A Long-Remembered Winter

by Sue Bartholomew

ONE

Buck let out a huge, pleased sigh of enjoyment as he sat in front of the Four Corners sheriff's office and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Placing his folded hands behind his head, he gazed at the cloudy February sky, took a deep breath of the unseasonably warm air and thought, damn, this feels good.

Here it was, only two weeks into February, and it had to be at least fifty-five degrees outside. For most people this was still too chilly to be sitting out in the elements, but Buck loved it-after spending the past three months cooped up inside, he was ready to take any opportunity to get some fresh air and, possibly, meet any new young ladies who might just be arriving.

He looked up and down the street; still only a few people out, but it was early afternoon. He'd seen Vin and Chris ride out of town earlier, ostensibly to patrol; but Buck suspected that they felt, as he did, that any chance to get into the open should be taken. Seven men afflicted with unrelieved cabin fever was not a pleasant thing to contemplate.

He heard a thump behind him, and turned to see JD emerge from the jail, bowler hat firmly jammed over his thick black hair. Over one arm was slung his thick winter coat. The young sheriff saw Buck and gave a small nod.

"Oh, hey, Buck. You gonna be around for a minute?"

Buck smiled, still looking at the sky. "Aw, hell yes, kid. Got to enjoy this before it goes away, y'know." He saw the coat. "See you came prepared."

JD gave him a look of mild alarm. "Oh-ho, you bet I am, Buck. I ain't never forgot when I was little, back east, an' we'd get these really warm winter days." As he spoke he reached for the doorknob with one hand and fished the jail keys from the pocket of his checkered coat with the other. "One time it got real nice like this, then it started to rain, and next thing we knew, WHAM!" He pulled the jail door shut with a loud bang. "Biggest blizzard you ever saw. Swear to God, drifts ten feet high."

Buck laughed as he sat up. "You sure know how to spoil a nice day, kid."

JD didn't seem to appreciate the humor. "It might happen, is all I'm sayin'. Ain't you ever been in a blizzard?"

"Well, sure, kid, an' I agree they ain't no fun," Buck assured him. "But I also seen plenty o' nice warm winter days where nothin' like that happened. Just relax an' enjoy it, an' don't be so jumpy. You'll live longer, an' enjoy it more. Now," He leaned back again. "Were you gonna ask me somethin'?"

"Oh, yeah-I gotta run over to the telegraph office, can you watch the jail for a minute?"

Buck nodded, letting his gaze travel the length of the mostly deserted street. "Yah, I reckon. I can handle that. Any bad guys come by, I'll just pelt 'em with snowballs."

JD gave him an exasperated look, then tossed the keys into Buck's lap and hurried off in the direction of the telegraph office. Buck watched him go, amused, then glanced again at the sky, his smile fading. The clouds did look dark, at that...

Vin scanned the horizon, and decided he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

The tracker turned slightly in his saddle, the warm breeze stirring his long golden-brown hair as he waited for Chris to catch up. Vin sat patiently, knowing that it would be unfair to try and hurry his companion along, now that they had finally been able to once more take to the open trail. It might be several long months before such a chance would come again.

It hadn't been easy on any of them, this first winter together at Four Corners. Vin's mouth curled slightly as he recalled how antsy everyone had gotten lately; fierce cold and the occasional storm of snow or ice had forced them all indoors for weeks at a time, and as much as they tried to all get along, the situation had still been enough to grate on even Nathan's nerves. Staying inside for so long had caused the healer to be especially concerned about them all coming down with colds, and his constant advice to them had lately taken on a tone of irritation. When the warm weather arrived Nathan had all but pushed them out of the saloon doors, insisting that they get some fresh air.

Most of them had not needed prodding; Ezra had taken the opportunity to ride off to Eagle Bend to see about replacing his winter-weary wardrobe, and Josiah wasted little time hauling out his tools to resume the repairs to the church roof. Nathan himself saddled up Prophet to check on the nearby Indian villages, while Buck had declared it his solemn duty to teach JD how to pitch horseshoes.

Vin, of course, had been the first one out the door; used to the freedom and openness of the prairie, the tracker had never been comfortable staying inside for long, but had borne the forced hibernation secure in the knowledge that the open country would be there for him when the time was right. Now, riding in the gentle air, the rocky desert mountains spread before him, he gazed upon the landscape with warm blue eyes and drank it all in like a man who had been on the verge of dying of thirst.

But of all of them, the situation had been the hardest on Chris. Staying inside had forced him to be inactive, and being inactive had given the moody gunslinger too much time to think. Even when events swirled around him, the ghosts of Chris' murdered wife and child hovered around the edges of his mind; with nothing to distract him, their presence became even more acute, and Vin could tell that the strain had been taking its toll. Normally touchy, Chris' temperament of late had been downright explosive, and he had been drinking too much whiskey to alleviate the boredom and the pain for Vin's comfort. Now, as he watched the dark figure of Chris approach slowly along the rocky trail, Vin could tell by his partner's relaxed posture that the outdoors had worked their healing powers on him as well. The ghosts were quieted, for now at least.

Vin returned his troubled gaze to the forbidding clouds in front of him, not looking at Chris as he rode up. He heard the loud crunch of Valor's hooves on the barren ground and shook his head.

"That don't look good," he muttered, his voice low and raspy, his eyes never leaving the thin line of blue-black which stretched in a dark ribbon across the horizon.

Chris reined in and observed the sight as well, his eyes squinting against the breeze, which had picked up a little. "Snow?"

Vin's head bobbed a little. "Yep. Could be a lot."

There was a pause, and Vin heard Chris say, very softly but fervently, "Damn!" Then, in a louder voice, "We'd best get back to town and get everybody ready."

Vin nodded, turning Sire around to follow Chris back to town.

"Should've known it wouldn't last," he heard Chris grouse as they began the ride back. "Guess we'll have to spend some more time listening to Nathan's health lectures."

Vin trotted beside him, his expression one of resigned amusement. "Spring's gotta come sometime."

There was a pause, then Chris replied, "Yeah. That's what I keep telling myself."

JD hurried out of the telegraph office, telegrams clutched tightly in his hand as he sped back towards the jail. As he walked he noticed that the breeze had picked up and turned slightly cooler; a few raindrops had begun to fall. He pursed his lips, unpleasant memories sneaking into his mind. Here we go again.

"JD!"

The young man turned to see Violet Potter, the young daughter of a local merchant's widow, hurrying towards him, one hand clutching a small book while the other grasped her black skirts to prevent their getting dragged in the moistening dirt. She was a small girl, thin but pretty, in a twelve-year-old way; she and JD had become friends after the seven men had succeeded in bringing her father's murderer to trial. Even so, JD was slightly irked by her appearance; he had so much to do.

"Hi, Miss Potter," he smiled, touching his hat-brim and trying to be nice. "Look, I can't really talk right now, OK?"

She trotted beside him as he walked, doing her best to keep up with his rapid pace. "Sure, JD, I don't want to bother you. I just wanted to return your book."

She held it out to him, one of his slim dime novels, its paper cover dotted with raindrops which were coming faster now. They quickly crossed onto the covered sidewalk, where JD paused long enough to take the book back and jam it into his pocket.

"Well, I hope you liked it," he said, giving her another smile. She nodded, her eyes glowing in the gathering gloom.

"Oh, I sure did, JD, it was so romantic! When Mr. Masterson rescued that poor gal from the cattle rustler, why, I just about fainted dead away, it was so excitin'!"

JD blinked, puzzled, then pulled the book halfway out of his pocket and read the title. "BAT MASTERSON AND THE BLOODY BRANSON BROTHERS". Funny, he hadn't remembered that one as being particularly romantic-but, come to think of it, there was a girl in there somewhere. Oh, well. He tucked the book back down and looked Violet square in the eye.

"Now, look, Miss Potter, we got some bad weather coming. Go on over to your ma's store and tell her to close up an' go home an' get ready."

She grew serious at his concerned expression. "Gosh, JD, you look worried."

He sighed. "I'll be a lot less worried when I know you an' your ma are safe. The whole town could be hit bad an' we gotta prepare. Now, I gotta go-you run along to your ma's."

He tipped his bowler hat quickly and hurried to the jail. She looked after him, then at the steadily falling rain, and turned her steps towards Mrs. Potter's store.

Buck scowled at the rain, feeling his good mood slip away. Damn it, he thought, the kid was right.

He rose and drew his thin coat tighter, cursing the fact that he'd left his thicker jacket in his room. The rain was coming down heavily now, turning the hard frozen ground into shallow stands of mud. As Buck contemplated making his way over to the saloon to see if the charms of the black-haired, blue-eyed Molly were available, he heard the splashing of hooves, and looked up to see the dripping forms of Chris and Vin riding towards him.

"I see you found some bad weather to bring back," Buck observed sourly, as the pair reined in.

"Don't say I never brought you anything," Chris replied in a dry tone, his black garments misting silver in the rain. "We're gonna stable the horses. Meet us in the saloon, it looks like we might have some nasty weather to deal with."

Buck nodded, folding his arms.

"Nathan an' Ezra back yet?" Vin asked, seemingly unbothered by the small rivers of water running down his clothes and dripping from his long curled hair. Buck pursed his lips.

"Yah, I seen Nathan come back. Ain't seen Ezra tho-he mighta gone straight to his room."

Chris shifted in his saddle. "He was sposed to send word when he left Eagle Bend, but the telegraph's been out. Well, if he ain't back yet we can only hope that he had sense enough to hole up somewhere until this passes."

With that, he spurred Valor towards the livery, followed by Vin; as they rode down the shining street small clouds of moisture bounced from their clothes into the dank air. As Buck watched them go he heard someone run up behind him, and turned to see JD, soaking wet and out of breath.

"Where's Chris goin'?" he gasped. "I gotta talk to him."

Buck surveyed JD's condition and shook his head. "Kid, what'd you do-remember your coat but forget your umbrella?"

JD's eyes flashed fire. "Dammit, now, Buck!"

But the older man laughed. "Don't worry, kid-we're gonna meet Chris in the saloon."

JD was still wet, but seemed relieved. "Oh, that's good, cause we might have trouble comin'. Look-" he held up a soggy piece of paper before Buck. After a pause, Buck took it, read it, and frowned.

"Bank at Eagle Bend got held up, suspect seen headin' towards Four Corners." Buck snorted. "Hell, kid, he'll probably drown before he gets here."

JD shook his head. "This telegram's from last night, Buck-there was some kinda problem with the equipment, an' they only re-sent it just now. He could be real close by by now. An', on top of that-" he waved another piece of paper, just as drippy-"there's word from Yuma that we got a big snowstorm headin' our way."

Buck glanced at the torrent in the street. "Looks like we just got rain, kid. We can deal with that, I reckon."

"It can turn to snow, I've seen it happen," JD insisted. "And if it does, we could be in a world of hurtin'."

Buck felt a little disturbed by JD's alarm, but decided it was just the kid's excitable nature. It was only a little snowstorm, nothing they couldn't handle. He saw a third telegram in the young man's hand.

"What's that third message say-is the Wild Bunch comin' to town?"

"Hmm?" JD glanced at the forgotten missive. "Aw, no, that's just from Ezra, tellin' us he's on his way back. I think Chris made him promise to let him know when he left Eagle Bend."

Buck eyed the inclement weather and chuckled. "Hope he ain't wearin' his best clothes." Buck dug the jail keys from his pocket and locked the door.

"Well, kid, I think we best get over to the saloon now if it's gonna set to snowin'," he said, handing the keys back to JD, "'cause I done forgot my snowshoes."

Ezra hunched his shoulders against the cold rain and, for the hundredth time since starting out from Eagle Bend, cursed the day he decided to leave the warm climes of the South and come West.

As he made his way down the puddle-strewn mountain pass, he managed to dredge up a small amount of gratitude that the others could not see him at the moment. They probably wouldn't recognize the normally natty gambler, now that he was sopping wet and miserable. He groaned inwardly at the vision of how he must look now: clothing soaked, hair dripping, eyes watering from the cold. At least his newly-purchased clothing was safe, he mused, and smiled a little at the thought of changing into dry clothes once he reached Four Corners.

The ride had started out fine, if rather boring; the only item of interest Ezra had passed all day was what looked like a dead horse, lying behind some brush at the side of the road just outside Eagle Bend. Once the rain had begun, however, the conditions of the road had deteriorated rapidly, becoming a cold, muddy morass, and he was having to guide Chaucer carefully lest the animal slip on the treacherous terrain.

Fellow travelers had been few; during the whole journey he had passed only one other person, a man holed up in a shallow cave off to one side of the road. Ezra supposed he ought to have offered the stranger a lift, but he had never thought it wise to get mixed up with unknown wayfarers, and besides Chaucer was exhausted enough having to carry Ezra in this inclement weather. The man had ignored him as he passed anyhow.

He sneezed violently and muttered a choice oath; had he known the weather would turn so suddenly he never would have left Eagle Bend. Things had gone fairly well there, even though he had been unable to find any decent opponents on which to practice his gambling skills. In fact, challengers had been so scarce that he'd wound up in the local hotel lobby passing the time by doing card tricks for the owner's children. Entertaining the children had been enjoyable enough-Ezra infinitely preferred their company to that of adults, mostly, he supposed, because he found their innocence so refreshingly different from the sort of personalities he usually dealt with, himself included. But one dull, unprofitable night in Eagle Bend had been enough,and this morning he had hit the trail for home.

Everything had been fine until the winds picked up and the rain began; Ezra scowled at the elements and flexed his chilly fingers. Used to warm gambling halls and dry hotels, he generally detested uncomfortable weather, and cold was his least favorite temperature. Well, home was not far, and with any luck he'd be able to change before any of the other men caught a glimpse of him. He fished in his pocket for his good monogrammed handkerchief, but was doomed to disgust when he saw that it was just as sodden as he was. With a heaved sigh of exasperation he repocketed the useless article and turned his attention back to the road before him.

He felt Chaucer shiver and patted the horse's streaming neck in sympathy as the animal blew.

"I agree, my friend," he murmured, looking into the darkening clouds. "Not fit weather for man nor beast, I fear. However, we shall soon have you in a warm stable and myself in a hot bath."

A gust of cold wind caught him and he shivered himself; he was already wearing his riding gloves, but began to think that it would probably be a good idea to put on the winter coat he had in his blanket roll as well. Good thing Nathan talked him into taking it; the blue jacket he was wearing was stylish but not exactly made for cold weather.

Finding a sheltering outcropping of rocks near the road, he slid off of the water-slickened saddle and quickly undid the straps restraining the bedroll. He grimaced in annoyance as the wind blew the rain into his face; it was really picking up now, and even the rocks would not provide shelter for long. As he lifted the blanket from the straps he remembered the shallow cave he'd passed, but decided against riding back to it; Four Corners was not far up the road, and he could probably reach it before the weather became much worse. Besides, the man who had been occupying it had looked none too friendly.

He was in the process of unrolling the blanket when he stopped, suddenly aware of a new sound among the howling of the wind and the rhythmic patter of the heavy raindrops. Footsteps. He sighed, closing his eyes; wet, miserable, and now he was going to get robbed too? Now that really made him angry.

He stood still for a moment, hands still on the half-undone bedroll, listening; there they were, muffled by the rain but definitely there. He continued to act casual, removing the coat from the blanket with one hand while deftly flexing the other. With a metal click the small Derringer he kept hidden up his sleeve for just such an emergency sprang into his right hand; he palmed it and quickly whirled, finger ready to pull the trigger.

As he spun something hard and cold slammed into his left temple with such violence that he toppled, stunned, into the muddy roadway. Enraged at both the painful blow and the soiling of his blue jacket, he attempted to rise; he saw a short, dark figure, black against the blue-gray sky, and recognized it as the unfriendly man from the cave he'd passed earlier. He raised the Derringer once more, but with lightning swiftness the figure struck again, much harder this time, and sent Ezra crashing painfully into darkness.

Josiah shook his head as he gazed out of the half-mended window of his dilapidated church at the slashing, icy rain. Good days never seemed to last long any more, he mused sadly, and pulled the shutter closed.

He turned to see Nathan emerging from the side door, dripping and almost unrecognizable in his bulky coat and wide-brimmed hat. With a shake the healer removed his soaked garments, observing the puddles they made on the floor with consternation.

"Sorry bout messin' up your floor, Josiah," he said, giving his hat a firm shake and watching the moisture fly off. the older man just chuckled.

"Don't concern yourself on it, Nate," he replied in an amused tone. "It's seen worse things than water, I'm sure. Basement all set up?"

down there. Probably have about as many as we did last time it stormed. Warm weather probably left a lot o' folks unprepared for this."

Josiah nodded silently, picking up a candle and walking around the sanctuary, lighting other tapers with its small flame until the room began to acquire a soft, warm glow. They could both hear the wind howling outside, and the ancient wooden bones of the church creaked with the stress.

Nathan glanced uneasily at the groaning roof. "Hate to see all your hard work come crashin' down, Josiah. You think this buildin's gonna be OK?"

Josiah lit the last of the candles, then looked at his companion and shrugged. "We'll just have to trust the carpenter, my friend." He replaced the candle in its holder and wiped his hands. "Tell Chris we're all ready over here, if he finds anyone needin' sanctuary."

Nathan nodded and bundled himself back up again. "Sure could do without this,' he muttered, jamming on his still-dripping hat. Josiah gently smiled.

"Cheer up-it can't last more'n forty days and forty nights."

Nathan shot him a look of amused irritation and sped out the door, his long coat whipping in the stiff wind. After Nathan had pulled the door shut with difficulty against the force of the breeze, Josiah stood still for a moment, listening to the moaning of nature. Then he said a quick prayer and went to double-check his supplies.

The saloon was nearly deserted, despite the fact that it was not even two o'clock; the bartender had closed up and was hurrying home to his family, leaving only Chris and company to keep an eye on things. The saloon's wooden winter doors proved little protection against the now-freezing winds, and JD fidgeted as they waited for Nathan to arrive. The jail had to be warmer than here.

"This gonna take long, Chris?" Buck asked as he sat on his backwards-turned chair. "I figured I could hurry on to Molly's, see if she needs warmin' up."

JD groaned from his nearby seat and shook his head, idly flipping through his dime novel. "That's real gentlemanly of ya, Buck."

The other man only smiled, unperturbed. "Man's gotta see to his duties, son."

Chris seemed edgy and didn't smile. "Should only be a few minutes, Buck," he said shortly, looking out of the windows at the gloom. "Just want to make sure everything's covered."

JD grunted, still leafing through the book. "Sounds like what Miss Molly should be doing."

Buck scowled, but was prevented from any further remarks by the entrance of Vin, whose long wool coat and hat had turned black with the rain. He paid it about as much mind as he seemed to pay most things-which is to say, none- and regarded Chris calmly as he unwound the long scarf from around his face.

"It's gettin' colder," he said softly, balling the damp cloth in his hands. "Think it's turnin' to snow."

The black-garbed gunslinger pursed his lips, but said nothing. He never wasted his anger, and it was useless to rage against nature. After a few moments he turned his piercing gaze back to Vin.

"See anybody out there, looked like they might need help?"

Vin removed his hat and shook out his long, curly hair. "Hell, no, cept the bank's still open. I told 'em to close up but there's a few people still wantin' money. Reckon they think this here's the rainy day they been savin' for."

Chris frowned, looked away, then back again. "Any sign of Ezra? Telegram was sent this mornin', he should be here by now."

Vin shook his head wordlessly.

"Probably sittin' under a tree somewhere, protectin' his fancy duds," Buck offered, staring at the cover of JD's book. "Hey, kid, can I borrow that sometime? I think I knew them Branson boys."

Nathan sloshed in. "Gettin' powerful nasty out there. Chris, Josiah wanted me to tell ya the church's ready for anyone who needs it."

Chris nodded. "Good. Boys, I suggest we make one last round and then go the hell home."

They all made to leave, heading for the doors, except for Chris, who strode with purpose towards the bar. Buck watched him, puzzled.

"Ready to go, Chris?"

"Just a moment, Buck," his friend replied, reaching behind the bar and retrieving a bottle of whiskey with one smooth motion. He turned back to the small group, his face set in a grim smile.

"Now I'm ready."

Violet Potter bounced impatiently as she stood beside her mother in the small, hot bank; why was it taking so long? Grown-ups and their stupid money, she sighed to herself. Ever since finishing the dime novel she'd been dying to write in her diary about it, but now she had to stand here in this stupid bank waiting for her mother to make a stupid deposit and the stupid man in front of them was taking forever.

"Please stop fidgeting, dear," her mother gently admonished her. "We'll be home soon."

Violet sighed and glumly twisted the knob of her umbrella handle. Other girls got to be rescued by Bat Masterson; she got to die of boredom in a bank. But Mother wouldn't understand, she thought; normally she shared everything with her, but the dime novel had been a secret. Which made reading it even more exciting, though Violet wasn't sure why.

Mrs. Potter was looking out of the window and shaking her head. "My goodness, Violet, will you look at that rain? It's almost falling sideways."

The young girl didn't look, hadn't even really heard. "Yes, mama."

Her mother looked at her sharply. "Are you all right, dear? You sound tired."

Violet gave her mother a wan smile and said impatiently. "I'm fine, Mama, I just want to go home!"

Mrs. Potter paused, then patted her daughter's shoulder. "We'll be going soon, dear, I'm sure he's almost finished." As Mrs. Potter said this, she gave the man in front of them a less-than-friendly glance. "Then we'll pick up your brother and go home."

Violet heaved another sigh and let her gaze travel out of the window; it sure was coming down now. As she looked she saw a rider tearing down the street towards the bank, the hooves of his horse sending huge sheets of brown mud into the air with each thudding stride. He's in a hurry, she thought idly. At least he was interesting to watch.

She heard him rein in outside the bank, listened as he hastily dismounted with a thick splash. Guess he's another bank customer, she mused, and lost interest again. With a teenage sigh she opened her handbag to take out some peppermints.

She suddenly heard another sound, loud and unfamiliar and right behind her; two metal clicks. Startled, she looked up to see the teller staring past her with a look of shock. The other customer turned and jumped as well, and she felt her mother pull her away from the door with a gasp of horror. Surprised and a little miffed, she looked behind her, almost straight into the barrels of two deadly-looking guns, wielded by a short, wild-looking man. Her gray eyes grew round.

"Don't move!" the man bellowed, swinging the guns from person to person with a smooth, even hand. then he aimed them at the terrified teller.

"Gimme the Goddamned money!" he cried. The teller didn't move, and without hesitation the bank robber fired at him, the bullet ringing off of the wall just above the teller's head. "NOW!"

Vin walked slowly down the street, not minding the slicing rain or the howling winds; his head was low, his mind elsewhere as he wound his way towards home and bed.

Suddenly his head came up, his eyes snapping to attention as they traveled up the street to where the bank sat in the misty distance. Had he heard a shot?

TWO

The teller hastily stuffed the bank bag as full of bills as he could and shoved them towards the robber. Violet observed the bandit with rapt fascination; he was stubbled and dirty, his face fat and ugly from vice and dissipation, but he was wearing what looked to be a brand-new long winter coat that seemed a good deal too small for him.

Without warning the other customer pulled a gun from his belt; as Mrs. Potter screamed, the robber fired first, and the other man pitched onto his face as blood began to pour from a hole in his side.

The robber looked around wildly for a moment, enraged, then reached out and wrenched Violet from her mother's side, pressing his gun to her temple as he held her tightly against him. Violet gasped and struggled faintly, dropping her umbrella, her eyes locked on those of her mother, which were wide with terror.

"Anyone else tries that, she gets it!" he cried; then he quickly grabbed the bag of money, stuffed it into one of the coat's large pockets, and pulled Violet outside into the rain, the gun again pressed to her head.

Vin was approaching the bank at a half-run, wondering if the sound had been a trick of the wind; he heard footfalls behind him, turned to see Buck coming up on his left, guns drawn.

"You hear what I heard?" Buck asked. Vin was about to answer when another shot and screams pierced the chilled air.

"Reckon I did," Vin replied, and they set off at a full run.

They were still some distance away when they saw a short, burly figure dragging a girl emerge from the bank.

"Damn, he's got someone!" Buck cried, as the robber mounted and dragged the girl onto the saddle behind him, holding her there with a firm grip on her arm. The horse reared slightly and let out a loud whinny as the robber sawed it roughly around. Vin paused, brought his sawed-off Winchester up to shoot; the gloom and rain made it hard to see, but if he could get one clear shot-

The horse wheeled quickly around, then pounded swiftly away, out of the range of Buck's handguns; Buck waited for Vin to shoot, but instead watched as Vin abruptly brought his rifle down, stood still for a minute, then spun around and dashed towards the livery.

"Hey! Wait up!" Buck cried, confused as he danced around and followed Vin. "Ain't you gonna shoot him?"

"Go see to the bank," Vin yelled above the wind. "I'm gettin' Chris. We gotta follow him."

"Wha-" Buck shook his head. "In this weather? Are you crazy? No, wait, I know the answer to that-you ARE crazy! Why didn't you just plug him back there?"

"Ain't got time to explain," Vin replied, a little testily as he cast a look at Buck. Thoroughly irritated, not to mention wet and cold, Buck grabbed his arm.

"Dammit, Vin, if you an' Chris are gonna ride off to freeze to death, I wanna know why! You know that guy or somethin'?"

Vin stopped, faced Buck and gave him an intense look.

"Ain't the guy. It's the horse."

Now Buck was completely lost. "What?"

"It was Chaucer."

The other man's mouth dropped open. Finally he stammered, "You sure?"

Vin nodded quickly, his eyes jumping. "That bank ain't the only thing he's robbed today, an' we gotta take 'im alive so's we can find out what happened to Ezra. An' he's got a hostage, too, so the sooner we handle this, the better."

With that Vin splashed away towards the boarding house where Chris rented a room. Buck stood for a moment, then turned and ran towards the bank; he could see a dim figure silhouetted against the murk staring after the path the robber had taken, and recognized it as Mrs. Potter. Damn, he thought, that bastard's got one of her kids, and he felt his gut tighten. What could he have done to Ezra, he wondered as he ran; he would've had to kill him to get Chaucer away from him. Grimly he pushed that thought away; hopefully, Ezra was monumentally pissed, but all right otherwise. The Potter child, on the other hand, was in real trouble.

As Buck ran towards the bank he noticed that the rain had turned to snow.

+ + + + + + +

The first thing Ezra became aware of upon regaining consciousness was the cold.

It felt like he'd been lying in that wet roadway forever; as he slowly came back to the real world, he immediately sensed that the mildly uncomfortable chill had deepened to biting frigidity. Awakening further, he felt the icy dirt scraping his face and blinked his eyes open, becoming gradually aware that the conditions had worsened in more ways than just the temperature. Raising his spinning head from its uncomfortable position, he surveyed his surroundings and gave a small groan of surprise.

The wind was howling overhead, bending the fragile desert trees almost in two with their ferocity. The rain had been replaced by snow, small icy pellets which sliced through the air in a wavering curtain of white. So thick was the snowfall that Ezra could barely make out the road in front of him; everything beyond ten feet around him was obscured by the raging snow. He blinked again, the cold and wind causing his eyes to water, and slowly stood up, his hands groping the nearby rocks for support as he looked around in horror and thought, This is not good.

The ground was just beginning to whiten; looking at the frozen road, Ezra could make out Chaucer's hoofprints heading away towards Four Corners. He felt his stomach lurch at the thought of his horse in the hands of that ruffian; Chaucer had come with him out West, had been his best and only friend for years. An angry heat replaced the winter chill for a moment as he stared after the robber's path. You hurt one hair on his mane, Ezra silently swore, and I'll have your hide for a saddle blanket.

He suddenly realized that he was shivering violently; his clothes were soaked through and getting wetter by the second. He looked around on the ground and saw what he was looking for: his discarded blanket, half-buried in the falling snow. He picked it up and shook it out quickly, hoping; but to his dismay it was empty. The coat inside was gone.

Damn, he thought, brushing the snow from the cloth and wrapping it around himself. It was cold and damp, but afforded some protection, at least, against the raging wind, and he did still have his riding gloves. A new thought struck him; he checked his holsters. His Remingtons were gone. Dismayed, he inspected further: his sleeve gun had also been pilfered, along with all of his ammunition. Finally, he reached underneath his blue jacket, feeling for the hideaway sling he concealed there; to his relief, that gun was still in its holster. He pulled it out quickly and checked the chamber; three shots. Well, if he caught up with that loathsome bastard, one was all he was going to need.

Pulling the flapping blanket tightly around him, Ezra glanced up and down the road. The cave he'd passed would provide shelter, but it was a good distance away, and once there all Ezra could do was freeze-he had no food and no way to start a fire. Four Corners was closer, and the wind would be at his back. Plus, hopefully, he would be able to find Chaucer and apprehend his abductor without too much bother. With trembling hands he pulled out his watch and checked it; a little after two o' clock, at least three hours of light left, enough time to walk back if there were no problems. Then, a hot bath, a warm bed, and a solemn vow to never venture outdoors again as long as he lived.

That sounded good. Ezra pulled his hat down securely and started off towards town.

Chris sped out of the door of his boarding house, pulling his long scarf around his face against the sharp, icy snowflakes. His thick black woolen coat whipped in the wind as he strode swiftly across the snow-blinded street to where Vin sat, already bundled up and mounted on Sire, holding the reins of Valor and waiting.

Buck came up to walk beside Chris, yelling to be heard over the near-deafening roar of nature.

"You don't come back soon, we're comin' after you," he cried into Chris' ear, as the other man tied off his scarf and made to mount his horse. Chris stopped and looked at his old friend sternly.

"We don't come back soon, it means we're dead," he replied, placing one foot in the stirrup. "Don't waste your time, Buck. Stay here, things could get really nasty."

Buck looked around and snorted. "If it gets any worse than this, I'm movin' to California!"

Vin glanced at him. "How's Mrs. Potter?"

"Half out of her mind," Buck responded, folding his arms against the chill. "Josiah's with her an' her boy in the church right now." He gave them both a sincere look. "I hope you do find this creep alive, cause right now I would personally like to beat the hell out of him."

"No promises," Chris grunted, hoisting himself into the saddle.

Nathan came out of the saloon and handed Vin a small bundle. The tracker looked at him questioningly.

"Some of Ezra's clothes," the healer explained. "He's gonna need to get into somethin' dry right quick, when you find 'im."

Vin stuffed the small package into his saddlebag, then turned towards him as Sire shifted nervously.

"How's that feller the robber shot?"

The healer glanced towards his room, where the would-be hero was recuperating. "He's gonna be plenty sore, but he'll make it. He had enough spunk to be mad about gettin' shot. Guess he didn't think that guy would be so fast."

"Any advice for when we find Ezra?" Chris asked, his voice muffled by his scarf.

Nathan came closer and raised his voice, fighting the elements.

"Yeah, get him sheltered and warm as soon as possible. But do it gradual-durin' the war I seen men who was heated up quick, an' then died cause their hearts gave out. An' he might be a mite confused-I seen that too. Happens when a man's been out in the cold too long."

"What about Violet?" Buck hollered. Chris gave him a dark look.

"That bank robber ain't gonna let anything happen to her, Buck. She's his hostage."

"Only he might dump her once he figures he's safe, so we gotta move," Vin urged. Chris eyed him and nodded, gathering up his reins. Nathan and Buck stepped back.

"Good luck," Nathan said. "An' watch out for yourselves too-gonna have enough on my hands without havin' your sorry hides to deal with."

Vin and Chris both nodded, then spurred their horses forward. They plunged into the swirling storm; in moments they faded into two indistinct shadows racing away into the whiteness, then were swallowed up in the fury.

Buck whapped Nathan's arm. "I'm gonna go check on Molly. You goin' to the church?"

The other man nodded. "Yeah. Where's JD?"

Buck glanced around. "Huh. I dunno, ain't seen him. I'll check the jail on my way to Molly's, maybe he's there."

Nathan nodded in agreement and began to move away. "Tell 'im to get on over to the church-oughta be warmer than the jail, an' he can sleep there."

They parted, Nathan to the church, Buck to the jail. As he slogged through the streets he noticed that the snow was getting heavier, and was accumulating in sharply slanted heaps against the buildings. He shuddered and pulled his coat tighter against his body, thinking, I left Texas for this?

Violet clung desperately to the robber's bulky middle, her eyes squeezed tight shut against the wind and snow. She could feel the horse's powerful strides as it thundered through the flatlands towards the rocky hills beyond the town, and knew that they were riding at a terrific rate of speed. Where they were going was a complete mystery, and thinking about it only increased her panic, so she concentrated instead on staying in the saddle.

The bandit had released his grip on her, probably because he knew that if she tried to jump off she'd be killed, and even if she wasn't she'd soon die in the storm. Violet opened her eyes and saw the snow-swept land around her, rocky and barren and seemingly a million miles from home. The roaring curtain of white appeared to cut them off from all civilization, and the girl gasped; it seemed as if Four Corners had been wiped off of the earth.

"Excuse me-sir?"

No answer.

"SIR?" she screeched.

He didn't turn around, only yelled. "What?"

"Where we going?"

There was a slight pause, then the fierce words, "If you don't shut up I'm throwing you off! Got it?"

She swallowed and clung tighter, closing her eyes tightly again as she thought of her mother.

Buck rubbed his gloved hands together as he neared the jail, marveling at the fact that it had only been a few hours since he'd been sitting there, enjoying the warm weather. And now this. Damn.

A faint warm glow shone in the windows, confirming Buck's suspicions. JD was inside. Crazy kid, he thought, and pushed open the door.

"Hey, JD!" he called to the young sheriff, who had been sitting behind the desk, feet propped up, reading his dime novel. JD glanced at him, but did not appear overly happy to see him.

"Oh, uh, hey, Buck."

The older man chose to ignore the lack of enthusiasm; he was in a hurry. "C'mon, get yourself together, Nathan wants you over at the church."

JD brought his feet down and shook his head. "Uh, no thanks, Buck, I'll stay here."

His friend furrowed his brow and glanced around. "Why?"

"Oh, I dunno," JD replied, apparently caught. "I, uh, like it here."

Buck was confused. "Well, I like it at the saloon, but it ain't the best place to be for bad weather. Ain't you noticed, kid? It's damn cold in here! You'll freeze your tail off."

JD fidgeted a bit. "I'm OK, really."

Buck sighed and came closer, losing his good humor. "Look, JD, Nathan wants you over to the church, an' that's where you're goin'. An' I'd rather fight you than Nathan, cause I can whup you. Nathan I ain't so sure about. So c'mon."

JD pulled back, and Buck was surprised to see real fear in his eyes.

"I ain't goin', Buck."

There was a pause, and Buck regarded his young friend seriously.

"Hey, you OK there, kid?"

JD heaved a deep sigh of embarrassment and fiddled with his bowler hat.

"Well, see, Buck, I have this-" he groped for a word, then bit his lip, thinking. "When I was a stable boy back east, we had a storm a lot like this one, and it blew down the stable. Afterwards we had to clean up, and..." He trailed off, ran a hand through his thick black hair, and looked up at Buck, his eyes flooded with pain. "It was awful, Buck. All the horses were dead. Some died when the building came down, an' others froze. I ain't never forgot it."

Buck perched himself on the desk and folded his hands, nodding sympathetically. "Yeah, that sounds real bad, kid. Sorry you had to go through that."

His companion looked at him steadily. "That wasn't all, Buck. When I was movin' some beams we found one of the stable hands. He'd been crushed to death. He was..." JD lost his voice again, and shivered, looking away.

Finally he looked back at Buck. "I don't wanna die like that, Buck. And that church looks mighty rickety to me. I mean, you all can go in if you want, but I just gotta stay here."

Buck sat silent for a moment, thinking. Then he stood.

"I see your point, kid. Reckon you can stay here, but try to warm it up. Don't need you catchin' a cold."

JD nodded, plainly relieved that Buck wasn't going to fight him.

"I'm goin' to Molly's," Buck continued, making his way around the desk and bundling himself up again. "After that, I'll be at the church if you need me. Less'n, of course, we get blown to San Francisco."

"OK. Be careful." JD called, propping his feet up again.

"Oh, yeah," Buck replied casually, pulling the door open and speeding out into the snow. JD watched him go, then looked at the sturdy brick walls of the jail and smiled to himself as he returned to his reading.

Ezra crouched behind the rocky outcropping and pulled his hat down, rethinking his decision to return to Four Corners. His trip was not working out at all as he expected.

The road had been easy enough to follow-the wind was blowing so hard that the snow was not accumulating much, except against the rocks, where huge drifts were forming. But the wind and the cold were proving hard to fight with; more than once it had knocked him to the ground, until finally he had decided to get off of the road entirely.

He hunkered down and pulled the snow-covered blanket tighter, looking up the road towards Four Corners. It felt like he had been walking for ages, he should be almost there by now. He beat his numb hands together, then pulled out his watch again. A few minutes past two-thirty. He squinted up at the gray-blue sky as he repocketed his watch-if he didn't make it there soon, he was going to be in trouble.

He sat back and rubbed his nose, vaguely wondering if anyone at Four Corners had missed him yet. He'd sent that telegram like Larabee asked, but the telegraph at Four Corners had been unreliable of late. Perhaps they didn't even know he'd left Eagle Bend. Well, all the more reason to take it upon himself to make it back. It couldn't be far, and the hot bath was proving increasingly motivational. Taking a deep breath, Ezra stood and took a step towards the road.

Suddenly he stopped and cocked his head; through the moaning of the wind he could hear the quick, rhythmic pounding of hoofbeats. He perked up-someone who could provide a ride to shelter, perhaps. Then he paused, listened, and felt his heart thud. There was no doubt-the approaching horse was Chaucer.

Quickly ducking behind the rock, he pulled out the gun from his shoulder sling and waited. Once the robber passed, he could get a good shot at him and get his horse back, while disposing of that cretin at the same time.

He waited, trying to calm his breathing as he listened. The hoofbeats quickly drew closer. My God, listen to how he's driving the poor creature, Ezra thought as his chest tightened in anger. He'll kill the unfortunate beast with such riding.

A few more moments passed; the sound grew still louder, until Ezra could tell they were almost past him. A dark shape shot by, blurred by the driving snow; Ezra would have to move fast. He moved swiftly into the road, his gun raised and ready to fire-

-and froze there, shocked at the sight of a young girl looking back at him from the back of the bandit's saddle. She had seen Ezra, but the robber hadn't; for a second their eyes locked, then the horse disappeared into the veil of snow as if it had only been a vision of the storm.

Ezra stood still for a moment, then lowered his gun as his thoughts collected. Dear Lord, he said to himself, that looked like the Potter girl. What in the world is she doing with that vermin? A hostage, he realized, and felt a shiver go through him that had no relation to the raging winds. He remembered the look in her eyes, a gaze whose intensity no cloud of snow could hide. A beseeching look of pure terror.

He reholstered his gun and looked back towards town, his mind racing. They must have known this had happened-would anyone be coming after her? Larabee, undoubtedly, and probably Tanner too. But with the entire area to search they'd have a hard time finding her under the best of conditions-on a day like this, it was a near impossibility.

The cave, Ezra thought suddenly, and looked up the road after them. He'd probably return there. If Ezra could get there before nightfall and get the drop on the outlaw...

His voice of reason broke in, appalled. It was a long, freezing walk to that cave, and he was plenty exhausted already. He thought of the hot bath and the warm bed; they were so close, a half hour's walk maybe. Let the others find her; he could tell them where to look when he reached town. Chaucer was a strong horse, he'd survive. And the child...

Her face came up to him again, pale and bleak and terrified. She had seen him, knew he could help her, begged for his aid with her eyes. She knew who he was, they'd met in her mother's store often enough; one of the men sworn to protect the town, an oath Ezra had taken lightly enough at the time. All it had meant then was a pardon from jail, free board, a dollar a day and plenty of time to devote to the gambling tables. Those in trouble appealed to the group as a whole; nobody had yet singled Ezra out for assistance.

He ducked behind the rocks to escape the wind, and crouched down, hand to his mouth in thought. One of the other men should be here, he told himself, Vin or Chris or Buck-they all had lived most of their lives outdoors, knew how to survive in this cursed climate. They'd be much better at handling this.

But they weren't here. And he was.

He rose and glanced again at the road to Four Corners. The snow was blinding, the wind fierce and freezing; by the time they got this far, night would be approaching, and they'd never find the cave in the dark. And who knows what could happen before morning? He shuddered; a man who thought nothing of leaving someone to freeze would not hesitate to hurt a child. The memory of her anxious face loomed again before him, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

Damn it, he thought, and wrapping the blanket tighter around him, set off down the road to Eagle Bend after the robber.

THREE

The snow was piling high against the faded buildings of Four Corners as Buck dashed through its deserted streets towards the end of town. Whew, he thought as he almost slid on an icy puddle, this is pert near as bad as Chicago in the winter. Not near as much horse shit, tho.

Finally he reached the small house of Molly Havers; it was almost the last house on the street, tucked away from the rest of them as if it were embarrassed to edge any closer. Buck eyed the structure warily; it was old, one of the first built in the town, and wore its years badly. The boards were cracked and faded, the timbers splitting; he wasn't sure but he almost felt he could see it swaying in the ferocious winds. As he drew closer he could hear its joints angrily creaking from the strain.

He mushed up to the door and rapped on it with one thickly gloved hand.

"Hey, Moll! C'mon, open on up, it's me!"

There was a pause; then the cracked wooden door was pulled open, and Molly appeared,wearing a worn woolen dress, her black curled hair disheveled. She regarded Buck with a look of pleased surprise.

"Buck, y'ol' stallion! Don't you know I'm off duty?"

Buck grinned; thank God she seemed to be in a good mood. He pulled at the brim of his hat in greeting.

"Just came to check on ya, darlin'. Y'okay in there?"

She smiled, reached out and pulled him inside. "C'mon in and find out!"

"Now Moll, really, I can't-I gotta-" But it was too late, and he didn't honestly resist all that much as she dragged him into the house and closed the door.

It was actually rather warm inside the small house; a bright fire was burning in the half-broken stove. Buck looked around quickly to see if anything was needed, but he'd been here many times before. Not much had changed-same rickety bed in one corner with its ratty quilt, same odd old sticks of furniture. The ceiling was nothing but a series of huge old cross-beams; the peaked roof arced high and dark overhead. The walls were decorated with a few tattered magazine pages without frames, nailed haphazardly to the bare wooden walls; there was only one decent picture on the wall, a small gilt-framed photograph of an elderly couple which was hung next to the bed. Buck did notice that the awful creaking sound was even louder inside; the frame heaved and sighed like an ancient ship at sea.

"I'm so glad you came by, Buck!" Molly said brightly, her deep blue eyes dancing as she led him inside. "I was gettin' kinda bored." She put her arms around her neck and gave him a quick kiss.

Buck returned the embrace and kissed her passionately, leaning her backwards a little. Their lips parted.

"Moll?" he asked, not moving from his bent position.

"Yes, sugar?" she replied, smiling.

"Would you come with me to the church?"

She giggled and patted his cheek. "Why, Buck, is this a proposal?"

He laughed. "This ain't the best day for a weddin', darlin'. I reckon you'll be safer there, is all."

He straightened and released her. She clucked her tongue and shook her head.

"You're such a worrier, Buck!"

He smiled again and folded his arms. "Way I see it, Moll, there ain't enough beauty in the world, an' I'm sworn to protect what little we got. Now move that pretty little behind o' your so's we can go, OK?"

She chuckled and went to an old trunk in the corner, opening it and rooting around for her heavy wrap.

Buck watched, listening to the wind howl around the building's rotted timbers. Suddenly he looked around-a new sound was intruding, mingled with the anguished creaking. A sharp, cracking sound, faint at first but now growing rapidly louder.

"Moll-"

"Just a minute, Buck! I'm alm-"

The sound grew in intensity. Buck's heart began to pound; he ran lightly to her and grabbed her around the shoulders.

"C'mon, darlin', we gotta get outta here, this damn house is about to fall in!"

A deafening splitting noise rent the air; the building shifted a bit, dust and splinters showering the couple as the entire structure bent a little to one side. Molly screamed as Buck pulled her towards the door, the death cries of the building mounting in volume with each passing second.

They were almost to the door when Molly suddenly said something Buck couldn't hear and tore herself from his grasp, stumbling towards the bed in the far corner of the room. One hand was reaching out for the small gilt-framed picture.

"Molly!"

With a human-like wail the structure gave way, the walls falling in a cloud of snow, sawdust and knife-like splinters. Buck dove to where Molly stood, knocked her to the ground and threw himself on top of her, shielding his head with his arm as the groaning remains of the shack crashed with a roar to the earth around them.

Chris and Vin galloped up the snowy road towards the mountains, all but unrecognizable in their bulky winter garb. They were both covered in snow; Vin's long hair was flying wildly in the icy gusts as he tore along. As they rode Chris scanned the landscape, which was quickly whitening beneath the savage snowfall. The snow was still raging, whipped along by the fierce wind; beyond their immediate path, the hills loomed in the distance as shadowy blurs in the undulating clouds of white.

They had been following the robber's trail, with Vin leading the way; here and there faint hoofprints had been left in the frozen mud, and the tracker had hardly looked up from the road once since they had left Four Corners. While Vin was normally a man of few words, Chris felt there was something else behind the former bounty hunter's silence.

He'd seen Vin track before, and knew the quiet, confident way Vin usually went about his work; but this time he seemed driven by more than the desire to find their quarry. There was something behind Vin's eyes, obvious even in the thick clouds of snow; an urgent, compelling light which commanded him forward, riding through the snow and wind with no more thought than if they were riding through a pleasant spring day.

Chris looked around and shook himself; he had better look to his own welfare, and leave off trying to analyze his partner's moods. Whatever ghosts Vin might be dealing with, they were his own concern; a man could lay claim to little besides his past, and Chris was not about to pry. He knew only too well how agonizing such intrusions could be, and felt Vin understood this as well. Perhaps that was the source of their quickly formed, unspoken bond-they each knew and respected the pain of talk, and the comfort of silence.

"He sure was goin' hard," Vin finally yelled, eyes still on the snow-streaked trail. "Them hoofprints are mighty deep."

"Any signs that Ezra mighta passed this way?"

"Nope." Vin lifted his eyes and blinked, staring into the dazzling tundra. "Tell ya what, Chris. If he ain't found shelter yet he might be a goner."

Chris pulled up beside him and gave him a glance, his eyes-the only visible part of his face-set with determination.

"Let's hope that fool gambler knows enough not to gamble with his life."

Vin gave a shake of his head. "Bet it wouldn't be the first time, if he didn't." He paused, then said, "Sure hope the Potter kid's all right."

"She will be, once we find her," Chris replied firmly, his eyes now glinting hard in the bluish light. Vin met his eyes, nodded, looked back to the road as they rode along; the light in those blue eyes seemed more intense now, fueled by something burning in his mind.

"Once, when I was a buffalo hunter, I seen a storm like this that went on for three days," Vin said in a slow, thoughtful drawl as they began climbing the ascent into the mountains. "This other tracker, Bill Parsons, an' me got stuck in it, way up in the mountains. Bill was a real smart young feller, lot like JD-dyin' to learn about huntin' an' the wild. We was travelin' over the mountains when it hit, an' if we hadn't found a old settler's cabin we both woulda died."

The ascent leveled off and became rocky, the dirt road changing into icy, snow-swept stone. Both men eyed the landscape with grim faces; it looked untouched by anything but the relentless violence of nature.

As they spurred their horses on, Vin continued his tale in a low voice edged with regret.

"The cabin was half blowed down, an' we couldn't keep a fire lit. Bill kept gettin' scared we was gonna freeze or starve, an' he hadn't brought anything sturdy enough to keep out the cold. He kept sayin' he was gonna go for help an' wouldn't stay put. Two days later I woke up to find he'd eaten all the food, then wandered off." Even through the thick scarf, Chris could see Vin swallow at the memory. "Found 'im later on. He'd pulled off half his clothes and was frozen dead."

So that was it. Chris shot him a look, waiting. For a few moments Vin was silent, absorbed by scenes from a winter long past; when he finally looked at Chris again there was an anxious expression in his eyes. "Man's got to know how to deal with things out here, Chris. You take on nature, you gotta know that you'll wind up bein' part of it-one way, or the other."

Chris watched him carefully as Vin dropped his eyes once more to the trail, wondering what dark forms Vin saw in those gray-white swirls of ice-like snow. Then he turned his attention to the shadowy shapes of the mountains rising before them, their frozen rocks and crags hiding dangers more perilous than the lethal storm. They said nothing more as they continued up the path, and were soon swallowed up by the billowing gusts of winter.

JD sighed as he riffled the pages of his dime novel. He had never noticed it before, but this particular story really stunk.

Or maybe he was just bored with it, he thought as he tossed it onto the desk and leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head. It was safe here in the jail, sure, but it was also lonely and desperately dull. Outside he could see the streets still nearly obscured by the snow; piles of it were everywhere, breaking in motionless white waves against the buildings. He could hear the windowpanes rattling from the force of the wind and shivered, thinking of Ezra. Sure hope he's OK.

The awful memory of the blasted stable threatened to invade his mind; he shook his head as if to remove it and sat up, drumming his fingers anxiously. Ezra was going to be fine, they'd find him and Violet soon enough, he'd trust Chris and Vin to do anything. Then the storm would be over and everything would be fine and he wouldn't have to worry any more about any of his friends dying in the cold or in the twisted, bloody wreckage of a building that had seemed so safe...

His gaze fell on the book, and he shuddered, thinking that maybe he wasn't enjoying it because when he read it, all he could think of was Violet, that poor kid, out in that storm with that crazy bank robber. He'd actually been sort of fond of her; she was a cute kid, kind of sad of course, what with her pa getting killed and all, but JD was proud that they had been able to ease her pain by bringing the killer to justice. Now this had happened to her, and JD's heart gave a painful thump. Damn it all, she didn't deserve this, she really didn't. it almost made him wonder if there really was any justice in the world.

He stood, disliking this increasingly agitated feeling he'd been getting. Maybe he would venture down to the church-it wasn't far, and he'd just check to see if everybody was OK there. He sure wouldn't stay there-he just wanted to do something, anything, to keep the memories away.

He was pulling on his coat when he glanced out the window to see Jeremy, the kid who swept up at the saloon, racing through the snow towards the jail. JD frowned and thought, don't tell me some other lunatic is out there committin' crimes.

A few moments later Jeremy burst into the jail, his face red from the cold. He looked at JD with an expression of panic that sent the young sheriff's heart clear down to his shoes.

"Mr. Dunne, sir, they sent me to get you right away!" he squeaked, panting. "You're needed down at the east end of town."

JD tried to quell the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Why?"

The boy only shook his head, too upset to explain. "You gotta come right away, is what the preacher man said. A house done blowed over an' there's a coupla people trapped."

JD's face went white. There was only one house he knew of on the east side of town.

Molly Haver's house.

Oh, God, no.

JD flew past Jeremy and into the street, not even pausing to shut the jailhouse door.

Ezra paused for a moment to catch his breath, squinting against the piercing winds as he stood in the middle of the snow-covered mountain road. I must be almost there by now, he thought as he panted in the frigid air. Looking around at the arctic scene, he cursed himself for not paying better attention to his surroundings earlier that day. He couldn't tell if he was getting closer or not.

The wind caught the fraying edge of the blanket and tugged at it violently; Ezra pulled it tighter against him, wishing he could stop shivering. He'd never been so cold, not even in the snowstorms he had lived through during the war, when he and his mother were barely surviving in a cheap rented room in St. Louis. He remembered complaining then of the cold, but compared to this, the Missouri winters were downright tropical.

He cast a hopeful glance behind him, praying to see a rescue party riding through the swirling clouds of snow; but there was only the bleak, deserted road, disappearing into a gray-blue haze. He noted with mild alarm that his footprints had already been erased by the rampaging winds, and realized that even if anyone came this way they'd have no idea that he was going on ahead, possibly on the trail of the robber and the Potter girl. I should leave a mark of some sort, he thought, to let them know they're on the right track...

He fished around in his pockets and pulled out his wadded-up monogrammed handkerchief, still too cold and wet to be of any use. Moving quickly, he stepped to the side of the road and with trembling fingers tied it to the scraggly branches of a young tree. It was almost invisible in the howling gale, but it would have to do. It frightened him to notice how stiff and uncooperative his hands were getting; much more of this, he thought, and I'll lose my bread and butter.

He stood back in the road and watched as the small white piece of cloth danced erratically in the wind, but held on tight to the tree. Someone would have to see it, he thought, and would hopefully be able to decipher its meaning.

Ezra turned and resumed his journey, leaning a little as he walked and turning his body half against the wind and snow which flew against it. The shivering was becoming violent, as well as annoying, mostly because it didn't seem to be doing any good. Just keep walking and you'll be fine, he told himself. If only the wind was blowing the other way...

A sudden gust blew him backwards; he stumbled a bit, cursed, and pushed ahead, as his common sense told him, in what had become a monotonous plea, to abandon his journey. This was crazy, it insisted; he would freeze to death out here, he was no hero, let the other men handle this job. What was he in this for, anyway?

He tried to ignore the question, but it kept lapping at his mind, refusing to go away. It was true, Ezra had rarely ever done anything without some expectation of compensation, especially life-threatening activities such as this one. So if he was here, trudging along this frozen road after a maniac who would doubtless not hesitate to kill Ezra with his own weaponry, what sort of reward was he hoping to gain?

Well, of course, he wanted to get Chaucer back. He wasn't about to let that poor beast live the rest of his days in the hands of that cretin. Chaucer was far too beautiful and proud an animal to deserve such a fate; often, he had been Ezra's only reminder of the gracious civilization he had left behind. So, that had to be it.

Only, he seemed to think, that wasn't it. He wanted Chaucer back, of course, but the girl's plight seemed just as urgent-oddly more so, since Ezra barely knew her and he could hope to gain nothing from her rescue. It was that look on her face when she passed, he decided, he could still feel it piercing his soul. He could not hope to turn his back on her and continue living with himself.

He thought of the times when he himself had been a child, lonely, confused, abandoned, his con-woman mother far away; he had often hoped for rescue, but none had ever come. There had been brief moments of respite-that wonderful summer with his cousin and best friend Sophie, for one, or the times when his mother would come for him-but they were few; his mother would leave him again, the happiness would inevitably end, and the loneliness would return, more acute than ever.

He was usually able to convince himself that he had outgrown such childhood traumas, but there had been times-mostly when he was feeling melancholy, or on a losing streak-when he could still feel the bitter ache which had never quite gone away. The Potter girl's situation was far more dangerous than any he had ever had to endure, and he was going to see to it that her predicament would not turn out as unhappily as his did.

He caught himself musing and shook his head, bemused at his somber thoughts. God, he shivered, I've been associating with JD and his dime-novel heroics too long. I'll be pulling stranded cats from trees next. This is hardly the time to think on such matters, just find Olivia, shoot the bastard, and...

He blinked, suddenly startled. Wait, her name wasn't Olivia, what was he thinking about? Olivia was a different little girl, who had been abducted, and then rescued by him and Buck, ages ago. But for a moment, he had been absolutely convinced that the girl he was trying to rescue had been Olivia Greer. He shook his head, slightly amused at his momentary lapse. Huh. Strange.

He shrugged and continued trudging through the relentless storm.

JD's run to the east end of town had taken only five minutes, but it felt like an eternity to the horrified young sheriff. With each step his mind conjured up a dozen anxious questions and possibilities. Maybe it wasn't Molly's house-but nobody else lived in that old neighborhood, it had to be hers. But perhaps Buck and Molly weren't the ones trapped. But who else could it be? Robbers, maybe. On a day like this? Well, someone robbed the bank, and that sure was crazy, but it happened. But why would Josiah send Jeremy for JD over a couple of petty thieves...

As JD neared the end of town he saw crowds of people gathered, all in heavy coats and scarves, thick shapeless blobs of darkness moving against the shifting white snowfall. He scanned each one, hoping to see Buck's lean form. No, he'd be in there helping probably, that was why JD didn't see him.

A tall figure detached from the crowd, waved its arms. Josiah.

"JD!"

"Josiah!" JD cried, slowing as he neared him. JD saw his friend's expression and swallowed, dreading what was going to happen. Then he saw the house, and groaned out loud.

It was half-collapsed, a twisted corpse partially buried in the blinding snow. One end was completely fallen; all that remained was a pile of split beams and shattered clapboards, quickly turning white in the snow-laden winds. Broken timbers stuck up from the rubble, their sharp splinters naked and dangerous-looking against the winter air. Dark clouds billowed up from one of the destroyed corners, where a group of men were working to extinguish the smoky remains of the fire from Molly's now-destroyed stove; JD could see their dark forms moving furiously through the haze as they hefted buckets of water on the smoldering blaze. The other end of the building had not yet fallen in; it was leaning inward at a suspenseful angle, as if making up its mind whether to complete its own destruction or not. Nothing seemed to be holding it up except the wind.

"Aw, God," JD moaned, too horrified to apologize to Josiah for his blasphemy. Then he began to walk towards it, not turning as he asked, "Who's in there, Josiah?"

A hoarse, strangled cry of pain, followed by some choice cursing, streamed from the dark wreckage, and JD felt himself go even colder as he stopped in his tracks. For a moment he couldn't move, then he plunged into the crowd, pushing people aside in his anxiety, thinking, not again, dear God, please. Not again.

Buck bit his lip, tried not to cry out as the pain again shot up his entire body. He glared angrily at the heavy beam lying wedged across his leg, as if he wished its broken state could be as agonizing as his broken leg was.

Of course, they had been fortunate in that only half of the house had caved in; another few feet in the other direction and they would have both been crushed. But as it was they were trapped, lying within a dark, tangled network of boards and beams. Buck was on his back, his hat gone, blood smearing his winter coat and pants; Molly crouched beside him, unable to move much due to the pattern of the collapsed walls. They were partially protected from the icy blasts outside, but there was still a constant cold draft leaking through the tangled rubble, causing both Molly and Buck to shiver from its chill.

They had barely enough room to sit up; a few feet over their heads loomed the skeletal remains of the shack, and-higher still-the teetering, uncollapsed portion waiting to come down on their heads. The path outside had been almost completely sealed; only a tiny opening remained in the debris, through which they could see the people milling about outside.

Molly was nearby, bloodied but not seriously hurt; she gripped Buck's hand as he grimaced.

"Y'okay, Buck?" came Nathan's voice from beyond the rubble-strewn barricade. "Jus' hold on, we'll have you dug out in no time."

Buck laughed a little and yelled back, "Nathan?"

"Yeah?"

"I never thought I'd say this if I was ever trapped with a pretty lady," he gasped, " but could y'all kindly hurry up an' get us the hell OUT of here?"

There was a pause, in which Buck could almost see Nathan shaking his head.

"Jus' stop talkin' an' try not to move around too much," Nathan replied. "Save your spoonin' for when you get out!"

Buck looked at Molly and smiled a little, his eyes full of pain.

"Sorry, Moll, doctor's orders ya know," he breathed, then stiffened as another throb coursed through his body. She gripped his hand tighter and stroked his hair.

"Don't worry, sugar, we'll be out soon," she soothed. He cast a doubtful look at the rubble, but nodded anyway.

"Buck!"

Buck blinked, looked in the general direction of the entrance. "JD?"

"Yes!" Buck could see the youth crouching by the lopsided opening, trying to peer past the broken, crooked beams.

Buck shook his head in the darkness. "Dang, kid, this is the second time today you been right about somethin'. Too bad Ezra ain't here, now'd be the time for you to try an' clean 'im out!"

JD gulped, dismayed at the pain in Buck's voice that his cavalier attitude couldn't hide. He turned to Nathan and Josiah.

"Can't we get them out?"

"Fixin' to do just that, JD" Nathan assured him, patting his shoulder. Then he leaned towards the opening and yelled, "Molly?"

"Yeah?" came her muffled response.

"Spose we'd best get you out first, an' then there'll be enough room for us to get in an' help Buck. See if you can't get through this hole."

There was a pause, then, "I ain't leavin' Buck!"

Inside, Buck sighed. "Now c'mon, darlin', what's the use of your stayin' in here?"

Molly made a small, anxious noise. "I can't just up an' leave you like this, Buck! You need me!"

"Moll," Buck grunted, shifting a little, "unless you can somehow move that damn pillar that's settin' on my leg, you can't do me much good in here."

She hesitated, still unsure.

" Go on," he insisted, nodding at the bright portal, " I reckon you can make it up to me later."

She looked into his eyes, smiled, and planted a long kiss on his lips before turning towards the small opening and yelling, "OK, I'm comin' out!"

Buck watched her anxiously as she carefully half-crawled to the entryway, feeling her way along in the gloom. She reached the opening and bent down, almost on her stomach, and blinked against the brightness of the outside, looking at the crowd gathered around with surprise.

"Easy, girl," Nathan urged. "Looks like you'll just fit."

With a good deal of twisting and colorful language, she managed to squeeze out of the hole, into the blanket held open for her by Josiah. She stood slowly, painfully, her cold cramped muscles stiff from their confinement. As Josiah wrapped the blanket around her she gave him an embarrassed smile of gratitude.

"I must look a fright," she gasped, one quivering hand brushing at her matted hair. Josiah smiled.

"You look alive," he said gently, "an' there ain't nothin' more beautiful than that."

He began to lead her away; she pulled back, turning to the collapsed house.

"I wanna wait til Buck comes out," she insisted, then tottered a bit. Josiah gently put an arm around her shoulder and steadied her.

"You'd best come with me to the church, Miss Havers," he said quietly, as they walked away. "Once we get you looked after, we can pray for him together."

"She out OK?" Buck's voice hollered.

"Yeah," Nathan yelled, as he watched Josiah lead Molly to the church. "Sit tight, Buck. You're next."

During all this, JD had danced around, a ball of anxiety with nowhere to expend itself. He hated being helpless; it felt too much like it did back east, when they had been unable to aid the victims of the stable collapse. He was happy that Molly was OK, but he knew he'd never be able to relax until Buck was out, too. He cast a worried look at the leaning half-wall which hung overhead, poised to collapse; then he let his gaze wander down to the tiny opening, so small in the seemingly immense pile of debris, and got an idea.

"Hey, Nathan?"

"Hm?" Nathan turned back to face JD.

"I bet I could fit in there."

Nathan stood for a moment, looked at him, then the hole, then came to crouch down next to him. "I bet you could, JD. I been wonderin' how we're gonna get in there. Why don't you try, maybe you can move that log that's been pinnin' him down."

Happy to finally be doing something, JD pulled off his bulky coat and bowler hat and dropped in front of the hole.

"Buck? I'm comin' in!"

After a moment came Buck's surprised cry of "What?"

But before Buck could protest, JD had begun to try and crawl through the opening. After a short while he had worked his head and upper body through, and looked around the dark interior, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dank light. After a few moments he could see Buck, leaning on his elbows and looking at him in surprise, a huge cross-beam lying on top of one of his legs. JD broke out into a reassuring smile and was about to greet his friend when the air was split with a horrific moaning. Startled, both men looked up at the tottering half of the house still looming above their heads as it emitted its ear-splitting death groans.

Images of the crushed stable hand flashed in front of JD's eyes, and he suddenly realized what he was doing.

And froze.

FOUR

Chris was beginning to lose hope, and he hated it.

At first the chase had been oddly exhilarating; he cursed the circumstances which led them into the storm, but derived great satisfaction from the feeling of being active again, accomplishing something besides sitting around getting drunk and feeling sorry for himself. Several months of being confined had built up in Chris a serious longing to kick someone's butt, and the despicable bank robber they were following was a perfect candidate for this position. The criminal had abducted a child and robbed one of his men, and Chris had been relishing the idea of finally laying his hands on this guy. As they rode on and found little to lead them to the criminal, however, the gunslinger had become increasingly worried and frustrated. The damned creep could be anywhere.

They had been riding hard down the road to Eagle Bend, looking in vain for any sign of the bank robber, Violet or Ezra; but all they had found was a monotonous array of snow-covered rocks, trees, and scrub brush, their skeletal branches clotted with hard clumps of icy snow. The storm had finally begun to ease; the path was becoming more visible, but this proved to be of little help in their search. Chaucer's hoofprints were obliterated now, and they were going on the blind assumption that the robber had come this way, rather than the hundred other directions he might've taken.

Damn, Chris thought, looking around at the blasted landscape. The winter winds had left unmistakable signs of their passing: everywhere were branches, uprooted saplings, and thin trees broken in two, their snapped corpses lying in wait for spring to claim them. It was a scene of bleak destruction.

Vin, however, did not seem to notice it, his eyes ever on the trail; he had skirted rocks and leapt downed trees as if they had not even been there. The tracker seemed to be increasingly driven, but whether it was by the desire to find Violet and Ezra, or the bank robber, or simply to erase the disturbing memory of his long-dead hunting companion Bill Parsons, Chris had no way of knowing.

Just as Chris was thinking that they should try another path, he saw Vin stop and quickly dismount, the snow falling from his encrusted hair and clothing in small, broken clumps.

"Trouble?"

Vin glanced back at him. "Tree's blockin' the road."

Chris slid from his horse and slogged through the snow towards Vin; it had fallen deep here, almost a foot, it looked like. He came up beside his companion and joined him in trying to yank the tree off of the road.

"Musta been blowin' pretty good up here," Vin observed as they dragged the carcass to one side. "Snapped this thing like a toothpick"

"Wouldn't mind if it blew our robber friend to hell," Chris grunted, as they dropped the tree onto the rocks beside the road. The thin branches rattled, the last vestiges of the snow falling from their dead fingers. As the two men brushed their gloved hands off and began to move back towards the horses, Chris let his gaze run idly over the quivering twigs. Suddenly he grabbed Vin's arm, pulling him back.

"Vin!" Chris said, his eyes still on the tree.

The tracker turned to see Chris swiftly kneel down and violently tug at one of the branches. After a few moments he straightened and held something up in his right hand.

"Look familiar?"

Vin peered at the object for a second before he realized it was a limp, frayed handkerchief, one corner knotted onto a twig, now broken off in Chris' fingers. Even with Vin's face covered by a scarf, Chris could see he was surprised.

"Ezra's?"

"Only man I know who'd mark a trail with a five-dollar handkerchief," Chris replied, fingering the corner where Ezra's battered initials still clung. Then he glanced up the road.

"We didn't pass him, he must be ahead of us somewhere."

"Reckon he's followin' the robber," Vin said, as they began moving back towards their horses. "Probably lookin' to get Chaucer back."

Chris quickly mounted up. "We'd best find 'im before he finds that kidnapper. If he's been out in this weather all day, he's not gonna be able to help Chaucer or anybody else."

"I'm with ya there, pard," Vin said, swiftly swinging himself back into the saddle and picking up the reins. "Trouble is, he might not realize it til it's too late."

They spurred their horses on with a new urgency and galloped up the road.

"You OK in there, JD?" Nathan's voice rang with concern as he eyed the boy's motionless form; the young sheriff had gotten his head and shoulders through the narrow opening, then stopped.

JD blinked as he stared at the precariously perched rubble overhead; it had looked bad from the outside, but in here it seemed almost ready to come down and crush both him and Buck to death. The horrible loud creaking of the mutilated structure went on for what seemed like hours, then finally died away; but JD still seemed to hear it echoing coldly in his mind, and he realized he was trembling from something more than the cold.

Images flashed in his mind of the awful scene from his childhood, the blizzard-torn stable and the helpless bodies mangled beneath its monstrous weight. Finding the horses had been bad enough, but he had never forgotten the appalling sight of the man crushed by the falling building; he had been torn, twisted, mutilated almost beyond recognition as a human body at all. Mixed with empathy for the man was a nameless horror, the realization that such an awful fate was possible. It had haunted JD for months afterwards, and he had always sworn that he would rather die in any way other than that.

Now here he was, crawling into a collapsing building which seemed waiting to consume him. Maybe he really was crazy...

"Kid? Kid!"

JD gave a small start, staring at Buck as if he had not expected to see him there.

"Look, JD, you don't got to do this," Buck urged, "No use in both of us gettin' killed."

The young sheriff gulped, feeling his mind start to work again. Buck was right, but if someone didn't get the injured gunslinger out of there soon, he stood a good chance of getting crushed to death should the rest of the house decide to fall. The fact that that someone was JD seemed to be a cruel joke of fate, but he didn't feel like being philosophical at the moment-he just wanted to free Buck and get the blue blazes out of there.

JD shook his head, trying to swallow his fear. "No, no, I'm OK, Buck, uh, really. Just lemme get in here and I'll, um, get you out."

Buck noticed that JD still seemed plenty shaky as he wormed the rest of his body through the opening. After a few moments JD was crouching at the entrance way, looking at the ruined walls above his head and wondering how straight he could stand without bumping his head. He looked at Buck and flashed a nervous smile, spreading his hands in triumph.

"See, I made it! Now, uh, you want some water or somethin'?"

Buck nodded, impressed by JD's bravery, then grunted as another stab of pain shot through his body. "Maybe later, kid. Right now I'd appreciate it if you could get this overgrown toothpick off'n my leg."

"Oh-" JD crawled to where the timber lay, feeling a stab of sympathy as he observed the bloodied condition of Buck's leg. He ran his hands over the cold, rough wood; it looked heavy, but he imagined he could probably move it at least enough to free Buck from its crushing pressure. He moved his hands over the beam, trying to find a good grip.

The ruined walls overhead heaved suddenly, ripping the air with an ear-shattering howl as the rotten wood shifted in the winds and began leaning inward. Both men covered their heads as bits of wood, dust, snow and shingles rained down on them. JD thought, God, this is it; but after moving a bit the walls groaned to a standstill, small showers of dust still trickling from its edges. JD and Buck slowly uncovered their heads, sneaking cautious looks at the treacherous structure.

"You two all right?" Nathan yelled from outside.

"Just dandy!" Buck replied, then he looked at JD as the youth resumed his attempts to move the beam.

"Now listen JD, I'm not foolin' now," Buck gasped, his voice tight and slightly angry. "Get the hell out of here, this whole thing's fixin' to come down any minute."

JD shook his head as he continued to work, his trembling hands trying to grip the cumbersome beam. "I ain't leavin' you here, Buck. Chris'd kill me, an' I'd rather face a falling wall than him any day. Don't worry, I've almost got-"

The walls shifted again; a huge section of the roof came down, landing with a crash not far from where the two men huddled. When they both looked up again, they could see that the fragment now blocked most of the light, wrapping them both in near-impenetrable gloom.

Finally Buck's calm, pain-wracked voice split the silence.

"Well, I guess I ain't able to stop you, kid," he said, "but I'd kinda like to suggest that you hurry."

The gray-blue sky had just begun to deepen to the dark blue color of twilight, but as Ezra pushed onward he paid the sky, or anything else around him, little heed. He was beginning to suspect that he was in serious trouble.

He had been walking along the road for hours, or so it seemed, and there was still no sign of Violet, Chaucer, or that damned horse thief. Blast it all, he thought as his green eyes danced across the snow-blasted landscape, I must have passed them. Or they took a different route. Or he decided to go on to...to...

With a muttered oath he wiped his eyes, furious at his lack of concentration. It was getting harder and harder to think; he was exhausted, hungry, and oppressed by an increasingly urgent desire to rest. There had been moments, during the last part of his trek, when he had found himself looking around suddenly, not knowing where he was or where he had been walking to. The moments had passed, but it was getting more difficult to shake himself out of these temporary lapses.

With an effort, he remembered that he was on the road to Eagle Bend; the cave had to be up ahead, he knew he couldn't have passed it. He angrily shook off the heavy lethargy and forced himself onward, stumbling awkwardly in the foot-deep snow which blanketed the roadway. Thank God it's stopping, he thought. Now if he could just keep from falling over and killing himself, things would be fine.

But it seemed to be getting harder to move. His legs were reluctant to obey his commands; Ezra hated losing control over anything, and now his own body was betraying him. Suddenly he realized he was falling, and with a painful thud he landed on his face at the side of the road, half-buried in a huge snowdrift.

For a moment he lay there, eyes closed, too stunned to move. It felt so good to stop moving; maybe he should just relax for a moment, catch his breath. The cold and wind began to fade away as he felt himself drifting off...

He forced his eyes open, clenching his fists weakly in protest as a surge of determination flooded his half-frozen body. He hadn't come this far to die on his face in a snowdrift; Mrs. Potter had lost her daughter, he'd lost his horse, his guns and his very expensive new clothes, and the robber was going to pay for that if Ezra had to follow him to Alaska. He could sleep later.

He moved a little, his limbs stiff and unresponsive in the cold, wet snow. The sodden blanket wound around him like a shroud; he fought its folds and struggled to his elbows, shaking his head to clear the snow from his eyes. He blinked; had he passed out? It seemed darker now...

Suddenly he squinted, gazing through the trees before him; he must be asleep now and dreaming, he decided. An orange glow seemed to be winking at him through the black tangle of branches in front of him. A fire, he thought. Then he blinked again and looked harder.

Well, I'll be damned, he realized. The cave.

Violet shrank against the cave wall and pulled her winter wrap close against her thin shoulders, shivering with fear and the cold, her large gray eyes staring with fascination at the man who had torn her from her world.

She doubtless would have been warmer if she could only bring herself to move closer to the fire burning brightly at the center of the shallow cave. Long shadows leapt and danced against the curving walls of the hollow; outside, Violet could see that that the snow had begun to die down, finally, and that the sky was deepening from gray-blue to a deeper blue. Night was falling; but that only increased her fear. What would happen now?

The robber seemed unconcerned; he merely sat cross-legged in front of the fire, munching on some food and not looking at her. Occasionally he would take a long draw from a bottle of whiskey he'd had in his saddlebag. In fact, he had pretty much ignored her completely since they arrived, beyond telling her, in no uncertain terms, that if she tried to run off he'd shoot her. Since that time she had huddled far away from him, trembling and waiting for whatever was coming next.

I wonder how Mama is, she thought, and bit her lip to keep from crying. A dart of guilt went rhough her as she thought of how she'd decieved her mother about the dime novel; but she'd already decided that if she ever got back home she'd never hide anything from her mother ever again. She must be worried sick, the young girl thought, I wish I could tell her I'm all right.

But she honestly didn't know if she was or not.

For the hundredth time she thought of the man she had seen on the road, and a tiny dart of hope shot through her. She'd seen him before, he was one of the men who helped get the bad man who'd killed Papa. She didn't know him as well as she knew JD or Buck or Josiah, wasn't even sure of his name-she only knew he was in the saloon a lot and Mama wouldn't let her go in there. Still, she knew he saw her. Maybe he'd help her.

But, she gulped as she looked outside, it's been snowing awful hard. Course it's letting up now-maybe-

"Hey!"

She jumped, looking at the robber with wide eyes full of fear.

"You ain't thinkin' on runnin', are ya?"

Unable to speak, she shook her head, her bedraggled bonnet flopping with the motion. The robber glared at her, then returned to his meal.

She drew her legs up to her chest and hugged her knees, trying not to look outside again. What a dope she'd been, thinking getting kidnapped and rescued was exciting and fun and romantic. If she ever got back to Four Corners she was going to march right over to JD's office and rip that stupid dime novel into a million pieces. This wasn't fun-she was cold, hungry, frightened, and sore, and there was no telling if the man watching her was really going to shoot her or not. What did it feel like to get shot? She thought of the man the robber had shot at the bank, it looked like it hurt a lot. Was that going to happen to her?

She buried her face in her arms and softly began to cry.

JD gritted his teeth as he strove to move the heavy beam; progress had been slow, as his attention was divided between hurting Buck as little as possible and trying to shield himself from the debris and snow which was now tumbling from the ruins almost constantly. Although Buck had said nothing, JD could tell he was in serious pain; even in the near-total darkness the gunslinger's skin appeared pale and clammy, and now and then tight-lipped moans would escape from his clenched jaw.

"Just hang on, Buck," the young sheriff urged. "I think I got it now."

"That's great, JD," Buck replied in a low, strangled voice as he blinked against the darkness. JD wiped the sweat from his brow, then gripped the beam and looked at his friend.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be, kid."

Bracing himself and taking a deep breath, JD strained to lift the huge piece of lumber. Buck clamped his jaw shut as he felt the timber slowly lift from his injured leg, which suddenly erupted into new agonies.

"Just a little more, kid," Buck cajoled through clenched teeth. JD was gasping with the effort but continued to lift, although it felt as if his back was splitting in two. The beam rose another half-inch, and Buck swiftly leaned forward and pulled his bloodied leg from beneath its massive shape, emitting a choked cry of pain as he did so. As soon as JD saw that Buck had freed his leg, JD released the timber, and it landed on the ground with a solid thunk.

"Damn, kid," Buck gasped, his eyes screwed shut against the agony as he clutched at his leg. "Damn, damn, damn."

JD, his face shiny with sweat and panting heavily, crawled quickly to Buck's side, trying to gauge the other man's injuries in the darkness. "Is it broken?"

The building shifted again, raining a small shower of dust and bits of wood on the men. Buck looked up, but JD didn't seem to notice.

"Sure feels like it, kid," Buck said, gingerly running his hands over the torn pants leg.

"You OK in there, JD?" came Nathan's voice from the outside. JD turned and saw that night was falling; the soft orange glow of torches was filtering through the tangled wreckage.

"Yeah," JD replied. "Buck's free now, but he thinks his leg's broken."

"Wouldn't be surprised," was the medical reply. "See if you can't get him out here."

JD rose into a half-crouch. "OK now, Buck, I think I-"

A horrible moaning sound filled the air, a long low creaking which slowly rose in volume and pitch. More dust and snow rained down in a steady shower, and this time it did not sound as if the groaning would stop.

Without waiting for Buck's permission, JD grabbed his arms and began dragging him to the portal, ducking the huge chunks of falling plaster and wood. A piece of board with a nail in it plunged past, ripping his shirt and drawing blood. In the mingled roar JD could hear Buck rattling off a series of colorful oaths, none of which he had ever heard before.

Finally they reached the entry; JD could see Nathan and Josiah crouched by the entrance, watching in frantic concern. There was a monstrous crash, and JD looked to see the place where Buck had been trapped buried in a hill of broken timbers and plankings, surrounding by swirling white-brown clouds of dust and snow.

Gasping, JD lowered Buck into the waiting arms of the other two men; gentleness had to be disregarded as they yanked Buck through the portal with a good deal of twisting and turning to fit his wide shoulders through the narrow hole. JD listened anxiously while Buck alternately swore profusely and apologized to Josiah for his language.

The walls continued to cave in, the noise mounting to unbearable levels; it sounded as if the whole town was falling in.

Finally Buck was dragged clear, and JD dropped to his chest in front of the hole. Funny, he thought in an odd, detached way, this seemed a lot wider when I came in. Dust billowed around him, blinding his eyes; he felt hands grabbing at him, trying to pull him through the opening. There was a deafening roar which seemed to go completely through him as something hard began showering down on his head and body, and in the next instant he was painfully plunged into dark, empty silence.

Ezra crept as stealthily as he could towards the cave, ducking behind any available cover to avoid being spotted. It wasn't easy, as he was finding it increasingly difficult to stay vertical, let alone control his body enough to stay hidden; but so far, he had not been seen. He had shed the blanket; the folds encumbered his progress, and besides, he hoped to be beside that beautiful fire soon enough.

He stepped behind a tree, peering cautiously around its trunk. He was almost right in front of the cave's wide mouth, some twenty yards distant; he could make out the hulking form of the robber, who sat to one side of the fire; Violet, he surmised, must be the small shape huddled in the far corner. A pang of sympathy stabbed his heart; poor girl, she seemed scared to death.

He palmed his sole remaining gun and tried to plan his next step. If he could make it to the side of the cave without being seen, he might be able to take him unawares. As he stood studying the landscape, he saw something move nearby; he jumped a little, ready to fight, but after a moment his vision cleared and he realized it was Chaucer, tethered to a tree not far from the cave's right side. He let out a breath of joy, vastly relieved that the horse seemed unhurt; with a cautious look towards the robber, who still hadn't noticed him, Ezra crept quickly to the tree, finally ducking behind Chaucer when he was close enough.

The horse seemed to know he was there; as soon as Ezra was by his side the animal swung its head back, gently nuzzling his owner with his nose, the large brown eyes regarding him warmly. Not daring to speak, Ezra greeted him with a wide, silent smile, rubbing Chaucer's nose and gently patting his neck. He quickly ran his gloved hands over Chaucer's snow-covered hide; nothing seemed broken, but as Ezra's green eyes flew over the fine brown coat he could see the horse had been driven roughly. Bloody spur marks indicated where the robber had gouged his boots into Chaucer's side; moreover, the horse had been tied to the tree still saddled, with no covering against the elements. Ezra suddenly thought of the dead horse he had seen earlier that day; it must have been the robber's, he realized, and a surge of anger warmed his blood. He hated to see any animal mistreated, and the idea that the man probably intended to ride Chaucer to death as well enraged him. He could hardly wait to put a bullet into him.

A sudden wave of weariness washed over him, and he leaned against Chaucer's side for a moment, closing his eyes. He had to be ready to help Violet, it wouldn't do to collapse now that he'd finally found the blasted cave. He opened his eyes and peered overhead; the storm was over, but night was falling, its deep blue light settling over the snow-covered mountains. If he didn't act soon, he'd die, and Violet and Chaucer would be left to an uncertain fate. Not to mention he'd never get his new clothes back.

But it was getting so hard to move, so hard to think; the snow had ended but the wind was still strong and bitingly cold, and it seemed to be draining all of his strength. The heat from Chaucer's side was making him drowsy; he knew he shouldn't rest, but damn, it felt good to be warm again. If only he could stay here for a few more moments, he'd be ready to do anything. He just had to stay conscious a little longer...

Violet lifted her eyes, sniffling, and found that the robber was casting a very ugly look in her direction.

"Shut up, " he growled, his expression dark as he took another swig from his whiskey bottle, which by now was almost empty. His words were thick and slurred. "I hate cryin' kids."

She gasped a bit, trying to stifle the sobs. the robber stared at her for another moment, as if thinking about something, then resumed eating.

Trembling violently, the young girl glanced outside again; the snow had stopped, but the wind was still howling sadly through the trees, and it was getting darker. Her gaze wandered over to the poor horse they'd ridden on; she felt so sorry for it, tied up out there all alone. It was probably scared and tired too, she thought, and bit her lip in sympathy.

Suddenly a movement caught her attention. Was she seeing things? Casting a cautious look at her captor, she saw he wasn't watching her, and she looked again at the horse. Someone was definitely out there; it was hard to see who it was through the gathering darkness, but a thrill of hope still surged through Violet's shivering body. It was the man on the road, it had to be; he was alive and had come to rescue her! Had she thought about it, Violet would have realized that this moment did not feel particularly romantic, the dime novels notwithstanding; instead she felt monumentally relieved and exhausted. She began to cry again, this time with relief.

It was almost over.

"HEY!"

The robber suddenly leapt up, the now-empty whiskey bottle in his hand. She jerked her head back to stare at him; he seemed huge and terrifying to the young girl as he loomed over her, his enormous black shadow dancing wildly against the cave wall behind him.

"Thought I tol' you I hate cryin' kids!" he bellowed, and threw the bottle at her; it struck the stone wall above her head and shattered, showering her with sharp slivers of glass. She screamed and covered her head, consumed with fear.

FIVE

Ezra crouched behind Chaucer, his green eyes alert now, gun held at the ready as he stared at the brightly lit cave. Something was happening.

The robber slowly stumbled towards Violet, his eyes full of contempt.

"I knew I shoulda thrown you off back there," he slurred, ignoring her violent shaking as she stared at him wide-eyed. "You been nothin' but trouble."

She made a small, frightened whimpering sound and tried to press herself into the wall.

He looked her over and rubbed his stubbled jowls with one greasy hand. "If'n you wasn't so skinny an' ugly I'd prob'ly keep you aroun' a while longer. Get payback for my grief, y' see."

Violet didn't see, but whatever he was suggesting didn't sound good; tears flowed from her eyes as she continued to stare. Her fear mounted as she watched him reach into his holster and pull out one of his guns, his eyes dropping from her as he casually checked the chamber.

"But you don't look like you'd be no fun, an' I reckon I don't need you no more. They ain't comin' after me in this weather. An' I can't have ya goin' off an' tellin' no lawmen where I am. So I guess I'll have to kill ya."

She wanted to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, which had closed tight in panic. She felt herself go completely, painfully numb, unable to look away as he nonchalantly raised the barrel, aiming towards her face. At the last moment she buried her head in her arms, waiting.

A shot rang out; Violet found her voice and shrieked, bracing herself. But she felt nothing, no pain at all. That didn't seem right. Lifting her head, she saw the robber stagger back, a shocked look on his face as he glared out into the snow.

She followed his gaze to see the man from the road, stumbling desperately towards the cave, gun raised and aimed at the robber. He seemed to be having some difficulty navigating the huge drifts, but through the darkness she could see the look on his face. His eyes were wide and angry, his teeth bared in rage as he aimed and fired again.

The shot rang out, nicking the robber's arm; blood flowed from the wound, and he said something Violet didn't understand as he fell against the wall. Then he lurched forward, charging out into the snow and firing his gun with angry oaths.

Ezra's heart was pounding wildly as he tried to aim his weapon; there were so few bullets, and he could barely see, but there was no time to waste. The robber had been ready to shoot that poor girl, and Ezra had had to abandon any plans and place himself at the mercy of fate.

He surged forward through the snow, trying to duck the bullets from the robber's gun as he neared the cave. The robber had emerged, now a dark blur against the orange brightness; Ezra thought he had possibly hit him, he couldn't tell. Next time he had to be sure.

The black shape plowed towards him; Ezra stopped and raised his gun, positive now that his aim was true. His finger began to depress the trigger. Suddenly there was a loud crack, and a bullet tore into the upper part of his left arm, the force of the blow spinning him around. Pain exploded through his body as he fell on his face in the deep snow, a cold agonizing numbness flooding his injured limb.

His mind reeling, Ezra fought the encroaching darkness, struggled to open his eyes. Dimly he heard the crunch of footsteps; the robber was walking towards him, probably to finish him off. After a moment the footsteps faded, overcome by a peculiar rushing noise which drowned out all other sound. For a moment his senses seemed unusually heightened; the cold, the wet, the pain from his wounded arm, were all magnified to an almost unbearable intensity. Then these sensations quickly receded, replaced by an overwhelming drowsiness which seemed to settle over him like a thick blanket. For an instant he tried to stave it off-he couldn't pass out now, Violet was still in danger, and that maniac was about to put a bullet through his head-but this time, weakened by exhaustion and the rapid loss of blood, he found his efforts were futile. Never much of a praying man, Ezra tried to ask whoever might be listening to help Violet and himself out of this predicament, but before the words had completed their journey through his mind, he lost consciousness.

The robber closed in and lifted his gun, contemplating the still, bloody form in the snow before him. He could just let the guy die on his own, he mused, but shooting him would be a lot more fun. Then the robber's eyes lifted, scanning the horizon as if he had suddenly noticed something; his expression changed to exasperation.

"Damn it!" he muttered, and turning ran back to the cave, grabbing his saddlebags. Violet was still staring at Ezra, horrified at the blood.

"Guess I'll need you after all," he muttered, and pulled her roughly to her feet. She squirmed and cried out, never taking her eyes off of Ezra; the robber paid her struggles no mind as he dragged her outside. They surged through the snow straight past the spot where Ezra lay; the robber ignored him, but Violet tried desperately to see some sign of life in the motionless form. As they passed him, she peered at his face; it was pale, almost as white as the snow, and his eyes were closed. She shuddered and thought, he's dead.

Then they were past the snowdrift and heading into the woods, leaving the cave, the snowdrift, and its silent occupant, behind.

Vin's blue eyes strained to see past the mounting darkness as he and Chris rode along the icy trail. They had found no other marks along the trail, and no sign of the robber or Violet Potter; soon it would be too dark to see, and they'd have to make camp and resume the search the next day. By then it would be too late for Ezra, and probably Miss Potter too. At least it had stopped snowing, but the wind still blew fiercely, the loud moaning noise in the trees reminding them that nature was yet to be reckoned with.

He bent low over Sire's neck and spurred the horse on, his jaw set with determination beneath his ice-flecked scarf. Agonizing memories of Bill Parsons flitted through his mind's eye again, and he fed on the pain they produced to urge himself onward. He could still see Bill's pale, twisted carcass half-buried in the plains snow, wearing only his pants and boots. Now it was up to him and Chris to make sure that Ezra-and possibly Violet too-didn't meet the same fate, and Vin was ready to ride until he himself froze to see that they didn't. He owed it to Bill, at least.

He looked back at Chris, whose snow-covered form was rapidly becoming invisible in the gloom.

"Y'okay?" Vin yelled over the wind. Chris looked up and nodded.

"Horses are probably wearing out, though," his partner replied.

Vin faced forward once again and narrowed his eyes, thinking. That was true, he could tell Sire was nearing exhaustion. But dammit, it just didn't seem right to give up.

Something caught his eye up ahead, and he sat up, his eyes searching. Chris saw him straighten and pulled up alongside. After a second Vin pointed.

"See it?"

Chris peered, then sat up himself.

"A fire," he muttered, glancing at Vin in surprise. Then, without another word, they both spurred their horses forward, thundering down the dim road.

Violet tried to stay quiet as the robber pulled her along the rocky, tree-choked terrain; but it was hard to keep from gasping in pain as they went crashing through the sharp branches and over the unforgiving stones. He didn't seem to care if she got bruised and scraped, as long as she stayed alive, and his iron grip on her arm told her that he had little intention of letting her go.

"Keep your mouth shut," he growled, giving her a hard shake as they plowed along. The ground was mostly snowless here, and covered with dead underbrush and debris from the storm; Violet could see the road off to their right, they seemed to be climbing a hill next to it. The road dropped away as they sped along, until it seemed a hundred miles below them.

They came to the edge of the woods, where the rocks dropped off into a sloping cliff covered with pointed rocks and small trees, all half-buried in mounds of drifting snow. The road curved ahead of them, disappearing behind another cliff some distance away. Suddenly the whole area was flooded with a soft, silver light; Violet looked up to see the clouds breaking, a full moon now and then shining brightly onto the sparkling, snow-swept scene. The young girl would have found it beautiful if she hadn't been so sure she would be dead soon.

The robber threw her roughly to the ground and gripped her arm harder, shaking it again.

"Not a sound," he said fiercely, "or you're dead."

With a push he released her arm and crouched behind a rock, loading his guns. She shrank back, confused and afraid, thinking of the man who had tried to save her and been shot. Now he might be dead, and it was her fault.

Then she looked at the robber, who'd finished loading his guns and was lying low, watching the road. A small spark of anger rose in her as she thought, no, it wasn't her fault. It was HIS fault.

Suddenly she saw the robber start and lift himself up a bit, then crouch down, his hands gripping the guns expectantly. A new sound reached her ears-hoofbeats thudding on the snowy road. One-no, two horses. She stared at the road, holding her breath as her heart pounding with hope and terror.

The moon came out again, illuminating the entire area, and she saw two horses gallop into view around the bend. Her heart leapt inside her; she knew those men, they were friends of the other man-she even knew their names, they were Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner. They had both been very nice to her and her mama and brother, Mr. Tanner had even given her a ride on his horse once.

The robber crouched down and cocked his gun, taking a moment to throw her a last, lethal look. Then he slowly took aim at the approaching men.

Violet's heart leapt into her throat; he was going to shoot those nice men, like he shot all the other men who'd tried to protect her. Her fear disappeared, replaced by a feeling she didn't recognize, something like when she got mad at her brother, only stronger. Suddenly she didn't want to obey the robber any more, and she wasn't afraid of him. She was mad at him.

She jumped to her feet and cried at the top of her lungs, "LOOK OUT!"

In one instant, the robber fired his gun as both men reined in their horses and looked around, surprised. Chris jerked his head as his hat was nicked off by the bullet and spiraled into the snow.

"On the cliff!" Vin cried as both men slid off of their horses, guns out and ready. Chris looked around wildly, saw a puff of smoke curling into the moonlight not far away from behind a rock at the hill's crest.

"There!" he cried, aiming and firing; the bullet hit the rock, kicking small bits of stone and dust into the air. Vin got a shot off of his own before he and Chris found shelter behind a jagged jumble of sharp boulders.

The robber ducked back, trying to avoid the painful spray of broken rock, and glared at the little girl.

"Little bitch," he muttered, and was about to raise his weapon on her when another bullet hit closer, zooming just past his nose. He looked quickly at his assailants, then at Violet. Realizing the meaning of his look, she tried to run, but he clamped his hand around her arm and pulled her behind the rock.

"You ain't goin' anywhere yet," he muttered, "I still need you." Then he looked towards Vin and Chris and hollered, "Throw down your guns or the kid is dead!"

Behind their shelter, Chris and Vin exchanged looks; then Chris raised himself a little, gun still aimed at their opponent, and yelled in reply, "You touch her and we'll spread your guts from here to Kansas!" Then, crouching back down, he began to reload his weapons and glanced at Vin. The tracker was peering around the boulder at the rock-strewn hill, gauging the terrain. Then he looked at Chris; after a moment, the gunslinger gave a wordless nod, and Vin slipped around the rock and up towards the side of the hill, almost crawling on the ground to avoid being seen by the criminal above.

"I ain't kiddin'!" the robber bellowed, tightening his grip on Violet and keeping a close eye on the rock.

Chris licked his lips as he finished reloading and glanced at Vin; for a moment he couldn't see him, then a small movement drew his attention to a dark shape creeping behind the rocks. He was almost halfway up the hill, moving with the quiet swiftness of a creature born to the wild. Chris pulled his scarf down away from his mouth and took a deep breath.

"How do I know you haven't killed her already?" he yelled, closing his gun with a click. Over the winter stillness he heard the robber give an ugly laugh.

"I ain't that stupid, gunslinger!" was the contemptuous reply. Chris cocked his gun and peered around the rock; the robber had hidden himself again.

"Lemme see her!" Chris cried; he tried to locate Vin, but couldn't make him out in the darkness; night had completely fallen now, and the moon had disappeared behind the silver-edged clouds.

"Nothin' doin'," the robber answered, "but I'll let ya hear her." He turned to Violet and gave her a shake. "Tell 'im you're OK."

Violet glared at him, determined to avoid helping the man as much as possible. He sensed her reluctance and put the cold gun barrel to her chest.

"You wanna see your ma again or don't ya?"

She gulped, thinking of her mother's grief should she be killed; maybe now wasn't the time for stubbornness. Clearing her throat, she cried out in a thin, shaky voice, "Mr. Larabee?"

Chris raised his head as far as he dared above the stone, searching. She sounded scared but all right. "Violet? You OK?"

"Yes, sir," she yelled, trying not to sniffle. "How's mama?"

He should be up there by now, Chris thought. "She's worried about you, an' so's your brother."

He heard Violet stifle a sob, then she said, "Is Mr. Tanner there too?"

Chris looked around and silently swore; if Vin answered he'd give away his position. The moon reappeared, flooding the plain.

"That's enough talk," the robber growled, yanking Violet roughly to the ground and looking around in sudden rage before bellowing to the rocks below, "Where's your partner, Larabee?"

"Right behind you."

The robber whirled to see Vin, standing a few feet from him, aiming the sawed-off Winchester at his head; he had pulled his scarf down, and the robber could see him smiling faintly, his snow-covered figure dappled in the moonlight.

The robber stared at him, flustered for a moment, then pulled Violet towards him and raised his gun. Vin primed the Winchester and took a silent step closer, his blue eyes burning with icy intensity.

His adversary paused, considering the situation; Violet stared at Vin, her small fingers clutching at the robber's iron grip around her chest. Then slowly he released her and dropped his gun; she gasped, then scampered towards Vin, relief flooding her tiny frame as she stumbled quickly away. In the valley below, Chris watched the scene and cautiously emerged from behind the rock, slowly making his way up the moonlit hillside.

Vin glanced at the young girl as she sought shelter behind him. "You OK, little lady?"

Violet's head bobbed as she tried to speak; her throat was suddenly too dry to talk. Vin gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then turned his attention to the robber.

"On your feet, pard. We got some questions for you."

The robber rose slowly, his eyes watching Vin with the expression of a cornered wolf. He was almost to his feet when, without warning, he turned and leapt around the rocks, trying to escape down the steep face of the cliff.

Vin charged up to the edge of the hill and began to raise his rifle, aiming at the rapidly disappearing figure of the criminal. Chris saw him run and, scrambling over the jagged rocks, began to close in on him. The robber was halfway down the hillside when Chris got close enough to grab his shoulder and pull him to the ground. The two men grappled as they fell, rolling with increasing speed towards the bottom of the hill; the robber clawed and punched at Chris' face, while the enraged gunslinger clubbed at his opponent with the butt of his gun. The sharp rocks and knife-like branches ripped at their skin and clothing during their tumbling descent, while Vin and Violet watched the scene from above.

Finally Chris and the robber crashed to the bottom of the hill, landing painfully in the rocky bed of a dried creek. Vin watched, rifle poised, as the two dark forms lay motionless for a moment, while small rocks and debris from the hillside rolled lazily after them. For a moment all was silent; then slowly, painfully, one of the forms rose, gazing at the other in a posture of disappointment. Then it glanced up at the pair on the cliff's edge and gave a small, weary wave. It was Chris.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, Vin tapped Violet on the shoulder and said, "C'mon."

When they reached the foot of the cliff they found Chris, his face torn and bleeding, peering with a mixture of disgust and regret at the twisted, motionless form of the robber, who lay on his back on the cold rocks of the creek bed, his sightless eyes staring at the starlit sky. His face and hands were covered with dark scratches, and his neck was bent at an unusual angle.

Vin eyed him as they approached and panted, "Dead?"

His partner nodded, scowling. "Must've broken his neck as we were falling."

The tracker gave a short, angry sigh and holstered his Winchester as he looked aimlessly around. Without the robber's help there was little hope of finding Ezra. Suddenly he noticed Violet standing behind him, regarding the corpse with wide eyes.

"Is he dead?" she whispered. Vin felt suddenly uncomfortable and took her shoulder.

"Violet, darlin', maybe you better go set over there while Chris an' I take care of this."

Chris watched as she stepped away from Vin's touch, still looking at the robber's body. He observed her carefully, wondering if she was in shock, but decided that she appeared more thoughtful than upset. Finally she turned her eyes to Chris.

"Who was he?"

Vin and Chris exchanged glances. Chris shrugged.

"We'll probably never know, Miss Potter. Just another bad man lookin' to make trouble, I guess."

She blinked. "Like the man who killed Papa?"

Chris felt a sharp pain in his gut, and nodded. "Yeah."

Violet looked again at the body, and began to cry. Vin knelt before her and placed his hands on her shoulders, concerned that the strain might be breaking the young girl.

"You OK, Violet?"

She nodded, wiping her nose and still staring at the body. Vin patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"Don't worry about him, he can't hurt you no more."

"I'm not worried about him," Violet insisted, her voice hitching. "Actually, I know it's unChristian of me, but-I'm sorta glad he's dead. I'm sad cause he killed that man in the blue coat."

Chris and Vin exchanged shocked glances. In a second Chris was on one knee beside Vin, looking intensely into Violet's tear-stained face.

"What man in the blue coat?"

The clouds had moved out completely by the time Chris, Vin and Violet rode into the clearing before the cave; the black sky was ablaze with stars and the moon shone its silver light in full force on the snow-swept scene. Chris and Vin quickly scanned the area; there was the cave, its fire still burning brightly, and there, still tethered to the tree, was the familiar form of Chaucer, who greeted their arrival with a sad whinny. And not far away from the mouth of the cave, lying motionless and bleeding in the churned-up snow, was the unconscious form of Ezra, one hand still weakly grasping his almost-empty gun.

"Damn," Vin muttered softly; both men slid quickly from their horses and floundered in the snow towards the cave.

Vin reached Ezra first, bounding through the knee-high drifts with little difficulty while trying to fight back the icy ghost of Bill Parsons. He slid to his knees beside the gambler, his eyes taking in the ugly flow of blood which was rapidly spreading in the white snow. Moving quickly, Vin took Ezra's shoulder and turned him over as cautiously as possible. Ezra's face was pale and wet from the snow; his clothes were soaked, his left sleeve stained purple from his seeping wound.

"He still alive?" Vin heard Chris ask in a tight voice. This question was answered a moment later when Ezra let out a soft groan.

"Looks like he ain't quite dealt himself out yet," Vin replied, then shook Ezra gently. "Ezra?"

After a few moments Ezra's eyelids fluttered, then his eyes blinked half-open and stared at Vin dully. Even in the moonlight Vin couldn't tell if there was any recognition there, and he shook Ezra again.

"That's it, c'mon now," he coaxed. "Hey! Ezra? Do y'know me?"

Ezra blinked a few times, his expression confused.

"Why, Mr. Tanner," he muttered in a sleepy, bewildered tone, "whatever are you doing in New Orleans?"

"This isn't quite Louisiana, Ezra," Chris replied. The gambler took a deep breath, blinked a few more times, then seemed to wake from his dream, his eyes snapping wide open with alarm.

"The Potter girl?" he asked, his voice urgent.

"She's fine," Vin assured him, looking at his wounded arm. "Right here, safe an' sound."

Ezra closed his eyes and let out a long breath of relief; then they opened again, a different light in them now. "And the miscreant?"

"Dead," Vin said flatly, without emotion. Ezra's only response was a short, satisfied nod.

Violet appeared behind Vin, and gave Ezra a grateful smile, her tired eyes sparkling with joy at his recovery. "Hi."

Ezra greeted her with a feeble smile, clearly relieved.

"Let's save the reunion until we get you inside," Chris urged, noting the gambler's weakened state. Ezra sighed.

"I see the fresh air has failed to improve your social skills, Mr. Larabee," he groused, struggling to rise. His arm protested violently, and he flopped back into the snow, grimacing.

"It hasn't helped you much either," Chris shot back, as he and Vin lifted Ezra and carefully carried him into the cave. By the time they reached the entrance Ezra had passed out again.

The interior of the cave was small but warm, the fire still burning bravely against the cold. The glass shards from the shattered whiskey bottle glistened in the yellow light; towards the back lay a small heap of saddlebags, an open parcel of fine men's clothes which looked as if it had been rifled through, and three bulging canvas bank bags. The robber had spread a blanket out near one end of the cave; the two men laid Ezra on it and began pulling off his wet clothes. Vin glanced at Violet.

"Uh, say, Miss Potter, we gotta get Ezra here changed into some dry clothes, an' that ain't a fit sight for a young lady. Maybe it'd be best if you just set by the fire for a bit an' didn't watch."

She sighed and plopped herself in front of the fire, her back to them as they worked. The cave grew quiet, save for the crackling of the fire. Chris carefully eased the damp shirt off of Ezra's wounded arm; the injury was bloody and looked painful, but they both had seen worse.

Soon the task was accomplished; Vin tucked the wet clothes away while Chris covered Ezra with another blanket.

"OK, Miss Potter," Vin said, turning to the small form sitting in front of the fire. Violet swiveled her head to look at them, then rose and came over to where Ezra lay, eying his still figure with concern.

While she stood staring at him, Ezra stirred a little and sighed, then slowly opened his eyes. Vin looked down at him, a small smile on his face.

"Take another trip to New Orleans?" he asked lightly. Ezra glanced at him, then rubbed his face wearily with one hand.

"I believe it was Baton Rouge this time, " he muttered, massaging his eyes. He saw Violet watching him and forced a dim smile.

"Forgive my supine position, my dear. Are you quite all right?"

She nodded, kneeling beside him. "I was pretty scared, but I'm better now."

"How you feelin'?" Vin asked, placing an ungloved hand over Ezra's forehead. He knew that, despite the fact they had found Ezra and gotten him warm and dry, the danger of pneumonia or fever was still lurking.

The gambler, however, appeared to grow mildly annoyed.

"I will be perfectly fine, Mr. Tanner, once you cease pawing at me. I'm going to have enough trouble keeping Mr. Jackson at bay."

Vin seemed amused as he pulled his glove back on, looked at Chris and shook his head. No fever yet.

"I'm sorry you got shot," Violet said, looking sadly at the bandage on Ezra's arm.

Ezra appeared slightly embarrassed. "Yes, well, my only regret was that I was unable to assist you any further, Miss Potter."

"You didn't do so bad," Chris remarked, pulling something from his pocket and holding it up. Ezra looked at the limp, tattered scrap of white cloth for a moment, then his eyes widened.

"Well, I'll be da-um, well, I'll be."

Vin leaned back against the cave wall and opened his saddlebag. "Now someday you're gonna have to tell us how a fancy indoor feller like yourself learned to mark a trail."

Ezra yawned, his eyelids drooping. "If it costs me any more of my best handkerchiefs, Mr. Tanner, I assure you I will not be repeating the practice."

Chris stood. "We'll start for town in the morning; better rest up, it's going to be a long, cold ride."

"Wonderful," Ezra muttered dryly, his eyes sliding closed; within another few moments he was asleep again. Violet watched him for a moment, then looked up.

"He's awful pale," she murmured. "Is he gonna be all right?"

"Don't you worry, little lady," Vin added, smiling at her as he took off his hat and scarf. "We'll get you back home tomorrow mornin', an' get Ezra in to Nathan's, an' then it'll all be over."

She nodded, her eyes serious. Then a new thought seemed to strike her.

"But what if another bad man comes to town?"

"That's what we're here for," Chris said, giving her a smile. "Now I think your ma would want you to eat and get some rest."

She nodded, too tired to argue, and accepted the food Vin offered her from his saddlebag. As Chris moved to go see after the horses, he began to button his coat closed and said, "Well, Vin, this has been some day. Have to say, it felt good to be outside again, but I sure don't wanna see any more snow for a while."

"Yep," his companion replied, fishing some more food from the saddlebag. "Wonder how things went in town?"

SIX

JD felt the darkness which blanketed his mind slowly lift; voices penetrated the dreamless gloom, along with a dull, throbbing pain which ran all along his head and back. Gradually he became aware that he was lying on his stomach, on a cot it felt like, with something soft-a pillow?- pressed against his face. He opened his eyes to a blur of white, tried to turn his head, and groaned with the resulting ache. What had happened to him?

"Sounds like he's comin' around, Buck."

"Whew! Thank God, kid had me worried, there."

JD's brow creased in puzzlement; he slowly turned his head towards the source of the voices and waited for his blurry vision to sharpen. After a few moments his eyes cleared, and he saw the dim faces of Nathan and Buck staring at him, smiling broadly in relief.

The youth let out a long, low groan and groggily raised himself up on his elbows, blinking his squinting eyes and rubbing his forehead. "Uhh?"

"Hey, take it easy there, JD," he heard Buck caution him. "You been out a long time, can't come back all at once."

JD shook his head, his long black hair flying with the motion, then looked at Buck again with clearer eyes as the memories returned.

Buck was sitting on a cot, his broken leg wrapped, splinted and propped up on the thin mattress, while the other rested on the floor. Nearby was a pair of much-used but still serviceable crutches, leaning up against the lower part of the cot. Buck's hat was gone, and he looked exhausted, but the glow from his smile seemed to outweigh any pain he might be feeling. JD looked around, absorbing the scene as his faculties returned; they were in the church basement. In the dim glow of the oil lamps he could see a few other people sitting on the rickety cots arranged across the floor, but the room was mostly empty.

"God, Buck," JD muttered, slowly sitting up and wincing at every inch, "you OK?"

Buck burst out laughing and looked at Nathan. "Am I OK? Kid almost gets killed savin' my bacon and he wants to know if I'm OK." He looked back at JD. "Yeah, I'm OK, kid, just a busted stem. How you feelin'?"

JD was fully upright now, and was busy wiping the sleep from his eyes. "I feel like I've been run over by a stagecoach. What happened?"

Nathan reached down to pick up a nearby pitcher of water and a tin cup. "Josiah an' me pulled you outta the house just before it fell in. You got hit by some of it as it came down-just small bruises, mostly, an' a nasty bump on your head. We wasn't sure you were gonna come out of it. Sure glad you did, tho."

JD rubbed a large bump on his crown and accepted the tin of water with a nod of thanks. He screwed up his eyes and winced as he touched a particularly tender spot.

"Owww!" he murmured, then opened his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Bout three. You'd best stay here tonight, so's i can keep an eye on both of you."

JD didn't argue; he felt far too sore and tired to make it to the bottom of the cellar stairs, let alone all the way to his room.

"Is Molly all right?' he asked, sipping the water. Buck nodded.

"Yeah, the poor darlin's wore out an' scratched up a bit, but she'll be fine. She's sleepin' over there."

JD followed Buck's pointing finger to see a small form curled up on a cot in the furthest corner of the room.

"Her biggest worry now is where she's gonna live," Buck continued, a sad note in his voice. "Don't reckon she'll want to move into no more abandoned buildings."

The young sheriff nodded in sympathy; for a poor girl like Molly, that would be a big problem. Maybe as sheriff he could help. First, of course, he'd have to get those gremlins with the hammers to stop pounding on his head and back. Then maybe he could think of something.

"Thanks, Nathan," he muttered, handing back the cup. "Have Chris and Vin come back yet?"

A grim look came over the black healer's face as he set the tin on a table nearby.

"Nope. An' nobody's seen Ezra, either."

JD tried not to think what that meant as he stretched back out on the cot. Nathan gave him a pat on the shoulder as he made to leave.

"Get some rest now, an' don't worry. If anyone can find Ezra through this, it's Chris and Vin."

JD nodded; this was certainly true. As he settled back onto his stomach, another question occurred to him.

"Hey, where's Josiah?"

Nathan paused at the bottom of the cellar stairs, looking back at JD.

"He's upstairs prayin'. Figured even Chris an' Vin might need a little outside help."

He walked up into the starlit night, closing the cellar door behind him. JD watched him go, then tried to get comfortable.

"Hey, kid?"

JD started a bit and glanced over at Buck, surprised by the serious tone in his friend's suddenly soft voice. Buck was looking at him with an expression of utmost sincerity.

"Just wanted to thank you again. That was one of the stupidest things I've ever seen a man do, but it was damn brave. I'm proud of ya."

The young man paused, then smiled, embarrassed as he shifted around, trying to find the best resting position. "Aw, that's OK, Buck, I ain't no hero. Just didn't want to see ya get killed, is all."

Buck laughed a little and swung his leg up on the bed. "Well, hell, I didn't want to get killed neither, but after that tale you spun when we was in the jail, I never figured you'd come anywhere near that blowed-down house."

JD considered this as he yawned. "Hmmm-well, it's funny, Buck, but once things started gettin' bad I wasn't all that scared no more. All I could think about was gettin' us out, guess I forgot all about gettin' crushed. Spose that was pretty stupid, huh?"

His eyes had drifted closed, so he didn't see Buck shake his head.

"Wouldn't quite call it that, kid," he said quietly. "Wouldn't call it that at all."

The morning sun slowly crept over the mountains, turning the soft blues of the winter sky to a dazzling array of pinks and golds. As the sun's pale rays spread over the blasted landscape of Four Corners, they revealed a scene of nature's fury which seemed to belittle the occasional damage which men had so often visited on the small town.

The citizens slowly stirred from their warm beds and cellars, and blinked in dismay at what they found. The narrow street was littered with pieces of wood and metal torn from the ice-encrusted buildings; glistening piles of snow drifted against every corner and wall, some blocking the streets. Here and there a sign lay buried; a few telegraph poles had toppled, one smashing into the window of a nearby store. Shattered windows decorated several buildings, their blind eyes gaping at the passersby. Overturned wagons and carts lay tangled at the side of the road.

As the day wore on the air of dismay was replaced by the scraping, digging and grunting sounds of men and women at work, trying to clear the remains of the winter's brief but violent tantrum. The winds were calm now, the sky clear; the air still had a bite to it, but the cold was tolerable now that there was no driving gale behind it.

Nathan and Josiah helped where they could, aiding the stricken and helping the sick; but their eyes constantly strayed towards the road to Eagle Bend, their minds elsewhere as they helped the town dig out. Up the street at the jail, Buck sat outside, bundled up well against the cold as he waited, his uninjured knee jiggling furiously with tension.

"Any sign yet?"

He turned to see JD emerge from the jail, his eyes scanning up the road. The kid was still pale, and hadn't slept all that well; but nothing, Buck had discovered, would keep him away from the jail. It was one of the closest parts of town to the mountains, and JD wanted to be there when they came back.

So it saddened Buck to shake his head and see JD's face fall for the hundredth time that morning. They both glanced up the street at Mrs. Potter's store; it had sustained no damage, thank God, and through the large picture window they could see Mrs. Potter and her son, watching as they were, too worried to come out.

Late morning ripened into early afternoon; nothing yet. Nathan had brought Buck and JD some lunch, but neither of them felt like eating, and Buck noticed that the healer greeted their suggestion that he enjoy it himself with something less than enthusiasm. They watched him take more food to Mrs. Potter's, and were not surprised that he left there with the tray still full as well.

The clock was drawing close to two when Buck saw them, mere dark specks slowly working their way through the white drifts. He stared, blinking and hoping he hadn't been dazzled by the snow's brilliance; but there they were, three shapes growing slightly larger, stark against the brilliant field of white. Buck stood up slowly, toppling a little and grabbing at his chair for support.

"JD!"

The youth shot out of the office, not looking at Buck as he stared up the road. It took a moment, but he saw it too.

Buck didn't look at him as he reached out and patted his shoulder; it took a second for his hand to find its target.

"Run an' get Nathan, would ya, kid?"

JD jammed on his bowler hat and took off up the street, glancing behind him at the approaching forms as he tried to avoid tripping over the mounds of shoveled snow. Buck heard a click, and looked up the street to see Mrs. Potter and Jimmy emerge from the store. They had seen them, too. Buck swallowed and thought, Lord, let their news be good. They've had enough grief.

The shapes grew larger; damn, they're riding slow, Buck thought, maddened by the figures' leisurely pace. As they neared he could make them out, and felt a surge of relief go through him as he recognized the forms. Chris led the way with Violet perched in front of him; she seemed all right, thank God, and even looked like she and Chris were discussing something.

While Chris held one arm around the girl, with the other he led a horse-it had to be Chaucer-which walked calmly beside him. On Chaucer's back Buck could make out a form slung carelessly over the saddle, its long ends dangling over the animal's sides in a floppy, lifeless manner-a body, carelessly wrapped and only marginally secured. The bank robber, Buck thought. Guess that ends his career.

A third shape rode along a ways behind the first two, and Buck could see that it was Vin, who seemed to be riding with quite a bit of caution. As he got closer Buck could see why; seated in front of Vin and clinging weakly to the saddle was Ezra, wrapped in a blanket and looking decidedly limp. As they got closer Buck saw that Vin had one arm around the gambler, and that Ezra's head was bobbing loosely, as if he were barely conscious. But damn, Buck thought. They found him.

Mrs. Potter stepped into the road, her face radiant with joy as the group rode into town. Violet saw her and began bouncing up and down in Chris' saddle, filled with the relieved excitement of youth.

"Mama!"

As soon as they were close enough she jumped off of the horse and plowed through the snow straight into her mother's outstretched arms, They both wept with joy in the cold street, the brother looking on as if he wasn't sure whether to be manly or not. The decision seemed to be moot; he was crying already anyway.

As the mother and daughter kissed and wept, Buck watched as Chris and Vin slowly continued their ride, up to the steps of the jail. He surveyed his friends' blasted, bedraggled appearance and said, "Welcome back."

Chris eyed him as he slid off of his horse. "Molly finally get enough of you and break your leg?"

Buck chuckled. "It was a little more complicated than that, but in a way, yeah." He looked at Ezra's pale face and closed eyes, and noticed that Ezra's left arm was bound up in a sling. "How's he doin'?"

Vin looked up the street, waiting; he could see Nathan, Josiah and JD racing through the snow towards them. "He's a bit froze but I reckon he'll be all right. Nathan'll have to keep an eye on him for a bit."

As he spoke, the trio reached them, Nathan holding his small bag of supplies. He gave Ezra a quick appraisal.

"Ride on over to the hotel- it's best we get him to his room," he said. "Any fever yet?"

"Naw, but he's been groggy all mornin'," Vin replied. "He asked if we got his new clothes, so I spose he's gonna be OK."

Ezra's head came up and his eyes blinked open, squinting against the morning glare.

"I promise you, gentlemen," he mumbled in a peeved tone, "that there is nothing wrong with me that a hot bath and a good round of cards won't cure. I am perfectly fine." His arm twinged and he grimaced.

Nathan nodded. "If you was any finer you'd be dead. C'mon." He started off towards the hotel; Vin touched Sire with his spurs and they moved off, Ezra heaving a loud sigh of exasperation.

Buck watched as they rode off, then turned to Chris and noticed his torn-up visage.

"Damn, Chris, you look like you fell off a cliff."

His companion smiled a little and threw a casual glance at the limp body slung across Chaucer's back. "This one didn't come along quietly."

"Seems they never do," Buck noted. "Who was he?"

Chris shrugged. "Never said. Don't guess it matters much-now he's just one less problem to deal with."

Buck spared the corpse one more glance, and noticed that Chaucer seemed to have an eerily satisfied look in his eyes.

"So how's Miss Potter holdin' up? Poor kid musta been scared to death."

Chris turned around to see Mrs. Potter leading Violet and Jimmy into the store; the mother's arm was around her daughter in a tight, seemingly unbreakable embrace.

"I think she'll be fine," Chris replied, turning back. "Just a mite rattled. She was tellin' me what happened, seems Ezra followed them to the robber's hideout and damn near got himself killed tryin' to rescue her."

Buck chuckled. "Sounds like he's been takin' lessons from JD."

Chris gave him a puzzled look as he gathered Chaucer's reins.

"Long story," Buck shrugged. "Later we'll split some whiskey in the saloon an' I'll fill ya in. Reckon you're gonna need it, after tusslin' with that robber an' all. Must've been a hell of a fight."

Chris smiled slightly at him. "Can't think of a better way to spend a bad day,"he said, and led Chaucer away towards the mortuary.

Buck slowly resumed his seat, trying not to jostle his broken leg, and settled down to keep an eye on things until JD returned. It seemed hard to believe that just yesterday it was so warm, he mused as he bundled himself against the cold. A lot had happened since then, most of it nasty and some of it surprising.

Up the street he could see that Vin had reached the saloon, and Nathan and Josiah were easing Ezra off of the saddle and conveying him carefully into the hotel. JD stood by, said something to Vin, then turned and began walking back to the jail, adjusting his bowler hat as he walked.

Yep, Buck thought as he watched JD approach. It had been quite a day for all of them. Best part was, they all survived it.

Ten Days Later

The saloon was hot and its inhabitants boisterous on this cold February evening; bored cattle drivers, cowboys and townspeople had all gathered to relieve the quiet monotony of winter in the West. The excitement of the snowstorm had all but disappeared-it had been over a week since it happened, after all-and life was settling back to normal. The gaslights and lamps burned yellow-hot in the smoky atmosphere, their flames coloring the hanging clouds golden in the still indoor air.

In the raised area where the gamblers plied their trade, Vin, Ezra and Buck were sharing a bottle of whiskey and a stop-and-start card game. Ezra and Buck had particularly been enjoying themselves; Nathan had kept them both under strict supervision since the storm, and had warned them not to do the very thing they were now doing. Buck's broken leg was far from healed, and Ezra had narrowly escaped a bout of pneumonia; as it was he had slept for two whole days after returning to Four Corners and was still a bit wobbly. But Nathan had left that day to check on the Seminole village, and with the cat away, the mice were determined to play.

It had been a very enjoyable evening so far; Josiah had been in earlier and played a few hands before leaving to check on Mrs. Potter and the children. As soon as he had left, Vin had sauntered in and quietly joined the party. The time had passed quickly, although now and then Ezra would catch Vin looking at him with a strangely satisfied expression that gave the gambler the creeps; it was as if the tracker was looking at Ezra but seeing someone else. However, Ezra decided not to press the matter, which was just as well, since the name of Bill Parsons would have meant nothing to him.

"So there I was," Buck was saying in a loud voice as Ezra gathered up the cards and his winnings to begin the next hand,"tryin' to get the boardin' house landlady to let poor Molly in without havin' the deposit money, an' all she kept sayin' was, I never did it for no one else, why should I do it for her?" He shook his head in disgust and took a drink from his half-empty beer glass. "I'm tellin' ya, I'd never use language in front a woman, but she made the vice mighty temptin'."

"A tragedy, to be sure," Ezra commented, riffling the cards between his hands; he had been relieved to gain his dexterity back so soon after his ordeal, and the wound in his arm had healed enough so that he could engage in cardplay with a minimum amount of pain. "Perhaps you could aid the poor creature from your own finances."

Buck snorted. "Hell, Ezra, I'd give my last dime to help 'er out, but I don't got that kind of money just lyin' around. I reckon she'll just have to stay with the other girls til she gets the money up, but she's dyin' for a place of her own again. Couldn't even pawn that frame her folks' picture is in cause it was too busted up."

"Least the picture survived," Vin remarked, leaning back in his chair as he surveyed the hand Ezra had dealt him, "so she's still got her family to look on."

Buck nodded solemnly. "Yeah, true." He picked up his cards and looked them over. "Aw, cripes..."

Footsteps echoed solidly on the steps leading up to the gambling area, and the men looked up to see Chris coming towards them, his black hat slung down across his back. His face was ruddy with the cold, his blonde hair tousled with the wind.

"Back so soon?" Vin asked, sitting up and laying his cards down. Chris had been gone all day.

The gunslinger shrugged, a small smile creasing his features. "I froze my backside enough, time to let someone else look for the bad guys."

"On my way," Vin replied, slowly getting to his feet. He looked over at Ezra, the shade of a smile on his lips.

"Feel like comin' along an' gettin' back in touch with nature, Ezra?"

The gambler gave him a sour look as he raised his whiskey glass to his lips. "You must forgive me for not sharing your enthusiasm for the great outdoors, Mr. Tanner. From now on, if I wish to commune with the elements, I shall sit next to an open window."

Vin pulled on his hat and walked out, his blue eyes amused. Buck motioned Chris to the now-empty seat.

"Have a drink, ol' buddy, bet it's mighty cold out there."

Chris shook his head, looking around at the crowd in the saloon. "Not in the mood for crowds tonight, Buck. Plannin' on just grabbin' a bottle an' hittin' the hay."

Buck's head bobbed. "Sounds like a good plan."

"Glad you approve," Chris replied, and stepped off towards the bar. Ezra watched him go and shook his head, bewildered.

"I'd have surely thought he got enough of this wretched weather during that accursed snowstorm."

Buck watched as Chris plowed his way through the swirling throng of bar patrons. "Guess he realized how much he missed bein' out there, Ezra. Don't think he wants to let go of it so fast."

The gambler grunted. "I'm pleased he found it an uplifting experience. I have been trying to forget it since it happened, and I'm sure you have as well."

The other man rubbed his wrapped leg thoughtfully. "Well, it weren't no fun, I'll admit that. But you shoulda seen JD, Ezra-never seen a kid so shook up and so gutsy, both at the same time. I won't forget he saved my life, an' I'm hopin' he won't neither. Man needs to know he done that for someone, at least once."

"Hmmm," Ezra responded, looking at Vin's discarded hand. "Shall I deal again?"

"Yeah, sure," Buck replied, tossing his terrible hand back onto the table. "'Sides, I can't believe you'd wanna completely write off what happened. I mean, from what I hear, you weren't no slouch yourself when it came to savin' folks."

The gambler looked embarrassed as the cards flew through his fingers. "Merely putting myself at the disposal of a lady in distress, I assure you, sir. Any of you gentlemen would have done the same."

Buck shook his head in puzzlement as he watched Ezra flip the cards to him. "Yeah, well, I never woulda guessed you had that kinda grit, Ezra-I mean, you ain't all that outdoorsy. Guess you just wanted to help that gal an' get your stuff back, huh?"

Ezra's mind flew back to the moment when he had seen Violet jumping off of Chris' horse and back into her mother's arms. He didn't think any of them had noticed that he was awake at that point; but he had been watching, and for a dreamlike moment he had seen himself, as a small boy, running into his mother's arms for good, a permanent homecoming which for him had never happened. But it had happened for Violet, and any small part he had to play in that seemed far greater repayment for his troubles than the recovery of his stolen goods.

"Uh, Ezra?"

The gambler blinked, suddenly coming to himself. "Yes, Mr. Wilmington?"

"You wanna call it quits for tonight? You're lookin' kinda peaked."

Ezra shook his head quickly and cleared his throat. "Nothing at all, I assure you. Merely the smoke." He looked past Buck, his face suddenly wreathed in a huge smile. "Ah, Mr. Dunne, welcome to our den of pain. I believe you are qualified to join our ranks of the walking wounded."

Buck turned to see JD climbing the short stairs, taking off his bowler hat and mopping his brow. "Shew, it's hot in here!" he gasped as he plopped into Vin's vacant seat.

"It ain't so hot in here, it's just so cold out there," Buck pointed out, fanning his cards.

"Shall I deal you in, sheriff?" Ezra inquired, reaching for the cards. JD smiled and shook his head as he dug into his coat pocket.

"No thanks, Ezra, I wasn't gonna stay. Just stopped by to give you this."

He pulled a small bundle out of his pocket and tossed it at Ezra; it landed in front of him with a thin plop. Buck and Ezra both stared at it.

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Ezra finally asked.

JD laughed. "You oughta know better'n anyone, Ezra-you've seen money before. It's 50 dollars. They figured out who that bank robber was, turned out there was a bounty on him. An' it's yours!"

Buck bristled a bit. "Now hold on there, JD-I ain't bad-mouthin' Ezra none, but Chris an' Vin caught that guy."

JD sighed in exasperation. "I already tried to give it to them, Buck, but they wouldn't take it. Chris just looked at me an' Vin said it didn't feel right. Then I tried to give it to Mrs. Potter when I saw her an' Violet at the store today, but she said she wouldn't take it if it was a million dollars since it had somethin' to do with the bank robber. But I knew Ezra wouldn't turn it down, so-there it is."

Ezra looked up. "How is the young lady?"

"Much better, I guess," JD replied, nodding. "Said she ain't havin' those nightmares no more. Her ma says she'll be fine."

"Chris told me how she saved their hides," Buck said, sipping at his beer. "That's one gutsy little gal."

Ezra nodded his assent. "Quite remarkable indeed."

JD laughed a little. "I'll say she is-I told her I had a new book she could read, and you know what she said?"

Both men looked at him expectantly.

"She said she wasn't gonna read those no more. Then she asked if I thought she could ever be a sheriff like I was, and help catch the bad men."

Buck's eyebrows went up a little. "Whew-well, if anyone could do it I reckon she could. Better watch out there, JD-could be losin' your job when she grows up."

JD shrugged a little, patting the table anxiously. "Well, I ain't gonna worry just yet, but I thought it was pretty amazing." He jumped up and put his hat back on. "Well, enjoy the money, Ezra- I gotta get back to the jail. See ya later!" And he flew down the steps and out the door.

Buck watched him go, then laughed. "You'd think that boy was tryin' to unload a lit stick of dynamite." He glanced back and saw Ezra picking at the edges of the money with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Aw, hell, stick it in your pocket, Ezra," he urged, setting his beer glass down with a thunk. "You deserve it, after the varmint winged you an' stole your horse."

A moment passed, then Ezra looked up and nodded, a delighted smile lighting his pale face. "Right you are, Mr. Wilmington-I only wish all of my misfortunes turned out so profitably. Shall we continue the game?"

They played into the evening, and Buck began to think that Ezra really was feeling worse than he claimed to, because by the time they stood up to leave Buck had won a considerable sum off of him.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Wilmington, for so boldly taking advantage of my weakened condition," Ezra chided, as he pulled on his brand-new royal blue coat. Buck simply smiled as he pocketed the cash.

"Hey, you lost it fair an' square, Ezra. Restin' up musta honed my skills. Now if you'll excuse me," he continued, gathering up his crutches, "me an' my lucky broken leg here are gonna go down to the boardin' house an' see if that landlady there accepts cash."

"I wish you Godspeed in your quest, sir," Ezra replied, touching the brim of his flat-crowned hat. Buck chuckled, then carefully swung himself down the few steps and out the saloon door into the chilly evening.

Ezra swigged down the last of the whiskey and gathered up his cards; time to call it a day, even though it wasn't even midnight yet. The last thing he wanted to do was fall ill and give Nathan another excuse to order him to take it easy.

He straightened the lapels of his new coat and headed towards the stairs to the second floor, stepping up slowly as his still-sore muscles protested. At least Buck hadn't counted the money before he left; he would've noticed the odd coincidence that it was exactly 50 dollars. Ezra would have had a hard time convincing Buck that this was just a fluke; then Buck probably would have tried to give it back. That would have been difficult-how could Ezra explain to Buck why he didn't want the money when he wasn't sure of the reason himself?

Ezra mused on the situation as he climbed the stairs. He had never been one to turn down an unexpected windfall, but for some reason taking that money struck him as oddly odious; it had been a very strange feeling, one he'd never had before, and Ezra wasn't sure if he would ever figure out its source or its meaning. At least this way Buck could put the money to good use without looking at it as charity. Ezra chuckled to himself as he approached the second-floor landing. Perhaps the storm really had frozen his brain-giving away money, what next? His mother would be appalled.

He finished climbing the stairs, went to his room, and prepared for a hot bath and a warm bed.

THE END