The little orange and white dog barked as he stood in the street, just off of the boardwalk that led to the batwing doors of the saloon. And barked and barked and barked. He barked at everyone who entered, and even more emphatically at those who retired from the drinking establishment. He kept on barking after one of the patrons tried to shoo him away nicely, and he barked even more persistently after he'd been kicked for the second time.

"Ezra, you gonna go out there and see about your dog?"

The overdressed-for-the-neighborhood card sharp continued his game of solitaire. The seven men who watched over the small western town were all sitting about, enjoying one another's company and some quiet time after their midday repast. This quiet moment had been echoed in the life of the town and its environs of late. It had been an especially uneventful winter, save for one big snowstorm, but crime in the growing metropolis of Four Corners was nearly non-existent as late winter changed, seemingly overnight, to early spring, both as per the calendar and the pleasant spring-like weather. This fact only made each one of these seven men more rather than less concerned; the quiet of late had turned to disquiet for the men who comprised The Magnificent Seven.

They all knew they were due for something, they just had no idea what that something might be. And though they weren't a superstitious lot, none of them wanted to be the first to say what they were all thinking.

"Josiah, you know that Fred is not mah dog," Ezra Standish said as he placed the seven of hearts over the eight of spades.

"I don't know, ace. You named 'im, and he listens to you better 'n he listens to anybody else."

"Mistah Wilmington, your attempt at logic astounds quite simply in its remarkable lack thereof." Buck Wilmington frowned at what he was fairly certain was an insult, but quickly offered a broad smile upon receiving the friendly wink from the man who, when seated, even on his horse, was rarely without a deck of cards in his hands. Ezra might have been better educated and possessed a broader vocabulary and a decided felicity of expression, but he was one of them now. Buck knew where he stood with Ezra, good friends but different in so many ways. As they all were; it was part of what made them such a great team. Buck's musings were cut off abruptly as a shot glass slammed down suddenly on the table, shattering the quiet, and friendly camaraderie, and making all but the shot glass abuser jump.

"Ezra, get the hell out there and shut that dog up," Chris Larabee ordered.

"Mistah Larabee," Ezra started.

"Ya get out there and shut it up or I'll shoot it." Ezra saw Vin Tanner frown at the threat, the rest of their fellows around the table offering up their normal tells when things grew tense. They weren't obvious tells to others, but others didn't have the keen people skills of Ezra Standish. The gambler raised his hand slightly from the table, a sign for the observant tracker to let the equally observant con man handle it. Nobody relaxed, knowing that whatever Ezra did next could lead to lightning strikes or calmed still waters … and any number of options in between.

"Well, you won't do that," Ezra stated. He rose from his regular chair at his regular table. As he adjusted his vest and re-positioned the fancy cuffs of his shirt, he walked behind Vin and then J.D. Dunne, and finally Buck, where he stopped, looked down at Chris and said, "Ah do believe you may be the reason why that dog is remainin' so near."

"Like hell," Chris returned angrily as he poured himself another drink.

"Perhaps," Ezra said, one eyebrow raised. "But Ah was a witness to you feeding Fred the remainder of your tortillas from our recently consumed meal. If Ah was a smart canine, Ah, too, would wait around for the possibility of more."

"Ezra … "

"Ah am just sayin' that, as Ah have spent little time with the dog of late, Ah am unlikely the one he is callin' to." Ezra saw the threatening glare and added, "Ah will go investigate further." With that, he fitted his hat properly on his head and waltzed smoothly out of the saloon, letting go of the swinging doors, making them flap loudly back and forth, an action he knew the tall blond member of their team hated.

Vin nodded his head up once, in the direction that their resident professional gambler had gone, and asked, "You really feed that dog?"

Chris now sent his glare toward Vin. J.D. caught the look in his boss' face. The young easterner admired Chris, as near a case of hero worship as existed within their group, and he admired him more the longer he knew him, but he didn't like the occasional animosity between the former gunslinger and the gambler. And he could tell by looking Chris in the face that it was likely his fault, not Ezra's, that the dog kept barking. Though it was true that Ezra liked to stoke the fires between the two, it was well better than even odds this time about who started this current round of antagonistic behavior. Chris didn't seem to understand Ezra, even after all this time. So on this particular day, at this particular moment, J.D.'s admiration for the famous Chris Larabee dimmed in favor of the man from the south who, though he still poked at Chris as though he were challenging a rattle snake, also possessed the uncanny ability to diffuse the tall blond at the same time. Vin was better at it and caused fewer fireworks when he did, but there was something about Chris and Ezra that had developed, despite all odds, into a deep if oftentimes not perfectly functioning friendship.

"I'm gonna go see what's up with Fred," J.D. said. Vin nodded to him as he departed from the table.

"Make sure he stays outta trouble," Nathan Jackson, the town healer and lawman called.

"Ezra or Fred?" J.D. said with a chuckle as he exited the building.

"Seems to me Ezra already did that by stepping out that door," Josiah Sanchez noted evenly as he stared at Chris, his brilliant blue eyes sending unhappy daggers to their leader.

Vin looked to Chris and asked, "You think he deserved that?" Chris downed his shot of whiskey in one swallow, and chose not to answer the question. He filled his glass once more.

"Ezra do somethin' ta make ya mad, ol' pard?" Buck asked. This time Chris ignored his oldest friend, and downed his third … or was that his fourth? … fifth? … shot of whiskey.

"Looks like whatever Brother Ezra did, Brother Chris ain't sayin'."

Chris scowled at the former preacher and reached for the bottle once more. Buck and Nathan shared worried looks, but before Chris could actually reach the bottle, Vin was up, fast as lightning, moving it out of his friend's reach. He leaned in close, forcing Chris to look him in the eye, and said, low and slow and a little menacing, and only loud enough for his tablemates to hear, "Let me know when yer ready ta talk." He stood up and then added, "But you'll apologize ta Ez first." The tracker grabbed his hat and his jacket and left the saloon. Chris watched him leave and then lowered his head, shaking it back and forth.

Buck stared at his long-time friend, amazed and disheartened at the same time. "Ya shooed half of your friends outta here in less than a minute. That's pretty impressive." He kept looking at Chris, waiting for him to make eye contact. Seemed he'd be waiting a while. "We got a problem here?" Buck asked worriedly of the man whose current demeanor reminded him an awful lot of the Chris Larabee he had hoped he'd said goodbye to for good. This last year in particular had cemented a change in the former gunslinger that had warmed Buck's heart. It wasn't just Chris who lost a family when Sarah and Adam died. It seemed that he'd finally gotten part of his wish: to get his brother in every way but blood back, happy to have that knowing that he couldn't have the rest. And heavens above, was he glad that he had this man back, the man who had learned what life could be when he'd met and married Sarah, had a child with her. Chris had finally learned to live with the pain, and live life fully. But this man today was not the Chris Larabee who had aced that lesson.

Chris stayed quiet, quiet for so long that Buck was preparing to leave him to his bottle when the tall blond said, "We're due for somethin'."

Buck frowned. "I ain't gonna deny it, it's been nice not havin' to deal with the criminal element like we used ta haveta do, but that ain't no reason to be startin' up on Ezra again."

"I ain't … "

"The hell ya ain't," Buck yelled. The ladies man rarely raised his voice in anger, and his enduring good nature had him lowering his voice immediately as a courtesy to the other patrons, and not because he wasn't really pissed off with his friend. "So whatever your problem is," he continued softly, "I ain't gonna let ya start usin' Ez as a punchin' bag again. And as Ezra would say, I'll lay odds that nobody else is gonna let ya, either." Nathan and Josiah sat at the table in silent agreement with the kind-hearted gunman.

The leader of The Magnificent Seven was mildly drunk, but he knew from the serious tones of his friends who still sat next to him now, and from their equally intimidating glares, as well as the clear disapproval of his actions from the tracker and their sheriff, that he had gone too far. He knew what his problem was, and there was no doubt that Buck was right: he'd taken up his old, familiar ways with Ezra this week, having learned long ago that the genteel southerner would accept an awful lot of abuse. The man had said more than once that making a scene was something a gentleman avoided at all costs. He certainly hoped Ezra could still take the abuse, because he needed the time now to fix this mess.

Chris Larabee's personal demon was, and seemed like it would always ever be, the loss of his family. The man had come far in the last few years, he could feel it. He steered clear of the drink, excessively, generally speaking. He'd come to learn that his friends, his six co-workers, were his family now, despite how much that realization sometimes still tore at his heart. It wasn't the family he wanted, but it was the family he had, and he was lucky to have them … even Ezra. Maybe especially Ezra. And the people who inhabited this town meant something to him. Maybe one in particular: he'd reached a point in his relationship with Mary Travis where a change was expected, if not demanded.

And there, indeed, was the rub. The more he thought on what his next step would be with Mary, the more he found that a shot or two of rotgut would have him easily put such thoughts out of his mind. But Chris, once he got himself in such a state, and with a bottle at hand, rarely showed restraint. The man was an ugly drunk. Ezra Standish wasn't his only target when he'd overindulged, but the card sharp was, without doubt, the gunslinger's favorite. Or had been. But it had been quite some while since Chris had shown this less-than-pleasant side of himself. And it seemed the only reason Ezra was the target was because of old bad feelings that they all thought forgotten, feelings that had absolutely nothing to do with their current relationship, except maybe by way of simple opportunity. Ezra had let his guard down more and more, had begun to feel more at ease with his friends and his position within the confines of this 'back water', as he would call it. It was a moniker for the town that might have come across as derogatory to others, was even intended in that manner when Ezra first used the term during those weeks that comprised his original thirty days hire. But he finally felt at home here, the descriptive for their town henceforth and for a good year or more now, only ever said with affection, and didn't Chris Larabee feel like the shit he was for jeopardizing that: one man's happy, contented life because of his own miserable inability to accept completely the good in his own?

Chris shook his head. "Son of a bitch," he said softly. "I'm gonna go find 'im."

"Mind if I join ya?" Buck asked.

"I'm just gonna apologize."

"Mind if I join ya," Buck persisted.

"Can I stop ya?"

"Not today, partner," the ladies man said with a smile. Buck knew that Chris now saw the error of his ways and he wouldn't hurt their southern friend, but still …

Nathan and Josiah watched the last of their friends leave the saloon.

"Don't know 'bout you, but I'm headin' for some peace and quiet," Nathan admitted.

"I'm right behind you, brother."

"Fred, Ah must admit to bein' disappointed in this display of mannahs." Ezra had followed the sound of the barking down the street, past the hardware store and then a little further to the alley beyond the undertaker, near the laundry. "Have you been skippin' out on your practice sessions with the lovely Miss Emily?" As he neared the end of the alley, he first smelled the smoke, then saw it oozing from where the back door of the building met the ground. He didn't feel the heat yet, and he didn't find the other sign he searched for but he knew he would soon see: flame. Something was on fire. "Fred! Come Heah!" he called urgently. The small orange and white dog came straight to him. "Get J.D." Fred ran back up the alley to the main street, barking all the way, abiding the instructions of his most beloved person to find his second most favorite, outside of his new family. Though the dog now belonged to Robert and Abigail Merton and their young daughter Emily, it had been Ezra who had cared for and nurtured the dog when it had been abandoned, even while he also recuperated from injury. And when Ezra slept during those days after getting hurt, J.D. had kept the dog fed and played with him.

Ezra felt his way along the outside of the building, and then heard the cry.

"Aw, hell," he swore as he reached the door. He yelled, "Fire!" back up the alley, as loudly as he could, just before he kicked the door in. Smoke billowed from the opening. He stepped back, but still caught a mouthful of the dark smoke. He saw no flames but heard the screech a little louder with the door now open. It was a young voice … whether a little boy or a young girl he could not yet say. Ezra took his handkerchief, placed it over his nose and mouth, and ventured into the smoky abyss.

"Fire?" J.D. questioned out loud as Fred stormed up to him. The dog was jumping in place, and then ran back in the direction he'd just come from. J.D. swore it was more of a frustrated cry than a bark that he heard this time. The young sheriff was sure that he'd heard someone yell 'Fire' and, preferring to be safe rather than sorry, he yelled toward the saloon, "Fire!" Vin came running, clearly already heading in his direction, and then he saw Buck and Chris rushing towards him as well. He remained in place and saw Josiah heading toward the bell to warn the rest of their community of the danger, and as he spotted others heading over to help, he turned to follow Fred down the alley. He saw the smoke streaming from the open door, and just barely caught a glimpse of red disappearing into the dark cloud.

"Shit, Ezra," J.D. said to himself. He ran back for a bucket of water from the nearest trough. Vin caught up to him as he turned with the pail of water.

"Ezra went in," he said hurriedly as he rushed back down the alley.

"Hell," Vin said as he grabbed a bucket himself and filled it. Assorted townsfolk were gathering as Chris and Buck showed up. The tracker yelled back behind him, "Get more water. Ez went inside."

"Damn," Buck swore. A 'bucket brigade' formed quickly as a muffled crash of glass was heard down the alley.

"Do not worry," Ezra called out. "Call to me once more," he said encouragingly to the now-crying child. A harsh, hacking cough overcame him, and if the child had called out, he wouldn't have heard it. "Please, could you … "

"Mister Ezra?" The gambler turned left, in the direction of the quavering voice, but before he could say anything he was shoved, felt a sharp pain in his leg, and was then knocked roughly to the floor. Momentarily disoriented, he heard a whimper and remembered that he'd recognized the voice; he also realized that he risked running out of air before he could emancipate them from the smoky room if he took the time to deal with what hit him. The choice was one easily made.

"Master Davidson, please crawl to me. And then we can get out of heah." Ezra heard chair legs grinding on the floor, and then the scuffle of little boots and then a solid presence slamming into his face. "Well done." He hugged the small boy close and said, "Hold this to your face, cover your nose and mouth. Breathe like you normally would." Ezra coughed as he spoke, taking in more of the offensive fumes and black soot than he would have if he'd remained silent. But he had a small child to protect, and he knew the boy would feel comforted by being spoken to. If he'd had a choice he would have kept the handkerchief himself, but the Davidson boy, though low to the ground, had already taken in more smoke than his little lungs could likely tolerate.

Ezra lifted him and turned for the door. He heard a crash of glass behind him, realizing it was whoever had knocked him down trying for the most immediate way out. Despite the bright sunshine outdoors, the card sharp could not make out the door; the smoke had consumed the outside area immediately beyond the entrance, and his eyes had filled with tears, making for a swirling, blurry black mess. He would have to get to the exit on instinct. He coughed some more, a deep, barking cough that told him that he had little time before he would be overcome. He hoped there was no one else in here, because getting back in would be dangerous, and if he was conscious when his friends showed up, he would be sure to tell them so. Breathing had become very hard, and his throat felt as though not even a single grain of sand could make it through, or more importantly, a whiff of life-saving air.

"Mister Ezra … "

"Do not talk," Ezra eked out, feeling at the boy's face to make sure the handkerchief was still in place. The con man coughed, and then breathed in heavily, which was exactly the wrong thing to do. He was feeling a little desperate when he heard his name called; it was very nearly the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard.

"Ezra!" he heard again. The gambler tried to call back after hearing his name once more, but could get nothing out save the coughing that was working effectively at choking off any remnants of air left to him. He knew that he had to follow the voice, which he did, despite the fact that his feet seemed to be tripping over every floorboard.

"Ezra!" Another voice. He wished they would keep calling, but all he could do was head in the direction he thought the voices were coming from.

"Right here! Come on!" Vin and J.D. pulled Ezra from the building. Buck and Josiah worked with the community members whose number quickly swelled; it was a well-rehearsed group that worked to douse the smoky fire. Mary Travis had shown up early and immediately took charge and started the notification chain that they had prepared and practiced in case of emergencies like this. The first order of business, outside of getting the emergency itself dealt with – in this case, getting the fire extinguished and the smoke cleared – was to account for all of the town's citizens. They seemed to be lucky this time as there was more smoke than flame, and the water seemed to be quickly containing whatever had happened.

"I'm gonna run in, open all the windows, make sure nobody else is in there," Vin said.

"N … N … N… " Ezra barely got out. His friends were all happy to hear him at least attempt to communicate, and continued all of the other things that needed to be done to help make right whatever had gone wrong. Chris frowned at whatever it was that Ezra was trying to say, but turned to his other friend.

"Hurry up. Watch yer back."

"Shit, Ezra," they heard Nathan say. They all turned to see the southerner fall to his knees, release the bundle that he had been sheltering – that Nathan caught – and then fall to the ground, his hand to his throat as he struggled for breath.

"That's Henry Davidson," J.D. said as Chris picked up the crying child.

"Mister Ezra!" the little boy called, reaching for the safety of his protector.

"Henry!" A woman's scream, heard from down the main street, and then Sharon Davidson was seen running, her dress whipping behind her in her haste to find her son, to hope beyond hope that he wasn't … that the black smoke that she ran towards didn't mean …

"Ma-ma!" Henry cried. He coughed slightly as he held tight to the now gray-stained handkerchief, the embroidered initials 'EPS' no longer visible under the filthy soot.

"His lungs seem okay," Chris said as mother pulled son tight to her bosom. "We'll keep an eye on him, Nathan. Check out Ezra." Vin exited the building, nodded to Chris, and then headed to check on his downed friend.

Ezra, along with his fine haberdashery, was a mess. His eyes were tearing, exposing his pale flesh beneath the layer of black that covered his face. He'd been breathing through his mouth since being dragged from the threshold as his nose had become first clogged, but quickly started to loosen as the black mucus began to drip from one nostril. His breathing was becoming erratic, panicked. He wasn't getting enough air.

"You need to calm down," Nathan urged. Vin knelt beside his friend and placed his hand on Ezra's heaving shoulder.

"He gave Henry his handkerchief," J.D. said.

"I saw," the healer said worriedly. He had his bag with him, having just treated two of the townspeople after a brawl at about noon outside of the saloon, just before they'd all sat down to eat. He pulled a long item from his bag that looked like a thin, bendable white stick, thicker at the ends, put some drops from a small vial on one end, and then forced it up one of Ezra's nostrils. The con man reared back, as though the healer was forcing the stick up into his skull, but Nathan held on tight to the back of his friend's head as Vin positioned himself behind the ailing man to assist in holding him steady. Nathan pulled out the long stick, the end of it now black that was previously white. "Hold his head, J.D.," Nathan instructed, "and hold the rest of him," he said to Vin. He put some more of the liquid on the other end and placed that up Ezra's other nostril, who bucked again at the intrusion. Very quickly some of the black soot started to ooze from Ezra's nose. The gambler groaned and then gagged, and then was pushed to his side by the former slave as he coughed until he vomited out more of the dark gunk. "Remember to take a breath, Ez," Nathan said. Though it seemed to all in attendance that Ezra was choking to death, Nathan had heard the difference in the man's breathing. He knew the exact moment when Ezra had taken what any healer or doctor was grateful to hear: that strained, pained but ever satisfying life-saving breath.

Ezra coughed and gagged and breathed. For many long minutes, that was all his life had become. Cough. Gag. Breathe. He had even, subconsciously, started looking forward to the 'breathe' cycle of his life. He could hear snippets of conversation, some clearly directed at him, some from Nathan like, 'You're doin' fine', though he wasn't sure how cough-gag-breathe qualified as such. He would need to have a chat with Nathan about said qualification, and maybe others, once he made it to the speaking phase. He was looking forward to that stage, not so much because he liked to talk, though he did, but because getting there meant he would actually be getting enough air to accomplish the task. A persistent 'Is he all right?' was heard, clearly an agitated J.D. He smelled Vin's presence, sweat and buckskin – a day or two overdue for a bath – but despite the odiferous unpleasantness, the soothing hand and occasional 'Breathe easy' murmured in the lazy Texas twang helped to center him as the world swirled through his tear-blinded eyes and tilted each time he reached again what he was sure was to be his last breath.

"How's he doin'?" Chris. Ezra tried to find his friend, their leader, but he couldn't see. He could sense the guilt in the voice and reached out; it was the only way he could communicate just then, and he hoped Chris understood that he needn't feel guilty, not for this. "I'm right here, Ezra," the former gunslinger said as he grasped hands with his ailing partner in fighting crime in Four Corners. The hold didn't last long as Ezra's strength waned; he was soon putting all of his limited remaining energy into breathing.

"Took in a lot of smoke," Nathan explained.

Vin took a long whiff. "Don't smell right," he said.

"Could be a problem," the healer noted as he raised worried eyes to Chris and Vin. "First I need to get him breathin' better, but we need to know what's burnin' in there."

"Vin, once this smoke clears, let's get in, see if we can find out what happened."

"Henry," J.D. started.

"Maybe," Chris said, cutting off any speculation. "Let's see what we find out."

"Fred came to get us," J.D. added, stating what had become more than clear at about the same time the smoke had mostly cleared. Chris, as it turned out, could learn something about trust, even from a damned animal.

Chris stared at the little hound dog as the animal patiently waited for Ezra to call him, a wrinkle of worry taking up residence on his forehead. His big orange eyes reflected the concern of Ezra's non-canine companions. "Yeah," Chris answered simply. He felt sick to his stomach. The heavy drinking had a part in that, but he knew it was more about how he'd treated Ezra, and the dog. Guilt stung his heart. He leaned down and gave the dog a warm rub on his neck, and then stood up straight. "J.D., go take him home to Mrs. Merton."

"But Chris ... "

"Do as he says, J.D. Ezra ain't in no shape to be worryin' on him right now," Nathan said as he continued to fret over their friend, whose breathing continued to tax his lungs and drain his energy.

"It wasn't bein' rented," J.D. explained as they ate a quick dinner, "but Mr. Chen was storing some of his chemicals for the laundry in that small room that Mr. Conklin sometimes rents out behind the undertaker's office."

"Chen have a key?" Chris asked.

"Um, no. Conklin says he didn't keep it locked when it wasn't rented. Saved him the cost of replacin' glass, or locks, from break-ins."

Chris looked to J.D. and then to Buck, Josiah and Vin. "Any of you think Conklin didn't know about those chemicals?"

"Well, Chris, whether it was Conklin or Chen, or even Tom Arthur," the local undertaker who also stored supplies in the room, though up high and in a locked crate, "it's not likely any of 'em started the fire," Buck countered. "And as worried as Conklin is over a crack in a window pane, I don't think he had anything to do with it, other than maybe being responsible for chemicals that don't mix bein' there in the first place."

"And it wasn't Henry," J.D. insisted.

"Could've been an accident, J.D.," Josiah replied calmly.

"Most o' those chemicals were stored on the floor," Vin reminded everyone.

"But Henry's just a little kid."

"If it was an accident, J.D., it could have been Henry as easy as anyone else. That's why it's called an accident."

"But Buck … "

"J.D., you know just like we all do that if Ezra was here he would describe that little boy as precocious," Josiah reasoned. The tiny boy was too smart and too inquisitive for his size and age.

"And Ezra would recognize precocious," Chris said. 'Like lookin' in a mirror' he added silently, a sad smile coming to his face.

Vin raised worried blue eyes to his friends. "Are we all comfortable callin' it an accident?"

"Sounds like you're not," Buck noted.

The tracker shrugged. "I gotta sense … mebbe … " He trailed off, looking out through the restaurant window toward the end of town, where Ezra still lay in Nathan's clinic.

"What?" Chris asked.

"Feels kinda like Ez was set up, like someone figgered you'd be on 'im 'bout shuttin' Fred up, that he'd go check it out 'stead o' lettin' you go on about it." Chris and Vin shared a look. The gunslinger looked away first, but down to his boots so that he wouldn't have to see the same disappointment in the eyes of each of his law enforcement brethren that he saw reflected in Vin's.

Shit. Ezra could easily have been lured away by that set up. And once they explained to the accomplished con man what they thought, the first thing he'd have to say would likely be something about a con well played.

"Damn it. If someone is after Ezra, then they know by now that what they tried didn't work."

"Do they?" Josiah asked. "Do we?"

"They weren't necessarily after Ez," Buck said as he looked to J.D., who was the next closest of their group to be near the smoky fire.

"Yes they were. They put a kid and a dog in danger. It was Ez they were lookin' fer," Vin assured his friends.

"I'm headin' over to see how he's doin'. J.D., you'll take first watch over at Nathan's. Stop over to at the Mertons, make sure that dog … "

"Fred," both Buck and J.D. said at the same time. They smiled at each other, Vin and Josiah snickered, too, and then looked to Chris, daring him to continue without using the little hound's name before going on.

Chris, for his part, had decided pretty darned quick that it was a losing fight. "Check to make sure Fred is all right. And check with Mrs. Davidson, see how Henry's doin'. If Ez is awake, he'll want to know." Vin and Buck shared a smile at Chris' thoughtfulness. Chris sent a glare back to both men.

"Okay, Chris." The young sheriff picked up his bowler hat and headed for the door.

"I'm gonna go look in that room again," Vin stated.

"You're losin' light. Wait 'til morning. Go get Conklin to board up that window and lock up that room. Buck, go with 'im. Wouldn't hurt to show the man that we mean business about keepin' this town safe, even if it means forcing one of the 'big shots'," Chris said, using the term in a decidedly derogatory manner, "to do what he should to keep it that way."

"Will do."

Chris opened the door and saw Nathan hunched over a thick book. Ezra lay on the bed; he seemed to be resting, somewhat soundly, though also loudly as he breathed through his mouth. It also looked like he was holding on to his leg, as though in pain. He nodded toward the bed as the healer finally raised his head to acknowledge Chris' presence.

"He any better?" he asked as he closed the clinic door.

It had been exactly nine hours since Ezra pulled young Henry Davidson from the room behind the laundry. The smoke, though not lethal, had been terribly noxious. Many who had been nearby and part of the bucket brigade had complained of coughing, shortness of breath, burning eyes and throat, headache, nausea. Ezra had been suffering all of the symptoms, seemingly all at once.

"Terrible headache," Nathan answered in as hushed a tone as he could, not wanting to hurt his friend more with loud conversation. "Throat is still sore, and he's havin' a real time with swallowin'. He's got a deep cut on his left thigh. He's coughed up – or threw up – a lot of the soot he breathed in or swallowed. More's been makin' its way out of his nose."

"Mistah Jackson," Ezra pleaded, sounding like he had a throat full of glass. And wincing like it; his voice held none of the pleasant, silky tones of the South they were all used to hearing. The pain Ezra caused himself speaking was likely far worse than what they could all hear. "Must you discuss," he started, coughed, and then peppered the rest of his question with steady hacking, "these … distasteful … details of mah … convalescence … with the … entire town?"

"Ain't the whole town, Ezra. 's just me."

"This time. But when h … h … " The gambler choked on the word, whatever it was, which brought on a loud, powerful chain of coughing. Nathan ran over, grabbed a rag along the way, and then slapped Ezra's back.

"Gotta bring it up," the healer warned. Ezra moaned and then glared at his friend. Chris watched Ezra speak silently to the man helping him, his penetrating green eyes saying everything that his voice was failing to, and then Nathan replied as his strong arm kept Ezra leaning forward, "There might not be nothin' left, but it sounds like there is." One more hard pounding and Ezra gagged through another moan of pain and misery, and the following coughs produced a light gray mucus that he spit into the cloth that Nathan held. "That's good."

Ezra closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. In a few moments, and long before his lungs were really ready, he uttered, "Yes. Abs'lu'ly fab'lous," he added, huffing at the end, barely comprehensible, though intent in his own sardonic way to make sure Nathan knew how he felt about the healer's strong-arm tactics.

"Is it all right if I ask him some questions?" Chris asked Nathan.

"Talkin'll' make 'im cough, and right now, coughin' is doin' him good."

"Yes. Talkin's like … sweet cream … goin' down mah … throat," Ezra said sarcastically. It was obvious that talking was both hard and painful.

"How about you only open your mouth to answer the question? Direct answers. It'll save us both a lot of pain," Chris suggested.

"Fun … Funny," Ezra bandied back, encompassed all around by a nasty cough.

Chris sat in the chair next to the bed. He placed his hat on the headboard, then looked Ezra in the eye. "Did you see anyone?"

"No." Ezra was going to continue, but Chris beat him to it with another question.

"Hear anything?"

Ezra sighed, which brought on a cough. Finally, he said, "Ah … did … not see … anybody, but Ah … was knocked … into and cut by … who … Ah b'lieve … is the … perpetrator … of this crime."

"What, you know who did this?" Chris asked anxiously.

Ezra looked quizzically at this friend and then thought back to what he had just said. The extra effort to think on exactly what he had just said brought on a spike of pain in his head. He rubbed his forehead, realizing that he just didn't have it in him to figure out what he'd said wrong to make Chris think what he was thinking. His head pounded.

"Mah apologies. No, Ah do … not know who … it was … just that the … miscreant … was still … about … when … Ah was … attemptin' … to find … young … Master … Davidson." Ezra's breathing was getting worse the more he spoke. The occasional coughing wasn't as productive as it had been, and the more he talked the more out of breathe he grew. "How is … " the gambler started, clearly intending to ask about the condition of the little boy, or Fred, or both, but he coughed and then tried to breathe in, but the sound was terrible and it was evident to Chris, Nathan and Ezra that he was struggling for air.

"That's enough talkin' for now," Nathan ordered. Ezra breathed in again, but his eyes grew wide with fear. "It's okay," Nathan assured his patient as he handed Chris a soaked rag. "Hold that under his nose, as close as you can," he said as he put the finishing touches on a cup of tea. "Ezra, inhale deep from that cloth." The gambler followed the instruction and it was pretty clear that whatever Nathan had soaked the cloth in had helped enough to clear some more of the gunk from up his nose; Ezra's eyes were now pooled with tears as his nose dripped a loose goop of mostly light to charcoal gray. Nathan took the wet treated cloth and handed Chris a fresh damp one to help with the oozing mess.

"What the hell is this?" Chris asked, his own eyes teary from the pungent aroma.

"Had a goodly amount of fires on the plantation. Learned 'bout this from one of the house slaves," the Negro healer explained.

"Didn't … say … what … it … is," Ezra observed unhappily as he took the rag from Chris and managed better on his own at keeping the mucus from reaching his mouth.

"You don't wanna know. And no talking. Just rest easy." To Chris he said, "Help me sit him up to take this tea."

"Devil's brew?" Ezra asked as they helped him up.

"It's got eucalyptus and lemon to help cut what's left of the soot, and some honey to help coat your throat." Nathan gave Ezra a steady inspection and took back the cloth, satisfied that the gusher was done, for now. He picked up the cup and handed it to his patient.

Ezra looked at Nathan as he took the cup. He held the vessel with both hands as he found just one manifested an uncontrollable trembling. He looked down into the cup, as though mesmerized by it, though all it looked like this time, as with every time before, was a murky tea. He raised his head and said, "Ah am sorry, Nathan. Ah … am not … feelin' … mah best, but that … is no excuse … for takin' … out mah … frustrations … on you."

"No need to apologize, Ez," Nathan said as he patted Ezra's shoulder and took back the emptied cup, acknowledging silently how unwell his friend must be feeling by downing the tea without one contrary word. "You got a right to be proddy."

"Am am … nevah proddy," the con man countered.

Make that not one contrary word about the taste of the tea.

Chris and Nathan exchanged a look. And they shared a smile.

"Ah saw that … look you shared … at mah … expense," Ezra said as he closed his eyes, his mouth still in a grimace at the taste of the medicinal tea. "Good lord," he added as he blinked at the awful aftertaste in his mouth. He yawned, coughed and asked, "Is that tea s'posed to work fast?"

"You're exhausted, Ezra. Your body needs time to heal. All of that coughing and hard breathing takes a lot of effort."

"Might Ah then … bother you … gen'lemen … to assist … me in layin' … down once … more?"

"Sorry, Erza, you need to stay awake a little while longer."

"Why?" the gambler asked, his voice wary but his eyelids unable to stay open.

"That tea is going to have an effect on that soot."

"Aw, hell. The honey … was a … peculiar and … welcome touch. Ah … should have … known … bettah."

"I'm sorry, but we gotta get as much of that stuff out that you swallowed and breathed in. Could have long-term trouble if we don't." Ezra blinked once and then twice, slowly. He tried to listen to Nathan and Chris, he really did. Talk of chemicals and combustion usually interested the curious man, but not today. They had been able to pull some of the labels from the boxes and found the dangerous combustible nature of two of the items stored there. They would easily have produced a smoky fire like the one the previous day.

Ezra raised unbelievably heavy eyelids. "This is … going to be … unpleasant. Chris, you … may as well … leave."

"Nope. I'm stayin' to help."

"Please, Mistah … Larabee … "

"None of that, Ezra. It's Chris, and I'm gonna help Nathan. He told me what to expect."

Ezra frowned. "He … He did? When?"

"You took a little doze. Nathan said you'd be in and out, so we talked while you were out."

"Jus' now?"

Chris smiled. Ezra P. Standish tried so hard to not need their help. He had been raised to do just about everything on his own, from a very young age, so it was not surprising when he was unable to control his body's reaction, when things were going to get 'ugly' and 'unpleasant', that he preferred to do those things in private, away from prying eyes. But what he was still learning was that friends didn't pry, friends just were. And that's what he was right now.

"We best get him turned onto his side," Nathan advised.

"Good lord," Ezra whined as his friends helped him into position.

"Hey, Chris," J.D. said as he entered the jailhouse.

"J.D.," the leader of the seven answered as he sat at the desk thumbing through wanted posters. He had thought that maybe some stranger in town might have been involved in the fire the previous day. He was wracking his brain, trying to recall if he'd seen any of the men on the posters in his town. He wished there was a way for the renderings of these wanted men to be more accurate, except, of course, where Vin had been concerned.

"Remember Devon Winters?"

Chris raised his head. "Kid from that cattle drive last fall?" Chris remembered him, but only that the young drifter had gotten beaten up while the cattle drive was stalled outside of town for a layover on their way to Texas. It had been hard to forget. It had been weeks later in the season than they could remember seeing a drive through the area. Even Nettie Wells couldn't recall one being so close to December, but if anyone was going to be successful with one at that time of year it would be John Sanford.

"Yeah. Um, I was checking in again with Mrs. Davidson and Henry said that he saw him in town earlier in the week."

"He was here? Why?"

"I don't know. Figured he'd be long gone by now."

"If he's back he's got to have a reason. Sanford took his cattle that next morning," Chris said. "I remember that crew was mostly well-behaved. Only trouble we had was Winters getting beat."

J.D. and Chris exchanged knowing looks. "It's not a coincidence that he's here, is it?" Chris acknowledged the truth of the statement with a simple nod. "But what's he got against Ezra?"

"Let's go ask Ezra," Chris answered as he stood, grabbed his hat and ventured out into the late morning warmth of another nice spring day. They crossed the main street and entered the saloon to find Buck and Nathan with a beer in front of each of them.

"You two look worried. Something we should know about?" Buck asked seriously.

"J.D. found out that the kid who got beat up after that cattle drive last fall was seen in town earlier this week."

"What, you mean that kid that got whalloped just before Thanksgiving?" Buck asked. He looked confused when he continued, "Why would he be back?" His eyes grew wide, his face severe. "That kid did this to Ezra," he added, a steady anger beginning to simmer.

"Seems like." Chris cast a glance across the saloon. "He upstairs?"

"He's … sleeping," Nathan said hesitantly. None of his companions missed the odd pause in his reply.

"Is he all right?" J.D. asked. It wasn't unusual for Ezra to have not come out of his room until even later than it was right then, going on eleven thirty in the morning, but they all knew that the reason for his not being downstairs wasn't his usual tendency to sleep as late into the day as he possibly could.

Nathan shrugged his shoulder. "Just tired. He's been working hard just to breathe these last twenty-four hours. Got rid of all the smoke from those chemicals, but now his body just needs time to recover. And I ain't so sure those chemicals won't give him more trouble."

"I'm gonna go wake him, ask him what he remembers about Devon Winters."

"I know he was in at least one poker game with him. So was I," Buck said.

"Okay. Buck, come with me," Chris ordered in a friendly-but-firm manner.

"I'm comin' with ya. He's doin' fine, but I don't want him bein' interrogated for too long."

"Fine. J.D. … "

"Yeah, yeah. I'll hold down the fort."

"Thanks. Can you stop by the newspaper office? Ask Mary if she knows how to reach John Sanford." The cattle rancher had a large spread to the east, but he wasn't usually around this time of year; early spring was an opportune time for the rancher to travel about looking for herds to take off of smaller ranchers' hands after a long, rough winter. It was opportunistic, for sure, but it usually ended in a fair deal for the smaller guy. The big-time rancher made out like a bandit, but it was better than the animals starving to death. Sanford had been a close friend to Mary Travis' deceased husband, so if anyone knew how to reach him, the newspaper publisher would.

"Will do."

Nathan tapped on Ezra's door. "You awake?" he called.

A tired and annoyed 'Yes' could be heard, then a more cordial 'Please come in'. When they entered they found Ezra sitting up in his bed, leaning against his pillows piled behind him. He looked unwell, to say the least.

"How did you sleep?" Chris asked. Ezra looked to Nathan and then to Chris and then back to Nathan with a nod. The healer answered the question.

"This is what I meant downstairs 'bout those chemicals."

Chris looked at Ezra. He didn't seem to be experiencing the extreme breathing problems from yesterday. He hadn't coughed yet, but it was only a matter of … ah, and there it was: the first cough of what was likely to be another long, uncomfortable day for the recovering man.

"What about the chemicals?" Buck asked anxiously. He wanted to hurt that boy bad for causing his friend such trouble.

"Ezra's lungs sound clearer, he's coughin' less and breathing easier. But … " Nathan hesitated, which gave Ezra his chance to explain.

"Mistah Jackson isn't too sure … that Ah am not conjurin' … mah current ailment." The gambler rubbed at his chest and took a deep breath before continuing. "Ah am, indeed, breathin' bettah … and feelin' bettah, except for this … pressure that Ah have in mah chest."

"Well, that sounds like it would be typical … " Buck started, but Nathan interrupted.

"It ain't. His lungs are clear enough that he's breathing better. And I never said I didn't believe you, Ez," the former slave said as he turned to the southerner. Their battles had been epic in their journey to where they now stood – as friends - so this small moment of disagreement was breezed over as Nathan went on. "I don't know what it is that's makin' Ezra feel pressure right now, but it ain't from the normal troubles that ya have with bein' in a fire. If it was, then he would still be having a lot more trouble breathing – and talking – than he is right now."

"That may be so, Nathan, but Ah am … findin' this entire experience … unpleasant, at the very least, and aggravatin' … beyond measure most … of the time."

"He's more irritable than normal, too," Nathan didn't have to say.

"How can ya tell?" Buck asked. It brought a slight grin to Ezra's face, which made Buck smile back, affectionately.

Chris smirked, but then chose that moment to ask his question.

"Do you remember Devon Winters?"

Ezra no longer sported a smile. "Why, yes Ah do. Young … cowboy, no offense," he said to Chris, "got his bell rung?"

"Yeah. Anything unusual happen between the two of you?"

Ezra frowned at the question and then looked to Buck. "As Mistah Wilmington can testify, Ah did relieve him of all of this money." Nathan tsked, a sound not missed by anyone present. Buck frowned at the black man and refused to let stand Ezra's admission as he refuted part of Ezra's testimony.

"That did happen, but you gave him a few chances to quit."

"As you are aware, some of you more than others," he added as he looked at Nathan, "it often mattahs … not what Ah may attempt … in order to assuage an opponent's losses. If Ah win, it is not simply … because they had a bad day or played abysmally, or because … Ah played exceptionally well. It is because Ah cheated. Ah have no doubt that young … Mistah Winters was left with this impression."

"Did he approach you back then?" Chris asked.

"No, he did not." Ezra looked from one to the next of his friends, seeing worry more than anything else in their demeanor. But unlike in times past, this was worry for him, not because of him. "Why are we discussin' the events of six months ago?"

"Did he do anything to suggest that he might be comin' back to get revenge?" Chris persisted.

"Other than glaring at me the likes of which … pale in comparison to the glares Ah receive from you when Ah am late for patrol, no."

"Good," Chris replied with a pleased smile. "Would it surprise you if he did come back?"

"Would it surprise you if Ah said that Ah … stand ready every day of mah life to defend mahself against people who … are convinced that they have been wronged?" Nobody answered. "No. The answer is no," Ezra said as he turned away from his friends.

Chris turned to look at Nathan, the 'God damn it to hell' not needing to be verbalized. The blond reached out and tugged on Ezra shirtsleeve.

"Hey, we know you don't cheat." Ezra snorted derisively, grimaced and rubbed his upper chest. "Nathan and I both need to get our heads out of our asses and remember that none of us are the same person we were three years ago." Ezra looked Chris in the eyes. "I'm sorry for the way I've been acting lately. It's not right to take my problems out on you."

Ezra looked from Chris to Buck and then Nathan, and then back to the former gunslinger. "Has something happened lately that has, how shall Ah say, put you off your feed?"

Chris smiled. It was a pretty apt description of how he'd been feeling.

"We'd all like to hear that answer," Buck said. "And we're all here to help, now," he said, a reminder that it wasn't just his oldest friend who he could lean on these days. "You got a band of brothers now who care for ya, ol' pard. If you're having trouble, all you need to do is come to one of us."

"Ah believe he did," Ezra noted softly.

"Yeah, I did. I guess I could have gone about it better."

"Ya got everyone's attention," Nathan said.

"Then why in the hell did you let me go on all damned week givin' Ezra shit?" Chris was irritated at his friends and at Ezra. And at himself.

"Ah am to blame for that. All of our comrades came to me throughout … the last week asking if they could do something to divert your increasing … volatility. I told them that this behavior would pass. And indeed, it has."

"Ezra … "

"Since we are all bein' open and honest just now," Ezra said wryly, giving Nathan an especially long and steady look, "would it be indelicate to express that your … mood of late has something to do with the lovely Mary Travis?"

"Shit," Buck said. "That's it."

"Shit is right," Chris countered.

"Has your relationship progressed?" Ezra asked, still rubbing at his upper chest.

"I wouldn't say 'progress' was exactly the right word. Well, maybe in her head."

"Oh-ho, dog. She lookin' for a ring?" Buck asked. Chris didn't reply verbally; the slow shake of the head and the grimace said more than words could, anyway.

"She's a fine woman, Chris," Nathan said.

"I know."

Ezra watched quietly. He knew this, this way Chris was reacting. He'd done this himself, more than once, run from the difficult, the painful. Of course, his own demons faded to nothing in the face of what Chris needed to overcome. He had a woman who cared deeply for him, who had a son who thought Chris walked on water. And before, when Chris compared them to what he had before, well, there had been no comparison, which was why it was well over two years before Chris made any kind of a move on the beautiful, independent blonde. Now they'd been dating a couple of months. It was hard to say how things were going, Chris being such a talkative sort. And Mary was very private; Ezra had hoped Inez would have some luck in finding out where Chris and Mary stood as a couple. One of the things they'd found out earlier this week was that Chris still didn't see them as a couple. He'd made that perfectly clear in his first of many diatribes against the gambler this week.

Ezra sighed, and then winced and rested back deeper into his wall of pillows. "Ah do not believe that any one of us heah has the experience to advise you on this specific dilemma."

"Hey!" Buck challenged. Ezra was going to ignore his gregarious friend, but there was little else he could do at the moment, so he chose to explain why the 'Hey!' didn't hold up as an argument.

"Ah am confident that you agree, Buck, that your experiences with the female of the species do not encompass a woman such as Mary Travis or reflect what a woman like her might be lookin' for in a relationship."

That shut Buck Wilmington up right quick.

"There's really only one question: do ya love her?" Nathan asked.

Chris' face started to turn pink, headed to red. Ezra chose to cut short the discussion, even as it appeared that Buck and Nathan were prepared to give their advice despite Chris' distaste for the topic.

"We are not heah gathered to discuss Mistah Larabee's love life."

"No, we ain't," Chris agreed, a look of relief sent the gambler's way. "Nathan, J.D.'s comin' over. Until we figure out if this kid is gonna try somethin' else, I want someone here with Ezra at all times." Chris looked at Ezra, prepared for the argument to come.

"Chris," he started as he rubbed his chest. "Ah fervently approve of your plan. Ah have become quite accustomed to mah life in our fair municipality. Ah would hate to think a miscreant who lost fair and square … would have the opportunity once more to injure mah person, or worse."

"Glad to hear it," Chris said. "And a little surprised."

"Yes, well … " the gambler sighed, still massaging his chest.

"Nathan, ain't there nothin' you can do for Ez?" Buck asked. "He's in pain." Nathan, for a little while now, had been staring at his patient. He didn't answer the ladies man, so Buck called louder, "Nate!"

Nathan stood, not answering, ignoring all of his friends, including Ezra, and headed to his desk, pulled down a large volume from a high shelf, blew the dust off of the cover, and opened up the book, pulling his chair behind him to his new position and started reading.

"Looks like he might be on to somethin'," Buck said with a smile.

"Ah do hope so," Ezra muttered miserably. "Ah must remember to mind mah own business next time."

"No ya won't," Chris said. Every one of the other seven – and much of the town – knew that as the truth that it was. And they were all grateful for that. "Buck, stay here until J.D. shows up.

"Mistah Larabee … "

"Nathan's distracted. Just … "

"Nevah mind," the con man sounded petulantly.

"Sounds like someone needs a nap," Buck said in jest.

"Ah fear Ah am tired, gen'lmen. Forgive me mah sour disposition," Ezra said, followed by a yawn. He leaned forward and asked through another yawn, "Could Ah trouble one of you to remove … one of these … pillahs?" By the time Buck had two pillows taken from the bed and Ezra laying down against the remaining ones, the still-recovering man was less than sound asleep, breathing through his mouth, pain evident in his expression.

Chris watched his one friend sleep as he asked his oldest friend, "You don't remember him having any other confrontation with Winters?"

"Nope. Kid lost his money fair and square. Ezra saw he wasn't much of a card player early-on. When the table was light a couple of players, Ez leaned over and suggested that maybe it wasn't his night. The kid didn't seem upset then, but by the end of his night of gamblin' he was spittin' mad, though he never accused Ezra o' cheatin' Just said he was done and stormed out. 'Bout an hour or so later, another of the cowhands came in lookin' for Nathan 'cause Winters got beat on."

"This kid could be anywhere all these months later but he's spotted back here. It ain't a coincidence."

"Just remember, old dog, this is all goin' on the word of a six-year-old."

A grunt followed by a pained groan was heard from the bed. A sleepy Ezra said, "Young Master Davidson has been … practicin' his powers of … observation. If he is the one … who professed to see this … Winters person, then it is likely to be true."

"You've been tutoring a six-year-old in what to look for in a con?" Chris asked, not hardly hiding the accusatory tone of the query.

Ezra sighed, bringing on a slight cough, and he was now more awake than he'd hoped. "There are few people who could ask such a question with whom Ah would not take umbrage. And no, Ah was not working with him as though he were an apprentice. Ah was working with him, and all of the children in our afternoon session, to make sure the children were cognizant of the dangers around them." Chris immediately realized that he'd jumped to another incorrect conclusion about the con man. When would he finally get his head out of his ass about Ezra? "Some of the children have been excellent students, but Master Davidson is a veritable Vin Tanner with his skills." The gambler yawned, finished turning onto his side – the action that had woken him up in the first place – and then added, exhausted still from recent events, and from still having to defend himself against his past, "It seems we have a puzzle to … solve with … regard to … Mistah … Winters," Ezra finished, finally falling back to sleep.

"Ain't no puzzle," Buck said. "We'll get 'im, Ez."

"Naw, hell Buck, Ez is practically back to his old self."

It wasn't true, but Buck and J.D. were talking loudly in the hope that they could flush out Devon Winters. Vin and Josiah were watching the clientele in the saloon carefully for any sign that someone was paying particular attention to the antics of their boisterous friends. They were tossing cards into J.D.'s hat – the only good use for it, Buck had mentioned. Ezra had demonstrated his technique to the young easterner on a long, boring and rainy day as they watched over a wanted felon in the jailhouse, but neither J.D. nor evidently Buck had managed to perfect it the way Ezra had.

A big man who seemingly sported a permanent scowl stood from a table occupied by several other men and headed for the saloon's exit. The tracker knew the man had overheard the conversation outside. Vin didn't recognize him and nodded his head to Buck as he and J.D. finally entered the drinking establishment, a silent communication that he would be following the man, discretely. The tracker was amazingly adept at this, having surprised even his fellow lawmakers from time to time with his stealthy ability to seemingly show up out of thin air.

Buck and J.D. kept at it for a while, but everyone else in the saloon seemed intent on staying put. Josiah joined them at the bar.

"J.D., why don't you go tell Chris that Vin seems on to something. Buck, go see if Vin needs help. I'm gonna ask these fellas what they know 'bout the man who just left their table." The ladies man started to leave, but Josiah grabbed his arm. "And Buck, remember, we gotta catch this boy doin' somethin'. Judge ain't gonna take the word of a little kid, no matter what Ezra may say to defend the child's right to testify."

"Understood," Buck said as he slapped J.D. on the back, and then knocked his hat off his head.

"Damn it!" J.D. called as Buck scurried away, both men sporting smiles on their faces.

"What the hell?" Buck asked as he stepped into Nathan's clinic.

"Shoot me now," Ezra pleaded miserably from beneath the raised blanket, temporarily held up over him with rope and nails up in the rafters.

Nathan lifted his head from the other side of the blanket. "I'm steamin' it out of him."

Buck replied, "Whoo-ee!" as he placed his kerchief over his mouth and nose. Now muffled, he went on, "I hope it's workin'. Smells like … "

"Cow dung. Fresh cow dung," the gambler interrupted morosely.

"You wanna see how good it's workin'?" Nathan asked Buck defensively as he grabbed for the pail that he had handy right next to where Ezra sat on the edge of the bed.

"No, no. I believe ya."

The door opened, followed by the rest of The Seven entering the room.

"What the hell?" Chris asked with a frown. He placed his hand over his nose and mouth. Buck laughed.

"Maybe we could meet outside on the balcony?" Josiah suggested.

"Ezra ain't … " Nathan started.

"Why can't we jest meet here?" Vin asked, clearly not bothered by the smell. J.D. looked just about ready to throw up.

"Mistah Tanner, we are not in the livery," Ezra said, attempting to explain why Nathan's room should not smell the way it did. He couldn't see the Texan, but he could picture him being the only one not covering his nose.

"Well, we are, kinda."

"Vin, don't you smell that?" Chris asked incredulously. The former buffalo hunter sniffed the air real good … and then shrugged his shoulder.

"We're done," Nathan said. He patted Ezra on the shoulder. "Lean back and rest. Josiah, help me get this outta here. Buck, open the windows all the way." J.D. rushed to the nearest window and happily followed the directive.

As everyone took care of their chores, Ezra said, "Your timing is much appreciated." He was not leaning back as instructed, but taking each piece of clothing Vin handed him and got dressed, breathing as close to normal as he had since the smoky fire while Nathan and Josiah remained pre-occupied removing the makeshift tent.

"Don't know, Ez. I doubt Nate would have wrapped this up if he wasn't finished."

"No doubt, Mistah Dunne." The con man turned to Chris. "So, Ah take it that there is news?"

"Vin saw Winters meetin' with a guy who took Buck and J.D.'s bait." The two actors punched each other in the shoulder. Ezra smiled at the childish behavior of his two friends as Vin explained further.

"Wasn't close enough to hear, but money changed hands."

"The young man still does not show proper respect for the funds that he does possess," Ezra commented.

"He seems to think it's worth it to pay some stranger to help him," Josiah said as he returned, overhearing the conversation as he walked in. "I checked with the men he shared a table with. They said they didn't know him, just took an open seat."

"We gotta get you moved," Chris said as he looked around at his men and then settled in on Ezra.

"Ah believe Ah am ready to depart … "

"Ezra," the healer started, and then frowned. "When did … never mind. I think you should stay here one more day. We just got … "

"Ah know that your little … experiment was a success. Ah can feel it, and Ah cannot thank you enough. There is nothing quite like taking a breath without a struggle."

"You're welcome, Ezra, but we don't know that those chemicals aren't going to cause you more trouble."

"As well, Nathan, we do not know that they will. Ah will take it easy for the rest of the day," Ezra assured his concerned friend.

"You will take it easy for the next few days. In your room today, only so far as the saloon until I say you can do anything further," Nathan demanded. Ezra lowered his head, and then cocked it toward Buck, presenting a knowing grin.

"Well played, Ezra," the tall gunman said with a smirk as money exchanged hands between friends. Nathan looked decidedly put-upon. The rest of them laughed as the clever con man got what he wanted, sealed with the approval of Chris Larabee and Nathan Jackson. A noise was heard just outside the window near where Vin stood. They all heard the footsteps and Vin saw the shadow of someone heading into the livery below.

"Figure Winters heard the plan?" Vin asked, already knowing the answer. Chris nodded his agreement at the 'arranged' happenstance.

"Then Ah shall retire to mah featherbed," Ezra said as he stood. He swayed into Nathan, who grabbed him before he fell back to the bed.

"Someone help him over to his room," the healer said, handing Ezra over to Josiah. The former preacher took him on the left side, Vin held on to him on the right. Buck headed out the door first, followed by J.D. Chris covered their backs. All eyes were scanning for Devon Winters, but they made their slow way over to the saloon without incident.

"Senor, are you feeling better?" Inez Recillos asked worriedly. Josiah gave up his hold; Ezra seemed steadier, and Inez seemed intent on helping the man up the steps. Vin let go as well and started up the stairs first.

"Wait here. I'll make sure it's clear. Buck, J.D., check the back way up," Vin instructed.

"Sit," Inez said as she pulled a chair over next to the staircase.

"Dear Senorita, Ah will be headin' up any moment."

"You will if everything is as Mr. Vin says, clear? No need to tire yourself out."

"Inez … "

"Sit, Ezra," Chris said. Ezra sat. And at just that moment, as he leaned down into the chair, a bullet whizzed past Inez' face, just above Ezra's hat. It would have been a head shot if Ezra had remained standing. Chris and Josiah turned to find the batwing doors moving faintly. "Stay put," Chris ordered as he pressed firmly on Ezra's shoulder. The two men headed carefully to the doors, looked out and saw no one leaving in a rushed or suspicious manner.

"Damn," Josiah said.

"He's probably close," Chris said.

"Think he'll try again so soon?"

"Might." Chris went back inside as Josiah headed out the door. The gunshot had brought Buck and J.D. back to where Ezra sat. The man looked decidedly unwell, which was bound to be the case when you dodged such a well-aimed bullet.

"It's seems Mistah Winters is good with his firearms as well as startin' fires," Ezra said as he swiped the sweat from his brow. He looked up at Inez, who couldn't hide her fury. "Mah apologies," he said, taking her hand in his. "You could have been killed."

"He was not aiming for me. I believe he would have hit his target except for … "

"Dumb luck," Buck said.

"Providence," Josiah added at the same time.

"Let's start this again," Chris said. "Buck, J.D., check the back way. Vin … "

"I'm goin'." Inez had stepped away, but now returned with her rifle.

"Inez," Chris said.

"I know how to use it, Senor."

"Don't bother arguin' with her," Ezra advised. He'd been in Chris' boots with the lovely senorita before.

"Wasn't gonna."

As Vin got to the top of the first landing, he turned and started to speak to Ezra. His friend looked ill, and even though he knew Nathan would be coming over to check on the gambler, he wanted to make sure he was all right, as all right as he could be considering the circumstances. Ezra looked up to his friend and gave him a slight nod of assurance. As their eyes met, Vin's brilliant blue ones raised to just above Ezra's head. They turned, in a flash, from warm concern to deadly intent. The observant southerner didn't have to be told what was coming. He called out, "Down!" Chris did as he was told as he grabbed Ezra's arm to get him out of the way, just as Ezra grabbed Inez. All three headed for the floor as they heard the echo of Vin's mare's leg.

Josiah and Nathan stormed in from the street, nearly tripping over the now-dead body of Devon Winters.

"Is it clear out there?" Vin asked as he rushed down the staircase. They heard the pounding boots coming from the back as Buck and J.D. joined them all to make sure that the one gun shot heard was enough.

"Yeah. Just the normal crowd, though most o' them were headin' away from here after hearin' that shot fired," Josiah said. Nathan ran to the pile on the floor as Chris, Ezra and Inez started moving off of one another.

"Everybody all right here?" the healer asked.

Ezra moaned. "Good lord, Chris. Ah was the one who yelled down. Did you really think Ah would deign to stay up?" he queried, followed by a cough, and then another moan from the still-recovering man. "Inez … " he started again, but was interrupted by another cough.

"I am fine. You do not sound the same." Chris stepped away as Nathan insinuated himself into the mix, grasping the former gunslinger's arm to move him away.

"No, Ah do not." He placed his hand on his chest, low on the right – a new bruise … wonderful – and took a shaky breath. "Ah am … certain it is simply from … all of the excitement."

"I'll be the judge of that," Nathan countered. Ezra tried to rise from his position on the floor. He still had Inez in his arms, both laying on their left sides. "Stay put, now."

"Nathan, we should allow … the lady up from the … dirty floor," Ezra said, panting from the coughing.

"The floor is clean, I can assure you of that," Inez said as she began to squirm out from under the gambler, her former boss. She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and then slid away. "Stay there and let Nathan check you." She stepped up, walked over to Vin and gave him a kiss on the cheek, too.

"Hey, what about me, darlin'?" Buck asked. Inez walked up to Buck, whose grin grew to a wide smile. She reached her hand up to the tall, dark and handsome man's cheek … and slapped it firmly.

"Thank you for helping." She stepped toward the kitchen. "I will go prepare some of your tea, Nathan."

"Thank you, Inez."

J.D. laughed out loud and sniffed loudly. "That animal magottism smells like it's gone bad, Buck."

"Hey, that ain't me. That's Ezra … the stuff Nathan … "

Buck and J.D.'s banter filled in the background as Inez stared at Ezra, purposefully not moving from his line of sight, until she got what she waited for, a nod of confirmation that he would stay put and do as Nathan said. He laid his head down on the floor as Nathan moved him onto his back. "Very well," he slurred. He could hear his friends all talking in the background. He felt exhausted, the way he felt sometimes after a fight, when the rush and excitement of the moment receded into a lethargy he often could not fight. Of course, he hadn't really been involved in any fight this time. He wanted to know what had happened, but he found he was just too tired to ask. Surely he could get their attention. "Vin?" he asked breathily.

"Ezra, everything's fine," the tracker said as he knelt down next to the prone man.

"Is … he … "

"Yeah, he's dead."

"Good. It offends … mah sensibilities … that someone … has attempted … to kill me … three times … now, for no … true offense."

"Well, I'm glad he's better at layin' dead than makin' people dead," Vin admitted.

"Ah will … drink … to … that," Ezra said through shallow breaths. He moaned and then added, "Tomorrah."

"All right. That's enough talk. Ez, does anything hurt?" Nathan asked as he checked his friend over for new injuries. It was obvious to the former slave-turned-healer that something new was wrong with the southerner.

As Nathan worked on the injured member of his team, Chris and Buck checked the pockets of the man who had taken three attempts on the gambler's life. What they found, or more importantly, didn't find, said an awful lot about the life of the man who tried to take the life of one of their own.

"J.D., go check with Tiny, see if he had a horse or a rig he was keepin' there."

"O-Okay, Chris. But Ez … "

"Ah am fine, Mistah Dunne." Ezra had his head raised and he smiled at his worried friend. He saw J.D. return the smile before he left on his errand. Once the young sheriff was gone, he lowered his head with a groan.

"So, ya ain't fine."

"Ah know, Nathan. But there is no good reason to worry J.D. about that."

Nathan leaned in close and spoke softly. "Ya got a cracked rib."

"Ah can feel it," Ezra said as his pained green eyes met the black man's worried brown ones. "Could we … alleviate … any further … worries to … Mistah Larabee … by keepin' … this just … between we two?"

"I heard that," Chris said as he knelt down next to his hurt friend. "I ain't feelin' guilty about crackin' your rib."

"Well, then … " Ezra uttered, blinking his eyes and seeming surprised, and a little confused. "V'ry well." He closed his eyes, but they popped open again as Chris confessed more, and loudly; the leader of their group could tell that Nathan wanted Ezra to stay awake, for now.

"Still feel guilty about other stuff."

Ezra shivered noticeably as he answered, "Ah b'lieve … it would be … appropr'ate … to put this … entire … ep'sode … b'hind us."

"I don't know if I can do that, Ezra."

"Then … allow us … a pact," the con man offered.

"I think a pact is a good idea, but ya'll can work on it later," Nathan suggested. He looked to Vin and raised his head and eyebrow in a silent request for assistance. "Let's get you up to your room." The tracker moved in to help the man up.

"Mistah Tanner, Ah can make it to mah room just fine," he said as he allowed Vin and Nathan to help him to his feet. His legs, though, seemed anything but fine as he leaned too far left and knocked hard into Nathan for the second time this day. He moaned at the pain.

"Yeah, yer doin' real good, Ezra," Vin chastised.

"Let us help you," Nathan insisted. "Inez, whenever that tea is ready … " he called toward the kitchen.

A pretty, disembodied voice echoed back, "I will bring it up shortly."

"Nathan, Ah am certainly capable of … " Chris listened as the familiar back and forth between the two men who held such a tenuous history yet a very trusting and comfortable present made their way up the stairs.

"Josiah, get the undertaker to clean up this mess," Chris ordered as he headed over to see if Mary had heard anything from John Sanford.

"The telegraph was down? This was supposed to have been sent three days ago?" Mary Travis asked as she stood before the tall, handsome blond two days later.

"Yeah. Looks like Sanford knew, and tried to send us warning about Winters."

"He's a good man."

"Yeah. Says the kid made threats about someone in Four Corners. Sanford asked around his other men and found out that he'd lost money to Ezra. I know Sanford and Ezra have played before, guess the man has a soft spot for our resident poker player," Chris noted with an affectionate grin.

"He's not the only one," Mary said, the warmth in her tone unmistakable. Ezra had made an impact on this town; nobody would want to see him taken out like Winters had tried to do. "How is he?"

"He's … proddy. He'll be up and about tomorrow, probably. Nathan didn't want to risk anything with the chemicals he inhaled and the cracked rib. He don't take too kindly to being forced to rest."

"I think none of you are very good about that."

"Maybe. But he doesn't mind sleeping 'til noon and bein' late for patrol."

Mary smiled. "Yes, well, I think that is more habit now than anything. And maybe a little mischief."

"You think?"

"I've seen him up at the crack of dawn, taking a walk around when we're short-handed because one or more of you had to be out of town."

"And the mischief?"

"He enjoys annoying you."

Chris harrumphed and nodded his head at the truth of that. On the other, he shook his head. "Beats me why he don't just accept that he's here, he likes what he's doing, and it's okay for people to know it."

"He'll come around. It makes sense that he'd still be skittish about settling down."

"I guess. Well, Mary. Have a nice day."

"Chris, would you like to come over for lunch? Billy and I have put the finishing touches on a small garden behind the newspaper. Actually, Ezra helped me plan it. We could eat outside." Her eyes so obviously hoped for something he wasn't sure he was ready to give. He still didn't know if he ever would be. Their one step forward, two steps back relationship had been in this same pattern for too long, he knew that. And he had been all but ready to tell her that they had no future. But it was a fool of a man who would turn down spending time with a beautiful woman and not at least truly give their relationship a chance. If he'd learned nothing else since just before the fire, it was that he needed to take responsibility for his actions, not blame people – alive or long dead – for those things which only he had control over.

"That sounds nice, Mary."

"Good. Is one o'clock all right."

Chris smiled. "I'll see you then."

The tall blond walked over to the saloon and headed up to see Ezra. He knocked on the door and opened it without delay. The 'skittish' man, as Mary had called him, had finally loosened up enough to know that if there was a knock he usually didn't need to worry. That had been three years in the making. He found Ezra sitting up in bed, dressed save for his vest, jacket and boots, breathing heavily. He walked up quickly to the bed and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing. You're breathin' ain't right and you're just layin' in bed. I'm gonna go get Nathan."

"Chris, Ah am fine."

"How can … " Chris stopped and took a look around. The curtains were pulled back from the open window. And Ezra's comfortable rocking chair was set there, the smallest slow motion still evident. And Ezra was breathing heavy.

"You spyin' on me?"

"Why, Mistah Larabee. Ah am … "

"You saw me and Mary talking."

Ezra looked Chris in the eye, then raised his chin and cocked his head at the same time as he shrugged his shoulder. "Guilty."

"We're having lunch together."

"Mary is a good cook. Not particularly imaginative, but certainly she will provide a fine repast."

"You been spending time with her?"

"Just to help formulate a private, outdoor space."

"Figure I'm more likely to spend time with her if I don't have to do it in public?"

"Chris, Ah do not know why you think Ah am some form of matchmaker in your dance with Mary Travis."

"I think it 'cause I know it's true. But," he added as he put his hand up to keep Ezra from arguing the point, "I ain't complainin'."

"You believe the way you have acted of late is not complainin'?"

Chris smiled sadly and shook his head as he averted Ezra's gaze. He looked out the window and then back at the man before him. "Think maybe it's time we talked about that pact you suggested?"

"Ah. I thought you were doin' a fine job of ignoring my brilliant idea."

"Well, Ezra, right now it's just a brilliant idea in your head. That don't make it a workable pact."

"True."

"Okay. What's your idea?"

"Ah believe that we should put all of this behind us."

"I told you that I didn't think I could do that. So what would be my part in this pact? You must have something else in mind."

"Just remember that a snake, when riled, does not always hiss or rattle or otherwise expose itself before it strikes."

"Is that a threat, Ezra?" Chris asked, the question serious sounding even as his eyes, his entire demeanor portrayed that he was otherwise.

"It seems that a lunch date with a beautiful woman has put you in a good mood."

"Just answer the question."

"Relatively speakin'," Ezra said under his breath in response. Louder he said, "Why, of course not, Mistah Larabee. Just wise advice to heed when vipers are about."

"'cept for Winters, I ain't noticed any snakes. But all right. Thanks for the advice."

"My pleasure." Ezra yawned suddenly. "Mah apologies. It seems that Nathan was right about subsequent concerns relating to that smoke. Ah find myself tired all of the time."

"You should go ahead and rest. Mind if I hang out here for a while?" Chris asked as he picked up the book from Ezra's nightstand and took a seat in the rocking chair.

"Certainly not," the gambler replied, followed by another yawn.

"Want me to read to you?" Chris asked as he opened the book to the opening chapter. He sat in the rocking chair strategically positioned facing the window. He would ask Ezra where he should start, but would need to read this one from the beginning sometime. "Ez?" he asked as he turned to look at the man in the bed. He hadn't gotten an answer for a reason: Ezra P. Standish was dead to the world, though thankfully only figuratively.

Chris set the book on his thigh as he thought about how close they had come to losing Ezra. The man's profession as a gambler continued to be a question mark in their lives, just like Vin's status as a wanted man and Chris' as a notorious gunslinger. Danger seemed to linger from all quarters in their group: Josiah's unpredictability when he'd been drinking, Buck's philandering, J.D.'s youth. It seemed they were lucky to have Nathan's steadying influence on them all. He closed his eyes, easily falling asleep in the comfort of Ezra's rocking chair.

A grin came to the gunslinger's mouth as he heard Nathan and Ezra going at it behind him. He felt refreshed after his short nap. They had formed something special, he and these six men with such different personalities, different backgrounds. The different paths that had led them to Four Corners, a small, dusty frontier town, a town that should never have survived, a town that like so many towns before it, should have vanished with little trace of what had once been. Chris stood from the chair and turned to find Ezra still trying to convince Nathan of something. He noticed for the first time Vin standing in the corner, shaking his head, a wry smile on his face. They, Chris and the six other men Judge Orin Travis had hired as peacekeepers, were a large part of why Four Corners appeared to be on the map for the long haul. But Ezra was right: vipers lurked everywhere, most often coming from nowhere. Chris Larabee knew he had the right mix of men to help move their town forward. Four Corners would mean something, just as each of the individuals who made up The Magnificent Seven would have a hand in making it so.

The End.