Chris Larabee, tall, lean, blond gunslinger and now peacekeeper in Four Corners, leaned wearily against the stairs to Nathan Jackson's clinic. He waited for Jackson to finish examining the child he brought in earlier that morning. His mind traveled back to the accident that led him to be here.

The boy stumbled into the road just outside Four Corners a little before dawn and Chris didn't see him. Unable to stop Pony the gelding struck him and knocked the boy to the ground. The gunslinger dismounted and hurried to the boy, unaware he was being watched. He bent down and checked the unmoving child, worried when the boy didn't respond to him. He did a cursory exam and thanked God when he found nothing broken. Forcing the guilt to the back of his mind he lifted the frail body in his arms and hurried back to his horse. He gently lifted the child onto the animal and climbed up behind him.

Chris Larabee knew what it was like to lose a child and he vowed the parents of this boy would not suffer that fate. If anyone was close enough to see the blond's face they would have seen the pain in the green eyes. They would have seen the fear written across the face that could stare down the most hardened outlaw. If Vin Tanner or Buck Wilmington or any other member of the seven saw him they would have recognized the pain for what it was, guilt! The same guilt Larabee wore every day of his life when he thought no one noticed. The guilt of not being there to save his own family.

He rode fast towards town and stopped in front of Jackson's clinic. He dismounted, pulled the boy into his arms and hurried up the stairs to the room the healer used over the livery. He shoved open the door and heard the sleepy, mumbled voice of his friend.

"What the hell's goin on?" Jackson asked, his mind still half asleep. His eyes opened wide as he saw the black clad gunslinger standing in the doorway, with the pale glow of dawn framing the lean form. His eyes dropped to the small child in Larabee's arms and he hurried towards him. "Chris, what happened?" he asked as he led the way to the bed. He lit the lamp and placed it back on the small table.

"I...I hit him with Pony. I...I didn't see him, Nathan. He came out of nowhere."

"We'll talk about that later, Chris, let me take care of the boy first," Jackson knew from the blond's stance the man was feeling guilty about what happened. He also knew the man would not be consolable until he knew the boy wasn't badly hurt. "Why don't you wait outside? I'll come get you as soon as I know how he is."

"Nate, I..."

"I don't know yet, Chris. Just give me a little time and I'll let you know." He watched the blond head bob once and walk dejectedly across the floor and out the door. The slump of the shoulders was an indication of just how bad his friend was feeling. Jackson shook himself and turned to the pale boy on the bed.

Once outside Chris sank heavily to the top step and leaned against the railing. He looked out over the town as the first rays of the sun flirted with the early morning dawn. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheroot, flicked a match and lit the end. He sucked in the smoke and let it out slowly. The boy reminded him of his own son, the brown hair, the small frame, bringing his memories close to the front of his mind once more.

He finished the cheroot and thought about the five missing peacekeepers. They were due home sometime the next day. The men were returning from testifying against a gang that attacked a small town north of Four Corners. The outlaws killed the town banker, his wife, two small children, and the blacksmith before being stopped by the sheriff and the five peacekeepers from Four Corners.

"Chris?"

Larabee looked towards the clinic and stood up. He had no idea how much time passed since he brought the boy in, but it felt like he'd been on the landing forever. He stood up and asked. "How's he doing, Nathan?"

"He's pretty banged up, Chris..."

"Dammit, I should've been paying more attention..."

"Now wait a minute, Chris. I said he's pretty banged up. I didn't say it was your fault. There's no way his injuries were caused by you hitting him."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I've seen the marks left on a body when it's been struck by a horse. How fast were you and Pony going?"

"Not fast. I just finished patrolling the area and I was enjoying the night air. The boy came out of the trees and I didn't see him until Pony struck him."

"The boy didn't get in front of Pony's hooves or anything, did he?"

"No, I guess it was more like he ran into Pony..."

"I thought so. Look, the boy has more bruises on his body than I've seen in a long time."

"Damn..."

"But the bruises weren't caused by you or Pony," Jackson interrupted. "From what I can see the boy's been beaten and more than once. He's got bruises on him in the shape of a man's hand." He watched Larabee's green eyes glow with excessive anger, but continued his explanation. "He's got no broken bones so that's one piece of luck, but Chris, he's hurt and he's been badly abused."

"Is he awake?"

"Not yet. He's got a lump on his head and no you didn't cause it. It looks to be a few days old. I think he's just exhausted and his body's not ready to wake up. Maybe he's not ready to face what happened to him. But, Chris..."

"What's wrong, Nathan?" Larabee asked when the healer stopped mid sentence.

"If he was runnin' when you found him then whoever he was runnin' from is still after him. Did you see or hear anyone?"

Larabee shook his head and walked towards the clinic. "I never saw anyone, but the boy, Nathan. I thought I'd killed him."

Jackson's worried brown gaze met the green eyes on equal terms as he spoke softly. "Whoever did this is probably gonna come lookin' for the boy, Chris."

"They won't get him, Nathan!" Larabee spat angry that anyone could do this to a child.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Chris. You do realize we have no real right to stop them from takin' him. All they gotta do is say the child is disobedient and that they were trying to keep him in line."

"Keep him in line! How the hell can you call beating a child keeping him in line?"

"I don't call it that, Chris, but some people believe in the old saying spare the rod and spoil the child. The people who did this to the boy took that way too far. We need to get the judge to write up an order that protects this child and make sure he doesn't go back to the hell he's been in."

"Alright, we'll wire the judge. Maybe he'll have some ideas on what we can do."

"That's the best bet, Chris. For now we need to keep him safe and take care of him."

"I'll sit with him."

"You were on patrol last night and you didn't sleep, did you?"

"I'm ok, Nathan."

"I know you are, but you're not gonna do that boy any good if you pass out on him." Jackson knew Larabee was thinking about his own son and knew there was no way he'd be able to get the gunslinger to leave. He sighed and thought of the small cot. "You might as well take advantage of my cot. I'll go send the telegram and get us both some breakfast."

"Alright," Larabee agreed and walked into the clinic. He sank onto the chair by the bed and sighed heavily. The boy was huddled on his right side with the blankets pulled up to his shoulder. Chris watched him closely, noting the pale features and the bruises that marred the tiny face. Dark brown curls framed an innocence that could only be seen in a child. Even with the signs of abuse Chris could see the boy was indeed a handsome one. He swore under his breath as hatred towards the person responsible for such brutality grew to encompass the heart of a man who'd known and loved a child of his own. He reached out and flicked back the small curls, and was surprised to see a pair of dark brown eyes open. He watched as the boy's face took on a terrified look and made sure he didn't make any move that would scare the child. He spoke softly, trying to keep the kid from panicking further.

"It's alright, Son, nobody's gonna hurt you."

The brown eyes grew round with terror as he looked around the dull interior of the clinic. He pulled the blankets closer and tried to move away from the stranger beside the bed.

"It's really okay. There's just me and you here and I promise no one's gonna lay a hand on you." Chris watched some of the terror leave the face as he continued to talk softly. The gunslinger smiled as he asked. "Can you tell me your name?"

The child stared wild eyed around the room until he realized they really were alone. His terrified gaze finally came to a halt on the smiling man seated beside his bed. He heard the softly spoken words and something inside him knew he could trust this man. He trembled as he looked deep into the soft green eyes.

"You can trust me, Son, I won't hurt you. Can you tell me who did this to you?"

"W...won't 'urt me?" the weak, terrified voice asked hopefully.

Larabee slowly reached for the child's hand and took it in his own. He smiled as the eyes continued to meet his. "No, Son, no one will hurt you. What's your name?"

"Tommy Wilson."

"Well, Tommy, can you tell me how you got hurt?"

"I...I...he t...told me I w...wasn't s'posed to tell n...no...one," Tommy's eyes shifted across the room, searching the darkened corners of the clinic.

"Who told you?" Larabee asked softly, gently pulling the kid into his arms.

"P...Pa. He s...said I d'served it, said I'se a bad b...boy."

"Where's your Ma?" Larabee held the child close as the small, too thin body was wracked with sobs.

"Pa took me 'way from Ma. He s...said she's makin' me s...soft. I'se scared, Mister."

"You don't have to be scared anymore, Tommy. My name's Chris and I'll make sure no one hurts you like this anymore. Where do you live?"

"Don't live nowhere. We move aroun' lots cause Pa says he can't let the law catch 'im."

"Your Pa's a wanted man?" Larabee asked and felt the tiny head nod against his shoulder.

"He's a ou'law. He s...says he's gonna teach me how ta be one. I don't wanna be one'a them. I wanna go 'ome."

Chris held the child against his chest as tremor after tremor wracked the small body. "You'll go home, Tommy. I'll find a way to get you back to your ma. Can you tell me her name?"

"Her name's S...Sarah an' she lives in a big city. Pa came an' he took me from 'er."

"Somehow or another I'll make sure you get back with your ma, Tommy." Chris bit back a gasp as he heard the name Sarah, that this child's mother bore the same name as his wife was almost too much. He knew his own Sarah would never have hurt anyone and he wondered how much suffering the child's mother was going through. He felt the boy in his arms relax and knew he was asleep. He gently placed him on the bed and let the tears flow from his eyes. A child was a precious gift God gave to two people to care for and nurture. How anyone could do this to their flesh and blood went against everything the gunslinger believed in.

"No one will ever hurt you again, Tommy, I'll see to that."

Nathan Jackson heard the gunslinger's vow and knew this was a man who didn't make them lightly. He stepped into the room and placed a heavily laden tray on the small table. "I thought I told you to get some rest?"

"He was awake, Nathan. He told me his father did this to him, said he was too soft. How the hell can a six year old be too soft?"

"Some people are just plain mean, Chris."

"He's worse than mean, Nathan, he's an evil son of a bitch and when I get my hands on him..."

"When we get our hands on him, Chris. You're not going after him alone! Do you know who he is?"

"The boy's name is Tommy Wilson. He didn't tell me his father's name yet, just said he was wanted by the law."

"That's good. That the father is wanted by the law. It'll make it easier to keep the child away from him. What about his mother."

Larabee relayed the information the boy gave him and the two men moved to the table. Nathan watched as the gunslinger picked at his food. He knew his friend's own son was around the same age as the boy on the bed and he wondered what was going through his mind.

Chris kept glancing towards the bed and the pale form lying in it. His heart constricted in his chest as memories of his last few hours with Sarah and Adam came to his mind. He loved his wife and son more than life itself and he knew that was why this child was hitting him so hard. The bruised features showed the terror Tommy Wilson suffered at the hands of his father. 'If I get my hands on you I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget,' he thought. He pushed back the barely touched plate and reached for the coffee. He sipped slowly until the cup was empty, then stood and stretched.

"Get some sleep, Chris."

Larabee nodded and moved towards the cot. He sank into its depths and spread his lean form over the length of it. He turned on his side and watched the bed against the opposite wall. Slowly his eyes slid shut and he felt himself surrender to sleep, but not a deep sleep. Over the years he learned to let his body and mind relax, yet be ready for trouble before his mind knew it was there.

Burt Wilson was an angry man. He blamed his men that the child escaped him once again. His hands were clenched at his sides, evidence that he was ready to kill anyone who got in his way. He paced back and forth in front of the fire, waiting for his men to return with the boy. He had little doubt they would be successful, he just didn't know how long it would take. He picked up the bottle of whiskey and angrily threw it across the clearing when he realized it was empty.

Wilson was a large man with beefy hands and well muscled arms. His face bore the markings of a hard life, scars ran the length of his right cheek, and his misshapen nose was evidence that it was broken more than once. The unmistakable marks of a rope encircled  his neck and his eyes held a deadly cold glare that didn't bode well for his son once he was found. He threw more logs on the fire and wondered where the hell his three companions were. A sound to his right made him go down on his knee and draw his gun. He relaxed his six foot four frame as Gary Marshall stepped into view. "Did you find that little shit?"

"No. I never saw anything. That little weasel can run like a cornered lion. Ain't no way we'll find 'im in the dark.

"It ain't dark, Gary. How far could he have..."

Two men rushed into the clearing and hurried towards Wilson and Marshall. Both men were breathless and stood before their angry boss.

"Did you find him?" Wilson asked.

"We saw him," Robert Brady answered as he picked up the canteen.

"Then where the hell is he?" Wilson's hand knocked the canteen out of the smaller man's hand.

"He got picked up by some man on the road into Four Corners," the second man whose name was Blake Jordan answered nervously.

"Four Corners?" Marshall stated. "Isn't that the place where those hired guns are keepin' the peace?"

"Yeah, that's the place. I didn't plan on visiting the town, but I think it's time to change my mind. Pack up boys, it's time we showed those peacekeepers that its not polite to kidnap my son." He stood and watched as the three men put out the fire and packed everything on their horses.

Chris knew someone was watching him and he peeled his eyes open to half mast. He looked across the room at the boy. The child's face was filled with misery that Chris knew should not be seen on a boy his age. He fought back the anger and finished opening his eyes. He smiled at the boy and sat up.

"How are you feeling, Tommy?" he asked.

"S...scared," the small voice trembled as he watched the man across the room stand up.

"You don't need to be scared of me, Tommy. I'm gonna make sure no one hurts you like this again."

"You c...can't stop him, Mister. He's g...gonna come l...lookin' for me and he's g...gonna kill you."

"No he won't, Kid. He's never gonna get his hands on you again. As soon as you tell me where your Mom lives I'll telegraph her and make arrangements to take you back to her." He was rewarded by a smile from the pale, battered form. "Are you hungry?"

"Y...yes, t...thirsty too."

"Let's see what we can do about getting rid of your thirst first." Chris smiled and moved to the table. He poured a small glass of water and returned to the child. He helped him sit up and held the cup while Tommy slowly sipped the refreshing liquid. The gunslinger eased him back on the bed and smiled once more.

"I'm just gonna go out on the landing and see if I can get someone to bring you some lunch. Alright?" Larabee saw the fear come over the brown eyes and continued, "I'll stay right in the door so you can see me, okay?"

"O...okay," Tommy mumbled as he pulled the blanket over himself once more.

Chris walked to the door and opened it. His eyes fell on the healer. The dark skinned man sat in a chair overlooking the peaceful town. Chris had the feeling that Nathan Jackson was protecting them from whoever was searching for Tommy Wilson. He smiled and called. "Nathan?"

Jackson swivelled around and looked at the gunslinger. "Is he..."

"He's awake and he's hungry," Chris informed the healer.

"That's great. Let me just take a look at him while you go get something for you both."

"I don't want to leave him yet, Nate," Larabee informed his friend.

Jackson eyed the lean form and knew Chris Larabee would probably stick by the child until he was healed, and back with his mother. He nodded slightly and knew the other man was following him into the clinic. He noted the fear come quickly over the child's face and spoke softly. "Hi, Tommy, my name's Nathan and I'm a..."

"He's a healer, Tommy," Larabee explained as he stepped up to the bed. "He's just gonna check you over and then he'll go get us both some lunch. Okay?"

"Okay."

Jackson was amazed at the difference in the boy's face once he saw Chris beside him. These two were already bonded and Jackson hoped neither one would be hurt. He knew Chris would find it hard to let go of the boy who so quickly had a hold over him. The boy would have just as difficult a time saying goodbye to a man he suddenly felt safe with. "Alright, Tommy, how do you feel?"

"My Pa say's I ain't 'loud to complain."

"Your Pa's not gonna know, Tommy. Tell Nathan how you feel so he can help you."

"My head and my belly 'urts," the boy explained.

"That's because you've got a lot of bruises on you. Once they start to go away you'll feel a lot better," Jackson told the boy. He finished checking the child's injuries and smiled brightly. "I think you're gonna be fine, Tommy. You just lie there and I'll go get you some lunch. We have a lady here named Inez and she makes a really good chicken broth. Do you like vegetables." At the timid nod, the healer continued. "I'll see if she can put some in there just for you." Jackson stood up and signalled for Chris to follow him.

"I'll be right by the door, Tommy," Larabee assured the child.

Once out on the landing Jackson spoke softly. "He's doing really well, Chris. He's got a slight fever, but I don't think its anything serious. You just make sure he drinks lots of water and he'll do fine. I'll be right back with lunch for both of you."

"Thanks, Nathan," Larabee said as he returned to the clinic. He sat by the child's bed and once more thought of his brief years with Adam and Sarah. 'This child will not die because of a madman,' he thought as he picked up the tiny hand once more. He smiled as he felt the hand squeeze his tightly.

The four men rode steadily towards Four Corners. Wilson explained to each of them what they were to do. The first thing they needed to know was how many of the seven peacekeepers were in town. The second was to find out if there was a doctor and if so where he was located. The third thing was to kill anyone who tried to interfere with his plans for his son.

The town came into view as dusk took over the surrounding area. Wilson's eyes wandered back and forth as they slowly rode into the town. He saw two women walking beside each other and enter a building with a hotel sign on it. He watched as two men opened a swinging door and stepped into what could only be the saloon. A man and woman and two kids were just climbing into a wagon as they pulled their horses to a stop in front of the livery. A man came from inside and asked if he could help them. Wilson tossed him a few coins and ordered, "Make sure they are well fed and looked after properly."

"Yes, Sir," Yosemite said as he slipped the coins into his pocket and took the reins. He watched as the four strangers walked towards the saloon. There was something about them he didn't like. He threw the reins over the hitching post and hurried to the stairs leading to Jackson's clinic.

Chris looked up as the man entered. He knew by the look on the liveryman's face that something was troubling him.

"What's wrong, Yosemite?" he asked.

"Four men just rode in, Mr. Larabee. I ain't never seen 'em before. There's somethin' about 'em. Especially the one who paid me to look after the horses. Real nasty lookin' son of a bitch."

"Do you know where Nathan is?" Larabee asked.

"Last time I saw 'im he's headed for the telegraph office."

"Where'd they go?"

"They were headed towards the saloon."

"Alright, Yosemite, you go see if you can find Nathan. Tell him to come back here right away."

"You think they're trouble?"

"They could be. Right now I don't want to take any chances. See if you can get everyone to stay inside their homes until we find out who these guys are."

Yosemite nodded and hurried from the clinic.

Chris looked at the kid in the bed and a shiver of apprehension ran down his spine. Somehow he knew the newcomers were here about this child. He placed the hand back on the bed and waited until he was sure the boy was sleeping. He walked out on the landing and over to the stairs. His eyes raked up and down the street, relieved to see people going into their homes and clearing the area. He knew Yosemite must've already passed the word as the street quickly emptied. He stood watching for Nathan's return.

Jackson smiled at Inez as he finished ordering fresh coffee for himself and Larabee. He knew the gunslinger would not drink whiskey while the child was in the clinic. The saloon was empty of patrons, yet Jackson knew it would get busy before long. He turned towards the door as they were pushed inwards, surprised when he didn't recognize the newcomers.

Four men walked through and silently stepped up to the bar. The leader was a tall man with a scarred face. The second man was a touch shorter with a balding head and a baby face. The third and forth men had the same sandy blond hair, but that's where the similarities ended. Where one would be considered handsome the other would have been considered homely.

Wilson stepped to the bar and slapped down a ten dollar gold coin. "Whiskey, the best ya got!" he snapped. He looked to his right and noticed the dark skinned man looking at him. "What's your problem?" he asked angrily.

"A lady deserves a little courtesy," Jackson told him.

"She ain't a lady she's a bar keep," Marshall leered over the counter at the pretty woman. "Is she available?"

"You ignorant..."

"Who the hell are you callin' ignorant, Darkie?" Brady asked.

Jackson looked at the and his three companions. He would've loved to smash his fist into the newcomer's face, but knew his three buddies would make quick work of him. He wished the others were back as he knew instinctively these men were trouble. Before he could say anything Inez was back with the whiskey and shook her head imperceptibly at him. The healer understood she didn't want him to do anything that would cause the four men to do retaliate. He returned the small gesture and picked up the coffee. He walked towards the door wondering how he was going to let Chris know what was happening without leaving Inez alone in the saloon.

"Where're ya headed?" Brady asked. "Ain't ya got no guts?"

"Now, Senor, please don't start any trouble."

Brady turned back to the pretty Mexican woman and smiled at her. "The only thing I want to start is with you, Senorita. Have you got a room around here?" he asked and jumped up on the bar. He dropped down beside the dark haired woman and reached his hand out towards her. He gasped as he felt something slice into his arm. He lifted his hand to strike her, but was stopped by the heated voice of Burt Wilson.

"Leave her alone, Brady. I'm sorry, Ma'am, it's just been a while since he's seen a woman, especially one as lovely as you."

Inez held the tiny knife in front of her, "Get out of this saloon or I'll stick you again."

"You heard the lady. Take the whiskey and clear outta the salon and Four Corners," Jackson warned.

Wilson turned from the bar and gazed at the man standing by the doors. The gun in his hand didn't waver as he pointed the weapon at them. "Can you use that thing?" he sneered.

"I can and I will," Jackson warned, his voice deadly calm as he looked towards the woman behind the bar. "Get out of here Inez!"

"But, Nathan..."

"Go get help," Jackson snapped as Wilson, Marshall and Jordan separated.

Inez made a move towards the end of the bar, but was stopped by the angry bulk of Brady. He knocked the knife out of her hand, but was stopped in his tracks as a bullet slammed into his chest. Inez screamed as another shot rang out and Nathan Jackson fell heavily to the floor.

The gunslinger heard the gunshots and knew they'd come from the saloon. He heard a scream from behind him and turned to see the small child standing there. He looked from the boy to the saloon and back again, wondering who needed him more. The child screamed hysterically and Chris hurried to pull him into his arms. He ran down the stairs, all the while murmuring to Tommy that everything would be okay. He ran along the street until he came to Gloria Potter's store. He pounded on the door until the woman opened it a crack.

Gloria recognized the man standing there and opened the door further. "What's going on, Mr. Larabee?" she asked as she reached for the trembling child.

"There's trouble in the saloon, Mrs. Potter. Can you take care of Tommy until I come back?"

"Sure."

"Y...you p...promised he w...wouldn't h...hurt me..."

"I keep my promises, Tommy. I'm gonna go make sure everything's okay and then I'll be back. Mrs. Potter is a nice lady and she'll make sure you're okay. Ask her if she has any of her special cookies." He rubbed the boy's head and nodded to Gloria Potter before hurrying towards the saloon.