Mexican Standoff

By: Rhicy

Editors: Dominique and Dina


Guest Starring:

Don Diego De la Vega: Benecio del Toro
Smithers: Martin Short
Dirk Hefner: Robert Carlyle
Charles Temple: Hugo Weaving
Helena Demarco: Catherine Zeta-Jones
Josh Carpenter: Jason Behr
Alvin Turner: Eric Stoltz
Gunther: Jack Black
Pete Dempsey: Patrick Dempsey
Joe Swanson: Jerry O’Connell
Ned: Hank Azaria
Bob: Mike Myers
Little Bob: Adam Sandler

The Nameless Pair
Lazy Eye: Stephen Bladwin
Red Bandanna: Pauly Shore




Last week on Magnificent Seven:


Chris, Vin and Ezra have been trying to help Inez' cousin, Helena Demarco. Apparently on the run from Don Diego, a penniless Mexican Don, Helena's troubles include Alvin Turner, a successful bank robber. Don Diego saves Helena from Alvin Turner, and Vin Tanner rescues her from Don Diego.

Despite everyone getting back in town safely, the trouble isn't over yet. Dirk Hefner, notorious outlaw arrives Four Corners, accompanied by Charles Temple, Josiah's brother-in-law. A brawl breaks out in the saloon, during which Josiah sees Charles Temple and Dirk Hefner stabs Sanchez. Both outlaws flee Four Corners. JD and Casey have gone on a picnic and have met up with Alvin Turner and his gang.


Part Two

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Wednesday - early afternoon
Secrets withheld:

The sharp staccato Chris' boots made as he climbed the stairs to Nathan's clinic echoed his raging emotions. He really felt like punching someone - again. The brawl had done wonders for his building anger but since the cause of his current anger wasn't resolved, he could feel the tension mounting again.

Mary Travis had waylaid him after he had completed a thorough patrol of the town, her blue eyes sparking with anger. What followed was an argument to end all arguments. Somehow, they managed to end up inside the Clarion, rather than make a complete spectacle of themselves, but still the fight had been a doozy. The thought of what had transpired was enough to make his blood boil, but there were no faces handy to provide Chris with a release.

Mary had point blank demanded to know what Chris had been doing coming out of Inez's room earlier. She had seen him hugging Inez at a time of the morning when most decent folk were still abed. Her accusatory tone and pointing finger had set his back right up and, while Chris probably would have told Mary about Helena anyway, now he was deadset on not doing so. He didn't know why Mary always seemed to bring out the best and worst in him and when the worst poured out, it came down in buckets. He refused to give her an answer, saying it was none of her business and if decent folk were in bed, what was she doing up?

Mary had given him a fair imitation of his own glare before snapping that as a reporter she needed to know what was going on in town. It was a poor reason - and a mistake to use the Clarion as justification for prying into Chris' life. It had caused them trouble before and now it just opened the floodgates. Chris accused her of using the Clarion to stick her nose where it wasn't wanted or needed and of being nothing more than a gossipmonger. Well, not in so many words, but Mary chose to hear it that way and it went rapidly down hill from there. Mary had ended the argument with tears in her eyes and Chris' feeling like a heel for putting them there. He had eventually stormed off, and as of yet he hadn't been able to put things right with her, since she was avoiding him like the plague and he was just getting angrier and angrier.

Rather than worry about Mary, Larabee focused on a more tangible target, one he could quite justly pursue with a vengeance. The two strangers who had knifed Josiah and killed an innocent passer-by were now the focus of his anger. Tanner and Standish had examined the young man who had been killed and had found out very little about him. Not even his name. He was dressed much like JD, only fancier, his clothes of expensive cut and material. His holster had been well cared for, the young man's leanness an indication of living through a few hard times. But who he was, where he had come from and why he was in town, remained a mystery.

As Chris climbed onto the landing of Nathan's clinic, he saw Vin leaning on the railing his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Ezra was sitting on a bench, cards gliding through his fingers, as he too waited for news of Josiah. The trio waited in silence for about five minutes before Buck opened the clinic door and beckoned them in.

Josiah was laying on Nathan's bed, flat on his stomach as the healer finished placing a bandage over the knife wound. The big man seemed to be unconscious but as Chris asked how he was doing, Josiah opened his blue eyes and glared at his friends. Nathan sighed in exasperation and said, "The knife missed hitting anything vital and if Josiah just stays put he'll be fine. But …"

The 'but' was emphasised as Josiah slowly tried to get up, his face etched with pain but determined to leave the clinic.

"I ain't staying nowhere Nate. I got business to take care of." Josiah grunted as he continued to push himself upright, batting away Buck's offer of help.

"And what pray tell would this business entail, Mr. Sanchez?" Ezra spoke from where he leant against the doorway, watching as Josiah managed to sit up on the bed. Chris noted Josiah's pale face and shaky hands looking to Nathan for a reaction. Jackson was not happy but had learnt early on that Josiah would not be kept down if he didn't want to be. More times than not, the preacher had the strength to enforce his decisions, despite appearances.

Searching for his shirt, Josiah rumbled, "I plan on bringing in that dog before he gets away."

"You're not in any condition to be riding out after the guy who stabbed ya, Josiah. Best leave it to us," Buck suggested as he purposefully pushed Josiah's gun out of sight behind him. All Buck received in response to his concern was a flat stare from Josiah who continued to painfully dress himself.

"He able to ride, Nate?" the healer shook his head at Chris' question, unwilling to endorse anything that let Josiah out of his clinic. "Hell, we all know Josiah will ride with bullet-holes in him, let alone a knife wound. It'll just be a matter of time before he falls outta the saddle and we have to pick his sorry ass up off the ground."

"Or get shot at because we can't move fast enough," Chris added hoping to persuade Josiah to stay put. Ignoring the pain flaring in his lower back, Josiah snarled, "He ain't getting away."

Only Vin knew which of the men Josiah was talking about and as he stepped forward, he said, "You want him caught or not, Josiah?"

Sanchez's blue eyes met Vin's and tried to determine if the tracker was going to spill the beans about Temple. Still unwilling to risk Hannah, Josiah refused to accept the invitation in Vin's eyes to tell the others who he wanted so badly. So instead, Sanchez just glared at Vin, daring him to break his word and what he saw in Vin's stance sent a shiver of worry through him. There was something else driving the tracker and worry about Temple was only part of it.

"You know who it was that knifed ya?" Still not speaking the words that Josiah's eyes were asking him not to, Tanner watched Sancez shake his head in the negative.

"Dirk Hefner." Everyone in the room stared in shock at Vin. 'The' Dirk Hefner. The man who was responsible for countless bank robberies and murders, the man who carried a three thousand dollar reward on his head - had tried to kill Josiah? The man whose name rang with the infamy of ambushing an entire posse and killing every last soul. Not one to question his best friend, Chris still had to ask, "You sure?"

Vin's slight nod was all that was needed, Tanner was positive and the Seven were faced with a large problem. But the tracker wasn't done, "If we go after him, we can't afford to be toting somebody else's weight. Hefner is deadly, and if you want him stopped, you stay here."

Josiah knew exactly whom Vin meant by 'him', even if the rest of the boys thought Tanner was talking about Hefner. As much as Josiah ached to put an end to Temple's threat, Hefner changed everything. The danger was real or Tanner wouldn't have brought it up and Josiah knew that if he insisted on coming, Vin would tell the others why. Hiding something like that would put the Seven at a serious disadvantage, one Tanner had no intention of allowing. Torn, Josiah had to acknowledge that he would hamper the Seven, who were already a man short with JD out of town. They couldn't afford to be riding blind, nor with the liability of a wounded man.

Pushing aside his own emotions, Josiah nodded and even though he addressed all of his friends, his words were aimed at Vin, "Alright. I'll stay, but I don't want you coming back without him." He caught Vin's gaze and sent a silent plea for Vin to keep his promise and saw Vin nod imperceptibly even as the others sighed in relief.

"You lay back down and get some rest. I'll check on you just now," Nathan ordered as the rest filed out of the clinic. Josiah's response was unheard as Buck, Ezra, Chris and Vin headed down the stairs to the jail. As they walked across the street, Chris noticed how tense Vin was, his shoulders tight, and his jaw clenched. Normally the tracker was so relaxed, you thought he might be able to slide right out of his chair. Not now though, and Tanner was fingering the hilt of his knife as if he was itching to use it.

Vin's thoughts were awhirl with memories and plans. He had only ever seen Dirk Hefner up close once before, but his face had been etched into Vin's memory. Uncomfortable with keeping Josiah's secret, certain it would come back to haunt him, Vin decided that the others needed to know the whole story, and somehow keep Josiah's secret out of it.

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Picnic Area: Wednesday Afternoon

The tension was rife in the little glade where JD faced off with Turner. JD tried to slowly reach for his gun, but Swanson raised his firearm, cocked the pistol and drawled, "I wouldn't do that if I was you, sonny." JD stared at the young man, bristling a little at being called 'sonny' by someone who looked barely older than him. But Dunne kept his hands where the strangers could see them and Swanson soon turned to look at Casey. Turner and Dempsey were also ogling Casey who was beginning to blush under their attention. JD knew Casey well enough that she was not going to let them leer at her suggestively without some sort of reaction.

Sure enough, Casey soon snapped at the three men, "You lot better stop that! It's like you ain't never seen a girl before!"

Pete Dempsey, whose long curly black hair obscured most of his face, snorted with laughter and jeered, "Ain't never seen a girl dressed like she was a boy, that's fer sure!" Using their focus on Casey, JD quickly stepped between the three men and the girl, effectively blocking their view and preventing Casey from saying anything more. "Something we can help you with, fellas?"

JD tried to keep his voice cool and calm, maintaining eye contact with the leader who scowled at the shorter man in front of him. "You can start by getting out of my way, kid!" Now JD had been called 'kid' from the moment he had arrived in Four Corners. If it wasn't Buck ragging on him about some idiotic piece of advice, it was Chris coolly reminding JD of where he stood in the chain of command. That word 'kid' had been shouted at him, growled at him, said in friendship, anger, exasperation and in jest. Until now, JD had thought he had heard them all. The man before him, sitting slouched in his saddle, short red hair glittering in the late afternoon sun, spat out that 'kid' with such venom and malice that JD took an involuntary step backwards, moving Casey with him. Casey had also grown uncommonly quiet and she did not protest as JD moved protectively in front of her.

Alvin Turner glared at the young man protecting his 'girl', his posture un-cowed and defiant despite the slightly frightened look on his face. They had planned to wait at the river for Josh to get back from scouting out Four Corners. Turner tried to keep a low profile during their pre-job activities, it made it easier to disappear later. But it looked like it wasn't going to be the case today. For a moment Turner considered just shooting the kid and then having some fun with the girl before killing her too, but undoubtedly the pair lived nearby, maybe even in town and he didn't want a posse on his tail for a double murder.

Pointing his gun straight at JD, Turner snarled, "You tell that pretty little girl behind you to unbuckle your gun belt and drop it on the ground. Now!" JD felt Casey stiffen behind him and knew she was going to protest so he whispered urgently, "Just do it Casey."

Nodding nervously, Casey reached around JD, still keeping him between her and the strangers, and unbuckled his gun belt. She let it fall gently to the leaf-covered ground and stepped back a little more. Turner motioned for the pair to move to beneath the tree and, as JD and Casey did so, Dempsey got off his horse and picked up the gun belt. Pulling out one of the Colts, Pete whistled in admiration at the shiny pistol. "Would you look at that? The snot-nosed kid has been playing with real guns! And purty ones too." Dempsey swung the Colt onto his trigger finger and pointed the gun at JD. "You ever been shot, kid? Wanna know what it feels like?"

JD simply stared at Pete who was grinning widely, clearly enjoying himself. "Knock it off, Pete, and check out that hamper," Turner barked.
Without taking his eyes off JD, Dempsey pretended to shoot both JD and Casey and then blew imaginary smoke from the gun. "Sure thing, Vin."

Turner and Swanson also dismounted and sent their horses to graze near JD and Casey's. Soon the trio of strangers were gorging themselves on the contents of Nettie's hamper while the hungry pair watched. Fried chicken, fresh fruit, biscuits, apple pie, bread and peach preserve were devoured in short order. The meal that would have been more than sufficient for two young people and it was just enough to whet the three large men's appetites. JD had seated himself protectively in front of Casey and it was with a watering mouth that he watched as their lunch disappeared.

Swanson and Dempsey taunted and teased JD and Casey throughout the meal. Turner just ate his share before knocking off Swanson's hat, revealing a small bald patch on the young man's head. "Hey watch it, Vin!" Joe Swanson exclaimed, pulling his hat back onto his head, covering up his prematurely balding hair.
Ignoring his embarrassed friend, Turner pointed a drumstick at JD. "You two just sit there and stay quiet and nothing'll happen to you, alright?"

They both nodded, although JD wished he could do something more than simply sit there. But after spending many months working with dangerous men and deadly situations, JD knew not to provoke a situation when you were at a disadvantage. He had been disarmed, and still had to protect Casey somehow and if following Turner's orders kept her safe - so be it. He could swallow his pride and take all the taunts - after all Buck had given him enough practice in that area.

The trio of strangers settled themselves around the tree and Dempsey immediately fell asleep. Swanson looked like he was also about to drift off, resting his head against his saddle and belching loudly. Turner fingered his short red hair, making the sweat stiffened hair stand up in matted spikes. He studied JD and Casey with a cool eye, noting that both kids seemed willing enough to stay put. Rather than take a chance, he leant back on his elbows and kicked Swanson whose eyes were already closed. "Joe, you've got first watch."

Without opening his eyes, Joe Swanson groaned, "Aw hell, Vin." He made no further complaint but remained lying prone on the ground as if hoping his boss would leave him be. Turner kicked Swanson again and barked, "Get up and watch them two. Now."

Muttering something about uppity kids, Swanson rolled to one side and clambered to his feet. He walked over to a flat rock, sat down and drew his gun. Pointing the pistol at their unwilling guests, Joe got settled to keep watch. Turner lay back onto the leafy ground and pulled his hat over his face. From beneath the battered Stetson, Turner said, "And keep your hands to yourself, Joe. You start a party without me and I'll skin you alive."

Seemingly unperturbed by his boss' threats, Swanson kept his gaze fixed on Casey. JD shifted a little to block his view and Swanson lifted his pistol in response. Shaking his head, Swanson indicated for JD to move back and, when the kid didn't, Joe tightened his finger on the trigger. "Iffen I got to watch you two, I'm gonna make sure that I watch something pretty. Move!"

"Jist shut up Joe!" Turner's sleepy voice ordered, "Jist shut the hell up."

Making sure that Swanson couldn't see the movement, Casey patted JD's back affectionately and whispered, "You got a plan JD?"

JD shook his head slightly and whispered quickly, "Not yet." Casey settled herself to lean against JD, almost completely hidden from view.

As a burgeoning teenager, Casey had always thought herself tough enough to deal with any man. Her childish illusions had been shattered during the incident with Guy Royale when an overwhelming fear had blossomed that maybe she couldn't handle everything. The Nichols brothers had only added to her confusion and fear - especially since she had seen how wonderful and terrible the same man could be. The lady bounty hunters had stirred up even more insecurity, particularly when Maddey had shot JD. As life continued to teach her its many lessons, Casey was slowly accepting them, and right now she was very frightened. She may have blustered a little today, defying these strangers, but there was definitely something in the way that all three men were looking at her that sent Casey scurrying to hide behind JD. She and JD may have been arguing only moments ago, but she wouldn't have had anyone else with her right now. Ok, maybe the rest of the Seven would be nice, but all she had was JD, and Casey knew that that would be enough.

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Secrets Revealed

The regulators gathered inside the empty saloon, waiting a few moments for Nathan to join them. Once the healer had done so, Ezra asked, "Do we have any idea who the second miscreant is - perhaps a toady of Hefner's?"

Buck shrugged, "Didn't get a good look at him, although I did see the mess he made of that cowboy's face." Buck nodded at the puddle of blood on one of the broken tables.

"Charles Temple."

Buck and Ezra looked at Chris for an explanation. "He's not exactly the most well-know outlaw you're likely to meet - but up in New York and Illinois, he's got a reputation for being a ruthless bastard."

"And since he started riding with Hefner, he's come into his own - proved to be as vicious as Dirk Hefner on his worst day," Vin added.

"Charming - we are about to ride after two known criminals with a history of vindictive mayhem. Marvellous," Ezra said, "Absolutely marvellous."

Chris turned to Vin and asked, "Anything else we need to know?" Vin nodded and pulled a map of the area closer. Pointing at the little dot that represented Four Corners, Vin said, "They left town heading north, but they'll turn and head south the moment they clear the trail. Hefner's gang is supposed to be holed up in some pueblo on the border and they were more than likely heading there anyway. We gotta catch 'em before they get anywhere near there, Hefner's second will have scouts watching the road in and we don't want the whole gang coming down on us to rescue them two."

Larabee studied the map, frowning at how little their time frame was. "They'll reach that pueblo by tomorrow afternoon then."
Tanner shook his head, indicating to a mark on the map, "It'll take 'em longer, Beggars Canyon will slow 'em up, you gotta be real careful in going through but it takes twice as long to go around."

Ezra and Buck moved to see the map as well, and Nathan said, "So they'll reach the canyon by nightfall and wait to use the whole day to get through it."

"Reckon so."

"So if we push it and reach Beggars Canyon after nightfall, we'll be right on top of them."

Vin nodded at Buck, "That's the plan. If Hefner gets into the canyon, it'll be that much harder to drive him out. Dangerous too."

Instantly Chris picked up on the quiver in Vin's voice and looked up at the tracker. Tanner's eyes were focused on the map, but he was seeing something very different. "Vin?" The question was a gentle invitation for Tanner to open up, speak what was obviously on his mind.

Nathan, Ezra and Buck stared at Vin, finally picking up what Chris sensed. There was something about this chase that had Vin on edge. Only because his friends had been around him long enough, could they see the signs that he was nervous, a slight tightening around his eyes, normally still fingers, twitching near his knife.

Vin didn't look at any of them, his mind trapped for an instant in the past, images of rearing horses, men shouting, blood seeping into the ground playing across his memory. Blinking back the moment, Vin sighed, "I was with 'em, with the posse that Hefner ambushed."

Puzzled, Buck blurted out, "I thought that they were all killed!"

Vin shrugged still not looking at Buck and muttered, "Weren't in no condition to set 'em right, didn't care to afterwards."

The implications of that statement were ominous. What exactly had happened? "Perhaps you should enlighten us as to what occurred, Vin. Tell us how you escaped what by all reports was a massacre," Ezra suggested, watching as Vin flinched slightly in response.

"Ain't much to tell." Vin's reluctance was palpable but before any of them could press him further, Tanner shrugged and began his story, "I had only just started bounty hunting and had taken a bounty into Gulch Junction when Hefner's gang hit the bank. The sheriff needed a tracker and offered to pay double on the bounty I had brought in if I tracked Hefner for 'em. No one else wanted the job, and I needed the money."

Flashback:

Gulch Junction:

The noon sun was beating down on the town, its oppressive heat enough to send any sensible folk indoors. But the inhabitants of Gulch Junction were not inside their stores or fancy saloon. Instead the entire town population, as well as many of the men from the outlying ranches, were gathered in front of the courthouse. Mayor Hobbs, a tall impressively built man who had fought a vicious campaign during the last elections to become Mayor was determined to take charge of the situation. His booming town was in an up-roar. Not more than 3 hours ago, the Hefner gang had ridden into town, converging from several directions to storm the bank.

Two deputies were dead, as well as a local rancher who had tried to stop one of the masked outlaws from taking his hard-earned money, as he stood in line at the bank. The town's diminutive sheriff, Toby Olsen was standing next to the Mayor, trying to make himself look taller as the Mayor towered over him.

The crowd of townsfolk and ranchers were busy cheering their Mayor as he promised them that the Hefner gang would be caught. A few more cheers were given when he said that a posse was going to hunt those outlaws down "… like the dogs they are!"

"And the men of Gulch Junction are just the brave souls to do it!"

You could have heard the old codger sitting in a rickety chair on the saloon porch fart following that statement. An uneasy silence fell over the entire town as the Mayor waited for volunteers to come forward. Nobody moved.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen. This is no time to be shy! Our fine sheriff here will be leading the posse!" Sheriff Olsen paled visibly at Mayor Hobbs words, his mouth falling open like a fish and he stepped forward hesitantly, trying to get the Mayor's attention. But Mayor Jeremiah Hobbs Jr. was in no mood to listen to his cowardly sheriff. Ignoring Olsen, Hobbs shouted, "There is a one thousand dollar reward on Hefner alone! I know for a fact that there are many of you who could use that sort of money!" Hobbs changed his tactics when the crowd refused to get excited at the prospect of a reward. "I shouldn't have to coerce you - are you men or mice? Hefner needs to be brought to justice before he strikes again. Three good men died defending this town - are you going to let their deaths be for nothing?"

One voice shouted above the murmur of the crowd, "What about the army? Let them chase Hefner down - they want him too!"

Speaking quickly to cut off that idea, Mayor Hobbs bit out sarcastically, "Of course - let the army take care of us - as if we were a bunch of no account sissies who can't wipe our own asses without the army guarding 'em!"

That comment got a few more murmurs and as Mayor Hobbs continued to harangue the crowd, more and more men pushed their way to the front. The old codger sitting on the saloon porch spat out a stream of tobacco juice that narrowly missed the dusty boot of the stranger standing next to him. "Dang fools," he muttered as the Mayor managed to get a cheer out of the crowd again. "He's gonna get them all riled up and send 'em after one of the meanest bastards around and then stay safe and sound in his feather bed. Buncha idiots."

The stranger didn't answer the old man, which was fine with him. He didn't need an audience to start expounding his views of life, he was known to spend hours talking to nothing at all, cussing the air as it disagreed with him. He had more of a chance of getting an intelligible answer out of flesh and bone, even if it was just a sigh from the stray dog that sat under his feet occasionally.

"Yip, that Hefner is one slippery son of a gun and he ain't gonna be easy ta follow." The Mayor's voice boomed out across the street again, announcing that the sheriff had arranged for a tracker to join the posse. Another cheer greeted those words and a few more men pressed forward.

"What sorta pea-brained idiot did they con into that? Any tracker worth his salt ain't gonna go after the Hefner gang without at least the army behind him."

The stranger continued to lean against one of porch railings, his entire posture relaxed onto the wooden support. The old man continued muttering, "I reckon they musta got some half-assed wanna-be tracker who don't know the difference between a train track and bear paw. Or - some youngin' trying to prove himself - hmph - only get himself killed is all."

Roughly twenty men had agreed to join the posse and they were all gathered around the Mayor and Sheriff Olsen grinning as the crowd cheered them. One of the ranchers asked the Mayor something and the Mayor pointed at the stranger, who tipped his hat at the posse. His soft voice could only be heard by the old man, "Reckon I'm that pea-brained idiot."

The old codger gave the stranger another appraising look before muttering, "Then it ain't being pea-brained, just stupid, son - the money ain't worth it."

Vin just shrugged and continued to watch the townsfolk, who were now talking loudly about the prospect of their town becoming famous for catching Hefner. "You a scout?" the old man asked.

"Bounty-hunter."

Peering up at Vin again, the old man said, "Ya don't look the type, kid. But I reckon it make's a little more sense now - you're in the right kind of work already for taking on stupid chances for a lot of cash."

Without looking at the wrinkled old man, Vin smiled, "Sheriff's holdin' out on paying me my last bounty unless I go with 'em."

Grinning broadly, the old man laughed, "That sounds like our fine up-standing sheriff - suppose he mentioned something like investing in the town's growth and some rot like that?"

"Yip."

"He he, son, you watch your back. I figure you know your own business - but that Olsen is a prickly short-a-nothing, you just tread light around him. He don't look like much - but he is sheriff for a reason."

"Thanks for the warning."

***************************
The posse was not happy. Three days into the chase and still no sight of Hefner's gang. Oh, they had come close a few times, nearly catching them as they slept, but Hefner's own Indian-trained man had alerted them and they had escaped the posse. Sheriff Olsen was getting desperate, his posse wanted to go home. Made up mostly by townsfolk and ranchers, the men all had lives they wanted to get back to and this chase was proving to be more difficult than he had thought.

When Dirk Hefner and his gang had rode into town, the Sheriff hid in the grocery store, too afraid to face Hefner without backup. A wise choice, some people might say, after all Hefner had a reputation of killing any lawmen that stood in his way. But to offer no resistance as the outlaws plundered the town, was cowardice. Two of his deputies had been killed in the robbery, bravely protecting the populace.

Only the clerk, hiding behind the same counter knew that Olsen had cowered in terror whilst the gang rode roughshod through the town. To everyone else, Olsen had talked of a brave struggle with an outlaw who had waylaid him, even as he ran to help his deputies.

Olsen's dreams of attaining the fame he craved were slipping away. His growing fabrications of the fight in town, where the single outlaw had evolved into an entire portion of the gang who had been spared his wrath only because he ran out of ammunition, were growing harder and harder to swallow. At one point of the three-day journey, the sheriff had even suggested that he had wounded a few of the outlaws. The tracker, a man named Tanner, had quietly burst that lie, by drawling in his soft voice that there were no signs of any wounded men, let alone graves to mark a fatal shot.

Caught out in his lie, the Sheriff quickly covered himself with a few more excuses and had ordered the posse onwards. Supplies were running low and tempers even shorter as Hefner's gang led the posse on a twisted chase, trying to shake them, but Tanner was their equal. Olsen didn't dare vent his frustration on his posse, he couldn't afford to alienate them. That left the tracker, who was being well paid for his time.

The sheriff constantly harassed Tanner, arguing with him about the trail and where to expect the outlaws. He over-ruled the tracker on numerous occasions, refusing to take his advice on possible plans. As a result, the man had become isolated from the rest of the posse. Already a stranger to the townsfolk, Tanner found himself on the outside of the group and, for all appearances, didn't seem to mind the situation at all. In fact, he appeared to welcome it. That is until the posse reached Box Canyon.

The canyon was well-named. It had only one entrance and anybody stupid enough to wander in, had only one avenue of escape, back the way they came. Tanner rode into the camp early on the fourth morning to hear Sheriff Olsen arguing with Pete Green. Green had been the loudest voice clamouring to go home and it sounded like he was getting louder.

"I have better things to do than just following you around on this glory-ride you are so set on, Olsen!"

Dwarfed by Green, Olsen shouted up at the rancher, "No one forced you to come along Green. But I sure as hell ain't gonna let you turn tail just cos' you can't see a thing through!"

Justin Bates, another rancher and neighbour of Green's, intervened by saying, "Now, Sheriff, you gotta understand. We got livestock to brand and crops to get in. It ain't that we're chickening out but this is going on too long."

"Too long! Too long! You ever been in a posse before, Bates?" Olsen screeched, his face turning red with anger. Without giving Bates a chance to answer, the sheriff continued, "I have been in hundreds of posses! One that even lasted a month as we chased those varmints down! Three days! Three days is all you lilly-livered cowpokes are gonna give me?"

In the angry silence that followed the sheriff's words, Olsen knew he had gone too far. Sputtering to try and rectify his error, he spotted Tanner who was leaning against his horse, watching the entire scene with an amused smile on his face. Whirling on the tracker, desperate to get the attention off himself, Olsen snapped, "So what did you find this time? And ya damn-well better not have any more excuses!"

His now-tight smile still in place, Tanner's eyes went cold and hard at the sheriff's words. He had had just about enough of the sheriff. Vin would have packed up and left on the first day out 'cept that the sheriff still owed him for the bounty, and he couldn't just leave the posse to fumble through this alone. None of the men knew this area and any maps of the region were sketchy at best. So forcing himself to stay despite the sheriff's barbs and comments, Vin had tried to lead the posse straight to Hefner. It hadn't been easy for the bounty hunter, with the sheriff second-guessing him every time, taking the posse on different routes than the one he advised, refusing to acknowledge Vin's experience in the wild.

Taking a deep breath, Vin said, "They've taken a high trail over the hills yonder. If we wanna stay on top of 'em, we had better leave now. If they make it into the badlands …"

Olsen brushed aside Vin's concerns with a sharp, "Where's that map, boy?" Jeremy Hobbs, the Mayor's son, quickly handed the map to the sheriff. Mayor Hobbs had insisted that his son accompany the posse even though the boy was reluctant to do so. Mayor Hobbs felt that it was time for his son to grow a backbone and stop snivelling behind his mother's apron strings. A small boy of fifteen, Jeremy had a sharp mind but was completely over-shadowed by his older, more robust brothers. Jeremy was a disappointment to his father and the whole town knew about the strained relationship they shared.

None of the townsfolk were willing to cross the Mayor, and the general attitude of ignoring the boy had extended to the posse. All the men save Vin viewed Jeremy as a nuisance, thrust on them by a father many respected, even if they didn't like him.

Snatching the map from the boy, the sheriff unfolded the paper. Peering near-sighted at the writing, the sheriff let out an exclamation of delight, "Ha! If we ride through Potter's Canyon below that trail, we'll come out ahead of them!" Pointing at Green in particular, Olsen crowed, "You boys want to end this - fine. We ride now through the canyon and we'll have them by sundown!"

The men, tired from three days of hard riding and mounting tension, let out a half-hearted cheer and half of them moved to mount up, eager for the ordeal to end. Even though his voice was meant to be only loud enough to be heard by the sheriff, Vin's words stopped every man. "Can't ride through that canyon. It's Box Canyon - not Potter's and it's got a dead end. We have to follow them up the trail."

The sheriff's voice wasn't the only one to rise in protest, but it was the loudest, "You've been out in the sun too long if you think we're gonna add any more days to this. This is our chance and we're gonna take it."

Tanner stalked up to the sheriff, closing in on the small man. "That canyon don't go nowhere 'cept back out the way you came. Riding in there is asking for trouble." Vin still hadn't raised his voice, but his firm words spoke louder than any shout.

"And I think you're still trying to run this posse. I say the map is right and we can ride through!" Olsen thrust the map at Vin, shouting, "If you are so certain where we are and what canyon that is - prove it. Show it to me on the map!"

Vin blinked, briefly thrown by the sheriff's order, "I don't need a map to know where we are. You ride into that canyon and you'll loose Hefner."

"I'm beginning to think that maybe you're the reason we ain't catching Hefner!" The abrupt accusation caught Vin off guard and he stepped back from the bristling sheriff. "Maybe you're leading us wrong in order to … I don't know, go after him yourself. Get the bounty on him. Or maybe", and the sheriff positively beamed with delight, "You're working with him - letting him get away!"

At those words, Vin got right up in Olsen's face, their hat brims touching they were so close. The rest of the posse drew closer, suddenly concerned for the diminutive sheriff. Tanner had proven to be a tough individual but they still knew very little about him. Grabbing a fistful of the sheriff's shirt, Vin drew the small man up to his eye level, "I've had about enough of you. You wanna ride to nowhere - fine. But leave me outta it." Shoving the sheriff away from him, Vin drew his mare-leg and backed to his horse. Picking himself up off the dirt, the sheriff shrieked, "Don't let him get away, he'll try and warn Hefner!"

Snorting in disgust, Vin said, "You boys listen up. I ain't led ya false and I sure as hell ain't working for Hefner. You keep on ahead through that canyon, and that slippery son of a gun will get away."

A few of the men hesitated at Vin's short speech, savvy enough to recognise the tracker for the expert that he was. But the up-start sheriff would not be swayed, "If you ain't working fer him, you won't object to showing us through that canyon."

"Ain't no if involved Olsen! I am right and if you are so set on going through, you do it yourself!"

Even though Vin had his firearm drawn, the little Sheriff drew his own six-shooter quickly and pointed it at Tanner. The sound of other pistols being cocked brought the level of tension even higher. Vin noted who had drawn their guns and who hadn't but the odds were against him any way. Reluctant to fire on men he had no quarrel; Tanner had hesitated when the sheriff drew his own gun, giving the impudent man the time to turn the tables on him.

Backing down visibly, putting his mare-leg back in its holster, Tanner shrugged and said, "You want me with you, ok. Just remember what I said when we come to a dead end."

The posse moved on soon after, with Tanner pretty much under armed guard. Immensely pleased to finally have his authority unquestioned, the sheriff had ordered three men to keep their guns on Tanner in case he made a break for it. Jeremy Hobbs stuck close to Vin as well, keeping close to the one man who would actually talk to him.

The pair had formed a fledgling friendship over the past three days and Jeremy was impressed with Vin's knowledge of the wild. The fact that the sheriff seemed to disparage the tracker's abilities only strengthened Jeremy's own admiration. And since Vin had not wanted to go into the canyon, Jeremy, urged by a child's natural instincts, felt he should stick close to the tracker.

Box Canyon enjoyed a unique place in nature. Part of a series of canyons ranging west towards California, it hide itself among its more impressive brethren. A rider taking the seldom-travelled trail would suddenly find himself in a canyon of towering walls and twisted bends. One moment you were riding through hilly countryside, the next you were surrounded by mountainous rock. The canyon was deceptively easy to traverse, there was only one way forward and at its end, the walls appeared to lower and vanish, as if heralding the end of the canyon. Instead, the traveller would turn a corner and find a dead end. Sheer cliff face rose up towards the backs of the rest of the canyons, Box Canyon actually winding around itself until it ended with the low hills that initially started at it mouth. The high trail over the canyons meandered directly overhead and the frustrated traveller would be able to see his correct path right above him.

Sheriff Olsen had immediately crowed his delight, when he led the posse straight into the canyon. The passage between the rock faces was narrow, and the posse had to ride two abreast. At places the trail became so narrow that the stone brushed against horse withers and booted feet. Vin rode next to Jeremy, his keepers riding in front and behind him. The uneasy feeling that had urged him to challenge the sheriff's route had grown steadily as the posse rode through the canyon.

Studying the trail that he knew was above them, Vin could feel eyes watching them, but the high walls obscured his full view of the trail. The entire area was quiet, save for the sound of horses and men moving, even that muted by the soft sand underfoot. This canyon had been carved when the overflow from other canyons had spilled down its narrow defile. The soft river sand was old, no overflow occurring for centuries.

Riding ahead of the posse, like a mini Napoleon, Sheriff Olsen shouted over back to his men, his voice loud enough to carry to the rear, "We're nearing the end boys. We'll have that bastard soon." His voice still echoing through the canyon, Olsen turned the final bend and came face to face with the dead end. He was so shocked, that he didn't signal the riders behind him and, before anyone could slow down, the rest of the posse piled into the circular cul-de-sac.

Shouts of confusion and anger rose as the men realized that the sheriff had lead them into a dead end, and those in front tried to turn around. But the close press of horses and riders behind prevented that, as the men behind rode forward to see what the hold up was.

Near the rear of the posse, Vin didn't even smile at the congestion ahead. His senses were screaming at him that something was wrong and he tried to back his horse out of the press of the posse, even as he eyed the trail above. But to no avail, confusion reigned and no one could seem to sort the mess out. Men tried to turn around, while others took up available space to try and manoeuvre. Sheriff Olsen shouted above the confusion, even his loud voice garbled over the tumult.

Into that confusion, the first shot thundered. A lanky blonde rancher was the first to fall from his horse, blood spreading across his back. More bullets plunged into the melee, the rifle reports adding to the now panicked shouts of men who tried to leave the canyon. No one was spared as all around the rim of the canyon, outlaws fired on the posse. Horses reared up in pain as they too were targeted, knocking riders from their saddles. Those men at the rear of the posse tried to escape, but were cut down by a trio of outlaws laying down a deadly crossfire.

Caught in the gunfire of the entire Hefner gang, the posse were cut down methodically, most of the men peppered with multiple gunshot wounds. Olsen died in a blaze of blood as a bullet punched a hole through his chest, catapulting him off his wheeling steed, to fall under the hooves of his own horse. Green and Bates were the only two men to return fire at the outlaws, but were unable to see the men laying low on the trail above. Their return fire brought a hail of bullets onto them, both falling in jerky movements as bullets riddled their bodies.

The air was filled with the screams of men and horses, smoke from the outlaws guns and dust as hooves churned in the close quarters. With no way out and no surrender offered, Hefner led his men in a massacre, visibly urging his men to continue firing.

Vin had not been spared from the rain of death. Immediately after the first shot had been fired, Vin had forced his way to a rock wall, thus protecting him from one line of fire. But a bullet fired from the opposite side found its mark and Tanner bit back a cry as it thudded into his shoulder. Keeping a firm hand on his horse below him, Vin tried to make himself as small a target as possible.

Jeremy was pressed against Vin, following his lead in trying to cover his back. The young boy's eyes were wide with fear, his mouth open in a silent scream as all around him, men died, shot to pieces. The noise from the outlaws guns was rising like a relentless thunder, as the rapidly dwindling posse tried to escape. Either Jeremy was too terrified to notice the wound on his arm, or the boy was truly screaming in pain.

"Jeremy!" The boy turned to Vin, his terrified face close to the tracker's. "Get over here!" Motioning for Jeremy to climb onto his horse with him Vin helped pull the boy over. Jeremy was nearly seated in front of Vin, when Tanner felt the boy slump against him with a groan. Reaching around to steady Jeremy, Vin felt blood on the boy's shirt and knew he had been hit again. With so much gunfire thundering into the trap, Vin wasn't able to tell what shots were directed at their position. Desperate to save the boy, he pulled Jeremy over his saddle and onto the ground between Vin's horse and the wall. The boy slumped to the ground unconscious.

The bay beneath Vin was well-trained and was not rearing and wheeling around like other horses, which were adding to the chaos, before they too were shot. Tanner was about to dismount when a barrage of bullets hit him and his horse. The outlaws had mowed down the majority of the posse and were now focusing on those still standing. Two men, using their fallen horses' bodies as cover, were cut down by an unrelenting hail of fire. Two bullets struck Vin, one in his upper thigh, the other in his side. More bullets plunged into his horse, an unlucky one, killing the animal outright with a shot to the head.

Unable to move his wounded leg fast enough, Vin fell with the horse, right on top of the unconscious Jeremy. Vin had been so close to the rock wall, that the momentum of the fall, knocked his head against the stone and he lost consciousness to a wave of black nothingness.

A splitting headache and mounting pain brought Vin back to awareness and, as he blinked at the harsh sunlight, silence greeted his ears. Blinking rapidly to clear his blurry vision, the scene before him soon swung into focus. What he saw was a motionless array of bodies. Horses and men lay side by side, tangled up and beneath each other. Nothing moved, except the slow trickle of blood as it flowed from opened veins and wounds, collecting together to run in a red trickle down the natural slope of the canyon.

Vin drew in a deep breath and gasped as fire raced across his chest. He tried to move but he was pinned by the weight of his horse on his leg and when he tried to move his free leg, he had to bite back a scream as the bullet wound on his thigh flared to life. Licking his dry, dusty lips, Vin tried to remember what had happened as he fell. Feeling an unexpected softness beneath his upper body, Vin remembered falling onto Jeremy. Shuffling sideways, ignoring the pain, Vin tried to see the boy trapped beneath him.

Jeremy lay beneath Vin and his horse, his legs trapped by the lower portion of the horse. The tight quarters made it difficult for Vin to touch Jeremy's neck, but he managed to awkwardly bend his arm to check the boy's throat for a pulse. Vin's hand was shaking so badly, he couldn't find a pulse and his heart sank as he tried again. When Jeremy opened his eyes, Vin pulled back, startled and inadvertently pressed harder onto the boy. Gasping in pain, Jeremy turned to see Vin, right on top of him, the tracker's face slightly above him.

"Vvvinn?" His brown eyes were filled with fear as they stared straight at Vin and as he tried to move, his mouth opened in a gasp of pain. "Don't move, Jeremy. We don't know how the horse in laying on ya. Just lay still."

"Vinn, I .." Jeremy mouthed still struggling to free his arm trapped beneath the tracker. Grunting in pain as Jeremy managed to pull his arm free, Vin whispered, "Jeremy. Please don't move." Unaware of the pain he was causing Vin, Jeremy continued to struggle, pushing with his elbow to try and free himself. "I can't .. I can't … it hurts, Vin. It hurts."

"I know Jeremy but …" Jeremy wasn't listening. His eyes had been drawn to the scene of carnage beyond the sweat-covered rump of Vin's horse. All he could see was death, all around him, next to him, on top of him. Men he knew were lying in broken sprawls, their lifeblood seeping into the sand, sightless eyes staring up at the heavens. There was no sound in that terrible trap, and the silence was deafening in its own right after the storm of gunfire that had fallen upon the posse.

Jeremy didn't even try and fight the panic that rose within his breast, fed by the pain of his wounds. He hurt so much and all he wanted to do was get out of here, go home where it was safe and it didn't hurt anymore. If he didn't get free soon, he was so sure that he would never leave this death trap. "I gotta get … I gotta get out of here! Vin! VIN!" Vin could see the rising panic and tried to calm Jeremy down, but the boy wouldn't listen, his screams at Vin turning into just screaming, as he pulled and pushed trying to free himself. Vin could feel the boy's body moving beneath, muscles and tendons straining to break free of the dead weight of the horse.

"VIN! They're all dead! VIN!" Jeremy couldn't get free, try as he might and all he was doing in the process was hurting himself and Vin more.

"Jeremy, stop!"

Screaming in terror the boy lost it and flailed about, desperate to be free. Vin couldn't get through to him and tried to grab Jeremy's arm, to make a physical contact with the distraught boy. With a final, desperate plunge, Jeremy lurched backwards and something inside him seemed to break. Instantly he stopped moving, crying out in pain, clutching his stomach. All the energy seeped out of him, and Jeremy slumped on the ground, drawing in ragged breaths, sobbing brokenly.

Pushing back his own pain, Vin tried get his attention, "Jeremy, it's gonna be alright. Just lay still."

"Vin, it hurts." The boy's voice was a pain-filled whisper and Vin saw him squeeze his eyes shut as tears escaped from the corners. "I'm sacred, Vin."

"I know you are, but we're gonna make it, we just gotta…"

The rest of what Vin was going to say died on his lips as the unmistakable sound of riders approaching reached them. Jeremy's eyes brightened at the prospect of help arriving and Vin barely managed to cover the boy's mouth in time to prevent his call for help emerging. "Shhh, not until we know for sure who it is."

Nodding, Jeremy gulped in air as Vin removed his hand, before settling down on top of Jeremy, laying as if he were dead. "Sorry." Both apologised at the same time and Vin flashed the boy a weak smile before motioning him to lay back.

Despite the tension of waiting, Jeremy's eyes closed, either trusting in Vin to keep him safe or in too much agony to stay awake longer than necessary. Vin alternately checked on Jeremy and the opening in the dead end, just by moving his eyes as he lay perfectly still. He just hoped that the riders hadn't heard Jeremy's screams earlier.

Three riders appeared, pistols in hand. Vin recognised Hefner from the sheriff's description. A short man, slight in build, Hefner had a pointed sort of face, with long dark blonde hair reaching his shirt collar. He had the look of a street tough and it was rumoured that he had grown up on the streets of Liverpool before coming to America. But there was no trace of a British accent when he ordered his men to search for any survivors.

"Check 'em all. Don't want a fresh posse chasing down on us again." Dirk laughed then, a short nasty guffaw as if the sprawl of broken, bloodied bodies before him was something he was proud of. Vin felt Jeremy jerk at Hefner's order, but he couldn't risk moving to reassure the boy. They were trapped against a wall not too far from Hefner and while many of the posse lay between them and Hefner, any movement would be seen.

Closing his eyes, Vin lay as limp as he could and listened to the sound of the two outlaws picking their way through the bodies. One of them was about two metres from Vin's horse when he shouted, "Hell, Dirk, ain't any of 'em alive! We waited long enough on top to spot any of 'em movin' and this is jus stupid!"

Trying to take breaths as shallow as possible, Vin waited anxiously for the man to move on.
" 'Sides, if they are faking it - they ain't got a chance of surviving without help arriving soon. Let's get outta here."

Hefner considered his options for a moment before shouting, "Fine, get on back here. We don't want the rest of the boys getting too far ahead. We got some celebrating to do." With that the two outlaws hurried back to their horses, uncaring of who or what they stepped on. Mounting up, the trio rode out of the canyon leaving the mass grave for the buzzards.

Waiting for the sound of the hoof beats to disappear, Vin moved giving Jeremy some space to breathe. "It's all clear. Now how about we get to freeing ourselves?" Vin turned to look at Jeremy and saw that the boy was still lying limp and sallow. "Jeremy?" Again reaching to touch the boy, Vin felt Jeremy's face, which was slack and relaxed, and realized that he wasn't breathing. "Kid!" Shaking his head, Vin tried to manoeuvre himself off Jeremy but by the time he had painfully managed to slide down behind Jeremy, Vin knew that the boy was dead.

"Ah hell, kid."

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"So who helped you?"

Vin chuffed softly as if surprised that Buck had to ask the question. "No one. It took me a while but I managed to get free of my horse and I walked out that canyon. Ran into an old trapper who took me half dead to the nearest town where a doc patched me up. He never asked what happened and I never told him."

"Damn, Vin!" Nathan exclaimed, shocked at how close Vin had come to death. Again Vin just shrugged, as if his incredible effort to live was unremarkable. "Heard later that Mayor Hobbs had found what was left of the posse, and declared everyone accounted for. Said anyway that a survivor was sure to be part of the Hefner gang so I stayed quiet."

Chris shook his head in amazement and muttered, "Now Hefner's here. Why did he knife Josiah?"

Vin shrugged, mindful of his promise to Josiah but answered truthfully, "Your guess is as good as mine, pard. I can't recollect any reason why Hefner would wanna kill Josiah and if Josiah knows - he ain't talking."

"Josiah can play his cards about as close as Ezra does on occasion. But we still gotta get after Hefner and Temple," Nathan said, watching as Ezra shuffled the cards in question.

"Indeed, Mr. Jackson, after hearing of Mr. Tanner's last harrowing encounter with Dirk Hefner, we are all as eager to chase down that man as a bather is to enter shark-infested waters. I for one volunteer to remain and protect the town from any transient ne'er-do-wells."


Buck grinned at Ezra and it wasn't a pleasant smile. The Southerner looked a little shocked at Buck's intense expression and resisted the urge to swallow nervously, "Mr. Wilmington? Something the matter with my suggestion?"

Still grinning nastily, Buck growled, "Nope, nothing wrong with it, except that there is no way in hell you're staying in town alone with Inez!"

Chris and Vin stared at Buck in surprise while Nathan just laughed. Ezra didn't know whether to smile or prepare to defend himself. Buck looked ready to pounce on the gambler and beat - something - out of him. Nathan noted Vin and Chris' confused expressions and chuckled, "Buck spotted Ezra kissing Inez this morning and he seems a might put out."

"Oh, I'm more than a might put out!" Buck growled, and Ezra found himself taking a step backwards, away from the glowering gunfighter. Vin kept his expression neutral for the moment but Chris looked a little flushed, as if Ezra's predicament reminded him of something else. Ezra was desperately trying to think of something to divert Buck's anger from him, short of digging himself deeper, when the lady behind all the trouble made her entrance.

Helena Demarco, dressed in a deep red blouse and a beautiful full black skirt made her way down the stairs from Inez's room. Buck's jaw may have well hung open in amazement his attention was so fixed on Helena. Ezra and the kiss were forgotten in the presence of this beauty and Buck leapt from his seat like Helena was a magnet that he had no choice but to fly at. Helena's dainty foot had barely touched the saloon floor and Buck's lips were pressed against her hand.

"How a beauty as dazzling as yours did not send this saloon up in a burst of fireworks, I'll never know. You, lovely lady, are surely the finest of God's creations."

Helena's smile was perfect, sincere but flattered, delighted but confident and Buck fell for it, like a tonne of bricks. His own devilish grin was wide enough to split his face and he was about to expound on the further merits of Helena's magnificence when Ezra's struggle to contain his laughter broke the moment.

Buck turned and shot a warning glance at the gambler who had to lean onto the bar, slapping it softly as he laughed soundlessly, his mirth so great that none of his laughter could emerge. Vin and Chris were also smiling broadly while Nathan was biting his lip trying not to laugh. Because, standing in the door of the kitchen, her hands resting on her hips, and her expression furiously indignant, was Inez. Judging by her angry glare she had been standing there long enough to hear Buck grill Ezra about their kiss and then see the ladies man practically stumble over his feet trying to get to Helena.

Buck stared at Inez, finding her angry countenance, as usual, just as attractive as when she was smiling at him. His hand still clasping Helena's suddenly felt very sticky and Buck found himself torn. Two beautiful women, one he had been pursuing with vigour and one, so beautiful he found it hard to breathe. What to do? Inez seemed to think that Buck was taking too long and she stormed back into the kitchen, cursing all the while in Spanish. His first instinct was to follow Inez and try and explain, and he actually took a step forward before Helena's soft voice whispered, "Going somewhere, cowboy?"

His mind racing to find an excuse, Buck stammered, "Wait right there, darlin', I won't be a minute!" With that Buck raced around the bar and into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Helena laughed softly and moved towards Vin whose smile froze as she approached him.

Within the kitchen, they could hear Inez's voice rising, with Buck's lower baritone trying to clam her down and, before Ezra could even collect himself, Buck was running back out of the kitchen, as if the hounds of hell were after him. Inez's voice shrieked in his wake, "That is not the point, Buck!" And soon the fiery lady appeared, frying pan in hand, which she pointed it at the unlucky scoundrel, "I don't care what you do, Buck Wilmington! But you will keep your fat nose out of my business!"

Buck nodded quickly and hurried out of the saloon, for the second time that day, too embarrassed to stay.

"Oh, my dear Inez, that was priceless, truly priceless." Ezra laughed, clutching his side.

Inez snapped at Ezra, "You stay out of this! You have caused enough trouble as it is!" And with that Inez disappeared back into the kitchen.

Helena was about to slip her arm through Vin's when he turned to face Chris. "We better head off now, before Hefner gets too far ahead. Find Buck and we'll meet you at the livery."

Vin nodded and moved away from Helena. He gave her a quick smile before leaving the saloon. Ezra was still chuckling and was leaning over the bar trying to reach the expensive brandy when Chris caught the back of his collar and pulled the protesting gambler from the saloon. "Come on, Iago, we've got a job to do."

"But Mr. Larabee I…."

Nathan found himself alone with the strange lady, and suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. Helena looked out of the saloon doors, in the direction that Vin had gone and, without a word to Nathan, turned and went into the kitchen.

Flummoxed by her behaviour, Nathan pulled on his hat and muttered, "It's never anything easy with this lot."

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Early Evening - Picnic Area:
Waiting - impatiently

"Where the hell is Carpenter?" Alvin Turner was pacing angrily, glaring at the distant trail as if willing Josh Carpenter to suddenly appear. Dempsey had taken over the watch a couple of hours ago and somehow, despite his boss' pacing, Swanson was sleeping soundly. Turner's mood had turned exceedingly foul when he woke up and realized that Josh had not returned from Four Corners yet.

Carpenter's mission was simple. Check out the town, its defences, location of the bank, opening and closing times and vigilance of the local law. Josh was very good at what he did, mingling with the town's populace and gathering information without arousing suspicion. Turner also was very good at what he did, and that was robbing banks. Josh was supposed to return to the agreed meeting point before sunset, so that the gang would draw up a plan for the following day.

Josh would tell him who opened the bank and at what time. Turner would ensure that he and Carpenter would be the first customers. Gunther, Dempsey and Swanson would then keep any other early customers away, at gunpoint if necessary. Alone with two heavily armed bank robbers the bank employees would usually comply with their demands and before any one in town, let alone with law any wiser. The gang would depart and the robbery would remain undiscovered until the next customer arrived and found the bank employees tied up. Now that Gunther was dead, Turner was a little uneasy about how successfully Pete and Joe could run interference without the large man's intimidating presence. This unease increased tenfold when Carpenter failed to arrive on time, something Turner had drilled into the young man with several beatings.

"I swear if he's shacked up with some whore again, I'm going to beat him to within an inch of his life." Turner's face was beginning to match his hair as he got angrier and angrier. Dempsey seemed well versed in how to behave around Turner when he got in a mood and the greasy haired youth remained uncharacteristically quiet. JD and Casey needed no encouragement to avoid drawing any attention and only Swanson's snores interrupted Turner's diatribe.

"That no good, lazy, low-down excuse for an idiot is probably trying to make some fool point about how much we need him! Well he sure as hell ain't getting a bigger portion - not in this lifetime!"

An enormous snort ripped through the air as Swanson turned onto his back, his mouth hanging open like a fish's. Like a hawk to its prey, Turner swooped down onto Swanson, kicking him viciously in the thigh. "Shut up!"

His nap brought to an abrupt ended by the pain that flared through his leg, Swanson sat up reaching for his gun. Turner anticipated Swanson's reaction and kicked the fumbling hand away from the gun. Finally aware of what was going on, Joe whined, "What the hell did you do that for? I was having a wonderful dream about that saloon in Texas…" Joe didn't mention his aching hand and leg, he merely continued to lament his interrupted dream.

"Carpenter isn't back yet - that's why!" Turner snarled, shaking his fist in the direction of Four Corners.

Swanson shrugged and quipped, "He probably got drunk and decided to try his luck at a poker game or something. He'll be back - he's just sore cos' Gunther beat on him yesterday."

"I don't care! He's got a job to do - and I ain't gonna let him jist dick around whenever he wants to!" Alvin picked up a rock and tossed it at JD's little bay who nimbly dodged the flying object.

"Jist calm down, Vin. Josh will be back soon, with some excuse about falling off his horse or something," Pete Dempsey said smoothly, as he played with JD's Colts, twirling the guns around on his fingers.

Turner looked like he was going to say something more, but as quickly as his temper had flared, it seemed to disappear. "You two get off your asses and go rustle up some dinner. I'll stay and watch for Josh", Alvin Turner snapped.

Swanson seemed eager to get out from under Turner's eye and quickly straightened his hat. Winking at Pete Dempsey, Joe grinned at Casey and drawled, "You wanna come hunting with us, little girl? I'm sure we would find something we all would enjoy."

Casey glared at Joe, her jaw set but she couldn't keep the fear from her eyes. JD sat up straighter, also glaring at Pete, his hands automatically reaching for his guns. Dempsey chuckled as he holstered his new pistols, watching as JD tried to hide his reaction by sticking his hands in his pocket. "I think this little greenhorn fancies himself to be some sort of a gunman, Joe."

"Reckon you're right, Pete - I…"

"Will you two stop yammering and get going already!" Turner growled, "At this rate we going to be eating Joe's hat again. Git!"

A little sullen at having their fun interrupted, the pair of bank robbers sauntered out of the camp, with more than a few looks directed at Casey. Just before they disappeared out of earshot, Joe yelled, "Don't start the fun without us, Vin!"

JD, Casey and Alvin could hear the pair snickering as they walked away. Turner ignored the comment and just stood watching the trail and his captives, waiting for Josh Carpenter to return.

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Late Evening - trail to Beggars Canyon
There's no escaping…

Ezra was utterly miserable, his clothing covered in a thick layer of dust from a hard day's ride. Vin, Chris, Buck and himself had ridden hard all afternoon to reach the canyon before it grew too dark to ride any further. He was saddle-sore, and tired but Ezra had no idea how Vin was still functioning, considering that the lean tracker had not slept more than a couple of hours in the last couple of days. Today would have been the fourth consecutive day in the saddle for him. At least he and Larabee had a chance to catch some sleep in town, but Vin had trailed behind them all night to cover their return.

Sighing in relief as Chris motioned for the pace to slow down a little, giving the horses a chance to recover, Ezra acknowledged that the fast pace of the ride had been a blessing in disguise. Buck had been unable to harass him about Inez. Wilmington had not had the chance in town to continue his discussion and while, Buck had tried to ride close to Ezra the whole afternoon, the slippery gambler had managed to elude him. Ezra smiled to himself, thoroughly enjoying teasing Buck, drawing out the scoundrel's torture - aware that Buck couldn't stand not knowing.

Drawing up near to Ezra, Buck tilted forward resting his elbows on his pommel. Keeping his voice calm, Buck tried a gentler approach, still desperate to find out if Ezra was courting Inez. "So Ez, what's going on with you and Inez?"

Sighing dramatically, Ezra exclaimed, "Mr. Wilmington - shame on you. Prying into my private affairs, especially involving a delicate matter such as a lady. For shame."

"Knock it off, Ez! Spill it! I gotta know!"

"Why pray tell?" Ezra drawled, picking at a loose thread on one of his button-holes., "It's not as if there aren't a dozen women, heaven knows why, ready to fall at your feet given the slightest invitation from your bushy eyebrows and you certainly seemed more than intrigued by the lovely Miss Demarco."

Ezra, his attention half fixed on Buck, kept a watchful eye on Vin riding ahead of them, keen to see what affect their conversation was having. Either Vin had not heard, or he was keeping his reaction to himself.

"Cos this is about Inez! And I aim to make sure you ain't … compromising her," Buck snapped in reply.

"Comprising? Why, Mr. Wilmington I fear I am rubbing off on you - goodness I hope it's not mutual. Lord forbid start using such colloquial mannerisms as yourself!"

"EZ!"

Buck heard both Vin and Chris chuckling up ahead and shouted, "Sure laugh it up, you two! I'm just looking after Inez's best interests here…"

Chris' voice floated back to Buck and Ezra, "… considering she ain't interested in you."

"Shut up, Chris! And you too, Vin, quit giggling like a girl who's just discovered the hayloft."

Vin laughed even more. Buck then saw Vin say something quietly to Chris, who sent Buck a knowing grin. Ezra however choose this moment to intervene, "Buck, I am offended to believe that you do not consider me to be an acceptable suitor for the lovely Miss Recillios, when it is plainly obvious that she returns my affections unlike your good self…."

"Shut up, Ezra!" at Ezra's quizzically raised eyebrow, Buck spluttered, "I'm working on her - and now you've gone and moved in, just when I was making some headway…"

"Headway?"

The four men had just crested a small rise when a gunshot ripped through the night air. Buck was caught mid-sentence as the bullet blew his hat off his head. "Hell!"

Diving for cover, the four regulators dismounted and sent their horses back down the rise. Vin crawled up the slight hill on his stomach, took his hat off, and peaked out over the top.

"Who is it?"
"Is it Hefner?" Ezra and Chris whispered at the same time.

Vin didn't answer as he studied the area below them, keeping as flat as possible. Another volley of gunshots were aimed in their direction and Vin pressed himself further into the ground.

"Vin!"

Finally, Vin crawled backwards down to his friends, making no sound at all as he moved across the scattered undergrowth.

"Well?" Chris asked.

Vin looked at Chris and Ezra and whispered, "It's the Don."

Ezra paled and Chris swore while Buck said, "What Don?"

"Don Diego de la Vega of the Grande Vista Hacienda, a loathsome curmudgeon and an even worse poker player", Ezra replied his face regaining a little of its colour. "You sure?" he asked Vin, who just nodded and then a broad grin split his face. "I don't see why this predicament is so amusing, Mr. Tanner - why is that cretin shooting at us? It's not as if he knows about our …"

Ezra receive his answer when a heavily accented voice called out to them. "Senor Standish! Senor Larabee! I know you are up there."

Chris frowned at Ezra and yelled back, "What do you want?"

"Oh nothing senor - just your head on a stake and that slimy snake's heart on my dinner plate!"

Buck snorted at Ezra, "I'm guessing you're the slimy snake?"

Ezra huffed dismissively and shouted back at the Don, his voice taking on a much richer, wider Southern accent, "Why, my good Don Diego, what on earth could I have done to get your dander in such an uproar? As I recall, you did win our little poker game and walked away with a sizeable portion of my family fortune."

Buck stared at Ezra in shock, and mouthed at him, 'You lost?' while the Don's voice rose a few octaves at Ezra's response. "What have you done? What have you done? You slippery son of sidewinder! You and that whore are working together!! You … you …tricked me! You .. you .. no-good …"

The Don seemed to have run out of words in his indignation and Chris sighed as the spluttering continued for a few minutes. Swatting Vin, who was now laughing quietly, Chris hissed, "How many of them are there?"

"Three," Vin said smiling widely

"Three!" Chris bit out, "I thought he had a whole gang!" Tanner had the strangest sense of humour, he damned well knew how dangerous the Don was, and here he was laughing because the Don had decided to add Ezra and himself to his list of 'People To Kill.'

"They musta all split up to look for Helena and Ezra," Vin suggested even as Ezra raised himself a little to get his own view of the situation.

Buck hissed, "Why is he after Helena?"

Stretching a little to peer over the rise, Ezra whispered, "Vin is correct and I don't recognise either of the muscle-bound thugs with Don Diego."

Checking that his pistol was loaded, Buck whispered, "Well then why don't we deal with this bunch and high-tail it before the others arrive? Then you lot can tell me what in the hell is going on!"

"Ez, are you alright?" Vin asked as he loaded his Winchester. The gambler was still looking a little pale.

"Yes, yes," Ezra replied as the four of them moved closer to the rise, "I've never had the unfortunate experience of a mark thirsting for my blood because I let him win!"

"There's a first for everything", Chris muttered and took a quick look at where the Mexicans were situated. What he saw riding up the trail towards them, had him shouting for the others to get to their horses. "Get up! Come on! The 'other parties' are here already."

As the other three stood to see for themselves, each had to duck as the approaching gang thundering down the trail fired on them.

"Ok, that's a gang," Buck shouted as he mounted up and turned to follow Chris who was firing on the Mexicans from the back of his big black. Vin's Winchester joined in, laying down a covering fire and the approaching riders had to fall back as three of their number fell to the deadly gunfire.

The four regulators spurred their horses off and tried to put as much distance as possible between the gang and themselves. Ezra risked a quick glance backwards and tried to count the number of Mexicans following them. "There's at least twenty of them!"

"Vin! Can you lose 'em?" Chris shouted at the tracker who was laying over the neck of his horse.

"Yeah, but it's gonna mean riding all night to catch up to Hefner again!"

"Just do it!"

Vin nodded and pulled Unalii off the trail they were riding on and headed cross-country. The flat, open prairie stretched for a good 5 miles before rising into a series of narrow hills and defiles that eventually twisted into Beggars Canyon. Urging his powerful black to go even faster, Vin raced across the prairie. Chris, Buck and finally Ezra trailed behind, their horses nearly matching Unalii's speed.

The Mexican gang burst out of the small wooded area the Don had been hiding in, and pursued the four riders. Vin, looked back to check how far behind the gang was and saw that they were nearly in pistol range. He eased back on the reins, asking Unalii to slow a little and Chris, Buck and Ezra sped past him, following his signal to keep riding. Once the trio was sufficiently ahead of him, Vin sped up again and unsheathed his long rifle. Sitting straight up, he turned in the saddle and uncaring of the bullets that whistled past him, he raised his rifle and fired off five successive shots.

Behind him, in the middle of charging Mexicans, three horses screamed as their riders plummeted to the ground, dragging the reins down with them. Another man slumped in his saddle, whilst the fifth was blown completely off his horse. Instantly the lead riders in the gang slowed down, no longer as keen to be in range of Vin's rifle. As the gap between the groups of riders widened, Vin sheathed his rifle and leant forward over his saddle.

"Come on," he urged Unalii and the black willingly increased his pace to catch the three horses in front of them. As Vin leant low over Unali's neck, he could feel his horses chest heaving in time with the thundering hooves as Unalii effortlessly pushed himself faster. It was an incredible sensation to be astride an animal so powerful. Muscles bunching and releasing in harmony to the run Unalii loved best. Flat out and gaining on his quarry Unalii ate the distance between Ezra's horse and himself, catching up and slowly edging ahead of all three horses to take the lead. Chris flashed Vin a quick smile as they passed, Unalii straining against the reins, wanting to go faster and outpace Chris' black. Pony, picked up his ears and began to match Unalii's stride as he felt his rider's encouragement.

After a good half hour's ride the four riders entered shallow hills and Vin lead them galloping through a twisting maze of backs and ends that seemed to flow into each other. The four were in the middle of the hills before the Mexican gang entered the rising countryside. Vin slowed Unalii to a brisk trot and said, "I'm gonna have to take us right around the canyon edge to get ahead of Hefner. You boys, up for riding a few more hours? Otherwise he's gonna be gone before we get there in the morning."

"We gotta choice?" Buck yelled.

Vin shrugged and Chris fought the urge to rub his eyes wearily. Yawning instead, Chris said, "Hell no. Let's ride."

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Four Corners:
Feminine Wiles

Four Corner's restaurant was busy, the trail hands that had arrived that morning making up for the brawl by spending money in town. Mary had decided to treat herself to a meal she didn't have to prepare. Larabee had left town without saying a word. Still fuming from her argument with him, she was now even angrier with worry about Larabee pursuing Hefner. Billy was staying with his grandparents and she had the evening to herself. Although her meal was delicious, she couldn't seem to enjoy it. She was about to get up and leave when Inez and another woman entered the restaurant.

Usually Inez ate at the Saloon but occasionally she would come over to the restaurant. Mary's gaze was not drawn to Inez as expected, but rather to the beautiful woman beside her. Inez was looking around the room for a spare table and impulsively Mary waved them over. Initially, Inez paused. She then smiled and hurried over to Mary, her cousin following.

Smiling brightly Inez said, "Mary, this is my cousin Helena, who is … visiting me for a few days." Inez's hesitant explanation and Helena's striking looks were enough to make all the pieces fall together and Mary found herself gasping, "It was you!"

Startled, Inez stared at Mary and Helena, who looked a little puzzled. Mary quickly indicated for Inez and Helena to sit and, as the ladies sat down, Mary whispered, "You were the one I saw … uhm … hugging Chr… Mr. Larabee this morning!"

Inez now stared at Helena in surprise. Who else had her cousin been flirting with? Helena didn't seem at all embarrassed by their attention and said demurely, "I was simply thanking Senor Larabee for his help yesterday. It meant nothing more than that."

The blonde reporter didn't know whether to be furious at Larabee for not simply telling her that, or to be angry with herself for jumping to conclusions. Inez pursed her lips and said tartly to her cousin, "First you are making cow-eyes at Senor Tanner, then I see you flirting with Buck and now I hear you were hugging Senor Larabee. I thought you were going to meet your fiancé in Denver?"

The beautiful Mexican lady smiled at her cousin, but her eyes betrayed her anger at Inez and Helena huffed, "I am not married yet, cousin, and I have done nothing wrong." Apparently finished with the conversation, Helena picked up a menu and busied herself, leaving Inez to share a puzzled look with Mary.

All Inez could think was, "You haven't done anything wrong - yet!"

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Late Wednesday Night, Picnic Area:
Illegal Plans

The atmosphere around the little campfire was tense. Pete and Joe had brought back a meagre dinner, a few scrawny birds and a rabbit filled with more buckshot than meat. In any case, JD and Casey had only received a few scraps to eat, the majority of the meal being wolfed down by Pete and Joe. Alvin Turner was too agitated to eat more than a few bites and, throughout the meal, he paced, watching the horizon.

As Turner became more and more quiet, Pete and Joe grew nervous. In a bid to draw Turners attention away from their missing companion, Pete had finally introduced the trio to JD and Casey and demanded their names in return. Dempsey had conveniently edited his and Joe's colourful and illegal past, painting a vivid picture of high youthful spirits at odds with the establishment. "But mind me now, we ain't ever done anything - illegal like, jist had a few disagreements in the finer points of the law."

Casey wasn't too sure what to make of Pete's change in behaviour. He hadn't leered at her the entire evening and seemed more interested in talking than intimidating anyone. Swanson had gulped his meal down and immediately fallen asleep again, his snores muffled by his hat resting over his head. Casey was half tempted to try and win Pete's friendship and hopefully get his help in escaping. She just wished she could ask JD first, but with Pete chattering away happily, there wasn't a chance to do so. Little did she know that JD had much the same idea, and decided a little 'editing' of his own story was required.

He answered Pete's questions about where he was from, how long he had been out West and what he was doing in Four Corners, and JD carefully avoided any mention of being a regulator, or having very impressive friends. Casey turned out to be his fiancé, much to her own surprise, and JD was a reporter for the Clarion and had been in Four Corners for nearly 5 years. Pete was completely sucked in and found himself listening avidly to JD's stories of life in Four Corners, complete with edited versions of his friends' antics.

Casey was surprised at how thoroughly JD could lie, weaving half-truths and misinformation into an astonishing life story, he had obviously learned at the feet of a master, Ezra Standish. Casey found herself joining into the conversation, confirming JD's story and trying very hard not to contradict any of his lies. She nearly laughed out loud at the thought of what her Aunt Nettie would think of all this, sitting around a campfire with outlaws, lying through her teeth. It was very clear that Joe, Pete and Alvin were seasoned outlaws; Pete was not nearly as skilled at hiding the truth as he believed. JD had been especially careful to mention several relatives, both his and Casey's, who would be anxious about their safe return.

At some time during this battle of lies and deception, Alvin Turner stopped pacing and started listening - to JD.

"So then my Uncle Ezra storms out of the saloon, wearing nothing but a table cloth and his hat and boots, swearing to high heaven that he had been cheated!"

Pete hooted loudly at JD's story, slapping his hand on his leg in appreciation. Casey smiled too, having heard Buck tell this story before, but her smile faded when she realized that Turner was staring at JD like he was only now really seeing him. "What happened then, did your Uncle win his money back?" Pete asked excitedly.

JD opened his mouth to reply but instead Alvin's words cut across the night air, "So you live in Four Corners then?"

Blinking a little at the interruption, JD nodded, "Yes, Sir, Casey too." Waving JD's admission aside as if it meant nothing, Turner strode over to the three young people gathered around the campfire. His ruddy complexion, still fierce from his earlier anger, was highlighted by the flickering flames, making his face seem angular and harder.

Suddenly Turner smiled the first genuine smile JD had seen on his face and it did nothing to ease his fears. "I reckon we've been awful rude to you two love birds, keeping you here all this time without any reason why."

Alvin continued to grin, his voice nearly dripping with sincerity and JD felt that he preferred trying to deal with the man when he was angry. This 'nice' face was highly disturbing. "Since you've lived in these parts for a while now, I'm guessing you realize what kind of men we are - and what do we do for a livin'." The smile was still in place, but Alvin's eyes were hard, daring JD to contradict him. JD just nodded while Casey shifted closer to her 'fiancé', drawing some comfort from the feel of JD's jacket around her. The night wasn't particularly cold, but a combination of nerves and temperature had prompted JD to loan her his jacket. It was only slightly too big for her, JD's broader shoulders and wider chest ensuring she had ample room to move. As Turner smiled at the pair of them, Casey was grateful for the added security of the jacket - no matter how silly it seemed.

"If you tell me what I need to know about your little town, I swear that you two will not be harmed," Alvin Turner stated clearly, his sincerity not reaching his hard eyes.

"What with you bein' the type of fellas I think you are - how can we trust you?" JD questioned, careful to keep his tone non-accusatory. Alvin displayed no emotion at JD's question, he just shrugged and said, "Guess you'll jist have to take a chance."

Fighting the desire to glance at Casey, JD stared straight at Turner as he said, "I'm not too sure I can do that, sir."

Grinning at the 'sir', Turner drew his gun, the smile still in place, and deadpanned, "That's a pity, cos' I'm sure your little Casey will tell us everything we want to know. We're very good at being persuasive."

Unable to stop his worried look at Casey, whose own eyes reflected the fear in his, JD sighed and said, "I think we can trust you, Mr. Turner. If I tell you what you want to know about the town, you'll swear to let us go unharmed?"

Alvin seemed to think about the proposal for a minute, even though it was his own idea, and visibly came to a decision. "I'm a mite offended that you don't trust me, kid, in which case, here's the deal. You tell me everything about that sweet little bank in town and I promise to keep Pete and Joe away from your girl. You ride with us tomorrow and help us rob the bank and I swear you two will live to see your wedding day."

JD hesitated to agree, searching for an alternative to Turner's proposal and when he took too long to make up his mind for Turner's liking, the outlaw boss cocked his pistol and growled, "You don't agree, I shoot you now and the boys and I will have a private party with Casey."

Swanson sat up, wide awake at the suggestion of a party, his eyes moving between Turner and JD, waiting to see the outcome. Pete looked a little distressed, his thin lips pursed in a frown. It really wasn't that difficult a choice to make, and JD really didn't want to play by Turner's rules but with Casey's safety to consider, his options were limited. Before Turner could get anymore impatient, JD nodded and said, "It's a deal."

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Late Wednesday Night Four Corners:
Misunderstanding

It was quiet in Nathan's little clinic, only the sound of one man sleeping disturbed the silence. Josiah lay in the bed, unaware of the pain that throbbed from his back, listening to Nathan breathe. Dark, painful memories, far more painful than the wound that prevented him from riding, strolled like a macabre parade through Josiah's mind. Images of his father and Hannah, brief glimpses of the mother who departed all too soon, interspersed with flashes of Temple's hard sneering face. There was a pattern to all the thoughts, but none that Josiah contemplated. He simply let them come, experiencing the emotions over and over again. Despair - utter despair, that he could not save Hannah, that he couldn't reason with his father, that everything had spiralled out of his control long before he even thought to intervene. And then Temple had emerged onto the scene, adding his own brand of despair.

As the memories continued to swirl and merge into an all-encompassing mass of hopelessness, Josiah found his thoughts turned instead to the present and the promise he had made. He would wait. He would stay, and it felt like that promise was going to burn a hole through his brain. He had to go. Now.

Josiah wasn't thinking about trust or about friendship - all he could see was Charles Temple. Charles Temple laughing with his sister, Charles Temple arguing with his father, Charles Temple shouting at Josiah, pointing that manicured finger at him, demanding. Demanding Hannah.

No.

The word was not spoken, but it ignited the air around him.

No.

Hannah's sweet gentle face smiling at her beloved brother turned into the half-crazed, despairing woman that she was now. It all rushed at Josiah, the hate and anger, the frustration and hurt enveloped him until he found it difficult to draw just one more breath into his lungs.

NO!

"Josiah?"

Nathan's deep voice broke the momentum of Josiah's thoughts and the preacher realized that he was sitting up in the bed, his hands clenched into tight fists.

"You alright?"

Shaking his head, Josiah sank back onto the soft covers, his heart still racing. "I have never found it so difficult to keep a promise, Nathan. Never."

Nathan remained silent, his eyes trying to discern something from Josiah's face, but he could see very little in the dark of the room. "I promised Hannah too, you know. Promised her that Charles would never hurt her again and if they don't …" Josiah thought to himself.

"You gotta trust 'em, Josiah. Chris and the others won't let them escape, not if they can help it."

"That's just it, Nate. They might not have a choice. Dirk Hefner is as wiley as they come - and as ruthless and there is still Charles. Chris and the boys might not have a choice."

Nathan rose to his feet and stepped away from the small cot he had been sleeping in. The tall healer reached out to touch Josiah's forehead, checking for a fever. His hands found the preacher's head to be slightly warm, but nothing to worry about and Nathan sought the words to settle his friend down, to reassure him.

"You don't have to worry, Josiah. After what Vin told us, they ain't gonna let Hefner escape this time." Realising that Josiah would not have heard about Vin's last encounter with Dirk Hefner, Nathan continued as he checked the bandage wrapped around Sanchez's chest.

"Sorry, I forgot that you don't know everything. Vin told us that he had been part of the posse that Hefner ambushed a few years back. You know - the one where Hefner led 'em into a box canyon and ... well Vin was there and he barely survived that attack. So he's got just as deep a need to see Hefner caught. I'm just glad that Vin didn't try and go after Hefner alone especially after…"

The rest of Nathan's words faded away for Josiah as one phrase reverberated through his skull, just as deep a need, just as deep a need. A cold, stomach-churning worm of fear awoke inside Josiah as something akin to realisation sunk in. …just as deep a need. Vin had his own reasons for hunting Hefner, his own vengeance to seek. How badly did Vin want Hefner, how fierce did his heart burn with that deep need? Josiah remembered how savage, how desperate Vin had been when Eli Joe had shown up, trying to remove the tracker's threat. How focused the tracker had been, how determined … how blind. Blind to Ezra's troubles with the saloon, blind to Buck's marital plans, blind to everything except Eli Joe.

In that moment of panic, Josiah forgot, forgot why Vin needed … desperately needed… Eli Joe and instead the tall preacher remembered only what he chose. That Vin had thought of nothing else save catching Eli Joe. Nothing else. Now he was on the trail of Hefner - a man who had also tried to kill him. What would Vin forget this time? Would he forget his promise, his oath to Josiah? Would the hunter that hides inside his young friend let Temple go in order to catch Hefner?

The answer whispered in Josiah's brain.

Yes.

Yes, Tanner would. Tanner would bring in Hefner at all costs, and if in the process Temple escaped …? The rage that had been building inside Josiah ever since he caught sight of Charles Temple in the saloon erupted. All Josiah could see was Vin letting Temple go in order to get Hefner and Chris and the others letting him go, because they didn't know. They didn't know!

"Damn him!" Josiah roared, shoving Nathan to the floor and then running for the door. Vin was not going to let Temple escape.

"NO!"

Nathan scrambled to his feet and rushed out onto the balcony, "Josiah!" Incredibly, he saw a lone figure already riding out of the livery stable, racing out of town.

"Josiah!"

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Pre-dawn Hours Thursday Morning:

Buck rode quietly behind Chris as Vin led them through the twisted hills. Despite the fact that they had a large group of angry Mexicans somewhere behind them and a pair of known-murderers in front of them, their pace was relaxed.

Vin was taking no chances as he threaded through the narrow hills, since his view of the road ahead was often obscured by inclines and ragged edges of rock. The path through the hills was three times as long as the direct trail and as such there was no real track considering most travellers used the shorter route. Their pace was easy, as the men gave their mounts a chance to recuperate after the hard ride. In order to catch Hefner before they lost him in the canyon, they would have to ride through the night and then come over a sharp ridge before reaching the canyon mouth. Vin wanted to reach that ridge before sunrise; otherwise the four regulators would be silhouetted across the horizon as they topped it, the sun directly behind them.

Ezra rode in the rear, his hat lowered over his eyes, as he trusted his horse to keep following the other horses. He dozed in a semi-trance, half aware of what was going on around him. He half-expected to hear the sound of hoof beats thundering down the trail towards him, and kept one ear trained for that signal of approaching trouble. Luckily the trail behind was quiet as the late night hours slid by.

Chris tried to ease his tired muscles as his back and shoulders protested the long days of hard riding and little rest. Fighting the urge to fidget, Larabee maintained a watchful eye on the surrounding hills, Vin's story of being ambushed utmost in his mind.

Silence rested over the four men who rode like darker shadows in the night, their passage as discreet as any wild animal. No creaks of leather or straps, their horses attuned to the moods of their riders. There was no apprehension or fear in the air, only exhaustion and wariness. Chris decided to break the self-imposed silence and hissed at Vin.

"Any chance of camping before sunrise?"

"Nope."

Vin turned the next corner, as Chris heard his curse softly. "What?"

"We're further north than I expected. Gonna have to pick up the pace." With tired resignation, they did, each man sat a little straighter in the saddle as they followed the tracker. Vin was determined. No matter how tired, how exhausted he was; he would find Hefner. Don Diego's presence, somewhere behind them, only added to the tension building across his shoulder blades. He just hoped that the four of them tracked down Hefner and Temple before the Don managed to pick up their trail again.

It was going to be a close race.

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Stubborn Pride


Nathan caught up to Josiah sooner than he thought.

Sanchez had stopped at a fork in the trail, his horse breathing hard after the fast-paced ride. Nathan slowed to approach the large man cautiously. He didn't want to provoke Josiah into rage and didn't speak until he was nearly abreast with him.

"Josiah."

Sanchez's eyes were fixed on the dividing trail, trying to determine which one to take. The darkness concealed any sign, any clue. Josiah fought the urge to ride off impulsively, as he knew a wrong choice could let Temple escape.

"Which way did they go Nathan?"

Jackson sighed at the hard edge in Josiah's voice - a promise of violent, uncontrolled rage.

"Jo…"

Josiah yanked Nathan right into his face, his fist clenched in Jackson's shirt. "Which way did they go!" he shouted his eye boring into Nathan.

Nathan knew there was no reasoning with Josiah when he became like this. Only Chris ever had luck controlling a rage-maddened Sanchez and that had only succeeded because Josiah knew Chris would follow through with any threat of violence. All anyone else could do was let Josiah rage until he came to his senses, or in this case, fell off his horse.

"Beggars Canyon…"

Josiah kneed his horse forward immediately and rode like the wind down the trail towards Beggars Canyon, leaving a frustrated Nathan behind him. Picking up the reins, Nathan urged his own horse after Josiah, hoping that the Preacher found reason before he got someone killed.

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Juan Gomez briefly saw the fist swinging at him before he was sent flying off his horse. Writhing on the floor, his grubby hands clasped over his jaw, the sneaky little tracker glared up at the Don.

"I told you not to come back with excuses," Diego shouted. "How hard can it be to find four gringos?"

Juan desperately wanted to snap back and demand that if the Don thought it was so easy, why didn't he just spend the next four hours sniffing through the dirt trying to find a trail. Instead, the cowardly little man prudently mumbled, "Senor, it is dark and that American buckskin is very good. I will find the trail in the morning."

A roar of frustration erupted from Don Diego, who threw up his arms and shook his fists at the heavens. If he had been a man given to paranoia he might have thought that everyone was conspiring to keep him from his goal. Fortunately the Don was a far more practical man than that, all he wanted to do was shoot something, preferably someone in order to alleviate his frustration. First Helena had been whisked away by that gringo, and then that same gringo had helped Standish and Larabee escape. De la Vega didn't have a clear idea of how the gambler and the gunslinger were involved with Helena and her schemes, or the gringo tracker. What the dispossessed Don did know, was that if he got his hands on either of those men, he would soon find Demarco and his deed.

Collecting himself after his outburst, Diego glanced down at Gomez still squirming on the ground. "I have a better idea, Juan. You will keep riding… back to that town we passed earlier and find out anything about those gringos. We are going to camp here and Tito will find the trail in the morning."

The wiry little Mexican opened his mouth in protest but quickly shut it at the Don's icy glare. "Si, senor."

"Get going then," Diego snapped and dismissed Gomez. All around him, his men gratefully dismounted and began setting up camp and none of them even noted the sullen Gomez leave the group, his shifty eyes boring into the back of Don Diego's head.

One day, Senor, one day.


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Sunrise Thursday morning:
Unpleasant Thoughts

Dirk Hefner eyed the canyon mouth nervously. The sun was just beginning to tip the eastern horizon, igniting the top of the canyon walls like a brush fire. Something felt wrong. The same instinct that had kept him alive for so many lawless years was shrieking at him now. Something was wrong.

The whole area was quiet - no sounds of life waking up. No birds, no nocturnal creatures returning to their lairs, nothing stirred as if it were waiting for something. The silence was even beginning to unnerve Charles, who was usually as oblivious to nature as a blind man was to the sun. It was there and he could feel it, but he could never grasp its true beauty.

Hefner had allowed the rumour to grow that he had an Indian half-breed in his gang, someone who could excusably know how to hide trails and read the signs of nature. After all, an ability to disappear into the wilderness, like one born to it, was something to add to your legend, your fame. Dirk Hefner hid his secret from all, save those he rode with and they only knew because he had led them safely for so long. Hefner's secret was simple - he knew how to track, hide his trail and most importantly, disappear when he wanted to.

Charles was breaking camp, his movements unhurried but swift, each item placed meticulously in his pack. Charles always was one for details and not knowing the full details of Hefner's life, sometimes drove him to distraction. Some people whispered Dirk had grown up in England and others said continental Europe. A few outlaws claiming to have ridden with him declared that Hefner was from Canada, his mother a Frenchwoman and his father… perhaps a German missionary. They were all wrong.

He had grown up in Brazil, his father a Welshman earning his living as a riverboat trader. Dirk could remember sitting on the bow of his father's boat as it chugged up rivers and streams, visiting isolated settlements. The crew of the boat had been his family, each man speaking with a different accent, moulding the boy in different ways. It had not been a happy childhood, rather moments of joy interspersed a decade of beatings, hard work and loneliness.

Forbidden to leave the boat as they docked at villages, Hefner had had to watch his father and crew go ashore and leave him behind. A few times, the children of the village would spot him on deck and would shout for him to join them but his father's firm, often-painful grip would keep him onboard. George Hefner always seemed to know when his son was planning an escape, ready to dish out punishment for disobedience.

It wasn't until Dirk was much older, nearly fifteen that he fully realized why his father kept such a tight rein on him. Although he had always known that his mother had left his father when he was still a baby, Dirk had assumed that she had died. After his last attempt to leave the boat without his father's permission, George Hefner had given his only son a beating he would never forget. Amidst the blows that had rained down on him, Dirk had heard the angry words his father shouted at him, but it was only as he had lain crying quietly in his small cabin that the words made any sense.

"You. Are. Not. Leaving!"

Each word had been punctuated by a blow, the last one sending Dirk into unconsciousness. Perhaps if George Hefner had learned from his mistakes and stopped hitting those he loved, things might have turned out differently. Perhaps if Dirk had not been so used to violence and abuse, he might have chosen differently. Perhaps if the old cook had not left the meat cleaver buried in the kitchen door after a row with the second mate, Dirk might have slipped away quietly on his sixteenth birthday.

In celebration of Dirk's birthday the crew had thrown him a party. The party involved a bit more spirits than most sixteen-year-olds' celebrations. George had been particularly proud of his son that night. Shouting loudly, his words slurred beyond comprehension, understood only by those reaching similar levels of intoxication, George Hefner, a man who decked any one who asked why his surname wasn't Welsh, pronounced his son a man and the heir to his 'kingdom!' Roars of approval, disapproval and heaving over the side greeted that announcement as the new heir stared up at his father in shock.

Towering above his smaller son, George grabbed the boy in an enormous hug and whispered loudly, "I'm proud of you, kid."

Dirk stared into his father's eyes, seeing a man less drunk than he appeared, sincerity etched in his face. Trying to understand the emotions surging through him, Dirk, still wrapped in his father's arms felt the big man lurch forward and saw some of the light die in his eyes. His father's eyes continued to glaze over as Dirk stared at them, his father mouthing, "I'm sorry," before collapsing onto his son. It was only then that Dirk noticed that the crew around him where in an uproar - they were under attack. A smaller, but heavier armed boat had pulled up to them unnoticed, the noise from the party masking any sound of approach. The river-trade was a dangerous one, hostile Indians, unfriendly officials and pirates.

The pirates attacking Hefner's boat were experienced in the workings of murder but none of them expected to come face to face with a meat-cleaver wielding sixteen-year-old. The rest of that night was one every survivor of the Welshman would remember. Young Dirk, enraged beyond thinking, led the remaining crew to an incredible victory over the pirates, who abandoned their attempt to capture the Welshman and fled down river. To the horror of the pirate captain, the Welshman fired up her engines and turned to pursue him. Terrified, the pirate captain tried to escape, to no avail.

The story of the Boy Pirate is still whispered along the byways and villages of Brazil, a young man who became one of the fiercest pirates along the rivers, attacking not only merchant barges but also fellow pirates. The fact that Hefner only started to attack traders in his last year of piracy made no difference to the villagers. His fame and infamy grew until he had to flee Brazil and head north to the States, where no one knew his face or name … yet.

Charles Temple had joined up with Hefner only a few years ago, the two men unknowingly in need of each other's skills. While Hefner was an expert at ambushes, robberies and hold-ups, he lacked patience and finesse for long term plans and confident schemes. Charles Temple, a cat burglar and con man loved the thrill of schemes and plots. His fame had spread through the East as the Green Man. His trade mark, a gift of green to his victims, who by then would have realized too late that they had lost everything.

Determined Pinkerton detectives had chased Temple into the uncivilised West where he had met his true-love, Hannah Sanchez. Her name still burned through his brain. It was the last, the only obsession of a man who had lost nearly everything. That is, until he had met Hefner. Together the pair had found a balance, a tempering of natural skill and experience to become the leaders of a ruthless band of murderers and con men, working to line their pockets any which way they could.

Now, separated from their gang by the canyon looming before them, Hefner and Temple were being pursued by a posse. This was something Temple was not used to as he usually planned his escapades well enough to avoid an angry mob of marks coming for him. Hefner, however, had a great deal of experience in dealing with posses. In fact, his experience had won him infamy in the States. The previous day, during their hectic ride from Four Corners, Dirk had assured Charles that he would be able to 'deal' with any posse coming for them. Only now, the following morning, Dirk was just standing… thinking.

That, in Temple's book, was a bad thing. Hefner was good acting on the spur of the moment, but deep thoughts tended to become muddled and these thoughts looked particularly deep.

"Dirk! What's the plan?" Charles said, hoping to snap Dirk back into an automatic mode.

There was no answer from his partner. Hefner continued to study the canyon before them, his eyes narrowed against the rising sun, which was tipping the canyon rims.

"Dirk!"

Snapping out of his reverie, Hefner turned to snarl at Charles, "What? I'm trying to think!"

Raising his eyes in mock-horror, Temple grumbled, "Thinking? Since when do you think, Dirk? Let's just go and you can do what you do best - react!"

Ignoring Temple's last remark, Hefner muttered, "Something's wrong. It's not feeling right."

Okay, this was different. Temple had to concede Hefner possessed incredible instincts about a situation, hence his being able to react so accurately to them. Trying to prompt a more elaborate explanation, Charles asked, "What's wrong? What don't feel right?"

Hefner glanced behind him and then looked forward again at the canyon. "They should be behind us - but I keep wondering…"

"Well wonder while we travel, we haven't got the time to sit and figure this out, Dirk."

Hefner nodded and grabbed the reins to his horse before carefully studying the rising canyon rim again. "No need to worry, Charles, I know what to do." Temple was pleased to note that all of Dirk's hesitancy seemed to have fled and his friend had his usual feral look about him again. "Excellent. Shall we ride?"

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Four Corners - Thursday Morning:
A Nasty Surprise

Jules Howitt loved his job. It gave him such a wonderful sense of order and security. His boss, Mr. Jones, the Bank Manager, had hired him a few months ago to help the bank cope with the booming business in town. Mr. Jones soon realized that his assistant was exceptionally keen and conscientious, to such a degree that eventually Mr. Jones had no qualms about allowing Howitt to open the bank each morning. Jules, in his enthusiasm, opened the bank fully an hour ahead of schedule. It gave him the time to carefully sort through the previous day's business, re-tally the account books and prepare the spare change for the new day.

He would generally bump into one of the town's regulators on his way to work, the lawmen keeping a watchful eye on the banker. Wilmington and Dunne would always give him a cheerful greeting, Jackson a less vocal but equally warm one. Larabee would merely tip his hat, while Sanchez's mood all depended on the previous night. Be it dreams or drink, Howitt never knew how Sanchez would react each time he met him, and this unpredictability slightly annoyed the fastidious man. He rarely saw the other two regulators, Standish, because the slippery gambler avoided the early morning patrol like the plague and Tanner, because the tracker would keep his movements about town unseen.

On this Thursday morning, according to the rough and annoyingly imprecise schedule Howitt tried to keep on the regulators, Mr. Wilmington should be sauntering down the boardwalk. While an unexpected change was to be…well expected, Howitt could see none of the regulators about. Shrugging it off as an obvious swap in duties, with Tanner filling Wilmington's place, Howitt walked briskly to the bank.

He was already mentally checking-off items on a list of priorities as he bent to unlock the bank's front door. Preoccupied with his planning, Howitt was unprepared to feel the barrel of a gun being placed in the small of his back. Belatedly he realized that someone was standing behind him. Before he could turn to see who the interloper was, a rough voice hissed, "Get inside, now!" The command was reinforced by a sharp shove with the gun and Howitt quickly complied. Stepping into the still dark interior of the bank, Howitt was marched towards the counter. He heard one other man enter the bank with his attacker and then heard the door shut behind them.

Gulping in fear, Howitt felt a cold sweat break out on his face when the rough voice hissed again, "Listen up, dickweed. You're going to open up the safe, give us the money and all without any fuss! Got it?"

Again the command was reinforced with the gun barrel being shoved into his back. Howitt stammered, "Ye.. yes, sir."

"Good, then get moving!"

Howitt stumbled towards the safe, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't stop the thought racing through his brain that he was going to die, that today was going to be his last on this earth. His hands were shaking so badly, it took him several heart-stopping moments to open the safe, eventually succeeding, the door swung open on its well-oiled hinges. He risked a brief look behind him at the bank robber and saw only a tall man dressed in unremarkable clothes with a bandanna covering his face. It was, however, the sight of JD Dunne peering through the bank windows that brought him to a dead standstill. JD turned from checking the boardwalk outside and was about to tell Turner that an early customer was heading their way, when he saw Howitt staring at him flabbergasted.

The astonished Bank Assistant's mouth was gaping and JD knew he was about to blow his cover. Acting instinctively to ensure both Howitt's and Casey's safety, JD crossed the brief space between Howitt and himself and slugged the man, knocking him out cold. Turner stared at the crumpled form of the Assistant lying at his feet and hissed at JD, "Nice shot, kid, " and then pointing his gun at JD, continued, "Stupid move though."

Stumbling over his own words in his haste to explain, JD blurted out quietly, "Someone's coming - they would have heard Howitt if I hadn't done something."

On cue, Pete and Joe had stepped forward to delay the Four Corner's resident, giving Turner time to pull JD into the shadows near the back of the Bank. Mrs. Potter, on her way to make a withdrawal from the bank, found herself waylaid by two strangers. The young men asked her where the saloon was and she quickly pointed them in the right direction. There was something a little off about the pair but Mrs. Potter didn't have the time to wonder. She approached the bank and was surprised to find it was still closed, the blinds on the windows still rolled down. Frowning slightly, she tried the door, thinking that perhaps Howitt was running late and had not opened the blinds yet.

Inside the bank, with Turner's hand firmly over his mouth, JD heard Mrs. Potter rattle the door handle and counted his blessings that he had thought to lock the door behind him. Mrs. Potter, deciding that Howitt had obviously been delayed, was going to wait for him as she caught a glimpse of the same two men from earlier hanging about in the alley behind the bank. Fighting a rising alarm, Mrs. Potter tried to walk away casually and look as if nothing was wrong. Instead of heading straight to the jail and giving away her intentions to any watchers, she went into her store, out the back and then through the back alleys to the jail, hoping to find one of the Seven was in attendance.

JD, unknowingly, the only one of the Seven in town, was shoved towards the safe by Turner. "Get moving and fill those bank bags."

Turner moved to watch through the narrow space between window and blind and left JD to stuff the money into the bank bags assortmented neatly at the bottom of the safe. JD stared at the piles of money before him, the entire town's savings. He had thought that the $10,000 that the Stutzs had been carrying was a lot of money, but the stacked piles before him were certainly eye-popping. He grabbed a bank bag and bent to grab a wad of notes when something in the bottom of the safe caught his eye. Once he realized what it was, an ear-splitting grin broke across his face.

Gloria Potter knocked urgently on the jail door, but no one answered. She tried the door and found it was open. Stepping inside, she was horrified to discover that the room was empty. Torn with indecision, Gloria stood in the little room, where the odours of stale beer and vomit, along with gunpowder and cheroot smoke remained, trying to think of a solution.

The sound of thundering hooves brought her rushing outside onto the front porch. Gloria watched open mouthed as four men galloped out of town. Three of the men had their faces covered with bandannas and were clearly bank robbers, but to Gloria's horror, the fourth man, riding as if the hounds of hell were after him, was JD Dunne.

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Thursday:
The past repeating itself…

As the crow flies, Beggars Canyon stretched out for only a mile. Not the largest or smallest of canyons in history, it had the unique honour of being a geological marvel. It ran between two ancient watersheds that had once fed the surrounding rivers. As the climate had changed over the millennia, so had the rainfall decreased in the region. Enough for the watersheds to be eroded until the spring rains falling between the two ridges formed a raging river each year. Slowly and inexorably as all of nature's methods, Beggars Canyon was formed in the most unexpected area. There was no river to feed through the canyon, rather, during the rainy season, the water would emerge from both sides of the canyon, flowing down from the watersheds to join parallel rivers. As a result, Beggars canyon could be avoided entirely by riding up over the watersheds and following the narrow cliff face in either direction. A traveller would be eventually forced to leave the watershed ridges and take a few days to traverse the narrow hills and defiles of the watershed as it sloped away from the canyon. Because directly at either canyon mouth, wide cliffs stretched up from the ground below, sheer in their immensity, most travellers simply used the Canyon as a thoroughfare through the hilly area, a short cut that saved days of travel.

Vin had managed to lead his friends up through the narrow hills until they were riding parallel to the watershed ridges, which bordered the canyon rim. Rather than risk silhouetting themselves and riding on the ridges, Vin was following an unmarked passage over rough terrain. A few scraggly brushes clung to the exposed rock and soil, at risk of being swept away by floods each heavy rainfall. There were few places to hide along those ridges, unless you knew where to look for them.

Ezra was pretending to watch the trail below in the canyon as all four of them lay flat near a small rise of brown stone. His eyes apparently fixed on something interesting, while in fact, he was peacefully dozing in the early morning sunlight. Chris and Vin were taking turns to scan the canyon mouth with the spyglass, watching for Hefner and Temple to approach. Buck wasn't even pretending to be interested in the trail. He was laying flat on his back, his hat tipped over his head with occasional snores escaping his open mouth.

So far there had been no sight of the two fugitives, and it was beginning to worry Chris. It didn't seem to concern Vin too much, whose entire posture oozed confidence as he patiently waited for their quarry to arrive. But Chris was not a hunter like Vin, a man willing to wait for his target to set a trap. Chris' answer to a threat was swift and deadly, and most men who had looked down the barrel of Chris' pistol, never lived to tell the tale.

A snore broke the silence between the pair. Since the noise had come from Ezra rather than Buck, Chris risked a quick glance at the gambler. Standish, in his exhaustion, had turned onto his side and was attempting to curl up, one of his hands sleepily searching for his blanket. "So much for him needing a feather mattress. He sure looks comfortable to me," Vin said without taking his eyes off the canyon trail.

Chris just grunted and fought the urge to sit up and stretch out his aching shoulders. Before he could stop it, an enormous yawn caught Larabee unawares and he felt his jaw pop audibly. Half-expecting a smart comment from Vin, Chris turned to see him stiffen as something caught his eye… and it wasn't on the trail below.

"Ah hell…"

Reacting instantly to the anger in Vin's voice, Chris simultaneously drew his gun, and shoved Buck over onto his stomach, which sent the tall ladies man onto Ezra. Fortunately both Ezra and Buck were experienced enough not to react without assessing the situation first. So when the first bullet thudded directly into the rock they were hiding behind, both unholstered their guns and sought to find a target, weariness forgotten as adrenaline kicked in.

Chris was shifting slightly onto his side, trying to find the shooter, when another bullet ricocheted off the rock and narrowly missed his head. Ducking down further, all three men bit out curses when two more gunshots peppered the sand directly at their feet. "Damn, where the hell is this guy?" Buck snapped as he scrambled to pull his feet out of the way. Vin, unconcerned by the gunfire pinning them down, was calmly searching the opposite ridge to find their attackers. "Well I'll be…"

"Mr. Tanner, if you say 'be damned', I will-"

"Run!"

The urgency in Vin's voice sent all three men scrambling after the wiry Texan. Buck was surprised to find himself out in front after Vin's quick start. He could feel Chris running beside him but before he could locate either Vin or Ezra, he heard a dull thud. For a brief moment he thought could smell smoke, before a terrific force picked him up and threw him forward. Buck landed roughly and belatedly heard a resounding boom as a cloud of dust, smoke and broken debris enveloped him.

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Watching from the opposite side of the canyon ridges, Temple smacked Hefner on the back before shouting over the ringing in his ears, "You cut that kinda close with the dynamite, didn't you?"

Hefner looked at Charles' face, covered in dust as the cloud spread over the canyon to where they sat. "Had to be sure it'd get 'em."

Temple just grinned, his teeth now a marked white against the uniform dirt on his face. "Can we go now?"

Dirk shook his head, "Nah - jist hafta check we got 'em all."

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Four Corners:
Garters up in a gander


The town was in an uproar.

Gloria had not been the only early riser to see the escaping bank robbers. Everyone knew that the four men who had ridden out of town so quickly were bank robbers because as soon as the dust had cleared, Jules Howitt emerged from the bank screaming bloody murder…and something about JD Dunne being an outlaw.

Yosemite had flatly refused to believe that JD was involved. Harry Conklin had gleefully begun to harp on his favourite subject, the failings of the Seven. Gloria had hated to only prove Conklin right when she admitted to seeing JD riding with the thieves. Soon a little crowd had gathered at the jail, many of them demanding to see one of the Seven. When it became obvious that none of their protectors were in town, an angry mutter shot through the townsfolk.

Mary, ever ready to defend the peacekeepers, had not so subtly stepped on Conklin's foot to shut him up and, as the asinine man bit back a yelp, Mary shouted over the noise of the crowd, "We all know where most of the Seven are - tracking down Dirk Hefner, a dangerous criminal who ... "

"Isn't in town, so why are they chasing him?" Conklin shouted as he moved into the safety of the crowd, far away from Mary's f