Chris sprinted across to the stable. He didn’t have time to deal with the man bound there, but he wanted to ensure the thug wouldn’t be a danger to Vin. Taking the spineless piece of shit to Four Corners had crossed Chris’ mind, but it would only slow him down. Larabee may not be a doctor, but even he could tell that Vin needed help as quickly as possible.

Dave lifted his chin and his eyes widened in terror as an angel of doom loomed over him. For several seconds Chris didn’t speak, but his noisy breathing was enough to scare the living daylights out of the gutless thug.

Dave whimpered.

Chris crouched over his captive, checked the ropes and was satisfied the man was bound firmly. There was no chance of escape.

Bile rose in Chris’ stomach as he struggled for self control. “If Vin dies, so do you.”

“I… I wasn’t the one punching him,” Dave pointed out.

Chris grabbed the man’s throat, his restraint becoming shaky. “Yeah, but you could have stopped it.” Larabee applied pressure until he heard the soulless mongrel making gurgling sounds. “When I get back, we’ll finish this.” Larabee released Dave who wheezed and coughed, his lungs convulsing.

Chris turned and raced to his tied horse. At the last minute, his head spun back to the shack and his gaze lingered. Walking out that door had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Vin’s injuries were serious and Chris wanted to be at his side, but it was Nathan, and Nathan alone, who could ease Vin's pain... perhaps save his life.

“Hang on, Vin. Just hang on.”

**********

Every hoof beat reminded Chris of the pounding Vin had taken. How many blows had his best friend endured? A dozen? Two dozen? Why?

The huge stallion stretched out, its muscles extending to capacity.

As the pair passed the trail that led to the creek, Chris reflected on the events of the morning. How had he known that Vin was in trouble? It had been more than just an inexplicable feeling. Somehow he'd known with certainty... known with absolute, complete and total conviction. Why? How?

And then, riding toward Four Corners he'd yanked on the horse's reins and turned back toward the shack. There hadn't been a conscious thought associated with the action -- no decision that he could identify. He'd just done it... prompted by some invisible, but categorical knowledge that Vin needed his help at the cabin.

Chris didn't dare to imagine what could have happened if he'd ridden all the way to town and then turned around.

Ahead, the outline of Four Corners loomed and Chris urged his tiring horse to increase its pace.

**********

Ezra’s gold tooth caught the light and flashed back at his young and incredibly naïve opponent.

‘Like a lamb to the slaughter’, Standish thought, flecks of greed illuminating his green eyes. The well-dressed stranger had arrived on the stage and started flashing his cash. With the skill of a conjurer, Ezra had manoeuvred himself into a conversation with the newcomer and moments later the pair were sitting down to a ‘friendly’ game. Needless to say, Anthony Liverstock Jnr. was right where Ezra wanted him. Anthony believed he was doing well, but the collected crowd of locals had all started to exchange knowing glances. They recognized the signs. Any moment now their resident gambler would move in for the kill and relieve Liverstock of the bulge under his waistcoat.

“Shall we make this a little more interesting?” Ezra proposed, shuffling the cards with great dexterity.

“What do you have in mind?” Liverstock prompted with a smirk. He was centre of attention and clearly enjoying every moment.

‘Relieving you of all of your daddy’s money’, Ezra thought, but instead he smiled. “At the moment we are betting mere pennies. I suggest a real wager… say, one hundred dollars?”

Liverstock’s smile faltered. “One hundred?”

“Oh, please forgive me. I realize I have done a man of your standing an injustice by suggesting such a paltry sum. Let us make it two hundred dollars. Or perhaps three…”

“Two hundred,” Liverstock blurted out.

“To start with,” Ezra agreed with a beaming smile as he dealt the cards with the precision of a surgeon. Moments latter, Liverstock was placing his bet of two hundred dollars. Silence blanketed the room as Ezra matched the wager.

A decidedly pale Liverstock asked for one card. Ezra took two.

The younger man’s eyes began to sparkle. “I will raise the bet another hundred, Mr. Standish.”

Ezra smiled in triumph. “Three hundred? I do believe I can equal that.”

A commotion from the street attracted the attention of those standing close to the doorway. Ezra ignored it. True, he and Nathan were supposed to be on duty, but Jackson was more than capable of handling whatever it was. Sitting on the table in front of the gambler was the path to all of his dreams. With money like that he could do everything he’d ever wanted… or at least, make a start. Nothing in God's creation would move him from his seat until that money was his. He knew such an opportunity might never come along again. Already, he could visualize the stylish new clothes we would purchase. Perhaps it would even be enough for a down payment on a grand gambling establishment in San Francisco. Ezra's heart fluttered in anticipation. This was it. This was the chance he had been waiting for his entire life. “Your one hundred, Mr Liverstock, and eighty-five more." If he'd had more cash, he'd have bet it, but this wiped him out. Maintaining his poker-face, he lifted his eyes to his opponent. Liverstock licked his lips and with a jerked nod, matched the bet.

Whispers of “Chris Larabee” reached Ezra’s ears. Chris was the cause of the commotion on the street? 'Far from unusual', Standish dismissed. Whatever was going on, Larabee and Jackson would have to deal with it without his assistance. "Are we ready?"

A smile the size of the Grand Canyon spread across Liverstock's young face. "Mr. Standish, I hate to ruin your day but..."

“NATHAN!!!!”

The roared name sent Standish flying out of his chair, crashing through the crowd and out onto the boardwalk, his revolver in his hand, the card game, the money and all of his hopes and dreams forgotten. It hadn't been the volume which had unseated Ezra. It had been the tone. Something was very wrong.

All citizens on the street had frozen, except Chris, who bellowed Nathan‘s name a second time as he leapt from his horse. Nathan appeared on the landing of the clinic. Ezra couldn’t hear the short conversation exchanged, but when Jackson darted into the clinic yelling, “Get my horse ready!” he knew his earlier assumption had been correct. Rushing across to Larabee, who was lashing his horse to a hitching post, Ezra demanded, “What’s happened?”

The nerves in Larabee’s left cheek twitched as he turned to face the gambler. “It’s Vin,” he growled breathlessly. “He’s been beaten… Damn it! They beat him like an animal!” The end of the response came in a roar.

Ezra‘s poker-face dissolved. “Beaten? Badly?“ Chris simply glared back at him. That said enough as did the fact that Chris hadn't brought Vin to Nathan. Clearly, Tanner's condition was serious enough that Nathan needed to go to him. “Bounty hunters?”

Larabee’s jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with raw aggression. Spinning, he jogged into the livery to prepare the healer’s horse. Ezra frowned, his mind churning. If it wasn’t bounty hunters, what had happened? Chris showed no signs of having been involved in a brawl, apart from the blood on the front of his shirt and Ezra guessed that had to be Vin’s. Noting that Larabee’s horse was exhausted, Standish followed his friend and began to saddle his own mount.

Larabee glanced up as Ezra entered the stall opposite. “They were after me,” he admitted, without prompting. With a grunt, he lifted a saddle onto the back of Jackson’s horse.

“I see,” Ezra replied carefully. He hadn’t expected an explanation and was surprised that Chris was willing to elaborate. Then again, it was clear Chris wasn’t himself. Standish paused to watch his friend. He couldn’t see the other’s face, but Larabee’s voice had been dreadfully low and distorted. “What happened?”

It was becoming clearer. “Mr. Tanner can be stubborn,” Ezra remarked, keeping his voice even.

Chris lifted his emotional face and stared at Standish. The pain and confusion etched into his features was palpable.

Ezra swallowed, watching as the walls protecting Larabee since the loss of this family crumbled.

“Why?" Chris whispered.

He was reaching out for help, Ezra realised. He found himself captured by the anguish in the Chris’ eyes. Standish was looking directly into his Chris Larabee’s soul and it was a place he didn’t want to be.

Choosing his words carefully, Ezra replied, “Are you asking why they beat him or why he refused to inform them of your location? The answer to the former is in the lap of the Gods, my friend. Vin was in the wrong place at the wrong time, yet I would suggest it was exactly the place he’d have chosen to be if it meant protecting you. As for the answer to the second, you should be able to answer that better than I, for you would have done the same. I fear that is the price each of you must pay for the inexplicable camaraderie you share."

Chris swallowed. Ezra led his saddled horse out of its stall. “Your horse is weary. Take mine.”

For a full five seconds they stared at each other. “Thanks,” Chris murmured, his lips barely moving. It was more than an expression of gratitude for the horse and again, Ezra was surprised. He and Chris were partners on the battlefield and trusted one another’s gun completely, but to this point, a social relationship had been slow to develop.

"How bad is he?" Ezra asked.

"Bad,” Chris admitted. “I…” His mouth moved but his voice deserted him. He couldn’t continue. That image of Vin’s mangled face flashed into his tormented mind and stole his words. Larabee dropped his head. Ezra grimaced in sympathy and concern. Placing his hand on Chris’ arm, he squeezed firmly. It was a rare action for Ezra and an even more exceptional reaction from Chris, who accepted the support without withdrawing. They stood in silence for several moments, before Chris lifted his head. The earlier vulnerability was gone, replaced by a harsh, icy expression. “Buck?“ he demanded as he drew away from Ezra and checked the horses’ bridles.

“He and J.D. have returned to Redfork. Mr. Dunne left his prized bowler there -- at least that was the lame excuse they came up with.“

Nathan entered the livery at full stride, his trademark black bag clutched in his hand. Larabee climbed into the saddle and rode out into the street without further comment.

Ezra exchanged a glance with the healer. “He’s struggling.”

“Yeah, I realize that. You'll be on your own,” Nathan pointed out, mounting. His gaze passed Ezra and settled on the boardwalk in front of the Saloon where the poker player was waiting impatiently.

A lump formed in the gambler’s throat. Nathan’s silent judgement and low expectation of Ezra’s dedication to the scared trust they shared, hurt a great deal. "My focus will be the town, I assure you."

Nathan appeared shocked. Ezra wasn’t sure if it was due to the recognition of his own prejudice or Standish’s firm tone.

A sincere apology flashed across Jackson’s dark eyes. “Ezra… I…”

“It would appear we each have much to learn about the other,” Standish dismissed.

“Be careful. There won‘t be anyone to watch your back.”

"He said it was bad. I believe it must be."

Nathan nodded. “Yeah.”

Ezra offered his hand. "Good luck."

“Nathan, let’s go!” Chris shouted.

Ezra watched Jackson guide his horse to join Larabee and then the pair disappeared in a cloud of dust. The lone regulator’s thoughts shifted to Vin and then back to Chris. "Heaven help them."

**********

Two riders rode up the narrow trail that led to Chris’ shack, one laughing happily at the other’s expense.

“You know that ain‘t true.” As they approached the cabin, the bodies of Sam and Pete took shape and with gasps of surprise, they each drew a revolver.

“What the hell…?”

The pair leapt from their horses and crouched over the fallen men. “Dead. But where the hell is…?”

“In here!” a voice called from the rustic stable.

“Dave?”

**********

Ezra strode down the centre of town, making his presence felt. As he passed the saloon, Anthony Liverstock Jnr shouldered through the batwing doors and spotting the peacekeeper, tipped his hat. Standish nodded politely. By leaving the table he had forfeited the game and effectively shattered all of his dreams. Strangely, it wasn’t that which was weighing heavily on him. It was the look in Chris’ eyes and the words, ’They beat him like an animal.’ Despite his best efforts, Ezra couldn’t push either aside.

Liverstock stepped down into the street. “We must play again, Mr. Standish.“

Ezra forced a smile. This young man had been entitled to the entire pot, but he had done the honourable thing and returned the regulator’s money. ‘A better man than I,’ Standish thought sadly. “I’m afraid that may be impossible. Duty calls, you see.”

Liverstock shrugged and headed off. Ezra watched him until he disappeared into the Clarion News and then returned to patrolling the street, his thoughts on absent friends.

***********

Dave rubbed his chaffed wrists once he was on his feet. “Where's? What the hell took you so long?” The tiny man’s relief was quickly replaced by anger, his dark, beady eyes lighting with fury. “You should have been here ages ago.”

“We got held up in Eagle Bend,” the older of the newcomers claimed. “Tim had to wait for..”

“I don’t care. Sam and Pete are dead! You should’ve been here.”

“Sorry, Dave,” Tim mumbled, ensuring that Burt was between him and his enraged leader.

“What happened?” Burt demanded.

After pinning Tim with his harsh stare for longer than comfortable, Dave growled, “Larabee happened. Come on. The bastard left about two hours ago, but he’s coming back.”

"What about Sam and Pete? Shouldn't we bury them or something?” Burt asked, following the annoyed man out of the barn. Dave didn’t answer, but snatched the gun from Tim’s holster and marched toward the shack. “Dave? Dave? Where are you going?”

“To take care of some unfinished business.”

"Huh?"

"Larabee's friend's in the cabin."

"What?" Burt cried, reaching for his sidearm.

"Relax. He isn’t a threat to us." Dave paused and then grinned as a truly satisfying idea formed in his head. "I want Larabee to see his friend die."

**********

Nathan and Chris pulled their horses to a halt at the side of the shack.

“Vin, we're back. You okay?" Chris called. He peered at the open window of the bedroom, but there was no response from his badly injured friend. "Vin?… Tell me what you need me to do,” Larabee snapped at Jackson, as he leapt from the saddle and grabbed the reins of the healer's horse.

“I’ll need some hot water and…”

“… and a shovel,” a disembodied voice finished. Both Chris and Nathan drew and spun toward the sound, but could see no one. The thick trees close to the barn hid the speaker. “Take out your weapons real slow or that injured fella you’re real worried about will end up with a bullet in his brain.”

Larabee’s face contorted with a mixture of terror and rage. Slowly, he backed toward the cabin window, placing himself between Vin and the threat. Nathan glanced at Chris, silently asking Larabee how he wanted to handle the situation. Fingering his weapon, Jackson prepared to respond to any signal from his partner.

“Not interested in yer friend or the dark fella. Just in you, Larabee,” a second voice called. This one was coming from the barn. “I got a man in the shack with your friend. If you move, he's dead."

Chris' jaw clenched. He listened, identifying movement in the cabin. They weren’t bluffing.

"You two throw your guns down. Then you, me and my men will ride out of here, Larabee. You have my word.”

Nathan licked his lips, unconsciously shaking his head. “Chris…”

Larabee peered into the shadows. He could make out an outline, but what would he achieve by killing one man? There were at least three and they had Vin… Vin who was in no condition to fight back after the merciless beating he‘d endured.

Chris swallowed. Relinquishing your weapon was a cardinal sin. Even J.D. knew that. If Chris threw down his gun, he‘d be killed. If he didn’t... His best friend had suffered enough on his behalf. Larabee decided it was time he made his own sacrifice. It might be Vin's only chance. “Alright.”

“Chris, no!” Nathan yelled. Horrified, Jackson watched Larabee’s gun hit the dirt. Chris turned to face his partner, his pained eyes flashing an apology. He couldn’t expect Nathan to understand.

“I’m a healer,” Jackson growled, momentarily dismissing Chris. “I only want to help my friend. Let me go to him.”

“You throw down your weapon, Healer, and you’ll get the chance. I ain't interested in you or in him. My business is with Larabee.”

Nathan drew in a deeper, jagged breath and released it slowly. He knew that surrendering his weapon was the wrong thing to do, but he and Chris were outnumbered and Chris had already made the decision to follow the orders of their captors. In Larabee’s face, Nathan felt he could read the reason why. Rightly or wrongly, Chris was doing what he believed would provide Vin with the best chance of survival. Jackson wasn’t sure he agreed, but he was left in a no-win situation. Cursing softly, he let his gun slide from his fingers, suspecting it might be the biggest mistake he’d ever made. “All right. We’ve done what you’ve asked. I’m going inside.”

As Nathan set off, Dave appeared out of the barn brandishing a revolver. Burt materialized from the treed area. Mike, who earlier had been left as a lookout on the trail, appeared from behind the tree in the middle of the yard, and Tim stepped out of the doorway of the cabin.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is, boys,” Dave chuckled.

“Who the hell are you?” Chris ground out, his eyes on the man near the shack. He was the greatest threat to Vin. He needed to be taken care of first.

“You really don’t remember, do you? Not that it matters. Healer, that’s far enough. Mike, get their guns.”

Nathan licked his lips. “I just want to…”

“Shut up!”

Chris’ eyes flicked briefly to the window through which he could see Vin laying so still. He needed to secure his best friend's release. He owed Vin that.

“Ohhh, I wouldn’t be too concerned about him.” Dave stated, noting the glance. “Tim." The younger man nodded.

Chris' eyes widened. "NO!" Chris was moving before he knew it, but Burt and Mike blocked his path.

Nathan stood frozen. He could predict what was about to happen and there wasn't a thing he could do.

Tim paused in the doorway of the bedroom, made eye contact with Chris through the window, smiled and took aim at Vin. Chris charged the two men in front of him. Six shots echoed in quick succession before Larabee reached them. "NOOOOO!" It was a tormented cry of agony. Chris staggered to a stop. His face drained of colour and he began to tremble. It was happening again and he hadn’t been able to stop it.

Tim lowered his revolver and winked. "That takes care of that little problem."

"You two must’ve been good friends for him to have taken that beating,” Dave baited. "Of course, it all came to nothing. He was just some dumb, half-wit who was too loyal for his own good. "

An invisible hand gripped and twisted Larabee’s heart as he peered through the window at the bullet-riddled and blood-stained blankets hiding Vin's beaten body. They'd killed him just like that. Vin was dead and he’d died as a result of his association with Chris... just like Sarah and Adam. Abruptly, the well of anger and vengeance, which had resided deep inside Larabee since the murder of his wife and child, erupted and spewed forth with volcanic force. The veins in Chris' temples popped out and with an adrenaline fed roar, the gunfighter spun and tackled Dave.

Nathan lunged at the man nearest him, but a revolver was raised in his face and he stepped back, hands raised.

Chris and Dave plunged to the ground, Larabee yelling with rage; Dave screaming for help.

Burt rushed to his leader's aid and pistol whipped the crazed man trying to tear Dave apart with his bare hands. The blow slowed Chris, but certainly didn’t stop him. Fuelled by a hidden reserve of energy, his fists continued to pummel the creature who was ultimately responsible for taking Vin's life. However, the earlier blow had weakened him and he was easily yanked away.

The bloodied and bruised leader of the thugs rolled onto his back, panting hard.

"Dave, you okay?" Tim yelped, wrestling with Burt to hold the writhing Larabee. The man on the ground sat and wiped his split lip with the back of his hand. For several moments he peered at the smear of blood and then, snatched the gun that had been jolted loose in the fight and rose to his feet. “And now you die, too, you son of a bitch.”

Like a balloon deflating, Chris stopped struggling. His gaze travelled to the window. He’d failed to protect his family a second time. Family. “God,“ he muttered, his eyes welling with tears. The revelation shook him to his core. Forgive me.

"So the great gunfighter is blubbering like a spineless woman at the thought of dying!" Dave laughed.

Dragging his eyes from Vin and glaring at the mongrel who would fulfil his darkest wish, Chris snarled, "Go ahead. You win."

Nathan's jaw began to quiver. He had to do something. He had to try. With a warcry, he lashed out at the man holding a gun in his face, knocking him off-balance. Then, Jackson launched himself at Dave. Dave side-stepped the attack and Mike regained his balance and slammed his boot into the middle of Nathan’s back, pinning him to the ground.

"Your slave is trying to save your life. How pathetic."

"Nathan Jackson is no man's slave," Chris said. When Nathan raised his distressed face, Chris bobbed his head in thanks. He couldn’t have asked for more from any man. Jackson would probably loose his life as well today... because of Chris.

Dave levelled his gun at Larabee's head. The two men holding Chris tensed in anticipation.

The sound of approaching riders drifted on the westerly breeze. Nathan's head snapped in that direction.

"Dave? Someone's coming. Let's get out of here."

"Not before I put a bullet in Larabee's brain. I‘ve been waiting a long time to do this." He pulled back the hammer.

With unnatural calm, Chris held the murderer’s gaze.

Dave smiled. Larabee braced himself.

A shot echoed in the silence. Chris waited for the searing impact of the bullet. Instead, the gun aimed at him catapulted from Dave's hand a split-second before he could pull the trigger. Before anyone could react, a second bullet tore through the base of Dave's skull, exiting just above his right eye. His body spasmed and then crumpled.

Stunned, but reacting instinctively, Chris smashed his elbow into the mid-section of one of his captors, snapping his left arm free. Whipping around, he balled his hand into a fist and punched the second man in the face. Both his captors stumbled away, grabbing for their guns. Chris dove for Dave’s fallen weapon.

Meanwhile, Mike turned to fire at the approaching riders, inadvertently loosening his grip on Nathan. Nathan exploited the opening immediately, swivelling and smashing his fist into Mike’s groin.

Buck and J.D. galloped into the clearing, their guns raised. Tim fired, his bullet missing Buck by an inch. Buck's revolver barked in return, knocking Tim off his feet. Scrabbling to his knees, Burt aimed his gun. J.D. fired and the thug fell to the ground. Mike released his throbbing groin and levelled his weapon at the newcomers.

Buck's gun removed the final threat with a single shot.

When the sound of gunfire died out, six corpses littered the ground.

"What the hell is going on?!" Buck bellowed. "Are you two okay?"

Chris’ head snapped to the window. “Vin?!“ He darted around the front of the cabin and raced to the bedroom. Nathan followed, half a step behind. Larabee froze in the doorway as reality crashed into place. Six bullets fired at close range. Vin hadn’t had a chance.

The healer pushed past Larabee and leaned over the bed. Tentatively, he peeled back the bloodied blankets to reveal... two pillows. "What the...?" Nathan looked at Chris.

Larabee's gaze locked on the pillows and their meaning swept over him. "He wasn‘t in the bed!"

"But where is he? They must’ve hidden him somewhere else.“

Chris dismissed that. Vin‘s killing hadn‘t been staged. Dave wasn’t the sort of man to ‘pretend‘ murder. “Or maybe Vin fooled them too and they believed he was in the bed the whole time.“ Larabee raced back outside. “Vin?!“

“Vin?“ Buck asked in confusion. “Chris? What the hell is going on?“

Larabee sprinted to the bushy area opposite, crashing through the bush and yelling Vin's name. To his left, he spotted his best friend on his backside, slumped against a tree trunk. "Vin!" Tanner raised his trembling chin as Chris dropped beside him. Ripping his poncho over his head, Chris wrapped it around his shivering friend.

"I was handling things just fine. Had them right where I wanted ‘em.” Chris took the gun from his best friend’s weak grip.

Larabee put his arms around his friend and drew him in. He could feel Vin's racing heart and laboured breathing. "Vin... I..." The words refused to come and Chris shut his eyes. "Easy, Vin. It’s over.”

"NATHAN!" Chris called. "Over here!" He turned, discovering both Nathan and Buck at his back. They had been watching for some time, but neither had wanted to interrupt.

"We need to get him into the house," Nathan murmured, his face twisting at the sight of Tanner’s beaten body.

“He’s passed out,” Chris croaked.

"He‘s earned a rest" Buck whispered. “Let me help you with him.”

Chris pulled Vin toward him, so that Buck could slip between Tanner and the tree. "Watch his arm. I think it's broken," Chris warned. "And he's got some busted ribs." Between them, Chris and Buck lifted. Vin hung limply between his friends as they carried him to the cabin, finally free of pain, but closer to death's door than ever before.