“That bad?”

“Brutal.” Vin scrubbed a hand over his face.

“JD told me he didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Not surprised. Heard him talking to his ma. Reckon I shouldn’t of. From what I heard, things between them were a bit worse than we figured.”

“Unfinished business?”

“Yup.”

“Shit.”

“You got that right, deep shit. Been better if wolves had raised him. Least them critters would give a damn.”

Chris met his eyes. “Something tells me I don’t want to know.”

“Sure wish I didn’t. Ain’t nothin’ like we thought. He’s conned us and good. You know how we’re always joking about him raising hell? Well, I think that’s where he might have been raised.”

“Figured Maude wasn’t telling it the way it was.”

“You ever notice how he’d go all quiet when she’d start telling stories ‘bout him as a kid? Put me in mind of a rabbit tryin’ to hide from a hawk.”

Chris nodded, narrowing his eyes at the thin plume of dust far in front of them.

“Thinks the only reason we ride with him is ‘cause he’s good for a con.”

“Well, he is.”

“Damn it, Larabee. Ain’t funny.”

“He really believes that?”

Vin just stared back.

“You sure?”

“Chris, the man was talking to a dead woman, only one he thinks was listenin’. Man’s got a lot of respect for the dead. He was telling the God-honest truth. He’s still waitin’ for you to drop him in his tracks or kick his ass out of town.”

The gunslinger nodded slowly.

“What would you do,” Vin asked, “If ya thought somebody was gonna dump ya or put ya in a pine box?”

“Dump ‘em first.”

They rode in silence, picking up their pace a bit to keep the gambler and the kid in sight. Chris worried the inside of his lip, thinking back to his generally testy relationship with the gambler. A whole lot of things became suddenly clearer, and he wasn’t too pleased with what he saw.

“He’s waiting for us to end the con.”

Vin raised his eyebrows at Chris.

“He’s just waiting until one of us gets mad enough to end it. That’s why he pushes so hard. Pulls our strings. Plays us like a fiddle. But why?”

“Reckon if his ma never saw fit to keep him, why should we?”

Chris found the expression in Vin’s eyes mirrored his own. Why, indeed. It was extremely unnerving to find that your own actions looking less then stellar in the light of new perceptions. He always found the gambler’s motivations to be suspect; they all did. Chris was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Ezra once said that he couldn’t con an honest man, wouldn’t even try. They hadn’t been honest. No, not at all.

“I should have seen it.”

“Tracked a wily old bear once. Thing dragged me along like a fool, went in so many circles I met myself coming and going. Never did catch that varmint, but one morning I woke up and found sign he’d been sleeping right outside my tent. Never thought to look at what was right in plain sight.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah, but he ain’t gonna listen. Why should he?”

*******

Ezra was in no mood to deal with anyone. Right now he wanted to shoot a bullet in the air and follow it to the ends of the earth. Where in the hell did this unreasonable anger come from?

They rode hell bent for leather until full dark and the horses were dangerously fatigued. The temperate autumn of the lower climes was frigid at the higher elevations. Breath froze in the air and the warmth of the fire didn’t travel far.

In spite of the shivers that shook him, the Southerner drew away sitting in the cold of the deep shadows. He didn’t want to listen to their easy-going banter or see the open faces that were never turned his way. Eyes were always shuttered, heads slightly titled, lips curved up in all-knowing judgment when they looked his way. Chris and Vin were casting odd glances at him all day pushing already tenuous emotions over the edge.

“Hey, Ezra you want to play some cards?”

“No, thank-you.” he snapped. The sight of that cheerful face was like throwing kerosene on a fire. He got up suddenly and stalked away. How could he possibly want to punch the man? Damn it, Ezra, he scolded, why don’t you just kick a dog?.

“Leave him be, JD.” Chris closed his eyes, last week, hell, yesterday, he would have read him the riot act for taking off the kid’s head. Today, well today, he understood.

The big old blue-white moon played hide-and-seek with the clouds. Not a star to be seen. Leaning against a boulder, the gambler caressed the old, stained cards with sensitive fingertips. The pasteboards were bent and tattered. It was the first deck his mother ever gave him. A happy memory.

A hint of a smile crossed his face as he remembered standing starched and sparkling on his great-aunt’s porch, the winter sun bright on his face. The long-awaited carriage pulled up and his beautiful, young mother swept out. A cool cheek pressed to his and the plainly wrapped deck of cards was pressed into his hands. Within days he mastered the games she taught him. His face froze as he remembered that with the New Year, she was gone.

Just like now. Only now she would not be coming back. Ever. No second chances. No way to prove that he was worthy of her attention. No money for some elegant casino in St. Louis that would show her he could do something right. No using his God-given talents in some way that would gain her approval.

“You’ve a home now….” In the silence of his heart he heard his mother’s words sounding over and over like the peal of some demented church bell. The clamor woke sleeping demons who rose up in their anger to devour the wounded and bleeding heart.

There was no home for such as he. Fate, yes, that reprobate minister to the faithless said it was their destiny. Bullshit. Ezra Standish knew his destiny was to wander the earth, a modern-day Cain. Marked,  just as the killer of the worthy Abel was marked. He was no more fit to be his brother’s keeper then was the homicidal Cain.

They knew that, these men, his erstwhile friends. Once, he hoped they really were. Time proved that impossible. Friendship implied trust. No one trusted him. Oh, they would ask him to lie for them, he could work cons long as it benefited them and stand up to be cannon fodder. None of them ever hesitated to ask him for money while disparaging his methods of earning the filthy lucre they desired.

Should have kept riding. Ezra knew why he went back, hell he knew exactly why he rode with them in the first place: same reason. Didn’t matter, never had, never would. He was marked.

*******

Chris chewed the end of his unlit cigarillo. A black mood had fallen over the Southerner as if a flock of crows had descended to feed on a freshly seeded field.  Leaving the sleeping tracker and sheriff, the gunslinger stole quietly up beside the con artist. Damn, it was bitter out here. Blacker than a witches nightgown.

“Cold night.”

The gambler didn’t answer, lost in his recriminations.

“Made good time today.”

A slight wind disturbed the naked branches.

“Why don’t you come over by the fire? Pretty cold out here.”

Here and there acorns plunged madly through the tree branches to land harum scarum in the dying foliage blanketing the forest floor. Long after the two-legged interlopers passed on, the hard brown nuggets would burrow under the friable soil. Some, a chosen few, would find life there in the fertile debris of death. Impenetrable shells would fracture, the steady work of rain, warmth and the slight pressure of the earth bearing on the rugged frames. Inside, endued with some divine foreknowledge, the little kernel would begin to grow. A miracle that occurred so regularly that it went unremarked.

Chris sighed. For once he was not irritated by the gambler’s behavior. The moon wandered from behind a cloud, chiseling the handsome face next to him into a statue of cold marble.

“Ezra?”

“Mr. Larabee, am I disturbing you?”

In more ways than one. “It’s too cold out here, come on back to camp. I don’t want you to get sick, Nathan would have my head.”

Wrong response. He should have been honest.

“Heaven forbid that we should inconvenience the infallible Mr. Jackson.” Heavy sarcasm and bitterness dripped from every word.

The gunslinger grimaced. Irritation took hold, only this time he was irritated with himself.

“I’m sorry for any difficulty I have caused you. Please feel free to continue your journey without me. My debt to you is paid. You need not concern yourself any longer. Though I could never refute it to your satisfaction, I am no larcenist. Mr. Dunne’s constabulary services are not required. I will return to settle my debts with Judge Travis.”

Chris flinched with dismay. Of course. From the vantage of his new perspective, the leader could see how his distrust had pierced the thin armor of the man’s defenses. The head of the arrow of accusation he so callously shot embedded itself in the man’s tender moral fiber. There it festered, poisoning the man as effectively as any evil tincture. The magnitude of responsibility weighed heavily on the gunslinger’s shoulders.

“We came because you’re one of us. No other reason, Ezra. We…, I was worried.”

Startled sea-green eyes stared at him as if he sprouted another head.

“And I want you to come back to camp because you are cold. I don’t really give a damn about worry wart old Nathan.”

Ezra debated. He didn’t take the words at face value. Hope had flared-up with Larabee’s words, but he quickly and completely stomped out the sparks. Cold? No freezing was a more apt description. Yes, he would come back to the fire, but no warmth of companionship drew him there, just an old promise and plain old-fashioned weariness.

*******

The next few days were a repeat of the first. Ride hard while the day lasted, drop wearily into a bedroll, waking at first light to do it all over again. Talk was limited to only what was needed.  The preternatural silence was driving JD crazy, though he too, found conversation to be awkward.

The Southerner was glacial. The frosty, mountain air was balmy compared to the cool reception any of them received. Not that Ezra was ever impolite, in fact, he continued to be the consummate gentleman. His bland, “No, thank-you,” became depressingly predictable, especially at mealtime.

Vin cringed as he heard those words once more. The last meal of any substance the gambler ate was breakfast back in Colorado Springs. The man’s face was sallow and pallid, his green eyes almost colorless with fatigue. Gone was the spunky step and the slightly mocking tones laced with humor. Vin confessed, he did not have the slightest idea what the gamesman was suffering; however, he knew a downward spiral when he saw one.

“Ezra, I done cooked this and you’re gonna eat it.”

“No, thank-you”

“Ain’t an option, pard. Eat the damn food, Ezra.”

Much to his surprise the befuddled man did just that. Not a lot, but at least he ate. Sensing Chris and JD’s encouragement, the sharpshooter tried again.

“Ezra, ya need to get some sleep. Go to bed.”  The gamester went.

Vin was floored. Trying to direct the gambler was usually like asking the wind to change its direction. The tracker looked at the other two lawmen. None of them could tell whether this new development was good or not.

Ezra sank down into his bedroll with relief. The days passed with an emptiness bigger than the wide open prairie. Everything was too hard, he had no energy whatsoever, yet he lay awake most of the night. Making a decision was out of the question. It became easier just to say, no thank-you, then to attempt to make any sense. Nothing made any sense anyway. Once an hour he sat by his mother’s deathbed and relived the whole experience. Over and over and over, day in and day out, night after night.

So, when Vin sent him to bed, he responded gratefully. At least he didn’t have to decide, just do what he was told. Like most nights, he fell asleep quickly. Hopefully this time he wouldn’t jerk awake in terror an hour or two later to lay in utter misery until the unwelcome day made its appearance.

*******

Ever so faintly, the eastern horizon began to glow. JD opened his eyes suddenly. What had awakened him so abruptly? Brain gears started to chock and it occurred to him that something didn’t sound right.

“Ezra, Ezra wake up! Its just a dream.” JD shook the thrashing man’s shoulder.

All at once, the Southerner sat up and screamed. Vin and Chris jumped to their feet, guns drawn to find a frantic JD shaking the incoherent man.

“Ezra, its JD. You’re okay. Wake-up, please.” The young man’s voice rose an octave at the end of his plea, as the gambler continued to scream.

Larabee knew how to handle this. He’d been there many times after his family was killed. Once in a while, he still had the wretched things. Bending down, he spoke quietly to the fear-struck man.

“Ezra, you need to listen. It’s a dream. It’s not happening right now. Can you hear me?” The low Hoosier twang penetrated the swirl of horror and the screams stopped. The bewildered eyes fought to focus, uncertainty evident in the glassy depths.

“Daddy?”

“No, Ezra it’s Chris.”

“Oh.” Unmistakable disappointment crammed into that little word.

The gambler’s shirts were soaked with perspiration and he shivered in the freezing night air. Vin handed over a clean, dry shirts. “Ya need to change your shirts. Okay?”

Change shirts. Somewhere in that moment of chaos, that made sense. His tremulous fingers struggled to capture elusive buttons. Clenching his jaw against chattering teeth, he tried but couldn’t get the buttons undone. Mother would be mad. He was told to do something and he didn’t. Any minute now she would be telling him what a useless child he was, wondering why of all the children in the world, he had to be hers.

The nimble tracker reached over, speaking quietly in a conversational tone. “Here Ez, I got it,” but the gamester was so intense on finding those buttons that Vin couldn’t get hold of any.

“JD, build up the fire.” Chris ordered, reaching down and taking hold of the trembling hands.

Vin made short work of helping the gambler change his shirts, peeling off the damp clothing, while Chris kept those quivering hands from interfering.

“Where’s your flask, Ezra?” Grabbing the gambler by the arms, the gunslinger towed him over to the fire. Vin dug into the pockets of the heavy brown trail coat, retrieving the slim silver container and tossing it over to Chris.  A half flask of brandy later, the shivering diminished to an occasional shudder while blue lips took on a more normal hue.

“Gentlemen…” Ezra cleared his throat and started again, “I apologize for disturbing you. Please accept my regrets.”

“Jeez, lots of people have bad dreams. It’s okay.” The earnest young man peered worriedly at the gambler. The man just turned his face away to stare into the fire.

JD sighed not really sure what to think. Once, he had told Ezra he didn’t know him all that well; unfortunately it was still true. The kid shook his head and went about making breakfast. No point in going back to sleep, it was almost daylight anyway.  Right now he couldn’t wait to go home, just get away from the overbearing sadness clinging to the gambler as a leaf clings to a tree.

Motioning to Vin, Chris walked over to the horses. He had to smile when the striking black picked up his ears at his approach.

Rubbing the silky muzzle, he crooned softly. “Hey, Jet, how are you boy? Ready to go aren’t you?”

“What’s up, cowboy?”

“I’m thinking it’s going to snow. Probably before noon.”

“Yup. Fixing up a bit of a blow by the feel of it.”

“Want you to take JD and go on home. I’m taking Ez and laying over in Riley for a while. They have a pretty decent hotel and he doesn’t need to be out in this weather.”

“Want me to?”

“Nope. You just take care of JD.”

Vin nodded. “What’s wrong with him, Chris?” the tracker asked, looking over at Ezra sitting, lost and forlorn, huddled in the blankets they piled on him.

“Other than whatever ague he’s coming down with?” Chris smiled sadly as he followed Vin’s gaze.

“He’s just plain old grieving, Vin. When…, well, I was worst then this let me tell you. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t anything. If it wasn’t for Buck, God knows where I’d be today.”

Chris grew pensive, absently scratching Jet’s smooth, dark hide. He owed Buck a debt he would never be able to repay, not that the great-hearted man ever expected any. Nevertheless, he could do the same for his sorrowing friend.

“Ezra ain’t ready to handle town just yet. He needs some room. I’m afraid if we drag him back there, he’ll bury it all and we’ll wind up burying him.”

“Thought ya wanted to get him back.”

“Guess I learned a thing or two since then. You know I think he takes everything to heart. All that complaining and wangling is just a way to distract us. This business with Maude has got him unnerved and his defenses are down.”

“Don’t ya think Josiah or Nat could help him?”

“Hell no, be worse than shooting a man in the back to let those two at him.”

Vin turned to look sharply at his fellow regulator. “Ain’t your fault.”

“Sure is. Oh not everything, and he makes it easier, goads the two of them endlessly. But I’ll tell you now that I think about it, he doesn’t ever belittle them. Buck tried to tell me one time, said he could see putting a man in his place, but not putting him down so far he couldn’t get up. I should have stopped it. One word and they’d back off, but I as much as gave ‘em my blessing, half the time I’m first in line. Man doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“You fellas gonna eat?”  JD’s call sounded muted in the gray, still morning.

“What you gonna tell him? He might not want to go.” Vin remarked as they moseyed back to the fire.

“The truth. About time, don’t you think?”

Ezra nibbled on the biscuit JD shoved into his hand. Vin poured a liberal dose of brandy into his mug before handing over the hot java.

“Drink up, pard.”

“Thank-you Mr. Tanner,” he muttered. The strong, hot brew was bracing and felt good on his tender throat. Dear Lord, a cold was all he needed right now. Humiliation coursed through him again as he thought about that nightmare. On top of everything else, why did he have to disgrace himself in front of these men?

Shrugging off the blankets, the Southerner stood slowly.

“Where you going?” JD asked wiping out the skillet.

“Mr. Larabee will want to leave presently, I am certain.” He squinted into the heavy gray morning. “It will commence snowing before long. I am going to get ready.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He stopped, his back rigid, waiting for Larabee to end it. Cut his losses and drop the weak link.

“Ezra, I want you to come with me and go into Riley. Vin and JD will head on back to Four Corners.” There, he said it. Chris waited. For what? He wasn’t sure.

JD’s head came up sharply. Chris met his eyes and nodded over toward the horses.

“Sure, I’ll go get our stuff together.”

Vin took the hint. “I’ll help ya, kid.”

The gambler never moved.

The gunslinger made his way over, and laid a hand on the still shoulder. “Thought maybe you wouldn’t mind a few days rest.”

The Southerner rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I given to understand that you are asking me to accompany you for …well to, I mean…?”  The hoarse voice trailed off. The confusion of the past few days intensified and his head began to pound.

“Yes, you are given to understand.” Increasing his grip somewhat, the shootist guided the bewildered man back to the campfire.

Ezra stopped mid-step and blurted, “I should think you wanted me back as soon as possible. After all, I have certainly left you all high and dry long enough.”

“You didn’t leave anybody high and dry Ezra. That business with Job was an accident, plain and simple. You’re a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. There isn’t some devious plan here, pal. You’re tired, cold and sick, too.” Proving the point Chris placed his palm against the gambler’s  forehead, feeling the heat there.

Ezra pulled away. Dismayed that his weakness was so visible. “I’m fine. It’s just a cold. I will make it back, just fine.”

“Of course you would and then you’d pull that poker-face, I’m fine act and run yourself to death. Next thing you know we’re dumping dirt on your casket.”

The gamesman’s face paled at those words. For an instant he heard the dull slap of rocky soil landing on the lid of an oak coffin sounding for all the world like the scratching of some unearthly monster.

Damn, Chris cursed to himself watching the effect of his words. The only color left in the pallid face were the two bright red spots of fever blazoning the cheekbones.

“Mr. Larabee, I do not wish to burden you with undue concern. I will make my way to Riley as you request. You may accompany your friends home.”

The sleeping tiger of Larabee’s temper got it’s tail pulled. Grabbing Ezra’s coat lapels, Chris shook him hard. “You aren’t a burden, Ezra. Not to me or Vin or JD or Buck or Nathan or Josiah. Do you hear me? And I am not going home with them because I want to go with you. Got it?” With each word he rattled the Southerner.

Pushing him down to the rumpled blankets, the gunslinger pointed his finger at the spot. “You sit right there till I come get you. I’m going over there and saddle up that magnificent hunk of horseflesh that my friend gave me, and then I am saddling up your mount and then, my friend, you and I are going to high-tail it to Riley and get out of this god-forsaken weather.”

Passing the quietly laughing JD and Vin as he stomped off, Chris stopped and asked directly, “You boys leaving soon?”

The sheriff coughed gruffly, trying to conceal his amusement. “Yeah, we’re all ready.”

“You best get a move on, cowboy,” Vin grinned openly at his friend.

Snorting his derision, the determined gunslinger growled, “You know where we’ll be. Might be another three or four days. I plan on laying over until I’m sure it’s just a cold and that he’s going to be able to work this through.”

Crouching down beside the gambler, the young sheriff smiled shyly. “Hey, Ez, I hope you feel better.”

“Thank-you Mr. Dunne. Would you do me a favor?”

“What you need?”

“Please make sure Judge Travis receives this.”

“Sure, but why don’t you give it to him yourself?”

“I am not trustworthy with other people's money. This needs to go to the Judge as soon as possible. It belongs to him.” He pressed a sealed envelope into the young man’s hands.

JD tried to capture the man’s eye, but Ezra would not look at him. “Okay, Ezra but I’m sure it could wait till you come home. You kept it just fine.”

“No, I’d rather it got there, sooner rather then later, just in case.”

JD sighed. He didn’t know what to say. The despair running through those words cut him as if the man had stabbed him. What if Ezra didn’t come home?

“Come on JD, let’s get going. We got a fair piece to ride today.”

“Okay, Vin. See ya, Ez.

“Good-bye, Mr. Dunne.”

“Ezra. Keep an eye on Chris will ya. You know how rowdy he gets.” Vin teased.

“He will return to you, safe and sound.”

Ain’t Chris I want safe and sound right now, Vin thought sadly.

“Mr. Tanner, Ezra handed over another slim envelope. Please see Misters Jackson or Sanchez gets this. Will you please?”

“Sure, pard, if that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“Watch you back.”

“Good-bye Mr. Tanner.”

Vin kneed his horse and he and JD rode off to Four Corners. Neither man found himself enjoying the trip. It was snowy, cold and uncomfortable, but even more it was fraught with worry about a silver-tongued con artist who should have been riding beside them.

*******

He counted them again, one, two, three, four, five, lining each one up carefully on the green felt. Picking up the delicately perfumed onion skin, he read the words, yet again. Another shot of whiskey was poured as he rubbed his forehead.

A hand snaked around, grabbing the fine paper. “Um, what have we here? Scented paper, mighty pretty writing. Who’s the pretty little filly sending you mushy words?” Buck teased as he drew the sweetly scented missive across his mustache.

He was disappointed, not quite the reaction he expected. Waving it in front of the seemingly indifferent man. “Perhaps I should take a little peek?” he threatened.

“Be my guest,” the preacher intoned.

Buck frowned and tossed the paper on the table. He realized what he was seeing. “Shoot, hoss, that’s five hundred dollars! Where in the hell you get that kind of money?”

“Maude.”

The smile on the lothario’s face faded.

“She sent the same amount to Nathan, and…” Josiah shook his head, sighing in aggravation. “Chris, Vin, JD and you, too.” He handed Buck five green bills.

Buck whistled and sat down beside the preacher counting the bills. “Damn, I never had five hundred dollars.”

“What for?” Buck couldn’t help but ask looking a bit awed at the sum in his hands.

Picking up the letter Josiah flung it in front of Buck. “Read it and weep, brother, read it and weep.”

Buck reached for the paper as if it were live coals, opening it gingerly, he began to read. “Damn,” he said looking up to see the answer in Josiah’s ice-blue eyes.

*******

Jet’s pure black coat gleamed with spots of white as if he were an overgrown distorted Dalmatian. The snow began falling about an hour after they broke camp. As they headed down into the valley that housed the redoubtable Riley, everything bore the same hue.

“Surely is pretty.” The soft Southern voice seemed, oddly enough, suited to the modulated sounds of the wafting flakes.

Chris normally wouldn’t have been inclined to think so, stuff was a nuisance. However, the man had a point. The dusty, rocky terrain took on a whole different life under the frosting of white.

Seeing the gunslinger’s curious glance and his nod of agreement, Ezra continued. “I love the snow. I saw it for the first time when I was five. My father took us on a trip up north by ship. The sea fascinated me. It was so free, couldn’t be bound by any man.” He paused thinking back to that glorious holiday.

“One morning we woke up and everything was covered with this glaze of white. I was delighted. One of the sailors showed me how to make shapes like angels. They even allowed me climb in the rigging to join them in an impromptu snowball battle.”

Seeing the obvious pleasure in the green eyes dancing above the collar of his coat, Chris just listened.

“Dear Lord, how I wanted to be a sailor. I followed that poor captain around like I was tethered to his heels. He was very generous and did not seem at all bothered by my incessant questions. Told my parents he would take me on, once I was old enough, if they were willing. I remember my father laughed and said it would be up to me, but that the sea must be in my blood since my great-grandfather was an officer in the British Navy. I wonder now what that life would have been like.”

The gunslinger was amazed. It seemed no stretch of the imagination to envision Ezra on the deck of a clipper heading off to some exotic port, wheeling and dealing with the natives. Sailing into home ports, nattily dressed in a coat of serge blue. Sea-green eyes surveying the tight lines of crisp white sails and pristine stone-white decks while his happy crew dropped anchor.

“I think you’d have been an excellent captain. I imagine you would have your own ship and sail all around the world; buying and selling all kinds of foreign cargo - coffee and tea and silk.”

Ezra looked at Chris in astonishment. Not only had the man not ridiculed him, as was expected, but he had actually understood. But if those words were astonishing, the next nearly knocked him off his horse.

“I’m glad, though, that you didn’t go to sea. If you had, I would never have known you. Selfish, I suppose, but it just would not be the same without you. I know you don’t really believe this but you are one of us. We wouldn’t be us without you. It just wouldn’t be the same.”

Chris met Ezra’s eyes and held them with his own, trying to convey the sincerity of his message. Neither man was aware they had stopped until Chaucer shook his head and pranced off to the side a bit, as if to draw their attention.

Scolding Chaucer half-heartedly, the gambler struggled with what he just heard. This time he was unable to extinguish all the sparks, leaving just a little one to smolder against the dry tinder of hope deferred.

“So you see good sir, it is to your benefit as well as ours.”

The husky tone’s worked their magic and Ezra secured the best suite in the hotel for them for the price of a single room. Larabee turned to study a potted plant as the con artist painted a canvas of charm for the hotel manager. Damn that man was good. Not that he said anything false at all. Not many travelers were likely to come upon town in this weather. It was the same at the livery, where Jet and Chaucer were ensconced in the best of stalls with extra portions of grain thrown in for good measure.

Hearing the manager assure the prompt delivery of hot water and bathtubs nearly had the gunslinger laughing out loud. Trailing the gambler up the stairs, he almost choked when the Southerner asked innocently, “Mr. Larabee, I do hope that cough is not an indication that you have acquired my infirmity.”

Faint gray light was filtering faintly through the curtains when Chris woke the next morning. Stretching stiff muscles, he had to admit that it felt good to sleep, warm and dry, in a real bed. Making short work of shaving and dressing, he made his way across the small sitting area to the gambler’s room. Ezra had coughed off and on last night, but seemed to rest otherwise; hopefully he was still asleep.

Slipping through the partially open door, the gunslinger walked on cat’s feet to the bed. He’d taken the precaution of unloading the ever-present gun the gambler carried as to spare them both an unpleasant surprise.

“Ezra?” he whispered softly. No answer, not a stir. Good. Moving closer Chris laid the back of his hand against the man’s forehead. Mighty warm and his face was still awfully pale. He didn’t seem too congested, except for that rasping cough. Hope that’s just a cold, he thought, tugging up the comforter a bit. Quickly, he gathered the Southerner’s dirty clothes and went off in search of a laundress, the telegraph office, the town doc. and breakfast,  though not necessarily in that order.

*******

The wind lofted the sails and the air was full of the smell of coffee and doughnuts. Doughnuts? Ezra blinked away the remnant’s of his dream. Tugging on a clean shirt. Last one, he thought ruefully, stumbling into the small sitting room.

Chris was leaning back in an armchair, feet propped up reading the copy of David Copperfield he found in Ezra’s bags. He grinned when the gambler padded into the room in his stocking feet, shirt untucked and haphazardly buttoned. He looked so utterly…natural, relaxed. It was not his normal appearance.

“Morning, Ezra. How you feeling?”

“Morning. Dreadful,” the husky tones of yesterday were replaced with the nearly speechless rasp of laryngitis.

“Here,” the shootist commanded. “Sit down, before you fall down.”

“Thank-you Mr. Larabee.” There was a bit of sarcasm in the wispy tone.

“Shut up.” Chris told him, not unkindly.

“Here,” he said, handing him a plate and mug of coffee. “I happen to know that you are a pushover for hot, fresh doughnuts.”

“How?”

“Hush,” laying a finger against his lips. “Inez told me and before you ask, they were compliments of the hotel’s cook. I will have you know that she made them just because I asked. Just turned on the Larabee charm,” he added, aqua eyes brimming with humor.

The con artist gazed at him skeptically but kept quiet, content to munch on the warm, sweet doughy confection. They were cinnamon twists, his absolute favorite. Mindful of the admonition from the gunslinger, he mouthed, “Thank-you”.

“You’re welcome. Now, when you finish you can just get your ass back in bed.”

The Southerner grinned and gave his cocky two fingered salute.

*******

Five very subdued men sat around their customary table. Town was quiet, the snow, although not very deep, was successfully keeping everyone close to home. Biggest problem in town in the past few days had been keeping the boardwalks clear of snow and ice.

“What do y’all think we should do?” the healer looked from man to man.

No one had any ideas. They were still stunned by the questionable windfall they received from their friend’s mother. The reasons for that windfall held them hostage at this table, trying to ascertain a course of action. Without a doubt, one of those reasons was playing out right now.

“Wish Chris were here.” Buck mumbled. “He would know what to do.”

At least they all agreed on that.

“Yeah, but might be a week before we see ‘em. That telegram said Ez was too sick to be comin’ back anytime soon.” Vin added.

“Well,” JD looked at his fellow regulators. “We could head up to Riley.”

“Yes, but then Ezra would probably find out.”

“We could just tell him we came because Nathan was worried.”

Buck whacked the back of the kid’s head. “He ain’t gonna fall for that.”

Unfortunately,  every man there agreed on that too.

“So fellas, what are we going to do?”

Josiah stood, slapping his palms against the table. “We are going to Riley and bring home our brothers and we will deal with this thing together. All seven of us.”

Heads nodded. Made sense.

“What about the town?”

“Hell, kid,” Buck said, “It ain’t going anywhere.”

Nathan added, “I’ll just speak to the Judge. I’m guessing he won’t mind.”

“That’s it then.” Vin stretched  “We’ll leave at first light.”

*******

Golden, dappled sunlight beamed happily through the lace curtains. Flimsy material rose and fell with the gentle whisper of warm autumn breezes. Birds chattered to their companions and the shrill voices of children reprieved by the grace of noon-time recess carried on the air.

Delicate fingers smoothed the fragile surface of the sleek writing paper. Tendrils of golden hair curled forward on the pain lined forehead. Time was growing short. Maude knew she had to play this one last card. Dying had a way of getting your attention. For years she had lived for appearances sake, for the thrill of the game, for the power of the con. Now, it was all washed away in the flood of realization springing up from the groundwater of truth.

The indomitable woman knew she could have cried a river of regret that would rival the mighty Mississippi. That wasn’t her style. Looking at the neatly stacked bills again, she smiled. Well, it was a gamble, but wasn’t faith exactly that - taking a risk on the greatest game of all? Timothy’s words gave her the encouragement she needed. It wasn’t too late, not while there was a beat left in her heart. She could still bequeath a heritage of worth to her son.

Picking up a filigreed silver frame, she ran loving touches over the young face. This was her favorite likeness of Ezra. Taken just before that unpleasantness with the Yankees, his slender face still with a hint of boyish innocence and eyes unguarded and undimmed with sorrow. A friend accompanied them to the sitting and made a joking remark just before the photographer took the frame. You were not supposed to smile, let alone laugh in a photograph. Maude paid the man extra to develop the piece for her.

“Love you, Ezra P.” she smiled saying that old endearment that her husband always used. Funny, she thought, five husbands but I will still be buried as Maude Standish. The others, well, they were ways of fighting back the darkness, marking time until she could be with the true love of her life. Only two things she ever loved, Peyton Standish and his son. After the marriages ended and she would go her own way, she always took up the Standish name again. It was the only one that really fit.

Maude, she admonished herself, you best get on with this. Picking up the pen in firm fingers she began to write a letter that could bring an end to the band of seven men her son rode with.

*******

After being practically entombed in the suite for three days, Ezra was determined to at least eat breakfast in the dining room like a civilized person. The fever had broken yesterday, leaving him drained but feeling marginally better. Undoubtedly, he would be crawling back under the covers in a couple of hours. Chris insisted he let the town’s young doctor check him over. Both were worried about pneumonia, but thankfully it was just a chest cold. The pungent unguent the physician left did ease the congestion, although Larabee teased him unmercifully about smelling like horse liniment.

“Good morning, Mr. Larabee.”

The gunslinger grinned up at the immaculately groomed gambler. The voice was still terribly raspy and that cough sounded worse than a consumptive’s, but he was on the mend.

“I cannot thank you enough,” the gamester continued, “for having the foresight to acquire the services of a laundress.”

“Not a problem, figured you’d be wanting to have some clean shirts to wear.”

“You also, unless I miss my guess.”

Chris laughed. “You rarely miss your guess. Come on, let’s see what kind of doughnuts Mrs. O’Malley has cooked up today.”

Shaking his head, Ezra held the door for the gunslinger. “That woman is under the impression that I am an underfed invalid. I am afraid if I partake of her bounty much longer, I will grow quite portly.”

That image was so ludicrous that the shootist was still smirking when they entered the dining room. Surreptitiously, the gunslinger observed the gambler as he ate. It pleased him to no end to see that Ezra was regaining his normal poise. The dark despair that ensnared him was banished to the occasional morose moment.

In the privacy of quiet conversations over the past few days, Larabee had uncharacteristically shared remembrances of his own mourning, a time he knew would never really end, but one that had assumed a less prominent place in his life. Chris could honestly admit two things from that experience. One was that those memories, while bittersweet were no longer painful as he expected. In fact, it had almost been a relief to speak of those times. It somehow helped him put that agony into perspective.

The other thing he discovered was that he knew without any doubt that Ezra would never, ever betray one of the intimate confidences he entrusted to him. In retrospect, he supposed he was not really surprised. Where he might have questioned the man’s trustworthiness when it came to large sums of money, he had no misgivings about the man’s integrity in matters of real worth.

Watching Ezra drum his fingers lightly on the tabletop, Chris recognized the symptoms of indecision.

“Mr. Larabee, may I ask you something?” Ezra could barely hear his own voice over the thundering of the blood rushing through his veins.

Seeing the nod, he took a deep breath to continue. His self-preservation screamed at him to shut up. It desperately called out to him that ignorance was bliss, that a house of illusion is better than no house at all. Something drove him, something unnamed. Recognizing that the chances of having a portion of the gunslinger’s time in the relative anonymity of an impartial location was not likely to occur again, he plunged ahead. His tongue whipped around his suddenly dry lips and it was only after a few false starts that he was able to ask a question that burned in his heart.

“Why ever did you ask me to join your little band of benevolent mercenaries?”

Temptation reared its ugly head, but Larabee ignored it. “Thought a liar and a cheat might come in handy.”

A blaze of shame crept up the handsome face and burned in the eyes as disgrace.

“And,” Chris continued, “I thought a man who knew how to beat unbeatable odds, someone who didn’t take the lives of other men, even men who wanted him dead, lightly; a man who was resourceful under pressure and an excellent shot might be a good man to have on your side.”

Chris leaned forward and watched as conflict danced in those glittering green eyes. The next question was expected.

“And afterward?” a trickle of perspiration slid down his spine.

“You came back.”

Myriad emotions flickered on the averted features before the familiar poker-face made its appearance. Chris let him be. Some things a man just has to work out for himself.

“I’m gonna check the horses, back in a bit.”

Ezra sat for a long time in the quiet dining room, until polite questions from the waitress made him realize it was time to go. He could barely stand when he reached their rooms. Without a second thought, shrugged off his jacket and fell into bed.

*******

Chris Larabee turned over the final page of the book he borrowed from the Southerner, well from Josiah actually. He had laughed out loud when he read the inscription on the flyleaf. Peace offering, he supposed. This and that note from Nathan that he shamelessly read. Poor man, he shook his head grimly thinking of the gambler. Got his boat rocked, that was certain.

He stopped to listen for a moment at the bout of coughing from the other room. When he came back from the livery, the gambler was sound asleep, sprawled across the bed. Chris manhandled him under the blankets without a single protest. Worn out, he wagered. Just as the coughing calmed he heard a soft knock at the door.

Old habits of caution had him calling lowly, “Who’s there?” while he stood off to the side.

A slight shove from Buck, and Vin answered softly, “Hey cowboy, its us, open the door.”

The rapidly opening door had all five men stepping back. Before anyone could open his mouth, Chris held up his hand. Moving quietly to check quickly that the gambler was still sleeping, he shut both doors behind him and stepped into the hall.

“What’s the matter?”

The simple question had them all feeling a bit sheepish. They had been so rattled by Maude’s letter, that they never actually thought this through. They looked at Josiah. After all this whole thing was his idea.

The preacher smiled at the testy gunfighter and scratched his right eyebrow. “We got this letter from Maude and she… well, um….”

“What do you mean you got a letter from Maude?”

JD spoke up, “Ez gave Vin the letter to give to Josiah or Nat, before we went home.”

“Perhaps you should read it, Chris.” The preacher pulled out the thin envelope from his inner coat pocket.

The gunslinger frowned. “Five of you rode almost three days in the snow so I could read a letter?” The growl of irritation grumbled in the low voice.

Only Vin managed to meet the incredulous green eyes. “Reckon me and the boys felt it was kind of important.”

“Who’s watching the town?” Larabee was furious. Damn it, didn’t any of them have a lick of sense? What in the hell was the matter with them?

Nathan spoke up, “Judge Travis gave us his okay. He arranged for a couple of hands from the Johnson place to keep an eye on things while we were gone on business.”

“Business?” Chris’ voice rose a bit. “Some letter from a dead woman is business. Fool’s errand if you ask me, and it took all five of you to deliver it? Hell, we’d have been home by the end of the week.”

“How is Ezra?” Nathan couldn’t help himself, moving towards the door.

The imposing figure of Chris Larabee stood in front of him. “He’ll be fine. Just got a chest cold, that’s all.”

“Maybe I better just make sure.”

“The doctor said he was fine.”

“You had to call a doctor?” Nathan was alarmed.

“Damn it, Nathan, you really think I don’t know how to take care of one of my men?”

Nathan was abashed. “No, of course not Chris. I’m just worried about that damn Southern fool, that’s all.” He finished lamely.

Sighing, the gunslinger counted to ten. “He’s fine, Nate. He’s sleeping right now, and when he wakes up you can make sure. I want one person to come inside with me and calmly make some sense of all this,” he gestured with his hand. “The rest of you can just wait someplace else. You all go tramping in there and you’ll have him up and all agitated. He doesn’t need that right now.”

They volunteered Vin. After all, the famous Larabee ire was rarely turned on the placid tracker.

Vin saw everyone looking at him. Buck gave him a little nudge. “Go ahead pard. We’ll go see what kind of saloon this town’s got.”

“Thanks,” Vin muttered dryly, accepting the letter Josiah handed him.

“Buck,” Chris stopped them. “You all stay out of trouble. You hear me?” That glare put a damper on the whole evening.

After assuring himself that Ezra was still asleep, Chris gestured to a chair. “Alright Vin why are you all here?”

Vin handed him the letter and the five hundred dollars. “Couldn’t seem to decide what to do. Figured we needed to ask you. Don’t know if we should say anythin’ to Ezra or not. Course he might already know. Guess we all got our cage rattled by that damn woman.”

Chris pursed his lips slightly. Vin was worried. Obviously, something shook them. One at a time they might act like fools, but all of them, together?

“This from Maude?”

“Yup” Vin said with a sigh. “We all got five hundred. You, me, JD, Buck, Nat and Josiah.”

“That’s more than a years pay.”

Vin nodded.

“She says why in this letter?” Chris templed his fingers and contemplated the folded stationery. “I take it I’m not going to like what she says.”

“Don’t know Chris. She kind of makes you think.”

Chris opened the silky folds and began to read the spidery feminine handwriting.

Gentlemen,

I am writing this on a lovely fall day. The sunshine and sound of birdsong hold little of the concern that causes me to place my thoughts on paper. You have undoubtedly discovered that you each are the recipients of a small, but not inconsiderable sum of money. I smile to think of what each of you could do with such funds.

Mr. Sanchez, this money could be used to assist the poor, or repair up that ramshackle building you use as a sanctuary. It would certainly suffice to allow the assumption of a ministry should you aspire to such. A man of such a respectable position would have no difficulties procuring the attentions of the gentler sex.

Mr. Jackson, these funds would be more than adequate to allow you to pursue a professional education in medicine. You would be a bona fide medical doctor. A fine and noble aspiration for any man, lest one who was once bound in slavery..

I am certain that Mr. Dunne’s mother would be pleased if her son were to pursue an university education. Awesome career opportunities would lie before a young man with a college degree. The Texas Rangers certainly would not scoff at such a man. Even the imitable Mrs. Wells would grant her blessings to such a man.

Mr. Wilmington, you will be surprised to know that I am aware of your desire to be free to follow that lovely young, career minded lady. With this money, you could provide more than adequately for any woman of your choosing, or to follow the one that stole your heart. No more worries about leaving any woman without a solid source of income should she, like your own mother, suddenly become bereft of a man’s protection.

This sum could also buy a framed man adequate investigative and legal services to procure a pass to freedom. Perhaps while you are at it, Mr. Tanner, you could be persuaded to acquire a coat of, shall we say, more distinction? Once that heinous bounty is lifted from your head, there would be plenty to purchase back the Tanner homestead and your mother’s gravesite from the current owners.

Surely, Mr. Larabee with funds like this at your disposal you could hunt down and destroy those evil villains that murdered your family? Professional detectives and their resources could be employed, justice would prevail. Once you have laid those ghost to rest, you would be free to pursue the lovely Mary Travis. She is a feisty woman, well-suited to you, Mr. Larabee and her son adores you. You could have what you long for, a family.

Yes, gentlemen I know all about dreams and hopes. Once I was young and in love and had so many hopes and plans of my own. Mr. Standish and I hoped that Ezra was just the first of a whole bevy of children. Sadly, our dreams were not to be. When they were crushed I allowed a root of bitterness to grow. Ezra lost his father, very tragically and then he lost me. Oh not recently, but when he was a child because I let the circumstances of loss to dictate to me.

None of the seven of you is a stranger to loss. All of you have ghosts that you carry, all of you have hopes and dreams. Now you have the means to fulfill some of those dreams and to banish those ghosts. You know that if you do, it will be the end of your little band of survivors. You will go your separate ways and what you have together will pass away.

What will you decide? Are you tempted? Of course, you are. Is what you have together worth the deferment, perhaps forever, of those other hopes and dreams? We all make choices. I chose poorly and Ezra bears the scars. I never saw the treasure that is my son. It is too late for me, but not for the seven of you. What will you choose?

Allow me one bit of maternal advice to you men who are as close to my son as any brothers he may have ever had. Count carefully the cost of your actions, make sure you know what it will cost you to deny your dreams and hopes, then count carefully the treasure you would discard.

I have great faith that you will choose well.

Farewell gentlemen, it was indeed a pleasure to know each of you.

Fondly,
Maude Standish

Chris looked up from the letter. “Good Lord,” he breathed.

“Woman had a way with words.”

A rumbling cough startled them both. “Vin?” Ezra stared at the tracker in the dim light. “What’s wrong?”

Vin hesitated, looking to Chris, a move that was not lost on the gambler. “What’s the matter? Somebody hurt or something wrong in town?”

A fist of fear clenched his heart.

Chris spoke up quickly. “Everybody’s fine, nothing is wrong, exactly.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” he asked, looking from Chris to Vin and back again.

Vin decided that not knowing was harder on the gambler then knowing, so he said softly, “Your ma sent a letter for us and well, pard, she gave each of us a good bit of money.”

“Oh.” He didn’t want to know. No, not at all. He coughed again, the force of it making his head ache. He shuffled over to the window, staring down into the snow covered streets.

“Vin, we’ll meet everybody in the dining room in a while.”

The tracker nodded and left quietly. Ezra heard him leave and watched as a few minutes later the long-legged man strolled across the street to the saloon.

“Everybody?” he mumbled, leaning his aching head against the cool window pane.

“Ezra, you need to read this.”

“Oh no, I don’t. I have no desire to see what havoc my dear departed mother has managed to wreak, even from the great beyond.”

“Just read the letter.”

“No.” he shook his head, never stirring from the window.

“Read the damn letter, Ezra.”

“No,” there was no defiance, only defeat. “Please, no,” but he took the paper Chris handed him anyway and read the letter.

He stood there like stone. The fine stationery limp in his fingers, its sweet gardenia scent drawing him to a place he had no desire to go.

Chris spoke quietly, “Meet us in the dining room in about an hour?”

Ezra nodded, never moving from his post at the window. Closing the door softly, Chris leaned his head against the solid wood. Inside, the gambler traced the trails of moisture seeping down the glass as if they were drops of rain.

*******

No one spoke as they sat in the lamplight of the hotel dining room waiting for Chris. JD was systematically destroying his nails, biting each one down to the quick. A horrible habit his mother broke him of when he was ten. Buck Wilmington was staring at the amber beer in his glass, thinking of how closely it matched a certain lady’s hair.

Dr. Jackson does have a certain ring, Nathan thought, seeing his father’s face in his mind’s eye. The wonder of an ex-slave with a real medical license. Holding his head up high in any community, because no matter what color his skin he had achieved something remarkable.

How had that woman known? Vin wondered. She knew that deep down he wanted to be able to not only visit his mother’s grave, but to own the land it lay on. To own the Tanner land, to stand on that soil as a free and honorable man: it had been his secret ambition for years.

Josiah swirled the water glass around and around on the smooth wood surface. The condensation on the surface left blurry round circles. He watched in bizarre contemplation as they blended and grew till you could hardly tell where one started and another one stopped, yet each one was distinct and fully formed. He slid the chair out a little so he could lay his head to the side to see how the light reflected off each one.

“Josiah?” Nathan’s concerned voice broke the silence. “Are you all right?”

Pale blue eyes gazed around at four quizzical faces. Slightly embarrassed, the preacher chuckled and sat up. “Fine, just fine.”  He was disinclined to elaborate on his experiment.

*******

The gunfighter stood for a long time resting his head against the door, trying to decide what to do. The other’s would take their clue from his decision. There was no middle ground that he could see, no compromise. All stayed or none stayed, that much was clear.

I don’t want this, Chris groaned. I don’t want this at all. Who am I to deprive a young man his dreams of education or an ex-slave respect? What about Vin who surely deserves a right to clear his name or what about justice for Sarah and Adam? Was their little band of survivors, as Maude so euphemistically called them, worth more than the individual needs of each man?

“Count the cost. I have great faith that you will choose well.”

He could hear Maude saying those words in his head. Why did you do this? He wondered, as he headed downstairs. Did you want Ezra to leave or are you trying in some convoluted way to make him stay? Or is it something else altogether?

Chris sat down next to Vin and looked around the table. “Okay, I read it. Now what?”

“What are we going to do, Chris?”

“I have no idea what we are going to do, JD. I think every man has to decide for himself. I won’t tell you what to do.” Chris appraised the young sheriff carefully. “You want to go to college, go. Maude’s right Casey would probably be yours for the asking. Join the Texas Rangers if you want.”

JD shifted uncomfortably. “Well, what is everybody else going to do?”

Larabee fixed his glare on the young man. “You can’t live your life by decisions other people make. You have to decide for yourself what you want. Time to grow up, JD.”

“Damn it, Chris, because I think about other people and sometimes value their opinions, does not mean I don’t know what I want!”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Okay, kid what are you going to do?”

“Hell, if I know what I am going to do but I know what I want.”

“Well, enlighten us.”

“Now wait a minute, Chris.”

“No, Buck I asked the boy a question and I want an answer.” The gunslinger’s voice was hard and unforgiving.

Buck’s cobalt eyes hardened but he sat back when JD laid a calming hand on his arm.

Flushing slightly under the scrutiny, JD took a deep breath and met Larabee head on. “What I want is a good life, full of meaning, good friends and a family, someday,” he added.

Chris bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough.” He broke the stare with JD to move his glance around the circle of men. “How about you, Vin?”

“I want to clear my name, y’all know that.” He paused looking down at his loosely folded hands. “Would like to own that land, but I can’t rightly see myself as no farmer. Place is prime farmland,” he continued, almost defiantly. “Reckon that it all might cost more than I’m willin’ to pay.”

“Hooey, that woman was full of the stuff.” Buck stated stretching out his long legs. “She didn’t say we had to do anything with that money. Just what we could do.”

“Well,” Nathan began slowly, “You don’t think we can accept it without respecting her wishes.”

“Hellfire and damnation, Nathan, that woman did not say we had to do anything. What are you talking about?”

“But she said…” the healer trailed off, grasping for a reason to deny himself his ultimate dream and save himself the realization that it was funded by a Southern white woman.

As Josiah listened to the passion and pathos tinting his friends voices, the magnitude of what Maude wrought with her letter loomed before him. Fury rose up in him as he considered the presumptiveness of her actions. Damn woman was playing the temptress,  waving that enticing morsel in front of them daring them to take a bite. Throwing crumbs of desire in front of them, making them question if their dreams were worthy and worse, if they were worthy of their dreams. Her questions made if seem as if their band was unrighteous or dishonorable. Forcing them to doubt what kind of men they were. How could a man make a wise choice when confronted with that kind of challenge?

Josiah walked right into the wall of memory. A conversation he had with a man who once called him friend and asked hesitantly for help, came rushing back. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, he quoted to himself in chagrin. Had his actions then been any less insidious? Remembering the disaster that had almost ensued, he knew the reply.  For the first time since that day he fully comprehended what he had done. Yes, his actions had served a purpose, as Maude’s did now. Something precious had been destroyed that day. He had shattered a man’s integrity against the rock of his own self-righteousness.

Was the cost of a dream worth the price of an irreplaceable treasure? Raising his eyes, Josiah confronted the answer walking in the door.

“Ezra,” Buck’s welcome boomed across the room. With a few strides the kind-hearted lawman reached the gambler and threw his arms around him. “How you doing, pard? You sure are a sight for sore eyes. We missed ya.”

Though he was embarrassed by the ebullient display, the Southerner was too touched by the honest pleasure in the greeting to respond in any other way.

“It is a pleasure to see you also, Mr. Wilmington. I am fine, thank-you.”

Buck led the gambler to the table, “Have a seat, Ez. Right here next to me and Chris.”

Ezra sat down, nodding a greeting, “Good evening, gentlemen,” he rasped out, feeling unaccountably nervous. Reaching into his black jacket, he laid the diaphanous dispatch on the warm wood surface in front of the preacher. “I believe this is yours.”

It was amazing to see the effect that a gauzy sheet of paper and words penned in light black ink could have on hardened, worldly men. Everyone stared at the slip as if it were a death warrant.  

“I take it that this is the reason for the dilemma that has overtaken you?”

“Ain’t your fault Ez.” JD hurried to assure him.

“No, it is not. Nonetheless, I find myself responsible. However, gentlemen you should know that whatever my mother’s frailties, spite was not one of them. I believe that the intent here was genuine. Mother was not inclined to distribute hard won, shall we say, wealth to others upon impulse. She deemed you to be worthy recipients of these funds. If I may, I would suggest that you simply accept the gift and feel free to do with it what you please. The musings of the donor should not be occasion for concern. After all, she is hardly in a position to dictate to you.”

“You can’t possibly mean to ignore what she had to say.” Nathan declared.

“No, indeed, Mr. Jackson, I cannot, but you could.”

“Ezra has a point.” Chris began, holding up his hand to still the protests. “I am not saying we should discount what she suggested. I am only agreeing that we don’t have to limit ourselves to the choices she proposes. Where is the conflict in keeping the money, doing what we’re doing now and still clearing Vin’s name or building up Josiah’s little church or finding justice for Sarah and Adam?”

Buck warmed to the idea. “Shoot, I ain’t ready to settle down, but I wouldn’t mind takin’ a little trip to visit a certain charming lady, once and a while.”

“I’m already a lawman. I don’t need a college education to be a good sheriff, but I could put something away for the day I start a family.” JD grinned at the low chuckles from his friends.

Nathan felt trapped. That was fine, well and good for their dreams, but his weren’t so easily addressed. There was no way to become a real doctor in Four Corners.

“I believe that Mr. Jackson’s aspirations aren’t so easily addressed.”

Thoughtful brown eyes met the understanding green one’s with surprise.

“I took the liberty of speaking about you with my mother’s physician in Colorado Springs. At the time I was quite unaware that a conundrum of this nature would arise.” Ezra rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, trying to frame the words in the right way. He would hate for the healer to think he was being intrusive.

“Due to the dearth of legitimate medical practitioners in the western territories, there was a law passed some time ago stating that a person with certain credentials merely had to serve a period of residency under the direction of a fully licensed physician to become certified as a legal medical doctor.” Ezra wrestled with a coughing spate that had Nathan rising from his seat. Holding up a hand to stay off the healer’s concern. He continued.

“The good doctor would be more than willing to mentor you, should you wish to partake of her services. I assure you, Mr. Jackson, there is no obligation on your behalf. I simply offer it as a opportunity.”

Nathan felt their encouragement. He smiled. “I believe a trip to Colorado Springs might be in order.”

Relief and anticipation danced around the table. Drinks and meals were ordered, lively conversations flowed. Vin quietly filled Chris in on the latest happenings in town. Josiah and Nathan spoke about plans for the small sanctuary and the possibility of moving the clinic to another location. Buck teased JD who gave back good as he got.

Leaning back in his chair, quietly surveying the band of men, Ezra nursed a brandy. Amazingly, the healer had approved of the libation. Might ease that cough, were his exact words. The Southerner had been tempted to reply that he wasn’t necessarily attempting to ease his cough. He was just trying to numb that throbbing ache in his heart.

Following dinner, JD asked Chris to show everybody his new horse. The reticent gunslinger actually preened with pleasure and readily agreed. Ezra didn’t even offer an excuse, he had no intentions of tramping through the cold, snowy night; nor did Chris expect him to do so.

Josiah waved off the fretting Nathan, “You go ahead. You can pester Ezra when you come back. I am going to sit right here with Brother Standish, if he’s agreeable?”

The gambler smiled a polite invitation, although all he wanted was to be left alone.

The preacher knew that. Right now, the man was an open book should anyone care to read it.
They sat quietly while the table was cleared and Ezra sipped another brandy.

“Want to play a game of cards?” the preacher offered.

“No, thank-you,” came the distant reply.

“We were sorry to learn of Maude’s death.”

“Thank-you.”

“She was a remarkable woman.”

“Indeed.”

“Come on, Ezra talk to me.” Josiah couldn’t help but feel stone-walled by the short answers.

“What, pray tell, Mr. Sanchez would you like me to say?”

“Are you alright? Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes, no.”

An unhappy silence fell.

“What about you, Ezra. What is it that you would do?”

“With what?”

“Well,” Josiah felt suddenly felt awkward as a frightening thought occurred to him.

“Mr. Sanchez, let me spare you the meaningless speculation. My inheritance consists of a trunk of books, journals, a few personal mementos, including the lovely, yet worthless engagement ring my father gave my mother and sufficient funds to return me to that dusty backwater and pay the rent at the livery for a week.”

The preacher didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry seemed so inane, so he said nothing.

Ezra grew tired of the tense silence and rose to seek the peace of his room. It was rude to leave the man waiting alone, but he couldn’t help it.

“Ezra…” Josiah gently laid his hand on the gambler’s arm.

The gamester jerked it away. “Good night, Mr. Sanchez.”

“Ezra, please, I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry”

“Oh really? I should think you would be pleased. After all you know what kind of man I am.”

“No, I don’t Ezra. What about your dreams?”

“Mr. Sanchez, even if I wanted to, would I remember how? I can not imagine what will come, but I have already made my choice. I will remain, until y’all move on, I will stand with this little band of survivors.”

*******
Once more a remnant ….will take root below and bear fruit above.
For out …will come a remnant…a band of survivors. II Kings 19:30