."

"Having trouble breathing son?" Ben asked.

"Having…more trouble…staying conscious…Mr….Cartwright," Ezra replied, smiling again.

"So who is in charge," Ben demanded. "Which one of these men is Sanchez?"

"Josiah," Ezra said, "but…." Without warning, like a candle had been snuffed, Ezra's eyes closed and his head tipped forward. Hoss moved over and touched his chin, lifting Ezra's now slack face up.

"He's done in, Pa. Pale as a wraith too, and there's a lot of heat comin' off 'im."

"Well," Ben smiled thinly, looking over at Vin, who's grip on his rifle had gotten tighter, "You’re in charge now, boy. Here's what we're going to do. We're taking you all back to the Ponderosa, where you're going to wait. I've sent my oldest boy for the doctor and the sheriff, and they'll come, check you out, and those that can travel will go into Virginia City with the sheriff. You have any problem with that?"

Vin actually gave a small smile, "No sir. Not at all."

+ + + + + + +

Adam pulled up hard, turning Sport to the side as a large black horse materialized in front of him on the road, his expression hardening as he rested a hand on his holster. The blond man in front of him already had his gun raised and pointed at his chest. Adam grimaced, lifting his hand off the holster, but preparing to kick Sport into a gallop if he could.

"What's the meaning of this," he demanded. "Who are you?"

"Hand away from your gun, Cartwright," the man said. Then his eyes looked past Adam, "You got him, Orrie?"

"Yeah, Mark, I got him. Do as he says, Cartwright," a voice called from behind Adam. Adam turned, seeing another, darker haired man pull up behind, his gun also raised and ready to fire. The eldest of the Cartwright sons licked his lips, turning again to the one called Mark.

"Who are you," he demanded again. Mark's lips twisted into a smile.

"We're the ones kidnapping you, to trade for those men yer foolishly protectin'," Slade's man answered. "Now throw down that gun and get off that horse."

Chapter Six

Ben, Joe and Hoss got the four members of the law of Four Corners back to the ranch without incident, moving slowly, then more quickly once Chris and Josiah regained consciousness, both mostly just sporting bad headaches. As soon as they got there, Ezra was hustled off to have his wound cleaned up and put in bed, while the others were tended to in the main room.

When Ezra awoke several hours later, he found himself being watched over by Little Joe, who was shuffling one of the four decks of cards he'd found in Ezra's bags and in his clothes. It was the sound of the shuffling that had woken him up. He watched for a moment, then started to chuckle as Joe dropped a handful of cards trying to perform a trick.

"What?" the youngest of the Cartwrights demanded, "think you can do better?"

"With two good hands, yes," Ezra grinned.

"Ha," Joe attempted his trick again. Cards slipped from his fingers again.

"Here," Ezra pushed himself up on his right elbow and pressed his back up against the headboard. If he was surprised to find himself waking up on a feather bed in a beautiful room, it didn't seem to occur to him to make mention of it. As soon as he was sitting up fully, he reached out his right hand. Joe frowned, then handed him the deck.

"But you only have one hand."

Ezra just smiled, turned the deck over and fanned the cards, looking for something. It took him only a second, and he turned them over again. Then, deftly, he cut the deck open with one hand. Manipulating it with his fingers, he caught a card, separated it out, and rolled it around so that it was face up on top of the other cards. It was the Ace of Spades. A second later, he opened the deck again and slid the card back in the middle.

Joe grinned, then laughed. "That was pretty neat, mister."

"Standish," Ezra said, putting the deck down and extending his hand, "Ezra Standish."

"Joe Cartwright," Joe shook the proffered hand, "pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

"You know, you should see his left hand. He's better with it," a voice drawled from the door. Joe and Ezra both looked to see Vin leaning against the frame. Beyond, Ezra could see a dining room table and stone wall, set out for dinner.

"Really?" Joe looked back at Ezra, "You're left handed?"

"He's both," Vin answered. "What's the word, Ez?"

"Ambidextrous," Ezra answered, taking his eyes from the table and looking back at Joe. "Though it's a bit of a fallacy. Though I can write, play cards, shoot and do most things with both, I prefer to write with my right hand and I prefer to shoot with my left. Speaking of which," he looked down at his left hand, "it feels better. At least, I can feel it tingling, which is better than nothing," He looked up at Vin, "Did I miss the doctor?"

"No, not yet," Joe answered for the tracker. "It'll take Adam most of the day to get there from where we were. He'll be back before nightfall though—that's what he told Pa."

"It feels stronger because you finally got some rest," Vin supplied. "And we cleaned it with some linseed oil and milk—cleared up the infection some. Wound still needs closing though—still bleeding and we can't get it to stop."

Ezra nodded, "That's why I'm so tired still," he muttered, to himself mostly. Vin didn't respond, because he knew Ezra wasn't looking for one. The gambler turned too look out the window, to judge how late it was. "What time is it now?"

"About five. Nearly dinner time." Joe smiled, "Feel up to eating somethin'?"

Ezra grinned, looking again to the well laid dinner table, "Oh, I think I could be convinced."

"Come on, Ez," Vin walked over, "Let's get you up."

"Wait, ho, hold on," Ezra looked down at his clothes—he was still wearing the travel stained shirt from the last three days. He looked pleadingly up at Vin.

The tracker sighed—he knew Ezra much too well. "Yeah, all right." He looked at Joe, "You fellas got a bath?"

"Seriously?" Joe's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh," Ezra replied, "he most definitely is."

"Man's a freak," Vin said. "Just humor him."

"All right," Joe stood, "Don't see why not. I'll go see one's drawn."

As they watched the younger man leave, Vin sat down on the edge of the bed. Ezra looked at him as Vin picked up the cards Ezra had put down and fiddled with them.

"So, how long have I been asleep?" Ezra asked, lowering his voice.

"About four n' a half hours, but you weren't alone. Josiah was out for almost as long, and both me and Chris took turns."

"Took turns?"

"Well, we like these people, they seem honest, but…." Vin shrugged, "It seemed better that someone stay awake just in case. But this place," Vin looked around, eyes following the sturdy beams and well wrought furniture, "it feels safe. I've not felt this way inside a house…well, not since I was little. It…feels nice."

Ezra smiled, "I'd heard stories about the Ponderosa. Seems they were true. Tell me," he looked out at the dining table again, "am I on the first floor? Seems a strange place for a bedroom."

"Yeah, it’s a guest room. I think they use it for sick folks like you."

"You mean injured."

"Nah, I meant sick," Vin tapped his forehead and smirked. "Yer just injured too."

"Ho ho ho."

Vin grinned, then continued, "they got a bunch more bedrooms on the second floor. A whole mess of them. We each got one. No sleeping out in the dusty bunkhouse this time." He shrugged, placed the cards down and looked around, "If we can get that sheriff to believe us, you might actually get out of this one alive, Ez, especially with the Cartwrights to back us up. Though Chris'll probably still kill ya the minute we get home."

Ezra chuckled, "You mean he doesn't want to now?"

"Oh, he does, but he's trying to make a good impression."

Ezra chuckled some more at that, knowing full well making a good impression was usually the farthest thought from Chris's mind, but the laughter soon turned into a harsh cough, and pain lanced down his chest. He didn't notice Vin had a hand on his good shoulder and was rubbing it until the coughing had stopped, and he was trying to take in some new air. Blinking, he frowned.

"I hate this."

Vin patted his shoulder some more, "I know."

Ezra took another breath, then looked at Vin, "Chris tell them our story yet?"

"No. He wants us all to be there, to help fill in details. Ben seemed to understand that. After dinner, Chris said."

"Sounds like a good idea. Maybe the sheriff and that doctor will be here by then."

"Yeah, maybe," Vin turned his eyes to the window, trying to shake off the feeling that something more was very wrong.

Chapter Seven

"You're the eldest son, ain't ya?" Slade drawled, staring down at Adam where he had been shoved to the ground, his hands bound behind his back. They were in a small, hidden draw not far from the main road, just off Ponderosa land. A couple of hours after Orrie and Mark had brought Adam here, Slade and his other two men had shown up, rage oozing from Slade like blood from an open wound. After a short conference with his men, Slade had sidled over to question him. "Yer the eldest of Ben Cartwright's boys, that right?"

Adam shrugged, his wrists protesting a little at the rope burn, "Yes."

"They say Ben Cartwright would do anything for his sons. That true?"

"Usually."

"Usually? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, usually, yes, he would do anything for one of his sons."

Slade's face darkened, "Ain't what I asked, bright boy. I asked, what's 'usually' mean?"

"It means, most of the time. Why, you know another meaning?"

That earned him his first hard crack across his jaw, and Adam found himself shaking his head to dull it. When he looked back at Slade, the man's face was an interesting shade of pink.

"Damn it, that ain't what I meant!"

"Then perhaps you should be more clear."

That earned him his second punch, and Adam had to breathe through the pain as he turned watering eyes back to meet Slade's, his tongue licking away some of the blood from his lip. The sheer grit in the Cartwright's gaze hadn't diminished. Slade leant over and grabbed the front of his black shirt, drawing Adam closer to his face.

"That clear enough for ya, Cartwright?"

"No," Adam replied snidely, "But I can guess. If you're asking if my father will give up those men to you for me so you can kill 'em, he won't."

Slade snorted, then spat in Adam's face, causing him to cringe in disgust. Slade smiled at that, then frowned again.

"He'll trade. He'll trade because yer more important than a bunch of outlaws. He'll trade," Slade sneered, "because he won't have any other choice, not if he wants you back."

"If those men are innocent," Adam said darkly, "which, based on your actions it would seem they are, then you're wrong, Slade. My father would never let you kill them just to save me."

Slade snorted, "That ain't what I heard. I heard old man Cartwright would move the world if he thought one of yous was in trouble. You saying that's lies?"

"No."

"Then he'll trade."

"No."

Slade's face turned more and more red, and he threw Adam back on the ground, "He'll trade!"

Adam didn't answer, because there was no point. He just shut his lips and glared, until Slade turned away.

After a moment, Slade breathed out heavily, and looked back at him. "Will he trade for just two of 'em? If I let them other two go free? Will he do that?"

Adam gave a slight frown of puzzlement, "I don't understand."

"The gambler and Sanchez. Them I want. The other two, them two gunslingers, they can go free. Will he go for that?"

Adam's expression cleared as he understood, and he shook his head.

Slade's jaw tensed, "Why not! What the hell are they to him!"

"They're men."

"They're killers!"

"Somehow I doubt that," Adam hissed.

"And how the hell would you know!" Slade replied, getting increasingly annoyed at Adam's terseness. "The gambler cheated two men in our town and took some important papers worth more n' our whole town put together, and when they went after him, his old man killed 'em both. I got the arrest warrants with me, sworn to by our sheriff. Sanchez is gonna hang for what he did, you hear me? And the gambler's gonna watch!"

Adam's eyes narrowed, "Sounds like Sanchez was defending his son."

"They were unarmed. Sanchez gunned them down, shot them in the back."

"Really."

"There were witnesses."

"I see. You are your men, perhaps?"

Slade's jaw snapped shut, the red shade moving towards purple.

"You don't believe me."

"No."

"You calling me a liar?"

Adam took a breath, knowing there was no right answer to that question, and instead fell back on logic, assuming Slade knew what it was.

"Say you do have those warrants," he suggested slowly, "and say those men you're after are what you say they are," his eyes narrowed, "then why am I here?  If your warrants are legitimate, why haven't you gone to Virginia City for the sheriff?  Why kidnap me?  My father told you we'd make sure justice was done, and yet here I am.  You knew where I was going, and you deliberately stopped me."  His head tilted up so that he could look Slade directly in the eye, "Why?"

Slade didn't have an answer, his blue eyes scrutinizing Adam's face as if looking for some kind of deception.

"No answer?" Adam said after a moment, "Then I'll supply one.  For some reason, you can't go to the sheriff because either those warrants are bogus or," he arched an eyebrow, "because it's not the men your really after, but something those men have.  Money, maybe?  Or papers?"  Slade's expression flickered at the word papers, so Adam made the most obvious connection, "Deeds?"

The reaction was instant, and so fast he couldn't have seen it coming.  One moment he was kneeling upright, and the next he was on the ground, pain registering all through his head from where Slade's boot heel had kicked him in the side of his face.  His eyesight blurred, peppered with black spots, and the tinny taste in his mouth was unquestionably blood.  He had to work to understand the words Slade was saying, but only a few made it through the fast approaching darkness.  It was enough to chill his bones.

"One more word…kill you now…brothers…stop me...kill all you Cartwrights!"

+ + + + + + +

"One more word out of you, slick, and I'll kill you now. And if your Pa or your brothers try n' stop me getting them deeds, I'll kill all you Cartwrights! You hear me?!"

Slade wiped the spittle from his lip, breathing hard, glaring at the obviously now oblivious man on the ground, his anger still boiling. He twisted around when he felt the presence behind him, and growled at old Toby standing hipshot a few feet away, his arms crossed and his sharp blue eyes on the unconscious Adam.

"What?" Slade snarled.

"Hit 'em awful hard," Toby mused, his eyes lifting to meet Slade's. "Kick to the head can kill a man."

Slade grunted, looked again at Adam, and squinted at the ugly the black and red marks on the side of the man's head. With a curse, he knelt and pressed his fingers against Adam's neck. After a moment, feeling the steady pulse, he stood up again.

"He ain't dead," he muttered.

"Good."

Slade pivoted to face the scout, his eyes pinpoints of black inside his face, "You forgettin' who's in charge, Toby? I know what I'm doin', damn it!"

"I know, boss," Toby smiled, lifting his hands to protest his innocence. "I know you do. I just wanted to make sure, you understand….He's worth a lot a' money, that one."

"You think I don't know that?" Slade took a step forward, and Toby took a step back. "You listen, old man, and listen good. When Ben Cartwright sees his boy like this, he'll be happy to give up that gambler and them deeds, just to get this one back. You get me?"

"Yeah, boss."

"Good." Slade turned and stared at Adam for a moment longer, then kicked him in the stomach. Adam grunted, but didn't wake.

Toby chuckled, "His Pa won't be able to see that one."

"Yeah, well, that was fer him being too smart. I don't like it when they're too smart." He eyed Toby, "He spooked me. How the hell'd he know about the deeds?"

Toby smiled again, shrugging. No one could accuse Toby of being too smart.

"So," the scout lifted both eyebrows, the massive tufts of white shifting like sails in the wind, "what now?"

"Now," Slade wiped some more spittle from his bottom lip, "we send his Pa a message." He pulled his knife from the sheath on this thigh. "Get his gunbelt," he ordered. Toby jumped, getting down to unbuckle the gunbelt, as Slade reached down…and sliced across Adam's forearm. A slight wince in Adam's otherwise slack expression was the only reaction. Grabbing the belt from Toby, Slade scratched the blood onto the empty holster, then handed it back. Toby looked at the smear, then back at Slade.

"Nice message," the scout smirked.

Chapter Eight

About two hours later, clean, full of food, and more comfortable than they had been since leaving their home almost three weeks previously, four members of the law of Four Corners were settled around the main room of the Ponderosa, waiting for Chris to begin.

The gunslinger nodded when Ben prompted him, and started his tale.

"I'd like to say it was simple, Mr. Cartwright," he leaned forward on the couch with his arms resting on his legs, his hands clasped together, his eyes fixed on Ben, "but it isn't simple. My men, as usual, took a straightforward assignment of delivering a prisoner," his sharp eyes flashed to land on Ezra, who instantly lowered his own eyes to the floor where he sat at the other end of the couch, "and turned it into a god awful mess."

"It weren't their fault, Chris," Vin interjected where he sat on the arm of the couch next to Ezra, his brow furrowing. "You know that."

Chris snorted at his unofficial second-in-command, and turned his dark stare back to Ben. "It never is. Doesn't stop trouble from sticking to them worse n' flies to honey."

"I know someone else like that," Hoss said cheerfully, glancing askance at Joe.

His younger brother instantly smirked back, "I don't hold the patent on it, older brother, as you well know. In fact, aren't you often with me?"

Hoss tried Adam's stern face, failed, and smiled. He couldn't deny the truth. Ben gave them both looks.

"We're not the ones in question here, sons," he stated firmly. He turned back to Chris, "Suppose you tell us a little more about this so-called god awful mess, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris grimaced, then looked at Ezra again. "Well, Ezra there's a gambler—"

"I thought he was a lawman," Joe said quickly, glancing at Ezra's clothes which, of course, were exhibiting his usual flash, especially now that he'd bathed and changed. His purple jacket had replaced the dust covered red one, and he wore a handsome embroidered vest beneath it. His left arm rested in a sling under the jacket.

"He is a lawman," Chris sighed, "Of sorts. We all are. However," he pursed his lips for a moment, "some of us are other things as well."

"How is that possible? To be more than one thing at once, especially a profession often in trouble with the law itself?" Ben demanded, crossing his arms. "Seems to me being a lawman would take up most of your time, leaving very little for games."

"How true that is," Ezra muttered, clearly lamenting the fact, earning him a shove from Vin. The gambler winced, then breathed slowly out of pursed lips. Ezra turned a sharp look on him. "Was that necessary?" he hissed.

Vin just grinned back shamelessly.

"As I was saying…," Chris began, trying to regain control.

"You didn't answer my question," Ben argued hotly. "How can he be a gambler and a lawman?"

"Are you saying you've never been more than a rancher, Mr. Cartwright?" Josiah asked softly from his place in Adam's usual chair next to the fire. "You've never worn a badge or tried your hand at politics or gambled?"

"He's got you there, Pa," Joe said, then quickly lowered his eyes as his father glared at him.

"That's not the same thing," Ben grimaced, looking at Josiah. "I am first and foremost about the Ponderosa. I may try my hand at other things, but nothing that would jeopardize my home."

"And I would never do anything that would jeopardize Four Corners," Ezra said quietly.

Ben's unblinking stare switched to the gambler, eyes scrutinizing the man's face, then sighed. "All right, fine. I'll grant you that point, if it's true." He looked back at Chris, "Go on, Mr. Larabee. You were saying your man's a gambler."

Chris gave him a tiny smile, "Not just a gambler, an inveterate gambler—been a gambler far longer than a lawman." He darted glances around the room, and when no one seemed inclined to interrupt again, he continued, "And, at least in his mind, he's very good at it."

Ezra opened his mouth to complain, but Vin rested hand on his good shoulder to stop him. So, instead, the gambler just sighed. Chris thanked Vin with a nod and focused back on Ben.

"I bring it up because his gambling is what started this mess." He took a breath before continuing, leaning forward on his knees and shifting his gaze to stare at the fire.

"We were in California because we had helped transport a prisoner named Jules Tyson and his men to a town near San Francisco, at the request of a U.S. Marshal named Peters. We'd agreed to extradite him, but knew Peters couldn't handle it alone, and with the Apache's on the warpath again, there were no soldiers to help him."

"Extradited?" Ben tilted his head, "for what?"

"Tyson was a con artist," Ezra answered, a strong note of professional disdain in his tone. Green eyes flicked up, "he and his cohorts defrauded a number of wealthy citizens in California, then in Arizona territory, and finally tried his hand in our territory. He failed when he tried to pull one over on one of our own ranchers."

"Guy Royale," Vin supplied. "Unfortunately for the Tyson, Guy Royale is a bigger crook than he is, and a hell of a lot nastier. Would have lynched him and his men if we hadn't intervened."

"Lynched?" Ben's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe in lynching."

"Neither do we," Josiah agreed solemnly.

"When Marshal Peters arrived soon after we arrested Tyson and his men," Ezra said, picking up the thread again, "we decided extraditing him to California was safer than letting him languish in our jail until our circuit judge arrived. Royale was unfortunately doing an apt job of inciting the town, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them calm. Besides, California had a bigger claim." Ezra snorted, "But, because we trust Royale about as far as we can throw him," he glanced at Vin, who gave a sideways smile back, "we thought the Marshal could use a little extra help in transporting him." He sighed and shifted, adjusting his sling a little. "Suffice it to say," he pursed his lips, "the trip was long and dull. We arrived in the chosen town where the judge the Marshal worked for was staying, and then moved on. By that time, our protection was invariably no longer needed. Royale's rich, but he's not going to chase someone across two territories."

"Then why did you stay with them for so long? " Ben asked. "Surely you could have dropped off the protection long before you reached California?"

"Because our trip became known around Four Corners before we left," Chris muttered, annoyance thick on his tongue, "and suddenly we were transporting much more than just a prisoner."

"A number of families decided it would be a good time to head west, under our protection," Vin sighed. "One even asked us to escort them as far north as Nevada City."

"And the bank thought it would be a good time to send a strongbox of gold and papers to Sacramento," Josiah added. "To the Central Pacific offices, to be exact. They're financing the Southern Pacific, which is being built not too far outside our town."

"And let us not forget that our intrepid newswoman thought it an ideal excuse to send a wagonload of her newspapers to the central library in Sacramento at the same time," Ezra grinned. "For prosperity, of course."

"Oh yes," Vin laughed, "can't forget that," he glanced at Chris, but the gunslinger refused to smile. Mary had the man wrapped around her finger, whether he admitted it or not. She was also the main reason they had agreed babysat all those families, against all of their better natures.

Chris waved Vin's mocking tone off, "Weren't Mary's papers that got this started, Vin," he sneered. "Was Ezra's greed."

Ezra looked pained, but didn't disagree. Josiah sighed again.

"What does that mean?" Ben asked, the edge back on his tone.

"That damn railroad," Chris replied darkly, "the Central Pacific."

"The railroad?" Ben looked at his sons, who shrugged.

"We did them a good turn in the past, freeing them of a corrupt boss named Rupert Browner who was running their Southern Pacific's construction," Josiah explained. "And they have a good memory for honest men—especially ones who turned down the thank you reward they offered—"

Ezra gave a tiny groan, showing that that decision hadn't been his, and Josiah chuckled a bit before continuing, "In any event, they wanted to meet us. I don't think they come across many honest people in their line of work, themselves included."

Ben harrumphed, but he didn't disagree.

"We had split up to run the errands," Chris explained. "Vin and I took the families to their respective towns; Ezra and Josiah took care of what needed to be done in Sacramento. We were supposed to meet them back in Sacramento, when, in Nevada City, we get a telegram that they would meet us in Iowa Town instead." He scowled at Ezra, who kept his eyes down.

"Iowa Town," Ben repeated, "Slade's town."

"Yes."

"See," Josiah leaned forward, "After we dropped the money with the Central Pacific and told them who we were, we were invited out to have a drink with Crocker and Stanford. I begged off, explaining we still had to take the newspapers to the archives, but they insisted. Then they suggested a game of poker might be had…at which point Ezra decided he could stay and I could deliver the newspapers on my own." He stared hard at Ezra, who still kept his eyes down.

"I was just being polite," Ezra muttered. Chris rolled his eyes and Vin laughed. Josiah just sighed.

"Well, while I went alone to the library, Ezra had a nice chat with two of the Big Four, not to mention winning a sizable pot off of both of them," he eyed Ezra again, saw the tiny dimpled smile on the face, then shook his head in annoyance. "They learned that Chris and Vin were headed up to Nevada City, and they asked Ezra for a favor—would he and I mind delivering nine contracts of sale to Iowa City? It was on the way to Nevada City, and Chris and Vin could meet us there instead without much change in our plans, and in return…."

"…We were handsomely paid," Ezra finished, a strange smile on his face.

"In other words, Ezra said yes for both of us," Josiah said.

"Just to deliver contracts?" Ben said. "Why couldn't a messenger do it?"

"Because the contracts evidenced almost fifty thousand dollars worth of purchases," Ezra said, looking up. "The Railroad had agreed to pay nine families for the deeds to their land, land the Central Pacific is planning to cut through. All the families would have to do was sign the contracts, take it to the Central Pacific office in Auburn, sign their deeds over to the CPRR and they'd get their compensation."

"Fifty thousand dollars!" Joe whistled.

"Ezra read the contracts on the way to Iowa Town," Josiah explained. "He wasn't supposed to, but he did."

Ezra smiled and shrugged at the fact, then grimaced in pain, grabbing his left arm just below the shoulder.

"Don't do that," Chris suggested quietly. Ezra glared at him.

"Anyway," Josiah continued, "When we arrived in Iowa Town, we went seeking the families. Turns out the bank had foreclosed on all of them just a few days before our arrival, and now owned the deeds. It didn't take much to learn that the sheriff and the bank manager had worked together to push those families off their land, forcefully, so that they could get the fifty thousand for themselves. Slade, as deputy, was the muscle that made it happen."

"There are a few honest folk still in Iowa Town," Ezra sighed, leaning back, still holding his left arm. Then he sneered, eyeing the preacher out of the corner of his eye, "They told us what happened and Josiah the bleeding heart there promised we'd help the families get their deeds back."

"Don't blame me, son," Josiah snapped. "You didn't disagree, and the poker game was your idea."

"Ha."

"Fine, suit yourself."

Ezra pursed his lips and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the couch and pretending not to have heard. It was a strange moment, and the Cartwrights didn't know what to make of it. After a moment, Josiah sighed and continued with the story, since Ezra didn't seem willing to.

"Ezra came up with a plan," he said. "Having met the bank manager, he knew the man was a snake who couldn't turn down a bet. With the help of the same few honest folk Ezra mentioned earlier, we distracted the sheriff and Slade outside of town for a few hours, while Ezra pulled the bank manager and his teller into a game. By the time the sheriff returned that night, Ezra had won all nine deeds off him, had them signed over in his name and witnessed by the teller who was also a notary. Needless to say, the sheriff was not happy." Josiah shook his head, "We had planned to leave before he returned, but he beat us to it. We were attacked before we could get out of town and knocked out."

Ezra sighed softly, his right hand touching the scarring cut on his cheek. "When we came to, Josiah was in jail, accused of murdering, conveniently, the bank manager and the teller, and I was with him as an accessory."

"The gallows being built is what woke us up," the preacher added darkly. "All that hammering and sawing…." He drifted off, his mind going somewhere else.

"When they couldn't find the deeds right away," Ezra said, his eyes still closed, "I was 'allowed' to escape, so I could show them where I'd hidden them." He gave a small smile, "I got away from Slade and his flunkeys and orchestrated a jailbreak. Admittedly, it was not the smoothest affair…."

"Lord no," Josiah muttered. "We barely escaped, riding hell bent for leather out of that town, bullets whizzing past our ears. Ezra caught one in the shoulder, but we couldn't slow down. Our only plan was to try and meet Chris and Vin on their way back from Nevada City, then try to find an honest lawman to help us."

"We met them all right," Chris said, staring hard at Josiah. "Half dead, both beaten, Ezra bleeding and barely conscious, Josiah bruised from a bad fall off of his horse during their run…." He shook his head, "Absolute idiots. We could have found a better way than that to help those people."

"It seemed efficacious at the time," Ezra retorted. "Time was limited, as the Central Pacific specified they needed those deeds now. If they didn't get those deeds by the end of this week, they would have taken the land by eminent domain, and the sheriff and the bank manager still would have won. This way," Ezra's eyes opened, "I get the money instead."

"You," Ben ground the word out. "What do you mean you get the money? Are you saying its yours?"

Ezra tilted his head to look at the eldest Cartwright, the strange smile on his face again, "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"What? How does that help those families?" Hoss demanded, confused and, suddenly, angry. "Why, yer no better than that sheriff and the bank man!"

Ezra's eyes had moved to the big Cartwright, the smile still on his face, "I never said I was going to keep the money, Mr. Cartwright."

"But how do we know that?" Hoss growled.

"Because I don't have the deeds anymore," Ezra answered simply. "By now, they should be safely locked up in the Central Pacific's offices in Auburn, with strict instructions that the money be paid directly to the nine families who come to collect as my beneficiaries, each with a signed contract."

"Beneficiaries," Ben frowned, still confused.

"The other part of Ezra's plan," Josiah smiled, a hint of pride in this voice. "One of the honest men in Iowa Town was the town clerk. He created a trust, with Ezra as Trustee, and named the nine families as beneficiaries. When he won the deeds, he had them signed over to him as Ezra Standish, Trustee. Then, soon as the bank manager and his teller were out of sight, Ezra gave them to the clerk along with the signed contracts and told them to get to Auburn as fast as possible. A few others went with them, to find the families the sheriff had chased off."

"But," Joe was confused, "then that means…well, how can you be so sure those men were honest? What if that clerk was really workin' for the sheriff?"

"If he was, Slade wouldn't still be after us," Josiah said simply.

"But what if they decided to take the money for themselves—pose as those families and keep the fifty thousand?" Ben asked. "Are you so certain of the honesty of those men that they wouldn't do that?"

Josiah didn't answer. Instead, he shrugged.

"Sometimes, Mr. Cartwright," Ezra said softly, his eyes closed again, "you just have to the risk that your intuition about someone is right. I believed that clerk to be honest, and I can usually tell the difference." He frowned, "The simple fact is, we couldn't run the risk of Slade catching us and stealing those deeds back, or, worse, chasing us for long enough that the Central Pacific would move ahead without them. So, we took the risk and trusted the town clerk, just as your son did earlier today when he jumped into our camp." He sighed, "As I said, it seemed efficacious at the time."

No one responded to that, not even Chris, who was once more moodily staring at the fire. Hoss's brow furrowed and loosened and furrowed and loosened as he tried to get it all straight in his head, while Joe just sat on the arm of a chair and put his chin in his hand. He was scrutinizing Ezra, as if trying to see inside his head. Vin watched Ben Cartwright, who had turned and started pacing, his hands behind his back and his eyes to the ground. Josiah just picked up the book on the table next to him and examined the spine. After a moment, he opened it up and started reading.

Eventually, Ben stopped pacing, returning to stand by the fire, and propped up one foot on the base. He was looking out the far window, where the sky was all but fully dark.

"Pa?" Joe said softly, "Pa…I believe them."

"So do I, Pa," Hoss agreed, his brow no longer furrowed. "When Adam comes with Roy—"

"Where is Adam?" Ben interrupted suddenly, straightening his back to stare towards the outside door. "He should have been back by now."

That caused them all to look at Ben, then at the door, as if the oldest of the Cartwright boys would take exactly that moment to walk in.

But, of course, he didn't.

Joe looked back at his father, "Well, maybe the doc had to finish something up, Pa. Could've delayed him."

Ben pursed his lips, but didn't disagree. There were a myriad number of reasons why Adam wasn't back yet, but that did nothing to stop the churning in his gut ever since the sun dropped below the horizon. Adam had said he'd be back before nightfall. He wouldn't have said it if he wasn't going to do exactly that.

And Ben knew…something was wrong.

Chapter Nine

A heavy silence descended then, with Ben returning to his pacing and everyone else, except for Josiah, who was reading, and Ezra, who had slid down a little on the couch with his eyes closed, all staring at the fire as if it would solve all their problems.  To Vin's mind, he felt like they had been told to hurry up and wait, and the tension in the room was growing with each heavy tick of the grandfather clock by the door.

Ezra's breathing evened out, and Chris turned to look at him.

"Asleep?" Vin questioned softly, causing Josiah clear blue eyes to flick up from his book and over at the gambler.

"Looks like," Chris answered.

"I'll feel better when that doctor comes.  He still looks too flushed for me."

"Could be the fire."

"Ain't the fire, Chris."

"I know."

Hoss walked over and touched the side of Ezra's face lightly.  The man didn't stir, which demonstrated the depth of his exhaustion.  Ezra was as skittish as a cornered animal most days, and normally he'd jerk awake at such a touch, but he obviously didn't really feel Hoss's fingers despite their coarseness.

"Yer right," the big man said, eyes meeting Vin's, "he's too warm.  Should probably be back in bed."

"I'll do it," Josiah said automatically, standing up, his joints creaking in protest.  Hoss opened his mouth to offer his help, but caught Chris's short shake of his head out of the corner of his eye. Backing off, he watched the preacher settled himself next to Ezra and very gently touched his arm and called his name, telling him to wake up. The gambler muttered something unintelligible and turned his head away.

"Wasn't a request, son," Josiah replied, snaking his arm under Ezra's shoulders to lift him up. "I'm not letting you sleep here."

A tiny smile creased Little Joe's face. He understood now why folks could make the mistake of thinking the preacher was Ezra's father.

At almost the same moment, the sound of hooves racing up to the front door caused all heads to turn in that direction, and Ben's shoulders instantly relaxed like a deflated balloon.

"Finally," he muttered, marching to the door and swinging it wide, expecting Adam to walk up, followed closely by Sheriff Roy Coffey and Doctor Paul Martin.  Chris and Vin had also stood and turned to face the door, and Joe and Hoss flanked them unconsciously.  Ezra's brow furrowed in his sleep, and Josiah let him rest back against the couch, standing up as well.

Ben's back stiffened.  Before him, a grizzled old man with bright blue eyes smiled through gapped teeth, his thin horse moving about untied in the yard behind him, heading in the direction of the water trough. The man carried a black gunbelt over his holster, which Ben glanced at, trying to pretend he didn't recognize it as he focused again on the man's face.

"Mistah Cartwright," the old man greeted.

"You're one of Slade's men," Ben stated, not needing to have actually seen the man to guess who he was.  "What do you want?"

"Name's Toby, sir, and I'm jes looking to deliver a message from my boss."  He scratched at his face, his expression thoughtful, as if trying to remember the whole thing before reciting it.  Pulling the gunbelt off his shoulder, he held it before him, for Ben to take. "Slade wants you to know, first off, that if anything happens to me, you'll never see yer boy again.  Second...." he paused, in part because Ben had sucked in a sharp breath, and in part because five more bodies suddenly stood behind the tall white haired Cartwright, staring him down.  Toby grinned at them.  "Second," he continued, "we got yer boy.  Actually," he frowned, "that may've been the first point, and the other the second point, but you gets the idea."

Ben's hands shot forward, grabbing the gunbelt, knowing full well now it was Adam's. He also saw the dried blood scratched into it from a knife edge. Dropping it to the ground, he grabbed the lapels of Toby's faded corduroy jacket, fingers turning white in the fabric.  "Where is he! What have you done with him! If that's his blood…." He didn't finish his threat, his throat having constricted too much from anger. Joe knelt, picking up the gunbelt, seeing the same thing his father had.

Toby's massive eyebrows lifted, and he looked down at Ben's grip. "You best be lettin' me go, mister," he said quietly. "Remember point one, now."

"Pa...." Hoss grabbed on of Ben's arms, putting pressure on it, until his father let go of Toby's coat.  If anything, it only made Ben angrier. Hoss looked at Toby, "You'd best back off a step, mister."

Toby did just that, but his smug expression didn't waver.

"Where is my son?" Ben commanded again, as if Toby would actually answer the question.

"He's alive, mister, if that's what yer askin', and, if not, then tough, 'cause that's all I'm tellin'. Now, here's the way this is happenin'. You want yer son back an' still in one piece, then all of yous are to be at a certain place at dawn."

"What place?"

"A meadow, looks like one you probably use fer pasture, about five miles south o' the main north road. There's a stream running down one side and a sort of damp brook running across the middle of it—makes it real boggy. Then there's a hedgerow on the other side from the stream, and trees borderin' it on the west side. And, right smack dab in the middle's a big, gnarly old cedar tree that look like it don't belong. Sound familiar?"

"Yes," Ben hissed. The cedar tree was the distinguishing factor—he knew it because he'd planted it there for Joe's mother on their second anniversary.

"Good. Then you meet us there, at dawn, all of yous, unarmed, and bring them deeds. We'll give you yer son, and you give us the deeds, the gambler an' him." He pointed to Josiah, who frowned in response. "Then the rest of you goes free. Understand?"

A tiny crease in Ben's forehead, and he turned to look at Chris.

"We'll be there," the black-clad gunslinger stated, never taking his eyes off Toby. The old man managed to meet them for a moment before shifting away—they made him too uncomfortable.

"Right then," Toby gave a nod and backed up a step, as if to turn. Then he stopped, as if remembering something else, "Oh, and if you try followin' me, or headin' off to get yer sheriff, then we'll know. We's got men staking this place, and they'll watch all night. Get me?"

"We got you," Chris replied coldly.

Toby smiled at that, gave them all a nod, and turned towards his horse, a sharp whistle bringing it trotting over. Vaulting into the saddle, the old man tipped his hat at the men still gathered in the door, then took off at a gallop down the road.

Chapter Ten

Ben turned to Chris, his face inscrutable. "Mr. Larabee," he rumbled, "even if I were to agree to such a barbaric trade, which I would not, you just got through telling us that we don't have those deeds. How…."

"I'll think of something," Chris replied plainly, turning on his heel and heading back inside. He glanced at Ezra on the couch. The gambler's green eyes were open and watching him, fully awake again—he'd heard the whole thing.

Ben's jaw snapped shut, then opened again once he had some control back, "Mr. Larabee. That is my son out there that those men have! Men that you brought here!" He followed Chris inside, to where the gunslinger was now pouring himself a drink from the brandy bottle on the sideboard. Ben slammed his hand on the wood, shaking the remaining glasses on the sideboard, but Chris showed no reaction. "And you're telling me that you'll think of something? What the hell does that mean?!"

"It means he'll think of something," Vin replied coolly.

"Oh, don't you be flippant with me, boy!" Ben shouted, eyes boring into Vin. The tracker didn't flinch. "They have my son!"

Chris shut his eyes. Truth was, he knew exactly how Ben felt, and he also knew how much the Cartwrights wanted to do exactly as Toby had said—turn them over. Unfortunately, he also knew that they wouldn't do it. He knew that because he knew Ben Cartwright was made of the same stuff he was. They couldn't do it any more than he could give his father-in-law up to the Nichols Family, or Smith and his men when they had that band of Mexican bandits after him, or any other time someone had brought trouble to Four Corners and needed protection.

"Well, Mr. Larabee?" Ben charged, still waiting. Chris's eyes opened again, and he took a sip of the brandy.

"Chris," Ezra spoke up softly from where he was still sitting on the couch.

The black-clad gunslinger turned, looking down at the gambler over his shoulder.

Ezra ran his right hand through his thick hair, "I can make them. Forge them. Nine deeds. If he doesn't look too closely...." he trailed off.

Chris frowned, not because he didn't appreciate the idea, but because he wasn't sure yet how it could help.

"Forge them?" Ben asked. Ezra eyed him, and smiled crookedly.

"Wouldn't be my first time, Mr. Cartwright."

At the slight narrowing of Ben's eyes, Vin coughed. "Um, see, Ezra, he's…."

"Yes," Ben interrupted coldly, cutting him off, no smile on his face, "I'm beginning to understand what your Ezra is."

"Look, um, sayin' he could make 'em deeds, how does that help, exactly?" Hoss asked, echoing Chris's earlier thoughts. "No offense, Mr. Standish."

Ezra shook his head, "None taken, Mr. Cartwright."

"We've used a fake deed to our advantage before," Vin mulled, sitting on the arm of the chair where Josiah had been, "with that wagon train when they kidnapped Charlotte…."

"As a distraction, you mean," Chris said, "so you and Ez could sneak round back and pull her out. But this time, Slade wants us all together, where he can see us. Don't see how that helps."

"Well, it's something," Ben hissed, staring at Ezra. "There's paper in the drawer of my desk, boy, and stylos."

Ezra nodded, pushing himself up off the couch. For a moment, the gambler's vision blackened, his right hand gripping the arm of the couch to anchor himself. When his vision came back, he felt more than just the couch under his right fingers—he felt Josiah's strong arm around his back holding him up.

"He ain't well enough, Chris," Josiah's voice hissed near his ear. Ezra pushed the preacher off, and, with a nod to Ben, walked over to the desk and sat down in the large leather chair. Josiah trailed behind, not hiding the concern on his face.

"Drawer on the right," Ben informed him. Ezra nodded, pulling open the drawer and finding several sheets of thick, yellow paper.

"Josiah," he whispered, pulling the paper out, "fold those into three, will you? It's easier if you have two good hands." He looked up at the others, "any of you know how to calligraphy?"

"I can, of course," Josiah said. Ezra nodded at him, then looked at the others. They all shook their heads no. Ezra sighed, pulled the first paper Josiah had folded over and, dipping a stylo, started to write on the inside: By these men presents, on this, the fifteenth day of June, eighteen hundred and sixty six, the Grantor does hereby grant, warrant, pledge, enfeoff, sell, convey to the Grantee that certain plot and parcel of land….

"When I'm done with this one, Josiah," Ezra said, not looking up from his work as he began making up a legal description, "You can finish it off for me. I'll show you how."

"Mr. Cartwright," Chris said, drawing everyone's attention but Ezra's, "can I ask you something?" There was something odd in his tone that had Vin standing up and Josiah turning to watch the leader curiously. They could hear it—Chris had an idea. Ezra blew on the paper to dry the inking he'd done so far, and looked up.

Ben shrugged, "About what?"

"We stopped at a line shack on a ridge not more than ten miles inside your property line. It had the number 26 tacked on it. Do you know it?"

"Of course we know it," Ben frowned. "Why?"

"Are there any weapons stashed inside it?"

"Weapons? There's a rifle in a box under the cot, yes. Not loaded, but it's there and there's ammunition with it. Again, why?"

Chris looked at Ezra, who nodded in response to the look and returned to his forgery, then looked back at Ben. Chris smiled.

"Because I've thought of something."

Chapter Eleven

The sun was just clearing the horizon as they reached the meadow, the shadows still deep along the hedgerow on one side, and the gnarled tree looked black and cold.  The morning chill still clung to everything, causing more than just Ezra to shiver inside their jackets, though the gambler's lips had bluish tinge the others didn't have, almost as dark as the shadows under his eyes. The deeds had taken him the entire night, Josiah's help notwithstanding,

Chris, Vin and Josiah rode unusually close to him, and Chaucer was not pleased.  The chestnut bared his teeth a few times and even tried to take a nip at Solon, which was always a bad idea.  The big black didn't bother to nip back; Chris's horse just turned it's head, rolling a large eye at the chestnut as if in disgust...and possibly warning...before turning forward again.

Chaucer only tried to nip at Quincy and Peso after that. 

The earth was wet, and the horse's hooves squelched as they walked across to the center of the meadow, bits of morning fog swirling around their legs as it waited to be burned off.  The horsemen formed a rough circle, their horses stamping the ground, as each turned to scan a different direction.

As expected, they caught glimpses of at least two men shadowing them from behind cover, ready to pick them off if need be.

Only a few minutes passed by before the sound of more hooves squelching in the muddy earth could be heard, and everyone turned to the far side of the meadow, to watch as four horses separated from the shadows of the treeline to greet them.

One of which was Sport, with Adam on his back.

Ben sucked in a harsh breath, seeing the way his son slumped in the saddle, his hands obviously bound behind his back.  His son's head was down, meaning he couldn't see Adam's face beneath his black hat, which only worried him further.

Toby pulled at Sport's reins, pulling Adam behind him as Slade and another man walked their horses towards them with deliberate slowness.

"Mr. Cartwright," Slade nodded, "Nice of you to come."

"Adam?" Ben purposefully ignored Slade, his eyes only for his son.  When Adam didn't raise his head, he repeated the name louder.

Toby nudged Adam's leg. "Answer him, slick," he ordered.

Ben sent an acid glare towards the scout for daring to touch his boy, which Toby ignored. Next to his father, Hoss grimaced slightly at the phrase "slick," hoping Adam's sharp tongue hadn't gotten him in too much trouble.  Clenching his jaw, the younger brother watched as, slowly, Adam sighed and lifted his head.

"Holy hell," Joe whispered from Ben's other side, either not caring or not noticing the cuss. 

Blood and bruising showed vividly down the right side of Adam's face, his right eye partly shut as a result.  He appeared disoriented as he blinked a few times, as if trying to get his bearings, until they finally focused on his family just a few feet away.  The lips parted, but he didn't say anything.  After a moment, the eyes closed again and Adam's head drooped again, his whole body slumping forward more with the movement.

"Adam!" Ben kneed his horse forward, then pulled up as the man to Slade's left lifted his rifle to stop him.  He glared at the stranger, "I need to see that he's all right!"

"He's alive," Slade spat, causing Ben to refocus his glare.  "That's all you need to know for now."

"Like hell it is," Ben hissed.

"Listen, old man, you know what we want.  Give us the gambler, his old man and them deeds, and you get your boy back."  Slade turned his icy stare on Ezra, who sent a raised eyebrow back in response.

"We can't," Ben replied, his lips twisting into a scowl.  "They don't have the deeds on them."

Slade flinched, his eyes narrowing to slits, "What?"

"He's telling you the truth, Slade," Chris stated, before Slade could respond more violently. "Ezra hid them in a line shack we came across when we first crossed into the Ponderosa. We knew you were close, and he thought it seemed," he glanced at Ezra, "efficacious at the time."

Slade stared at Chris. The gunslinger stared back. Finally, the deputy sheriff snorted.

"You think I'm that stupid, gunslinger? You think I'm going to fall for it twice? The gambler already pulled that one."

"They're in the shack, Slade," Ezra assured calmly. "Let Adam go, and I'll take you to them."

"I ain't listening to you, chiseler," Slade snarled. "Think I don't know a con when I hear one?"

Ezra frowned, "It's not a con, Slade. Search us, if you don't believe me."

Slade met his eyes for a few moments longer, then looked again at Ben Cartwright. "You want your son to die, is that it?"

"Of course not," Ben snapped. "Don't you think that, if I had them to give, I would? I don't gamble with my boys lives, Slade. If you know anything about me at all, you'll know that's true!"

Slade just frowned at him, trying to read his expression.

"Boss?" Nash glanced askance at Slade, "It's easy to verify. Can't we just check the shack?"

Slade darted a glance at Nash, then back at Ben, "They're trying to pull something, Nash."

"What can they pull?" Nash persisted, "We're the only ones with guns."

Slade's eyes narrowed again, and suddenly he swore. He raised his gun, pointing it at Ezra's head, causing the gambler to sit up straighter.

"Take off that jacket," he commanded, "and show me yer arms!"

Ezra's jaw tensed, but he obliged, pulling the red jacket off. Lying it on the saddle in front of him, he showed that his right arm had nothing on it.

"And the left," Slade ordered.

A slightly twitch of Ezra's eyes, but he reached up with his right to untie the knot for the sling his left sat in. The arm fell loosely down in front of his embroidered waistcoat, and he winced as he pulled the sling's fabric the rest of the way off.

"Satisfied?" he asked. Slade sighed, his jaw still clenched. He knew what Ezra meant. There was no derringer rig—which was what Slade had been looking for. It was what had helped Ezra escape the first time, back in Iowa Town. They'd made the mistake of arresting Ezra without having him remove his coat. Slade wasn't going to make that mistake again.

"Can I put the sling and coat back on?" Ezra asked quietly, arching an eyebrow.

Slade didn't answer, turning back to Ben. "Damn it, what the hell are you trying to pull, Cartwright?"

Ben heaved a deep breath. "I just want my son," he said, his anger more subdued now. "Please."

Slade watched him a moment longer, then pursed his lips. Turning, he looked at Toby behind him.

"Push him off his horse," he ordered.

Ben's gasped "No!" did nothing to stop the scout, as Toby reached over and kicked Adam's left foot out of the stirrup, then gave him a strong shove, sending Adam to the ground. Ben jumped down off his horse, intending to run to his son, stopping only when Nash's rifle barrel got stuck in his face. Breathing hard, the Cartwright patriarch sent daggers at the dark haired Nash.

Adam groaned, trying to push himself up off the wet ground with his bound arms, then he apparently gave up, ending up lying slightly curled on his side, his hat several feet away. He didn't make another sound after that, his hot forehead resting on the cool earth, eyes closed.

"Listen to me, Cartwright," Slade stated, "And listen good. You got two healthy boys there. I kill this one," he pulled the hammer back on his gun and backed his horse up to point it down at Adam, "and looks to me that I still got two to threaten you with."

"I'm not lying, Slade," Ben hissed, not taking his eyes from Slade's face. "They don't have the deeds on them."

Slade stared at him unblinking, watching the nerves dance across Ben's face. He looked up, seeing the looks exchanged between the other two Cartwright brothers, and the looks they gave the other four men with them. They gave the appearance of men hiding something, even if their father's expression didn't.

The gun shifted in his hand.

"We'll see," Slade hissed, he looked down at Adam…and fired.

Ben's agonized yell was echoed by both Joe and Hoss as Adam was jolted awake with a scream, curling towards his leg where the bullet hit. The limbs pumped, but he couldn't get away from the pain, and his bound hands prevented his trying to suppress it. Ezra turned worried eyes to look at Chris, but the gunslinger showed nothing except a parted lip at the act. Josiah slammed a hand on Joe's chest, stopping the boy form charging his horse forward to Adam's side, while Hoss gripped his hands into fists so tight, his knuckles turned white and the veins in his neck looked ready to burst. Vin took a deep breath, his right arm partly out of sight…fighting the overwhelming desire to engage Ezra's derringer rig strapped to it. He nearly did so when Slade first pointed his gun at the helpless man on the ground. If he hadn't been able to tell that Slade was going to aim for Adam's leg only, he would have given away one of their only two surprises.

Slade smiled, turning the gun on Ben. He found humorless black eyes fixed on him—a frightening coldness there that hadn't been present before. Slade didn't care, determined to show he was the one in control here.

"Still swear they don't have them deeds on them?" he challenged.

Ben took a deep breath. "By God, Slade! I swear by everything I am that they do not have those deeds on them. Now let me see my son!"

Slade nodded, tilting the gun back and putting it back in its holster. Ben was by Adam's side instantly, checking the shot to the leg, thankful to see the bullet had gone straight through, then checking the side of Adam's face. His son groaned, the pain in his face clear as he tried to understand what had just happened. Ben shifted then to kneel by his side, pulling Adam's head up on his lap, and looked up at Slade atop his horse next to him.

"Why?" he demanded hoarsely. "Why did you have to shoot him?"

"First, to remind you who is in charge here," Slade replied coldly. "Second, to keep you honest." He looked at the rest of the men gathered, then looked past them.

"Mark! Orrie! Come out here!"

Vin, Josiah, Joe and Hoss turned, watching as the two men who had been hidden emerged from their cover to slowly walk into the meadow, rifles still held high. Ezra and Chris didn't take their eyes off of Toby, Nash and Slade. Slade smiled at the gambler as he waited for Orrie and Mark to get closer.

"All right," the deputy sheriff ordered, "all of you except Standish…." Slade paused, looking first to Hoss and then to Joe, "and you, boy, which are you?"

"Joe."

"And Joe, get off your horses. That includes you, gunslinger, and the tracker there." Slade eyed Chris and Vin, who, still expressionless, dismounted without looking away from Slade's face. "Now send 'em horses away," Slade ordered.

Except for Ezra and Joe, still mounted, the others did as they were told, hitting the rumps of their horses and sending them off. None of them actually went very far, so Orrie sent a couple of shots in their direction, sending them running further, until they were around the edge of the hedgerow and out of sight.

Chris looked back at Slade, "Now what?"

"Now, me, Standish, Joe and Toby here are going to find that cabin. The rest of you are staying here." He looked down at Ben, who had pulled the green kerchief from his neck, intending to create a tourniquet. He pulled the hammer back, and Ben looked up, confused.

"Don't wrap it," Slade ordered.

"What?" Ben said. "Are you mad?"

"You can wrap it when we get back. Until then, let it bleed."

"No!"

"The sooner we get back, the better off he'll be," Slade shifted his gaze to Joe and Ezra, "You get my meaning? Any funny business, any more attempts to stall, and slick there will die of blood loss before we get back. Understand? I want this done as fast as possible, and, if you care for him at all, your only option is to move even faster than that. Get me?"

Ezra gave a short nod, while Joe ground out a frustrated "yes."

"Good to hear. Nash, Mark," Slade turned to the third man now behind him, "Orrie…you got guard duty over these men. Any of them so much as twitches, shoot them. And don't let Cartwright bind his son's wound, you hear me?"

"Sure boss," Nash said, his voice not quite as firm as Slade's. Orrie looked away, not meeting Slade's eyes, while Mark didn't respond at all. The deputy grimaced at them, but didn't push. Wheeling his horse around, Slade fixed on Little Joe.

"You know where the cabin is?"

"Yeah."

"Then you lead. Let's go."

Joe took a breath, met his father's and Hoss's eyes one last time, saw his father give him a nod, then turned Cochise around and kicked the paint hard, sending him into a gallop. Slade took off right behind, followed by Ezra and then Toby. In moments, they were gone, headed back up towards the ridge at a fast pace.

Ezra's red coat floated down to the ground from where it had slipped off Chaucer's saddle, landing in the mud. The gambler never did get a chance to put it back on after he reset his arm in the sling.

Chapter Twelve

Nash dismounted, sending his own horse off to one side, and he, Orrie and Mark took up roughly triangular positions around the men they guarded. Hoss's fists were still white as he glared at all of them, a bit like a caged bear watching his captors, and Josiah's expression wasn't much calmer where he stared off in the direction Joe and Ezra had gone. Chris and Vin had gone stone cold—nothing in their faces at all. As he met their shuttered eyes, Hoss found that a little disconcerting. Not even Adam could close himself off that much. Heaving a sigh in an attempt to calm down, the big man took another look over to where Ben was cradling his eldest son.

Ben pulled his son's head towards him, wanting to get a better look at the damage to it. Probing it a little, he stopped when Adam gave an annoyed grunt followed by a peevish: "quit it, Pa." Ben almost cheered--now that was the son he knew.

"Adam?"

Brown eyes blinked up at him, shining with his son's usual intelligence.

"Hey Pa."

Ben blew the air out of his cheeks, suppressing the urge to laugh for joy. Adam's vagueness from earlier had really scared him. It shocked him to think that, possibly, the gunshot wound had woken him up. "Son…you hurt anywhere else that I can't see?"

"Just bruises," Adam grimaced, pain shooting down his leg for a moment like a hot poker, before it seemed to numb again. "Is it bad?" he asked. Ben sighed, knowing his son meant the gunshot wound.

"It'll heal, if we get you to a doctor."

Adam winced again, riding another wave of pain, then settled. "Pa…."

"Hush, my boy, it'll be all right."

Leaning back a little, Ben saw the bound hands, and he looked over at Nash. "Can you at least cut his bonds?" At Nash's frown, Ben licked his lips, "Look at him. What possible danger is he? He's not going anywhere. Please!"

Nash looked at him, then over at Mark and Orrie. Mark shrugged, while Orrie grimaced. With a sigh, the dark haired Nash pulled a knife from a sheath on his thigh and crossed over, kneeling next to Ben. Within a few moment, he cut the ropes binding Adam's wrists.

"Thank you," Ben said, smiling a little. The other man only grunted in reply.

Orrie walked up behind them, and Nash looked over his shoulder.

"What?"

Orrie didn't answer. Instead, he pulled off the red bandana around his neck. Not looking at Nash, he handed it to Ben.

"Bind his leg."

"What!" Nash erupted, standing up. "Slade specifically said…."

"That was for the benefit of the two that went with 'em," Orrie replied coolly. "Doesn't matter to us. Bleeding out's a horrible way to die, Nash." He looked down at Ben, who still hadn't taken the bandana. "Take it. Just promise me you'll remove it when Slade gets back."

Nash fumed, but he didn't interfere as Ben gave a grateful nod and snatched the bandana, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Quickly, he added his own green bandana to the makeshift bandage, tightening it around the wound in Adam's leg to try and stop the bleeding.

In the background, no one saw Vin put his hands behind his back, or the tiny shake of the tracker's right arm as he took advantage of the distraction to engage the derringer.

Orrie backed off, heading back to where he stood before, not far from Chris and Hoss. Mark stayed near Josiah and Vin. Nash stared at Ben and Adam a moment longer, then tapped his rifle on the older Cartwright's shoulder.

"Okay, that's enough. Go stand with the others. Your boy's not going anywhere, as you said."

Ben frowned, reluctant to leave his son, but, after a moment, he nodded. Leaning over, he whispered something to Adam, then eased him back to the ground. Adam rolled back on his side, partly on his back, his eyes closed again as his forehead once more rested against the cold earth. Ben moved around, still on his knees, heedless of the muck coating his trousers, and leaned over his son as if to check him one more time.

"It's his son," Chris said suddenly, lifting his chin. "Let him stay with him."

Nash's turned to glare at the gunslinger, "I want you all standing in one place where I can see you, and that includes him, father or no."

Chris sneered, "What's he going to do? With his son on the ground, he's as helpless as his boy while he stays down there."

Nash's eyes narrowed, and Orrie stepped forward, nudging Chris hard in the ribs, sending him a step forward. Chris turned a strangely amused glance at the outlaw

"You best stay out of this, gunslinger," Orrie warned.

"Name's Larabee," Chris hissed, "and I'm getting a little tired of that 'gunslinger' crap." He looked back at Nash.

"Like I care, gunslinger," the dark haired outlaw snarled. Turning, Nash looked back at Ben, frowning to see him leaning over to whisper to his son again.

"Damn it, that's enough!" Nash snapped, shoving Ben with the rifle barrel. "I said move!" Ben glared up at him, sighed, patted Adam on the arm, and stood up.

With one more look, Ben sighed and turned, heading towards the others. He came to a stop near Chris and gave the gunslinger a sidelong glance and a small, firm nod. Chris didn't respond, just pursed his lips and looked at the ground.

Nash followed him over, putting his back to Adam, then turned his head to peer off into the distance to where Slade had disappeared to.

"How long will it take for them to get to that cabin and back?" he asked, turning to look at Hoss.

The middle Cartwright brother grimaced, then shrugged. "At a gallop? I don't know, couple o' hours or so, I reckon. Not sure the gambler's gonna be able to keep at a gallop though."

"He will," Josiah sighed. "He won't slow down unless the others do, not when he knows what's at stake."

Hoss frowned at that and walked a little bit further out from the group in the direction of the ridge. The three outlaws eyes followed him, but didn't yell at him to stop…yet. After a moment, Hoss stopped of his own volition, sighed, and looked back at Nash. He frowned some more as he glanced at Mark and Orrie. All three were watching him like hawks.

Secretly he exulted—now he just had to keep their attention. Doing his best to keep his expression cool, he put his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vin moving slightly into position closer to Mark.

"Look, can I ask you all somethin'?" he asked, looking again at the three outlaws. Nash's eyes narrowed.

"Like what?"

"Well, not to sound stupid or nothin', but, what if, when they get them deeds, Slade and that scout of his just ride off? Back to California? Without you, I mean."

Nash frowned, "What're you on about?"

"What's to stop them from running? Leaving you holding the bag?"

Nash rested his rifle on his shoulder, "Because Slade's not like that." A grunt of assent came from Mark, and Orrie looked down at his feet.

"But…."

"Look, he won't…he can't. Not while we have the preacher with us."

Josiah's eyebrows lifted, and he moved forward to be more in the line of sight of the three men. "Me?"

Nash looked at him, "Slade's got to bring you and the gambler back. Dead or alive, you get me? To make it legit."

"Legit," Josiah chuckled, walking over next to Hoss. His back to the three outlaws, he looked around at the fields open before him, "By that, I suppose you mean legitimate. Legal." He snorted, "The irony is almost comical." Hoss turned to look at Josiah's profile…in part because he didn't trust himself to not give away what was happening behind Nash.

Nash frowned, "No funnin', preacher. Turn around."

Josiah turned, giving Nash a sarcastic eye. "Why? Don't feel like shooting me in the back?"

"No one's going to die here today," Orrie said sharply. "Not if you all do as your told."

"Ha," Josiah sneered, turning away again.

"I said, turn around!" Nash shouted, lowering the rifle into his hands.

Josiah purposefully ignored him.

Nash pulled back the hammer, "I said….urk!"

Mark and Orrie whipped their heads around at the strange sound, and everyone stopped.

"Drop your weapons," Adam hissed to the other two outlaws. He had one arm wrapped around Nash's chest, and the other held a knife to the man's throat. "Now."

Ben had slipped his son the knife hidden up his sleeve while Chris distracted Nash, whispering in Adam's ear, asking if he felt strong enough to help. His son had nodded—nothing kept a Cartwright down for long when his family was in danger. Then, while Nash, Mark and Orrie were watching Hoss and Josiah, Adam had pushed himself upright, balancing on one leg. He almost hadn't made it, giving himself away by falling back onto the wet earth, but sheer determination kept him moving. He practically fell on Nash's back, the knife pressing deeply into the man's neck. Nash was afraid to move, feeling how much of Adam's weight he was carrying, worried any slight shift on his part could result in his esophagus being sliced open.

Mark glanced at Orrie, as if trying to decide if they should let Nash fall or not, but found Orrie obviously as unsure as he was as the other man tried to read the eldest Cartwright boy's face. Mark's fingers tightened around the stock of his rifle, and he was about to test Adam's resolve when he heard a different, calmer voice behind him.

"Do as the man says," Vin warned, pulling back the hammer on the tiny derringer in his right hand now pointed at Mark's head, "or you'll see how big a hole this tiny little gun can make in your head."

Mark's eyes widened. He dropped the rifle as if it were a rattler.

Vin switched his aim to Orrie, who was now staring openly at him in surprise, and raised his eyebrows. "Well? I don't want to kill you mister, not after the nice thing you did."

Orrie sighed, but he put his rifle down. Chris walked over and picked up the fallen weapon, then walked over and picked up Mark's, tossing that one to Josiah. Hoss had walked over and pulled Nash's from his loose fingers.

"Okay Adam," Ben said, coming up behind his eldest son who was still hanging on Nash's shoulders, "Let go."

Adam closed his eyes and stepped back, his hand falling away from Nash's neck. At least he had meant to step back—fact was, Nash was holding him up. His full weight was far too much for his leg, and he fell, landing neatly in his father's arms. Ben smiled as Adam chuckled, allowing his father to sit him down again.

"That was fun," Adam hissed through clenched teeth. "We should make this a weekly event."

Ben smiled, then looked up as Chris took control like he was born to it.

"On your knees!" Chris ordered, and all three outlaws immediately went down, "And hands on your heads. I see you reach for anything, and you'll see what it really means to bleed out." Behind him, Vin ran for the horses, whistling sharply to get their attention. He knew they wouldn't have gone far, and, in fact, Solon was leading them all back around the hedgerow even before he reached it. Grabbing the rope off of Peso and Solon's saddles, he tossed one to Hoss, and they made quick work of tying up the three outlaws. Josiah grabbed Solon's reins and pulled him forward to where they were all standing, and the other horses naturally followed behind.

When Hoss had finished tying Mark, he walked over to check on Adam, kneeling down in front of him. His "big" brother gave him a weak smile back. Hoss sent a thank you heavenwards for small favors.

"Hoss," Chris said, getting the big man's attention. "You and Josiah stay here, guard these outlaws. Ben, you should get your son to a doctor. Vin and I'll…."

"No," Ben stood up, "I'm coming with you."

"There's no need," Chris replied, "We can take care of…."

"They've got Joseph still. I'm coming with you."

Chris sighed, "That's all well and good, Mr. Cartwright, but Adam…."

"I'll be fine for a few hours, now that my leg's bound" Adam stated, not about to be spoken about in the third person while he was awake. "Go, Pa," he looked up at Ben, "get our boy back."

Chris opened his mouth to argue again, but Ben simply ignored him and walked across to his buckskin, pulling out the gun hidden under the saddle. Turning back to Chris, he arched an eyebrow.

"You ready?"

Chris gave a half smile, shook his head in amazement and jogged over to Solon.

Josiah grimaced, wanting to go as well, but aware that he wasn't well enough to keep up with them. So, instead, he just patted Vin on the shoulder as the tracker walked past.

Vin smiled at him reassuringly, promising in that smile to bring Ezra back in one piece, then jogged and jumped up on Peso's back in one smooth motion, turning the black horse around. Ben was mounted by then as well, and he wheeled his horse around to meet Chris and Vin's eyes.

"Despite Slade's threat, Joe will still take them by the longer route, as we planned. You follow me, and I'll show you the shortcut. We should only be behind them by ten minutes or so by the time they reach the cabin."

"Then after you, Mr. Cartwright," Chris grinned.

Chapter Thirteen

"Hyah!"

"Up, up!"

"C'mon, boy!…you can do it…."

"Yah!…yah!"

"Move! Gie up there, horse!"

The four horses were driven up the mountain side without a break, the paint pony in the lead setting the rough pace as its owner pushed the poor animal to its limits. The horses labored to move as fast as their riders wanted, muscles straining, hooves grabbing at the dirt and gravel as they pulled themselves and their riders up towards the ridgeline. The horsemen sweated and swore even as they encouraged their mounts, winding around rocks and trusting the animals not to slip on the loose rocks hidden inside the grass and mud.

It was hard work, constantly keeping them moving, constantly trying to keep your balance, constantly on the look out for holes and pitfalls. Joe rode in front, never letting up the hard pace he had set, and was probably the most vocal of the bunch as he encouraged Cochise to hurry. Slade rode behind, his expression a tense grimace, knowing that he had encouraged the speed the Cartwright boy was pressing, but regretting the work-out it now entailed. Ezra was third, surprisingly the only one the four not wasting his breath on words—only his harsh, shallow gasps for air betrayed him. Each jarring step Chaucer took caused more and more blood to seep into the white bandage encasing Ezra's shoulder, seeping through to leave specks on the fabric of the sling.

Finally, in last place, Toby was probably the only one not concerned with the difficulty of the drive. If anything, he appeared to be enjoying it.

Joe knew he was not focused. He knew, because he couldn't stop seeing Adam's face, seeing the vivid bruising and the dried, caked blood down one side and his brother's eyes lifeless beneath the heavy lids. The image wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried, like sunspots marring his vision. He wanted to stick to the plan—such a simple plan, divide and conquer—but how could he when every time he tried to think about how he and Ezra could turn the tables on Slade and Toby, Adam's scream from the gunshot pierced the rational side of him like paper, showing how truly flimsy it was.

He wasn't meant to be rational. It just wasn't in him to think clearly when his family was in pain.

And he was so damn angry.

Fury boiled inside him, getting hotter with each second of this hard ride. He was furious at these men, invading his home and stealing his brother from him. He was angry at Larabee and Standish for bringing them here. He was angry at himself for accepting his father's nod and not taking the shorter route, but climbing up this, the longer way, because that was the plan. What if they hadn't gotten the better of Slade's men left behind? What if, when he got back, Adam was dead? God, what if they were all dead? And if he'd just taken the shorter route, he might have prevented….

Oh God…Adam…I'm so sorry….

They crested the hill, and found themselves looking down on a logging road on the far side.

Joe pulled up short, knowing he had to give the horses a moment to rest even if he didn't want to. Slade pulled up alongside, and Joe watched him out of the corner of his eye. Turning to see the deputy sheriff more clearly, he smiled some at seeing the sweat dripping off the man's tired face and the harsh breathing.

Slade wiped the wet off the top of his lip with his arm, and his eyes snapped to Joe.

"We…" The word came out as a croak, and Slade swallowed, removing the dryness from his throat, before trying again. "We takin' that road?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "Take us straight there."

"G'wan then. Let's go."

"The horses…."

"To hell with the horses. Move!"

Taking a deep breath to stop himself from talking back, Joe spared one glance at Ezra, who had pulled up on his other side, then spurred his paint down the hill.

In that one glance at the gambler, the anger dissipated, replaced by fear. Ezra was so pale—he looked like a dead man who just didn't know it yet.

Come on, Joe, focus!

+ + + + + + +

Below them in the valley still, following a steadier climb which allowed the horses to move faster, three men galloped without any other concern except speed. Two men raced to save their friend and brother, and one raced to save his son.

Chapter Fourteen

The shack came into view as they rounded the last corner, looking much the same as when the men from Four Corners had left it a few days before. Little Joe slowed his horse down, eyes quickly scanning the area for anything that might help.

Slade's eyes narrowed, seeing only the open door, and the deeds he hoped were hidden within.

Ezra didn't see much of anything. He was trying to focus on not throwing up.

Toby grinned, riding past the others to look around, pulling up hard in front of the shack, eyes alert for possible danger. After a moment, the spry old man leapt off his horse and grabbed his rifle from the saddle. With a wave of his arm, he motioned the others forward, letting his horse wander towards the water trough on his own.

Joe couldn’t resist an arched eyebrow at the athletic old man. He hoped he was that "young" when he was Toby's age.

In moments, they were all lined up in front of the shack—Toby had backed up in order to keep them all in sight of the rifle.

"Off them horses," Slade ordered, pulling his gun out of his holster as Joe and Ezra both looked back at him for direction. With a nod, Joe got down and threw Cochise's reins over the post.

Ezra breathed out slowly, looking down at the ground so far away. Well, he thought wryly, I could always just fall off.

"Help 'im," Slade hissed, seeing the gambler's problem. Little Joe looked over at the gambler, saw the apologetic expression Ezra threw him, and smiled wryly in return. Walking over, he stood on Ezra's left hand side, ready to catch him if necessary.

It was necessary.

Ezra practically fell into Joe, and the younger man kept him upright with a grunt.

"Thanks," Ezra mumbled, pushing Joe away as soon as he had his feet under him. Joe didn't let himself get pushed, gripping Ezra's right arm a little more tightly than necessary.

"Can you do this?" Joe asked sharply. To Slade, it was a question about staying upright without aid, but to Ezra it meant something quite different. The gambler took a deep breath and wrenched his arm free, proving to Joe that he still had strength in it.

"Yes," Ezra replied quietly, his gaze steady, "We can do this."

Joe lowered his eyes, obviously not as certain, and turned his attention back to Slade. Ezra took a few steps away from him in order to lean on the hitching post, his right hand gripping the wood behind him tightly for purchase.

Seeing Toby had them both in his sights, Slade dismounted, gun still in hand. He walked past Joe to lean against the hitching post to Ezra's left, smiling that same cruel smile he'd been sending the gambler ever since meeting up with him again.

"Now what?" Joe asked Slade, not liking the look the deputy was giving Ezra.

"Now me n' the gambler here are goin' inside that shack, where he's goin' to give me the deeds." Slade looked back at Joe, "You and Toby are staying out here." Slade glanced at Toby, "You know what to do if Cartwright here moves?"

Toby smiled, hefting the rifle to point squarely at Little Joe's chest and cocked the lever, "Shoot him?"

Joe rolled his eyes in return, crossing his arms. Ezra quirked a smile at the kid's reaction even as Slade replied:

"Yup."

Toby shrugged, "Then I reckon I know what to do iffin he moves."

Slade chuckled, and looked at Ezra. The gambler's eyes shifted to glance at him over his left shoulder, then shifted back to Joe, as if Slade wasn't worth the effort. The smile fell from Slade's face. Joe barely had time to shout a "no!" as the deputy's hand shot out to grab Ezra's left arm, wrenching him towards him by the hurt limb, earning an involuntary cry from Ezra's lips.

"Think yer better n' me, don't ya," Slade hissed at the hurt man. Ezra didn't answer—he was in too much pain.

"Slade!" Joe shouted, "Stop!"

Slade ignored him, wrenching Ezra's left arm again, causing another gasp from the smaller man. Ezra was half hunched now, and Slade gripped the arm harder, drawing him close.

"Say please, gambler," the deputy hissed in his ear. "Beg me to let you go."

Joe turned away, unable to watch any more. Still gasping for air, Ezra turned his head to look up at Slade from his bent position, his bloodshot eyes watering.

"Please," he whispered, "Let go."

The deputy threw his head back and laughed. Feeling sick at the sound, Joe once more shouted for Ezra to be let go, but it only caused the deputy to mock him at the same time. Finally, Slade twisted the gambler's left arm and threw Ezra to the ground, grinning in satisfaction as he curled up on his side in the dirt with his eyes screwed shut, trembling something fierce as his right arm cradled the left. Little Joe made to move forward to help him, but stopped as Toby quickly fired a warning over his head. Twisting, half crouched, Joe glared at the scout. Toby simply leveled the rifle at him again, cocking the lever again.

"Leave 'im be, boy," Toby hissed. "Gambler had it comin'."

Straightening, Joe gripped his hands into fists as he stared down at the scout for a few moments before clenching his jaw in frustration and turning his gaze back to Ezra and Slade.

The deputy was watching, amused, as Ezra struggled to stay conscious. The gambler was trying to ride through the pain as it continued to spark and flash to a point somewhere behind his eyelids.

"Get up gambler!" Slade needled, kicking Ezra in the legs, "or the boy's dead, hear?" He looked at Toby, "If Standish ain't on his feet in thirty seconds, shoot Cartwright."

"Sure thing, boss."

Ezra opened his eyes at that, still just trying to manage the hot pokers sliding back and forth through his left shoulder. Then the pale green irises lifted to focus on Slade standing over him—and narrowed in anger. The deputy tilted his head, waiting—gambler had a lot of grit, he'd give him that.

"Well?" Slade demanded.

Slowly, determinedly, Ezra got his right arm under him and pushed up, eyes tearing at the effort. The blood striping his bandage was starkly obvious now, as any healing that had occurred over the past few days was obviously ruined. Getting his legs under him, Ezra somehow made it back to his feet, and he lifted his chin in order to stare down at Slade even as his rebellious body continued to shake. The deputy sneered and lifted his gun. Using it as a pointer, he indicted Ezra lead. Without a word, the gambler turned and headed towards the shack at a tripping gait, his left arm still cradled firmly by his right as if it might fall off. Slade followed on his heels.

Behind them, Little Joe cocked an eyebrow at Toby, then crossed his arms as Ezra and Slade disappeared inside.

Divide and conquer…okay...they were divided….now he just had to wait for the right opportunity to conquer….

If Ezra lived that long.

He fought the urge to tap his foot. God, he hated this.

+ + + + + + +

The sun filtered in through the slats of the walls, and Ezra glanced briefly to his right. The silver dollars still sat on the small windowsill where he'd left them, glittering in the light. Slade stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He wanted to be able to see both Ezra and Joe, just in case. Still, his eyes followed the gambler as Ezra made his way to the cot on the far wall and then knelt down, reaching underneath for something with his right hand.

"Careful," Slade warned, his eyes narrowed. Ezra stopped moving, knowing Slade was warning him that he'd best not be pulling out a gun from under the cot. The gambler turned, looking at the deputy over his bad shoulder.

"It's a strongbox," he said softly. "The deeds are inside."

"Sure, but just so's you're aware, I see the flash of a muzzle, and I'm sending a bullet through your back, deeds or no."

Ezra snorted, "Well, I appreciate the candor."

Slade smirked, "No problem."

Facing away from Slade again, Ezra resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he bent down to see under the cot, trying to find the box he knew was supposed to be there. After a moment, the shadows separated from one another, and he saw the dark outline of a long rectangular box. Reaching under the cot again with his right hand, he found the lid…traced it with his fingers until he found the edge…and finally the leather handle pinned to the side. Grabbing it, he pulled, grunting at the weight of the object.

Slade just smiled, not about to help.

Ezra pulled harder, his face screwed up in pain as the box shifted slowly, then more quickly, across the rough wooden planks.

Several grunts later, he had managed to pull the dust covered box out completely. Panting some at the exertion, he wiped his good arm across his forehead, then fingered the padlock keeping the box closed. Blowing out through his cheeks, he struggled back up to his feet. Turning, he looked at Slade. With a sigh, he walked back towards the doorway.

Slade instantly held the gun up again, stopping Ezra's advance. "Where you think your goin'?"

Ezra cradled his bad left arm with the other, "I need the key."

Slade's eyebrows rose. "Key?"

"It's locked."

The deputy frowned, "Well, how did you open it last time?"

"I picked it last time."

"Then pick it again."

"Last time, I was able to use both hands. I'm not as dexterous as I was, thanks to you." He patted his practically dead left arm to make the point, then looked over Slade's head. "The Cartwright's told me the key is hidden over the doorframe."

Slade didn't look up.

Nuts, Ezra sighed. So much for Option One.

Instead, Slade backed away from the door, more into the cabin, never lowering his aim. He kept his eyes on Ezra until the gambler was in the doorframe. Ezra took a quick peek out front, saw Toby was standing closer to Joe, maybe only a couple of feet away from the young man, but the rifle was still pointed at the Joe's chest. Joe had his arms crossed and was, probably unconsciously, tapping his foot. His eyes narrowed in question upon seeing Ezra, a hint of expectation in the look.

He obviously was having a hard time being patient—Ezra almost smiled.

Looking up, the gambler reached up with his right hand, feeling along the edge of the doorframe. It didn't take much to find the key. Grabbing it, he lowered his arm, showed the key to Slade, then turned and shuffled back to the strongbox.

Slade moved forward to stand in the doorway again.

Stiffly, Ezra got back onto his knees and inserted the key into the padlock.

Slade leaned over slightly, trying to see what Ezra was doing. With the gambler's back to him, he couldn't actually see what was in the box, it was too deep in shadow.

Ezra pulled the padlock off, tossing it on the cot, then, slowly, he lifted the lid.

The hunting rifle looked back at him, full of promise for salvation. He also saw a handful of knives, sheathed, other utensils, a branding iron, and, of course, a box of ammo.

Branding iron, eh?

He smiled wickedly at the thought.

Licking his lips, he breathed deeply and leaned more into the box, his right hand reaching into his waistcoat where the deeds were hidden. Pulling them out, he glanced at them—thankful to see the ink hadn't smeared—then moved in a way as to make it appear he was taking them out of the strongbox. As his right hand dipped inside with the deeds, he snatched up one of the knives and slid it inside his sling.

Closing the lid loosely, he turned, holding the deeds out with his right hand to Slade from his position still kneeling on the floor.

"Here," he said.

Slade's breath caught, as if, for a moment, he didn't believe the deeds were actually there. He took a couple of steps forward, then stopped. He frowned.

"Bring them to me."

"Oh come on," Ezra sighed, slumping against the cot next to the box. "What am I going to do? Throw the padlock at you? I can barely hold these." As if to prove his point, his right hand started to shake, causing the papers to flutter.

Slade pursed his lips, but it didn't take much for greed to overcome caution. He took another few steps forward, now completely out of view of the two men outside, and snatched the deeds with his left, his right still not lowering the gun he held. The aim, though, wavered. He glanced at the deeds, then at Ezra, then back at the deeds.

He wanted to count them, to make sure they were all there and that it wasn't some other kind of trick, but he couldn't do that and keep the gun trained.

It was torture for the deputy, wanting to put the gun down and fan out the papers and open the deeds up to see the writing inside, but knowing he couldn't. His eyes kept looking down at the deeds in his hand. They looked like deeds. Were there nine? He couldn't tell. Were they the right nine? He couldn’t tell that either, not while they were folded.

Ezra watched him, slowly pushing himself up off the floor, ignoring the sensation of sea-sickness he felt. As he did so, he silently reopened the strongbox lid with his foot, leaving the lid open and propped against the cot behind it, taking a chance that Slade's distraction would be powerful enough for the deputy not to notice. Once fully upright, his right hand cradled his left arm again, but this time, the right thumb ran across the edge of the knife he'd hidden. Sliding his hand inside the sling, he grasped the leather hilt, his trained eyes measuring the depth of Slade's shifting focus.

Slade finally succumbed, looking down at the deeds in his left hand and fanning them in order to count them.

Ezra turned slightly, putting the bandaged shoulder to Slade, and drew the knife out of the sling. Pressing his finger along the length, he shifted it to a throwing position.

Slade looked up again, and saw something in Ezra's eyes.

The deeds fell to the floor as Slade raised his right arm to shoot.

Ezra threw himself backwards and to the side, throwing the knife as Slade pulled the trigger.

+ + + + + + +

The gunshot and Slade's agonized yell startled Toby, and he instinctively switched his aim towards the shack.

Joe leapt, grabbing the barrel in both hands, trying to wrench it from Toby's hands. The old man squealed, pulling the trigger and sending a bullet streaking towards the shack. It hit one of the tiny glass windows, shattering it, and another shout of pain was heard.

+ + + + + + +

Slade screamed, his first shot slamming uselessly into the wooden wall, missing Ezra by a mile. The knife had slammed into the deputy's left arm first, ruining the man's aim, and the shot he fired went wild. Ezra landed hard on the solid cot behind him as the bullet hit the wall, his right hand landing on the padlock, but Slade was already bringing his right arm around again to fire....

The rifle shot shattered the window behind him, and Slade screamed as it pierced his right shoulder blade, lodging itself into the bone and shoving the deputy forward, closer to Ezra.

Grabbing the heavy padlock, Ezra threw it with all his might at Slade's gun hand. The deputy chocked on a third cry as the metal hit his arm halfway up the bone of his forearm, and the gun clattered to the floor from lifeless fingers. Slade was practically bent double now, pain radiating up and down both arms.

Almost falling off the cot in his haste, the gambler reached into the open strongbox for one last weapon….

Reaching down to the floor, Slade grabbed the gun he'd dropped with his left hand, pulling back the hammer as he twisted to shoot the gambler.

But this time, he was too slow.

His eyes widened to see Ezra standing over him like Archangel Michael, bringing the heavy metal branding iron down across his back like a cavalry sword.

+ + + + + + +

Joe pulled and twisted, trying to get the rifle away, but Toby was worse than a cougar with its grip on its prey. The old man yelled and bit, kicked and jumped, refusing to let Joe get the better of him. Finally, Joe purposefully fell to the ground onto his back, bringing Toby and the rifle down on top of him. Using his legs, the youngest Cartwright kicked both feet up against Toby's midsection and pushed up, flipping the old man over….

But Toby still didn't let go of the rifle, using the momentum Joe gave him to almost pull it from Joe's hands. In fact, he succeeded in getting Joe to let go one hand, and the younger man had to spin quickly in order to keep his other grip firm as Toby again wrenched the rifle towards him, throwing Joe off balance.

Suddenly, Toby let go, sending Joe flying sideways into the dirt, rifle in hand. Before the youngest Cartwright could make sense of why, Toby had pulled his gun from his belt and was firing.

Little Joe didn't think, he just rolled, jumped to his feet and dove behind the water trough, cocking the lever of the rifle as he did so. Puffs of splintered wood and splashes of water flew over his head as Toby fired shot after shot in his direction.

"Can't hide from me, boy!" Toby shouted, backing rapidly over to his surprisingly calm horse, looking to grab the shotgun he had tied to the saddle once his bullets ran out, "I'm gonna git ya!"

Little Joe sucked the air in through his teeth, decided it was now or never, and took a chance. Rolling over, he popped up from behind his paltry cover to take a shot, aiming the rifle towards the crazy scout. Toby laughed as his prey showed its head, and aimed to fire his gun one last time as his other hand grasped the shotgun handle.

It was just the scout's bad luck that, not only was he out of bullets, but he didn't see the three horsemen bearing down on him like the horsemen of the apocalypse, guns raised and firing. The scout's thin horse took off like a bat out of hell as a hail of bullets finally woke the creature up, streaking into the woods and leaving his rider standing in the middle of the road grabbing at nothing.

If the old man heard the echo of the shots that ended his life, he gave no indication—he was still laughing even as he folded to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut, his revolver still clicking on an empty chamber as he did so.

Little Joe fell forward across the trough, shaking from the adrenaline, his hands falling into the water as he simply tried to remember how to breathe.

Ben was off his horse, running towards his son even before the buckskin had stopped moving.

Chris and Vin were almost as fast, off their horses and sprinting towards the cabin.

Vin slammed into the wall next to the door, while Chris sent some shots into the air from under the shattered window.

"Come out, Slade!" the black-clad gunslinger shouted.

Surprisingly, Ezra's weak chuckle floated back to them. "He…he can't."

Vin's eyebrows shot up, and he ducked inside, followed closely by Chris. They stopped on the threshold, trying to make sense of the scene in front of them.

"About time," Ezra chastised feebly, staring up at the two of them with a wry smile on his face. He was sitting on the floor slumped next to the open strongbox, his eyes clearly dazed where he still gripped a branding iron in his right hand.

Several feet from the gambler, Slade lay on the floor on his side, unconscious, the fake deeds scattered all around him. A knife was embedded in one arm, but not deeply. A gunshot wound was sluggishly bleeding out from his shoulder, and his right arm was sporting a livid red bruise. And across his back, a thick black line marked the man's tan coat where something long and hard had driven him to the ground.

Vin jumped lithely over Slade's body and over to Ezra, getting his arm under the gambler's and helping him up off the floor and onto the cot to sit. Carefully avoiding the puddle forming from the gunshot, Chris knelt by Slade, checking for a pulse just in case. As soon as he was sure there wasn't one, the gunslinger's eyes looked over at Ezra.

"You hit him with that?" he asked, indicating the iron.

Ezra smiled more broadly and looked down at the black metal rod. "Mr. Slade has been marked by the Mark of Cain…or rather," he held up the iron, showing the pine tree brand at the end of it, "the mark of Cartwright." He gave another chuckle, slumping a little more into Vin sitting next to him—the tracker was still holding him under both arms, trying to keep him upright.

Chris shook his head with a smile, "Cute, Ezra," he looked down at Slade again, peering at the gunshot wound. "So how did you manage to shoot him in the back?"

Ezra blinked back, "Oh that? I didn't."

"Come on, Ez," Vin tried not to laugh, at the gambler's innocent expression, "If you didn't shoot him....?"

"Came in through the window," Ezra explained, smiling still. "Can you imagine? One split second later and I—" Suddenly, his whole face winced, choking off whatever he'd been about to say. The branding iron slipped from his fingers to clatter to the floor. "Ow…." he breathed, exhaling all at once, his green eyes losing all focus.

Time seemed to stop for Chris as the gambler's eyelids drifted close with a strange sort of finality, and a coldness washed over the gunslinger's soul. Vin made to grab Ezra before he could fall forward off the cot, and tilted him back to lean more into him. The tracker shifted forward to better see his friend's face, to understand what just happened….

And realized the gambler hadn't pulled in a fresh breath yet.

Oh God.

Hastily freeing one hand, Vin pressed his fingers against Ezra's neck, his eyes wide at the dead weight he was suddenly holding.

"Ezra?" Not feeling a pulse, Vin took both hands and shook his friend. "Ez? Come on, don't do this…not now…." Scared gray eyes looked up at hazel ones, as Chris stood up from his inspection of Slade on the floor, watching without a word.

"No!" Vin shook Ezra harder, focusing back on the gambler's slack face, "Don’t you dare! You come back! I promised I'd bring you back!"

"Vin," Chris said softly, "I think…."

"NO! God DAMN IT!" Vin stood up, bringing Ezra up with him as if he weighed nothing at all, holding the unconscious man upright by his arms. "Don't do this!"

"Vin!" Chris reached forward, stepping over Slade to get to Vin. Ezra's head had fallen completely forward, his chin on his chest. "Stop!"

"No! I won't let him! Not like this!" A tear streaked down Vin's cheek as he shook Ezra again. "Wake up you stupid son of a bitch! Come back! I said COME BACK! Breathe, damn you, BREATHE!"

Chris was about to pull the gambler away when Ezra suddenly gasped for air, the sound half a choke. Vin whooped and, without even realizing he was doing it, pulled the gambler into a fierce hug, as if afraid to let him go again, patting the gambler's back as he took in several more choked breaths.

His head against Vin's shoulder, Ezra's eyes fluttered open, confused. Chris's relieved smile met him, and the gunslinger rested his hand on the top of the gambler's head, ruffling the thick hair.

"What…?" Ezra whispered, looking up at him.

"Ezra," the gunslinger replied, lifting his hand away, "and I mean it this time, don't do that again. You understand me?"

"No…," Ezra blinked some more, "Is't my deal?"

Chris had to laugh as the gambler continued to stare up at him, totally bewildered, while Vin just continued to hold on, happy just to keep feeling Ezra breathe.

None of them saw the two Cartwright's standing in the doorway, Joe leaning against his father, and Ben holding onto his son's arms.

Ben looked down, then backed out of the cabin, and, after a moment, Joe followed.

"You know, Little Joe," the father said, heading towards his buckskin, his son at his back, "It's amazing how you can find a family, even when it doesn’t make sense."

"Family?"

"People make assumptions," Ben said, "isn't that what the gambler said about Josiah?" He chuckled, patting his horse on the neck and looking back at his son. "Those men share a bond, as real as the one between the four of us. It's pretty incredible."

Joe smiled, looking back towards the shack. Then he chuckled.

"What?" Ben asked, leaning against his horse.

"Just thinking about the fact that Josiah said there are three more of them back in their home town. That means they've got us outnumbered, seven to four."

Ben grinned, "Why? You worried about them challenging us to a fight?"

Joe laughed, "Why not? Wouldn't you like to know who'd win?"

Ben burst out laughing at that, and inside the cabin, Chris had to crack a grin of his own at the sound.

Chapter Fifteen

Ben leaned into the doorway, checking on the men inside the shack. Chris and Vin had placed Ezra on the cot, just sleeping now. The two men were talking softly, obviously discussing what to do next.

“How is he?” Ben asked, trying to tell from the gambler’s face. It looked peaceful, but, if Ben was being honest, it would have looked just as peaceful if Ezra was dead. Two weary faces turned in his direction.

“Hangin’ on,” Chris sighed, looking back at Ezra, “for now.”

Vin’s jaw tensed slightly, and he patted Chris’s arm once as he stood up from where he’d been sitting on the cot near Ezra’s feet.

“Reckon the doc will be able to tell us better,” he declared, meeting Ben's eyes steadily.

“Yes,” Ben agreed, “I suppose he will.”

The older man crossed the threshold then, heading over to look down at Slade. After a moment, he knelt down to see the body more clearly, taking in the damage, clicking his tongue slightly. When he looked up again, he saw a pair of exhausted dark green eyes looking back at him—Chris was standing on the other side of the body, obviously waiting.

“So how do you want to do this?” Chris asked softly, deferring to Cartwright now that the heavy lifting was over.

“Well,” the older man frowned, “I need to get back down the mountain to check on Adam, and I imagine Josiah and Hoss are pretty anxious to know what’s happening.”

Chris nodded and turned away, looking to where Vin was now rooting around near the small black stove, checking out the utensils. Finding a fairly large bowl, the tracker held it up and used it to indicate towards the door--telling his leader he was going to get water. Chris acknowledged him with a slight shrug and shifted his gaze over to the cot, making sure he could still see the rise and fall of Ezra’s chest where he slept. Only when he was sure did he return his eyes once more to the oldest Cartwright, who was pushing himself back up to his feet. Ben leaned back a little, sorting out a crick in his back, then added to his previous statement.

“We’ll tie Slade and the old scout to their horses, and Joe and I will ride back down to the meadow with them. Hoss and Joe can then take the outlaws into town for the sheriff to lock up, and I’ll have Joe come back with the doctor to the meadow. After he sees Adam, I’ll bring the doctor up here to you. I’ll also send Josiah up as soon as I see him.”

Chris made no response--his eyes were back on Ezra. Soon after Ben started speaking, Chris had heard a hitch in the gambler's breathing, and was debating whether it needed checking up on. Ben frowned slightly, wondering if he'd just been heeded. Looking down, he nevertheless felt the need to make one more point, whether the gunslinger was distracted or not.

"Just to warn you, Mr. Larabee: the, uh, the sheriff will probably want to speak with you as well. It’s possible he’ll come along with the doctor.”

“The sheriff,” Chris mused, his eyes still on Ezra, “I've heard he is a good man.”

“He is.” Ben’s eyes focused on Chris’ profile, “I promise you, he is.”

As if finally sensing the scrutiny, Chris frowned. After a moment, he shook his head, and the focus returned to his eyes as he turned to look once more at Ben. “On second thought, Mr. Cartwright, I’ll ride down with you--I’d prefer to meet your sheriff sooner rather than later and get this sorted out. Plus, I need to telegraph home and our judge, let them know what’s happened.”

Ben’s eyebrows lifted at the idea that Chris would willingly leave Ezra, though inwardly he wasn't really surprised. Man was obviously not the type to hide from trouble. A creak from the doorway had both men turning around to look in that direction.

“You know, Pa,” Joe was leaning on the doorframe, having heard the tail end of the conversation, “Me n’ Hoss could probably check in with the railroad office in town too, see what happened with the real deeds, if the money got to those families in Auburn.” He was carrying the saddlebags over his shoulder from Slade and Toby’s horses, and he was also carrying the bowl Vin had taken out with him, water sloshing inside. Seeing Chris notice the bowl, he gave a weak smile, “Oh, and, Mr, Larabee, Vin’ll be in in a minute, he’s just getting some air.”

Chris gave a small smile in response, having expected that. Joe smiled more broadly and walked further inside, placing the bowl down on a table and then opening one of the bags to pull out a small, black leather satchel. He tossed it to Chris.

“Bandages and a tincture of something, looks like,” the young man explained. “Looks like that Toby fella was used to getting into scrapes.”

Chris thanked him with a nod, opening the satchel to see the clean, bandages inside and a small glass bottle of whitish liquid with a rubber stopper. As he was about to pull the bottle out, he found Ben Cartwright’s hand resting lightly on his wrist.

“Joe and I know a little about wrapping wounds,” Ben said softly, patting the black clad arm. “Why don’t you join Mr. Tanner in getting some air.”

Chris didn’t look up, simply stared down at the hand for a while as it continued to rest on his wrist. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he eyes lifted, meeting Ben’s dark gaze coolly.

“Thank you, Ben, but no. It is good of you to offer, but Ezra is one of my men. I’ll take care of him. If you’d like to help me, I won’t turn that down, but I’ll wrap his shoulder.”

A tiny frown creased Ben’s forehead, but he didn’t disagree as Chris took his hand back and turned to head in the direction of the cot.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah was pacing, his boots squelching in the wet grass of the meadow. He pivoted on one foot, leaving a muddy divot--not his first--and looked to where Adam was sitting down on a root under the old cedar, leaning against the tree, his hurt leg propped up on a saddle. The young man’s eyes were closed--he was asleep, the rifle in his arms loose. Not too far from him, Hoss kept one eye on his older brother, worry etched into his features every time he turned in Adam’s direction, and another on the three outlaws that they’d tied together in the middle of the meadow, snarling at them whenever they glanced his way. It was a very effective means of keeping them quiet.

Josiah smiled as Hoss actually emitted a growl when Nash opened his mouth to say something, probably another plea to be moved to a drier part of the meadow. Nash instantly lowered his eyes and Hoss grunted, pleased.

Adam woke with a start, wincing as the pain radiated down his body. A tiny groan left his lips, involuntary, and Hoss was instantly there.

“What’s the matter?”

Adam blinked up at him, obviously confused for a moment. Then he got his bearings and shook his head.

“Nothing,” he admitted, “Nothing, I…,” he looked around for a moment, then nodded, “I felt something. The earth is trembling. Sounds bizarre, but I think it means horses coming in, fast.”

Hoss didn’t question, he simply stood up and headed in the direction of the hills, pressing his rifle to his shoulder, ready to fire. Adam pushed himself up on one foot, using the tree for support, and set the rifle on against his own shoulder. Josiah walked behind the outlaws and crouched down, intending to use them as cover if need be, also shouldering his rifle. The outlaws' expressions all soured, not appreciating the idea of being human shields. Nervously, they turned their faces to watch Hoss continue striding towards the open end of the meadow, ready to fire on anything that didn’t look like his father and Joe.

A moment later, Hoss bellowed a fabulously loud “Yahoo!” and Adam and Josiah both grinned, relaxing their grips on their weapons. Josiah stood back up, leaning on one leg and ignoring the sighs of relief the outlaws at his feet all gave. They all watched as Hoss waved at whoever approached.

Seconds later, Ben, Chris and Little Joe appeared, galloping into the meadow, leading two horses with men slung across their backs. Ben jumped off his horse first to check on his eldest, while Little Joe dropped off his own horse next to Hoss and started in on what was obviously an animated tale of derring do, arms flailing with his descriptions.

Still covering the outlaws, Josiah’s own smile fell as Chris dismounted more slowly and headed over, the gunslinger’s eyes drifting to the outlaws first before returning to meet the preacher’s concerned eyes. There was no expression on the gunslinger’s face, which frightened the older man.

“Ezra?” Josiah whispered as Chris reached his side.

Chris turned away to survey the field, “He's alive, Josiah. Vin's watching him, but…," he shrugged, not completing the statement. After a moment, Chris sighed, “Gambler's walking a fine line, Josiah, I won't lie to you. Even if he doesn't die of blood loss, the damage to his shoulder….” He trailed off, not feeling the need to finish.

Josiah’s eyes softened.

“Can I go to him?” the preacher asked, "Or do you need me here."

“No, I don't need you.” Chris gave a tiny smile, "So go on, get out of here."

The preacher needed no further prompting. Hoss and Joe stopped talking to watch as Josiah ran past them to Quincy and mounted, wheeling the startled horse around. With a slap, the preacher sent the young horse flying out of the meadow in the direction of the hills, not looking back. For a moment, Chris wondered if Josiah knew where to go, then shrugged. Probably did. Switching his gaze, he looked over at Ben, who was once more inspecting his son’s head wound even as Adam tried to push him away. Little Joe and Hoss were standing by quietly now, and Hoss was glaring again at the outlaws.

“Can you ride?” Ben asked, peering into Adam’s eyes, looking for the answer there rather than in Adam’s voice. The oldest son gave a small shrug, meeting his father’s gaze levelly.

“Think so. Leg might be a problem, and my balance is off.”

"Sport'll compensate, Pa," Hoss said, stepping up. "And Adam's leg's not bleeding no more, not badly, anyhow. I think you can probably get him home."

Ben glanced at Adam for confirmation, and got a small smile in return.

"Okay," the father turned, taking in all his sons with his gaze. "Joe, Hoss, the two of you and Chris will take these men into town, along with the bodies for the undertaker, and find Roy. Hoss, while you're explaining to Roy what happened, Joe, I want you to get the doc and bring him out to the ranch to see Adam. Then he'll need to head up to the shack to see Mr. Standish."

"Pa," Adam was still leaning heavily against the tree, "I'm sure Ezra needs doc more than me. Joe should just…."

"Ranch is on the way son, and if you saw your face, you'd know exactly why I want the doc to see you. No arguments, now." Spinning around, he glared down at the three trussed men on the ground. "Now let's get these men off my property."

Chapter Sixteen

For Ezra, it was a little like déjà vu. He was lying once again in the soft bed in that first floor room in the Ponderosa, listening to someone fiddling with a deck of cards. However, this time, he also heard the distinct sound of someone sleeping…and snoring…next to him. The snore was not his usual discordant cacophony of wheezes and snorts, but even so, Ezra knew it was Josiah. It was almost always Josiah.

The thought made him smile a little. There was a time when he'd wake up after a bad night, maybe after a brawl or a con that turned on him, in a strange room…oftentimes with bars…and no one to tell him where he was or what was happening. It was a cold and depressing reality that marked most of his youth and adult life. Lately, though, it was a rare thing to wake up hurt without Josiah nearby.

Snoring.

Ezra smiled more. His friends had changed his life, and home was where they were, it didn't matter really where that was. Not that he'd ever admit it to Josiah himself. Please. Sacrilege.

With some effort, he managed to peel back his eyelids and bring the room into focus. Bits of scum floated off his eyes as he blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He could see that sunlight was pouring into the room from the window, showing it to be quite late in the day.

Question was, which day was it?

Last thing he remembered, he was sitting on that cot in the line shack, talking about how he got the better of Slade, and now he was here. He hated losing time.

He was tucked pretty securely under the soft linens of the bed, propped up slightly on a pillow, but nonetheless effectively cocooned. Turning his head, he saw Josiah sitting on top of the covers on the other side of the bed, propped up against the headboard, feet crossed and his chin resting against his chest. His snore was steady.

Turning his head the other way, Ezra saw Little Joe sitting in the soft chair in the corner, playing with his cards again. Something must have alerted him then, because, suddenly, Joe looked up, meeting Ezra's eyes. He broke into a huge grin.

"Hi!" he said cheerfully.

Ezra smiled back, "Hi." His voice was unnaturally soft—coarse from lack of use.

"Water?"

"Please."

Joe stood, putting the cards down on a nearby table, and headed over to pick up the pitcher of water on the dresser. Pouring it into a glass, he carried this over to Ezra.

Somehow, despite the tightness of the covers, Ezra managed to free his right arm and take the glass. Joe kept his hand close by as the gambler tipped his head forward, took a couple of sips, then handed it back.

"Thank you." His voice was stronger now.

"How are you feeling?"

Ezra's eyebrows lifted, and he tried to shift more under the tight covers, most of which were being held down by Josiah's not inconsiderable bulk.

"Uncomfortable," he admitted. Joe laughed.

"I can imagine. But, you'll be happy to know, you still have two arms." Flashing a winning smile, Joe turned away to put the glass down, and, as such, didn't see the startled expression on the gambler's face at the statement.

Ezra blinked, and fear washed down his front. "I'm sorry…what? Did you say… still?"

"Oh," Joe froze, turning towards him, blushing a little, "Ah, heh, I wasn't supposed to…Nuts. Uh…well…see…the doc…he…um…."

"Nearly took your left arm, boy," Ben Cartwright informed calmly from the open doorway to the living room. "It's only by a miracle that you still have it. You can thank your friends for that. After everything you’d been through, you were very susceptible to infection, and, well, the wound got infected. You were very sick there for a long while. But your friends made our doctor swear not to amputate your left arm unless there was no chance at all, and there very nearly wasn't. In fact, Doctor Martin had given up hope—but they didn't. Your Mr. Larabee even drew on him, made him swear to wait just a little longer, and, though I don't like how he made it happen, we're all glad your friends forced us to wait."

"Well, doc ain't. He doesn't like guns much," Joe added, chuckling. Ben arched a sardonic eyebrow at his son and stepped further inside, glancing at the still slumbering Josiah before moving to stand over Ezra. The gambler blinked up at him, not sure exactly what to make of the steel-eyed gaze he was getting. Joe seemed puzzled as well, watching his father then Ezra then his father again, as if trying to make sense of the coldness.

Suddenly, without warning, Ben Cartwright smiled. It transformed his face, infusing it with incredible warmth. Joe grinned then as well, relieved. Ben knelt, so that his eyes were level with Ezra's, and he patted the man's right arm.

"Your friends care for you a great deal, son, and, I will admit, for a while there I did not totally understand why. But I got my answer a few days ago, when a long letter was delivered to you via the local rail office, courtesy of my ranch, from those families you helped back in Iowa Town." His smile grew into a grin, "Your plan worked, Mr. Standish—those nine families got their money. Also, based on the testimony of Mr. Sanchez and Terrell Myers, the clerk you trusted so rightly, I've also seen to it that Iowa Town is no longer under the yoke of their corrupt sheriff. So, by your actions, you did more than just help a few families, son, you saved a whole town. You should be very proud." He patted the arm again, and his smiled faded. Licking his lips, the older man looked uncomfortable for a minute and stood back up. "I also want to apologize. I misjudged you—I saw your profession and your skills, and I made assumptions that were incorrect."

Ezra grimaced, "Mr. Cartwright—"

"Please don't interrupt, Mr. Standish, I'm not finished."

"Yeah, Ez," Little Joe grinned, eyes sparkling, "don't interrupt. It's a rare and beautiful thing when my father admits he's wrong about something. In fact, can I go and get Hoss and Adam?"

Ben shot a glare at his son, to which Joe just grinned more brightly. Ezra, meanwhile, had switched his gaze to Joe.

"Did you just call me 'Ez?'" he asked, a strange tone in his voice.

Joe pursed his lips, mentally replaying his words, "Oh, yes, sorry 'bout that. Just picking up on Vin and Chris's speech, I suppose. In fact, I think Vin did tell me you were a bit touchy about that."

"Touchy?" Ezra's eyes narrowed, "Do me a favor, and call him Tannerkins or something equally embarrassing, will you?"

In response, Joe just grinned.

Ben cleared his throat, "Ahem, now, if I may, I'd like to finish," he said, looking once more at his son, "and no, you may not get Adam and Hoss. Now...."

"Speaking of Adam, how is he?" Ezra asked then, looking again at Ben, who blinked a little at being interrupted.

"Grouchier than a grizzly cause he's bored," Joe groused, his expression souring. "You'd think he'd like bein' waited on, but he just snaps and snarls. He's complaining because he was supposed to get a new shipment of books, and they didn't come, so he's rereading his old ones, but he's really upset because he was sweet on this new girl in town and she hasn't—"

"Son," Ben interrupted with a sigh, "I think he was asking after Adam's physical health, not his mental health."

"Oh," Joe shrugged, "Yeah, he's fine. Doc said he was damn lucky about his head. But, then, as we all knew, Adam's got a thick one." He chuckled, "Runs in the family, don't it, pa?"

"At least among the younger generation, it does," Ben muttered. Heaving a breath, he turned back to Ezra, "Now, about my—"

"And Chris and Vin?" Ezra asked.

"Outside, with Hoss and some of our hands, breaking horses. Your friends are both pretty good at it, you know that?"

Ezra gave a small smile to indicate he did, and looked up at Ben. The Cartwright patriarch looked slightly peeved, but when he saw he had Ezra's focus again, he opened his mouth to finish his apology.

"Would it be possible for me to go outside?" Ezra asked, before Ben could utter a word.

"Sure!" Joe answered. "We can set you up next to Adam," he grinned. "He's been dying for some company, sitting in the chair on the porch, watching Hoss and them having all the fun." He patted his father's arm, "I'll go get you a seat ready. Can you watch him, Pa?"

Ben just gave him a nod, somewhat discombobulated now. Still grinning, Joe turned and bounced out of the room.

The Cartwright father heaved a sigh, then looked down again at Ezra. His expression was more relaxed now—almost resigned. Ezra shifted a little more, then looked over at Josiah. The preacher was still oblivious to the world around him.

Ben smiled, "He needs it. Been in here with you almost the entire time, except to eat. Hasn't been in the room we prepared for him these last two weeks at all."

Ezra's eyebrows lifted as he glanced back at Ben. Two weeks?

"In any event," Ben sighed, "I'd like to finish what I was saying about having made a mistake—"

"I appreciate it, sir, I do," Ezra said, shifting again, "but right now, I'd appreciate it more if you could release me from the cocoon of these sheets and then wake and insist that my watcher there go find a real bed to sleep on. His neck will feel terrible tomorrow and, frankly, it'll put him in a bad mood. Josiah in a bad mood is not a pretty sight."

Ben smiled, unable to help himself. Without a word more, he pulled out the covers and the sheets from their tucked position, then helped Ezra sit up. Once done, he placed a hand on Ezra's head, ruffling the hair slightly, unaware of the annoyed look Ezra gave him because the elder Cartwright was watching Josiah. Why did people always feel it necessary to mess with his hair? Ezra wondered.

"You be good to him," Ben said softly, indicating Josiah, "I know something of how he felt, seeing you fighting these past days. Let him know that you appreciate it, will you? After all, I'm guessing he deserves your affection as much as you deserve his."

Ezra had absolutely no response to that. He just blinked slowly.

With another pat to the younger man's head, Ben Cartwright stood then and walked around the bed. He shook Josiah's arm gently, then more forcefully, calling his name. The preacher awoke with a start, left hand grasping for a gun that wasn't there. Blinking away tiredly, Josiah finally focused on Ben standing over him, then quickly turned to Ezra.

The gambler gave him a wry smile.

The relief on Josiah's face went deep. Ezra had "woken" several times in the past couple of days, but this was the first time the preacher could see the man's intelligence behind the green eyes.

"You're okay," he said, his tone laced with gratitude.

"So it would seem," Ezra admitted.

And Josiah's tone changed abruptly, turning sarcastic, "Well thank God! Now I can go to bed. I'll see you all at dinner!" Grinning a full toothed grin at the Cartwright elder, the preacher stood up, stretched, and walked out of the room, a definite spring in his step. Ezra laughed, holding onto his still sore shoulder, while Ben just shook his head in amazement at the speed by which Josiah had disappeared. The bed was still bouncing from his abrupt rise.

"Well," Ben said, putting his hands on his hips. "Well, well…." He trailed off. He had nothing else to say. Thankfully, he didn't need to, as Joe took that moment to bound back into the room and grin at Ezra.

"Ready?"

Chapter Seventeen

Chris leaned against the corral with Vin, the two men watching the horses being turned around. Chris had a slightly dreamy look on his face, his arms crossed atop the highest railing, his chin resting on them. Vin glanced sideways at his friend, then turned around, leaning his back against the same railings. Tucking his hands inside his jacket pockets, he took in the ranch house again and the area around it.

He saw Ezra and Adam on the porch, talking animatedly. Adam had his leg propped up—the slight fracture the bullet had caused (discovered by the doctor after they brought him home), forcing him to stay off it for a little while longer—but the bruising had faded from his face and it was lit up with whatever subject he was discussing. Ezra, meanwhile, was shaking his head, disagreeing by waving his right arm about.

Must be a good talk. The chess game they had been playing looked forgotten on the table between them.

Turning his gaze further out, he saw Little Joe, Hoss and Josiah all working on something near the barn. Josiah was hammering out some iron over the fire, and Hoss was watching, making suggestions every so often. Joe, meanwhile, looked like he was piling the supplies he'd brought in earlier this day into difference stacks.

Vin considered heading over to help.

Nah.

Turning his head some more, he finally caught sight of Ben Cartwright standing on this side of the house, watching him in return. The older man nodded at being caught watching, and tipped his hat. Vin tipped his back.

"We should think about leaving soon," Chris said suddenly, drawing Vin's gaze back. He found the gunslinger still watching the horses. "Don't want to get too comfortable," Chris added. "Ezra is probably rested up enough now."

Vin sighed.

"I know," Chris smiled, "It's nice here."

"They're very lucky," Vin agreed.

"Took a lot of work," Ben added, walking up to them. Vin turned to look, not surprised that the older man had headed over to join them. "But yes, I feel very lucky." He looked at them both out of the corner of his eye, "I also want to let you know that you are all most welcome to stay for as long as you want. Adam hasn't been this stirred up intellectually, as he is by your gambler, in a long time, something which I know he's enjoying immensely, and both the two of you and Josiah have done much to help us while you've been here. We'd be more than pleased if you decided to stay on a while."

"Thank you," Chris smiled, "And we are grateful, Mr. Cartwright, but, well, we should get home." He sighed, finally turning away from the horses. "The others need us."

"Ah yes," Ben grinned, "the rest of the Magnificent Seven."

Chris rolled his eyes, but Vin chuckled. He was beginning to get used to the strange notoriety Jock Steele had given them. Joe's discovery of the dime novel in town had resulted in an entire evening's entertainment for the Cartwright clan.

"Yes," Chris admitted, "them."

Ben smiled, then grinned. After a moment, he started to laugh. He only stopped when he saw the strange looks he was getting from Vin and Chris.

"What?" Chris asked.

"Oh, something Little Joe said. That there are seven of you to only four of us—that you have us outnumbered."

"Outnumbered?" the gunslinger shot a bewildered look to Vin, who shrugged in return. "At what?"

"Oh, just, if we got into a fight, who would win?" Ben laughed again, and Chris, still puzzled, smiled in response. Then, slowly, the smile on Chris's face grew deeper as the thought become more ingrained, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Well, tell you what," he held out his hand to the Cartwright patriarch, "next time you head down south, stop by Four Corners…and we'll find out."

Ben grinned at that and took the hand, shaking it firmly. Challenge offered and taken. Both men gave each other confident looks, each certain in their minds of the outcome, and Ben laughed again, reaching over to slap Chris on the back. The gunslinger grinned back.

Vin turned and leaned back against the rails of the corral fence, facing the horses again, shaking his head. After a moment, he started to laugh as well. Unbidden, the image of Chris trying to explain to Buck, JD, Nathan, Josiah and Ezra just how he'd gotten them into a fight with the Cartwrights had entered his head. He could hear just hear Chris's voice now:

"Well, boys, all I can say is, it seemed efficacious at the time…."

The End