Chris Larabee watched the scene in quiet appreciation. Across the room two heads bent together, one crowned with smooth gold silk, the other with restless waves of softest brown. Mary Travis and Sarah McCallum sat amid a small group of rapt listeners. Young Sarah cradled a finely crafted dulcimer in her lap and her fingers deftly plucked the strings. The instrument was made of cedar and had been tended to with loving care. After taking several popular requests, Sarah had swung into an arrangement of "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing". It was a lighter, airier version of the hymn than Chris ever remembered hearing before. When Mary, with obvious pleasure, began to sing along, Sarah had instinctively dropped to the alto line. Chris couldn't recall listening to that song since he was a boy. When he closed his eyes he could suddenly picture fields of corn, harvest time in Indiana, a small white clapboard church where his mother had taken him. Lord, how many years ago was that.
Mary had bloomed since Vin Tanner's little sister had come into town. He'd never thought to wonder how hard it might be for a woman like Mary, alone on the frontier. Four Corners had so few women and so many men, men from a rougher, harder mold than she had been accustomed to at one time. He hadn't thought how wearing it might be as she single-handedly ran the newspaper, struggling to keep her late husband's dream alive. He figured it was one thing for a man like himself to keep his weariness and grief all locked inside, but a woman needed another woman. Now Mary had Sarah.
The girl brought light wherever she went, Chris thought. Sarah Tanner had left her native Texas over ten years before, sent east by a brother who wasn't ready to care for a willful child by himself. She had returned to the western land she loved as a young woman, married to an easy-going preacher by the name of Micah McCallum. Nathan had commented to Chris that the girl had more healing in her voice than most trained doctors had in their hands. Chris had to agree. With deep satisfaction he watched Mary laughing at Sarah's side. Seeing her like that made a man think of settling down.
Then it struck. The old pain crept up and caught him unawares. Rising in the back of his mind came the image of his own wife Sarah and the home they'd made. Days of hard work and nights of easy laughter had been swept away as flames had consumed his home, his wife, his child, and even more. There before him he could see the only woman he'd ever loved as she had looked that last morning when he rode away. Sunlight tangled in her hair, she had rested her hand gently over her womb. Then the searing flames claimed even that small life he would never have a chance to see. Grief rose up like fetid, stagnant water to drown him once again. The tide swept all other emotion before it. Without a word he brushed his friends aside and strode out the door. Choking dust and blazing heat were the only fit companions for him now.
From across the room several of the men noted Chris' departure. Over time they had grown used to the way his moods took him. Much as they would have willingly helped, there was nothing they could do but leave him alone.
When the singing lulled, Micah McCallum had eased into talking, dwelling on loving your fellow man. It was something he had a habit of doing whenever a group of folks came together. Vin was always left with the suspicion they'd been suckered into attending church without quite knowing it. Still he had to admit the young preacher from back east gave folks a good bit to chew over. One thing for sure, things were never boring when Micah started talking, and entertainment could be hard to come by in a small town. With just a bit of the devil in him he decided to liven things up with a little good natured baiting.
"What makes you think your fellow man's so all fired worth loving anyhow?" he tossed out from the corner. He was curious to see what Micah would do with that. When Micah gestured for him to elaborate, he continued. "I've watched a lotta creatures - snakes, coyotes, buffalo, bear. A man's gotta watch out for 'em. But there's not one that's just pure evil. You gotta understand their ways is all. But now man, he's different. He's the only one that'll kill just outta meanness. He's the only one that plain enjoys hurting his own kind."
"Vin's right," hollered young JD Dunne getting into the spirit of things. " Whatta ya figure God wants with him anyway."
Micah didn't answer right off. He rocked back in his chair and pursed his lips. He smiled thoughtfully at Josiah Sanchez, a one-time preacher who served as the group's spiritual confessor. Josiah and Micah had developed a habit of burning the midnight oil together, but the two men parted company when it came to their way of solving problems. Micah figured praying and talking was the way to go; Josiah had a conviction that sometimes matters had to be helped along with a Smith and Wesson.
Josiah gave a nod for Micah to jump on in.
"Well, man's the one that counts most, JD," Micah said. "Man's the one God made in his own image. The others are just animals. Oh, they all have different natures and sometimes they seem good or evil in their ways, but that's just how we look at them. They can't be purely evil," this for Vin's benefit, " and they can't be purely good. But man - God meant for him to be good. He was the crown of God's creation, with a living soul just like God. It's no wonder Satan would give his eye teeth to corrupt that soul and turn it from God."
Josiah smiled broadly. "Guess old Lucifer don't get all fired up by the idea of taking a herd of buffalo to hell with him." His audience burst out laughing.
"Look at it this way, JD," Micah said, turning back to the youngest member of the group. "Man's not the cause of good in this world; and man's not the cause of evil. -- Man's the ground the two are fightin' over."
Vin digested that explanation and decided he liked it.
As the group broke up, Josiah and Micah paused at the door to watch at the solitary black-clad figure across the street. Chris Larabee stood braced against the force of the hot, gritty wind desert wind, isolated, drawn apart.
"Hell of a battle going on over that ground," observed Josiah.
Micah nodded as he pondered the lonely gunman.
"Be a real shame if the wrong side won," he said.
+ + + + + + +
When Vin and Sarah joined them, Micah slipped an arm comfortably around his wife's waist. "I'm saddled up and ready to head out," he informed the group.
McCallum was a man of vibrant enthusiasm and ardent faith. He had taken on the task of riding circuit between Four Corners and three neighboring towns, in the hopes of starting up stable churches in each community. The job was a hard and lonely one. It meant being away weeks at a time.
"You think you can behave yourself while I'm gone?" he teased Sarah. In return she gave him a carefully controlled smile that heightened the resemblance she bore to Vin.
"Way I recollect it, wasn't me that got in trouble the last time," she drawled.
Micah kissed her soundly before turning to the handsome roan he had brought with him from Kentucky. As Micah checked his cinch, Vin calmly walked around and slid a Sharps carbine in the scabbard he'd attached to the saddle. Micah eyed the weapon dubiously.
"Ain't for shooting your fellow man," Vin commented dryly as he slipped a box of cartridges into Micah's saddle bag. "It was more cougar and rattlesnakes I had in mind. Got no objection to shooting them do you?"
Micah swung himself into the saddle.
"No objection," he replied warmly. Giving Vin his hand, he turned and rode north, headed for a dusty hole in the wall called Lonesome Rock.
"You boys promise to behave yourselves, I got stew simmering," offered Sarah.
+ + + + + + +
Funny how something so infinitely small can so dominate a land. If anything distinguished life in the territory from anywhere else he had ever been, Chris Larabee knew it was the dust. Dust was a part of life in these lands, ever present night and day. Fine grains the color of powdered chalk ran through a never ending cycle. Having been kicked up from the parched ground, they floated constantly on the ever present wind to settle on houses and horses and men. What pointless effort mankind, or more often womankind, put into sweeping and shaking and brushing sending those grains airborne again to settle to their native ground once more. Endless migration. A pointless fact of life, Chris thought, as he leaned against a one of the posts precariously holding up the battered tin roof of the jail. Feeling unfit for civilized company, he had assigned himself the job of watching the town.
As he surveyed the area he noticed an attractive couple stroll down the street. Mary Travis had changed into a markedly finer dress than he had seen her in earlier, something that showed lots of lace trim, made of a pearly shade of gray that matched her eyes. Her escort was a tall, broad built man named Dan Taylor. He had made quite a splash in town this past year. With a series of coups, he had acquired control of several substantial businesses in Four Corners and the surrounding area. Fitting company for an influential widow like Mary, Chris told himself, far more fitting than a gunslinger and self-proclaimed member of the "bad element" like Chris Larabee. There was a sort of poetic irony in that, he thought. He'd run across Taylor once before, a few years back, and what he knew of the man might make some folks question just who the bad element really was. But that was only some folks, he reminded himself, not most. He didn't know why it irked him to see Mary with Taylor, but whatever the reason his mood deteriorated from inhospitable to downright foul. It seemed as though whenever he began to relax, the pain always came back, and it hurt twice as bad when it did. He should never have allowed himself even a glimpse of a good time in the first place, he thought. No risk, no hurt, no guilt - to the heart that is. Chris didn't give a damn what happened to his body, so long as it served him when he needed it. He shook his head trying to clear the maudlin thoughts.
As he followed the early evening activity on the street, Chris pulled his wide-brimmed black hat down. It served to keep at least some of the blowing grit out of his eyes. His attention settled on the town's newest arrivals. This little group had come in on yesterday's stage. Bright scarlet dresses left no illusion as to what their trade might be. They too were a fact of life anywhere women were so vastly outnumbered by men. One buxom black-haired gal stepped brazenly forward and invited him to buy her a drink. Here, he thought, was company better suited to his mood. With no remorse, he obligingly took her arm and made for the saloon, cutting straight across Dan Taylor's path on the way. He nodded only the coldest acknowledgment to Mary and her escort as he passed and without knowing why it gave him an almost visceral satisfaction.
+ + + + + + +
Morning came far too early for Chris, and with it came a throbbing head and the taste of dry cotton filling his mouth. He reached instinctively to check that his gunbelt lay close at hand, then searched out his clothes. He couldn't say he recognized the place and didn't remember winding up there. At a guess he figured it was one of the cheap, cramped rooms to let behind the telegraph or assayer's office. Aside from himself, the room was empty, but when he emerged into the alley he found the black-haired courtesan lounging idly near the entrance from the street. The stabbing glare of the sun forced him to cover his eyes. The girl looked his way as he stepped out under the merciless sun.
The last thing he wanted to see was Mary Travis standing on the rough boardwalk across the way. She was holding Sarah's arm and had her head bent in conversation. He would have liked it fine if things had stayed that way, but at just that moment she turned her head and caught his exit. She saw her stiffen and look hurriedly aside. This town was too crowded, he told himself, too civilized.
"Don't say anything, Sarah," Mary whispered tensely.
Sarah thought about that. She considered Mary a dear friend, one she'd come to share with freely. She considered Chris a friend, too. He was a man she respected and knew her brother and husband trusted explicitly, but he wasn't a simple man. He was a man torn with pain over his murdered family, a man who courted death because life had left him with so little to lose. She squeezed Mary's arm reassuringly, drawing her further along the broadwalk. She would decide how to deal with Chris later.
"Tell me what Mr. Taylor wanted?" she asked, changing the subject. "He sure was dressed fine last night," she observed.
"Mr. Taylor is a good bit more refined than most of our citizens," Mary told her, "but his object was purely business. He just likes to dress things up in a gracious way."
"And what business did Mr. Taylor propose?" Sarah asked.
Mary hesitated a bit, knowing she wasn't clear in her own mind what she wanted to do.
"He made me an offer on the paper," she said a last. "A good one, too."
Sarah knew she didn't like the sound of that. Dan Taylor had come to town as the Wells Fargo agent, but he'd sunk a lot of money into Four Corners that couldn't be accounted for by his position. As she counted it, he owned the feed and grain and the hardware, and he held a stake in both saloons as well. In her opinion, Dan Taylor owned too many things for the good of this town.
+ + + + + + +
By mid morning Chris had holed up in the tack room of the livery stable. It was a quiet place filled with the smell of leather and oil. There was only one small window and he could rest his head and watch the bits of dust and gold chaff drift slowly where it let in a slender ray of light. Noises from the street were muffled, absorbed by bales of hay on the far side of the wall. He needed to give the dull ache behind his eyes a chance to subside. He was floored and also mildly annoyed when Sarah McCallum found him. She'd been standing there right next to Mary when he'd made his graceless exit.
"Mornin' Chris," was all she said when she found him. He grunted, making no attempt to sustain conversation. The tactic would have put off a different sort of woman. It bothered Sarah not at all. Like Vin, silence was a comfortable part of her nature. And besides, she had set herself to tackle something and it was time to get on with it. She gently handed him the cup of coffee she had in her hand. Studying his drawn features and weary eyes, she found herself staring down into the ragged, gaping hole Sarah Larabee had left behind when she died.
"You spend too much time dwelling on her," she told him once she'd settled.
Chris didn't ask who she meant. "What makes you think I do?" he asked instead.
"Hardly a moment goes by when you don't," she answered, "except when you're fighting ... or drinking ... or find some other way of drowning it out."
"Chris, you can't put the past to rest," she continued. Then pausing a second, she took a deep breath and plunged in. "I'm thinkin' it's real hard for you to strike something up with a decent woman. Somebody like Mary for instance. Must feel kinda like you're betraying your wife. Reckon you think it wouldn't be right to stop twisting that knife inside you for a spell."
Chris' face went rigid. His jaw tightened, only increasing the pain in his temples. "Meaning what?" he croaked defensively.
"Meaning I figure maybe a whore costs you a little less from your conscience. Doesn't really count. Doesn't hurt as much when it's a woman you don't care about. You don't even have to think of her as a real woman at all." Sarah leveled a penetrating blue stare his way.
The assessment hit home, making Chris recoil as though he had been hit by a physical blow.
"Just be something you oughta think on," she said softly as she slipped out the door.
It'd been a hell of a lot of years since Chris had been sucker punched. He hadn't liked it then, and he didn't like it now. Everything he bottled inside of him screamed to hit back. He stalked out of the livery neither knowing nor caring where he went. The jailhouse seemed as good a destination as any and the whole way there he couldn't think or see beyond white-hot, blind rage. It was pure bad luck that the man holding down the sheriff's office right then had wavy brown hair and piercing blue Tanner eyes.
"Whoa pard," he whistled when Chris slammed through the door. "What's got you riled?"
Vin's mistake was reaching out a hand to catch the gunman's arm. He was a cautious man and it was a mistake he wouldn't usually have made. With one swift motion Chris shook him loose and backhanded him. The blow sent the younger man reeling back against the raw pine wall.
"Why doesn't your damned sister keep her nose outta other people's business?" he cursed.
The question and the blow caught Vin off guard. He took a breath to settle himself and then tried to play it slow and easy. His worthy intentions did no good. Chris was too lost in his own fury to care what he did and when Vin stepped forward to calm him down, Chris lashed out once more. Putting his full weight behind his actions he threw Vin back, sending him reeling into the massive oak desk that filled the right half of the room. Its solid wooden edge caught the former bounty hunter hard in the side, knocking the breath out of him. The pain was so sharp he found it hard to keep his feet.
Several of the other men were brought running by the hullabaloo. Sizing up the situation, Buck hauled Chris off of Vin. With Josiah's help he pinned the man's arms long enough for Nathan to pull Vin clear and hustle him out the door. Then the two men turned Chris loose with the same hedgy caution they'd have used loosing an angry steer that had just tasted the brand.
+ + + + + + +
Half an hour later, Vin Tanner lay circumspectly on his bed. He knew full well he hadn't been thinking his smartest when Chris came at him, or he wouldn't be lying here now allowing Nathan to carefully probe his ribs. A piece of old shirt soaked in well water lay dripping over one eye. With the other eye he raked his sister up and down when she came through the door.
"Right sorry about that," she said with a fair degree of circumspection herself.
"What'd you say to him, girl?" he asked bluntly.
She seated herself at his side before she answered. "I told him something I figured he needed to hear," she answered.
"And?" he prompted.
"And," she said smoothly, "if I figured the rest of you boys needed to hear it, I'd've made a public announcement." Taking the cloth from his eye, she examined the discoloring knot. She glanced questioningly up at Nathan while she wrung out a fresh rag.
"Think that rib to the right's cracked," he told her, gingerly touching the injury. "He best take it easy an' stay off a horse for the next few days."
"I'll see he stays put," she promised.
Vin waited for Nathan to leave before tackling Sarah once more. "Must've been one hell of a 'something he needed to hear'," he prodded. When she wouldn't reply, he let the pieces tumble around in his head a spell. He snorted when the light of understanding finally dawned.
"Next time you decide to reform Chris Larabee," he told her, "you wanna warn me to get outta town first?"
+ + + + + + +
One thing about Chris' black moods, people definitely started leaving him alone and that was how he preferred it. He was glad to see that nobody in the saloon came within ten feet of the dark corner where he and his bottle sat alone. In fact the way people had cleared out in general, he suspected he was hurting business. Right now he took a kind of vindictive pleasure in that thought.
He was anything but cordial when Buck came through the swinging doors and sauntered back to his table. Chris pointedly did not invite his friend to sit down and have a drink.
"Nathan's patching up Vin," Buck told him, slowly pulled up a chair to sit beside him in the lightless corner. "He figures Vin cracked a rib when he hit the desk. Nasty looking bruises."
Add one more to my score, thought Chris. It caused a real pang because he had valued Vin's friendship as much as he'd valued anything in the past three years. But looking back it seemed he wasn't the best man in these parts with which to be friends. People close to him had a way of dying off real fast.
"You know, Buck. You and everybody in this town would stay a lot healthier if you'd just let me go to hell my own way." He was surprised to hear how slurred the words sounded. For the most frightening moment Buck seemed to fade away and he was afraid he might look up to find his sweet wife watching him.
When he did look up the woman who stood hesitating inside the saloon's swinging door was Mary Travis. The slender blonde woman appeared unable to decide whether or not to approach him and in painful doubt as to what to say if she did. Nor could he fail to see the bitter disappointment in her eyes. Well, he thought, this bottle and I need to find a better place to hide.
Mary, for her part, hadn't been able to get Chris out of her mind. She was sick of the way he changed without warning. One moment she admired him more than any man she had ever met. He was strong. He was fair. She knew he was as honest as a man could come. And he cared, cared enough to act when he saw wrong done. He was so like Stephen in that way. What better qualities could a man have. But all in an instant he could turn closed and threatening, and ugly. Like now. Then he became a mirror reflection of the savage land that shaped him and others of his kind. There was nothing in the surly, unshaven man who stumbled past her on his way out of the saloon that she could admire. She had been dealt a lot of disappointments in the last few years. Why did it hurt so much to be disappointed once more.
All of a sudden she was tired, more tired than she had been in a long while. She wistfully thought of the home Stephen's parents had offered her and of the time spent apart from her son, whose childhood was slipping through her fingers with each new day. She wondered if she had been wrong to stay in Four Corners after all and if the time had come to change her mind.
+ + + + + + +
It was late afternoon when Sarah McCallum walked through the doors of the saloon. Her entrance had a profound effect on the bartender, Jim. He had no problem with the saloon girls who generally worked the bar. And he tolerated the occasional upstanding wife who came looking for a straying husband. But the appearance of the trim little preacher's wife threw him the way nothing short of the judgment day could.
"Miz. McCallum, you sure can't be in here," he protested. "Whatever do you need?"
Sarah looked him straight in the eye with her sharp blue gaze. "I can be where I want, Jim," she told him in that gentle, low voice that so enchanted everyone who knew her. She slowly looked around the dusky interior, studiously ignoring the one person she had come to see. "I came to roust the place," she continued without a hint of a smile. "Hymn singin' starts in five minutes."
Jim's mouth dropped open and his normally florid face turned pale. He shot a look full of mute appeal at Vin Tanner, who'd been leaning on the bar nursing both his rib and a beer. Vin hadn't bothered to turn around and look at Sarah, but after she spoke his shoulders started to quiver uncontrollably. Though he remained manfully silent, he seemed to have a hard time choking down the last of his beer. Josiah Sanchez watched this reaction curiously. It took a good minute before Vin was sure he could speak. Then he shot her a hard look over his shoulder.
"You're scarin' the poor man, Sarah," he drawled once he finally got his mirth under control.
"Then you'd best take me out for a walk and relieve his fears," she told him dryly. Vin complied without hesitation. Sarah had a way of getting whatever she wanted out of her older brother. On the way out she tapped Josiah and Ezra Standish, who sat at a table nearby. A jerk of her head indicated they should come as well. The men followed her through the swinging doors and out into the broiling furnace fired by the afternoon sun.
"Why're we going for a walk, girl?" Vin inquired good naturedly.
Sarah led them down the street. Dust swirled up around her boot tops and left a chalky coating on her plain cotton skirts. Finally she reached a spot clear enough to hold a conversation without the risk of being overheard.
"Mary's leavin'," she announced.
"Mary Travis?" Ezra inquired skeptically. "Surely there must be some error."
Sarah shook her head. "She sold the paper to Dan Taylor." She watched the men as they took in the news. Ezra looked particularly grieved by what she'd said. She had never seen his countenance more crestfallen.
"Damned shame," murmured Josiah.
"Reckon Chris knows about it?" she questioned them.
"You're askin' me?" Vin jabbed, giving her an especially pointed glance. He was rewarded by seeing her blush.
"If he knew, I reckon one of us would of heard about it," Josiah put in by way smoothing things over.
Sarah hugged her arms in front of her chest and stared the three men down. Without a word her rigid stance cried out - what are you going to do about it.
"If she wants to go.." Vin started, but Sarah cut in.
"She doesn't want to."
"Then excuse me, but why would she leave?" Ezra asked her quietly.
"I'm not sure she knows herself." The tension faded from Sarah's form allowing a quiet thoughtfulness to settle in it's place. "A body gets tired. Low moment comes along, sometimes you just can't fight it off."
Josiah surveyed the town with quiet regret. "Yeah," he said, "the devil does have a way of choosing his moments."
Sarah had a way of stirring the pot that ran counter to her brother's reticent nature. To his way of thinking Mary Travis' decisions were none of his concern. However, chafing under Sarah's continuing stare, he finally responded. "If she's already signed the papers, don't know what you'd do about it even if you changed her mind." He watched suspiciously as Sarah rolled things over in her head. Tiny creases on her brow bore mute testimony to the seed of a gradually germinating idea.
"He hasn't given her the money yet," she told them deliberately. "Said he wasn't going to have the cash for a day or two."
Vin thought about that fact. As an idea took root both he and Josiah turned to stare at Ezra. A smile slowly spread across Vin's square features as the possibilities occurred to him. Ezra in turn was a man who recognized a lead in when he heard one, and this opportunity was too delightfully good to ignore. It would never do, he told himself, to allow his god given talents to grow rusty.
"It seems I am the man of the hour," he said, adjusting the angle of his hat to match his mood. "Pray allow me to offer my assistance, Mrs. McCallum." On that line he gave her his arm and his face lit up with a rakish smile.
"I have just the thing, Mrs. McCallum," Ezra said suavely a short time later. He took off his hat and bowed like a true gentlemen, allowing her to proceed him into his room.
"I really don't think it's at all proper for me to be entering your apartments," Sarah protested prettily. Ezra noted, however, that her eyes twinkled with amusement when she said it. It was, nonetheless, a vital point of honor for a young wife in her position, and one he had forgotten to consider. Careless, he thought, but not irretrievable.
"I'm sure no one would think less of you, ma'am," he ventured. "Especially considering you are being escorted by your rather excessively armed brother."
"That she is," said Vin as he stretched himself in a chair next to a well polished highboy. "What is it you got to show us." Vin shifted uneasily in the dainty chair,. Its spindly legs and Queen Anne design ill suited his frame and inclinations. "Don't this thing lean?" he complained. The comment bought him a withering look from Ezra.
With a theatrical flourish and a beaming smile, Ezra produced a folded piece of paper from the highboy's top drawer.
"Looks like a deed," Vin commented.
"It is, Mr. Tanner, it is." Ezra was relishing every moment. "I won it in a poker game last week from a gentleman named Lewis," he went on to explain. Then he opened the paper with a flourish. "Complete ownership of The Dancing Lady Mine."
Vin and Sarah glanced sideways at each other.
"You got a gold mine, Ezra?" Vin asked pointedly.
"Well, in point of fact, no," continued Ezra. "I'm afraid the slippery Mr. Lewis stiffed me. Much to my chagrin you may be sure. I did check it out, I assure you, but it appears to be devoid of any gold. Unless you care to count fool's gold. I found that commodity in abundance. Not that Mr. Taylor needs be made aware of that little fact." From his pocket, Ezra deftly produced a real gold nugget. He eyed the small yellow lump with an intense air of pride and satisfaction. Then his face theatrically fell.
"Alas , I seem to be short of funds at this time. I don't believe I shall be able to get this valuable enterprise up and running. Unless, of course, I had a partner. Someone like a prominent businessman interested in investing. Assuming, of course, he had the necessary liquidity. That is to say, could come up with some cash." Ezra's grin was positively triumphant.
"I like it," said Vin and Sarah simultaneously.
+ + + + + + +
"A moment of your time, Mr. Taylor" Ezra said, smoothly interrupting the entrepreneur the next day.
"Of course, Mr. Standish," the gentleman agreed pleasantly.
"I must say I've been impressed by your business acumen, Mr. Taylor. Perhaps you could assist me with a little situation that has just arisen.... Do you mind if we speak privately."
Vin listened to the exchange from his chosen post holding up a wall a few yards away. He politely touched his hat in greeting as Ezra and his victim walked by. Then he pulled himself erect and sauntered down the pine boardwalk. Try as he might he couldn't quite smother a contagious grin.
+ + + + + + +
Mary Travis knelt before the large oaken dresser that held her clothes. She had stared absently at the rose figured wallpaper for several minutes now. Her trunk lay open at the foot of the bed, but she hadn't the heart to dump what was left of her life into its beckoning void. It had been like this after Stephen died, when she'd moved to the rooms in town, away from the house filled with painful memories. The hardest part was deciding what to keep and what to leave behind. Back then she had been running away. She wondered if that was what she was doing now.
There was no knock to serve as a warning. The front door slammed hard and steps rang across the floor of her sitting room. The violence of the interruption frightened her. She caught herself holding her breath and forced her muscles to relax. When she looked around, Chris Larabee was standing at her bedroom door.
"Josiah tells me you sold the paper," he said without preamble. The words was harsh and there were tight lines around his mouth to match the tone in his voice.
Rising to her feet she nodded.
"Dan Taylor made me an offer," she said stiffly. She dusted her hands pointlessly on the skirts of her dress. "There's really no reason for me to refuse. I'll be glad to be leaving this town, if you want to know."
Chris glared at her. "So with all your fine principles I see you're not too righteous to sell to Taylor. I thought you had more fight in you than that," he said sarcastically. "I guess I was wrong."
The words stung. She was shocked to realize that there were suddenly hot, angry tears filling her eyes. All the confusion inside of her boiled over, taking them both by surprise.
"What do you mean you were 'wrong'," she demanded. "Don't you think I've been fighting. Do you know how hard I had to fight to keep the paper alive after Stephen died? Do you know how hard I've fought to try and make this hateful town a decent civilized place to live? Did you think I enjoyed all those months separated from my son?" To her own amazement her voice had risen within reach of a scream by this time and she found she still wasn't done.
"How dare you judge me, Chris Larabee. At least when my husband was killed I stood my ground. I kept working for what he believed. You have no idea what it means to fight like that. When your world fell apart you ran away; you didn't stay and work your fingers to the bone trying to pick up the pieces."
"That was different," Chris barked hoarsely. "At least you had pieces. There was nothing of my world left to pick up. You never even began to understand." Suddenly he wanted to make her understand what he felt more than anything else in the world. He seized her shoulders thinking he could somehow shake the understanding into her.
"You had pieces!" he repeated. His fingers gouged painfully into her arms emphasizing each word. "You had a cause to fight for, a legacy to build, you still had your son. I HAD NOTHING!"
Angry gray eyes brimming with tears stared back at him. Self-consciously he realized he must be hurting her. Releasing her arms, he retreated. Between them lay a quivering silence neither one knew how to break. Above all else this usually decisive man was confused. Sarah McCallum's blunt observations had sent him ricocheting blindly, adrift from any recognizable emotional path. He no longer knew himself.
He had fought his pain hard, striking back in any physical way he could. Action and risk temporarily kept the dark at bay. And, God help him, when there was nothing or no one to fight he had tried to destroy that pain any way he could. Mary fought her pain in a different way, trying to live out her husband's plans. For the first time he wondered if they had really been her dreams at all or were they simply a piece of Stephen Travis she couldn't let die.
Shifting uneasily, he turned to go.
"Chris," said Mary in a strained voice. "What did you mean about Taylor?"
For the first time it occurred to him that Mary, for all her resources, might not know what he did.
"I remember him from up near Santa Fe a few years back. He had a stake in a small paper back then, too. Used his editorials to keep folks stirred up - mostly against the Indians, some against Negroes or Mexicans. Pretty much anything that sold papers and caused trouble." He couldn't feel any satisfaction at the naked shock in her eyes. Without a further word, he left.
+ + + + + + +
A hour later found Mary in the McCallum's small kitchen, head buried in her hands.
"I can't believe I was such a fool," she seethed. Her fingers twisted through her hair in a way that convinced Sarah she was about to pull some of it out. "How could I be that blind!"
"What you mean is how could you be wrong," observed Sarah lightly. "Happens to folks every now and then. I want you to think on the folks in the Good Book, Mary." Sarah set down a plate of biscuits and a pot of honey and then warmed to her subject.
"Can you name me any, this side of Our Lord Christ Jesus I mean, that didn't make a mistake or two? Lord knows, Abraham and Sarah did - her laughing at Jehovah God and them getting so impatient and messing with His ways. Simon Peter denied Our Lord three times before he came to his senses. And don't be forgetting Jacob. That man's name meant 'cheater'. When did you get to be so all fired more perfect than them? " she asked. Only the gentle look in her eyes robbed the words of any offense.
An impish smile touched Sarah's lips. "Jacob, now, he puts me in mind of Mr. Standish."
Taking a deep breath Sarah plunged ahead and laid out Ezra's plan. She watched Mary's face closely, trying to gauge her reaction. Over the next few minutes, her face reflected a whole panorama of emotions.
"All of you wanted me to stay enough to think this up?" Mary finally asked.
Sarah nodded. Gently she enclosed both of Mary's hands within her own.
"It's not right for Mr. Standish to do everything," Mary continued after a pause. "It was my mistake. There must be something I can do."
"Can you act?" asked Sarah playfully.
"I think so," Mary answered.
"Then you just come along and let's go see."
Ezra was delighted to enroll Mary Travis as an ally. He basked in his element as he described to the ladies where matters stood.
"I do hope you are not dismayed to find Mr. Taylor, so quick to reconsider his obligation to you," he explained. "He expressed definite interest in my proposal. And he suggested he would have the cash by tomorrow. The only tangle is he insists on the prerogative of examining the mine before he commits. Now, I think, perhaps, Mrs. Travis could assist me there."
Over the next hour Ezra played with several tidbits that Mary could innocently repeat that might heighten Taylor's desire for a stake in the mine. Primarily he wanted to keep the businessman from taking too close a look at the property first hand. To his infinite dismay, no matter what lines he gave Mary to deliver, she didn't sound convincing, at least not to his practiced ear.
By late afternoon the heat of the day had become oppressive. Ezra mopped his brow with a linen handkerchief that was already soaked with sweat. He tried manfully not to let his exasperation show.
"Please forgive me, Mrs. Travis," he said at last. "You seem to lack any real talent for prevarication."
"It's not a skill I practice, Mr. Standish," she countered waspishly.
"Yes, yes. I understand," he placated. "Perhaps we just need to stick a little closer to the truth." The admission brought a pained expression to his face.
In the end that was what he decided was best. Mary would accompany him to his meeting with Taylor ' as a dear friend'. When Taylor embarrassingly found himself trapped between the deal he had already made with Mary and the one he was intending to make with Ezra, she had only to graciously concede that she was willing to let him off the hook. That strategy at least seemed manageable. He sent Mary off with considerable relief, but only after she agreed to meet him for dinner. There was no harm, he had explained, in establishing their "dear friendship' in public view.
"That still doesn't take care of Mr. Taylor getting too close a look at your mine," Sarah observed after Mary had gone.
"It may," Ezra told her. "Mrs. Travis turning up like this should throw him a bit off balance in my opinion."
"However," he continued, "I think tonight I will attend to a few carefully placed nuggets. And perhaps a well-worded note from an assayer, who providentially resides elsewhere, would be a wise choice."
Sarah's eyebrows raised and she honored Ezra with her best Tanneresque stare.
"Think you might be riding just a little close to the edge?" she questioned. "Seeing as how you're a reformed man?"
Ezra managed to look both shocked and grieved. "Mrs. McCallum, he exclaimed, "I have right here the assayer's note that Mr. Lewis provided me. It describes the site as 'having excellent potential for commercial production.' I can't be responsible for what someone else has said. Why, I took this testimonial in good faith myself."
"In other words, if it fooled you, it'll fool Taylor without a hitch," Sarah translated.
Ezra's face reflected his annoyance that this woman could read him so well.
+ + + + + + +
The morning sun painted the open land, brushing strokes of soft rose light over the low desert expanse. From point to point across the terrain a glowing line of cholla and saguaro marked the path where its rays advanced. Such beauty never failed to take away Sarah's breath. She had ridden out early to enjoy the sight.
The bluff from which she admired the view was one Vin had shown her, a favorite thinking spot of his own. Her conscience, however disturbed her tranquil meditation.. Vin had made it more than plain he didn't want her far from town on her own, and to her annoyance, Micah had backed him up. She supposed men always looked at things the same way. When she was growing up in Texas, Vin, who was so much the older, had been her frequent keeper. And Lord help her, she had spent half her childhood shattering her brother's plans and peace of mind by willfully heading off where she would the moment his back was turned. Hers was a spirit that walls couldn't contain with grace or ease. Sometimes she just needed to breathe the air.
She sat astride a beautiful chestnut gelding that Micah had given her on their wedding day. As she sighed and turned the horse's head to go, a rider on the road from town caught her eye. She recognized Dan Taylor. What, she wondered, was he doing heading out this soon He wasn't due to meet Ezra for a couple of hours yet. A few minutes of observation told her he was definitely meeting someone else. Two men and a wagon pulled out from the cover of a small cluster of cottonwoods and Taylor reined in to join them. One man jerked back a tarpaulin, affording Taylor a brief look at their load. Some instinct warned her to dismount and ground tie her horse out of sight. From her vantage on the bluff she should be able to observe where they went.
The land this side of town played tricks on a person. She could see the thrusting tower of rocks containing The Dancing Lady mine plain as day. If she had been level with the road, a casual glance would have convinced her that the land between was unbroken, but that was far from the true. To the southwest the land abruptly dropped away where a massive escarpment cut the land. The stretch she viewed ended with a cliff. Water had carved deep gullies back from its face as though some giant beast had raked angry claws over the land. Most of these ended before going too far, but one particular cut made this whole section impossible to traverse. Water from the sporadic inundations of summer storms had carved out a narrow ravine, so deep and so long that local residents had christened it 'The Devil's Cut'. While its two sides lay in frustrating proximity, the only way to reach one from the other was a road which detoured all the way around the fissure's northeastern extremity.
As Sarah continued her covert watching, the wagon and its escort followed this route. Once around the Cut, the small entourage turned off, which further roused her suspicions. Best as she could make out they were headed in the direction Ezra had indicated for the mine. To her knowledge nothing else at all lay along that particular trail. Sarah decided that this development warranted a little cautious investigation on her own. All she wanted to do was ride surreptitiously up into the rocks overlooking the mine site and get a feel for how things lay. As she fetched her mount and threw a leg over, she was confident there would be plenty of time to pursue her plans and still turn back Ezra and Mary if things didn't look right.
Sarah had been right in her guess at Taylor's destination, but wrong in her confidence about the timing. The need to remain out of sight slowed her progress and it took her ages to work her way round to a decent spot from which observe Taylor's actions without herself being seen. The more she saw of Taylor's two friends the less she liked the setup. They had taken great pains to conceal whatever was in the wagon behind the lone ramshackle structure that stood near the entrance to the mine. By the time she was firmly ensconced, the appointment was fast approaching.
+ + + + + + +
Vin was sitting in the sheriff's office with young J.D. Dunne when they brought in the body. Some hands at one of the outlying ranches had found the man tucked back in an arroyo, stone cold dead. Although if he hadn't been stone cold dead when they found him, Vin wouldn't have thought any less of the men that brought him in. The bundle they had crudely wrapped in canvas and flung over a horse contained a middle aged man, weathered and lean to the bone from hard living. Scars on the face and arms were physical proof of the style of life this man had lived. Vin remembered those scars. He'd put a few of them there once upon a time years back. This polecat had been asking to be taken down for ages.
"You know him, Vin?" J.D. asked on seeing Vin's obvious interest in the rank remains.
"Knew, J.D.," corrected Vin with thin humor. "I knew him. Took him in once."
J.D. laughed at the phrase.
"Any outlaw west of the Pecos you haven't taken in once?" he asked.
"One or two," replied Vin laconically, "might even be four or five." J.D. couldn't tell for sure whether Vin was smiling. The soft spoken bounty hunter was never one to talk much. It was a trait his friends understood and admired, but it made most folks nervous. That and the way he had of looking at people. Vin was looking around like that now.
"Boys, I don't know if there's a reward on him now, but if we find there is, it's yours," he said.
Vin's assurance seemed to satisfy the men and if it hadn't J.D. doubted they'd want to push the point anyhow. Folks around Four Corners had gotten used to the idea that what Vin Tanner shot at, he hit.
Laying the cold corpse out on the floor of one cell, they checked over its wounds and its belongings. The man had died from a single shot to the back of the head. A rifle was Vin's guess, so he suspected the victim never knew there was any danger till it had come and gone. By then he must have been viewing things from a different perspective. Vin reckoned there wouldn't be anything angelic in the perspective this old boy was enjoying now.
"Lord Almighty, that stench!" gasped J.D., covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief.
"Yeah, he does seem kinda ripe," said Vin. He felt for the kid. Poor J.D. was looking pretty pale and in this heat the rotted flesh smelled pretty bad.
They checked his pockets, boots and such. They weren't looking for a name, Vin had already supplied that, just any information that would enlighten them as to what this particular hombre was doing near town.
"What kinda stuff was he wanted for?" J.D. asked sotto voce.
"J.D., he can't hear you," Vin reminded him. "Last I knew about him, he'd been running guns to the Apache. Don't know where he was getting his supply though."
Vin cogitated. "Sure be good to know who he was fixin' to see around here."
J.D. had gingerly removed one boot and still carried a handkerchief over his nose when a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. Grabbing for it, the young sheriff picked it up and read.
"D. Lady Mine, past Devil's Cut, after dark. Wait for signal. DMT"
"Looks like he was fixing to buy or sell, one or the other," J.D. blurted out. Vin nodded very slowly in agreement.
Now Vin was troubled. Leaving J.D. to deal with the undertaker, he headed over to the livery to saddle up his horse. It didn't take any hard guessing on his part to put Dan Taylor and "DMT" together and that suddenly made him pretty edgy. Ezra's little plan to con Taylor had seemed nothing more than jolly child's play up till now, a form of amusement as far as he was concerned. But Ezra had taken Mary Travis along and the two of them would be meeting up with Taylor any time now. Right at this moment, Vin suspected that a backup would have been a good idea. Moving at as fast a pace as his injured rib allowed, he headed for the livery to saddle his horse. If Ezra did need backup, he needed it now.
Coming round the stable door he almost ran down poor Cass, the young black stable boy. Vin suspected the kid had been treated pretty bad the way he shied from folks. Nathan and Sarah had both gone out of their way to befriend the child. Right now, however, Vin brusquely nodded his apologies and went to fetch his black gelding. Looking around he immediately noted that Sarah's horse was gone from its normal stall.
Cass had ducked outside to stay out of Vin's way. Life had made the scrawny child an expert at dodging people. Grabbing the boy's collar Vin pulled him back inside.
"Where's Miz McCallum's chestnut?" he asked sharply.
"S-She t-took him out first thing dis m-morning," the boy stammered, clearly frightened by the gruff voice and abrupt manner. Vin hated himself for scaring the child. He hadn't meant to be unkind.
"How long she been gone? Four, five hours?" he asked more gently.
"F-First thing dis m-morning," the boy repeated. "First light."
At least five hours, he thought. Anxiety grew, forming a hard knot concentrated in his gut.
"Which way'd she go?" he asked Cass.
There was only one real street to speak of in Four Corners and without speaking the boy pointed down it to the west end of town.
Call it sixth sense, or gut instinct, or a well honed hunter's type of logic. Vin knew sure as he breathed that something was about to go badly wrong. To his way of thinking backup now meant more than a single man. He flipped Cass a coin and left the boy to saddle his black. The first place he made for was the saloon. He spotted the black clad figure as soon as he swung through the doors.
"Chris, we got trouble," he called without preamble. Larabee was on his feet without a single question. "Get saddled up while I get the rest. I'll tell you as we ride."
It took less than fifteen minutes to gather six men and six horses and head west for the mine. Vin hoped this was just a false alarm, but his insides were overruling his hopes right now.
+ + + + + + +
In deference to Mary's comfort, Ezra had rented a buckboard. He was attired in his red jacket, he privately thought red a domineering color and therefore useful in situations involving persuasion, and had coached Mary to wear a rather sophisticated but charming purple dress. The morning drive and the feminine company had put him in cheerful spirits. He delightfully anticipated the impression they would make on Taylor.
However, the moment they rounded the last set of boulders and came in clear site of the mine two things became clear. One was that Dan Taylor had arrived before them and had obviously had a chance to look around unescorted; the other was that Dan regarded Mary's presence as a very nasty surprise. The animosity in his eyes was only poorly disguised as he lifted her down to the ground.
They had exchanged stilted pleasantries and had begun their sham tour of the property when Ezra found a very nasty surprise awaiting him, too. Ducking beneath a low, thick beam at the mine's entrance he was about to show Taylor what he hoped would pass for a promising vein. Mary had chosen to wait outside. From the black tunnel at the back of the first room two figures quietly emerged and flanked him on either side. Their silent, stealthy entrance guaranteed him he wasn't going to like whatever they had in mind.
"Are these stalwart men associates of yours, Mr. Taylor?" Ezra inquired, keeping his voice perfectly steady, his manner suave.
"They are, Mr. Standish," Taylor informed him. "And they'd like to escort you back outside where I'm sure you are anxious to sign some papers."
"Ah, so may I surmise that this little jewel meets your criteria for investiture?" Ezra kept his voice jovial, but beneath his jacket cold sweat was forming on the back of his neck. He had lost the upper hand and he knew it, but for the life of him he didn't know why.
"This little jewel, as you put it, suits me perfectly," Taylor answered. His smile showed sharp white teeth that planted unfortunate wolf images in Ezra's mind.
The group had just emerged from the mine when something in the rocks above caught Taylor's eye. A jerk of his head sent one of his newfound escorts to investigate. Ezra nervously noted that Mary was nowhere in sight and began silently cursing himself for every kind of fool known to man. Apparently oblivious to Mary's absence, Taylor turned to Ezra and handed him a set of papers, already drawn up legal and proper. With a forced smile Ezra began to read them through.
"If I die you get sole ownership? Isn't that a tad pessimistic, Mr. Taylor?" Ezra's suspicions were conveyed in his caustic tone.
"Perfectly reasonable clause, Mr. Standish," Taylor told him. "Right of survivorship and all."
"Hm, there doesn't seem to be any mention of my getting the whole if you were to die, however." Ezra's left hand inched close to the butt of the Remington revolver on his hip.
"Well, Mr. Standish, that situation isn't going to arise." For the second time Ezra noted how clear a resemblance Taylor bore to a hungry wolf. He wished fervently he knew where Mary Travis was and whether she would be in the clear if lead started to fly. A minute later he almost regretted that wish.
As the men turned, alerted by the sound of a step, Mary emerged from behind the sagging shack that had served as both office and sleeping quarters when exploration first began. In her hands she carried a brand new Henry rifle and in her haunted eyes she carried questions.
"A small side business I'm opening up, Mary," Taylor explained, his transformation from upstanding citizen to predator now complete. The voice, the eyes, both had gone cold as steel and dead as stone. "Don't you think its an ideal location? I could hardly sell guns to our Indian neighbors in the middle of town after all. But after Mr. Standish's untimely demise, I'll have to be spending some of my time looking after things here. While I commence operations at this mine, I can pursue my lucrative sideline with a perfect cover."
Jerking the rifle away from Mary, he lifted one hand and gently stroked her cheek. "I'm really sorry you had to come along, my dear."
Mary stood stock still, but her eyes burned with rage.
In the rocks above Sarah knew when she saw Mary pull the gun from Taylor's hidden stash that help was going to be needed fast. Wriggling silently between the crumbling sandstone blocks that sheltered her, she made her way back to where her horse was tied. Hastily throwing a leg over her mount she picked her way down the loose scree and onto the main trail. Taylor's man was waiting for her there. A coarse dark-haired hombre of indeterminate years, he sat insolently blocking the road. That direction was her only way around the Devil's Cut and back to town. Four Corners, Vin, and help all lay on the other side.
Her Aunt Delia back in Kentucky had always admonished that she didn't know how to give in gracefully. To Sarah's mind this wasn't the time to start. There were still several yards between her and the dark-haired man, and she had open ground on the east. Micah's people knew horses, bred them in fact, and she never doubted the chestnut could leave this ruffian's horse in the dust. Spurring the horse and giving a yell, she turned him away from the road.
Fast as her horse was, however, her pursuer never fell far behind. Several times she tried to swing round in a broad arc and rejoin the road, but each time he was just fast enough to force her back. She was being maneuvered closer and closer to the precipitous ravine and further away from her only chance to escape.
In the clear desert air she saw the six riders as they crested the ridge outside of town. Six mounted men, clearly silhouetted against the sky. But the fasted horses on earth couldn't traverse that road fast enough to do her any good. Though tantalizingly clear in her view, she knew they were still well out of rifle range as well. She hesitated only a moment to weigh up her horse's merits. If they couldn't reach her, she knew of only one way she could to reach them in time. Calmly and deliberately, she turned the chestnut's head and struck out for those men on the ridge, laying her course in a dead straight line.
Vin had spotted the horses as soon as he cleared the top of the rise and with his glass he could make out Sarah in the lead. He watched the distant race in helpless frustration. His heart twisted, lodging high in his throat when he realized what Sarah planned. Rising tall in his stirrups, frantically flagging her with his hat, he shouted for her to turn back. But traveling head on she never swerved. The other men reined in as they saw what it was Vin feared. Closing on the final run at the ravine the girl dug in her heels. She rode leaning low over the horse's neck, praying and screaming encouragement in the creature's ear.
With a powerful leap the horse launched its lathered body across the chasm. That same moment Vin Tanner became a praying man. The seconds slowed to a crawl and the world moved in slow motion. After a decade, the chestnut's front hooves touched ground on the far side. Vin had almost taken up breathing once more when the rear hooves grazed the very brink then skidded off the edge. For a moment horse and girl tottered between safety and a bone shattering fall. Then as both hurled their weight forward the beast crashed to its knees on the unforgiving ground. Vin was astounded that Sarah had kept her seat. The animal struggled painfully back to its feet and at its mistress' urging kept coming. She was still riding fairly fast when they met her halfway.
"Taylor set up Ezra and Mary!" she yelled to the men. "He's got three guns to Ezra's one." Without hesitation Chris spurred north along the road. One by one the others took off to follow. Buck Wilmington touched his hat as he passed.
"Ma'am, that was purely the finest riding I've seen in ages," he said admiringly.
As the others rode off Vin held back. He eyed both her and the bleeding horse with concern plain on his face. Sarah ached for his support, but she knew that Mary and Ezra were in greater need of help. Without a word she motioned for him to go, slapping his horse's rump smartly to speed him on his way. In his wake she found herself coughing in the swirling dust kicked up by the horses' hooves. Gingerly, she slid to the ground. It was just as well, she thought, that none of them could see her now. She was shaking so badly she could hardly stand. Staring at the bloody gashes on the geldings knees was just too much. She grasped the leather saddle to steady herself and then sunk her face in the coarse saddle blanket and cried.
+ + + + + + +
It's act now or die, Ezra thought when Taylor wrenched the gun out of Mary's hands and turned to walk off. He was quick with a gun and despite being watched by Taylor's remaining accomplice, he had a Remington revolver in each hand before either of his opponents got off a shot. But he had to work with his attention divided. He was as concerned for Mary as he was for himself, and the odds were not on his side.
Snapping shots at his adversaries as rapidly as he could, he tried to place himself between her and the men as the two of them scrambled for the cover of the shack. His right leg collapsed underneath him a second before he actually felt the blow to his thigh. Commanding himself to focus, he rolled onto his back and continued firing. Taylor's man dropped. Painfully, he scooted closer to the shelter, placing a small boulder between Taylor and himself. First the left Remington clicked empty, then moments later the right. He listened for movement in the silence. Trying to ascertain exactly where Taylor was. A soft scraping behind him made him whirl, but it was only Mary scuttling to his side. If her movement hadn't caused him to turn that way, he would have died. As it was he caught a clear view of Taylor as he stepped around the small cabin's side, a single action Colt leveled in front of him. The man was snarling. Shoving Mary down Ezra slid the derringer into his right hand and fired before Taylor even realized he was still armed. Taylor fell to his knees as Ezra's second shot followed the first. He wavered several seconds, the loaded gun still held in his hand. This time Ezra really was defenseless. Then slowly the Colt dropped to the ground and Taylor sprawled on his face in the dust.
Ezra clutched the top of his leg and eased back against the dirty cabin wall. He had no idea whether or not the bullet had hit the artery, but it must have come close. With some effort he managed to extract a pocket handkerchief, pure white with dainty lace, and pressed it over the area of the wound. It was red before he counted to five.
"Let me get a look at it," Mary demanded and despite his protests, she was adamant. "I'm quite capable. I don't get weak at the sight of blood. Most women have had to tend to their share of sick and injured."
"It's more the nature of the injury, madam," Ezra stammered. He was appalled to feel the heat that rose in his face. "It would be best to just leave it until Nathan can take a look." He knew full well that Nathan wouldn't be looking for him soon, Nor any of the others. Only Vin and Sarah knew about the rendezvous and he doubted either of them were likely to become suspicious until it grew dark. What a damned fool he had been to blithely assume he could handle this on his own.
"Oh for pity's sake, Mr. Standish," Mary snapped, "kindly remember that I have been a married woman. I'm not an innocent and I can hardly sit here and let you bleed to death."
To Ezra's surprise her touch was deft and sure. She discarded the pitifully inadequate handkerchief and used his knife to cut away the blood soaked trouser on his right leg. The bullet had gone in high on the inside of his thigh. She gathered a wad of her skirt and did her best to staunch the flow of blood. For several seconds she kept both hands pressed firmly along the inside of his upper thigh near the groin.
"The blood's not spurting," she told him in short breaths. "I think the artery must be intact."
Ezra grasped the opportunity to reload one of the Remingtons. He tried to concentrate on picking up sounds of activity outside their shelter. He could only assume Taylor's other accomplice was somewhere nearby, probably in the rocks above the entrance to the mine, but his attention was dangerously divided between that surveillance and his awareness of Mary's gentle ministrations. For now everything outside remained quiet. Mary's hissed instructions forced his attentions back to her hands.
"Pass me your brandy flask and then cut away part of my skirt." She pressed his knife back into his hand.
Laying the Remington down temporarily, he handed over his spirits and then cut a pair of long swaths from her hem. Mary folded one and emptied the contents of the flask on the pad. She gave Ezra a moment to prepare himself, then pressed it over the oozing hole and used the other to tie it tightly in place. The fire that shot through his leg almost tipped Ezra over the edge. Dark spots closed off his vision for a moment. Alternating waves of heat and chill swam over him, then slowly began to subside. He fought to clear his head. It worked of a minute, but soon he felt himself getting dizzy once more. It was becoming absurdly hard to focus. Leaning back against the wall he gazed at the beautiful, solicitous woman bending over him. He couldn't manage to keep his thoughts off of where she was touching him. Never, ever in my wildest dreams, he thought.
The whole thing suddenly struck him as wildly funny. Without warning he began to laugh. The look Mary gave him clearly said he'd lost his mind.
"You need to keep still, Mr. Standish," she cautioned.
Despite her warning, Ezra kept laughing. The honest concern in her voice and her eyes only made it worse. Oh Mary, my dear lady, if only..., he thought hysterically.
"You really must learn to appreciate the ironic moments in life, Mrs. Travis," he finally mumbled and closed his eyes.
Sprawled in the dirt before the sagging shack Mary struggled to keep her hands steady as she reloaded Ezra's second gun. A close look told her the gambler had lost consciousness.
"First I don't have enough fight. Next I can't lie," she muttered wildly. "Now it seems I have no sense of humor... We'll see about that."
+ + + + + + +
Chris Larabee was the first of the six to reach the mine. He pulled up short at what he saw. Ezra lay with his head tenderly cradled in Mary's lap. Half of his pants were gone and his bare leg was swathed in what could only be a sizable strip of Mary's once purple dress.
"Hey Ezra," called out Buck as he reined in alongside. "You sporting the latest fashion?"
"Always did think purple suited him," Josiah said for no one's benefit in particular.
The pallid gambler managed a weary smile.
A flood of emotions encompassed Chris, but this time he didn't give in to the temptation to simply yank his horse's head around and ride back the way he'd come. Patiently he sat there trying to sort out the conflicting waves that jangled those slender fibers men call nerves. There was anger, he realized, at Taylor, and at Ezra for letting Mary in on this mess. Mostly there was anger at himself, because he suspected that he had ultimately set all this in motion. There was a rough kind of sympathy for the gambler and the obvious pain he endured. And yes, he identified it now - there was just a hint of jealousy that she could look at Ezra that way. As soon as he gave the feeling its proper name the guilt and pain rose up once more. This time he stood back and could see where they came from. Here were twin demons that stood between him and the things that mattered most in life. Whenever he enjoyed a sweet moment or let himself laugh, whenever he felt tenderness for a child, admired a woman, or thought of comfort or how it felt to be loved, that was when the demons struck. They mocked all his natural desires, bent on reminding him he had no right to the things other humans treasured. He hadn't the power to banish them, but he saw them for what they were, spawn of the personal hell he carried around in his soul.
Consciously holding those demons at bay, he took stock of the situation and what needed to be done. Nathan was already bending over Ezra. He dispatched Vin and Josiah to scout around for Taylor's other man. Buck and JD were sent to search out the immediate area and ensure that no other dangers had been overlooked.
He crouched by Mary as she held Ezra's head and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"You're not hurt are you?" he asked.
She shook her head and gave him a wan smile.
"We'll have things wrapped up before long and get you and Ezra back to town."
Chris looked at Nathan for a verdict.
"It'll be okay to move him, if we do it gentle like," the black healer offered. "Think he can manage riding on the buckboard if we go real slow."
"Barbaric," muttered Ezra.
"Well, at least I didn't suggest you ride a horse," Nathan countered.
Chris winced at the image. Ezra wouldn't appreciate being on horseback for quite some time.
Ezra made it to the buckboard with Chris and Nathan supporting him on either side. After due deliberation, they decided that Nathan should drive, leaving Mary to manage on Nathan's horse. Buck and JD were sent on ahead. They could move faster unencumbered and a wagon was needed to cart two dead bodies and a case of contraband rifles back to town. Pacing themselves at a walk the party slowly made the trip back to Four Corners.
Vin and Josiah joined them about a mile from the mine. Chris was sorry to see that their pursuit had come up empty. Watching them ride up he registered the unnatural way in which Vin sat his horse. It sparked a twinge of remorse. Beneath the former bounty hunter's typically placid expression, tight lines in his face gave away his weariness and discomfort. Chris reined in beside him.
"You gonna make it back to town okay?" he asked softly.
Vin nodded in response. They turned their horses to follow the rest and Chris searched for something to say. However, it was Vin who had a feel for what was needed and took the lead. After they had ridden a few paces in silence he favored Chris with his typical hint of a smile.
"There have been one or two times when Sarah's tongue has stirred up a mite a' trouble," Vin informed him.
Chris almost laughed. That had to be the most exaggerated understatement he had heard in some time. He was silently grateful for his companion's subtle sense of humor.
"You don't say," he responded dryly.
They rode along in silence for a while passing occasional clumps of sagebrush and mesquite and the odd wispy patch of brownish grass. The sky overhead was hard and clear, barring even the memory of rain.
"Don't suppose you're gonna tell me what she said?" Vin asked.
Chris snorted.
"Not hardly!" he replied.
"She must of got you good."
"She told me the truth about myself," Chris finally admitted out loud. "Damned hard thing for a man to swallow."
Vin nodded slowly in agreement.
"That it is."
Both understood that was all they needed to say.
+ + + + + + +
Once Ezra was settled in Nathan's care, Chris had a chance to speak to Mary alone. The sun was just dipping below the horizon when he followed her into the newspaper's front room. She pulled a lamp from the shelf beside the door. Working silently he trimmed and lit it for her.
"I'm glad you're not leaving, Mary," he finally said.
Mary stood by the counter in the lamplight and stared ruefully at her mangled dress. She laughed softly upon seeing the spectacle she made.
"Do I have enough fight to suit you now?" she asked.
"Think you're doing better than I am this time around," he replied with a rueful smile. The expression erased years from his face leaving it almost boyish. He stood at the door, not wanting to leave, but not ready to stay.
As he watched while the sky outside took on vibrant hues of purple and red, a soft step scraped behind him and Mary drew close to his side. Together they paused in silence to breathe in the fading day. Even the wind had died and for once the town felt utterly still. When the last brilliant streak had faded to evening blue Chris turned his head.
"I'm not much good at apologies, but I think I owe you one."
"No, not as much as I owe you."
"There's a lot of things I can't face without - without remembering ," he stumbled. "Until I can lay the past to rest, I'm just not ready to move on. The thing is, Mary, I'm not sure I ever can."
"I hope you will some day," she told him. Gently she placed one hand on his arm. "It's not a thing you can rush. I learned one thing when I lost Stephen. You can't just will healing to come. It only happens with time, maybe a lot of time. Does that help at all?"
"It helps to know you understand."
"Friends?" she asked softly.
It was the most comforting word Chris Larabee had heard in a long, long time.
"Friends," he agreed.
"You loved your family deeply, Chris," she told him gently. "That does you credit. You mustn't try to let go of them till you're ready. I think you'll find they let go of you when the time is right."
Here and there a hint of stars had begun to show in the darkening sky.
"It may be an awfully long wait until that time comes," he said softly. Then giving her a tired smile he turned and slipped into the quiet street.
Mary leaned her cheek against the door sill and watched as the black-clad form faded away in the deepening night.
"That's all right, Chris Larabee," she whispered to the dark. "You just might be a man worth waiting for."
The End
