Nathan's hands shook as he placed the sterilized instruments in a neat row on the clean tray. He glanced at Dr. Matthews, hoping to gain strength from the man's greater knowledge. The doctor averted his eyes and Nathan's earlier fear of being forced to set Buck's leg on his own now gave way to the terrifying fact that Wilmington's fate might not be in either of their hands.

Jackson cleared the nightstand, arranging the supplies without looking at their patient…no, his friend. Oh, God.

Nathan had treated many men in his time. He'd seen too many gunshot wounds, severed limbs, even bellies split open like overripe melons. He'd had men die in his arms, some went quietly, some screamed until their bodies gave out before their minds did. Still, nothing ever got to him as much as seeing a friend on the healing end of his knife. He truly believed every life meant something and he fought for each one just the same; yet, his hands never shook when a stranger lay in front of him. And they certainly shook now.

"I'm ready." Dr. Matthews's words garnered his attention and Nathan slowly reached for the chloroform. Silent litanies ran through the healer's mind and he realized his eyes were shut tight against the sight in front of him. He prayed for Buck and for himself. That he would be strong enough to do what had to be done.

"Nath…an?"

Nathan jerked at the weak whisper. Wilmington's glazed eyes revealed the agony wracking his body, yet he appeared fully aware of what he now faced.

"Hush, now. We're gonna take good care of ya." Nathan squeezed Buck's shoulder reassuringly, hovering close to make sure his friend stayed calm and still. Nathan and Dr. Matthews had carefully prepared the bed, piling the sides with soft blankets to keep Buck's lacerated back off the mattress and his leg accessible for surgery. Despite its brevity, the move had proven to be a harrowing ordeal for all three of them.

"Gotta talk…to J.D." Buck clutched at Nathan's sleeve, his fingers slipping along the soft fabric until Nathan took Buck's hand in his own.

"Later, when you're feelin' more up to it." Nathan smiled. The words coated Nathan's tongue with the bitter taste of deceit, but he wouldn't let Buck's hopes die now. He knew telling him that J.D. had rode off on his own to avenge Buck, well, that wouldn't exactly do the man a hell of a lot of good right now.

"I gotta know…" Buck's eyes glistened with emotion and suffering, but his stubbornness didn't seem any the worse for wear. "…he's all right."

Nathan felt his heart pounding an unnatural rhythm in his ears as he struggled for something, anything, to hide the harsh truth.

"He's dealin' with this best he can, Buck. I don't wanna make it no harder with you scarin' him into thinkin' you're makin' some deathbed confession…'cause you ain't dyin'." Nathan couldn't seem to stop himself. The need to protect Buck replacing the honesty he held so dear.

A weak laugh escaped Buck's lips and he shut his eyes tight. A wet trail of tears began their descent from each corner of his lids and he swallowed hard before forcing himself to speak. "Tell 'im, I ain't goin' nowhere. Least not 'til he gets a decent hat."

Nathan grinned, yet his bottom lip trembled as he soaked the cloth with the anesthetic and gently laid it across Buck's nose. "You best get ready to be around a while then." He felt the injured man stiffen and gasp briefly before relaxing and succumbing to the drug.

Jackson gave the nod to Dr. Matthews, knowing despite the surgeon's skill and the silent prayers he found himself repeating, Buck's life truly rested in God's hands.

*******

Josiah and Vin disposed of the lookouts without incident. The sight of their unconscious faces and tied limbs sent a twinge of regret through J.D.

He'd hoped to see their throats slit.

The silent confession took him by surprise and J.D. felt the heat of embarrassment rush to his cheeks. He'd never realized how deep the hatred had settled inside his soul and his own thoughts suddenly terrified him as much as what lay beyond the clump of trees. Still, his anger consumed him, held him hostage to its will and he promised himself it would pass once this was over. Once he could step back and look at the situation with fresh eyes and an unburdened heart. Once he could talk it over with Buck, things would be like they used to be. Right now though, he had something to finish.

His friends dispersed, silently surrounding the camp and waiting for Chris's signal. J.D. could make out a couple of men smoking cigars near the line of horses, two more pretending to be on patrol, but more interested in fighting over the remnants of a whiskey bottle than any danger beyond the trees. Another relaxed lazily near the fire. And the last one. A huge, mangy bear of a man still squatted near their dying kin.

Ethan Foxx.

J.D.'s eyes riveted to the source of his obsession of the past 20 or so hours and he took aim at the man's vulnerable head. When the shooting started, J.D. wanted to make sure he got what he came for.

Chris stepped out from the trees and a full three seconds ticked by before the stunned outlaws reacted. J.D. followed his friends and broke into the clearing, all with guns drawn, and probably all with the same murderous intent clearly readable in their eyes.

Larabee fired a warning shot, shattering the guards' precious bottle and sending shards of glass and whiskey flying into the men's faces. Despite the impending chaos around him, J.D. kept his gaze on the eldest Foxx, waiting, praying the man would pull his pistol so he could blow his damn head off.

Ethan smiled and stood slowly, raising his hands slightly, appearing to comply. At the last moment, he drew his pistol from underneath his coat. Reflex took over where rationale didn't. J.D. fired twice, unsure where the bullets landed, but satisfaction settled in his soul for a brief moment as Foxx dropped next to his unmoving relative.

Ethan's men reached for their guns, scrambling to find cover in the shower of bullets raining from both sides. Frightened whinnies squealed over the sound of gunfire as the two men nearest the horses quickly swung themselves onto their mounts and fled.

"J.D.! Get down!"

J.D. stumbled backwards and dropped to his knees at Ezra's warning, feeling a slight breeze as an outlaw's bullet split the air above his head. He flattened his body against the rocky ground and crawled under the cover of a fallen tree. That was close. Too damn close.

He risked a guarded look through the twisted limbs sprouting from his hiding place, steadying his Colt against the rough husk as he peered toward the camp. A large body loomed within spitting distance, coming straight for him. J.D. pulled the trigger, barely hearing the boom of his pistol over the heavy thudding in his chest. The man staggered backwards a few steps, firing his own weapon haphazardly in the air.

A rush of satisfaction swelled inside J.D.'s heart as the man crumbled to the ground and lay still and the young gunslinger turned to see if Ezra had witnessed the exchange. J.D.'s elation dropped as he spotted the gambler lying in the blazing sunlight.

"Chris!" J.D. scrambled toward Ezra and pulled him into the shaded safety of the dead tree. "C'mon Ezra, you're gonna be just fine, ok?" J.D. tried to stay calm as he scoured the camp for signs of more attackers. He quickly checked Ezra's body for the wound, grimacing when his fingers brushed across the sticky wetness soaking the fabric of Standish's shirt.

J.D. suddenly became aware of his own breaths coming in nervous gulps as he desperately tried to decide what he should do. A crackling of brush behind him forced him into action and he aimed his Colt at the sound, instinctively putting himself between Ezra and the possible danger.

J.D. exhaled with relief when he recognized the black-clad figure and every bone in his body seemed to melt and drain away. He let his gun drop to his side, the weight of the metal in his hand suddenly too much to bear.

Chris dropped to one knee and lay his hand on Ezra's chest. "I'm goin' to find Vin and Josiah, you stay with him."

J.D. nodded. It was over. At least it was for him. He had no doubt that Chris, Vin and Josiah would round up the fleeing outlaws and they'd stand trial. It wasn't exactly the justice he'd wished for, but it'd have to do. Besides, right now, not much mattered except all his friends getting home alive.

He couldn't control the tremor in his hands as he ripped off a piece of Ezra's mangled shirt and wadded it into the open wound. Standish moaned loudly as J.D. pressed harder, but he had to stop the bleeding. If he'd learned nothing at all from Nathan, it was that blood wouldn't do any good if it wasn't inside. Blood soaked through the thin cloth quickly and J.D. pulled off his vest and used it too. Ezra's legs thrashed weakly in an effort to escape the pain, and J.D. tried to ignore the weak gasps his friend made with each inhalation.

"I'm sorry, Ezra, really, I'm sorry I got you guys into this, just take it easy." J.D. kept talking to the semi-conscious gambler, as much to comfort himself as Ezra.

Ezra coughed and almost choked and J.D. realized his canteen remained attached to his saddle. "I'll get you some water, ok, I'll be right back."

J.D. nervously bit at the inside of his jaw, his eyes scanning the eerily quiet camp littered with fresh corpses. He didn't relish scrounging over dead men looking for water, but he certainly wasn't willing to leave Ezra defenseless while he traipsed back through the woods to find his horse.

The stench of gunpowder and hot blood assaulted his already frayed senses as he wide-stepped around bodies to get to the supplies piled near the dying fire. He grabbed a couple of canteens and turned to go back. He couldn't help a brief look down at the face of the injured man that had slowed Foxx's gang down; the man's features now lifeless and his lips frozen in an eternal grimace. J.D. felt nauseous and swallowed the urge to vomit. Not because of the man's death, but because right now he couldn't seem to make himself care.

A movement from the corner of his eye made J.D. drop the canteens and draw the still-loaded Colt from his left hip. He fought to focus as his eyes rested on Ethan Foxx. The man lay on his side, his hand closing around his weapon that lay just within reach. A savage smile crept across Foxx's face. "Looks like it's just you and me, boy."

Adrenaline propelled J.D. forward and he kicked the man's gun into the bushes. He motioned with his own pistol for Ethan to get to his feet. Foxx pulled himself up slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits and a half smile creeping across his face as he stared at his captor. J.D. pulled his shoulders back and stood straighter as the outlaw sized him up. J.D. motioned him toward a stout sapling. "Now hug that damn tree like your life depends on it."

Foxx meandered toward the tree, stopping short before he spit into the dirt and tipped his head toward Ezra. "Your friend there looks mighty bad off." The outlaw taunted, his voice mocking and J.D. fought the urge to just go ahead and shoot. Instead he kept his eyes riveted to his prisoner, his trembling fingers untying the tethering line from one of the horses.

Warily J.D. holstered his Colt and began to loop the rope around the man's wrists, choosing to ignore the fact his command had been disregarded altogether. Gunfire in the distance shattered his focus for only a split second, but that proved to be too long. Foxx yanked him into his grasp, twisting J.D.'s lighter form around in one fluid motion, bringing the rope over JD's head and twisting it hard against his throat.

Panic squeezed at J.D.'s heart and he brought one hand up to clutch the rough twine as the other weakly fumbled for his gun. He gasped as the pressure on his windpipe increased and knew he couldn't last much longer. He gathered what strength he had left and whipped his head back into Ethan's face, feeling the crack of the outlaw's nose before he heard him bellow. The rope slackened and he slipped out of its hold.

Ethan recovered quickly, his wrists now free from their bonds and swinging unchecked at J.D.'s face. J.D. felt the crushing sting of bare knuckles veer off his cheekbone and land squarely in his left eye. Tears welled, blurring his vision, all thoughts of retribution or fair play abandoned him as he focused solely on staying alive.

J.D. charged, kneeing Foxx hard in the groin. Ethan cried out in pain and rage, grabbing J.D.'s hair and shoving the side of his head into the trunk of the sapling. Splashes of colorful agony fired inside his skull and J.D. fought the dizziness that threatened to end their struggle. His limbs felt as rooted and numb as the tree he clutched, yet he knew if he gave up he'd die. Already bruised ribs seared with a renewed fire as he sucked in a deep breath and swung again. This time his fist connected solidly with Foxx's tender throat.

The man let out a soft gasp, his hands immediately moving to protect his windpipe. J.D. stepped back out of reach and yanked his gun free, both hands clutched around the pistol as he turned it on Foxx. His arms trembled with pain and weakness, but his aim remained true.

The outlaw rubbed his throat once more before he smiled, his dark eyes staring through to J.D.'s soul. "Better look out behind ya, squirt, us Foxxes is ever'where." Ethan whispered and J.D. felt his heart squeeze tight with dread. He had been so focused, that thought had yet to weigh on his mind, but he couldn't let fear overwhelm him. He knew the man's family had long took off like cowards into the trees, but J.D. couldn't help wishing his own friends would show up about now.

J.D. kicked the fallen rope toward Foxx. "Pick it up."

Foxx stepped forward, but he didn't reach for the rope. He stood his ground and J.D. could almost see the thoughts running through his mind, thinking how easy it would be to get the jump on him again. J.D. shook his head and gritted his teeth. Ain't gonna be that easy again, old man.

"Pick it up." J.D. aimed his pistol at Foxx's face, his tone dripping with the hate he felt bursting in his heart. Ezra moaned behind him, adding to his urgency. He had to take care of the gambler and this piece of scum was the only thing standing in his way.

"Now!" Throbbing agony pulsed inside his head as he yelled and he fought off another wave of dizziness.

"Why don't you put him outta his misery?" Ethan took another small step forward and J.D. tensed and braced his stance.

J.D. shivered, but his voice remained strong. "Maybe I should put *you* outta ever'body's misery."

Foxx laughed. A deep, throaty explosion indicating someone who'd given in to insanity a long, long time ago. "Yeah, why don't cha?"

J.D. could hear Ezra's labored breathing almost as loud as his own as he stared down Ethan Foxx. How was it this murdering demon deserved to live when Ezra suffered instead? And Buck, oh, God, Buck still suffered too, unless he was already dead. His index finger flexed against the smoothness of the trigger; the realization that he had Buck's tormentor in his sights stealing away more layers of his willpower.

"Your other friends is prob'ly dead too, hell, I got more men less 'n a day's ride from here, who'll bust me outta any jail you got, sonny boy. Your laws don't mean nuthin' to us." Ethan smiled again, his mouth wide and toothless.

J.D. shuddered.

"You'll hang." His words had conviction his heart did not. What if they did manage to spring him? What if Foxx's gang jumped them on the way back to town and yet another one of his friends ended up hurt or dead?

"Ain't no lawman in the territory got the guts. Last time anybody tried, my boys tore that whole town apart. Weren't enough to clean up, much less bury. That pretty much put the fear of God in anyone who ever dared mess with the likes of us."

"I ain't never heard of you." J.D. shivered in spite of himself. He might not have heard of them, but those cold dead eyes peering at him told him there was no doubt that what Ethan said was the gospel truth. No doubt at all.

Ethan stepped closer and J.D. caught himself before he physically flinched. "Sure ya have…didn't your momma warn you about the devil, boy? If she did, then you've heard a me."

J.D. tried to keep calm, tried to hold onto his composure, but he couldn't control the agony that inched closer to taking over his senses. Raw pain flowed through his ribs with each breath, his face ached, his throat burned, and his left eye had already swollen completely shut. Panic seized him as he realized his vulnerability to the threat in front of him.

"Pick up that rope before I blow your damn head off, mister!"

Ethan didn't budge, didn't make any move to pick up the rope. Rage and panic bubbled inside J.D.'s gut and he fervently wished Chris would appear. Such intense emotions weakened him, balled up inside him until he felt nauseous and light-headed. Yet Foxx continued his verbal onslaught.

"Hell, I used to shoot little boys like you. Tie 'em up first, then make 'em watch while their mommas spread their legs for me." Ethan winked and smiled again. Black spots began to form in J.D.'s line of vision as fury consumed him.

"Ah, but my favorites, boy, ah, my favorites were the babies. Heard they got some mighty fine lookin' little girls in Texas…" Foxx stepped closer.

J.D. felt detached, like his mind had floated away from his body. He watched himself pull the hammer back on his pistol. Watched himself aim it at a beast disguising himself as a man. Watched himself fight a battle between morality and duty. Josiah's words rushed back to him the day he tried to leave Four Corners.

Getting rid of Ethan Foxx for all eternity would certainly fall into that category. Even if J.D. had to sacrifice a little part of his own soul and honor in the process. Even if he had to go against everything he'd ever been taught or believed in. Ethan Foxx had to die. For the greater good.

"I wouldn't mind splittin' open a couple of them purty ones, you know what I mean, boy?"

This monster had tortured Buck, killed lawmen without remorse, and God knows how many innocents he'd destroyed along the way. J.D.'s grip on the trigger of his pistol tightened, the war between right and wrong waging itself inside his muddled mind. Images swirled inside his brain and his vision tunneled - little girls with torn dresses and bloody faces, mothers screaming, Buck writhing in agony on Nathan's cot.

J.D. jumped involuntarily as an explosion of gunfire invaded his ears and he watched Foxx drop to the ground. His Colt kicked against his palm, over and over again, and J.D. looked on in calm detachment as the outlaw's body jerked in a macabre rhythm in the dirt.

The lingering echo of gunshots continued to ring in J.D.'s ears as his thoughts pushed through the haze to where Ethan Foxx's corpse lay in a bloody heap. A grisly reminder this nightmare had been all too real. Except, it was over now. He should feel good. At the very least satisfied. Yet J.D. felt nothing at all. The hate he'd used to fuel his battered body had drained away and left him empty.

J.D. sank to his knees. The pistol slipped from his sweaty fingers, hitting the earth in a quiet thud. His vision mixed with the mirages dancing in the blistering sun as the darkness he'd fought for so long finally lay claim to him and he allowed his wounded soul to rest.

PART 5

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