DARKEST HOURS by Estevana Rey Note: This story was written for Tiffiny as a result of the 1999 fan fic auction sponsored by the M7 fic list. Much of the credit for the good ideas in it belong to her, and she also gets the blame for Vin, Ezra and JD all having to suffer in just one story. Thanx: To the Dirty Dozen and the Bad AOeLement chat group for their continuing encouragement and inspiration; to my beta readers, Barb G. and Bonnie, for their helpful suggestions and boo-boo finding; and to Amanda, who refused to stop bugging me until it was finished! Warning: Gets kind of gross and yucky in parts. _________________________________________ ONE Funny how you thought you knew people. Chris Larabee stared wearily through the gap in the closed curtains down at the crowd below. They had demanded that the windows be shut, the place sealed up tight, but it was too damned hot. There was no way he'd allow Vin to endure any more misery than he had to. You'd do as much for a dog. Hell, you'd do more for a dog. You'd put a dog down so it didn't suffer... Nathan had tried to soften the blow as best he could, but Chris knew Vin was dying. They'd probably lose JD and Ezra before it was over, too. Nobody wanted it to happen, including the mob outside, most of whom had been decent enough folks up until the last day or so. But what you wanted and what happened were hardly ever the same thing, were they? *Why was that?* Chris wondered. Why did living *and* dying both have to hurt? He caught Mary Travis's eyes through the open window. She stared back at him, only the barest trace of sympathy in her gaze. The rest of her stare was hard steel. She was on the other side now. He didn't blame her. She had Billy to think of, and he understood that. He hoped she could understand why his loyalties had to lie elsewhere, this time. But if she didn't, he didn't care. It wouldn't change anything one way or another. They wanted to torch the place, those good townspeople gathered out there in the street. As if flame would purge their fear. Maybe it would. "You reckon to burn us all alive?" Chris said, deliberately catching Mary's eyes. The thought would have scared most other men, but not Chris Larabee. To him, it would be a fitting way to die. But he feared for the others, the ones who had no choice. "We want you out of town," Hank Conklin looked up, his face pinched with righteous indignation. "We have to think of our wives, our families." "And yourselves," Chris added. Conklin just stared. "Might as well set them torches," Chris told the crowd. "We ain't goin' nowhere." "Chris..." Mary began gently, "Be reasonable." "I ain't a reasonable man, Mary," he said, his eyes betraying no emotion. "We can't move 'em. They'll die." "They'll die, anyway," Conklin barked. A stifled shriek escaped from a small figure in the crowd. *Casey.* She made a move towards the building, but Nettie grabbed her and held her back. This had to be tough on her, poor kid. JD, too. He'd asked for her, at first, when he was still able to understand that she wasn't there. They'd promised him she'd be there soon. No point in telling him he'd never see her again. Larabee leveled his gaze at Conklin. "Maybe so," he said. "But they're gonna go as easy as they can. We ain't leavin'." A gust of wind caught the yellow banner that hung conspicuously from the front of the building, obstructing his view. Just a plain yellow square of cloth. There was no writing on it, but still, it told its story in words no one wanted to hear. Quarantine... Plague... Death. TWO *Five days earlier...* They hadn't found out anything the first time they'd ridden into Eagle Bend and now they were back without much hope for success the second time. The trail had gotten that far and then had gone cold. It was as if Warren Spriggs had ridden into the town and then been swallowed up by it. Not that they got all that much cooperation when they had asked about him. Feelings between Eagle Bend and Four Corners had gotten chafed because of Obediah Jackson's trial, and every man in Eagle Bend knew who they were. If they didn't know their names, they knew their faces, or at least their reputations - they were part of the peacekeeping force in Four Corners - the seven men who had taken on their entire town, and then rubbed salt in the wounds by winning. They got more dirty looks than they got information. No one had wanted to come here, but Vin hadn't been given a choice. He was the one best able to track down Spriggs. The outlaw had slipped right through their fingers when he'd passed through Four Corners, unnoticed. It was only by chance that JD happened to see him on a wanted poster two days after he was long gone. JD felt that gave him a personal stake in the matter, so he'd announced he was going with Vin. The other five had drawn straws to see who would accompany them both and make sure JD didn't drive the quiet tracker crazy, and Ezra's luck had picked that time to run out. Between the three of them, they had found out exactly nothing. Vin was in a bad mood. He wasn't used to failure, but they had worked a spiral path away from the town for 15 miles in an attempt to pick up a trail with no luck. Either Spriggs was one crafty sonofabitch, or he was still holed up in Eagle Bend. Reluctantly, they rode back into the unfriendly town. Just because the people of Eagle Bend didn't like the Four Corners peacekeepers, it didn't mean they'd open their arms to a vicious outlaw just to spite them. If Spriggs was hiding out there, it wouldn't be for long. Ezra was hoping they wouldn't get a cold stare when they tried to find a place to sleep that night. Camping out under the open stars had about as much appeal to him as sleeping in a barn, both of which he had done during the past two nights. But this time when they rode into Eagle Bend, they didn't attract any attention at all. A crowd had gathered at the rear of the local feed store, in the large shed where the grain was stored. People were milling about with disgusted looks on their faces, holding their noses or batting away the foul odor that emanated from the building. "Smells like something died in there," JD commented. The three of them dismounted and edged their way through the crowd to take a look. "Well, guess we know now he didn't leave town," Ezra said when he saw the body tucked among the sacks of grain. Beside it were two saddle bags with the initials "W.S." tooled into the leather. "You think it's Spriggs?" Vin frowned. Ezra picked up the saddle bags. "Those are his initials," he pointed to the letters. Vin cleared his throat. "Uh... yeah..." He walked closer to the body. It was easy to do. Everyone else was keeping their distance. Spriggs didn't really smell that bad, not yet, but he was a frightening sight. His tongue had swelled and protruded from his mouth. The organ was black as tar, as were his lips and fingernails. He looked like he'd been strangled, but there was no sign of foul play, save for the sack of goobers beside him that had been slit open. The outlaw still clutched a handful of the nuts. Ira Pinsette, Eagle Bend's "doctor," made his way to the body. The man didn't have a medical degree. He was a snake-oil peddler. He claimed to have learned his healing skills during his travels in Europe and the Orient, but Ezra doubted he'd ever been east of the Mississippi. As a healer, he had no doubt the man didn't hold a candle to Nathan Jackson, and as a con man, his skills were beneath contempt. Nevertheless, the man drew himself up after examining the body, and in a solemn and authoritative voice turned to Sheriff Staynes and said "Get these people away from here." "What is it, doc? "I've seen this when I was in India," he intoned. "It's plague." "What?" Staynes asked, as if he'd never heard the word. "During the Middle Ages it was called the Black Death. It spares no victim and can move like a brush fire." The sheriff's face paled. Vin snorted and nudged Sprigg's folded hand with the toe of his boot. "Like as not, he died from this." The goobers rolled out onto the floorboards. The little round nuts didn't bother most people, and they were tasty enough, but Vin had eaten them once and that was enough to know he'd never go near them again. "They're like poison to some folks. They can make your throat tighten up so you can't get no air. Reckon he ate one too many of 'em." The "doctor" looked at him scornfully. "Are you a physician?" "No, and you ain't either," Vin said. "This feller didn't die from no Black Death." But the sheriff wasn't hearing Vin. He immediately began to scatter the gathered crowd. JD picked up one of the peanuts. He wasn't convinced Vin was right. "Ezra, is there such a thing as Black Death?" Ezra looked uncertainly at Spriggs. "Yes, JD, there is, but I've never heard of it anywhere but in history books... I think Mr. Tanner is correct in his assessment that our outlaw here was asphyxiated." JD picked up Spriggs' hat to cover the corpse's face, and then let out a little yelp of surprise as a dozen mice scurried out from under it in all directions. There were droppings everywhere, on the floor, and on the sacks of grain, so it shouldn't have taken him off guard, but being that close to a corpse had made him jumpy. He looked at Vin sheepishly, but Vin wasn't laughing. "Deer mice," the tracker said, frowning. "Mr. Tanner?" Ezra looked at him. "If the Navaho find a deer mouse in their hogan, they burn it to the ground," he said. "Their medicine says they're a bad omen." "Well," JD dropped the hat on Spriggs' face. "They sure didn't bring him any luck." THREE With Spriggs found dead and Eagle Bend claiming the bounty on him, the three men had no reason to stay in Eagle Bend, so instead of staying the night, they decided to head for home. As they approached Four Corners, Vin stopped to get a better look at something in the distance that Ezra and JD couldn't even see. The man had phenomenal eyesight, and between that and his spyglass, not much got past him unnoticed. "What is it?" Ezra asked as Vin squinted thoughtfully through the instrument. "Ain't sure what to make of it," he said and handed the spyglass to Ezra. With the aid of the special lens, Ezra was able to see what had gotten Vin's attention. A group of men from the town were gathered in the road ahead, and they appeared to be arguing with two men on horseback. JD, Vin and Ezra had seen the two men in Eagle Bend. They were just a couple of cowpokes looking for work, not out to make trouble for anyone. But even without hearing the words that were being exchanged, Ezra could tell they were heated. He handed the spyglass to JD. "Looks like they're arguin' about somethin'," the kid stated the obvious. "They're turnin' those fellas away from the town." Vin took the spyglass from him to make sure. "He's right," he told Ezra. "What do you think is going on?" "Don't rightly know," Vin said, lowering the spyglass. "But I think maybe we better cut our own trail back to town." "They wouldn't keep us out," JD said. "Maybe not," Vin answered. "But somethin's up, and I'd just as soon not take that chance until I find out what it is." Ezra reluctantly agreed. Cutting across virgin terrain would no doubt be unpleasantly rugged and would take longer. He was right on both counts. It was nightfall before they reached town. Luckily, at that hour, no one was out and about to notice that they had entered from a direction where there was no road. The hostler, Yosemite, however, did ask them where they'd ridden in from. His curiosity wasn't anything unusual - the man liked to make small talk - but his reaction when JD answered "Eagle Bend" was. He literally backed away from them, and then said "How'd you get around the blockade?" "What blockade?" Vin asked, even though he figured Yosemite was referring to what he had seen through his spyglass. "They got plague in Eagle Bend," Yosemite said. "Doc Pinsette there sent word to Mrs. Travis so's she could put it in the newspaper." Ezra rolled his eyes. "I see Eagle Bend's paltry excuse for a physician will stop at no bounds to make a name for himself." He dusted off his jacket, even though it was beyond hope. "It came over the telegraph," Yosemite continued. "Folks droppin' like flies o' what they call the 'Black Death'." Vin looked at Ezra, who frowned. "They got folks down sick?" "Almost the whole town, I hear tell. Mr. Conklin ordered the barricade. Said no one from Eagle Bend gets into this town. We don't want their plague here." He looked at the three somewhat apologetically. "They weren't supposed to let you in. They turned Mrs. Cumpsty away, and she was just over there visitin' her sister. Made her ride all the way back." "Where was Chris and the others when all this was goin' on?" Vin asked. "He said he was gonna wire Eagle Bend to see if you were there, maybe find out what was goin' on. He wasn't expectin' y'all back so soon." Vin tossed the hostler two bits. "See to the horses..." He looked at JD and Ezra. "We need to talk to the others." Yosemite caught Vin's coin reflexively, but quickly set it down and wiped his hand on his pants. FOUR Chris usually waited for Vin to come and sit by him, but as soon as the young tracker was through the saloon door, the gunfighter got up to meet him and ushered him back outside so he could speak to him privately. Ezra had headed to his room to clean up before socializing, and JD had gone looking for Buck. It was just as well, since Vin preferred talking to Chris one-to-one. The untamed trail they'd ridden home must have been rougher than it looked, Vin realized as he stood there waiting for Chris to say what was on his mind. He was so tired his bones ached, and he wanted to sit down, or better yet, crawl into his wagon and go to sleep. "Looks like you went an' let this town go to hell while I was gone, cowboy," he teased Chris with an easy smile. Chris let the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, but he said, "People are scared." "There ain't no plague in Eagle Bend, Chris. That piss-poor excuse for a sawbones they got there was just tryin' to make folks think he knew somethin'." He went on to tell Chris his opinion of how Spriggs had died. "You saw the body?" Vin nodded. "It was black, but that happens. You know that. It don't mean he had this 'Black Death' thing." "What about the other folks? Last telegram said there were a dozen folks down with some kind of fever." "Don't know nothin' about that," Vin admitted. "No one looked sick when we were there." "Doc Pinsette seems pretty sure." "The man ain't no doctor, Chris, and what the hell is he doin' sendin' telegrams to this town?" "He wanted to be sure we kept you out," Chris smiled. "Says you could be carryin' it." "Sounds personal to me," Vin yawned and then clapped Chris on the shoulder. "Let Conklin an' the others make fools outa themselves if they want to. It'll all blow over in a day or two." Chris knew Vin was right. Conklin's idea to isolate the town would run out of steam when people started getting bored with maintaining the road blocks. "Buy you some supper?" he asked the tracker. Vin thought it over, but then shook his head. "I think I'll get some sleep." "Kinda early for that, even for you," Chris noted. Vin was usually awake well before dawn, but he was also usually the first one to fade out at night. Still, it was barely sundown. Vin just shrugged. "Been a long day." Chris nodded. "See you in the mornin', then." He headed for the hotel, hoping to find Buck. He hadn't admitted it to Vin, but he wasn't one hundred percent opposed to Conklin's actions. He'd lived through a cholera epidemic, spared only by the grace of whatever God watched over him. He knew how a fever could take a town off the map. Just the same, talk of plague and "Black Death" and who knew what else that was over-exaggerated or simply wasn't even true would only cause unnecessary panic and maybe get someone hurt. He stopped by the newspaper office first. Mary was up to her elbows in ink, working with that single-minded determination that had enabled the young widow to make a moderate success of the Clarion. He picked up one of her proofs. The plague outbreak in Eagle Bend was the headline. "You aren't going to print this," he told her, not leaving the subject open for debate. She bristled. "I beg your pardon?" "It's not true. Vin just came from Eagle Bend. He says there ain't no plague." "I mean no offense," Mary said firmly, "but Vin Tanner hasn't any medical training of which I am aware." Chris only stared at her, so she continued, "Besides, I only said plague is suspected." "Folks ain't gonna read the 'suspected' part, Mary. You're playin' with fire printin' this." She took the proof from him. "It's news, Mr. Larabee. You are playing with the First Amendment to the United States Constitution if you try and stop me." Chris glared at her, then tipped his hat. There was no point trying to change Mary Travis's mind. She was a smart gal - probably one of the smartest people he knew - but she had a stubborn streak to her that he almost admired, even when he disagreed with her. He found Buck at the hotel. Ezra and JD were there, too, Ezra looking like he'd just stepped out of the bath, which he probably had. Buck and JD were eating. Maude had been back in town for the past two weeks, and she had just invited Ezra to sit down to a game of poker with four complete, unsuspecting strangers. No doubt mother and son would cheat the newcomers out of everything they had, and then Maude would take Ezra's share from him or vice-versa. He pulled up a chair and sat with Buck and JD. "Vin said there ain't no plague in Eagle Bend," he told Buck. "Last word on that came from Sheriff Staynes hisself," Buck pointed out. "You think they'd make something like that up just to start trouble for us?" "We ain't got no trouble unless we let it get outa hand." He turned to JD, who was staring at his plate and looking as though he felt left out of the older men's conversation. "You see Spriggs' body, kid?" Chris asked him. JD shuddered. "Yeah. Wasn't a pretty sight, Chris." He looked up at Buck with worried expression. "He was all black and swelled up... Is that what this Black Death does to someone?" "Hell if I know," Buck shrugged him off. "I ain't never heard of it." That wasn't what the kid wanted to hear, Chris could tell. He wanted reassurance. "Nathan is sending telegrams to some real docs asking about it," he explained. "Meantime, ain't nothin' we can do about it." "'cept keep folks from comin' here from Eagle Bend," Buck said. He was in favor of the blockade. He'd made that clear early on. Chris nodded. "Much as I hate to agree with Conklin, I reckon we need to back him on this until we know what we're dealin' with." Chris left to go find out if the healer had received any responses to his inquiries. He wasn't optimistic. There weren't that many trained doctors near enough for Nathan to know them by name. He was having to wire towns at random and ask if they had a physician, and then ask if the physician could and would take the time to answer his questions. Nathan's reputation also worked against him - some doctors knew who he was and were reluctant to offer advice to a colored man with no formal medical training, no matter how skilled he was. FIVE Buck looked across the table at JD. For his small size, JD usually had a healthy appetite, but he'd hardly touched his food. "You ain't eatin' kid. I thought you was hungry?" JD rubbed his forehead "I thought I was, too, but it just ain't sittin' well." "Too much talk about swollen up corpses don't do much for a man's appetite, I reckon," Buck laughed. In the corner of the room, Maude was making a fuss about something. She got up from her table in a huff and stormed out of the place muttering something about Ezra being stupid. Ezra looked like he wanted to follow her, but then he thought better of it and joined them instead. Buck took a swallow from his beer mug. "What was that all about?" Ezra shrugged. He looked mildly hurt by whatever Maude had said to him, but he grinned genially as he shuffled his ever-present deck of cards. "Mother has no tolerance for anything less than perfection when it comes to me," he said. "Seems my game is a bit off tonight." "So what happened, you get caught cheating?" JD asked. "Worse, I lost fair and square." He sighed, "My mind wasn't on the game. Three days of communing with the elements have taken their toll, I fear." He cleared his throat, which brought on a coughing spell. Buck passed him his beer. "You okay?" he asked him. Ezra assured him that he was and then started dealing the cards. They played a friendly game for an hour or so, until JD started nodding off. Buck considered suggesting that the kid go crawl into his bed. He looked done in. But, it wasn't yet 7 o'clock and he didn't think JD would even begin to consider the idea. It was Ezra who suggested they call it a night. Strange as it seemed, Buck had actually bested the gambler by that time, and was gloating over a tidy pile of Ezra's cash. "As mother would say, it's not how you play the game, but whether you win or lose, and I don't intend to lose another hand to you rank amateurs," Ezra said, picking up his cards. Buck gathered his winnings. "Nice playin' with you, too, Ezra," he laughed as the gambler left the table. As he tucked the small bundle of cash into his poke, JD put his head down on the table. Buck reached across and tossled his hair. "You tired, kid?" JD looked up. "Buck..." "Yeah, kid?" JD closed his eyes and shook his head. "Never mind... I'm goin' to bed. I am sorta tired." Buck followed him. Their rooms were side-by-side at the boarding house, anyway, and he figured it might be a good idea to stow the cash he'd won from Ezra so he wasn't tempted to spend it all in one night. He was tucking the bills into an extra pair of socks when he heard something hit the floor hard in JD's room. "JD, you make more damn noise than a herd of stampeding cattle with their tails on fire," he called out. He expected some kind of snot-nosed remark in return, but JD didn't answer him. "JD?" He opened the door that separated the two rooms to find the kid trying to pick himself up off the floor. He went to him and pulled him the rest of the way to his feet. "What happened kid? Did you fall?" JD had already taken his jacket and vest off, and he started unbuttoning his shirt with shaky fingers. "I dunno. I think I passed out." "You think? Don't you know?" Buck said curtly, attempting to keep any concern out of his voice. JD hated being babied. "Well, I ain't never just passed out before, so how would I know?" JD shot back. He sat down on the bed to pull his shoes off, but his hands were trembling so bad that it was hard for him to do. Buck pushed him down on the bed and pulled his shoes off for him. He then had JD unfasten his pants so he could slide those off of him, too. JD pulled his blankets up around himself while Buck piled his clothes on a chair. When he was done, Buck sat down on the bed next to JD and put a hand on the boy's forehead. He wasn't burning up, but he definitely felt too warm. JD looked up at him with fear in his dark eyes and said what they both already knew. "Buck, I don't feel good. I think I'm sick." SIX Buck found Nathan at the telegraph office, checking to see if anyone, anywhere, had bothered to respond to him. He needed to find out what he was dealing with should the sickness in Eagle Bend reach Four Corners. It was hard for Buck to keep his voice calm and even. "We got a problem, Nathan." The healer looked up from his cables. "What?" But Buck sensed he somehow already knew. "The kid's sick." If Nathan hadn't heard the fear in the big man's voice, he would have seen it in his eyes. JD meant a lot to Buck. To all of them, really, but especially to Buck. He tucked the telegrams in his pocket. "Let's go," he nodded for Buck to lead the way. JD looked up at them when they entered the room, but he didn't say a word, which was unusual for him. Nathan sat on the bed at his side and felt his forehead with his large, practiced hand. "Well, you got you a fever," he told him. "How do you feel otherwise?" JD shrugged. "He passed out a few minutes ago," Buck said. Nathan frowned. "What happened?" he asked JD. "I dunno," the boy shrugged again. "I just got all weak and dizzy all of a sudden. I thought I was gonna throw up, but the next thing I knew, I was on the floor... My head hurts." "It hurts because you banged it, or it just hurts?" Nathan asked, checking the boy's head for some sign of injury. "I got a headache. Had it all night, but it's gettin' worse." Nathan made him open his mouth, but if that told him anything, he didn't let on. You still feel like upchuckin'?" Nathan asked. JD nodded. Nathan fetched the washbasin from the bureau and set it beside the bed, just in case. JD looked at Buck. "Do I got it, Buck? That Black Death thing?" "Hell, no, JD," Buck scoffed convincingly. "You prob'ly ain't got no more than a cold. Right Nathan?" Nathan didn't like to lie to his patients, but sometimes, it was best not to divulge the entire truth, especially when you didn't know what the truth was. "You don't seem too sick," he said to JD. "You just get some rest, okay?" "Okay," JD nodded. "You want anything, kid?" Buck asked him. JD shook his head wearily. Buck followed Nathan into the hallway. The healer looked uncharacteristically grim. "I don't like this Buck. Whatever is going around Eagle Bend, it's a killer." He handed Buck a telegram from Ira Pinsette confirming that two people in the neighboring town had died. "You think it's plague, Nathan?" Nathan shook his head. "I ain't never seen plague, Buck. I wouldn't know what to look for." He pulled the rest of the telegrams out of his pocket. "I need to find a doctor who is willing to do the research for me, but all they wanna know is what right I got to even be askin'." Buck bristled. "Surely there has to be someone..." "Buck, ain't nobody in the big city cares about a little town like this, and there ain't many doctors anywhere that will talk to a healer who ain't got no formal schoolin'." Nathan didn't have to add, *especially when he's an ex-slave.* Buck knew the score. Nathan had to fight twice as hard to get half the respect that a charlatan like Ira Pinsette earned with nothing more than a line of bullshit. Buck nodded towards the telegrams. "What's gonna happen to him?" Nathan shook his head. "According to Pinsette, this thing hits fast and hard..." He looked Buck in the eye. As much as he hated to say the words, he knew Buck could handle the harsh truth. "Buck, JD could be dead by this time tomorrow." SEVEN Ezra didn't know what bothered him more, the nagging ache in his chest or the fact that two people in a row that night had beaten him at his own game. He hadn't let Buck win, and heaven knew he never would have let a complete stranger take his money under even the most dire of circumstances - unless it was somehow to his advantage. What the hell was wrong with him? Try as he might to keep it there, his mind just hadn't been on the cards, and they felt awkward in his hands somehow. Maude was right to have called him stupid. Even so, the fact that it was the truth didn't take the sting out of her words. It never did. It was much too early to be retiring for the night, but he could no longer deny the fact that he was feeling a bit less than his best. His chest hurt, and he couldn't remember if that had started before or after the coughing fit at the saloon. Truth be told, he didn't clearly remember most of what he had done that evening, which was strange and decidedly a bit frightening. He removed the ever-present flask from the pocket of his vest. Maybe it's time to give it up, he thought, as he opened it and took a generous swallow. He wondered where he'd left his nightshirt. He looked for it in the obvious places, and, not finding it, simply gave up and crawled into bed in his underclothes. Normally, he would have taken the room apart looking for it because he hated to lose or misplace anything. Ever since he was a child, he'd taken a certain perverse delight in keeping close track of his material possessions. It was one reason that, even though no one knew it, he could easily buy half the town of Four Corners if he wanted to. There was a distinctive tap on the door, and Ezra groaned. "What is it, mother?" Maude didn't wait for an invitation. Somehow, somewhere, she'd gotten a key and when he didn't open the door, she let herself in. Ezra pulled his blankets up, "Mother, I'm not dressed." "And I'm your mama, darlin'. You've got no secrets from me..." She dropped a small, red leather pouch on the bed. "I took the liberty of getting your money back from those itinerant poltroons. They were hardly a challenge." She was mocking him, and he knew it, but he just didn't feel up to playing her game. "Thank you." He realized Maude was expecting him to be a bit more confrontational when a frown creased her forehead. "Ezra, darlin', are you all right?" "Your maternal concern overwhelms me." "Now, there is no reason to be peckish," she huffed. "I feel like shit." She bent over the bed and felt his forehead, suddenly dropping the charming and genteel facade that she wore like a cloak. "Ezra, you were in Eagle Bend..." she said softly. "Yes, mother, I was, and I fear that the mantle of pestilence is upon me as a result." "This isn't funny, son. People are dying there." "Well mother," he coughed. "It looks like people might be dying here before much longer, because I am definitely unwell." "I'll go get Nathan." "No. There's nothing he can do." "Don't be a martyr, Ezra. It doesn't become you," she scolded, but he actually thought he detected a hint of fear in her voice. The woman was just full of surprises. He let his head drop back against the pillow. "They are saying it's plague, mother. Do you know what that means?" "Of course I do," she said, "but that's nonsense. There's no plague in this day and age." A blinding stab of pain shot through his head, and Ezra sucked in his breath. "What is it, darlin'?" Maude asked him. As quickly as it had come upon him, it began to fade, but it left a dull throbbing in its wake, and his vision began to fade out. He didn't think he was losing consciousness, but when he looked up at Maude, he could barely make out her face. Blotches of bright white space obscured his field of vision. She seemed to realize that he couldn't actually see her and there was an edge of panic in her voice when she took his face in her hands. "Ezra?" "I'm fine, mother," he lied. "I just need to get some sleep... if you don't mind?" He attempted to convey the hint that he expected her to leave. He didn't really want her to - he could feel himself getting worse by the minute - but Maude had never been one to sit a bedside vigil, so letting her think he expected her to go would make it a bit easier when she actually did. To his surprise, however, she sat down at the small dressing table and took out a deck of cards. "Why are you staying?" he asked her, because he really wanted to know. "Well, son, if I had any mother's intuition, I'd blame it on that, but since I don't, I can honestly say I don't know." Funny how Maude was more skilled at running a con than any person he had ever known, but there were still times when she couldn't lie to save her life. He had discovered that the whole town knew about the mysterious illness that was striking down the citizens of Eagle Bend. Plague or no plague, he'd also heard it was killing people, sometimes in a matter of hours. Despite his growing discomfort, Ezra still saw a perverse humor in what Maude would not admit even to herself. Damned if she wasn't actually worried about him... EIGHT Chris had decided to ride out to his shack after Vin had decided to turn in early. Riding back the next morning, he encountered two of Guy Royale's men manning the road block. No one had cared when he'd ridden out of town the night before, but now one of them, Coop Marvin, stepped in front of him and blocked his path. Chris didn't even stop his horse. Marvin cocked his gun, "That's as far as you go, Larabee." Chris glared at him. "What the hell is your problem, Coop?" "Ain't nobody comes into this town on this road," Marvin said. "I ain't comin' from Eagle Bend." "Don't matter. Mayor Conklin's orders." "Mayor?" Chris scoffed. "When was the election, before breakfast this mornin'?" The other man, Ed Rice, cocked his weapon, too. Had the whole town gone insane? Chris stared them both in the eye. "So shoot me. I'm ridin' through." He knew both men. He didn't think Rice had the cojones to shoot him in the back, but he wasn't sure about Marvin. Luckily, it turned out he didn't have them, either. "You could be ridin' to meet your own death, Larabee," Marvin shouted after him. "Your friends brought that plague into this town." Chris turned in his saddle. "What the hell are you talkin' about?" "Your boy, Dunne. Virginia says he's down." Virginia was the woman who ran the boarding house where Buck and JD had rooms. Chris turned away. He wasn't about to give Marvin any more of his time, or the satisfaction of knowing that what he'd just said had sent a cold chill through him. Normally, he would have gone to the saloon. It was where everyone knew to look for him if he was needed. But instead, he went to the boarding house where JD and Buck stayed. He didn't find either of them there, but Virginia appeared to be cleaning JD's room. She'd stripped the linens off the bed and was attempting to push the mattress through the window. "What the hell are you doing?" he startled her. She turned on him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and indignation. "I'm burning everything in this room. Doctor Pinsette says its the only way to stop the plague." "You don't even know Pinsette," Chris frowned. Virginia thrust a copy of the Clarion at him. Sure enough, there was an article by Ira Pinsette in which he gave advice on how to thwart the deadly disease that had stricken Eagle Bend. Ironically, next to it was an article on the mounting death toll. There were now 7 people dead. "Where's JD?" he demanded. "Your friends took him to the hotel. I won't have him here." Chris's first impulse was to say something vulgar, but he left her to her business. He had to make sure the kid was okay, although he had no reason to expect that he was. He arrived at the hotel and was directed to the second floor. The hotel looked completely deserted, which was odd for that time of the morning. Even the clerk took a few steps back when he spoke to him and told him where to find JD. Nathan stopped him at the door when he tried to enter the boy's room. Behind the healer, he could see the diminutive youngster huddled in the large bed, with Buck sitting on the mattress beside him and Josiah standing over him. "You might not want to go in there, Chris," Nathan said. It was the look in his eyes that alarmed Chris more than any talk of plague. Nathan had patched all of them up a time or two. He'd even seen JD through a couple of rough days after he'd been shot by that little bitch bounty hunter. During those times, he'd seen concern and compassion in Nathan's dark eyes, but never fear. It was fear he was seeing now. "What is it?" he asked. "Chris, I don't know. Pinsette is blowin' smoke with all this plague talk, but I can't be sure he didn't just make a lucky guess. I don't know what this sickness is." Chris looked past him. "How's the kid?" Now there was fear in Nathan's voice as well as his eyes. "Not good, Chris. He's slidin' downhill right before my eyes. It took everything he had for him to walk over here... Virginia said he had to leave the boarding house," he shook his head. "Yeah, I know. I was just over there," Chris said angrily. "Don't be too hard on her, Chris. For all we know, she did the right thing by most of the other folk who live there." "JD shouldn't have been moved if he's as sick as you say." Nathan couldn't argue with that. The boy's condition had deteriorated rapidly during the night. His fever had climbed and he'd become confused and combative. It had taken Buck and Josiah both to get him into his clothes, and then out of them again. They'd finally gotten him settled, but he was scared, and any reassurances Nathan could offer him sounded hollow. The boy had every reason to be afraid, if he had whatever was going around Eagle Bend. JD wasn't their only concern. "Ezra's sick, too," he told Chris. Chris raised an eyebrow at that. Nathan continued, "Maude came and fetched me in the middle of the night. He's got some of the same symptoms as JD, but they each got some different ones, too. I don't know if it's the same thing ailin' 'em both or not," he said, and then added what Chris already knew, "but they were both in Eagle Bend, Chris." *DAMN!* Chris cursed himself for not thinking of the obvious sooner than this. "Has anyone seen Vin?" NINE Chris didn't waste his time looking around town for Vin. The tracker's calm, quiet nature was misleading. The man never missed a thing that was going on around him. Vin would have known JD and Ezra were sick, and would have come looking for him by now, unless something was wrong. He headed straight for the wagon where Vin stored his belongings. He usually slept there, too, although Chris didn't see how he got any rest with the noise and hubbub of the town all around him until late into the night. It was almost 9 in the morning, several hours past the time Vin was usually up and about. But Chris found him in the wagon, and Vin didn't stir when he called out his name. He climbed inside the small space so that he was kneeling beside the tracker. He knew even before he touched him that he was burning with fever. His face was flushed and his hair was damp with sweat. There was a puddle of drying blood beside his head, and more of it streaked under his nose. "Vin?" He shook him gently. Vin mumbled something, but his eyes stayed closed. Chris grabbed Vin's canteen and a stray bandana and soaked the cloth with the cool water. He wiped the blood and sweat off of Vin's face with it, concerned that he'd been able to get this close to him without Vin even seeming to be aware of it. Vin finally opened his eyes. He put a hot hand on Chris's arm and attempted to push the cloth away. "You okay, Vin?" Chris asked, even though the answer to that was obvious.. Vin's voice was weak, raspy. "Been better." "Can you sit up?" Chris watched him struggle to comply with that simple request. "Damn, I hurt everywhere," Vin whispered. He was wearing that cursed hide jacket that he never took off, and Chris removed it hoping it would cool him down some. The tracker didn't offer up any resistance, which Chris knew was another bad sign. "We need to get you to the hotel. You can't stay out here." Chris expected Vin to disagree with him. Hoped he would, in fact. But there was no fight in him. He clearly felt as bad as he looked. "Okay," he nodded. Chris climbed out first and then literally had to lift Vin out of the wagon. He got him on his feet, but he just stood there gripping the frame for support as if taking that first step was just too much of an effort. He looped Vin's arm around his neck. "Let me give you a hand, pard," he said softly. Vin didn't argue. They started walking towards the hotel with him supporting most of Vin's weight. Mrs. Potter was supervising her daughter as the youngster swept the boardwalk in front of her store. Chris caught her eye, and the look on her face was one of concern for Vin, but she stepped back away from them and drew the child from their path. "Mr. Larabee?" she asked in a small, nervous voice. He answered her unasked question. "He's sick. I'm takin' him to the hotel." She stepped back even further, far enough that she and her daughter were inside the store. She closed the door and bolted it as they passed. Vin's feet stopped moving and he grabbed his middle. "Chris..." Chris suspected the problem. "You gonna be sick, Vin?" The tracker nodded. Chris looked up to see that other people in the street were watching them. He didn't want Vin to embarrass himself in front of an audience. He put an arm around his waist and dragged him into the nearest alley. Vin gagged and brought up an alarming quantity of what looked like clotted blood. Chris felt the bile rising in his own throat and quickly kicked dirt over the mess before the site of it made him upchuck, too. Vin had leaned against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed. His features were all the same color - an ashen grey. Chris pulled him close and then hooked an arm under Vin's legs, lifting him off the ground. "Chris, don't..." he protested weakly. "We'll go around the back way," Chris assured him. "Ain't nobody gonna see." Vin nodded and let his head drop against Chris's shoulder. TEN The window of JD's hotel room faced the back of the building, so Josiah saw them coming even though no one else did. He hurried down the stairs and was there to meet Chris when he brought Vin in through the kitchen entrance. There was no one in the kitchen. Normally, the cook began preparing the noon meal as soon as breakfast was finished, but she was nowhere to be seen. Josiah offered to take Vin, but if he was still conscious, Chris didn't want to be passing him around like a sack of flour. It was enough of an indignity for him that he had to be carried. "We need to get him a room," Chris said as he followed Josiah into the main lobby. Josiah jumped behind the desk and grabbed the key to room 9. "We might as well help ourselves. Everyone else has left." "The place is deserted?" "Yeah, the clerk was the last to leave, but he said he wasn't going to stay if we were going to be bringing sick people here... JD is in 10 and Ezra is in 11. Might as well keep the family together." All of the rooms were on the second floor. Chris was panting from exertion by the time he got Vin up the stairs and his taut muscles relaxed gratefully as he laid Vin on the soft down mattress. Vin opened his eyes. "Thanks, Chris," he muttered. Josiah went to get Nathan as Chris moved to unbuckle Vin's gunbelt. Vin didn't protest, and when Chris started to unbutton his shirt, he opened his eyes again. He made no effort to stop him, but did manage to rasp, "Whatya think yer doin', Chris?" Chris managed a smile. He wasn't comfortable undressing another man, and the tracker's sense of humor was still intact enough that he wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Just tryin' to get you comfortable," Chris said. Vin spared him having to unbutton his pants. He did that himself as Chris pulled off his boots. The pants followed, but he needed Vin to sit up so he could take his shirt off. He was so weak, though, that when he tried to raise himself up, he couldn't do it. Chris lifted him to a sitting position and rested him against his shoulder while he removed his shirt. His undershirt was soaked with sweat, so he removed that, too. He tried to be careful, but Vin moaned with pain. "What is it?" Chris frowned, still holding him upright. "I dunno, Chris, everything hurts inside," he muttered. Chris eased him back down as gently as he could. Vin managed to roll onto his side and even though the effort was painful, he seemed less uncomfortable that way. Nathan walked in as Chris was pulling up the sheet to cover him. The healer knelt down beside the bed. Vin had closed his eyes again, so he gently brushed the side of the tracker's face with one of his big hands. "Vin? Can you hear me?" Vin nodded. "How you feelin'?" Vin was well past the point of trying to conceal how bad he felt. "Not so good, Nathan." Chris could see the concern in Nathan's eyes. "He's pukin' blood," he said. Nathan frowned at that. He pulled down the sheet, but Vin didn't want to straighten out and lie flat for him. "C'mon, now," the healer prodded, and gently pushed him onto his back. Vin cried out in pain and then was embarrassed when he'd realized he'd done it. Chris reached for his hand. He held it loosely because he was afraid of hurting him, and because he wasn't sure Vin would accept that small comfort. But when Nathan's probing fingers pressed against his right side, Vin almost came up off the bed, and his fingers wrapped around Chris's hand like a vice. "JESUS, Nathan!" he gasped. The frown hadn't left Nathan's face. His fingers moved to the same spot on Vin's left side. He pressed more carefully this time, but Vin still flinched. "What's makin' him hurt like that?" Chris wanted to know. Nathan shook his head, bewildered. "You still feelin' queasy?" he asked Vin. "Not since I upchucked." "Think you can hold down a spoonful of laudanum?" Vin nodded and Nathan went to get the medicine. It would make Vin sleep, which normally would have been a good thing, except Chris had a nagging fear that if Vin went to sleep, he might not wake up. It wouldn't leave his mind that there were seven people dead in Eagle Bend. He sat on the bed beside him. "Anything I can do for you, Vin?" he asked. Vin shook his head. "Wouldn't blame ya' if ya' had to leave," he said softly. Chris smiled to himself. That was Vin's way of asking him to stay. "I ain't goin' nowhere, Vin. Count on that." His nose was bleeding again. Chris got a washcloth from the dressing table and dampened it with water from the pitcher there. He gently dabbed the blood away. Vin closed his eyes. "Ezra and JD... heard you talkin'..." Chris knew he couldn't lie to Vin. "They're sick, too." "Eagle Bend," Vin voiced what Chris was already thinking. "'Fraid so." Nathan returned with the laudanum and an old porcelain chamber pot. "Vin, I need you to pee in this," he indicated the pot. "Think you can do that?" Vin opened one eye to squint at him suspiciously. "What the hell for?" Chris just took the pot. "He'll do it." Nathan smiled and shook his head. Vin might give him an argument, but he'd do almost anything for Chris. He opened the laudanum and poured a generous spoonful. Vin took it willingly. He'd refused the drug before, despite some painful injuries, so Nathan knew he had to be hurting more than he was letting on. The healer opened the room's only window. It was only midmorning, but the breeze was already warm. In a couple of hours, the room would be a furnace if they didn't let some air in. He knew Chris wouldn't leave Vin."You need to keep him from gettin' too hot," the healer explained. "Sponge him down if you need to. I don't know what we can do for any of them right now except try to keep 'em as comfortable as we can." He ran his hand over his short- cropped hair. "You'll do your best, Nathan," Chris told him. The healer looked at Vin sadly. "It ain't good enough, Chris. Vin, JD, Ezra.... they were all fine just a few hours ago. If this starts to spread through the whole town..." He didn't finish. He didn't have to. ELEVEN Buck couldn't remember ever being as scared as he was then. His own basic survival instincts screamed at him to get as far away as possible from the three men who had brought a silent killer home with them from Eagle Bend. But, he knew he couldn't leave JD. He was not sure when the cocky little brat had roped his heart, but somewhere along the way, JD had somehow become his best friend, his little brother - his family. And you didn't leave someone you cared about to die alone. A lump rose in his throat. *JD could die. Nathan had said so.* Hell, Nathan didn't need to have said it for him to know. People were dying in Eagle Bend, and pretty soon, they'd be dying in Four Corners. The kid had seemed okay the evening before, until he'd keeled over on him. Through the night, he'd gotten steadily - and quickly - worse. Having to move him from the boarding house hadn't helped, either. After they'd gotten him settled at the hotel, he had complained that his legs hurt. Buck had figured maybe it was just the exertion. He had offered to carry JD to the hotel, but the kid had insisted he could walk on his own, even though he was so sick he could barely stand up. Nathan had checked him out, and had discovered that the muscles in his legs were contracting in fierce spasms. He'd let Buck feel for himself. The muscles in the kid's calves were like rocks. The pain had to be excruciating. What was causing it was anyone's guess. It was a symptom of a brain fever, Nathan had said, yet JD was conscious and as alert as his fever allowed. They had used linament to work some of the knots out of the muscles, and then Nathan had heated water and soaked towels in it, wrapping the hot, damp cloth around the kid's legs in an attempt to ease the cramping and relieve his pain. It had helped, some, but the spasms had moved upward, to his back, his neck, his arms. Wrapping him completely in hot towels might have helped, but his fever was already high, and that would have made him dangerously hot. Nathan had dosed him with laudanum, but it had only taken the sharpest edge off the boy's pain. JD looked at him with pleading eyes. He wanted him to make the hurting stop and Buck didn't know what to do for him. He felt helpless, like he had the time the kid had taken that bullet in his gut. Only this was even worse. That time, JD had gone into shock and then had been unconscious most of the time. This time, he was feeling everything. Sweat was pouring off of him, and Buck wiped it off his face, pushing damp hair out of his eyes. The muscles in his back were so tensed up, he couldn't even lie flat against the mattress. "Roll over, JD," he said, as he pulled the kid onto his stomach. JD groaned and hissed from the pain the movement caused him but he was too weak to resist. Buck lifted the kid's undershirt and poured some of the linament into his hands. Gently, he began to knead the tightened muscles in the boy's back and neck. He knew it wasn't going to help much, but JD seemed to appreciate the effort. The boy closed his eyes, but not to sleep. The mid-morning sun coming from the window seemed to bother him. "Buck?" "Yeah, kid?" "You don't gotta stay. This could be catchin'." "If I'm gonna catch it, it's prob'ly already too late to worry about it." Buck tried to sound casual, but that very fear was gnawing at his gut. He wondered if by touching the kid, or even being in the same room with him, he had already signed his own death warrant. "I feel awful, Buck." "I know you do, kid." Sympathy was about the only comfort Buck could offer him. The boy reached up and covered his eyes with his hand. The movement was awkward, because the muscles at the back of his arms were fighting his efforts. "What's the matter, JD?" Buck asked him. "The light... my head hurts. The light makes it worse." Buck looked at the window. There was no shade or curtain on it, but it did have a shutter on the outside. Problem was, if he closed it, the room would get hotter than hell, but he decided to worry about that when it happened. He went to close the shutter and chanced to look down into the street below. A small crowd had gathered near the back entrance to the hotel, and they didn't look happy. Hank Conklin spotted him and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You! Get Larabee out here. We need to talk to him." "Whatever you got to say to him, you can say to me," Buck answered. Normally, he wouldn't have thought to step into Chris's place as the leader of the Seven, but he didn't think Conklin was worth the effort it would take to get Chris to go out there and listen to whatever he had to babble about. "Tell him you're under quarantine!" Conklin called back. "All of you. No one leaves this building, for any reason." "Unless it's to get the hell out of town!" someone behind Conklin chimed in. A few people in the crowd cheered him on. "They had no right to come back into this town carrying plague," Conklin continued. "They've put everyone in this town in danger!" Buck couldn't think of a response to that. As much as he feared for JD, deep inside he wasn't sure he blamed Conklin for his attitude. Vin, Ezra and JD had brought whatever was killing people in Eagle Bend to Four Corners. The townspeople had every reason to feel helpless and afraid. He didn't understand their anger, though. He looked at JD curled up on the bed. He looked so young and so small - and so sick. He hadn't done this deliberately, and he was paying as high a price as anyone. He closed the shutter without another word to Conklin. "What's goin' on, Buck?" JD asked. His voice was weak and raspy. He was having trouble breathing, Buck could tell, but he hadn't complained about it. Poor dumb kid probably figured so long as he could ignore it, it wouldn't be so. "Nothin' to worry about kid..." Buck folded a washcloth and covered JD's eyes with it to keep out the remaining light in the room. "That better?" he asked him. JD nodded, but in the next instant cried out in pain as a new wave of spasms wracked his body. "God, it hurts, Buck..." he sobbed. Buck resumed the massage, telling the kid in a soothing voice that everything was going to be okay, that he'd feel better soon. He wished he believed it. TWELVE Ezra reached for the cup that Maude held to his lips. It was a decidedly unnerving sensation to not know exactly where it was. Maude pushed his hands down. "It's hot, darlin'. Let me hold it." Ezra didn't have the strength to argue with her. He sipped at the bitter liquid, which was beyond question one of the most vile concoctions ever to pass his lips. He turned his head away. "Drink it!" Maude ordered, although, he noted, not as sternly as she was capable of... it was more an urgent request than her usual command. "I assure you mother..." - he need to pause every few words to catch his breath when he tried to talk - "if I drink that... we shall both... see it again ... shortly thereafter." He heard Nathan's voice from somewhere close by. "Do what your mama says, Ezra. It's just some herbs. It ain't gonna hurt you and it might help some." Ezra's insided had already made that decision for him. He hated being sick to his stomach. It was the most vile and repulsive bodily function there was, and he hadn't the least inclination to invite the experience upon himself. "No." He knew it was impossible, but it seemed like he could actually hear Maude's features contort into an annoyed expression. "Ezra, you're being childish. Enough of that..." She held the cup to his lips and tried to pour the contents into his mouth. He shoved it away and heard it crash to the floor and shatter. Then, he started coughing, violently. And then, he got sick anyway. Someone shoved a basin under his head before a real mess happened, but that did very little to lessen the humiliation. After he had completed the act of depositing what seemed like the entire contents of his body into the basin, he dropped back onto his pillow, exhausted. He felt completely, horridly wretched. He was beyond any doubt sicker than he had ever been in his entire life, and the inescapable knowledge that whatever name this abominable scourge went by was potentially fatal did little to comfort him, beyond the assurance that if he got much worse, he would be dead and out of his misery. Someone wiped his face with a damp cloth, and then moved to undo the buttons on his undershirt. He was close to the point of not caring if his mother undressed him, but he wasn't quite there, yet. He reached up and grabbed the hand on his chest. It was large and the skin was rough. *Nathan.* He released his feeble grip and allowed him to proceed. The big healer got him out of his shirt easily, but he didn't know who was sponging him off with cool water. He supposed he didn't really care. It almost felt good, if anything could at that point. He could hear Nathan and Maude bustling around the bed, talking about... something... He couldn't really understand them unless he concentrated, and that was just too much effort. He couldn't see them at all. Compounding the altogether abhorrent set of circumstances in which he now found himself, he couldn't see. He wasn't blind in the sense that he was in total darkness - he could easily perceive light, shadow, color and movement - but there were pieces missing from the overall picture, where big blotches of white nothing obstructed his visual field. It was like trying to make out the picture on a jigsaw puzzle from just a few pieces. The effect was so bizarre, it was simpler just to keep his eyes closed. He somehow sensed Josiah enter the room before he spoke. The preacher had been relegated to the role of domestic, and Nathan had sent him to prepare a steam kettle. Together, they rigged a makeshift tent over the head of his bed. Nathan slipped the kettle inside, setting it on the mattress beside Ezra's head, but taking care to pad it with a towel so that there would be no accidental contact. The steam smelled almost as foul as Nathan's herbal brew. "That should help ease his breathin' some," Nathan told Maude, sounding more like he was hoping that was true rather than certain. Ezra felt Maude's cool, soft hand take his own. Under normal circumstances, she would have chided Nathan that he'd better know what he was doing, but Maude had run out of glib rejoinders and Ezra knew why. She thought he was dying. Hell, he probably was. THIRTEEN "LARABEE!" Chris ignored the shouting from the street below. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, watching for any sign that Vin wasn't getting sicker. He knew he was clinging to false hopes, but he wasn't ready to buy into the possibility that the quiet tracker - his best friend - could be dead in a matter of hours. His fever was alarmingly high, and Chris had tried sponging him off like Nathan had said, but just being touched seemed to make Vin hurt. There was more shouting from the street, and he ignored that, too, until a rock came flying though the open window and landed inches from the bed with a loud thud. It woke Vin up. He flinched and opened his eyes. He looked at Chris, his thoughts muddled by pain and fever. Chris picked the rock up and put it on the dresser where Vin wouldn't see it. "Sorry pard, I dropped something," he said. There was no point in trying to explain to Vin that the town he'd risked his life to protect was turning its ugliest face on him as he lay there sick and helpless. Chris poured some water into the sipping bottle Nathan had given him. He'd said to get him to drink as much as possible. When Vin had done his business in the chamber pot like Nathan had asked, his piss was tinged with red. Chris didn't need Nathan to tell him that was a bad sign. He cradled Vin's head and lifted him so he could drink. "Don't want any," Vin muttered. "Sorry, pard, you ain't got no choice. You need it." The bottle had a little spout that Vin could suck the water from if Chris could force it between his lips. Decorative as well as practical, the porcelain bottle was painted to look like a bird. "Get that chicken away from me," Vin growled. He was out of his head from the fever, so who knew what he was thinking, but it almost made Chris smile. Vin could do that, even when no one and nothing else could. Chris forced the water on him, anyway. Vin sucked down a couple of swallows, but then he choked on it. He couldn't catch his breath and was coughing and gagging at the same time. Chris turned him over onto his side in case he puked, and an instant after he did, a torrent of blood came pouring out of Vin's mouth. Chris had never been prone to panic, but that scared him. "NATHAN!" he shouted. Nathan and Josiah both came running, followed by Buck, who took one look at the mess on the bed and had to lean against the wall so he wouldn't pass out. "Aw, Jesus..." he gasped. Vin was still choking. Nathan sat down on the bed beside him and in one practiced movement pulled Vin's upper body across his lap so that his head and arms hung over the side of the bed. Using the heel of his hand, he struck him three times between the shoulder blades. Vin's airway cleared and he cried out in agony. "Lemme alone!" he sobbed. Chris sat on the other side of the bed and took him from Nathan. His eyes were closed, but tears were streaming down his face. He used a washcloth to wipe his face off. They were going to have to move him to change the bloody sheets, and he held the tracker's pain-wracked body as gently and carefully as he could. "It's okay, Vin," he said softly. "You're okay now," he lied. "I'm dyin' Chris," Vin gasped. "No you ain't. I ain't gonna let you." For whatever reason, Vin didn't argue with that. He just nodded his head and settled into Chris's arms. Josiah had sent Buck for clean sheets, and he'd been eager to comply so he could get out of there. Chris held Vin until Buck came back, and he drifted off, either into unconsciousness or sleep. When Buck returned, Chris stroked Vin's hair to rouse him so he could tell him they had to move him. Earlier, his long, dark hair had been soaked with sweat, but it was just barely damp now. Chris knew it was because he was becoming dehydrated. He hated forcing the water on him again, but there was no choice. Vin tried to push it away. Chris's voice was stern. "Drink it, Vin. If you don't, you *are* gonna die, you hear me?" The other three men were shocked by his tone, but Vin took a few more swallows of the water. Josiah and Buck were ready to swap the soiled sheets. "I'm gonna lift you up, Vin," Chris warned him. "No!" Vin pleaded. "Don't touch me!" He was too delirious to realize that Chris was already holding him. Chris ignored his pleas and raised him just far enough for Buck and Josiah to slip the clean linen onto the bed. Josiah left with the bloody sheets as Chris gently eased Vin back onto the mattress. Nathan sponged him off again and looked him over. His breathing was coarse and ragged now. "We rigged a steam tent for Ezra," Nathan explained. "I reckon we're gonna end up doing it for all three of them. I wish I knew if..." He was interrupted by the crash of another rock hitting the pitcher beside the wash basin and shattering it. Chris pulled his gun and marched to the window. Without a word to the crowd outside, he emptied the entire chamber into the street below. There was screaming and panic, but those in the building knew Chris hadn't shot anyone. Yet. "You send another rock through this window, and one of you dies," he said coldly. "Don't matter shit to me which one." His icy gaze scanned the crowd, most of whom averted their eyes. Most, but not all. "We want you and your men out of town," Hank Conklin said. "Then we're going to burn this place." "We ain't leavin'," Chris stated flatly. Someone had dipped what looked like a tablecloth in yellow paint and two men were tying it with rope to the front of the building. Buck joined him to watch the spectacle. "They're puttin' us in quarantine, Chris," he explained. "Sayin' we can't leave unless it's to get outa town." Chris holstered his gun. "Don't matter. We ain't goin' nowhere, anyway." Buck nodded. "'cept maybe to Hell." FOURTEEN Nathan would have collided with the man who blocked his path if he hadn't stepped sideways at the last second, backing off as if he were deathly afraid of any contact with the healer. Nathan recognized him: Jules Lahr. He owned a farm three miles from town and Nathan had saved his wife from bleeding to death after delivering his twin sons. Lahr seemed to have forgotten all about that as he drew his gun and aimed it at Nathan's chest. "Get back inside," he ordered. Nathan shook his head. "I have to get to the telegraph office... Need to find me a doctor who can..." "Save it!" the man ordered. "Ain't no doc can help those men inside now. Ain't no medicine for plague." "I don't even know they got plague and neither do you. Now get outa my way." Nathan would use physical force if he had to. He was not a violent man, but he was a strong one, and even though Lahr was big, Nathan was bigger. Lahr cocked his weapon and raised it, and in a split second of horror, Nathan realized he was really going to shoot him. There was a blinding flash and a thundering roar and Nathan instinctively clamped his eyes shut waiting for the fatal impact, but none came. He opened his eyes when he heard Lahr howling in pain and saw that he was holding his bleeding hand. Nathan looked around, expecting to see Buck, Josiah or even Chris, but to his great surprise, he spotted Jim Ramage lurking in the shadows. Ramage had raised hell with Vin a few months before. Along with his friend Ted Cole, he had done everything he could to make Vin's life as miserable as possible. They'd all ultimately resolved their differences after a terrifying accident had almost killed the pair of losers as well as Chris and Ezra, but, even so, the Seven were hardly on friendly terms with them. Ramage holstered his gun. "Figured I owed you one," he said simply. Nathan had set Ramage's badly broken arm after the accident. He'd gotten full use of it back apparently, since he'd used it to shoot the gun from Lahr's hand. Nathan nodded as Cole sidled up alongside Ramage. The two of them were joined at the hip. "Tanner dyin'?" Cole asked. His tone was unreadable, and maybe he didn't mean anything by it, but since Nathan disliked the man, he bristled. "Not if I can help it." He moved towards Lahr. "Let me take a look at that hand..." Lahr stepped backward. "Stay away from me!" The man was in dire need of medical attention, and normally, Nathan would have persisted, but he had more pressing things to do. "Suit yourself," he shrugged. Another unpleasant surprise awaited him when he got to the telegraph office. The door had been bolted shut from the inside. The telegraph operator peered at him though the window with a guilty look on his face. "I can't let you in here," he said. He opened the window a crack and handed him three messages. Nathan went to take them, and the man let them fall from his hand onto the dirt. Nathan picked them up, disgusted by the telegraph operator's rudeness, but not really blaming the man for being cautious. The first telegram he read was from a doctor in Denver who wanted to know who he was, and emphatically stating that he did not assist charlatans in the practice of medicine. The second was from a doctor in Albuquerque who said he didn't know anything about plague. But the third one... It was from a Dr. M. Quinn in Colorado, and Nathan read it carefully to make sure he'd gotten it right... **Mr. Jackson, It is my privilege to have esteemed colleagues in the universities and teaching hospitals of Boston, and through them I have availed myself of the medical and scientific literature at their disposal..." ** It went on to describe the symptoms of plague. Some of them fit, but they were general symptoms that could fit a dozen illnesses. Other symptoms, none of the sick men had - or at least, he didn't think they did. He'd have to re- examine all three of them. Also, some of the symptoms they did have weren't even listed. The message also said if it was plague, he could expect more cases to crop up within two days of exposure. It didn't paint a pretty picture of the consequences should that happen. There was no effective treatment for plague, and no known way of stopping the spread of the contagion other than to quarantine the victims - and burn the bodies of the dead. It had been almost 48 hours since Vin, JD and Ezra had arrived back in Four Corners, and even if it wasn't plague, he was expecting that soon, those they had come into contact with would begin to show signs of illness. Certainly the first would be those at the hotel with the sick men. His friends. He shuddered at the thought. Plague or no, maybe Conklin and the others had the right idea. If they all came down with whatever it was that had stricken Vin, JD and Ezra, the sanest thing to do would also be the most unthinkable. Nathan refused to let his mind dwell on that. Dr. Quinn had given him some valuable information - and more importantly had offered his assistance. He needed to reassess his patients and decide where to go from here. He walked back to the hotel, cataloging his patient's symptoms. All three of them were having trouble breathing, although Ezra was by far the worst off. All three had suffered bouts of nausea, although Vin was the only one who had brought up blood and couldn't seem to keep anything down. All of them were in pain, but JD seemed to be suffering the worst of it. But according to Dr. Quinn, the one definitive symptom of plague was boil-like swellings - 'buboes' - in the armpits, neck and groin. Unless he'd overlooked something, he was certain none of them had that one tell-tale sign. He was lost in his thoughts and almost ran into Inez as she was coming out of the saloon burdened with a large block of ice wrapped in burlap. "Nathan!" she greeted him. The healer looked up from his musings. "Hi, Inez..." He noticed her arms sagging under the weight of the ice. "Can I give you a hand with that?" She passed it over to him. "I thought you might be able to use it," she said. "If not for the sick men, then for the others." Ice was a precious commodity, and Inez's offer was both generous and welcome. "Thanks," he smiled. "How are they?" she asked cautiously. Nathan shook his head. "Not too good." "You tell them I will pray for them." Nathan nodded. "Thanks, Inez." He meant that sincerely. Whatever they had, all three men were clearly dangerously ill - maybe dying - and there was not a damned thing he could do for them. At that point, Inez's prayers were as effective as anything he had to offer. The healer was so consumed by that thought that he didn't notice how the townspeople fled from his path. FIFTEEN Nathan concluded his examination and replaced Ezra's night clothes and blanket and then carefully readjusted the blankets that formed a tent over the head of the bed. Maude had wanted to stay while he checked Ezra for the signs of plague, but it hadn't seemed right to lay a man out naked in front of a woman, even if she was his own ma, and even if Ezra was too sick to care. The gambler's condition had deteriorated so rapidly that if the decline continued, Nathan feared he had only a few hours left. Ezra opened his eyes once and squinted at him, saying his name. Nathan touched a damp cloth to Ezra's feverish forehead, pushing back ringlets of sweaty hair. "I'm here," he said simply. "Why... can't I see... anything?" he frowned. Nathan was honest. "I don't know, Ezra. Might be the fever." Ezra turned his head towards the sound of his voice. "Am I to consider... the possibility... that my demise is imminent?" he whispered. "You mean, is you gonna die?" Nathan countered. Normally, he loved to tease Ezra by rephrasing his fifty-dollar words, but now he did it out of a desperate hope that he'd continue to have the chance. Ezra coughed and it sounded ugly. It came from deep inside his chest, but it was too weak to effectively clear the congestion. "*Are*... going to die," he corrected the healer, then he added. "I need to know, Nathan." Nathan nodded that he understood. He wrang out a cool washcloth and placed it over Ezra's forehead and unseeing eyes. "You might, Ezra. I'll do all I can for you, you know that, but I ain't gonna tell you this ain't bad." Ezra tried to say something else, but it brought on another coughing spell. "Hush now," Nathan said gently. "Save your strength." Ezra shook his head. "In the wardrobe..." he gasped. "The red box. Passbooks to my bank... accounts." "Ezra, this ain't no time to be worrying about your money..." "On the... contrary, my friend... I must..." He ran out of air before he finished and tried to inhale deeply, but it just wasn't possible, and what ever he was going to say, he wasn't able to continue. "Yours," he gasped. "What?" "The money. Yours..." He started to cough again, more violently this time. Nathan pushed the tent out of the way and lifted his upper body off the bed, calling for Maude to come back into the room. He had her pile pillows behind Ezra's back to raise him to a sitting position in the hope it would ease his breathing. Maude quickly and efficiently did as he instructed, and even her practiced poker face wasn't able to conceal her apprehension at seeing her son struggling for air. Ezra's strength was spent and he lay unmoving against the pillows. Maude gathered her skirts and sat on the bed beside him, drawing the tent around them both. She wiped his face with the washcloth. "Ezra? Darlin'?" Her voice was tinged with panic as she tried to rouse him. Ezra's green eyes opened slightly and Maude seemed relieved even though he didn't actually respond to her. Nathan wasn't sure his patient was still conscious. He tapped his cheek gently. "Ezra? Can you hear me?" Ezra nodded. Relieved himself, Nathan turned to Maude. "Josiah is cookin' up some broth. Try to get some nourishment into him." Maude nodded. She was a smart and stubborn woman. She knew how sick Ezra was, but Nathan could see there was still some fight left in both of them. He dipped his hands in the carbolic acid bath Dr. Quinn had advised him to use after touching his patients. He saw the point to it, if what he had read about disease being caused by microbes was correct. He'd never seen a microbe - had a problem even contemplating a living thing so small it was invisible without special instruments, in fact - but wiser men than he seemed pretty sure they existed, and something that sneaky couldn't be much use to anyone. It was a known fact that whatever they were, carbolic killed them and that had to be for the best. "Nathan?" Maude said softly. "Yes'm?" She looked down at Ezra in her arms. "He's all I have, Nathan. All I have that matters." Nathan nodded. "Yes'm." He didn't know what else to say to her, for he knew she wasn't begging him to help her son - she already knew he was doing all he could. She just wanted someone to know what she never seemed able to say to Ezra. "Miss Maude, this thing ain't got us beat yet. If anyone'll get through it, it will be these three." She nodded, a faint but determined smile on her lips. Nathan knew that if will alone could keep Ezra alive, Maude would make it happen. But it didn't look good. He had to admit that. He was sure Ezra didn't have plague, but whatever he did have, it had caused his lungs to become so clogged up that it was a wonder he was getting any air at all. He had herbs that would make him cough it all up, but he just wasn't sure Ezra was strong enough to endure the medicine's harsh effects. He'd seen people with pneumonia cough until they died from exhaustion. For now, the steam tent would have to do. Maude chose to stay under the tent with Ezra as he re-rigged it to seal it completely. It wouldn't do her any harm, and if Ezra were to lose the battle with this unnamed killer, he might as well have the comfort of doing it in his mother's arms. + + + + + + + Maude Standish swiped angrily at the strands of damp hair that fell into her eyes. The heat and humidity inside the blanket-tent were unbearable to her, but she could tell that they helped. Ezra's breathing was still labored, but the steam loosened the congestion enough that he was able to rest. She folded her arms around his shoulders. Funny, she thought, how your child seemed to always fit into your arms no matter how old he was. Almost like that was something nature intended. She rested her cheek against the soft, dark hair, damp from the steam and sweat. How long had it been since she had held him? Hell, she couldn't remember ever holding him like this, not for long, anyway. She had never been much of a mother. In all honesty, she had never intended to be a mother at all. It had just happened, and then she'd had to make the best of the cards she was dealt. She was good at many things, but motherhood wasn't one of them, she knew. She supposed it was too late to make up for any of that now. Water under the bridge and all that. She sighed and kissed Ezra's forehead. "Don't you dare die on me, baby, you hear? You hear me, Ezra Standish? You are *not* going to leave me..." SIXTEEN Heavy doses of laudanum had eased JD's pain, but it had also left the boy in a dazed stupor that made it difficult for Nathan to tell if it was the illness or the drug that was taking its toll. The boy was unnervingly compliant as Buck undressed him and Nathan checked him for the swollen nodules that Quinn had told him to look for. The vicious muscle spasms had subsided, but his muscles refused to relax completely, which had to be sapping his strength. Gently manipulating the boys stiff, painful limbs, Nathan checked JD's neck and under his arms, and then thought he'd better explain to Buck what he was looking for when he pressed his hands into JD's inner thighs. "They're called buboes," he explained. "Like boils, this Dr. Quinn says. Everyone who gets plague has 'em.." He shook his head as he finished his examination. "I didn't find any on Ezra, either. Whatever this is, it ain't plague." "Don't see whereas that makes any difference to JD," Buck said sadly. JD shivered and Buck moved to cover him, but instead of stopping, the shivering escalated to small, jerky spasms. "Roll him over, Buck!" Nathan commanded, as he grabbed JD's shoulders and attempted to turn him onto his side. "What is it?" Buck asked, alarmed by Nathan's tone of voice. JD's body continued to quiver. "He's havin' a fit," Nathan said, his voice more calm than he felt. He knew this was a very bad sign. "It should ease up in a few seconds..." The two of them stood by helplessly as the convulsions continued for almost two minutes. Gradually, though, they began to ease off and finally, JD was still again. "JD?" Nathan called to him, pushing back his long hair. "JD? Wake up, son." JD's eyes opened, and he looked as dazed as he had before, but in a hoarse whisper, he managed to croak out Buck's name. Buck was at his side in an instant. "I'm here, JD," he took the boy's hand. JD stared silently for several seconds, and when he did respond it wasn't so much with words, but with the tears that filled his eyes until they overflowed. "Sorry..." "Sorry for what, kid?" Buck asked, honestly puzzled. Nathan, however, had more experience with the sick and guessed what had happened. It was a common occurrence when someone suffered a fit like JD just had. He looked at Buck. "We need some clean sheets for the bed," he said, without giving details. JD squeezed his eyes shut and understanding suddenly dawned on Buck. He nodded. "I'll be right back." As soon as he was gone, Nathan proceeded to strip the bed. "Don't give it no mind, JD," he said casually. "Happens to sick folk more often than you think." But it was little consolation to the kid, whose pale features were crimson with shame. Nathan worked quickly to get him cleaned up before Buck returned, but he noted with concern that the wetness on the sheets was tinged pink. Damn, what was doing this to them? Buck returned and lifted the boy and held him while Nathan flipped the mattress over and spread out the clean bedding. He noticed the bloody stain on the soiled sheets. "Oh Jesus, Nathan..." he said, the fear in his voice unmistakably. Nathan nodded sadly. "Didn't mean to, Buck," JD murmured. Buck looked down at the young man in his arms and steeled himself. "Hell, kid, you got so much laudanum in ya you wouldn't know if ya had to go or not. Ain't no big deal." But he knew it was. He knew the kid was embarrassed and he was too sick to have to worry about something so insignificant as some wet sheets. He decided the best thing to do was not to dwell on the accident as he got him settled back into bed just as Josiah came in with a steaming bowl of broth. "Made from finest bone marrow," the preacher announced proudly, trying to ease the tension he could feel in the sickroom, "with some other stuff that's good for what ails anyone." JD looked up at him. "Bet it... tastes... like crap." "Don't matter how it tastes," Buck admonished him as he lifted him to a sitting position. "You're gonna eat it." JD shook his head. "No. Can't. I'll upchuck it." "No you won't," Buck promised, knowing the kid would believe him, whether it was true or not. Nathan motioned for Josiah to hold back while he listened to JD's chest with his stethoscope. He wasn't as congested as Ezra, but Nathan could still hear a tell-tale gurgling deep in the boy's lungs. "We need another steam kettle, too," he said. Josiah looked at the stricken youngster, "We only have the two we're using for Vin and Ezra." "Then you have to find another one somewhere!" Nathan snapped, without meaning to. Josiah didn't take it personally. "I'll do that," he said, and left to keep his word. Buck didn't have the luxury of allowing his feelings to show. He lifted a spoonful of broth to JD's mouth, but the kid was already drifting off on him again. "JD? C'mon, kid, just one spoonful." JD obediently opened his mouth, and Nathan was somewhat relieved. If Buck could get the boy to eat, it would bolster his strength. That had to count for something. "I need to go check on Vin. Will you be okay here for awhile?" "Sure we will," Buck said more confidently than he felt. As he was leaving he told Buck, "If he starts having another one of them fits, turn him on his side like before. He might puke if he's got something in his stomach." "Don't wanna throw up," JD mumbled. "You ain't gonna," Buck assured him again. He got JD to take a few more spoonfuls, but the boy was just so, so sick. It was all he could do to swallow. Josiah returned and begin rigging a tent over the bed. As sick as he was, JD's curiosity hadn't left him. "What's... that for?" he asked. Josiah explained it to him, holding up the kettle that was spouting aromatic steam from the boiled herbs and elixirs Nathan had prescribed. "It will help you breathe better," he explained as he slipped the kettle under the blanket and again took precautions to keep JD from being burned by it. "Where'd you get another one?" Buck asked. "He's sharin' this one with Vin for now. I'll see if I can round up another one." "Hurts," JD mumbled. Buck reached for the linament and began a repeat of the rubdown he'd given the boy earlier. It probably didn't do him a lick of good, but it did seem to ease his pain. As the big man's hands kneaded the younger man's tense muscles, he wondered who was going to care for the rest of them if they came down with whatever JD, Vin and Ezra had. He tried to admonish himself for his selfishness, but the thought really scared him. Even more frightening was the knowledge that if he and the others got sick, JD would just slip away with no one to ease his passing. *NO! The kid was not going to die!* He cursed himself for even thinking that. JD quickly drifted off to sleep and he settled back in his chair, keeping one hand in contact with JD's arm. He stroked it gently, just to let the kid know he was there. SEVENTEEN Chris appeared to be dozing in the chair next to Vin's bed, but he immediately lifted his head when Nathan entered the room. Vin was quiet and still, but Nathan knew it was because he was too sick to move, not because he was resting comfortably. He hated to disturb him, but he had to make sure that he also did not have the defining symptoms of plague. He carefully pulled the covers back and Vin shivered involuntarily as the cooler air hit him. He opened his eyes, silently pleading with Nathan to leave him be. "I'm sorry, Vin," the healer said softly. "I just need to check you over real quick like." Vin couldn't put up any resistance. He was alarmingly weak, but unlike the others, Nathan hadn't dared try feeding him anything, not bleeding into his belly like he was, so he would only continue to grow weaker. He checked Vin over carefully. The tracker hardly flinched when he examined his groin for the swollen nodules. Normally, Vin would have put up a fuss at being touched like that, if he would have allowed such intimate contact at all. Nathan didn't find any sign that the tracker had plague, either. He pulled the blankets back over Vin, pulling back the steam tent they had rigged earlier. Josiah had taken the kettle for JD, so there was no point in leaving it draped over him at the moment. "What we need are 4 more kettles," he said absently. "That way, we can keep the steam going continuously for all three of them." "I'll see you get them," Chris said. Nathan told him about the incident with Jules Lahr. "Ain't nobody in town gonna let you get close enough to ask for 'em." "Who said I was gonna ask?" "That mob out there is ugly, Chris. Gettin' uglier by the minute. I don't know if it's gonna do any good to tell them that these men don't have plague." Chris looked up at him. "You're sure?" Nathan nodded. "Doc in Colorado sent me a list of signs to look for." He shook his head. "They got some, but not the important ones, the ones that mean it's plague for sure. Problem is, I don't know what they do have...." He paused thoughtfully for a moment, and then frowning, questioned Chris. "How do *you* feel?" Chris thought about it, shrugged his shoulders. "Tired. Hot from havin' that steam goin'. But I ain't sick." Nathan nodded, thankful, but mystified. "Seem odd to you that no one else in this town has come down with anything?" "Folks in Eagle Bend are dropping like flies, though," Chris reminded him. "Could be just a matter of time." Nathan sighed. "This Dr. Quinn feller says other folks would start turning up sick fairly quick if it was plague." He was thinking out loud. "Maybe whatever this is just takes a little longer to come over a person...." He looked at Vin, who despite being so terribly ill was listening to him. "Or maybe all the sick folks got it from the same place..." "Mice," Vin wheezed. Both Chris and Nathan turned to him, and leaned closer to hear him. "Deer mice. We saw them," the tracker struggled to get the words out. "Bad luck." Nathan tried to conceal his skepticism. His concerns were serious ones, and he couldn't afford to be waylaid by the tracker's superstitions. Chris, however, either took those same superstitions seriously, or he was indulging Vin's belief in them. "Why are they bad luck, Vin?" he asked. Vin shook his head almost imperceptibly. Any movement seemed to increase his discomfort. "Don't know," he admitted. "Navajo's say it's so." He started coughing again, and it was intermingled with a sharp cry of pain. Chris turned him over and Nathan shoved a towel under his head so they wouldn't have to change the bedding if he vomited up more blood. He didn't though. He coughed up a few drops, but his strength was quickly spent, and he lay gasping for air. Nathan hated to do it, but he pulled him upright. Vin cried out in pain again, but his breathing quickly improved. "Pile some pillows behind him," he told Chris. The gunfighter did as he was told, and as they eased Vin back down he looked so pale that Chris thought he might be taking his final breaths. Vin must have thought that, too. He looked Nathan in the eye. "How long?" he whispered hoarsely. Nathan pretended he didn't know what Vin meant. "How long 'til what, Vin?" Vin tried to take a deep breath and was pretty much unsuccessful. He closed his eyes against the pain and whispered "'Til this is over?" Chris wanted to shout at him not to talk like that. To shake him and demand that he not give up so easily. He was suddenly angry and he didn't know at what or who. He managed to stay calm on the outside though. It was what Vin needed most from him. He wrang out the washcloth in the basin beside the bed and wiped Vin's face with it. "You feelin' that bad, cowboy?" he said softly. Vin nodded. "Ain't never... been this sick, Chris." The tracker's slight frame was wracked with chills, and acting on impulse Chris took him in his arms and held him close to warm him up again. Nathan didn't think anything could make Vin any worse at this point, and warmth of Chris's body seemed to soothe him. He knew there was a special bond between the two men. Hell, everyone could see it. If there had been any way for Chris to give all the strength he had to Vin to get him through this, he knew the gunfighter would do it in a heartbeat. Perhaps this was the next best thing. Despite his misery, Vin seemed to rest easier and the chills quickly abated. "Chris?" he whispered Chris looked down at the man in his arms. Nathan saw the hurt in his eyes. Chris thought Vin was dying and he couldn't tell him any different because he was probably right. "What is it, cowboy?" he said softly. "Somethin' I need... to tell ya... before..." Chris hushed him. "It'll keep, Vin." "No... Chris. If I go... I...can't take this... with me...." "You ain't goin' anywhere, Vin," Chris said sternly. Exhausted from even that small effort, Vin didn't persist. Nathan looked at Chris questioningly and Chris shrugged slightly. Neither knew what Vin had wanted to say, but whatever it was, Vin didn't need the added stress of trying to get it off his chest. Chris was letting him know, in that unspoken way of theirs, that whatever it was, he was okay with leaving it unsaid. EIGHTEEN Nathan was on his way to the kitchen to replenish the steam kettles when he heard Josiah talking to someone. The big preacher had been toiling continuously, preparing food and the teas and medicines Nathan had prescribed as well as boiling sheets, towels and nightclothes as they were used. He'd caught a few hours of sleep here and there, but like the rest of them, he was weary from the continuous vigil. And now he was having to patiently argue with Casey Wells. "She wants to see JD," he explained to Nathan. Nathan looked at the young girl, her dark eyes moist with tears. She tried to keep her voice from cracking when she spoke. "Aunt Nettie says he's dyin'." She said it more as a question than a statement. "I jus' wanna see him." Josiah was effectively blocking the doorway so she couldn't enter. Nathan eased him aside so he could talk to the girl. "Casey, JD is real sick. I ain't gonna lie to you. But we can't let you in here." He pointed to the yellow banner flapping in the breeze. "Once you come inside, you'll be in quarantine with the rest of us." "I don't care!" she wailed and tried to push past him. "NO!" He grabbed her tiny shoulders. "Listen to me. If you want to help, there are some things you can do for us. We need some kettles... about so big." He indicated the size with his hand. "And I need someone to take messages back and forth from the telegraph office." "I can do that!" she nodded eagerly. And then her face clouded. "But JD... if he needs lookin' after..." "Buck is with him," Nathan assured her. "We're takin' real good care of him. But I'll tell him you came to see him. He'll like that." Casey smiled. "I'll get those kettles if I have to steal 'em!" "Might be easier if you just ask Inez, first," Nathan said. "Your aunt, too..." he called to her. Josiah smiled at the girl's enthusiasm, but then turned to Nathan with a serious expression. "She might not get to see that boy alive again." Nathan nodded solemnly. The only consolation he could give Casey at that point was that JD was still fighting to stay alive, while Vin and Ezra seemed to have resigned themselves to letting nature take its course. He sat down at the table and let his head drop into his hands. Josiah came up behind him and put a strong hand on his shoulders. "You're doin' all you can, Nate." Nathan slammed his hands down on the table. "I just don't know enough, Josiah. If there were only ways to help them fight this.... If only I knew more about what the hell I was doing!" He berated himself angrily. Josiah pulled up a chair beside him. "Nathan, you can't do any more than what you are doing." Nathan sighed. "That ain't what I mean, Josiah.... I'm havin' to starve Vin - that's what's makin' him too weak to fight. Ezra's lungs ain't so bad he'd suffocate but he's so tired from tryin' to keep breathin' that his body is gonna up and just quit from exhaustion. There just ain't any way to help either of them." "Have you asked that Dr. Quinn if he knows anything you can do?" "I ain't a doctor, Josiah. I got no right to even be askin' him." "Way I look at it," Josiah smiled, "You got no right *not* to ask him." He pulled a pencil and paper from the pocket of his vest. "You can't say you tried everything until you have." Nathan shook his head. "What could he tell me? All that would help Vin is to get some food into him, but that might kill him. And I can't breathe for Ezra." Josiah saw his point. "Maybe JD will make it," he said sadly. Nathan couldn't look at him. "He had a fit a few minutes ago. He came out of it okay, but it's a bad sign. Real bad." Josiah tapped the paper he'd set on the table. "Ask for help, Nathan. Then you can have the peace of sayin' you did all you could." NINETEEN (continued from part ONE) Chris stared out the window, not planning to give the mob outside the comfort of averting his gaze. He knew most of the faces in the crowd. Three days before, most of them would have greeted him with a smile or perhaps a friendly nod. Now, all he saw on those same familiar faces was anger and fear, or occasionally sadness. Mary Travis didn't want to be part of the mob, but the irony was that her newspaper articles had fueled the fire that the good folk of Four Corners wanted to unleash on three helpless men. Men who had been there for them when they'd had their backs to the wall. What scared him as much as the crowd was that Larabee wasn't sure that, were the circumstances reversed, he wouldn't be out there with them. If he still had Sara and Adam, would he be so willing to defy the very instincts that told him to protect them at all cost? He had looked Mary Travis in the eye. She didn't hate him, or Vin or JD or Ezra. But she loved Billy more than she cared about any of them, and that was as it should be. Nettie was the last person who would want any harm to come to any of them, especially Vin. But Casey was blood, and while she wasn't out there waving a torch, she was determined that Casey would not fall before this silent killer. Her frail hands had a firm grip on her Spencer carbine. The rifle looked like it weighed more than she did. The sight would have been comical, were it not for the fact that Nettie Wells was as dead a shot as Vin was, and if he made good on his threat to turn his gun on the crowd, she might just take him out if he didn't get her first. He rested his gun on the window sill, and was trying to think of what to say to the mob, not to quiet them but to at least gain them a little more time. He'd meant what he said. If their time had come, Vin and the others at least deserved the small comfort of a clean bed and knowing they were safe to leave this earth in peace. He'd not see them forced out. The only place for them then would be his sweltering shack where they'd have to put two of them on the bare dirt floor. His words never had a chance to form, though. Casey jerked free of her Aunt's restraining grasp and in the next instant snatched the Spencer from her hands. She ran to the steps of the building where he could no longer see her, only hear her voice... Casey waved a piece of paper with one hand as she steadied her Aunt's big rifle with the other. "This here telegram is from a doctor!" she shouted. "Ain't nothin' gonna happen to us so long as they stay inside." "Says you," someone in the crowd mocked. "Get outa the way, girl!" someone else shouted. "Listen to her!" Chris recognized Inez's angry voice. Inez, for reasons only she knew, had yet to turn her back on them. "I ain't movin'!" Casey said, her voice cracking. She cocked the Spencer and trained it on the crowd. "You leave them be!" Two awestruck blue eyes stared at her in open admiration. The one they belonged to had been afraid before. Afraid he was too little and too young to do what he knew Chris would do. It wasn't right what these grown-ups were doing. If he was sick, he would want to be at home in his own bed. How come no one could see that it was wrong to make sick people leave town? He'd gotten his daddy's gun. He knew where it was, and he knew how to use it. Chris had shown him. But he'd been afraid, not like Casey. Well, he wasn't afraid any more! "You can't stop all of us, little girl," Hank Conklin declared. "This is absurd!" he continued, angry that his assumed authority had been challenged. He carried a stick with an oiled rag wrapped around it. He struck a match to ignite it. "What are you doing!?" Inez screamed at him in horror. She positioned herself in front of Conklin and tried to grab the torch, but one of the men in the crowd grabbed her and shoved her aside so roughly that she fell. "I'll get them out of this town, mark my word!" Conklin hissed. A few people in the crowd cheered him on, but several others gasped in horror as the torch flared, the grim realization of what Conklin intended to do suddenly dawning upon them. Casey stood her ground. "You're gonna have to kill me to get by me," Casey said. A tiny blond blur streaked to the front of the crowd. "Me too!" Billy Travis declared. "BILLY!" Mary Travis gasped, realizing her son was no longer safe at her side. *Aw HELL!* Chris thought when he heard Billy's voice. Billy took his place alongside Casey, needing both hands to hold the gun he had aimed at Conklin, who was momentarily dumbstruck. His mouth dropped open when Ted Cole and Jim Ramage stepped in behind Casey and Billy. The two didn't draw their guns, but their hands hovered menacingly within reach of their pieces. Conklin turned to the crowd. "This is ridiculous!!! Nettie! Mary! Get those two brats out of my way or I swear..." Mary was horror-stricken. She dared not move. Billy was a baby - he had no idea what would happen if he fired. *She* had no idea. Would this crowd gun a six-year-old down? "Billy..." her voice quavered. "Put the gun down, baby...." Billy squinted his eyes in determination. "I ain't a baby!" Conklin reached for his sidearm with his free hand, but before he could clear leather, Cole had his gun out and fired a shot into the air. The cowboy spit on the sidewalk. "Seems to me it don't take a very big set o' cojones to shoot a couple o' kids, Conklin, so you like as not won't miss yours." He lowered his gun until it was level with Conklin's crotch. Conklin realized he was quickly losing control of the situation. "This doesn't concern you, Cole." "Vin Tanner saved my life," Cole said. "I figger I own him somethin' for that." "You don't owe him the lives of everyone in this town!" Jules Lahr shouted. "Ain't no one else sick!" Casey cried. "Can't you see that? It's just them, and if we leave them be it ain't gonna get to us. Now you put down that torch, you sorry ol' coot..." She trained her aunt's Spencer square on Conklin's chest. Nettie Wells was as much at a loss as Mary Travis. She had taught her niece to stand up for herself, but if this got any uglier, she didn't think that some of the men in the crowd would hesitate for one minute to shoot the girl. Conklin stared at the four people on the hotel porch defiantly. He was determined to have his way, but he wasn't sure how many people were backing him now. "Give it a rest," Ramage told him, and then looked at the crowd. "I'd say a town ain't got much to be proud of when the only ones that will stand up to the likes of you are a couple of little kids and two no-account drifters," he referred to Cole and himself. Conklin stepped forward, his jaw set, his torch raised high, but he hadn't gone two steps when a shot rang out from the crowd. The bullet severed one of the ropes holding the big, yellow quarantine banner in place. It fell, catching Conklin's torch as it went. The paint-soaked fabric ignited instantly, dropping a wall of fire across the front of the porch, trapping the four people standing there and sending flames licking up the front side of the building. Mary screamed in terror as Billy backed away from the flames. It would be only a matter of seconds before he and the other three were engulfed. Nettie was instantly galvanized into action. She grabbed a rifle from a man in the crowd and quickly shot through the rope holding the other corner of the banner. It fell to the ground where Inez began to frantically kick dirt on it to extinguish the flames. Nettie quickly joined her. "Don't just stand there!" she yelled at no one in particular. Mary ran forward to help as Casey, Cole and Ramage grabbed buckets and set to work trying to douse the flames that were creeping up the porch. In the room above, smoke curled through the open window, stinging Chris's eyes. He pulled the sash down as quickly as he could, but enough smoke had filled the room that he began to choke on it. He hurried to the bed and lifted Vin into his arms. Unaware of what was happening, Vin moaned in pain as he was moved. "Lemme be, Chris," he pleaded. "Damn them to all to hell!" Chris spat as he rushed from the room with the sick man. Buck had smelled the smoke and rushed out into the hallway, his features frozen in panic. "GET JD OUTA HERE!" Chris ordered. "I'll come back for Ezra!" TWENTY Halfway down the stairs, Chris almost ran into Nathan and Josiah who were on their way up. He turned sideways with his burden to let them pass. "Get Ezra!" he ordered. "Get them outa here!" Maude was frantic when she saw flames licking at the windowsill in the room across the hall, where Vin had been. She had raced into the hallway when she had heard Chris shouting and saw Buck wrap JD in a blanket and pick him up. The obvious horror hit her immediately: she couldn't carry Ezra to safety. There was no way she could leave him, either. She went back into the room and cradled his head in her arms, slapping him gently. "Baby, you have to wake up!" she said, her voice filled with gentle urgency. "Come on, son... we need to get out of here." Ezra's pale green eyes opened and tried to focus. She shook him, desperate to get him fully awake. "I'll help you.... You need to sit up. COME ON, EZRA!" she shouted, her panic overcoming her concern for her son's comfort. Nathan and Josiah were suddenly - blessedly - at her side. "I got him," Nathan said as he picked the gambler up effortlessly. Maude grabbed Josiah's arm and pointed at the encroaching flames. "Help me, Josiah!" she ordered. At first, the big preacher thought she wanted him to help her get out, but instead, she rushed into Vin's room and pulled the blanket from the bed and began beating at the flames. Josiah took his cue. He gathered the water basins and pitchers they had been using and soaked down the windowsill. Maude took the pitcher he was holding. "Get more water!" He dashed out, to find Chris and Buck were already heading up the stairs with a bucket in each hand. Outside, several guilt-stricken townspeople, now realizing what they had done, formed a bucket brigade and were successfully dousing the fire from the outside. But just at the point where they finally managed to contain it, the flames also succeeded in burning through the support structures attaching the porch to the building. There was an ominous groan of stressed timber and someone yelled "Everyone get back!" But it was too late, the support stanchions snapped and the entire porch came down in a heap of rubble. When the dust cleared, it appeared at first that everyone had gotten to safety - until Nettie and Mary realized in simultaneous horror that Billy and Casey were nowhere to be seen. Futilely, Mary scanned the crowd before daring to turn her eyes towards the smoking rubble. An anguished cry of despair and rage escaped when she saw the tiny hand, still clutching an old Navy Colt, protruding from beneath the rubble. Instantly, dozens of hands were ripping away the charred timber only to reveal the even more distressing sight of Casey Wells lying unmoving on top of Billy, having used her own body to shield the little boy from the falling debris. With the porch gone, Chris could see the carnage in the street below. The still forms of Casey and Billy were like a knife twisting in his heart. He raced down the stairs. Nathan was already heading towards the injured, and Chris drew his gun to cover him. Several people in the crowd stepped back when they saw the crazed look in his eye. All fear of contamination apparently forgotten, neither Nettie nor Mary made a move to stop Nathan. The blacksmith, Yosemite, had lifted Casey off of Billy, who, much to everyone's relief, began to cry loudly as Mary took him in her arms. It was quickly apparent that he wasn't hurt, only scared. Nonetheless, Mary looked accusingly at the townspeople. "GO HOME! ALL OF YOU!" she shouted angrily. "This isn't what we want!" TWENTY-ONE Ashamed to have taken part in the tragedy unfolding before them, many people in the crowd turned away and the mob quickly began to disperse. Hank Conklin continued to stare in stupefied silence, his torch still burning in his hands, as Yosemite carried Casey into the hotel. The hotel's small lobby reminded Nathan of the field hospitals where he had worked in during the Civil War. Vin, JD and Ezra had been placed on the bare floor in the rush to get them away from the fire. Ezra and JD had blankets, but Vin was already shaking with chills. "Get them back to bed," Nathan said, partly out of concern for the sick men, but also because he still had to be wary of the possibility of contagion. Unfortunately, JD was awake and alert enough to recognize the small body in Yosemite's arms. He tried to get up from the floor. "Casey?" Nathan knelt beside him and put a reassuring hand on the boy's chest. "Don't you worry, JD, she's gonna be just fine." Buck looked at the healer hopefully, but Nathan's clouded expression told him Nathan was lying to spare the kid. "Take him back to bed, Buck," Nathan said softly, then followed Yosemite into the hotel dining room. The big blacksmith laid Casey on the table. Nettie was silent as she held and patted the girl's hand. Fearing the worst, Nathan put his stethoscope to her chest, and then was unable to contain a broad grin when he heard her heartbeat, strong and steady. He took her head in his hands. "Casey?!" he commanded. "Casey, can you hear me? C'mon now..." Slowly, her brown eyes fluttered open. "Wha... huh?" She was confused and disoriented, but aside from some minor burns on her arm from the scorched wood that had fallen on her, she was miraculously unscathed. "Thank God," Nettie whispered and hugged her niece close. Then she admonished Casey, "That was a dang fool thing you did, Casey. You could have been killed." Casey looked up at her, tears running down her dirt-streaked face. "JD's dyin', Aunt Nettie. I couldn't let them put him out on the street. It ain't right." Nettie pulled her back into an embrace. "No, girl... It ain't," she whispered. Then she looked at Nathan. "I reckon this means we're all in quarantine with you." Nathan suspected all the fight had gone out of the town when they'd come close to actually burning them out. The citizens of Four Corners weren't evil people. They were good people who were scared, and none of them - well almost none of them - had actually wanted any harm to come to Vin, Ezra and JD. They just hadn't realized it until they'd almost done something most of them would have regretted forever. Just the same, the quarantine never had been a bad idea. "I reckon that would be safest for all concerned," Nathan said. "But I'll dress them burns and then I think it's best you just take Casey on home so she can rest up a bit." The girl needed rest, that was certain, but mostly Nathan didn't want her there when JD passed on. It was going to be hard enough on the others, and they were all just too exhausted to have to deal with her grief, too. The two women were silent as Nathan spread a soothing salve over the reddened skin on Casey's arms and then bandaged them. When he was done, Nettie helped her up but the girl stopped her and looked at Nathan. "Can I see him? Please? Just for a minute?" If JD was contagious, Casey had already been exposed, so Nathan saw no added danger in letting her see the boy, but what it would do to her emotionally was another story. Still, she deserved a chance to say good-bye. Nathan hated himself for thinking of it that way, but his skills and resources and his own strength were almost used up, and Vin, Ezra and JD just kept getting sicker and sicker. He couldn't save them and he knew it. "Okay, you can look in on him, but that's all." He still didn't want her too close to the kid. She left the kitchen and Nettie looked Nathan in the eye. "The boy is dyin'?" she said sadly. Nathan shook his head. "I don't know Nettie. I don't know how any of them can hold on much longer." "Vin?" she said softly. Nathan knew the old woman had a soft spot in her heart for the scruffy tracker, but his fatigue was taking its toll on his ability to be tactful "He's given up." + + + + + + + Casey trudged slowly up the stairs. The second floor still reeked of smoke and charred wood, and they'd had to open the windows. Buck was putting an extra blanket on JD when she got to the doorway. JD's lovely dark hair was spread in limp strands across his pillow, which was the only thing in the room whiter than he was. It looked to Casey like all of the blood had been drained from him, except for the dark circles around his eyes. She wanted to go to him, to lay beside him and hold him in her arms as if that would allow some of her strength to pass into his weakened body. But Nathan wouldn't let her step into the room. "JD?" she spoke softly. To her surprise and relief, he opened his eyes. His voice was a harsh whisper. "Case..?" "You take care of yourself," she said, holding back a sob. "I love you." She'd never told him that before. Not even when that bitch had shot him and hurt him so bad. But she had to say it now, because she hadn't said it then. JD's eyes closed again. He nodded and tried to smile, but he didn't even have the strength for that. Nettie stood quietly behind her niece. She could see into Vin's room from where she stood, but had reluctantly heeded Nathan's warning about getting too close to the sick men. Chris positioned Vin comfortably on the bed, making certain he was warmly covered, but Vin was pale and unresponsive. "Is there anything we can do? For any of them?" she asked the healer. "I wish I could say there was." He glanced at Casey, whom he could tell was overwhelmed by JD's ghostly appearance. "I think it's time you took Casey home." TWENTY-TWO Josiah had gone to fetch clean water for the basins and pitchers in the sick rooms. He entered JD's room as Casey was leaving. JD's eyes followed him for a moment, and then in a tiny voice he said Josiah's name. Josiah turned around. "What son?" "Josiah, you were a priest, right?" JD asked. Josiah sat down on the bed beside the boy. When JD had come to the church after Annie had died, it was apparent from his behavior that JD had been raised in the Roman Catholic faith, as he had been. He suspected what the boy was thinking. "I was JD." JD looked at him, his eyes full of misery and pain and, Josiah thought, fear. "Can you do it for me, then?" the kid whispered. "JD, I'm not a priest anymore..." "But you still know how to do it, right?" Josiah nodded and then put his big hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "Let me go get what I need," he said softly. JD tried to smile again, but the brief conversation had cost him all of his reserve strength. Josiah rose to leave, but Buck stopped him with a hand around his arm. "What's goin' on?" he asked, confused that whatever it was JD wanted, he'd asked it of Josiah and not of him. "Extreme Unction," Josiah said. "He wants the Last Rites." Buck frowned. He'd heard of that, but he wasn't sure what the ritual entailed. Josiah explained, "JD's a Catholic, Buck. Last Rites are the final absolution before death." "NO!" Buck said, his voice angry with denial. "That's crap!" "JD doesn't see it that way, Buck." "You can't do it," Buck shook his head. "I ain't gonna let you." Josiah clamped his hands on Buck's shoulders. "It ain't right for you to deny him this because you're afraid, Buck." "But.... but you don't even believe in that stuff!" Buck protested. "An' JD... JD don't even go to church!" "It don't matter what you or I believe, Buck. It's between JD and his God. If it'll help him go peacefully, I'm going to do it." Buck was speechless for a moment, his lip just quivering slightly. There was a catch in his throat when he finally spoke. "JD ain't goin' nowhere." Josiah nodded. "I hope you're right about that, but you still gotta let me do this for him." Buck shook his head. "Josiah, it's just too much like sayin' he ain't got no hope left." "Maybe he doesn't, Buck." Buck knew what Josiah said was true. He looked down at JD. His muscles were still taut from the wracking spasms, but he no longer had the strength to cry out from the pain. He looked back at Josiah. "Do what you gotta do," he said. "Do what you gotta do, then," he whispered. TWENTY-THREE Chris had stretched out on the bed beside Vin, holding the tracker in his arms to warm him. The heat of the day was stifling to him, but Vin was chilled from having been moved from the warmth of his bed to the comparatively cold floor during the fire. Chris tried to put his anger at the townspeople aside, but goddamn them, wasn't Vin suffering enough? Eventually, Vin stopped shaking, and Chris released his hold on him. Vin's back was pressed against his chest, so he couldn't see his face, and he was alarmed when he unwrapped his arm and discovered his hand was smeared with blood. "Damn, Vin," he cursed, not Vin but the savage illness that was causing him so much pain. He sat up and turned the other man over onto his back. There was blood smeared under his nose and on the pillow beneath his head. At least he hadn't puked. Josiah had re-filled the washbasin and he dipped a washcloth in it to clean the blood from his hand and Vin's face. He didn't get up from the bed. He was too tired and it felt too good to be lying down. As he wiped Vin's face with the cool water, the sick man opened his eyes. Warily, he studied Chris lying beside him. "Ain't this... a mite cozy?" he smiled weakly. "You were shakin' like a cornered rabbit. Thought it'd warm you up." Vin nodded. "Helped. Thanks." He closed his eyes again and tried to turn over on his side. Chris stopped him. "Vin, you're bleedin' again. Stay lyin' on your back." Vin shook his head. "Don't care," he wheezed. "Lyin' on my back makes my belly feel bad." Chris didn't see what harm it could do for Vin to be as comfortable as possible. He helped him roll over and then tucked a clean towel under his head to absorb any additional blood. He smoothed Vin's dirty hair back from his face with the washcloth and the tracker opened his eyes again. "Chris? What I wanted to tell you... before..." "Shhh... It can wait, Vin." Vin shook his head. "No, Chris. There ain't... no more time." "Don't say that, Vin." "No... you gotta... hear me out this time." Chris would have done anything to quiet Vin. He was so weak already and his instincts told him that whatever Vin had to say wasn't going to come easy. But he had to listen. He owed Vin that much. "When I came here... it was because she paid me..." "Who paid you, Vin?" "Ella Gaines." Chris felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. "What're you sayin' Vin?" "I didn't... know it was her. Not 'til I checked her out. But the bank where I was 'sposed to pick up the pay-off.... after... same one. Same account." "I don't understand, Vin." Chris wasn't lying about that, and he didn't like what he'd heard so far. "Federal Marshall... nabbed me outside El Paso," Vin struggled with the words. "Only he was on the take. Cut me a deal. I do a job for someone he knew, and he'd ferget he ever saw me. He'd get paid... more for gettin' me to do the job... than the bounty." Chris felt his own features twist into a scowl. He thought he knew Vin Tanner. He was sure Vin could see his anger and disappointment. He didn't try to hide it. But, Vin was no threat to him now, not like he was. He kept his emotions in check, which seemed to give Vin the strength to continue. "I come here lookin' for you," he gasped out the words. "Waitin' for you to show up. You were worth two thousand... alive." "Vin, you were gonna *sell* me to her?" Vin nodded. "I ain't proud of it, Chris. But I figgered you was some two-bit gunfighter who'd prob'ly... kill me as soon as look at me, so it didn't... make me no nevermind." "So what changed your mind?" Chris tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, because he really wanted an answer. Vin tried to take a deep breath. "Nathan," was all he was able to get out before a coughing fit seized him. Chris was not as quick to comfort him this time, but finally he couldn't bear to see this man he'd called a friend suffering so. He reached out and rubbed his back gently until the coughing subsided. Vin's blue eyes, bright with fever, looked up at him. "After what happened with Nathan, it didn't seem important no more. I'd never took no money and that Marshall had lived up to his part an' gotten paid so he didn't care. Ain't no one was gonna see to it I got the job done." "Why didn't she recognize you?" Chris wanted to know. "She never met me," Vin wheezed. "I don't think she knew. But it was why I couldn't stay... out there... with her." Chris was sure that was part of the reason Vin had almost run out on them, but another part was that he hadn't trusted Vin when he'd tried to warn him about Ella Gaines. When it turned out he'd taken a big risk just coming back to tell him. For all Vin had known, Ella had had time figure out who he was. The bitch would have had him killed for crossing her. Even if Vin didn't know that, Chris did. Vin reached out and put a hand on Chris's forearm. "For what it's worth, Chris, I never coulda... made good on that deal. Not after I knew ya." Chris's feelings were in turmoil, knowing that this man whom he had trusted with his life had a dark side to him that would let him put a price on an innocent man's head.... *No!* a voice inside him shouted. Vin might have thought he could do that, but when it came down to it, he hadn't. He hadn't and he never would. He returned Vin's handclasp. "For what it's worth, Vin," he said softly. Vin's eyes closed then, and Chris knew in his gut that they weren't going to open again. The tracker had given up the fight, and now there was only the waiting left to do. TWENTY-FOUR Across the hall, Nathan feared the wait was over for one of them. After Casey had left, he'd gone to help Maude with Ezra. The woman was exhausted, but even had she been at her best, she didn't have the physical strength to lift her son and position him so he could breathe easier, or turn him so that the congestion in his lungs didn't pool up and drown him. The gambler was a shocking sight, even to Nathan. He was beyond pale, except for the distinctive bluish tinge to his lips and fingertips. A sheen of sweat covered his skin and matted his fine hair into unruly strands. He hated the thought of what it was like for Maude to see her child struggling for air, his strength slowly ebbing away with each gasping breath. Nathan knew what it meant when a man's skin took on that blue color. When that happened, the end was not far behind. Maude sat against the headboard of the bed, cradling her son in her arms. She gently intertwined one of her hands with his, the darkened tips of Ezra's fingers a shocking contrast to her own healthy pink skin. She kissed him and rocked him gently. "Mama loves you, baby," she whispered. "You remember that, you hear me?" The fact that Maude, who usually hid her feelings behind a poker face and flamboyant demeanor, didn't seem to care that she was baring her soul for him to witness, made Nathan feel hollow and empty inside. Ezra was a grown man, and it should have been funny to see Maude fussing over him that way, but it wasn't. It wasn't funny at all. He was watching a mother say good-bye to the only child she'd ever have, and there weren't many things more painful than that. Nathan sat beside the bed and took the gambler's other hand. "Ezra?" he said softly, hoping he'd get a response but not surprised when he didn't. He looked at Maude and their eyes met. "He's leaving me, isn't he?" she asked. Her voice was controlled - Nathan doubted the woman knew how to be hysterical - but the pain was there. "Yes'm, I think so," Nathan said wearily. "How long?" she asked. Nathan shook his head. Ezra only had hours left, maybe only minutes. With an aching heart, Nathan answered her, "I don't think he'll make it through the night, ma'am." She nodded that she understood, and Nathan knew she wanted to be alone with her son. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be back to check on him," he said, and then left without looking back. His feet felt like they were made of lead, his heart like a heavy stone. When he came to JD's room, he was surprised to see Inez Recillos there. She knelt at the foot of the boy's bed, Rosary beads clutched in her hands, her head bowed in prayer. If Nathan had seen her arrive, he would have stopped her from entering the room, but it was too late for that now. The night stand beside the bed had been cleared and covered with a crisp white cloth. Two candles burned on either side of a Crucifix and some smaller items were placed nearby. Nathan knew what Josiah was doing, although he was surprised that the big preacher had agreed to it. Josiah had said many times that he no longer had any use for actual religion, although, Nathan supposed, that didn't necessarily mean he had stopped being a man of God. He entered the room quietly and stood at a respectful distance while Josiah opened a small, worn book and began to read: **"Is any among you sick? Let him call for the presbyters of the Church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord; and the prayer of faith will save the sick man, and the Lord will raise him up; and if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven."** He closed the book and set it down, then carefully pushed JD's long hair back behind his ears and lifted the blankets at the foot of the bed so his feet were exposed. He picked up one of the small bowls on the night stand and dipped his thumb into the contents. He gently smudged the oily substance on JD's ears, lips, nose and closed eyelids, then he did the same with both of his hands and feet, reciting words that Nathan didn't understand but recognized as Latin. JD was barely conscious, but Josiah patted his hand and spoke to him, "You ready to pray with me now, JD?" he asked. JD nodded, but didn't open his eyes. Buck took one of the boy's hands and Josiah the other. Josiah leaned in close to JD and began to recite a prayer in a voice that was almost too soft to hear. JD's lips moved along with the words, but he was too weak to speak. Inez prayed along with them. Her words were spoken in Spanish, but Nathan somehow knew it was the same prayer. Tears ran freely down her face. Buck's too. Nathan was overwhelmed by the finality of the scene unfolding before him. JD was so young... too young to be accepting his own death. He slipped out of the room as quietly as he had entered. TWENTY-FIVE Weary to the bone, Nathan made his way back down to the kitchen. Yosemite was still there. The big blacksmith was bent over the stove and offered him a steaming cup of coffee when he let his body drop into a chair. He handed Nathan a piece of paper. "Casey came running back with this. Said to make sure I gave it to you." It was a telegram, from Dr. Quinn. He almost tossed it aside unread. He didn't need to be told there was nothing more he could do for his friends. But the message, he could see, was quite long. It had taken the good doctor time to write out the instructions it contained, and had no doubt cost him a pretty penny to send. The least he could do was read what the man had to say. And as he read, the tiniest glimmer of hope began to take hold in his mind that maybe, just maybe, if Dr. Quinn's idea worked, he could save Vin. The doctor had emphasized it was a big risk, and he should only attempt it if he had nothing to lose, but he knew he had to try. He sat for a moment willing his over-tired brain to work. He'd need to gather the supplies he required, and that could be a problem if the town's doors were still bolted against the threat of sickness. He looked at Yosemite. The blacksmith would be able to help, and he asked him to follow him to the clinic, which was just over the blacksmith shop. Once there, he gathered the case that contained his only hypodermic syringe, handling it with the utmost care, for it was expensive and not easily replaced. From the drawer, he took two rubber hot water bottles. The blacksmith started at him incredulously when he explained what he wanted. He examined the business end of the syringe, carefully holding it in his big hands. "Nathan, I ain't sure I can make something this small. I work with iron mostly... this would need something like silver or steel..." He scratched his stubble thoughtfully. Josiah tugged on the blacksmith's arm and pointed to one of the veins that stood out on his strong forearms. "It only needs to be small enough to fit in here," he traced his finger down the vein. Yosemite looked at him and frowned. "That could kill a man" he said. Nathan nodded. "I know, but Vin's going to die anyway." He sighed deeply. Voicing his thoughts hurt, and the words didn't want to come. "They all are." Yosemite looked at the syringe again. "This might help Vin?" Nathan nodded. "Dr. Quinn gave me a mixture to prepare. Just water and sugar and salt. Has to be mixed just right and then put right into him, into his blood. Might give him some strength. He's so weak now because he can't keep nothin' down, not even water." "What about the others?" Nathan shrugged. "Might help JD, too, but Vin's the one needs this the most... Ain't nothin' can be done for Ezra. I can't breathe for him." Yosemite nodded. "Give me twenty minutes or so. I'll see what I can do." + + + + + + + Nathan returned to the hotel and found Josiah sitting quietly in the kitchen. The look on his face was grim, and Nathan feared the worst, but when he asked, Josiah shook his head. "I don't know how, or why, but they're all still with us," he said. Nathan handed him the telegram from Dr. Quinn and then pointed at it. "We need to make that mixture," he held up the hot water bottles, "and we need to rinse these with boiled water, get 'em as clean as we can." Josiah looked at him the same way Yosemite had. "Nathan, you can't just go puttin' stuff into Vin like this. You ever seen what happens when you try to give blood from one person to another? When it doesn't work?" Nathan shivered. He had indeed seen the immediate, catastrophic results of bad transfusions. But, sometimes, they worked, and helped the patient survive. Problem was, no one knew why it worked sometimes and not others, and why a patient could take blood from one man and seem to improve and then be killed by the blood of another man. And this preparation Dr. Quinn had told him to make wasn't even blood. He very well *could* kill Vin. "I don't know what else I can do," Nathan said, defeated. "I'm afraid he's going to die no matter what I do. I just don't know enough...." His voice cracked and he covered his face with one hand to hide the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over. Josiah stood up and embraced him. "God will guide our hands, brother," he whispered to the healer. "His will be done." TWENTY-SIX Nathan meticulously measured out the preparation according to the instructions in the telegram. Dr. Quinn was quite emphatic that the mixture's proportions had to be exact. If they weren't, it could poison Vin, and Nathan prayed that fatigue wouldn't cause him to make an error. He didn't see how something so simple could help, but it eased his mind some that there was nothing in it that would in itself harm Vin, either. Morphine was far more toxic, and that was injected into people routinely. Josiah cleaned the hot water bottles and while they waited for the preparation to cool, Nathan went to see how Yosemite was coming along. He'd given the blacksmith the metal stopper for the hot water bottle, and asked him to fashion a hollow pointed tube that would fit through it. He found the big man bent close to his forge, unaccustomed to working in such minute detail. But he smiled triumphantly as Nathan approached. Crudely welded to the stopper was exactly what he'd had in mind. Yosemite smiled and held his work up for inspection. "Silver?" Nathan questioned. "Yep." "Where'd you get it?" "Army scout traded me a conch belt awhile back for makin' him a new wagon axle. Purty thing it was, too. Didn't have much use fer it, though." He ran a rasp over the end, working it into a point. He put it to the coals one last time to temper it, and as he did, he worked the bellows with his left hand. Nathan watched curiously when the coals lit up as the bellows forced air onto them. And suddenly, the seed of an idea took root.... Nathan clasped Yosemite on the shoulder, taking him by surprise. "How much more silver do you have?" Yosemite blinked, confused. "Most of it. This here only took a couple of links." "Wait here!" Nathan said, and then ran up the stairs to his shack and grabbed his treasured copy of Grey's Anatomy. Frantically, he flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for and then ran back to Yosemite. He laid the book open before the befuddled blacksmith and traced his finger along the picture. "I need you to make me another hollow tube, curved, so it fits in here, like this... about as big around as a pinky finger. The edges have to be real smooth, so they don't cut or scratch. Can you do that?" Yosemite looked at the diagram, a cross-section of a human head and neck. "Yeah, but..." "And then," Nathan pointed at the forge, "I need to borrow your bellows." Yosemite was far from a stupid man. He looked at the diagram, then at the bellows and then at Nathan. "Do you think that will work?" Nathan explained, "Ezra's dyin' from lack of air, but that's partly because he's gettin' too tired to breathe. If we can do it for him... with this...." Yosemite turned away and headed for a shelf against the opposite wall. He took down a large wooden crate and used a pry bar to open it. Inside was a brand new bellows. "Always keep a spare one," he smiled. I'll bring it over as soon as it's ready." He handed Nathan the stopper for the hot water bottle. Nathan remembered what Josiah had told him earlier. God had done better than guide his hands: He had sent him Yosemite. He smiled, because for the first time in days, he dared hope. TWENTY-SEVEN "I ain't gonna let you do this," Chris snapped. Nathan was taken aback by the anger in his voice, but he'd stood up to Chris Larabee's wrath before. "You got a better idea, Chris? If you do, I'd like to hear it." Chris scowled at him, something to which Nathan was also pretty much immune. That worked with the others, but he just stared back. "He might die if I do it, Chris. I ain't gonna guarantee he won't. But you an' I both know he's dyin' anyway." He looked at his patient. Vin already looked dead, his face drawn with fatigue, dark circles under eyes that he no longer had the strength to open. "Vin knows it, too," he added softly. Chris didn't know if Vin could hear or understand him. He was too sick to respond if he did, but he knew Vin didn't want to die. Vin's life, from what he knew of it, had been one long struggle, but he'd never given up, until now. This enemy had overwhelmed him. Chris raked his fingers through his short hair. "Okay, what do you want me to do?" Josiah had joined them to watch. Nathan looked up at him. "I might need you to hold him down. This is going to hurt, and he can't move once I stick this in him." He indicated the needle he intended to force into one of Vin's veins, although to Josiah, it looked more like a nail. Nathan turned to Chris, indicating the soft water bottle he held."Chris, I need you to hold this in place while I wrap a bandage around his arm to hold the needle in." Chris felt himself break out in a cold sweat. He had faced some of the worst desperadoes around, but he wasn't sure he could do this. Still, he knew Nathan was right. Vin had already resigned himself to his own death, and if something wasn't done to make him better soon, to give him a fighting chance, they'd be burying him before much longer, and that would be even harder to do than what Nathan was asking. He nodded that he understood. Nathan had filled the rubber bottle with the mixture Dr. Quinn had prescribed. He'd carefully placed the stopper with its hollowed out tube in the opening. When he inverted the bottle, the fluid inside began to drip out. Satisfied that it worked the way he wanted it to, he turned it rightside up again and handed it to Chris, admonishing him not to touch the sharpened tube at the end, lest he contaminate it with microbes. Nathan still wasn't sure he actually believed in microbes, but if there was such a thing, Vin certainly had no use for them in his bloodstream. He examined Vin's arm looking for a vein, but he was so dehydrated it was hard to find one. He could see one beneath the skin of his wrist, though, and when he tied a tourniquet above the tracker's elbow, he was rewarded by seeing it bulge slightly. Leaving the tourniquet in place, he cleaned Vin's arm with soap and then with whiskey. Then, he said a prayer. He'd injected morphine directly into a patient's bloodstream a few times, and he knew that penetrating the vein could be tricky. If he didn't get the needle positioned correctly, the precious fluid in the bag would just pool beneath the skin, or the needle would rupture the blood vessel. He had Chris support the bottle while he positioned the tube over the vein in a practice run. When he was sure he had a feel for what needed to be done, he gently stroked Vin's forehead. "Vin? Can you hear me?" Vin nodded the slightest bit. Nathan wasn't sure how to explain what he was about to do. He decided to keep it simple, because Vin probably wouldn't comprehend most of it, anyway. "Vin, I'm going to hurt your arm a little bit...." He picked up Vin's opposite hand and gave it to Josiah. "You can squeeze Josiah's hand, or you can holler if it hurts too much... but whatever you do, don't move. Do you understand me, Vin?" Vin nodded again. He was barely conscious. Nathan hoped he was really understanding all of this, because he knew that instinct would cause Vin to pull his arm away. "I'm gonna stick something in your arm. I'm gonna leave it there. It's likely to feel like a big splinter. I'm sorry it has to hurt, but it might make you better." Vin didn't respond. He was beyond caring what was done to him, so close to death that his body was no longer fighting it. Even more alarmingly, he hardly flinched when Nathan pierced the skin above his wrist. Nathan could not be sure he had done this right. Dr. Quinn had explained it was being done in some modern hospitals back east, but had left Nathan to figure out how to accomplish it, knowing that he healer would not have the proper equipment at his disposal, anyway. To Nathan, the entire procedure was so unnatural, it almost seemed wrong. But he looked at Vin, his normally tanned skin the color of ash and his strong, young body now without the strength to even react to the pain Nathan was inflicting on him - that was even more unnatural. He wrapped a bandage around Vin's arm to hold the needle in place. Chris was still holding the flexible bottle. "Hold it just like so," Nathan tilted it so that the liquid inside would flow with gravity. "Maybe give it a little squeeze now and then... Not too hard. Don't wanna pop that vein open." He looked at Josiah. "Keep him as still as you can. I don't think he's got any fight left, but if he starts to move around too much..." It occurred to Nathan that he didn't know what would happen if Vin moved with that needle in his arm. Chris interrupted him, anyway. "Where are you gonna be?" Just a hint of Larabee sarcasm. Nathan was in no mood. "I got two other men to think about. I'm gonna see what I can do for Ezra." Josiah had just looked in on Ezra a few minutes before. He looked at the healer with sorrow in his eyes. "Let him go in peace, Nathan. You already done all you could for him." Nathan shook his head. "No. I got one more thing to try." He left without explaining. What he had planned for Ezra was even more grisly than what he had just done to Vin. Maude might not even allow him to try it, so the fewer who knew his plans, the better. TWENTY-EIGHT Yosemite handed Nathan the silver object. "How are you gonna get that thing... in?" he winced. Nathan had once seen a old curandera use a hollow reed to make an airway for an Indian child with putrid fever. It had probably saved the boy's life. But he'd never had a reason to try it himself, and truth be told, even the thought of attempting it scared him. "I gotta cut a hole... right about here." Nathan pointed to a spot where his neck met his chest. Yosemite winced. "Nathan, I don't see whereas this is gonna do him no good anyway. He's like' to choke with that thing in his throat." Nathan had to admit Yosemite could be right. Once the hollow tube he'd had the blacksmith fashion was in place, it would close off Ezra's normal airway. He really should ask Dr. Quinn about it, but he had no time to waste. He might have already waited too long. He thanked Yosemite and then let him leave, realizing the man wanted no part of his killing Ezra, if that was to be the result of his experiment. Nathan couldn't help but feel like the doctor in that scary book JD had given him, the one who made a person out of body parts. He wasn't doing anything that ghoulish, but he *was* experimenting, and on his friends, no denying that. + + + + + + + Maude's face went as pale as Ezra's when Nathan explained what he was about to do, but she was no fool. She could see that Ezra was in serious trouble and if anything was going to help, it had to be done soon. "What would you like me to do, Mr. Jackson?" she said, her voice not wavering. Nathan had no real answer for her. Ezra was unconscious, his will alone keeping him alive now. He probably wouldn't even know what Nathan was doing to him. "Talk to him," he told Maude. "Keep him calm." "Will there... be pain?" Maude asked. If what Nathan was about to do didn't work, she didn't want Ezra's last moments - and they *would* be his last - to be spent in any more distress than he had already endured. Nathan shook his head. "I don't know, Maude. Probably be some if he was awake, but... I don't think he'll feel anything." She nodded. "Do it, then." Armed with a boiled knife, his copy of Grey's Anatomy and the borrowed bellows, Nathan went to work. Maude turned her head when he put the knife to Ezra throat, right above where his collar bones met. He pushed it in, and the resistance of the unyielding flesh almost made him stop. But he kept a gentle continuous pressure on the blade until he felt it punch through Ezra's windpipe. Ezra roused slightly, and tried to push him away. Maude stroked his hair and spoke soothingly to him, while Nathan mopped up the blood that seeped from the wound. The small opening wasn't large enough, so he was forced to use a sawing motion to widen it. Ezra began to cough, and Nathan realized they were going to need to hold him down. He called for Josiah, who was there in a heartbeat. The preacher froze when he saw the scene before him. "Nathan, what the *hell* are you doing?!" he gasped. "Hold his arms down," Nathan said. "I'll explain later." To Josiah, it looked like Nathan had just slit Ezra's throat, and he had to force himself to trust the healer's judgment. He took Ezra's pale hands in his own and clasped them tightly. "Tilt his head back," Nathan told Maude. The woman was shaking almost uncontrollably, but she did as Nathan instructed. Working quickly, the healer forced the silver tube into Ezra's neck, allowing its curved shape to guide it further down the sick man's throat. The most primitive part of Ezra's brain realized that he had something in his body that wasn't supposed to be there, and with a strength Nathan would not have believe he could muster, he began to buck against Josiah's grasp. "HOLD HIM!" Nathan shouted. He need to affix the bellows to the tube but he wasn't going to be able to do that if Ezra was struggling like this. He leaned forward and gently blew into the tube. There was no resistance - the air passed through it easily. "Thank you, God," he prayed in silent gratitude when he saw Ezra's chest expand with precious air. Maude, who had been temporarily paralyzed, quickly remembered her purpose. "Ezra? Ezra darlin'?" She stroked her son's sweaty hair. "You're doin' just fine, baby. Don't you move now, you hear? You'll be feelin' better real soon. Just lie quiet...." While she kept up her comforting litany, Nathan quickly affixed the bellows to the hollow tube in Ezra's neck. There was no time to gather his courage. Ezra was trying to take another breath and would soon panic again. Nathan began the experiment... To his amazement - for he realized that up until that point, he hadn't really thought the idea would work - Ezra's chest began to rise and fall in rhythm with the contraction and expansion of the bellows. Nathan had to resist the urge to fill Ezra's lungs with the air he so badly needed. It might have seemed like a good idea to do that, but he'd learned that too much of something could be just as bad as not enough, so he was careful not to let Ezra's chest expand any more than it would have were he breathing normally. Ezra gradually calmed down and drifted back into the relative peace of his coma as Nathan and the bellows did the work of his weakened lungs. And astonishingly, after a few minutes, his color began to improve. The bluish tinge disappeared from his lips. Josiah crossed himself. "It's working..." he said in awe. Nathan wasn't as quick to be optimistic. "I don't know how long we can keep it up, though. There's a lot of congestion in his chest. We might have just bought him a few more hours." Someone was obviously going to have to keep the bellows going continuously, but Nathan didn't think that would be a problem. Josiah confirmed that when he gently took over for him. "Go get some rest, Nathan," he indicated the hallway of mostly empty rooms. "Can't do that," Nathan said. He wasn't being stubborn. He simply knew he wouldn't be able to rest knowing what he'd done to two of his best friends. TWENTY-NINE He decided to look in on JD. There wasn't much he could do for the boy, not like he had done for the others. Buck had been able to get him to take broth and water, and he was breathing easier than the other two. The danger to him was the convulsive fits that had begun to periodically wrack his small body. They weren't dramatic, nor were they long in duration, but with each one, he seemed to get weaker and weaker. Nathan also knew he was in pain. Laudanum helped, but it also slowed his breathing down, and he was so weak that Nathan was afraid to give him as much as he needed. Buck was dozing quietly in a chair beside the bed. JD opened his eyes when he heard Nathan moving around in the room. "Nathan?" he whispered. Nathan bent down so JD didn't have to speak up. "What is it, JD?" "Vin an' Ezra... are they..." "No, JD. They're still puttin' up a hell of a fight, just like you are." Nathan couldn't tell from JD's expression whether his words comforted him or not. With a pang of sadness, he realized that by asking about Ezra and Vin, JD might really be asking for permission to just let go. Almost as if Vin and Ezra had died, it would be okay for him to die, too. "I'm tired, Nathan," he said softly. Nathan sat on the bed beside him and sponged his face with cool water. "I know you are, JD. I'm sorry I can't do nothin' for you." JD reached out with a pale hand and weakly patted Nathan's arm. "'s okay," he said, before he drifted off again. Nathan fought the urge to shake him awake. Every time JD - or Vin, or Ezra - closed their eyes now, he feared it was for the last time. Buck had roused from his shallow slumber and watched the scene with a tear in his eye. None of his friends deserved this kind of pain. Nathan listened to JD's chest. The steam tent had kept his lungs relatively clear, but even as he dared think that might be a good sign, the boy was seized by another fit. Buck was at his side in an instant, even though he could do nothing but watch helplessly. This time, the convulsions were violent and the muscle spasms were so intense that Nathan heard a bone snap. "Oh shit," he gasped. Buck looked at him with a sick expression on his face. He'd heard it too. Even though it lasted only a few seconds, it seemed to take hours for the fit to run its course. Once it had, Buck looked at Nathan accusingly. "Ain't there nothing that will stop this?!" he barked. "You think if there was I'd let him go through this?!" Nathan yelled back, at the end of his patience. "I'm doin' *everything* I know how, and the three of them are doin' all they can to die!" his voice cracked and he bit his lip to force back the tears that threatened to fall. Buck put his hands up in an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry, Nate. I didn't mean to yell at ya'. This ain't easy for any of us." Nathan accepted the apology with a slight nod of his head, feeling ashamed of himself because he wasn't in his right mind being angry at the three men for being sick. "Let's check him out, see what got broke...." The healer ran his gentle fingers over JD's body, looking for the broken bone. The kid moaned in pain when he checked his left forearm. Nathan was relieved to discover it was the smaller of the two bones there, something that would heal with time. If JD had any time left. "I'll go get somethin' to splint that up," he told Buck. He got all the way to the door before he heard Buck shout, "NATHAN!" He turned to see horror on the man's tired face. "Nathan, he ain't breathin'!" Buck choked on the words. He had lifted JD up and was holding him to his chest. "Oh God, Nathan..." he sobbed. Nathan ran back to the bed and placed his stethoscope to JD's chest. "His heart's still beatin'... JD!" he yelled. "C'mon, JD, don't you quit on us now!" Buck shook the unconscious boy hard. "Breathe, JD, damn you!" he cried. It struck Nathan with a horrifying irony that what he had just done for Ezra would help JD - except he didn't have the time or the things he needed to do that for him, too. Josiah had heard the shouting. Chris probably had, too, but he couldn't leave Vin's side. Josiah left Ezra in Maude's hands and joined Buck and Nathan. His heart sank like a stone at what he saw before him. Buck was trying frantically to get some kind of response out of JD, but to him, the boy looked dead. Nathan held the stethoscope to his chest. He looked up at Josiah and shook his head. JD still had a heartbeat, but it was weak. The end was very near. Buck buried his face in JD's thick hair and rocked him in his arms. "You little shit..." he wept. "Oh sweet Jesus..." THIRTY The little container of oil Josiah had used for the Catholic ritual was still beside the bed. He dabbed some on his thumb and knelt beside JD. He made the sign of the cross on his forehead and began to pray, "Bless this child, your servant, Lord, and may he know the peace of your everlasting -" JD took a deep breath. Then, as the three astonished men watched, he took another, and then a third, until his breathing resumed a normal rhythm. Josiah looked towards the ceiling and smiled. "Thanks. I owe You one." Buck kept his arms folded around JD, as if he was willing life into him. Nathan checked his heartbeat again. It was still weak, but it was steady. "If I wasn't seein' this with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it," the healer muttered. Buck gently stroked JD's cheek. "JD? Wake up, kid.... C'mon.... I know you can hear me, stubborn little -" JD's hazel eyes blinked open, then closed again as a painful moan escaped him. "Can't... do this... Buck..." he muttered. "Yes, you can, JD. Just hang on.... Just stay with me a little bit longer," Buck pleaded, and he didn't know why. JD wanted to die... was probably *going* to die. He didn't know if he was willing the boy to stay alive for JD or for himself, and if it was for himself, he was being selfish and cruel. JD, though, just sighed softly and whispered, "Okay, Buck," and settled into his arms. Nathan left reluctantly to get the supplies he needed to splint the kid's arm, thinking that the reprieve might only be temporary. As he passed Vin's room, Chris called out to him. He stopped and turned to the gunman, whose calm demeanor could not hide the anguish in his eyes. "JD gone?" he asked softly. Nathan shook his head. "No. Just gave us a little scare.... How's he doin'?" He stepped towards Vin and checked the punctured vein in his arm. There was no swelling or bruising around it to indicated it had ruptured, and the water bottle was half empty. "It's goin' in him," he said, and even sounded to himself like he couldn't quite believe that. He checked Vin's pulse, breathing, body temperature. There hadn't been any change for the better that he could tell, but Dr. Quinn's bizarre treatment didn't seem to be doing him any harm. "You think this is working?" Chris asked. "Ain't no way to tell," Nathan shook his head. "You don't think any of them are gonna come through this, do you?" Chris asked him point blank. Nathan's shoulders sagged and he sighed heavily. "I just don't see how they can get any sicker." He looked out the window. It would be dark soon, and the small bonfires that normally illuminated the street were being lit. "At least the town has backed off. Reckon when it came down to it, weren't none of them really wanted to burn us out." "People do dumb things when they're scared." Nathan looked at the rubber hot water bottle the contents of which were draining into Vin's body. Then, he thought about the hole he'd cut in Ezra's throat. "You got that right," he whispered. THIRTY-ONE Nathan was surprised to find someone in the hotel kitchen when he returned from his clinic with splints and bandages for JD's arm. It was the old Indian, Koje. "Koje, we got sick men here. I don't know that you wanna be here," Nathan said. The old man nodded and held up a small pouch. Nathan took it and opened it, sniffing the contents. He didn't recognize it. "This will help?" Nathan asked hopefully. Koje's voice was sad. "Nothing will do that. This will let them die without fear, or pain, if death is what the Spirits wish." "Thank you," Nathan said. He appreciated the gesture, even though he doubted that the medicine would be of any help at all. Koje instructed him its preparation and had turned to leave when a thought struck him and he called to the Indian. "Koje, do you know what this disease is?" The old man nodded, and appeared to be trying to find the English words. Finally, he said, "The mouse sickness." Nathan frowned, not sure he'd understood the man, although he remembered something else... "Vin said something about deer mice... in Eagle Bend." Koje nodded. "They bring this sickness with them. My people have always known this." Nathan still didn't understand. Koje sensed that and tried to explain. "The wind that follows them is poisoned with this," he pointed to the rooms upstairs. "They got this from a mouse?" Nathan was incredulous. Koje nodded. "But... how... why...." "No one knows that," Koje interrupted. "But our medicine men have always known this to be true. Those mice are like no other. My people call them Walking Death." Nathan didn't think he believed what Koje was telling him, but it scarcely mattered. "Are they going to die?" he asked, fearing Koje's answer. The old Indian shook his head. "I cannot know that. Some live, most do not." That was enough for Nathan though - the simple knowledge that maybe at least one of his friends had a fighting chance. With renewed strength, he thanked Koje and then prepared some of the herbs the Indian had brought him by mixing them with the boiled water that was now continuously on the kitchen stove. He carried a cupful of it upstairs along with the bandages. He stopped first to check on Ezra. Josiah was fiddling with the tube in Ezra's throat and he immediately demanded to know what he was doing. Josiah remained calm. "He started trying to cough. Tube got blocked up, so I opened the bellows all the way to see if I could suck out whatever was in there. He grabbed a small basin on the bedstand and passed it to Nathan. "Ain't the prettiest sight to look at." There was mostly water in the bowl, but blood-flecked mucous floated on the surface. Whatever Josiah had done, it had worked. Ezra seemed to be relatively comfortable. He set Koje's brew down on the table at the bedside. He couldn't offer it to Ezra and take a chance that he'd choke on it, with catastrophic results. Maude had pulled back the sheets and was sponging Ezra's upper body. He was still dangerously hot, but ironically, his deathly pale color was a definite improvement over the bluish tinge his skin had had earlier. "Does he seem a little better to you?" Maude asked hopefully. Ezra was so sick that the question was relative - the difference between standing on the gallows with a rope around your neck and actually dangling from it. But, if Nathan had learned one thing, it was that mothers were often very intuitive about such things. In the war, it was not uncommon for a mother to show up at a battlefield hospital already knowing that her son was wounded or even dead without being told. And, the truth was, Ezra *was* resting easier now that he was no longer having to continuously struggle for air. "I think so, Ma'am," Nathan agreed, then turned to Josiah. He'd shown him how to pump the bellows at an even, steady pace, not too much or too little, not too slow or too fast. "Can you handle things here for awhile?" Josiah nodded and smiled. "I reckon I know about as much about this contraption as you do." THIRTY-TWO Nathan gathered his supplies again and stopped outside JD's room. Buck was sitting on the bed with JD, still holding him, stroking his hair and talking to him, telling him about San Francisco and how they'd go there when he got better. The healer almost hated to intrude on the peaceful moment between the two friends, but JD's arm needed to be set before another fit caused further damage. He entered as quietly as possible. Buck nodded to him, but, he didn't stop talking to JD. The boy moaned when Nathan touched his injured arm. "JD? Can you hear me?" Nathan asked. "Mmmm..." JD acknowledged him. *God, he hated having to hurt him.* "JD, Buck an' me gotta fix your arm. It's gonna hurt some, but I got some medicine here that Koje brought. It might help. Think you can drink it?" JD shook his head, 'no'. "Oh, come on, JD," Buck said in a jovial voice. "You can do it..." He reached for the cup and Nathan handed it to him. He sniffed at it. Unlike most of Nathan's concoctions, it didn't smell too bad. "What is this?" he asked. Nathan shrugged. "Dunno. Koje said it would help ease his pain some. Can't hurt to try it." Buck agreed and held the cup for JD to drink. The boy refused it at first, but Buck held his head firmly and forced a few drops into his mouth. Apparently, it didn't taste bad, either, because after the first taste, he willingly took a few more swallows. "How do we know if it's workin'?" Buck asked. Nathan shrugged. "Beats me...." He set to work whittling the splint down to the size he'd need to fit JD's arm. It was going to be hell trying to put it in place. JD's body wanted to curl into a ball from the muscle spasms. His arms were drawn tightly to his chest, and his knees folded up against his torso. If he tried to extend his arm, there was going to be resistance. He'd have to do his best to set the bone without manipulating the limb too much. As he worked, JD drifted off to sleep against Buck's chest. The heat from his feverish body was making the older man sweat, but Buck didn't seem to notice. He started singing to JD, some vulgar trail song about a whore with three titties, but he sang it softly, like a lullaby. Nathan wasn't sure he even realized he was doing it. "I'm gonna need you to hold him still while I do this," he said when the splint was ready. Buck looked like he wanted to cry. "Do ya gotta, Nate? Can't we jus' leave him be?" "If he wants to use that arm again, I do," Nathan said, knowing that neither of them really thought JD was going to recover. He almost abandoned the idea, not wanting the boy to suffer needlessly, but when he reached for his arm, he noticed it was completely relaxed. "Lay him out flat," he told Buck, who complied without question. "I'll be damned," he muttered. Koje's brew had done something more than put JD to sleep - the spasms had stopped. JD still looked bad - sickly pale and drawn - but he had fallen into a seemingly restful sleep. As Koje had promised, if he died, it would be without any more pain. Nathan went ahead and splinted his arm. Where there was life there was still hope. He stood to leave, planning to check on Vin, when the room began to spin wildly around him. The next thing he knew, he was looking up from the floor into Buck's worried eyes. The gunslinger was patting his face, like he'd done to others himself countless times. He'd never realized how truly annoying that was. He pushed Buck's hand aside. "What happened?" "You keeled over," Buck said. "You ain't sick, too, are ya, Nathan?" Nathan shook his head. He wasn't sick. He had just gone too long without food or sleep. "I'm fine," he insisted. How many times had he heard that one? Buck helped him to his feet. "You gotta quit pushing yourself, Nathan. You won't do them no good if you get sick yourself." Nathan knew Buck was right, but he had things to do. "Don't worry about me... the kid needs you." He staggered out the door and back downstairs to prepare more of the mixture for Vin. He yielded to common sense and made himself a sandwich while he was there. After he saw to Vin, he'd take a short nap. There was nothing to do now except wait for what would come, and he could rest now knowing that he had done absolutely everything he possibly could for his three friends. They were in God's hands now. THIRTY-THREE He might have just wanted to believe it, but Nathan was sure Vin looked better. He wasn't certain what it was, but his skin just generally looked different than it had before they'd given him the first batch of Dr. Quinn's mixture. He was still too weak to move or respond though, so Nathan was keeping his hopes at bay until Chris said, "I think he's feelin' better, Nathan." Nathan frowned. "He wake up? He been talking to you?" That really would have been a good sign. But Chris just shrugged. "Got a feelin' is all. I know he's still pretty sick." He wiped a hand across Vin's upper lip. His nose ain't bleedin' no more. That's a good sign, ain't it?" Nathan couldn't be sure, thinking Vin might just be too dehydrated to bleed. But when he pulled the needle out of Vin's vein the blood flowed freely until he put pressure on the tiny hole. He rigged up the second rubber bottle like he had the first, and then set to work looking for another vein to stick it in. He had an easier time finding one this time, now that Vin had some fluids in him. He found a good-sized vessel at the base of his left thumb and had Chris hold his hand steady while he worked the pointed tube inside. This time, Vin moaned softly and made a feeble attempt to pull his hand away. Chris held him in a firm but gentle grip. "It's okay, Vin. Let Nathan help you," he commanded softly. Even as sick as he was, Vin listened to and trusted Chris. He endured the procedure without any further protest. Chris took hold of the rubber bottle the way he had the first time, while Nathan secured the needle with a bandage. The two men waited for a sign that the fluid was leaking under the skin, but they didn't see one. Chris watched the shallow rise and fall of Vin's chest as Nathan held his stethoscope against his pale, hot skin. The healer shook his head and placed the instrument back into his vest pocket. He reached for the steam kettle, which had cooled off and was no longer producing the soothing vapor that seemed to ease Vin's breathing. He left to refill it. Vin moaned and tried to pull his hand away from the invasive needle. Chris had to manage the flexible bottle with one hand while he clamped down on his wrist with the other. "Don't move your arm, Vin." Vin's eyes opened the slightest bit. He eyed the needle protruding from his arm, but didn't really seem to comprehend what he was looking at. "Go back to sleep, Vin," Chris told him. Vin's eyelids fell closed again, and Chris wondered if he had actually been awake. Nathan returned shortly thereafter with a fresh kettle. He arranged the blanket tent around the head of the bed so that most of Vin's upper body was obscured by it. Chris felt a pang of sadness that he couldn't explain. He wanted to be able to *see* Vin, to know he was still there with him. But, he saw the need for the tent, and chalked his thoughts up to being dead tired. He looked at Nathan. The man had not slept in days and he looked ready to fall flat on his face. "Get some sleep, Nathan," he unwittingly repeated Buck's advice. "I can watch Vin." "I'll just rest a spell. I suspect it's only going to be an hour or so before we know if any of this will help." Then he added sadly, "He ain't gonna be able to hang on much longer if it doesn't." With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the floor next to the bed and closed his eyes. He didn't have to worry about Chris falling asleep, and Josiah and Maude would keep each other awake and between the two of them keep Ezra breathing. There wasn't any more anyone could do for JD, except keep him company and Buck was the best person to do that. Darkness fell and Nathan closed his eyes. He'd take a short nap, just a few minutes... THIRTY-FOUR Josiah sat mesmerized as he watched Ezra's bare chest rise and fall, awed by the knowledge that it perhaps only did so because he pumped the bellows at a steady, even pace. Occasionally, he'd put his hand on Ezra's breastbone to see if his heart was still beating, because there was no other sign to indicate that the gambler was still alive. Maude refused to rest, and Josiah knew it was because she feared that he would fall asleep, or that Ezra would choke and neither of them would know it. She had to be frightened out of her wits, but you never would have known it to look at her. She busied herself with a deck of cards although she never got beyond shuffling them nervously from one hand to the other. She sponged Ezra down at regular intervals and stroked his hair, but if she had any feelings of despair, she didn't display them before Josiah. He looked up at her after feeling Ezra's heartbeat once again, and smiled at Maude to let her know it was still there. "He's strong," Josiah told her. "He's a fighter," Maude said, a hint of pride and defiance in her voice. "He's had to be. We've both had to be...." She paused thoughtfully. "I think that can rightfully be said of all seven of you." Josiah smiled. "Either that, or we're all just to danged stubborn to know when to quit." Maude looked at her son. "Maybe that's why he's so taken with the lot of you. You're the family I could never give him." "You did your best, ma'am. Ezra's a good man." She ran her fingers through Ezra's damp curls. "He is that, isn't he?" + + + + + + + Buck Wilmington had seen friends die before, so he didn't know what made this time any different. Maybe it was JD's youth, and the way he had always seemed to have enough life in him for two people. Cocky little know-it-all always thinkin' he was bigger, stronger and faster than he was. Not that he wasn't strong or fast - the kid had the makings of a gunfighter in that respect - but he didn't have the soul of one, and if Buck Wilmington had his way, he never would. Not that any of that mattered now. *Damn, this was so unfair.* JD was just a kid. Probably hadn't never even gotten laid, unless him and Casey had been up to somethin' Nettie would shoot him for. There was so much *living* left for him to do. As night settled over the town, the temperature dropped and the room began to cool off. Buck tucked the covers snuggly around his young friend. Like the others, he was running on too little sleep and was dead tired, but he couldn't rest now. He had to be awake when... if... it happened. He sat on the bed beside JD and stretched his long legs out on the mattress. There was plenty of room for him. JD was strong and fast, but he wasn't ever going to be big. Impulsively, he pulled the boy into his arms again, holding him like he had before. JD's head rested comfortably against his chest and Buck could feel him breathing. This way, he would know when he stopped, when it was over. He nestled his face in JD's thick, black hair. Hell, he *loved* the kid, and he'd say that to anyone's face. "You rest easy, little brother," he whispered. "Ol' Buck has ya'." + + + + + + + Chris Larabee rarely slept deeply and now was no different. After the last bag of whatever it was Nathan was putting into Vin had emptied, he pulled the needle out the way Nathan and done and wrapped a small bandage around Vin's wrist. He hadn't awakened Nathan. The man was exhausted and had fallen asleep on the hard wooden planks of the floor beside Vin's bed. Vin hadn't roused again after that one brief moment, and he didn't look any better, not really, but Chris no longer sensed that imminent shadow of death hanging over him. Vin might still die, but it wasn't going to be in the next few hours. He let himself doze off in the chair, a hand resting lightly on Vin's chest, just in case. THIRTY-FIVE Chris never slept as soundly as most men and his heightened senses had for some reason urged him to full alertness. He looked down to see Vin's hand had dropped from the bed onto his on his thigh, pale and lifeless, and he realized that was what had awakened him.. Fearing the worst, he pulled the steam tent open - and discovered those blue eyes that he thought he'd never see again staring at him. Vin just mouthed the word 'Chris' - he didn't have the strength to actually say it. "Hey pard," Chris took Vin's hand in his own. "How ya' doin'?" To his utter amazement, Chris noticed the first stirrings of dawn through the window. It had been well before midnight when he had dozed off. Vin had apparently been relatively fine for several hours - there was no blood on the bed linens, and he hadn't upchucked anything.... But almost as if that thought had cursed their luck, Vin started to cough, hard. He gasped for breath and the fit seemed to be ripping him apart. Chris sat him up, hoping that would help. Nathan was jolted out of his slumber and was quickly with them. He grabbed a towel and covered Vin's mouth with it as the sick man brought up the congestion in his throat and lungs. Finally, it ended, and Vin fell back against Chris unable to move. He was sweating from the exertion and still taking gulping breaths. Nathan grimly examined the towel, and then frowned. "What is it?" Chris asked. "Ain't much blood in it at all," Nathan said, too wary of this vicious illness to sound truly hopeful. He tossed the soiled cloth into a pile with the other sickroom supplies that would need to be laundered and boiled, and happened to glance out the window. He frowned again. "What time is it?" "'Bout six, I reckon," Chris said. *Eight hours!* Nathan thought with alarm. He'd slept for 8 hours! At first he was ashamed and angry with himself for the lapse in diligence, until he realized that had anything catastrophic happened during the night, Buck or Josiah would have come for him. He ran his fingers though his short-cropped hair. *They were still alive... all three of them....* Chris was holding Vin, rubbing his back to ease the pain from the coughing spell. Aside from that and being out of breath, though, Vin didn't seem to be in any extreme distress. Nathan knelt beside his bed and felt his forehead. He was still feverish, but he was also sweating again, which meant he was no longer dehydrated. "How do you feel, Vin?" Vin looked up at him like that was the dumbest question he'd ever heard. "I'm dyin'," he gasped. "Feel like shit...." Nathan smiled. "Well, you look like shit, too, but, I don't think you're dyin'." Chris shot him a questioning look, wondering if the healer meant that or if he was just trying to offer comfort. "His fever's down," Nathan said, again, not daring to sound too hopeful. Vin was still very weak. He'd managed to gain a foothold on the hill he'd been sliding down for three days, but that didn't mean something wasn't going to come along and suddenly push him all the way to the bottom. Chris understood this, knew this was just one small step forward, but he was thankful nonetheless. Nathan left to check the others, and Chris wasn't consciously aware that he was still holding Vin until the tracker rasped his name. "Shhhh... don't try to talk," Chris said softly, knowing Vin had very little strength to spare. And after their last conversation, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear Vin bare his soul again. What other secrets was the man hiding? "Chris?" Vin said again, a little louder this time. "Whatever it is, it can wait, Vin," Chris chastised him. "Don't think so... gotta pee." "Oh...." He hunted under the bed for the chamber pot. He didn't have Nathan's inclination to examine bodily secretions, but when Vin had finished, he did notice that the contents were an almost normal color, not bright red like they had been before. He got Vin settled again and covered him up. Vin looked up at him. "How long I been sick?" he whispered the question, his voice still raw from coughing. "Three days." "Don't remember," Vin said, his eyelids drooping. That didn't surprise Chris. Vin was very ill. It made him wonder, though, if the younger man would later recall their conversation about Ella and the price that sorry bitch had put on his head that Vin had once intended to collect. He decided that was enough to know that Vin felt bad enough to use what he thought was his dying breath to let Chris know he was sorry. If Vin died, he'd take the secret with him. If he didn't, Chris would never mention it again. THIRTY-SIX When he quietly entered Ezra's room, Nathan found Maude stretched out on the bed beside her sleeping son, her arms encircling him in a protective embrace. Josiah had thrown a blanket over her and wrapped one around himself. The preacher lazily put a finger to his lips to caution Nathan not to make any loud noises. The bellows that had kept Ezra alive lay at the foot of the bed, idle. Nathan wanted to shout and rant at their irresponsibility, but he noticed immediately that Ezra was not only alive, but that he was breathing on his own. Still, he was annoyed enough to nudge Josiah roughly to get him to wake up all the way. Josiah looked up at him and gave him that silly grin of his. "What the hell you doin'," Nathan demanded in a loud whisper as he pointed at the bellows. Josiah stretched before he answered. "He started coughin'. The tube came out." "Why didn't you come and get me!?" "Well I was gonna, but once he stopped coughin' he seemed okay. Didn't see any reason to put him through that if it wasn't necessary." Nathan bent down and examined Ezra's neck. Josiah had put a clean dressing on the wound, and he was right - Ezra did seem okay. Working around Maude's embrace, he listened to the gambler's heartbeat. It was a little fast, and not as strong as Nathan would have liked, but it was steady. His breathing was a little raspy, but his color was acceptable and he seemed reasonably comfortable. "How long has he been breathin' on his own like this?" Josiah shrugged. "Dunno.... an hour or so." "I'll be damned," Nathan muttered. "No," Josiah leaned back and winked at him. "I don't think so." "Well, don't go gettin' too optimistic," Nathan said. "Could be bad luck..." Ezra was still feverish, and he hadn't reacted when Nathan examined him. "You know Ezra," Josiah grinned again. "He makes his own luck." Nathan just shook his head, but he couldn't argue with that. Ten hours ago, he wouldn't have bet 100 to 1 that Ezra would be here to see another sunrise. + + + + + + + He found JD and Buck both asleep, Buck stretched out with his head resting against the headboard with JD curled up beside him in a natural position, without the subtle contortion that resulted from the wracking muscle spasms. He checked the splint on JD's arm, making certain it wasn't too tight. Buck roused and blinked his eyes. "It mornin' already?" "Yup." The big man sat up quickly and looked at JD in a panic, "Oh, Jesus... I didn't mean to fall asleep this long! Is he..." "He's fine, Buck," Nathan said. His palm rested on JD's forehead and when he looked up at Buck, he dared to let himself smile. "His fever's broken." If he wasn't worried about waking JD, Nathan was sure that Buck would have let out a whoop of joy. Instead, he clapped Nathan on the shoulder and grinned broadly, then tossled JD's hair. "Damn kid, you scared ol' Buck half to death!" "Still... full of crap,... Buck," JD muttered, and then drifted back to sleep. THIRTY-SEVEN Inez brought a tray of food over that afternoon and was surprised to find Josiah humming contentedly as he did laundry in the kitchen. The room was stifling from the steam coming from the large kettles being used to boil sheets and towels, and he was drenched in sweat, but he seemed happy and that puzzled Inez. Josiah looked up at her, and simultaneously got a whiff of the food. "The Lord has answered my prayers," he grinned as he lifted the cloth covering the tray and grabbed a rolled tortilla filled with beans and meat. "Josiah... is everything okay?" Inez asked warily. Josiah assured her that it was. The three sick men still alive, and JD's fever had broken sometime during the night. With rest and careful watching, the boy would live. Vin and Ezra, seemed better, too. Where before there had been almost no hope, there was now a small chance they might all pull through. Inez crossed herself, and then announced she was going to the church to light candles and pray. Josiah had never figured Inez for the praying type, but he figured she probably wasn't the only one who had hit her knees and prayed for his three friends. And the fact was, while Nathan's ingenuity and Dr. Quinn's assistance had probably saved Vin and Ezra, little JD had been spared by the hand of God alone. Just hours before, he hadn't thought the boy had a chance. He took the tray of food upstairs and found Nathan with Ezra, a decidedly happy look on his weary face. Josiah could see the reason for that himself. Although pale and still very weak, the gambler was conscious. Green eyes squinted at him as he approached. "Josiah?" he croaked, and then started to cough. "Now you stay quiet, Ezra," Maude admonished him. "Mr. Jackson said you shouldn't try to talk just yet." Ezra reached up to his neck, feeling the bandage there. Josiah didn't know if anyone had explained to him what had been done, and he figured there would be time for that later. He set the food down and sat on the bed, gently sqeezing Ezra's hand. "You scared us, Ez." Ezra sighed and tried to focus his eyes. Both Josiah and Nathan could tell that he still couldn't see well, but since there was nothing that could be done about that, neither of them saw the point in upsetting the sick man by mentioning it. Nathan put a hand to Ezra's forehead. "Fever's almost gone," he smiled. "I think he's gonna be okay.... Let's get him turned over on his side. Ain't good for him to lie in one spot like that." With Josiah's help, Nathan gently eased Ezra onto his left side. The southerner's bed clothes were damp from sweat and his hair was matted. Combined with the three-day growth of beard, he scarcely resembled his usual fastidious self. Nathan knew he was probably uncomfortable. He put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll let you rest up for awhile and then get you cleaned up a bit," he reassured him. Ezra nodded gratefully. "Well," Maude stood up and fluffed her hair, a pretty much useless gesture since it hung in bedraggled strands from her customarily impeccable coiffure. "I do have other business to take care of, so if it's all the same to you, Mr. Jackson..." She opened her purse and offered Nathan a couple of bills. Nathan was rankled by the gesture. "I didn't look after him so's I could get paid." Josiah reached out and took the money, "What Nathan is trying to say is that he'll be making a donation to the poor and hungry of our fair municipality on Ezra's behalf." "A lovely thought, I'm sure," Maude brushed them off. "I plan to be on the stage to Denver tomorrow morning. I'll try to stop by before then." And with that, she gave Ezra a quick peck on the cheek and flitted out of the room. Josiah shook his head after her. "That is one hard woman to figure out." Ezra, they noticed, betrayed no emotion as he watched her go, but Josiah saw the lost expression in his tired eyes. "She was with you the whole time, Ezra," he told the gambler. "She never left your side, not once." He wasn't sure Ezra even heard him. The green eyes closed and he was asleep again. THIRTY-EIGHT Buck ducked his head into Ezra's room. "I smell food!" he exclaimed. Josiah indicated the tray and Buck helped himself. "JD wants somethin' to eat," he said around a mouthful of tortilla as he reached out to grab one for JD. Nathan smacked his hand. "You can't be givin' that boy stuff like that. We'll bring him some of Josiah's broth." "He wants *real* food," Buck protested. "Well, he ain't gonna get it. Maybe in a couple of days." Buck shrugged and returned to JD's bedside. He sat in the chair where his butt had all but taken root, and proceeded to stuff another large mouthful. "Nathan said you can't have nothin' but broth for two more days." "Fuck that..." JD whispered. "Can't help it," Buck shrugged. "It's what the man said." "But I'm hungry." Buck looked around conspiratorially and then held the sandwich to JD's mouth so he could take a bite. "BUCK!" Nathan's voice boomed from the doorway. "Dammit," JD whispered. "Sorry, kid, I tried," Buck laughed and proceeded with his meal. Nathan was happy to see the kid was feeling better, but he didn't need the boy choking on something. His muscles were so overtaxed from the spasms he had suffered that he couldn't even sit up, and there was no way to be sure he could dislodge something from his airway if he swallowed it the wrong way. He pulled back the covers and picked up one of JD's hands. Where a few hours before his body had been as taut as cordwood, he was now as limp as a rag doll. He grasped the other hand. "Squeeze my hands, JD. Hard as you can." He was gratified to see the boy's fingers move, but his grip was extremely weak. "Can you sit up if I hold onto your hands?" JD's abdominal muscles twitched slightly as he made an attempt, but he wasn't able to lift his shoulders more than an inch or two from the bed. Nathan pulled the covers back and lifted one of the boy's legs, placing the palm of his hand against his foot. "Push on my hand," he told his patient. JD tried, and became alarmed when he realized he couldn't comply with the simple request. Nathan frowned. "Can you feel your legs, JD?" The boy nodded. "I can feel them fine... they just won't work...." He looked questioningly at Buck, who in turn looked to Nathan for answers that the healer didn't have. "It'll go away, won't it?" Nathan didn't want to give the boy false hope. He'd seen paralytic fevers before, and the after- effects were often permanent. At the same time, he didn't know anything about the illness that had brought JD and the other two down beyond what Koje had told him. "I suspect you'll start gettin' your strength back soon enough. Just give it time," he said calmly. JD had enough to deal with right now just getting well. When Nathan was gone, JD looked to Buck. "I don't wanna be an invalid, Buck." Buck was not going to let him start wallowing in self-pity now, not after he'd been given back the precious gift of his life. He sat down on the bed next to JD, and pulled the kid into a sitting position so that he rested against his chest. "I tell you what kid... let's cross that bridge when it's time to burn it." JD looked up at him. "Huh?" He offered the sandwich to JD again, winking at him. The boy grinned and took a small bite, savoring the taste of real food. *Damn it all,* Buck thought. He had almost lost JD, and for now, he had him back. If that meant he'd have to care for him for a long time, he was pretty sure he could do that. He didn't know about JD, though. The kid couldn't just spend the rest of his life flat on his back, and Buck wouldn't wish that on anyone. "Buck's gonna take care of you, kid, don't worry about that." THIRTY-NINE Nathan took some food to Chris and found him asleep again. All of them were exhausted, so he didn't disturb him. Like the other two, Vin's temperature had almost returned to normal. He opened his eyes as Nathan examined him. "How you feelin', Vin?" "A li'l' better," he rasped. "You hungry? I'm gonna bring some broth up for JD. I can bring you some, too." Vin made a face. "Stomach still feels a mite queasy," he said, and then had to take a deep breath. He looked over at Chris. "He ever leave?" Nathan shook his head. "Nope. Not once." "I reckon... I was outa my head some... of the time," he gasped out the words. "You were pretty sick, that's true." "Reckon I mighta... said some stuff... I shouldn'ta..." Nathan put a finger to his lips. "Hush Vin. You're tirin' yourself out." "I need to know... if...." "Vin, when yer healthy we can't get two words outa you, now all ya wanna do is talk. Hush, you hear?" The conversation awakened Chris, who stretched in his chair. "Is that food I smell?" he sniffed. Nathan pointed to the tray and then said he was going to get some clean bedding and broth for the sick men. Chris dug into the food. He hadn't felt much like eating since Vin had gotten sick, and now that his friend was better, he found he was ravenous. "Chris?" Vin looked up at him. Chris swallowed before answering. "Yeah, Vin?" "Thanks for lookin' after me." "Not a problem, Vin." "Reckon I musta been... sayin' some pretty... dumb things... what with the... fever... an' all." Chris wasn't sure what answer Vin was fishing for. Was the shy tracker just so self-conscious that he was afraid that being sick had made him appear weak or foolish? Or was he afraid that he might have revealed secrets that were better left unsaid? He looked into Vin's blue eyes, no longer glazed with fever, and he remembered that through those eyes he could see further into Vin Tanner than maybe the man himself could. Vin could read him, too, with no words passing between them, and Chris knew he couldn't lie to him. So his answer was basically the honest truth. "Nothin' I could understand, Vin." Vin nodded. "I don't... remember." "Just as well, I reckon...." He set his food down. "We thought you were dyin' Vin." "So... did I.... Never... thought the idea would... scare me." Chris nodded. "I reckon it's one thing to take a bullet and have it done quick, and another to have to lie in wait for it." Vin nodded. "Chris... What I told you... about Ella..." "Later, Vin," Chris hushed him. "I never done nothin' like that.... Thought I could, but -" He started coughing again. Chris turned him over onto his side, but all he did was cough. There was no blood. He waited for the fit to ease, and then quietly whispered, "Leave it be, Vin. Ain't none of us the same men we were back then." And he realized that was true. He'd found something to care about again - the town, Vin, even Mary Travis. Buck had found again in JD what their friendship has lost after Sarah and Adam had been killed. At some point, Josiah had begun restoring the church as an act of faith rather than penance, and God knew that between the other six, Nathan knew he was needed. Ezra had learned to trust them, and they him, and JD was becoming a man right before their eyes. Whether Vin knew it or not, he had changed, too, from a shy loner to a leader, his second in command. His best friend. Chris squeezed Vin's shoulder and smiled. "Reckon it's a good thing you're still so damn mean that even the devil didn't want you, though." FORTY *Two days later* The worst had passed, and the elation over the fact that Vin, Ezra and JD would survive was somewhat tempered by the realization that all three of them still had a long way to go before they were fully recovered. For now, though, it was enough that they were still seven. Since they could no longer justify their commandeering of the hotel - and because the owner wanted to open it up again - it was decided that Vin, Ezra and JD would have to be moved elsewhere. Nathan's makeshift clinic was considered only briefly. It was too small for one thing, and for another, there were always other folks in town who needed his attention. So Josiah had set to work converting the church into a convalescent hospital. With Nettie and Casey's help, he moved the pews and had intended to build some bunks. But Maude, who had managed to come up with an excuse to stay in town - besides what everyone suspected was the true one - insisted that real beds be brought in. Then she wanted curtains, and rugs for the floor, and moveable partitions between the beds and fine linens. By the time she was done, the place looked to Josiah like a French whorehouse, but, his friends would be comfortable once they managed to get them there. Ezra was the only one who could walk, but he still couldn't see worth a damn. He was just as stubborn as ever, though, and had insisted on bathing, shaving, and getting fully dressed before Nathan and Josiah walked him over to the church, each one of the larger men walking on either side of him. By the time they arrived, he was exhausted and collapsed on the large feather bed sandwiched between two of more modest proportions. It was his own bed - Maude had insisted on that, too. Maude pretended not to notice anything was amiss. Josiah suspected that it was difficult for her seeing her usually ebullient son and sparing partner looking so frail. Ezra was still very pale and unusually complacent. Josiah helped him out of his clothes. Maude had brought a clean nightshirt for him, but he refused to wear it. "Ezra, civilized people don't sleep in their undergarments," she chastised him. "In case you hadn't noticed, Mother, we are not among civilized people." "Thanks Ezra," Josiah huffed. "Present company excepted, of course," Ezra said, and then coughed. No longer a deep, body-wracking cough, it was still obviously painful, especially with the healing wound on his throat. He fingered the bandage. "Even if you did allow that charlatan to slit my throat." "Nathan saved your life, Ezra," Josiah admonished him, unnecessarily. Ezra preferred to complain rather than voice his real feelings about what Nathan had done for him, and Nathan was fine with that. The healer still wasn't sure he had done the right thing in treating Ezra with such a radical procedure. Ezra knew, though. Even in his unconscious state, he had been aware that he was suffocating, and the simple and blessed joy of having air in his lungs had given him the strength to ward off the Angel of Death, of that he was certain. Nathan Jackson had saved his life, and at a tremendous risk. If he had died and word of Nathan's experiment had gotten out... well, Nathan had almost been lynched once for losing a patient upon whom he had not attempted anything nearly as drastic. He took the nightshirt from Maude and pulled it over his head. "I assure you mother, the pretense of civility will be lost completely upon my associates," he intoned as Nathan and Buck entered, each with an armload of JD. Either of the big men could have easily carried the boy alone, but it looked more dignified - albeit only slightly - for him to be carried by the two of them, so Buck had his legs while Nathan held him around his chest. JD was still embarrassed enough that he'd covered his face with his hat for the short walk from the hotel. "Which one you want?" Buck indicated the two remaining beds. "I don't care, jus' put me down," JD muttered, without even looking out from under the hat. "This one, then" Buck said, leaving the bunk nearest the window empty, because he knew, when all was said and done, Vin would want to be where he could at least see outside. Maude pulled the covers back and then discretely drew the partition around the bed while JD wiggled out of his pants using his good arm. Buck resisted the temptation to help him. The boy's strength was slowly returning, and he could move his legs some now where he couldn't before, but he was still too weak to walk. JD didn't mind being treated like a kid, but he did hate being cared for like a baby, so Buck had made a vow that unless the kid was about to fall flat on his face, he wasn't going to help him do anything. Well... except maybe tug on the pants from the cuffs. No harm in that. JD didn't seem to think so, either. "Thanks, Buck," he whispered, and then lay back against the plump pillows Maude had furnished. "You need anything, kid?" Buck asked. "Legs that work," JD glowered. Buck didn't miss a beat. "Like maybe a deck of cards..." He leaned closer and whispered, "Ain't no way Ezra would know you were cheatin'." JD looked at him, shocked at the suggestion that he take advantage of Ezra's misfortune. Then he realized that Buck was reminding him that he wasn't alone in his misery. He knew Ezra's eyesight had been impaired by the mysterious fever, and if it never got better, Ezra's skill as a gambler would be about as useful as his own ability to ride a horse without the full use of his legs. "I hate this, Buck," JD said softly. Buck wanted to hug him, let him know he was there for him, but he knew the kid's pride would suffer. He could see the boy was tiring, so he pulled the covers over him before kneeling so that he was eye- level with him. "You rest a bit, and then I'll bring you somethin' that'll make lyin' there in bed a whole lot more interestin'." JD gave a hint of a devilish grin. "Casey?" And then he realized Maude was there and his pallid features flushed with pink. "Uh... sorry, ma'am." Buck clapped him on the shoulder. "You rest now, JD. Things always look better after a good nap." JD closed his eyes and Buck looked at Nathan who shook his head slightly. The boy *was* getting better, but like most things, it wasn't happening fast enough to satisfy his impetuous nature. "Best go give Chris a hand gettin' Vin over here," Nathan nodded to Buck. "Oh, lovely," Ezra scoffed, shuffling a deck of cards as Buck made his exit. "Were it not bad enough that I am indisposed, I am to endure my convalescence surrounded by barbarians." "Vin don't like you, either," JD said, even though both he and Ezra knew that wasn't true. At least, he didn't think it was. "His loss, I assure you." "Petulance hardly becomes you, Ezra," Maude huffed, snatching the cards from his hand and slyly replacing them with another deck. Ezra looked at her, puzzled, until he ran his fingers along the edges of the deck. He tried not to smile. To a mere mortal soul, the deck appeared quite ordinary, but Ezra's keen sense of touch could detect the slight fraying of the edges where Maude had expertly marked the deck for him. She bent down and kissed him. "Now you take care to mind Nathan, darlin'" she told him and then was gone. JD snorted. Ezra glared at him - or at least, appeared to - as he shuffled the mark deck. Without averting his eyes, he pulled out a card and held it up for JD to see. The ace of Spades. FORTY-ONE Chris had helped Vin wash and shave and change into some clean drawers. He smelled of soap and sun-dried laundry instead of sweat and sickness, and Chris figured he probably felt better, even if that small amount of activity had exhausted him. He lay face-down, because he insisted he was more comfortable that way, quiet except for his still somewhat labored breathing. Chris knew Vin had to be troubled by how weak he was, but he hadn't complained, not once, about anything. He sat down on the bed beside him and gently rubbed Vin's bare back, knowing that the muscles were stiff and sore from him being in bed for so long. "You okay, Vin?" he asked. "Jus' tired," Vin whispered. "Don't know if I can walk over to the church." "Don't worry about it. Buck'll be back pretty soon. We'll manage." Vin didn't say anything right away, then came a barely audible, "Chris?" "Yeah?" "Why aren't you mad?... About Ella..." "Because it's done with, Vin. Let it go." "That's jus' it, Chris. It ain't over... not as long as she's alive." "I ain't worried about you goin' to work for her again, if that's what you mean. You ain't that kind of man, Vin. Never were." Vin sighed softly and closed his eyes, falling once again into a deep, healing sleep. Chris watched over him, thinking of the risk Vin had taken coming back and warning him about Ella Gaines. True, Ella may not have known that he was the same man her lackey had hired to bring him back into her clutches, but just the fact that Vin now stood between them would have been more than enough to incite her demented rage, had she known. He would never accept that Vin could have carried out his end of the bargain with her. He might have thought he could, at the time, but when it came down to the wire, Vin Tanner was a better man than that, even if he didn't know it himself. He hadn't listened when Vin had tried to warn him about Ella Gaines, and that was something he would always regret. If he had heeded Vin's plea not to trust her, she might not have gotten away, and now there wouldn't be that raw rage that ate at his gut every time he thought of her. He'd told a young boy once that killing for revenge didn't make you feel any better, and that was true. But at least there was comfort in knowing that the source of your pain would not be back, would not do to you again those unspeakable things that had taken a big chunk of your life and turned it into one big, dark, black hole in your heart. No, he hadn't listened, and Ella was still out there. And now, there was someone else she could hurt in her twisted determination to have him to herself. Even though he didn't understand it, Chris knew that the bond between him and Vin went deeper than that almost casual nod of the head they'd given each other on a dusty street the day fate brought them together. Vin had made him see that it was possible to care about someone again, after Sara and Adam, and in that respect, the laugh was on Ella Gaines. The bitch had taken the two people he loved most in his life from him and had unknowingly sent him the one person who could step into the void their loss had left behind. In so doing, she had sealed her own fate, for Chris had no doubt in his mind that when their paths crossed again, Vin would be the one to watch his back, and Vin would be the one to stand beside him while he saw to it that she paid the price for her evil. He rested his hand gently on Vin's dark curls. This quiet, cautious young man was his brother, his other self, and theirs was a destiny meant to be shared. First, though, he had to get well. FORTY-TWO Vin hated being helpless, but then, who didn't? At least he had company for his misery, such as it was. It seemed strange for Ezra to be so quiet and JD to be so still, just as it was strange for him to be lying in a soft, clean bed being waited on hand and foot. Nathan wouldn't even let 'em outside to go to the privy, for Christ's sake. He had a feeling that before they were well again, he, Ezra and JD were going to know each other a whole lot better than any of them wanted. For the moment, it was just the three of them - Nathan had the usual sick folk to tend to, and Josiah was tending a fire outside to boil water. Sometimes, the wells around town would go bad and the three of them were still so piddly that something like that could easily kill them, so Nathan wouldn't risk well water. Chris and Buck were shouldering the peacekeeping duties with some help from Rafe Mosely, Ted Cole and Jim Ramage. They had figured the best way to ward off trouble was to get the town's trouble-makers on their side, so Chris had temporarily deputized them. They had been at the church less than two days, and already the three of them were so bored that if they'd had their guns, they might have shot each other just to have something to do. Ezra had his cards, but he seemed to spend more time staring at them, trying to make out the markings on them than he did playing with them. His eyes had gone bad, Vin knew, and it shamed him that his first reaction to finding that out was to thank God that hadn't happened to him. There wasn't much use for a sharpshooter who couldn't see his target, or a tracker who couldn't see a trail. His second thought, though, was that it had to be a miserable state of affairs for Ezra, although he did take a certain devious satisfaction at watching him trying to read the Clarion. He needed to study the page carefully, painstakingly deciphering one word at a time. Now, maybe he'd know how it felt to watch everyone reading and making it look easy when for you, it wasn't. Ezra set the paper down. "So, what's in the news today, Ez?" Vin chided him sarcastically. It was a mean thing to do, and Vin wasn't sure why he did it. Just bored, he reckoned.. "Be my guest, Mr. Tanner." Ezra tossed the paper to him. "Feel free to peruse it for yourself... if you can." JD didn't miss the exchange of cheap shots, but being JD, he said, "Toss it over here so I can read it." Vin accommodated him, and JD began reading aloud without being asked. Vin and Ezra attempted to feign disinterest, but were unable to as JD read the feature story about how Casey, Billy and those two no-accounts Cole and Ramage had faced down the entire town. They both noticed a distinct change in the tone of JD's voice when he went on to read about how the good citizens of Four Corners had wanted to sacrifice the three of them to save themselves. "Reckon I can't blame 'em none," Vin said, sensing the hurt in JD's voice. Ezra snorted. "Fear... the glue that binds the ignorant masses." "What would you have done, Ezra?" JD asked. "He woulda been takin' bets on our chances of pullin' through," Vin scoffed. Ezra glared at Vin... or did the best he could considering he couldn't actually make out Vin's face. "I shall consider the source of that comment and disregard it accordingly." Vin was about to snipe back at him when Buck, with his usual flare for being in the right place at the right time, burst through the door with a smile on his face. Somehow, it was just hard to stay mad when Buck was around. He held up a wooden box. "I promised you a present, JD! Had to go all the way to Ridge City to find it, but it was worth the trip!" JD grinned like the kid he was, and took the box from Buck. His fingers were still stiff and he was further hampered by the splint on his broken arm, but as he fumbled awkwardly with the lid, Buck made no move to help him. Finally, he got it off, and stared in rapt admiration at the contents - a stereopticon with a large collection of veiw-plate scenes. "Buck... this is great!" "You know how to work it?" Buck asked. "I think so...." JD fussed with one of the view plates until he had it inserted. He turned the instrument towards the window so that the light could illuminate the image as he peered through the eyepieces. "Damn," he marveled. "It's almost like you're standin' right there!" Buck pointed out a small drawer at the bottom of the box. "There's a book in there tells you about what you're lookin' at, too." JD was obviously happy with his gift as it was, but then Buck reached into his vest pocket and handed him another smaller packet. "An' when you get done lookin' at them," he said, pretending to look around to make sure he wasn't heard even though he didn't lower his voice, "you can get serious." JD frowned, uncertain as to Buck's meaning. The packet contained more view-plates, which didn't seem at all remarkable until he inserted one of them into the stereopticon. "Ho-lee Gawd!!!" he gasped. "Lovely a view as I have ever seen," Buck laughed. JD's reaction had piqued Vin's interest, although Ezra seemed to know what was going on when he said, "Mr. Wilmington, you are truly beyond redemption visiting your voyeuristic proclivities upon the afflicted and enfeebled." "What?" JD and Vin frowned in unison. Buck just laughed. "Hey, JD is sick, he ain't dead, and so long as a man ain't dead, he might as well enjoy what life has to offer." JD had inserted another viewplate and his eyes widened around the eyepieces. "Shit, I woudln't'a thought *that* was possible...." "Be nice if some folks would share," Vin muttered. It wasn't like him to be envious, but, hell, he was cooped up inside and he didn't feel good, and that was making him crabby. He didn't care what anyone thought. JD good-naturedly handed over his new toy. Vin pretended casual interest as he peeked into it to see what had JD so fired up. And there, before his eyes, was a voluptuous woman with flowing blond locks and big breasts whose upper body was framed by a V formed by her spread legs. She wasn't wearing a stitch that Vin could see, and her ultimate glory stared him right in the eye. He didn't know about JD, but this was definitely making him feel better. He whistled softly. "Damn!" "Perverted miscreants!" Ezra huffed. As weak as he was, Vin felt a familiar stirring as his body reacted in the usual way to what he was looking at, which, while potentially uncomfortable was somehow reassuring. "Give it back, now," JD said. Vin complied, amused by the thought of what JD was going to do once he got himself all lathered up and realized he had no privacy. Josiah returned with the fresh water and JD hastily replaced the stereopticon viewplate with the first one he'd looked at. Josiah noticed the instrument as soon as he set the kettles down. "Whatcha got there, JD?" he asked. "Pyramids of Egypt," JD answered. Ezra snorted derisively, but said nothing. "Really?" Josiah said, taking the stereopticon from JD so he could take a look for himself. "I been there, you know." "You have?!" JD said excitedly. "Tell us! I wanna hear all about it!" "Oh, yes," Ezra yawned, "do regale us with tales of your meanderings." "What's a peer-mid?" Vin frowned. JD handed the viewer back to Vin so he could see for himself as Josiah explained, briefly, what he was looking at. The big preacher then pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards. Instead of telling his own story, he began to recite the known history of Ancient Egypt, using a soft, soothing voice that soon had his audience - Buck included, peacefully asleep. The room, he noted, was blessedly quiet. No coughing, no raspy, labored breathing, no painful moans. He thanked God - his own and all the others - for miracles large and small. FORTY-THREE *Two weeks later* "Goddamit, Ezra, I know you're cheatin', I just can't figure out how," JD grumbled. "Skill, my good man, pure, unadulterated aptitude," Ezra grinned, spreading his cards out on the table Josiah and Buck had moved to the center of the room once the three men had recovered enough to be out of bed for short periods. Vin looked at him askance, a sly expression on his face. His well- honed powers of observation had long since revealed to him the method by which Ezra was distinguishing one card from another, but, even he hadn't figured out how he could tell which card was which. Obviously, that required a much more delicate sense of touch than his rough hands were capable of. JD hadn't figured it out at all, and it was driving the kid loco that Ezra was "cheating" even though all the gambler was doing at the moment was playing solitaire with JD looking over his shoulder. He also suspected Ezra's eyes were no longer as bad as they had been, because he'd seen him snatching a peek at JD's dirty stereopticon pictures when the gambler had thought he and JD were asleep. He supposed he could also see why it would be to his advantage for everyone to think that his vision was still impaired, though. Word had gotten around town that Ezra was nearly blind, and Vin imagined that some folks were straining at the bit to take advantage of him. Their mistake. Vin figured that had to be pretty strange for Ezra, not being able to depend on his eyes. Not that his keen vision did him any good at the moment. He had his Winchester there with him, and had tried its weight a few times only to discover each time that he was still too weak to aim and fire it properly. He could probably hit a target, but not get the bullet exactly where he wanted it. He was getting better, though. He felt a little stronger every day. It was getting better for all of them, but it had been two weeks, and he was tired of being penned up. Ezra was fine staying indoors - he did it all the time, anyway, but Vin was at the other extreme, and there were times when he just wanted to kick a hole in the wall so he could crawl through it and be free of the confining space that was so contrary to his nature. But, he wasn't stupid. He understood Nathan's concerns about the dust-choked streets and the smoke-filled saloon, and the effect it might have on their still-healing lungs. When Nathan did open the windows, it was early in the morning, when the dust had settled during the night, and the sooty bonfires had gone out, and the morning dew had settled the rest. Even then, he took care to drape wet strips of cloth over them to trap any remaining dust before it entered the sickroom. JD had never had the dangerous lung congestion, so despite Nathan's insistent ranting that it was too dangerous, Buck had tossed JD up onto the back of his horse as soon as the kid was able to sit up by himself, and had been taking him out riding for an hour every day. To Nathan's relief, the exercise had actually strengthened the kid's legs instead of weakened them, to the point where he could ride alone after three or four days. Vin wished someone would come and take him somewhere - anywhere - for just awhile, but he wasn't going to fuss over it. The others had made the sickroom as comfortable as was humanly possible, and they all appreciated that even though it wasn't like any of them to let on. Mary would come for a half hour or so every day and help him with his letters so the time wasn't completely going to waste. Funny thing about that - before, he would have been embarrassed to let on to JD and Ezra that he couldn't read worth shit, but after the ordeal the three of them had shared, it didn't seem all that important any more. Even Ezra helped him out sometimes, and he did it without laughing at him. Usually, anyway. As JD looked on, Ezra beat yet another game of solitaire, which vexed the kid no end. He was reshuffling the cards when Josiah arrived with their noon meal. The gambler had resigned himself to the bland cuisine Nathan had visited relentlessly upon them, so he was surprised that the aromas coming from underneath the napkin-covered plates was decidedly appealing. Buck uncovered the tray with a flourish and set a plate of steak and potatoes before JD and Ezra, who both looked at Vin with guilty expressions. Really substantial food still gave Vin a bellyache, which was one reason it was taking him so long to rebuild his strength. His meal was macaroni with little butter and some milk to wash it down. Vin had never seen macaroni until Dr. Quinn had recommended it to Nathan, but once he'd tried it, he'd found it to his liking. If he'd gotten bored with it, he wasn't complaining. Ezra suspected that Vin never complained about food, probably because he knew what it was like not to have any. "How come we don't get any of that?" JD asked, pointing to Vin's meal. "Because it ain't easy to get, and Dr. Quinn said it was for Vin," Buck explained as he casually cut up JD's meat for him. "I don't see how that's gonna cure anyone," JD said. "It looks like a bowl of gutted grubs with their heads cut off." Vin stopped eating and stared at his food. "Thanks, JD." "It ain't a cure, it's just good for him. Dr. Quinn says he cooks it up to feed his own young'uns." "A doctor who cooks?" JD blinked. Buck just shrugged. "That's what the man said." "Reckon we owe the doc in more ways than one," Vin said, scooping up a mouthful. Nathan had made certain the three men knew the invaluable role Quinn had played in saving their lives. "I trust the good doctor has Nathan's eternal devotion, however, I feel our resident Hippocrates deserves as much of the credit." It was the first time Ezra had acknowledged what Nathan had done, and the other men were temporarily at a loss for a response. But in the instance it took them to think it over, Buck looked at JD, sitting across the table from him as though he didn't have a care in the world, and he remembered holding his hand and thinking that when he let go it would be forever. "Amen to that," he said softly. The men finished what they could eat and Buck polished off the rest. "No point in lettin' good food go to waste," he chuckled. "You ready to go ridin', JD?" The kid answered him with a grin. Buck moved beside JD's chair and carefully eased him to his feet. He could walk now, but he was as unsteady as a one-legged drunk, and he was still reluctant to go any great distance without someone to support him, even though he pretended he didn't want any help. Buck had his horse saddled and waiting. Vin moved from the table to his bed, because as much as he hated to admit it, he was ready for a nap. He watched the two men from the window as JD struggled to get on the horse. Time was, the kid could just jump up into the saddle without using the stirrups. Vin had always wondered at how he could kick those short little legs of his over the back of a horse and hop on like that. Now, though, hampered both by illness and his busted arm, he needed all of his strength just to pull himself up to where his chest and shoulders touched the saddle. Buck reached over from the other side and pulled him up the rest of the way. It made him sad, not just for JD, but for the fact that it reminded him how useless the three of them were now, to everyone. Ezra didn't seem to be bothered by it, but, the gambler was good at hiding things. It had to scare him how dependent they now were on the others. Josiah and Nathan kept saying it was only temporary, but Vin knew they had no way to be sure of that. He leaned back against his pillow and saw that Ezra had gone back to playing solitaire. Not much money in that, but at least he could trust himself not to take advantage of his situation. Then again, he was Ezra. Vin wouldn't put it past the man to con himself. Then, as if he'd read his mind, Ezra gathered up his cards and retired to his own bed. The two of them watched through the window as JD rode off down the street with Buck so close he was practically in the saddle with him. "You'd think Buck was his mama sometimes," Vin said. "Amazing thing how those instincts surface when you least expect it," Ezra laughed softly, gently caressing his marked deck. "Wouldn't know," Vin said sadly. Yeah, he was feelin' sorry for himself, but who else was gonna do it? He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Don't underestimate the value of friends, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said. Vin opened his eyes to look at him questioningly. "I think it's a fair assumption that were it not for the disinclination our compatriots to allow the grim reaper to lay claim to us, we would not be having this conversation. Surely that counts for something." Ezra was right. He - and Vin and JD - were alive because the others *cared*. He suddenly realized that what Buck felt for JD, what Maude felt for Ezra... at least to some degree, the others felt that about him, too. He'd always known that, deep down, but now it was right there in front of him. He had a family now. They all did. And together, they would get through this. FORTY-FOUR When Vin woke up, Chris was sitting next to his bed reading. He rubbed his eyes and saw Ezra and JD curled up asleep on their own bunks. He hadn't even heard anyone come back into the room. Sleeping like that was going to get him killed if he didn't get out of the habit, and soon. Chris looked up from his book and Vin averted his gaze. He still couldn't look the man in the eye now that Chris knew the truth about why he had come to Four Corners. He had deliberately avoided Chris, as much as he was able to anyway, being a virtual prisoner in his own infirm body as he was. Chris continued to glare at him. "How long you plan to keep this up, Vin?" he asked softly. Vin raised his eyes slightly. "What're you talkin' about Chris?" "You know what I'm talkin' about. You ain't been the same these past couple of weeks." "Been sick, Chris. You know that." "It's more than that, Vin, and *you* know *that*. Why won't you talk to me?" Vin cast his eyes downward again. "Never been much of a talker, I reckon." "That's not what I mean." He stared at Vin, long and hard, waiting for an answer. Vin knew he wouldn't give up until he gave him one. "I reckon I'm ashamed of myself." There, he'd said it out loud. "Why, Vin? Because you ain't the cold-blooded bounty hunter you thought you could be?" Vin did look at him then, directly into those icy grey eyes. He didn't see forgiveness there, and it was because, he realized, Chris didn't think there was anything to forgive. The two of them studied each other, and as it had always been, there was no need for words to pass between them. Finally, though, Chris spoke, "Vin, when I thought you were dyin', it didn't matter to me who you used to be or what you did in the past.... All that mattered was that I was gonna have to say that last good-bye again.... I don't know if I could have lived with that, not a second time. But you're still here. I didn't have to say good-bye, so now, I can live with anything else. You understand?" Vin didn't understand, but then, no one really understood Chris Larabee, not even, he suspected, Chris Larabee. "Nathan said in two, three days, you'll be strong enough to ride in a wagon out to my place. Air's cleaner out there, and I built an extra bunk." Chris wasn't giving him an option to accept or decline the invitation. "Wouldn't want to put you to no trouble, Chris." Chris glared at him. "You already done that, Vin." Vin glared back. "Reckon you're right." "Reckon I am." Vin smiled faintly and nodded. Chris stood and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You want anything?" Vin looked around him, at the room made as comfortable as anyone could ask for, at his sleeping friends, who, like him, would be well again thanks in no small part to the other four men who had beaten the odds to keep them all alive - because that's what you did when someone was a part of you in your heart, if not your blood. Then, he looked at Chris Larabee, the man who was somehow the missing piece of himself just as he was the missing piece of Chris, and he knew that all was as it should be and, he prayed, always would be. "Thanks," Vin answered softly. "I got everything I need." THE END _________________________________________ Postscript: The illness described in this story is a real disease, the southwestern hantavirus. Although it was not formally identified until the late 20th Century, Navaho medicine men have been aware of its existence for centuries. They provided key information which helped the Center for Disease Control identify the source as the deer mouse, after an outbreak occurred in the Four Corners region of New Mexico in the 1980s. It is contracted by inhaling vaporized, airborne deer mouse droppings and not usually by human-to-human contact. Some literary license was exercised by combining the symptoms for the two known types of the virus into one. (Hey, viruses mutate, so, who knows, right?) Thank you for reading! Please send comments to (no flames, please)