Title: Lady Marshal
Author: Tipper
Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven are owned by MGM, TNN, and Trilogy/Mirsch. I will not make any money from this. Ever.

Description: The Seven agree to help a Lady Marshal capture some cattle rustlers. Robin Hood, Othello and The Quick and the Dead were all the inspirations for this one.

~Lady Marshal~

Chapter One: The Edge of the World

Sunday…mid afternoon…hot and dry

Welcome to the edge of the world.

She pulled her hat down to cover more of her face as she rode into the rough town, hunching in the saddle to hide better. Around her, people and smells swirled in slow moving eddies, watching and ignoring her, all at the same time. She watched them drift away, never quite able to discern one face from another, as transitory as this place.

She came here because it had a story building around it, one she felt necessary to see for herself. She knew of the seven peacekeepers, of course, her profession demanded it, but that was not what brought her here. She didn't really expect much from them, hired gunslingers as they probably were, and loyal to none but the money they were paid. No, she came here because she'd heard about the women.

According to the stories, women here actually owned their own businesses, and not just the brothel on the edge of town, though one obviously existed. She'd been told that a woman owned the saloon, another owned the general store, and that a third ran the newspaper. There were also women ranchers, controlling homesteads that anywhere else would have been transferred into the hands of a man, according to the law. But out here, on the edge, women could be ranchers.

In the established world, regardless of whether you were on the bowels of Africa, the mountains of China, or the plains of Europe, women were always the subjected class. Didn't matter your religion, or the color of your skin, or your class. If you were of the weaker sex, then there was always a man above you. The only exception was a Queen. Victoria. One woman among millions, and only by accident of birth.

But that was not true out here. Not where the world was still forming. Necessity had created a bubble of unreality, one that, undoubtedly, would burst soon. But for now, women like her were allowed to exist.

Slowly she eased her horse through the unsettled people, none paying her much mind, and made her way to the saloon – the Standish Tavern. As she reached the hitching post, she paused before dismounting, pulling off her riding gloves and wiping a callused hand across her sweaty, dirt lined brow. Her horse, which she had not named, bowed its beautiful golden head into the nearby trough, taking in the sainted water in long draws. Its rider's procrastination meant nothing to it, so the horse barely registered the movement as the woman pulled away.

With a dusty pat to its hide, the newcomer drew the saddlebags off its back and threw them over her shoulder. With one last glance at the town, she sidled into the saloon, barely aware of the small group of people gathered out front. Three of them, a tall man in black, a fancy dressed gambler, and a boy in a brown suit, followed her inside. She pretended not to notice.

At the bar, she nodded to the woman tending the customers and dropped her saddlebags onto the floor by her feet with a clatter. The barkeep nodded back, pushed a beer across the bar to an old cowboy, and wandered over.

"What can I get you?" the barkeep asked, her words inflected with a Spanish accent.

"Whiskey," she replied, her voice low and husky from breathing in too much dirt on her ride. She pushed her hat back off her head, and wiped the sweat off her brow. "Leave the bottle."

Inez retrieved the desired drink, placing a bottle in front of the stranger along with a glass, and tried to make sense of the apparition before her. The newcomer was a woman, probably in her mid forties despite the fact that the lines were only just beginning to make themselves apparent on the burnished skin. Her low slung hat was pushed back off her head, revealing dark red hair, almost brown, with a few silver highlights, cut short to just above her shoulders. Dark hazel eyes stared back at Inez with an almost cynical air, and her dark red full lips looked as if they rarely curved into a smile.

All in all, a formidable looking person.

The newcomer threw the bill on the counter, and Inez took it almost gingerly. "This is too much, Senorita."

"I don't plan on leaving anytime soon." The older woman looked up at the stairs to the side. "You rent rooms here, correct?"

"Si, twenty five cents a night," Inez replied as she pocketed the bill, her mind calculating how many drinks it was worth.

The newcomer nodded, her dark eyes clearly missing nothing as Inez glanced over her shoulder at the boys, then turned around to pull two mugs from off the shelf.

"Twenty five cents? That include meals?" the stranger asked.

"Only breakfast. For thirty, I will also provide dinner." Placing one mug on the bar, she started to fill the other one under the tap with beer.

"Sounds like an awful lot for a place like this."

"Inez's cooking is worth it," a southern drawl interrupted smoothly before Inez could reply. It was a pre-emptive strike. Inez's face had instantly darkened at the mention that the saloon and her food were anything less than the best in this town. Ezra's simple goal had been to prevent the explosion he knew would happen-and it had worked. She moved onto the second mug, moving to reach under the bar and into the icebox for a bottle of milk. She slowly filled the second mug with the frothy liquid.

The newcomer didn't turn to face the man next to her as he leaned across the bar to grab a bottle of dark amber whiskey for himself. She had jumped a little at his voice, not having heard him creep up beside her, or seen him in the bar's mirror before this. Such a thought should have worried her, but the bartender's reaction, or rather, non-reaction, kept her from going for her gun. Inez-which was clearly the barkeep's name-merely ignored the transgression as he took the bottle without paying, so the newcomer saw no reason to acknowledge him either. She did however, catch the bright red of his coat and the fine cut of his hair in the mirror – a gambler.

Inez finished pouring the drinks and placed them on a tray. Looking up, she stared brazenly across at the woman. "So, do you want the room?"

The woman sighed and reached up to tuck her auburn hair behind her ears. "How much is the hotel?"

"60 cents a night, with dinner and breakfast. My food is better, though the accommodations may be more suited to one of your obvious stature." The sarcasm was thick on her tongue. She ignored it.

"And the boarding house?"

"Por favor, do I look like the town clerk? If you don't want the room, fine. I have other customers." She pushed the tray with the two drinks across the bar to the gambler, who still stood there, slowly pouring the whiskey into a silver flask. "Enough spying, Ezra. Kindly take this over to Senors Larabee and Dunne."

Ezra, the gambler, opened his mouth to argue, especially since he had likely been sent over here to eavesdrop, but shut it quickly at Inez's look. With a nod, he flashed a smile at the newcomer.

"You'd think this place was named after her," he said with a shrug, before picking up the tray and leaving.

This time, she turned to watch him, following him all the way until he sat down with a man dressed all in black and a boy with shaggy, black hair.

"Is he the Standish of Standish Tavern?" she asked. "I was told a woman owned this place."

Inez sighed. "He did once, but his mother bought it out from under him. Then she sold it to someone else awhile back, on the condition that they keep the name." She shrugged.

The woman turned back to Inez, an eyebrow raised. "His mother bought it? Is she some sort of dowager?"

This time Inez grinned, and shook her head. "Maybe in her own mind," she chuckled. "No, Senora Standish is merely a very clever, very single minded woman. If she were a man, she'd probably own half the country by now." Still smiling, she turned to grab a couple more mugs off the shelf behind her.

This thought from the bartender sobered the older woman, and she took another long draw on the whiskey in front of her. After watching Inez begin to fill the two new mugs for a moment, she understood that more people must have arrived. She looked once more over at the table, and noticed that five men sat there now, all pretending not to watch her. Only the gambler and the long haired tracker were any good at the subterfuge. She noted the gambler looked to be rubbing something in his hands with his handkerchief, his whole attention devoted to it. She raised a glass, and the boy and a tall gunslinger with a moustache raised theirs in return.

With a twitch of her lips, the woman turned back around. "Then Standish is the manager now, I suppose."

"No," Inez put two more mugs full of beer on the bar, "I am." With a bob of her head to indicate he return, she had Ezra on his feet and coming back to fetch these as well.

"You seem to have the gambler on a tight leash," the woman noted, smirking slightly.

Inez waited until Ezra was actually at the bar before she replied, and then she smiled at him. "No, he is just helping so that he can spy on you Senorita. You really are losing your touch, Senor. I could smell your snake oil cologne a mile away."

Ezra flipped an eyebrow and dropped his empty tray on the bar with a clatter. "Senorita Rescillos, may I say that you are particularly shrewish today. How do you do it?"

"I merely need to think of your face, Senor. It can bring out the worst in anyone." With a winning smile, she leaned over to muss his cravat.

He frowned as he reset it. "Funny, I've always been told most people turn to stone upon seeing yours." In response, Inez stuck her tongue, but before she could say anything, he had turned to face the newcomer with a knowing smile on his face.

"So, are you planning on taking the room, Marshal Garrett?"

The woman nearly choked on her whiskey, and the retort on Inez's lips died. Wiping away a little of the spittle on her dark lips, the Marshal turned to look at Ezra with wide eyes. Really look at him. He was only slightly taller than she was - probably about five foot ten - and had an unwavering stare. Those green eyes pinpointed exactly who she was, and, for the first time in a long while, she felt somehow exposed.

"How the hell…?" she muttered darkly. He responded by turning his back to the bar and leaning his elbows against it. His green eyes now focused on an object in his hand.

"I am afraid that, when you dropped your saddlebags to the floor, this fell out." He held out her star, looking a little shinier than it had before. "I took the liberty of shining it up a little for you before I returned it. After that, it was merely a matter of asking our resident expert on faces, Sheriff Dunne, to put a name with the face. May I say, it is an honor, Marshal Garrett, to make your acquaintance."

Without him staring at her with those awful eyes, Garrett was able relax and study him more carefully. He had to be very sly - she had never even seen him behind her when he got her star. The idea that it had fallen out had been a lie, as she knew that the star had been pinned to the inside of the saddlebag flap, hidden from view and unlikely to come off without help. When he had unpinned it, she had no guess. But he had to be good at sleight of hand, very good. The traits of a thief as well as a gambler. This thought made her frown more deeply.

Ezra was watching her out of the corner of his eye now, and, seeing the frown, decided to quit his attitude. Standing up straight, he turned and asked her politely if she might like to join him and his fellow peacekeepers at the table. As if in response, the other four men stood. She favored them, and then him, with a quizzical look.

"Peacekeepers? You're one of the seven hired guns?" she asked. A gambler? The only gambler lawmen she'd ever heard of was a judge – an old judge.

"So it seems," he said a little too airily. He grabbed the two mugs Inez had given him to carry and led the way to the table. "There's a chair waiting," he called over his shoulder.

The Marshal paused for a moment, but upon glancing back at Inez, who gave her a nod, she decided to join them.

The men were all still standing as she reached the table, and the man in black indicated to a spare chair near JD. She sat down slowly, and they followed suit.

"You are the lawmen of this town?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, and you are Marshal Vivienne Garrett?" the man in black asked in reply.

"I feel a bit odd. You all know who I am, but you remain a mystery, though I suspect you may be Chris Larabee." She nodded to him. He smiled back lightly.

"Yep. The others are Vin Tanner-"

"The bounty hunter?"

The Texan shook his head imperceptibly. "Not anymore, Marshal."

"No, but yet another interesting switch – though your gambler here may be the oddest. Next thing you'll do is tell me you have a cowboy on your payroll."

Vin grinned under his hat, still hiding his face, and elbowed the man in black. Chris ignored him.

"No ma'am. But we do have an ex-Texas Ranger. Buck, say hello."

"Buck Wilmington, Ma'am," Buck tipped his hat and stood, "and may I say that your beauty would make a rose in the desert seem as common as-"

"Don't bother," she said curtly. Buck raised an eyebrow and sat back down. He sent a poisonous glance at Ezra, who was playing with a deck of cards and had a smirk on his face. She now looked to the boy, who grinned upon being noticed by the Marshal.

"Sheriff JD Dunne, Marshal, and may I say this is an honor! A real honor. I've been reading about you for years! There must be at least three dime store novels about you. You're a real hero in the East, you know? The girls just love you. 'Course all the guys thought you were made up. Oh, but I knew you were-"

"Shut up, JD," Chris commanded. JD looked at Chris, open-mouthed, then back at the Marshal. She wasn't paying attention to him anymore, but was instead staring intently at Ezra, who was spinning a queen of diamonds around the deck.

"And Ezra Standish," Chris finished, as the gambler seemed disinclined to introduce himself.

"Strange," the Marshal nodded. "I find this somewhat hard to reconcile. As I said, being a professional gambler is an unusual occupation for a lawman. In fact, you may be the only one I've ever heard of." She tilted her head, her brown eyes flashing in the subdued light of the tavern. "You know, your kind are not much liked in the towns that I've had the opportunity to police, Mr. Standish, as they are often, if not always, on the other side of the law. In fact, I've hanged quite a few of your fellow professionals. Gunned down a few as well who were under the mistaken impression that they could take a woman. I always find it interesting how their fancy clothes don't look so fancy when the townsfolk filch them off the body. Yours would undoubtedly fetch a nice price, however."

The silence that permeated the air after this remark lasted for almost a minute. In the Marshal's mind, she was merely getting him back for catching her off guard earlier. Meanwhile, the others looked to Chris-the obvious leader-as if he would defend Ezra, but Chris merely seemed puzzled - and maybe somewhat amused. Interestingly, the gambler's expression had remained calm, and he looked almost bored as he got to his feet.

"If you'll please pardon me, Marshal, gentlemen, I have a previous engagement at the hotel." With deliberate care, he pocketed the cards, dusted off his hat from where it rested on the table, and placed it on his head. With an easy smile to the table, he tipped it and slowly walked out. The Marshal smiled thinly in return, and took a sip of her whiskey.

Vin stood and stared daggers at the Marshal. "Please 'scuse me too, ma'am, as I don't much like the air in here at the moment." Pushing his hat on his head, he strode out of the saloon, pausing only once at the doors to send a disappointed look at Chris.

Chris watched as the Marshal casually sipped the rest of her whiskey, then reached for the bottle Ezra had left behind. It was still half full after having only filled his flask. Her own bottle she'd unintentionally left at the bar. Her fingers barely brushed the neck before it was abruptly pulled away.

"Sorry, Marshal, that is not yours," Inez said as she breezed by, grabbing the bottle firmly by the neck. In almost the same motion, she placed the bottle Garrett had bought earlier on the table in its place. With a nod to the others, she strode away. The Marshal watched her leave, then turned questioning eyes to the others.

"That's Ezra's Scotch Whiskey, Marshal. Inez orders it special for him. Won't let anyone else touch it," Buck explained, a hint of jealousy touching his seemingly easy-going manner. Marshal Garrett frowned, then shrugged. She refilled her glass then offered the bottle around. The others held up their mugs of beer in quiet decline, so she simply put it down.

"What are you doing here, Marshal?" Chris asked abruptly.

The Marshal sighed, and looked up at the others. "I was wondering when you were going to get round to asking. Mostly, I'm just here to see the sights. I'm following a gang of cattle rustlers who, from what I've learnt, are going to hit some of the ranchers up north of here, though not necessarily in your purview. Four Corners was on the way, so, seeing as your town has been garnering something of a reputation, I thought I'd check you out." She took a sip of her whiskey, part of her mind wondering what the dark amber liquid in the Scotch bottle tasted like.

"A reputation?" JD asked, unable to hide his eagerness from the question.

"Oh, I'm not saying y'all are as famous as Bat Masterson or that Wild Bill Hickock over in Abilene, but the rumors of the seven men who are single handedly taming this area of the world has become a source of interest. You do know there is a dime store novel about you boys?"

"Unfortunately," Chris groused, while Buck chuckled.

"Yes ma'am, but it's a bit exaggerated," JD tempered, but he sat a little straighter in his seat. "Did you read it?"

"Of course not. I don't read such trash."

"Oh."

"I do, however, read the papers. Tell me, is the Clarion Editor Mary Travis nearby?"

Buck looked at Chris, who shrugged. "Across the street, Marshal," Buck said.

"Good. I might go speak with her later. And the general store?"

"Down the street. Turn right as you leave the saloon. But you shouldn't be so hasty to dismiss us, Marshal, if there's cattle rustling going on nearby, we should know about it." Buck said this with his palm upraised towards the woman, as if sensing her impending departure. Garrett looked at the hand disdainfully, and shook her head.

"I do not believe they will be bothering any of your ranches," she answered.

"So?" JD asked.

Garrett looked at the boy, and allowed a slightly puzzled look to cross her face. "I mean that they are not within the area for which you have been paid to protect," she explained.

"Right, So?"

"So…its not your problem?" This time it was the Marshal who turned the statement into a question.

"Marshal, if someone is rustling cattle, whether nearby or not, it is our problem," Chris answered. "Just because they're north of here, doesn't mean that they will stay there. Now, who are you after?"

Garrett tensed her jaw, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the hired guns. Were they serious? A sudden thought tickled her suspicious mind. What if the reason they knew her name was because her quarry had already paid them off to prevent her from continuing on?

"Marshal, we can help," JD said. "We've dealt with rustlers before, and, thing is, we're pretty good at it. You don't believe us, just wire Judge Travis. He's the one who hired us." The young sheriff spoke determinedly as he gripped his empty mug of milk, the condensation on the glass making it almost slip from out his fingers.

Garrett's suspicious stare lightened, and she looked at JD with more interest. "Did you say, Judge Travis? I've met him. An honest man."

"He's also Mary's father-in-law. If you still don't trust us, just go and talk to her. She'll tell you what we can do," JD added. The Marshal watched him a moment longer, then allowed herself a very brief nod.

"That's all right, I simply didn't realize it was he who hired you. Most hired lawmen I know are paid for by the town, and tend to have a loyalty only as long as it takes for someone else to buy them off. I suppose, though, if the Judge hired you, you might be a little better than that." She paused, her eyes glancing to the seat where the gambler had sat. "Well, most of you anyhow."

JD frowned, both at her attitude and at her unsubtle dig at Ezra. But curiosity kept him seated, along with Buck and Chris.

"So, you want our help or not?" Buck asked, leaning forward.

Garrett shrugged, "I suppose I'd be a fool to reject it. Be wary, though, this is my game, not yours. If you join me, I state the rules and you follow, understand?"

"Of course," Chris acceded.

"I may also need to call up the bluecoats for back up. Will your men work with the Union army?"

This time Chris simply nodded.

"Then fine. Gather your men tomorrow morning at the jail. I will inform you of the situation then." And she got up to leave. "Now, I plan to take a look around your town, then have a bath, so please do not bother me again this night."

"What time in the morning?" Buck asked.

"Seven thirty."

"Ooh, Ez's not going to like that," JD chuckled.

"The gambler?" The Marshal pursed her lips as she looked down at the boy. "Is it necessary to involve him?"

"Yes it is," Chris replied without hesitation. He stood to face her, as if he would challenge any statement to the contrary. Garrett watched the unsubtle show of force with amusement, and half-smiled. With a shrug, she turned to leave.

"So long as you are responsible for him," she stated, moving back to the bar. As Chris sat down, they causally listened as she officially let a room from Inez, picked up her saddlebags from off the floor, and then disappeared up the saloon stairs.

Vin had stared dumbfounded at the quiet and empty street after following Ezra out of the saloon. Weirdly enough, the gambler had somehow vanished, an amazing feat considering that damned red jacket he favored. The tracker tried the hotel, the livery, Digger Dan's bar, and even the bathhouse. The man had simply disappeared. When Chris strode up to tell him about the Marshal's plan, he found Vin sitting in front of the jail wearing an irritated grimace.

"What's the matter?" the man in black queried.

"Lost that damnable snake in the grass," Vin replied, looking around the dusty town with disgust.

Chris grinned, "Ezra lost you, huh? He's getting better." He looked over at the church, just able to spot Josiah off to the side sawing away at some wood. "Did you ask Josiah?"

Vin glanced at the preacher, and shook his head. "Nah. Figured Ez would avoid the church."

"Hmmm…. You ever thought to figure that Ez might figure that's what you'd figure?" Chris drawled.

Vin blinked. "Say again?"

Chris simply held on to his grin, and indicated with a tilt of his head that Vin follow him over to where Josiah was working. As they reached him, they could clearly see Ezra sitting in the shadows on the ground behind the preacher, reading a book.

"Ezra!" Vin practically shouted. "I've been searching all over for ya."

The gambler looked up, and Josiah stopped sawing. They both looked at the tracker with the same curious stare. One was easily more innocent than the other though.

"I apologize, Mr. Tanner. Why, may I ask, were you searching for me?" Ezra asked. Josiah leaned against the sawhorse and rubbed his stubbled chin as he listened for the answer.

"Oh, well, I wanted…I mean, you know…after what the lady Marshal said…." Vin grimaced.

"Lady Marshal?" Josiah said, looking at Ezra. The gambler grinned, and unconsciously stuffed the book inside his dark red waistcoat as he stood up.

"A most inspiring woman, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra explained, a touch of respect coloring his words as he dusted himself off.

"Really," Josiah grinned.

Ezra nodded, stepping forward to stand next to the preacher. "Indeed. She has succeeded in breaking the antiquated notion that only men can be enforcers of justice, and shown us a little of what the future can be. To my mind, Marshal Garrett is proof that the enforced roles of men and women are basically specious. God knows that, if my mother had been accorded the same status as a man, I am certain she would be wealthier than Rockefeller by now." He finished his soliloquy with an almost wistful air, wondering what it would have been like to grow up rich. His mother had always tried to use her sex to her advantage, but there was no question that it had always been more of a disadvantage to her dreams than not.

"Or Maude'd be filling out a life sentence in Fort Laramie," Chris said.

Ezra nodded, turning to look at him with a crooked grin. "Most probably."

Vin, meanwhile, looked properly confused. "Wait, you're…are you praising the Marshal?"

"Why yes, Mr. Tanner. Do you not think she is deserving?"

Vin's jaw dropped, and Josiah chuckled. The preacher had no idea what the Marshal had apparently said to Ezra to cause Vin to want to protect the gambler, but Vin's reaction to Ezra's attitude was priceless. Josiah was sure that Ezra was doing it on purpose. Even Chris couldn't hide the grin.

"Who is deserving?" Nathan asked, wandering up. He was carrying a couple of paint cans, one of which he handed to Josiah. "Mrs. Potter asked me to bring these to you," he explained to the preacher. "By the way, I saw this new woman in the store as I was leaving, Chris, dressed up like a man…looks like a real mean character to me. Think we should send Ezra to find out why she's here?"

Laughter exploded from all the men, except Vin who was trying desperately to hold onto his indignation in the face of all the mirth, and Nathan, who just looked dumbfounded.

"What?"

Chapter Two: The Marshal's Story

Monday…far too early in the morning for a gentleman…cool and dry, but heating up

The next morning, the Marshal was frowning as she checked her watch for the third time. She stood behind the desk at the jail, six of the seven sitting and standing before her. She glared at the man in black, as if demanding an explanation for why they were waiting.

Chris shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable under the woman's gaze. Well, he grimaced, there was nothing he could do about it. He knew Ezra was awake, he'd seen to rousing him himself. But for some reason, the gambler was still late even after promising his leader that he would be down in "five minutes." Chris was going to kill him.

"Well, that's it," Garrett stated. "I do not have the time to…"

"Ahem. Pardon my laxity, Marshal. Senorita Rescillos needed a hand bringing in some crates from the icehouse," Ezra drawled from the door. The smile on his face was so innocent as to be almost infectious. Only the Marshal and Chris didn't return it to some degree. With a casual air, he sidled into the jail and leaned against the wall next to Josiah, perhaps a little behind him. The preacher patted him on the shoulder.

Garrett gritted her teeth, annoyed that this man could so easily get under her skin with just a few words. One glance at the man in black calmed her slightly, however. It appeared she was not the only one.

"That is fine, Mr. Standish. But, trust me when I tell you that I would prefer it if you were not here at all. However, Mr. Larabee tells me that you all work together or not at all, so I suppose I must suffer your presence." She said this with a frown, and Ezra inclined his head to show he understood. Only a flickering of his eyes across the back of Chris's head betrayed the slight surprise he felt at the endorsement from the gunslinger. He'd never tell him, of course, but the implied support meant a great deal to him.

"In any case," Garrett opened up her saddlebags to pull out some papers – wanted posters. She handed them around. "The man we want is named Robert Moore, aka Robin Moore. Originally from a wealthy Texas family near Houston, he ran out on his fortune to start his gang of cattle rustlers." She paused as the posters started to float around, a pack about ten thick. "He runs a group of men maybe fifteen, sometimes twenty large. Obviously, I do not have posters for all of them, as the names change fairly often. The ones you have there are the ones who are the permanent members." She waited a few minutes to allow them to circulate some more before continuing.

"His right hand man is Michael Cash, aka the Italian Hammer. A former heavyweight boxer, Cash was drummed out of the profession after biting the nose off of one of his opponents." She smiled at JD's grimace. "Apparently it was the last straw in a series of vicious attacks that he took part in, including several tavern brawls where he supposedly knifed two men to death. In self-defense, so he reported."

"The older black man you see is Otto Burns, also called the Ancient. He…" Ezra's surprised laugh stopped her.

"Something funny, Mr. Standish?"

"Have you ever read any Shakespeare, Marshal?" came his reply, his hand to his lips.

"No."

"Ahh, then you would not understand the infamy of the man's title. Let's just say that I would never have a man nicknamed 'The Ancient' on my side unless I wanted to destroy my life as quickly as possible," he grinned.

"Well, this man has been with Robin since the beginning. A former slave on his ranch, the Ancient chose to go with his former master after the war. It is said that he would do anything for Robin, no matter what the cost." She saw Nathan frown at this news, and shrugged at the implications. "I don't know the particulars, Mr. Jackson. Suffice it to say that Burns is supposed to be almost maniacal in his protecting the young Moore."

"And who is this?" Buck's voice lit up as he held up the picture of a woman. In the drawing she looked extremely young, almost innocent, with long, light colored hair, big eyes, and a small mouth. Garrett paused, showing the first sign of faltering since she began her description.

"That is Emily Durgin. She…joined the group only recently." She paused, and leaned back against the rough stone wall behind her.

Chris reached across to take the poster from Buck, and looked at the girl. "It says she is from Calliope. Isn't that your home town, Marshal?"

Garrett didn't answer, her eyes staring at the floor.

"Marshal?" JD said.

"Emily…is very young, Mr. Larabee. Young and foolish. Robin Moore kidnapped her from Calliope, and now they are saying she's part of the gang. She's the main reason I've chased them this far. I intend to bring her home."

"Who is she, then?" Buck leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.

"My ward." She licked her dark lips, and shut her eyes. The others quieted, ready to listen to the story they knew was coming.

"Emily's father was the saloon owner when I first got to town. He died in a gunfight before I even took on the job of Marshal. Back then, I was just another drifter, chasing after the men who took my husband from me. Turned out they were the same men that killed Emily's father." She frowned, her down turned eyes taking on a far away look. The Seven leaned in closer as her voice softened.

"With an accuracy born of anger, I somehow managed to take them all down, and…well, the town sort of adopted me as a gesture of thanks. Apparently these men had been terrorizing them for years. Next thing I knew, they had hired me on as Sheriff. I did a good enough job that some of the local landowners and ranchers recommended me for Marshal. Well, it wasn't that simple, but that's the way this all happened in a nutshell." She turned to look out the window, and the others shifted quietly in the seats, a rapt audience.

"Emily…she was just six when her papa died. Her mom had died giving birth to her. She was to be brought up by her uncle, but he paid her almost no mind, treating her no better than a stray dog." She shook her head, the memories drifting across her mind in a dreamy fashion. "She got into the habit of following me around, and, I guess, I sort of got used to seeing her there. I taught her how to read, and to fight, and to…well, be like me, I guess. When her Uncle died when she was ten, I took her in as my ward. To her, the town, and me, it was a natural progression. We were very happy that way for almost ten years." She frowned and looked back at the seven, indicating what was to come next.

"When Robin and a small handful of his men came into Calliope, I did not know them at first. He is a very genteel young man, so charming he could con the guns off a Texas Ranger. No offense, Mr. Wilmington."

"None taken," Buck replied evenly.

"I let them have the run of the place, and saw nothing wrong with letting Moore take Emily out on walks. That was until the rest of his gang arrived a few days later." She frowned, shaking her head. "It was pretty obvious who they were after that. I telegraphed for help, knowing I couldn't possibly take down his whole gang by myself, but by then they were gone. And Emily with them."

Chris frowned in return. "You said she was kidnapped?"

"She wouldn't just leave, Larabee. Not after everything we'd been through together." She shook her head.

"She might if she was in love…" he pressed.

"How can you fall in love with someone in three days? Three days after fourteen years?" She slammed her hands down on the desk, scattering the papers there.

Chris shrugged, and continued to look at the picture of the girl in his hands. "And if she is part of the gang now?"

The Marshal's dark lips curled into a sneer. "She's not. She has only ever been seen on the fringes, according to the stories I've heard. I have followed Robin for six months now, Larabee. I know how he works. I do not need your bull shit interfering with me getting my girl back."

Chris looked up, ready to argue, when he felt a hand grip his shoulder tightly. Looking down at the green jade ring, he grimaced.

"Marshal Garrett, please, there is no need to fret. We will guarantee that no harm comes to your ward when we go after these men. We will extricate her from the melee, and get her to safety." Ezra's cool voice caused Chris to calm some, but he still roughly shook the hand off. The gambler's hand fell away, and he returned to his place by the wall, once more a little behind Josiah. The older man seemed to accept the protective position without question.

"Ezra's right ma'am. We'll get Emily free, no question," Nathan agreed, nodding. Garrett, who had been watching Ezra with a steely-eyed gaze, switched the look to Nathan. The healer swallowed anxiously under the scrutiny, wondering at its power. No wonder she made such good Marshal.

Finally, Garrett nodded. "Fine."

"So what else is there to these outlaws, Marshal? I mean, it ain't often you hear about rustlers that travel so tightly together, or for so long, without getting caught," JD asked, handing his papers over to Josiah and Ezra.

"Robin, as his adopted nickname may suggest, is more than a mere rustler, Mr. Dunne. He fancies himself a Robin Hood - you know, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor? He even jokes that his gang are the "merry men."

JD brightened immediately, as his face lit up with recognition. "Oh! Now I know who you're talking about! These guys are famous. Wow, you really think we can take them?"

"JD," Buck warned, trying to curb the boy's sudden enthusiasm.

"I can take them," she replied vehemently. She looked around at the others to see if they too had heard of the gang. The tracker and Buck had knowing scowls on their faces, but the others looked blank.

"Moore and his men have made a living stealing cattle bought by rich landowners. They stake out the local cow towns, watching as the new cattle are traded, and determine the likeliest marks. Then, as the new owners are driving their purchases back to their ranches, Robin and his men swoop in and steal off half, sometimes all, of the herd. The cattle are not marked yet, of course, so difficult to trace. You would think, however, that a stolen herd would be easy to track down. Unfortunately, Moore is cleverer than that. First thing he does is spilt the mavericks up between the group and they spread out in three different directions, heading towards any nearby small ranches in the area. They then sell off a handful of cows at a time to the small holders, at rock bottom prices. Needless to say, these small farmers are more than willing to offer their protection in return."

"And he's been doing this how long?" Nathan asked.

"Maybe three years. Long enough to get a story behind him as thick as the real Robin Hood. He makes almost no money himself on the deals, just enough to live on and pay off his men. They stay with him not for the money, but for the idea of it." She sighed. "That's what makes it so hard to get to him. That and the fact that he moves very quickly once the cattle are sold off." She snarled, "but taking Emily…. Well, he isn't going to get away with it any longer."

"What makes you think you'll succeed where others have failed?" Chris questioned, his glare back in force.

Garrett matched the gaze, her eyes narrowing. "Because, Mr. Larabee, I am the best."

"Yeah, well, we're not so bad ourselves." JD announced proudly, standing up. Buck rolled his eyes behind him.

Garrett nodded, and smiled for perhaps the second time since she arrived. "Yes, so I've been told." Quietly, she pulled out a map from her bag and laid it out on the table.

"The next major cow town will be here, near Tower Hill, where they've just brought in the railroad. I have learned for a fact that Moore will be there." She patted a spot with her finger that lay perhaps four leagues northwest of the town. She was right, it was well outside their jurisdiction, but Chris knew that Stuart James and several of the other rich ranchers were heading up to take part.

"It begins on Friday and ends Monday. I don't know whom they will hit, but it is unlikely they will hit any of the ranchers that live North or East of the city. Most of those they've hit before. No, they'll either attack someone coming from here or from further west."

"It'll take us about two and a half days to get there," JD noted unnecessarily. "We leave tomorrow, we should get up there by Thursday afternoon."

"That should give ol' Ez enough time to work some of his 'subtlety,' eh pard?" Vin flexed an eyebrow at the gambler. Ezra simply shrugged in return. The Marshal looked over at him, but didn't comment.

Seeing her look, Chris explained. "Ezra is our resident smooth talker, Marshal. He should be able to discern whom your merry men are going to hit before they do. He might even be able to learn their plan for doing it."

"I don't think such detail will be necessary," the Marshal frowned. "We can simply follow the band as they leave."

"Marshal, no offense, but you said yourself that you don't know every one who will be in the gang. I'd rather be waiting to ambush them than risk following them and having someone spot us," Buck stated. "Besides, the better the information we have, the better chance we'll have of getting them unawares."

She looked at Buck, at Chris, then back at Ezra. The gambler was not looking at her, his green eyes staying focused on the face of Robin Moore displayed by the wanted bill in his hands.

"So long as he doesn't give us away," she muttered. She tapped the map to indicate the nearby army base, Fort Cahill. "This is the local army, most of whom will be helping the Sheriff of Tower Hill keep the trail hands in line. I may call on them, if I think we'll need them. But I'd rather not. My experience with the bluecoats is that they come late, if at all. Plus, they've never been all that fond of taking orders from a woman." She grimaced, some of the bitterness in her tone causing JD to berate himself for the unconsciously sexist thoughts he himself had been having. Seeing Vin and Nathan frown, the boy wondered if they were thinking the same thing.

Finished, Garrett began folding up the map. "The rest, gentlemen, will have to wait until we get to Tower Hill."

After dismissing the seven, the Marshal wandered back to the newspaper office where she'd spent much of last night. She'd hit it off almost immediately with Mary Travis, recognizing her immediately as a woman as straightforward as herself. They'd had dinner and then Mary had introduced her to some of the other women in the town.

She'd been surprised to learn that women not only owned the store, the paper, and managed the saloon, but that a woman also ran the boarding house, and another worked as both the town seamstress and tailor. As a group, they'd had a long discussion in one of the hotel parlours about the town, its future, and, of course, the seven men who protected it.

Now, she was meeting Mary for a late breakfast to tell her what had happened this morning. Mary had promised her that Chris and the others wouldn't try and take over her job from her, although they were not without their prejudices. But, even after the fairly smooth meeting, Garrett still felt on edge.

She knocked politely on the door to the Clarion, then walked in to find Mary stacking papers into piles.

"Oh, Marshal, I'm sorry, but I have to get these papers out first," she smiled. "Normally I get them out first thing, but, well, I sort of lost track of time last night." She gathered a bunch up in her arms and looked a mite sheepish. "If you don't mind, we could walk while I pass these out…."

"Sure, can I help?"

"Oh no. Actually, I probably won't have to go that far myself. Usually, when I'm this late, Buck takes them from me before I make it ten feet." She grinned, and the Marshal followed her back out.

True to form, She was maybe only halfway down the street before Buck came bouncing up. He took the papers from her and did her rounds.

Mary continued to walk, her eyes watching the ladies man as he jogged about the street. The Marshal watched him as well, though her face was creased in a frown.

"Why does he do that? Help you, I mean."

"Oh, he can't help himself. He's a natural flirt." Mary shook her head. "He knows he's not going to get anywhere with me, but he helps anyway. Makes my life easier. Normally, I get the papers out before anyone is awake, except maybe Vin, who gets up as soon as the birds start singing. It's much easier to deposit them in the doorways of my subscribers at that time than now, when the whole world is awake. But, if I'm late, then Buck is always there. Better than any paper boy."

"Hmmm," Garrett kept her opinions to herself.

"Marshal, I know what you're thinking, but Buck is harmless. He loves women, that is true, but he'd never disrespect one. He almost married a career woman once, but couldn't go through with it. He couldn't leave his life here to join her on the road."

"A career woman?"

"Oh, whoops. I suppose I shouldn't use that term." She grimaced. "By career, I didn't mean a working girl. He fell in love with a public relations manager who used to work for the territorial governor, governor Hopewell."

"The one who was murdered in his bed?"

"Yup." Mary sighed, "Hopewell was not a good man, but that was a horrible way to die."

"Reckon so."

They walked in silence for a while, until they reached the hotel. Buck spun around, only a few papers left, and tilted his hat to the ladies.

"Have a good brunch, Marshal, Mary," he smiled, dancing off to finish the rounds. Mary laughed, and the Marshal simply nodded.

Once inside, they ordered quickly, and Mary leaned over to hear about the meeting. "So?" she asked curiously.

"They were polite. I guess they'll be useful."

"I told you they'd help."

The Marshal frowned, and shook her head. "A real motley crew you have there, Mary. Are you sure I can trust them? Some of them look as if they'd run out at the first sign of trouble."

"I understand your hesitation, Marshal, but, for some reason, when they're together, they're unbeatable. I've seen them perform miracles, and they've saved this town and its people more times than I can count."

"So you told me last night." The note of skepticism in her voice did not go unnoticed. "However, I can't help but wonder if the stories you told me weren't, perhaps, exaggerated slightly? After all, it would not be the first time that someone overplayed their hand to bluff their way out of trouble or to impress a newcomer."

Mary snorted, thinking about the first article she'd ever run about Chris Larabee, 'to scare the bad element away from this town,' she'd told him.

"Or," the Marshal added a little more quietly, "because they had feelings for one of the men in question."

Mary smiled crookedly, shaking her head. After a second, she raised her head to stare Garrett directly in the eye. The Marshal leaned back, and waited. When Mary spoke again, the conviction in her words seem to echo through the room.

"Marshal, there is very little that I feel I can rely on out here in this place. I trust my mind, my beliefs, and my love for my son, and …without question…I trust those men. Whether you believe me or not, there is something that ties them together and makes them one of the most powerful forces in the West. I have no doubt in their ability to achieve whatever it is that you ask of them. All I can advise is that you make sure you work with them, and not just try to order them. They do not work well as soldiers, but as a team they are near nigh invincible."

Garrett watched Mary a moment longer, then shrugged. "Well, I guess I'll have a chance to figure this out for myself, won't I?" she replied.

Mary nodded, "yes, I suppose you will."

Continued in Part Two