Title: Three of a Kind, part 1 of 2

Author: Tipperary

Disclaimer: I own neither the Magnificent Seven nor Maverick. Hell, I wasn't even alive when Maverick was first shown (1957), though the fact that I love that show almost as much as MGM's Magnificent Seven is a testament to just how good it was. Anyhoo… Maverick is owned by Warner Brothers, ABC, TVLand, ColumbiaHouse, and anyone else who may have a claim to it. M7 is owned by MGM, CBS, Trilogy/Mirsch, John Watson and all I ask is that their lawyers don't sue me. I have no money. I'm a student in an obscene amount of debt (note to all those thinking about Grad school: if you're thinking New York City would be exciting to live, remember, it is also EXTREMELY expensive. I mean, a buck fifty for a doughnut? Who are they kidding? This is why we should all live in Oregon. I mean, that state is so inexpensive in comparison and is so damn gorgeous, how could you not want to live there? 'Course, I would miss the delis. New York has great delis. And great bars. Did I mention that the museums are also incredible? And I saw this rainbow over the Empire State Building the other day that just made my heart leap….

Ahem. Sorry.

Notes: This story is a crossover with Maverick. For those who don't know it, Maverick was a very funny, well acted show with the young and handsome James Garner (Bret), Jack Kelly(Bart), and, near the end of its run, Roger Moore (Beau) and Robert Colbert (Brent). I saw it for the first time last May when TVLand did one of those Fandemonium Weekend things while I was studying for an exam, and, well, I probably could have done better on the exam. (Oh, and Warner recently did a movie version with Garner, Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster. Rent it, it's a great movie). If you're curious as to what the Mavericks looked like, you can go to http://welcome.to/mavericktv. The girl who set it up did an amazing job.

Spoilers: Achilles, Serpents.

Description: When Bart and Bret Maverick visit Four Corners, well, let's just say things become even more interesting than usual.

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Three of a Kind

Part One

Bart Maverick sat at the bar watching the gambler in the corner with great interest. He had seen him before, although never in such a dive as this. Last time he'd seen him, the man had been freeing the good people of the Mississippi riverboat Bella Donna of their hard-earned cash. If Bart remembered correctly, this man was not only one of the best, he might even be better than Bart. The dark haired man tilted his head to one side as he thought this, a dark curl falling curiously out of place across his forehead, and considered whether the gambler might actually be better.

Nah.

Vin kept his eye on the young man near the bar, but not too seriously. He only watched him because the newcomer seemed to be watching Ezra so intently. After a few moments, though, Vin surmised that the man was watching Ezra not as someone who wished harm upon another, but as a man might watch a sporting event. It was the eye of one professional watching another professional at work.

Bart's eyes narrowed suspiciously as the black man at the table won another round. He also noticed that, in the last half an hour, the gambler, despite clearly being the more skilled player, had made only slightly more than what he'd started out with. Most of the money seemed to be flying out of the hands of the other two gentlemen at the table and towards the black man. Such a result alone would have made Bart suspicious, but his practiced eye had caught the subtle palming of cards that gave Mr. Jackson (as he'd heard the black man called by the gambler) the three of a kind to win the pot. Palmed, of course, by the gambler as he dealt. The gambler was directing the game as easily as one led a docile horse.

With one final swig of his whiskey, Bart stood and straightened his black silk waistcoat. A flickering of Ezra's eyes in his direction indicated that Bart's interest had not gone unnoticed. While Maverick had not intended to stay in this small town for longer than a few hours, something told him he would be delayed meeting Bret in Grand Junction. With practiced ease, he sidled over to the gaming table and flashed a smile at the men gathered there.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I was wondering if, perhaps, I might join you for a round or two?"

"Why, of course, sir," the gambler replied in a soft southern drawl, "the more the merrier. May I ask the moniker by which you make yourself known?"

Bart grinned at the roundabout speech, recognizing the style immediately. Always use more words than necessary, that way no one will have any idea what you've gotten them into until its too late. He'd used it to great effect himself, many times.

"Name's Bart Maverick, my friend. A gambler by trade much as yourself, though perhaps not with your, ahem, munificent qualities?"

JD, sitting across the table from Nathan, formed the word "munificent?" with his lips. Nathan just shrugged. He didn't know what it meant either. Over by the bar, in earshot of everything that was going on, Josiah grinned slyly.

The gambler lowered his head to hide an abashed grin, then, more seriously, stood to extend his hand. "Ezra Standish, Mr. Maverick, and may I say it is an honor to meet a man of your reputation."

"My rep…?" Bart smiled. "Yes sir, and may I say that, as of the last time I saw her, your mother was looking extremely well."

Ezra blinked, then shared the grin. "Touché, mon ami. Please, have a seat." He indicated to the chair opposite with a grand gesture and looked around at the others at the table, who all still looked slightly puzzled. Green eyes fixed on the youngest member of the group before turning back to Maverick.

"May I introduce Sheriff JD Dunne."

JD inclined his head, and Bart mimicked the solemn nod.

"A pleasure sir," Bart smiled, amused by the youth of the young man, but also aware that he was probably very sensitive about it.

"Mr. Buck Wilmington," Ezra continued, introducing an older man with a moustache, a ready smile on the gunslinger's face. Buck tipped his hat in welcome to the newcomer. Bart smiled back, and tipped his own imaginary hat. The real one he had already placed on the table.

"And Mr. Nathan Jackson," Ezra nodded to the black man. Nathan smiled shyly, and Bart imitated that look as well.

"Mr. Jackson is our resident healer, Mr. Maverick. He is playing today in order to try and make enough money to replace some needed supplies. So far, it would seem that lady luck has been on his side."

"Yes, I'd say so," Bart agreed, looking at the not inconsiderable pile in front of the healer, and flexed an eyebrow. Sensing something, Nathan began to gather his money together. He'd won more than enough, and had a feeling his luck would change in the face of this new gambler.

"Well, thanks very much boys, but I'd best go before the lady changes her mind about me. I'm probably pushing it as it is, don't you think?" He placed the money in his pocket, grabbed his soft brown hat and nodded his good-byes. "See y'all later."

"I gotta go spell Chris at the jail," Buck agreed, also standing. As he got up, he nudged JD hard in the side.

"Huh?" JD looked around, and saw the way Ezra and Bart seemed to be appraising each other from across the table. "Oh yeah, me too. Plus, I ain't got no money left. See ya, Ez, and, um, you boys play nice now."

"Of course, Mr. Dunne," Ezra said, sparing him a brief glance. Bart gave the boy a salute. Even before his fellow peacekeepers cleared the table, Ezra was dealing, his eyes never leaving the new man before him. The air took on an electric quality, and a crowd gathered to watch the show. From his stool by the bar, Josiah leant back to watch their boy in action. Vin went to stand next to him, curiosity piquing the normally solitary man.

"Who do you think's going to win, preacher?" he whispered into the older man's ear.

"Depends on whether Senor Ezra cheats, I should think," Inez answered for Josiah from where she stood behind him at the bar. She poured Vin a beer and slid it over.

"He won't cheat. This one's too clever," Vin replied. "If it's a fair game, you want to take a bet on the outcome, Inez?"

"Tempting, Senor. Why not? I'll put five dollars down on Senor Maverick."

Vin looked properly shocked and shook his head. "I won't tell Ezra you bet against him, Inez. What about you Josiah? Or should I even bother to ask?"

Josiah pursed his lips. Loyalty demanded he bet on Ezra, but he too had heard of the Maverick brothers. Good men and excellent card sharps. He looked at Vin, who watched him quietly. "I'll lay five on Maverick as well, Vin."

This time Vin's surprise was genuine, but he hid it well. "I guess I really won't tell Ezra that, though I'm sure he'll figure it out. Shame on you, preacher."

"I may be crazy, Vin…"

"Yeah, yeah, but you're not stupid. Well, I guess that leaves only me to place my five on our hero. I think you both underestimate him," Vin shrugged.

"I put my money on Ezra, too," Chris said, arriving just in time to insert himself into their little group and nodding at Inez. "Something tells me that this meeting might bring out a side of Ezra we rarely see in our small town." Meanwhile, Inez poured him a whiskey and handed it to him. At the table, the first poker game looked to be in full swing. The two men were playing an introductory game of five card stud, nothing wild.

Bart looked down at his three face up cards on the table, and at the one face down, then threw three more bits into the pot. Visible on his side was a pair of nines and a five. Ezra slid him his fifth card, revealing a king. The man's expression did not change at all at the addition. On his side, Ezra matched the three bits, and added two more. Before him he had a pair of threes and a jack. As the third card was turned over to reveal a queen, he tilted his head and smiled pleasantly.

Maverick scanned the cards in his hand and looked appraisingly at the one that was face down. He matched the two bits and raised five. Innocent green eyes lazily watched the movements, then threw five bits into the pot to call

Maverick flipped over his hole card – a second king, giving him two pair, kings and nines. Ezra nodded, and flipped his own hole card – another three. Three of a kind, all threes. Bart grinned, shaking his head as Ezra drew in the small pot. Coins mostly, but it was just a starter game. The two men each had a better idea of the other's skills now.

Ezra shuffled again, the cards a blur between his fingers. He liked to use three distinct styles of shuffling – the traditional bridge shuffle, a lazier hand shuffle, and the one he did now. Vin named it the speed shuffle. Ezra didn't lift the cards from the table. He simply split them in half, lifted the corners ever so slightly, and before you knew it, had them back together again. The dexterity of the movement had always impressed the tracker.

With a gentle move, Ezra slid the cards across the table. "Care to deal, Mr. Maverick?"

It was a symbol of trust, and Bart accepted it thankfully. He imitated Ezra's shuffle, although, to the loyal eyes of Vin, it hadn't looked quite as smooth. Within moments, the game was dealt again, but not five card stud. This time they played seven card stud, one-eyed jacks wild, and Bart had added the jokers as "bugs."

"Senor, what is a 'bug?" Inez whispered, leaning in again to talk to the three men at the bar.

"A bug is a joker, Inez. It is a wild card that stands as an ace. So, if you have two aces and a joker, then you have three aces. But, say, you have two kings and a joker, then you merely have two kings and an ace. Of course, if your opponent has the same hand with a real ace, then he wins," Josiah replied.

"Oh. Yes, I've seen that, but we do not call them bugs where I am from. Why are they called bugs here?"

Josiah looked at Vin and Chris. Both men shrugged. Josiah then shrugged at Inez, who made a wry face, and disappeared to serve someone new. In front of them, the game became more serious, but no less spirited. Eventually, of course, it would graduate into draw poker, but for now the two men were still sizing the other up. When the real game began, that was when their skills would really show.

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Two hours later, the two men were still at it. The size of the pot had grown considerably, and Bart frowned at the thought that he had lost more than he intended to this man. However, he'd been watching him intently, and, irritatingly enough, was sure that Ezra hadn't been cheating him. Calling to close a fifty dollar pot, Bart laid down a straight.

Ezra laid down a full house.

"Damn," Bart smiled, shaking his head. He stood and stretched as Ezra drew in the cash and worked it into a small wad.

"A most enjoyable game, sir," Ezra chuckled, inserting the money into his waistcoat pocket. "I must say, I have not had the opportunity to play with such a skilled opponent in a long time. The last time I thought I had met my match, the man turned out to be a charlatan with a false leg."

Maverick grinned at this information as he carefully placed his own smaller pile of cash into his wallet. He still had plenty of money, but it always stung to lose. His pappy would not be proud.

"A false leg? That is low. But tell me, how did you discover that his leg was false? Surely you didn't look under the table," Bart said. Such a thing would not be honorable in their profession, even if you were certain the other man was somehow cheating.

"No, though it might have given me a little extra peace of mind. Unfortunately for my opponent, his leg came off when he kicked a thieving brigand out of a moving stagecoach." The gambler leaned back, his eyes taking on a slightly far away look, and he swiped his thumb across his bottom lip. "As I was nearby at the time, I retrieved the leg for him and returned it. Needless to say, I requested a rematch, at which point I easily beat the gentleman." Ezra flexed an amused eyebrow, his hands shuffling the cards again.

"And you just happened to be…nearby…when this happened?"

Ezra grinned wolfishly, but shook his head. "No need to worry, my friend. I was not in the raiding party."

Bart raised his eyebrow at the remark, but was willing to give his fellow professional the benefit of the doubt. "Well, I do hope you will allow me the same courtesy?"

"A rematch? It would be an honor, sir. Are you staying in town?"

"I think I just might. I do, however, need to send a telegram to someone. Could you direct me to the telegraph office?"

"Absolutely. If you simply walk out the door and turn right, you'll see it next to the Clarion news office."

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Standish." Bart put on his hat and tipped it towards his fellow gambler.

"My pleasure." Ezra stood up as well, and extended his hand to be shaken. Bart took it warmly, then wandered out.

Sighing, Ezra returned to his seat and stretched out, unthinkingly looking over to check on his associates. Vin had left a while ago, as had Josiah. Chris remained, and Inez shook her head as she handed him five dollars. Chris grinned, and pocketed the cash. Ezra merely raised an eyebrow at the black clad gunslinger as he came to join him at the table.

"She has no faith in me," Ezra muttered in a self-mocking tone, indicating the senorita with a tilt of his head. Inez ignored him as she brought him a whiskey shot. He downed it in one go.

"Nah, she just likes to keep things interesting," Chris replied, drinking his own whiskey more slowly. He looked askance at his gambler. "So, did you cheat?"

Ezra looked up, his eyes wide. "Why, Mr. Larabee, how could you even suggest such a thing? Surely you know by now that I only cheat when others cheat me, or when I think there is something worthwhile to gain. Here, there was nothing more to gain than the joy of a well played game. Hence, there was no reason to cheat."

Chris was about to return with a smart remark when gunshots echoed outside. Instantly, both men were at the door and ducking outside, guns raised. From across the way, they could see Bart Maverick hiding behind one of the posts in front of the Clarion, his hand gripping his shoulder. Not far from him, Vin hid in the recess of the alley next to the jail, his Mare's Leg pointed down the street. JD and Buck were just inside the door to the jail, still trying to get their bearings as to what they were shooting at.

Three gunmen were hidden at the other end of the street behind a wagon, their backs to the church. One of the gunmen raised his rifle to shoot at the saloon, forcing Chris back inside and causing Ezra to duck behind a fence post. Both men quickly returned fire, and Vin took aim at one of the other shooters, bringing him down with a well placed shot.

Moments later, after a barrage of wasted bullets sprayed out from both sides, a quiet standoff occurred. Ezra couldn't help but smile as he saw how it was about to end.

"Tsk, tsk, boys, didn't your mother tell you to never to turn your back on God?" Josiah asked politely. He and Nathan had crept up from behind, having been in the church making repairs, and now stood within five feet of the insurgents, rifles raised at their unprotected backs.

Any normal man would have given up then. For some reason, though, the two remaining gunmen didn't seem so inclined. They each raised their weapons, forcing both Nathan and Josiah to shoot.

Nathan's bullet grazed one man in the arm, and Josiah's caught the other in the shoulder, effectively preventing either man from re-firing. Their guns fell uselessly to the ground. Throwing swears out at the two lawmen, the gunmen struggled to their feet, looking ready to fight, only to find themselves surrounded on all sides by the Seven.

Bart watched the fluid manner in which the peacekeepers encircled the outlaws with a mixture of surprise and awe. He was particularly surprised to see how smoothly Ezra fit in with the group, as if they were all part of a single whole. Now he understood better why Ezra had been "nearby" when that cheating gambler had lost his leg.

His shoulder began to throb unmercifully as the adrenaline rush of fear fell away, and he started to fade as the outlaws were carted off to jail by the young sheriff. Ezra, Nathan and a man in black looked his way, and he could see Ezra shaking his head vehemently at something the gunslinger was saying, his hands upraised in a warding off gesture. The man in black wiped a hand across his face, then nodded. As if given a reprieve, Ezra and Nathan rushed to Bart's side.

Bart slid to the ground, still leaning against the post. Not the first time he'd been shot, and likely not the last. Didn't stop it from hurting like hell every time though. The black healer was suddenly in front of him, stripping off his jacket and inspecting the wound. Ezra squatted next to Nathan, his face lined with concern.

"You alright Maverick?"

Bart looked up at Ezra, smiled, and fainted.

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"Well, then, explain it again!" Buck growled. He was in the cell with one of the outlaws, pacing up and down the small space like a caged lion considering pouncing on its trainer.

The gunman snarled, not hiding his contempt for the lawman. "Mister, that's all we know, alright? We were paid to hit the gambler as he walked out of the saloon. We weren't told why, and we're not in the business of asking. You get that?"

"So who hired you?"

"What the hell is this? You slow or something? We've already told you…"

With a yell, Buck lunged at the gunman, pulling him up by the lapels, and bringing his face within inches of the other. JD shook his head where he sat at his desk, whittling a piece of wood with a knife.

"Buck," he said warningly, not looking up.

The ladies man stared at his victim one more time then dropped him to the ground. Unable to catch himself as his wrists were shackled, the gunman collapsed into a heap, grunting as he landed on his bad arm. With one more look of disgust, Buck stalked out of the cell and slammed the door. At the same time, Chris opened the door of the jail.

"How is Mr. Maverick?" JD asked, standing. Buck moved to sit on the corner of the desk next to his friend, waiting for Chris's reply with an annoyed look on his face.

"Fine, just a bit spooked. He's downing whiskey with Ezra in the saloon and muttering about his brother being worried about him," Chris answered. He turned steel blue eyes towards the jail cell where the two gunman sat in sullen silence.

"They tell you anything?"

Buck huffed. "They say they were hired by some guy in a black three piece suit in Grand Junction, but they don't know his name. Idiot clodhopper there said that the guy looked pretty average for a rich guy, but nothing else stuck out in his mind. Anyway, they were paid a thousand bucks to come to Four Corners and hit Bart. They don't know why, and they didn't ask."

Chris nodded, and looked at JD. The Sheriff sighed and handed over the two men's wanted posters for Chris to look at. They were each wanted for murder, theft and horse stealing.

"I got some Marshals from Fort Hunter coming to take 'em away," JD told him. "Judge'll sentence them when he arrives there next week."

"And where's the money they were hired with?" Chris asked, handing the posters back. Buck looked at JD, and JD looked back. They hadn't thought to ask that.

Chris shook his head and offered them a weak smile. "Where's Ezra when you need him?" He looked at the two men in the cage. "Where you boys staying here in town?"

The one Buck had just yelled at stared back defiantly, but the second man didn't seem to see much point in being stubborn. He was playing with the bindings on the bandage over his shoulder as he replied, "at the boarding house. Money's there."

The first man rolled his eyes and turned himself on the cot to face the wall.

_____________________________________

"So much for that rematch," Bart muttered unhappily, looking at his bum arm. "I should probably make myself scarce now that this has happened." He sighed, and shifted the pained limb. Nathan had him wrapped up and in a plain cotton sling, not very becoming for a man of Bart's tastes.

"Well, while I would rather you stay, I suppose I must remain content with a rain check, Mr. Maverick. And invite your brother as well. I've heard tell that, together, the two of you are unbeatable. I'd like to take that challenge." Ezra grinned, his fingers idly spinning the cards in his hand so that the top card slid around the deck. It was the king of clubs.

"It would be a pleasure, sir," Bart replied, watching Ezra's hands. It amazed him that the man always had a deck of cards handy, to the point that they looked to be an extension of his body. Not even Bret was that addicted to the cards. No, he and Bret were more addicted to the money one won from playing cards, he thought wryly. He looked up in time to see the man in black heading this way through the saloon window, the tracker fellow on his heels.

"Tell me, Mr. Standish, what was it that your Mr. Larabee was saying after the gunfight that caused you to argue so doggedly?" Bart asked.

Ezra took another sip from his whiskey, and tucked the cards away. "Oh, he merely asked if I thought you might be involved in something nefarious. I told him you were exactly what you appeared to be."

"Oh yes, and what is that?"

"An exceptionally proficient gambler, and an honorable gentleman. Not the kind to get involved in something that could undeservedly harm another person."

Bart's eyes narrowed, and he absently scratched at the wound on his arm under the sling. "And how do you know that? My reputation again?"

"Hmmm," Ezra shook his head. "Let's just say I am an excellent judge of character. By the way, I telegraphed your brother in Grand Junction to let him know what happened to you."

"Really?" Bart grinned. "Thank you."

"Not a problem…."

"Did you say Grand Junction?" Chris moved across to join the two gamblers at the bar, Vin following him in. The tracker tossed a small satchel at Ezra, who caught it deftly.

"Why Mr. Larabee, Mr. Tanner, so good of you to join us. May I assume that you have ascertained the impetus behind the maleficence of our two felons?"

"For Christ's sake, Ezra, use plain English for once," Vin groused.

"didja figger out why dem bad guys shot up Bart?" Ezra restated, his accent thickening to the point of intelligibility. At the same time, his eyes opened wide and he even managed to loose a bit of drool off his lip. Vin stuck his tongue out at him.

Scowling, Chris shook his head. "No, but the man who paid him off was from Grand Junction. You going there for a reason Bart?"

Maverick shook his head, his face puzzled. "Just to meet my brother. Certainly nothing to shoot a man over. Unless, of course, Bret's in some kind of trouble."

"Mr. Maverick has told me he knows of no reason why someone would want him dead, Chris. Of course, as with all of us, he has made a few enemies over the years, but, from what I know of him and have heard of him, I would say that Mr. Maverick is the innocent in this affair." Ezra was firm in his statement, though he didn't look up as he spoke. His attention was focused on the money in the satchel in his hands – a thousand dollars?

Chris pondered this for a while, looking back and forth between Ezra and his friend. For some reason, Ezra seemed intent on sticking up for this man, despite having only met him a few hours ago. Vin remained silent next to him, not being of much use in the matter.

Chris sighed. "Well, then, why don't you write your brother and ask him to look around for us, Bart. The city is over four days ride from here, which, obviously, is a bit outside our jurisdiction at the moment." He paused, pursing his lips slightly. "Would you mind if I asked you whether you plan on staying here or moving on?"

Bart quickly understood the underlying sentiment, it being one he had heard many times before. Get out before you cause any more trouble. Well, it was what he was planning on anyhow. He was about to answer that he would be gone first thing in the morning when he felt Ezra rest a hand on his good arm.

"I believe it best if Mr. Maverick stay here a while, Chris. For his protection. We can wire his brother, perhaps even invite Bret Maverick to join us here once he has pursued any inquiries." Ezra stepped forward to stand in front of the taller Maverick, ignoring the surprised look on the newcomer's face. "If some villain paid a thousand dollars to have him killed, he is not going to give up easily."

"A thousand…" Bart repeated, amazed at the fee. Of course, he routinely carried more than that in his wallet, but it was still a lot of money. Ezra continued on, ignoring the interruption.

"More to the point, if that same villain sends someone else to carry out the act, on the basis that there is a thousand dollars waiting for him here in payment, then that person will more than likely have actually met our villain face to face. Trust is very thin in this business, so I am told. He'll have met our villain as insurance. He'll know his name," Ezra smiled, and Chris narrowed his eyes. After a moment, the black-clad gunslinger shook his head and lowered his hat over his eyes.

"You're not keeping the money when this is over, Ezra," Chris deadpanned, unable to resist the barb. The gambler rolled his eyes, and tossed the satchel back to Vin. Chris's smile grew to cover his whole face, and Ezra scrunched up his face at him in disdain. Bart didn't understand the exchange, but, then again, he wasn't about to ask. He was still impressed that these men seemed willing to actually protect him.

Why?

He watched the men in front of him interact, trying to make sense of it all. Why would such an imposing figure as this Mr. Larabee listen to what a jaded riverboat gambler had to say? And then there was the buffalo hunter behind them, staying silent while he watched them both like a hawk. What was his role in this play? And those others – a boy sheriff, a gunslinger with the air of a drifter who nevertheless seemed rooted to this place, a preacher with a gun, and a black doctor…. He felt as if he'd fallen into some strange alternative universe, one where people actually cared about whether an idler such as he lived or died.

No one ever cared before. Not unless they were family.

Or had some other reason.

There must be an ulterior motive, he just couldn't see it yet. Still, better here and under the protection of these strange men than out facing the wolves. No one ever said Bart Maverick was a fool. A coward, certainly, but never a fool. For now, he'd just have to wing it.

Interestingly enough, Chris Larabee was having very similar thoughts as he looked at Ezra. What was Standish's motive? The money? They didn't normally protect drifters, and Ezra never did without some promise of "pecuniary gain", as he would put it. For now, though, he'd let Ezra have his way. If anyone got hurt though, he knew exactly where to lay the blame.

"On your head, then, Ezra." He looked over at Maverick who remained perched against the bar, a full glass of whiskey in his hand. "Mr. Maverick, we will protect you for as long as you wish to stay here. But, please, write your brother. Anything you can learn would be most helpful."

Bart raised a glass to the leader of the peacekeepers, and Chris nodded. As quietly as he drifted in, Chris left. Vin hefted the satchel of money over his back, and joined the men at the bar.

"I have heard of you, Mr. Maverick," the tracker stated quietly, not looking up from the dark wood. "You and you brother are something of legends back down in Texas, where I'm from. Two of the best swindlers in the country, so I've been told. But I've also heard tell of the people you've helped, some of whom were friends of mine."

"Oh yes?" Bart sipped his drink, staring out the batwing doors. Ezra stepped behind the bar to fetch the tracker a beer. Vin continued on as if Bart hadn't spoken.

"Ez is right, Maverick. You're a good man. You have nothing to worry about while you're here."

Ezra slid Vin a bottle of beer, which the tracker snatched up and took a swig from. He threw Ezra a coin, nodded once more to the newcomer, and walked out of the bar, bottle in hand. Ezra dropped the coin in the register, then leaned across the bar to look at Maverick. He smiled when he realized that the man was trying to hide his embarrassment at Vin's words.

"So, how about that rematch?" the green-eyed man asked, flashing a gold tooth.

Maverick smiled.

____________________________

The night rolled by lazily, with Ezra and Maverick rarely leaving the saloon except to finally get some sleep. The next morning, both were back at the table as if nothing had interrupted them.

JD sat at the bar, nursing his milk with a distracted air. For several hours now, he'd watched transfixed as Maverick and Ezra seemed to play every style of card game in the book. The two gamblers had long since moved past poker to games he'd only heard of, like Michigan and Red Dog, and on to games he'd never seen before. For example, right now they were playing a game he thought he recognized as one he'd played as a kid back east, but the way the two gamblers played, this was no child's game.

He was not the only one to take an active interest in the goings on of the two professionals. Almost half the town had taken up residence in the saloon, keeping Inez busy as the townsfolk both admired and bet on the outcome of the games. Occasionally, other members of the Seven would wander in, but only Buck, JD and Vin had spent any time watching. Buck wandered in for the fourth time that day, and made his way to JD's side.

"What are they playing now, kid?"

"Bart there called it Casino, Buck, and it don't look like a particularly hard game to play. I even think I used to play something like it with my friends back home. But the way these two play – they barely look at the cards as they pick 'em up, like they already know what is going to be played next."

"Casino? Yeah, I heard of it. It's a memory thing, kid. They already know what's going to happen because they both count the cards. Whoever has the sharper memory and the quicker arithmetic will be the winner."

"Yeah well, so far its been pretty even. Did ya know that Bart there won his money back this morning? And he got a little of Ezra's money too. Then, just in the past few hours, Ezra won it all back again, plus some more. Now, neither is getting the upper hand. Its really incredible." The boy Sheriff put a hand to his forehead to brush back his hair, never taking his eyes from the two men before him. Buck smiled wryly and settled in to watch for a bit.

Ezra shook his head and threw down his cards, already knowing he'd lost this round. Bart smiled easily and drew in the pot, scratching the back of his head as he counted the cash. He was still down by almost four hundred, but he had gained about a hundred back in this last hand. He looked up at Ezra, who was pushing a tired hand through his brown hair. Clear green eyes looked up to meet the laughing brown eyes of his opponent, and both men grinned.

"Perhaps the time has come to take a break, Mr. Maverick?"

The crowd groaned, and Maverick looked around as if noticing them for the first time. "And disappoint the people?" he returned.

"Oh," Ezra looked around him, meeting the expectant faces with a sly look, "I imagine they can handle it." He stood and stretched, and looked around him. Suddenly, he leapt across the table, looking for all the world like he was going for Bart's throat.

BANG!

The gunshot seemed to come out of nowhere, and Ezra went down, crumbling into an unconscious heap to the floor, Maverick underneath him. The thick crowd screamed and yelled simultaneously, running over each other to get away. In the melee, Buck and JD tried to get an idea of where the shot had been fired from. Buck looked up to see legs running away down the hallway on the second floor. He vaulted onto the stairs, taking them two at a time in order to catch up with the running man.

JD scrambled over to Ezra, shooting a few times in the air to try and calm the crowd. Of course, he only succeeded in frightening them further. He finally got close enough to find Bart crouched protectively over the prone figure, the dark eyed gambler's gun out and raised. Maverick pointed it at the kid as he pushed his way through, and immediately drew it back upon recognizing the figure.

"He's alive. Get help, I'll protect him," Bart promised, and JD nodded. The young Sheriff blended back into the crowd and was practically carried outside. In moments, the saloon was empty except for Inez behind the bar with a shotgun, and the two gamblers on the floor next to the now upturned gambling table.

Bart looked at the blood on the side of Ezra's head with wonder. This man whom he barely knew just saved his life, and for what?

JD came back in with Nathan and Josiah, who quickly took control while JD ran back outside. Bart stepped back when he saw the careful way Josiah cradled Ezra, and the efficient manner in which Nathan checked him over. The healer looked up at the newcomer and nodded.

"Bullet just grazed his skull. Man has more lives than a cat. He'll be fine."

Bart nodded back, releasing the pent up breath than he'd been holding. Rubbing his forehead, the older gambler decided he needed fresh air, and pushed his way outside. He found the street empty except for JD.

The Sheriff seemed to be watching something going on down the alley next to the saloon, looking both amused and angry at the same time. As he got closer, he heard a woman demanding to be let go. He rushed the last few steps, and stopped short at the sight before him. He now understood the odd look on the young Sheriff's face.

Buck Wilmington was holding a young blond woman by the arm, while Vin flanked them from behind with his sawed off Winchester. Chris Larabee stood just in front of her, his arms crossed in anger. The woman twisted in Buck's grip, but she wasn't going anywhere.

She wore dark brown leather chaps, over black cotton pants, a black shirt and a short, dark brown leather jacket. She wore no hat, but her hair was tied up in a messy bun on her head, as if she'd been wearing a hat until recently. Dark blue eyes glared at Chris, and a stream of very unladylike invectives spewed from her pale lips.

"Let me go, you sorry excuse for peacekeepers! I ain't done nothing wrong, and my pappy is going to be real upset if I don't get back to him." Her threats fell on deaf ears as Chris stared her down. She could scream and yell all she wanted, he told her silently, but she wasn't going to get out of this.

Bart wandered into the alley, holding his hurt arm close to his body. When she caught sight of him, she stopped moving and looked at him with a surprised expression.

"Clara?" Bart asked.

"I thought I hit you!" She blurted out, causing Maverick to blink. He looked up at Chris, but the man in black didn't take his eyes off the blond. She shut up then, suddenly realizing that she's just admitted to taking the shot.

"No, my dear, but you did hit a good friend of mine. Lucky for you, he will be alright," Bart replied slowly. Beyond her, he saw the others relax slightly at his news, but the woman didn't notice.

"Damn fools, protecting this no account cheat," she muttered, shaking her head. She looked up into Chris's cold stare. "You going to take me in now?" she asked him.

"Yep."

She sighed, and looked to the ground. "Any way you might be willing to let me go?" she asked coyly, digging a toe into the ground like a little girl.

"No…though I might convince the judge to go lighter if you answer some questions."

She looked up again, her jaw tensing. "Such as?"

"Who sent you to kill Maverick?" he asked quietly.

Her lips curled into a sneer, and Bart turned away. "Why no one, sugar. I came after Bart all on my own."

____________________________

"OW! Damn it, Nathan!" Ezra whined as the healer pressed the milk and linseed oil soaked cloth against his head. The gambler reacted by pulling back, only to be stopped by the firm hands of Josiah on his shoulders.

"Stop being such a baby, Ez," Nathan admonished without raising his voice. "This'll dull the pain enough for me to stick some stitches in, unless you want to walk around with an ugly gash on your forehead for the rest of the week."

"Without hesitation, if it means I no longer have to endure the torment of your painful ministrations. Ouch!" He made to pull back again, but this time Josiah clamped a hand on the back of his head. Nathan grinned as Ezra shut his eyes in defeat.

"Two against one is not what I would consider fair odds, gentlemen."

"Yeah, well, if you like, we could get Vin over here to tie you up, then I wouldn't need Josiah to hold you down," Nathan replied. Ezra frowned as he felt his forehead begin to numb, but didn't comment again.

They were still in the saloon, Inez rushing around in the background putting everything back in order. Some of the usual patrons had returned, but, now that the sporting event seemed to be over, the rest of the town remained outside, making the saloon seem awfully quiet. Ezra had only been unconscious for about ten minutes, but with Josiah's warm hands on his shoulders and the subdued atmosphere, he felt ready to fall back asleep again.

Just as Ezra was about to drift off again in his chair, Bart, Chris and Buck walked in and joined them at the table.

"What did you find out?" Josiah asked, bringing all eyes but Nathan's to Chris. The healer was threading his needle, a fact that Ezra was doing his best to ignore.

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Well, turns out our Mr. Maverick here is a popular fellow."

Bart sighed. "Her name is Clara Styles. Her father is Bentley Styles, a somewhat wealthy rancher back in Texas. She's his tenth daughter, and not exactly prominent in the family legacy," he said, scratching at the bandage under his sling.

"Stop that!" Nathan barked, looking over. Bart immediately dropped his hand, and looked emphatically at his fellow gambler, who had grimaced at the shout. Ezra had a headache on top of everything else, and was wishing Nathan would just get on with it so he could go to sleep.

"Go on," Josiah prompted.

"Well, I had the opportunity to play Mr. Styles in a friendly game of poker a while back, during which I liberated a fair bit of cash from his pocket. Unfortunately, Mr. Styles' son was the Sheriff of the town, and had me arrested for being a public nuisance before I even left the table. Next thing I know, I'm being accused of everything from stealing the horse I rode in on, to cheating Mr. Styles out of his livelihood. But, Mr. Styles was a fair man, so he said. He gave me a deal – I was free so long as I married his wild daughter Clara and took her away with me. Needless to say, while Clara is certainly a…nice girl," he looked over at the others, who all grinned back, "I simply am not the marrying kind. As soon as I had an opening, I took off."

"And Clara?"

"She was a little annoyed by the whole thing, but was going along with it for the dowry. She wanted out of there as much as I did. When I left, she felt betrayed, not too surprisingly, and her father was livid. Apparently," Bart smiled ruefully, "her father made her a new deal. She'd still get the dowry money if she found me and brought me back to him, preferably dead."

"And you didn't snap her up when you could have?" Ezra quipped. "Tell me, did she also hire those two other miscreants currently inhabiting our jail?"

"Don't talk Ez, and don't move," Nathan warned, raising the needle. The gambler's face paled as he watched the shiny object move past his eyes, and quickly shut them tight. Chris smirked at the gambler's discomfort, but sobered as he answered the question.

"That's the odd thing." He shook his head as he looked at Bart, who shrugged. "She says she's never laid eyes on them before. That means there is still someone else out there trying to kill Bart."

Concluded in part two