Alder '04: Calf Killer

The sun was a dusky blur on the far horizon. It'd lost shape an hour ago, sinking towards the earth to melt and shimmer against her curve. Not long now and it would slip, suddenly, the last moments of long evening light banished in an instant.

Then the cold would come - the cold indigo of the overhead sky, filled with cold pinpricks of blue-white stars, the cold that gathered in the recesses of the desert, hiding away from the sun to swirl free under the newly waxing moon.

Vin shook his head and cursed under his breath. That's what had his anxiety ratcheted up several more notches, what had his eyes aching from their continual, brutal study of the waning landscape. The cold. It was coming. Coming fast.

He gritted his teeth and set his tired legs more soundly against the stirrups.

Where the fucking hell was Ezra.

"We're almost to it. If there's still no sign, might have to make camp tonight on this side, cross on over tomorrow." Buck's eyes were hooded. It was a suggestion no one ever wanted to make.

Vin bit his lip and looked away. His answer was a tight bob of his head, face set in a determined grimace. Much as they didn't like it Buck was right. If they didn't find Ezra but soon they'd have to hunker down for the night, start again on the morrow. It was damned frustrating but Vin knew better than to outright tell death he was planning on cheating it.

Sometimes the Seven didn't do it that way; sometimes they acted in direct opposition to reasonable precedence. If one of the others was in trouble they'd ride the night through, risking neck and health of horse do so do. But the signs Vin had been tracking all day led unerringly to this place - and just over the ridge was a hazard a man didn't cross lightly come high noon, much less ford his way through it on a moonless night.

He glanced back at Buck and nodded again. His eyes brushed past to land on Nathan, equally grim, gaze following the graying contours of the desert. Vin rolled forward in his saddle, fighting fatigue with another variance in how he sat Peso.

Wordlessly they rode, horses slowed to picking their way up the steadily growing incline that formed the outer ridge of Forks Pass. Vin's heart sank down into his gut as he watched the last sliver of sun ripple then disappear.

There would be no crossing the Calf Killer today.

When they topped the rise the last remnants of the sun's dominance were fading, scattered wisps of ice blue and purple tremoring against nightfall. The three horses paused instinctively, shifting then stilling as their riders surveyed the change in landscape.

Vin glared at the growing dark. The ground was an awkward sweep away from their position, a not quite half circle hollowed out of the bedrock from the persistence of water in a pervasively arid place. North from them two streams came together, each one bouncing and burbling around a vault of boulders and crags - maddeningly impassable despite the slow current and relative passivity of the two branches. There the waters joined, gaining swiftness and cunning, continuing south for several territories until finally they tumbled over Wet Falls.

His eyes slid shut and he sighed. Better sense demanded they stay. The Calf Killer wasn't but knee-deep but it lived up to its name. It swirled and eddied, turning back on itself without warning or visual cue - just a sudden siphoning pressure that could catch you fast and knock you under with ferocious certainty. Its bed was pocked, several divots big enough to swallow a horse's hoof whole and never let go. Beyond that the water was shockingly cold; snowmelt from the hard winter would only see that increased. The river was still very young here, its foundling streams having emerged from within the earth only a few miles' distance each.

Much as he wanted to it wasn't worth the risk to them or their lifeblood mounts. A thin band of the Killer was passable and so far as anyone had risked that was all. But this treachery was better faced with good light and a fresh animal.

Besides, if he up and got himself drowned there'd be no finding Ezra, even if giving up for the night felt worse than a lungful of the icy water.

Vin was about to give in and make for a likely campsite when Peso jerked once then stilled. The horse's ears perked, the whole of the equine's strong muscles bunching with intent anticipation.

He threw his hand sharply backwards into the air, fingers splayed, palm tilted towards Buck and Nathan. No one was moving - not until he'd figured out what Peso was so eager to do. Vin lowered in the saddle, head cocked, eyes blazing into the twilight.

His hand remained, poised, hovering in warning. It wasn't for further purpose - more it had been forgotten, left there while he concentrated on other things. After being given such a command, neither Buck nor Nate would even shift until he gave the go ahead.

Vin's scrutiny was meticulous. His nostrils flared, pulling in short huffs of air in search of scent. Blue eyes tracked the dully glinting water, starting from the northern mouth to edge slowly southward. He wasn't aware of anything but his search - not his heartbeat or breathing, not potential dangers he trusted his companions to be alert against, not the consuming worry for Ezra he'd forcibly banished.

A faint sound brushed over him. Vin held in place, waiting for it to repeat, straining to hear it again. Agonizing seconds of nothing passed but Vin didn't waver. He closed his eyes, removing the sensory distraction. His breathing slowed and he pushed through the ambient sounds, mentally negating them so he heard them no more. Two breaths gone then three. Then… Vin held his breath and all went silent.

There.

His eyes snapped open and he kneed Peso into motion without hesitation. The black surged in ready answer, nickering lightly with acquiescent delight. Vin braced into his stirrups and leaned back as they galloped down the sloping incline, balancing himself against the horse's charge. Rocks shifted under them then loosened away, tumbling ahead as they barreled towards the Calf Killer's bank.

As they leveled off Vin didn't rein Peso in. He didn't give pause to plunging into the shadowed waters, his goal far outweighing potential consequences. The black didn't balk.

The pace and danger of the water slowed them considerably, Peso's surefootedness managing beyond what Vin could see, but he was no less determined. They approached with care, not wanting to spook what the noise had alerted him to see and understand from up on the ridge. When they'd drawn up close Vin leaned out from the saddle and dropped a light, experimental hand onto an exposed shoulder. It was cold, frighteningly so. He took in a breath to steady himself then tightened his hold.

"Ez?"

Saliva filled his mouth, hot and uncomfortable, when there was no answer. Vin patted with his hand and let go then wheeled Peso gently, sidestepping to circle around where Ezra stood. He wanted to be able to see the man's face.

Their progress was slow, Peso turning cautiously to break the churning water. Vin fought against his impatience - dusk was nearly spent and he couldn't believe Ezra needed to get any colder. But they couldn't well risk going down and snapping their necks or getting carried away. He crooned as they moved, reaching out to trail his fingers across Chaucer's trembling nostrils, up the tired face then down the quivering neck as they passed. The horse's bridle and reins were still intact, but between the pair that was all they had.

Ezra and Chaucer were standing near the middle of the Calf Killer, immobile and looking as if they'd been that way for some time. Ezra was completely naked, no weaponry, not even his boots. Chaucer was without any tack or gear. The water buffeted them ceaselessly, wearing away at their stamina and their warmth. It was only early spring yet and day had never lost its chill, and now robbed of the sun it was imperative Vin get them moving and to someplace warm and dry.

Peso came to a stop and Vin got his first good look at his friend's face. He swallowed. Hard.

"Oh, Ez…" tumbled out on a shaky breath.

The man's lips were blue, his face pale and sallow. Dark bruises marred the delicate skin, each one a painfully vivid spider web of purple and deep red contrasted against the whitish-blue skin. Green eyes were barely open and dull; chestnut curls were matted against his scalp, tamed with the weight of dried blood.

Vin swallowed convulsively. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to just do as he knew he should. His heart hammered worriedly against his ribs. "Ez?"

He waited a beat, watching the long lashes flutter in response to his quiet entreaty. Vin licked his lips and tried again.

"Ez? It's Vin. Me, Buck 'n Nate came to find you. Ez? Can ya move?"

Lethargic green eyes met his gaze. Ezra blinked several times, the movement slow, disinterested. Finally he shook his head.

"Stuck."

The word was a whispered stutter. It was all Vin needed to know. He was about to spring into action but stilled just as quickly, realizing with growing frustration he'd need help. There was just too much for him to handle on his own.

Vin stood in the saddle, looking back towards the bank where he figured he'd left Buck and Nate to wait him out. The barest smile of relief and gratitude interrupted his grim expression - Buck was nearly to them, Lady's graceful, long-legged form easily negotiating the swift waters. He waited until they were close enough to hear one another without shouting then he nodded.

"Hold the horses." There was no time for thanks or further explanations.

Buck nodded back, letting Lady find the way as they angled their approach to come in from the opposite direction, coaxing her until the sleek gray head was in between Peso and Chaucer's. His mouth was a set line under his mustache, blue eyes squinted in concentration. The two kept pressing closer, Buck murmuring softly the whole time, soothing the horses as he went about his work.

With a deft, careful touch Buck loosened Ezra's death grip from Chaucer's reins, mildly explaining the whole time how fine this was and to just hold on another minute, but it wouldn't be long. In a moment he had the reins in a loop around his saddlehorn, hand held patiently out for Peso's until Vin could pass them over.

None of the animals flinched at the proximity or the strangeness. Ornery as Peso and Chaucer could be, the horses had better sense than to fight or protest considering the circumstances.

Vin closed his eyes and set his jaw. He took a deep breath of fortification then without further thought he swung his leg over and slid off Peso's back into the river. The first moment of contact made his mouth open in shock and he sucked in a gasp of air. Instantly his muscles cramped in protest. Water was already finding its way up his pant legs and against his skin, sopping his longjohns to wick straight down to his toes.

He staggered against the rush and the cold, his hands tense fists gripping into Peso's hide while he adjusted. Vin's head bent forward, his eyes clenching shut against the bone-deep ache of this cold. He growled at himself; growled at the idea of Ezra enduring this for so long.

Slow, experimental steps found him around the front of Chaucer and finally at Ezra's side. He held a hand out to feel along the horse's flank, using the sturdy flesh to help keep his balance. Each movement forward required several stages - testing the bedrock with a toe, nudging around for holes or protrusions. Then he'd shift his weight onto the foot, dragging the other behind only after he felt the first was sufficiently anchored to keep him in place. When the second had joined the first he'd begin the process all over again.

An action that was in normal circumstances so common and simple felt longer than an age. His shoulders were up in his ears, his legs trembling and tight, contracted and shivering even as they worked to respond to his insistence that they walk. Already Vin was having difficulty making his feet work with their usual efficient agility - his toes were freezing and unresponsive, more hindrances weighing his boots down than anything at this point. It would take awhile before anything like frostbite would set in, if it would happen at all. All the same it hurt like a motherfucker.

Vin eased next to Ezra's side. He didn't ask any questions, didn't bother with checking in. Instead he wrapped an arm firmly around Ezra's waist, set his feet and motioned for Buck to lead Chaucer away. Then all he'd have to do was get Ezra to Peso and they'd be up and out of here.

He set his jaw and ignored the cool clamminess of Ezra's skin. The man's front held traces of body heat where he'd been pressed against Chaucer, something Vin found small comfort in. When the exhausted animal was cleared out of the way Vin squeezed his hand at Ezra's hip.

"C'mon Ez. Just have to get to Peso. Then you don't hafta do no more."

To his surprise a hand wrapped around his, preventing him from moving them. A reserve of Ezra's inner grit showed itself in the gesture - Vin's hand was being held none too gently.

"Can't," Ezra stuttered.

Vin furrowed his brow and leaned closer to Ezra. "Tell me," he clipped.

Ezra's mouth moved with indistinct utterings before he managed the words. "Leg… rope… tied down."

He nodded. There wasn't time or need right now to ask questions or argue. Too much longer and the cold would render them both useless. Vin turned into Ezra and stood looking upstream, one leg on either side of the compact form. He took one of the cold hands and cupped it around his shoulder. Then he unsheathed his bowie knife.

The blade flashed in the dying light, blue and cold, matching the delicately rippling water that danced around them. Vin plunged both hands under the glassy surface, gritting his teeth against the sudden weakness and nausea the cold brought to sting through him. He felt the length of Ezra's leg from the knee down and when he found nothing he searched the other one. There his clumsy fingers encountered a swollen manacle of rope.

He probed the circle of hemp, found the knot at the base of Ezra's ankle. Untying it would be useless - it was too waterlogged to budge. Vin worried he'd cut Ezra if he sawed at it; he knew the river and the cold would make his work less than precise.

Vin ran the span of rope and knew a surge of encouraged satisfaction - the opposite end had been bundled around a large rock, plenty in the middle for him to simply slash through. He wasted no time doing just that. Habit and muscle memory found his bowie back in its sheath against his thigh. Then Vin stood slowly and shakily regained his feet. He paused for a second, waiting for the blood to subside from his ears and temples. He whistled lightly through his teeth.

"Any time, Bucklin," he called softly.

Both of Vin's arms found their way around Ezra as they waited, encircling the man with natural feeling ease. He pulled them together to stand as one, finally relieving Ezra from the effort of resisting the punishing current. He watched as Peso started forward, cursing the damn mule when at first it seemed the beast wouldn't budge. But Buck's kindly insistent prattle and movement towards the bank won out over stubbornness. When Peso came abreast, Vin whispered nonsense against Ezra's temple before letting go.

He took a step back then had a moment's indecision. He couldn't decide if getting Ezra up into the saddle first would be better or if dragging the man up once seated would be best. He huffed in annoyance. It didn't matter. He just had to get Ezra up there.

The anger and his anxiety funneled to an apex of movement, a burst of strength and need that found Vin lifting Ezra around the thighs to push atop Peso's rump. It was awkward at best and he grunted under the near deadweight of Ezra's sturdy form. His head throbbed and his legs wanted to give out - heat filled his cheeks and chest and he was awash with vertigo. Vin clenched his teeth harder and gave a last desperate shove.

When he let go Ezra stayed on Peso. Vin stood swaying, his breath quickened, senses reeling. The cold of the water and the last of his adrenaline seeping away were threatening to take him under.

"Vin? Get on Peso. Now. We have to get Ezra somewhere warm."

Buck's voice broke through, jarring him back into awareness. Vin's eyes popped open and he nodded, though it was possible it was already too dark for Buck to even see. He gripped Peso's withers and hauled himself up in an ungainly struggle. As soon as he was clear of the water Buck's tongue clicked and they were off.

Their ride to the growing fire Nathan was busily starting was short and clumsy. Vin was twisted in the saddle, one hand wrapped around Ezra's arm, the other still tangled in Peso's mane. Buck stopped them just outside the small campsite and jumped down, leaving Chaucer and Lady for the moment to come help Vin.

Between them they had Ezra down and to the fire. Nathan was frowning, wide arms holding open a blanket. Vin caught the ends and wrapped Ezra tight. He sat down in a sudden bump, boots sticking out front, pinned under the weight of cradling Ezra in his lap. He didn't care, so long as they could start getting his friend warm.

He watched with pensive distraction as Nathan worked Ezra over, another blanket brought in to chafe over the pale, wrinkled skin, restoring circulation and the natural instinct to fight for body heat. It wasn't long before Ezra was shivering in Vin's arms, bruised hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

Vin rocked absently back and forth, shushing and promising Ezra it'd be fine.

Nathan shook his head at the deeply puckered, white skin of Ezra's soles. "Man's feet are gonna hurt for the next few days. His complaining should be worse than usual." The comment wasn't a bitter slight, it was meant for humor none of them were feeling.

When Ezra was dry Nathan began cleaning out the cuts and split bruises. Buck had gone back for water; two coffee cups were heating next to the fire, a ready supply for Nate's ministrations.

Buck hovered a moment, blue eyes a clash of anger and concern. He leaned close and wrapped a hand around Ezra's exposed shoulder then he righted again, jaw set in determination.

"See you boys 'fore dawn," he clipped. "I'll be back with the rest and something for Ez here to wear." Buck nodded once then strode to Lady's side, mounting up without pause in motion. Horse and rider surged to a canter, echoing hoof beats audible long after the darkness had enveloped them.

"He's lucky - don't really need any stitches. But he'll wake up tomorrow with a blistering headache, probably pissed off too." Nathan was still working, deft touch wiping the dried blood and dirt from Ezra, replacing them with soothing balm, finished off with light pats.

Nathan moved away from them but Vin paid no attention. He had Ezra tucked close, his focus on that alone. He barely looked up when his boots were tugged off and his socks peeled away. He did glance at Nate with an appreciative smile when they were replaced by a pair of dry ones.

"Want you to keep hold of him, alright? Best way we have right now for making sure he stays warm." Nathan was gesturing with busy competence, indicating the bedroll he'd prepared next to the fire just to Vin's right.

Vin nodded and the two allowed Nathan to support Ezra for the moment. He curled onto the thick blanket at the far edge away from the warming blaze then looked up in readiness. Ezra was laid carefully down. Vin caught into the dull curls with his hand, his arm coiling around Ezra's waist to pull the sturdy body flush against his.

He watched as Nathan threw another blanket over them, the ends fluttering gracefully, momentarily fanning the fire. Vin clutched Ezra harder and snuggled in tight, relief and sudden, overwhelming fatigue assailing him.

The next he was aware Nathan was talking.

Vin cracked an eye open to see if it was something he should be worried about answering. His cloudy blue gaze adjusted; Vin sighed and burrowed back against Ezra when he took in the scene.

Buck was dead to the world, fully clothed and passed out next to the fire. Even in sleep the man looked exhausted. A blanket had spread over the lanky form, shrouded over Buck just as it'd landed, slightly off square and unwrinkled. Nathan was just settling in nearby, neatly tucked into his bedroll.

JD and Josiah were nowhere to be seen but Vin easily recognized their gear and the distinguishing sound of their horses. He nodded to himself - they must be on patrol.

Ezra coughed harshly. Vin tightened his hold, face creasing with concern. He stared at the bruised face, waiting, then relaxed as the coughing passed, leaving Ezra still asleep.

When Vin looked back across the fire Chris' gaze was waiting. He met the direct hazel stare. Chris' focus flitted to Ezra then back to him.

Vin shrugged. He wished he knew.

Chris nodded. "Go on back to sleep," he said softly. "We'll straighten the rest out come morning."

It was easy direction to follow. The faint glimmer east told him dawn would soon be upon them, so there wasn't much more time for rest anyway. Vin nuzzled Ezra's neck, arms banding close. Minutes later he was asleep once more.

The next day's ride was hard going.

Overhead the sun punished them with glaring heat, sharp contrast to the brief, chilled night they'd spent in restlessness.

They were presently at a standstill. Vin was several paces in front, crouching low to examine the arid dirt. He narrowed his gaze - tracking a band of sixteen riders wasn't the hardest he'd ever had it, that was for sure. But once already he'd led them along a false trail, realizing early enough so they hadn't lost much time; that it happened at all rankled him something awful.

He wasn't about to be tricked again, that was for damn sure. Vin was determined to catch up with these boys. Determined to make them pay for what had been done to Ezra.

Vin stood up and shouldered Peso back - the horse had a bad habit of looming over him while he worked. It had been a good thing when Vin rode alone and had no help or cover, but now it was something of an annoyance. He patted Peso's neck with tolerant affection and shook his head.

He heaved himself into the saddle, taking no time to get settled - just turned around with a pointed nod and dug his heels deep, intent on moving again and gaining ground. They wouldn't be catching Walker's gang today. But they were getting close.

Buck snorted when they started moving again. JD was right there with a quick thunk to the shoulder - the lanky gunslinger drew himself back centered then puddled right down again, head bobbing loosely. He was still exhausted after last night's hard run. The rest of them were taking turns keeping him sat while he slept it off in the saddle.

"Figure another few hours, then we make camp?" Chris' voice came from just behind, quiet and undemanding.

Vin glanced at his friend before looking back out to survey the landscape. Nightfall would come early in these parts, especially at this time of year, draping across the desert with a suddenness that could catch a man unguarded. It wasn't anything to be taken or treated lightly. Much as he might want to keep pressing on stopping was the better wisdom.

Another quick check on Ezra, stubbornly riding ramrod straight in the saddle right with them, confirmed his agreement.

Vin nodded his head back towards Chris. "Yeah. Figure us to," he answered quietly.

"We ain't gonna let them get away, Vin." Chris' voice was calm with deadly certainty.

He smiled, eyes twinkling. They sparkled with humor - and a matching predatory gleam. "Know that," Vin drawled easily. "Just prefer sooner than later is all."

Chris chuckled darkly. "Understand that." He chewed the stub of his cigarillo before spitting it out between them. "We're gaining though." A very slight pause was headed up with a quiet, "Aren't we?"

Vin tilted his head, looking askance at Chris. His lips curled in a sly grin. "Seven men move a lot faster than sixteen." He shrugged casually. "Just the way it works."

Chris' eyes danced back at him. "Yep." He rested forward in the saddle, contemplating the desert from under the shade of his flat brim. Then he grinned with a shake of his head. "Little motivation doesn't hurt either."

Vin's smile turned feral when his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. "Never does," he agreed lightly, tone not at all matching his fierce countenance.

The two subsided into companionable silence. Vin kept a keen watch over the passing land, following the trail and signs they were holding course. The swath sixteen horses cut wasn't subtle, but neither were they riding in its direct wake. The Seven had been traveling a neat parallel, eating up distance and making time while keeping out of the way. It was the hope that even if Walker suspected them to give chase they wouldn't have been spotted yet.

Blue eyes narrowed to fine points, jaw setting to a dark scowl. That fucker and his men were the riding dead, far as Vin was concerned. Deserved nothing less after what they'd done tearing their way across the territories before coming upon Four Corners. Since they'd added hurting Ezra to the mix it'd become more than deserved - it was guaranteed.

After the first bout of rest they'd eased Ezra into last night he'd reawakened, shivering and coughing through a sketchy telling of what had happened. The rest had listened intently while dawn warmed the sky overhead, sharing strong coffee and coaxing several cups into Ezra's ragged throat. What had been revealed was more than enough for the rest to piece together how Ez had come to be standing in the Calf Killer, naked and left for dead.

When Walker's gang had first started raising cain further east Judge Travis had swept into town, full of warnings that this scourge would soon be upon them and that simply wouldn't be tolerated. The next thing that had been 'suggested' was for the Seven to cut it down before it ever got to Four Corners or further into Travis' jurisdiction. Walker was a newly minted free man, just out of the jail near Leavenworth. He and his merry band had run loose, raping, murdering and robbing, ever since. Travis wanted it stopped, and now; they all wanted it rid of before the gang could hit the place they called home.

Ezra had hatched the initial scheme - naturally. He'd ride off, find himself just by chance in the same locale as Walker and the boys then strike up a conversation, ingratiating himself and divining their needs and intentions. Then he'd ride with them, by night communicating with Vin, who would be trailing the gang not far behind. Vin would in turn send word back to Four Corners; the rest were waiting, set to yoke the gang when they arrived at a location of the greatest tactical advantage.

When the best opportunity presented itself for a trap to be laid Ezra would hie off to regroup with Vin, the others riding in from the opposite direction, leaving Walker and his men neatly ensnared. 'Simple,' Ezra had quipped with a grin. The others hadn't laid bets on the easy part, but none could fault the logic - neither could the judge.

Ezra had been dispatched the next day.

The assignment had made Vin unsettled but he hadn't argued. It wasn't his place to tell Ezra no. It was also the best chance they had of bringing down Walker's band and still manage to stop short of a confrontational bloodbath.

Vin had made certain he was the first to volunteer as Ezra's backup - he'd made firm his intention to go from the start of all this mess. He'd ridden off alone, tracking his friend and brooding about his growing concerns over the situation. The gang had been riding a messy hopscotch, raiding homesteads and busting through small towns on their way to Four Corners - then likely beyond. Ezra picked up with them in Hanging Limb; Vin trailed after for two days, each morning's ride bringing him the promised intelligence, left behind for him to find.

The next day there had been no word. Another day passed. Vin didn't waste any more time. He'd abandoned the trail and spurred off for Winded Pass, a scratch of a town with nothing more than a shack of a saloon with water for whiskey and one very overworked whore. But they had a cable and that's all he needed.

Nathan and Buck had caught him the day after - closing in on Four Corners had its definite advantages.

The three had angled back out into the desert. Now that Vin had a sense of what to look for and a feel for the way Walker worked finding the trail again had been relatively easy. Buck, Nate and he had pushed on the entire day. It'd been come dusk they'd finally found Ezra.

Vin took in a long breath and shook his head, shook away the tight burst of rage that splintered into his chest.

Someone riding with Walker had recognized Ezra. It'd taken a few days for the man - Ezra had said his name was Peke, a fact Vin had seared into his memory - to fully grasp the scope of who Ezra was and what he was doing within their midst. Once his identity had been established the gang hadn't wasted any time in deciding what should be done with their duplicitous newcomer.

Ezra had been left for the others to find. Or left to die, slowly and wretchedly. Either way, it answered the violent, sadistic bent that twisted deep through Col Walker.

It had happened without warning. Their wending route across the desert had brought them to the Calf Killer. As they'd traversed the ford they'd stopped halfway across, then told Ezra his luck was out. He'd been held at gunpoint - outnumbered sixteen to one, odds not even that cocky sonofabitch would rail against - then told to strip. First Walker had beaten him to a pulp as the others looked on, then they'd abandoned him in the cold waters. Everything had been taken save for Chaucer. Part Walker's continuing sadism, tantalizing Ezra with the very real, so close at hand chance for escape yet no true way of attaining it. Also part seeing as no one could handle the beast when they'd tried.

Ezra had watched as each of his belongings was taken then divvied amongst the gang. Peke had been given first pick as a 'reward.' Vin's eyes flashed with grim humor. He imagined Ezra'd been as imperiously unaffected as usual, cool and collected and full of cutting barbs even as they'd tied him down to that boulder and rode off, shooting at nothing for foolishness and show, leaving the Calf Killer to wash away another victim.

Vin smiled. It was a grim, proud line. Pretty damn clear they had no idea who they'd up and abandoned; pretty clear Ezra's power to be underestimated had come to his rescue once more.

That determined cuss had held on, digging into Chaucer and his inner reserves and hadn't let go, patiently waiting for Vin to come along and find him, patiently waiting to saddle up and retrieve his effects and then his revenge.

Ezra coughed. It was grating and painful to hear, rattling about before finally breaking free. Vin winced. He caught Chris' eye and the blond nodded. Vin kneed into Peso and trotted sideways through the group, coming up alongside Ezra. Wordlessly he held out his canteen - a needless gesture, Ezra had his own - but Vin wanted a reason to have come close.

A nod and a weary smile followed by more coughing was his answer. They were sharp, wracking hacks, the kind that feel like they're cutting their way out. Ezra evened out enough to accept the canteen, taking several small, experimental sips before handing it back. Vin nodded and took it, not able to resist wrapping his fingers around Ezra's for a breathless moment before pulling away.

They rode on in silence, side by side. The rest of the group was fanned out around them, all vigilantly alert save for Buck, now being kept in place with an occasional knock from Larabee.

True to their short discussion and agreement the Seven made camp just before the sun's nadir. Vin handed Peso over to JD with a stern look and promised woe should the mule misbehave then he hastened to Ezra's side. He waited as the unsteady form dismounted, there to help if need be but not looking like he was. Once Ez was down Vin took up both their saddlebags and bedrolls. He strode towards the newly started fire without a backward glance.

Once Ezra's things, Vin's set pointedly right beside them, were settled to his satisfaction he nodded. A last, long look as he crossly observed another coughing fit to its end then he set off for first watch.

Vin rounded a careful circuit of their position. As night closed in around them he drew his coat in tighter, cursing the fickle desert and her wickedly cold air. When he was sure the camp was secure he took his time finding a comfortable snug of rocks to nestle into, a break for his aching back and from the punishing wind.

He sighed as he eased down against the cold boulders, shifting back and forth until comfortable. Vin propped his legs up and pressed his shoulders into the rock - then he drew out his spyglass.

Long, patient minutes stretched by as he searched.

Vin narrowed his open eye, chin tucking in when he'd found what he'd been looking for. In the distance he could see it, the barest flicker of a fire, orange and alien in the blue-gray landscape of a nighttime desert.

He watched Walker's camp with singular intensity until Josiah's low whistle found him, relieving him of duty.

Vin returned to their small circle around their strategically hidden fire with one goal in mind - wrapping himself around Ezra and seeing to it they both made it through the night - the rest of what anyone else had to say about it be damned.

He'd been thinking about it all day. Ever since holding Ezra close last night, waking with the deliciously solid form still in his arms. The want to do it again burned through him, urgent and undeniable. Vin's fingers flexed in ready anticipation.

If anyone raised a brow or dared comment he'd just say it figured that Ez'd still be cold - then skin anyone who laughed at the rationale.

As he approached he called his standard, the soft tones carrying away from him on the whipping breeze. "Vin comin' in."

When he'd entered the small ring of his friends Nathan turned to him, dark eyes stern. Vin slowed then stopped.

" 'Bout time you got back. Tomorrow you're not on watch at all, hear me?" Nate's voice was quiet but was somehow still drenched with annoyance and command.

At Vin's confused scowl Chris lifted his hand out from under where it was tucked in his pants, kept warm from the cold air. He was stretched out on the ground, back propped against his saddle, feet resting on Buck's rump. Buck was laying on his stomach, snoring softly, arms curled under his head.

Chris motioned towards a lump of bedroll across the fire. "Ez is just over there complaining and coughing. No amount of reason or plain bribery has gotten him to sleep yet." His tone was dry but not aggravated.

Nathan shook his head. "Too damn cold, we figure. After the chill he got and the fever he's sporting now, it's no surprise."

"Figure he needs some company to keep him warm - but heck if we're volunteering." JD strolled close, cup of coffee in hand. Dark eyes got serious. "Hear tell Ez kicks."

Vin nodded his thanks and took the bitter, steaming brew.

" 'Prolly bites too," Buck mumbled, lips twitching with the hint of a grin from under his mustache.

Chris kicked the man, almost gently. He jerked his chin towards Nathan. "Go on," he drawled.

Nathan smiled and nodded. "Thing is, Ez slept okay with you last night," he continued reasonably. "We all guessed he'd put up with you again."

"Put up!" Vin spluttered, momentarily forgetting the coffee. The dark liquid spilled over his fingers, scalding across them to dribble into the dirt. He cursed and grabbed the cup with his left hand so he could shake the fading pain away from his right.

Chris winked. "Just go get some sleep - and take Ez with you. Please."

The group chuckled warmly and much too knowingly, then Nathan started murmuring a quiet conversation to Chris, leaving Vin apparently forgotten.

Vin growled then downed the rest of his coffee. He set his jaw and ignored the smirks - but he didn't take his time sinking into the bedding surrounding Ezra, burrowing in to meld his body against the strong, lightly fevered one waiting for him.

Ezra coughed once then sighed, snuggling back against Vin, natural as can be. Vin smiled and tucked his face into Ezra's nape, wrapped his hands to hold Ezra securely. He loved the smell and feel of this; he loved every damn moment.

It wasn't long before both men were sound asleep.

Vin pulled up on Peso when he heard the dogs. The barking was wild, edged with restless insistence that had his hackles tickling in warning.

"Woah there," he muttered, soothing Peso's reaction to the alarm raised by the yowling animals. The horse argued with him, head jerking side to side against his steady pressure on the reins.

The trail from Walker's gang he'd been following would take them right into whatever those dogs were so relentlessly barking about. Vin had an unshakable prescience that it wouldn't be anything he was going to enjoy finding.

The group cautiously rounded the low ridge that prevented them from seeing what the commotion was over. The moment they broke the craggy incline the dogs ran at them, barking in a frenzy of bluster and fright. The horses rumbled in answer, prancing nervously as the pack darted in and around them.

Chris barked sharply back, yelling at them to get lest they be plugged. The dogs cowed, their tails dropping between their legs, but they continued to slink around the approaching riders, stray yips breaking the enforced silence at odd intervals.

As they made their way closer details began to show themselves. Vin narrowed his eyes and started putting together what had happened here.

A squat cabin almost blended into the drab surroundings. It had a low ramble of a porch, no windows and a loosely swinging front door. From the looks of the building there were two rooms at most - Vin figured there to be no other way in than the broken door.

To the side of the cabin a small corral had been built. It was low and serviceable, posts hewn from spindly, dead branches gathered from the countryside. A stocky, graying nag paced the corral, visibly disturbed, her ears flat, eyes flashing white.

What used to be a small chicken coop was now a mess of ruin, bloodied feathers and broken eggs trampled into the bedding of dry grass that had been laid for them. A single survivor wandered nearby, clucking with darkly comical normalcy, scratching the dirt for food.

Vin shook his head in distaste. What a damn waste.

His head snapped over when JD's voice broke the quiet. The sound was an inarticulate mix of surprise and dismay. Vin wheeled Peso towards where JD was, already dismounted and examining something lying in the tall grass to the side of the cabin.

When he arrived JD looked up. Brown eyes were clouded, a contrast of still not understanding the ability of man to do this to each other and the worn jadedness of seeing it too often.

"Shot him clean four times. Wounds are big and dead on, too, so figure whoever got him was close." JD cleared his throat, shaking back the discomfort from his choice of expression.

From the open sprawl of the body against the earth Vin figured the man had approached the gang without suspicion. The pale eyes were still open, mouth gaped in pained shock. His weapon was missing, if he'd even carried one; the man's boots had been stolen as well.

Vin looked over when Chris rode close. "Poor bastard," he drawled, gesturing vaguely over the body. "Man never had a chance."

Chris' lips pursed in contemplation but he remained silent. JD straightened the body, closing the man's eyes with a hand while righting the bunched clothing. Meaningless gestures that always made the living feel better.

In the distance Ezra was crooning at the distressed nag, half an apple held out on his flattened palm while he stood motionless, waiting for the animal to approach. Vin watched the horse consider the treat, felt the initial resistance - he smiled softly when the grizzled head dropped in acquiescence and she trotted to Ezra's hand, nuzzling into it for the tempting offering.

Ezra patted the muscled neck soothingly, likely discoursing gentle nonsense as she ate. Buck walked up behind him and paused, the two discussing something briefly. Both their hands smoothed over the horse's hide, Buck petting absently while Ezra worked with methodical purpose.

Another short exchange then Buck nodded and walked on, both hands out to encourage the dogs to follow him so he could round them up into the remnants of the chicken coop, kept there out of the way until they rode on.

"Nathan!"

The dogs' coiled tension broke when Josiah's voice boomed across the scrubby yard. Straining, high-pitched barking once again echoed around them, setting Vin even further on edge. Peso stamped in place, hooves scraping across the hard ground.

Vin quickly slipped out of the saddle and started for the cabin, tugging a resistant Peso after him. Nathan had joined them to inspect the body; he was already several paces ahead, almost through the cabin door. Vin threw the reins over the porch's perfunctory railing and stepped inside.

Chris and JD were hot on his heels, Buck and Ezra not but ten paces behind.

The cabin was dark and stilted. Vin barely took in the details of the main room, passing through the small space without a glance. A half-wall had been built to separate the main room, a blank expanse from floor to ceiling that spanned the width of the house, stopping to leave an opening instead of using a door, affording a bit of privacy with some lumber and a touch of ingenuity. He watched Nathan disappear behind it, heard Josiah's urgent whisper.

When Vin rounded the corner he took and instinctive step back. He fought the urge to turn and leave, quelling his stomach and sudden claustrophobia.

The room held a single bed, the narrow hay mattress dipping against the floor, most of its rope supports broken. A carved chest anchored the bed - it had been split in two, the intricate lid shoved against the wall and out of the way, its contents ransacked. The washstand was upended; shards of blue and white porcelain glittered against the packed earth floor.

On the bed was the worst Vin had seen yet of Walker and that man's foul gang. It was a sharp fist to his gut, knocking the wind from him.

Nathan had pulled a light afghan from under the bed and was using it to cover the slender form of a young woman. He tucked it about her with decided care, folding it over to rest against her torso. His dark, competent fingers stroked down each of her bruised arms and he patted her, reassuringly, smiling into her cornflower blue eyes.

He stood up and stepped back from her, dark eyes raking over the half-circle of men crowding the tiny chamber. A tightening of his jaw and a quick shake of his head and Nathan turned away.

Vin took in a long breath and reminded himself to swallow.

She couldn't be more than fifteen. Her ring finger was encircled with a thin band of gold, its purposeful ordinariness matching that of the man's outside. Vin didn't think she could weigh over a hundred pounds; long honey brown hair laid in clumps against her pillow. He could imagine her differently, her plain but pleasant face smiling under a dance of freckles, that long hair pulled back in a simple braid.

What Vin hadn't wanted to know he'd already seen - branded to the last detail before Nathan had covered her up. Her calico cotton dress was nothing more than shards from her waist down, the bedraggled strips heavy and darkly soaked with her blood. Her legs were deeply bruised, matching her face and arms and the chokehold that marred her tanned neck.

Vin looked away when her pretty blue, dimming eyes searched the room. He had no answers for her, no comfort.

His gaze found Ezra and he took refuge in the handsome profile, willing green eyes and ivory skin and the remembered scent of the man to replace all he'd just seen. He'd look back - he'd do all it took to help what was left of these people and send Walker to hell, too - but for this moment he needed an escape.

A cracked whisper threaded across the devastated room. Vin swiveled back towards the bed, catching Chris' eye in the process. The two shared a long look and finally he shook his head. There was nothing good to say.

He wasn't surprised to see Josiah kneeling next to the bed, the big man folded down beside to her, for all his unmistakable masculine bulk looking like a reassuring bastion.

"Dylan," she spluttered hoarsely. "My Dylan… he's out there… maybe hurt."

Josiah smiled kindly. One of his huge hands wrapped around her shoulder, comforting and staying her at the same time. "We've found him, Ma'am. He's in good care now - you can rest easy - no more harm will come to him."

She smiled, a tremulous line breaking the bruised, puffy flesh of her face. Her eyes shimmered over with unshed tears and she nodded slowly. The knowledge gave her over further towards the end, lifting the responsibility of ensuring someone know her husband needed help from her tattered form.

Josiah bent close to her, taking both her delicate, work-worn hands in one of his own. He let go of her shoulder to stroke her brow, wiping the stained hair from her face. His lips moved in a murmur of sound, reassurances in a language none of them could decipher but all understood.

Agonizing minutes passed. It was a certainty she would die - the wounds and blood loss were more than Nathan could overcome. All the same death hadn't delivered compassionate swiftness. Her body was fighting the inevitable end, wet breath rattling in her broken chest.

Her body jerked when she coughed, her eyes opening wide. Her hands convulsed, clutching at Josiah with renewed desperation; her body twisted miserably to the side. Then she tried to speak.

No words escaped her - only the long, last whistle of her final exhale.

When the low rush had passed, her slender form held a moment then gradually went lax. Her head deepened back against the pillow, unseeing gaze now staring at some point well beyond all of them.

Josiah swept his hand across her face, closing those cornflower eyes.

He lowered nearer and whispered, "Anima eius et animae omnium defunctorum, per misericordiam Dei, requiescant in pace. Amen."

The words were barely above a humming vibration, but in the sudden stillness that had come over the world it was heard in perfect clarity. When the short prayer was finished the men shifted and looked away, anxious for escape and a return to action.

Vin felt the walls closing in on him. The burgeoning stench and veil of death threatened to suffocate him. The cabin spun about, overwhelming and oppressive.

Steadying reassurance came in the form of a hand. It slipped silently under his long coat to rest, fitting perfectly against the damn curve in his back he had always, until this very moment, despised. The warmth of the broad palm and long fingers seeped through his layers into his skin; Vin felt it down to his bones.

Ezra took a single step forward, green eyes blazing with calculated wrath. "Gentlemen," he clipped, his southern accent terse, "retribution is at hand."

With that he nodded, once, a sharp beat of his head. The comfort resting against Vin pressed firmly then lifted, whispering away. Ezra turned on his heel and strode towards the door, reaching out to ensnare the shovel hanging from a peg on the front of the house. There were no outbuildings here, just the cabin and the small corral scratched into the harsh landscape - all that had belonged to these people adorned the small porch, filled the two room shack.

Vin considered warning Ezra from the chore. The man wasn't up to it - but he knew better than to stand in the way of that particular southerner's determination. There would be no jibing about the menial quality; for Ezra this was a task of duty and honor, sweat and grime and his white shirt be damned.

JD cleared his throat and stuffed his bowler back on his head. His dark brown eyes were clouded but no less resolute. "I'll hitch the man up to Toby. Least we can do is lay 'em together." He nodded in answer to himself then hurried out the door - hurried away from the inside of this place.

The rest of them watched JD go, for a long time staring out into the distance of the desert and the dying sun. There was a disquiet here, a feeling that shivered Vin's insides, spooking him more than he cared to feel. He'd be glad when they were far from it.

Josiah tread softly past, the broken body wrapped tenderly in a handmade quilt cradled in his arms. He walked with solemn determination but no hurry towards the gentle hillock that rose past the corral and the agitated work horse, making for where Ezra had already begun digging a small grave.

Vin lowered his head and closed his eyes tight, then cursed the men who did this, averring Ezra's promised retribution with the next breath. Then he looked sharply up; a glance at Chris and Buck then he nodded before he swept out the door. Chris had already started on a small note, left to flutter against the broken door for whatever friend or kin that would discover their loss and this horror. Nathan was busy cleaning up what would be necessary to make the cabin decent enough for them to feel they could leave.

His hand closed around the handle of a sturdy grub hoe, hanging at the ready for some other, much happier intended purpose. He let it swing alongside him as he walked, considering the weight and capable heft of the tool. Vin shouldered next to Ezra and lifted the spade end high over his head. It buried deep with an empty thud into the sandy ground.

He shook the dirt loose and hefted the hoe again.

Peke lightly fingered the derringer and rig he'd laid claim to. It sure was pretty, all shiny and clean, carved from ivory and pearl - or so Col had said. Peke didn't give a shit what it'd been made from. He'd just liked the look of it and wanted it. So when Col had offered him first dibs, he'd taken it.

That had been a damn fine moment for Peke, one of the defining kinds that would keep him on Col's good side for a while to come. That was always a benefit to one's health and longevity in this crowd. He hadn't been sure of the southerner at first, something familiar niggling in the back of his mind. It had taken a day of watching to figure it out. Seeing the man's hands fly over a deck of cards had cemented it for him.

Peke might not have said anything if he'd have just known the man was once part of those bastard magnificents over there in Four Corners. What'd he care. But this one particularly had cheated him at cards when he'd been in the seven's town, taken a good dent of his pay doing it. Peke didn't mind a bit ratting the smooth talker out as punishment for having tricked him.

He turned the small gun over in his hand, marveling at the size. He couldn't believe it'd really hurt nobody, but that didn't make it any less effective to use as bluster. The last time he'd seen it that gambler had been sitting down pointing it at him, green eyes cool, telling him he could go now, thank you. Obviously the man didn't like being found out for being a cheat.

Peke held onto the gun but let the rig fall. It still didn't fit right. Or maybe it was broken, he wasn't sure. Every time he got it on and tried to force the gun into his hand he ended up with a stinging wrist, his arm clenched so tight he thought it'd be snapped off and the damned pistol wouldn't have budged an inch. Col had laughed at him when he'd taken it, laughed harder the first time he'd tried to make it work and failed. He didn't care; he'd figure it out, despite what that arrogant pisser said. Peke scowled at the tiny weapon then tossed it aside as well.

The fine green of his new jacket caught his attention - he grinned at himself and preened, jabbing his elbows out so the dark threads caught in the weak moonlight. The coat was almost as pretty as the little popgun and a whole hell of a lot easier to get working right. Peke chuckled lazily at his witticism.

He shook his head, tutting regretfully. The bit of flash he'd really wanted was Standish, but this time around Col didn't have the patience to let Peke drag the lovely off for a fuck. A shame, really. Peke figured that hole to be brand new and tight; he'd have savored leaving it broken in and bloody.

He ran his hand appreciatively up the soft, carded wool sleeve that fitted too tightly over his arm and sighed, imagining for a moment it was something else. Peke lifted his hips for eased accessibility when his groin stirred in response, furiously kneading at it with his other hand. He continued stroking the gambler's jacket, eyes closing as he pictured that boy bent just for him, pale ass sticking up in the air.

The jacket was poor proxy, but it was all he had - it would just have to do.

Cold steel pressed with determined malice into his throat; Peke could hear the blade scratch over his day's worth of whiskers. His cock lost all fire at the sound, wilting against his hand where he had it clutched, pulled from his pants.

The fine point trailed down his jugular to twist in one of the jacket's buttonholes. The lapel lifted away from his chest, the gesture somehow delicate despite the gleaming menace of the jagged bowie.

"Anything else here that ain't yours?"

The words were rasped in a quiet drawl, low and deadly. It chased a chill all the way down's Peke's spine. The knife loosened from the small hole in one deft move, jacket falling back against him, then it traveled on.

Oh shit goddamn. Col was going to kill him. Peke swallowed. It wasn't easy - the man's arm had come around to press into his adam's apple, effective means to keep him from crying out. His skin flushed over in nauseating panic.

He was supposed to be on watch. Col had sent five of them out into the dark and the cold, determined the camp wouldn't be breached. Enough of them had already been picked off over the last day and a half, slowly but surely eliminated as Larabee's gang continued to bear down on them. Walker wasn't willing to spare any more.

Peke writhed and let out a strangled squeal when the large knife traced oh-so delicately up his flaccid dick.

"Pretty, ain't he?" the cold voice demanded.

Peke whimpered and nodded vigorously. He'd tried not to agree but failed miserably. The blade currently lifting his balls away from his crotch was more distraction than his mind could take.

A breathy sob escaped the hold around his throat when the sharp edge whispered across his groin, itching the tender skin with the faintest of cuts.

"Yer Peke, ain't ya?"

He nodded again, willing to give anything - anything to make this torture stop.

The knifepoint walked slowly up his torso, stopping to twirl against his ribs. One solid push and that pig sticker would knock clean through his heart.

"The jacket. I want it back."

Peke didn't hesitate or toy with any insistence otherwise. The arm about him eased enough to let him sit forward. He struggled out of the jacket, both arms leaden and fumbling to get free of the expensive fabric. It was an ill fit anyway, but Peke had been determined to wear it.

When he was untangled the powerful arm was back, this time wrapping around so a hand could hold his hair with stinging force. Fingers dug in, bringing tears to his eyes.

"You fucked with the wrong man, Mister," the cold voice drawled, disconcertingly expressionless.

The unforgiving fingers tugged at his hair. Peke yelped then gasped out, "I know." The words were shallow and weak.

Peke winced and watched the knife with his eyes. It was slicing though his gunbelt - something he hadn't even thought of to reach for until just now. Then the bowie scraped over his thigh, drawing a thin, painful line back to his exposed cock. The threatened intention seemed damn clear. He struggled for the first time, hands clawing in the dirt when the arm about his neck curled tighter with dizzying pressure.

A flare of desperate hope surged through his gut when his fingers brushed the derringer. Peke clutched at it then dug his heels in. He grunted - more a high-pitched squeak - then wrenched his hips away from the relentless blade.

The knife sunk into the meat of his inner thigh. Peke's scream was muffled when the strong hand slid down his face to clamp over his mouth and nose.

He could hear his breath echoing around him, deafening to his own ears. It was ragged and frightened.

Peke gritted his teeth and ignored the throbbing, wet heat of the wound that had sliced his leg open. He twisted as hard as he could to the left, right arm bent behind, derringer lifted.

The stars reeled overhead as the two grappled. Peke bit into the palm suffocating him but the man didn't even flinch. His feet shot out from under him, dirt scattering as he scrabbled to find a solid hold.

Peke used the abrupt change in their positions to take his shot, derringer pressed into some part of his tormentor's flesh, finger squeezing around the tiny trigger.

His action came a second too late; Peke twitched once then flopped lifeless onto the desert floor, throat slit from ear to ear.

"Woah there."

The soft words vibrated in Vin's ear, calmly authoritative. He tilted his head and smiled from out under his hat, hands spread slow and easy in front of him.

JD's eyes narrowed then he nodded. The Colt that had been pointed at Vin was lifted and drawn away. The Kid's brow perked, dark eyes unapologetic.

"Nite then, Vin," JD murmured. He winked then disappeared back into the shadows.

He nodded easily, unruffled. JD doing a good job was hardly anything to take offense over.

Vin entered the quiet camp on silent feet. He threaded his way across the dirt and past the fire, eyes greedily taking in the shape of Ezra under their blankets. He could feel that warmth even now.

The green jacket was neatly folded and set atop Ezra's saddlebags. The derringer rig was gently nestled in the rich fabric.

He crouched low and took up his canteen. Vin opened his throat and sighed with relief as cool water splashed over his lips, washing away dust and the taste of killing. Another long swallow then he wiped his mouth dry with his sleeve. Vin tossed the canteen aside.

It didn't take him long to be rid of his guns and coat. The boots stayed on; couldn't risk everything out here, especially with Walker shadowing the valley just below.

As he lifted the blankets Ezra's eyes blinked open to glare at him owlishly.

Vin grinned at the sight. He couldn't help himself. He glanced up and down the length of Ezra, waiting for him in their bedroll. Face to face - this would be different. His grin spread wider.

He slid in with hasty care and gathered Ezra to him, reveling in the scent and proximity and safety of just being here again. In moments he had the blankets around them both, errant shivers chasing through them as their cocoon swiftly warmed again. Arms fitted around him perfectly, hands resting against him with vital heat and the light pressure of solidity. The ache from not having it at last assuaged, relaxing Vin further and further into Ezra's embrace.

His arms tightened when Ezra coughed. Calluses burred across soft fabric, rhythmic whispers as his hands stroked up and down to soothe. It wasn't long before Ezra subsided again, coughing spell already spent. Vin nodded with satisfaction, body encouraging the one squirming to contour closer with his. Ezra's cough was getting better.

Contented, sleepy blue eyes watched as Buck, Chris and Josiah returned and settled in as well. Josiah eased slowly down with a grimace then stretched out full, the big man staring up at the sky, light smile playing on the grizzled face. Buck just came to a stop at his bedding and flopped down - he was asleep almost instantly. Chris sat and lit a cigarillo, sucking on it with several strong puffs to keep it lit when the wind picked up, his hands busy tossing a blanket over Buck's slumbering form.

Between the four of them all of Walker's sentries had been taken out. They'd gotten one more besides, bad timing on that bastard's part, picking just the wrong moment to take a leak. Chris had mentioned when they'd made camp that some of them should go and have a look around, see what they stumbled across. Buck had laughed and called it a spade, mellow tones chuckling through 'you mean see about evening the odds there some, Stud?'

Ezra had watched them go, green eyes narrow, face set in a very slight pout. The man was too sick by half for any of this but he refused to admit weakness. JD had helpfully pointed out that anyone still coughing as bad as Ez had no business on a clandestine mission then offered that they could always send him the next time. The green eyes had rolled expansively then, but no one had missed the quick flash of gold revealed by an errant grin.

Vin had considered staying, thinking to keep Ezra company. But the chance to get a few more with such a low risk was a temptation too great to pass up.

Chris and Buck had been givens to come along and the three had headed out, Josiah simply standing and joining them as they'd made their way into the night. No one had commented. No one had doubted Josiah would be suited to or up for the task. They'd all just nodded between them in silent consent of what they were all about to go do and how they'd agreed to do it. The next few hours had been spent creeping around in the belly of the desert, reminding Vin of tribal raids and violent bounties caught better dead than alive.

He'd figured Chris wouldn't have cared if he'd gone and scalped every one of them, fuck the law and its sometimes tenuous hold over them. As it was Vin had only taken care of two, and neither had met their end without sound inducement. He'd enjoyed the added pleasure of running across the one he'd been hoping for in particular. Vin wasn't going to have any problems sleeping tonight. Looking out across the camp, dimly lit by the capable, dancing fire, he knew it was the same for his friends.

Ezra was still awake and Vin knew it. He could tell by the hold of those muscular shoulders, the alert quality in the hands that still caressed absently against him.

"Doncha worry, Ez, we left a few for you," he whispered on a husky chuckle.

A nasal huff teased his neck.

"I should hope so," drawled lazily, syllables long, stretched with fatigue, rough from the man's persistant cough.

His eyes closed and Vin snuggled in closer. He pressed his leg against Ezra's, a jolt of heat lancing through him when a strong thigh broke between his to nestle into his groin. Vin's hand drifted to the small of Ezra's back then lower. His eyes got heavier beneath their lids. His body got heavier within their blankets.

He fell asleep that way, buzzed with light arousal, fingers cupping a beautifully firm ass.

Dawn was just beginning to flush the sky when the Seven broke apart, biscuits, coffee and a discussion for the day's plans long past. This was the last morning they would give chase. Today, it was decided, would be their final push.

They were all tired. Buck was still showing signs of having ridden too far and too hard; Ezra wasn't getting any better, even if he wasn't getting worse. It was time to be heading back home.

It was time to bring Col Walker to justice.

Vin watched as Ezra, Buck and JD disappeared around the crumbling rock wall that began the divide of a shallow canyon. The three were heading south, the three agile horsemen most suited for the job of getting to the opposite canyon mouth ahead of anyone else - including the remnants of the Walker gang, just waking up for the morning down in the cold hollow.

He knew they'd watch each other's backs. He knew neither Buck nor JD would willingly let Ezra down. He also knew Ezra would fight to the last, if need be. Knowing it hadn't stopped him from warning each of them to come back alive - to bring Ezra back to him safely - or face hell to pay.

The rest would be heading the frontal assault. When their signal came - a thread of white smoke sent up from torching wood still wick - the rest would barrel in, guns blazing.

If Walker and the rest ran, they ran. They'd just be snared on the far side, taken out by the waiting three. The rest Vin and the others would simply pick off, one by one.

It was a damn good plan, about as good as one could hope for given the conditions and preparation time. All the same Vin was a disagreeable mix, anxiety and longing and worry, leaving almost no room for concentration of his purpose. He'd have to shake himself of it or risk distraction. But it was going to be damn hard.

His incentive was payback; reprisal for all that Walker had done, personal vengeance for the treatment of Ezra. Deeper was his need to see Ezra again, his promise to the man that it'd be so.

Vin had only shared five nights with Ezra held tightly in his arms. Each one he'd come to rely on it more and more, had slipped into an instinctive comfort of doing it and having it. He wasn't willing to give it up.

Even more he was ready for a night with Ezra - alone. Ready to ask questions of the other man he thought his heart would never breathe. Ready to slip into Ezra's bed and Ezra's arms each night to wake there each day.

No stupid fucking asshole like Walker would see him denied it, that was for damn sure.

"You ready?"

Chris' voice was firm, just behind Vin's shoulder. He didn't turn around, didn't lower his spyglass, just remained steady, patiently waiting for the streamer of white smoke.

Vin nodded. "Yeah Cowboy, I'm ready."

Five horses stood in a loose cluster, just inside the mouth of a gently sloping canyon. Five men sat atop them, waiting for word of what to do next.

Five from sixteen. That's all that was left.

Lee Sims curled his lip and shot several ribbons of tobacco-laced spittle towards the ground. Remnants clung to his shaggy mustache; a fat, reddish drop oozed down his chin, following the path of several before it, deepening the ever-present stain. He shifted in his saddle, coming to rest with both wrists folded on the horn.

For a man so remarkably agitated he was hiding it rather well.

Larabee and his gang had been relentless. Ever since they'd fucked with the pretty one that Peke had fingered as being one of them life had turned awful bitch mean. Mean enough so even Col seemed to be running out of ideas.

"We keep riding. South. Don't care what they think they want - figure no way them regulators are gonna follow us inta Texas. Not with Tanner's neck fit to be stretched." Col's head turned, his eyes narrow, brooking no argument. "We keep riding and that's that. So quit your fuckin' complaining and grow some balls 'fore I end you all myself."

He wheeled his horse, yanking the animal's reins with typical harshness. "Larabee and the others done got their pound of flesh - more even, taking the best of what I had and leaving me with you pissants." Col growled then he dug his heels in to set his horse into an abrupt gallop. "Now get!" he called over the rising cloud of dust and clatter of hooves.

For the first time in his life Lee's dim mind was working at wrapping itself around the idea that he might not be so interested in just following directions.

He wasn't sure he liked the idea of running. That's all they'd been doing so far and look where that got them. Peke dead. Jones dead. Nelson, Sikes and Conner - all dead. Lee sighed. Col was right. Nearly all the best of 'em had been cut down already.

Lee considered slinking off to the side; slow enough so Col wouldn't notice right away, fast enough to get into a good hide 'fore them damn Larabee boys showed back up. Then he could just wait. Let Col and the others lead the Seven away, leaving him alive and in peace.

He smiled, the ends of his tobacco stained, crooked teeth showing between his cracked lips. Yeah. That might just could work. 'Course he'd have to find someone else to ride with once Col was gone. Lee never had been a man who could figure making good with life for himself, but he didn't see how catching on with another thinker who needed a gun would be hard.

Abruptly the air was ripped with the terrifying crack of a rifle. Lee's dull gray eyes rounded in horror when Henderson twisted on his saddle then fell, his body landing headfirst into the ground with a sickening crunch. Henderson's horse just kept on running.

"Oh gawd… oh shit… oh gawddamn…" slipped from Lee, a litany in a warbling, hoarse whisper. He flushed over with cold sweat; they were here.

Lee kicked into his horse with renewed fervor for running with Col. It seemed his only option. They'd pick him off for sure if he tried to steal away into one of the side canyons splitting the landscape.

The cold sweat had turned hot. It made his thighs feel weak where they gripped his horse. His palms were getting damp against the fierce hold he had on the reins. His face itched with the heat.

Lee spurred his horse harder, coming to Col's side. It was a precarious place to be - Col's horse had a bad habit of kicking. Hell, Col was just as likely to kick him without any due cause.

"Shit, Col!" he cried above the thundering fracas of their fleeing horses. "Shit! What are we gonna do? Gawddammit!" The last curse escaped his throat in a pitiful whine. Lee's face screwed up into a tight bunch as his terror steadily increased.

"They ain't gonna jus' stop! They's never gonna jus' stop - Tanner's damn neck or nothing! They ain't interested in their pound or revenge or justice or damn anythin' else! They're out for blood, Col! My blood!"

His saliva had thinned and was now escaping the corner of his mouth, trailing bits of tobacco to get caught in his stub of a beard and dry against his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gentry's body jerk. The man let out a gurgled scream. Lee craned his neck and peered over his shoulder. The front of Gentry's shirt was being rapidly overtaken by a growing crimson stain.

Lee swallowed then choked on a roll of his chaw. Gentry bounced haphazardly in the saddle then lurched forward. Another few gallops and the dead man pitched down, body rolling across the arid earth as the rest of them continued to speed away.

Bile and tobacco forced itself back up into Lee's mouth, filling his cheeks and continuing on into his sinuses. He leaned over to the side and retched; the vomit splattered against his leg, warming his skin though his pants.

Lee pressed himself as close to his horse's neck as he could. He and Col were still running side by side, their animals straining to keep pace, dirty sweat foaming up on their coats. Damn bastard Col was grinning. Gunfire echoed all around them - some from their pursuers, some from the few of them that were left, shooting in vain blindness.

He gasped when rippling heat shredded through his shoulder. Lee blinked rapidly when panicked tears formed, blurring his vision and the bouncing landscape they were tearing across.

"Dammit! Gawddammit!" he screeched, one hand flying up to clutch the ragged hole torn in his flesh, the other twisting the reins with a vicious tug. His horse floundered in reaction, steps faltering to send them both jostling in an uncertain moment. Lee almost lost his seat, his bloody hand jerking to wrap around the saddlehorn before he toppled off.

"Jesus, Col!" he wheezed. "What are we gonna do?" Lee clenched his jaw, fighting against the sudden dizziness that made the world feel like it was reeling in the opposite direction from their breakneck flight.

"Col!" he shrieked in desperation against the silence that was his only answer. "Do something - think a something! Jesus… Col!" Lee's hand was once again pressed to his aching shoulder. The blood was still oozing, sticky now from mixing with the grime of his person and the dust of the desert.

Col turned to him, eyes alight with the dangerously arrogant, reckless bravado that had drawn Lee unquestionably to him in the first place. One of the cold blue eyes winked and Col grinned. His body flexed at its core, contracting to reveal his Colt, skinned and ready to fire.

Lee's eyes snapped shut in reaction. His mouth fell open, the last of his chaw escaping in spidery lines of drool.

Lee Sims never saw the last few seconds he had on earth. A bullet from Col Walker's gun opened the side of his head, splinters of his skull flying to litter his clothes and the rocky ground.

He rolled off the back of his horse to land in a lifeless heap, body bent so both legs curled over his shoulders. His horse broke away from the remaining two in the group, slowing to a trot then finally coming to a stop. The animal snorted and threw its head, nostrils and eyes wide as it cooled down from the run. Another few moments then it ambled to a nearby sage bush, teeth beginning the delicate, methodical cropping of leaves from the savory plant.

Peso stamped with aggravation, tossing back against the bridle in displeasure. Vin tightened his knees and increased the pressure on the reins, a steady, firm command. His horse grunted with annoyance then acquiesced, hooves splashing into the swift water to being the crossing.

They'd arrived back at the Calf Killer, closing the circle on their return trip to Four Corners. Vin pulled Peso up, stopping them midway across to guide and encourage the other animals on their way. He glanced down into the dancing rapids; the water was several inches higher than when they'd found Ezra. The rains had been soaking the mountains, saturated to the point of being able to hold no more, volumes of runoff now destined to swell this cold, muddy river.

Josiah then Nathan were the first across. Buck and JD followed on their heels. Each of the four took their time about it, all of them leading one of the animals left after the remainder of Walker's gang had been eliminated. JD went last and took the longest. The Kid had two horses tied in.

When they were all clear Pony high-stepped into the current, Chris lurching unconcernedly as the horse found better footing then waded in. The black gelding was stopped several steps from the opposite bank, water churning around his sturdy legs. Chris raised a brow at Vin then nodded.

Vin glared at their lone prisoner and jerked his chin. "Get on," he growled.

Col Walker's dark eyes danced with insolent amusement, blinking through the clumps of lanky, black hair that hung about his face. He'd been the lone survivor of their final assault in the canyon, one that remained from his once mighty sixteen. The man had been wearing that nasty smirk ever since he'd been captured. Vin imagined carving it off the craggy face.

Vin's glare skipped past Walker to fix on Ezra. Chaucer grunted - an almost delicate noise - the animal's only show of reluctance to be within these waters once again. If Ezra was worried about it he was doing an even better job of hiding it.

Walker rode even with Vin and came to a stop. Vin glanced away from Ezra long enough to dismiss then man with a hardened, flinty gaze. He wasted a second then went back to watching Ezra.

"What," he barked when Walker didn't budge, never taking his eyes from Ezra's progress.

"Just thinking," Col replied with laconic arrogance.

A chilled blue stare shifted to bore into Walker's smug expression, dampening the confident air a fraction. Vin's nostrils flared then he shook his head with a low snort and looked away.

"The lovely Standish makes an awful sweet bed warmer," Walker continued, lilting conversationally, tone ringing with undercurrents of knowing innuendo.

Vin's cheek twitched. He set his jaw and refused to look back, refused to be baited. Walker only knew because of last night. That's all there was to the bastard's lecherous grin and intimation that this was a knowledge they shared. Happenstance and nothing more. Vin knew Ezra's tastes would never tolerate someone like Walker; anything left had been acquitted when he'd outright asked, Ezra's green eyes snapping with revulsion, honest relief and a resounding 'no.'

Last night they'd had to make camp, Vin and Ezra naturally making their bedroll one. Walker had been shackled to a rock outside the circle of the camp, face to the desert - fitting circumstances from Vin's perspective - but he'd still wrenched himself around to look at the Seven, making himself a nuisance they'd easily ignored.

Vin shook his head with a condescending laugh. He didn't deign to grace the man with further response. He kneed into Peso and the animal turned and held pace, taking them through the water. Chris raised a brow; Vin tilted his head back towards Ezra, lips twisting in a bare, negating grimace. Intelligent hazel eyes accessed the scene and Chris nodded back, starting Pony into motion as well.

Rocks clattered loose and tumbled into the river from the shoreline as Chris maneuvered Pony up the short, steep bank. Vin held back, waiting for horse and rider to clear before he started Peso on the sharp ascent.

From behind him a horse's frantic whinny split the uneasy silence. Vin whipped around in the saddle, heart in his throat.

Walker's horse and Chaucer were close together - too close in a place like the Calf Killer. Ezra was leaning far upstream, precariously held on Chaucer's back, hovering over the rushing water. The stalwart animal stamped into the bedrock then lowered his head, adamantly keeping position.

The other horse reared in an awkward flail, water thrown against the sky to become blinding, confusing mirrors of sunlight. The animal tossed with agitation, mouth opening, eyes flashing. Walker was cursing at it, guttural voice screaming a litany of abuses. It thrashed several steps backwards then reared again. Walker opened his legs to kick at the animal again, losing his seat to go tumbling down into the fierce current when the horse side-jumped and bolted.

In moments the water had overtaken Walker, washing away any trace of the man.

The disturbed horse ran blind for the bank, forcing its way up away from the worn trail leading into the ford, mounting the sandy ridge to stand puffing and knocking at the ground with its hooves. It didn't take long for Josiah to ride cautiously in and settle on Penance beside him. A long bout of patient inaction followed by soothing hands and soft words reined the horse in to be brought along with the rest to Four Corners and whoever would own them next.

Vin nudged Peso and the two cleared the water, waiting on the bank for Ezra, Chris shifting with repressed anxiousness next to him. After a long drink Chaucer nodded and started smoothly ahead, serenely crossing the river as if the disturbance had never occurred.

Ezra fingered the brim of his hat once he'd joined them, handsome face a shade pale, fading bruises shadowing him still. His green eyes were confidently resolute as ever, though, and he winked one at them with a reassuring grin.

They all stopped and stared back at the Calf Killer, taking in all that had just happened.

"His horse get spooked then," Chris asked evenly, eyes never leaving the dancing river.

"As is my presumption." Ezra shrugged vaguely, eyes telling a different story.

"Ain't no wonder he went under so fast. Hands tied 'hind him like they were, swimming wouldn't be easy." JD was surveying the water as well, dark eyes matter of fact. "Never really had a chance once he'd hit the water."

Josiah hummed softly. "The Calf Killer - she is capricious and often unkind. This isn't the first man she's claimed."

"Won't be the last," Chris growled. His lips pursed then he looked over to Ezra. "Horse spooking," he shrugged, face unconcerned "can't exactly be helped."

Ezra turned to meet Larabee's even gaze. "Indeed," he agreed mildly.

The seven sat in silence, tacit accord the man had been lost through circumstances beyond their control. No one else need know more; Chris would never push Ezra to find out for certain, not even for just among them.

Vin stared into the churning waters, watching the turns of white, green and brown as it flowed swiftly past. His lifted his chin, angling it in the direction Walker had been swept away. "We keep anything of his?"

"Got his guns. Few trinkets he had on him." JD's brow pushed together. "Oh yeah, and his wanted poster. Found that in his pocket."

Vin nodded. "That should be enough," he clipped.

"Enough for what?"

He turned and grinned at Nathan.

"Bounty," Vin leered. He glanced at the assembled group, all of them facing the Calf Killer, contemplating the deadly waters and the past several days. He winked, low, faintly sinister chuckle rising from his chest. "Five hundred dollars," he barked with a laugh.

Vin leaned away and Peso followed. He dug his heels in and started cantering home.

Vin knocked on Ezra's door. He used one knuckle, keeping the two short raps dull and quiet.

In a few moments it was opened to him, Ezra's polite, questioning gaze in place to meet whomever was calling. Almost immediately green eyes melted to warm familiarity; Ezra showed him promptly in.

The neat room was dark, lit only with pale castings from the moon. Vin grunted and shook his head.

"Sorry Ez," he offered, feeling suddenly ridiculous for being here, for finally noticing Ezra was in his nightclothes.

They'd been back almost two weeks now. Coming home had been a relief for them all, but the let down had taken its toll. The first few back had seen Buck stumble off to sleep for near three days while Ezra was confined to the clinic, hacking up a lung and shedding the rest of his fever after his lost determination and force of will had made him finally completely susceptible.

Vin had visited each day but hadn't slept with Ezra the entire recuperation. Somehow it had been easier climbing in to snuggle Ez tight out shielded by the desert night, the presence of their friends smoothing the way instead of the hindrance he suddenly felt tripped by when he'd enter the infirmary, tongue in knots, brow lightly dusted with sweat.

Travis had arrived in middle of the second week after their return, puffed with pride and pontifications over their results. The Seven had collected the bounty on Walker and then some - Ezra made child's play of convincing the judge that more reward was deserved, seeing as they'd freed the land from the oppression of the entire Walker gang and that most certainly there were other wanted malefactors within Col's pack who carried sizable rewards as well.

Travis had muttered darkly about it but hadn't balked. A sizable purse had been collected for each of them. His frontier regulators had once again proved his mettle and worth, a very tangible commodity for someone in the judge's position. That was good enough for him. Good enough to quell any question of the Seven's actions for not having kept even one from the gang alive to stand trial.

Vin twisted his hat in his fingers, passing the battered brim along so it circled endlessly in his hold.

"I had only just extinguished the lamp, Vin. It is of no matter or interruption."

He looked up with a nod, somehow finding a polite smile. Vin bit into his lip. "How ya feeling?" His voice cracked and he wished like hell he'd thought of something better to say.

Ezra smiled back. "Very well, actually. Being free of that damnable cough is a wonderful emancipation." Green eyes twinkled in the half light.

Long silence followed while Vin stared at Ezra. He shook himself eventually with a lame, apologetic smile. "Oh," Vin breathed disappointedly with a low sigh.

Ezra tilted his head, brows knit together. "Is my assumption that recovery is a good thing not an accurate one?" Ruby lips twitched, almost a smile.

Vin shook his head. "Naw, that's fair. Was just kinda hoping you still had a mite chill was all."

Brilliant jade eyes widened then relaxed, softening to pleased slants. Ezra came a step closer.

Vin's eyes closed when a finger tenderly stroked his temple. It swept down his cheekbone, curving so Ezra's hand could fit around his jaw.

"You know," the southern accent purred huskily, "I might just still, at that."

A long, slow smile took hold of Vin's face and refused to let go. His lids blinked back open, intense blue gaze taking in a contented grin to match.

His slouch hat was thrown aside, coat shrugged out of and dropped where he stood. Ezra backed unquestioningly onto the bed, sitting then scooting, making room. Vin unbuckled his gunbelt and let it fall. He toed out of his boots, unbuttoning his shirt at the same time. Flannel billowed towards the floor, landing somewhere nearby without sound. As he knelt onto the bed he undid his pants, crawling out of them then kicking them away as he closed in on Ezra.

Arms opened to him, pliant and warm, gathering him in snug and tight. Vin sighed happily and without hesitation his head dropped down, eyes heavy and hooded, lips seeking.

Ezra's tongue snaked into his mouth after their lips first brushed together. Vin rolled over, wrapping his limbs around Ezra, pressing the muscled form into the mattress, holding it securely under him.

Their kiss deepened then continued on and on, weaving Vin into its spell, weaving his heart inexorably bound. It left him shaking, restless and wanting and so perfectly replete. He trembled against Ezra, nose bumping against the smooth cheek and down the smoother neck. Small bites found him back up and around a shapely chin and he hungrily pursued another kiss.

When they broke apart both gasped in air, hands clutching, arms gathering tighter and tighter.

A delighted, throaty chuckle rumbled under his ear.

"Why Vin, you have cured me." Ezra's tone was languorous, calming yet seductive.

It heated Vin to his core.

They shared another long kiss, the two easing onto their sides, hands exploring to finally rest, skin to skin. Vin tucked Ezra's head against his neck. He held fast with a hand, tangling his fingers in the soft chestnut curls.

He kissed the silken locks and tilted his cheek to rest against them, soaking in the feel of every curve matching his from his head to his toes. "Go on to sleep now Ez. See ya in the morning."

His answer was a sleepy murmur jumbled with a quiet, satisfied laugh.

Vin smiled at the sound.

He'd have been more than willing to take things further; his body was already questioning his sanity of issuing the invitation they sleep. But if he was roused further there'd be no stopping, and they were both still weary from the rundown, Ezra truly still recovering.

For tonight he was more than content with holding Ezra close. He loved sleeping alongside this man, filled with everything he'd come to discover was his desire - the scent, the feel, the strength holding him in equal measure.

Even better was waking still entwined, their eyes glowing with the secretive, thrilling intimacy that after another long day they'd fall together and tangle once again - and would every night thereafter.

Vin grinned wickedly, a flit of an idea tickling his fancy.

They could get to all the other things tomorrow.