Requiem

ONE

Steam rising up like demented ghostlings played along the rim of his coffee mug in the early fall morning air. Slumping in the comfortable old chair in front of the saloon, Ezra peered into the rosy dawn with dubious enthusiasm.

"Come on, Standish, let's go."

"Certainly, Mr. Larabee, we wouldn't want to detain the prisoners."

The tall gunslinger turned quickly before the gambler could see his grin and led the way to the jail. Sheriff Joe Dodson from White Oaks was meeting them tomorrow afternoon to relieve them of the bumbling bank robbers that had tried to hold up the weekly stage. They'd been more successful in White Oaks and were headed back for trial.

JD met them at the livery. "Chris, why don't you let me go?" the young sheriff pled his case yet again.

"No, JD. We'll be just fine."  Chris grabbed the reins and led Job out to the corral.

Buck and Josiah checked the handcuffed prisoners and made sure they were settled on their rented mounts as Vin checked Peso's hooves.

"Hey cowboy," he greeted Larabee. "Where's Ezra?"

"Fooling with that damn horse of his." Chris commented mildly.

Nuzzling Job's graying nose, JD squinted up at Chris. "I really wouldn't mind going. I can be ready in a minute, then Ezra could stay here."

Chris frowned at the young man. "He could stand a break from Nathan and Josiah. The two of them have been on him like flies on cow flop."

"Ain't right, " JD groused. " What is it with those two anyway?"

"Just a difference of opinion, kid." Buck said, draping a friendly arm around the young man's neck.

"Buck, it weren't no opinion. Those guys knew what they were doing. They asked Ezra to play, after all."

"Apparently, Nat and Josiah didn't see it quite that way."

Ezra ambled out of the stable, Chaucer's chestnut coat gleaming in the sunlight. He had heard JD's comment and reminded himself to make sure the kid won handsomely at their next game. He sighed as Nathan and Josiah approached.

"Chris, you and Vin watch your backs." Nathan wouldn't even look at Standish.

The big man beside him was equally discriminating. "You two be careful out there. We'll expect you day after tomorrow or the day after at the latest."

Feeling the sheriff tense, Buck guided him away, tossing his farewell over his shoulder, "See you boys, you all watch your backs."

JD added, "Have a good trip, Ezra," he nodded at Chris and Vin.

Squeezing JD's neck, Buck whispered quietly, "Don't fret, kid, Chris will handle that one."

Ignoring Nathan and Josiah's slight, Ezra tipped his hat at the men. "Gentlemen," he said pleasantly a hint of a smile crossing his face. Smoothly kneeing Chaucer, he gathered the reins of one of the outlaw's horses and headed out.

Throwing a stern look at the two men standing in the dusty street, Vin grabbed the other reins and followed the tan coated gambler.

Chris just stared at the two, his famous glare causing them to shift uncomfortably. "Think you better work on your ciphering while we're gone. See if you can learn to count to three."

"But Chris, that damned Southerner." Nathan started.

"Hell, Nathan, you can and do disagree with everything Ezra does and says, you're surely entitled to your opinion but this petty back-biting gets on my nerves. I ain't saying the man doesn't deserved taking down every now and then. Heaven knows he could drive a saint to drink but you two are acting as if he committed some dastardly crime. All the man did was beat some fellows at their own game. I know they were Indians from that village you all been helping out, but they did ask Ezra to play. They weren't upset at the loss, so why should you be?"

Josiah sighed, "Chris those people barely got enough to hold body and soul together."

"That ain't Ezra's fault. Besides… " The shootist broke off, shaking his head in disgust. "Forget it, I don't think you two are in any mind to listen." With that, he spurred Job into a gallop after his departing friends, leaving two disgruntled men pondering clouds of dust.

Shaking Joe Dodson's hand, Chris gratefully mounted Job and headed him in the direction of Four Corners. Ezra and Vin fell in beside him, glad to be relieved of the prisoners.

Vin pursed his lips slightly, sharing a concerned look with Chris. Ezra had not said ten words in the past day and a half. The unnatural silence had begun to wear thin, even for the two taciturn men. Problem was that neither knew exactly what to say. So, they rode in silence.

Ezra was aware of the questioning looks and speechless debate, but he was preoccupied. Mother. Damn. Two months ago, she'd shown up, totally without warning, as usual. The night before she left, she sat in his room and informed him that she was dying. Breast cancer. He was stunned. He wanted to believe that it was part of some devious plan, but the plea in her eyes told him otherwise.

With calm, measured tones she informed him that she would be spending her remaining days at a resort in Colorado Springs. Her wishes were clear; he was not to make a fuss. Certainly not, had been her exclamation when he asked to accompany her. The next day, she simply brushed his cheek with her lips and said she would telegraph if his presence were requested. Then she was gone.

She had written him twice: chatty, cheerful, typical missives, not a hint of illness or discomfort. His letters had been more direct, but his questions went unanswered. So, he waited in silent misery. The mind that knew her for thirty-seven years told him not to expect more. Maude hated illness or injury and always pretended it didn't exist. His heart said otherwise. Perhaps he should just go. Would she want to see him or would she be angry that he ignored her wishes? Ezra could not decide, and so he wrestled with the issue. His associates thought he was upset about that business with Nathan and Josiah. Let them think what they will, he mused.

As the evening drew on, the gambler prudently brought out a deck and began playing with his trail mates. Ah hell, he pondered their increasingly more intense glances. They weren't buying. Ezra, my boy, you have been in their company too long. They're starting to read you.

Chris looked at his hand. Two pair, queens and tens but he never won three hands in a row. "Ezra, you cheating?"

"Mr. Larabee, I take umbrage at that accusation."

"I don't care what you take, you cheating?"

"No," the gambler muttered folding his hand.

"Then what the hell is the matter with you?' the Larabee lion was aroused.

"Whatever are you -?"

"Look Standish, don't feed me any of your bullshit. Something is eating at your craw and I want to know what it is."

"Oh hell," he dropped his eyes to the cards he was worrying in his hands.

Turquoise eyes studied the gambler intently. "Pard, you haven't been on top your game since your ma was here."

Of course, Mr. Sneaky would have figured it out. Damn that hunter. Ezra tried to determine what gave him away. How could he have become so unguarded?

"Everything is perfectly in order."

The looks became more pointed.

"Gentlemen, I assure you. Everything is fine. The torrid summer was a mite discomfiting, that's all."

"Don't got nothin' to do with the heat, Ezra and you know it."

What could he say? I'm worried about my mother, she's sick, dying and doesn't want me anywhere near her. No way, they already thought that Maude had him tied to her like a wobbly-legged colt with a brood mare. Both of them had buried parents already. Tanner was only five when he hit the road alone and here he was nearing forty and he couldn't handle this. He knew he was weak and was not about to let them know just how much. Nope, he refused to be the fragile link, the poorly welded chain.

"Mr. Tanner," the southern tones were tinged with northern ice. "I find your probing to be rude and intrusive. There is absolutely nary a thing amiss and you would do well to remember it."

The lion roared. "You better damn sight not be lying to me Standish. I swear if anybody gets hurt because you got your head in a hole, I'm gonna tear out your lying tongue and shove it down your throat."

"If we are done with this pointless discussion, I suggest we continue with this game." Ezra could swear he heard Chris growl, but smiled his good old boy grin, and shuffled the cards.

"Deal" Larabee demanded. Damn stubborn card sharp. Tossing a glance at Vin he agreed. Nope, everything was definitely not all right. Ezra was touchier than a skillet full of rattlesnakes. This meant he was either worried or scared or both.

Vin watched as Ezra played ruthlessly, neither of them won another game the rest of the night. Vin let the cutting words slide off him like water off a duck's back. He'd learned since that unhappy episode with his poetry that when Ezra was troubled, he used his tongue like a saber. Didn't mean a thing, they all had their defenses. Look at Larabee, hitting back with anger because he was worried about the skitterish Southerner.

Ezra played as if he was in a high-stakes game. All bets were off and he was relentless. Larabee's comments had shaken him. He was distracted and he knew it. What if he got somebody hurt? It was his worst nightmare.

Instead of sharpening his wits, Ezra found this new worry diverted his troubled mind even further. By the time they reached home late the next day, the anxiety was eating at Ezra's gut. He had desperately tried to regain his nonchalance. All he managed to do was increase his friends' uneasiness. The frenetic conversation and frantic manipulation of the cards guaranteed it and testified to the fact that Ezra was certainly not all right

Muffled sounds of gunfire retorted in the twilight as they approached the south end of town. Drawing quickly, Chris ordered,  "Split up. Vin take the alley beside the clinic. Ezra, come from the west side, I'm heading straight in. Let's go."

Raucous cowhands were rampaging in the main street. Three were plunging about madly on panicked  mounts. Another three men on foot weaved about through the confusion. All were shooting at anything that moved. Watching covertly from the darkened alley, Vin could see Buck and Josiah pinned down across the street, while Nathan picked off a rider from the landing of the clinic. JD was nowhere to be seen. Two more shots dropped one of the hands to the street joined soon after by a second mounted man.

The third rider took aim at Josiah, but was quickly taken out by the sharpshooter. Loose horses were milling about in the dim light.

Nathan swore in frustration, "Hellfire and damnation! Buck!" The ladies man was in trouble and he was unable to get a clear shot.

Vin bolted for a better site, but was unable to get a clear shot. Chris kicked the black into motion, driving between the menacing cowhand and his old friend. Two sharp retorts from his Colt swiftly pinned the man.

Hunkering down to reload, Chris was oblivious to the danger from the last man.. Running around the side of the saloon, dodging the aimlessly rioting horses, Ezra saw the cowhand level his gun right at the unprotected gunslinger. He raised his Remington and squeezed the trigger.

Just as he fired, Chris' horse bolted in front of Ezra and the bullet dropped the black, fatally wounded to the dusty street. Chris spun in disbelief watching his horse hit the ground with an awful scream. The cowhand's bullet grazed the gunslinger's ear. Ezra, gut clenching, quickly fired again. The bullet found a home right between the eyes of the murderous cowhand.

"Dear Lord," Ezra breathed, "Job." Equine screams rent the night. Lifeblood poured from the stricken beast. Running to the dying horse, Ezra dropped to his knees. Hand shaking, he pressed the creature's head to his lap murmuring soft apologies.

"I'm so sorry, Job. So sorry old boy."

His bleary eyes made out the pale hand of the gunslinger joining his in stroking the struggling black muzzle. Heart cold with regret, Ezra met his friend's eyes. "God in heaven, Mr. Larabee, I am so sorry. I would never willingly injure the beast."

Chris swallowed hard. Job had been his horse for a long time. Carried him miles and miles. He'd broke him from a colt when he was a young man. All the time he was courting Sarah, Job was there. The old black was the first horse Adam rode. Job spoke to Chris of his youth and now the good, old faithful beast lay dying in the dirt. He wanted to be angry, to hate Ezra for this latest loss, but he couldn't. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the silver-tongued con man had a soft spot for animals and children. He'd no more willingly hurt Job then he would Chaucer.

"Jeez, Chris," Buck wrapped his arm around his old friend, joining the two men in the dirt. The ladies man drew his gun, "Let me put him out of his misery."

Chris shook his head. "No."

Buck nodded, blue eyes gray with sympathy. He knew how much this horse meant to Chris.

The gunslinger looked down at the wild pain filled eyes. Marking a spot, he aimed carefully. A long moment passed, the normally rock steady hand trembling in the flickering light from the street fires.

A bloody hand reached up and gently pushed the gun down. "I would do this thing for you, Mr. Larabee."

Chris nodded and watched as the gambler fixed his aim and fired. The sound ricocheted in his heart. The horse was dead before the sound cleared the air. Without a word, Chris turned on his heel and fled into the saloon. Vin followed.

No one said anything to Ezra. No one even spared the blood soaked man a glance. Ezra could feel their animosity. The whole time Nathan checked the wounded men and carted them off to the jail, Ezra stood motionless in the center of the street. The whole time Josiah directed the undertaker to carry off the three dead men, he simply stood there. Job's blood dripped from his hands and down the barrel of the Remington dangling loosely in his limp fingertips.

The softhearted ladies man took pity on the poor soul that only acted to save a friend, despite the sad consequences. Buck knew that it was an accident, but it was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Damn it, Ezra," he tugged on the resistant arm.

Sorrowful glistening green eyes met his understanding blue ones. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wilmington. He, I, well…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"That bastard had a dead bead on Chris, Ezra. If you hadn't taken the shot, he would have taken Chris out. Job was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The gambler wasn't convinced. A small adjustment in his aim should have prevented something like this from happening. Again. Surely, he had time to take a better shot, he just hadn't. Now, Chris' mount lay slaughtered in the middle of Main Street. Pulling his arm from Buck's grasp, he strode over to the blacksmith's. Hans' big percherons would be able drag the body to a suitable place for burial. Ezra would see that the horse was tended to properly.

Buck, loyal soul, helped. Shortly before midnight, the three men finished piling rocks over the shallow grave. The ground was too hard to dig a proper grave; Ezra dug like a madman. Buck never saw the gambler work so hard. In fact, he'd never seen the gambler work. He and Hans just shrugged and tried to lend a hand where they could. With a soft sigh, Ezra shouldered the bloody tact and headed for livery. He sat in the empty stall and restored every piece of tact to pristine brightness. Weariness was carved in every pore when Vin came to seek him out an hour later.

"Hey Pard," Vin greeted him softly.

"Mr. Tanner"

Vin worried his bottom lip. Damn, Buck was right. Ezra was a mass of guilt. From his blood stained clothes, to his sweaty and dirty face, the blistered and bruised hands and ripped nails; Standish was a picture of remorse.

"Buy you a drink." Vin offered.

Ezra never wavered from the horsehair that he was braiding. "I am not done here."

"S'okay. I'll wait."

"It's late, Mr. Tanner, I'm sure you are quite fatigued."

"If your askin' if I'm tired then I just want to let you know I ain't too tired to stand a drink with a friend who saved another friend's life." Vin didn't like the abbreviated bitter laugh that greeted his statement.

"And cost Mr. Larabee the life of his faithful steed."

"It was an accident, Ezra. I ain't blaming you." Chris slipped quietly up to the gambler. He stood looking down at the man sitting cross-legged on the floor of the stall. The livery was quiet for a long time. Here and there soft nickers and the low blowing of restless horses drifted over the walls of the black's former stall. Chris watched almost hypnotized as the gambler wove the hair he cut off Job's mane and tail into a watch fob for Chris.

Knotting the end with surgical precision, Ezra handed the sleek black cord up to lean shootist. He hesitated for just a moment when the hand reached down for his. A single swift motion brought him to his feet in front of the gunslinger. They stood chest-to-chest, hands clasped palm to palm. Chris squeezed the dirty, stained hand and looking the gambler straight in the eye, said "Thanks, Ezra."

Green eyes flickered to his for a bare heartbeat, and then Ezra tipped his hat to Chris. With a sigh, he gathered up the lantern and the three made their way to the saloon.

"Mr. Larabee, Chaucer is, of course, at your disposal," clearing his throat, Ezra added. "Until you can locate a suitable steed."

"Thanks. I'm sure I'll scare something up pretty quick. I can lease a mount in the mean time."

Ezra's stride faltered. He hardly had the funds to support himself and Chaucer. His mother had taken all his life savings when she swindled the saloon out from under him. Her care at the resort was eating up every other spare cent he managed to acquire. Of course, he needed to replace the black. For a horse of any real breeding, he could expect to pay a pretty penny, especially one of the quality Chris deserved.

Gesturing to his disheveled appearance, he covered his hesitation. "Gentlemen, I need to make myself presentable. Please, go on, I shall be along in a few minutes."

"See that you are." Larabee commented, pushing his way into the saloon.

Scrubbing his hands and face and brushing ineffectually at his clothing, Ezra despaired. Mentally adding up his possessions the conclusion was inescapable: it was woefully inadequate. This was assuming he could find a buyer. Should he? No, he could not even consider selling Chaucer and he knew Chris would not accept him. Wasn't all that practical anyway; he needed a horse to perform his peacekeeping duties.

Oh hell, Ezra sighed to himself. This was exactly what Chris had warned you about and you didn't even make it all the way back to town until your incompetence wrought this debacle. Ezra, you are a pathetic, blithering murderer. It is no wonder your associates find it difficult to depend on you. How could you have killed that poor animal?

"Hey, Ezra," JD's exuberant greeting startled him so badly he almost fell into the watering trough.

"Mr. Dunne, whatever are you doing rambling about this domicile at this hour?"

"Just got back from Casey's"

Ezra took in the flushed, plain countenance. Even in the dim street fires, he could see the young man's clear shinning eyes. That odd stab of affection marbled with envy pierced him once again.

Wiping his sore hands on his handkerchief, Ezra waved towards the saloon. "Would you care for a nightcap?"

"Sure. What happened to your hands?"

"It's a long story, Mr. Dunne. One that I am sure will be all over town by tomorrow morning."

"Huh?"

"Ask Buck." Ezra was not about to delve into the sorry tale. Let the garrulous ladies man do the honors. In any case, at least Buck's telling would be somewhat factual. Who knew what malicious rumors would be rampant by the dawn's early light? He quickened his step. He really needed a drink.

JD was surprised by the solemn appearances of his friends. Judging from the dead soldiers already littering the floor, everyone had consumed quite a bit of Red Eye. In the brighter light of the saloon, Ezra's hands looked even worse. In fact, the whole gambler looked pretty sad.

"What happened?" JD asked.

"Where you been, JD?" Larabee returned with a stern look.

"Kid went to see Casey, it was his night off." Buck reminded Chris.

"So what happened? Did I miss something?" the sheriff persisted.

"We had a little run in with some rowdy cowhands. Boys decided to shoot up the place a bit. They got out of hand and wanted to play dirty. We got ‘em taken care of."

Since all seven of them were sitting there, JD knew they weren't hurt. Except.

"What happened to Ezra?"

Before Buck could answer, Josiah intoned. "Brother Standish has been working off some penance. He killed Job."

"Chris' horse?" JD was shocked and saddened. He liked Job. "Why would Ezra kill Job?" The young man looked at the other men sitting at the table. Chris just stared into his glass. Ezra remained expressionless except for the flushed cheeks, eyes fixed intently on his torn fingers.

Vin rubbed his bottom lip, "It was an accident kid." Cool blue eyes dared anyone to say differently.

"Yeah," Nathan commented with some ire, "Another one of Ezra's accidents, leaving somebody high and dry."

He got no farther. Ezra, face flaming, stood and without meeting anyone's eyes, said quietly. "Goodnight, Gentlemen." Tipping his hat with grace, he walked soundlessly up the stairs to his room.

Chris leaned forward, voice menacing, he said, "It was a damn accident, it could have happened to any one of us. Fool horse just got between Ezra and that son-of-a-bitch cowboy. Got it? Man no more meant to shoot that horse then he would me, and nobody better forget it."

After a pregnant pause, Chris added. "Nathan?"

"Yeah, Chris."

"Josiah, you got it?"

"Understand what you're saying, brother."

"JD, you hear me?"

"I hear you, Chris. I'm sorry about Job. He was a good horse. I know Ez wouldn't hurt him on purpose."

"Buck you with me?"

"Never doubted it for a minute Chris."

"Good." Chris pushed back his chair, hard and threw his glass to the floor shattering it. "I don't want to hear another word about it. End of story." With that, the gunslinger strode from the saloon, bat wing doors flapping against the night.

"Could have been any one of us, but it was Ezra." Josiah commented, gazing speculatively at the gambler's closed door.

Vin scowled. "Thought we weren't talking about it no more."

JD ignored the tracker, "Yeah, but what about Chris? What's he gonna do for a horse? Nothing decent around these parts."

"Shit, kid, that horse cost Chris a nose full of nickels, and that's when he was just a colt. Chris done broke him and trained him. He can't wait for that now. Man can't be messing with a green horse out here."

"How's he gonna afford a new mount?"

"Seems to me that's Ezra's doing," the healer stretched tired shoulders. "He's responsible, accident or no," nodding at Vin. "It's his place to make sure Chris gets a replacement. Course, take an act of God to separate that man from his money. He'll probably weasel out of paying for it."

"Hate to say it, Nathan, but I agree with you."

"Heck of a day, I'm going to bed."

"I'm with you, brother."

Cool night air drifted in behind the two departing men.

"Guess they're still mad at Ez."

"Guess so, kid and I don't think this business with Job helped any."

"What if we all pitch in some money to help out? I got a few dollars saved." JD suggested, looking from Vin to Buck.

"Don't know kid, might make ‘em even madder at Ezra. Plus, I'd think the man would be able to afford it."

JD looked at Buck with surprise. "Ezra ain't hardly got two cents to rub together."

"How in the hell would you know that?"

Vin sat up a bit at Buck's question. He wanted to know that too.

"Well," JD flushed a bit. "I overheard him at the bank the other day. I was waiting to help Mr. Shaw lock up the other day when Ezra slipped in and went into the office. He wanted to know if he wanted to buy his ruby ring. Guess he did, cause I saw Mr. Shaw wearing it and I heard Ez thank him for wiring the money."

"Who in the hell is Ezra sending money to and why wouldn't he just use his gambling money he won from those Indian fellows? Must have won a hundred dollars from those boys," the ladies man puzzled.

"Cause he gave it all to Chris to give to the chief for the kids in the tribe. He said their father's shouldn't be gambling away food from babies' mouths." JD blurted. "He told Chris he cleaned ‘em out because they needed to learn a lesson, but didn't want the kids to go hungry. Then he asked Chris not to tell Nathan and Josiah cause he didn't want to ruin his reputation as a greedy bastard."

Vin said, "Somethin' else goin' on with those three?"

"Hell if I know," Buck shrugged. Glancing at JD, he slapped the back of the kid's arm. "JD you look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Okay, what gives?"

"Ain't none of my business."

"Kid you are full of shit. Now, what else do you know?"

"Nathan and Josiah asked Ezra for money and he said no."

"Why were they wantin' Ezra to give ‘em money?"

"For the Indian village. Nathan told him he was selfish and Josiah said that he needed to vanquish serpents or something like that. Ezra told Nathan it was a good thing he looked after himself, cause nobody else was going to. He told Josiah he got along just fine with his serpents, how was Josiah doing with his. Then he said if those Indians wanted money, they could work for it like everybody else. That's when it got really ugly. I thought Josiah was gonna hammer him. He pushed Ez so hard he landed on his can in the middle of the street, right in front of Mrs. Travis. Ezra just stood up, tipped his hat to her and walked off."

The soft click of a door shutting stole through the quiet saloon.

"Where you goin' Ez?" Vin asked blue eyes dark with concern as the freshly scrubbed gambler walked past the table.

"Patrol," came the slow answer.

JD reached out a tentative finger, "Jeez, Ezra look at your hands."

Ezra pulled his hands back quickly, but Vin snaked out his arm and caught his wrist in an iron grip. "Damn Ezra, ain't no skin left on those palms. What the hell did you do?"

"Dug a grave," the gambler answered shortly as he went to pull away.

Buck shook his head. "I'm riding patrol. You're going to get those taken care of, right now."

"No."

"Damn it Ezra!"

"I said no!" the raised Southern voice did nothing to dissuade the lanky gunslinger.

"I don't care what you said. You ain't fit to be riding patrol."

Every muscle in the gamester's body slumped with the perceived censure.

Buck gently pushed Ezra down beside Vin. "Now, look pard," he said kindly taking the wounded hands in his big paws, "These need attention. Why don't you let Nathan…?"

The tracker piped up quickly, knowing that suggestion would be met with derision. "I got some stuff Nat give me before, Ezra, I'll wrap ‘em up for you."

"When I come back, I will stop by, Mr. Tanner. Now if you'll excuse me."

Buck and Vin's combined effort held him in the chair. "Just say thank-you." Vin cautioned in a no nonsense tone. "You go right back upstairs with JD and I'll get that salve. Buck is going on patrol. Ain't ya pard?"

Ezra sighed in defeat. Damn they were persistent. Truthfully, he was exhausted and his hands felt like they were on fire. Well, never let it be said he was not a graceful loser.

"Thank-you, Mr. Wilmington. Mr. Tanner. There's no need for Mr. Dunne to accompany me." Seeing the young man's yawn, he added, "Go to bed, JD."

Ezra tried to breath deeply as Vin poured carbolic acid over his raw hands. Dear Lord, that hurt.

The tracker winced in sympathy as he quickly applied the cooling salve. Deftly he wrapped clean linen bandages around the sores. He wished he could soothe the man's troubled spirit as easily. The clean-shaven face was haggard in the lamplight, and the green eyes shadowed and shuttered.

"Thank-you, Mr. Tanner."

"No problem, pard. Get some rest okay."

"Excellent suggestion, for both of us I think."

"Yup, morning comes early."

"For some, perhaps." Ezra countered with a wry grin.

Vin chuckled. Ezra was not a morning person. As he headed for the door, Vin turned around to his friend. "You know Ez, it was just an accident."

The gamesman looked up for a moment, then dropped his eyes to the floor, unconvinced. "Accidents can be prevented."

"Not always, Ezra. You did your best, it's all Chris ever asks."

Ezra swallowed against the tightening in his throat. His best? Please, Mr. Tanner, don't you have a clue? Your best, certainly Mr. Wilmington's best, maybe, my best? Not this side of hell would it ever begin to be enough.

Ezra just stared closely at the odd pattern on the carpet until the door closed softly behind Vin.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah Sanchez was an angry man, an unhappy angry man. Whack. The nail embedded a quarter inch deep in the wood and split the grain. Picturing Ezra's face again, he drove another. Whack. It joined its brother buried in the hard oak stud. He couldn't believe what he had done. First, he practically threw the man into the street because he would not give them any money for the Indian village. Now he just flattened the man because he would not take money from them for Chris' new horse.

Josiah regretted both actions, but he didn't know how in the world to explain it to Ezra. What was it about that wily gambler that made coherent thought impossible? The memory of the fleeting bewilderment in those river green eyes and the next nail made its way clean through the two-by-four.

"Might want to get shorter nails"

Josiah started guiltily. "Or thicker boards," he grinned sheepishly at Chris. "Ezra all right?"

"Reckon he will be, in time."

"Guess I need to work on turning the other cheek."

"Been getting enough practice turning Ezra's."

Josiah nodded. He deserved the rebuke.

"Want you to lay off him."

The preacher was surprised. It was unlike Larabee to intervene unless it had something to do with the job, especially when it came to that loose-tongued Southerner.

Chris saw the look of surprise, but didn't care. He was worried about the reticent gamester. Like any small town, Four Corners was rife with gossip. Lately much of it concerned Standish. The lawman didn't like its tone. Ezra was an easy target and some of the talk was cruel and spiteful. Josiah's actions added fuel to the fire.

"I believe I need to heed your advice." Josiah agreed and Chris swept out of the small sanctuary.

Sharpshooter and gunslinger sat quietly on the jailhouse porch. Vin was mesmerized by the smooth passage of the plait of Job's hair through his Chris' fingers. Almost a week had gone by without their being hide or hair of a decent replacement for the black anywhere within a day's ride.

"Figure I better ride out tomorrow on that piece of dog meat and see what I can scare up. Head up towards Ridge City, couple of bigger ranches up that way." Chris remarked listlessly. "Wanna come?"

"Sure."

"You seen Ezra?"

"Nope, harder to find than a flea on a dog."

Chris grunted with frustration. "What is the matter with that man?"

"You really askin'?"

"Hell no. Never thought I'd say this, but I miss that sorry SOB's company. Between Ezra running to ground and Josiah and Nat sounding like two old gossips and the kid mooning around like a lovesick calf, I'm about to drop a rock on all their heads."

"Have to find Ezra first."

"Wish I could get it through his head. It was a frigging accident."

"Last couple of weeks been pretty hard on him and somethin' else been botherin' him, you know that."

"You think he's thinking of leaving?"

"Sure as hell hope not."

"Course after Josiah nailed him the other day, I can't say as I blame him for making himself scarce."

"Guess that's why you sent JD, Josiah and Buck to take them prisoner's up to the territorial prison."

"You got it."

"How come you didn't send Nathan?"

"JD and Buck didn't do anything." Vin couldn't help but laugh and was glad when Chris' dry chuckle joined in.

"Judge." Chris nodded as the man stepped up on the boardwalk.

"Have you boys seen Ezra?" He could hardly miss the worried look that passed between the two men.

"No, why?" Chris asked bluntly.

"He's not in trouble, if that's what you're asking. Well, not from me anyway."

"What do you mean, Judge, not from you."

"Well," the Judge leaned his graying frame against the roof pole. "He asked me to buy some of his books. It sounded like he was pretty desperate."

"Why would Ez sell his books?" Vin was dismayed. Maybe his friend was thinking of leaving.

"I have no idea." Judge Travis shook his head. "Man was almost begging.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra sighed in exasperation. He counted the money again. Even with the money the Judge paid him yesterday for his personal library, he was still woefully short. Maybe he should have taken the money from JD and the others. The bruises on his face weren't reassuring. It had been insulting. Good grief, the four of them practically ganged up on him. What did they think? Hell, he knew exactly what they thought. Not one of them understood his dilemma. He would pay his debt if it were the last thing he did.

The twenty-five measly dollars crumpled in the middle of his bed was not enough to pay for a decent mount. It was every cent he had in the world. Not a single good game had come his way in the past month. Unless, of course, you counted that ridiculous fiasco with those damn Indians.

Pulling out his watch, Ezra sighed. The timepiece was his single inheritance from his father. Must be another way. Seeing the hands creep towards the hour, he gathered his hat and coat and made his way to relieve Nathan at the jail. Hopefully, he could escape exchanging any harsh words with the man. This whole business was getting mighty old.

Nathan was surprised to see the gambler. Early. Rats. The healer wanted to be gone before the man showed up. His ears were still burning from Vin's invective. Worse, he knew the pragmatic tracker was right.

"Morning, Ezra."

"Mr. Jackson."

Cool Southern tones did nothing to dispel the heat of the healer's embarrassment.

"Should be quiet around here until the stage gets in about one."

"Yes."

"See you later."

"Good-day." Mercy that went well, at least there was no heated exchange.

The morning crept towards afternoon. Ezra stood up for the fiftieth time. Nothing held his attention. Surely there was a solution to this conundrum; just had to figure out what it was.

"Mr. Standish, telegram." Ezra stared at the thing as if it was a pit viper. Dear Lord. No, this was not good news.

Digging into his pocket, he tipped the boy. "Thank-you Jimmy." The boy ran off and Ezra slowly unfolded the thin piece of paper.

 Ezra Standish STOP Four Corners STOP

 Come quickly STOP Dr. Quinn STOP Colorado Springs STOP

 Bob Miller, Operator

Days, it would take days to get there. Lord, please don't let me be too late. Ezra whispered the plea as he headed for the Clarion at a run.

"Mrs. Travis, is the Judge here?"

Mary took in the pale visage and answered quickly. "He's in the kitchen."

"Thank-you."

Curiosity almost made her listen in, but good breeding deemed otherwise.

Handing the Judge the telegram, Ezra laid out the brutal truth for the man. "I do not have the funds to make it to Colorado Springs. If I hurry, I can make the stage today. Chaucer will be a guarantee as well as my other belongings."

 The Judge called his daughter-in-law. "Mary, I'm stepping out for a little while." Clasping the gamesman's shoulder he ushered him out the door. "Come on son, there's no time to waste. You get your gear and I'll get your tickets. I'll meet you at the stage."

As Ezra clambered aboard the stagecoach, he turned to shake the Judge's hand. "Thank-you sir. You are most gracious to lend your assistance. Please assure Mr. Larabee that I will return as soon as I am able." Hesitating slightly, he added, "I'd appreciate it if you would keep this between you and I."

Orrin was saddened by the request but agreed readily, trying to ease the man's way. "Send news as soon as you get there. Let us know if we can do anything."

"Sir, you have done more than should be expected. I am in your debt."

"Nonsense, I am glad to help. I am only sorry about the circumstances. All the best to your mother, Ezra. I hope the situation is not as dire as you fear."

"As do I, sir, as do I."

+ + + + + + +

The trip to Colorado Springs passed in a haze. He should have been dazzled by the alizarin crimson, vibrant gold and pulsating orange leaf colors nestled against the piney evergreen backdrop. The crisp air should tickle his lungs and the rich scents of falling leaves baste him with their aroma. Surely, the sparkling bubbling streams and brilliant blue sky deserved at least a nod but everything he looked at reminded him of his mother.

The vibrant gold of the aspens was his mother's hair, whispering around her head like a misplaced halo. The red of the sugar maples were her lips pressed in affection to his cheek. The cool breeze was her soft breath floating down on his tussled hair as they sat together reading in the porch swing. The babbling brooks sang the song of her laugh and the cerulean sky rivaled the blue of her eyes.

Mother. By the time he climbed wearily down from the stage in the rustic town, he was numb with fear.

He found the doctor's clinic easily enough. An attractive woodsman was lounging on the porch. He reminded Ezra so much of Vin that he was blindsided by an almost overwhelming desire to see his friend. He had no name for the feeling that flooded his eyes; homesickness begs the question of a home.

Introductions made, Ezra found out that the gentleman was one Byron Sully, the good doctor's fiancé. His mind reeled a bit with that tidbit, but he wasn't a superb poker player for nothing.

In any case, he was much too anxious to care. The doctor was a lovely and warm woman about his age. She had a direct approach that he found refreshing, although her news left him aching with sorrow.

In short order he found himself standing at his mother's bedside. It was not a place he ever wished to be. He could not begin to catalogue the emotions that assailed him. Sweet Lord, this was every bit as hard as he imagined.

Maude was dying. That was obvious. His heart twisted that the vibrant woman was reduced to this pain wracked, pale imitation of the vivacious woman he knew.

The smile was the same. The eyes just as true even clouded with the agony of death.

"Hello, darling."

Ezra blinked rapidly trying to get the words out of his closed throat.

"Mother."

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this, Ezra."

He took her hand and sank down in the chair beside her. The flesh was cool and he felt the delicate bones through the translucent skin. He had no words for this.

"I asked Michaela not to send for you, but she did."

"I'm sorry."

"Son."

He dragged his eyes to hers. He knew she saw his hurt. She'd be disappointed in him, again.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Ezra and I knew this would. You've always were such a tender hearted little boy. You are so like your father. My two sweet men. I'm glad you're here, son. I really didn't want to die without telling you good-bye, she knew that."

"Mother, I…"

"Hush! I need to talk to you. There's not much time. I have only loved two things in my whole life. One was your father. God knows how I loved that man. He was the sun and all the heavenly hosts. When he was killed all the light went out of my world. He was everything good and right. For a long time I believed that was why he died."

Knives of memory shredded the veil across his heart.

"I was so angry, Ezra. I hated you. I blamed you but his death was never, ever your fault, son. You are so like him. Every time I look at you, I see your father. I never wanted to feel that pain of loss ever again. So, I cast you aside, knowing you needed me. I turned my back on everything your father believed in and I tried to teach you to do the same."

He furrowed his brow, what was she saying? Of course his father's death was his fault. She must be delirious.

"And still through all the times I walked away from you, every betrayal, every desertion, you have stood by me. I can't comprehend this depth of devotion. It is a legacy from your father. I have lied...hurt…"  Huge tears streamed down the alabaster cheeks. Her hand clutched at his fingers, frightening him with the violence of her passion.

"I can only hope and pray that you believe me when I tell you just how much I love you. I'm so sorry for all the wasted, hurtful times, can you forgive me?"

No, I cannot give you absolution. I am the guilty one, I am the one who broke all your dreams. Heart pounding in his throat, he looked away from those piercing eyes. He began to breathe quickly as if running a long distance.

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Ezra, don't lie to your mother. I hurt you and I know it." She drew his eyes to hers once more.

Yes, but…. His chest heaved with the effort. This was so overwhelming. Could he really give her what she so needed?

"Of course, I …, you're forgiven."

"I want you to make me a promise, Ezra."

"Anything." Ezra tried valiantly to keep the moisture walled behind his eyes and could say no more.

"Live the life your father would have wanted you to have. You have made a start with that motley crew you work with. I like those men, Ezra they're good for you, and I think you're good for them. I was wrong about you wasting your God-given talents. Make your father proud."

You're asking the impossible. No, no, no, his heart screamed in denial while his lips moved of their own accord.

"I promise."

"Thank-you, son. Now please send in Reverend Johnson. He's a good friend."

+ + + + + + +

Chris looked at the Judge in frustration. "What do you mean it's confidential?"

"You heard me Chris. The man has a right to his privacy."

"Not if it leaves us short-handed."

"It was important. I freely gave him leave to go. If you want to know any more than what I am telling you, you're going to figure it out for yourselves." Orrin hoped that the group could put their heads together and maybe be there in time for Ezra, but he wouldn't betray the confidence. It was up to them.

Slapping his gloves against his thigh in frustration, Chris told Buck. "Get everybody together in the jail in five minutes. We're gonna find that damn gambler. If he thinks he can just sashay out of here without a word to one of us, he has another thing coming. Confidential, my ass."

JD burst into the saloon, pride and distress battling for position on his youthful countenance.

"Got it right here boys, here's the answer." He threw the yellow operators copy of the telegram on the table.

"Where'd you get this?" Chris picked up the paper and frowned at JD. No one else had been able to make the slightest headway in tracking down that slippery gamesman. Oh, everybody knew he'd left town, but nobody seemed to know where he went and why.

"I, um, well," he stammered. Chris was not happy.

"You have absolutely no business with this, you know that. Bob could be fired from his job. What in the hell are you thinking?"

"Well, technically he is the sheriff, that ought to count for something." Josiah commented trying to pour some oil on troubled waters. Chris had been like a bear with a sore toe ever since he came back from another futile horse search to find Nathan guarding the town solo, apparently with the acquiescence of Judge Travis.

"Josiah's got a point." Buck told his old friend.

"Done already took it, might as well see what it says." Vin mused quietly.

Chris shot him a ‘not you too' look fingering the folded paper thoughtfully between his fingers. "You read this already?"

JD nodded.

"He in trouble?"

"No, just read it Chris."

Hum, their pup was growing teeth. He approved. What the hell. He unfolded the contraband and perused its contents. Too short to really answer most of their questions, but it would have to do. Without comment, he handed it around the table. Even Vin's rudimentary reading skills made out the terse message.

"We going?" JD asked. He was already mentally preparing for the trip. Everyone looked at Chris expectantly

"Can't all go." Chris looked around at the men. He had no doubt each of them would want to make the journey, but they had obligations.

Mentally, he examined his choices. Nathan should stay. The town depended on him for more than just peacekeeping. Vin should go. In some quirky way, the squirrelly plainsman and cagey gambler had formed an eccentric friendship.

"I'll stay Chris. Let JD go." Buck's offer surprised him. No, not really, seeing the kid was ready to mount up and ride out. Kindred souls, those two: loyal, steadfast, and dependable.

That left Josiah and himself. He could see that the old preacher wanted to go. Good reasons to send him too, but they couldn't both go. That would leave Buck and Nathan woefully open to trouble. Damn.

Josiah wrestled with his desires. He'd yet to make amends to Ezra for his recent actions but guilt was not a good reason to go. Didn't necessarily help Ezra either. In any case, the gunslinger would be awful to live with. A sudden insight dashed into his mind and demanded he take notice. Their lean leader had been noticeably more irritable lately. Josiah had put it down to Job's loss. Now as his thoughts roved over the last few weeks, he realized that Ezra had been conspicuously missing. How could he have missed the connection? It was so obvious that he hadn't seen it. Decision made.

"Brother, I will stay with Nathan and Buck. We'll handle things here, don't you worry. Just bring him home safe and sound." Standing he said, "I need to go get you some things to give to Ezra."

"Okay," Chris said. "JD and Vin, we'll meet in an hour at the livery. We got at least another six or seven hours of daylight. Let's go."

+ + + + + + +

The three men pushed hard. With any luck, they should get into Colorado Springs less than three days after the gambler. Chris gave up on that appalling excuse for horseflesh and rode Chaucer. JD insisted that they bring the chestnut; in fact, he had proved intractable on the point. The gunslinger was glad. The horse was as temperamental as his owner was and just as smooth. Chris missed Job terribly, but at least Chaucer had heart. His rented mount had been relegated to packhorse two and seemed content. The dry chuckle broke the still mountain air.

"Guess Chaucer doesn't do menial labor any more than Ez." Chris met Vin's laughing blue eyes.

"Nope, he didn't take too kindly to lugging rice and beans."

JD piped up, "Might have been that elk, its hide clashed with his coat. We all know how Chaucer feels about appearances."

Their laughter followed them into the foothills of southern Colorado.

+ + + + + + +

Unlike the long twilight of the desert, night fell suddenly in the mountains. Surrounding peaks were bathed in an unearthly glow, but the valley was dark. Red-rimmed eyes took in the phenomenon while his ears measured the minutes by the rasping hesitant whisper of breath from the woman on the bed.

Agony couldn't begin to describe what Maude went through during that long, long day. The doctor gave her as much morphine as she could without killing her. Ezra was beginning to think that wouldn't be so bad. His nerves were snapping one by one like the strings of an overwrought cello.

The blind minister came and offered readings and prayers with his mother. Ezra was astounded. Maude rejected God when his father was killed. Lies, lies, and damn lies she told him. Apparently the soft-spoken ex-gambler preacher struck a chord with the irascible con woman. He heard the echoes of his father in the passages that she asked for; most were Peyton Standish's favorites.

"Mr. Standish?" he turned to see the doctor at his elbow. "Any moment now." Her hand on his arm was gentle. "Time to say good-bye. We'll be outside if you need us."

Ezra moved to the still, suffering woman. Her eyes were still bright but the time between breaths was getting longer and longer.

"Mother?" his dulcet tenor was husky with sorrow.

Maude looked at her only child in the dim lamplight. She memorized every nuance of his face. The fall of deep auburn hair on the smooth forehead. Clear peridot eyes, so like Peyton's. High cheekbones of a Cherokee heritage that he had yet to learn of and the mobile mouth, so quick to smile. Remembering the day the mid-wife had laid him in her arms. How the years had flown. She could see her husband thrilled beyond belief with his little boy.

"Our boy is fine, Peyton. You'd like him. Your heart still beats in him, love. He's still your son."

"Mama," Ezra breathed hard, trying to stay calm.

"We had so many plans for you, so many dreams. It wasn't at all the way I thought it'd be. You've a home now, Ezra. I imagine you where you've always wanted most to be. I believe someday I'll see your face again. Love you, Ezra P."

His father's endearment was Ezra's undoing.

"I love you, Mama," he whispered.

Maude reached up and touched the glimmering drops gracing the silky cheeks and her lips curved into a ghost of a smile as she thought, my softhearted boy. Her hand slipped back to the bed. She felt the weight of her child resting upon her chest. It brought her comfort. Gently, the once restless soul crept towards her rest as the husk of the lifeless body fell behind.

Ezra knew. He felt the life waft away as smoke on the breeze. He pressed his head to his mother's breast listening to the final beat of a heart he loved. It was still.

"Mama?"

He waited a long time, but there was no more life left.

The ache grew and Ezra was unaware that the moon had risen to its place. He straightened the bedcovers and composed his mother's hands carefully over her motionless heart. He washed the lax features and smoothed the limp hair. Then he sat beside her bedside and stared without seeing into the dark night.

"I wish you didn't have go. Are you with Daddy? I want to come, too."

The silent tears ran down his face dripping on the subdued hands. Ezra Standish kept the midnight watch over his dead. Alone and in utter silence.

TWO

Dr. Quinn looked in and saw the two motionless figures. She knew her patient had left this world. With respect, she let the grieving man have some time with his mother. Time enough to seek out the undertaker in the morning. Some things were better faced in the light of day.

Ezra pressed his lips to his mother's cool ivory forehead in a final parting. The day was dawning and it was time to say farewell. Good-byes were always wrenching for him, and he had said so many. He was tired but he straightened his shoulders and walked head up, eyes dry, from the room.

The gambler was an efficient man, by the time the noon hour rolled around, he had made the arrangements with the undertaker, arranged the funeral and internment with the Reverend. Maude had given Dr. Quinn a letter that expressed her wishes. Ezra followed it precisely.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Standish?"

The doctor's earnest face and firm hand on his arm was almost too much. Smoothly, Ezra sidestepped the sympathy and coolly addressed the question.

"No, ma'am. Thank-you very much for all of your kindnesses. Please send me the accounting for your services, I shall attend to it immediately." Tipping his hat, Ezra made his polite, distant escape.

Dr. Quinn followed his passage across the street, resting her head against Sully's chest.

"Maude told me he would do that. Just close himself off. She was right. I'll miss her, I liked that incorrigible woman. Do you think I should telegraph his friends?"

"Not really your place."

"I know. It doesn't seem right for him to have to handle this all alone. "

"No, but there isn't much more you can do. If his friends are half the men Maude said they were, I have a feeling they'll show up, sooner or later."

"Better be sooner. He's planning to leave after the funeral.

Ezra opened the door of his mother's room. Her body had been removed to the undertakers, and the bedding had been stripped away. There was something peculiarly forlorn about the naked mattress.

Briskly and proficiently, the son made short work of packing his mother's personal effects. Maude was a meticulous person, so things were carefully organized. Ezra tried not to really see anything. Her familiar gardenia scent was enough to rock his shaky foundation. Tender hands folded dresses and undergarments, sorted hats and handkerchiefs.

Maude made plans for everything. Her clothing and toiletries were sold to the mercantile. There were buyer's lined up for hats, gloves, even her French leather luggage. All though that lovely fall afternoon, Ezra disposed of a lifetime of memories and possessions. By the time, the sun was once again sinking behind the rugged mountains; Maude's home for the last three months was bare except for a short stack of documents and a small trunk.

He could not make himself look in that trunk. He'd perused the paperwork. That was bad enough. He just could not open that Pandora's box of memories.

Gathering the papers and a few token mementos into a satchel, Ezra turned to leave the room.

"Mr. Standish, please accept my condolences. Your mother was a remarkable woman." The proprietor of the resort shook the gambler's hand. "Thank-you for taking the time to clean out her room. I assure you there was no rush. Her account is quite up-to-date."

"Thank-you, sir. I hope you did not find my haste unseemly, but I will be departing first thing Monday morning. I have business that requires my immediate attention. I should not think to find myself in this fine borough in the foreseeable future."

"You would be welcome anytime. I must tell you, that I will miss your dear mother. She was a charming woman."

"Yes, she was. Now sir, I'm sorry but I must take my leave."

"Certainly, Mr. Standish. Danny here will help you with the rest of these things."

Ezra and the earnest youth made short work of the trip to the hotel. After tipping the eager Danny, the weary man leaned against the door, sagging in relief. He smiled at the echo of the boy's thanks. The tip was rather outrageous, but Ezra couldn't help himself. Danny reminded him so much of a younger JD Dunne. Slipping out of his dark gray coat, Ezra sighed. What he wouldn't give to be able to sit down with the young sheriff right now and listen to his happy prattle about anything at all.

A knock at the door startled him. For one second, he considered not answering, but that would be terribly rude.

"Yes," Ezra opened the door to see a fresh-faced teenager standing there with a covered tray.

"Mr. Standish?"

"Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?"

"This is for you."

"There must be some mistake, I didn't order anything."

"No, sir. It was Dr. Quinn, sir, she was thinking you might have been too busy to eat."

Ezra flushed slightly, but widened the door so that the girl could sit down the tray. What is it with these healer types? Nathan would do something just like this. Damn, Ezra smacked himself mentally. Stop Ezra. You're not there and they're not here.

It dawned on him as a tempting aroma wafted up from the covered tray, that he could not remember his last meal. Pulling the linen napkin off, he smiled, comfort food. Yup, another Nathan. Beef stew, buttery rolls and a pot of coffee and best of all, a crumbly slice of apple pie. Ezra ate every mouthful.

With his elegant copperplate, Ezra penned a gracious thank-you for the good doctor. He left the note and tray together outside of the door, as the young waitress had directed. Even though it was just after nine, the soft bed beckoned. Exhausted by days of travel, the stress of the past few months and the numb weariness, the bereaved man was soon sleeping deeply, if not peacefully.

+ + + + + + +

Chris Larabee grinned at the tracker as the two men observed the breakfast efforts of the younger man. They were grateful he'd taken cooking lessons from Josiah. When they first began riding with the energetic Dunne, he'd nearly poisoned them all with his culinary efforts.

Standish was usually the brunt of their jokes about ineptitude on the trail. Most of that was nonsense. Ezra was fun to tease; he always had a pithy comeback. Trail-wise, Standish was as able as any of the older men, in some respects even more so. The wily gambler was nothing if self-sufficient, in any situation. JD on the other hand, had been a complete stranger to life in the wilderness. Time riding with the other six had honed his skills. Now, Chris and Vin could leave the morning efforts to the younger man and allow themselves the luxury of a quiet, well, restful anyway, waking.

"Should only be about four hours to Colorado Springs." Vin commented, sipping the strong, hot coffee.

Chris nodded. "Damn gambler better be there."

"We'll find him, Chris." JD assured, handing him a plate of fried elk steak and biscuits.

JD sank down and ate twice the amount of food as the other two, in half the time.

Vin chuckled at him. "Ain't nobody gonna take it from ya."

"I know, Vin, I was starving."

"Kid, you are always starvin'. I ain't never seen a body so hungry."

JD fretted under the kid appellation, and Chris could see him bristle.

"JD, you're gonna just have to deal with the fact that you are always gonna be the kid. Hell, you'll be sixty and we're still gonna be callin' ya kid. Might as well start living with it now."

JD thought about that for a moment. Chris never said that much to him, so when he did the young man listened. The gunslinger had a good point. Besides, there was something appealing about the idea of them still being together when he was sixty.

"Shoot, Chris, you guys can call me kid, if ya want. Just don't call me too late for supper."

Shouts of good humor rang across the mountains as together in the gorgeous fall morning they headed off to find their errant partner.

+ + + + + + +

Unfamiliar sounds drew Ezra from his bed at an uncharacteristically early hour. For a few minutes, he sat in physical and mental darkness. Remembrance gradually grew and with reluctance, he heaved his unwilling body out of the blankets.

Irrationally, he wished he could be somewhere else. Just after one o'clock, post meridian, they would put his mother under the earth. The whole thing distressed him so much that he had to sit down. Clenching his hands together, he squeezed them between his knees.

Come on, Ezra, get a grip. This can be done. Just think about something, anything else. Desperately, he began reciting the history of the United States. It helped, a little.

Dressing quickly in his trail clothes, Ezra headed out. He had a very important errand to run before bathing and dressing for the funeral.

Bells were ringing parishioners to Sunday morning services, when a dusty but satisfied Standish rode back into Colorado Springs. The morning's business had eased at least one of the burdens he carried. A twinge of disappointment clouded his success just a bit, but with fortitude, the gambler refused to mourn that loss. So what if a Mr. Bryan Duncan now owned the one-time Standish Tavern? That spectacular piece of horseflesh that he would take back to Mr. Larabee more than made up for any regret he might feel. His debt would be settled and admirably so. He couldn't wait to see the attractive gunslinger on the majestic beast.

Running the brush though his deep auburn hair, the gambler critically eyed his appearance. He would appear calm, cool, and collected at his mother's funeral and he would be impeccably attired. The hand-tooled custom made boots were shined to a glossy finish. The solid black trousers were crisply creased and ironed. Both his coat and vest were expertly tailored. The satin lapels and color of the jacket matched the satin back of his vest. The front of the vest was a black on black jacquard. The only bit of color was the pristine pima cotton shirt. His shirt of devoid of any color or ornamentation save for the precisely tied black tie. Finally, he picked up his low-crowned black hat. The felt was sponged and brushed. A well-needed replacement was made to the narrow band surrounding the crown. He was ready.

Liar, you will never in a million years going to be ready for this. With dismay, he noted that it was just past eleven. Without a second thought, Ezra swung out of the door. Perhaps a very long walk would make the endless wait easier.

+ + + + + + +

"My apologies sir, but Mr. Standish is not in." the hotel clerk pulled nervously on his tie.

"He is still here."

"Oh, yes, he must have just stepped out for a while."

"We will need some rooms for the night."

"I'm sorry." The clerk really did not want to tell the black-clad man anything. He knew a dangerous man when he saw him. They said they were friends of the soft-spoken Southerner, but the clerk had his doubts. These men did not seem like the type to be friends with the refined man.

"I only have one available room tonight."

Chris shrugged, "We'll manage. Turning to Vin he added, "Maybe one of us can bunk with Ezra."

The three dumped their gear in the room and went to find Ezra.

"Let's start with this Dr. Quinn, then we can split up and look for him." Chris asked for directions from the mousy desk clerk.

Hearing the clomp of boots and tinkle of the bell on the waiting room door, Michaela slipped out of the inner office thinking to greet her next patient. The sight of the three, trail-worn men gladdened her heart. She knew exactly who they were. Maude Standish had talked a lot about her son and his friends. The observant con woman's descriptions were so accurate; the doctor felt she knew them.

"You must be Chris Larabee and let me see, Vin Tanner and JD Dunne?" The greeting stunned the three men.

"And you are?" Chris asked, a bit tense.

"I am Dr. Quinn."

Another stunner. Mercy.

A movement caught Vin's eye and he turned to see a tall, bronzed mountaineer enter the room. His presence was quickly noted. Though his greeting was pleasant, not a man there missed the subtle warning.

"Dr. Quinn, we're looking for Ezra Standish. Do you know where we might find him?" The seven's leader wondered how the woman knew them, but first he wanted to find his absent friend.

Sully looked at the three men carefully. "He just went over to the undertakers."

Concern and questions were written on their faces.

"I'm afraid Mr. Standish's mother died late Friday night." The doctor delivered the news gently but plainly.

"Mrs. Standish is dead?" JD was shocked. Dear God, Ezra must be beside himself. He worshipped the ground his ma walked on.

"Yes, I am afraid she had been quite ill for the past few months."

Chris and Vin agreed. That's what was bothering the reticent gambler all summer. No wonder.

The doctor continued, "Mrs. Standish's funeral is at one o'clock this afternoon. The church is just west of town, you can't miss it."

"Thanks, come on boys we best get cleaned up a bit."

"Shouldn't we find Ezra first?" JD was anxious to lay eyes on his bereaved friend.

"Nah, kid, he's spending some time with his ma. We'll see him over at the funeral. Time enough," the tracker reassured the young man.

With polite thanks, the three regulators hurried back to the hotel to shave and wash up. They might not have fancy mourning clothes but at least they'd be respectable for their friend.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra sat on the edge of a straight back chair beside his mother's coffin. The undertaker, a Mr. Dye, had seen to it that the fine oak coffin was carried over to the church with care. Somewhere, Ezra was sure that his mother would appreciate the irony of that name. When the man first introduced himself, he had almost laughed aloud; an action that would have mortified his mother. Mother.

The coffin was still open. Mr. Dye would nail it closed just before the burial. It seemed to Ezra that time was hurtling towards that hour like runaway horses dragging a coach full of unwilling passengers.

His mother looked beautiful. Her hair was finely coiffed as always. The watered silk dress was characteristic of her exquisite taste. The perfectly manicured hands were folded carefully. She wore Peyton Standish's wedding band, but the engagement ring was left with Ezra.

Even now, staring at the pale, lifeless features, he found it hard to believe. In a tremendously unstable life, his mother was something consistent. Unpredictable, yes, but in many ways she was like tide of the great oceans; coming and going, yet ever-present. Ezra felt an incredible sense of abandonment. How did you stop the tide from flowing? She might have been sunk in shifting sands, but his anchor was gone and he was cast adrift.

He pressed his lips together. He would not embarrass his mother with foolish sentiment. So he sat, erect, proper and composed. Not an untoward emotion flickered across his carefully schooled expression. Meanwhile, his heart broke into a million pieces as the leaves of a tree fall bit by bit to their deaths in the autumn. By the time the service started, Ezra was nearly catatonic with control.

+ + + + + + +

Chris led the way to the little church. They entered quietly, amazed to note that there were perhaps two dozen people already there. Maude must have worked her charms during her stay. The subdued group seemed genuinely sad over her loss.

The trio made their way quietly to the front to pay their respects. The sight of the isolated and rigid Southerner grieved Chris. The gambler was immaculately attired. His handsome face calmly surveyed the figure in the coffin but the leader recognized the toll that sorrow was taking in the desolation in those glimmering green eyes.

The demeanor of his good friend distressed JD. Ezra barely acknowledged them. His words of thanks and welcome, even surprise were vague and distant. They could be complete strangers for all the attention given them. The young man didn't mind that. He remembered the way he felt when his mother died. It was as if the earth tilted. In fact, JD didn't think the world straightened up until the day he shook Ezra's hand in the Seminole village all those years ago. Buck taught him how to walk in his new world, but it was Ezra's hand that had pulled him level. His hand would be there when Ezra reached for it.

About forty people gathered to bid farewell to Maude Standish. The service was as lovely as the spectacular October day. That little part of Ezra that could think and feel appreciated it. His soul tucked away the warm and tender home going ceremony. Outwardly, he remained calm and sober. Inwardly was another story.

Vin knew exactly what was happening. He and Chris flanked the distant man. Both unconsciously moved close enough that their shoulders touched Ezra. Vin felt a tremendous shudder shake the grief-stricken Standish. The prescient plainsman felt him flinch with every strike of the hammer as the coffin was nailed shut.

Please, don't put my mama in the ground. Ezra closed his eyes. The thud of dirt against the oak box nearly drove him to his knees howling. He hated the thought of his mother trapped in the cold, dark ground. Terror almost broke through to the surface. Only Vin's steadying hand on his elbow kept his fright from crashing in and breaking him.

One day he would have to tell his fellow peacekeepers how he clung to them during that trial. JD Dunne crying unashamedly over his mother was more comforting then anything anyone struggled to say. Vin literally held him up and Chris' imposing and solid presence protected him from old childhood fears. Ezra believed that it would never be over. Like all sad times, this one came too fast and passed too slowly.

Somehow, he accepted condolences with great poise, leaving the good townspeople of Colorado Springs impressed with the gracious and soft-spoken man. No one saw his desperation and desolation, but his friends. No one else heard the ache in the honeyed Southern tones or saw the sudden tightening of his jaw or the quiver of his smooth fine-boned hands.

Chris knew Ezra was at the end of his strength. More than once in the past few minutes he saw the glistening of tears in those bottle-green eyes. The man would be humiliated were he to lose control in front of these people.

"It's time to go," the voice of authority left no room for argument.

There was none and Ezra allowed JD to loop a guiding arm over his shoulders and take him back to the refuge of his hotel room. Vin stopped to order some dinner to be delivered.

JD chatted about their trip to Colorado Springs. Without waiting for Ezra to ask, he told how they discovered his whereabouts. How the Judge kept his confidence. How they brought Chaucer. The Yankee twang filled the room and gave Ezra a chance to just be still.

He couldn't eat. Coffee would have to suffice. No one pushed the issue. Finally, as the hour grew late, the three left for their room. Ezra shook himself enough out of his numb stupor to realize that their quarters would be uncomfortably cramped.

"Why don't you stay here, Mr. Dunne?" he asked. "No need for anyone to be inconvenienced when there is ample space available here."

JD was honored. Ezra wanted him to stay. He smiled. "That'd be great, Ez. I'll just get my stuff."

The gambler nodded.

Vin squeezed his arm. "Night, pard."

"Mr. Tanner, I am in your debt. I appreciate your thoughtfulness this afternoon."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry about your ma."

Aw hell, Ezra fought back the sudden rush of water to his eyes. He opened his mouth to thank Vin but nothing could be forced past his tight throat. Dropping his head, he stared transfixed at the wooden floor between his feet.

Sharing a glance with Chris, Vin patted his arm again and left.

"Ezra, there isn't anything wrong with being upset over your mother."

"She'd be appalled."

"She's not here."

"I am well aware of that fact. Nevertheless…" Ezra choked out, finding a new patch of wood grain to examine, the first one had grown dark with dampness.

"Well, we're not appalled. Hell, Ezra, you made out of something different then the rest of us? Not a man alive whose lost his mother and didn't feel like shit."

The lanky gunslinger shook his head. Stubborn, hardheaded Southerner. Reaching out his hand, he clasped the silently crying man around the back of his neck and pulled him into a rough embrace. Chris stood for a long moment tightly holding his friend against his chest.

"Ezra, there is no shame in mourning your dead. None at all, you hear me?"

The gamester tried to rein in his tears; it was like trying to hold back a river with his bare hands. There was an empty hollow space in his center that seemed as if it was sucking all the life from his soul. The hurt grew till it became his whole world.

Chris just stood there, an island of calm in a raging ocean of grief. He knew this hurt and his aqua eyes filled with sympathy. No words were necessary. Silence works best before a broken heart.

Hearing JD's approach in the hallway, the gamesman turned to face the window. Chris simply opened the door for JD and left. The young man was wise for his years and called no attention to the fact that the gunslinger's black shirtfront was sodden. Nor did he acknowledge the gambler's shuddering shoulders. Instead, he just settled his belongings.

"I'm gonna go to the privy. Back in a bit," with that he slipped out of the room and left the card sharp to his grief.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Ezra gradually got the tears to stop. Taking out a pristine handkerchief, he tended to the damage wrought by his grief. He couldn't honestly say it had helped to let the tears he'd fought for two days fall. Right now, he felt as if he could cry for a lifetime and never be at peace. Experience taught him that the tears would stop someday, but there would always be an aching sore place where Maude was concerned. He knew just where it where it would be; he had other sad little corners already tucked away in the attic of his heart.

By the time JD returned, Ezra was his normally composed self. JD thought as he looked at the gambler, that had you not seen those shadowed green eyes standing out against the slender, pale face, you would not know the man just buried his mother.

"Which side you want?"

"I prefer to face the door, please, Mr. Dunne. Thank-you."

JD settled his tired bones into the soft mattress. "Oh, Ez. I almost forgot, Josiah sent you something. If you hand me my saddle bags, I'll get it."

Moving smoothly, the Southerner did as requested. While JD routed about in his haphazardly packed bags, Ezra hung up his clothing.

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I realize that Mr. Dunne, however, if you want your apparel to be fit to wear in the morning, it would be prudent to do so."

JD laughed. "You always so neat?"

"Naturally, Mother…" he pushed hard around the constriction in his throat. " never tolerated anything less. One must be a good steward of one's belongings."

"What did she mean by that?" JD ignored the hesitation and plunged on.

"If you take care of things they last longer. She meant you need to take care of what you have, lest you are deprived of them."

"Oh, I would have thought that she'd be like the people my ma worked for, if something got ruined they just bought more."

Ezra sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "I realize y'all think that I was raised in the lap of luxury, but that, I assure you, is not the case. We were somewhat at the mercy of more financially stable relatives after my father died. I would wager, sir, that your mother was more adept at earning a living then was mine."

"So she started running cons and playing cards so you could live?"

"Yes."

"Well, she did real good then Ez. You play cards better then anybody I've ever seen and the two of you made it."

Ezra allowed a slight smile over his shoulder at the sincere Dunne. "There you are right, sir. Perhaps a bit unconventional, but we did survive."

Both of them grew quiet for a time, while the gamesman prepared to retire for the evening. Leaning against the headboard, JD watched his friend. There was a grace to Ezra's motions that made everything he did have a touch of the elegant. The Standish's may have been penniless at times, but JD had no doubt his friend would be comfortable at the most exclusive affair hosted in the Boston mansion where he grew up.

"Mr. Dunne did you locate the article you were searching for?"

"Oh, yeah, here Josiah said to give you this and that you'd understand. I don't know what it is, but it weighs a ton."

The gambler regarded the brown-paper covered parcel with some suspicion. It was heavy. With a sigh, he undid the string and peeled back the paper. It was a beautifully bound copy of Charles Dickens' David Copperfield. Ezra bought the book himself from a circular that Mary Travis shared with him. Mary was a bit tentative about him at times, but they discovered that they both shared a love of books. Josiah was not at all shy in his admiration of the fine volume. Unexpectedly, the preacher found it in his possession after Ezra wagered it in one of their regular poker games.

Fingering the creased back, the gamester realized that the preacher had read the book, many times it appeared. Opening the flyleaf, he was surprised to see an inscription. A smile creased his features as he read the words written there in Josiah's large clear handwriting.

"What is it Ez?"

"A peace offering, Mr. Dunne."

"Isn't that the book Josiah won off you a while back?"

"Yes," he peered at JD over the edge of the book. "Here, I am well aware that you are privy to the recent altercation between Misters Jackson and Sanchez and myself."

The sheriff took the book and read the flyleaf. "This book is property of Josiah Sanchez, given in kindness and generosity by Ezra P. Standish."

Handing it back to the bemused gambler, a bit of paper floated to the bed covers. JD was curious, but simply picked it up and handed to the gambler. It had his name blazoned across the front.

The gamester knew he should read the note, but his emotions were too tender just then. So, he tucked it back into the book and climbed in beside JD.

"Have you read the story of young David, Mr. Dunne?"

"Nah, never read that one."

"I would read some of Mr. Copperfield's tale, if that would be agreeable?"

JD smiled and nodded, scrunching himself down under the covers.

Ezra began, "Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show…."

The younger man was soon captured by the intriguing prose of Charles Dickens flowing through the melodious Southern voice.

Thank-you Mr. Sanchez, thought the older man as he lost himself in the pages of the tome, glad to have a place to hide from the hurt, if only for a time.

+ + + + + + +

Vin was stretched out across the bed when Chris blew into the room. "He okay?"

The gunslinger shrugged, unbuckling his gun belt. "Course that man could be dead and buried three days before anybody would know."

"Ornery son of a gun."

"You got that right. Got to tell you Vin, it was really strange, man stood there crying as if there was no tomorrow and didn't make a single sound ."

"Reckon Maude taught him that too. ‘Spect he thinks we think he's weak or somethin'. Suppose that's why he never said nothin' about his ma."

"Leastways, we know why he was jumpier than a jackrabbit in a prairie fire all summer. Can't figure him out. Why not tell us his mother was sick? He could have been here the whole time."

"You know, Chris, I bet she didn't want him here. It's a mercy somebody sent for him at all."

"She was harder to figure out than Ezra. The man could not have been a better son. Not to speak ill of the dead, but she always acted as though he owed her. To tell you the truth, I wanted to strangle her."

"She trampled him just like a herd of buffalo runs over wildflowers, that's for sure. Great company though and a fine lookin' woman but sure as hell didn't want to play cards with her."

"Damn, Vin you sound like Josiah."

"Nope, just sayin' what's so."

"What's so is that Ezra is hurting bad. Best thing, get him home and away from all this."

"He might not be ready to leave right off."

"I think he was planning on heading back first-thing, well sometime, tomorrow anyway. Told Dr. Quinn that he couldn't and I quote, desert his compatriots to the mutlifarousness of the criminal element beyond the time allotted."

"Shit, Chris, I'm just glad to hear that he's plannin' on comin' back at all."

"I wish I could be sure he'd stay."

"You still thinkin' he still might leave?"

"I don't know, he's more unpredictable then a funnel cloud in a thunderstorm and as hard to pin down."

"Maybe ya should let him know he belongs with us."

"He knows that."

"Nope."

"Tanner, what in the hell are you talkin' about? Standish is just as much a part of us as anybody."

Vin was unfazed by the penetrating glare and just stared back. Larabee would figure it out.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan read the telegram again and handed it over to Buck.

"Wish we could have been there. I remember how bad I felt when Daddy died."

"I just can't believe Maude Standish is dead." Josiah drank his shot and poured another. "She was a fine woman."

Buck smoothed down his mustache, "Damn Southerner probably just interested in his inheritance."

"Ezra loved his mother. He always was a loving and devoted son," Nathan bristled.

Leaning forward, the preacher added, "I believe that was a bit judgmental, Brother. After all, this is the man's mother we're talking about.

"Now boys, this is Ezra Standish, money grubbing gambler we're talking about. The same man that bilked those Indians out of that money. The same one who's mistakes always leaves somebody high and dry."

"You got something to say?" Nathan fixed hard brown eyes on Buck.

"Nope," the easy-going gunslinger said with a smile, heading off to visit Miss Dolly.

"Nathan, I believe we have just been told off." Josiah couldn't help but laugh at Buck's approach.

"Yup, I believe you're right." Nathan sipped his coffee. "Hope they remember to get him to eat somethin'. You know he don't finish half the meals he starts."

"JD's along. You know that boy won't miss a meal."

"Yeah, but do you think they'll get Ezra to eat? I should have gone. Hell, Vin and JD will eat everything."

"Chris won't let that happen."

"What if he gets sick? He's gonna be mighty upset, probably get all cold and wet. Catch his death, you know it."

"Sounds like you're a mite worried about him." Josiah leaned back in his chair, head cocked speculatively at his old friend.

"I ain't worried about that Southern fool. I'm just thinkin' about all the work I'll have to be doin' when they bring him home sick."

"Can't rightly remember last time Ezra got sick," the preacher baited.

"Always a first time for everything."

"Maybe he's not coming back." Josiah couldn't help but give voice to the fear gnawing at his insides.

Nathan was surprised. "He'll come home," he said with certainty.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Where else would he go?" The healer shrugged his shoulders. "We're the only ones that would put up with his shenanigans." Nathan squirmed slightly under the preacher's appraising stare.

"Don't be lookin' at me like that."

Josiah couldn't help but laugh. "Brother, you aren't foolin' me none. You're just as fond of that Southern son-of-a-bitch as I am."

"He belongs with us. He might be an unprincipled rogue who couldn't walk a straight line if his life depended on it, but he's our unprincipled rogue."  Nathan suddenly found his coffee very interesting.

"That he is." They smiled together in agreement. "Hope JD doesn't forget to give him that book."

Nat nodded, "Hope he reads that note."

+ + + + + + +

Another gorgeous fall day dawned. Ezra looked down warmly at the sleeping man curled beside him. Sleep for him was elusive this night. So, he sought solace in Copperfield's tale. The pages flew by, keeping the active mind thoroughly occupied. The steady soft breathing of JD Dunne successfully fought off any lingering ghosts. He wondered idly if Casey was the young man's Agnes. Copperfield might have a tough road to haul, but he had one thing that Ezra envied: the love of a devoted and tender woman.

Realizing his thoughts were about to take him in a direction he didn't want to go, Ezra slipped quietly out of the bed. Flipping the blankets back to prevent any chill air from creeping in, a slip of paper floated to the floor. Ezra viewed it with some uncertainty. He recognized the narrow and precise handwriting as that of the resident healer.

Well, no time like the present. It was short and to the point.

Ezra, Please forgive me. It is not for me to say what you do with your money. Nathan

He was astounded. Nathan apologized! He stood there staring at the paper. It was true, it was not for Nathan to say what he did with his money. Not that he had any, but nonetheless. No one ever asked him to forgive them, ever. He was the sorry one. Who was he to go bestowing forgiveness on the likes of the upright Nathan Jackson? He felt rather strange. Hot and cold and odd. Suddenly, it occurred to him that someone was saying his name.

"Ezra?"

"Good morning, Mr. Dunne."

"You okay?"

"Of course," he gave his best alligator grin and began bustling around with shaving mugs and clean shirts.

"Awfully early for you to be up, ain't it?" The sheriff examined him more closely. "You sleep any?"

Instead of answering, the gambler simply lathered his face. JD frowned but said nothing as he dressed.

"Mr. Dunne, would you care to avail yourself of my razor?"

"Shaved yesterday."

"Your point being?"

"Nobody cares, it'll keep."

"A gentleman is always conscious of his appearance."

"I ain't no gentleman."

"Of course you are. I would not associate with anyone less. I am certain that your mother raised a gentleman, aren't you?"

JD raised rueful eyes to the expectant Southern gentleman. "I guess I better borrow your razor, thanks."

+ + + + + + +

Chris grinned at the sight of the two when they entered the dining room. Vin followed the direction of his eyes and shook his head slightly. Ezra seemed to have that effect on them. He and Chris both took a little more effort in their morning routine also. Both donned clean shirts and shaved before coming down to breakfast.

"Hey fellas," JD greeted, swooping down on the plate of biscuits in the center of the table.

The shy serving girl appeared at his elbow with the coffee pot. Carefully pouring fresh cups, she smiled at Ezra.

"Good morning, Mr. Standish, gentlemen, may I take your order?"

He returned the smile, recognizing the young waitress from the other evening. "Just coffee, my dear."

Chris frowned, but JD was ordering before he could say anything. So after Vin competed with the sheriff in setting a record for breakfast food volume, Chris placed a more modest order. Pointing at the Southerner, he added, "Bring him the same."

Any protest Standish might raise was cut-off by the gunslingers raised eyebrows.

"I assume you are offering to fund this repast."

Larabee grinned, "Don't want you falling off your horse later." Sobering somewhat, he asked, "You be ready to go home later this morning?"

It was as if a bucket of ice water hit him in the face. He was dismayed. It was such a simple question, why should that awful feeling strike him just then? For what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days, Ezra was speechless. He settled for a nod while trying to force a mouthful of coffee down his throat.

Vin had not missed the sudden darkening of his friend's countenance. So, he encouraged JD to chatter throughout the meal. The gambler was grateful for the distraction. He met Vin's eyes and saw that the perceptive tracker read his thanks.

Nate would be proud, Vin thought, watching as Larabee coerced the resistant gamester into eating every bite of food on his plate.

Leaning against the porch rail, JD and Chris waited for Ezra to bring down the trunk they were taking over to the freight office to ship to Four Corners. Vin had offered to round up supplies for the trip home. Larabee knew the tracker was adept at provisioning; he'd make sure that there were no loose ends.

"Wow, Chris check out that horse!"

+ + + + + + +

Chris narrowed his eyes. A beautiful pure-black gelding was being ponied down the center of the street. About 16 hands, long flowing mane flying in the breeze, tail held high. He couldn't help the low whistle of appreciation that slipped through his teeth.

A low Southern drawl sounded in his ear. "Lovely creature. Wonder who the fortunate owner of that horse might be? Appears to be a cross between a thoroughbred and Arabian, I would presume. Observe the refined head and wide-set eyes. Indeed, no other horse holds its tail quite like that. Definitely hot Arabian blood."

"Think you're right." Chris couldn't take his eyes from the beast as it pranced haughtily in the street. He could never hope to own a horse like that. There was no doubt in his mind that a steed of that kind of breeding would cost more than he could ever afford.

JD had made his way to the men holding the horse and was running appreciative hands over the sleek, glossy coat, feeling the well-formed and taut musculature. Superior horseflesh. His mother's employer back in Boston didn't even have a horse this fine. His fellow stable boys would have given their back teeth to work with a horse like this.

The gunslinger just stood and stared. Ezra hid his delight. The man's reaction was everything he could want. Moving smoothly over to the attractive blond holding the black's bridle, he smiled, shaking the man's hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Duncan. Thank you for your promptness. I am thinking my friend there desires to ride this excellent steed."

The warm brown eyes of the horse's owner smiled back. Sotto voce, he asked. "He the one?"

"Indeed, Mr. Duncan. Although, he is yet unaware of his good fortune."

The two conspirators grinned. The gambler was pleased. He knew when he first met the gentle Scotsman that he was a fine person as well as an excellent breeder. Any lingering doubts he might have regarding the ownership of the saloon evaporated in the bright white gleam.

"Mr. Larabee, perhaps you would like to ride this animal? The owner is most willing that you would do so."

Chris didn't pause. "Hell, yes."

With no hesitation he strode over to the horse. Something clicked. Liquid brown equine eyes met those of glittering aqua and a bond began to grow. Cupping his hands softly, Chris blew gently in the horse's muzzle, greeting him the way horses greet each other. He grinned as the black snorted and shook his head slightly. The silky nose rubbed roughly on his cheek.

With a swift move, Larabee swung his lean frame over the strong back. Instantly, the horse began to dance about. The rider tightened his knees somewhat but recognized the movement for a show of playful temperament and let it go. After a few moments, he tightened his legs and the two of them trotted proudly down the street. At the end, Chris let loose with a whoop and the two went flying like the wind across the grassy meadows outside of town.

Chris lost track of time while he rode that glorious beast, almost a full hour passed before he came cantering into town. Hopping down gracefully, he mounted the stairs to the hotel porch. Four men were lounging on the shaded veranda. Various expressions of amusement were flickering on each face as they watch the shamefaced gunslinger make his way over to them.

"Hey, cowboy," Vin drawled, a wicked light in his turquoise eyes. "Have a nice ride?"

Larabee was embarrassed. What the hell was he thinking? Damn, he could have been arrested for horse thievery, the length of time he was gone. The usually controlled man was so flustered that he didn't notice the grins flashing on the men's faces.

"Bryan Duncan, this is Chris Larabee." Schooling his expression, Ezra stood and introduced the two men.

Bryan reached out his hand to the stammering man. "Mr. Larabee it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he greeted with his pleasant burr.

The firm grip on his hand helped Chris recover his manners. Mrs. Larabee had raised a gentleman also.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Duncan. I must apologize for my thoughtlessness. I had no intention of making off with your horse."

Well, mused Ezra. This is worth it. First that look of undisguised greed, now Larabee is apologizing and making a pretty job of it, if I say so myself. Now to deliver the coup de grace.

"Ah, but Mr. Larabee, that horse does not belong to Mr. Duncan here. In fact, he was bringing the creature to his new owner. I don't know what that man is going to think." Ezra shook his head, eyeing the dusty and sweaty horse, with some dismay.

"But…" good heavens, this was getting worse. Larabee was flushing now.

Ezra couldn't help it. The expression on Chris' face was priceless. He began to laugh. The frown he received from the man just made it worse. His chuckles were contagious and the other three men joined him.

"What in the hell is so funny?"

Ezra recovered first, gesturing towards the black, he asked. "What do you think the owner is going to think?"

"How in the hell should I know." Larabee replied, voice laced with irritation.

"But Mr. Larabee, who else would know?"

"That's it, Standish. Wipe that grin off your face and tell me what's going on."

Laying his hand gently on Chris' arm, Ezra spoke softly. "Chris that's your new horse, if you would like him?"

Little seen emotion played across the gunslingers visage. That damn gambler was saying that this spectacular piece of horseflesh was his…

"If I would like him?"

He was staring right into those gregarious green gems, so there was no way to miss the flash of uneasiness there. He might not be the world's most sensitive man, but Chris Larabee knew that look. Sarah had it when she told him she was pregnant. Adam had it when showing him his first carving. Oh yes, he knew that apprehension and he knew just how to dispel it.

Clasping Ezra's forearm, he let his smile brighten his face and flow up to his eyes.

"I can't begin to tell you how very much I would like him." Turning to again admire the black, he added, "He's magnificent. Absolutely magnificent."

Ezra's face lit up with that grin of  pure pleasure that Larabee found so engaging. It was such a long time since Chris saw that smile of unguarded boyish charm.

JD's whoop of delight broke through and the two men listened with satisfaction as the young man regaled Chris with the pedigree he learned from Bryan.

"His sire came all the way from France. Ain't that right Mr. Duncan?"  Bryan stepped up to discuss the horse with its new owner, he too obviously pleased with the outcome.

Vin came to stand behind Ezra on the step as they watched Chris, JD and Bryan waxing over the lovely gelding.

"Perfect choice, pard," the tracker remarked lowly.

The Southerner's smile deepened. "I did something right," he spoke softly, absently to himself.

The sharp ears of the Texan heard the comment and sighed. It had taken a long time for him to realize it; although the gambler might be perfectly in control, he was terribly insecure. Years of tracking elusive woodland creatures taught the outdoorsman that camouflage was an excellent protection. Ezra hid so successfully among his surroundings that most saw exactly what the gamesman wanted them to see.

Vin had ridden with the man for almost two years before he was able to spot the true creature from the carefully painted disguise. Sometimes he felt that Ezra was just as confused as those he was trying to confound. It troubled him.

"Mr. Tanner, will you excuse me? I have a visit to make."

The gambler slipped down the steps and took leave of the men still making over the horse.

"Mr. Larabee, I must attend to some business. I shall return in approximately one hour. We can leave then if that's quite convenient?"

"Sure. Not a problem." Chris smiled distractedly at the man, his mind on his new mount.

Shaking Bryan's hand and tipping his hat, Ezra made his way down the street. Exchanging nods with the gunslinger, Vin discretely trailed along behind.

The tracker saw Ezra pass an envelope to Dr. Quinn, before bending to lightly brush her hand with his lips. The woman seemed to be telling him something and Vin was certain that it had to do with Maude. Even at a distance, he saw the cardsharp's reserve.

Ezra's heart was thundering as he crept into the small graveyard. Dr. Quinn's voice ringing in his ears. How did he reconcile these two people; the Maude everyone else knew and the one that was his mother? The fresh dirt mound burned like salt on a raw wound. The sight stopped him in his tracks. Dropping to his knees, he pressed his palms into the earth moist with the morning dew.

"Mama." Tears dripped off his face to form little mud puddles that ran together before seeping into the thirsty ground. Through the silently flowing tears, he began to speak.

Vin heard the words pouring from the Southerner from the secreted corner where he stood. He guessed it was eavesdropping, yet he found himself unable to move.

"I'm going back to Four Corners today. Do you know Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner and young Mr. Dunne made that long sojourn just on my behalf? I don't for the life of me know why. They are exceptionally fine men. It is beyond my comprehension that they permit me to associate with them. Nathan Jackson told me once it was because Mr. Larabee thought a liar and a cheat would be useful. At least he thinks I'm good for something but you know that: I was always good for a con. Whatever the intent, I am gratified that they have allowed me to remain."

Vin was disturbed. Damn that was cold: was it true? Were they just using the man for their own ends? The thought was so uncomfortable, that Vin shied away from it.

"I wanted to tell you so many things, but I never could bring myself to do so. You were correct in your observations. Your absences and frequent departures were painful. I know you found my presence distasteful. I understand. It was no more than I warranted. Do you know I really was not clumsy as a child? Those accidents were complements of some of those dubious relatives you paid to raise me. A futile effort to make me tolerable, I suppose."

Vin bit his lip. There was no self-pity in these words, just acceptance. He knew exactly what those so-called accidents were. He had a few during his own tumultuous childhood and had always depended on the memory of his mother's words to ring purely against the false notes of  misuse. Thank you, ma, Vin breathed softly.

"Do you know how hard I tried to be good so you would want me? I'm sorry I disappointed you. I always hoped one day…"

The tortured voice broke off, as years of unspoken misery rose to the surface threatening to pull him under. He was gasping for air when a shadow fell across the grave and a pair of buckskinned arms pulled him to his feet.

"Come on, pard. It's time to go home." Vin was heartsick. He heard the cruel, ugly truth. The pain in the voice hadn't troubled him: the expression that accompanied it, did.

Once high in the Sangre de Cristo mountains Vin tracked a lynx. He partially wounded it and felt a responsibility to put an end to its suffering. He finally confronted it on the edge of a promontory. Catching sight of him, the beast had jumped to its death. He never forgot the look in those tortured cat's green eyes.  He saw that look in another set of cat's eyes on more than one occasion. Now was just such a time.

"Ezra?" With one hand he reached into the gambler's jacket for the handkerchief he knew would be there; with the other he led the man to the pump outside of the church. Pushing the square of linen into the gamester's hand, he directed, "Wash up, so we can go."

The Southerner looked at it blankly then did as he was told. He was too drained to even care about someone seeing him in such a state. His mind was whirling with unhappy memories and there was a strange roaring in his ears.

Vin saw the pale face turn absolutely bloodless and pushed Ezra to sit on a nearby tree stump. Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out the silver flask, uncapped it and made sure that the gambler drank a fair amount. Satisfied the man wouldn't faint, Vin snatched a sip before replacing the flask.

Hunkering down in front of the gamester, he laid a hand on the man's knee. "Ezra, you okay?"

Opening his mouth to lie, Ezra just closed it again. No, he wasn't alright. Not at all. His equanimity was gone, sucked up into the vacuum of loss. He was taking a thrashing as effectively as any beating he had ever received and was left battered and crushed in its wake. Desperately, he fought to regain his composure.

Vin sighed. Maybe Chris was right, maybe if they got him away from here….

"Let's get JD and Chris and go home."

"Go…?"

"Yeah, pard, go home."

"Perhaps that would be advisable. I find myself most disconcerted by these events." The soft voice grew softer. "Mr. Tanner, do you think you will see your mother again?"

Vin shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe you should talk to Josiah."

"No, Vin, I'm asking you." Those compelling eyes fixed him into place.

"I hope so."

The gambler drew in a shuddering sigh, absently rubbing his chest. "I am finding hope a precious commodity, just now."

"I know, Ez. Maybe ya just need to give it some time."

"Yes, you are most perceptive as always. I believe Mr. Larabee will be expecting my return, so that we can embark on the journey…home."

Vin grinned. In all the time he'd ever known Ezra the man never referred to Four Corners as home. Never. His smile faded a bit at the patent resignation on the Southerner's face. Well, whatever the reason, he was inclined to view that development with favor. From what he just heard, the man had been more homeless than a certain scruffy Texan orphan.

This time Ezra had company to the graveside. He simply stood there for a moment, looking at the rich dirt mound still imprinted with his handprints.

"I must say our last farewell. I suppose…," eyes stared into the brilliant foliage of the hillside. He would not loose control. "Good-bye, Mother, take care of yourself."

Ezra turned and almost ran from the gravesite, lest his courage fail him. Every step deepened the hurt until they reached the hotel where JD and Chris were waiting. Chris figured a quick getaway was the best plan and he and JD had the horses and gear ready to go.

"Let's go." Chris said shortly, after one look at the gambler's face. JD handed the gamester his horses reins, watching as the man mounted, his movements stiff and face wooden.

As soon as he was seated, Ezra urged Chaucer into a gallop and fled the town.

"Keep an eye on him, JD." Chris directed, knowing that the young sheriff would not fail him or the gambler. The gunslinger would follow more slowly with the tracker and the two packhorses.

THREE

"That bad?"

"Brutal." Vin scrubbed a hand over his face.

"JD told me he didn't sleep at all last night."

"Not surprised. Heard him talking to his ma. Reckon I shouldn't of. From what I heard, things between them were a bit worse than we figured."

"Unfinished business?"

"Yup."

"Shit."

"You got that right, deep shit. Been better if wolves had raised him. Least them critters would give a damn."

Chris met his eyes. "Something tells me I don't want to know."

"Sure wish I didn't. Ain't nothin' like we thought. He's conned us and good. You know how we're always joking about him raising hell? Well, I think that's where he might have been raised."

"Figured Maude wasn't telling it the way it was."

"You ever notice how he'd go all quiet when she'd start telling stories ‘bout him as a kid? Put me in mind of a rabbit tryin' to hide from a hawk."

Chris nodded, narrowing his eyes at the thin plume of dust far in front of them.

"Thinks the only reason we ride with him is ‘cause he's good for a con."

"Well, he is."

"Damn it, Larabee. Ain't funny."

"He really believes that?"

Vin just stared back.

"You sure?"

"Chris, the man was talking to a dead woman, only one he thinks was listenin'. Man's got a lot of respect for the dead. He was telling the God-honest truth. He's still waitin' for you to drop him in his tracks or kick his ass out of town."

The gunslinger nodded slowly.

"What would you do," Vin asked, "If ya thought somebody was gonna dump ya or put ya in a pine box?"

"Dump ‘em first."

They rode in silence, picking up their pace a bit to keep the gambler and the kid in sight. Chris worried the inside of his lip, thinking back to his generally testy relationship with the gambler. A whole lot of things became suddenly clearer, and he wasn't too pleased with what he saw.

"He's waiting for us to end the con."

Vin raised his eyebrows at Chris.

"He's just waiting until one of us gets mad enough to end it. That's why he pushes so hard. Pulls our strings. Plays us like a fiddle. But why?"

"Reckon if his ma never saw fit to keep him, why should we?"

Chris found the expression in Vin's eyes mirrored his own. Why, indeed. It was extremely unnerving to find that your own actions looking less then stellar in the light of new perceptions. He always found the gambler's motivations to be suspect; they all did. Chris was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Ezra once said that he couldn't con an honest man, wouldn't even try. They hadn't been honest. No, not at all.

"I should have seen it."

"Tracked a wily old bear once. Thing dragged me along like a fool, went in so many circles I met myself coming and going. Never did catch that varmint, but one morning I woke up and found sign he'd been sleeping right outside my tent. Never thought to look at what was right in plain sight."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah, but he ain't gonna listen. Why should he?"

+ + + + + + +

Ezra was in no mood to deal with anyone. Right now he wanted to shoot a bullet in the air and follow it to the ends of the earth. Where in the hell did this unreasonable anger come from?

They rode hell bent for leather until full dark and the horses were dangerously fatigued. The temperate autumn of the lower climes was frigid at the higher elevations. Breath froze in the air and the warmth of the fire didn't travel far.

In spite of the shivers that shook him, the Southerner drew away sitting in the cold of the deep shadows. He didn't want to listen to their easy-going banter or see the open faces that were never turned his way. Eyes were always shuttered, heads slightly titled, lips curved up in all-knowing judgment when they looked his way. Chris and Vin were casting odd glances at him all day pushing already tenuous emotions over the edge.

"Hey, Ezra you want to play some cards?"

"No, thank-you." he snapped. The sight of that cheerful face was like throwing kerosene on a fire. He got up suddenly and stalked away. How could he possibly want to punch the man? Damn it, Ezra, he scolded, why don't you just kick a dog?.

"Leave him be, JD." Chris closed his eyes, last week, hell, yesterday, he would have read him the riot act for taking off the kid's head. Today, well today, he understood.

The big old blue-white moon played hide-and-seek with the clouds. Not a star to be seen. Leaning against a boulder, the gambler caressed the old, stained cards with sensitive fingertips. The pasteboards were bent and tattered. It was the first deck his mother ever gave him. A happy memory.

A hint of a smile crossed his face as he remembered standing starched and sparkling on his great-aunt's porch, the winter sun bright on his face. The long-awaited carriage pulled up and his beautiful, young mother swept out. A cool cheek pressed to his and the plainly wrapped deck of cards was pressed into his hands. Within days he mastered the games she taught him. His face froze as he remembered that with the New Year, she was gone.

Just like now. Only now she would not be coming back. Ever. No second chances. No way to prove that he was worthy of her attention. No money for some elegant casino in St. Louis that would show her he could do something right. No using his God-given talents in some way that would gain her approval.

"You've a home now…." In the silence of his heart he heard his mother's words sounding over and over like the peal of some demented church bell. The clamor woke sleeping demons who rose up in their anger to devour the wounded and bleeding heart.

There was no home for such as he. Fate, yes, that reprobate minister to the faithless said it was their destiny. Bullshit. Ezra Standish knew his destiny was to wander the earth, a modern-day Cain. Marked,  just as the killer of the worthy Abel was marked. He was no more fit to be his brother's keeper then was the homicidal Cain.

They knew that, these men, his erstwhile friends. Once, he hoped they really were. Time proved that impossible. Friendship implied trust. No one trusted him. Oh, they would ask him to lie for them, he could work cons long as it benefited them and stand up to be cannon fodder. None of them ever hesitated to ask him for money while disparaging his methods of earning the filthy lucre they desired.

Should have kept riding. Ezra knew why he went back, hell he knew exactly why he rode with them in the first place: same reason. Didn't matter, never had, never would. He was marked.

+ + + + + + +

Chris chewed the end of his unlit cigarillo. A black mood had fallen over the Southerner as if a flock of crows had descended to feed on a freshly seeded field.  Leaving the sleeping tracker and sheriff, the gunslinger stole quietly up beside the con artist. Damn, it was bitter out here. Blacker than a witches nightgown.

"Cold night."

The gambler didn't answer, lost in his recriminations.

"Made good time today."

A slight wind disturbed the naked branches.

"Why don't you come over by the fire? Pretty cold out here."

Here and there acorns plunged madly through the tree branches to land harum scarum in the dying foliage blanketing the forest floor. Long after the two-legged interlopers passed on, the hard brown nuggets would burrow under the friable soil. Some, a chosen few, would find life there in the fertile debris of death. Impenetrable shells would fracture, the steady work of rain, warmth and the slight pressure of the earth bearing on the rugged frames. Inside, endued with some divine foreknowledge, the little kernel would begin to grow. A miracle that occurred so regularly that it went unremarked.

Chris sighed. For once he was not irritated by the gambler's behavior. The moon wandered from behind a cloud, chiseling the handsome face next to him into a statue of cold marble.

"Ezra?"

"Mr. Larabee, am I disturbing you?"

In more ways than one. "It's too cold out here, come on back to camp. I don't want you to get sick, Nathan would have my head."

Wrong response. He should have been honest.

"Heaven forbid that we should inconvenience the infallible Mr. Jackson." Heavy sarcasm and bitterness dripped from every word.

The gunslinger grimaced. Irritation took hold, only this time he was irritated with himself.

"I'm sorry for any difficulty I have caused you. Please feel free to continue your journey without me. My debt to you is paid. You need not concern yourself any longer. Though I could never refute it to your satisfaction, I am no larcenist. Mr. Dunne's constabulary services are not required. I will return to settle my debts with Judge Travis."

Chris flinched with dismay. Of course. From the vantage of his new perspective, the leader could see how his distrust had pierced the thin armor of the man's defenses. The head of the arrow of accusation he so callously shot embedded itself in the man's tender moral fiber. There it festered, poisoning the man as effectively as any evil tincture. The magnitude of responsibility weighed heavily on the gunslinger's shoulders.

"We came because you're one of us. No other reason, Ezra. We…, I was worried."

Startled sea-green eyes stared at him as if he sprouted another head.

"And I want you to come back to camp because you are cold. I don't really give a damn about worry wart old Nathan."

Ezra debated. He didn't take the words at face value. Hope had flared-up with Larabee's words, but he quickly and completely stomped out the sparks. Cold? No freezing was a more apt description. Yes, he would come back to the fire, but no warmth of companionship drew him there, just an old promise and plain old-fashioned weariness.

+ + + + + + +

The next few days were a repeat of the first. Ride hard while the day lasted, drop wearily into a bedroll, waking at first light to do it all over again. Talk was limited to only what was needed.  The preternatural silence was driving JD crazy, though he too, found conversation to be awkward.

The Southerner was glacial. The frosty, mountain air was balmy compared to the cool reception any of them received. Not that Ezra was ever impolite, in fact, he continued to be the consummate gentleman. His bland, "No, thank-you," became depressingly predictable, especially at mealtime.

Vin cringed as he heard those words once more. The last meal of any substance the gambler ate was breakfast back in Colorado Springs. The man's face was sallow and pallid, his green eyes almost colorless with fatigue. Gone was the spunky step and the slightly mocking tones laced with humor. Vin confessed, he did not have the slightest idea what the gamesman was suffering; however, he knew a downward spiral when he saw one.

"Ezra, I done cooked this and you're gonna eat it."

"No, thank-you"

"Ain't an option, pard. Eat the damn food, Ezra."

Much to his surprise the befuddled man did just that. Not a lot, but at least he ate. Sensing Chris and JD's encouragement, the sharpshooter tried again.

"Ezra, ya need to get some sleep. Go to bed."  The gamester went.

Vin was floored. Trying to direct the gambler was usually like asking the wind to change its direction. The tracker looked at the other two lawmen. None of them could tell whether this new development was good or not.

Ezra sank down into his bedroll with relief. The days passed with an emptiness bigger than the wide open prairie. Everything was too hard, he had no energy whatsoever, yet he lay awake most of the night. Making a decision was out of the question. It became easier just to say, no thank-you, then to attempt to make any sense. Nothing made any sense anyway. Once an hour he sat by his mother's deathbed and relived the whole experience. Over and over and over, day in and day out, night after night.

So, when Vin sent him to bed, he responded gratefully. At least he didn't have to decide, just do what he was told. Like most nights, he fell asleep quickly. Hopefully this time he wouldn't jerk awake in terror an hour or two later to lay in utter misery until the unwelcome day made its appearance.

+ + + + + + +

Ever so faintly, the eastern horizon began to glow. JD opened his eyes suddenly. What had awakened him so abruptly? Brain gears started to chock and it occurred to him that something didn't sound right.

"Ezra, Ezra wake up! Its just a dream." JD shook the thrashing man's shoulder.

All at once, the Southerner sat up and screamed. Vin and Chris jumped to their feet, guns drawn to find a frantic JD shaking the incoherent man.

"Ezra, its JD. You're okay. Wake-up, please." The young man's voice rose an octave at the end of his plea, as the gambler continued to scream.

Larabee knew how to handle this. He'd been there many times after his family was killed. Once in a while, he still had the wretched things. Bending down, he spoke quietly to the fear-struck man.

"Ezra, you need to listen. It's a dream. It's not happening right now. Can you hear me?" The low Hoosier twang penetrated the swirl of horror and the screams stopped. The bewildered eyes fought to focus, uncertainty evident in the glassy depths.

"Daddy?"

"No, Ezra it's Chris."

"Oh." Unmistakable disappointment crammed into that little word.

The gambler's shirts were soaked with perspiration and he shivered in the freezing night air. Vin handed over a clean, dry shirts. "Ya need to change your shirts. Okay?"

Change shirts. Somewhere in that moment of chaos, that made sense. His tremulous fingers struggled to capture elusive buttons. Clenching his jaw against chattering teeth, he tried but couldn't get the buttons undone. Mother would be mad. He was told to do something and he didn't. Any minute now she would be telling him what a useless child he was, wondering why of all the children in the world, he had to be hers.

The nimble tracker reached over, speaking quietly in a conversational tone. "Here Ez, I got it," but the gamester was so intense on finding those buttons that Vin couldn't get hold of any.

"JD, build up the fire." Chris ordered, reaching down and taking hold of the trembling hands.

Vin made short work of helping the gambler change his shirts, peeling off the damp clothing, while Chris kept those quivering hands from interfering.

"Where's your flask, Ezra?" Grabbing the gambler by the arms, the gunslinger towed him over to the fire. Vin dug into the pockets of the heavy brown trail coat, retrieving the slim silver container and tossing it over to Chris.  A half flask of brandy later, the shivering diminished to an occasional shudder while blue lips took on a more normal hue.

"Gentlemen…" Ezra cleared his throat and started again, "I apologize for disturbing you. Please accept my regrets."

"Jeez, lots of people have bad dreams. It's okay." The earnest young man peered worriedly at the gambler. The man just turned his face away to stare into the fire.

JD sighed not really sure what to think. Once, he had told Ezra he didn't know him all that well; unfortunately it was still true. The kid shook his head and went about making breakfast. No point in going back to sleep, it was almost daylight anyway.  Right now he couldn't wait to go home, just get away from the overbearing sadness clinging to the gambler as a leaf clings to a tree.

Motioning to Vin, Chris walked over to the horses. He had to smile when the striking black picked up his ears at his approach.

Rubbing the silky muzzle, he crooned softly. "Hey, Jet, how are you boy? Ready to go aren't you?"

"What's up, cowboy?"

"I'm thinking it's going to snow. Probably before noon."

"Yup. Fixing up a bit of a blow by the feel of it."

"Want you to take JD and go on home. I'm taking Ez and laying over in Riley for a while. They have a pretty decent hotel and he doesn't need to be out in this weather."

"Want me to?"

"Nope. You just take care of JD."

Vin nodded. "What's wrong with him, Chris?" the tracker asked, looking over at Ezra sitting, lost and forlorn, huddled in the blankets they piled on him.

"Other than whatever ague he's coming down with?" Chris smiled sadly as he followed Vin's gaze.

"He's just plain old grieving, Vin. When…, well, I was worst then this let me tell you. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't anything. If it wasn't for Buck, God knows where I'd be today."

Chris grew pensive, absently scratching Jet's smooth, dark hide. He owed Buck a debt he would never be able to repay, not that the great-hearted man ever expected any. Nevertheless, he could do the same for his sorrowing friend.

"Ezra ain't ready to handle town just yet. He needs some room. I'm afraid if we drag him back there, he'll bury it all and we'll wind up burying him."

"Thought ya wanted to get him back."

"Guess I learned a thing or two since then. You know I think he takes everything to heart. All that complaining and wangling is just a way to distract us. This business with Maude has got him unnerved and his defenses are down."

"Don't ya think Josiah or Nat could help him?"

"Hell no, be worse than shooting a man in the back to let those two at him."

Vin turned to look sharply at his fellow regulator. "Ain't your fault."

"Sure is. Oh not everything, and he makes it easier, goads the two of them endlessly. But I'll tell you now that I think about it, he doesn't ever belittle them. Buck tried to tell me one time, said he could see putting a man in his place, but not putting him down so far he couldn't get up. I should have stopped it. One word and they'd back off, but I as much as gave ‘em my blessing, half the time I'm first in line. Man doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell."

"You fellas gonna eat?"  JD's call sounded muted in the gray, still morning.

"What you gonna tell him? He might not want to go." Vin remarked as they moseyed back to the fire.

"The truth. About time, don't you think?"

Ezra nibbled on the biscuit JD shoved into his hand. Vin poured a liberal dose of brandy into his mug before handing over the hot java.

"Drink up, pard."

"Thank-you Mr. Tanner," he muttered. The strong, hot brew was bracing and felt good on his tender throat. Dear Lord, a cold was all he needed right now. Humiliation coursed through him again as he thought about that nightmare. On top of everything else, why did he have to disgrace himself in front of these men?

Shrugging off the blankets, the Southerner stood slowly.

"Where you going?" JD asked wiping out the skillet.

"Mr. Larabee will want to leave presently, I am certain." He squinted into the heavy gray morning. "It will commence snowing before long. I am going to get ready."

"You're not going anywhere."

He stopped, his back rigid, waiting for Larabee to end it. Cut his losses and drop the weak link.

"Ezra, I want you to come with me and go into Riley. Vin and JD will head on back to Four Corners." There, he said it. Chris waited. For what? He wasn't sure.

JD's head came up sharply. Chris met his eyes and nodded over toward the horses.

"Sure, I'll go get our stuff together."

Vin took the hint. "I'll help ya, kid."

The gambler never moved.

The gunslinger made his way over, and laid a hand on the still shoulder. "Thought maybe you wouldn't mind a few days rest."

The Southerner rubbed the back of his neck. "Am I given to understand that you are asking me to accompany you for …well to, I mean…?"  The hoarse voice trailed off. The confusion of the past few days intensified and his head began to pound.

"Yes, you are given to understand." Increasing his grip somewhat, the shootist guided the bewildered man back to the campfire.

Ezra stopped mid-step and blurted, "I should think you wanted me back as soon as possible. After all, I have certainly left you all high and dry long enough."

"You didn't leave anybody high and dry Ezra. That business with Job was an accident, plain and simple. You're a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. There isn't some devious plan here, pal. You're tired, cold and sick, too." Proving the point Chris placed his palm against the gambler's  forehead, feeling the heat there.

Ezra pulled away. Dismayed that his weakness was so visible. "I'm fine. It's just a cold. I will make it back, just fine."

"Of course you would and then you'd pull that poker-face, I'm fine act and run yourself to death. Next thing you know we're dumping dirt on your casket."

The gamesman's face paled at those words. For an instant he heard the dull slap of rocky soil landing on the lid of an oak coffin sounding for all the world like the scratching of some unearthly monster.

Damn, Chris cursed to himself watching the effect of his words. The only color left in the pallid face were the two bright red spots of fever blazoning the cheekbones.

"Mr. Larabee, I do not wish to burden you with undue concern. I will make my way to Riley as you request. You may accompany your friends home."

The sleeping tiger of Larabee's temper got it's tail pulled. Grabbing Ezra's coat lapels, Chris shook him hard. "You aren't a burden, Ezra. Not to me or Vin or JD or Buck or Nathan or Josiah. Do you hear me? And I am not going home with them because I want to go with you. Got it?" With each word he rattled the Southerner.

Pushing him down to the rumpled blankets, the gunslinger pointed his finger at the spot. "You sit right there till I come get you. I'm going over there and saddle up that magnificent hunk of horseflesh that my friend gave me, and then I am saddling up your mount and then, my friend, you and I are going to high-tail it to Riley and get out of this god-forsaken weather."

Passing the quietly laughing JD and Vin as he stomped off, Chris stopped and asked directly, "You boys leaving soon?"

The sheriff coughed gruffly, trying to conceal his amusement. "Yeah, we're all ready."

"You best get a move on, cowboy," Vin grinned openly at his friend.

Snorting his derision, the determined gunslinger growled, "You know where we'll be. Might be another three or four days. I plan on laying over until I'm sure it's just a cold and that he's going to be able to work this through."

Crouching down beside the gambler, the young sheriff smiled shyly. "Hey, Ez, I hope you feel better."

"Thank-you Mr. Dunne. Would you do me a favor?"

"What you need?"

"Please make sure Judge Travis receives this."

"Sure, but why don't you give it to him yourself?"

"I am not trustworthy with other people's money. This needs to go to the Judge as soon as possible. It belongs to him." He pressed a sealed envelope into the young man's hands.

JD tried to capture the man's eye, but Ezra would not look at him. "Okay, Ezra but I'm sure it could wait till you come home. You kept it just fine."

"No, I'd rather it got there, sooner rather then later, just in case."

JD sighed. He didn't know what to say. The despair running through those words cut him as if the man had stabbed him. What if Ezra didn't come home?

"Come on JD, let's get going. We got a fair piece to ride today."

"Okay, Vin. See ya, Ez.

"Good-bye, Mr. Dunne."

"Ezra. Keep an eye on Chris will ya. You know how rowdy he gets." Vin teased.

"He will return to you, safe and sound."

Ain't Chris I want safe and sound right now, Vin thought sadly.

"Mr. Tanner, Ezra handed over another slim envelope. Please see Misters Jackson or Sanchez gets this. Will you please?"

"Sure, pard, if that's what you want."

"I do."

"Watch you back."

"Good-bye Mr. Tanner."

Vin kneed his horse and he and JD rode off to Four Corners. Neither man found himself enjoying the trip. It was snowy, cold and uncomfortable, but even more it was fraught with worry about a silver-tongued con artist who should have been riding beside them.

+ + + + + + +

He counted them again, one, two, three, four, five, lining each one up carefully on the green felt. Picking up the delicately perfumed onion skin, he read the words, yet again. Another shot of whiskey was poured as he rubbed his forehead.

A hand snaked around, grabbing the fine paper. "Um, what have we here? Scented paper, mighty pretty writing. Who's the pretty little filly sending you mushy words?" Buck teased as he drew the sweetly scented missive across his mustache.

He was disappointed, not quite the reaction he expected. Waving it in front of the seemingly indifferent man. "Perhaps I should take a little peek?" he threatened.

"Be my guest," the preacher intoned.

Buck frowned and tossed the paper on the table. He realized what he was seeing. "Shoot, hoss, that's five hundred dollars! Where in the hell you get that kind of money?"

"Maude."

The smile on the lothario's face faded.

"She sent the same amount to Nathan, and…" Josiah shook his head, sighing in aggravation. "Chris, Vin, JD and you, too." He handed Buck five green bills.

Buck whistled and sat down beside the preacher counting the bills. "Damn, I never had five hundred dollars."

"What for?" Buck couldn't help but ask looking a bit awed at the sum in his hands.

Picking up the letter Josiah flung it in front of Buck. "Read it and weep, brother, read it and weep."

Buck reached for the paper as if it were live coals, opening it gingerly, he began to read. "Damn," he said looking up to see the answer in Josiah's ice-blue eyes.

+ + + + + + +

Jet's pure black coat gleamed with spots of white as if he were an overgrown distorted Dalmatian. The snow began falling about an hour after they broke camp. As they headed down into the valley that housed the redoubtable Riley, everything bore the same hue.

"Surely is pretty." The soft Southern voice seemed, oddly enough, suited to the modulated sounds of the wafting flakes.

Chris normally wouldn't have been inclined to think so, stuff was a nuisance. However, the man had a point. The dusty, rocky terrain took on a whole different life under the frosting of white.

Seeing the gunslinger's curious glance and his nod of agreement, Ezra continued. "I love the snow. I saw it for the first time when I was five. My father took us on a trip up north by ship. The sea fascinated me. It was so free, couldn't be bound by any man." He paused thinking back to that glorious holiday.

"One morning we woke up and everything was covered with this glaze of white. I was delighted. One of the sailors showed me how to make shapes like angels. They even allowed me climb in the rigging to join them in an impromptu snowball battle."

Seeing the obvious pleasure in the green eyes dancing above the collar of his coat, Chris just listened.

"Dear Lord, how I wanted to be a sailor. I followed that poor captain around like I was tethered to his heels. He was very generous and did not seem at all bothered by my incessant questions. Told my parents he would take me on, once I was old enough, if they were willing. I remember my father laughed and said it would be up to me, but that the sea must be in my blood since my great-grandfather was an officer in the British Navy. I wonder now what that life would have been like."

The gunslinger was amazed. It seemed no stretch of the imagination to envision Ezra on the deck of a clipper heading off to some exotic port, wheeling and dealing with the natives. Sailing into home ports, nattily dressed in a coat of serge blue. Sea-green eyes surveying the tight lines of crisp white sails and pristine stone-white decks while his happy crew dropped anchor.

"I think you'd have been an excellent captain. I imagine you would have your own ship and sail all around the world; buying and selling all kinds of foreign cargo - coffee and tea and silk."

Ezra looked at Chris in astonishment. Not only had the man not ridiculed him, as was expected, but he had actually understood. But if those words were astonishing, the next nearly knocked him off his horse.

"I'm glad, though, that you didn't go to sea. If you had, I would never have known you. Selfish, I suppose, but it just would not be the same without you. I know you don't really believe this but you are one of us. We wouldn't be us without you. It just wouldn't be the same."

Chris met Ezra's eyes and held them with his own, trying to convey the sincerity of his message. Neither man was aware they had stopped until Chaucer shook his head and pranced off to the side a bit, as if to draw their attention.

Scolding Chaucer half-heartedly, the gambler struggled with what he just heard. This time he was unable to extinguish all the sparks, leaving just a little one to smolder against the dry tinder of hope deferred.

"So you see good sir, it is to your benefit as well as ours."

The husky tone's worked their magic and Ezra secured the best suite in the hotel for them for the price of a single room. Larabee turned to study a potted plant as the con artist painted a canvas of charm for the hotel manager. Damn that man was good. Not that he said anything false at all. Not many travelers were likely to come upon town in this weather. It was the same at the livery, where Jet and Chaucer were ensconced in the best of stalls with extra portions of grain thrown in for good measure.

Hearing the manager assure the prompt delivery of hot water and bathtubs nearly had the gunslinger laughing out loud. Trailing the gambler up the stairs, he almost choked when the Southerner asked innocently, "Mr. Larabee, I do hope that cough is not an indication that you have acquired my infirmity."

Faint gray light was filtering faintly through the curtains when Chris woke the next morning. Stretching stiff muscles, he had to admit that it felt good to sleep, warm and dry, in a real bed. Making short work of shaving and dressing, he made his way across the small sitting area to the gambler's room. Ezra had coughed off and on last night, but seemed to rest otherwise; hopefully he was still asleep.

Slipping through the partially open door, the gunslinger walked on cat's feet to the bed. He'd taken the precaution of unloading the ever-present gun the gambler carried as to spare them both an unpleasant surprise.

"Ezra?" he whispered softly. No answer, not a stir. Good. Moving closer Chris laid the back of his hand against the man's forehead. Mighty warm and his face was still awfully pale. He didn't seem too congested, except for that rasping cough. Hope that's just a cold, he thought, tugging up the comforter a bit. Quickly, he gathered the Southerner's dirty clothes and went off in search of a laundress, the telegraph office, the town doc. and breakfast,  though not necessarily in that order.

+ + + + + + +

The wind lofted the sails and the air was full of the smell of coffee and doughnuts. Doughnuts? Ezra blinked away the remnant's of his dream. Tugging on a clean shirt. Last one, he thought ruefully, stumbling into the small sitting room.

Chris was leaning back in an armchair, feet propped up reading the copy of David Copperfield he found in Ezra's bags. He grinned when the gambler padded into the room in his stocking feet, shirt untucked and haphazardly buttoned. He looked so utterly…natural, relaxed. It was not his normal appearance.

"Morning, Ezra. How you feeling?"

"Morning. Dreadful," the husky tones of yesterday were replaced with the nearly speechless rasp of laryngitis.

"Here," the shootist commanded. "Sit down, before you fall down."

"Thank-you Mr. Larabee." There was a bit of sarcasm in the wispy tone.

"Shut up." Chris told him, not unkindly.

"Here," he said, handing him a plate and mug of coffee. "I happen to know that you are a pushover for hot, fresh doughnuts."

"How?"

"Hush," laying a finger against his lips. "Inez told me and before you ask, they were compliments of the hotel's cook. I will have you know that she made them just because I asked. Just turned on the Larabee charm," he added, aqua eyes brimming with humor.

The con artist gazed at him skeptically but kept quiet, content to munch on the warm, sweet doughy confection. They were cinnamon twists, his absolute favorite. Mindful of the admonition from the gunslinger, he mouthed, "Thank-you".

"You're welcome. Now, when you finish you can just get your ass back in bed."

The Southerner grinned and gave his cocky two fingered salute.

+ + + + + + +

Five very subdued men sat around their customary table. Town was quiet, the snow, although not very deep, was successfully keeping everyone close to home. Biggest problem in town in the past few days had been keeping the boardwalks clear of snow and ice.

"What do y'all think we should do?" the healer looked from man to man.

No one had any ideas. They were still stunned by the questionable windfall they received from their friend's mother. The reasons for that windfall held them hostage at this table, trying to ascertain a course of action. Without a doubt, one of those reasons was playing out right now.

"Wish Chris were here." Buck mumbled. "He would know what to do."

At least they all agreed on that.

"Yeah, but might be a week before we see ‘em. That telegram said Ez was too sick to be comin' back anytime soon." Vin added.

"Well," JD looked at his fellow regulators. "We could head up to Riley."

"Yes, but then Ezra would probably find out."

"We could just tell him we came because Nathan was worried."

Buck whacked the back of the kid's head. "He ain't gonna fall for that."

Unfortunately,  every man there agreed on that too.

"So fellas, what are we going to do?"

Josiah stood, slapping his palms against the table. "We are going to Riley and bring home our brothers and we will deal with this thing together. All seven of us."

Heads nodded. Made sense.

"What about the town?"

"Hell, kid," Buck said, "It ain't going anywhere."

Nathan added, "I'll just speak to the Judge. I'm guessing he won't mind."

"That's it then." Vin stretched  "We'll leave at first light."

+ + + + + + +

Golden, dappled sunlight beamed happily through the lace curtains. Flimsy material rose and fell with the gentle whisper of warm autumn breezes. Birds chattered to their companions and the shrill voices of children reprieved by the grace of noon-time recess carried on the air.

Delicate fingers smoothed the fragile surface of the sleek writing paper. Tendrils of golden hair curled forward on the pain lined forehead. Time was growing short. Maude knew she had to play this one last card. Dying had a way of getting your attention. For years she had lived for appearances sake, for the thrill of the game, for the power of the con. Now, it was all washed away in the flood of realization springing up from the groundwater of truth.

The indomitable woman knew she could have cried a river of regret that would rival the mighty Mississippi. That wasn't her style. Looking at the neatly stacked bills again, she smiled. Well, it was a gamble, but wasn't faith exactly that - taking a risk on the greatest game of all? Timothy's words gave her the encouragement she needed. It wasn't too late, not while there was a beat left in her heart. She could still bequeath a heritage of worth to her son.

Picking up a filigreed silver frame, she ran loving touches over the young face. This was her favorite likeness of Ezra. Taken just before that unpleasantness with the Yankees, his slender face still with a hint of boyish innocence and eyes unguarded and undimmed with sorrow. A friend accompanied them to the sitting and made a joking remark just before the photographer took the frame. You were not supposed to smile, let alone laugh in a photograph. Maude paid the man extra to develop the piece for her.

"Love you, Ezra P." she smiled saying that old endearment that her husband always used. Funny, she thought, five husbands but I will still be buried as Maude Standish. The others, well, they were ways of fighting back the darkness, marking time until she could be with the true love of her life. Only two things she ever loved, Peyton Standish and his son. After the marriages ended and she would go her own way, she always took up the Standish name again. It was the only one that really fit.

Maude, she admonished herself, you best get on with this. Picking up the pen in firm fingers she began to write a letter that could bring an end to the band of seven men her son rode with.

+ + + + + + +

After being practically entombed in the suite for three days, Ezra was determined to at least eat breakfast in the dining room like a civilized person. The fever had broken yesterday, leaving him drained but feeling marginally better. Undoubtedly, he would be crawling back under the covers in a couple of hours. Chris insisted he let the town's young doctor check him over. Both were worried about pneumonia, but thankfully it was just a chest cold. The pungent unguent the physician left did ease the congestion, although Larabee teased him unmercifully about smelling like horse liniment.

"Good morning, Mr. Larabee."

The gunslinger grinned up at the immaculately groomed gambler. The voice was still terribly raspy and that cough sounded worse than a consumptive's, but he was on the mend.

"I cannot thank you enough," the gamester continued, "for having the foresight to acquire the services of a laundress."

"Not a problem, figured you'd be wanting to have some clean shirts to wear."

"You also, unless I miss my guess."

Chris laughed. "You rarely miss your guess. Come on, let's see what kind of doughnuts Mrs. O'Malley has cooked up today."

Shaking his head, Ezra held the door for the gunslinger. "That woman is under the impression that I am an underfed invalid. I am afraid if I partake of her bounty much longer, I will grow quite portly."

That image was so ludicrous that the shootist was still smirking when they entered the dining room. Surreptitiously, the gunslinger observed the gambler as he ate. It pleased him to no end to see that Ezra was regaining his normal poise. The dark despair that ensnared him was banished to the occasional morose moment.

In the privacy of quiet conversations over the past few days, Larabee had uncharacteristically shared remembrances of his own mourning, a time he knew would never really end, but one that had assumed a less prominent place in his life. Chris could honestly admit two things from that experience. One was that those memories, while bittersweet were no longer painful as he expected. In fact, it had almost been a relief to speak of those times. It somehow helped him put that agony into perspective.

The other thing he discovered was that he knew without any doubt that Ezra would never, ever betray one of the intimate confidences he entrusted to him. In retrospect, he supposed he was not really surprised. Where he might have questioned the man's trustworthiness when it came to large sums of money, he had no misgivings about the man's integrity in matters of real worth.

Watching Ezra drum his fingers lightly on the tabletop, Chris recognized the symptoms of indecision.

"Mr. Larabee, may I ask you something?" Ezra could barely hear his own voice over the thundering of the blood rushing through his veins.

Seeing the nod, he took a deep breath to continue. His self-preservation screamed at him to shut up. It desperately called out to him that ignorance was bliss, that a house of illusion is better than no house at all. Something drove him, something unnamed. Recognizing that the chances of having a portion of the gunslinger's time in the relative anonymity of an impartial location was not likely to occur again, he plunged ahead. His tongue whipped around his suddenly dry lips and it was only after a few false starts that he was able to ask a question that burned in his heart.

"Why ever did you ask me to join your little band of benevolent mercenaries?"

Temptation reared its ugly head, but Larabee ignored it. "Thought a liar and a cheat might come in handy."

A blaze of shame crept up the handsome face and burned in the eyes as disgrace.

"And," Chris continued, "I thought a man who knew how to beat unbeatable odds, someone who didn't take the lives of other men, even men who wanted him dead, lightly; a man who was resourceful under pressure and an excellent shot might be a good man to have on your side."

Chris leaned forward and watched as conflict danced in those glittering green eyes. The next question was expected.

"And afterward?" a trickle of perspiration slid down his spine.

"You came back."

Myriad emotions flickered on the averted features before the familiar poker-face made its appearance. Chris let him be. Some things a man just has to work out for himself.

"I'm gonna check the horses, back in a bit."

Ezra sat for a long time in the quiet dining room, until polite questions from the waitress made him realize it was time to go. He could barely stand when he reached their rooms. Without a second thought, shrugged off his jacket and fell into bed.

+ + + + + + +

Chris Larabee turned over the final page of the book he borrowed from the Southerner, well from Josiah actually. He had laughed out loud when he read the inscription on the flyleaf. Peace offering, he supposed. This and that note from Nathan that he shamelessly read. Poor man, he shook his head grimly thinking of the gambler. Got his boat rocked, that was certain.

He stopped to listen for a moment at the bout of coughing from the other room. When he came back from the livery, the gambler was sound asleep, sprawled across the bed. Chris manhandled him under the blankets without a single protest. Worn out, he wagered. Just as the coughing calmed he heard a soft knock at the door.

Old habits of caution had him calling lowly, "Who's there?" while he stood off to the side.

A slight shove from Buck, and Vin answered softly, "Hey cowboy, its us, open the door."

The rapidly opening door had all five men stepping back. Before anyone could open his mouth, Chris held up his hand. Moving quietly to check quickly that the gambler was still sleeping, he shut both doors behind him and stepped into the hall.

"What's the matter?"

The simple question had them all feeling a bit sheepish. They had been so rattled by Maude's letter, that they never actually thought this through. They looked at Josiah. After all this whole thing was his idea.

The preacher smiled at the testy gunfighter and scratched his right eyebrow. "We got this letter from Maude and she… well, um…."

"What do you mean you got a letter from Maude?"

JD spoke up, "Ez gave Vin the letter to give to Josiah or Nat, before we went home."

"Perhaps you should read it, Chris." The preacher pulled out the thin envelope from his inner coat pocket.

The gunslinger frowned. "Five of you rode almost three days in the snow so I could read a letter?" The growl of irritation grumbled in the low voice.

Only Vin managed to meet the incredulous green eyes. "Reckon me and the boys felt it was kind of important."

"Who's watching the town?" Larabee was furious. Damn it, didn't any of them have a lick of sense? What in the hell was the matter with them?

Nathan spoke up, "Judge Travis gave us his okay. He arranged for a couple of hands from the Johnson place to keep an eye on things while we were gone on business."

"Business?" Chris' voice rose a bit. "Some letter from a dead woman is business. Fool's errand if you ask me, and it took all five of you to deliver it? Hell, we'd have been home by the end of the week."

"How is Ezra?" Nathan couldn't help himself, moving towards the door.

The imposing figure of Chris Larabee stood in front of him. "He'll be fine. Just got a chest cold, that's all."

"Maybe I better just make sure."

"The doctor said he was fine."

"You had to call a doctor?" Nathan was alarmed.

"Damn it, Nathan, you really think I don't know how to take care of one of my men?"

Nathan was abashed. "No, of course not Chris. I'm just worried about that damn Southern fool, that's all." He finished lamely.

Sighing, the gunslinger counted to ten. "He's fine, Nate. He's sleeping right now, and when he wakes up you can make sure. I want one person to come inside with me and calmly make some sense of all this," he gestured with his hand. "The rest of you can just wait someplace else. You all go tramping in there and you'll have him up and all agitated. He doesn't need that right now."

They volunteered Vin. After all, the famous Larabee ire was rarely turned on the placid tracker.

Vin saw everyone looking at him. Buck gave him a little nudge. "Go ahead pard. We'll go see what kind of saloon this town's got."

"Thanks," Vin muttered dryly, accepting the letter Josiah handed him.

"Buck," Chris stopped them. "You all stay out of trouble. You hear me?" That glare put a damper on the whole evening.

After assuring himself that Ezra was still asleep, Chris gestured to a chair. "Alright Vin why are you all here?"

Vin handed him the letter and the five hundred dollars. "Couldn't seem to decide what to do. Figured we needed to ask you. Don't know if we should say anythin' to Ezra or not. Course he might already know. Guess we all got our cage rattled by that damn woman."

Chris pursed his lips slightly. Vin was worried. Obviously, something shook them. One at a time they might act like fools, but all of them, together?

"This from Maude?"

"Yup" Vin said with a sigh. "We all got five hundred. You, me, JD, Buck, Nat and Josiah."

"That's more than a years pay."

Vin nodded.

"She says why in this letter?" Chris templed his fingers and contemplated the folded stationery. "I take it I'm not going to like what she says."

"Don't know Chris. She kind of makes you think."

Chris opened the silky folds and began to read the spidery feminine handwriting.

                Gentlemen,

                I am writing this on a lovely fall day. The sunshine and sound of birdsong hold little of the concern that causes me to place my thoughts on paper. You have undoubtedly discovered that you each are the recipients of a small, but not inconsiderable sum of money. I smile to think of what each of you could do with such funds.

                Mr. Sanchez, this money could be used to assist the poor, or repair up that ramshackle building you use as a sanctuary. It would certainly suffice to allow the assumption of a ministry should you aspire to such. A man of such a respectable position would have no difficulties procuring the attentions of the gentler sex.

                Mr. Jackson, these funds would be more than adequate to allow you to pursue a professional education in medicine. You would be a bona fide medical doctor. A fine and noble aspiration for any man, lest one who was once bound in slavery..

                I am certain that Mr. Dunne's mother would be pleased if her son were to pursue an university education. Awesome career opportunities would lie before a young man with a college degree. The Texas Rangers certainly would not scoff at such a man. Even the imitable Mrs. Wells would grant her blessings to such a man.

                Mr. Wilmington, you will be surprised to know that I am aware of your desire to be free to follow that lovely young, career minded lady. With this money, you could provide more than adequately for any woman of your choosing, or to follow the one that stole your heart. No more worries about leaving any woman without a solid source of income should she, like your own mother, suddenly become bereft of a man's protection.

                This sum could also buy a framed man adequate investigative and legal services to procure a pass to freedom. Perhaps while you are at it, Mr. Tanner, you could be persuaded to acquire a coat of, shall we say, more distinction? Once that heinous bounty is lifted from your head, there would be plenty to purchase back the Tanner homestead and your mother's gravesite from the current owners.

                Surely, Mr. Larabee with funds like this at your disposal you could hunt down and destroy those evil villains that murdered your family? Professional detectives and their resources could be employed, justice would prevail. Once you have laid those ghost to rest, you would be free to pursue the lovely Mary Travis. She is a feisty woman, well-suited to you, Mr. Larabee and her son adores you. You could have what you long for, a family.

                Yes, gentlemen I know all about dreams and hopes. Once I was young and in love and had so many hopes and plans of my own. Mr. Standish and I hoped that Ezra was just the first of a whole bevy of children. Sadly, our dreams were not to be. When they were crushed I allowed a root of bitterness to grow. Ezra lost his father, very tragically and then he lost me. Oh not recently, but when he was a child because I let the circumstances of loss to dictate to me.

                None of the seven of you is a stranger to loss. All of you have ghosts that you carry, all of you have hopes and dreams. Now you have the means to fulfill some of those dreams and to banish those ghosts. You know that if you do, it will be the end of your little band of survivors. You will go your separate ways and what you have together will pass away.

                What will you decide? Are you tempted? Of course, you are. Is what you have together worth the deferment, perhaps forever, of those other hopes and dreams? We all make choices. I chose poorly and Ezra bears the scars. I never saw the treasure that is my son. It is too late for me, but not for the seven of you. What will you choose?

                Allow me one bit of maternal advice to you men who are as close to my son as any brothers he may have ever had. Count carefully the cost of your actions, make sure you know what it will cost you to deny your dreams and hopes, then count carefully the treasure you would discard.

                I have great faith that you will choose well.

                Farewell gentlemen, it was indeed a pleasure to know each of you.

                Fondly,

                Maude Standish

Chris looked up from the letter. "Good Lord," he breathed.

"Woman had a way with words."

A rumbling cough startled them both. "Vin?" Ezra stared at the tracker in the dim light. "What's wrong?"

Vin hesitated, looking to Chris, a move that was not lost on the gambler. "What's the matter? Somebody hurt or something wrong in town?"

A fist of fear clenched his heart.

Chris spoke up quickly. "Everybody's fine, nothing is wrong, exactly."

"What do you mean, exactly?" he asked, looking from Chris to Vin and back again.

Vin decided that not knowing was harder on the gambler then knowing, so he said softly, "Your ma sent a letter for us and well, pard, she gave each of us a good bit of money."

"Oh." He didn't want to know. No, not at all. He coughed again, the force of it making his head ache. He shuffled over to the window, staring down into the snow covered streets.

"Vin, we'll meet everybody in the dining room in a while."

The tracker nodded and left quietly. Ezra heard him leave and watched as a few minutes later the long-legged man strolled across the street to the saloon.

"Everybody?" he mumbled, leaning his aching head against the cool window pane.

"Ezra, you need to read this."

"Oh no, I don't. I have no desire to see what havoc my dear departed mother has managed to wreak, even from the great beyond."

"Just read the letter."

"No." he shook his head, never stirring from the window.

"Read the damn letter, Ezra."

"No," there was no defiance, only defeat. "Please, no," but he took the paper Chris handed him anyway and read the letter.

He stood there like stone. The fine stationery limp in his fingers, its sweet gardenia scent drawing him to a place he had no desire to go.

Chris spoke quietly, "Meet us in the dining room in about an hour?"

Ezra nodded, never moving from his post at the window. Closing the door softly, Chris leaned his head against the solid wood. Inside, the gambler traced the trails of moisture seeping down the glass as if they were drops of rain.

+ + + + + + +

No one spoke as they sat in the lamplight of the hotel dining room waiting for Chris. JD was systematically destroying his nails, biting each one down to the quick. A horrible habit his mother broke him of when he was ten. Buck Wilmington was staring at the amber beer in his glass, thinking of how closely it matched a certain lady's hair.

Dr. Jackson does have a certain ring, Nathan thought, seeing his father's face in his mind's eye. The wonder of an ex-slave with a real medical license. Holding his head up high in any community, because no matter what color his skin he had achieved something remarkable.

How had that woman known? Vin wondered. She knew that deep down he wanted to be able to not only visit his mother's grave, but to own the land it lay on. To own the Tanner land, to stand on that soil as a free and honorable man: it had been his secret ambition for years.

Josiah swirled the water glass around and around on the smooth wood surface. The condensation on the surface left blurry round circles. He watched in bizarre contemplation as they blended and grew till you could hardly tell where one started and another one stopped, yet each one was distinct and fully formed. He slid the chair out a little so he could lay his head to the side to see how the light reflected off each one.

"Josiah?" Nathan's concerned voice broke the silence. "Are you all right?"

Pale blue eyes gazed around at four quizzical faces. Slightly embarrassed, the preacher chuckled and sat up. "Fine, just fine."  He was disinclined to elaborate on his experiment.

+ + + + + + +

The gunfighter stood for a long time resting his head against the door, trying to decide what to do. The other's would take their clue from his decision. There was no middle ground that he could see, no compromise. All stayed or none stayed, that much was clear.

I don't want this, Chris groaned. I don't want this at all. Who am I to deprive a young man his dreams of education or an ex-slave respect? What about Vin who surely deserves a right to clear his name or what about justice for Sarah and Adam? Was their little band of survivors, as Maude so euphemistically called them, worth more than the individual needs of each man?

"Count the cost. I have great faith that you will choose well."

He could hear Maude saying those words in his head. Why did you do this? He wondered, as he headed downstairs. Did you want Ezra to leave or are you trying in some convoluted way to make him stay? Or is it something else altogether?

Chris sat down next to Vin and looked around the table. "Okay, I read it. Now what?"

"What are we going to do, Chris?"

"I have no idea what we are going to do, JD. I think every man has to decide for himself. I won't tell you what to do." Chris appraised the young sheriff carefully. "You want to go to college, go. Maude's right Casey would probably be yours for the asking. Join the Texas Rangers if you want."

JD shifted uncomfortably. "Well, what is everybody else going to do?"

Larabee fixed his glare on the young man. "You can't live your life by decisions other people make. You have to decide for yourself what you want. Time to grow up, JD."

"Damn it, Chris, because I think about other people and sometimes value their opinions, does not mean I don't know what I want!"

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Okay, kid what are you going to do?"

"Hell, if I know what I am going to do but I know what I want."

"Well, enlighten us."

"Now wait a minute, Chris."

"No, Buck I asked the boy a question and I want an answer." The gunslinger's voice was hard and unforgiving.

Buck's cobalt eyes hardened but he sat back when JD laid a calming hand on his arm.

Flushing slightly under the scrutiny, JD took a deep breath and met Larabee head on. "What I want is a good life, full of meaning, good friends and a family, someday," he added.

Chris bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough." He broke the stare with JD to move his glance around the circle of men. "How about you, Vin?"

"I want to clear my name, y'all know that." He paused looking down at his loosely folded hands. "Would like to own that land, but I can't rightly see myself as no farmer. Place is prime farmland," he continued, almost defiantly. "Reckon that it all might cost more than I'm willin' to pay."

"Hooey, that woman was full of the stuff." Buck stated stretching out his long legs. "She didn't say we had to do anything with that money. Just what we could do."

"Well," Nathan began slowly, "You don't think we can accept it without respecting her wishes."

"Hellfire and damnation, Nathan, that woman did not say we had to do anything. What are you talking about?"

"But she said…" the healer trailed off, grasping for a reason to deny himself his ultimate dream and save himself the realization that it was funded by a Southern white woman.

As Josiah listened to the passion and pathos tinting his friends voices, the magnitude of what Maude wrought with her letter loomed before him. Fury rose up in him as he considered the presumptiveness of her actions. Damn woman was playing the temptress,  waving that enticing morsel in front of them daring them to take a bite. Throwing crumbs of desire in front of them, making them question if their dreams were worthy and worse, if they were worthy of their dreams. Her questions made if seem as if their band was unrighteous or dishonorable. Forcing them to doubt what kind of men they were. How could a man make a wise choice when confronted with that kind of challenge?

Josiah walked right into the wall of memory. A conversation he had with a man who once called him friend and asked hesitantly for help, came rushing back. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, he quoted to himself in chagrin. Had his actions then been any less insidious? Remembering the disaster that had almost ensued, he knew the reply.  For the first time since that day he fully comprehended what he had done. Yes, his actions had served a purpose, as Maude's did now. Something precious had been destroyed that day. He had shattered a man's integrity against the rock of his own self-righteousness.

Was the cost of a dream worth the price of an irreplaceable treasure? Raising his eyes, Josiah confronted the answer walking in the door.

"Ezra," Buck's welcome boomed across the room. With a few strides the kind-hearted lawman reached the gambler and threw his arms around him. "How you doing, pard? You sure are a sight for sore eyes. We missed ya."

Though he was embarrassed by the ebullient display, the Southerner was too touched by the honest pleasure in the greeting to respond in any other way.

"It is a pleasure to see you also, Mr. Wilmington. I am fine, thank-you."

Buck led the gambler to the table, "Have a seat, Ez. Right here next to me and Chris."

Ezra sat down, nodding a greeting, "Good evening, gentlemen," he rasped out, feeling unaccountably nervous. Reaching into his black jacket, he laid the diaphanous dispatch on the warm wood surface in front of the preacher. "I believe this is yours."

It was amazing to see the effect that a gauzy sheet of paper and words penned in light black ink could have on hardened, worldly men. Everyone stared at the slip as if it were a death warrant.  

"I take it that this is the reason for the dilemma that has overtaken you?"

"Ain't your fault Ez." JD hurried to assure him.

"No, it is not. Nonetheless, I find myself responsible. However, gentlemen you should know that whatever my mother's frailties, spite was not one of them. I believe that the intent here was genuine. Mother was not inclined to distribute hard won, shall we say, wealth to others upon impulse. She deemed you to be worthy recipients of these funds. If I may, I would suggest that you simply accept the gift and feel free to do with it what you please. The musings of the donor should not be occasion for concern. After all, she is hardly in a position to dictate to you."

"You can't possibly mean to ignore what she had to say." Nathan declared.

"No, indeed, Mr. Jackson, I cannot, but you could."

"Ezra has a point." Chris began, holding up his hand to still the protests. "I am not saying we should discount what she suggested. I am only agreeing that we don't have to limit ourselves to the choices she proposes. Where is the conflict in keeping the money, doing what we're doing now and still clearing Vin's name or building up Josiah's little church or finding justice for Sarah and Adam?"

Buck warmed to the idea. "Shoot, I ain't ready to settle down, but I wouldn't mind takin' a little trip to visit a certain charming lady, once and a while."

"I'm already a lawman. I don't need a college education to be a good sheriff, but I could put something away for the day I start a family." JD grinned at the low chuckles from his friends.

Nathan felt trapped. That was fine, well and good for their dreams, but his weren't so easily addressed. There was no way to become a real doctor in Four Corners.

"I believe that Mr. Jackson's aspirations aren't so easily addressed."

Thoughtful brown eyes met the understanding green one's with surprise.

"I took the liberty of speaking about you with my mother's physician in Colorado Springs. At the time I was quite unaware that a conundrum of this nature would arise." Ezra rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, trying to frame the words in the right way. He would hate for the healer to think he was being intrusive.

"Due to the dearth of legitimate medical practitioners in the western territories, there was a law passed some time ago stating that a person with certain credentials merely had to serve a period of residency under the direction of a fully licensed physician to become certified as a legal medical doctor." Ezra wrestled with a coughing spate that had Nathan rising from his seat. Holding up a hand to stay off the healer's concern. He continued.

"The good doctor would be more than willing to mentor you, should you wish to partake of her services. I assure you, Mr. Jackson, there is no obligation on your behalf. I simply offer it as a opportunity."

Nathan felt their encouragement. He smiled. "I believe a trip to Colorado Springs might be in order."

Relief and anticipation danced around the table. Drinks and meals were ordered, lively conversations flowed. Vin quietly filled Chris in on the latest happenings in town. Josiah and Nathan spoke about plans for the small sanctuary and the possibility of moving the clinic to another location. Buck teased JD who gave back good as he got.

Leaning back in his chair, quietly surveying the band of men, Ezra nursed a brandy. Amazingly, the healer had approved of the libation. Might ease that cough, were his exact words. The Southerner had been tempted to reply that he wasn't necessarily attempting to ease his cough. He was just trying to numb that throbbing ache in his heart.

Following dinner, JD asked Chris to show everybody his new horse. The reticent gunslinger actually preened with pleasure and readily agreed. Ezra didn't even offer an excuse, he had no intentions of tramping through the cold, snowy night; nor did Chris expect him to do so.

Josiah waved off the fretting Nathan, "You go ahead. You can pester Ezra when you come back. I am going to sit right here with Brother Standish, if he's agreeable?"

The gambler smiled a polite invitation, although all he wanted was to be left alone.

The preacher knew that. Right now, the man was an open book should anyone care to read it.

They sat quietly while the table was cleared and Ezra sipped another brandy.

"Want to play a game of cards?" the preacher offered.

"No, thank-you," came the distant reply.

"We were sorry to learn of Maude's death."

"Thank-you."

"She was a remarkable woman."

"Indeed."

"Come on, Ezra talk to me." Josiah couldn't help but feel stone-walled by the short answers.

"What, pray tell, Mr. Sanchez would you like me to say?"

"Are you alright? Can I do anything for you?"

"Yes, no."

An unhappy silence fell.

"What about you, Ezra. What is it that you would do?"

"With what?"

"Well," Josiah felt suddenly felt awkward as a frightening thought occurred to him.

"Mr. Sanchez, let me spare you the meaningless speculation. My inheritance consists of a trunk of books, journals, a few personal mementos, including the lovely, yet worthless engagement ring my father gave my mother and sufficient funds to return me to that dusty backwater and pay the rent at the livery for a week."

The preacher didn't know what to say. I'm sorry seemed so inane, so he said nothing.

Ezra grew tired of the tense silence and rose to seek the peace of his room. It was rude to leave the man waiting alone, but he couldn't help it.

"Ezra…" Josiah gently laid his hand on the gambler's arm.

The gamester jerked it away. "Good night, Mr. Sanchez."

"Ezra, please, I didn't mean to pry. I'm sorry"

"Oh really? I should think you would be pleased. After all you know what kind of man I am."

"No, I don't Ezra. What about your dreams?"

"Mr. Sanchez, even if I wanted to, would I remember how? I can not imagine what will come, but I have already made my choice. I will remain, until y'all move on, I will stand with this little band of survivors."

+ + + + + + +

Once more a remnant ….will take root below and bear fruit above.

For out …will come a remnant…a band of survivors. II Kings 19:30

The End