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Part 1

Why hasn't Maude sent for me yet?

Ezra Standish sat in front of the Four Corners jail. He cocked his chair back on two legs and propped his calf-skin boots up on the railing. It was two in the afternoon, but he'd only been up a spare hour. He stared into the dark brew contained inside the cup he held.

There's been ample time for my missives to reach her. Mother knows where I am. She knows the name I'm using. Since arriving here two months earlier, there'd been no response from his mother. How much longer will this exile last? Ezra ran his hand down the back of his thick, chestnut hair to rub his neck. I'll know when she 'needs' me. No. Never a doubt there.

His thoughts went back to the previous month, when the six peacekeepers had agreed to stay on and look after this dusty little hamlet. Things were not what he'd expected. Strange. He'd been leaning against the bar with his pardon from Judge Travis in hand. When he'd said he would stay for a while yet, the other men had grinned at him as though he had passed some sort of test.

What test? A test in…What? Morality? Helping others and all that malarkey?

Ezra couldn't help but smirk. Their ideals were ridiculous. Helping others. Not likely. He helped himself, just like the rest of the world. There were two kinds of people. Marks and cons. And he knew which he was, and he intended to stay on top of the pile.

Yes, the team would be disappointed, if they knew the real reason he stayed. No philanthropic impulse, that's a certainty.

As far as he was concerned, this present role of lawman was absurd, only a farce, another means to an end. However, he had come to realize, the others were genuine about protecting the town.

Ezra shrugged. They were a strange lot. He couldn't figure them. A piece of lint on the fine material of his dark-green jacket caught his eye, and he flicked it off with a sigh. This was the last jacket he had from his favorite tailor in New Orleans, and Ezra appreciated the perfect match it made with his bronze-colored silk vest.

He sipped his coffee, wishing he could be elsewhere. However J.D. was doing the afternoon patrol, and Ezra was making his presence known here on the boardwalk. Visible to all. But his only true concern was that he was visible to Chris Larabee. See. I'm on shift as agreed.

So why had the others opted to stay on? Oh, he could hazard a guess. Take Larabee. It could be the gunslinger was tired. But tired of what? Of drifting? Of being alone? Was he here because of Mary Travis? Or was he simply enjoying himself as a leader? Maybe it was because he and Buck now had a legitimate job. After all, if not lawmen, what other lines of work could they do? Besides, the blond gunslinger was a couple of shades too close to becoming an outlaw himself,

And as for Buck Wilmington. That man hated menial labor almost as much as Ezra did. This job gave Buck the opportunity to work with an old friend again, and enjoy the company of the town's ladies.

Ezra looked down at a dried bloodstain on the rough boardwalk.

Could it be that Chris Larabee stayed to persecute them? It seemed possible, even likely. Last night was a good example. Chris had busted up Ezra's card game with the best-financed sucker he'd had at his table, since he'd arrived in this backwater town. But he had seen in Larabee's eyes that if he hadn't followed him outside, their leader would have dragged him out by his lapels.

Ezra tried to push his feelings down about that. But it was hard. Hard because money meant survival. Money meant a good room, a soft bed, a good meal, fine clothes, control...Well, it meant damned near everything.

And why the ill-timed interruption to his business? Because Nathan had had to tend a patient. Percy Mills had come down with a fever. Consequently, Larabee had wanted Ezra to walk patrol with him in Nathan's stead. Why couldn't Larabee understand that Ezra was, also, at his chosen profession, just the same as Nathan? He, too, had had paying customers and that was his living. Same difference.

The gambler clinched his teeth, and refocused his thoughts. Now, where was he? Oh, yes. The other men. All right. What about J.D.? Well, John Dunne loved being a lawman. No puzzle there. Here was an opportunity the young Bostonian would never have had otherwise.

And Nathan. He had his own business with paying clientele, obviously. That was a great deal for a former slave. And since the incident, where Vin Tanner and Chris had stood up for the healer, apparently Nathan's business had flourished even more.

Then there was Josiah Sanchez, their own man of the cloth. Well, who could figure out a preacher? Maybe he'd simply found a purpose. That was much in itself.

Ezra watched a speckled dog walk up to the horse tough and lap the water.

What about Vin Tanner? The best Ezra could figure, there were two ways to look at the tracker's situation. The man could run and be alone, or stay and have men who would back him up. In their short time together, Ezra had come to realize Vin was no outlaw at heart. After all, the Texan had been a bounty hunter. Wasn't that something like a paid traveling lawman, only without backup? Yes, perhaps that was why he stayed.

The dog panted in the heat and watched him. Ezra held up his hand. "Nothing in the hand, nothing up the sleeve."

The dog didn't seem impressed, just turned and took his time walking back to the livery.

On the opposite boardwalk, Ezra saw Buck as he walked arm in arm with a pretty brunette. Ezra had to work at stopping his smile. The tall, large-boned man skipped beside the young woman on light feet. What was her name? Lucy? Leslie? Well, he doubted Buck would remember either. The man positively bordered on the lascivious. But in all his days, Ezra could scarce remember a man with a bigger heart and the courage to match.

Ezra finished the cup of coffee. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. More coffee was required to level him out. He rose without hesitation and walked back inside the empty jail. Waves of heat rolled from the half-stoked woodstove. Standish poured himself another cup and returned to his chair outside, in time to see Larabee crossing the street, headed for the jail.

Yep, one thing was for sure, he never wanted Chris Larabee after him. Just when would the black-clad gunman stop making him nervous? It seemed no great stretch to envision Chris actually eating the liver of someone he thought was remiss in their duty. All he needs is a hood and scythe to give the ol' grim reaper a real run for his money.

"Well, you're on time today," Chris said flatly.

Ezra touched his hat. "And a good afternoon to you too Mr. Larabee."

"Anything going on?"

"I understand the earth is very actively rotating around the sun, beating heavily on the northern hemisphere. Also, that drunk that conned the country into putting him in the White House can't stop getting himself caught in even the simplest scandal, though I have to give the devil his due as far as monetary aspirations. If he'd only---"

"Ezra, shut up." Larabee stepped closer. "Now. Anything going on, and no bullshit."

"It would make my recitation of shorter duration, if you would condescend to specifics---"

"If you don't stop your bullshit, Standish, I'll have to knock you on your ass."

"I assure you, I'm not prevaricating in the least. I am wholly innocent of that charge. Surely my simple request for you to narrow your demand---"

Chris abruptly gave him a short upper cut and clipped his chin. Ezra staggered backwards, knocking over the chair, dropping his cup and bumping the back of his head against the wall.

Shifting his weight, Chris loomed over him and jabbed his finger downward. "Now, let's try this again, and I warn you---"

Buck trotted across the street. "Whoa, pard. See Ezra's on time for duty today."

Ezra touched his jaw and blinked blearily, as he steadied himself with the rough jail wall. Well, I no longer have to wonder where his limits are.

"One more word out of you that sounds like bullshit and I'm gonna wipe the floor up with you, before I go eat lunch."

Buck jumped in. "Is there a problem?"

Neither Ezra nor Chris looked at Buck. Chris glared at Ezra, and Ezra matched him with one corner of his mouth turning up. Buck stepped between them.

"This cut-rate conman will not lay off the spiel," Chris said loudly.

Completely hidden behind Buck's back, Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Spiel?"

Larabee put his hands on his hips and shot a glance in Buck's direction. "You ever try asking him what's going on?"

Buck turned to Ezra with an exaggerated smile. "What's going on, Ezra?" He glanced back at the brunette. "Please, just answer...a simple answer."

"Would it be asking too much, to require that your request be more specific?"

"Anything going on in town that we need to get involved in, straighten out?"

Ezra grinned for several, very long moments. "No."

Buck snapped around to look at Chris holding out his hands. "It's a miracle. A one-word answer."

Chris grunted and turned on his heel. Shaking his head, he recrossed the road.

Ezra gave his vest a tug. "I would wager Mr. Larabee has a decided preference for raw liver for lunch?"

"What?" Buck asked.

Ezra fingered his jaw and straightened his hat. "Assaulting my person, and merely because I found clarification a necessary factor in providing the information our bellicose Mr. Larabee was soliciting."

"What?" Buck shook his head. "Chris don't like bullshit, Ezra. Now you know that, and it flows outta you like tree sap. Cut down on it. You'll stay healthier. Uh, excuse me." He nearly ran across the road to enter the dry goods store, which Lucy, Leslie had turned into.

Ezra raised a hand in farewell at his retreating back. "Of course, I appreciate your advice, especially when it's voiced so eloquently. Yes, a certain sparse beauty. And what it lacked in grace, it more than made up for in clarity."

He picked up the chair and retrieved his cup. "Soon, we'll all be relegated to responding in grunts and Indian...hand language."

After getting a clean cup and pouring more coffee, Ezra returned to his seat outside the jail. Ignoring the pain in his jaw was not too difficult. He was used to it, used to catching the brunt of it.

Really should have thanked Buck for his intervention. Don't know why I didn't. Should have. He probably saved me from another one of Larabee's demonstrative rebukes. But, on the other hand, I'm sure Buck had his reasons. Probably worried about Chris. They do go way back as...something like...friends.

Vin was standing at the window of the dry goods store, when Buck trotted inside. "What was that about?"

"Just Ezra being himself, and not learning from it," Buck answered though his eyes were filled with the lovely woman and sole object on his mind.

"I don't think he realizes. I mean, it's like that guy's afternoon ain't complete unless Chris has popped him. Look at him." Vin jerked his chin at the man across the street. "He's just setting back out there, like nothing happened."

"Yes, well, when you figure him out, you get back to me. Right now, I'm kinda busy."

The corners of Vin's mouth turned up as he watched Buck snatch off his hat and walk up to the brunette.

Vin looked out the window again at Standish. He couldn't help puzzling. It was too ingrained in him. He'd made a living out of reading sign on the trail and acquiring an instinct about a man's direction. Now, Ezra was a puzzle, and it was natural for Vin to worry it in his mind like a bit of sign he couldn't decipher. On the trail, everything meant something. Nothing was by accident.

Vin rubbed his cheek, then went back to accessing the new saddle bags.

Part 2

Ezra leaned back again with his boots on the railing. What was the reason again? Why I'm still here? Certainly isn't the amiableness of the coterie.

But Ezra knew all too well the reason he remained. The gambler gingerly worked his jaw and winced at the needles of pain. It was still too risky for him to head back to the States. And it probably would be for another year or so. All because of that blundering amateur, McCauley.

When McCauley had miss-played his simple role, the con in Cincinnati had folded faster than an empty poker hand. Only the greatest precipitance on their part had spared them from incarceration or worse.

After that denouement, he and Maude had acquired another team and were setting up a mark in Philadelphia, when Ezra had been recognized. Yes, he, as Edward Singer of Cincinnati, had been recognized as being one and the same as Eric Sutton of Charleston. All that effort, time, money and research was for nothing. Their disappointed team members had grumbled loudly, before going their separate ways. Plus he'd had to pay the team out-of-pocket for their trouble. Such was the rules of the fraternity.

Dead broke, he and his mother had jumped the train to Chicago. After he'd conned their way into the game on the train, they had established some working capital by playing poker partners. If they'd been discovered, it would have gotten ugly. But they weren't con artists for nothing. No one suspected a thing. He'd fed Maude the hands and she'd won the money. Men lost to a charming woman better than to him.

He watched as Buck came out of the dry goods with the brunette. What was her name?

The sound of the stage caught Ezra's attention. He stood slowly and leaned against the support post, his thumb hooked in his gun belt. The storm of dust, which chased the conveyance, overtook it. After the cloud had coated the occupants, the stage driver and his messenger, it danced around in victory until every thing in sight was covered with grit.

Ezra coughed and waited as the postmaster came out and the messenger tossed down the mailbag. The coach door opened and emitted the lone passenger, an old man whose son's family surrounded him. Their shouts of greetings fell harshly on Ezra's ears and he grimaced at the public display of affection, which he found totally lacking in propriety. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be greeted with such open faces and hearts. As soon as he noticed the tug at his heart, he discarded the thought.

A block away, Chris came out of the restaurant chewing on a toothpick. After a couple of minutes, he took a seat on the bench out front.

Ezra watched the postmaster walk back to his office, then set the empty cup on the railing and stepped off onto the packed road. With a groan, the driver slowly climbed down. The messenger handed down box after box from the stage.

The old man's son put his hands on his hips. "Dad, really, you should have sent all this stuff by freight."

"Didn't want it outta sight, my boy. Them's your mother's things. Don't trust nobody else to look after her silver and china. And there are some special things for your Mary. Things she'll want to pass on to my grandchildren."

The young messenger hopped down gamely and slapped at his pants. "All right. Where's the saloon?"

The grizzled driver shook his head. "We'll be pulling out in a couple of hours. Best get you something to eat at the restaurant, not the lunch counter."

The messenger scowled briefly at the driver, then looked over the town. His eyes stopped on Ezra, and went wide regarding him strangely. Ezra casually gestured with his thumb in the direction of the saloon.

The older man followed his partner's gaze. "And stay away from him. Anybody with two eyes can see he's a gambler-man."

Ezra dropped his head with a sudden bemused grin. "I'm glad to see you remember me, Jud. Let me take this opportunity to wish you a good afternoon. I trust your journey was not taxing beyond what is customary."

"Tax. Is that what you call it? Go on, boy." The driver shoved the boy. "I said get you something to eat." He pointed to Ella's. "And there's the restaurant. Now go."

The boy limbered his legs a few times and finally moved across the street. When he disappeared into the restaurant, Jud reached in his jacket. Ezra stood even with him now.

"Here's your damned money, you damned rooster. May you rot in hell."

The grin never left Ezra's face, as he put his hand over his heart. "You give me insight into the fractuousities endured by poor Matthew the tax collector."

The driver's scowl deepened. "I can't think you should be quoting from the good book. I've paid ya, now get the hell out of my sight, you overblown whelp."

Ezra took the dusty money and counted it . "Why, sir, I certainly hope that's not a direct quote from the Good Book."

"It's all there, damnit." The only thing that kept Jud from shouting was his embarrassment.

Ezra folded the bills and nodded. "You are correct. The amount is as agreed upon." He slipped a piece of paper from his vest pocket. "And here is your marker. I trust you'll have a pleasant day," he said and tipped his hat.

Jud snatched off his hat and popped it hard against his leg. He glared after the con man, before finally crushing it back on his head and turning to check the traces.

The money seemed to melt into Ezra's silken bronze vest. Painfully controlling his eagerness, he strolled toward the postmaster's. He stopped outside, peered into the window and adjusted his black, string tie. Without moving his head, he shifted his focus to the rapidly emptying mail sack on the postmaster's desk inside.

Mrs. McCluskey came out the door chuckling as she read her letter. Ezra squared his shoulders and walked inside.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Baxter."

The postmaster peered at him over the top of his glasses. "Ah, just a minute. I'm sure I have a letter for you." His hands flitted through the letters on the counter. "Yes, right here on top."

"What? Why, what a pleasant surprise." He slid it into his breast pocket. "You have a good day, sir."

Although he wanted nothing more than to rush back to his room over the saloon and tear open the envelope, he walked back toward the jail. His process felt unbearably tedious each time he was compelled to tip his hat and pause for polite greetings.

At last he resumed his perch outside the jail. Ezra glanced over the town for a few minutes. Everything was back to business as usual. His fingertips touched the letter. Then with a light movement, which would have been worthy of extracting a hold card, he fed the letter into his hand and it appeared as if by magic.

He recognized immediately the overdone flourishes and ostentatious curlicues. Mother. There was no return address.

He opened it.

My darling boy,

I have but the smallest moment in which to write you. I must finish packing my trunks for the excursion, which a friend and I have booked. You will congratulate me, I am sure, upon the successful conclusion of an opportunity in Atlanta. Isn't it wonderful! I feel happy and excited. I'm sure I will be out of pocket for a number of months. And it is a reward well earned, I can most heartily assure you.

I feel certain you are doing well. If you apply all diligent effort, as you have been taught, why it would not surprise me in the least if I returned to find you the owner of one of those fine, gilded gambling halls in San Francisco. And, of course, I was relieved to learn you received a pardon for a charge, which should never have been preferred against you in the first place. I never doubted you would resolve the matter.

A number of our common friends have asked concerning you. I, of course, put forth that I do not know the destination of your sojourn.

Wish me a happy voyage.

Adieu, Maude

He re-read it. Then read it again.

See what you get for screwing up in Philadelphia. You could've been there. I could have worked with mother again and now be...celebrating...but no...

He licked is lips and cast his eye around the town.

I'm here. And it's my own fault. I let myself be recognized. Fool. You bleeding fool. Contemptible moron. 'The smart' go on an excursion. 'The stupid' sit in front of a jail getting layer upon layer of dust on their best jacket. No wonder she doesn't want me around. Mother does not surround herself with 'the stupid'.

He looked down at himself. Ezra Standish, you are a mess. A deplorable mess. Just look at you.

He slapped the folded page shut, stuck it in the envelope and shoved it back into his pocket. He pushed to his feet and went straight to the desk inside. The desk creaked as he jerked each drawer open to pillage the contents in search of a clothing brush. When one was not forthcoming, he slammed the last drawer closed. And why would I expect to find a single implement to improve oneself in this heathen territory? He exhaled sharply and did the best he could by hand.

His brushing fingers came across his flask, and he stopped. Ezra grinned sheepishly as he took it out. With a flare, he held it up.

"Here's to you, Mother. Bon voyage. Have a delightful...excursion...wherever the destination." He drank a smooth swallow. "And to your unscalable luck and outstanding ingenuity." He took another drink. "And to the feckless vessel herself. God save her crew and passengers." He took another pull from the flask and chuckled suddenly. "And last, but not least, to your supremely practical intelligence in separating yourself from your son, the albatross." He took one long last drink, and returned it to his jacket.

Straightening his cuffs with a practiced jerk, the southerner headed for the door. "Time to take a turn about the sophisticated environs of my St Elba."

Part 3

Ezra walked down the boardwalk to the saloon. It was a dark inviting respite from the full glare of the sun reflecting on the sandy roads. He stepped inside and paused. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he went to the bar.

"Mr. Standish," Bill Watkins, the barkeep, greeted.

"Salutations, my good man. If you would be so kind, I would kindly appreciate a quantity of your laudable Kentucky Bourbon. That bottle, the one under there." He leaned over the counter and pointed to a nearly concealed place, where the good stuff was secreted.

Bill nodded.

Ezra handed him the silver flask then glanced around the room. The moneyed businessmen were not there. Ezra let out a disappointed sigh, as he took out his watch. JD should be back in another hour. He returned his attention to Bill, to make sure the flask was filled to the top.

I'm impressed. She spared a small moment. Flattered really. Umm. A fine gambling hall in San Francisco. Indeed. Well the first step, naturally, would be to solve the problem of working capital. It would certainly help if I could find a way to free myself from Larabee's constant interruptions, especially Saturdays and in the evenings. Perhaps if I talked to our young sheriff who's straining at the bit to do more anyway I could solve my dilemma and his---

Larabee's spurs jingled as he pushed opened the bat-wing doors. Ezra jerked his elbow off the bar and turned his back to Bill.

"Well, everything looks as it should in here," Ezra said conversationally. "Afternoon again, Mr. Larabee. I trust you enjoyed your repast."

Chris only nodded and stood at the bar. Ezra tipped his hat, as he started for the door.

"Mr. Standish, you forgot your flask." Bill said setting it down on the polished top.

Ezra grinned wide, showing his gold tooth. "Of course."

Chris' head was canted down and he didn't seem to hear. Ezra set a coin on the bar, and replaced the flask in his jacket. He got halfway to the doors.

"Drinking on the job?"

"Only refilling it for later, sir, I assure you."

Chris stared at him. Ezra could feel the icy eyes boring into his. How could I forget? Chris had been here, right before he started his shift. The flask had been refilled then. How the hell could I forget that? 'The stupid'. Stupid people get caught in stupid lies.

"Mr. Larabee, my sobriety is eminently suited to patrolling this delightful burg. The inhabitants are feeling the protection afforded them and the present peaceful conditions approach the paradisaic. Within all this fair domain, the wolf and lamb abide in harmony. The Judge's admonishments are---"

"I told you. No drinking on the job."

"The merest toast to the success of good friends is antithetical to that vulgar appellation."

Chris straightened up and walked over to Ezra. He stopped inches from the gambler's face and looked down at him.

Ezra stepped back. "However, Mr. Larabee, even the most innocent and modest toast will be postponed in the future, in view of your earnest behest. But a simple miscommunication, which is easily corrected." He put a hand to his aching jaw. "Further preponderance is most unnecessary."

Chris continued to stare at him. Vin walked inside, accompanied by Josiah. Ezra quickly twisted away and slipped out, thankful for the distraction. Chris returned to the bar. Glancing back at him, Vin and Josiah walked to their usual table.

"He was giving Ezra 'the stare'. Wonder what that was about?" Vin asked as he sat down lightly.

"With Ezra there is no telling. Our errant brother crosses Chris on a regular basis."

"Chris already clocked'im once t'day. Looked like he was headin' fer another one. Guess it's a good thing we moseyed in."

Josiah frowned momentarily then chuckled.

Vin raised his hand toward the barkeep. "I don't think Ezra even knows how he rubs people."

"And you are thinking he would stop if he did?" Josiah asked.

Vin shook his head. "Nope. Not his nature."

Ezra had already put a couple of blocks between himself and adversity, when he glanced up at the sound of horses. Three men wearily directed their lathered mounts down the middle of the road.

Ex-miners from the looks of them. Wait...Frank? Frank Weir? What are they doing this far south? Yeah, Ezra remembered him well. He turned his head away from their line of sight to tip his hat to...Mrs. Daniels.

"Good day to you, Ma'am. How's the seamstress business?"

"Mr. Standish. Keeps me plenty busy I'll tell you that..."

He cut he eyes sideways just as the men passed.

"...I could help keep your nice suits in fine repair. Come by my shop, if you ever need..."

Frank looked at him, but Ezra had quartered away. The gambler watched Frank's back, as they trotted past him toward the saloon. Ezra turned on his heel.

"Then allow me to escort you," he said with his best disarming smile. Her shop was in the opposite direction as the saloon. He wanted to look around, but didn't dare. Ezra could feel Frank's eyes on his back and knew the man was trying to decide if this was indeed his acquaintance from the Alma mining camp in Colorado. Ezra walked casually into the shop with Mrs. Daniels, without so much as a glance in his direction.

Part 4

Thirty minutes and an order for half a dozen monogrammed handkerchiefs later, Ezra cracked open the back door of the seamstress' shop. A cat sat bathing herself on a crate. She stopped and regarded green eyes which matched her own. Then she went back to her preening.

Ezra stepped out, rolled his eyes heavenward and squeezed them shut. At this very moment a wanted poster, with Frank Weir's face and a reward, lay in the stack on J.D.'s desk.

Surely they will not attempt a robbery inside the town. They robbed that freight...out of town. Probably because it afforded greater time to escape. They only rob. Never kill. But it is at gunpoint. They are outlaws.

This wouldn't be so hard, if only...

Ezra straightened his jacket, walked out of the alley and onto the boardwalk. He slowly made his rounds, going down each street, thoroughly completing his duty as charged, and completed his circuit back at the jail.

He sank down in the same chair he had vacated earlier. Though a bright, blue sky still graced the broad sky, the two-storied saloon now blocked the sun. Shadows were just starting to appear. Ezra took out his watch. 5:20.

His timepiece was still in his hand, when he saw J.D. Dunne walk his weary chestnut into the livery. Both rider and animal were coated in dust. The sight set Ezra to brushing his own jacket out of pure habit. Movement across the road caught his eye, and he paused in mid-action.

Frank.

Tall. Long dark-blond hair, a bit on the scraggly side. Probably thirty-five. A good-looking man. He focused on Ezra. At first Frank just stared at him across the way. Stared.

Frank is a thinker.

The moment passed and Frank Weir stepped out into the street. He glanced up and down the roadway then crossed to where the gambler sat.

He stopped in front of Ezra. "Thought that was you, Jack. You don't look like too many others I know."

"Mr. Weir."

"I'd think you'd be happy to see me, being as I owe you money." Frank smiled his handsome smile. "Thought that would've made my face memorable, especially to you. Since you love money as much as I do."

"Avaricious, I think, is the word you are searching for. It describes us both."

"Yes, just what I meant to say, you greedy son-of-a-bitch." Frank smiled without malice. "I just have one question for you. What in hell are you doing in front of the damned jailhouse? That's the last place I'd 'spect you'd want to be. Someone might have a just impulse and throw you in a cage."

"You haven't said anything about my money, yet."

Frank shifted his weight. He screwed up his face and finally raised his shoulders. "What do you want me to say? Truth is...I spent it. Meant to hold it for you but, hell, it was burning a hole in my pocket."

"I'm in a magnanimous mood, Mr. Weir." Ezra waved his hand broadly. "You are absolved."

"What? What do you mean?" The easy friendliness left Frank's face in an instant. Suspicion hardened his eyes. Frank liked a man he could understand. He thought he understood the gambler. Money. That was all there was to him. But this one statement changed everything.

"If you recall, the barrel of a gun was very nearly sitting on my nose when you presented your business offer. You mistook my acquiescence for compliance. I cannot abide common thievery, and I certainly do not want a percentage. In fact, it would be best if you and your two friends rode out of town with dispatch, Mr. Weir. Preferably south. I have no desire to see harm come to you, and there is an element of law here."

Frank gawked at him. His eyebrows climbed to his hairline as he cocked his head forward.

"I am trying to do you a favor. It is for the best. Ride out now." Ezra nodded and added quietly. "Trust me on this."

Frank took a step forwards, then glanced at the Ezra's Colt, which was tied down to his thigh. The humor had left Ezra's eyes. Now they were as hard as Frank's.

"Sneaky blue-blood. I don't know what you're up to..."

"You cannot be unaware of your newfound fame in the poster publishing industry. Popularity of that sort is unhealthy, perhaps fatal."

"You're saying there's a reward?"

Ezra nodded silently.

Frank's mouth fell open. "But I didn't hurt anybody."

"Mr. Weir, they didn't care about that. They never do. They only care about their gold dust."

"Only stole from them that one time," Frank persisted.

"Never steal from companies rich and powerful enough to take out rewards and place bounties."

Frank squinted. "Now this all makes sense. More than you can resist is it?"

Ezra gestured with his open palm. "As you can see, I'm not trying to collect. I have suggested you and your friends leave, ride south, before you are seen."

"What about the them?" he asked and jerked his head toward the saloon. "Charlie and Luke. Any reward on them?"

"I don't know."

Frank took a step back and wagged his head. Without another word, he walked straight for his horse and climbed in the saddle. Ezra noticed Frank reined his horse north, but decided he didn't really care why as long as the outlaw was indeed gone. Then the next second, he galloped out of town. Right past J.D. Dunne.

The bowler hat swiveled as J.D. glanced at the rider.

Ezra held his breath, but J.D. didn't break his stride. One whiff of this and Larabee will cry 'accomplice' loud and long. And probably to the Judge,...that is, once he's finished with me.

"So what'd that feller want?" J.D. asked as he approached.

"Oh, catch up the latest news, I suppose."

"So, why'd he tear outta here like that?"

"I'm not precisely sure. Did you discover anything of interest on your patrol?"

"Nah, seemed quiet enough."

"I was beginning to suspect you of tardiness."

J.D. brushed his black hair out of his face and glanced back over his shoulder.

Ezra coughed on the dust. "I'm resigned to await you, while you seek a decent repast at our fair restaurant."

"Good. I'm starved. You sure he didn't say where he was going?"

"Who?" Ezra asked and took out his deck of cards.

J.D. looked square at the gambler. "Him." He pointed his finger after Frank.

Ezra grinned open-faced and ran his cards up. "I would certainly pass that information along, if I could help."

J.D. pursed his lips, and then stepped off toward the restaurant.

Ezra's gaze followed him with a quiet sigh. But it had no more than died on his lips, when another thought hit him. Why didn't Frank take Luke and Charlie? They certainly can't help but recognize me. Damn. Now what do I do?

Ezra glanced up at the clinic and saw Nathan was watching him from the balcony.

Part 5

A wagon slowly creaked by, pulling Ezra's attention from the clinic. He watched the old man, who'd arrived on the stage, holding his head high and talking non-stop to his smiling son and daughter-in-law. The newly arrived leather trunks set perched on top of the wooden crates in the back.

"…and brought his mother's gems all the way from England…"

Ezra rolled his eyes shut. Can they really be that stupid? Why not just wear a sign, and be done with it.

Just then two teenagers emerged from the saloon. Charlie and Luke. The brothers moved in tandem just like Ezra remembered, Luke always shadowing Charlie. Charlie stood at the hitching post and scratched his chest through his thin plaid shirt. Ezra could tell they were discussing the absence of Frank's horse and therefore Frank, when Charlie's gaze locked on the laden wagon and the old man. He elbowed Luke.

Ezra slipped into the shadow of the door, folded his arms and leaned against the facing. He watched Charlie trot off in one direction and Luke in the other. They're looking for Frank. Undoubtedly eager to fill his ears with the old man's braggadocio.

It was only a spare fifteen minutes later, when the two regrouped in front of the saloon. After a quick glance at the jailhouse, they mounted their horses and took off, in the same direction as the old man and his wagon.

Ezra hissed and bobbed his head. The old man is a fool, and a fool deserves what he gets. Why on earth should I come between the parting of a fool and his money? He looked back at the jail cells. Oh, yeah. Slipped my mind. I am supposed to be part of the law here.

Ezra shook his head then hurried to the livery with long strides. He had Lafitte saddled up in short order. Ezra shook his head one more time, then swung his leg over the dun's back and raced out of town.

J.D. stood outside the restaurant cocking his head. Why was Ezra leaving in such a hurry? And in the same direction as that other man? What was going on? J.D. ran his hand across his mouth and rushed up the boardwalk. He bounded into the saloon and spotted Chris and Vin having a couple of beers at a table.

J.D. stopped at Vin's elbow. "Did I miss something?"

Chris and Vin frowned at each other then looked at J.D.

"Miss what?" Vin asked around a mouthful of beer.

"Well, It's just that... since," he pointed toward the road. "Seein' Ezra cut outta here like that, I thought maybe something was going on."

At the mention of the gambler's name, Chris' eyes grew even more steely. "Standish is supposed to be on duty right now." He glanced at the tracker. "Vin, why don't you go check it out?"

The tracker nodded and got up from his chair.

"Vin." J.D. fidgeted with his gunbelt. "I noticed a man riding out that same direction less than an hour ago. I thought...well, anyway, he kinda tore outta town, too."

Vin seemed to study J.D. then glanced at Chris. Without another word he spun and headed for the livery, leaving his nearly full glass of beer.

Chris gritted his teeth. "What's that fool Southerner up to now?" He shoved his hat forward

Bowie stood rock-like as usual, while Vin looped the cinch up with strong hands.

Now, why wouldn't Ezra feel he could trust us or me enuf t'come get some backup? He knows we're right there. Why does he always feel he has t'handle things alone? And that feller he rode after, who's he? What took Ez so long to decide t'light out after 'im?

To get any of these answers, he knew he'd have to catch up to Ezra. Vin stayed with the road heading north out of town. Even though he kept a keen eye out, he never saw where Lafitte had veered off the main route. Close to five miles from town, a path branched off which he knew led to a couple of isolated homesteads. Vin could see it had been traversed several times today. Recalling his earlier patrols he knew that, in itself, was unusual. With the lack of evidence otherwise, the tracker followed his instincts and reined onto the path.

The road went over a sudden low rise then fell off abruptly, as it took a direct route through the cottonwoods lining a dry creek bed. Vin took his eyes off the tracks and slowed Bowie to a walk. With each step he peered over the rise, but the way looked clear enough.

Just as he lowered his gaze back to the road, Vin jumped hard at the sound of a gunshot. The mare's leg was in his hand in an instant, and he jacked a round into the chamber. Must've come from the trees down there. Another shot confirmed he was not the intended target. Ezra? He spurred Bowie ahead.

Three more rapid shots, and two riders thundered out from the trees heading the opposite direction. Vin could see them lying low across their horses' necks.

When Vin reached the trees, Ezra wheeled Lafitte around and the tracker found himself looking into the business end of a .44 pointed dead center of his body.

Bowie slid to a halt. "Easy there! It's me, pard. It's just me." With the gun across his lap, both his hands went up.

Ezra lowered the barrel. "Vin?"

The old man, his son and daughter-in-law gaped open mouthed at Vin from the wagon.

Vin turned toward the wagon. "Ya'll all right? What happened?"

"This young man just saved our bacon, that's what."

Vin grinned at this explanation coming from the old man now sitting upright in the wagon.

"Them damned robbers!" He pointed sternly in the direction of the bandits. "Boy, you shoulda killed every mother's son of 'em. It'd been a service." He held his hands up and smiled. "Not that I'm complaining. Damn, but you come in handy." The old man looked north, getting angry again. "Damn!"

The son tucked a revolver into his pants and patted his father's arm. "It's alright now, pa." His son turned to his wife and held her. "Don't cry. It's all over, honey."

"I will escort you the remainder of the way to your home," Ezra offered and replaced his .44 in his hip holster.

Vin frowned. They needed to strike off after the two who had held up the old man and his family. What was Ezra thinking?

"That would be kindly welcome," the old man said with a nod as he glanced at his daughter-in-law.

Ezra kneed his mount alongside the wagon. "I would like to impart a jewel of wisdom, if I may. In future, do not advertise your possessions. It will only serve to excite the lawless."

"I'll ride along," Vin stated.

Ezra glanced at him again and nodded.

"Thank you," the woman murmured, regarding the long-haired tracker with wide eyes.

"What did happen?" Vin asked, his curiosity not satisfied.

The old man shook his head. "We's driving this here wagon back to the house, when these two low-down, scruffy no-accounts practically jumped out of the bushes. Damn near, landed in the wagon. We were just looking straight into their guns. They wanted my son to open every trunk. My dear wife's things are here...but, well, I didn't want anybody hurt, so Walter got down. Just about that time, this fancy-pants rides up and fires over their heads. They about cleared their saddles." The old man chuckled. "One of 'em actually dropped his gun. Didn't bother to pick it up either. The other one fired back a couple of times. I think he actually hit the ground once. Anyways, they skidadled in short order. Then this here young feller comes up, pretty as you please." He looked square at Ezra. "Plenty lucky for us, young'un."

Vin thought he actually saw pink creep up the conman's cheeks.

"What's your name again, son?" the old man questioned.

"Mr. Standish."

The old man recognized a put-off, but laughed good-naturedly anyway. "Well, Mr. Standish, you're welcome at our home anytime. Come over for supper and bring your friend with you. We sure nuf owe ya a heap. My wife's things are in here. Irreplaceable. I mean it now. I ain't just being polite. We'll be expecting you for a meal, just anytime you got a hankering."

"That's right, Mr. Standish," the woman pressed. "More than welcome."

Ezra doffed his hat. "That is indeed most kind. I gladly accept with thanks."

Vin caught the look in his friend's eye, when Ezra settled the hat back on his head. It was only there for the briefest second, but he was certain the cardsharp was more moved by the simple invitation than he cared to let on.

The son whipped up the team again. Vin reined Bowie beside Ezra and they fell in behind. A small breeze lifted the grasses and the traces creaked and strained.

"Ezra, Christ, why didn't you come get me or Chris?"

The gambler frowned. "I don't understand. As you can see, my services were adequate."

"Not what I meant. It would'a been safer. What if'n you'd got winged or somethin'?"

"Oh, I see what you mean." Ezra waved a hand negligently in the air. "However, those outlaws didn't look that mean."

Vin's eyes narrowed as he cut them back over to the gambler. "How'd you know what's gonna happen?"

"Simply an educated guess. The way those shady vagabonds eyed that wagon in town reminded me of Mrs. Porter's younguns pressing their faces to the glass, when Mrs. Fletcher sets out her fudge. When they rode out shortly thereafter, well, it seemed prudent to join the party."

Without looking away, Vin nodded "I'd been happy to cover your back, Ez."

The gambler huffed out a loud disgusted breath. "The name's Ez-ra. Ez-ra. I know you've lived much of your life amongst the less than noble savages but, really, Mr. Tanner, do endeavor to work up to two syllables."

Vin gritted his teeth, and cocked his head away.

"I am puzzled concerning your timely appearance," the gambler added.

"I'm puzzling, too. Puzzling on who rode outta town ahead a'ya." Vin studied the conman and waited.

Ezra glanced at him and half-chuckled. "Oh, you're expecting an answer. I was getting set for a whodunit anecdote."

Vin sighed. "Ezra, did you know you irritate the living hell outta people?"

"Oh, on any number of occasions I have witnessed the confoundment of those who aggravate, when exposed to any necessity for patience. That's precisely why so many are unable to acquit themselves as self-made men. One would conclude that the use of one's brain is frustrating to many and therefore, upon the slightest employment of that faculty, in an apparently erstwhile endeavor, is more than many are prepared to endure. The proceeding befuddlement, I believe, triggers some annoyance response which they find beyond their command and, consequently, I am forced to infer that this belligerence is an expression of secret disappointment in their own…"

Vin started shaking his head and, as he looked away, couldn't keep himself from grinning. That pop to the jaw Chris gave 'im don't seem ta've slowed him down none. The tracker looked at him again, nodding, a smile slowly appearing.

Ezra stopped. "Mr. Tanner, I do suspect I have become a source of entertainment, while I'm only offering a reply---" Ezra stopped again, trying to read the other man's expression.

The tracker's eyes twinkled. "You told me once you were in the entertainment business. And you're right. You are a sight entertaining."

Ezra screwed his lips to one-side then returned the grin. "Why, thank you."

Vin glanced at him and chuckled outloud.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the primly kept homestead, the Ferguson's offered the two men a meal. Ezra waved it off, with thanks.

"Thanks anyway, but we've got to get to trackin 'em, ma'am," Vin said.

Ezra opened his mouth, but the tracker reined around and struck off.

"Excuse me, Mr. Tanner," Ezra sang out overtaking him.

"What?"

Ezra dropped his reins on Lafitte's neck. He emerged from his jacket in a fluid motion. With swift practiced hands he tied his folded garment behind him. Emitting a long-suffering sigh, he gave it one last brush, before turning back.

"What is your destination again?"

Hadn't Ezra been listening? "East of the dry creek. They got enuf of a head start. Gotta find 'em and bring 'em in." Without waiting for a response, he struck off at a hard gallop.

"Oh…That's what I thought you said."

Part 6

It took less than an hour to arrive back at the spot where the Fergusons had been held up. Vin slid off Bowie and Ezra watched him examine the ground. The tracker touched the ground lightly with his fingers, then stood as if someone had spoken to him. He settled back in the saddle and set off at a trot.

"Seems they weren't no good at this," Vin said without looking up. "Like they only just thought of it, at the last minute like."

"That would appear a very apt hypothesis. I doubt it's something they would attempt again. I think they had the fright of a lifetime, when I opened fire on them. One did drop his gun, the other shot the ground. They nearly reined their horses into each other trying to get away."

Vin grinned at the mental image.

Ezra continued. "They were quite young as well. I have to wonder..."

The tracker looked over. It was a rare moment when the Southerner was lost for words.

"Well, to arrest them…" Ezra shrugged. "I think they've learned their lesson."

Vin reined back abruptly, causing Bowie to fight the bit, and gaped at Ezra. "I don't get ya, Ezra! Them fellers stopped the Fergusons at gunpoint. They would'a robbed that old man and his kin. I shore ain't gonna cut 'em any slack 'cause they ain't very good at it." He raised then dropped a shoulder. "More 'en likely it was the first time for 'em to break the law. Iffen so, the Judge'll go easy on 'em. Best they take thar medicine and learn this lesson early."

Ezra fiddled with Lafitte's reins. "I'm sure there's wisdom in your sage advice, Mr. Tanner. But one must question the meager benefit of further rehabilitation and adjudication against more pressing matters of mundane benefit and, I might add, of growing necessity. Our overbearing leader brought my blossoming pecuniary stratagem to unhappy ruination last night, by being wholly unreasonable and injudicious. Tomorrow the stage for Ridge City comes through. My two gentlemen, along with all their financial splendor, will be on it. So you can understand that time is of the essence."

Vin blinked. Why did he have to use those ten-dollar words? "It's our job. We're paid to bring these men in."

"Paid?" Ezra sputtered out. "That paltry seven dollars a week hardly constitutes due recompense for the perils to which we are subjected on a daily basis. It's insulting."

"If it's a bother, I'll take it off your hands"

"I dare not, when Mr. Larabee blasts my plans regularly. Nevertheless, on the matter of the boys, they were callow. Probably pursuing their wild oats and wouldn't have harmed the Fergusons at all. Just the foolishness incidental to spoiled youth. Don't you imagine, Mr. Tanner?"

"Don't have to imagine. Judge'll ask'em."

"Our Judge Travis is unusual, to say the least. Who's to know where his charity lies? He may go harsh on these boys. Wreck their lives possibly. And all for a few moments weakness, from which they have already learned a profound lesson. Wouldn't you say?"

Vin rode on in silence.

Ezra could see that his words were wasted on the Texan. There'd be no wearing him down. Pursuing the matter further could only result in suspicion.

He regarded Vin as he trotted beside him. Still has that bounty-hunter blood in him, no doubt. But Ezra knew the reason Tanner tracked the men. To him, it was the right thing---the only thing--- to do. Plain and simple. It wasn't the money. If it was Ezra could offer him a percentage of his take at the gaming table this evening. But, no, it definitely was not the money.

Perplexing. He mulled over Vin's attitude, and grappled to understand it. But it simply contradicted the order of the universe. He had to give up in exasperation. There's no profit in this. He tried to calm the shouting words in his mind, which had been drummed into him as profoundly as any spike driven into the great railroads.

Ezra shunted the vexation from his thoughts, and focused on the real problem, the one he was riding toward. What would happen when they met up with Frank and associates? He didn't know about Frank, but those boys would spill the whole story and likely add a few special embellishments of their own. Will Vin end up trying to take me back in cuffs with them? Will he really think I was in on a robbery?

The very idea made Ezra's stomach churn. He - Ezra P. Standish - involved in the robbery of a freight? Never! Any conman worth his salt would never, ever resort to banditry. That was a whole different plane of enterprise and Ezra found it disgusting. He just didn't see it in his purview to dole out punishment. Perhaps it was though. Vin most certainly thought so. Without a moment's hesitation.

Ezra watched Vin's back with a jaundiced eye, as Lafitte trotted along behind Bowie.

Ezra'd seen the looks on those two boys' faces. He knew where they'd go. They'd head straight for Frank, and then the three of them would kick off for Mexico. Between the bounty on Frank's head and the stunt pulled by those boys, garnering attention Ezra was very certain Frank did not want, it was a cinch they'd head south.

He remembered Frank, remembered the desperation as the man had worked his heart out at that lousy claim. No, Frank isn't a criminal really. Ezra felt the cold wash of fear again. Hard to realize though, when one is trying to focus down the dirty barrel of a revolver. And Frank hadn't even owned a revolver. He'd used one of the boys. A rusty, unused, derelict.

Ezra had seen it happen more than once. A prospector turned outlaw. When honest labor hadn't panned out, Frank hadn't known any other way to make his way. Well, Ezra didn't hold Frank's distaste for earning money the working-class way against him. As far as he was concerned, Frank was just another example of how 'honest labor' did not work.

Lafitte tossed his head, drawing Ezra's thoughts back to his surroundings. Vin had reined back and, after a pause, he trotted a dozen yards over to a lone tree. Watching Vin slip lightly from the saddle put Ezra too much in mind of an Indian's feral movements. "And what do the dirt and rocks reveal to you?"

Vin looked up and gazed in the distance. "They met a third rider here. Made a bee-line to this spot, like it were some kinda rendezvous. Now they've gone and changed direction, they're heading south."

Ezra followed his line of sight. "And that, my compadre, is out of our jurisdiction, so might I once again suggest we return to town as I have most pressing business there."

Vin's mouth turned up in tight grin. "Not if we catch'em first."

Ezra tilted his head. "I fear that is a rash idea, and not a very profitable one---"

A muscle twitched in Vin jaw. "Not everything is about money, Ezra."

Ezra coughed. "Pardon me?"

Vin glanced up at Ezra again. The irritation left his face and was replaced by wry amusement. Ezra was actually at a lost for words, and was nearly stammering. Vin peered at him in absolute delight.

Ezra opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Still grinning, Vin stepped into the stirrup and threw his leg over Bowie. He galloped south. Ezra's shoulders drooped and he rolled his eyes, before reining after him.

The sun was low now, and a coyote's cry lingered across the baked and broken plain before them. Ezra could see that Vin was not happy. The three outlaws they'd trailed had ridden hard. It was as Ezra suspected. Frank was scared half to death and could only think of crossing the Rio Grande. Apparently, the boys felt the same way, for they had not stopped even to rest their horses.

Vin and Ezra had crossed their jurisdictional boundary, set by the Honorable Judge Travis, several ridges back. Ezra sighed and looked up at the first evening stars to appear. The air was mild now. The torturous heat of the day spent.

With reluctance written plainly in slump of his shoulders, Vin slowly turned Bowie in the direction of town.

Ezra smiled, until his gold tooth showed. "Wise choice, my friend. I'll treat you to a well-deserved beer upon our return."

Vin grunted.

"Mr. Larabee will be proud of your efforts. In addition, there will be the added bonus of neither of us possessing bullet holes and you will be free to return to your…wagon for the night, instead of the open trail…"

Vin glanced back over his shoulder. He didn't like this. Who the hell had them boys met up with? Was it the feller J.D. had seen leave town in such an all-fired hurry? He glanced at the gambler. At times like this, the man seemed like just dead weight.

"…If Lady Luck smiles upon me, which odds are, considering the lack of gaming skills among the other denizens of our little burg, it is just possible my gentlemen are still weighted down by their silver. Disencumbering them will benefit me and, as I have observed in the moneyed many times, salve their conscience. For all the wealthy are in possession of a guilt-laden conscience. They feel a need to pay penance, and it is my philanthropic duty to be the collector. A fine---"

"Why didn't you want to catch'em?" Vin swung around in his saddle.

Once again Ezra went abruptly silent…if even for the smallest second. Vin continued to stare at him.

"I simply didn't wish to be the target of their disgruntled retaliation at being pursued, when they were clearly leaving our purview at the greatest, and most obligatory haste."

Vin cocked his head back and squinted his eyes.

"I didn't wish to be shot at."

The Texan shook his head. "Comes with the territory."

"Allow me to point out, sir, that there are many other ways to encourage peace within our realm, without the matter coming to a dire mortal altercation. I, for one, avoid that whenever possible---"

"So I've noticed."

"I'm not a…a gunslinger or a shootist. I'll remind you, I'm a businessman. And I believe I've stated that on more than one occasion."

"You are a hired peacekeeper---"

"And that is exactly what I'm endeavoring to do. Our methods may not always agree, Mr. Tanner, but our goal is the same."

Vin regarded Ezra wordlessly.

"Now," Ezra said bowing toward town. "Might I suggest we return?"

Vin urged Bowie into a trot, but set a slower pace than usual. If for no other reason than to irritate the gambler.

Part 7

With light steps, Ezra descended the short flight of stairs to the floor of the saloon. He marshaled his expression from revealing the happy anticipation he had for the evening.

Ah, there they were. His two very rich and portly gentlemen. The two businessmen had apparently just stood up from their table. Their backs looked rigid enough to snap and their faces were tight as they loamed over…another man seated across the green felt. Ezra could guess his occupation.

The strongly built gambler straightened his cravat with a flurry of his white lacey cuffs. "It's been a pleasure, sirs."

"Damn you," the roundest of the two swore.

"You can go to hell," his partner added, unable to keep his mouth from twitching.

The gambler shrugged and ran a thick finger over his walrus mustache, which decorated his wide grin.

Ezra's jaw nearly fell, and his eyes widened as the businessmen stalked off. I would've been here, if I hadn't been trying to help out that ignorant old man with his stupid sentimental memorabilia. I should've been here! Standish intently studied the gamester with silver starting at his temples and allowed his instincts take over. With a gentle smile, he approached the felt table.

"Good evening, sir."

The dark-eyed man focused on him. "That it certainly is."

"My congratulations. Allow me to present myself. I'm Ezra Standish. I must say it's reassuring to come across a gentleman in these…" he gazed around, "…these raw environs."

"Ah, I can well understand. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Standish. I'm Cal Brady."

Ezra glanced around and waved his hand to encompass the room. "Not exactly the main cabin of the Aurora Belle is it?"

Mr. Brady laughed loud and hearty, at last having an outlet for his mirth. "Please, do join me, sir."

Ezra settled smoothly opposite him.

Brady raised a finger to the hostess and caught her eye. He gestured at both of them. "Perhaps you would join me in celebrating an outstanding evening."

Ezra flashed a bright smile. "With pleasure."

"It's more than a sin a man can't lay hand on a good twelve-year old scotch or a French brandy," Brady said with a pompous sneer.

"I suppose one must make do with the local offering, much like Marco Polo."

Cal Brady relented to chuckle at his supposed suffering. After they'd been provided with a bottle and two glasses, Brady stroked his impressive mustache and turned to Ezra. "Ah, but I do miss those great sternwheelers." He raised his glass. "To the great Aurora Belle herself."

Ezra smiled softly, unable to keep the wistful look from his eye. "To the Aurora Belle, and to Chief Musone."

Brady laughed out loud again. "My, my, Mr. Standish, you are well-traveled."

"It's beneficial to the education."

"I've always believed so." An evil grin cut across Brady's features. "And profitable."

"I trust the men in question have enough traveling money to continue their education."

Brady rolled back another drink. "Why, sir, I do not believe they have enough coinage between the two of them to hire a mule-drawn buckboard." He touched his breast pocket, which contained his new acquired earnings, and laughed coarsely.

Ezra laughed until he shook, and raised his glass again. Brady smiled showing his gritted and uneven teeth.

"Well done, sir, " Ezra said. "Well done. I'm truly sorry I was not present to observe your undertaking." Brady poured another round of drinks. Ezra rubbed his forehead dizzily and hurriedly placed his palm over the glass. "I'm embarrassed to say my father never permitted me to overly indulge myself..."

At that remark, Brady regarded Ezra more closely. The fine jacket. The refined manners. His apparent youth. "Not to worry, dear sir. I'll take it as my fatherly duty to look after you."

"A kind offer, sir. A most kind offer."

"A man should be allowed to be a man," Brady pointed out, with a smug little grin and a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Here, here," Ezra said with a sudden smile and removed his hand from his glass. Brady poured the drink and Ezra downed it with a cough. "Wish you'd been around during our…discussions on the matter. Although," He said with a sigh. "I do miss him. We were accustomed to the most enjoyable excursions on the river. Buying and selling. Why one time, I do believe, we filled the Louisville to the guards with one season's crop."

Brady perked up further. He had seen the Louisville and she was a truly substantial vessel. "Really? How satisfying."

Four Corner's resident conman grinned. "It's always satisfying to realize one's dreams and, frankly, being rich was his."

"And was he successful?"

"Abundantly so," Ezra said and dabbed his lips with a silk handkerchief. He fell silent for a few moments.

"Sir, might I suggest a game of cards?" Brady tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"Really?" Ezra frowned. "Well, father never allowed me to overindulge myself at the tables either."

"That is a shame, dear boy. I'll tell you what. I'll help you out. No need in you missing out on good entertainment simply due to your lack of experience. Now is as good a time as any to start. As they say, you're not getting any younger. Besides, as you may have noticed, there isn't much else to do out here in the territories."

"Perhaps," Ezra said without any real enthusiasm, still looking into the glass.

"For old time's sake then." Brady picked up the bottle and freshened Ezra's. "To the old Aurora Belle."

Ezra looked up with twinkling eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up. "Here, here."

'What're you saying?" Chris asked and leaned further over the desk in the jail.

"Nothing." J.D. pursed his lips and held up a poster. "It's just this looked like him to me. That's all."

Chris snatched the poster out of J.D.'s hands. Vin and Buck arched their necks over his shoulder.

At the top of the bill was a sketch of a man with long hair and regular features.

"That's a right good sketch. Most of 'em ain't that artful," Vin said.

"Are you sure?" Chris asked and regarded the young sheriff with a hard look.

"I nearly walked into him, Chris. What can I say? I think that's him."

Buck frowned. "Well, Ezra never looks through these dodgers anyway. There's no way he coulda known that man was wanted."

J.D. tossed Buck his best glare. "Didn't say there was."

"Those other two boys coulda been brothers, I reckon," Vin muttered, more to himself than his companions. He noticed Buck glancing at him behind Chris' back, and met his gaze. It appeared to him that Buck was needled by the same nagging feeling that had dogged him, ever since he'd pursued Ezra out of town that afternoon. But neither one was willing to put words to it.

J.D. glanced from one man to the other with upraised eyebrows and shrugged. "Why don't we just ask Ezra?"

Chris jerked his eyes off the poster and cocked his head with a deepening frown. "Ask him what?"

"Well, that guy was talking to Ezra when I got back from patrol."

Chris turned to face Vin. "How'd he act on the trail?"

Vin rolled his shoulders. He had been around Chris enough to know that his temperament was plenty sour on a good day. But now it looked like his restraint was going all to hell fast.

"Vin?"

"Just the usual. Not particularly interested in catching 'em. Kept saying they were just boys." He pointed at the face on the poster. "Didn't mention this feller. Just talked a lot about wanting t'git back t'town to a game. Hell, that's just Ezra."

"Yeah," Chris sounded unconvinced. The blond gunman turned on his heel and headed out the door.

"Now, Chris," Buck said trotting beside him. "You don't know that Ezra knew nothing about this."

Larabee didn't bother breaking his stride. "What do you think, Buck? This is Ezra we're talking about."

Part 8

Ezra Standish squared the cards, as Cal Brady stood shaking in fury.

"You son-of-a-bitch!"

Nathan and Josiah glanced over from their table.

Ezra slowly shook his head without looking up. "It was 'son' earlier. My, how quickly parenthood changes a man."

"You think you're one smooth operator don't you? You damned, lying, cheating, goldbricking, swindling…"

"Dear me, I fear you may at last be running out of adjectives."

"Not by half, you bastard! You entered the game on false pretenses." Brady hefted the empty whiskey bottle and smashed it to the floor.

Josiah made to stand, but Nathan placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I am a dangerous man, you little weasel. You…you…you…"

"Won."

"Damn you, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"You are starting to repeat yourself. Might I remind you that you have fare to continue on your way. Which is better than you did for your two gentlemen. Just view me as a humble, salaried employee bent solely on educating those who skin their sheep rather than respectfully fleecing them." He pointed a stern finger at Brady. "You know you broke the rules."

Brady flushed. "There are no rules."

Nathan's forehead furrowed, both in concern and in concentration.

"You are wrong, Mr. Brady. I must correct you. But perhaps for those on your level, you, like the late Mr. Fern Patterson, there truly are no rules. I suggest you acquire them, for your own sake."

Brady's large eyebrows slowly climbed. "Are 'you' threatening 'me'?"

"I'm suggesting it is a good idea for you to seek out a friendlier locale."

Brady studied Ezra, sizing him up with new eyes. Took in his blank, passionless eyes. How in hell could he have missed it before? With a start he recalled the Colt he had seen on the younger man's hip before he'd sat down. Their eyes stayed locked and the saloon grew quiet.

Brady hated this man.

Brady blinked. The cold eyes before him were too much. The older man hadn't gambled a lifetime without recognizing that look. Brady turned with a snap and stalked out.

Nathan and Josiah followed the man with their eyes, until he was well through the door. Josiah wagged his head and Nathan let out a sigh of relief. They glanced back at Ezra to see him chuckling, as he squared the pasteboards.

They would never understand the gambler.

Ezra had ridden back into town only minutes before his shift ended at ten. There had been no time for supper before work. He'd gone directly to his room and spruced up. Now, at midnight, his stomach and lightheadedness reminded him that a meal was the very next order of the evening.

He lovingly fingered the four hundred twenty dollars, carefully folded the bills, then ensconced them securely inside his vest pocket with a sigh. Guess it now devolves upon me to leave those two poor men sufficient traveling expenses. Sixty should enable them to reach their destination.

Yes, but first…A smug grin appeared on his face. First, a fine a meal from the hotel with all the trimmings. I certainly deserve it, given the fractuousities endured this day.

That leaves me three hundred sixty, that's enough for up-front money plus…the very next month with an 'R', I'm treating myself to a delectable oyster supper in Ridge City. I'll order a shipment of oysters. I'll have an oyster supper every week there. Besides I must try out that newly arrived tailor. I definitely require a new jacket. That fashionable shade of red that looks like cabernet sauvignon, and a couple of striped shirts…

Ezra stood and straightened his jacket. Yes, several. And in the very spirit of luxury, such as this town has to offer, I'll repair to better accommodations at the Victoria Hotel. Their best suite. I'll--

Chris popped open the batwing doors with Buck at his side. J.D. and Vin were close behind.

Ezra watched Chris head straight for him. He couldn't help the shiver which raced up his spine, while he forced on his best smile.

"Why, Mr. Larabee---"

"Sit your ass down, Standish."

Ezra didn't know if he should take his chances attempting to bolt from the room, or sit down. The other five men stood behind their leader. As Ezra regarded their faces, his smile faltered. He sat.

Chris followed him down with his eyes and placed both hands on the sides of the table. With a jerk, he shoved the table into the gambler's chest. Ezra instinctively grabbed the table to keep from falling backwards. He realized his chair was now sitting back on its rear legs.

"Now, Ezra, I'm gonna ask you a question. One question. And you damned well better think before you open your mouth, because your answer better be the truth."

"I am certainly convinced as to your earnestness."

Ezra focused on Chris and tried to ignore the other faces.

"Did you know Frank Weir and those boys with him today?"

"Who?"

Chris shook the table, forcing Ezra to tighten his grip. He knew now why Chris was using the table. Anyone with eyes could see Chris would prefer his hands bodily extracting the answer.

"I warned you, Ezra. Don't you lie to me!" The last sentence was shouted so loud, it reverberated throughout the saloon.

Ezra heard a number of patrons shuffle their way out. "Why do you always suspect me of lying? Who is Frank Weir?"

"Chris," Buck said putting a big hand on his oldest friend's shoulder.

Ezra glanced at J.D. The young sheriff stared back, his wide eyes reflecting hurt as much as his alarm, at Chris' unpredictability.

"You just look me in the eye and say you don't know Frank Weir and you didn't know those boys with him."

This is so irrelevant. What difference does it make? Ezra opened his mouth.

Chris leaned forward, and shoved the poster in front of him. Nathan and Josiah angled for a better view.

"For God's sake, Ezra," Nathan said with a groan. "Isn't that the man you were talking to today?"

Ezra tore his eyes off Chris and regarded the likeness before him. He knew it would be Frank before he even looked at it. Ezra glanced up at Nathan. "It does bear his resemblance, doesn't it?"

Chris' voice grew hoarse. "And you'd never seen him before, and you didn't know who he was and you're still a virgin."

Ezra coughed and turned pink. "Why must I know everything?"

Chris stared at him, and Ezra could see this was his last chance before…only God knew what Larabee would do if he lied right to his face…well, that's if Chris knew he was lying. The truth was the southerner only lied if skirting the truth didn't work. He could bluff his way out of this. He really should… "Yeah, I recognized him." Ezra jumped, as Chris yanked the table back to its original position.

A second ticked by…

Chris stared at him.

Another second…

Chris didn't move.

And another…

Chris opened his mouth and took in a deep, ragged breath. With his jaw muscle flexing, he pulled out a chair and sank into it. His eyes stared daggers into the table. "Damnit, Ezra, you know better. Don't you?"

"Better than what?" Ezra said with a sick feeling in his stomach, just waiting for the gunslinger to lose his battle with self-control.

"Can you really be this stupid? Well, since you obviously are," Chris raked him with enormous, wolfish eyes, "…let me spell it out for you like a two-year old. Are you paying attention, Ezra P. Standish, or whatever the hell your name is…? When you see a wanted man, wanted for anything, you get a couple of us to help you and we arrest him. Do ya think you've got that? Do ya think you can remember that? If you can't then, damnit, I can't use ya. I've tried…but shit, you had to know better." Chris jerked off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair, before slapping it back in place. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Ezra cleared his throat. "Mr. Larabee, I did protect this town, as I was hired to do. That miscreant left the environs and I rode out to protect the gregarious old man and his family."

Chris' hand, which rested on the table, clinched suddenly.

Didn't Vin tell you?" Ezra asked in a small voice.

"Yes, Vin told me," Chris shouted. "That attempted robbery would never have happened, if we'd arrested them. That family should never have been in danger. You screwed up. No more screw-ups! Everybody else knows what to do. Hell, even J.D. knows. Why don't you?" Chris stood abruptly, then leaned forward and pointed his finger nearly into Ezra's face. "You ride morning patrol every day for the next two months," Chris rasped out. "You got that?"

Ezra blinked and remained very still. "I have morning shift?"

"No, you keep your afternoon shift, but you ride the morning patrol. Head out at six. Shouldn't take you too long...maybe three hours."

"Even the Lord takes a day off," Ezra said flatly.

"You're not the Lord." Chris stalked to the bar.

Ezra watched Larabee toss back a shot before he left the saloon, without looking back at him even once. Ezra shook his head, and then pursed his lips. He delicately squared the scattered cards then gently settled them in the middle of the table. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, but he wouldn't give them any satisfaction. Without a word, he went up the stairs to his room.

Part 9

Ezra wearily cracked the window to his stuffy room. No breeze stirred, but the crisp air filtered into the room nonetheless. He peered outside, but the dull orange glow from his window did little to penetrate the inky night. Below, in the street, figures gathered around red campfires.

Well, that did go better than I would have expected. I'm still in one piece. The gambler slowly shook his head. But why'd Chris let him stay? Try as he may, he could not figure out these men.

There was a light tap on the door. Ezra pulled his gun and turned the wick down. Another tap sounded.

"Don't shoot, it's just me," Vin's voice said.

Ezra smirked. Vin knows me too well already. He lowered the revolver and opened the door, but Vin made no move to enter.

"Want me t'get ya up in the mornin'?"

"What?"

"Ain't never seen ya up 'fore midmornin'."

"Well, if I'm not on my way at six, that would be beneficial, lest I incur more of our leader's wrath."

Vin grinned. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

"That is a 'yes', Mr. Tanner. As you have observed, morning is not my best time. However, I would point out the lateness of the hour. I doubt you will be wakeful at such an ungodly hour."

Vin offered a lop-sided grin. "Oh, I'll be awake. Reckon I'll be nappin' come afternoon."

"Your assistance in this matter is appreciated. Might I suggest you turn in without further adieu?"

"Uh? Oh, sure. See ya in the mornin'."

Vin left the way he came, and Ezra stuck his head out and watched him go. No, he could not understand these men at all.

Ezra returned to his nightly ritual and shoved a handy chair under the doorknob. The room looked close as he turned up the light again. When he carefully removed his jacket, his fingers brushed the letter. He took it out, and slowly reread it.

No, mother, no need to concern yourself with me---

A knock brushed the door.

"It's me, Ezra," a familiar baritone voice said in a hushed tone.

Josiah. "Yes?"

"Look, I'll be awake anyway in the morning. Want me to make sure you're up?"

"What?" Surely he didn't hear that right.

"You oversleep and…" Josiah cleared his throat. "Well…Chris ain't known for his forgiving nature."

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Sanchez. However I think that'll be unnecessary."

"Brother, I estimate you'll need all the help you can get in the morning."

Vin could oversleep. "You might have a point there. Very well. Your sacrifice is noted with thanks."

He heard the floorboards creak under Josiah's weighty tread, as he walked down the hall. Ezra chuckled. Mr. Tanner and now Mr. Sanchez.

From the armoire, he pulled the set of clothes he would don with doubtless haste in five more hours. With his customary and meticulous attention, he folded each garment as he undressed, and then pulled a nightshirt over his head.

"It was <.i>my idea."

Ezra cocked his head at the muted voice coming closer to his door.

"No it wasn't, Buck."

There was a scraping sound along the wall outside his room, then a thud against the door.

"Ezra, you still awake," Buck called out rather too loudly.

"I am indeed, Mr. Wilmington. Is that Mr. Dunne with you?"

"I just brought him along---" Buck replied with an obvious strain in his voice.

"You just got in my way, is all. You didn't bring me along. It was my idea," J.D. said with the same strain.

There were several more thuds against the door.

"Move."

"You move."

"Don't you need your sleep at your age," J.D. sputtered.

There were more grunts.

A gravelly voice boomed out suddenly. "Shut the hell up out there."

The wrestling stopped.

"Sorry," Buck said.

"Me too," J.D. added.

"Then shut the hell up," the voice said forcefully.

A door slammed.

"Ezra," Buck whispered.

"I'm right here, Mr. Wilmington." The gambler tried his best to keep the laughter out of his voice.

"You could at least open your door."

Ezra didn't feel like removing the chair or being observed in his nightshirt. "I've turned in for the night."

"Want me to get you up?" J.D. asked.

"Ain't no way you're gonna get up in time and Chris's gonna hang your Southern hide out to dry, and that would be after he skins you," Buck said in a rush.

"Then perhaps it would indeed be a good idea, as I am inordinately fond of my hide."

"Told ya," J.D. said.

Their arguing grew fainter as the two wrangled their way down the hall. Ezra blinked in amazement. Looks like I'll be on time rather I like it or not. Yes, mother, I'm very well taken care of, thank you very much.

His comfortable humor faded. How much would change if Chris and the others found out he'd accepted an offer of money, then told Frank when the freighter was leaving? Would they view him as Frank Weir's accomplice?

Part 10

Squinting in the full glare of the sun, Ezra tilted the canteen up and let the warm water trickle into his mouth. How did it get hot so fast, when it was pleasant earlier?

He lowered the half-empty container and surveyed the sandy, rolling hills flecked with manzanita, mesquite, grease brush, cholla cactus and the tall jutting spears of the century plants. From this swell he could see the land start a gradual slope down to a line of cottonwoods. Well, according to Mr. Larabee, this marked the end of his responsibility, the end of their jurisdiction.

Just as well. Ezra nodded his head knowingly. Nothing but bandit lands and graveled hills out there. He had heard another fifty or maybe sixty miles further there was a lake, fed by a year-long spring, which served as a beacon and meeting place to outlaw gangs. Who knows what types one could possibly meet up with in that direction?

He just assumed Tanner, Larabee and Wilmington were aware of the lake's presence as well. Tanner, because he was an ex-bounty hunter, Wilmington, because he was an ex-Texas Ranger and Larabee, because he was an…ex-outlaw?

Ezra chuckled. Oh, how thin the line.

Was Chris really an outlaw, well, ex-outlaw? No. Probably not. Not our Mr. Larabee. Ezra recalled the lethal gleam in the black-clad man's eyes last night. And he thinks I only 'recognized' Frank from that pestilential poster. What on earth would he do, if Chris knew the whole truth?

No, Mr. Larabee had certainly never been an outlaw. But Ezra knew he'd rubbed shoulders with them. And any egotistical fools who'd pressed him, or threatened him, were more than likely dead.

Ezra straightened his collar and took one more sip. Too warm. Would Mr. Larabee have been so…forgiving, if he'd known the entire truth? Sweat made a slow, salty path down the side of his face. A hot breath of air forced the stifling heat up his neck, into his face, and seemed to punch his empty stomach, nearly gagging him.

Shortly after five thirty that morning, Ezra had entered the Hotel and given an envelope to the sleepy night clerk before his hunger had steered him to the kitchen. Not even a pot of water had been boiling yet. Not that he'd really expected it.

Ezra breathed through his mouth and glanced longingly toward the cottonwoods. The cool water in the creek and the shade of those tall, leaning trees would be more than welcome, besides the break from the heat was becoming more and more a matter of necessity. Lafitte snorted as if to agree with him. Ezra barely touched the horse's sides and the dun broke into a ground-covering trot straight toward the stand of trees.

Chris had watched with amusement as four of his men had nearly collided into one another on their way into the saloon. Larabee, too, had been up early. It had been one of those nights, when sleep hadn't left him in peace. A bad night. Figured he might as well relieve Nathan. The healer hadn't taken much convincing to go to bed.

Chris'd had trouble keeping himself centered this morning, until he saw Josiah and Vin bump hats on their way inside. They had glared numbly at each other, then walked sluggishly into each other again as they tried to get through the door at the same time. Vin's lean shoulder hadn't stood a chance against the preacher's substantial bulk and he had been bumped aside with relative ease.

The Hoosier had read the irritation in every inch of Vin's stance. A reluctant grin had tugged at the corners of his mouth. He'd quickly dropped it though, when Vin had glanced back at him, before tagging after the preacher.

Then J.D. and Buck had showed up. As they had neared the door, Buck had slapped J.D.'s hat off his head. When the young man had moved to retrieve the Bowler, Buck had jumped inside the door ahead of him, leaving J.D. to dart after him.

Larabee had wondered what the hell was going on, until all four men had stood over him, demanding to know where Ezra was. They had looked thunderstruck, when he'd informed them the gambler had already left. After grumbling and cussing a mite, they had all gone their separate ways.

Now, movement at the general store caught his eye, and Chris saw Mrs. Potter. The black dress and bonnet made her look like a thing of shadow, before the sun fell fully upon her. One hand gripped a well-worn broom and the other was propped on her hip. She nodded toward him and he tipped his hat. Mrs. Potter bent to her task, and he heard the plank sidewalk outside her store getting a vigorous brushing.

Chris jarred when Vin seemed to appear out of nowhere and walked past his chair to enter the jail. When he came back outside there was a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

The tracker leaned against the support post and squinted at the bright light glancing off the cloud of dust created by Mrs. Potter's efforts.

"What was he doing up that early?"

Chris pushed his hat back and cocked his head at Vin. "Morning patrol."

"Like he's never been late for a patrol."

Chris shrugged. "Maybe he's learning."

"Maybe."

Vin recalled the confusion and fear on the gambler's face the previous night. "Being kinda hard on him, ain't ya, Chris?"

Chris didn't bother glancing up at Vin again. "Can't be too hard on him."

"But, he ain't trying to do wrong…"

"Maybe that's why he looked at me like I'd just told him eggs actually came from cows."

Vin stopped and dropped his head with a smirk. "Got a point there."

Chris nodded. "Damn right I do."

The tracker sipped the strong brew. "Well, just give him some time to figure it out."

One hard and humorless eye peered at Vin from under the black brim. "He ain't getting paid to screw up."

"He's puttin' his life on the line every time he backs us up," Vin said without looking away.

"I know that."

"Same as the rest of us."

"He's gotta learn, if he's gonna work with us," Chris said.

"That's fair enough." The Texan stared into his cup. "But let him learn then."

Chris frowned at Vin. "What do you want me to do? Open a damned school house…to try to teach that con artist right from wrong?" He jerked his hat down lower. "Gotta keep 'im in line."

"Sure ya do."

Vin backstraddled a chair, trying not to show the worry creeping up on him. He regarded his best friend's countenance. The dark circles stamped under the older man's eyes, the granite frown. Most of all...his eyes. Chris had that cornered look, that I-wanna-disappear-in-a-bottle look. Vin knew it had been one of those nights for him.

Even half-turned away, Tanner noticed Larabee's eyes grew vacant, right before he turned to face down the road. Vin hated it when that happened. It felt like his friend left, just ceased to be there. It always made his skin crawl. It reminded him of the shaman's tales of tracking a beast and the clawed tracks in the sand disappearing, because in the end the beast was inside you.

"Want some coffee?"

Chris didn't answer. Vin wanted to grab Chris' lapels and shake him, anything to snap him out of this. But he knew there were times when he had to bait Chris into coming back, with the same care he used on any other wild thing.

"Hey, Chris, you want some coffee?"

"Nope."

The voice was a monotone, but at least he had responded. Should he ask Chris what he was thinking? Should he try to get him to talk about last night? Vin grit his teeth. Nope, better not push. Best leave it be.

"What the hell time did that gambler leave?" Vin asked.

"Uh? It…it was still dark. After five."

"So do you think he'll bathe, sleep or eat first, when he gets back?" Vin asked with a light-heartedness he did not feel.

Larabee seemed to concentrate on Vin several seconds, and the lean Texan was relieved to see Chris focus fully on him. "Let's see. Now if it were me, I'd sleep. I 'spect you'd eat. Now, Ezra, we both know he'll head straight to the bath-house."

"I don't know. He didn't eat supper and ain't had breakfast. A dollar he eats first this time."

Chris grinned and raised his eyebrows. "I'd just be taking your money, fella. That boy'd rather starve to death than be dirty."

"You're on," Vin said with a grin.

Chris nodded, and then shook his head with a grunt.

They turned at the sound of footsteps. The young Potter boy approached and shyly held an envelope out to Chris.

Cool creek water dripped from the full canteen. Ezra grabbed a small handful of Lafitte's mane and climbed back in the saddle.

A cow bawled.

He jerked his head up. Without conscious thought, Ezra backed his horse into the trees and froze. With one hand on the butt of his revolver, he waited.

Again, he heard it. Everything else remained quiet and still, except for the occasional bawling. It was a lazy, contented sound. Ever so slightly he urged Lafitte forward, and peered down the creek. The lowing seemed so close. One more gentle hint, and Lafitte walked toward the sound.

No breeze moved the leaves and the creek sounded unnaturally loud to his ears. The cow, or at least he was pretty sure it was a cow, seemed to have lapsed into silence. Lafitte's slow four-beat rhythm was the only sound now.

Ezra chewed the inside of his mouth. Well, whatever it was, it doesn't really matter. Lafitte settled to a halt and tugged at the reins. Ezra loosened them and watched his mount blow over the slender grass. The tender creek-fed foliage tore as Lafitte yanked out a mouthful. Bright sunrays sent beams of light across the creek now. Ezra took out his watch. Ten minutes after nine. Best be getting back.

Lafitte's head came up and the gambler reined him back southwest, toward Four Corners. The aroma of coffee touched the air. He stopped again. And is that biscuits? His stomach growled.

Ezra stayed close in the trees and followed the sounds, and his nose. Ten minutes later, he spotted wood smoke rising in a column on the flat air. He drew his .44 and reined tight into the old stand of cottonwoods and willows. A slab cabin came into view, not a camp, but a homestead. Well, who would've imagined that? He replaced the revolver.

Ezra looked the place over and counted four head of cattle and one Jersey cow milling around the yard. A chicken coup, barn, geese, several sheep, smoke house---

"Stop right there, or I'll stop ya!"

Ezra froze. Unmistakably, it was an old woman's voice.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Truth be told, Your breakfast lured me here like a siren's call."

"Maybe the bark of buckshot'll lure you away then."

Ezra clearly heard the sound of hammers being cocked, and his hands went up. "Let's not do anything hasty. Just hold on now."

"I want you off my property, young man. Be on your way and don't come back. I see you again and we'll finish this."

"Yes, ma'am." Ezra shook his head and reined Lafitte back toward the creek. The four steer followed him.

"You trying to steal my cattle, boy?"

"No, I certainly am not!"

The shotgun blasted the air, causing Ezra to jump nearly from his skin.

"Wait just a darned minute. My cattle are following you to the creek. They got through the fence this morning."

Ezra reined to a halt as the cattle milled around him. "How unfortunate for you," he remarked and pushed one of the steers away with his boot.

The old woman, maybe five feet tall, stepped from the front door of the cabin. Her white hair hung wavy and thick to her waist. "Head up the rise as you leave. They won't follow you that way."

Ezra nodded and walked his horse past her, but stopped when he came even with the front porch. His stomach contracted painfully at the wonderful aroma coming from the kitchen.

"That perfume speaks of a sumptuous feast within. Might fifty cents purchase a plate of your culinary efforts?" he asked quietly.

"No," she replied, never lowering the shotgun.

He raised his eyebrows. "No?"

"No."

Ezra cleared his throat. "Seventy-five cents?"

The old woman grinned. "No."

Ezra inclined his head forward. "No?"

"No."

"Surely you don't require a dollar for a singular meal---?"

"No," she repeated firmly.

Ezra frowned. "What then?"

The old woman arched her neck and sent a delicate stream of tobacco juice over her shoulder. "Don't need no money."

Ezra leaned back more shocked by her words than her actions. "Excuse me?"

At last, she lowered the weapon. "Mister, I barter. No. I don't need no money."

Ezra thought a minute. He almost always carried some whiskey in case the necessity of bartering with Indians arose. He'd learned the lesson while passing by stage through Nebraska. He eased the bottle from his saddlebags. Leaning sideways in the saddle to get a better look at the remarkable woman, he employed his most winning smile.

"Might a good Tennessee Sipping Whiskey render bountiful your erstwhile picayune hospitality?"

The old woman couldn't help herself, and she started cackling. "You are a devil ain't ya?"

"Well, I've certainly been called worse."

"Tell you what. You get my cattle back in the fence, and you're welcome.

Part 11

The sun was directly overhead, by the time Ezra trotted into Four Corners. The shade of the livery was all he could think about. He paused Lafitte in the wide corridor, and let out a long sigh.

"Jesus."

This is insane. No one in their right mind rides out in this sun. It's crazy, and I don't see the point. If a bandit has the energy to take something, I say let him have it. Well, unless it's mine, of course.

Lafitte yawned big and shook himself as Ezra slid off the bit and bridle.

He thought about the old woman. Hermena Givens. She had to be more than sixty years old. It didn't seem a good thing for her to be living out there all alone, but, he'd given his word. She'd made him promise not to tell anyone about her. She hadn't exactly warmed up to him but, she'd fixed him a breakfast, while he worked.

After settling his saddle on the wall rack, Ezra studied his bloody finger again. I would get a damned splinter. A rafter, more like. It would take a needle to dig it out. He worked his hand then scooped up a quart of oats. Lafitte nickered while he dumped the grain into his pail. He had plenty of water and Ezra couldn't resist patting the sweaty, muscled neck in admiration, while Lafitte half-closed his eyes and loudly munched on the oats.

"Well deserved fodder, my friend. Well deserved. And I do apologize once again for rousing you at such an ungodly hour. I do try to keep those rude awakenings to a minimum."

He dug the grooming brush from the tack box. One thing was certain, he hadn't been prepared for Hermena Givens' idea of the 'barter system'. The price of breakfast, for instance. Of course, he'd had to actually repair the fence before his endeavors to corral the bovine back into their home. It'd seemed the errant steers had regarded his efforts as kind of a game. When he'd finally realized their stubbornness, he had climbed on Lafitte and maneuvered them inside. He nearly laughed as he recalled that the look of insult on his four-legged partner's long face. It was clear exactly how demeaning the dun gelding regarded this attempt to use him as a cowpony.

And even after breakfast, Ezra had been required to make numerous trips back and forth from the creek to fill up every trough and water barrel on the place. How did the old lady manage on her own? No wonder Hermena was trim and fit. She had each barrel set up on thick stilts over a foot high. And there were five long troughs for the animals. She'd said you never knew when the creek'd run dry.

He stepped back to admire the sheen of Lafitte's coat. The horse merely regarded him with one drowsy eye. "I believe you look quite handsome, my man. Enjoy your nap. As will I, shortly."

Ezra donned his jacket and stopped before the wall of white light. After another hesitation, he left the broad airy protection of the livery and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

Buck accosted the gambler as soon as he stepped onto the covered boardwalk. "Why, howdy there, Ezra. You back? Now you look hungry. And have I got a treat for you. How about some of Mrs. Fletcher's homemade fudge."

Ezra never took his eyes off the bathhouse. "Mr. Wilmington, I have one thing on my mind, well, two things really. Bath and a bed. Now, please, just leave me in peace."

"Why sure, hoss. Sure. But you don't want to hurt her feelings do ya? Not after she made it up especially for us, you know, kinda 'thanks' for protecting the town and all."

Ezra glanced down at the delectable treat in the wax paper. "Many thanks, but I'm just too dirty right now. Tell her I'm most profoundly aware of her noted skill and will most thankfully indulge myself later. I'm sure she'll understand."

As he was speaking, he noticed Chris and Vin sitting at the table outside the saloon, watching them intently.

"Come on, pard. Just thought I'd share."

"What do you want?" Ezra asked flatly.

"Just want you to know there ain't no hard feelings, with me getting up with the danged chickens this morning when you'd already left."

Ezra shifted his weight. "Now, I am sorry about that, and I don't want you to entertain for a second that I didn't appreciate---"

"Okay then. We'll bury the hatchet. Just give this fudge a try."

"Mr. Wilmington, you know full well I love Mrs. Fletcher's fudge." He eyed the flaky chocolate confection, which was likely melting away in Wilmington's hot grip. "It's just I would need to wash. Can you understand that idea? 'Wash before you eat'?"

He saw Vin and Chris had never taken their attention off him and Buck. Vin's eyes seemed to be trying to convey some silent message to him. Ezra looked at Chris. Brooding, as usual. Or was it something else? Then Vin raised his eyebrows infinitesimally.

Ezra took the wax paper from Buck, and studied the contents. "Have you had some?"

Buck pinched off a corner and popped it into his mouth. Ezra watched the taller man very closely for some reaction. But he only appeared to be in heavenly delight. With one last glance toward Vin, he accepted the desert from Buck with great care to touch only the wax paper. He examined it for any sign of a prank - a sprinkling of some noxious powder or even pepper. Looked innocent enough. At last, he ate the remaining piece

Chris snapped his head around at Vin.

"What?" Vin asked raising his hands.

Ezra rolled his eyes up. Mrs. Fletcher's flaky chocolate desert was even better then he recalled.

"I believe Ezra had a little help making his decision." Chris stood, trying to look angrier than he felt. "Buck, get over here."

Wilmington pursed his lips and took a step back. "Uh. Sorry, Cowboy, I just remembered. I left J.D. locked in Mrs. Potter's supply room." He waved his hand and took off at a trot in the opposite direction.

Chris stepped into the road with his hands on his hips and watched the womanizer duck out of sight. Then he turned his gaze toward the Ezra, as the gambler happily devoured the fudge.

"And where the hell have you been? You left before sunup. I's about to send a search party after you."

Ezra pointed to himself. "Surely you're joking."

Sure, Chris knew it was an exaggeration, but he was in no mood to watch Ezra smile so broadly. Beside him, the gunslinger heard Vin clear his throat.

Ezra raised a shoulder. "I tend to ride more slowly in this hellish heat. It certainly did Lafitte no good. I was not willing to have him overheat at a swifter pace for no purpose."

Chris stared at him.

"You will excuse me while I attend to my ablutions." Ezra walked down a block and entered the bathhouse.

Chris turned his head just in time to see Vin hide his grin.

Ezra did not like sitting in the damned jail. He had spent the first part of his afternoon shift drowsing in the chair out front. Well, that is, whenever Chris hadn't been stalking about. The gambler had assumed everyone else had gone to their beds for a nap, since the black-clad leader had been the only one to make an appearance. And when Chris had finally settled at the table in front of the saloon with a beer, he'd done so alone.

Ezra let out a long sigh and glanced around the squatty room. He hated it. He had spent too much time in dirty places like this. The thought of prison crossed his mind, and he swallowed.

Was that where he was eventually headed? Not that he had done anything blatantly illegal. But he'd spent all of his life in the gray area and, now at times, it was simply impossible to know where to draw the line. Oh, Mr. Larabee possessed an unerring vision of that illusive boundary. So, it seemed, did everyone else on the team, except maybe Buck.

Ezra was almost thankful that Buck seesawed occasionally. At least, it made him feel not quite so singular. Strange considering the fact Buck'd been a Texas Ranger once. Maybe that was why he was no longer in their number. Disillusioned. Was that it?

Well, Ezra understood disillusionment, at least where human nature was concerned. He suffered no such disillusionment where the law was concerned. The law was either 'Yankee law' or the 'law of the most powerful', and consequentially had nothing to do with justice. At the end of the day, when all was said and done, it always boiled down to someone else's petty agenda, revenge or desires.

The law would always be the tool of those with power and money. It was only natural.Survival of the fittest. So it seemed contradictory to think of 'law' as a wholesome, beneficial thing. It was only the fact his new-found associates observed the law with deference which had recently given him pause. Ezra believed in his brand of justice, and he was sure that it had nothing to do with the legal viewpoint.

After another glance at the jail cells, he shoved to his feet and paced back and forth. He didn't have the excuse of patrolling the town again. He'd done that right before sundown. And he was certain Mr. Larabee would want him to man the office for a while longer.

Ezra stared at the desk for a moment. He slowly, reluctantly opened the desk drawer. There was the stack of warrants and posters. He squinted and looked away. Then, he turned up the kerosene lamp and pulled the papers out. The one for Frank Weir was right on top. And there was the alias he'd used in Alma.

Known associates McCawan brothers and Jack Rutherford

I am not a 'known associate'. Why on earth am I listed right along with those boys who joined Frank robbing the freight at gunpoint? Armed robbery. I'm not a robber. Mother would disown me for life, if she thought for one instant I'd stooped to such an abhorrent level. And I'd deserve it. After all she's taught me, there'd be…there is no excuse.

Suckers give me their money. That's the whole point, they give it to you. That's what makes them the mark. Armed robbery? How humiliating. To degrade myself to that point would only mean I'd lost all 'art of the con', that I hadn't learned a thing, that'd I suddenly become as deficient in intelligence as these…these unwashed, uneducated imbeciles.

And in the end...Prison. What was the sentence for armed robbery these days? Five to ten years in territorial accommodations? Ezra blinked and stared at his alias.

Jack Rutherford.

All my old associates would hear of my fall from the faith, and my career would be over. My reputation irretrievably ruined. Oh, I know a number of former associates who'd celebrate. They'd dance a jig alright. The 'Lil Banker' finally got his. He had it coming. And I damned sure would, if I ever turned my back on everything I'd ever been taught to become a low, mean, common road agent.

He shook his head and looked away. That's enough, Ezra. It's certainly nothing to get worked up over now. That scare is thankfully past. Besides, I knew what I was doing. And I kept the situation wonderfully under control. It was your basic low-risk, moderate-gain situation. It was best to play the odds and remain where I have the advantage of backup. Better odds of staying alive to resurface in own my life in another year or so. After all, Four Corners is enough of a crossroads to encounter those sufficiently in the chips.

I really should explore the opportunity of drawing a weekly private game with the local barons. The well-heeled love nothing better than to feel that they have their own 'special club'.

He fingered the torn edges of the stiff paper likeness of Frank Weir. Never know, though. Never know when a piece of paper like this could come back to haunt a person. Ezra glanced wistfully at the woodstove, and there his gaze remained. Wasn't it about time fire it up and brew some coffee?

Part 12

After taking one more turn around town, Ezra gratefully entered Conway's Saloon. Right away he noticed the rest of the team at their usual table.

The place was packed. He recognized most of the patrons now. Jerrod Moore, the wainwright and his cousin Jeremy. Their nice little wagon repair shop was prospering. They were narrow-eyed, rough-spoken English immigrants, but even-tempered enough to enjoy a game of cards and cut their losses when the cards turned against them.

"You just stay the hell away from her, you hear me," a voice shouted.

Ah, the ever belligerent Rodney Maxwell. Ezra leaned sideways against the bar and with a tolerant expression took out his deck of cards.

"I reckon I can do as I please."

"Reckon not," Rodney hollered again.

"Reckon so."

"Damnit, Beth is my girl, and it's gonna stay that way, you dumb ox. I ain't kidding with you."

None of the shock Ezra felt at hearing a lady's name mentioned within the confines of a saloon registered in his expression, as the cards sorted buttery soft through his fingers. Beth Gentry was the daughter of another of the local cattle barons and possessed some degree of refinement, and her name was being bandied about in commonplace fashion without even a hint of a respectful 'Miss' in front. It was hopeless that he would ever be able to regard these denizens as anything other than miscreants and oafs. No, he would never get used to it, or at least he certainly did not intend to get used to such barbaric rudeness.

"You wanna wear this table for a hat?"

Ezra made his way quickly through the crowd. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, hold on a minute now. I believe I have an idea which will solve your problem, before it becomes an altercation."

Rod Maxwell jerked his head toward Ezra. "Mind your own damned business, sport!"

"Being as an impending altercation is my present concern, let me suggest you play a hand of cards for the lady's attention. If you win, Mr. Maxwell, you have his money and the satisfaction of clearing your field of competition, to which you clearly feel you are unequal."

"What do you mean, 'unequal'?"

"Only that a lady is usually allowed to chose for herself. For your own reasons, you wish to bend the rules. I can only speculate you don't feel the lady's good opinion of you can withstand a rival beau."

"Well, course it can. I just want him to damn sure know where he stands."

"I should consider either one of you stand where the lady decides. Don't you agree? And, Mr. Maxwell, are you not respected as a top hand by your employer, Mr. Stillman?"

"You bet your ass I am!"

"Then might I again suggest that you engage in more civilized combat, namely a gentleman's battle of cards?"

"Well, sure. Reckon that'll suit me."

Buck looked away to keep from busting out laughing. And Nathan caught Josiah chuckling.

Vin smiled behind his beer mug, while he recalled Ezra once saying there were many ways to 'encourage peace', without it coming to a fight. Reckon he's right.

"Standish," Chris called.

Ezra looked around then back to the two men. "Excuse me, sirs." He stepped over to where Chris sat.

The gunslinger took a piece of paper from his pocket. "Sit down."

All six chairs were taken, so he twisted around a spare one from another table and settled into it. Vin shoved a beer toward the gambler, and he nodded grateful acceptance.

"Now that we're all here, I've received a telegraph from Judge Travis. Seems Frank Weir got himself rounded up by the sheriff in Concho Pass. He and his deputy are bringing 'em in tomorrow. The Judge wants Weir and his cohorts escorted to Clarkston where he's holding court now."

Only years of experience kept Ezra's still poker face pasted in place, despite the sudden twist in his stomach.

Josiah shook his head. "Looks like that poor soul's luck finally ran out."

Vin studied Chris. "Did it say how he got hisself caught?"

"Nope, just that the Judge wants to deal with this before he leaves Clarkston. Now. Who wants to ride escort?"

Vin leaned his chair back. "I'm all fer getting outta town fer a spell."

"I'll go along," Josiah said.

Chris stood up. "All right. That makes three."

"Who makes three?" J.D. asked.

Chris stared at Ezra expectantly, and waited.

The conman took a sip of beer and regarded him blankly saying nothing.

"Since Ezra recognized him first, I reckon he's earned the privilege of riding escort."

After a heartbeat Ezra smiled. "And the reward? The two hundred. Only fair, since I saw him first."

Chris pursed his lips. "I think Josiah needs that money for repairs on the church."

"It can always do with contributions." Josiah grinned smugly and elbowed Nathan, never taking his eyes off Ezra.

"Why? Josiah didn't spot him first?" Ezra pressed. "As you just pointed out, I had that dubious honor."

Chris leaned forward. "And you forfeited any possible reward, when you let him go."

Ezra blinked and glanced away.

Larabee tossed back another whiskey and stood up.

"Mr. Larabee, the stage comes back through on Wednesday. It always brings a…tinhorn or two, which I'm clearly the best qualified to handle" Ezra turned and lowered his gaze to the team. "The rest of you gentlemen would empty your pockets to such an ambitious individual, due to your lack of discernment. So it is my unique duty to protect the town in such instances. Perhaps another hearty soul would be better spared for the outing than myself." He held his arm in a wide gesture toward the sheriff. "Take for instance, our young Mr. Dunne. He's usually keen to see more of our---"

Chris focused on Ezra again. "You're going." Without another word, the gunslinger turned and left the saloon.

Nothing was said for several long seconds.

"He okay, Vin?" Buck asked with his eyes still on the batwing doors.

Tanner didn't answer, as he looked back at the table.

The cardsharp noticed Nathan glaring silently at him. He knew what that meant. "If you gentlemen will excuse me."

The older man frowned, getting that pinched look around his eyes. "And what exactly do you call what you did to that older gentleman last night?"

"Older gentleman? You mean Mr. Brady? That man, despite his age, is nothing more than a raw huckster?"

"Than what exactly are you? A better huckster?"

Ezra's jaw dropped then clamped shut. He turned to get up, then glared at Nathan and spoke quietly. "Anybody can sit in their room and stack a deck. He carried several such decks on him, and clumsily pulled a switch. No art there. No skill needed."

"So how did you clean him out?" J.D. asked wrinkling his brow.

"I outplayed him."

"With his own stacked deck?" Nathan asked incredulously.

"You bet I did. Now, if you'll pardon me." Ezra rose, taking his beer with him.

The rectangle of white caught his eye the second Ezra entered his room. Apparently it had been shoved under the door. He tore the envelope open. It was a telegram from Maude.

Uncle GEORGE CLEMENTS PUTS UP INFLUENZA stop CAN'T LEAVE MORE'S HOUSE PROPERTY UNTIL 8/19 BENTLEY stop

Well, well. She wants me on her team now. Never should have doubted I'd hear from her.

There was no need to read it again. He'd memorized the encrypted message the first time through. Any telegram from Maude was business, and business always got his undivided attention.

He was to travel to Baltimore and locate a newly arrived George Clements. The man was an investor, and Ezra's role was to 'put up the mark' on a real estate con. Maude would meet with him at the Bentley Hotel on the 19th of August.

Absently creasing the telegram, he watched the candle flicker.

The bottle of whiskey on the night table caught his eye. Ezra picked up a shot glass with two fingers and tipped the bottle over. He regarded the amber liquid for a moment then tossed it back. It was good, and burned all the way down. The warmth was the next closest thing to a mother's love. The closest was, of course, money. Security and warmth. Wasn't that what it was all about?

Ezra gazed at the empty room, the empty bed. How many times had he sat in empty spare rooms? How many times had he been the odd man out? The interloper? Well, being the outsider had its advantages, didn't it? Autonomy kept him sharp, kept him on his game. And that was survival, wasn't it? Never getting soft and never looking back?

Ezra poured another shot and rolled it back. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Damnit.

Maude was his mother so, of course, she'd ask him to travel to Baltimore. Baltimore, where the powerful Mr. Keys would have him killed like a rabid dog, if ever Ezra was ever spotted within that city's borders.

With a jerk, Ezra left the bed and crossed to the chest-of-drawers. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out his small journal. The newspaper clipping was still there. It had been a note at the back of the "Maryland Tribune", just for filler.

Unknown man found stabbed to death in alley behind the Dover Inn.

Ezra knew exactly who that 'unknown man' was. It was his associate Fast Jack. The powerful Winston Alexander Keys had seen to him.

Yes, my darling mother would want me to traverse from my oblivion to the light, to be exposed to mine enemies. For the sake of another con. Of course. Nothing less.

That was no option at all.

As inscrutable as it was, as unthinkable and unprofitable as it was, he had no intention of leaving himself open to a hired 'knife in the back', courtesy of a certain pissed off Mr. Winston A. Keys bent on revenge and 'murder most foul'. Even if the beautiful, charming, charismatic Maude - Magen, Margaret, who was his mother - did desire such a risk for the prospect of a fruitful financial endeavor.

Why did it make him feel sad that she would ask? Make his chest ache with a heaviness? He shrugged. Silly. Very silly of me, I'm sure. I've just lost my focus. Right mother? Lost my priorities, my feel for what is truly important.

He knew Maude would nail him to the wall, if he didn't show up. The last time he hadn't cooperated she had certainly shown him. With a combination of slyness and aplomb, which was vintage-Maude, she had spoiled his painfully orchestrated con then skipped out when all fingers were pointed at him. Five weeks in that disgusting jail in Mobile it had cost him, until he had paid his way out. Yes, Mother had shown him a thing or two about getting on her bad side.

For some reason Miss Hermena Givens' face crossed his mind. Miss Hermena. The old lady, who chewed tobacco as well as a man, who could spit with astonishing accuracy. The old woman trusted no one but she'd let him come into her home and help himself to breakfast. Surely a wildcat couldn't be any less trusting than the female hermit.

Then, why had Hermena let him visit? And yet that wildcat old woman was more genuine than Miss Maude - Magen Margaret, whoever - knew how to be with her own flesh-and-blood. Ezra had felt more relaxed with Miss Hermena Givens sitting there, with a shotgun across her lap, taking an occasional swig of rye, then he'd ever felt around his own mother. He wasn't trying to guess what Miss Givens thought. She told him and acted upon it.

Ezra sat back on the feather bed and chuckled bitterly. In his present circumstances, one fact was as certain as stone prison walls - He had to get out of town for a few weeks. Maybe, if he played his cards just right, the old woman would allow him to hang about her place. If he didn't get in the way, too bad. If he found a way to be useful. When Ezra thought about the price she'd exacted for a single meal, he shuddered to think what Hermena would consider a fair trade for him to stay on for a couple of weeks.

The sky rumbled. Several moments passed then the room shook and the window panes rattled. Ezra lowered the lamp and moved to the window. He parted the curtains and saw angry flashes of lightning miles off to the east. The sporadic, unnaturally bright light captured his face in an expression he would never have wanted any to witness. It was an expression saved for the night and darkness.

Ezra quickly pulled the curtains to and looked down. Didn't he have a cheroot or two of Chris'? He found the smokes easily. Taking another minute, Ezra examined his jacket. The wire was in place where he'd sewn it, in case of emergencies. He could make out the feel of the extra ten dollars he'd secured behind the lining as well. One must think ahead.

Ezra sank into his chair at the single table and lit the cigar's end. After several puffs, he pulled out his deck of cards and went through his nightly routine with the cheroot hanging from his lips.

Overhand shuffle, riffle shuffle, straight deal, double deal, deal from the bottom, crimp for a false cut.

He sighed. Another riffle shuffle, then sleight-of-hand false deal. Again, and again.

The gambler fell into his rhythm with an ease only made possible by a lifetime spent in thousands of such sessions, dedicated to the religion taught him at the feet of the best of the sure-thing gentry. The tobacco smoke was soothing and he drew it in then let it out reluctantly, and all the while his hands never ceased from their workman-like efforts to retain as well as improve his technique. Deal out a hand. Muck it up. Stack the deck. Deal out another hand. Stack it again. Riffle shuffle. Control the ace. Riffle shuffle. Control the card. Control. Control two aces. Three aces. Riffle shuffle. False cut. Riffle shuffle. Three aces still in place? Riffle in the fourth ace. False shuffle. False cut.

Deal the hand. Muck it up. Shuffle the ace overhand. Shuffle two aces overhand. False riffle. Overhand run-up with three aces. Control the fourth ace. Overhand shuffle it in. Riffle shuffle for three-handed draw poker.

His steady cadence continued as he dealt the hand. Riffle shuffle the aces for four-handed draw. The cheroot was down to a stub so Ezra crushed it out. With one quick motion, he fanned the cards out, and rolled them together. Then he peeked the cards and laid out five face down in rapid succession. He named the cards off one at a time before he flipped it over. Five of diamonds, Queen of hearts, six of spades, nine of spades, two of clubs.

After gathering the deck, Ezra riffled them again. Then he brushed the cards with his gaze once more, followed by placing them face down with a snap. He quietly called them by name before turning them over. One last overhand and a riffle then he set the cards aside

His brow wrinkled as he realized it was raining, and he couldn't recall when it had started. That's no good. Need to pay attention.

Pulling the pasteboards close again, he searched through the pack, until he came to a Queen. Ezra set it before him and gently touched her face with a single finger.

"Well, hello my dear. We have the place to ourselves once again. Looks like life is treating you well. May I buy you a drink?"

With a groan, he reached out and snagged the shot glass on the bedtable. "You look thirsty. No, please allow me." He set one small glass next to the card and the other at his elbow.

"Been one of those days, has it? I can well understand. Yes, I can well understand. I prescribe an ounce of…" He appraised the bottle. "this very fine elixir. I can vouch for its quality and, most importantly, its effectiveness."

With an open-mouthed chuckle, he poured both glasses. He tossed back his shot, then hers. A hollow laugh slipped from his lips, which resonated faintly in the still room.

"Thank you, my dear. Thanks for coming to my little…tea party."

Ezra pulled out his watch. Just minutes off three in the morning.

He stood and stretched, tilting his head backwards as far it would go and rolling his shoulders. The kinks loosened and he finished with a sigh. Then he set about the all too familiar routine of packing his scant belongings.

By three thirty everything he owned was folded and neatly stashed in his valise and saddlebags. He pulled a piece of foolscap from the drawer and dipped the quill in the pot of ink.

Mr. Larabee,

I regret to inform you only at this eleventh hour, however I have been notified of a family matter which requires my immediate attention. Due to its nature all alacrity is required. I apologize as I was unaware of this circumstance earlier and I earnestly hope you will extend your understanding in the matter. I should be free to return in a couple of weeks.

Until a happier moment, Ezra P. Standish

He folded the note and sealed it. After a few moments indecision, he left it in plain view on his desk. He dipped the quill one more time.

For Mr. Christopher Larabee

He touched the doorknob and turned back to the bare quarters. That was everything. Not that he had much. The twinge of sadness he felt was unfamiliar and puzzled him, until he was finally able to push it aside.

He smoothed his hand over his jacket, settled the bags over his shoulder and picked up the valise. Quietly, he closed the door behind him.

Part 13

Chris and Buck watched Sheriff Roger McNabb come down the main drag of Four Corners with his prisoners in tow. The large features on his long face were drawn together in irritation, and there was an unmistakable weariness to the slump of his shoulders. Yet his heavy lips broke into a malicious grin as he reined up next to the jail.

Chris stood and Buck stepped forward. A dead man lay across the saddle of a dusty sorrel trailing behind the sheriff's big bay.

"Mr. Larabee?" McNabb voiced loudly then coughed.

"McNabb." Chris said with a nod, as J.D. trotted from the jail.

"They're here," J.D. stated to himself under his breath.

McNabb ignored Buck and J.D. as he spoke to Larabee. "This is Deputy John Emerson and I'm Roger McNabb. Last time I's here I had Mad Mike on my leash."

"Yeah, I remember," Chris said in closely clipped words. "Judge wired me you were coming."

McNabb swung down and leaned against his horse. He took off his hat and strangled on the dust. He snatched off his canteen and took a gulp of water. McNabb cleared his throat. "Well, I'm turning these over to you," he said glaring up at the two men astride their horses in handcuffs. "This'un ya'll have to bury."

"What happened?" J.D. asked.

"Fool made a break for it."

The younger of the two prisoners shouted at the sheriff. "You didn't have to kill him, damn you!"

McNabb snorted. "Now, I couldn't exactly ride after him and leave you two."

"The deputy! Your deputy coulda watched us!"

"Oh God, here we go again," McNabb said standing clear of his bay and pushing his hat to the back of his head.

The sheriff walked up to Larabee. "Boy tried to escape. It's Johnny's first time as a deputy. Didn't want to take any chances and leave him alone with two wanted men." He watched the sweat he flicked off his brow drop to the dust at his feet. "Didn't like doing it, but it seemed the right thing at the time."

"But we ain't murderers!" the handcuffed boy shouted, his teenage voice cracking on the last word.

J.D. pulled his gaze from the boy, who looked his own age, and studied Frank Weir. The older prisoner's head hung numbly as though all heart had been beaten from him.

"That's him, Mr. Larabee. That's the man on the poster." J.D. turned fully to Chris. "See, I was right."

"You ain't listening to me," the boy said struggling against his dry throat.

The oversized sheriff grabbed the teenager by the shirt and hauled him bodily off his horse. The youngster tripped and fell backwards. "McCawan, how many damned times I gonna tell you to shut the hell up. Shut up, boy. Damn, I'm glad to be unloading you. I've had about all your noise I can handle."

Nathan and Josiah walked up behind Frank.

"We got'em, Roger," Chris said moving forward and nailing the lawman with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Good." He stepped back then jerked the paper from his vest.

Larabee stared at McNabb as though they were the only two people in the street. "Why don't you go get you something to eat and cool off?"

"Yeah, I think I better do just that before---" He kicked at the handcuffed boy half-heartedly.

Buck hurried between the sheriff and the boy. "That's enough! Go cool off, now."

McNabb eyed Buck Wilmington up and down. "Don't look at me like that. You ain't had to listen to that boy's mouth since last night." He put his hands on his hips and spat. "Right, okay," McNabb mumbled, trying to get himself under control. "This is Frank Weir and Luke McCawan. This here on the horse is his fool brother Charlie. I hope you enjoy their company as much as I have." Roger slapped his dust-coated hat, before setting it back on his head. "Just between you and me, Charlie made the best company this morning, by a long shot," the sheriff said with a cruel grin, then patted the dead boy's daggling legs.

Luke lunged toward the giant sheriff. J.D. and Buck snagged his arms, but the boy's legs kept pumping. "Let me at that son-of-a-bitch! Let me at'im!"

McNabb laughed. "Yeah, y'all enjoy."

The wide-eyed deputy tipped his hat and followed the sheriff across the road. Nathan and Josiah gathered Frank off his horse, and both outlaws were ushered out of the bright sun into the jail.

"It was Jack! This whole thing is his fault, and you know it, Frank. That bastard betrayed us! If it weren't for him, we'd be in Mexico for sure. He sold us out!"

"That's enough, Luke."

After unlocking their handcuffs, Chris closed the door to the cell and squinted at Frank. "What's he talking about?"

"Nothing. He's talking loco."

"Loco? You think I'm loco? Damnit, Frank, Charlie's dead! My brother…" Luke sucked in his breath and swallowed. "Charlie's dead. How the hell'd this happen? Tell me, Frank. None'a this was s'posed to happen!"

Frank put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Bad luck, I reckon."

The blond-headed boy looked up at him. "You know it weren't no bad luck this time. It was Jack, and if I ever get outta---"

"Shut up, Luke. Ain't you got a brain in your head? Now simmer down."

"Jack? What're you talking about boy?" Buck asked, glancing at Chris.

"Talking about? I'm talking bout Jack Rutherford! He turned us in for the bounty didn't he?" His voice was pitched so high, it nearly squeaked. "Frank told me he was in town here. Hell, Jack run me and Charlie down. He…" Luke looked suddenly at Frank.

"You're so damned stupid, boy. Why can't you ever…" Frank leaned into the boy's face and shouted. "Shut the hell up!" The older outlaw walked over and plopped down on the cot.

"Who?" J.D. snorted. "Ain't no Jack Rutherford in town."

Luke turned back from Frank. "You blind or something? Like I said, he shot at me and Charlie. And weren't no call for him to do that."

Chris turned and glanced at Buck and J.D. His mouth twisted as if he'd tasted something foul. "When was that?"

"When we's here day before yesterday. Frank told me he'd talked to 'im. Bastard musta changed his mind, cause he come after us!"

"Are you talking about when you and your brother tried to rob the Fergusons on the road outta town?" The gunslinger rasped out.

"Just keep talking, Luke. Charlie could always shut you up, I ain't never been so lucky. Go ahead spout some more, you dumb shit. Who'd you think was the only person in town, who mighta got us outta here, but 'no'. You keep right on flapping your gums. You can even add to your list of crimes. Don't stop. Keep talking."

Luke finally seemed to have given out of breath. He stumbled over to the cot and dropped onto it.

Larabee spun to face his men. "J.D., go take Charlie to the undertaker. And the first one of you that sees that lying cardsharp, when he gets back from patrol, bring his ass to me."

"How on earth can this have happened?"

Ezra shook his head incredulously as he reined up Lafitte. The pleasant creek from yesterday had swollen well beyond its low banks. From the leaning bushes and debris several feet beyond the edge, he could tell it had actually gone down some. A torrent when compared with the gentle brook from the day before.

He recalled the flashes of lightning from the wee hours of the morning. Still he would never have guessed this result.

"Hermena."

Suddenly, he felt alarmed for the old woman. Ezra urged Lafitte into a lope, covered the few hundred yards and stopped opposite her homestead. Ezra looked across the fast-moving, churning waters at Hermena's place. Dawn was gray and yet no smoke filtered into the trees gathered around the one-room cabin.

From their paddock, the cattle watched him alertly, and the chickens rushed noisily back and forth in the coop. The low end of the pigsty had washed away, and a long-legged sow stood like a fox at bay against her wooden shelter.

"Miss Givens!" Ezra shouted. "Miss Givens, are you there?"

There was no movement in the cabin and he got a cold sinking feeling in his stomach. The cabin is safe. She should be fine. All she had to do was remain inside. He gaze jumped back to the damaged pigsty as he recalled the half dozen little piglets and realized they had probably been washed away by the flooding waters.

"Surely, she didn't try to save the damn pigs!" But Ezra knew their meat represented food on the table, and Hermena likely could not replace their loss. "Damn." Where was the old woman? "Miss Givens!"

Had some neighbor come to help and she had gone back with them? Somehow he knew that wasn't the case. Hermena was a recluse. No neighbor would have come to look in on her because, very likely, none had known she was here.

"Miss Givens!" His heart started to pound. Where could she be?

He looked around and, just as he remembered, there wasn't a bridge of any kind in sight to cross this roiling obstacle. But then again why should there be? This troublesome waterway was usually little more than a thin thread struggling to keep from being swallowed up by the thirsty countryside. Ezra dismounted and surveyed the area around the boiling sides.

"If she was swept away trying to save those damned pigs, she's..." He focused downstream, trying to imagine her fate at such a foolhardy action.

Damn.

He swung back on Lafitte and kept his eye peeled for anything or anyone snagged in the bent bushes, which were weighted down with wet sand, dirt and debris. He jogged along the water's edge, glancing to both sides taking in every minute detail. After only a quarter of a mile, he finally spotted Miss Givens. She was lying in the mud on the opposite side, her long, worn dress twisted around her legs.

"Hermena!" Ezra shouted.

He jumped from the saddle and waded into the swollen, rushing water. Unable to take his eyes off her, he fought to keep his balance in the strong current. He dodged the larger bits of debris, while small flotsam slapped into him with surprising speed.

Without warning, he lost his footing and the plowing waters carried him along. Ezra was a strong swimmer, familiar with the power of unfriendly water. Even as a youngster he'd learned techniques to navigate the changing eddies and boils of the Mississippi herself, when prevailed upon by even more unfriendly forces or when a swim was necessary to retain his winnings. Swimming was as second nature to him, as it was to any mud cat in the country's greatest causeway.

At last, he managed to pull himself free from the grasping, greedy hands of the current onto the other side. He shook his head dog like, drew in a deep breath, then took off at a run through the wet sand, back toward the old woman.

His speed increased as he came closer to her. "Hermena!"

"What?" she muttered without moving, only watching him with her eyes.

Ezra slid down next to her, a smile breaking over his dirty face. She coughed, and he took her by the shoulders and helped her sit up. "Are you hurt?"

Hermena sneezed. "What're you doing here again?"

"Are ya all right?"

"Fine. Just...resting."

He stood and pulled her up with him, but her knees gave way. Ezra caught up her small frame in his arms and headed for the cabin, without removing his searching gaze from her.

"It's all right," he said, looking away at last to watch his footing. "You're going to be fine. I've got you now."

She had no choice but to relax, and was really too exhausted to do anything else. He kept up the reassuring chatter, all the way back to her place.

***

An hour later, Ezra was wearing near-dry clothes with his sleeves rounded up and an apron tied around his middle. He scrambled eggs at the stove set up on Hermena's broad back porch and listened to her tale of woe, as she bewailed the loss of her piglets.

He had noticed the delicate steam the hot sun had seared from his sopping clothes, when he had retrieved Lafitte and had settled him safely in a stall in the barn. But that was after he had quickly strung a line and hung a quilt across the corner of the one-room cabin, in order to give Hermena privacy to get out of her wet things. Ezra was good at 'making do'. He had certainly done it often enough, although he wouldn't care for his compadres in Four Corners to know. It was just a natural product of spending a good portion of his life finding an imaginative way to deal with unseemly predicaments of one variety or another. In his opinion, it was usually best to take them in stride without really looking at them.

Ezra tried not to think of how worried he had been for the old woman. It was best not to get too caught up in other people's lives. It was probably only because Hermena figured in his plans right now. Surely that must be it. He glanced over at the old woman from time to time. He couldn't help but be thankful that she appeared unharmed, except for a few cuts and bruises. From what he could tell, she was mainly exhausted and overwrought at losing her precious livestock. The suspicious gleam in her eyes was not lost on him, and Ezra was working up a lie in answer to her inevitable questions.

"Down they went. Right down the stream." Hermena tapped her bare feet on the planed floor and hugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"It's dry in town." He poured a cup of hot coffee and set it on the table in front of her. "Barely rained at all."

"Well, it ain't dry c'here," she said, trying to squeeze more water from her thick hair. "I shoulda known that sty was too close to the water."

Ezra half turned from the stove. "Have you ever lost it in such a manner before?"

She shook her head. "No, indeed."

"Then how 'should' you have known?" He grinned at her then poured the beaten eggs into the hot skillet.

Hemena watched him in silence for several minutes. By her calculations, this was the most entertaining sight she had seen in a long time; the spectacle of a damp gambler wearing her oversized apron with a skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other.

"Not many men can cook much."

"I can't cook much. But I'm certain I can handle this with a sufficient degree of prowess." He leaned over the skillet questioningly and raised his eyebrows. "Well, sufficient enough that we don't starve anyway. Though I can't really vouch for the epicurean quality of my breakfast."

It was strange hearing another human's voice now. But Hermena enjoyed hearing him talk, like before. She regarded the small newspaper he had spread out to dry on the table

He leaned forward and concentrated on adding the perfect amount of pepper to the eggs, as if being here and cooking for her were the most natural things in the world. What was he doing here? He puzzled her. She could ask him, but decided against it. People could 'say' anything. Actions were more truthful. She decided to watch him instead, watch and see what he wanted.

After he had ridden away the previous day, she had laughed because she'd worked him pretty hard for one meal. She was surprised he had even come back after that. After all, it was clear from his uncalloused hands, unweathered complexion and slender build that manual labor was not his normal line at all. She'd just watch, and see what he did.

And now that she thought about it, he'd never once asked her what she was doing out here all alone.

She looked down at the paper again and jabbed a finger at it. "What's this paper?"

"Oh, that's 'The Clarion'. Printed in Four Corners by a Miss Mary Travis. It's informative enough, but a bit jejune for my tastes."

She harrumphed. "I've never seen or heard of Four Corners."

"It's a couple hours ride southwest of here."

Hermena grunted. "No plans to go either." She glanced back down at the paper.

Using a rag, Ezra picked up the coffee pot, poured himself a cup and refilled hers. "I thought you'd perhaps enjoy reading a paper, catching up on the news."

"Sure enough would, only can't see good enough no more." She cradled the hot cup and blew across the top.

"I'd be pleased to entertain you with a recitation on any portion, which interests you."

"A recitation?" She laughed at him, but it was a good-natured laugh with none of the hostile edge of the previous day.

This certainly was the most words he'd heard come from her. The day before she'd been positively taciturn. "How long had you been lying there?" Ezra asked staring down at her.

"Think I carry a watch on me?"

He exhaled and glanced over his shoulder. "Was it still dark?"

"Yeah, it's dark. I could hear my pigs. I wanted dearly to save'em. Too bad you weren't here in time to save them."

"I never said I would've risked that torrent for a pig, ma'am."

Hermena shrugged, and then realized he'd risked it for her.

Part 14

Vin gave J.D. a quick uncomfortable look from across the table outside 'The Clarion' office. "I've got a bad feeling about this," Vin murmured.

Noon had come and gone almost two hours ago. No one could remain in the jail for long, because Luke never gave up talking. At a loss, they had finally called Nathan and the healer had decided the boy needed something to calm him down. Nathan had mixed up a herb tea and Luke had drunk it down, in-between breaths, without even asking what it was

J.D. had escaped outside. He looked down and said nothing, feeling miserable. His eyes quickly darted around, and then he looked across at Vin again.

Luke's ranting had made it quite clear that Jack Rutherford had been in on the robbery with them. Frank had sat with a frown, but added nothing to any of Luke's tales.

But there was no mistaking that Luke was describing their very own Ezra Standish.

"Do you really believe what Luke is saying, that Ezra is Jack Rutherford...That he 'robbed' a freight with them?" J.D. asked fumbling with his hat.

Vin shrugged his lean shoulders. "Don't know. That's the past. Didn't know him then."

J.D. shook his head. He didn't figure they knew Ezra 'now'. At least, he didn't know him that well. The conman just didn't seem the kinda feller that welcomed…friendship. J.D. 'liked' Ezra, but he didn't 'know' Ezra. With Vin being a tracker, had he been able to read more of Ezra's thinking on matters? Did he understand him better that the rest did? "Why ain't he back, yet?"

Vin grimaced and yanked off his hat. J.D. raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had never known Vin to be a fidget. In fact, it seemed unnatural to J.D. the way Vin could remain motionless at times. But it was the tracker's nature to be so subdued and self-possessed, one sometimes forgot he was even around. On the other hand, J.D. was a natural-born, high-strung fidgeter. He could not sit still even in this knock-you-down-and-roll-you-over heat wave.

Vin tugged his hat back into place, and finally shrugged.

J.D.'s eyes grew large as Chris walked outside the jail. J.D. could read anger coming off the gunslinger like sparks off an overheated woodstove. The chair creaked loudly as Dunne shifted his weight and stole a glance at Vin. The tracker was facing toward Larabee, but didn't seem to notice him.

Damnit, couldn't Vin see all hell was about to break loose, as Chris descended upon them? How could he remain so calm? How could Vin always stay so all-fired calm?

"Vin, don't you see how mad Chris is?" J.D. questioned with a frown.

"Ever see him not mad?"

"J.D.," Chris called out. "You got that handbill on Frank Weir?"

"Me?" J.D.'s voice broke. "I don't have it."

"Well, where the hell is it?" The Hoosier demanded standing over him.

J.D. nervously opened his jacket and ran his hands in the pockets, even though he knew it wasn't there. "You looked in the drawer? I left it on top."

Larabee continued to stare at the young sheriff.

"I'll go look," J.D. hopped up and trotted across to the jail.

Chris squinted up at the sun. Then his gaze dropped to settle on Vin. "He should have been back by now."

Vin nodded without looking up. "Yep."

The gunslinger cleared is throat. "I got a bad feeling about this."

The Texan nodded again.

"Why don't you go check his room? I'll check the livery.

Vin pushed to his feet and headed toward the saloon. J.D. emerged from the jail and trotted alongside Chris, as he walked in long strides toward the stables.

"I swear, Chris, I didn't move it! I left it right on top. I went through all the posters. It just ain't there."

That nerve in Larabee's jaw twitched, but he kept on walking. J.D. slowed to a halt and let him go on to the stables alone.

Up the street, Josiah and Buck rose lazily from the bench in the shade of the restaurant and moved to follow their leader.

"Brother Chris looks none to joyous."

Chris was rummaging through Ezra's tack box, when they entered.

"What's the problem?" Buck asked.

"Just think of another name for trouble," the black-clad gunslinger said acidly.

"That would be 'Chris Larabee', last time I looked," Wilmington stated with a disarming smile.

Chris didn't bother to look up. "Well, not this time."

Buck noticed Lafitte's empty stall, and a note of worry crept into his voice. "He ain't back yet?"

"Nope."

"Hell, nobody can ride that slow!"

Chris gave him a hard look and slammed down the lid on the box. "Bedroll's gone."

Buck sidestepped Chris and opened the box again. Larabee kicked the side and the lid banged shut. Only Buck's reflexes saved his fingers and he gave his friend an ugly look.

J.D. walked in behind them. "The bill's missing," he said to Buck.

Buck held up a hand. "What do you mean 'missing'?"

"I left it right on top of the stack. Honest, Buck! Only it ain't there now. That means---"

"Ezra was in the jail alone last night." Chris shook his head. "That little swindler. I swear, I'm gonna beat him to within an inch of his life if he burned it."

"You don't know that, Chris," Buck said. "Don't go jumping to conclusions."

"Can't trust him outta your sight."

Vin came in shaking his head. "His carpetbag and saddlebags're gone. Place looks cleared out. And I found this." He held out a neatly folded piece of paper.

Chris took it and saw his name written across the top. He unfolded it and stepped closer to the light.

"What's it say?" J.D. questioned, looking back at the others.

Larabee snorted and crumpled the paper. "'Family matter', my ass. Josiah, I want you and Vin to track down that conman. Just go get him and drag his sorry ass back here."

Vin jerked his chin at the wadded letter, which Chris had pitched on the ground. "What's it say?"

"Says he gone on some family business. Says he'll be back in a couple of weeks. You think any of that is true?" Chris shook his head again. "Hell, we don't even know his real name, for Christ's sake."

Tanner seemed to think over Chris' words. A sad expression crossed his face, before he pulled his gear from the rack and turned to Bowie's stall.

Josiah stepped forward. "What if he don't want to come?"

"I think Chris wants us to convert him to the idea, Josiah," the tracker said grimly.

"Just bring that lyin' bastard back," Chris shouted and stomped out.

"I'm sure he means 'alive', Vin," Buck added sweetly.

His reward was a glare from Vin, while he led Bowie from the stall and began saddling the horse. Both men stared after the black-clad gunman, but it was Wilmington who spoke up.

"Don't worry, Vin. I'll work on him while you're gone. Just bring Ez back…"

***

"You."

Ezra tried to ignore the voice.

At Hermena's direction, he'd been shucking and silking corn. Of course, that was after he'd repaired the pigsty and after he'd gone in search of the piglets. She'd insisted on being certain of their fate. He'd been completely surprised to locate one of the curly-tailed creatures. When he'd called, it had come as willingly as any pet dog, much to his dismay. It had taken a minute for him to resolve how to pick up the muddy beast. At last, he'd wrapped the thing in his bedroll, which he would discard at the earliest opportunity.

Wonder if Miss Givens will recompense me for the purchase of a new one? But, with a sigh, he'd known he'd just have to chalk up its loss.

After her celebration, during which she'd nearly hugged his neck, the old woman had gotten him busy with a large mess of corn she'd pulled before the disaster. Not long after he'd started, Ezra had leaned his chair back against the sturdy old oak tree. Folding his arms across his chest, he had let his head rest forward and had fallen instantly to sleep.

"You."

Finally, he looked up with bleary eyes. "Must be the heat." Yes, it must be the heat draining his energy and closing his eyes.

"I sworn'e. Ya look spent. You'd think ya hadn't slept since I seen ya last."

He tried to smile, when he realized that indeed he hadn't. But he was too tired to make the effort.

She put her hands on her hips. "Go on, then. Stretch out in the bed. Wherever it is you're heading, I'm sure it can wait a bit. Go on."

Ezra's eyes cleared some as he regarded her strangely, wordlessly. Finally, with a weary nod, he gathered up his jacket and walked slowly into the cabin.

"That boy," she said clucking her tongue.

***

Vin trotted Bowie along Ezra's tracks. He'd recognized Lafitte's marks and knew the dun gelding had been prancing high, enjoying his outing and rearing to get out of town. The tracks showed Ezra had slowed him down a couple miles out of town. Vin grinned to himself as he realized the gambler was probably worried about his beloved mount taking a mis-step in the dark and getting hurt.

Josiah followed half a dozen yards behind the tracker. He remained silent as ever, as though he was afraid he would interrupt Vin's reading sign. The preacher was no bother, but the worrying loud and clear in his own head was making it hard for the tracker to concentrate.

How would Ezra react to them showing up outta the blue? Would he think they had come to 'take him in'? For all his talk of peaceful resolutions, the gamester did have wonderfully quick reactions to an 'unavoidable' threat, when the situation was beyond words. And Vin knew from experience as a bounty hunter that a man on his own, with no backup, responded just a hair quicker than one with friends.

Tanner's thoughts kept circling back to the same unavoidable question. Who had Ezra been in the past? Vin was sure he didn't know, and wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Over their time in Four Corners, the quiet tracker wasn't certain if the other men had perceived the conman's struggles, but Vin had sure seem them. It was as if the gambler was surprised every day by new sign and new facts, ones that bewildered him and which didn't figure in with his notions of the world around him.

Perhaps Vin had picked up on it because, having been on his own most of his life, he had honed his instinctive ability to read sign as well as people. He'd caught Ezra watching the others, watching him. It had surprised Tanner when he'd realized the gamster was looking for clues as to what was expected of him. The conman was trying to read their values and copy their reactions. So who could really know Ezra's own values and reactions, since he was so careful to copy theirs? Was he the only one to notice this subtle activity going on beneath the surface? It had to be exhausting for Ezra. How could he ever let his guard down and relax with them, when he was always, always throwing out feelers to read every glance and every gesture, every nuance? But, then again, maybe it was easier for a gambler and conman then most people.

Would they ever know Ezra? Probably not. He was just too sharp to let anything slip. Well, not unless he wanted them to know him and Vin didn't calculate that would be forthcoming anytime soon, if ever. It made him sad to think that no one else had even noticed this struggle that was Ezra's daily fare. The others seemed to think Standish was trying to be a pain all the time, but Vin realized more and more the situation was just the opposite. Most of the time he actually was trying very hard to fit in with their expectations.

The strange sucking sound as Bowie lifted his feet drew the tracker's thoughts back to his surroundings. The sand beneath his horse's hooves had turned wet. Vin glanced back at Josiah. "Did you know it rained?"

The preacher frowned and urged his horse up beside Vin's. "What?"

Tanner motioned to the soggy ground. "Reckon I musta slept too hard to notice."

"I heard thunder in the wee hours but it was off in the distance and since it didn't storm, I didn't pay it much mind."

Vin walked Bowie several yards. "Ground's plum saturated. Musta been some kinda frog strangler."

Josiah looked up into the bright sky and burning ball of a light. "Who'd a thought it?"

The Texan toyed with the reins. "What do you think, Josiah?"

"'Bout what, Vin?"

Tanner half shrugged. "You know, about Ezra. You figure he was in on that robbery?"

After a moment's hesitation, the giant of a man exhaled and turned his head away. Vin was beginning to think he didn't want to say, when Josiah faced him again.

"Vin, I don't rightly know. Sure wish I did, wish I had a sense of it. But, I don't." Josiah hung his head and released a deep sigh.

They both sat in silence for a while. Vin was unwilling to move forward, until he had contemplated on things a little longer. He knew he didn't like this and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. They had to bring Ezra back.

"You're the tracker," Josiah remarked, then asked quietly. "You manage to read any tracks on that one?"

Vin turned a lopsided grin on the preacher. "Course I do. But they contradict each other every other day."

Josiah smirked. "Figures."

Vin focused northeast and chewed on his lower lip. He didn't like this, tracking down a friend. No, he didn't like it at all. Ezra was one of their own. Stranger even than this violent storm passing close by, and no one even knowing about it.

"Vin."

"Uh?"

"You lose the tracks?"

"No."

"All right," Josiah said softly, easily. "You know, I don't care none for bringing Ezra in either, but it's gotta be done. Seems our Brother's even further off the path than we ever thought."

Vin turned blue eyes towards the preacher and his tone was sharp. "That bill only says, KNOWN ASSOCIATE, Josiah. Ain't no reward on him. It's only the word of that spiteful boy saying as Ezra's in on it."

You mean 'Jack' don't you?"

Vin glared at Josiah. The preacher hesitated then shrugged.

Tanner turned back to the tracks, and blinked a couple of times, trying to clear away his thoughts. Breathing in deeply one more time, he slowly let it out and then pushed Bowie along Lafitte's trail again.

Part 15

"Hello, the cabin!"

Hermena staggered back in surprise, as she jerked her head out of the corncrib. The shotgun was in the house, and the two men had her cold. She faced them and squared her shoulders. "What the hell do you want?"

Vin held his hands up and Josiah gave his friendliest grin. "We don't mean ya no harm, ma'am," the young buckskin clad man said. "We're jist lookin fer a'friend a'ours."

Hermena stopped herself from looking back toward the creek. Well, they hadn't followed him anyway. "Ain't got no time to dawdle with a stranger. Don't like 'em on my place. If I'd seen anybody, I'd told them the same thing I'm telling you. Be on your way!"

"Now jist calm down. Like I said, a friend a'ours. We work t'gether. You heard a'Four Corners?"

"Ain't heard of it, and don't wanna, now git!"

Josiah reined his horse closer. "No need to be frightened, ma'am. My name's Josiah Sanchez and this here is Vin Tanner. We really need to find our friend."

"I can see that so ya best stop wastin' time. I don't know who you're after, but ain't nobody chere but me. Now're ya gonna leave?"

Josiah glanced at Vin. They knew the gambler was here. Vin had followed Lafitte's tracks unerringly to the stream. He had seen where Ezra had crossed on foot. Vin would've known the prints of those fine, perfectly fitted calf-skinned boots anywhere.

To Vin's eye the imprint of a small body lying flat on the ground was clear enough, and then the boot print's of Ezra carrying the old woman all the way back to the cabin. Vin could see that Ezra had gone back for Lafitte, but had ridden out on him again. That had been the biggest mystery to Tanner, especially since he could see that the gambler had returned.

Tanner had had to struggle to hide his laughter, when he'd seen where Ezra had dismounted and his boot prints had mixed with those of a piglet. When he had pointed out the scenario to Josiah, the big man had laughed heartily.

No, there was no doubt at all that Ezra was here and, if he was to look, Lafitte would be standing in the barn. So, why was the old woman lying?

Vin nodded. "All right, ma'am. We'll jist keep on looking then. If ya see our friend, sure would 'preciate it if ya'd let 'im know we's here. He's ridin a dun gelding with three white socks. Our friend's very amiable and talks more'n most wanna listen to. He likes perty clothes and wears red or green or some other outstanding color that's real hard t'miss. He's a Southerner and perty hard t'mistake out here."

"I hear ya, mister."

"Good enough." Tanner touched his hat brim. "Thank you for your time, ma'am, and I'm sorry for true if'n I give ya a turn. Weren't my intention."

She nodded slightly. Vin reined Bowie back to the road, and Josiah tipped his hat.

"Afternoon, ma'am."

***

Hermena jerked back the patchwork quilt that served as a curtain. Ezra didn't move. Not a muscle.

Her grip tightened on the worn fabric. She couldn't have this man coming and causing trouble. She'd seen her share and didn't want no part of whatever was going on. She wanted him out of here and on his way. Shoulda known better than let a stranger stop off at my place. Shoulda known better than have dealings with people.

"You."

Still the young man didn't move, not even an eyelash. The old woman stood there, with her heavy white hair trailing down her shoulder to her waist.

Hermena Givens had never had children of her own. She'd never been married. All hopes for a husband and a family had been snatched away, when she was in the bright bloom of youth. So many, many years ago now.

The man - the only man - to ever turn her head and tug at her heart, had died at the Alamo. Sergeant Tobey McKnight had been her life, and when he'd been cut down…it had been an end for both of them. Hermena had never been the same, never loved again. She'd become a young widow of the heart without ever having worn a wedding band.

No family now. No husband. No dreams even.

Then this 'boy' shows up and puts her in mind of the children she'd never had, and made her miss company again. Hermena stepped forward. He was a young man, probably the age of her grandchildren if she'd had any. She sighed and rubbed her chin.

Why on earth did she care? She really should wake him up and send him on his way.

Then she recalled him wearing her apron and cooking breakfast. She shook her head, trying not to grin. However the sight of him carrying up that squirming pig filled her thoughts, and Hermena chuckled lightly.

"Go ahead and sleep, young man. I got a feeling as plenty enough is waiting on you, when ya do wake up."

His chestnut hair had fallen slightly forward onto his forehead. She didn't know if she'd regret her decision or not. Strange to see people again. Strange to care in the least. She touched his hair with her callused hand for a moment, and then smoothed it out of the way.

Ezra turned his head closer into the linen pillow.

I'm probably gonna be sorry. Herman stepped back and pulled the curtain shut.

***

"You're sure then?" the preacher asked again.

"I'm sure, Josiah," Vin answered, though his gaze was focused on a distant point.

"In that case, Ezra must be inside the cabin." Josiah stepped down from his horse. "Guess we'll have to wait."

"''Spect so."

Josiah stretched his legs, while Vin remained in the saddle. "Might as well rest a spell, Vin. Sitting there ain't gonna change nothing."

"The old lady might warn him."

Josiah rubbed his whiskers. "Strange, she didn't strike me as the kind of person who'd tolerate our Ezra. Maybe she just don't like anybody about her place, but you know Ezra. He can weasel himself in anywhere."

"I'm not so sure weasel's the word here. Seemed like more'n that t'me."

"Maybe she felt she owed him for the pig."

Vin looked down at Josiah and stopped chewing the straw in his mouth. "Could be."

The big man paced away several yards then turned back. "Well, Vin don't worry. Ezra's gotta come outta there eventually, and we'll just grab him when he does."

"What do you mean by grab?" The tracker asked with sudden harshness. "Think he won't put up a fight?"

"You mean draw against us? Hell, Vin, we're his friends."

The Texan spat the straw out. "Naw, I don't mean 'draw', but roughing him up don't exactly make us his friends now does it, Josiah? I mean, no one's even listened t'his side."

Josiah gritted his teeth. "At the time, we didn't know there was 'his' side. He never said a word about it, so how were we to know?" He brought his temper back in check. "This is his fault. Now all we have to do is catch him by surprise then grab him up."

"Grab him up? He's a perty good scrapper, so unless we hurt him, that might take some doing. And I don't aim to hurt him."

"You got a better idea? Think you're just gonna talk him into coming back with us? You better think again, Brother. Ezra ain't gonna want to cooperate, so just forget that idea."

Bowie shifted his weight and Vin patted the animal's solid neck. The birds sang lazily and the sky was clear as crystal now. None of that helped Vin feel any less miserable about the whole situation.

"Damnit all t'hell." Tanner swore, raising his voice. Then he looked at the preacher and shrugged repentantly.

Part 16

Ezra woke up and blinked until the exposed rafters of the ceiling came into focus. Apples, corn, peas and some herbs he could not identify were strung up and hanging from the support beams in tidy bunches to dry. Unable to put any real life into his movements, he gradually eased himself into an upright position while he unsuccessfully tried to stifle a harsh yawn. Everything seemed utterly still and silent, as though the world were holding its breath waiting for the sun to loosen its tightfisted grip on the day.

Where's Hermena? Ezra stumbled as he stood, so he sat back down on the straw mattress and rubbed his face a couple of times. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the plain headboard. I'll have to broach the subject of staying now. Soon as she returns.

Surely Hermena would allow him to remain. Ezra doubted she'd insist he depart. But - the major sticking point - would she let him stay two weeks? And perhaps the biggest question of all, what chores would she line up for him to do in order to earn his keep? Her life seemed to revolve around them. The drudgery just never ended. Finishing one chore only meant starting another.

Maybe if he could distract her, offer to read to her again and relate entertaining stories. Anything to keep her mind off all those blasted chores. Ezra studied his finger. Thank goodness it was healing nicely.

Maude always worried about his hands. And where was she now? He wasn't sure. But one thing he did know, when she arrived in Baltimore, she'd fully expect him to have the swindle set up and the pigeon ready for the plucking. Maude would expect to merely step into her inside role, with her usual skill and ease.

He was letting her down. He knew that. Felt it.

Ezra's empty fingers rippled. He reached over and pulled the deck of cards from his folded jacket. They felt smooth and familiar, like family. Short cards were his trusty companions and they rarely let him down. He tucked his face down as he worked the overhand runup.

How could Mother ask me to go?

Maude knew full well about the situation with Mr. Keys. It had been her overly possessive suitor who'd done his best to deliver him to Mr. Keys. It would've been a really funny predicament, if the consequences hadn't been very nearly fatal. Ezra had found out later his mother's suitor had seen him coming and going from her hotel room, and thought he was a rival for her attention. Ezra chuckled. It was so ridiculous.

Except for the fact two men on his team had been murdered, and he'd had to flee for life and limb. And all because someone was jealous over Maude. The suitor was not only murderous and vindictive, but had to be blind. Anyone with half an eye could see that Ezra and Maude carried the same blood.

The gambler's shoulders drooped. Two men murdered. Yes, Maude was fully aware Baltimore was a deathtrap. So much for maternal instinct and motherly compassion. No doubt, she'll make me feel like a first-rate coward, because she's deemed the con worth the risk. There must be some wonderful pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.

He stopped shuffling the cards and stared at them. That woman could make him so tired. Ezra squared the cards and stashed them back in the jacket.

Wide awake now, he got up from the rope bed and looked around. A spindle occupied one corner and a hand loom another. A foot warmer set along the wall with a couple of carding paddles on top. Next to it were a butter churn and a large wooden washtub with a washboard setting in it. The unlit woodstove occupied a position almost in the center of the cabin. His eye stopped at the washstand with its basin and water pitcher. He was grateful to find it full of clean water and splashed his face.

With a sigh, he pat his face delicately with the thin towel hanging on the side. What chore is the old woman up to now? Neatly folding the towel and replacing it, he walked toward the front. The window shutters were all fastened back with leather ties and, since there wasn't so much as a shard of pane glass in the cabin, he peered straight outside. Hermena was walking back from the creek. Maybe she went down in order to escape the heat.

A creaking sound from behind startled him, and he snapped around.

Vin.

Ezra flushed a dark red, riveted on the long-haired man across the room.

Tanner raised his hands. "Now, Ezra, jist calm down. Let me talk a minute."

The southerner stood frozen and speechless.

Vin kept his hands wide, just for good measure.

"Ya gonna listen t'me for a bit?" While he studied the gambler, Ezra's face suddenly relaxed and Vin realized he could no longer read him. "Sheriff McNabb brung Frank Weir and Luke t'town. Luke's been doing a lotta talking. According t'him, you and Jack Rutherford's the same person. Now I don't know if that's true or not, but ya need t'clear it up. What say we head on back t'town, jist so this'll get straightened out?"

Vin waited, and continued to study Ezra's blank expression. It was a stand off. Neither spoke. Neither moved. They just watched each other.

Tanner had no idea what the Southerner was thinking. He wanted to be patient, give Ezra time to think about what he had said. Ezra blinked indifferently. There was no way Vin was going to rush Ezra's decision or make him to feel threatened.

The sound of Hermena's steps sounded on the front porch. The door scraped open, and Ezra stepped over and blocked her way.

"Miss Givens, I apologize for this unfortunate circumstance, but could you please wait outside?"

Hermena's eyebrows darted up and she gaped at him, until with a start she noticed Vin. "What're you doing back here?"

Ezra jarred and looked at her again. "Back here?"

"I sent him and his friend away earlier. I's going to tell ya, soon as ya woke up."

Ezra's green eyes flared. "Friend?"

"Big fella. Said his name was…Josiah."

"See anybody else?"

"Nope, just the two?"

"Thank you, ma'am. Now, please, just wait outside. We need to settle this between us."

The old woman turned to go, but shot a vinegary look at the tracker. The door closed behind her and Ezra turned back to Vin, who still hadn't moved.

"Looks like you've made a friend," Vin remarked lightly, nodding toward the door.

"So where's Mr. Sanchez?" Ezra face was smooth and passive again, though a cold detachment now colored his voice.

"Asked him t'wait with the horses."

"Why?"

Vin frowned. "Cause I didn't want ya doing anything stupid."

"Stupid, Mr. Tanner? Do I strike you as stupid?" He passed a quick hand across his forehead. "Never mind, don't answer that."

"Nope, that's not what I meant. Look, Chris wants t'talk to ya."

"I'll just bet he does. Except there's likely a bit more to it than talk this time. I have no intention of going back with you, Mr. Tanner." He hesitated. "Or are you saying this is an official visit?"

Vin shook his head. "Cain't say it's official."

"Good, then I'm not wanted. I'm not required by law to return. I'm sorry your ride was for nothing, but I'm afraid you and Mr. Sanchez will have to return empty handed."

Without removing his open gaze from Ezra, Vin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Don't make this hard, Ez. You're only wanted fer questionin'?"

"About what? You and I both know a desperado is bound to say anything to attain his freedom. Perhaps you give too much credit to poor Luke's ravings."

Vin canted his gaze to the window then faced the gambler, staring him straight in the eye. "Are you Jack Rutherford?"

Ezra matched his gaze. "Of course not."

The Texan dropped his hands and looked down in disappointment. With a sigh, he looked back up at Ezra's perfectly bland poker face and stepped forward. "Yore gonna have t'git used t'telling the truth," he said in a low, weary voice.

"Why do you suspect I am this Jack Rutherford?"

"I'll tell ya what. Let's jist say I don't know nothing bout this whole mess. You talk t'me. I'm listening."

"Mr. Tanner, I hate to disappoint you again, but I have absolutely nothing to say. There is a family matter I need to attend to. I merely stopped here to rest---"

"Damnit, Ezra Standish, don't ya lie t'me," Vin snatched off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. "I wanna help ya, damnit, but I cain't if ya don't level with me!"

"Level with you?" Ezra blinked emphatically. "Mr. Tanner, you're a bounty hunter---"

Hurt flickered in the Texan's blue eyes. "I'm yer friend."

Ezra paused and looked away. Sure he'd been part of a conning team many times. But never once had he been disillusioned enough to mistake that working convenience for anything other than a mutually beneficial arrangement, not friendship. It had never been a friendship.

When Ezra spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Mr. Tanner, we are friendly acquaintances thrown together to fulfill a duty. Nothing more. When this whole business at Four Corners is over, we'll all go our separate ways." He cocked his head. "Either way, I'm not going back with you."

Josiah was right. All this talking ain't doing a bit of good.

Ya'll done argued to a standstill yet?" Josiah said through the back window.

Both men jumped.

Josiah gave a bored sigh without moving from his perch, stooped over and leaned on the window frame with crossed arms. "Vin, did you really think you were going to out-talk Ezra, or that he was going to tell you a damned thing? Now, Ezra, let me explain to you how it is. First off, I know you won't draw down on either of us. Secondly, one way or the other you are going back with us. We ain't returning to Four Corners without you. You can believe that. We may have to wait you out and get the drop on ya, but one way or the other you're coming. And," Josiah concluded with a devilish grin. "…you know if we don't get back to town soon, Chris'll just send somebody else or come himself. Now, you wanna stop fooling around and get your butt on your horse."

Ezra stepped back glaring at Josiah. "But I have family business---"

"Then when Chris gets done talking to you, we'll pay to put you on a train to make up for the lost time. Now get moving."

"But---"

"Shut up. Just shut up." Josiah winked. "Besides you best save your talking bone for Chris."

Ezra knew Josiah was right. He'd never draw down on these men, whatever he chose to call them. And he also knew, with death-like certainty, when Chris Larabee had made up his mind to do something, nothing this side of hell would stop him.

Standish eyed the two men. Best to go along for now. He'd have another chance. Besides there's many a slip between cup and a lip.

Reluctantly pursing his lips, Ezra finally nodded. "All right, Mr. Sanchez. I do concede your point about our Mr. Larabee, when he gets a bee in his bonnet. I'll cooperate but, then, you gentlemen owe me a train ticket."

"Whatever you say, Ezra." Josiah straightened up, entered the small cabin and walked through to open the front door. He stopped and waved the gambler ahead.

Ezra glanced back and was met with a look in Vin's eyes, which cut him to the bone.

Part 17

Chris and Buck watched the dusty stage roll into town. Larabee stood with a restless energy then crossed the street in his usual ritual of measuring up the new arrivals, and Buck trailed behind him. Wilmington had tried his best to soften the reception Ezra would be getting when Josiah and Vin returned with the dubious Southerner in tow. But there were times when there was just no dealing with Chris. This was one of those times.

The stage's four-in-hand snorted the dust and eyed the water trough longingly. The driver yanked the brake, and then limply climbed down from his high seat. The small door opened, and Judge Travis appeared.

Chris blinked in surprise. "Judge?" He and Buck walked down the block and stopped in front of Travis.

Orrin Travis pulled off his hat and fanned his face. "I do believe it is even hotter here than in Clarkston." He gazed around the still town. Most of the residents were dodging the afternoon's glare in whatever shade they could find.

"Didn't know you was coming," Chris said in place of a greeting.

The messenger handed down the Judge's valise. "I tried to send another telegraph, but apparently the lines were already down."

"Down, how?" The confusion only added to the dangerous sparks firing in the back of Larabee's eyes and his voice came out flat and ugly.

Buck gave Chris a warning glance but saw he was ignored as usual, so he turned to the Travis and forced a broad smile. "Howdy, Judge. Why don't you come inside and grab a nice beer? Looks like you could use it."

The Judge grinned appreciatively at the ladies' man. "Heading there, as soon as I see the prisoners. McNabb bring'em in?" Travis asked in a worn voice.

Chris squinted at Judge Travis. "Yes, sir. We got Frank Weir and Luke McCawan locked in the jail."

Orrin picked up on all the signals, which Chris managed to supply in abundance without moving a fraction. Most men would have been uncomfortable under the intense, unblinking scrutiny of Chris Larabee. But Judge Orrin Travis' wise and flint-like gavel had been dealing justice to hard cases in the territories for over twenty years, and he recognized the difference between good and evil. Besides Orrin had been observing Chris' actions for more than a month and knew whatever Chris Larabee had suffered, it had not completely destroyed the good in his heart.

"Only two?" Judge Travis said. "Sheriff said there were three."

The black-clad gunslinger fell into step alongside the Judge, as Travis walked stiffly toward the jail. "Charlie McCawan made a break for it. McNabb killed him."

Travis shook his head. "McNabb is a hard man. I know that, but that's what it takes out here."

"Why're the lines down?" Chris asked, having to shorten his stride to accommodate the older man.

"It was that storm." The Judge took in the deep powder of the street and the half-empty water troughs. "Doesn't look like it rained a drop here."

At first Chris thought Orrin had to be pulling his leg, but then he recalled the Judge didn't possess any more humor than he did. "Sure didn't. Didn't even know about it."

They stopped while a buckboard creaked by, its wheels wobbling as though the heat somehow added to the weight of its burden. The decrepit vehicle was a lone rebel defying the funeral-like stillness over the town, and supplied the signal that the blazing sun had at last started down the cloudless sky.

Luke McCawan stood as the Judge walked inside the dark jail. "Frank," he hissed toward his companion.

Watching from the window, J.D. had made himself wait, mainly to demonstrate to Judge Travis that he wouldn't abandon his post.

Travis set his valise on the wide, pine desk. "Afternoon, Mr. Dunne."

J.D. hooked his thumbs in his vest, and grinned looking very satisfied with himself. "Judge. The prisoners are locked up safe and sound."

The older man couldn't help but return the grin, even if his own was more reserved. "Well, done, sheriff. Well done."

J.D. seemed to stand even straighter. Buck snorted and rolled his eyes, but the young sheriff just shrugged him off and began to smile.

The Judge stepped over to the bars. "Afternoon, gentlemen. I'm Federal Circuit Judge Orrin Travis. I'll be holding court for your case tomorrow."

The words began tumbling out of Luke again. "What're you talking about? Won't nobody tell us the truth? This whole thing is one big lie! They said we were going to Clarkston for trial! What's going on now?"

"My services were no longer needed there. The prisoner hung himself."

Luke's open mouth froze and Frank gripped the bars, trying to hide the fear in his eyes.

"The Judge is a fair man," Buck said gently and nodded. "Don't you boys worry too much."

Orrin Travis studied the still countenance of the lean, long-haired man behind bars. "Mr. Wilmington is right about that."

Frank nodded. "That's the best we can hope for."

"The best we could hope for?" Luke piped in. "Not by a long shot! The best would be if Jack had kept his mouth shut and Charlie'd never been murdered. Yeah, that'd be much better!"

"On the other hand," Chris said leaning toward Luke. "Perhaps your trouble started, when you robbed the freight out of Alma."

"Luke, for once, try to contain yourself," Frank said returning to his cot.

"Jack?" Travis half turned toward his men.

Sheriff Dunne held up Weir's poster, which had been in McNabb's papers. "He's the 'known associate'."

The Judge took the bill. "Jack Rutherford."

Luke pointed at the Judge Travis. "Yeah. Jack. It's all his fault we're in here."

"Enough of that already, Luke!" Frank shouted. "Why don't you just give it a rest?"

Orrin's brow furrowed. "His fault…how?"

"Luke…" Frank said with a glare.

Perhaps it was the calming herbs the healer had given him but, for once, the young man did shut up. He resorted to chewing his lip with a vengeance. Buck and J.D. watched Chris eyeing the Judge and waited.

"Reckon that'll all come out in the trial tomorrow," Larabee finally said and looked away.

"That it will," the Judge agreed resettling his hat and reaching for his valise, but Chris beat the older man to the punch and picked up Orrin's luggage. Travis nodded. "Besides, I want to see my grandson."

Buck shared a glance with J.D., but the young sheriff only shrugged. They'd both been so sure Chris could hardly wait to let the Judge in on Luke's accusations against their resident gambler.

"Guess you worked on him, huh?" J.D. commented and rested his hands on the buckle of his gun belt.

Buck raised his eyebrows but had no comeback as he turned to watch Chris follow Judge Travis and, if possible, got an even more uneasy feeling in his gut.

Part 18

Lafitte plodded along in the heat, showing none of his normal enthusiasm. His head hung and from time to time his eyes moved back toward his owner.

Ezra patted his neck. "This wasn't my idea, LaFitte, so stopping looking at me like that."

It had puzzled the gambler that Hermena had followed them to the barn, when he had gone to fetch Lafitte. He knew she was a dyed in the wool hermit at this point in her life. He had come across a few in his travels. Old hermits, living away from all people. True recluses did not take to people wandering in and messing up their familiar day-to-day routine and, most importantly, the control they exercised over their own self-made worlds. And now, because of him, two more people had shown up to disrupt Hermena's life. He had half-way wondered if she'd blast all of them to Kingdom-Come. Since he'd calculated she would be so relieved at their departure, the fact that she had dallied about the barn while he had saddled up was a complete mystery to him.

Ezra chuckled. There had been no doubt at all about the old woman's feelings toward Vin and Josiah. He knew full well she could aim her tobacco with the accuracy a Kiowa sends an arrow. And yet she kept missing her supposed targets and kept soiling Vin and Josiah's boots. If he'd taken a few more minutes, they'd been squishing in tobacco juice.

"What kinda name is that fer a horse?" Vin asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

Ezra couldn't help but notice that both Vin and Josiah were riding a bit closer to him than usual. He wasn't certain if it was a conscious effort or not. Surely, surely they didn't think for a minute he would try to bolt away on his unhappy dun, just to have the Texan track him down again?

"Yore horse. Why'd ya name 'im L'l Feet?"

Ezra coughed suddenly, blinked and looked away. Josiah bust out laughing and Ezra could no longer contain himself. The laughter poured out of him. He saw Vin's lips move and knew the tracker was swearing at them, but he couldn't help it. Ezra glanced at Josiah, which was a bad idea. He just doubled over laughing again. Must be the tension of the day. He focused on Vin again, and saw his lips moving again. Probably more cussing.

"…I said, what's so dang funny?"

"You tell him, Josiah," Ezra said with his voice lurching.

"Now, Brother Vin, don't get your dander all up. Ezra's horse is named after a pirate."

"A pirate?" Vin twisted in his saddle toward Josiah. "And why's that?"

Josiah gazed pointedly at Ezra for a long moment, and then turned back to Vin. "This is Ezra's horse we're talking about."

Vin swung his gaze to the gambler. "All right. Ezra. Why'd ya name yore horse for a pirate?"

Still in the act of wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, Ezra shook his head. "That's a story for another day. Besides I must consult with my Lafitte and be certain the disclosure will not offend his sense of privacy."

Josiah twisted his lips and jerked his head. "What?"

"I think he means, he ain't gonna tell us," Vin commented with an open-mouthed chuckle.

The big man nodded with a good-natured snort.

Ezra regarded his companions. Sure they could afford to relax. They weren't the ones about to meet up with Chris Larabee and his mercurial temper. The gambler ran his hand inside his vest, and his fingertips outlined the comforting presence of the wire pick secreted there. The closer their proximity to town, the more apprehensive he felt. He suspected the sweat lining his collar was more than the heat now. Ezra had no doubt, whatsoever, as to what he would say. He'd deny every accusation put to him all the way down the line.

They topped a rise and Four Corners appeared out of the swirls of heat.

Besides, what did they have? The only thing they could have was the word of some outlaws with a bounty on their head. The most solid evidence they had against him was the poster, and it only said 'known associate'. Frank and the boys had to associate with lots of people, so that amounted to less than nothing.

It'd all come out in the wash. Just deny everything, and the world will square up again.

Josiah pulled the handkerchief from around his neck and liberally wiped his face. "I think I'll just sink into the first horse trough I come to."

"The second," Vin rasped out. "The first one's mine."

The laughter had sapped away the last bit of their energy, and they all hung limply in the saddle and watched wearily as the town grew bigger.

"If you look over here and I'm missing," Ezra said in a faint voice, "it's because I've melted and poured out onto the ground."

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you. It'd soak you right up," Josiah muttered.

A tumbleweed startled Josiah's horse, which was nearly sleep walking. "Whoa, boy. Whoa now."

The large horse put in a single buck against the preacher's substantial weight, then settled back down again.

Ezra looked up at the town again. If things turn sour, I'll have several options from which to choose. I can break myself out of that jail, if I'm left alone anytime tonight. Or I can most assuredly slip away in to the night, while we're on the way to Clarkston. Either way the risk outweighs---

Gunfire popped in the direction of town.

"What the devil?" Josiah asked sitting straighter and straining his eyes.

Vin startled his mount into a quick gallop and Josiah immediately followed suit. Ezra hesitated, then spurred Lafitte in pursuit.

***

By the time the three of them barreled up the main street, the gunfire had ceased. Vin and Josiah hopped off their horses, drew their weapons and split up to opposite sides of the empty street.

"I'll come from the other end," Ezra called, as he spun Lafitte around and trotted down an alley.

When he reached the end of the building, the gambler tightened his grip on his .44 and reined to a stop. He listened then pushed his dun a few sideways steps, just enough to peek around the corner. It was clear.

He urged the gelding into a trot and paralleled the town alert for any movement. Nothing seemed out of place, and there were still no more shots.

The hard ground gave a good purchase, when Ezra leaned forward into a hard gallop. The horse's nostrils flared wide and his head flattened out. At the south end of town, he curled around toward the wagon path. He sat back and slid Lafitte nearly to a halt, when something caught his eye.

Holding his revolver at the ready, he squinted at the trailing cloud. He didn't see a rider but he had to be there, concealed by his own dust.

Ezra kicked south, pushing Lafitte into a full run. He closed his mouth against the storm of grit and rode next to the ever-widening cloud of hot dust. Lafitte flattened out again, his sweaty flanks working and long neck pumping. Ezra sat deeply in the saddle in an effort to keep his mount balanced. He gave Lafitte his head along the cloud which still continued dead straight.

The gambler did not like pushing his horse so hard, but it couldn't be helped. There was no one else. All the other men were back in town.

The fleeing rider still did not come into view. But he had to be there. Ezra angled further away, desperate to make out the object of this unwilling race. The dust cloud grew thicker, more solid, and Ezra could no longer see through it.

Suddenly, there he was. Out in front. A man riding a paint, maybe 100 yards away.

Should he fire into the air? What would that accomplish? Probably just get the other man shooting back at him. He did not like demanding such an effort from his mount. The heat was dangerous. This man must be a complete fool. Or…running for his life.

The rider whirled around in the saddle without warning, his gaze sweeping the area on his right and he didn't spot Ezra gaining on his left, half-hidden by the fog kicked up in the wake of his paint. Then he completed checking his back trail and looked directly at Ezra.

The next instant, Ezra heard the report of a gun. The gambler backed off. Let Vin track this fool later. Ezra did not intend to uselessly be picked off. It would be best to catch the man unawares later.

There was a sudden explosion of dust and the terrified squeal of a horse. Ezra instinctively veered away from the dust cloud just in time as the man's form rolled across the ground right next to his dun's hooves while the paint went down hard.

Ezra reined hard sideways and Lafitte reared up then with a final hop stood his ground. The paint fumbled to his feet and shook itself with a nervous nicker. Trailing the leathers, it trotted back toward town with his head high and plenty of white around his eyes.

Maintaining a sure grip on his revolver, the gambler sleeved the grit from his eyes and hopped to the ground. The man was motionless.

"You there!"

There was no response. He must be out cold from the fall.

There was no gun in sight. Ezra eyed the man suspiciously, thumbed back the hammer and approached with his .44 leveled on the motionless figure. When the man still didn't move, Ezra nudged him with his toe. The man's head fell sideways at an impossible angle.

Ezra groaned and his face blanched. "Good Lord."

He tried to swallow but his pasty throat did not cooperate, so he coughed instead. After another second, he knelt down next to the dead body. There was a gun stuck in the man's pants. It seemed to have nearly fallen through and only the very tip of the white butt was visible. Ezra stretched out a shaky hand and tugged it free.

He instantly recognized J.D.'s .45 with the white bird's head handle. Ezra turned the dead man's face toward him. McCawan. Damnit. Luke. It's Luke McCawan.

Ezra stood jerkily. "J.D.?"

With one quick stride, he reached Lafitte and vaulted into the saddle. Anxiety flooded his veins and he tried to ignore the cold feeling in his stomach. Had Luke finally stooped to murder?

He gathered his reins and wheeled his mount back to Four Corners, but he hadn't taken two full strides before three horsemen descended upon him.

"Ezra!" Chris shouted. "What happened? Where's Luke?"

The gambler twisted in the saddle, pointed to the ground then he held up J.D.'s bird's head pistol. "Has Mr. Dunne been harmed?"

Chris dismounted and squatted next to Luke's body. "He took a rap on the skull. Luke jammed J.D.'s head good with a door."

"Nathan's with him," Josiah said.

Vin's tall, black gelding danced around beneath him as the tracker tried to rein him close to Luke's body. "What about him?"'

"Ah, his neck's broke," Larabee said and looked up with a disgusted frown. "Damn."

Sanchez shook his head and gazed into the infinite sky. "What a waste of a young life."

Ezra contemplated the pitiful form sprawled on the hard earth and remembered the young, vibrant Luke McCawan he had known in the tough-and-tumble Alma mining camp. "Indeed," he murmured with one side of his mouth turning down.

"Well, let's get him back to town," Chris said.

Vin stepped off Bowie to help out with the unpleasant though familiar task.

Ezra started to swing his leg off Lafitte, but stopped. Settling back in the saddle, he watched Chris and Vin heft the poor boy's body up on the back of Vin's horse. He focused on Chris, then looked off into the distance. Why didn't I run when I had the chance?

Part 19

The four regulators dismounted in front of Nathan's clinic. Josiah and Vin started straight up the stairs. Tanner look back when Chris did not follow.

Larabee motioned them on ahead."I'll be up in a bit. Right now, Ezra and I are going to have a little talk."

Vin didn't like the predator stance of Chris' body. "Don't you want to see J.D.?"

"Nathan said J.D. would be all right by tomorrow. This talk is gonna be now."

The blond gunslinger stepped toward Ezra.

"Chris," Vin said quickly as he moved back down the stairs.

Larabee smiled. "Standish, you're coming with me. There's someone I want you to meet at the jail."

Ezra tried unsuccessfully not to jump, as the gunslinger grabbed a handful of his sleeve and started dragging him toward the jail.

"This is unnecessary, Mr. Larabee. I'm perfectly capable of ambulating without assistance."

As their leader ignored him, a palpable sense of dread began to build in Ezra. "Certainly Mr. Weir is locked up in the jailhouse. I see no reason for me to make his acquaintance."

Larabee paused long enough to give him a frosty glare. "You do mean renew your acquaintance, don't you?"

Ezra did not answer this time, just tried to match Larabee's stride with as much grace as possible. After nearly stumbling over the front step, he was unceremoniously shoved into the jailhouse.

Frank looked up.

"Who is this?" Chris asked Frank pointedly and pushed Ezra over to the cells.

Frank just stared back at him.

Larabee strided over to the bars. "Answer me, damn you. Who is this?"

Frank only relented far enough to shrug blankly.

Chris pursed his lips and leaned back toward the bars.

"Maybe you should know…Luke is dead. This was the last person with him."

Frank jerked his head toward the gambler, his face paling.

Chris' eyes widened. "Thought that might make you see things a bit differently."

Frank drew himself up to his full height and stared through the iron rails at the gambler. "Is that true, Jack?"

Chris turned his head toward Ezra raising his eyebrows. Vin had followed the two and stood silently in the doorway, watching uncomfortably. He stepped inside without a sound, feeling the oven-like closeness of the jailhouse confines and the waves of black rage oozing from every pore of Chris Larabee.

Ezra met Larabee's livid glare and didn't give an inch. His smooth face and bland expression reflected no reaction whatsoever to Frank's words. Chris' hot stare riveted on the smaller man and he took a menacing step toward the gambler.

Frank clutched the bars with white knuckles. "Jack, what happened to Luke? I wanna know what the hell happened?"

"His horse went down." Ezra's eyes fluttered. "He broke his neck in the fall."

"Guess that means there's no one to talk now." Chris' mouth twisted in a sneer. "Reckon that worked out pretty good for you, uh, Jack?"

Despite being raked by Chris and Frank's wide-eyed stares, Ezra still did not alter his calm demeanor nor offer a reply. At that moment, Judge Travis walked through the door, nearly running into Vin who hastily stepped aside to let him pass.

Travis glanced around the cells. "What happened? Where's Luke McCawan?"

"Broke his neck, Judge. His horse went down," Larabee answered, not tearing his gaze from Ezra.

"Jack!" Frank shouted as tears started down the side of his cheeks. "Tell me, Jack! I wanna know!"

The Judge jarred, then turned to face Ezra. "What did he call you?"

"I called him 'Jack Rutherford', Judge. Now, Jack, you tell me the damned truth. Did you kill that boy?"

The Judge frowned and snatched up Frank Weir's warrant from the desk.

Ezra blinked and spoke almost casually. "Frank, Luke died in an accident."

"Pretty damned convenient accident. Anybody else see it happen?" Frank hissed.

The Judge looked at Chris. "Well?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, it's like he said. An accident."

Frank cocked his head. "Damnit." He looked down. "You just wanted me to think…" Looking miserable, the long-haired outlaw plopped down on his cot again. His buried his face in his hands. "Sorry, Jack."

Chris watched in surprise, as Ezra walked slowly over to the row of iron bars.

"It's all right, Frank," Ezra said, mainly because he didn't know of anything else worth saying. What was done was done.

Travis held up the dodger. "Says here you're a 'known associate', Ezra. What do you have to say to that?"

"I'm not aware it is a crime to associate with anyone. I dare say it could be termed some degree of association which you are having right now with Mr. Weir."

"Ezra, don't play the innocent with me. I've seen your kind so many times, I practically know what you're going to say before you do." Orrin's tone took on an authority which would brook no foolishness. "I'm just gonna ask you this once. Were you involved in this crime against the Faulkner Mining Company?"

"It weren't his doing, Judge," Frank spoke up before Ezra could respond. "This - all this - has all been my fault. All of it." The outlaw looked up at Travis. "I's working this claim. Turned out it was more worthless than the dirt around it. I ended most my days in the number two saloon. Spent the nights on the floor there or, in the alley outside."

Frank stood up and rubbed his tired face. "When it turned cold, well, I did notice that this here gambler managed to lose to me often enough to pay for a spot inside on the floor. Then one night I saw him playing the muleskinner, the one what'd be driving that mining company's freight. I watched Jack here go to his room in the back."

Frank saw that Ezra was watching him, mesmerized. "He's one of the few who could afford a room. Anyway me, Luke and Charlie followed him. I knew he'd be seeing double, since he'd been playing two days straight." Frank gripped the bars. "Well, we got the drop on him and I put a gun right between his eyes. That's how I found out which trail and what time the freighter was leaving. I felt bad about doing that to a man who'd been good to me, so I said I'd give him a hundred dollars."

The prisoner crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. It was the only coolness he could find. "That gambler man didn't do nothing."

Ezra shifted his weight and looked down, trying his best to hide his complete shock at Frank's willing admission.

Travis slowly turned to Ezra, his expression and voice softening. "Well, there is one problem with all that."

Ezra's forehead furrowed deeply. "What's that, Judge?"

"Why didn't you step forward and give evidence? You had advance knowledge of a crime yet took no steps to inform the mining company or the law enforcement, nor did you in any way prevent it. Those parties…" he waved the bill he still held, "--those same ones who print these fliers -- are completely ignorant of the facts stated by Mr. Weir."

Ezra shrugged. "Well, I can only say that I had thought their intentions would sober in the morning."

Travis shook his head gravely. "That's not good enough, Ezra. I think you know that."

The gambler flushed, but met the Judge's gaze steadily. "People say many things, Judge." His eyes jumped to the two lawmen listening to the conversation. "The majority of the time they do not mean them."

"True. That's true enough, but a gun barrel pointed in your face should have given you a solid clue to their earnest intent. I believe we both know you crossed the line." He pursed his lips and continued to stare at the gambler.

Chris and Vin looked from the Judge to the gambler and back to the Judge again.

The older man finally smirked at Ezra's discomfiture. "Oh, Ezra," the Judge said with a sigh. "I sentence you to another thirty days as town protector. Then, without further investigation, I'll write a full pardon for Jack Rutherford. If there are no further incidents such as this one. How's that sound?"

Standish cocked his head in disbelief. "I-I…Judge?"

"You heard me, young man."

The gambler's face split into a wide smile and he held out his hand. "That's a deal, sir." He glanced at Chris and his smile quickly modified into a warm grin. "A deal."

Vin winked at Ezra. "See, Ezra. Ain't you glad it's all straightened out now?"

***

Epilogue

The coach jarred backward then rolled forward again, as it pulled away from the knot of men bidding the Judge farewell. Ezra stood smugly, bracing one hand against the support post and offering his cockiest wave.

"A fair man. Truly," he remarked to anyone in the general area.

Chris waited until the stage was out of sight and then stepped toward the gambler.

Buck stepped between the gamester and the gunman. "Now, Chris…"

Ezra smiled ear-to-ear. "Don't you think so, Mr. Larabee? Yes, I'm an admirer of such fair-minded adjudication. In fact, I'd like to share my good fortune. Gentlemen, how about a round of drinks?"

"Sounds fair," Wilmington said with his hand resting on Chris' shoulder.

Larabee turned to Buck and looked very close to amiable. "Except for one problem. Ezra won't be able to buy us drinks today. He's gonna be doing something else."

Ezra straightened, his eye widening.

"And what's that?" Vin asked anxiously.

"He's gonna be staying in jail today, and probably the rest of this week."

"Are you joking? You all heard the Judge! I'm free as a bird. No cages for me," Ezra said waving his hand, but stepping backward for good measure.

Chris' eyes flashed and a wide grin appeared on his tan face. "You destroyed that warrant, Ezra. That's willful destruction of federal property. That's the rest of this week in jail, in my book." He glanced around. "Ain't that about right, boys?"

Vin paused, then nodded pleasantly. "Sounds bout right t'me."

"Mr. Tanner---"

"You're right, Brother Chris. A just recompense," Josiah said with a chuckle.

"Now, wait just a minute, Josiah---"

Buck stepped forward and hooked his arm in Ezra's. "Let's go, pard. You heard him. Just think of all the sleep you get to catch up on."

"Do you think this funny, Mr. Wilmington? I assure you, I do not share your perverse sense of humor."

"You gotta learn, Ezra. Like the Judge said, you crossed that line."

Ezra shook his head, frowning in confusion. "What line?"

"That's what you're gonna have to sit in jail and contemplate," Sanchez added with a wink.

Nathan came trotting up. "I ain't missing this. Besides I'll have to give J.D. a full picture of it all when I get back."

Josiah laughed, and slapped the healer on the back. Chris snagged Ezra's other arm and they proceeded to haul the unwilling gambler to the opposite boardwalk.

"Stop," Ezra stammered. "I insist you stop this."

"Consider this a lesson," Chris said happily. "At least, I know it's one I'll enjoy teaching you."

"Lesson?" Ezra tried unsuccessfully to plant his feet.

"Hey, no need to thank us, hoss," Buck chimed.

Vin walked alongside Chris and gave Ezra a lop-sided grin. "Yep, What're friends for?"

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© 2004