The moment Chris rode into the camp, he could feel every weapon track his movements. Every nerve was tingling from the danger, but with a controlled effort he quelled them. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He spotted Brickhaven with Buck beside him; a small trickle of blood was seeping through his sleeve where a bullet had grazed him. Chris could tell from Buck's face that he knew the truth now. Of course, the two men in the buckskin coats with the guns trained on his back was another giveaway.

Chris dismounted carefully. He tried to appear as though he were casually surveying the surroundings, though in fact he was keeping precarious hold on his balance as spasms of dizziness assaulted him. He slowly approached Brickhaven, whose demeanor had degenerated into near panic.

The major glanced around at his men, almost worried that they would panic as well and open fire. Standing to Brickhaven's left, Buck's gaze settled on the gunslinger. The hurt and embarrassment showed clearly in Buck's eyes.

"Brickhaven!" Chris shouted. Brickhaven snapped to face the gunslinger.

"Chris," he implored his old Captain. "Let me explain."

Chris' voice was cold as ice and just as firm. "That time is past. Your masquerade is at an end." He looked for the man he knew to be in charge. "Where's Silverstone?"

An aggressive voice called out from the back. "Right here."

Chris eyed Silverstone as the man stepped out from the ranks of his men. Chris' left eye was still swollen, but he could see the confident stride of a hunter eager for his wounded prey. Chris had discarded the distracting bandage, and thankfully the cut had ceased to bleed. "Let's finish what you started," he spat.

Silverstone smiled, for he had waited a long time for this moment. This was all too easy. Larabee was barely on his feet, though how the man had rode all the way to the camp was amazing. With that kind of endurance, it meant at least the gunslinger would give a fairly good account of himself; yet it still left Silverstone with the advantage. He waved an arm at his opponent. "With pleasure," he purred.

"On one condition."

Silverstone angered. "There are no conditions!"

"There will be if you want to take me on. Otherwise, it's off and your reputation will only be for gunning down a half-conscious gunfighter who didn't fire back. Not really a crowning achievement for the history books, is it?"

Silverstone considered that. If he wanted the reputation of killing Larabee, he had the perfect audience to do it, but it had to be for real. He relented. "All right. What's the condition?"

Chris turned to Brickhaven. "If I win, Mary Travis and Buck go free."

Silverstone grew furious that Larabee was asking Brickhaven. "I make the decisions here now!" he shouted. "Not that pathetic excuse for a major!"

Chris scowled at the fuming "lieutenant"; then a slight curl of a sneer appeared. "If I win, you'll be dead, Silverstone." He returned his attention to Brickhaven. "It'll be your decision then, Brickhaven."

Brickhaven fidgeted, unsure as to what to do. It was obvious Larabee was buying time for his other men to get here, if they weren't already, but he had lost control over Silverstone. A part of him hoped that Larabee would kill the man, but he had seen Silverstone shoot. Most healthy men didn't stand a chance against him, much less one wounded ex-captain, but Brickhaven nodded. "I give my word. The woman and Buck go free, but afterwards I'm going for the wagon and you won't stop me, Chris. Not if you want Mary Travis alive. If you kill Silverstone, you're free to leave with her, but not until I leave with some of my men, and you won't follow me, agreed?"

Chris' grasp on his light-headedness was precarious enough without having to nod an agreement. "Yes," he said instead. "Take your men and leave. I won't follow you." In his mind, the payroll wagon was guarded by army men who had a better chance of survival than did Mary Travis. They were trained for this sort of thing. They would have to take their own chances for now.

Buck gauged his own position. Two men, most likely the men Vin had seen in the alley since they weren't wearing army uniforms, guarded Buck, more to prevent his interference than anything else at the moment. There was no way to get to Mary. Buck could see that Chris was in terrible shape, and his anger towards Silverstone intensified. This wasn't a fair fight at all. It was going to be a massacre, and Mary would still be at Silverstone's mercy. To Chris' credit, the gunfighter seemed calm. Buck once again marveled at the man. Then suddenly it occurred to him that something else must be up. Buck quickly scanned the area in front of him, but the inky blackness failed to offer up any hint of Chris' plan. He couldn't tell if the rest of the seven were present or not.

Chris brushed back the right flap of his duster, the sweating palm of his hand flattening painfully beside his holstered gun as his long, thin fingers struggled desperately to loosen. Silverstone did the same, his own fingers twitching.

Josiah snaked his way down toward the cook's tent. The moon crept out from behind the clouds, bathing the earth in its eerie glow, but luckily there was no one around. Chris' plan must have been working, since most of the major's men had their attention drawn elsewhere. Chris had a reputation that was well known. Most of the men present would be eager to see Silverstone face the steely gunfighter. He only hoped Chris was up to the challenge.

The big preacher moved silently through the flaps of the tent, his weapon grasped tightly in his hand. He immediately saw Mary Travis, bound and gagged to a chair beside some barrels. Her eyes filled with fear at the movement, until she recognized who it was who had come to her rescue. Relief surged through her, and then, just as suddenly, her eyes widened in terror at something just past him. Josiah quickly turned and slammed his body into whoever it was coming up behind him. Sergeant Mitchell fell to the floor, scrambling to get at his weapon. Josiah followed him down, knocking the gun away, but one strike from Mitchell's fist sent the preacher's skittering after.

Mitchell scrambled to his feet and assumed a fighting position, forcing Josiah to do the same. Mitchell sneered at the big man before him. It would be a worthy fight. They circled each other warily. Mitchell struck first, eager to begin. He stepped in and landed two quick fists. Josiah's cheek flushed hot at the impact, but before the sergeant could step back out of the way, the preacher grabbed him by his lapel and drove his right hand straight into the man's nose, breaking it. A flush of scarlet gushed forth as Mitchell backpedaled away, ripping his shirt.

Josiah dropped the torn material and smiled at Mitchell, who foolishly tried to attack again. This time the sergeant connected only once, and it was but a glancing blow. His other hand missed completely, and as it slipped past, the preacher stepped in again and landed a powerful huge fist on the side of the man's head.

Mitchell fell to one knee as more blood flowed down his face from his ear. Josiah moved in to finish the job, but Mitchell slipped a bowie knife from its sheath and brandished it in his right hand. "First I'll kill you, and then the woman," he promised with a gleam in his eye that indicated he would derive much pleasure from both acts.

Josiah ducked under the first strike with the knife, but he couldn't avoid the follow-up with Mitchell's left. It impacted against his mouth, leaving behind the taste of blood and a multitude of stars before the preacher's eyes. He shook himself like a bear and rose up, a dull anger flooding him, of a kind he had not felt in many years. He had suppressed such anger for numerous reasons, but suddenly he let it come forward.

He roared, his throat rubbed raw in its wake as he charged the sergeant. Mitchell tried to dodge out of the way at the last minute, but failed, and the two men collided. Mitchell went down hard in the process. Josiah fell with him, his arm reaching out for the knife.

Mitchell, not hurt by the fall, but disoriented, tried to avoid the preacher's grasping hand. Josiah's huge hand laid claim and Mitchell felt his right wrist twisted mercilessly. Mitchell screamed as the wrist bone snapped and then desperately kicked Josiah off him. They both rolled away from each other, Mitchell cradling his broken arm and Josiah his aching ribs where the sergeant had kneed him.

They circled each other warily now. Mitchell glanced fearfully for his gun, lying on the ground near the cook's fire. The big preacher seemed almost crazed, almost as if he was enjoying this. Mitchell suddenly wasn't. He had lost the upper hand and now found himself fighting a mad man. He feinted opposite his goal, and when Josiah moved with him, Mitchell jerked back the other way towards his weapon. Mary tried to scream when she realized what Mitchell was doing, but she couldn't warn Josiah.

Mitchell felt the cool iron settle in his grip. He heard a muffled cry and when he turned his head to look up, he saw a boot coming at his eye. Josiah kicked his face so hard that it seemed his head would fly off. Mary's eyes widened at the brutality of the fight. Dimly, she realized that Josiah was going to kill the sergeant.

Mitchell struggled to his feet but was immediately knocked down again, and then his face was ground into the mud with a boot. He couldn't breathe.

Mary's muted sob drew Josiah slowly back from the depths of his anger. He blinked as if waking from a deep slumber and turned towards her. Her shock and fear embarrassed him and he stumbled back from Mitchell, who groaned one last time, and then slumped into unconsciousness.

Josiah picked up Mitchell's knife and carefully freed Mary, though he couldn't look her in the eyes. He dreaded seeing the disdain that he assumed would be present. No one had seen him like that for a long time. Not since . . . He shook slightly and stood, wiping the trail of blood off his chin. He forcefully shoved those memories back. "I'm sorry you had to see that, ma'am," he mumbled.

Mary, shaking slightly herself, put a hand on his arm. "Josiah," she practically whispered. "Thank you." Josiah nodded and helped the slim woman to her feet. His hand was still on her arm when the sharp crack of pistol fire shattered the air. Mary spun in his grasp, choking back a small cry.

Chris' expression changed, his face relaxing for the first time all evening, yet his stance was rock-solid. The gunfighter never took his piercing eyes off Silverstone, watching, waiting for the slightest sign. Buck had seen this transformation before. Only the insane would think Chris unaware of all that was going on in front of him. Chris had disconnected from his pain, from outside stimulus. He merely waited for the battle to begin.

Silverstone swallowed hard, his own gaze barely steady. His fingers danced about his holster, anxious to fire but waiting for the right moment. The man in black looked almost half-asleep, a trickle of dark blood running down the side of his face. There was no way a man in his condition would be able to outdraw Silverstone. It was time.

Both men, seventy yards apart, drew their guns and fired one shot each. To every man there, the reports blended into a single explosion, but as the gunsmoke drifted and cleared in the glaring moonlight, Chris Larabee stood tall and Silverstone had a bullet in his chest. The lieutenant wobbled a few steps forward, fighting to raise his pistol, willing his trembling fingers to close about the trigger and try again to slay Larabee. Instead, Silverstone collapsed, and died within seconds.

Chris exhaled abruptly, more a gasp than anything else as the adrenaline in his system waned. He swayed as the world tilted suddenly, then forcefully righted himself again.

The major's hands shook as he clenched the pommel of his saber. He had never seen anyone draw that fast. For a split second terror swept through him, and he stepped abruptly closer to his men. Would Larabee keep his promise and let them ride away? Chris' eyes swung towards the movement. Brickhaven froze, captured instantly in the stony gaze of the gunslinger, but Larabee merely holstered his weapon. With a relieved breath, Brickhaven signaled to the rest of his company, who backed off towards the horses, including the two watching Buck. The old major looked at Buck. "Come with us, sergeant," he implored. "I need a new lieutenant."

Buck's disappointment was evident on his face. Brickhaven just couldn't comprehend he was no longer in the army. He was nothing more than a sad, pathetic old man. "No," Buck said simply. "What you're doing is not right, Robert, and I think you know that. No matter what the army did, it doesn't give you the right to terrorize and steal from the innocent."

"Believe me, they're not all that innocent!" A tremor enveloped Brickhaven's lower lip until he clasped it between his teeth. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way, Buck." Then the old man's face grew firmer with resolve. "I'm sorry, but the army will pay for the way they've treated me, one way or another." With that, Brickhaven mounted his big dun, which another "soldier" stood ready with.

For a brief moment, Brickhaven resembled what Buck remembered from long past. He stood tall and straight in the saddle, a man who had once commanded Buck's respect. But no longer. Buck turned away from his old major and his past. A moment later he heard the disappearing sound of hoofbeats. He bit back hard on his remorse and guilt.

Nathan came running up to Chris and grasped his arm, intent on holding the man upright. How the gunslinger had managed what he had done was beyond the simple healer. It was nothing short of miraculous. "You hit?" he asked anxiously.

Chris numbly shook his head and then forced his legs moving. He had to find Mary. But then Josiah was there, and beside the huge preacher was Mary. She ran forward. Her last image of Chris was the one in her office, sprawled bleeding on the floor. He didn't look much better now, but at least he was alive.

Chris took her in his arms. "Are you all right?" He couldn't tell if the trembling in his arms was out of exhaustion or fear for her safety. He felt her nod her head against his chest, and relief flooded him. They stayed locked in an embrace for just a moment more; then Chris released her. He turned to Nathan. A quick glance around the camp only brought into view the five of them. "Where's Vin and Ezra?" he asked.

"They've gone after Brickhaven," Nathan told him.

"JD left before the major, in order to warn the army," Josiah said, glancing at the man on the ground. "The real army," he added. He smiled, happy to relay this next bit of information. "Buck told him to."

Chris realized that there might still be a chance of saving the payroll wagon, thanks to Buck's foresight. You could always count on Buck. That thought eased some of Chris' pain.

Buck came forward. "I told the kid to take the wagon past Sutter's Mill. I never told Brickhaven about that route."

Nathan pondered something a moment. "Wait, I thought you promised we wouldn't go after them."

Chris offered a tired, one-sided smile. "I said I wouldn't go after them," he corrected.

Buck laughed gently. "Well, if the kid made, it might buy us some time."

Chris nodded, and instantly regretted it. His headache was so abominable that he had trouble focusing his eyes. "Take Nathan and Josiah and try to cut Brickhaven off. Maybe you can catch them in a crossfire."

Buck nodded and stepped closer to Chris, his voice dropping lower. "I'll stop Brickhaven. That I promise."

Chris was quiet a moment. There was no longer any animosity between the two. "I know you will, Buck."

Nathan studied Chris. If the gunslinger wasn't insisting on coming with them, he must be pretty bad off. Chris turned to find the healer watching him, and he canted his head slightly. "I'm taking Mary home," he announced, reading Nathan's concern.

Nathan was grateful. It fit his prescription, and he didn't have to tie Chris to a horse like he had intended. He turned to Mary and gave her last-minute instructions. "Keep him quiet, but awake. I'll be back soon." She nodded as the three men mounted and rode off. She wasn't aware that Chris had kept a hand on hers the entire time.

The sun was just breaking over the horizon and spilling a rush of lavender in its wake as Nathan led Buck and Josiah through his shortcut. Buck had told Brickhaven yesterday which was the more likely route for the wagon, and they rode recklessly through brush and scrub to get there before the major. Nathan estimated that they had a good chance of beating them, though it would exhaust the horses. Hopefully, there would be no long chase upon arrival, because their mounts would be too spent to comply. It was a risk they were all willing to take.

They burst out onto the road, their horses lathered and blowing hard. Buck swung down and studied the trail. "Doesn't look like they came through yet. I think we did it, boys. We beat Brickhaven."

Josiah scanned the terrain around the road. "Let's get undercover. I'll take the high ground in case they decide to bypass the road." Josiah threw his reins to Nathan and then scrambled up the hill. The rest disappeared into the trees lining one side.

It was less than fifteen minutes later when Josiah's soft whistle reached their ears. He motioned that something was coming. To Buck's horror, it was the payroll wagon. It rolled past nonchalantly as the three stupefied men watched it. A minute after that, JD rode by. Buck leaped out and grabbed him, startling the boy and his horse.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?! That wagon is supposed to be long gone from here."

JD practically fell off his horse and quickly struggled to his feet, his disappointment evident. "I tried, Buck! Honest. But they didn't believe me. They thought I was gonna rob them."

Buck rolled his eyes. "Didn't you show them your damn Sheriff's badge?"

JD flipped his lapel over. "Sure I did. They all laughed." The kid's face fell and turned beet red. "They didn't believe someone my age could be Sheriff."

Buck cursed venomously and so colorfully that even JD hadn't heard some of them. Buck gestured wildly to the woods. "Get under cover! If those damn stupid soldiers want to get themselves killed, then the hell with 'em." He slapped JD on the back. "Don't worry about it, kid. You did your best."

"But the major . . ."

"We'll stop Brickhaven right here," Buck said tightly. Suddenly Josiah whistled again. The sound of thundering hoofbeats echoed through the hills. Ten riders approached, riding hard. Brickhaven was in the lead. Buck mounted his grey in one fluid motion and wheeled the horse out to stop them. JD grabbed hold of his reins.

"What are you doing, Buck?! You told me never to break cover!"

"This is personal, kid." Buck's face was set firm. He jerked the reins out of JD's grasp.

JD threw up his hands in exasperation. "How am I supposed to learn anything if you keep changing the rules?" he shouted as Buck raced for the road. But then he pulled his pistols and scrambled for cover, praying that Buck wouldn't get himself killed.

Brickhaven reined in as the ghostly white form appeared in front of them. He immediately recognized his old sergeant's steed. Buck's rifle lay across his lap, its barrel aiming for the major.

"Stop right there, major. That's far enough."

The Cavalry horses milled about, their riders yanking the bits deep into their mouths. Each man had his own weapon already drawn. Brickhaven kneed his horse forward. "Don't do this, Buck. Let us go. I had a deal with you."

"You made your deal with Larabee, not me." Buck's fingers tightened on his rifle. "I can't let you do this, sir. Now drop your weapons."

Brickhaven glanced at his men. They were angry and determined to fight; they knew their prize was just ahead. There would be no way to stop them now. He turned back to Buck and said sadly, "That's not an option, son."

With a blur of motion, gunfire erupted all around as the violent battle commenced. Buck's horse remained steady, allowing Buck to acquire a target. He tried first for Brickhaven but then abruptly switched targets, taking out the man beside him. The man opposite the major drew a bead on Buck, only to fly out of his saddle a second later as Josiah's shot hit him in the head.

Brickhaven turned his horse around and tried to flee, only to find two more riders coming towards him. Tanner and the gambler were riding up from behind.

Vin stood in his stirrups and fired his rife. Another rider dropped. Ezra drew his pistol and fired several times into the pile of men and horses. The bullets caught two riders in the chest and knocked them off their mounts; both were the men Silverstone had met in the alley, the only two not wearing uniforms. Behind him another man fired at the gambler.

Ezra's shoulder twisted as he took a glancing blow. He almost fell out of the saddle, but managed to grab hold of the horn and pull himself upright, a dark stain soaking his green jacket. The Cavalryman ran his horse at him.

Vin had just dropped another rider and was drawing a bead on Brickhaven when he saw Ezra's predicament. He switched targets, but before he could squeeze the trigger the rider arched backwards, his arms flung wide. He dropped like a stone from his horse and rolled away, a knife sticking out of his back. Nathan ran up from the draw and headed for Ezra.

The remaining members of the "Cavalry" wheeled their horses about, trying to find an escape, but soon followed their compatriots as three well-placed shots brought them down. Brickhaven, panicked now, swung back the other way and spurred his dun toward Buck. He was alone now. All his men were dead; his pockets were empty and his honor lost. Everything he had strived for all his life was gone in an instant. A slow disgust ate at him. He thought of the ridicule he would face when he was brought back to Fort Sumner, disgraced and a criminal. He couldn't bear that. He drew his pistol and aimed at Buck.

Buck's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't wanted it to end like this. "No!" he screamed hoarsely, but Brickhaven came on. Buck lifted his rifle again and shot the major off his horse. Brickhaven fell to the muddy earth, his limbs going cold and his pistol tumbling out of reach.

Buck dismounted as the huge dun ran riderless past him. He walked towards Brickhaven, whose eyes were locked onto the sun. The huge orb rose majestically over him until Buck stepped in front of it. Brickhaven blinked once or twice and then focused on his old sergeant. Buck's face threatened to twist with emotion and he clamped down on it. "Why, major?" he hissed.

Brickhaven's face slackened. It was so simple, really. He wanted Buck to understand. He struggled to speak. "Your past is never really gone, Buck. It's just a shadow that follows you around." He coughed, and blood splattered onto his blue coat. "You can't hide from your shadow, sergeant. No matter how hard you try." He tried one last time to draw a breath and failed, his eyes locked on Buck though they no longer had the ability to see.

Mary helped Chris down off his horse, the tall gunfighter landing heavily onto the ground. Though he kept his feet, a minute groan escaped his thin, white lips. Guiding the hunched gunfighter by one arm, she brought him into the newspaper office and then into the sitting room off to the side. He settled himself ponderously onto the sofa. The two of them had said little on the way back to town. He periodically asked if she was all right, and she continued to assure him that she was. Then he would nod and say nothing more for a time.

She was glad to be back in town. The light from the dawn would soon envelop the entire sky, and she realized with a start that Billy would be rising any time now. She tried to smooth her dress. Her sleeves slid up a little, revealing the harsh rope burns around her wrists. She stared in horror at them a moment, and tried to tug the material back over them so her son would not see the injuries.

She glanced over at Chris; the weariness in both of them was evident, but perhaps more so in the sullen gunfighter. His face was white as a sheet, and his eyes kept trying to slip shut. She quickly moved to gather a basin of water and some clean linen. By the time she returned, his eyes were closed and his breathing regular. With distress at failing Nathan's instructions, she shook him violently. "Mr. Larabee?" When there was no answer, she shouted, "Chris!"

This time his eyelids shuttered, and then his one good eye finally opened. She could tell by his rapid blinking that he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings. "Where . . .?"

"It's Mary. We're at my house. I need to clean that gash." She tilted his face towards her, wincing with him as she caught sight of the jagged wound in the morning light. Dipping an end of the linen into the water, she raised it and slowly wiped aside some of the blood. It didn't look as deep as she had expected. His left eye was still swollen shut, and she worked resolutely around it, cleaning him up as much as she could. He was stoic through it all; occasionally a sharp intake of breath or a hissing exhale as she probed deeper but little else.

"I think it will need some stitches," she remarked with a grimace.

"It can wait till Nathan returns."

"Good," she responded quietly, not intending for him to hear her relief, though he did. Chris smirked gently as Mary bent to drop the bloody linen in the bowl and pick up the fresh bandage. She sat closer to him, raising herself up onto her knees in an effort to reach him. Leaning over, she carefully wrapped it around his head and tied it off.

"Thank you," he mumbled, growing suddenly uncomfortable at how near she was to him. He made to rise, but she firmly held him down.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To my room at the hotel."

"I don't think that's such a good idea. Nathan said to . . ."

"Nathan can find me when he returns. I'll be fine. Thank you again." He picked up his hat from the sofa and stood, with every intention of walking out of there. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on the dizziness. He swayed, and would have fallen if Mary hadn't caught him.

She clucked at him softly. "Nathan can find you right here." She pushed him far too easily back onto the sofa, then fixed him with a formidable stare until she strode into the kitchen.

Chris hated this feeling of helplessness, especially in front of Mary. It didn't seem right. He was about to try again when the sound of scrambling feet cascaded down the stairs. The young, blond Billy rushed into the room, then abruptly stopped at seeing the gunfighter. His face dramatically brightened. "Chris!"

Chris tried desperately to keep any grimace from crossing his features. He nodded to the boy, even though the sharp, high tone of the boy's voice cut into his headache with a vengeance. Mary appeared behind the boy.

"Keep your voice low, Billy. Mr. Larabee is injured."

Billy's eyes widened in surprise. "Again?"

It was enough to make Chris smile. I do seem to be rather accident prone lately, he thought.

Finally noticing the bandage around the gunfighter's head, Billy bounded to the sofa. "Does it hurt, Chris?"

Chris' smile continued even as he soothed the boy. "No, Billy. It doesn't hurt."

Mary's strict voice came sharply back at him. "Of course it hurts him, Billy. Mr. Larabee has taken a very hard blow to the head. Nathan says we are to keep him awake until he and the others return."

Billy's eyes widened even more, if that were possible. "What would happen if you fall asleep?"

Chris scowled deeply at Mary as she entered the room. "Nothing would happen, Billy."

"I don't believe in patronizing my son, Mr. Larabee. I'm sure Nathan had a good reason for wanting you awake. I'm not going to question his motives, nor do I want you fibbing to my son. If you're in pain, you should say that you're in pain."

It was Chris' turn for his eye to go wide. Then he blinked, as even that movement caused pain. He gave in. "I apologize, Mrs. Travis." He turned to Billy. "Yes, my head hurts."

"Wow," Billy breathed, amazed that Chris would admit such a thing, especially in front of a girl. But then again, the young boy mused, that girl was his mother. She could make just about anyone confess anything.

Chris glanced at the tray Mary had brought in with her. "What's that?"

"Coffee," she said. "I don't know of anything else that keeps a man awake more." She smiled as she glanced at her son. "Except perhaps for him."

Chris caught her look as she glanced back at him. Despite all that had happened to her just hours ago, she was dignified and humorous. She was a strong, determined woman. At times, he tended to forget that. He nodded to her and leaned back into the sofa, giving in to its soft material and the warm homeliness of the room. Billy had found a book on the table next to him and began to read it softly aloud. The young boy knew of the man's love of books. Chris relaxed. It was a favorite story of his, "The Last of the Mohicans."

Four Corners was at peace again. People moved about their business, wagons made their way through town, and music played loudly in the saloon. All was as it should be. Nathan walked down the sidewalk and turned into the saloon, a medical book tucked under his arm. He spotted Vin dealing cards to Josiah, Buck and JD. He ambled over to them.

Buck glanced up. "How's Ezra?" His own wound was nothing but a bullet burn, and he already barely felt it. Other wounds, more emotional ones, were more difficult to heal, but unfortunately Nathan had little that could cure those. Only time.

Nathan's mouth twisted in annoyance. "Oh, he's fine. The bullet just creased him, but for the length of time he's willing to stay in bed and be waited on, I should start charging."

They all laughed, picturing poor Ezra and an even more pathetic Nathan stuck in the same room together. Vin marveled at Nathan's good temperament. If it had been him, he would have dumped Ezra out in the mud by now.

Nathan scanned the saloon's patrons. "Has anyone seen Chris?"

Buck smiled, and then quickly hid it. "Nope, can't say that I have."

JD shook his head briskly, obviously covering for the gunslinger. "Haven't seen him all day."

Nathan fingered his book's binding worriedly. "Has he complained of any dizzy spells?" Eyes wide, JD indicated no. "How about any lapses in memory?"

Josiah chuckled. "Other than missing your appointments?"

Nathan frowned. "Is he in his room? He should be resting."

Vin drew two more cards from the pile, maneuvering a piece of straw to the other side of his mouth. "I'm sure he's resting just like you told him to, Nathan," he responded quietly. The healer had found a new medical book, and lord help them all, Nathan seemed determined to re-diagnose Chris. No wonder the gunfighter had hightailed it out of the saloon.

At that, Nathan's eyes narrowed suspiciously; then he blew out a breath of disgust. "Hell, I don't know why I took this job. I've got one patient I can't get rid of and another who's hiding from me." He stomped back outside, and the men at the table all laughed.

"God bless the literate," Buck remarked.

Down another street, near the very edge of Four Corners, where life seemed to move a trifle slower, Chris Larabee leaned back in his chair, his hat pulled low over his brow. His headache still pounded, the main reason for abandoning his usual haunt at the saloon. He rarely napped during the day, and all he wanted right now was some peace and quiet without someone lecturing to him or poking at him. He hoped Nathan wouldn't think of looking for him out this way. He heard a click of heels, and from under his brow he saw a rush of indigo skirt. He peered up at Mrs. Travis.

"Good day, Mr. Larabee," she greeted him. He tipped his hat subtly at her. She looked surprised at his location. She rarely saw him down this way, and she said as much to him.

He regarded her. "It's quieter down here."

She smiled slightly, understanding now. She looked up towards the main part of town where most of the traffic moved, then looked at him once more. The man still seemed pale and drained to her. A huge, dark-purplish bruise crept out from beneath his hat, surrounding a monstrous black eye, but at least the swelling had gone down. She felt partially responsible. "Can I get you anything?"

He contemplated the offer. "You wouldn't happen to have any willow bark tea?"

A giggle burst out before she could stop it. That was the last thing she had expected this man to ask of her. Whiskey, yes. Coffee, probably. But tea? His eyebrow rose at her amusement. She shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she answered.

He shrugged. "Then perhaps I could take Billy fishing. The rains have stopped, and the water's receded some. It should be a good day."

A warm glow enveloped her. Everything was as it should be. She smiled and nodded. "Of course. Billy would like that very much. I'll go get him." She walked back down the street towards the newspaper office.

Chris rose and headed for the stable. A quiet day of fishing was just what he needed. Nathan wouldn't think of looking for him there, and besides, he had some things he wanted to discuss with young Billy Travis. What was going to happen between Chris and Billy's mom was going to happen on its own accord. Time would tell if it was right. As of today, there was still too much baggage from the past for either of them. It was best just to work on friendship for now. He figured Billy would understand that. The boy was bright, and he had an old soul, thanks to what he had endured as a child. It would make things easier on all of them.

He heard an enthusiastic yell from up the street, and the gunfighter grinned. There would be no hiding from this new shadow, at any rate, thought Chris.