Three months later…

Ezra had almost finished his evening rounds and was checking the back door of the bank when something blunt and heavy connected painfully with the back of his skull. When the resulting blackness receded, he was surprised to find himself tied to a chair in the jail and dripping wet from the cold water that had evidently been used to bring him around. He blinked, and then blinked again trying to resolve the two wavering images of Chris Larabee that were in front of him into one and then let his aching head fall forward with a groan when it didn't work. A none-too-gentle hand pulled his head back up, and Buck Wilmington's voice said, "Oh no you don't, Standish; you open them damn eyes back up right now or next time it'll be hot coffee instead of cold water."

It wasn't an idle threat and Ezra knew it; he opened his eyes. Larabee was still there, both of him, glaring. "Mr. Larabee ah have to say ah'm…surprised to see you."

"Yeah, I just bet you are." Chris looked down at the dazed man with narrowed eyes, taking in the uncharacteristically subdued clothing and the shiny tin star with a scowl. "Where's JD?"

Ezra's eyes widened. He hadn't seen or heard from these men in months and now they had returned under cover of darkness and assaulted him viciously--besides the throbbing ache in his head and the burning numbness in his wrists and hands from the overly-tight ropes, he could feel a sharp, stabbing pain with every breath that told him someone wearing boots had vented their displeasure on his ribcage while he was unconscious. And now they wanted JD's whereabouts. A pained, defiant chuckle escaped him and he let his head fall back, eyes closing again. "Coffee's on the stove, ah believe."

"Son of a bitch…" Buck growled, but Chris caught the upraised hand and shook his head. "Chris, let me go; I can make this slimy bastard talk…"

"You can tip off whoever's been helpin' him, too, when he starts to yell," Larabee countered. "We don't know what they've done with JD, and I for one don't want to put the kid in danger just so you can have some fun with this conniving piece of shit." He kicked the chair and Ezra jumped in spite of himself, then bit back a moan when the sudden movement sent a wave of pain and nausea through him. Chris smiled grimly. "There'll be plenty of time to make sure he gets what he deserves after we've secured the town."

Alarm bells went off in Ezra's head--they were having to compete with everything else, but he could still acknowledge them. Secure the town…were these men trying to take over Four Corners for some reason? No, that didn't make sense. Maybe they were under the impression that someone else had taken control in their absence…

Ezra did groan aloud when the reality of what was happening sank in; from the way they were behaving, it was very likely they thought that he had taken over the town, which meant that Vin hadn't made it out of Tascosa or he would have told the others how he and Ezra had 'arranged' for the gambler to stay behind. The realization that Vin was gone hurt Ezra more than any other injury yet done to him--that, and knowing he would have to tell JD that the tracker wasn't coming back.

Buck smiled smugly at the look of anguish that crossed the gambler's face. Chris was looking out the window, checking the street, and the ladies' man twined his fingers back into Ezra's thick hair and gave a cruel yank that forced the pain-filled green eyes to look up at him. "You are goin' to tell me where the kid is," he hissed. "And then I am goin' to go get him, and if he isn't there I guarantee you are goin' to wish you had died and gone to hell by the time I get done with you, do we understand each other, 'Sheriff'?"

"Apparently not," Ezra replied. "Ah'm…not the sheriff."

"Oh you're not?" Buck said mockingly. "So what's this then, the latest fashion for gamblers?" He lifted the plain tin star that was pinned to Ezra's lapel, pulling the pin almost all the way out of the fabric. Ezra read what was coming in the larger man's hard eyes and braced himself, but it was still all he could do not to scream when the pin stabbed down through fabric and into flesh. Buck chuckled and patted his head condescendingly. "Maybe that'll help you remember not to lie to me. Now let's try this again…"

"We've got company, Buck," Chris interrupted sharply. "They're surrounding the jail."

"How many?"

"Half a dozen or so; looks like they're waiting to rush us."

"Someone must have seen you accost me and given the alarm." Ezra was worried, and not just for himself; it would only be a matter of time before JD arrived and then the situation was going to get ugly in a hurry. He did not want JD put in the position of shooting one of his friends. "You can still salvage this situation," he gasped out desperately. "Tell them that it was all a mistake, get these ropes off before anyone sees them…"

"Nice try," Buck snarled. "We ain't untyin' you so just forget it--you got a hell of a lot to answer for, Standish, and you're stayin' right there until you do." He deliberately jabbed at the man's injured ribs and Ezra almost choked holding back a cry of pain. "Don't know why you're botherin' to be tough about it, ain't no one out there gonna care if you scream or not."

Ezra just closed his eyes and shook his head, not trusting his voice. I only wish for your sake that was true, Mr. Wilmington, he thought wearily, fighting the beckoning darkness. He had to stay conscious, couldn't leave JD to deal with this alone…

"All right, you in the jail!" a strong, angry voice called from outside. "We know you're in there and we have you surrounded, there's no way out. Let my deputy go and throw out your guns and no one has to get hurt!"

"Just 'Deputy', huh? I guess that means even the other snakes don't trust you," Chris observed scathingly. He drew his gun and eased closer to the window, sighting into the street outside at the shadowed figure of a man with a badge. "Well, this is one that won't be rattlin' too much longer, Standish; I think that nice shiny star he's wearin' will make a real fitting target…"

Ezra's eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright in the chair, yanking futilely against the ropes. "Look out, JD!" he yelled, and then all the color drained from his face and he collapsed again with an agonized gasp. "No, JD," he whispered again before passing out completely.

Chris dropped his gun like it was red hot and Buck's mouth fell open. "No," the ladies' man said, horrified. "No, it can't be…"

The door flew open and the sheriff of Four Corners was standing behind it, gun in hand. Sharp brown eyes took in the situation at a glance and the gun's aim fixed itself on Chris. "Get your hands up in the air," the man ordered firmly.

Chris took a second look and obeyed him; Buck started to and then stopped. "JD, what in tarnation do you think you're…" A second gun appeared with startling speed, this one pointing at him, and the shocked cowboy reached for the ceiling without another word.

"Get in here and disarm these two, and someone go fetch Doc Edwards," JD called over his shoulder, and several townsmen hurried in to do his bidding while several more stayed back and kept their own guns trained on the two former lawmen. As soon as he was satisfied that the situation was under control, the young sheriff holstered his own guns and hurried to his unconscious deputy's side. Using his pocketknife he quickly cut through the cruelly knotted ropes and eased Ezra's arms around to his sides, careful not to let him fall out of the chair. "Come on, Ez, stay with me," he said with quiet urgency. "Doc's on his way, you just hang in there." He turned his attention back to the situation at hand when the cell door closed on its two stunned prisoners and started barking orders again. "Gabe, you and Collins stick in here with those rifles and keep your eye on those two--don't get too close to the bars. Marlin, you're with me and the rest of you spread out and check the town, might be more of them skulking around out there and we don't want any more surprises tonight."

"Ain't no one but us," Chris said quietly, never taking his eyes off JD; a horrible feeling was growing inside him, the feeling that they'd just made an unforgivable mistake. "Just me and Buck."

JD ignored him. A man not much older than the young sheriff suddenly ran through the open door and skidded to a stop at Ezra's side, dropping his heavy bag and kneeling beside the chair. "Do you know what happened to him, Sheriff?" he demanded breathlessly.

"Gabe said he saw these two ambush him behind the bank," JD told him.

"Looked like they knocked him in the head with a gun butt," Gabe elaborated, shifting his grip on his rifle. "That was the one in black, then that other one started kickin' him while he was on the ground. That's when I came runnin' for help."

"Probably a concussion, then, maybe some broken ribs," the young doctor mused, peeling up one unresponsive eyelid and then the other and shaking his head at what he saw. "Make that definitely a concussion. Now about those ribs…" He quickly unbuttoned Ezra's shirt and vest and was about to push them aside when something caught his eye, something not right about the way the fabric lay against the man's chest. Edwards stayed JD's hand just as the sheriff was about to pull back his friend's coat. "No! Don't touch his clothes!" Easing his other hand under the damp shirt, he could clearly feel the way that the layers of cloth seemed pinned down, and when he gingerly touched the surface of the tin star he could feel a faint pulsing vibration along the metal. "Oh my god…Sheriff, how long is the pin on the back of your badge?"

JD pulled off his own star at once and looked. "About two inches…" Then he paled. "You mean…"

"I can feel the vibration," Doctor Edwards confirmed quietly, fingers still resting on the star; he had gone pale as well. "We need a board, I need to get him up to my office and it has to be done as carefully as possible; we don't dare shift that pin until I can be as prepared as possible to deal with the consequences."

"Collins, go find a board--coffin lid would do, check at the undertaker's first," JD ordered. "Bring Mr. Able and his son back with you, the more hands we have the better."

From their cell, the two former lawmen of Four Corners watched while the young sheriff and the equally young doctor saw to the careful removal of the injured deputy from the jail. Chris hadn't missed the black looks they received from the undertaker and his son or the fact that the jail door remained open and a man with a rifle was stationed outside. Buck hadn't missed it either. "Chris, I think we put our foot in it this time."

"I know for a fact you did," the gunslinger shot back tiredly, dropping down onto the cot and pulling off his hat, running a hand through his hair. "Got a little carried away there I think, Buck."

"I didn't hear you complainin'," was the reply. "And anyway, why didn't the little bastard just tell us what was goin' on?"

"We wouldn't have believed him." Chris leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Hell, he probably thought we were out to kill him and JD both--now that I think about it, we never did say why we wanted to know where JD was and his brains were most likely too scrambled from that knock on the head to figure it out for himself. From where Ezra was sittin' I'd guess we looked pretty much like the bad element."

Buck echoed the sigh and sat down on the opposite end of the cot. "Yeah, I guess." They sat in troubled silence for a moment, both lost in dark thoughts. "You notice that left-handed draw?" the ladies' man finally asked.

"Yep." Chris didn't look at him, staring up at the cracked ceiling. "Noticed he didn't lose the bead he had on me when he did it, either."

"He was fast."

"And accurate--aimed to gut-shoot both of us."

Buck made a frustrated noise. "Now who the hell would have taught him a thing like that?"

Larabee chuckled, but it was a dark, unpleasant sound. "A man who was teachin' him to stay alive long enough to collect his pay-looks like he taught him a sight more than that, too." This time he spared a sidelong look at his oldest friend. "Could have been you teachin' him all that, if you'd bothered."

"He was just a kid, Chris." Now it was Buck who was staring at the ceiling. "You could have taught him too, you know; I wasn't the only one who didn't bother." Another long pause. "He ain't a kid no more."

"He wasn't when we left, hadn't been for a while," was the reply. "That was just the part we gave him to play so he acted it out for us. Hell, he may actually have been relieved when we all left."

"JD would not…!"

"Might've," Chris cut him off. This time he managed to catch Buck's eye. "Time would've come when he would've had enough and told us both to go to hell and you know it, he'd already come close a few times. And after this…"

"If Ezra dies," Buck filled in quietly, "we're gonna hang."

Chris ran his hand through his hair again and shut his eyes. "Yep."

JD was back an hour later, alone. He dropped into the battered chair behind his desk and put up his feet, his back to the two men in the cell. The silence grew and grew until Buck couldn't stand it any more. "JD?"

The young sheriff didn't move. Buck tried again. "Kid?"

Still no answer; Chris almost smiled--almost. He cleared his throat. "Sheriff?"

"Gonna tell me where the rest of your wolf pack is at?" JD asked in a disinterested voice. "Didn't find hide nor hair of 'em in town, so I figure either you were telling the truth earlier or they're hiding somewhere waiting for the right moment."

Buck gripped the bars, his expression anguished. "It's just us, JD. Ain't no one else, just me and Chris."

"We heard these rumors," Chris said when it became obvious that JD wasn't going to answer the other man. "Word got around about goings on in Four Corners…"

"So you came sneaking into my town under cover of darkness and ambushed my deputy because you heard some rumors?" JD interrupted in a hard voice that took the older man by surprise. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, you always were a little quick off the mark that way--especially where Ez was concerned."

Buck swallowed hard. "How is Ez doin'?"

"Not too bad for a man who just got stabbed in the heart," was the dry reply; Chris saw a cold, humorless smile touch the young sheriff's lips when he heard Buck gasp. "Doc managed to get the bleeding stopped and we strapped him down so he can't move and start it up again, can't afford to let him lose any more blood. So you ain't gonna hang for killing my deputy, if that's what you're worried about."

The ladies' man blanched and Chris stepped in again with a dawning scowl. "Dammit JD, this isn't…"

"Save it for the judge, Larabee," the sheriff interrupted again. He stood up and turned around, and both men wished he hadn't; the controlled, neutral expression he was wearing was belied by the fury simmering in his brown eyes. "I wired him as soon as Doc Edwards was sure Ezra was going to live, he'll be here in two days to sort this mess out. All I have to do until then is keep the two of you from getting lynched." He snorted at the disbelieving expressions that garnered. "Things have changed in Four Corners, boys; the town has settled down and people like it that way--myself included."

It was Buck's turn to scowl. "You mean you wrote us off."

"We waited for you to come back," JD replied implacably. "Ezra checked at the telegraph office every day for more than a month hoping you'd send word and you never did. We both knew what that had to mean. Now I'm going to go to bed and I'd suggest you do the same." He took the lamp off it's hook on the wall and carried it through a second door that neither man had remarked on, leaving the main room of the jail in darkness. He left the door open, and Chris realized he was looking at JD's bedroom; the town had obviously built the sheriff a room of his own, thereby solving the problem of board and making sure that the jail was manned at all times. He could see a stand with a basin and pitcher on it and a shelf that held a small mirror and some shaving implements, part of a neatly made bed and a braided rag rug on the floor. The shadows lengthened as the lamp was placed on something out of view and there was a set of soft thumps as JD removed his boots, and then the light went out.

Mary Travis showed up at the jail early the next morning, and Chris' eyes narrowed suspiciously when he took in her appearance; the usually cool and composed newspaperwoman was rumpled and red-eyed, showing definite signs of having spent a sleepless night. JD's first words to her left no doubt about where she'd spent it. "He awake yet?"

"No." She dropped gracelessly into the chair opposite the desk and accepted the steaming cup of coffee JD handed to her with the barest of nods. "No change at all. Doctor Edwards said that with everything that happened…it could be some time."

JD's hands covered hers comfortingly as they wrapped around the cup in a white-knuckled grip. "Mary," he said softly. "Mary, he's gonna be all right."

She sighed and looked up at him. "Billy wants to know why he can't see him."

"I'll talk to Billy," JD promised. "I'll go talk to him now--thought about him last night, knew he'd take this hard. Now you finish that coffee and then I'm takin' you home to get some sleep; Ez'll skin me alive if I don't look after you two for him." He released her hands and began pottering around the jail, giving the exhausted woman some space while she slowly drank. He looked at the men in the cell only once, a warning look that was directed entirely at Chris; Mary never looked at them at all.

When she was finished JD was right there to take the cup and offer his arm. Mary paused at the door. "You'll come get me…"

"You know I will." The sheriff finished moving her out of the jailhouse and made a show of locking the door behind them. Buck looked at Chris, but the gunslinger just dropped his head into his hands and shook his head. The ladies' man sighed and leaned against the bars, shutting his eyes; maybe getting hung wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

The rest of the day was long and quiet. JD came back at irregular intervals to take care of the more mundane responsibilities created by having prisoners locked up in your jail, but he shared no more words than necessary with the two men nor they with him. But when the young sheriff returned late that afternoon Buck could tell at once that something had happened. He shook Chris, and then again harder to get the withdrawn man's attention and heard his sharp intake of breath when he looked up and saw JD. "He woke up?" Chris rasped.

JD looked startled for a moment and then recovered himself. "Yeah, a little while ago. Doc Edwards says he should be fine." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but seemed to change his mind at the last minute and just shook his head instead and went about refilling the water bucket. A noise from outside made him pause, the sound of a rider drawing up in front of the jail accompanied by the sound of running feet from the opposite direction. Moving to the window he looked out…and swore. "Oh that's just great, just great," he muttered. He patted his gun thoughtfully, frowning out the window, and then went to the locked cupboard on the wall and extracted a rifle from it before opening the jailhouse door and walking out onto the porch. "You just hold it right there!" he called out in what Buck was starting to think of as his 'sheriff voice'. "Keep those hands on the saddle and no sudden moves, we're all a little twitchy today. Now tell me what you came here for."

A deep, familiar voice rumbled. "Brother JD, I don't understand."

Buck and Chris both came to the bars when they heard the racheting sound of a cocking rifle. "Uh huh. Okay, I'll make it easy for you; you here to finish what they started or to break them out?"

Buck started to yell out a denial but Chris stopped him with a hand slapped over his mouth. "You'll get him shot, stupid," the gunslinger hissed. "Not knowin' what's goin' on is the only thing that'll get him out of this."

Sure enough, into the puzzled silence that followed came the sound of the rifle being uncocked. "Lower your guns, boys," JD said tiredly. "He ain't with them. Sorry about that, Josiah, we couldn't be sure."

They heard heavy footsteps come up onto the porch and then stop. "Sounds like there's been some trouble," Josiah replied understandingly. "Looks like you've got things under control, but is there anything I can do?"

"We have had trouble," JD confirmed, coming back into the jail trailed by the larger man and apparently unconcerned…but through the window Chris could see that one man had stayed outside with a rifle, just in case. "But unless you know why these two were out to kill my deputy I don't think there's much you can do."

Josiah's eyes widened when he saw who the prisoners were and then narrowed when neither of them would meet his eye. "They tried to kill Ezra?! Is he all right?" Seeing the younger man's look of surprise he shook his head. "Vin told me about the little 'arrangement' he and Ezra made; I tore into him for not telling everyone sooner, was afraid something bad might come of it. Now how is he?"

"Better," JD told him, just managing not to flinch at the mention of the tracker. "Just came to about an hour or so ago, Doc says he should be fine once he heals up." He correctly read the look on the big preacher's face and smiled slightly. "Yeah, he'd probably be right glad to see you, too, Josiah-you'll just have to remember not to get him excited, he ain't supposed to move around too much or he might start bleedin' again."

Buck winced. Josiah caught the expression and frowned but didn't comment; instead he dropped a large hand on JD's shoulder, feeling the tension there and appreciating what the young sheriff must be going through to maintain a handle on the difficult situation. "I'll be glad to see him, too--I've missed him. And I expect the both of you to catch me up on what's been going on these past four months, maybe it's a task that will help keep our stubborn brother where he belongs."

JD actually smiled. "No need, Josiah, Mrs. Travis already asked him to stay put and he promised he would."

"Asked? And he…" Josiah's mouth fell open as the implication of that unlikely obedience registered. "No! Don't tell me they're…"

"Yep, as of last week." The smile became a grin, which disappeared again when JD remembered they had an audience. "Come on, he can tell you about it himself--he's mighty proud that she said yes."

Josiah was back later, alone--although Chris and Buck saw yet another temporary deputy take up residence on the porch with a rifle in the hollow of his arm. The big preacher was clearly furious but trying hard to contain it; he left the door open and approached the cell, and the two imprisoned men backed away from the bars instinctively. Josiah stopped in front of the cell door and folded his arms across his chest. "Why didn't you tell them?" he growled. "God dammit, why didn't you tell them Vin was alive?! It wasn't bad enough that you damn near killed Ezra, you left him thinkin' he had to break it to JD that one of his friends died for a crime he didn't commit!"

Buck and Chris looked at each other, confused. "Josiah, we never said…"

Another growl, and Buck shut up. "You didn't have to," Josiah told them. "Ezra was certain Vin was dead because it was the two of them that set it up for him to stay behind and help JD, and he knew that if Vin had lived past Tascosa he would have told you that and you would've understood what was going on. Where'd you hear the rumors, boys, in a saloon somewhere? From some crooked gambler that JD and Ezra ran out of town or maybe from a drunk they locked up? Did you even bother to look things over before you came sliding in here and almost took another father away from Billy Travis?" Chris growled that time and Josiah leaned closer to the bars with an uncharacteristic sneer on his face. "You know, Larabee, I don't recall you asking Miz Travis to wait for you--don't recall you even takin' the time to say goodbye to her or the boy before we rode out, so I don't see that you have any reason at all to get in a temper. You missed your chance and it's your own damn fault, so the least you can do is act like a man about it."

Buck bristled. "Now Josiah that ain't fair; we all knew how Chris felt about her…"

"She didn't," the preacher countered sharply. "And you two are in this deep enough without addin' that to the mix. You made a bigger mistake than you realize, you know," he informed them. "This is not the town we left; this is a town with a school and a doctor and plans to elect a mayor next Fourth of July, and you would have seen all that if you hadn't come back like thieves in the night thinkin' that killing one man would turn back the clock for you." Josiah took a step back and shook his head. "I'm heading out to the village to let Nathan know what's goin' on and I'll stop off and have a talk with Vin on the way, but just so you know there won't any of us be here tomorrow for the trial if I have anything to say about it and you two can just take your lumps from the judge." He stopped at the door but didn't turn around. "One more thing; Ezra absolutely begged JD to let you escape before the trial, he seems to think you'd be as good as dead if you get sent to prison--he said, 'Good men shouldn't die like that because of a mistake.'" The preacher snorted. "Doesn't seem to occur to him that an even better man shouldn't be lyin' in bed with a hole in his chest because of one either."

Chris and Buck didn't say another word until the judge arrived the next day-not even to each other.

Judge Travis had known the situation would be bad as soon as he'd received JD's telegram; half the town was itching to form a lynching party and the other half was badly demoralized--none more so than the town's sheriff. Travis had to admit that he was impressed with the way the young man was upholding his responsibilities in the face of what could only be described as a nightmarish situation. Unfortunately, it was only going to get worse. After talking to JD and Mary and trying to talk with the two former lawmen, the judge reluctantly decided that the trial would have to be held immediately before things reached a boiling point…or before Sanchez and Jackson changed their minds and came riding to the rescue of the imprisoned men. He didn't even want to think about Tanner; word had come to him that the man had been hung for murder in Tascosa, and being informed that it wasn't true made him worry about the possible actions of a man who, having been officially declared dead, now had nothing to lose.

He was still worrying about it late that afternoon when he banged his gavel against the polished surface of the bar to call his 'court' to order. "All right, folks, let's get this over with," he grumbled. "We're here to charge Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington with the attempted murder of Ezra Standish, deputy sheriff of Four Corners. Sheriff Dunne, would you please describe the incident as it happened two days ago."

JD stood up. "Yes, your honor. On this past Wednesday night at about half-past nine Gabriel Miller came looking for me in the saloon because he'd seen two men ambush Deputy Standish while he was making his rounds; he told me that he had come for help instead of interfering because he thought he recognized Chris Larabee and knew he couldn't take the man on by himself. I gathered up every man in the saloon that had a rifle with him and we surrounded the jail, which is where the two of them were found to have holed up. As soon as everyone was in position I called to the men inside the jail to let my deputy go and give themselves up as there was no way they could escape us. The next thing we heard was Deputy Standish yelling out a warning and at that point we rushed the building and took them by surprise. Larabee was standing near the window and his gun was on the floor, he had apparently been planning to shoot me from cover until Ezra's yell stopped him. We took both men into custody, confiscated their weapons and locked them up, and they haven't tried to cause any more problems since."

The judge had been watching the two men in question out of the corner of his eye, and came to the conclusion that Chris hadn't know he was drawing a bead on JD at the time--the sickened expression that flickered across the man's otherwise emotionless face told him that. Unfortunately, it was an observation that couldn't be applied to the trial. "And was the deputy conscious when you arrived?"

"No," the sheriff answered promptly. "They had him tied to a chair and he was wet to the skin, I guessed that they'd thrown water on him to bring him around the first time. I sent a man for Doctor Edwards."

"Thank you, Sheriff. Dr. Edwards, if you could continue?"

"Certainly, your honor." The young doctor rose to his feet, giving JD's shoulder a reassuring squeeze on his way up. "When I arrived at the jail the deputy was still unconscious and breathing with difficulty. From a cursory examination and Mr. Miller's description of what he saw I was able to ascertain that Deputy Standish was suffering from a concussion and possibly several broken ribs, but when I attempted to verify how bad the ribs were I discovered that a much more serious injury had been incurred, one that could possibly be fatal if not handled very carefully."

Judge Travis steeled himself. "And could you please describe the nature of that 'near-fatal' injury?"

Edwards swallowed. "Yes, your honor. The pin that attached the deputy's badge to his coat had been driven into his chest, where it had punctured a blood vessel near his heart; I knew that the pin must have been plugging the puncture because I could feel the vibration of his pulse through the metal…and because he hadn't already bled to death."

The judge's quick glare quieted the outrage that threatened to erupt throughout the saloon. "And what is the deputy's condition now, Dr. Edwards?"

"He has been awake several times and shows no evidence of impairment from the concussion," was the equally quick reply. "The two broken ribs will heal and I managed to get the bleeding stopped from the puncture wound, although he lost quite a bit of blood and he'll have to stay as immobile as possible for a while yet to give the wound a chance to heal--at the moment we can't even allow him to sit up in bed for fear of restarting the bleeding. I've already prepared him for the fact that it will be at least three weeks before he's completely on his feet again, but he should recover completely."

Judge Travis nodded gravely. "Thank you, Doctor. Now, Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Larabee, do either of you have anything to add to this, any explanation for your actions that might have an effect on the decision to be made today?"

"No, your honor," Chris said quietly after a pregnant pause. "We misread the situation but we know that isn't an excuse for what happened that night."

"Very well." Travis had hoped for more but realized he wasn't going to get it; he was going to be forced to find them guilty. "As you have nothing to add, I am forced to find you guilty…"

There was a small commotion at the saloon doors; a very disheveled Ezra was standing there, looking pale and panicked. "Your Honor," he gasped. "Ah demand the right to have my say in this mattah!" He faltered and would have fallen if those nearest the doors hadn't moved quickly to support him; JD, Doctor Edwards and Mary Travis all leapt from their seats. "Judge Travis, please!"

The judge had risen from his seat as well, and he was shocked by the desperation in the man's face and voice. "Deputy Standish, if I had known you felt so strongly about testifying I would have made arrangements to accommodate you," he said, recovering himself. "Under the circumstances, however, I'll forgive the dramatic interruption of these proceedings. You may address the court."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Ezra visibly gathered himself and brushed off the supporting hands, walking shakily to the front of the room and turning to face the assembled townspeople. "Ah wanted to say…that this court is about to perpetrate a horrible injustice against Mr. Larabee and Mr. Wilmington." There was a concerted gasp, which he ignored. "Months ago these men rode out of the town they'd been protectin' for two years on a quest for justice, a journey no one was certain they would return from. They carried in their minds for the next four months an image of the home they'd left behind, a town so beset by violence that it required seven men to protect it, and that image never faltered or changed…although this town did. Imagine for a moment," he paused, catching his breath. "Imagine now that you are one of these men, slowly makin' your way towards the home of your memory, and one night in a crowded saloon you chance to hear that nefarious goin's on have been reported in that very same place, that the young man you thought of as a younger brother has disappeared and that the scurrilous reprobate you left behind due to your extreme aversion to his company has apparently taken over the town. Tell me, what would you do?" He was forced to pause again, grimacing. "You would do exactly as these men did; you would ride in under cover of darkness and make an effort to apprehend the miscreant whom you suspect of havin' imprisoned or even killed the previous sheriff, and you would attempt to impose your will upon that person for the purpose of extractin' the location of your missin' friend," he continued breathlessly. "Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington were not the law in Four Corners anymore…but they did not know that. To the best of their knowledge they were the only reprieve this town had from the depredations of a cold and ruthless man, a man whom they had every reason to believe would be sentenced to hang for his crimes as soon as they could capture him. It would be a gross miscarriage of justice to imprison these men for their devotion to this town and it's sheriff, these men whose only mistake was not realizin' that things had changed in ways they couldn't have anticipated." He let his gaze sweep the room, meeting the eyes of every person. "As a philosopher of another age and place once said, 'If a man cannot accept the inevitability of change then time becomes his greatest enemy; we hear the footfall of unimaginable differences arising in every beat of our hearts.' Mah friends, the guilty party here is not either of these men…the culprit here was time. Yes, this town has changed-for the bettah, ah'd say--but perhaps these men can still find a home here if we let them, perhaps they can start anew if we are willin' to forgive an error born of loyalty and remember only that they have more than earned a place in this community by their past actions." He turned slowly, fixing pleading eyes on the judge. "Your Honor?"

Judge Travis looked down at the man in front of him like he'd never seen him before--and admitted to himself that maybe he hadn't. He raised his eyes to the crowd, gauging their reaction, and saw that it mirrored his own. "Very well then, in light of this new…testimony from the person most involved with the stated charges and if there are no objections," he stated solemnly, and was pleased to see none arise. "I will declare this case dismissed and the charges dropped. Mr. Larabee, Mr. Wilmington, you are free to go…or to stay, should you choose to do so." He banged his gavel against the bar. "This court is adjourned."

The room exploded. Ezra looked up at the smiling judge and smiled himself, nodding…and then collapsed heavily at the older man's feet, his coat falling open to reveal a spreading patch of red staining the white shirt underneath.

When Ezra finally came back to himself he was back in the clinic and wondered briefly if everything that had happened had been a fevered dream; his confusion ended when he saw Chris and Buck talking quietly with Dr. Edwards and another man across the room. Mary was back at his side holding his hand but not looking at him and he squeezed her fingers gently. "Darlin', the paper is never goin' to get out at this rate."

His voice was a raspy whisper but her head snapped around and the conversation on the other side of the room stopped abruptly. Mary leaned over him with tears in her eyes. "Hang the paper," she said with a most uncharacteristic sniff. "Ezra, how do you feel?"

Her hand had found its way into his hair and he smiled and shut his eyes with a contented sigh. "Tired. Ah believe ah have overexerted mahself quite properly this time."

"I'll say you did," Dr. Edwards agreed from his other side. "I wouldn't have laid odds on you getting all the way over there like you did, much less delivering that type of oration in the condition you were in--I'll know better next time." He was checking his patient's pulse while he spoke. "How's the pain?"

Ezra took a quick inventory. "Tolerable. How is the town?"

"Quiet," Mary told him. "Things have settled down again; in another week or so I'll be back to complaining that there's nothing interesting to write about."

"I like it quiet and settled," was the soft reply. A mischevious smile tugged at his lips. "The bettah for raisin' children, I'd say."

Mary leaned closer to him. "Incorrigible man," she growled tenderly.

He pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it, and one green eye cracked open to look up at her. "And absolutely unrepentant," he agreed. The smile grew dimples. "There are just too many people in this room, darlin'."

"Wondered when you'd think of that," Buck commented lightly, and Mary pulled back, blushing pink. The ladies' man pushed himself up out of his chair and ambled over to the bed to look down at the friend who had risked his life to keep him from going to jail. What did you say to a man who defended you for trying to kill him? Buck had been thinking about that all night, and he was still no closer to coming up with an acceptable answer. But JD had come looking for him that night in the saloon where he sat trying to dredge an answer out of a bottle and said something that stuck. You're mistaking Ezra for someone else, he'd said, cutting straight to the root of the problem. It's Chris who won't accept an apology; Ezra just never expects to get one. Maybe it was time to surprise him. "Ez, I…I'm sorry. I know that isn't much considerin'…well, just considerin', but I really am."

"You were just tryin' to protect JD," Ezra said softly. "You thought I had…"

"But I shouldn't have--thought that, I mean," Buck interrupted. "I know you better than that, have for years. Ez, what I'm tryin' to say is…well, I'm tryin' to say that you didn't deserve what I did to you and I wish like hell there was a way I could go back and fix it."

Ezra blinked at him and bit his lip. "Buck I…" He shook his head and with an effort held out his hand. "No hard feelin's, Buck. Are you stayin' on?"

"Thought I might," the ladies' man said, holding the offered hand in a strong yet gentle grip for a moment before laying it back on Ezra's chest. "Hear tell some of the ranches around here might be lookin' for a good hand; think I'm gettin' too old to be a gunslinger, anyway, it's time I settled down somewhere."

"I know of a ranch that could use a foreman," someone said from the other side of the room. "Owner's a drunken bastard, though, you might have to sit on him from time to time."

Ezra forgot to breathe; he knew that voice. A moment later he realized that hands were shaking him--albeit gently--and a chorus of worried voices was trying to get his attention. The familiar voice surfaced through the babble of the others. "Didn't expect that to happen--Larabee, you just sit right back down on that chair, ain't nobody gave you permission to leave."

Only one person could give Chris Larabee an order like that and not get shot. Ezra opened his eyes, mildly surprised that they'd been closed. "Vin?"

"It's Michael now," a man said with a grin, leaning into his range of vision. "Michael T. Vincent, if you want it exact; had to change a few things after the boys went to all that trouble to fake my death in Tascosa. Didn't mean to startle ya so, Ez."

Ezra just gaped at him. "A few things indeed," he whispered. The man looking down at him was smooth-shaven and had short light brown hair; gone was the buckskin and long fringe, in it's place was a blue flannel shirt and a long brown coat such as any ranch hand might wear. But the bright blue eyes and laconic smile were undeniably Vin Tanner's. "An amazing transformation, I must say. Is it safe for you to be here?"

"Shoot, Michael Vincent ain't a wanted man," Vin reassured him. "'Sides, I got a job of my own over at Hoffman's; the old man hired me on as a lion hunter and I have to say the job suits me right down to the ground. You'll just have to remember to call me Vincent 'stead of Vin when I come into town for supplies, though."

"I'll remember." He blinked and then blinked again. "It's…good to see you again, V…Michael."

"Good to see you too, Ez." Vin took the chair that Mary vacated for him and patted his friend's shoulder. "And I hear I ain't the only one did some changin'; hear tell you're gettin' married."

Ezra's eyes strayed over his shoulder to Mary before returning to the tracker. "A wise man takes the good that comes to him, whether he deserves it or not."

"You deserve it," Chris said gruffly from behind everyone else. "You more than deserve it, Ezra, you've earned it." Everyone turned to look at him and he in turn looked down at his boots, "Um, Ez…"

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra said with a sigh, letting his eyes flutter closed again as they were rapidly becoming too heavy to hold open. "Chris…apology accepted. There was no way you could have known."

"That's debatable," was the grave reply. Boots crossed the room and stopped beside the bed, and Larabee's sigh echoed Ezra's. "You were right, you know; time was my enemy, every hour that passed takin' me farther and farther away from Sarah and Adam…and from the man I was when I was with them. I never thought of the future except as more of the same hell I was already livin' in, and the only changes I ever tried to make were tryin' to bring back the past so I could live in it again." He moved closer and put his hand on Ezra's other shoulder. "I'm goin' to head back out to the ranch, and I'll be takin' Buck with me if he still wants a job--gonna see if we can make somethin' out of this second chance you gave us."

To his surprise, a hand wrapped around his wrist with a grip that was weak but nonetheless reassuring. "Things change," Ezra murmured. "I have every confidence that you can too."