Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that I lay no claim to all things Magnificent Seven and do acknowledge that Mirisch, Watson, Densham, Trilogy, MGM, TNN and CBS hold the deed. I just meander in through the back door and play with them at every available opportunity.

Warnings: This is an experiment for me. When complete it will combine both OW and ATF, Gen and Slash. We'll see how it goes. The Gen/OW segment will be posted on our general site, while the complete story - Gen/OW and ATF/Slash - will be posted on our adult site.

Notes: Written for Bardd, in honor of her birthday. Although this is woefully late, I hope your birthday was wonderful, and that the year ahead is magnificent. Thank you for understanding my limitations, and I hope that this will make up for it!

The two men rode single file along the path into the foothills, enjoying the late morning sun that beat down on their backs. Only the jingle of their horses tack, the call of birds flitting from perch to hilly perch, and the sound of the breeze through the trees broke the silence. Neither man had spoken for several hours, each as comfortable with the other's silence as he was his own. As the big black horses bounded gracefully onto the broad plateau, both men smiled as they regarded the breathtaking view before them.

Suddenly the peaceful day was shattered as shots rang out. One man, dressed head to toe in black, leapt from his horse and took cover behind a big Juniper, the only shelter close at hand. The second man, all in tans and browns, dropped heavily from the saddle, stumbled, and fell to his knees. Shaking his head, he crawled, on two knees and one hand, to join his friend. Once there he slumped heavily against the trunk, his breath a harsh wheeze.

Chris Larabee looked over at his friend, cursing softly when he saw a crimson stain spreading along the man's side. "Shit. Is it bad?"

"Had worse," Vin Tanner rasped, biting off a moan as he tried to retrieve his hogleg from its holster.

His attention drawn by more gunfire, Chris traded shots with their hidden attackers until he was forced to reload. As he thumbed bullets into the chambers of his Colt, he watched at Tanner struggled to change positions so that he could fire. He reached out a hand to steady the younger man then placed the sawed off nub of a barrel in a natural notch. "We need to stop the bleeding."

"Reckon we got... other things need doin' at... the moment," Vin grunted as he shot, cleared the chamber, and shot again. He knew he wouldn't be much use to Chris soon. Already his vision was fuzzy at the edges, and spots threatened to spoil his aim.

"I don't aim to sit here and watch you bleed to death," Larabee growled. Sending another volley of shots toward their attackers, he paused long enough to pull his kerchief out. Easing Vin around, he leaned him back against the tree trunk. Then opening up the slender young man's clothes, he found the wound and pressed the pad of material against it. Despite the fact that Tanner groaned and nearly passed out, he held the makeshift bandage in place until the wounded man's blood sealed it to the wound.

"Now, you just lay still and let me take care of this," he instructed.

"Ain't dead, Chris, I c'n still shoot."

"Yeah, and every time you fire that damn canon of yours, you're gonna open the wound up again. Just shut up, lay still, and let me take care of this."

"Damn, Larabee, yer getting' bossy in yer old age," Vin said through gritted teeth as pain washed over him. The shock of being shot had worn off, leaving searing pain in its wake.

The gunslinger spared his companion a quick glare before returning to the problem at hand. The air began to fill with the acrid smell of gunpowder, and still shots rang out. Chris looked to see that his supply of bullets was dwindling rapidly. He had a box in his saddlebags, but Pony was several yards away, having shied away from the battle. Looking at Vin, he said quickly, "I'm almost out of ammo."

Knowing just what it was that the blond wasn't saying, Tanner nodded shortly. He scrubbed the sweat out of his eyes with his coat sleeve, and laboriously began to move. Larabee was at his elbow in an instant, helping him into position. Leaning heavily against the trunk, Vin prepared to cover his friend's back while Chris went after more bullets. Gritting his teeth, the younger man aimed for the scatter of boulders where the enemy had secreted themselves, and fired. Tears sprang to his eyes as the movement caused pain to shoot through his side.

Staying low to the ground, Larabee sprinted across the ground toward the horses. Peso snorted his annoyance at the unplanned stop, while Pony stood patiently nearby. He grabbed the saddlebags and canteens from both horses, grabbed their rifles from the boots, and scuttled back toward the big tree. As if realizing that they weren't needed at the moment, the two horses moved in the opposite direction.

Vin slumped against the Juniper's trunk just as the blond reached him. Chris dropped his bundles and carefully helped the semi-conscious man to settle in with his back against the tree. Shooting his rifle a few times to convince the other men he was still in the game, he pulled his attention away from the battle long enough to bandage the sharpshooter's wound more securely. Handing his friend one of the canteens and patting him on the shoulder, the gunfighter returned to the fight.

Finally the shooting slowed, then stopped when Larabee realized that he was the only one pursuing the battle. He looked to see that Vin was unconscious, his head lolling against the rough tree trunk. Scanning the enemy hiding place across the clearing, he watched for signs of a trap. Only when he was satisfied that the attack had ended did he put aside his weapons, keeping them in easy reach however. He pressed his fingers against the long, exposed neck, allowing himself a quick grin when he felt a pulse. Tanner was still with him.

"Ain't dead... yet," came a rasping whisper.

With a chuckle, Chris said, "well, let's just keep it that way. It's awful quiet across the way, think I'm gonna go have a look. You lay still, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"W-watch yer... back," Vin managed.

Nodding, the gunman retrieved his sidearm before creeping in a wide arc until he could get a look behind the boulders. Watching for a moment before he moved closer, the blond was alert for an attack. When none came, he approached the sheltered area, every nerve ending prepared to fight. He finally relaxed when he saw that their attackers were dead. Disarming the corpses, he toed one over face up, cursing when he recognized the man's face. He didn't check the other three, knowing who they were without looking.

Vin managed to slant open an eye when he heard the jingle of approaching spurs. He smiled wanly when he recognized his friend. "Git 'm?"

"Yeah, they're all dead," Larabee replied softly.

"After you...'r me?"

"It was Elias Drake and his brothers." When Tanner frowned, trying to recall the name, he continued, "I shot another of their brothers a couple of years ago back in Tombstone. Sorry, pard, they were after me."

"L-luck a th'... draw," the injured man managed to reply.

The gunman knelt next to the other man and began checking his wound, putting aside any guilt at the fact his friend was bleeding because of him. Carefully pulling Vin forward, he settled the tousled head against his shoulder while he worked the layers of clothes off the lanky frame. "Jesus, Tanner, how many layers of clothes can one body tolerate?"

Vin didn't answer, didn't think he had the energy. He lay limply against his friend, allowing him to do most of the work. Finally, striped to the waist, he was lowered back against the tree once more. He moaned softly as the soiled bandage was removed and another put in its place. Blinking against the sweat that burned his eyes, he managed to focus on his friend. The blond's face was a mask of concentration as he carefully tied off the bandage, checking the bleeding for signs of slowing. Finally he seemed satisfied, and sat back to look Tanner in the face.

"'M I gonna... live, y' s'pose?"

"Suppose so," Chris replied. "It took a chunk of hide out of your side, not that you had much to spare, but I don't think it's too serious. We need to get you back to town so Nathan can look after it. I cleaned it out the best I can, but he'll be able to do it a lot better. We've still got half a day of daylight, so we could make it home by tomorrow night. Think you can sit your horse for a few hours?"

"'F I cain't... just t-tie me down," Tanner managed.

Larabee nodded somberly, praying that it didn't come to that. He knew Vin well enough to know that the younger man hated to feel trapped in any way. Leaving Tanner where he was, the blond hurried off to retrieve their horses. It took several moments for him to find them, the big animals having gone in search of water. Climbing atop Pony, he grabbed up Peso's reins and rode back to where the injured man lay.

Putting the saddlebags and other items back on the horses backs, Chris took down his bedroll. Helping Vin to sit up, he got the man's buckskin jacket back on, then wrapped the blanket around him. Slipping an arm around his friend, he helped him to his feet. The Texan slumped heavily against him, shock and blood loss having drained most of his strength. With the bigger man taking much of his weight, Tanner managed to stumble the few feet to his horse.

As if recognizing the man's weakness, the usually cantankerous black stood as patiently as a plow horse. He didn't move as Chris held onto Vin, guiding the semi-conscious man's foot into the stirrup. Helping the sharpshooter grasp onto the saddlehorn then, Larabee boosted him carefully up into the saddle. Once the younger man was there, he held onto him while Tanner found his balance. Only when he seemed secure did the blond move away, quickly mounting his own horse. Reaching over, he made certain that the wounded man was settled on the saddle, holding on with one hand while the other was tucked beneath the blanket, against his belly. Taking up both horses reins, he led them back down the hill.

They rode slowly through the foothills, down into the broad valley below. Chris reined in the horses every mile or two, checking on Vin's wound. The bleeding stopped, no sign of fresh blood showing on the bandages despite the constant jostle of the ride. He was grateful for that at least. As the sun touched the Western horizon, he called a halt, finding a tree dotted hollow that would give them shelter and protection for the night.

Quickly dismounting, he reached up to help Vin from the saddle. To his surprise, the slender young man slid bonelessly into his arms, unconscious. Settling the limp body in his arms, he carried him to the nearest tree, stretching him out beneath the trunk. Checking, he found that there was no more bleeding, but the wound was beginning to show signs of infection, the ragged edges growing red and swollen. With a sigh, he found a clean kerchief in Tanner's saddlebag and wet it from the canteen. Gently, he began to bathe the wound, trying his best to ignore the breathless cries of protest. Cleaning the injury as well as he could, he once more pressed a pad of cloth against the lean side and bound the wound. Wrapping Vin back up in his jacket and the blanket, he added the other bedroll to the slightly trembling form.

Leaving Tanner to rest, he tended the horses before building a fire and putting together the evening meal. His attention remained on the supine form, monitoring for signs that his friend was waking. Vin slept through the evening, though, only coming half awake to eat a little of the stew Chris had prepared. Larabee lifted him up, settling him against his shoulder while he helped the groggy man eat. Vin's head dropped back against him after a few minutes, the young man exhausted after the events of the long day.

"Make a f-fine... mama," Tanner teased.

"Yeah, well just don't go telling the others, or I'll have to kill you. That would sure make all this a waste of my time."

"Y'ain't n-near 's sc... scary 's y' let on."

"You ready to test that theory?"

Vin smiled and shook his head, then settled back against his friend with a sigh.

Chris set aside the plate, retrieving his silver flask from the pocket of his duster. He had fed the injured man a little of it throughout the day, to take the edge off the pain. Nudging Tanner, he pressed the mouth of the container against the slightly parted lips. "Come on now, drink a little of this. It'll help you sleep."

The former bounty hunter obliged him, swallowing the strong liquid. Then he coughed, grimacing as pain once more pounded at him from the wound. He felt the other man wipe his mouth, then lower him carefully to the ground. As the blankets were tucked in around him, he managed a weak smile and a mumbled, "mama", before drifting into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Sitting back, Chris Larabee watched his friend grow still, and ran a hand over his face. The day seemed to stretch back a week at least, and he was weary to the bone. He would be glad to see the familiar town by this time tomorrow, and would gratefully turn Tanner's care over to Nathan.

The night passed slowly, Chris sitting vigil beside his wounded friend. Vin spent a restless night somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, wearing himself out as he struggled against the pain. By morning, both men were exhausted, and Larabee knew that the younger man would never be able to sit his horse in his present condition. He also knew that the stubborn fool would argue against that conclusion.

Helping Tanner to eat after he had finished his own breakfast, Chris doused the fire and packed up their gear. Leaving the hardest part for last, he knelt beside the restless man, gently shaking him. As the pale blue eyes fluttered open, he said firmly, "you're going to ride with me."

"Ain't no... ain't no need."

"Yes there is. I'm not in the mood to pick your scrawny ass up off the ground every half a mile."

"Tol' y', t-tie me down."

"No call for that. We'll take it nice and slow and switch horses whenever we need to. Now, if you're through wasting my time, let's get you in the saddle."

Tanner begrudgingly allowed the blond to get him on his feet, his legs buckling when he tried to stand. Chris held him tightly, not moving until he was sure the injured man was ready to move. They managed to get Vin up into the saddle, then Larabee climbed up behind him. Coaxing the younger man to lean back against him, the blond started them all forward.

The day passed as slowly as the night had. The gunslinger reined in the horses whenever it seemed that the ride was becoming too much for his friend. On his part, the sharpshooter lay limply in the older man's embrace, barely aware of the day's passage. From time to time he mumbled, the words unintelligible, and struggled against the bigger man's arms.

"Vin, you're all right. Settle down now, before you knock us both off this damn mule of yours." Chris kept his voice low but firm, the words meant to calm the other man's fears and settle him down.

Tanner dragged himself from the haze of growing delirium and managed to turn to look up at his friend. "Ch... Chrissss?"

"Right here, cowboy." Larabee smiled down at the weakened man. He shifted Vin carefully and pulled his flask from his pocket. The whiskey level was getting dangerously low, he just hoped it would last until they got to town. Pressing the mouth to the other man's slightly parted lips, he coaxed, "take a drink."

Too worn out to answer, Tanner obliged, swallowing the harsh liquid as long as the flask was offered. When it was withdrawn, he sighed, head dropping back against the black-clad shoulder. Turning his head toward the other man's chest, he managed to whisper, "ho... how l-long?"

"We ought to see the town inside the hour. You want to stop for a little while?"

Shaking his head, he said, "'m fine."

"Not lying to me, are you?"

With a breathless chuckle, Tanner shook his head again.

"All right then." Larabee drew his arms around the other man, holding him close as he coaxed the horses forward a little faster.

The sun was setting as they entered the little town of Four Corners. As he guided the horses along the dusty road, Chris was well aware of the townsfolk coming to watch them pass by. Vin was aware of little, continuing to drift in and out of consciousness. Then the gunslinger saw a small and familiar figure, and called out. "Billy! Can you do me a favor?"

Trotting toward his friend, Billy Travis frowned when he saw how still and pale Tanner was. "Chris, what's wrong with Vin?"

"He got hurt... shot. Can you do me a favor and go get Nathan for me?"

"Sure." Nodding vigorously, the little blond hurried away as quickly as his legs would carry him.

Reaching the long staircase that led to the healer's makeshift clinic, Larabee was hardly surprised to find Buck and JD running toward him. Yosemite, the town's blacksmith, took over the care of the horses, while Wilmington took Tanner into his arms. With Dunne's help, the big ladies man carried their injured friend up the stairs.

Slumping with fatigue and relief, Chris Larabee stiffly pulled himself from the saddle. Nodding to the big blacksmith, he wearily began the climb to follow his friends. By the time he reached the top, Nathan was there, calling to him.

"Chris! What happened?"

Quickly filling in the former slave, Larabee moved aside to allow him to go into the clinic. He followed close behind, going directly to the bed where Vin lay. Tanner stirred, looking up at his friend. One corner of his broad mouth quirked up in a smile as the man settled in next to him on the bed, a hand gently curling around his arm. The sharpshooter's blue eyes twinkled as he mouthed, "mama".

"What'd he say?" Nathan looked across the bed to where the blond was glaring down at the sharpshooter. The former slave could swear he saw the narrow chest quiver with laughter.

"Nothing," the gunslinger growled.

Chris strode quickly onto the boardwalk after morning was well under way. He moved quickly toward the livery, above which Nathan's clinic was situated. The expression on his face kept the townspeople he encountered from doing nothing more nodding before they scuttled quickly out of his way.

The blond had stayed at the clinic, helping with Tanner's care, until just after midnight. It was only then, after Jackson declared that the young man would survive, that he reluctantly left for his rented room. Wearily slipping beneath the cool sheets in his own bed, he sighed and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He had promised a sleeping Vin that he would be back at sunup, but he had overslept. Even if the younger man had been oblivious to his promise, Larabee hated to break his word.

Jogging up the long staircase, the gunslinger entered the healer's clinic only to stop just beyond the threshold. A smile lit up his face as he saw his friend sitting up in bed. He lay against a stack of pillows, looking pale and wan, but alive and awake. At the moment he was gingerly picking at a bowl of oatmeal, nose wrinkling as he stirred the mush. He looked up at the sound of someone entering the room, and grinned.

"'Bout time y' drug yer ass outta bed," he rasped tiredly. "Cain't understand a person sleepin' th' day away."

Smiling with relief, Larabee slumped against the doorframe. Next time, he'd just shoot Vin and be done with it.

Larabee leaned back, watching a single cloud drift across the limitless blue sky. He had stayed to visit with Vin through the morning, leaving only when it was obvious that the injured man's energy was at an end. He had made plans with Buck and Josiah to ride out tomorrow, returning to where they had been attacked. He had no problem with leaving the bushwackers laying on the ground to become dinner for buzzards and wolves, but he wanted to make certain that any threat ended with the dead brothers. Today, however, he would spend a few hours at his shack, checking to make certain things were in order.

Arriving at the little homestead, he dismounted and took care of his horse, turning Pony out into the corral. Picking up the water bucket, he strolled off toward the little creek that ran along the back of his property. Reaching the creek, he knelt and dipped the wooden container into the cold water. Then, suddenly, he felt a sharp stab of pain as something big and heavy struck him across his shoulders. Stunned, he dropped to his knees, then grunted as he was hit a second time, across the back of the head. He was unconscious by the time he landed, face down, in the creek.

"Hey, Vin, you're lookin' a lot better today." Buck Wilmington smiled as he met the young sharpshooter at the bottom of the clinic's stairway. Tanner was pale, a thin sheen of perspiration coating his face, but he was moving under his own steam. Looking to see that Jackson was no where in sight, he said, "you tie Nathan up so y' could escape?"

With a tight-lipped smile the younger man said, "no. He had t' go tend Jake Ketchum's boy. Fool busted hisself up jumpin' outta the hay loft."

"Ah. So you figured you'd take advantage of the situation and sneak off."

"Ain't sneakin'," Tanner pointed out. "Walkin' out in plain sight."

"Uh-huh." Scanning the stairs once more, then looking along the boardwalk in both directions, he said, "so where'd you send Chris?"

Squinting up at the bigger man, Vin said, "ain't seen 'm t'day."

A frown darkened the rogue's face, and Wilmington said, "that ain't like 'm. He was supposed to meet me 'n Josiah at first light so we could ride out t' take care a them fellas."

Tanner stared skyward, then glared at the other man. "Sun's been up an hour, Bucklin, why y' just lookin' fer 'm now?"

"Thought maybe he got held up at th' shack. Don't know that there's a cause t' go on th' worry, stud. We'll just ride out there 'n check it out."

"I'm goin' with y'," Vin said decidedly.

Looking at the tracker, Buck shook his head. The young man was favoring his injured side and looked pale and haggard. It seemed to have taken more out of him to come down the stairs than it normally did to run from one end of town to the other and back again. "You stay here. If there's a problem, we'll come back for y', I promise."

"Buck - "

"The last thing we'll need to worry about if there is something wrong, is takin' care of you, too, Vin," Wilmington said softly. "Let me 'n Josiah check things out. Could be nothin'. All right?"

Tanner sighed and nodded, knowing the other man was right. "Watch yer back."

Chris glared across the rough camp at his captor. He pulled at the thick ropes that bound him, the movement shooting pain through his shoulders, neck and head. The blond grunted, stopped, and leaned back against the tree he had woken up under the night before.

"Y'all mite's well stop now," the big man growled. "Y' ain't gonna get loose any time soon. 'N if y' do manage 't, I've got this t' make sure y' don't git fur," he patted the stock of his shotgun.

"You're the one that won't get far," Larabee promised. "My friends will make certain of that."

With a hard laugh the man said, "if yer dead, they won't have a clue a who t' go after, so don't reckon I'll fret on that much."

He sighed, knowing that the man was probably right. Not even he had counted on the Drake's having yet more family members who had come looking for him. The man who had managed to capture him was the father of the men he had killed, Aaron Drake. Vin, Buck and the others wouldn't even know who they were looking for, although he knew they'd come looking. Tanner would be able to cut their trail easily, as long as he was able to ride. And he knew the rangy tracker well enough to know that he would come looking, even if the others had to hold him in the saddle.

But, although bound like a prize turkey, he wasn't about to just sit and wait for the others to come rescue him. Settling back against the tree, he studied his captor, looking for any information he could use in making an escape. Aaron Drake was a big man, well over three hundred pounds and taller than Josiah, Nathan or Buck. A slight smile graced his handsome features as he mused that the man could have been the information for the giants in some of the stories he had read to Adam.

The object of Larabee's attention pushed his bulk up from the ground, and walked stiffly toward the nearby trees. He answered nature's call without taking his eyes off the gunman for more than a few seconds at a time. Aaron had vowed on the graves of his sons that he would make the blond pay for their deaths, as well as the death of Jacob, the son he had lost two years earlier.

And, just as Jacob's death had done to the entire Drake clan, he would make certain that Chris Larabee's death tore asunder the group of men, hell even the town, that the blond had aligned himself with.

Vin was sitting on the boardwalk when Buck and Josiah returned, nursing a beer and waiting. He pulled himself stiffly from the chair and walked to the edge of the street as the two men reined in before him. "Well?"

Shaking his head, Buck said, "Pony's there in the corral, but there's no sign of Chris anywhere. We found the water bucket at the stream, but other than that, it's like he was never there."

Nodding, Tanner limped the few feet to where Peso stood waiting. He took a deep breath, holding it as he pulled himself up into the saddle. Pain flared through his side, bringing tears to his eyes, but he blinked them back and settled himself atop the big black. Taking up the reins and turning to the other men, he said in a pain roughened voice, "let's ride."

By the time they reined in at Larabee's corral, Vin wasn't certain he had the strength to dismount. He had stayed in the saddle this far by shear determination, one hand clenching the saddlehorn to keep him upright. Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, the young man looked down at a touch, to find Buck taking the reins from him. The former lawman wrapped the reins around the roughhewn fence before turning back to regard the injured man.

"You're gonna need t' rest for a bit, or you'll fold up inside the hour." He reached up and steadied the smaller man as he slid from the saddle, landing on the ground with a soft grunt.

"'M okay, Bucklin," Tanner rasped. "Just need... just need t' catch m' breath."

"C'mon, let's get'cha in th' shade." Wilmington led the weary man to the porch, settling him on the chair sitting there. Reaching into his coat pocket, he retrieved a whiskey flask and pressed it into the younger man's hand.

Taking the container with a grateful nod, Tanner took a long draw from it, relaxing a little as the liquid burned its way to his stomach. Leaning back in the chair, he started to hand it back to the other man. "Thanks, Bucklin."

Putting up a hand, Wilmington said, "keep it, stud. You need it more 'n me."

With a second grin, he capped it and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. "Gimme a few minutes t' rest, then I want y'all t' show me where y' found the bucket."

"Vin - " Sanchez began as he stepped onto the porch.

"J'siah, I'll be okay. Y' don't 'xpect me t' jist sit here 'n not do a thing when Chris 's missin', do y'?"

Smiling down fondly at the younger man, the former preacher said, "no brother, I guess I don't."

As soon as Tanner felt that he had enough energy to move, he started to rise. Buck slipped a hand beneath the tracker's elbow and helped him to his feet. Without a word, the three men made their way to the little creek, Sanchez trailing the horses, while Wilmington led Vin to where they had found the discarded bucket. He steadied the injured man as he knelt, studying the ground for several minutes. Raising weary eyes to the bigger man, he let himself be lifted back to his feet. Once there, he leaned heavily against his friend while he explained his findings.

"There's a little blood there... but not much. Looks like... looks like he fell here," he pointed a trembling finger to indicate a place where the ground had been disturbed. His eyes traveled along the ground, studying it for several yards in every direction. Finally he pointed, explaining, "they went that way."

Buck shook his head with a wry smile. Leave it to the Texan, barely able to stand, but still displaying an almost supernatural ability to read his surroundings. Then he tightened his grip as he felt Vin's knees buckle. Carefully he lowered the man to the grass, saying quietly, "take it easy, pard."

"'M okay," the young man mumbled, taking comfort in the bigger man's gentle touch. "Jist... jist gimme a minute."

Kneeling next to the smaller man, Buck held him carefully, the tousled head laying against his shoulder. He carefully pressed a hand against the damp forehead, looking up at Sanchez. "He's got a fever."

"We'll stay here tonight, give him time to rest," Josiah said quietly. "Let's get him back to the cabin."

"No," Vin argued, pushing himself away from the big gunman holding him. "We... we gotta go... gotta find Chris... somethin's wrong."

"You go back with Josiah, and I'll go lookin' for Chris," Wilmington said.

"Y'... y' might lose th' trail."

"I ain't a complete fool," Buck admonished. "I've learned a thing or two 'bout lookin' for someone."

"More like hidin'... from someone's daddy," Tanner retorted. He managed to gain his feet, even though he swayed dangerously once he got there. The other two men continued to try and reason with him, but the stubborn tracker ignored them, stumbling to where Peso stood waiting. For once the big black stood passively, waiting while the Texan fumbled, finally getting on his back after several tries. "Y'all comin'?"

Wilmington and Sanchez cursed and grumbled as they hurried to catch up with the quickly departing Tanner.

Larabee was foot sore and exhausted, his upper body aching and bruised from the earlier attack. Drake had tied the thick rope to his saddle, and was leading the gunman behind him. Chris had cursed the older man for some time, threatening him with every sort of bodily harm he could think of. When that brought no results, he had settled into a brooding silence, trying to burn a hole in the broad back with an intense glare.

He slowly came to realize that they were moving toward the foothills, back to where he and Vin had been attacked. He wasn't certain why, though. The man had shared the fact that he had buried his sons there, marking their graves with wooden crosses cut from the nearby Juniper, and vowing to avenge their deaths. He had decided though, listening to the man ranting and raving about the injustice of his sons deaths, that he was quite mad. Whether the derangement had been caused by those deaths, or had been present before was unclear.

He had to get away.

His wrists, pulled tight behind him, were raw from his efforts to free himself. He spent every moment twisting and straining against the heavy rope, not caring about the damage done to his flesh. So far Drake had not noticed, too caught up in his mad quest to punish not only him, but his friends as well.

His friends, who had no idea as to where he was.

Once again it occurred to the blond what that might mean. Vin. If Buck and Josiah came out to look for him when he didn't show up in town, Tanner might have found out. And, knowing the stubborn tracker, he'd insist on riding out to look for him. The man wasn't well enough to sit his horse, let alone ride across country in search of him. But he would, and damned would be anyone who tried to stop him.

"Oh, God, Vin," Larabee whispered.

Chris had spent a long and uncomfortable night, tied up and propped up against a big boulder. He could feel the blood dripping from his torn wrists, trailing along his hands to spill onto the grass below, but he continued to work at the thick ropes. If nothing else, he hoped that his blood would help him slip out of his bonds.

As the first light of dawn spilled across the valley, the gunman searched his surroundings for any means of escape. They widened as he caught a quick movement, someone moving from tree to tree above the camp. They had come. His friends had come, as they had before, to rescue him.

He had never quite figured out how he had earned such loyalty, but he was damned glad of it at the moment.

Forcing himself not to watch the treeline for more movement, he turned his gaze toward Drake. The big man was still wrapped up in his blankets, coat folded beneath his head for a pillow, on the other side of the low fire. He hoped that the man remained that way, posing no threat to the men he could 'feel' creeping closer to the camp. Fate, though, had other ideas.

Aaron Drake stretched and yawned, pushing stiffly up from the ground. He would be glad to be finished with this business, so he could sleep in his own bed again. Then his thoughts turned dark as he remembered that bed would be in a big, quiet house, devoid of the sounds of his children.

Anger flared in the wrinkled, weathered face, and he stomped across the little clearing, stopping right before his captive. Without warning he drew back and kicked the blond hard, in the ribs. As the man grunted in surprise and folded over, he growled, "yer a bastard, Larabee... a worthless, connivin' bastard."

"Yeah, but he's our worthless, connivin' bastard," a voice startled both men. They turned to see Buck Wilmington standing across the clearing, his gun trained on Drake.

Coughing, grimacing as pain lanced through his side, the gunslinger rasped out, "learned from the best."

Humor dancing in dark blue eyes, Buck took a step forward. "Now, I don't know who y' are mister, and I ain't really concerned with that at th' moment. Move away from my friend nice and slow."

"Y' ain't takin' 'm. He's gonna pay fer killin' my boys." Aaron stood, glaring at the man holding a gun on him.

"I'm sorry about your sons," Josiah Sanchez was there now, approaching Drake while he spoke in that deep, calming voice. "But they were the ones who started this. They began shooting, and they injured another of our friends. Just as you do for your sons, we have strong feelings about our friends. We won't stand by and allow you to kill Chris Larabee."

"You won't take him... I won't let you." Drake's voice was cold, dangerous. He stepped back, reached down, and pulled Chris up by his collar. Yanking the lean body around in front of him, he wrapped an arm around the long neck, and growled, "y'all back off. Now."

Holding their hands away from their bodies, the two men retreated a few feet. They both saw the resignation in the dark eyes, both held their gazes steady on the face of their friend and leader. Both stood ready to grab him when, suddenly, Aaron Drake's head exploded and he dropped to the ground.

Tugging the blond out of the dead man's grasp, Buck pulled him to his feet, holding onto him as Chris gained his bearings. When it seemed Larabee could stand on his own, he pulled him around and went to work, cutting the blood-soaked ropes.

"Who?" The gunman scanned the hillside, searching for the shooter. His mind told him who it had to be, but he didn't want to believe it. Vin needed to be back in town, in bed, not out here roaming the countryside.

"Who do y' think, stud?" The bigger man grunted as he finished cutting through the bonds, releasing Larabee.

Drawing his arms before him with a pain-filled grunt, the gunslinger tried to rub the aching limbs. His torn and bloodied wrists protested, though, and he settled for twisting them loosely before him.

"Damned if you didn't do a bit of damage to yourself," Wilmington shook his head and sighed. Pulling a kerchief out of his pocket, he wrapped it carefully around one damaged wrist then, retrieving one from Larabee's pocket, he wrapped the other wrist.

Chris barely noticed the man's ministrations, his eyes continuing to scan the hills for signs of movement. "Where is he?"

Buck frowned, looking toward the place they had left Vin, then turned to exchange a look with Josiah. The big man stood from where he had been praying over the bloodied corpse, coming to stand beside the other two men.

Larabee's gaze went from one to the other of the bigger men. Frowning, he said, "what?"

"Come on, let's get up there. We'll fill y' in on th' way," the former lawman said even as the three of them moved toward the hills overlooking the little clearing. As the walked, he told Chris of Vin's fever and weakness, as well as the smaller man's insistence at coming along.

"Damn, hard-headed, mule-stubborn, mangy fool," the blond growled as they reached the top of the little overlook.

"Yer welcome," the voice was raspier than usual, lacking its normal strength, but it still held an edge of humor.

Chris looked down at the lean man, sprawled against the rocks, hogleg laying across his lap. He took in the dark ringed eyes, the ashen complexion and the tight set of the chiseled features, and shook his head. "You ought to be in bed."

"You'll get no argument from... me right... now," Vin said, barely biting off a groan as he tried to shift his weight.

Larabee squatted down beside the younger man, helping him to move to a more comfortable position. Even after the tracker settled, his hand remained on the slumped shoulder. Looking into the glazed and watery eyes, he said, "thanks, pard."

A lopsided grin split the handsome face, even as his eyes rolled back in his head and Vin slumped, unconscious, into the startled Larabee's arms.

He woke to find the sky dark and filled with stars. What had happened to the day? His muddled mind sorted through vague, disjointed memories, trying unsuccessfully to make sense of them.

"Good to see those blue eyes open," a deep voice said softly, near his ear. He knew without looking that it was Josiah. No one else he knew could make good morning sound like God had come to town.

"Where are we?" Lord, his voice sounded like the mew of a day old kitten.

"Safe. Are you thirsty?" Without waiting for an answer, Sanchez lifted the sweat-soaked head and pressed the mouth of a canteen against the slack lips.

Vin settled gratefully against the supporting hand, sipping greedily at the cool water. Josiah's words floated through his mind, causing him to frown. Safe? Safe from what. Suddenly, "Chris?!"

Lowering the young man back to the ground, Sanchez carefully wiped the water he had spluttered as reality set in. Stroking back the tangle of chestnut curls, he smiled. "Chris is safe, brother. He's sleeping right over there. Safe and sound, thanks to you, Vin."

Tanner looked where the former preacher had pointed, allowing himself to breathe only when he saw the huddled form curled beneath the blanket nearby. The soft rise and fall of the man's chest caused him to smile faintly. Larabee was safe. Safe and sound. "You 'n Bucklin... y' all right?"

"Right as rain, Vin. How are you feeling?"

"T'red... hot... side hurts," he cataloged his miseries in a weary voice.

Nodding, the bigger man said, "Nathan's gonna give you the dickens when we get back. You pulled out three of his stitches, and the wounds infected. That's why you feel so bad. Buck and I did our best to clean the wound, but we need to get you back to town so Nathan can fix you back up."

"Think I'd rather t-take a... lickin' than face Nathan," Vin sighed.

"I'll watch your back," came a soft voice from the darkness. Chris eased his aching body from the ground and scooted over to sit beside the sick man. With a grin, he said, "after all, you were watching mine."

Morning came, dawning in an overcast sky. Worrying at the threat of rain, the men knew they needed to get back to town as soon as possible. The last thing Vin Tanner could afford at the moment was to get caught by a downpour, and Chris Larabee wasn't in the best of shape, either.

Vin's fever hadn't gotten any worse, but neither was it better. The jagged wound in his side was red and hot to the touch, bloody pus oozing from it when Buck or Josiah pressed against the tortured flesh. They had done so several times during the long hours since coming in search of their friend. Each time, Tanner's only response was a sharp intake of breath and, from time to time a muttered curse. Since rescuing their leader, Chris had stayed close to the wounded sharpshooter. When the other men prepared to clean the festering wound, he would offer his forearm, coaxing the younger man to squeeze it as hard as necessary.

His own hands were stiff and swollen, a result of his own self-induced injuries. The thick ropes had bitten deep into the flesh of his wrists, leaving them torn and painful. While he could hold a mug or, after a fashion, a knife or fork, he knew he would be useless in a gunfight for the next couple of weeks at least. Josiah had cleaned the angry wounds, gently covering them with one of Nathan's salves before wrapping them from mid-palm to above his wrists with clean cloth.

As soon as possible, Wilmington and Sanchez got Larabee and Tanner on horseback and set off. Vin set hunched over on Peso's broad back, only marginally aware of what was happening around him. Chris rode on one side of him, Josiah on the other, while Buck rode ahead, leading both the stubborn black and the horse the gunfighter was riding.

By mid-morning, Tanner was swaying to the point of falling, held in the saddle only by the men on either side of him. He responded to them when they asked him a direct question but, otherwise, he seemed completely unconscious.

"We need to stop," Chris said as he steadied the slender man.

Looking up at the sky, Buck said, "if we stop, we need t' make certain it's someplace we'll be out of the weather."

"Then pull up for a minute." As they did, the blond gunman climbed down from his borrowed horse and made his way around to where Vin sat slumped on Peso's back. Josiah met him, helping the smaller man up onto the big black behind the sharpshooter.

Tanner roused when he felt someone settling in behind him. "What... Chris?"

"Take it easy, pard. I told you, I've got your back."

The younger man stiffened at the thought of being held by his friend, but slowly relaxed into the comforting embrace. As fever and exhaustion over took him, he nestled against the broad chest, allowing himself to drift toward sleep. Chris was there, watching his back.

They rode as quickly as possible, stopping only when it became obvious that Vin could take no more. Buck or Josiah would take him down from the horse and carry him to some rough shelter, settling him in a bed made up of their bedrolls. Larabee would climb down on his own, dropping to the ground next to Vin, making certain that his friend knew he was there.

Night was falling when they saw the outline of the little town. The sound of thunder came to them from behind, announcing the fact that the storm was still following them. They drew up long enough for Chris and Vin to change horses then, with Larabee holding his friend as tightly as he could, the four men raced their animals ahead of the storm, reaching town just as the first, fat, raindrops fell.

Nathan was there, meeting them at the bottom of his stairway. His expression told the men quite clearly that there would be hell to pay for the shape Vin was in. but, for now, he had patients to care for.

Chris peered into the little clinic where Vin had been tucked away since their return to Four Corners three days ago. Two of those days had been spent watching him battle the infection and fever from what should have been a minor wound. The blond still felt guilt that his friend had come so close to dying because of him. He had listened to the arguments the other men, even Vin, had given him as to the error of his guilt, but it did little good. The bottom line was, Tanner would have been fine if not for his past catching up with him. Again. It seemed as if his past had caused a hell of a lot of pain not only for himself, but for those around him.

The sharpshooter looked up at the sound of the door creaking open, smiling wanly as his best friend was silhouetted against the morning sunshine. "Mornin’."

"Good morning," Chris replied with a smile of his own. Vin was still pale, dark smudges beneath his eyes telling of his continued illness. Still, the younger man was awake and lucid, the blush of fever almost absent from the finely chiseled features. "You’re looking better this morning."

"’S what ever’one’s been sayin’," the lanky man replied. "Reckon I must ‘a looked purty bad, considerin’ what I saw in th’ mirror while ago."

Dropping into the chair beside the clinic’s bed, the gunman answered in a serious tone, "reckon you did. It shouldn’t have gone as far as it did, Vin. It shouldn’t have happened at all."

Sighing, the injured man sank back against the stack of pillows. "We back t’ that again? Yer like a dog with a bone, Chris, worryin’ on somethin’ that y’ cain’t do a damn thing about. Y’ didn’t aim that gun at me. Y’ didn’t shoot me. Y’ didn’t ask them Drake boys t’ shoot me. Y’ didn’t ask their pa t’ grab y’, ‘n try t’ take off with y’. Y’ didn’t have a thing t’ say ‘bout me comin’ with th’ boys t’ look fer y’… y’ seein’ a pattern here?"

Larabee dropped his head, shaking it as he stared at the floor. He nearly whispered, "I know what you’re saying is true, Vin. But, no matter what you or the others say, I’m responsible for what happened."

Running an only slightly trembling hand over his face, the Texan said, "damn but yer a stubborn cuss. All righty then, ‘s all yer fault, Larabee… ever’ bit of it."

He looked up, eyes locking with the other man. He saw humor twinkling in the blue pools, even though Tanner stared evenly at him. With a chuff of laughter, he said, "thanks. Does this mean I’m absolved?"

"Oh hell no. I’m figgerin’ th’ way y’ git absolved is by helpin’ me t’ sneak outta here. Nathan ‘ll be back in a few minutes, but reckon y’ c’n git me outta here by then."

"No! I’m not going to help you ‘escape’ the clinic. There’s a reason you’re still here, and until Nathan gives you a clean bill of health, this is where you’re going to stay."

Vin frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Thought y’s lookin’ t’ be fergivin’ fer me bein’ injured."

"Not at the risk of your health, Vin," Larabee said in complete seriousness.

"But, hell Chris – "

"No."

The younger man looked to see the earnest concern in the hazel eyes, and relented. "Well, all righty then. How ‘bout y’ help me find m’ clothes ‘n go sit on th’ landin’ with me fer a bit. Nathan was plannin’ on lettin’ me out there t’day." He smiled as the other man studied him for signs of his telling untruths. "’M tellin’ y’ the God’s honest truth, pard."

Nodding, finally satisfied that his friend was being truthful, Larabee nodded. He retrieved the injured man’s clothing and helped him dress. Vin grasped his forearm, and he pulled the still weak man to his feet. Waiting until the smaller man was steady, he led him out onto the broad landing. Tanner eased wearily onto the chair sitting just outside the door. He took a deep breath, expelling it in a groan.

Settling beside his friend, Chris managed to pull his hip flask from his pocket and handed it to the pale man. Vin took it with a grateful nod, managing to uncap it and take a healthy swallow. He smiled as he returned the weathered flask to the blond. Larabee took a drink before returning it to his pocket.

"Well, it would seem you’re both on the mend." They turned to find Ezra striding across the wooden walkway. He stopped before them, leaning back against the railing.

"Hey, Ezra," Vin greeted the Southerner. "What’cha doin’ here, nobody t’ fleece at th’ saloon?"

With a chuckle, the smaller man said, "alas, no. The stage isn’t due for another two days. And, as you have been taking your repose up here, I have yet to find a worthy opponent."

"Blamed fool ‘s more like ‘t," Tanner retorted.

"Well, lookee here, Kid, sleepin’ beauty’s awake." Buck Wilmington and JD Dunne joined the trio. Buck sprawled along the bench at the far end of the landing, while JD perched atop the railing near Standish.

"Bucklin, y’ call me a ‘beauty’ agin, ‘n I’ll have t’ see ‘bout takin’ off that mustache a yers with m’ knife," the Texan teased, satisfied when he saw a slight paling of the usually ruddy features.

"Hey Vin, I’m really glad to see you’re up and around," Dunne chimed in. "I’ve gotta tell you, we were all pretty worried about you for a while."

"Ah hell, Kid, takes more ‘n a little fever t’ bring down a Tanner."

"How about an irate healer?"

They all turned to see Josiah Sanchez arrive at the top of the stairs, only a step ahead of Nathan Jackson.

"Ah, hell," Chris heard his friend grouse under his breath.

"I’ve got your back," the blond whispered without moving his mouth.

Vin smiled, chuckling until his gaze returned to his friend, and the town’s healer. "Howdy Nathan –

"Don’t you ‘howdy Nathan’ me, Vin Tanner. You’re supposed to be in bed."

"But y’ said y’d let me come out here t’day."

"I said maybe, and I said when I was here to make sure you didn’t overdo."

"Nathan," Larabee interceded, unconsciously moving so that his body shielded the younger man, "we just came out here not five minutes ago, and I’ve been right here beside him."

Pointedly staring at the man’s bandaged wrists, the former salve said, "you’re not exactly in the best shape, yourself. What if he’d fallen?"

"I’d have picked him up," Chris folded his hands across his chest, partly to make his glare more effective and partly to hide the tell-tale white bandages at the end of his shirt sleeves.

"Brothers," Josiah broke in before the argument could escalate, "it seems to me that we should be celebrating the fact that our little company is whole once more."

Grinning from where he had leaned back in the chair, Tanner said, "I agree."

Nathan growled and threw up his hands. He stomped into the clinic, mumbling that he’d just make himself useful getting things ready for folks that appreciated him. With a deep chuckle, Josiah followed him.

The five friends that remained smiled at one another, relaxing for the first time in days. The former preacher was right, they should be celebrating the fact that they were once more together.

"Well, gentlemen," Ezra said, breaking the silence. With a grin, he retrieved his ever present deck of cards and began shuffling them. "Since my most worthy opponents are here… shall we play some cards?"

The End.