Title: The Quiet Week, part 1 of 2

Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven are owned by lots of other people, including MGM, CBS, TNN, John Watson, Trilogy and their associates. As always, I guarantee that I will make no money from this, and never intend to. I hope I'm not stepping on anyone's toes.

Notes: I wrote this about a year ago, and it was my first one. I hadn't even seen half the episodes yet when I scribbled this, but, as many have, I fell in love with Ezra's character almost immediately and couldn't resist. Many of the characterizations are not mine (I was inspired by you fan fic folks mostly), but hey, I had to start somewhere. After this, the characters in my stories become more stable, more like the men on the actual show. Oh, and obviously I am not a doctor. My medical knowledge is scant at best. Don't laugh too hard.

Description: Ezra, Vin and Chris are the heart of this story, but Buck, JD, Nathan and Josiah are all there as well. Chris decides to punish Ezra for always being such a pain in the ass by sending him out with Vin, and, of course, it all goes downhill from there.

The Quiet Week

Part one

Friday…false dawn…the middle of nowhere

The smell of gunpowder pervaded the still dry air around the campsite. An eerie silence had descended, broken only by the ragged breathing of those still alive. Closing his eyes against the ringing in his ears, Ezra sighed and braced himself to stand up.

The pain in his side from the bullet caused him to grunt, but as it wasn't deep, and it wasn't enough to stop him from trying. After a couple of attempts, he managed to stagger to his feet, using one of the coarse pine trees circling the site for support. Breathing heavily and leaning against the bark, he looked over at his companion and grimaced.

Vin was unconscious where he lay on the ground, the knife embedded in his right thigh still quivering. Blood bubbled up around the blade, turning his buckskin trousers an ugly shade of purple. On his head, an ugly red welt was forming near the right temple where the rock had hit him. One of the outlaws had thrown the stone in desperation and had gotten lucky by actually hitting the tracker. 'Course he wasn't lucky enough to stop Ezra's derringer from piercing his heart a few seconds later.

Vin moaned softly.

With one hand pressed tightly to his side, Ezra looked around to make sure no one else had gotten lucky. The four men on the other side of the smoldering campfire were completely quiet, none of them betraying themselves with a rise of the chest or a twitching leg. Pushing himself all the way upright, Ezra staggered over to ensure that it was indeed over. Lifeless eyes stared up from surprised faces on all but one man. The large man in the center had gone to his death wearing a mask of pure hatred, his gruesome eyes still reflecting his fury. Ezra smiled maliciously.

"Anger only gets you so far, Mr. Cavendish," he whispered at the prone figure, kicking him lightly in the side. Satisfied all were accounted for, Ezra made his way back to Vin.

Bending down on one knee, the gambler quickly looked over his friend. The bruise forming on his head didn't look to serious – it was pretty high up on the man's forehead, and would hopefully only result in a really bad headache. The leg, however, was another matter. He couldn't tell from his small knowledge of anatomy whether, as Nathan would say, the knife had "hit an artery." All Ezra could do was remove the knife, clean and bandage the wound as best he could.

Interestingly enough, throughout the whole melee, no one had managed to tip over the cook pot on the fire. The water inside still boiled away nicely. Moving across to one of the dead men's packs, Ezra removed what looked to be a fairly clean cotton shirt. Within minutes, he had it ripped into strips for bandages. He threw a few pieces into the boiling water, then went to rip open Vin's trousers around the knife wound.

The old buckskin resisted some, but, after fishing out a small carving knife from a neighboring satchel, Ezra soon made quick work of the worn leather. Pulling out a hot strip of fabric from the cookpot, he tenderly cleaned away some of the blood and dirt from around the knife. Then, grabbing a half empty whiskey bottle that was laying nearby, he poured the liquid over the wound, grimacing at the slight hiss it created.

Vin moaned in his sleep, and started shifting to get away. Ezra held him down, whispering in his ear.

"It's alright, Vin. You are going to be alright. I promise. Just hang on."

Vin seemed to quiet at his voice, returning to his pain induced slumber. Pursing his lips in concentration, Ezra wrapped his right hand around the knife handle, placed his left on the thigh just above the area to apply pressure, and exhaled slowly. All at once, with a sharp intake of breath, he pulled the knife out. Vin cried out in agony, his forced unconsciousness not as deep as Ezra hoped. Blue-gray eyes flew open and looked wildly at Ezra.

"What the hell…?" the leather shod man gasped, his mind a mass of confusion. His legs jerked beneath him, and the fire running up and down his right leg was impossibly painful. It felt as if someone was sawing his leg off. He could see Ezra's concern filled eyes looking down at him, and the gambler was saying something. But the blood pumping in Vin's brain was too powerful, and he quickly lost consciousness again.

Ezra sighed as Vin's head fell back to the ground, the brown shaggy mane covering half his face. In response, Ezra ran a shaking hand through his own short black hair, and quickly went back to his ministrations.

Soon, he had both of Vin's injuries tended to, and, from the looks of it, the blood was slowing beneath the makeshift bandage on the leg. Now Ezra looked to tend himself.

He shouldered off his dust covered navy jacket, ignoring the pain that stretching the muscles in his torso was giving him. Next, he pulled off the blood stained silk vest, the silver lined fabric completely ruined. Last, he pulled open his light white cotton shirt, and pulled the offending fabric gingerly off the wound in his left side. It ripped at the wound's ragged edges as he pulled the shirt from the skin, and he hissed at the sharp stinging sensation.

He couldn't see the wound very well, being fairly low and almost completely off to the side. He was pretty sure it wasn't deep enough to have done any major damage, but he also knew that wouldn't help him if it got infected. He sighed with relief as he realized the bullet had passed straight through.

Trying not to think too much about the horrible stickiness running over his fingers as he followed the same procedure with his wound as he did with Vin's, Ezra swabbed the two tiny holes. He finished by rigidly pressing a pair of bandages against them, frowning at the pain now lancing up his side, and chuckled at the thought that if any one else had been tending him, he would surely have complained. After a few minutes, he released the pressure, hoping he had succeeded in stanching the flow. In any case, the makeshift bandages remained attached to his side, stuck to the wounds, giving him the chance to wind some cloths around his waist to hold them there. He knew it was impossible for him to tie it tightly by himself; he just hoped that the others would find them before he collapsed from blood loss.

Finally, he picked himself up and wrapped quick makeshift bandages around his and Vin's shackle burned wrists, his last project before attempting to get them out of here. As he was wrapping the bandage around his right wrist, using his teeth to help pull it tight, he looked up at the sky to see how much time he'd wasted. It was still early morning.

Crows circled above the small stand of pine trees in which the campsite was hidden, waiting for him to leave so they could feast on the fresh meat. He knew that, soon, other predators would come to this place drawn by the smell and the promise of an easy meal. Ezra shut his eyes at this last thought, and shook himself out of his morbid reflection. Now was not the time.

Steeling himself, Ezra rose once more to his feet and made his way to Vin. The tracker was lying on his side where Ezra had left him, still unconscious, but his face did not look pained. Ezra smiled at small favors. Quickly, the gambler gathered together some provisions and more cloth strips and shoved them into the soft leather satchel that one of the bandits had favored. Then he found his gun belt and, after reloading the Remington, wrapped it around his hips. His shoulder holster and Colt he stuffed into the same satchel, along with Vin's sawed off Winchester, and belted it closed. Last he filled some canteens from the nearby spring and draped them across his shoulders. He turned back to Vin.

"Mr. Tanner?" Ezra asked quietly, shaking his friend, and not getting a response. "Mr. Tanner," Ezra repeated, slightly louder. When Vin still didn't respond, Ezra propped him up so that his back was against one of the pine trees. "Mr. Tanner," Ezra's voice was more insistent, his southern drawl receding beneath the forcefulness of the tone. The gambler tapped the quiet man on the cheek. With a slight groan, Vin opened his eyes and looked blearily out at the world.

"Mr. Tanner," Ezra breathed, smiling. "I am afraid I will be in need of your assistance for a brief time, and then you may return to the land of sweet slumber. Firstly, do you think you might get put this small satchel over your shoulder?"

Vin gave Ezra a slightly puzzled from, but didn't protest as Ezra leaned him forward and slipped the satchel over his head. Quietly, Ezra tightened the strap so that it wouldn't fall off Vin's back. Still smiling, Ezra then focused intense green eyes on the tracker's drifting gray ones in an attempt to keep the man awake.

"Now, Mr. Tanner, I was wondering if you might be able to brace yourself enough on your left leg so that we could get you upright?"

Vin blinked at Ezra, his mind feeling as if it were full of gray fuzz. At this moment, he had no idea why Ezra was asking him to do this odd thing, but he saw no reason why he shouldn't comply. He nodded slowly, a small smile on his lips as if to say, 'sure, whatever you want Ezra.'

"Good, good," Ezra nodded. "Okay then, here we go." Ezra braced his hands under Vin's armpits and slowly pulled as Vin pushed himself upwards using both the tree behind him and his left leg for support. Something told the tracker not to use his right leg in this endeavor, so all his weight was forced onto a very shaky left limb. Ezra's jaw muscles flinched, the only sign that this movement was causing his injured side any pain.

As Vin reached full height, his eyes understandably began closing once more, his throbbing skull and pained leg demanding he fall back asleep. Ezra bent over and put his right shoulder against the tracker's torso, and let the man fall forward over him. Grunting, Ezra stood up, Vin now ensconced over his right shoulder in a fireman's lift. Pain shot down the gambler's left side, but Ezra ignored it through gritted teeth. Slowly, the gambler carried his friend out of the shelter of the trees in the direction of Four Corners.

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Tuesday…Three days earlier…Four Corners…early afternoon

Ezra raised his frosty green eyes from his cards to find the smiling faces of JD and Buck staring down at him. The two men were circling around like jackals over their prey, and the gambler told them as much.

"Aw, come on now, Ezra, you're the one that got yourself into this mess. Isn't that right JD?" Buck replied, his grin broadening as he glanced over at his protege. He slapped Ezra companionably on the shoulder, earning an annoyed grunt from the smaller man.

"He's right, Ezra." JD replied, his head bobbing up and down with tremendous enthusiasm. "You did this, and no one else. You got Chris so angry with you that he hasn't had a drink in almost a whole day! All he can do is rant about how you're a lazy, good-for-nothing, conniving,…"

"two-timing, gambling, cheating,…"Buck continued.

"fancy clothes wearing, money grubbing, shiftless…" JD chimed.

"no-good rascally varmint!." Buck concluded, his grin on full wattage.

Ezra looked across at the three cowhands he had been playing with, who were doing their best to ignore the two lawman standing over them. Nevertheless, they kept glancing nervously up from their cards as if wondering whether folding now and getting the hell out of there might not be the best thing. Ezra sighed, and looked at the pot in front of him. It was still very small. No one had raised yet in this game. Buck and JD continued in the background to come up with more names to call the gambler, the key term being "lazy." Buck even asked Ezra if he could help them find synonyms for that particular word.

"Gentlemen," Ezra sighed, ignoring his "friends" and addressing the cowhands across from him, "I must apologize for the horribly uncouth behavior of my fair weather colleagues. Unfortunately, from what I can gather from their nonsensical chatter, it appears I will have to cut this day's exercise in the art of card playing short. Nevertheless, I am sure that once I leave, they will no longer be a burden upon your afternoon." He folded his cards on the table and tipped his hat at the other players. Rising, he felt even more put out when Buck and JD slid into his seat and the one next to it to take his place. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling at their laughter, Ezra stiffly made his way outside where Chris was sitting on the saloon porch.

The characteristically black clad gunslinger was leaning back in a chair, his hat sloped forward so as to cover his eyes. To all intents and purposes, it looked as if Chris were sleeping, but Ezra knew full well that his leader's steel blue eyes were very much open beneath that brim. Absently, Ezra brushed some of the dust off the navy, three quarter length jacket he wore, wondering, as always, at how quickly it gathered. He completed the movement by adjusting the lapels and smoothing down the silver vest underneath.

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra stated matter-of-factly, leaning against one of the posts and crossing his arms. He stared down the dirt covered road and tapped a boot heel on the boardwalk. The wind was playing with the a piece of newspaper near the livery, picking it up and depositing it down on the earth in a cyclical manner. Dust swirled around the paper, glittering in the heavy sunshine like tiny embers. It was the most interesting thing to happen in Four Corners for the past two weeks, Ezra mused.

"Ezra," Chris replied, his voice just as deadpan. Neither man spoke for a few minutes, the silence becoming almost competitive. Tension radiated between the two men, getting stronger with each quiet tick of the silver watch in Ezra's pocket. The gambler felt more than heard the time go by, and he tried to ignore the fact that his heart was beating a little faster than normal. None of this was obvious on his completely calm face, however. In fact, a little smile played at the corners of his mouth as he waited for the explosion.

The quiet that had settled on the little burg was excruciating for Chris, as it gave him too much time to think, or more precisely, to remember. The black-clad man envied the others their past times which allowed them to be distracted from the monotony of life and the memories of past sins. All Chris had was the bottle. Well, the bottle and getting angry at Ezra. It was almost part of his routine now to find some fault with the gambler, whether over his "artful" business dealings, his laziness, or simply because Ezra refused to react to Chris' angry stares with the right amount of respect. And the southerner's penchant for long words and long sentences only made it worse. It was almost as if Ezra wanted Chris to be mad at him.

Ezra sneaked a peak at the gunslinger, sitting on the chair with his legs outstretched before him, looking for all the world as if the hot summer sun was not baking him alive in that outfit. Actually, it was the sun that was really beginning to annoy the gambler, as it forced him to squint at his surroundings to accommodate the glare. He wished Chris would simply do as he always did and order him to go somewhere pointless simply so he could go back inside and pack. All this squinting was giving him a headache.

Chris, meanwhile, was relishing the power he knew he had over the recalcitrant gambler. Despite Ezra's ingrained intractability, he would do what his leader ordered him to when necessary. And today, that peculiar loyalty was going to be his downfall. Merely pay back for Ezra's actions of the day before, Chris reflected, the gunslinger's anger still simmering.

It had begun when Ezra was (as usual) late for patrol. The man refused to wake before noon, which meant that he was two hours late for the shift change at ten. Vin, whom the gambler was supposed to replace, didn't mind. He was happy to scout around outside of the dusty town for the rest of the day, much preferring the open air, even though he wouldn't have minded some breakfast. So he hung out just outside of the west side of town, content to patiently wait for Ezra to show up. Chris, on the other hand, had stood at the door to the jail watching the saloon with extreme agitation the whole morning. He was damned if he was going to wake Ezra up for the third time in two weeks. No, when Ezra woke up today, he was going to take some punishment.

Sometime around noon, the gambler had wandered out of the establishment looking as if he hadn't a care in the world, and started to stroll over to the livery. Chris was on him in seconds.

"Where do you think you are going?" the blond man hissed. Ezra looked at him with pure innocence, stopping his casual walk to face him.

"Why, out on patrol, Mr. Larabee, just as you so gracefully requested of me yesterday."

Chris's eyes narrowed, "you were supposed to relieve Vin two hours ago."

Ezra tilted his head, "I am sorry, Mr. Larabee, but you must be confused. I am certain you told me that the time was twelve. Surely you can't be suggesting that I have purposefully deferred doing my duty simply for a few extra hours of sleep?" The smile on Ezra's features was guileless, and his eyes would have made a rock question its rockiness. For a moment, Chris doubted himself, but he quickly came back.

"You know perfectly well I said ten, Ezra."

"Now, Mr. Larabee, I know no such thing. As you can see, it is now twelve. I was supposed to go out and relieve Mr. Tanner at twelve, and hence I am going. Had the time been ten, then I would have left then. But it was not ten, but twelve. Now, I should really be going, as I am sure that Mr. Tanner is getting quite hungry. Really, you shouldn't deprive your men of their daily repast, Mr. Larabee, it is wholly unbecoming in a leader. Proper nourishment is the cornerstone of a healthy lifestyle." And with that, Ezra lightly stepped away from Chris's slightly confused gaze.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Chris watched Ezra walk away and felt his face flush with anger. His jaw clenched, and his muscles tensed beneath the black fabric. For that brief moment, Ezra had gotten the better of him, and, oh dear lord, that rubbed Chris the wrong way.

It got worse after Ezra returned around six, two hours earlier than he was supposed to on the eight hour shift. His excuse had been that, upon finding Mr. Tanner, he had discovered that Chris had in fact been correct in his estimation of the timing of patrols. He was supposed to have been out there by ten. He apologized and expressed tremendous remorse to Mr. Tanner and Mr. Larabee for that foolishness. But of course, that also meant his shift was officially over at six. He saw no reason to prolong it simply because he made an error in judgement.

The result was a shouting match. Actually, it was more like Chris shouting and Ezra answering in very quiet, placating tones. Of course, this only riled Chris up even more. The saloon had cleared out except for the rest of the seven, who sat watching Chris and Ezra with amused stares.

The evening had ended with Chris taking a swing at the smaller man, and Ezra deftly jumping back as if he suddenly found a rattlesnake in his hand. The fact that Chris's fist didn't connect only drove him into a greater rage, and he leapt at Ezra like a cat, driving the gambler to the floor. Before he could get a hit in, however, Josiah and Buck were there, pulling Chris away, the man in black screaming his protests. Ezra, for his part, simply got back up, brushed down his soft cotton pants and smiled. Then, with a small nod at the others, and a tip of his hat, he disappeared swiftly up the stairs.

It took some doing, but Josiah managed to calm Chris down, his words working like a salve on a burn. That was when the wicked gleam had entered the blond man's eyes, his lips curling into a sneer. Josiah sighed, Nathan shook his head, and Vin lowered his eyes. They all knew what was going to happen. Buck and JD, meanwhile, started grinning like wildcats and, had they both had little black curled up moustaches, would undoubtedly have started twirling them.

"Vin?" Chris asked, looking sideways at the young tracker, "how do you feel like getting lost tomorrow?"

So here it was, a little after noon of the next day, and Chris and Ezra were playing the waiting game. Ezra sighed. It had been five minutes, and he really didn't feel like standing there any more. He was about to open his mouth when he saw somebody coming out from the stables leading Peso…and Chaucer. Ezra sighed again, but this time because he recognized his fate. He was being sent out with Vin.

Now, Ezra liked Vin, liked him a lot. As he felt with the other five members of the group, Ezra likened the quiet tracker to a brother. He was someone Ezra would have laid his life out for without a moment's thought, and was sure Vin would do the same. However, Vin had one annoying rather annoying habit. He didn't talk. Now, for someone of Ezra's loquacious talents, not having someone to talk to on long rides can be almost unbearable. Even before being told of the trip, Ezra was already dreading it.

Chris tipped his hat up, allowing some of the seething fury he'd amassed to be released at the sight of Vin pulling the horses. "The town of Chelmsford needs some help, Ezra. I'm sending you and Vin. As timing is of the essence, I took the liberty of already packing your saddlebags for you."

That sense of dread in Ezra's stomach became even deeper. First, at the fact that they had touched his things. Second at the fact he had never heard of Chelmsford. At least, not one around here. Ezra waited for the rest of the shoe to fall.

"Turns out a gang of bandits attacked their hotel. Five people died when it didn't go as smoothly as planned. They lost track of the bandits in the desert, but thought they might be headed here. I want you and Vin to go and see if you can't pick up their trail. Vin is going so as to follow them in the wild, and you are going to ask discreet questions in any towns you might come across on the way. I want telegraphs from every town. Be back in a week if you find nothing." With that, Chris dropped the hat back down so Ezra wouldn't see the small smile on his face.

Ezra grimaced. Chris knew that if bandits were out there after a robbery gone wrong, they would go straight to the town of Purgatory to lie low. There was no real need to send him and Vin out there except to punish him. Of course, it wasn't punishment to the tracker, whose idea of bliss was being out in the country. But to Ezra, a week in the saddle was hell. And they packed for him? Good lord.

Vin rolled up out front of the saloon and took in Ezra with a light smile. Ezra glared back. Silently, the two men mounted and headed out of town.

Josiah wandered up just as their dust trails were coming to rest, and sat down next to Chris. "How long do you think before Ezra figures out there ain't no Chelmsford and their ain't no bandits?" he asked.

"Hopefully," Chris replied, settling himself back further in the seat, "not until he has a good number of blisters."

_______________________________

Ezra and Vin headed in a south westerly direction for a while, Ezra content to let the tracker lead him. He thought about looking through his saddlebags, but decided against it. No need starting the day off feeling completely sorry for himself as opposed to only slightly sorry. He let out another sigh as Vin trotted ahead of him.

"So, Mr. Tanner, how long is the journey to this worried municipality?"

"We don't need to go all the way to the town, Ezra. They were tracked by the Chelmsford Sheriff to an abandoned barn several miles outside. The bandits killed his deputy there, then took off. We'll start from the barn."

"Oh," Ezra replied, disappointment clear in his voice. At least seeing a new town had suggested a good night's sleep and a brand new saloon at which to try his skills. Now it looked as if even that small glimmer of hope would be denied him. "So, how long until…"

"We'll get there tomorrow at around midnight. We'll stay in the barn over night, then start out at dawn."

"Wonderful," Ezra replied, sarcasm dripping from the word. Vin just smiled crookedly back at him, and then turned around again to face the burning noonday sun.

___________________________

The plan, as Chris had laid it out, was that Vin should lead Ezra from the barn on a route so incredibly confusing that the gambler would be hard pressed to figure out how to get home. Then Vin was to make some excuse to separate from Ezra, and disappear for a while (though without getting too far away). After a few days of being lost, Vin would then show up out of the blue with some story about the bandits being caught and how they could go home. Chris hoped the time alone would be enough to drive Ezra a little crazy. A suitable punishment, so he thought, since Ezra had been driving Chris crazy for two weeks.

Vin sighed. Sure, it was just a practical joke, but it was one he hadn't liked. He thought Chris was being too harsh on the gambler, and, besides, he had a funny feeling something might go wrong. Chris had told him that, if he still felt uneasy after separating from Ezra, he could find the nearest town and telegraph their position and someone would go down to meet them. And, if he still felt like something might go wrong, Vin could simply cut the lesson short. But Chris didn't want the lesson cut short, and a cold stare made sure Vin knew this. So Vin agreed. After all, it got him out of the town for a while and into the country where he belonged.

____________________________

Wednesday…early evening…a day and a half's easy ride from Four Corners

It was almost nightfall, and by Vin's estimation, they still had a couple more hours to go before reaching the barn. The early summer heat started to lift from the barren terrain, and a cool breeze played at the two riders' jackets. Ezra pushed his hat more squarely down on his head, and drew the lapels of his midnight blue jacket closer together over his silver vest. There was a thin layer of dust over all his clothes but Ezra didn't really notice. Instead, his thoughts were introspective.

He had spent much of the ride trying to keep up a conversation with his monosyllabic partner, but Vin was typically not forthcoming. In some ways, Ezra likened the silence of the tracker to that of an animal. Only making noises when absolutely necessary. Ezra, of course, considered himself to be like a bird. He was filled with song and poetry. That had set him of a mind to try and compose a verse about their trip. He was on verse three and was stumbling for words to describe the dull monotony of grass covered rolling hills, rocks and the occasional tiny forest. So, he thought to try and engage Vin again.

"Mr. Tanner?" He asked politely, his southern drawl slipping off his tongue like butter. He figured it was safe since they had gone without words now for at least an hour. Vin, on the other hand, rolled his eyes. He'd been dreading hearing Ezra's voice again. For him, it was like listening to the constant chirping of a prairie dog in heat.

"Yeah Ezra?" he sighed. He squinted in the deepening gloom hoping to see a sign that they were closer than he estimated.

"I was wondering if you might help me in a small dilemma of the poetic kind?"

Vin snorted. "Poetry, Ezra? Last time we talked poetry you spent most of it laughing at me." The coldness in the tracker's voice was brittle.

Ezra started a little. He'd forgotten all about that, and guilt seeped into his soul. He hadn't meant to laugh at Vin, well….he had, but alcohol had certainly played a role in that moment. Now, he cursed himself slightly for bringing it up. When he'd seen the poem the following day in the paper, he'd been surprised by its honesty. The man had a gift, and Ezra had made fun of him for it. He bit his lip as he searched for words to apologize with.

"Mr. Tanner, Vin, I didn't mean…what I mean to say is….I'm, uh, I'm sorry, Vin. I wish I hadn't reacted in that manner. I guess, I just….You know, that poem of yours was actually quite lovely. Good, I mean. Really good. I don't think I could have written something so…truthful." Ezra paused, mulling over what to say next, his slow manner of speaking a result of feeling unsettled.

Vin furrowed his brow. He hadn't meant to snap back there, it was simply something he didn't like to think about. But listening to the gambler's stilted speech, he felt a little better. Ezra had not only used his first name, but had stumbled for words with which to apologize by. Vin knew full well that the gambler only responded that way when he was hoping desperately to be believed. So, he let a smile touch his features and looked back at Ezra trailing behind him. Ezra immediately perked up, as Vin's eyes told him far more than the smile did. They were clear and open.

"So, what do you want help with?" Vin asked.

"Well," Ezra replied, spurring Chaucer forward to catch up with the tracker, his mind rewinding to his thoughts of before, "I was wondering if you might enlighten me as to why you love this landscape so much."

Vin looked puzzled, and glanced around at the scenery. "Why?"

"I have been spending the time trying to compose a verse about our travels, and I have gotten mired in the descriptions. Unfortunately, as you well know, this land is not as wondrous for me as it is for you."

"Reckon that's true," Vin replied. He contemplated the terrain around him, but for the life of him, Vin was unable to put his feelings into words. The landscape permeated his skin, seeping into his body like a strong liquor, until it controlled his consciousness. He could feel every shift of the wind, every leaf that fell, every slither of every snake patiently awaiting its prey. It was who he wanted to be – balanced and complete. In the background, Ezra waited patiently while the tracker organized his thoughts. Vin knew he was about to fail the gambler.

"Its…not something I can really break down for you, Ez. I guess, I like it out here because its so simple…you know. Its just so…nice." Vin shrugged, and heard Ezra sigh.

"Nice, Mr. Tanner, is sadly not the word I was looking for. You may not realize this, but the word 'nice' is derived from the same place as neat. It means something that is small and tidy. Something that you can package up in a box and tie with a bow. I am sure that is not what you meant to convey in your last statement."

Vin pursed his lips in irritation at the didactic tone of his partner. "Well, what sort of word were you looking for then?"

Ezra sat back in the saddle and focused green wistful eyes on the setting sun, the deep hues of red and orange caressing the gentle hills. "I suppose, Mr. Tanner, I was looking for a metaphor. Some personal analogy that you could attribute to the hills that most people wouldn't think of, but that they would still understand. For example, if I remember rightly, in your poem, you described the plains as solitary. A word like that is what I would like. A word like," he paused, "well, like delicious." He seemed proud of himself, and his stomach growled slightly in agreement. Their dinner of a few hours ago had been anything but.

Vin laughed. "Delicious, Ezra? That means good food! What does that got to do with country?"

Ezra looked annoyed. "I realize that the term is generally used for objects of edible consumption, Mr. Tanner, but it can also be used to describe a feeling. For example, when something is delicious, it creates a feeling of total joy within you, does it not? The food, or drink, may tickle you palette or smell divine. It also usually has the quality of filling one's belly to satisfaction so that all you want to do is lean back and enjoy the sensation. If it is spicy, it might linger on your tongue like a good memory. If it is hot, it might warm cold bones. Or if it is cool, it may alleviate some the heat of a hot summer day. All of these feelings are gathered up into one word, delicious."

"Okay, so…" Vin said, not quite getting the connection. He was actually getting a little tired of being preached to.

"So, sir, if what you feel for this scenery around you is similar to the happy feeling of having eaten a good meal, you could describe it as delicious."

When Vin didn't answer him for a few moments, Ezra plowed on. "Of course, you don't have to say delicious. I personally don't like the word – I was just feeling a little peckish in this late hour. I obviously don't have your skill at turning a phrase." He sounded a little contrite. He knew he had sounded like a school marm there for a moment, and hoped he hadn't driven Vin back to silence.

The tracker shrugged in the half light, shaking his head a little. "I'm sorry, Ezra. I guess I'm simply not in the mood to try and help you find words, whether they be…what did you call 'em? Metaphors?…or just plain ones. Delicious just sounds too darn silly to use to me."

Ezra nodded. "Quite," he replied after a moment.

The silence resumed.

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Thursday…Early a.m. …Two days from Four Corners (or the middle of nowhere)

They arrived at the barn a little after midnight, the cold desert air biting at their cheeks and hands. Ezra pulled out his black gloves, but they were more designed for show than wear. Consequently, he spent much of the latter part of the evening complaining. Vin, for his part, kept silent. Still, he was looking forward to dumping the gambler tomorrow so he could have some peace and quiet. He ruminated on the next days events with a smile on his face.

They corralled the horses inside the barn with them, then built a small fire. Within minutes of arriving, they both fell into an exhausted sleep. The last thing Ezra thought as he dropped off was how odd it was that Vin hadn't suggested setting up a watch. Must not be worried, the gambler mused.

It seemed only minutes late that he felt a rough hand shaking his shoulder.

"Up and at 'em, Ez," the tracker said, his blue eyes dancing in the early morning light. Ezra groaned, and dug himself deeper into the blankets.

"Please, Mr. Tanner, is it absolutely necessary that we wake up even before the dew has left the grass? This barn is warm, and while it may not be the Royal Hotel in New Orleans, I can assure you that, at this moment, leaving it would be most disagreeable. Truth be told, even moving from this bedroll would be beyond my capacity to achieve with any degree of equanimity. Moreover, my name is Ezra, or Mr. Standish, not 'Ez.'" Ezra had made this entire speech without releasing his head from beneath the confines of the blanket, forcing Vin to strain a little to understand him. Or at least, hear him. Understanding Ezra was something Vin hadn't quite figured out how to do yet. Vin frowned.

"Ez, just get up, will ya," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. With a huge sigh, Ezra popped his head out, green eyes searching Vin's face. The tracker returned the stare with a look of grim determination and some aggravation. Ezra scrunched his face up like an impertinent child who has realized his options are not good, and muttered as he crawled out of the blankets.

Cold morning air bit at his calves where his pant legs had ridden up during the night, and he pushed them down roughly, attempting to remove the creases. Then, after relieving himself off to one side and shaving, he returned to the cook fire, brushing away bits of hay and dirt from his hair, his vest and soft linen shirt. The next step in his routine was to buckle on his Remington and put on the shoulder holster that held the Colt. The derringer could wait until they were ready to leave. Vin shook his head at Ezra's ministrations, and bent over the cookpot for breakfast. He'd already made the coffee, and was now proceeding to pour oats into a pot of boiling water. Ezra poured himself a tin cup of the black brew, and stood over the tracker, his eyes on the food.

"I don't suppose we have anything to sweeten that with?" the gambler asked. This was not the first time Ezra had traveled with Vin, but most times he packed his own bags. Usually, he was certain to bring some cinnamon sticks and sugar cubes in preparation for Vin's tasteless porridge. But not this time. Oh no, they made sure he had nothing more than his bedroll, a change of clothes (of which nothing matched) and a few other necessities. He'd never packed this light in his life.

"Apples," Vin answered, motioning towards his own packs. Ezra's eyes lit up, maybe this wouldn't be such a bad a morning after all. He tipped the bag over and watched as four, small, slightly bruised apples rolled out. They looked a little squished, but Ezra didn't mind. He picked one out and reached for the knife to cut it up.

The sound of a branch breaking outside caused him to switch his hold on the knife to a throwing posture.

Vin looked up, trying to hide the puzzlement on his face. He had thought the sound might have come from an animal, but for a moment there he thought he could hear the sound of footsteps running away. How could that be? They were in the middle of nowhere. The closest town was Four Corners and it was a two day comfortable ride away. They should be alone. He looked across at Ezra squatting near the bags, knife in hand. The gambler rose slowly to his feet, his left hand resting on the Remington at his hip.

Vin picked up his Winchester and glided to the front door of the barn. With Ezra backing him, he peeked out. Nothing.

Chaucer whinnied at the change in mood, and Ezra absently patted the horses muzzle. Seeing Vin's shrug, Ezra turned and moved to the back of the structure to look out the single window. The flap was raised halfway off the sill, propped up by a thin stick, and Ezra leant out to look around. Again nothing. Quietly, he climbed out and crouched down to scan the area.

In front, Vin scanned the low lying hills for any sign of movement, with particular focus on the area he imagined he heard the footsteps had run too. Shaking his head, he moved to the left sign of the barn. Ezra, meanwhile, was checking around the other side of the barn. His eyes weren't as good as Vin's but he knew that, if there was something to see, he would see it.

Above them, the gray light of dawn was rapidly being replaced by sparkling blue as the sun climbed the firmament. By the time the two lawmen met each other again to compare notes, warm rays were already heating their hatless heads. Mystified, but wary, they returned inside to prepare for the day.

_____________________________

A few hundred yards away, six men stood hidden within a copse of pine trees. When they had arrived at the barn last night, tired and exhausted from having walked all night after a busted raid, they had expected to find it empty. Finding it occupied instead had left them in a bad mood. It had become a sort of hangout for this particular group of outlaws, and they didn't like their territory trespassed upon. However, owing to the fact that one of them was hurt and they had no idea if more men might be coming in the morning, they had thought it prudent to wait until dawn to approach the trespassers.

Now five stood patiently as the youngest bent over, his ragged breath coming out in great gasps as he recovered from his sprint back from the barn.

"Well Matt?" the largest asked, his patience wearing thin. This man, the obvious leader of the troop, stood straight backed, making him seem taller than his already six foot four frame. Swathed in dark leathers and sporting numerous scars on his features and bare brown arms, he towered over the breathless Matt.

"Two…" the youngest panted, swallowing hard to refresh his dry mouth, "two men…two horses…all inside the barn. One is dressed all in buckskin leather, with brown hair that goes to his shoulders. He looks like a tracker. I recognize him from somewhere, but I'm not sure where." He took another deep breath and swallowed again. "The other wears the clothes of a gambler, all bright and flashy. Shoulda seen the vest he wore – looked like it was made of silver."

"Weird sounding pair," one of the other men said quietly. This man wore his arm in a sling, his pale denim shirt ripped from the shoulder above the wounded limb. He looked to be about thirty, though the lines in his face made him seem older. Blue eyes and messy blond hair topped his head above a tall, skinny body.

"Could you hear any talk of why they're here?" The large man asked, ignoring the wounded man's comment. His mind warily considered the idea that one of them was a tracker. The description his boy gave seemed oddly familiar, but the coincidence seemed too great.

"No, just the gambler complaining about being woken up. I tried to get a better look, but I made a noise. I'm sorry father." Matt looked properly contrite.

The large man stopped, his dark eyes narrowing as his tanned brow furrowed in thought. After a moment he flexed an eyebrow at the boy, "Was the gambler in the custody of the tracker?"

Matt mimicked his father's furrowed brow, and scratched at the rough brown hair that stuck out in great tufts from his square head. "Uhh…no, I don't think so. They sounded too friendly, plus I think the last thing I saw was the gambler putting on his guns. But then, the gambler didn't use the other one's first name. So maybe not too friendly."

"What name?"

"Mr. Tanner, he called him."

"Tanner?" the large man looked surprised, and a grin spread across his features. "Well whaddya know. Was he a pretty boy, the tracker?"

"I guess so. He weren't ugly."

The larger man moved and clapped his son on the shoulder, causing Matt to stumble forward a bit. "Son," he said happily, "I think things are looking up." Glancing around at the others, he favored them all with the same grin. "Boys get your stuff together. There is five hundred dollars sitting in our barn and I think it is time we collected."

"What about the idea that there may be more of them? I mean, ain't that why we didn't approach 'em last night?" This was asked by a skittish creature with plain brown eyes and lanky black hair. He was the smallest of the group, and equally the most nervous. His eyes darted nervously from the large man, to Matt, and back again.

"Naw, Malone, this Tanner is a loner. Used to be a bounty hunter – even managed to catch me once, though not for long. As for the gambler, I have no idea who he is. My guess, though, is that they're probably just travelling companions. Should be real easy to grab 'em."

Fifteen minutes later, the six bandits were quietly flanking the dilapidated wood structure. Three approached from the back – the wounded man, a tall black-haired man in a faded Union jacket, and a small ferret faced man in a red jacket. The large man, his son, and the skittish Malone crept up to the front door. Signaling to each other to go in on the count of three, the large man nodded once, twice, and….

"Freeze!" he yelled, throwing the heavy barn doors back. He was greeted by silence…and an empty barn. "Shit," he muttered.

___________________________

Thursday Morning…Four Corners

Chris looked up from where he sat in front of the saloon, an empty bottle of red-eye in his hands. Somehow, in the past two days he'd managed to make himself completely soused. It had begin with a minor celebration for having gotten Ezra out of his hair on Tuesday, but then the depression descended. The ever-present mantle of guilt for some reason became heavier with each passing hour, and Chris hadn't managed to put the bottle down since that night. He drowned in the invented image of his wife and son screaming for him when he wasn't there to help, and nothing could shake him from his morose preoccupation.

He looked blearily up at the noonday sun, hoping that by scorching his eyeballs he might sober up a little. Across the way, he saw Mary Travis frowning at him. She was standing in the doorway of the Clarion, her arms folded across her chest. Before her, Billy and some of the other children were playing pirates. All Chris heard, however, was the sound of Adam playing in the yard of his and Sarah's ranch.

Upon seeing Chris's eyes on her, Mary stood up straighter and stalked back into the office. Behind the gunslinger, heavy footfalls came close, the wood creaking loudly under the increased weight.

"Hey Pard, how're you doing?" Buck asked jovially, settling himself down on an empty barrel to the left of Chris' chair. The normally happy-go-lucky gunslinger wouldn't say it straight out, but he was worried about his best friend. He knew Chris was falling back on his old ways as a result of this enforced stillness. After Sarah and Adam had died, Buck had forced Chris to keep moving, to try and find him a new sense of purpose. He'd thought he finally succeeded here at Four Corners, but Chris was more fragile than he let on. It had only taken two weeks of quiet to send Chris back to the bottle. Actually, make that two days.

Buck started a little at that thought, the meaning of it surprising him. It suddenly occurred to him that, until Ezra and Vin left, Chris was at least distracted by something. The tall man frowned. Maybe sending the gambler away had not been as funny as they all thought. He smoothed his moustache down and flexed an eyebrow as a plan formed in his mind.

Chris hadn't answered Buck's question, indeed, he barely heard it. All he knew at that moment was that he was becoming entirely too sober. He lifted the bottle to his lips again, annoyed at finding it empty. He rose to go into the saloon for another one. Buck stopped him with a hand to his arm.

"Hey, now, maybe you've had enough, huh?"

Angrily, Chris shook off Buck's touch, and glared at his light hearted friend.

Buck swallowed as he saw the pain in those blue eyes. Damn, he had let Chris get too far away from him. Still, one thing Buck never did was quit. "I'm just saying that you might need to rethink drinking. Its you patrol soon." He reminded quietly.

Chris put a hand to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Buck," he slurred, "nothing is happening. There's no point in patrolling."

"That's not what you told Ezra the other day…" Buck tried. The jab worked, Chris's eyes flashed with renewed vigor.

"Leave that lazy son of a bitch out of this, Buck."

"I was just thinking that if that lazy s.o.b., as you put it, were to see you now, he might find some amusement here." Buck knew he was pressing it, but the tactic seemed to work.

"Oh, he would, would he?" Chris replied, his slur receding as his anger came to fore. "Well, to hell with him." With that, Chris spun on his heel away from the saloon, threw the empty bottle at the ground where it shattered beautifully, and stalked towards the jail. Buck couldn't suppress the grin on his face as he watched Chris walk away.

"Well, whaddya know?" he said quietly.

_____________________________

Something in Vin had convinced him they needed to make a hasty exit from the barn, and they were out and into the hills fairly quickly. Ezra looked at him curiously. He realized immediately that something was not quite right. He couldn't tell if Vin was following a trail or not, since the tracker had not once dropped from his horse. Still, as they were only a couple of miles from the barn, he decided to give his friend the benefit of the doubt and remained quiet.

Eventually, the worry gnawing at Vin's bones subsided in the quiet of the scenery, and he remembered his purpose. He slowed Peso down and jumped off, looking at the ground as if he could see tracks. Ezra looked around at the horizons and frowned a little. He didn't see one familiar landmark. It occurred to him that, perhaps he should have been paying more attention on the ride down here. He wasn't even sure he could get home from the barn, even if he could find it again.

After a few minutes, Vin jumped back on Peso and they trotted forward at a very slow gait. As designed, he zigzagged all over the landscape and, looking back at Ezra, he could sense the gambler was effectively lost. The man had been on the lookout for trouble almost from the get go, so hadn't been aware at the meandering tour he'd been led on. Vin almost felt sorry for the city man.

Up ahead, a large outcropping of rocks split the land in two. Vin smiled. As they reached it, he pretended to scour the ground, then swore loud enough for the gambler to hear.

"What's the matter?" Ezra asked. His eyes were narrowed against the brightness of the sun, and from what he could tell, they had barely moved more than five miles from where they started.

"They split in two here. Some went north, and the rest went south." Vin exhaled in mock sadness, and leaned against the horse. Gray eyes found green. Ezra looked down at him from Chaucer's back, and suddenly got the strangest feeling that Vin was lying to him. He could see it in the tracker's face.

Vin, sensing the scrutiny, dropped his eyes back to the ground to hide his expression. The hastiness of the move was not lost on the gambler. It reinforced his belief that Vin was lying.

"I think it best we split up, Ezra. I'll head that-a-ways," he indicated to the south of the rock, "and you go north."

"Mr. Tanner, you know full well that I do not possess your tracking skills. I will invariably lose the trail." Ezra replied, choosing to go along with the game for now.

"Oh, I don't know. The trail goes pretty straight, Ezra, and there's a town not far in that direction. If you keep north, I don't think you'll have a problem. We can meet back here tonight if neither of us has any luck." Vin said this a little too quickly, and Ezra instantly felt secure in his suspicions. Still, the gambler nodded. Why not let Vin have his way? If this were all just an elaborate ruse to teach him a lesson, then it would be over by tonight and they could go home. Till then, he'd follow the north "trail" until he found a nice place to spend the day, then he'd come back.

Vin sighed a little at Ezra's nod. Maybe I'm not as bad at this lying thing as I thought, the tracker congratulated himself. With a tip of his hat, he remounted Peso and headed south past the rocks. Ezra just shook his head, and pointed Chaucer north.

None of this was lost on the six outlaws who shadowed them on foot. Amazingly enough, the tracker and the gambler had moved around a lot without getting very far, which was a good thing for the horseless outlaws. When they saw the two lawmen split up, all eyes followed Vin as he loped away, still moving slowly. Grins grew broader on their faces.

_____________________________

Vin didn't get far from the large outcropping. In fact, he stopped almost immediately at a small grouping of pine trees. He'd been here many times before, and it had become one of his favorite places to just sit back and relax. He led Peso between the quiet pines to a small stream in the center of a meadow. The water bubbled up from a small spring off to one side, and Vin reveled in its sweet sound. Wildflowers thrived in this cool, wet place, and Vin felt instantly at home. He was taking off Peso's tack when a noise behind him made him jump. Surely Ezra wouldn't have found him out already? He spun around, hand on his Winchester, and felt his heart leap. Five guns were trained on him, and all Vin could think to say was, "Aw, hell."

"Well, hello there, Mr. Tanner. So nice to see you again. Would you mind dropping your weapon please?" This came from the large man in the middle, causing Vin to focus on him. He hissed in surprise.

"Dan Cavendish," he stated. "I thought they hung you already."

"Ah, nope. No thanks to you though. But I'm not one to hold a grudge, specially since you are about to make me and my friends here a tidy profit. Say in the area of five hundred dollars?" Cavendish asked this in the form of a question, but he needed no answer. Vin's tense silence told him everything he needed to know.

"Dan, he's still holding the rifle…" a small man chirped, the hold he had on his own weapon a little shaky.

"Malone has a point, Tanner. I'd suggest you drop the gun before my young colleague here becomes too nervous. The poster I saw in Clear Ridge said 'dead or alive,' and I gotta say, bringing you in dead sounds pretty good right now." Cavendish spoke the words almost nonchalantly, and this, more than any anger he might have been shown, worried Vin enough to comply. Quietly, he withdrew his sawed-off rifle and threw it down.

"Good man. Simon, get the shackles." Next to Cavendish, a black haired man in a dusty Union jacket pulled a pair of handcuffs from the satchel he wore over his shoulder. Cavendish smiled at the nasty looking irons.

"I knew those would come in handy," he said. "Got 'em from the sheriff in Clear Ridge after he attempted to accost me and my friend Cal over there." The large man motioned to a blond man with his left arm in a sling. "Unfortunately for him, he didn't know I had so many friends."

Simon roughly pulled Vin's hands behind his back and placed the cuffs on him, snapping them tight. Then he pushed Vin down so that the tracker was on his knees. The wet meadow earth seeped into the fabric, causing Vin to shiver involuntarily.

If possible, Cavendish grinned even more broadly, assuming the shiver was the result of fear. "I'd kill you now, Mr. Tanner, but then I wouldn't get the opportunity to see you swing at the hands of the same law you used to serve. Fact is, I would be disappointed to miss that. Seems so fitting, somehow. Almost poetic."

Vin blinked at the word, 'poetic,' and thought of Ezra. Could the gambler find him? Would he even know where to start? Oh crap, Chris, how the hell did you convince me to do this! All of a sudden, Vin was interrupted from his reverie by the sound of running feet.

A young man broke into the clearing, startling his five compatriots, and stopped, hands on his knees, panting heavily. Then he looked up at Cavendish, dark brown eyes flashing. "The gambler, pop, he's coming back!"

Cavendish looked down at Vin. "Bring him, Davis," he ordered, strolling out of the enclosure. The ferret faced man in red roughly pulled Vin to his feet, stooping to pick up Vin's Mare's Leg in the process. He tossed the heavy gun to the boy Matt, who grabbed at it eagerly.

________________________________

Ezra hadn't gotten very far before he decided he didn't want to play anymore. The hot noonday sun was weighing heavily on his arms, and he shifted his sweaty shirt a little to get more comfortable. Moreover, he was sore from the saddle, and wanting a bath. He figured Vin wouldn't have moved that far from the rocks, so Ezra decided to find him. Enough was enough, and he wanted to go home. He figured if they left now, they could be back in Four Corners by tomorrow night. So he turned Chaucer around and spurred him back to the outcropping.

As he reached the spot where they split up, he got the nagging feeling that someone was watching him, and it didn't feel like Vin. He pulled out his Remington and laid it across his lap, and slowed Chaucer to a walk. When he reached the turning point, he jumped off and slowly made his way to the other side. He gasped at the sight before him.

Vin was kneeling down, his arms obviously trussed behind his back somehow. He also had the barrel of a rifle pressed firmly against his skull by a large leathery skinned man who clearly spent way too much time in the sun. Behind the brute stood a quiet ferret faced man in a dark red coat, and a nervous looking small man with huge brown eyes.

"Drop it, gambler." The large one barked.

Ezra hesitated a moment, but the cocking of the rifle (and several others around him indicating more gunmen) made up his mind. He threw the Remington to the ground and raised his arms.

"Gentlemen," Ezra drawled, a smile lighting his face, "may I inquire as to why you have this man trussed so rudely? And why you feel it necessary to draw on me as well?"

"Can it, boy. We know you and Tanner here were together. Simon, get the rest of his weapons."

"He has a Colt Richards Conversion in a shoulder holster, pop. I saw it at the barn." Ezra glanced sideways to see a young man not much older than JD sitting on the rocks and eagerly pointing Vin's Winchester at his head. A tall man in tattered Union fatigues, with wiry black hair and dark eyes appeared from somewhere behind him and started to pat the gambler down. He found the Colt, and the knife from earlier which Ezra had loosely stuck in his belt, handle showing. As was typical, however, he neglected to check Ezra's arms, so the derringer remained hidden. Simon then walked across to the large leader, throwing the guns at his feet.

"Well, aren't you a pretty one. I see what you meant by the vest, Matt." The large man smirked, and the boy on the rocks giggled a little maniacally. "So what is your story, gambler?"

"No story, sir. I was merely accompanying Mr. Tanner here on his journey, and we parted ways at this rock. I returned because I changed my mind as to the direction I wanted to go in."

"Well then, gambler, I must say that this is not your day." And with that, the large man raised the rifle from Vin's head and pointed it at Ezra. The gambler quickly waved his hands in front of him. Vin lowered his head.

"Wait, wait, I don't think you want to do that!" Ezra said, "I am worth more alive!"

The large man hesitated, and tilted his head. "Explain," he barked.

"I am guessing that the reason you have taken Mr. Tanner into custody here is because you plan on taking him for the bounty on his head, correct? Well, you may be interested to know that I too have a bounty on my head. Although smaller than Mr. Tanner's, I assure you it is not something to throw away."

Cavendish pursed his lips, then indicated with his gun for Ezra to continue. The gambler relaxed a little as he felt his con taking effect. "My name, sir, is Ezra Standish, and I am, as you so rightly guessed, a gambler by trade. As a result of that choice of profession, I have unfortunately made some errors in judgement which have led to my incarceration at times. At one point I managed to escape from the confines of Fort Laramie, which resulted in the placing of a bounty on my head. My most recent clash with the law, however, was in the town of Four Corners, not two days ride from here. Once more I was arrested and escaped. I am sure that the law of that town would pay handsomely for my return."

Cavendish lowered the gun a little, his tongue licking his lips. "How much are we talking, Standish?"

"After Fort Laramie, the bounty was $200. However, I am betting Four Corners will pay more than that. At that little township, I may have acted a little more scurrilous than was necessary upon my capture, and I undoubtedly salted the wound when I escaped." He grimaced as he thought of Chris's angry stares. The con is always more believable when you interlace truth with the lies. In some ways, there was more truth than fiction in the tale he spun.

Cavendish looked around at his other men, and indicated they should have a meeting. Motioning to Matt to stay where he was with the gun on Ezra, he handed his rifle to the quiet ferret faced man to hold on Vin. Then he, the wounded Cal, Malone and Simon gathered off to one side.

"What do you think?" the large man asked.

"You think it's the truth? He may just be trying to save his hide." This came from Cal, who was itching his arm wound from outside the sling. As one, they all looked at the ex-Union man.

Simon pursed his dry lips, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I've heard his name before. I remember something about a gambler getting out of Fort Laramie when I was in the army a year back. It was a real embarrassment." He half smiled, "should of seen the way those pompous officers were running around demanding that we get out and search for him. They had no idea that we all really wished the gambler'd get away. Yeah, I recall now. Ezra...the name fits."

Cavendish shrugged, "Well, works for me." Cal nodded, shrugging his acceptance. Malone just sighed. As a group they looked at Ezra, then Simon moved to pull the other pair of shackles out of his satchel. Ezra saw this and repressed a relieved smile. He had at least gotten them some time.

Cal and Malone moved forward to look at Chaucer, the chestnut stallion shying away from their inspection. "Damn, this is a nice horse for a gambler." The wounded man said.

"Must be worth something, huh?" Malone added, touching the handsome hide.

Ezra placed his arms behind his back to allow Simon to cuff him without touching his arms too much. One solid grip to his right arm would give the Derringer away. Plus, it is always good to act submissive. He looked over at the men with his horse, and it occurred to him that there were no other horses around.

"You men are on foot?" He asked, genuinely surprised.

"Well, not any more," Cal laughed, patting Chaucer's rump with his good hand. The horse became even more skittish. "We have this beauty and the tracker's stallion which we left over in the meadow yonder. I must thank you fellas for not moving too fast after you left the barn this morning. It made following you real easy."

Ezra grimaced, and looked at Vin. The tracker was looking extremely apologetic. He wouldn't even meet Ezra's gaze. Simon pushed the gambler over so that he was kneeling next to Vin, and knocked Ezra's hat off. Matt bounded off the rock and went to join his father and his friends who were standing around the beautiful horse. The ferret faced Davis stayed his ground, gun still trained on the back of Vin's head. Meanwhile, Simon shoved Ezra's hat on his own head and started strutting, causing the other men to laugh.

"Mr. Tanner," Ezra whispered beneath the racket, "I take it this was not part of Chris's plan for revenge?"

Vin flinched, and looked at Ezra with wide eyes. "How did…?'

"You are a terrible liar, Mr. Tanner. I thought it odd I'd never heard of Chelmsford, but your expression just now confirmed my suspicions." He exhaled slowly, "So where exactly are we?"

"Less than two days ride south east of Four Corners."

"Is that the closest town?"

"Yes."

"Good." Ezra replied, then straightened up. "Excuse me!" he called out. As one, the five men by the horses turned. The ferret faced man raised his rifle a little.

"Calm down, Davis. Can't have you shooting away our profits now, can we?" Cavendish called. The ferret faced man relaxed his position, and the large man came strolling over.

"Something I can do for you gambler?" He asked, with feigned politeness.

"Actually, I have a suggestion for you, sir." Ezra replied, an innocent smile on his features. Vin just kneeled there, praying Ezra wasn't about to get them killed. Cavendish frowned, but didn't reply. Ezra took this as an assent for him to continue.

"As your clever man has already noted, sir, my horse is really quite a beauty. In fact, both he and Mr. Tanner's horse are of sufficient quality that, if you were to trade them, you could probably get enough nags to put all your men on horses." Cavendish looked slightly puzzled.

"You are a little slow, Standish. We already thought of doing that when we got to Four Corners."

"Ah, yes," Ezra nodded, "it is a good idea. However, I can see that both you and your men are very weary, especially after tracking Mr. Tanner and myself all day. The long walk to Four Corners would do none of you any good, especially for your wounded colleague. Might I suggest that two of you take the horses and ride on to Four Corners, which I also believe is the nearest town, and trade them first? The rest of us could stay in that lovely meadow I heard about, and await their return."

Simon and Malone had walked up to hear this exchange, leaving Matt and Cal with Chaucer. They looked over at their leader to see his answer. Cavendish looked skeptical.

"What is in it for you," he drawled, eyeing Ezra distrustfully.

Ezra shrugged, his smile disarming. "I am afraid you have caught me out, sir. I don't want to walk either. My legs were built for city sidewalks, not dusty hills." He looked properly chagrined. Cavendish smiled, and eventually started laughing. Simon smiled, and Malone sneered. The ferret faced man, Davis, barely moved a muscle.

"Can't argue with such powerful laziness, now, can we men?" Cavendish nodded, "It's a good idea, gambler." He looked back at where Matt and Cal stood, and waved them over. Quickly he outlined Ezra's plan, acting as if it were his own.

"What are you doin?" Vin whispered.

"Let's just say I get the feeling that either you or I wouldn't survive the walk to Four Corners, Mr. Tanner." Ezra hissed back.

"If you ride through the night, you should get there by late afternoon tomorrow, but don't run the animals too much. We want them looking pretty for when you trade 'em in," Cavendish was saying to Matt. The boy stood straight, proud to be the one on whom his father trusted this job. Cavendish continued, "I'll expect you and Davis back in less than three days, got it? Oh and take the last of the bank money from Clear Ridge in case the horses ain't enough."

Matt fairly jumped in his eagerness to meet his father's wishes. He ran over to the small woods to get Peso. Davis moved slowly over to Chaucer and started checking the cinch on the saddle. Then he moved to swing himself into the saddle, but Chaucer sidestepped away, leaving the ferret faced man to fall on his face. The other outlaws started guffawing. Vin looked at Ezra, and saw the gambler's face tense around his false smile. Chaucer whinnied and tried to walk over to his master.

"Shh, boy, its okay," Ezra soothed over the laughter of the others. Chaucer stopped and looked at him, clearly confused. Davis picked himself up and moved back over to the horse. Ezra leaned forward on his knees to give himself more height. "Go with him, boy. It'll be alright."

Chaucer listened to his master's cool tones, and nickered softly. Ezra continued to say soothing words, and this allowed Davis to climb up without further incident. Ezra sank back to his knees with relief.

Moments later, they heard hooves galloping from somewhere behind them, and a loud "whoop!" yelled in Matt's voice. Seconds later, the boy came into sight and pulled back hard on the reins, causing Peso to rear. Ezra heard the growl in Vin's throat, and nudged him to stay silent. Matt quieted the horse, and looked over at Davis.

"Ready to go, pard?" He asked gleefully. Davis simply nodded, and without further ado, the two outlaws galloped off in the early afternoon sun.

A pang of despair gripped Ezra as he saw the harsh handling of his beloved horse, and knew Vin felt the same. It was something the two shared in common. None of the other members of the seven felt so attached to their mounts, except maybe Chris.

"Any harm comes to that horse…" Vin whispered tensely, not finishing his threat, his eyes shooting daggers at Cavendish's back.

"I'll help you," Ezra agreed. Cavendish turned, and smiled broadly.

"Well, boys, I think its time we moved back to that lovely rest stop we found Tanner in. There we can relax and determine how much agony we can place our two new friends in without actually killing them."

Continued in Part Two