A half hour before sunset, Vin galloped into the clearing. He swung off his horse before it had even slid to a stop. "CHRIS!"

He still didn't see him. Walking up to Chris' stallion, he grabbed its reins and winced at the deep gouges in its flesh. It was a miracle the animal hadn't broken its neck or legs. Had Chris been as lucky? He spun around, desperately searching for the quiet gunfighter. Even in the short amount of time the two men had known each other, Vin sensed that they had become friends. A man like Chris didn't seem to make many and Vin felt honored to be one. He refused to accept the fact that their friendship was over so soon. Chris had to be alive. He was just too damn ornery to die.

Suddenly, Vin saw an odd shadow by the treeline. He raced over.

"Chris!" His friend's still, pale form was disturbing. He reached out to touch him preparing himself for the fact that Chris might already be dead. When the figure groaned, Vin smiled. He was too ornery to die. The drifter took stock of Chris' injuries and his smile faded. "Damn," he commented.

"That's what I said," came a weak voice. Chris' green eyes flickered open. "What took you so long?"

"I didn't take your short cut."

Chris laughed feebly. "Smart man."

Vin ran through his options quickly. He had barely twenty minutes left of usable daylight. His highest priority was dealing with Chris' wounds. Thanks to the cold, the man hadn't lost much blood. It was probably what saved his life, but it would also eventually kill him if Vin didn't get him warm soon.

He peeled away some of the layers of clothes away from the bullet's exit wound as gently as he could. A low moan still escaped Chris' thinly pressed lips. "Sorry Chris. I need to see if it's still bleeding." It was but only slightly. Vin had treated enough bullet wounds in his life to know what to do. But he still wished Nathan was here. The man had an uncanny knack for healing, thanks to the war.

He looked down to see Chris watching him with glassy eyes. Vin saved him the trouble of asking. "I'm gonna have to cauterize it, Chris."

Chris sighed wearily. "I expected as much," he whispered. "Get it done." He paused and then regarded Vin with terribly haunted eyes. "Just don't let me fall asleep."

Vin nodded. The fear in Chris' eyes disturbed him. It didn't belong there. What was in his dreams that terrified such a man, Vin wondered.

He quickly checked Chris' other injuries. The head wound was mild, considering, and besides, there was little he could do about it. The leg on the other hand he could handle. There was only one long gash which he quickly sewed together and bandaged. What bothered him was the fact that Chris barely flinched during the process. He wrapped his own blanket around his friend and with the last remaining shred of daylight he built a blazing fire. He placed the blade of his Bowie knife in the fire and then pried open one of Chris' cartridges from his gun belt. All the while he kept Chris talking about little things, about the town, about the robbery, the chase. Eventually though and not surprisingly the conversation slackened. They just hadn't known each other long enough. Vin had no choice but to delve into Chris' past. "Where you from originally, Chris?"

Chris dragged his tormented gaze away from the flickering flames and stared at Vin for what seemed like hours. "Indiana," he finally murmured.

For a second Vin doubted Chris was really with him in the present. He could see the fire's flames reflected in his friend's eyes. JD had once told him that Chris' family had perished in a fire. He wondered briefly whether it was those ghosts that haunted Chris Larabee this night.

Vin tried to distract him. "I went through Indiana once. Pretty country."

Chris didn't answer. His eyes had found the fire again. Vin checked the knife and saw it was ready. He walked up to Chris stepping purposely between the flames and his friend. Chris blinked and glanced up.

"It's time," Vin told him quietly.

Chris said nothing. Vin eased Chris' coat and shirt off, revealing his pale almost translucent skin against the dark cloth Chris always wore. The man seemed almost a ghost himself tonight.

Vin sprinkled the gunpowder from the open bullet cartridge around both wounds. Then he retrieved the blade from the fire. He offered Chris a stick.

Chris stared at it and then took it, placing it in his teeth. Taking a deep breath he nodded at Vin. "Do it," he said tightly.

Vin touched the glowing blade to the wound in Chris' back. Chris immediately arched back but found Vin's steel arms holding him, his agonized scream erupting around the piece of wood in his mouth. Within seconds, it was done and Chris sagged against Vin, unconscious. Vin quickly did the front exit wound the same way through which Chris only moaned slightly. Afterwards, he pulled the stick from Chris' mouth, noting the deep indentations nearly cutting it in half. The reflexive muscles in Chris' jaw worked incessantly even after as Vin bound up the wounds quickly, making sure Chris' right arm was immobile. Then he laid him carefully down on the ground near the fire, wrapping the blanket around tightly. Chris' head lolled back bonelessly against the saddle.

Vin sat back, his own hands shaking slightly. It was over. Now it was up to Chris. Vin only prayed that Chris still wanted to live badly enough to fight for it. Vin knew for a fact that one's past had a tendency to draw you in. Many times it didn't let go, and Chris had been running from that past for a long time. Maybe tonight was the night that he quit running.

It would be a bad time to stop.

It wasn't long till the dark cloak of night descended. For the next few hours Vin led Chris' horse on a regular basis into the cold stream, hoping to reduce the swelling in it's leg. Then he wrapped a poultice on it. He prayed it would be enough.

He checked on Chris constantly, but there was no change in his condition. He couldn't tell if his unconscious state remained because of the head wound or from the trauma of the cauterizing. Probably both.

Pouring himself a cup of thick, black coffee, he leaned into his own saddle set on the ground behind him. He had a decision to make. Come light he could take Chris back to town. It would be a long hard trek but at least Chris would be out of the elements. He drew in a deep breath. Or they could stay where they were and hope that Chris survived. Either option didn't ease Vin's mind. There were definite risks to both.

He laid back, wrapping his long duster tighter around him, rubbing his face harshly afterwards. It might not matter, he thought bitterly. Chris might not survive the night. Tomorrow would bring his decision. He hoped Chris wouldn't make it an easy one.

"Stay with us, Chris."

Dreams of ghosts assaulted Chris deep within the folds of oblivion. Sarah walked past him, her oval face turned towards him across her thick, dark hair. In his sleep she had not changed at all; the years had passed her by. God, how he missed her. He could suddenly feel her sweet lips lingering on his skin and sensed their heat again. He reached out towards her as those dark eyes that always filled him with passion's fire watched his every move.

"Sarah!" he cried out. "Don't go!"

But she walked steadily on towards the house. He moved to follow her but then stopped. A distant voice spoke to him, "Stay with us, Chris." He turned back and saw Four Corners behind him; six purposeful men strode slowly across the dusty street, watching him as they went past. He had come to depend on those men, something he had never thought possible again.

Suddenly a woman walked up to him wearing a black printer's apron, her blonde hair almost spun from sunlight. "Mr. Larabee, could you help me?" Her voice was quiet yet pleading.

He stared at her in confusion and then glanced back towards Sarah. Little Adam had joined her on the porch and stood beside his mother's skirt. Chris took another step towards them.

Again the woman behind him spoke. "Mr. Larabee, I need your help. Please!" Buck stood behind her now, a wanted poster of Pierre Duvall in his hand, the ink still fresh.

Chris turned back, his face anguished. "I . . . I can't." That admission pained him considerably and yet he did not know why.

Then his ears caught a sound that made his heart go cold. The crackling and hissing of a fire. He spun around and their house was now caught in flames. He could see Sarah and Adam within, their mouths open wide in terror. He was too late again.

"NOOOO!" he screamed. Chris jerked awake, quickly cutting off the whimper that lingered in his throat.

Vin appeared a second later in his field of vision. "Easy, Chris. You were dreaming."

Chris tried to clear his blurry vision and exhaled a shaky breath leaning back. The dull weight of pain settled on him again.

Vin reached over and brought over a cup. "Here, drink this. It'll give you some strength." He watched as the anguish in Chris' eyes passed and reverted back into the more familiar steel gaze he was used to seeing.

Chris rotely sipped the warm liquid. It was fish broth, thick and clear. "You've been busy," he muttered quietly. The sun had only been up at least an hour or so already.

Vin arched his eyebrows mischievously and smiled. "More than you know," he admitted.

Chris noticed that the man always seemed to find humor in the strangest of situations. He looked where Vin gestured and was surprised to see a travois already hooked to Vin's horse.

"Time to get you out of here and back to town" Vin said.

"It's a long haul," Chris noted. He did not relish the trip.

"You up for it?"

Chris closed his eyes and nodded.

Vin moved away towards the travois and then turned back. "Oh, I found this. I thought you might want it." He handed Chris his lost pistol.

"You thought right." The gunfighter took the pistol and laid it on his chest, his fingers encircling the weapon, feeling the cold iron. It was comforting.

Within the hour, they were moving. It was a slow pace. Vin led his horse as it steadily pulled the travois while Chris' horse limped behind, its head bobbing just above his owner lying in the sling. Each bump and subsequent jar was felt by Chris who slipped in and out of consciousness.

The terrain was rough and tricky. Gullies and rocks continually pushed them out of a straight line motion as they maneuvered their way carefully around. It was making the trip longer than necessary. Something they didn't need right now.

Vin glanced back at his patient occasionally. He knew this journey wasn't easy on his friend. He looked skyward not liking the growing state of the weather. It would soon turn bad, the reason for the decision to head for town. The temperature was dropping steadily and whatever precipitation that fell would not do Chris any good. He had to hope they would reach Four Corners before it hit.

Suddenly, Chris' horse shied violently, yanking the entire travois to one side. Chris moaned at the abrupt jolt. Vin cursed running back to control the animal.

"Whoa!" He grabbed hold of the terrified animal's bridle. "Easy, boy" The horse quieted some and Vin looked down at Chris whose face was beading with an unnatural sweat. Lines of pain creased the corners of the gunfighter's green eyes as he stared at Vin.

"You okay?" Vin asked.

Chris nodded almost imperceptively. "Something set him off," he whispered indicating his horse.

Vin looked around, his own senses now on edge. Something wasn't right. The point between his shoulder blades began a constant itch. His hand dropped to the loop on his sidearm, easing it slowly off.

The sudden sound of a man's voice startled all of them. "Being hunted like a mad dog sets most men off."

Vin whirled towards the voice only to come face to face with the double barrel of a shotgun. Pierre Duvall held the weapon, his sneering face one of triumph.

"Take your hand off your gun and drop your belt," he ordered. Two more men walked up out of a deep wadi that had hidden them well from Vin's view.

Something about staring down the hollow end of a shotgun made a man think swiftly of complying with such an order, but Vin knew once he did it would be over for both of them. These men would show no mercy. He glanced at Chris who met his gaze with angry determination.

"Drop it!" the man to Duvall's left repeated forcefully, bringing his own weapon to bear on Vin.

Vin exhaled slowly and undid his gunbelt. It dropped heavily to the ground, their own chance of survival dropping with it.

Duvall walked over to the travois, a sickening smile splitting his features. "You're still alive, Larabee. Either you're too stupid to die or you just don't know when to give up. But that's always been the problem with you."

Chris swallowed the dry lump in his throat and painfully shifted ever so slightly beneath the blanket. "Every minute alive means another chance to kill you, Duvall," he hissed.

Duvall laughed heartily. "Well, your time's up. You've missed your last opportunity and I've got you dead to rights." The Frenchman swiveled the shotgun around towards the helpless man. "There's nothing like cleaning up old business."

Chris' eyes narrowed and a cheek muscle twitched. "I agree."

The sharp retort of a pistol shattered the air as Duvall flew back from the travois, a stain of red spreading across his chest like spilled ink. Chris bought Vin the precious distraction he needed to get the upper hand. He hoped the buffalo hunter wouldn't fail.

Vin leaped at the man closest to him, who was too startled to react. They both went down hard into the dirt. Vin knew he had only seconds to take the outlaw down before his partner would recover from his shock and draw a bead on Vin.

He slammed a huge fist into the man's face and felt cartilage give way. The man sagged under him. Vin threw himself aside just as a rifle shot rang out. He heard it strike the body of the man he had just tussled. Bad luck for him, Vin thought.

As he rolled aside, Vin grabbed the dead man's pistol out of his holster and came up firing in a blaze of bullets. Each one impacted with lethal aim on the last outlaw who dropped like a stone, dead long before he hit the firm ground.

Vin stood slowly as the gunsmoke cleared with a gust of light wind. He walked over to Chris who lay quietly beneath the blanket through which escaped a small whiff of smoke from its gaping new hole. Vin grinned as Chris' eyebrow arched wearily.

"I hope that was your blanket and not mine," Vin commented.

Chris offered up a ghost of a smile. "I'll buy you a new one." He lifted his pistol out from beneath the blanket and eyed the body of his enemy. Justice was served . . . three years too late. "Burn in hell, Duvall," he cursed softly.

But now it was over. All those years of hatred for the man were gone, Chris' conscience swept clean by the wrath of a .45. For you, Sarah.

Vin followed Chris' gaze, knowing that there was more to this gunbattle than the quiet and private man would say but Vin was never one to pry. He gathered up his gun and the reins of his horse. "We'll send one of the others back for the bodies when we get to town. They're not worth wasting anymore time on."

Chris silently agreed and closed his eyes, preparing himself for the painful movement of the travois to begin again.

The sudden sound of pounding hoofbeats resounded in the distance, and Vin pulled his horse up sharply, his hand dropping again to his weapon. "I didn't realize we took a main trail," he griped more to himself then to his companion, but relief shone in his eyes when he saw the familiar riders heading towards them.

Buck, Nathan and Ezra rode up hard. Nathan was the first off his horse immediately recognizing the need for a travois. Buck rode his horse around towards the back taking in the body count in the dirt, including Duvall. He looked over at Chris who met his eyes with a challenge but Buck said nothing to the others only nodding subtly at Chris. He'd keep this secret.

"We heard the gunfire," Buck told them. "Figured you were having fun without us."

Vin laughed softly. "You figured right."

"When you failed to return to our new home with all expediency," Ezra drawled, "we assumed that some dire matter of importance was keeping you."

"Right again."

Nathan took one look at Chris and knew immediately the man was in a bad way. Chris was already in the throws of a fever. "We need to get him back to town."

Buck rode up from the wadi leading three saddled horses. "I'll bring back our infamous outlaws here. You ride on ahead. I'll catch up. Ezra, give me a hand."

Ezra cast him an incredulous look. "I have no interest in the bounty on these men."

Buck regarded him scathingly. "Get down off that horse and help me or I swear I'll tell Blossom that two of kind don't beat a full house."

Ezra quickly dismounted. "I assure you Buck, I never had an opportunity to collect my winnings."

"Just shut up and help me."

Nathan emerged from Chris' room only to find everyone gathered in the hallway; even Mary Travis was there.

"How is he?" Vin asked. Nathan had been in there for a long time and the man looked beaten. The trip back to Four Corners had been long and arduous with Chris slipping further and further away.

Nathan shook his head. "I don't know what's keeping that man alive. He's fighting one hell of a battle right now."

JD stepped forward. "But he'll be okay, right?"

Nathan stared at the kid. "That's up to him and God now. Not me. I've done all I can for the man."

JD's face slackened with shock. He hadn't imagined Chris Larabee dying. The man seemed almost indestructible in nature. Buck laid a comforting hand on JD's shoulder though his own face was ravaged by the tragic events. "Come on, let's go have a drink in the man's honor," he said quietly. He led the kid away. Ezra followed them.

Josiah drew a heavy sigh. "If you need me, Nathan, you know where to find me. I think some time spent in the Lord's house might be appropriate. It's been known to work miracles a time or two."

"Chris could use all the help he can get right now," Nathan agreed, nodding to the big preacher as Josiah went downstairs. He turned to Vin whose face was almost unreadable but Nathan had a feeling what was troubling the man. "You did good work out there, Vin. There wasn't much more you could have done under the circumstances."

"We shouldn't have split up," he admonished himself quietly.

Nathan shrugged. "Second guessing yourself won't help him now. And who knows, maybe this was a battle Chris had to fight on his own."

"Can I go in and see him?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna get something to eat and drink and then I'll be back." He went down into the saloon.

Mary Travis hung back as the rest of the group broke up. She was surprised at how close they suddenly seemed. At first she had merely thought they were strangers gathering for the sake of money rather than out of a sense of duty or honor. But the way these men behaved towards each other after only a few weeks together drove home the point that she really didn't know much about them at all. They weren't hardened men with no morals or codes to live by. They seemed almost to draw strength from one another, that the seven working together made each of them whole. What one was lacking was filled in by the strength of another till they acted as a single entity.

She felt slightly ill at the lies she had printed when they had first come to town. She had merely used their already 'less than stellar reputations' solely to frighten other undesirables away from the town. Chris Larabee had been furious with her, and at the time she didn't understand why. Now she did and she felt sick because of it.

These men were different. Their souls were tarnished but their hearts were still pure, regardless of what they had been through before.

She started suddenly as Vin exited Chris' room. He turned towards her, his face like stone but she could see the anguish in his eyes. He seemed on the verge of saying something but hesitated, his throat constricting. Muscles clenched and unclenched in his jaw.

"I'll watch him," she offered reading his thoughts and saving him the trouble of speaking. He nodded in gratitude and left.

She quietly entered the small, sparse room. The man lying in the bed seemed slight and frail compared to the man she knew him to be. The fever made him thrash restlessly and the blankets slipped down around his waist. The bandages that swathed his shoulder were slightly bloodstained and his skin was almost like grey paste in contrast. She moved to sit in the chair that was situated near the bed. Chris' face was beaded with sweat and his head tossed weakly from side to side, his low voice murmuring unintelligibly.

She took up the damp cloth on the nightstand and moved closer to cool him off. She began to speak soothingly to him as she would speak to her fretting son. "Shhh, it's alright. You're safe now."

Chris' glassy eyes jerked open at the sound of her voice. The intensity in them startled her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered forcefully, almost desperately, to her.

She was confused. Why would he need to apologize to me, she thought. Then she knew. He wasn't speaking to her, Mary Travis, he was speaking to someone else.

His left hand fumbled for hers. "Sarah, forgive me."

She almost pulled away but then caught herself and tightened her grip on his hand offering him what fortitude she could. She leaned forward again to wipe the sweat and his sodden hair off his forehead. Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, "Don't worry about it now. Just rest."

With a sudden desperate strength, he grabbed her arm with his sole good one, half rising painfully from the bed, frightening Mary. She tried to push him back, but he amazingly resisted her efforts.

Chris winced against the light in the room. It felt like the scorching heat of summer had returned. He had lost all track of time, but Chris' fevered state had brought Sarah before him. He knew there was a reason. He wasn't going to waste it. "I have to, Sarah. Now, before it's too late." His energy siphoned by the exertion, he fell back against the linen. "I wanted to be there. God, I should have been there," he told her.

Mary's voice was almost a whisper. This conversation struck close to her own guilty heart. She had played similar scenes in her own tortured dreams, the pain of them still as fresh as Chris Larabee's. "I know you did," she tried to reassure him.

He lay there, his limbs trembling, his eyes trying to slip shut but he continually forced them open. "Please Sarah, please say you forgive me!"

She was afraid to say the words that this man begged for her to say, afraid that he would stop fighting and pass on. She unexpectedly didn't want that to happen. Suddenly a small part of her that had died long ago seemed to gain life again. She wanted Chris Larabee to live. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her porcelain cheeks. Her heart shattered for this lonely, tormented man.

Chris weakly let go of Sarah's arm when he saw her dark eyes brim with tears. He didn't want to upset her. He lifted a weak hand with his last bit of remaining strength and gently brushed the tears aside. He felt them spill over his calloused fingers. He moved his hand slightly to the left and tangled it in her ringlet hair, remembering how soft it was, how beautiful she was.

Mary's head leaned into his hand, her eyes closing as soft rivers meandered down her face. "I forgive you, Chris," she whispered.

Peace flooded Chris Larabee as his own eyes overflowed and then slipped closed. His mouth formed the words I love you. Then he lay still, deathly still.

Mary's hand flew up to her mouth, a sob breaking forth. "Chris!" She quickly checked for a pulse and gasped with relief when she found one. It was weak but it was still there. She skimmed her hand through his hair. "Don't you die! You hear me! This town needs you." I need you, she admitted only to herself.

She heard a footfall outside and straightened quickly, wiping the moisture from her eyes and composing herself as best she could. She stood slowly, finding it difficult to tear her gaze from the man in the bed. Finally, she walked outside to find Nathan there in the hallway leaning back against the wall.

"He still with us?" he asked.

Mary nodded, feeling the same tightness in her voice that Vin Tanner had experienced earlier. "He asked me to forgive him," she confessed quietly. She raised red rimmed eyes to Nathan's and could see the question rising in his own. "He wasn't asking me. He was talking to someone else, a woman named Sarah. I'm not sure why he needs forgiveness."

Nathan said nothing. He knew almost nothing about Chris; none of them really did, except perhaps Buck, who suddenly wasn't talking. He studied Mary Travis. "I don't know much about that man's past," he told her after a long pause, "but I judge a man by what I see him do today, in the present. That's what matters. And that's a good man despite what you think you know or read about him. He's proven that time and again since he came to this town."

She felt the bitterness in his comment and knew why it was directed at her. "I know," she responded quietly. She wasn't angry at Nathan. He was right about her in that regard. She hadn't been treating any of them with much respect and she felt bad because of it.

What was it about Chris Larabee that had such an affect on people? These men would follow him to his grave if he asked them. Mary found herself almost responding with that same loyalty of late. She looked down the hall towards the small window that let in a brief ray of a new dawn. "He told me once that I didn't know him. He was right." She returned her gaze to Nathan. "But I want to."

Nathan softened. "Maybe you'll get the chance, but that's up to Chris now." He walked up to the door she stood beside. He paused before he went in, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder for a moment. "He might surprise all of us." Then he slipped silently inside.

Buck stared out the window and observed the town going quietly about its business. He could see Vin and Josiah hauling some timber down to the mission probably to shore up that sagging support beam in the back. Such mundane tasks.

He stretched a nagging knot in his shoulder and then looked over at his old friend.

To his shock, Chris was watching him. Buck rushed over as the gunfighter took in a long slow deep breath. It felt almost strange to do so.

"Chris!" Buck couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face. "Welcome back to the land of the living, my friend."

Chris' throat worked laboriously to speak. It felt like dry sand. Buck offered him a glass of water and Chris managed a few sips, holding the last one in his mouth a moment to resaturate it. Finally he felt like he could speak. "How long have I been gone?" It came out low and harsh but understandable.

"Four days since we brought you back to town. We damn near lost you, Chris."

Chris nodded tiredly. He felt like hell but at least he was alive.

"Your fever broke a couple of days ago though I wasn't sure you'd ever wake up. But as Josiah said, you've made it through the fire. I'd say you're on the road to recovery." Buck offered him the water again. Chris had only been vaguely conscious a few times but the little bit of water Nathan and the others had been able to get in had saved him from dehydration and death.

Fragments of dreams flitted outside Chris' memory. He didn't have the strength to pursue them yet so instead he slipped back into the folds of sleep. For the first time in days, it was dreamless.

Buck set the glass back down on the stand and rubbed his own exhausted features. Relief washed over him replacing the sense of dread that had consumed him for the past week. A high-strung chuckle crept up his throat. Now he could go down and face the others. He had good news, finally. He stood and walked out the door.

A week later, Chris sat outside on the sidewalk, soaking up the sun that decided to make an appearance today. He tilted his head towards it, his eyes closed. His right arm still lay in a sling but he could now move it with greater range of movement. The minute dexterity had returned to his fingers he came outside. He had a mission to do.

In his lap he clutched lead and paper. The slight breeze ruffled the pages ever so slightly bringing his notice back to them. He stared at the words he had written so carefully, words to his wife.

These past years, my life went on in an endless struggle to forget, to hold the darkness close around me, yet no stormy night seemed capable of freeing my soul from your embrace. My love for you is bound with heavy chains that will not break. The memories of all those blissful moments that we had enjoyed continue to crowd over me. How hard it was for me to give them up and let burn to ashes the hopes and future years we might have had to live and love together and see our Adam grown to manhood.

Till then Sarah. Tell Adam I love him.

He traced her name again with his finger and then did the same with his son's. With his recovery had come the memory of his dreams. He still saw her and for the first time in a long while it wasn't as painful as it once was. This letter to her was the proof. He wasn't sure he was ready to let go completely of the pain but it no longer felt as debilitating as it had been before. It didn't sear his soul any longer with the flames of guilt. They had eased and all that was left was an ache. That he could live with.

He didn't hear the footsteps come up beside him so lost was he in his own thoughts.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Larabee," Mary Travis said. "It's good to see you outside."

Chris glanced up and noticed her for the first time. She had pulled her blonde hair back tightly behind her, but the wind had tugged some tendrils free and they danced about her face. She wore a soft smile also that actually made it all the way to her eyes. It wasn't haughty or sarcastic just genuine. It surprised him.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her greeting. "It feels to good to do a great many things." Nathan had said that there would be no lasting affects from any of his injuries and in fact the only one that bothered him still to any great extent was his shoulder. But with time that too would revert back to the speed and dexterity it once had. He was very lucky.

She regarded the papers in his hand. "Would you like me to post that letter for you? I'm on my way there now. I'd be happy to do it."

Chris was taken aback for a moment but then declined. "Thank you, no. I'll take care of it."

She nodded in understanding. "Of course." She lingered a moment almost on the verge of saying something more but then didn't. Finally she just said goodbye and continued down the street, glancing once over her shoulder at him.

Chris stared after her. She seemed different lately almost civil to him and the others. He wondered at the change and found he liked it.

She brushed by Vin Tanner who was walking down the sidewalk. They exchanged brief greetings and moved away. Vin continued towards Chris. Upon arriving, he nestled himself in a niche alongside the man and held out a steaming hot cup of coffee. Chris took it appreciatively.

"Nathan know you're out and about?" Vin inquired.

"Not yet. He will."

"Then I won't stay long."

A corner of Chris' mouth lifted in amusement. "Coward," he accused.

Vin laughed. He caught sight of the papers in Chris' hand. "Wish list?"

Chris' face softened. "Maybe," he said quietly.

The two men sat in silence for a moment then Vin straightened. "The bounty on Duvall and the others came in. I've got your share when you're ready for it."

"Keep it," Chris told him. "Buy yourself a new blanket."

"I already did," Vin admitted. "I bought us both one."

This time Chris laughed, a low easy sound. He looked up at his friend. "Thanks," he told Vin honestly, encompassing all that needed to be said but would never be said aloud between them.

Vin nodded knowingly and ambled back down towards the saloon.

Chris drew in a deep settling breath, listening to the wind blow, the many voices carried within. The town had been peaceful for some time now and yet the seven had all stayed. He couldn't figure out why but he appreciated it. Chris didn't feel the pull of departure as strong as before. He felt relaxed for the first time in ages.

The papers rustled again in the persistent breeze attracting his attention once more. It was time. He withdrew a match and lit it between his fingers. Then carefully, almost painstakingly, he brushed the flame across the edge of the paper. He watched it slowly consume the letter and when it almost reached his fingers he let the burning mass fall to the ground. It flared brightly for a moment more and then it faded. With a gentle breath the wind took hold of the ashes and drew them up into the air. With a dance as light as a feather they rode higher and higher until Chris could see them no longer.

There was a slight moisture in Chris' eyes, one that was quickly fanned dry by the self-same breeze that carried his letter to its destination, almost as if it was his wife's spirit passing him by. His eyes slipped closed relishing the touch.

For the first time in ages, the thought of his wife brought a smile to Chris Larabee's face.