Buck Wilmington hunkered down behind the wagon as yet another hail of bullets whizzed and whined about him, accompanied by the sounds of lead slamming into wood, shattering glass or tearing through canvas. "Shit!" he hollered to any of his friends who could hear him. "One’a you fellas wanta get that bastard up on the roof yonder?"

Moments later, he heard the sharp, heavy bark of a Winchester – also from a rooftop – and eased his head just far enough around the wagon to see the man who’d been targeting him fall with a dust-raising thud to the ground. "Thanks, Vin!" he called to the sharpshooter.

"Didn’t do it fer you!" Tanner shouted. "’At’s my wagon yer hidin’ behind! Now, git the hell away, ’fore these sonsabitches shoot it all ta pieces!"

"Thanks for your concern, pard!" Buck shot back. "Goddamn touchy tracker," he grumbled as he hurriedly reloaded his guns. "Wouldn’t have this problem if he lived indoors like regular folks. But, no, he’s gotta live outside, with the wind and the rain and the goddamn bugs! Cover me, boys!" he shouted, snapping the cylinder shut and rising to a crouch. "I’m on the move!" And he dashed out from behind the wagon, wincing and cursing at the bullets that whipped about him, some of them much too close for comfort.

Shit, Chris would have to be in Purgatorio just now!

In the alley at the end of the saloon, Josiah Sanchez spotted Buck, then sighted one of the men who was firing on him. "Gotcha, brother!" he shouted, raising his gun and taking aim. "‘For, lo, thine enemies, O Lord, for, lo, thine enemies shall perish...’" His deep voice rumbled out the words of the 92nd Psalm as he fired, sending his man diving once more for cover. "‘All the workers of iniquity shall be scattered!’"

Shielding himself with the hardware store’s sign, Tanner peered through his rifle’s sight and laid down a stinging barrage of fire to cover Buck’s progress. The big man, he could see, was going to the aid of Ezra Standish, who had gotten pinned down in front of the hotel and was taking heavy fire from the outlaws still determined to get away with the money they had stolen from the bank.

Or were trying to steal. No one had successfully robbed the bank in Four Corners since the town had acquired its seven regulators, and those regulators were now working hard to make sure this latest bunch of desperadoes did not become the first.

"Well, good mornin’, Buck," Ezra drawled amiably as Wilmington dived to join him behind the upturned wagon that provided his cover. "Out for your daily constitutional?"

"Hell, Ezra, you know what they say," Buck answered, grinning broadly as he rose to return the outlaws’ fire. "A little exercise keeps a man young forever."

"And so will a bullet," the gambler groused as one whipped past his ear. "For the life of me, I cannot fathom which part of ‘throw down your guns and come out with your hands up’ these low-browed cretins failed to comprehend. I thought the demand was voiced with remarkable clarity, myself."

"They don’t seem too bright, do they?" Buck asked as he watched Standish drop a man who, for some unknown reason, had decided to break cover and run out into the street with guns blazing. "’Course, I guess if they had any brains at all, they’d’a just gone on ta Eagle Bend. Hell, that bank there’s been robbed so many times I hear they just keep the damn safe open at night and have the money already bagged up!"

"Perhaps we should have Mrs. Travis put a notice to that effect in the next edition of the Clarion," Ezra suggested as he fired. "Thereby diverting the attention of other nefariously intentioned malefactors in the area to those beckoning environs and away from our own far more conscientiously guarded financial institution."

"Yeah, Ezra, sure," Buck muttered in complete confusion, "whatever you say."

While Standish and Wilmington concentrated on holding down and holding off the outlaws in their vicinity, JD Dunne, crouching behind the barrel that served as the checkers table outside the jail, and Nathan Jackson, sheltered in the alley across the street, fought to hold at bay those near them. They knew they had to keep their bunch separated from the others, and knew they had to keep any of them from reaching the horses in the livery, else they’d all be looking at yet another cross-country chase.

And JD had discovered that those damn things weren’t nearly as exciting as the dimestore novels made them out to be.

"Nathan, down!" the young sheriff shouted, lunging to his feet and firing both Colts in rapid succession at the man who’d suddenly appeared behind the healer. He dropped that man, then whirled and sent another shot into the figure he’d glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Bullets whipped by him, so close he could feel the wind from their passing, and he dropped with a yelp back down behind the barrel. "Jeez!"

"Goddamn it, JD, stay down!" Tanner shouted hoarsely, alarmed by the close call. The boy had grit, Vin would give him that, but, shit, he’d make a man old before his time!

Nathan was thinking the same thing about the tracker. Since the battle had begun, he’d watched in horrified amazement as Tanner, as usual, defended them from the heights, moving from rooftop to rooftop with the sure-footed ease and agility of a damn mountain cat prowling its rocky lair. And more than once he’d looked on in gut-wrenching anxiety as Vin had leapt, rifle in hand, from one building to another, defying both bullets and gravity.

Damn fool! Nathan cursed the younger man in mingled fury and fear. Thinks them goddamn fringes on his coat is feathers, and’s convinced hisse’f he can fly!

Vin thought no such thing, but could not deny the exhilaration rushing through him. Such fights as these brought something wild and fierce surging up from the depths of his soul, sent a powerful force coursing through him that made his blood sing in his veins. He knew it was the hunter in him, the predatory part that marked all who opposed or threatened him as prey, the hawk in his nature that, when freed, exulted in the chase. He did not enjoy killing, took no pleasure in taking life, but neither would he shrink from it once convinced it had to be done. And once turned to it, his every instinct was primed for the kill.

And that instinct now screamed a warning at him. Some flicker of movement down on the street, some shadow lurking where none should have been, caught his attention and brought him to his feet, rifle snapping to his shoulder. With hawk-sharp sight he saw him, the man creeping up on JD’s blind side, his gun drawn and ready to take the shot as soon as he could make it. The bastard thought he was safe, thought he was covered, and so he was, from the street. But the man on the roof saw him, and smiled in grim humor at the target presented to him.

You don’t shoot nobody in the back! Chris Larabee had snapped that day, now so long ago.

"Like hell ya don’t," Tanner rasped, pumping two deadly shots into the man who threatened his young friend. "Goddamn gunfighter ’n yer goddamn code!"

JD heard the shots and turned just in time to see the outlaw spin and fall, his chest torn open by the escaping rifle slugs. "Well, damn, Vin!" he yelped in wide-eyed shock, knowing any bullets that came out the front had to have gone in through the back.

The tracker never did seem to fight by anybody’s rules but his own.

Josiah looked up the street to Buck and Ezra, and down it to Nathan and JD, and tried to decide which two were most in need of his help. He had dispatched the last of the would-be robbers in his part of the street, his bullets accompanied by more Psalms, and could not abide his current inaction. And he had no fear of moving, knew he would be protected by that guardian angel who watched over them all from up on high.

Though doubtless Vin Tanner would scoff at the notion of himself as any sort of "angel"....

His decision made, he took off running up the boardwalk toward the gambler and the scoundrel, knowing they faced the larger group of outlaws. Bullets whined and sang past him, flew by his head and splintered the wood at his feet, but this day his crows were absent, and no lead came nearer than to tear a hole through the flapping tail of his coat.

"‘For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways,’" he thundered as he ran, as he heard that Winchester forcing outlaws back into cover. "‘They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone!’ I’m comin’ in, boys!" he bellowed, taking cover behind a stack of crates outside the grocery across the street from Buck and Ezra. "We got ’em in a crossfire now!"

The outlaws, too, recognized the change in their situation, knew it was becoming desperate. There were but four of them left here, near the bank, out of the seven that had started, and the only one left on the roofs seemed to be that damned sharpshooter. Six bodies lay in the dust further up the street, and not one of them belonged to a regulator.

"We gotta git up there with Hanks ’n Ross," the leader, a lean, scar-faced killer named Carlton, spat bitterly, his dark eyes glittering with rage. "Gotta git ta th’ hosses ’n git th’ hell outta here!"

"’N how’n th’ hell we s’posed ta do that?" gasped the man to his left, his shirt stained and sodden with the blood that welled from the hole in his shoulder. More blood darkened his pants from the wound in his right thigh. "Them sonsabitches got this street sewed up, ’n that bastard up on th’ roofs c’n damn near fly!"

Carlton looked around wildly, his mind working furiously but coming up with nothing useful. "Side streets," he finally rasped in desperation. "Gotta git behind ’em, go ’round– Shit!" he yelled as a sudden burst of fire from the two regulators behind that damned wagon took out another of his men.

Three left now, and Reeves wasn’t goin’ nowhere with that leg’a his....

"Hold ’em fer us, Reeves," he rapped out the order, rising to a crouch. "Nash, yer with me."

Before the wounded Reeves could protest, his two remaining compadres were gone, slipping away with the aim of getting down the nearest side street and making their escape, abandoning him to whatever his fate would be.

"Ezra, Buck, they’re on the move!" Josiah shouted, seeing two of the men slinking away. "Down the alley!"

Never taking time to think – or to talk himself out of it – Standish was on his feet and in pursuit, racing down the boardwalk in an attempt to cut off the escaping men. He could hear Wilmington’s boots thundering against the planks behind him, but did not look back. He was wholly focused on stopping the two who had just slipped into the alley and seeing them brought to justice.

Wouldn’t Mother be horrified to see her "darlin’ baby boy" now?

Made desperate by wounds and abandonment, Reeves lurched to his feet, saw the red-coated regulator and, snarling out a stream of vile curses, fired frantically. But his fusillade was cut short by the bullets that tore into him from above and dropped him to the ground, dead.

Between one step and the next, Ezra felt the hot, heavy lead slice into him, felt himself stumble helplessly and drop to the boardwalk as his legs refused any longer to support the weight of his body. For a moment, confusion gripped him, until he recognized the burning, throbbing torment spreading downward from his shoulder and upward from his right leg.

"Oh, hell," he muttered as his gun slipped from suddenly useless fingers. Yet another suit of clothing ruined...

"EZRA!" Buck shouted as the gambler fell before him. Racing toward the fallen man, he looked around and spotted Sanchez rushing across the street to join them. "Josiah, get them two in the alley!" he ordered, waving the big man on. "I’ll see ta Ezra!"

Sanchez growled low and murderously in his throat, but forced himself to leave Ezra to Buck and go after the retreating outlaws. Fury burned within him and pounded through him, giving speed to his feet and a grim purpose to his movements. He hated to leave a wounded friend, wanted nothing more than to make sure Ezra was still alive, but knew he could not. His first duty was to the town, and that duty now drove him after the men who would prey upon the people he was paid to protect.

Still, he let the rage come, let it burn and grow stronger, fanning its fire until it consumed him. These two would never live to see the gallows...

Vin watched in horror as Ezra fell. He had cut down the man who had risen and fired, but not before the bastard had downed Standish. For long moments Tanner stood there, heedless of his own safety, and watched as Wilmington knelt at the gambler’s side.

"Buck?" he shouted hoarsely. Lord God, let him be alive! He should’a gotten here sooner, should’a fired sooner...

Buck looked across the street and up at that shout, and scowled in fury as he saw Tanner standing like a statue on that roof. "Goddamn it, Vin, get down!" he yelled. "He’s alive! Now get th’ hell behind some cover!"

Goddamn tracker thought he was invisible!

Up the street, the firing intensified as the remaining five outlaws there recognized how quickly and completely to hell this day was going. Eighteen men had come into town, in three bunches, and Carlton had assured them their numbers would overwhelm the seven peacekeepers. Eighteen men to rob one bank. It had seemed like easy pickings. Carlton had taken his bunch to the bank, the men of the second group had positioned themselves in side streets and on roofs, and the third bunch had been waiting with the horses, ready to cover their partners as they ran from the bank with the money so they could all get the hell away.

But those damned peacekeepers had more than lived up to their reputation.

"Wallace, git up ta them roofs, take out that damn sharpshooter!" the small, wiry outlaw named Simpson ordered tersely. "We gotta git rid’a that kid sheriff ’n that goddamn darkie–"

"What about the money?" Wallace protested, easily able to see it all slipping away.

"Fergit the fuckin’ money!" Simpson snapped. "It’s our necks we’re tryin’ ta save now. There’ll always be another town, but I ain’t got but one life!"

Wallace swallowed, considering, then nodded and raced off. He darted into an alley and ran around behind the buildings lining the main street, seeking a set of stairs that would give him access to the rooftops.

But, Lord, he didn’t wanta face that sharpshooter and the rifle that’d been spittin’ death all mornin’!

"JD, watch out!" Nathan called, seeing a new burst of activity among the remaining robbers. "They’s up ta somethin’! We cain’t let ’em git ta the horses!"

JD nodded, then rose slightly, cautiously, and peered around, trying to get a sense of what was happening. He had last counted five, and didn’t think any had fallen since then. But he could only hear four guns, and they were spreading out as the outlaws took up new positions...

"Well, they ain’t gettin’ away from me!" the boy spat with determination, looking about for a new place for himself. He was in the wrong position here, couldn’t draw a proper bead on them, wouldn’t be able to reach them if they ran for the livery and the horses... "Aw, hell!" he shouted, shooting to his feet and making a mad dash across the street.

"Goddamn it, JD, git the hell outta there!" Nathan shouted, watching the young sheriff’s wild race in horror. "Vin!" he yelled desperately, searching the heights frantically for the sharpshooter. "Cover im!"

Tanner heard Jackson’s shout, and turned to see JD running a zigzag pattern across the street. "Shit!" he shouted, gripping his rifle tightly and running along the roofline, too concerned – and too angry at the boy – to seek cover for himself. Bullets began singing about him, and one even whipped his hat back from his head as he leapt across an alley, but he paid them no mind, other than to wonder at their source.

Thought I done cleared all them sonsabitches from up here...

Fire slammed into his head, tearing a sharp cry from him and knocking him off his feet. Pain exploded through him, blinding him, sickening him. He felt himself falling for what seemed forever, his whole world gone black and silent. Then he landed, hard, and felt nothing but the hideous pain pounding against his skull and the dreadful heaviness of his body.

But, God, there was somethin’ he was s’posed t’ be doin’...

Bullets flew around Nathan, forcing him to keep down, and he never saw Vin fall. He also lost sight of JD and knew a moment of blood-chilling terror, then exhaled sharply as he heard the roar of the boy’s Colts.

If he could shoot, he was alive...

Then the outlaws were making their break, and Nathan knew he had to act. He broke from his current cover and ran, firing as he went, then dived behind a water trough, unharmed but thoroughly tired of this. With a curse, he rose and began firing over the trough, just wanting this to end.

Using his bandana and his and Ezra’s handkerchiefs, Buck managed to stanch the bleeding from Standish’s wounds, and was greatly relieved to see they were not as bad as he had feared. The bullet had gone through the gambler’s right thigh a few inches above his knee, apparently missing the bone, and, while painful and messy, was probably not crippling. The wound in the gambler’s left shoulder was more serious, and the bullet was still within, but Buck had seen worse.

Hell, he’d had worse!

"Go... help them," Ezra rasped, his face a white mask of pain. He felt as if his shoulder and leg were on fire, feared he would be sick at any moment, but knew the big gunfighter was needed elsewhere. "I will not... succumb... in the near future..." He stiffened and drew a hissing breath of pain, but fought through it and fixed glittering green eyes upon Wilmington. "Our comrades... require... your assistance," he murmured harshly.

Buck grimaced and bowed his head, but knew Ezra was right. He could still hear shooting, knew it was not over yet. "All right," he said grudgingly, "I’ll go. But you stay here."

Ezra managed a tight-lipped smile. "I assure you... a stroll is... quite out of the question."

Buck smiled at him, and handed him his gun. "Watch yer back, pard," he said softly, laying a brotherly hand on Standish’s good shoulder and squeezing briefly. When the gambler winked and nodded, Buck rose to his feet and hurried to rejoin the fray up the street.

Josiah, panting and gasping for breath, wished mightily he had his rifle. He could see the two outlaws, but did not yet trust that he was close enough to shoot both. So he continued his dogged pursuit, determined that they would not escape him.

At last, he got his chance. One of the two men stumbled and lurched into his comrade, knocking them both off balance. Seeing them struggle to right themselves, Josiah hastened his pace, raised his gun, and called out.

"Stop!" he thundered. "There’s no escape!"

But the two refused to believe that. Immediately they both turned, but were not fast enough. Even as their guns came up, Josiah fired, taking out first one, then the other. A bullet grazed his arm through his coat, but he never felt it. Satisfaction at seeing the two men sprawled dead before him numbed all pain.

"‘Let them be confounded and troubled for ever; yea, then be put to shame, and perish,’" he said with grim finality. But the sound of gunfire still reached his ears, and he heaved his thick shoulders in a heavy sigh. "Never any rest for the wicked," he breathed resignedly, going to help his friends.

Vin struggled to swim up through the darkness engulfing him, but was hampered by the hideous pain in his head. He vaguely felt himself being sick, wondered why he could not hear and see any more than he could, wondered who was stabbing that damn blade through his skull. From a great distance, faint bursts of... something... came to him, stirring a dim, unclear memory of...

Of what?

But something gnawed at him, worried him, urged him to get up and... and do... something. The feeling was insistent, unrelenting, and he forced himself to move, certain that whatever he was supposed to be doing, he couldn’t do lying here. So, gathering what remained of his strength, battling the splitting pain in his head and the heavy nausea in his gut, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, trembling and swaying as violent dizziness rocked him.

Oh, shit...

Gunfire. He heard it, recognized it, but couldn’t react to it. His body simply wouldn’t let him. Even so, some instinct for survival was still intact, and, never knowing why, he dragged a leaden, shaking hand to the mare’s leg strapped to his thigh and struggled to pull it from the holster. The weight and solidness of the sawed-off steadied him, gave him something on which to focus.

His gun. He needed it, needed to have it out and ready...

Still not quite understanding why, he primed the gun with numb, heavy hands, levering a round into the chamber. Then he frowned, staring down at the weapon that was only now taking shape before his eyes. Lord, what was happenin’?

He sat back and looked around, trying to remember, willing his eyes to focus. But the world about him remained blurry and dark, as if he were peering into murky water, and his mind would not concentrate. He was staring at something, and only gradually recognized it as his rifle, lying below him on an overhang. Then he realized he was on the roof, and that a gunfight was being waged on the street below him.

Oh, shit, JD!

The memory came to him then, the terrible memory of the boy running across the street amidst a shower of bullets. He was supposed to be protecting JD! But from whom?

So intent was he on trying to recover the memory that he did not hear the footsteps clattering on the roof behind him. The image of JD racing through those bullets held him fast, and blinded him to any realization of his own danger. But even as a gun was sighted on him, instinct again prodded him, a sound that shouldn’t have been there reached him, and with only a vague understanding of what he was doing, he rolled aside at the last moment, brought up his mare’s leg and fired into the featureless shape that loomed above him.

Below, Buck heard the deep crack of the sawed-off and gave silent thanks as a wave of relief swept through him. He hadn’t heard Vin’s rifle in far too long, and had begun to fret at the silence. But hearing the mare’s leg allowed him now to concentrate on the outlaws still trying to reach their horses.

"Gotta cut ’em off, Nathan!" he yelled. "If they get to the livery, we’ll never be able ta stop ’em!"

Simpson and his three remaining men had spread out, and were working to keep the regulators pinned down while they slowly fought to reach their horses. They no longer cared about the money, wanted only to get out of this town alive.

JD looked up, saw Tanner half-sliding, half-falling down the roof to the overhang to retrieve his fallen rifle, and seized his chance. "Vin!" he yelled, rising to a crouch. "Cover me!" And he was off, dashing up the boardwalk toward the livery stable.

"JD!" Buck bellowed in rage and terror as the boy ran. "Goddamnit, kid, get down! Get behind cover! JD, you listenin’ ta me?"

"I hear ya, Buck!" the boy shouted back. And he did hear the big man; he just wasn’t worried. After all, Vin would cover him; Vin always covered them. The sharpshooter was their guardian angel.

Tanner stumbled the last few feet and fell onto the overhang, clutching weakly at his rifle even as the sickness took him again. For long moments he retched violently, all but blind, his head pounding mercilessly, his mind refusing to work. But, again, there was that nagging, driving, urgent sense that he was supposed to be doing something.

JD...

Buck glanced up at the roof, saw Tanner, and knew instinctively that something was wrong. The tracker wasn’t behind cover, wasn’t aiming... hell, he wasn’t doing anything, except crouching on hands and knees, his head down. And he was awful damn close to the edge...

But his attention was snatched from the tracker by a wild confusion of movement up ahead. Two outlaws broke loose, and JD went after them, shouting and racing into the street, his Colts out and firing...

"JD!" Nathan saw it, too, and was horrified. Hardly knowing he did it, he rose from behind the water trough and ran as fast as he could toward the young sheriff and two outlaws, raising his gun to fire as he did so. But the hammer fell on an empty chamber, and then another... "Shit!" Desperately, Nathan flung the gun away and reached for the knives sheathed at his back.

"Goddamn it!" Buck roared, rushing forward to help. The two remaining outlaws raced for the livery stable and made it, but Wilmington had eyes only for the two with JD. "Don’t do this to me, kid!" He glanced over his shoulder and bellowed, "Goddamn it, Vin, give us some fuckin’ cover!"

Tanner vaguely heard the shout and, his retching finished, fell back onto his haunches and raised the rifle with shaking hands, trying to sight down the barrel. But his vision remained dark, blurred; nothing down there made any sense. He couldn’t shoot, wouldn’t take the chance of hitting one of his friends

by mistake.

"Hold it!" JD shouted, closing the distance between himself and the two outlaws. "Throw down your guns, it’s over!"

But they refused to accept that. Swearing foully, both Simpson and his partner turned and fired at the sheriff, refusing to be taken. They’d made it this far...

"JD!" Buck screamed, watching in horror as the boy went down. Without consciously aiming he fired, shooting at the two men until his gun was empty.

Nathan hurled two knives, one with each hand, at the same time Buck fired, and the two outlaws went down, each with a blade and several bullets in him. But Jackson and Wilmington never so much as glanced at the two, their whole attention riveted to JD.

Josiah came racing upon the scene just as JD fell, and saw two horsemen burst out of the livery stable, their mounts flying as if chased by all the devils of hell. Sanchez snapped off his last two shots, thought he might have hit one, then ran forward to join Buck and Nathan at the fallen sheriff’s side.

Vin could vaguely make out the forms of the retreating horsemen, but couldn’t make his mind function enough to get off a shot at them. Unable even to hold up the rifle, he simply let it fall, staring dazedly at the scene in the street below him.

"God, JD!" Buck groaned, dropping to his knees in the dust and gathering the boy into his arms. JD’s shirtfront was dark with blood, and the hideous stain was rapidly growing wider. The boy’s breathing was harsh and labored, his face white and twisted into a mask of agony. Worst of all were the wide, glittering eyes that fixed themselves on Buck’s face. "Easy, son," he soothed, forcing himself to smile into those eyes and holding the boy tightly to him. "You just rest easy. We got ’em. That ol’ bank still ain’t been robbed."

Nathan tore open the shirt, glanced briefly at the wound, then looked up at Buck. "Git him up ta the clinic, now. Josiah–"

"I gotta go back for Ezra," Sanchez said gravely. "He was hit, too. Don’t know how bad–"

"Shoulder and leg," Buck answered tightly. "Bullet’s still in his shoulder, but the other went through his thigh. He was bleedin’ pretty good, but I got it slowed."

"Best go git him, then," Nathan directed. "An’ don’ let the damn fool walk! Where’s Vin?"

Buck glanced up, saw Tanner perched precariously near the edge of the overhang, looking as if he would topple off at any moment. "Up there. Don’t look quite right, but he’s sittin’ up. Can’t be too bad, whatever it is."

Nathan nodded. "All right. Git JD on up. Josiah, bring Ezra. Then you c’n go after Vin."

"Ain’t I the lucky one," Sanchez quipped, turning on his heel to leave.

Nathan helped Buck get JD securely in his arms, then rose to his feet and hurried to his clinic with Wilmington and his precious burden close behind.

Bad as this day had been already, he knew it was about to get a whole lot worse.

=======

Vin dragged himself into the shadows beneath the sloping roof and collapsed back against the building, his strength gone. Pain drummed through his head in a hard, heavy rhythm and his stomach churned violently, its heaving made worse by the violent tremors that ran through his body. Sweat bathed his flesh in a heavy sheen and soaked into his hair and clothes, despite the terrible chill that gripped him.

Lord God, JD!

Below him, townsfolk crept from their shelter to assess what damage – and carnage – had been wrought. Yosemite helped Josiah get Ezra to Nathan’s clinic, and some of the men of the town began the work of clearing away the bodies. He saw none of this, though, heard none of the fevered commotion that naturally arose after such a fight as this had been. All he could hear was a single voice calling to him – "Vin! Cover me!" – and all he could see was JD falling to the street.

Shot down because the friend he trusted had failed to protect him.

Haunted by that image, racked by fear and guilt, he rolled onto his hands and knees and dragged himself along the roof, keeping to the shadows, driven by the instincts of a lifetime to stay hidden when hurt. At last he reached an edge and, using his rifle to support frightfully unsteady legs, made his way to the stairs that led down, not even knowing what building he was on. Dizzy from the exertion, all but blinded by the cruel, stabbing pain in his head and gripped by a rising nausea, he stumbled down the stairs, literally falling down the last few and tumbling onto the ground where he stayed, unable to rise.

"Vin!"

Inez, sweeping glass shattered by gunfire out the back of the saloon, saw the tracker falling and dropped her broom to rush down the alley to help him. She went to her knees at his side and carefully rolled him over, taking his head into her lap and gasping sharply at the sight of the blood matting his hair and coating the right side of his face.

"Madre de Dios!" she whispered in alarm, her heart lurching into her throat. He was breathing, much to her relief, but she knew how bad head wounds could be, and was frightened for him. "Vin?" He stirred weakly and groaned thickly, and she ran her fingers gently through his hair. "Vin, please, wake up!"

she urged worriedly. "Please, I need you to open your eyes!"

He stirred again, and slowly, slowly his eyes fluttered open and fixed upon the dark blur above him. But he could not bring them into focus, anymore than he could clear away the ringing in his ears. Still, the arms that held him were warm and comforting, and he let himself rest in them.

"Vin?" she called softly, bending lower over him. She could see that his eyes were not right, and felt her fear for him increase. "I can help you to Nathan’s, but only if you help me." She smiled in gentle teasing, hoping he could see her. "You are no Buck Wilmington, but even you are too heavy for me to carry."

"Buck?" he repeated weakly, frowning in confusion. "Buck..."

Goddamn it, Vin, give us some fuckin’ cover!

He flinched at the sudden memory of the big man’s enraged shout, and knew why Wilmington had been so angry.

JD. I let ’em git JD.

"Oh, shit!" he groaned thickly as his stomach gave a sudden and violent heave.

Quickly, and with the skill of long practice in a saloon, Inez helped turn him onto his hands and knees just as he began to retch. But his stomach had already been emptied by the previous bouts of sickness, and now only dry heaves shook him. She stayed close by him, one arm over his back, the other hand holding his long hair away from his face, and murmured soft words of comfort in Spanish.

When at last the spell released him, she pulled him back and let him rest against her, all the while studying him through anxious eyes. He was deathly pale, and sweat mingled with the blood in his hair and on his face. He was shaking, as much from shock, she suspected, as from any chill.

"We should get to Nathan’s now," she told him, wondering exactly how they would accomplish that.

"JD," he moaned in anguish, praying the boy wasn’t dead. "Oh, Lord, JD! ’S my fault..."

"It was not your fault," she assured him, not liking at all his complexion or incoherence. "He was shot by the banditos attempting to rob the bank–"

"’Nez?" Her voice came to him from a great distance, striking a chord of recognition, but her face, and everything else, remained a dark, formless blur. "Ya g... ya gotta... help me..."

She tightened her arms about him, frightened by his obvious inability to see her. "I’m trying, Vin," she said again, forcing a calm into her voice that she did not feel. "But you have to let me get you to Nathan’s–"

"No!" he groaned strickenly, fumbling for her hand and holding as tightly to it as he could. "I cain’t... JD... my fault... Buck’s... gonna hate me... I cain’t face ’em yet!"

His words puzzled her, and saddened her. She could not imagine why he would blame himself for JD getting shot, but knew that, whatever had happened, Buck would be in a frenzy of anguish and anger. The big man was like a grizzly on the rampage when "the kid" was hurt, and Inez felt certain Vin was in no shape to handle anyone’s violent emotions just now.

"S’loon," he slurred, fighting to keep from falling into the darkness that hovered so invitingly near. "Git me... s’loon. Please?"

"All right," she agreed grudgingly, against her better judgment. "I will help you to the saloon, and get you cleaned up. But you will see Nathan. Agreed?"

He didn’t answer, merely gave a slight, painful nod and let her help him to his feet. But that was by no means easy, and, by the time they succeeded, he was reeling again from dizziness and leaning heavily against her, feeling again and again that bullet colliding with his skull.

With slow, small, careful steps they made their way to the saloon. Vin stumbled frequently, and several times almost took them both down, but, at last, they made it. As she finally deposited him in a chair and watched his head sink down onto the table, she scowled and shook her head in irritation at such unbending stubbornness.

What was it with these men?

=======

Buck sat on the bed and gave what help with and comfort to JD he could while Nathan worked to remove the bullet. Ezra lay dozing on the second bed, already dosed with laudanum and awaiting his turn under the knife. Buck had lost track of how long they’d been here, knew only that a single minute was too long.

"Goddamn it, kid, you gotta stop runnin’ out inta the street like that!" he whispered in anguish, fiercely clutching JD’s pale hand to his chest at the memory of that heart-stopping sight. "It’s gonna kill you and me both!" A soft, breathless groan escaped the unconscious boy, and Buck tightened his hold on his hand, bending close and speaking low. "Ssh, easy, son," he soothed. "It’s all right. Ol’ Buck’s right here. You just hang in there, all right?"

Josiah came back into the clinic then, his face lined with weariness and worry. "How is he?" he asked softly, watching as Wilmington’s gentle voice and strong presence worked their familiar magic over the injured boy.

Nathan never lifted his eyes from his work. "He’s holdin’ up," he said tersely. "Bullet broke a rib, but don’ look like it touched his lung. Few mo’ minutes, I oughtta have it out."

JD’s body arched off the bed as Nathan made contact with the bullet, and Buck quickly leaned over him, holding down and speaking softly, soothingly to him, hating every moment of this. Then, with a hiss of triumph, Nathan pulled out the bullet and dropped it into the bowl set nearby, and went immediately to work stemming the fresh flow of blood and cleaning the wound.

Buck swallowed hard, his dark blue eyes fixed on JD’s small, blood-covered figure. "What the hell was he thinkin’, Josiah?" he asked, his enormous pain clear in his tone.

Sanchez moved to the foot of the bed and smiled sadly down at JD. "What all young men think, I suppose, what you an’ me thought when we were his age. That he’s immortal, invisible, ten feet tall and bullet-proof. That he can’t die, because he’s right, and right always triumphs."

"’Cept when it don’t," Buck muttered softly. "Maybe we thought that once, but we learned better–"

"Because we got old enough ta know better," Josiah reminded him. "And, if we’re lucky, John Dunne will get old enough ta know better, too." He grinned wryly. "If we all do our jobs right, he’ll come to appreciate the value of a good, solid water trough, just like you an’ me."

"Speakin’ of doin’ our jobs..." Buck finally tore his gaze from JD to look up at the preacher. "Anybody seen Vin? I thought he’d be here by now."

Josiah shook his head. "He wasn’t out on the streets. I was workin’ with folks to clear away the bodies, and didn’t see him there. Kinda surprisin’, too," he added with a puzzled look. "Usually Vin’s the first one ta lend a hand."

Buck ran a hand through his thick dark hair as he stared at JD. "The kid ran out inta that street ’cause he thought Vin’d be coverin’ him. Hell, I reckon we all thought that."

"Buck," Josiah interrupted grimly, "don’t go layin’ blame–"

"No, that ain’t it." The big man frowned deeply, remembering the long silence of the Winchester, seeing again that unsteady, unresponsive figure hunched on the overhang. "Somethin’ happened, Josiah, somethin’s wrong. When’s the last time JD did somethin’ like that an’ Vin didn’t shoot whatever moved?"

Anxiety blossomed in Josiah’s gut. "You sayin’ he’s hurt?"

Buck sighed heavily and shook his head in worry. "I’m sayin’ somethin’ wasn’t right with him when I saw him, and, yeah, it could be he’s hurt. Hell, you saw him same as I did, runnin’ across them roofs like some damn deer, jumpin’ between ’em like he thought he could fly, and lookin’ for all the world like he didn’t think bullets could touch him. I swear, sometimes he’s as bad as JD about thinkin’ he’s invisible!"

Josiah chuckled grimly. "He does have an interestin’ lack of concern about his own well-bein’ when our lives are at stake."

"Interestin’ ain’t the word," Buck said shortly, his frayed nerves jumping. "More like infuriatin’. That boy’s gonna get his fool head blown off one day, and I’m gonna have ta be the one ta tell Chris!"

Josiah’s heavy brows came together. "You think he’s still up on the roofs, then?"

Buck exhaled sharply in frustration. "Up on the roofs, in the shadows, under a goddamn rock... Who the hell knows with Vin? But he ain’t here, ain’t nobody seen him, an’ that worries the hell outta me!"

Josiah nodded, gripped by that same worry. "I’ll go lookin’, then. You’re right. It ain’t like him not ta be here when one of us is wounded, especially when it’s JD."

Buck smiled slightly. "Just remember, Josiah, this is Vin. And if he don’t wanta be found, you’re gonna be needin’ some’a that divine guidance of yours."

Sanchez winked. "Well, if all else fails, I can always turn to the spirits."

Wilmington chuckled. "Just make sure you don’t turn to the wrong kind of spirits, preacher, ’cause I’m too tired ta be pickin’ your sorry ass up off’a the saloon floor!"

=======

Vin panicked when he awoke and had no idea where he was, why he was there, or how he’d come to be there. From what little he could make out with his dark, blurred vision, he knew he wasn’t in his wagon, wasn’t in the boardinghouse or Nathan’s clinic, and fear slammed through him.

"Oh, shit!" he gasped, sitting up abruptly and lurching to his feet, only to fall heavily to his hands and knees as dizziness engulfed him. Pain knifed in hot, jagged streaks through his head, blinding him, and for a moment he feared he would be sick.

"What– Vin!" Inez cried sharply, opening the door to find him on the floor. She shut the door quickly behind her and rushed to him, going to her knees at his side and circling her arms about him. "What happened?" she demanded anxiously. "Why aren’t you in bed?"

"Wh... where... Oh!" he groaned, collapsing into the soft arms that closed about him and burying his tortured head in the warm body that cradled his own.

"Ssh, hush, Vin, hush," Inez soothed, holding him close and stroking his back. She didn’t like at all his soft, choked groans, or the weak and desperate way he clutched at her. God, why hadn’t any of them come for him yet?

Slowly, slowly, her soft voice and gentle touch penetrated the thick veil of pain and confusion that shrouded him, and some measure of recognition dawned. "’Nez," he whispered faintly.

Sharp relief swept through her at that, and she smiled, slipping gentle fingers through his sweat-matted hair. "Sí, Vin, estoy aquí. I’m right here."

"Where... here?" he rasped, knotting white, shaking fingers in the folds of her skirt as he fought against the hard, heavy waves of pain and sickness battering against him.

She tightened her arms about him. "You are in the saloon," she answered slowly, clearly. "Upstairs, in my room. You would not go to Nathan’s–"

"Yer r... Oh, Lord!" he moaned hoarsely, trying to raise his head. "How..." Blue eyes, wide and unfocused and confused, stared out from a face as white as death. "Inez, I cain’t... stay here..." He dropped a hand to the floor and tried to push himself away from her, tried to raise himself from where he lay, only to collapse against her again. "Jesus!"

"Ssh, Vin, it’s all right," she assured him, gently stroking his ashen face. "It’s all right."

"No," he breathed, even as he welcomed the warmth and softness that sheltered him from his pain. "Ain’t right. Ain’t proper..."

"Proper?" she repeated archly, wondering where in the hell propriety entered into any of this. "How is it not proper? You are hurt, and you are my friend. Where else should I have brought you when you wouldn’t go to Nathan’s?"

He drew deep, ragged gasps against the nausea and pain that held him fast. "Ain’t right, Inez, ’n you know it. Yer a lady... I gotta go–"

"Go where?" she interrupted firmly. "And get there how? Even if you could walk – which I very much doubt you can – you don’t really think I’d let you leave, do you? In this shape?" She shook her head and lay a gentle hand against his whiskered cheek. "You have only two choices, Vin – Nathan’s clinic, or here. Take your pick."

He knew he should argue, knew he should get up and leave, but couldn’t. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on her skirts as another wave of sickness rose threateningly through him. "All right," he rasped weakly, knowing he was beaten. "Reckon... won’t hurt ta stay... a while."

Relieved that she would not have to fight him, she helped him back into bed and sat down on it at his side, gripped anew by fear for him. She had cleaned and bandaged his wound earlier, but knew Nathan should see it. The bullet had cut a deep furrow across his right temple, into his hairline and over his ear, was much too long and deep for her to think of it as a "graze." And the entire area around the wound was swollen and badly bruised.

"You men and your guns," she breathed sadly, reaching into the bowl on the bedside table and retrieving a cool, wet cloth. "When will you ever learn not to try and kill one another for such worthless things as money?"

"Weren’t the money," he answered, his words slurring, his eyelids drooping. "Don’t care a lick... fer money. I’s fightin’... fer th’ others."

She smiled at that and tenderly bathed his face and throat, knowing who those "others" were. "They are lucky to have you on their side."

"Don’t reckon JD ’r Ezra’d say so," he murmured sadly as dark oblivion crept upon him. "They’s dependin’ on me... I let ’em down... Buck’s gonna hate me."

She shook her head and sighed, knowing how seriously these men took their responsibility to each other. "You let me handle Buck," she urged him. "You just rest now, let yourself sleep. It will all work out, you’ll see."

Of that, she would make certain. She doubted Buck Wilmington would truly be angry at Vin for JD’s injury, but, if by some chance he were, she knew she could change his mind.

She had the big man wrapped around her finger.

=======

Buck looked up as Nathan loomed above him. He was still entrenched at JD’s side, unable to tear himself away from the boy, unwilling to let Ezra out of his sight. Suffering of any kind tore at his heart, but pain in his friends was something he felt as if it were his own.

Especially when that pain was JD’s.

Nathan nodded and smiled wearily at the big man, his dark eyes and face showing plainly the strain of the day. But he also recognized the torment in Wilmington’s eyes, and knew this day had not been easy on any of them.

And it wasn’t over yet.

"JD’s doin’ fine," Nathan said, addressing the most pressing of Buck’s concerns first. "He lost a lotta blood, gon’ need a lotta rest, but he’s young, strong. Long’s he stays free’a fever, he should be all right."

Buck merely nodded, and squeezed the pale, limp hand he still held securely between his much bigger ones. Then, when he could speak, he asked, "And Ezra?"

Nathan smiled again. "Seems Lady Luck’s still smilin’ on her fav’rite son. Bullet nicked his shoulderblade, but didn’t break it. He’s gon’ hurt like hell fo’ a while, but I’m sure he’ll be back at th’ tables in no time, suckerin’ folks inta playin’ with a one-armed dealer an’ makin’ enough money ta take his mind off’a the pain. Needs ta stay off’a that leg fo’ a while, but this oughtta give him a chance ta use that fancy sword-cane he ordered from New Orleans."

Buck gave a shaky laugh. "Well, it’s nice ta know not even a bullet can put a crimp in ol’ Ezra’s style!"

"Now," the healer fixed a stern gaze on Buck, "how ’bout you?"

Wilmington blinked up at him in confusion. "How ’bout me?"

Nathan sighed and shook his head. "Git over inta that chair by the window, Buck, lemme look ya over. Got some blood on ya sleeve, I wanta make sure ain’t nothin’ bad wrong with ya."

"Aw, hell, Nathan–"

"Do it, Buck!" Jackson snapped sternly, his eyes flashing. "I ain’t in the mood fo’ no arguments! I’m tired, I been through a helluva gunfight, I jus’ took two bullets outta two friends’a mine, I got another friend with blood on his shirt, I know Josiah’s hidin’ some kinda hurt, an’ God knows where Vin is o’ what’s wrong with him. So don’ gimme no trouble, else I’ll cold-cock ya right here an’ drag ya over there m’self!"

Buck cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "Well, hell, Nathan, as long as ya put it that way, I can’t hardly refuse, can I?" He smiled and bowed low, extending one arm in an extravagant gesture. "After you."

Nathan nodded. He was damned tired’a foolin’ with a lotta pig-headed fools who’d rather bleed ta death than admit they was hurt. He’d heal ’em, if he had ta kill ’em ta do it!

=======

Young Micah Fallon had had it. He’d run all over town looking for one, any one, of the Seven, so’s he could give ’em Miss Inez’s message. But the only one anybody had seen was the big preacher, and, every time Micah went where he was told he’d find him, the man had gone somewhere else.

Well, shoot, enough was enough. He could see his pards Tommy and Jacob up the street, and knew they were just bustin’ to play-act the shoot-out. ’Sides, he hadn’t yet showed ’em the new penknife he’d gotten for his birthday, and it was sure enough burnin’ a hole in his pocket now.

He swept one more gaze over the street, saw no sign of Mr. Josiah, then turned and raced toward his friends. He liked Miss Inez, and he damn near worshipped the tracker, but he figured he’d done all he could for both.

’Sides, Mr. Vin couldn’t be hurt that bad, else he’da been up in Mr. Nathan’s clinic.

=======

Josiah prowled the alleys and rooftops in his search for Vin, but never saw the tracker. Up on the roof of the grain exchange, though, he found evidence that only confirmed Buck’s fears. He discovered yet another outlaw, his face blown off. The man clearly had not taken a step after he was shot, yet Josiah found blood in several other places, and knew instinctively it was Tanner’s.

But where was Vin?

No one in town had seen him, and several men had joined Josiah in the search. Yet all knew how elusive Tanner could be when he wanted, and no one had any real hope of finding him if he did not want to be found.

As a last resort, Josiah turned with heavy, exhausted footsteps toward the saloon.

=======

Vin lay still in Inez’s bed and listened in horror to the loud chatter of the working girls out in the hallway. As was to be expected, the fierce battle in the streets was on everyone’s lips, and growing more impressive with each retelling. But what Vin was now hearing did not impress him, merely ignited a cold anger inside him at the knowledge of his own failure.

Two of the bastards had escaped, just gotten on their horses and ridden out. And he’d done nothing to stop them.

Cursing himself, he struggled slowly from the bed and rose carefully to his feet, knowing the dizziness would come and preparing himself for it. Even so, it hit him hard, and he very nearly fell to his knees. But he fought it with everything that was in him, refused to give in to it, or to the pain and nausea curling through him. When he could walk without falling, and when his vision cleared enough for him to see shapes among the shadows, he made his way slowly around Inez’s room, gathering his boots, hat, coat and gunbelt, then returning to the bed to put them all on. He thought bending over to pull on his boots would be the end of him, feared his head and stomach might both explode, and had to fight hard to keep from sinking once more into the darkness that promised sweet escape from his pain.

But he would not permit himself that escape. Summoning up every ounce of will, of determination, of sheer, stubborn grit he possessed, he gave himself time to recover some measure of steadiness, then rose once more from the bed, gritting his teeth and remaining doggedly on his feet even when the room, the whole world, tilted and turned sickeningly about him. Shadows swam and swirled before him, and he felt as if a white-hot spike were being driven through his skull. But he allowed the pain to fuel his rage at himself and the bastards who had done this, who had hurt JD and Ezra, and allowed that rage to flow, to give strength to his body.

Allowed it to prime all his killing instincts.

When he thought he could walk without falling, he retrieved his rifle from where Inez had set it, then opened the door slowly and peered out into the hallway. Seeing no one, and praying that meant there really was no one, he stepped out and weaved unsteadily along the hall, made his way down the back stairs, out of the saloon, and into the alley.

And Vin Tanner, who’d used shadows all his life, used them now to hide from those searching for him, until he could begin a search of his own.

=======

Inez looked up from the bar as Josiah Sanchez entered the saloon and felt a a strong rush of relief at the sight of him. The saloon was rapidly filling with men eager to share thoughts on and tales of the day’s violence, leaving her with little time to take care of Vin. She’d been hoping one of the others would come for him soon, and prayed that their failure to show so far did not mean things were worse with Ezra or JD than she had heard. Now, though, as she watched the big man weaving his way toward her and read his dejection in the slump of his heavy shoulders and the lack of spring in his step, she could not help feeling a sharp twinge of fear. Bracing herself for the worst, she got a clean glass and began pouring the drink she could see he needed.

Josiah found himself intercepted by countless men who had some comment on the day’s battle or words of concern about Ezra and JD. He imparted what news he could, knowing these folks needed to be reassured about the status of their "Seven" and recognizing the sincerity that lay behind most of the well wishes. He also questioned everyone he could about Vin, and always got the same answer.

No one had seen him.

At last he reached the bar, and smiled wanly at Inez as she set the glass before him. "You’re an angel of mercy," he said, raising the glass and downing its contents in one swallow.

"I had begun to wonder if any of you would ever come," she said, pouring him another. "Are Ezra and JD all right?"

His smile widened as he reached for the glass. "Nathan seems pleased. Says their chances are good." He raised the glass to his mouth, started to drink, then stopped himself and frowned at her. "What’d you mean, you wondered if any of us would come?"

She regarded him with faint exasperation. "It has been two hours since I sent Micah for you. I know you have been busy with the outlaws, the town and Ezra and JD, but Vin–"

"Vin?" He slammed his glass onto the bar, sloshing whiskey over his fingers and onto the polished surface. His blue eyes bored into her, every trace of exhaustion dropping from him. "You know somethin’ about Vin?"

Her exasperation turned to outright confusion. "Of course, I do! That’s why I sent Micah..." She saw a corresponding confusion in Josiah’s face and asked, "Didn’t he find you?"

Sanchez shook his head slowly. "Haven’t seen him. And I’ve been goin’ all over town, lookin’ for Vin." Worry flooded his eyes, and he snatched up his glass, draining the whiskey almost desperately. "He disappeared after the gunfight," he rasped, grateful for the burn of the liquor through his gut. "We’re afraid he’s hurt, but we can’t find a trace of him. It’s like he just vanished inta thin air!"

Inez exhaled sharply and swore silently to have a talk with Micah, furious at the needless worry he’d caused Tanner’s friends. Then, banishing her anger with an effort, she reached out and patted Josiah’s hand, smiling gently at him. "I can help you. He’s upstairs, in my room. And you’re right, he is hurt.

A head wound." She shook her dark head at his wordless sound of concern. "I know, I tried to make him go to Nathan’s, I knew that was where he belonged, but..." She grimaced and shook her head again. "You know how stubborn he can be. I was afraid that if I insisted he wouldn’t let me help him at all..." She shrugged. "And I thought I could at least keep an eye on him here."

He swore under his breath. Damn stubborn tracker... "How bad’s he hurt?" he asked at last, his blue eyes sharp with anxiety.

She exhaled slowly. "He is in great pain and has been sick several times, he is confused and cannot see too well." She reached across the bar to Josiah’s face, tracing the wound on his head. "It goes from here to here," she said, sliding her finger back, "and is very deep. I cleaned it as best I could and bandaged it, and I have tried not to let him sleep too long at any one time." She glanced around the filling saloon. "When I am able, I go upstairs to wake him, but now, with the crowd coming in..." She smiled slightly at him. "I am so glad you are here."

He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, smiling gently at her. "Like I said, an angel of mercy. Thank you for tendin’ our lost sheep."

"It was the least I could do, after everything you all have done for me. And, besides," she smiled shyly, "he is very sweet. He was concerned it would not be ‘proper’ for him to be in my room." Her dark eyes softened. "He called me a ‘lady.’"

Josiah kissed the back of her hand. "Vin is nothin’ if not an honest man, Inez. Now, if you’ll lead me to him, I’ll take our wounded Lancelot off your lovely hands."

She called to the other bartender, then walked around and went with Josiah to the stairs. "He will not be happy to go to the clinic," she warned him, "but I don’t think he’ll be able to put up a fight. He can’t even stand on his own."

Josiah smiled grimly as he trudged up the stairs behind her. "That’s never stopped him from fightin’ before. That boy’s as tough as rawhide."

She shook her head sadly. "You won’t think so when you see him." She led him to her door, knocked softly, and then opened it. "Vin?" she called. "Are you awake? Josiah has come– No!" she cried sharply, rushing in as terror chilled the blood in her veins. "Vin!"

Infected by her fear, Josiah pushed past her into the room, and stopped short at what he saw. Nothing. The room was empty.

Tanner was gone.

=======

Buck sat by JD’s bed and held one of the boy’s hands in his own, his other hand brushing lightly through the young sheriff’s thick black hair. JD was still unconscious, likely would be for some time, but he was alive, and that, to Buck, was the most important thing of all.

"Ya done good today, kid," he said softly, his blue eyes intent upon the slack, pale features. "Kept your head, watched your shots, didn’t do no more’a that fannin’ foolishness." A slight smile tugged at his mouth. "But we gotta talk about this runnin’ inta the street! You nearly gave ol’ Buck heart failure there, son." He winced at the terrifying memory and laid a big but infinitely gentle hand over the boy’s heart to reassure himself that his worst fear hadn’t materialized. "Don’t do that again, JD," he pleaded, his voice and eyes filled with pain. "I’ve lost too many folks I care about already. I just couldn’t stand ta lose you, too." He shook his head to clear it, then reached into the bowl Nathan had set on the table by the bed and pulled out a cool, damp cloth, tenderly bathing the boy’s pale face and throat. "I know you thought Vin was watchin’ ya, but he ain’t always gonna be there. He’s good, but he can’t watch all our backs at once."

He tried not to think about the tracker, tried not to picture him lying somewhere hurt, alone, needing them and none of them knowing where to find him. But he couldn’t imagine why no one had found him yet, couldn’t imagine where he might be. His greatest fear was that Tanner was so badly hurt he’d merely crawled off somewhere to die, following the instincts honed by a lifetime of solitude.

"Jesus, Vin," he breathed in torment, "where the hell are ya?"

"No sign of our wayward compatriot yet?" asked a sleepy drawl behind him.

Buck released JD’s hand and went to sit by Ezra, who stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You’re s’posed ta be asleep," he scolded gently.

Ezra gave a drowsy smile. "I am supposed to be a multitude of things," he retorted. "You didn’t answer my question."

"You must still be drugged," Buck said with a smile. "I can understand ever’ word you’re sayin’." At the gambler’s impatient frown, he sighed. "All right, all right. No, we haven’t found him. And that’s startin’ ta scare the hell outta me."

Ezra swallowed and nodded, understanding Buck’s fear. "With two of us injured, he would be here, if he could." He glanced across the clinic, avoiding, for the moment, the unpleasant possibilities rising in his laudanum-befuddled brain. "And how fares young Mr. Dunne?"

Buck nodded. "Nathan thinks he’ll be all right. Bullet broke a rib, but didn’t do much more damage than that. Any luck, he’ll be back t’ annoyin’ the hell outta us in no time. How’re you feelin’?"

Again, that drowsy smile curved about the gambler’s mouth. "At the moment, rather pleasantly numb," he drawled thickly, his words slurring together. "Though I am certain, given my unfortunate experience with such things, all that will change when Mr. Jackson’s lovely medicine wears off."

"Why’n’t you go back ta sleep then?" Buck urged, leaning over to pull the bedcovers up higher over the injured man. "Might as well enjoy it while ya can."

Ezra nodded, and would have dropped off then had the clinic door not been thrust open. Josiah strode in, his gaze going at once to Buck. "Vin was in Inez’s room," he said without preamble, his deep voice tight with worry. "He wouldn’t come here, so she was tendin’ him. He’s got a head wound, she said it looked pretty bad."

"Jesus!" Buck muttered, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

"A moment, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra asked, fighting against sleep. "You said he ‘was’ with Inez." He stared at the big man, dreading the next question, but knowing it had to be asked. "Where is he now?"

Josiah removed his hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. "That’s just it, Ezra," he answered in a low, hoarse voice. "Nobody knows. When Inez took me up so I could bring him here, he was gone." He looked again at Buck. "His rifle and gunbelt are gone, too."

"Shit," Buck whispered as his heart sank. "Shit, shit, shit! Goddamn it, what the hell is that boy thinkin’?"

Josiah, exhausted in every part of his body and feeling far older than his years, made his way to the empty chair at JD’s side and sank heavily into it. "Accordin’ t’ Inez," he said softly, sadly, "he’s thinkin’ it’s his fault these two got shot, and he’s thinkin’ the rest of us are gonna blame him, too." He sighed and shook his head, his sorrowful gaze going to Buck. "’Specially you," he said softly, not wanting to add to the man’s misery, but knowing he had no choice. If they had any hope of finding the tracker, they had to understand what was driving him from them. "He’s afraid you’re gonna be angry with him, that you’ll hold him responsible for ‘lettin’’ JD get shot."

Buck thrust his hands deeply into his hair and slumped forward dejectedly, resting his elbows on his thighs. "Jesus, how could he think that?" he whispered. "Damn it, Josiah, I saw him up there, I knew somethin’ was wrong!" He rose abruptly to his feet and began pacing about the clinic with anxious, long-legged strides. "Hell, I don’t blame Vin for what happened! It ain’t his fault JD ran out inta that street! The only ones I blame for the kid gettin’ shot are them goddamn sonsabitches who tried ta rob the bank and turned that street into a battleground! Jesus," he breathed, running an unsteady hand through his thick hair, "we gotta find him!"

"How?" Josiah asked tiredly. "We’ve searched this whole town, and no one can find him. He doesn’t want us ta find him. This is Vin–"

"He’s hurt–"

"But he’s still Vin!" the older man said strongly. "Think about it, Buck! How many times in his life d’you suppose he’s had ta hide from folks even when he was hurt? Hell, especially when he was hurt? It’s what he knows. It’s probably all he’s ever known, until he came ta us."

"But why won’t he come to us now?" Buck asked softly, a world of hurt and fear for Tanner in his eyes. "He knows he doesn’t have ta be afraid of us, he knows–"

"That we won’t turn on him?" Ezra put in quietly. "How does he know that, Buck?" He stared up at Wilmington through green eyes now clear of any sleepiness or drugged befuddlement. "Inez said he’s confused, remember? When all you’ve known in your life is hurt, betrayal and abandonment, there is some part of you that never forgets that, and that never stops expectin’ it. If he blames himself for our injuries, then he will naturally assume that we blame him, as well. And, if he is confused enough, he may well expect that we will turn upon him. Why should we prove any different from anyone else he’s ever known?" He sighed and shook his head slightly, understanding the tracker’s fear all too well. "Let us not forget, Buck," he said softly, sadly, "Vin apparently has little experience with friendship. It is more than likely that in some part of himself he still cannot quite believe he now has friends who would not turn on him when given half a chance."

"Jesus," Buck muttered, suspecting Ezra spoke the truth. It pained him to think of the kind of life Vin must have led, a life where friendship had no meaning, where trust did not exist, where loneliness was the only alternative to pain. "Jesus Christ, Vin..." A sharp fear struck him suddenly, and he stared at Josiah. "Anybody check the livery? If he’s that confused, that afraid of us–"

"I checked, just before I came here," Sanchez answered tiredly. "Peso’s still there. Besides, from the way Inez described him, I doubt he’d be able ta ride."

Buck gave a short, bitter laugh. "Hell, from the way you said Inez described him, we should’a found him layin’ out in the middle’a the goddamn street by now! He can barely walk, but he can disappear! One’a you wanta explain that ta me?"

Josiah gave a wry smile. "Simple. This is Vin Tanner we’re talkin’ about. The man who thinks he’s invisible."

=======

It had taken far longer than he had intended, and had been far more difficult than he had anticipated, but Vin finally slipped into the livery. He’d slunk through shadows, crept along alleys, and more than once had to hide to avoid being seen. But he couldn’t take the chance that anyone would stop him.

At one point, though, Josiah had been so close he could hear the big man muttering, and it had been all he could do not to reveal himself and seek refuge in that comforting, sheltering presence.

But he had to do this. He owed it to JD.

So he’d driven himself onward. And all the while he’d fought the hideous pain in his head, the unrelenting dizziness and confusion, and the nausea that never left him. Not to mention vision that refused to focus, and that was much dimmer than it should have been. He told himself it would clear in a while, and prayed it was true. Otherwise, it would be damn near impossible to find two men in a land as big as this. Especially for a man alone.

Alone.

Well, hell, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been alone, would it? And likely wouldn’t be the last. He’d spent most of his life that way, and never given any thought to it. He’d never wished it otherwise, for he wasn’t a man who wasted time on wishing for things that could never be. Hell, he’d never even known it could be different.

Until he’d come here.

Unbidden, the knowledge of what he’d found with these six men – companionship, friendship, belonging – came to him, rising with a ferocity that dropped him to his knees. He gasped at the strength and solidness of it, at its nearness even now, felt it like a living thing inside him. Most vividly he saw, felt, Chris Larabee, and almost cried out aloud. His tired soul ached from the force of the bond they shared, and he wanted nothing more than to look up and see the black-clad man standing before him, offering his reassurance and his understanding. Chris would help him through this hurt, would somehow lift this confusion from his mind, would help him find his way back to the others.

But Chris wasn’t here. And the others... He’d have to do this on his own.

He’d have to do this alone.

And he would. Just as he always had before. Forcing himself once more to his feet, he gathered what little remained of his strength, willed himself to think only of the task at hand, and began the always taxing ordeal of saddling Peso. Twice he blacked out from the effort, and once more he was gripped by a bout of violent sickness, but, after what seemed hours, it was done. He led the big gelding to door of the livery and looked out, praying that luck was with him.

It was. There was little activity about, no one near enough to pay him any mind. Determined to see this through, driven by the memory of his earlier failure, he hauled himself shakily into the saddle and, drawing no attention to himself, willing no one to notice him, ignored every protest of his body and turned Peso in the direction he vaguely remember the two escaping outlaws taking. As he struggled just to hold himself in the saddle, he threw desperate prayers to God and to the Spirits who had always guided him along every hard path he’d had to take in his life.

And then freed the hawk in him to hunt.

=======

Buck and Josiah, mindful of their injured friends’ need for rest, moved to their usual table in the saloon, and, when satisfied that his patients were resting well and sleeping soundly, Nathan joined them. They had about two hours yet until sundown, and still had found not a trace of Vin.

"Damn boy can walk on air," Buck muttered, downing another shot of whiskey. The three had finally eaten – at Inez’s insistence – but were desperately tired, drained by this day’s events. "Hell, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he can make himself invisible."

Nathan frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe in a way he can." When his companions shot dull, disbelieving gazes at him, he struggled to explain. "Back on the plantations, you survived by not bein’ noticed. Didn’t draw no attention to ya’self, didn’t make no noise, didn’t make no trouble, never did what ya wasn’t s’posed ta or go where ya wasn’t s’posed ta... If ya kep’ ya head down, kep’ quiet an’ did ev’rything that’s expected of ya, didn’t nobody notice ya. You’s just part’a the scenery. ’N they ain’t nobody knows the scenery ’round here better’n Vin." He looked at his friends. "How many times’ve we forgot about him, when he’s sittin’ right here with us?" He nodded toward the chair Tanner usually occupied. "Jes’ sits there silent an’ still, leanin’ back inta them shadows ’til he becomes a shadow hisself. An’ spooks the hell outta us all when he finally moves or speaks."

Josiah arched two heavy brows and nodded. "Makes sense. Folks get used ta seein’ a thing, and then stop seein’ it, stop takin’ notice, because they are so used to it. And a man who knows how ta be still and is a friend of the shadows can be standin’ right beside you and still be invisible."

"And think’a how he dresses," Nathan went on. "Y’all think it’s any accident he wears brown pants, brown boots, a brown coat, a hat the color’a sand? Go outside, take a look at the land ’n tell me what color ya see. Brown. Tan. How many times’ve we watched him climb inta some rocks an’ then jes’ lost him, when he was right in front’a us all the time? Yeah, I reckon if anybody comes close ta bein’ invisible, it’s Vin. The man could stand in the middle of a crowded room an’ make folks forget he’s there."

Buck slammed his glass down onto the table with a violence born of weariness, worry and frustration. "So you’re sayin’ we ain’t gonna find him, that it?" he growled. "Well, I ain’t buyin’ it! He’s hurt – God alone knows how bad – an’ likely scared as hell, needin’ help – shit, needin’ us – and I ain’t about ta let him down! Hell, for all we know, he’s already left town–"

"Peso was in the livery," Josiah said yet again, emphasizing each word heavily. "And Vin wasn’t in no shape ta ride. If he’d tried, that would’ve gotten noticed!" He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, willing calm upon himself. "Brothers, we’re all tired, we’ve seen our friends hurt, and now we’ve got a friend missin’. We’re scared and we’re frustrated. But we can’t afford ta let ourselves get too worked up to think. More importantly, we have ta try and think like Vin would."

"Hell, Josiah," Buck grumbled dispiritedly, "there ain’t but one man among us who can do that, and he ain’t here right now! And, frankly, I ain’t anxious for him ta come back. How’n the hell are we gonna tell Chris that Vin’s hurt and we can’t find him?"

Nathan glanced at the doorway, then stiffened in his chair and shivered as a cold chill rippled down his spine. "We better think of a way right quick," he said quietly. "’Cause he jes’ walked in."

"Oh, shit," Buck groaned, hanging his head and closing his eyes in sick dread. "Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse. How far away is he?"

"Not far enough," Josiah muttered. "And comin’ quick. I hope he had a good stay in Purgatorio, ’cause if he didn’t we’re all headed straight for hell."

=======

Chris paused just inside the saloon and swept his gaze over the interior, the corners of his mouth quirking downward in a slight, bemused frown. He’d gotten a strong, strange sense of something not right as he’d ridden into town, had noted an odd sort of nervousness among the people on the streets, a high tension that set his own nerves buzzing. Then he’d seen the unmistakable signs of a gunfight – shattered windows boarded up, bullet-riddled walls, posts and troughs, dark patches of dried blood in the street – and had felt his hackles rise. And folks had whispered and pointed at him as he passed, a sight with which he was not entirely unfamiliar but had gotten out of the habit of seeing here. So with a roiling uneasiness churning in his gut, he had come immediately to the one place where he knew he would get his answers.

The saloon.

The nervousness, almost a brittle giddiness, was present here, too, but, most important, so were three of his men. He assumed JD was at the jail and Vin out on patrol, but was startled not to see Ezra holding court at the center table. He half-wondered if Vin had somehow goaded, tricked or bullied the man into riding with him, and smiled in wicked amusement at the thought.

Ezra, out on the trail, at night, with Vin. God, there’d be hell to pay tomorrow!

He made his way to the table with a long, purposeful stride, his black duster whipping about his legs. Beneath the brim of his dust-covered hat, sharp green eyes noted every detail about him, took in the gazes that darted his way, the murmurs that rose and fell in his wake, the strained, expectant expressions on countless faces. His every instinct was on high alert, and Chris Larabee was not

a man who ignored his instincts.

He stepped up to the table, then sank with an easy grace into "his" chair and surveyed the men sitting with him. Buck had yet to meet his eyes, was tight in the face and drawn at the mouth, and Josiah looked half-dead from exhaustion.

Nathan, however, was tense, his dark eyes filled with an anxiety that sent Chris’s hackles even higher.

"Evenin’, boys," he greeted in a low, even voice. "Seems to’ve been some excitement here. Wanta tell me about it?"

"Not really" were the first words that rose in Buck’s mind, but he had the good sense not to give them voice. Instead, he poured whiskey into his glass and slid it over to Chris. "Might wanta drink this, pard," he suggested softly. "I think you’re gonna need it."

Chris immediately fixed his sharp, probing gaze on Buck, noting the lines in the man’s face, the dullness of his usually lively blue eyes, the dejected slump of his broad shoulders. Buck was tired, bone-tired, but there was far more to his appearance than that. He was a man laboring under a heavy burden he had no wish to bear.

Vin.

Fear hit him with a terrible force, knotting his gut and driving the air from his lungs, all but stopping his heart. He knew with a terrible, instinctive certainty that something had happened to Tanner, and only barely fought back the urge to reach out and shake Buck until he said what it was.

"Drink, Chris, please," Josiah urged, his sorrowful blue gaze catching and holding the younger man’s. "Buck’s right, you’re gonna need it."

Not knowing what else to do, so scared he could hardly breathe, Chris took the glass and emptied it in one swallow. But he barely felt the burn of the whiskey, felt only the aching fear in his gut. "Tell me," he ordered through clenched teeth.

"Gang rode inta town this mornin’," Buck began in a flat, emotionless voice, staring blankly past Chris and seeing it all unfolding again before him. "Two gangs, actually. Seems Ben Carlton and Frank Simpson got together, combined their men and made a try on the bank. Eighteen of ’em," he rasped, his voice utterly lacking its usual ebullience. "God help us all, it was a hell of a fight. But we stopped ’em, beat ’em. Only two got away. All the others are dead or in jail. And the money’s safe." He took the whiskey Josiah offered him and drank it. "So the bank still ain’t been robbed."

"But?" Chris prompted harshly, his green eyes burning.

"But," Nathan took up, "Ezra an’ JD got hit. Ezra in th’ shoulder ’n leg, JD in the chest." At Larabee’s gasp, the healer held up a hand. "They’re all right, sleepin’ up in the clinic now. Ezra’ll be up an’ around in a week or so, providin’ he does what I say. JD’s gon’ be a while longer, but, if there ain’t no complications, he’ll be jes’ fine. Bullet broke a rib, but didn’t reach his lung. He was damn lucky."

Chris dragged his gaze over the three again, almost screaming in frustration. One name they hadn’t mentioned, and their silence was deafening. "And Vin?" he forced out, feeling as if he’d been punched when Buck flinched. "Tell me!" he snarled.

"We don’t know," Buck answered softly, raising his anguished gaze to meet his old friend’s tortured one. "Toward the end of the fight, I knew somethin’ was wrong. I could see him, up on the damn roof, but he didn’t look right. Then JD ran out inta the street, yellin’ for Vin ta cover him... and that’s when the bastards shot him. Ezra’d been hit by then, most of the outlaws were down, but these last four tried ta make a break, and JD tried ta stop ’em. He thought Vin... Hell, you know how we all depend on Vin an’ that damn rifle of his... But he didn’t shoot. Couldn’t, I reckon..."

"Buck an’ I killed two of ’em," Nathan took up when Buck faltered. "Then we went ta see about JD, an’ that’s when them las’ two got away. We got JD ’n Ezra up ta the clinic, figgered Vin’d come, but he never did. Josiah went lookin’ for him – hell, half th’ town started lookin’ – but we never found him."

"He got hit in the head," Josiah explained softly, easily able to see Chris’s torment growing. "Inez found him, after the fight. He was in the alley, had fallen down the stairs. She tried to get him ta go to Nathan’s, but he refused."

He sighed and shook his graying head slowly, hurting for the young man. "Turns out he blames himself for JD and Ezra gettin’ shot, and figures we all do, too–"

"’Specially me," Buck muttered miserably. "He thinks I’m gonna hate him... Hell, Chris," he groaned, his voice breaking, "I know it wasn’t his fault! JD ran out just assumin’ Vin’d cover him! It was a damn fool thing ta do, an’ there’s no way anybody could blame Vin! I just wish he’d let me tell him that!"

Without realizing he did so, Chris reached out and laid a hand on Buck’s arm, knowing how the man’s heart must be tearing itself to pieces at the thought that fear of him had driven Vin away. And nothing he could have said or done could have meant more to Buck at that moment than that simple gesture.

"Inez took him up ta her room, cleaned his wound, took care of him," Josiah went on. "She said he was in bad shape – dizzy, sick, confused. Said he couldn’t even stand on his own, could barely see. Finally, I came here lookin’ for him. We’d looked everywhere else, nobody’d seen him... But when I asked Inez, she told me he was here and took me up to her room. Only–"

"Only he was gone," Buck breathed. "Somehow he’d gotten himself outta bed, outta the saloon... We’ve done ever’thing but tear this town apart, Chris!" he said fervently, needing Larabee to believe him. "He’s hurt, he needs help, but he won’t let us find him! And I’m about outta my mind, thinkin’ it’s because he’s afraid’a me!"

Chris gripped his friend’s arm harder. "You said yourself he’s confused," he said, his voice tight with a fear so deep it hurt. "It ain’t your fault, Buck, and I don’t want you blamin’ yourself. The important thing is findin’ Vin and seein’ how bad he’s hurt."

"We’ve looked everywhere," Buck said again, exhaustion plain in his voice.

"If you can’t find him in town, maybe it’s because he ain’t in town," Chris said. "Anybody check the livery?"

Josiah nodded. "Yeah, a couple’a hours ago. Peso was still in his stall."

Chris sat back and bowed his head, thinking about his friend. Tanner didn’t want to be found, that was clear. He blamed himself for what happened to JD and Ezra, feared the others would do the same, and couldn’t bring himself to face them.

But there had to be more. Inez had said he wasn’t even able to stand, yet somehow he’d gotten out of bed, out of the saloon, and all without being seen. Why? Why leave such a safe haven? He had to know the feisty woman would protect him from the others, even if he was the only one who thought such protection necessary, had to know she wouldn’t let anyone near him. She liked all of them, and dearly loved teasing Buck, but seemed to show a particular fondness, even a tenderness, toward Vin, Ezra and JD. And she’d fight anyone to the death for them.

So why would he take himself away from the surest protection he could find? Vin had the instincts of a wild animal, and, when hurt, those instincts would urge him to hole up somewhere until he healed. So, having found his hole, what would drive him from it?

What would drive an animal? Depended on the animal. What kind of animal was Vin? Hawk, cougar, wolf. All predators. All...Hunters.

He rose abruptly to his feet, startling the others.

"Where ya goin’?" Buck asked in confusion.

"Livery," Chris rapped out, already striding from the table.

"We checked there," Josiah reminded him. Nonetheless, he rose tiredly to follow. "But I guess we’ll check again," he sighed as Nathan and Buck joined him behind Chris’s rapidly departing figure.