Reaching the south wall of the main house, Vin eased the injured man down to sit next to the entrance to the kitchen. He checked the makeshift bandage he had placed around the man's arm, loosening the knot in order to draw the bandana tighter and slow the flow of blood. Satisfied the wounded gunman was not in imminent danger of succumbing to blood loss, Vin stood and stretched his shoulders.

With a slight smile he conceded that Buck had done a fair job of teaching Rafe how to shoot. In addition to the four men the boy had killed, three of the seven wounded would be losing limbs once the doctor arrived. Two more were likely to die from their wounds and the final two weren't hurt badly--just enough to make them realize that they weren't being paid enough to commit suicide.

The sound of men approaching caught Vin's attention. Chris and Josiah passed through the door, followed by Rafe, sporting a fresh bandage on his arm. Looking from one face to another, Vin asked. "J.D.?"

"Alive." Chris met Vin's gaze and quickly averted his eyes, instead surveying the damage Rafe had inflicted from his aerie. "We can put the wounded in the dining room. Line up some mattresses along the floor."

Nodding slowly, Vin agreed. "An' we'd best get the dead out of the sun. There's a cellar. Door's in the kitchen."

"Rafe and I will care for the dead," Josiah said. "Won't we, Rafe?"

Molly rode up to the house with Doc Middleton at her side. The bodies that had littered the ground between the bunkhouse and the main building were gone, testament to the activity that had taken place in her absence. There was a patch of blood on the wall near the open door.

"And just how many men did you say were shot?" Middleton asked.

"From what I saw, most were dead or headed that way." Molly dismounted and led the way inside. Ushering the physician through the kitchen and into the hallway, they walked quickly toward Gerard's parlor. She hoped that they were in time to help the Dunne kid. She wasn't convinced the boy could be saved, but she had described his wound to the doctor and Middleton had assured her that he knew of several men who had survived such wounds--one had been his patient.

They passed an open door and heard the cries of men in pain. Middleton began to turn into the room but was stopped by the sudden appearance of Chris Larabee in the doorway. Molly grabbed the doctor's coat and pushed him along the corridor.

"But those men…" Middleton began.

"Those men can wait. It's the men I'm taking you to that you need to worry about." Molly grit her teeth as they neared the room. She was half convinced they would find J.D. dead and Nathan close on his heels.

Middleton lifted the cloth from J.D.'s chest, feeling the air escape as the boy exhaled. Covering the wound again and trying to ignore the fear in the youngster's eyes, he turned to Nathan. "I understand you were injured as well? A blow to the head?" Over Nathan's mumbled protests the doctor unwound the bandage covering the large swelling and torn tissue that Josiah had cleaned using brandy and, when it became available, hot water. "Miss Travis has told me that you are a healer, and a gifted one. Tell me, are you familiar with the symptoms of a concussion?"

Bristling slightly, Nathan answered. "I don't remember the last couple o' days and I've been feelin' sick. Comes an' goes. Right now I'm feelin' alright."

After examining Nathan's eyes and asking a few more questions, Middleton was satisfied that that the concussion was mild in nature. "And you," Middleton addressed Ezra, "how are you faring?"

"Quite nicely, all things considered." Ezra smiled, his gold tooth glinting in the lamplight. His coat rested over his shoulders, but his shirt had been removed to allow Nathan and Josiah to tend to his knife wound. "Mr. Jackson assures me my injuries are not fatal and the judicious application of spirits has made the pain quite tolerable. Quite tolerable indeed."

"He'll need stitchin'," Nathan volunteered. "Cut's across his shoulder blade and the bone is showin' through."

Middleton opened his saddlebags and began to remove the instruments within. He would probe for the bullet in the boy's chest and remove it if possible. The location was good. There was a reasonable chance of the young man's survival. As he looked around the room he noticed that someone, Jackson most likely, had decided that more lamps would be needed. There was also a large table cleared off and standing ready for use.

Josiah started lighting the extra lamps and Nathan began to arrange the bowls and bandages that Middleton would need, once work on JD had begun. Neither man asked what needed to be done. It was obvious both men were both accustomed to caring for the wounded.

"I'll move him." Stone-faced and pale, Buck stooped to gather J.D. into his arms, carefully transferring him onto the cool wood of the table.

Middleton watched silently. Molly Travis had cautioned him about Wilmington, explaining the closeness of the two men and hinting that it might be difficult to render aid in the older man's presence. He could see the doubt and worry set into the lines of the man's face, but as Buck Wilmington turned to face him, he also saw hope.

Molly hadn't stayed with Middleton after escorting him to the parlor. The doctor had been nervous during the trip out to the ranch and had seemed particularly uneasy when she had mentioned Arlington's name. She would have bet money that Arlington had been in the back room at the clinic. If she was right, she might be able to pick up his trail and catch him before he had the chance to leave Eagle Bend.

Stopping at the open door to the recently transformed dining room, Molly looked inside for Larabee. She found Vin Tanner instead.

"Lookin' for Chris? He's gone to talk to the Judge." Looking at her closer, Vin rose up from where he was squatting next to one of the injured men. "You look fit to bust. Mind tellin' me why?"

"I think the doc knows where Arlington is." Molly moved back out of the doorway and began to walk back the way she'd come.

She slowed as she heard Vin hurrying to catch up with her. Glancing over as he fell into step beside her, she couldn't help but grin. "I meant what I said about paying for that haircut."

"You're sure?" Chris frowned as he listened to Molly's recounting of Middleton's behavior. They were in Gerard's study, along with Judge Travis and Vin. The door to the parlor was closed and all of them were keenly aware of what was transpiring beyond it.

"I'm sure he knows something. I'm not sure what." Molly sniffed the contents of a decanter sitting on a sideboard. She poured out drinks as Larabee waited for her to continue. "My guess is that Arlington's hurt. Middleton's not the sort of man who'd help him out, otherwise." She turned to place a drink in front of her father, still seated behind the desk, immersed in documents. "Besides, the doc's office was wrong."

"What do you mean wrong?" Chris reached out to accept the drink Molly held out. He wanted to go into the other room and question Middleton, but held off for J.D.'s sake. Until their wounded were cared for, the doctor would be allowed to keep his secret.

Slowly sipping what had proved to be quality bourbon, Molly took her time answering. "His saddlebags were next to the door."

Chris stared at the closed door to the parlor. "Like he knew he'd be goin' somewhere."

"And didn't want whoever came to fetch him coming inside." Molly's face grew hard as she turned to look at him. "Like he was hiding someone. That's what I'd thought at the time, but I figured J.D. needed a doc more than we needed Arlington."

"You did the right thing." Chris silently willed the door to open and Dr. Middleton to walk through and tell them that J.D. was alive and would recover. It dawned on him that Buck wasn’t the only one who had grown attached to the kid.

Jaw clenched, Nathan watched as the doctor withdrew the bullet probe. It had gone nearly through the chest, from what he had seen. He carefully set the lamp he held down beside the table. He knew what was coming next.

"We need to turn him," Middleton said and he reached across J.D.'s body to pull the still youth closer to his side of the table. With Nathan pushing the boy's hips, it went quick and smooth.

"Watch his head, Buck," Nathan instructed as he and Middleton reversed their roles and he pulled J.D. over into the prone position. He watched as the doctor felt along the flesh of J.D.'s back, the spot near where the bullet had finished its travel. With a grunt of satisfaction the older man reached for a scalpel.

The stairs to the cellar creaked as Josiah carried the last of the dead down into the relative coolness below. It was one of the two men who had been keeping guard prior to the attack. Vin had killed them in the early morning hours and hidden their bodies from sight. Each had a single knife wound to the chest and, not for the first time, Josiah wondered about the former bounty hunter's past.

Laying down his burden, Josiah stretched his back and shoulders as Rafe began to lay the man out and search through his clothing. Looking around the room he silently counted. Ten dead, so far. He and Rafe had cleared out the halls of the main house, moving bodies and two wounded men--one who would be joining his friends in the cellar before long.

Rafe stood and turned to face Josiah. He didn't ask. He had stopped asking.

"He's the last." Placing one of his large hands onto Rafe's shoulder, he smiled grimly. "Let's go and see how J.D.'s doing."

Washing his hands clean of blood, Middleton looked down at his patient. The bullet had been trapped between two of Dunne's ribs and had chipped bone fragments from each. He had removed both the bullet and bone chips and cleaned the wound as best he could. The wounds were dressed but not closed. Keeping them clean would hopefully prevent infection from setting in, but in all likelihood the lung would need to be aspirated at least once during the boy's convalescence.

Buck had dragged Nathan back into a chair, admonishing him to rest while the doctor finished his work. Middleton regarded them thoughtfully. He had previous experience with Negro "doctors," but Nathan Jackson was the first he had encountered who displayed any real medical knowledge. Jackson's continuous observations and questions throughout the operation had first annoyed and then intrigued him. The observations had been accurate and the questions astute.

Getting back to more immediate matters, he wiped his hands dry and turned to Ezra Standish. "I believe you were next?"

Closing the door behind him, Buck entered the study. "Bullet's out. Doc says J.D.'s got a fair chance of gettin' through this. He's sewin' up Ezra right now."

"I want to talk to him when he's done with him." At Buck's puzzled look Chris added a few words of explanation. "Molly thinks Arlington might have been with him when she showed up. If it's true, he might have an idea of where we can find the bastard."

Buck laughed at that. "An' he's just gonna tell us out of, what, the goodness of his soul? Hell Chris, Arlington probably owns him."

"Probably," Chris agreed, "but he'll talk. He won't be able to help those men in the dining room if he doesn't. From what I saw, that ought to be enough of a threat to get him to cooperate."

"If it isn't, maybe this will be." Oren Travis handed a sheet of paper to Chris and leaned back in his chair.

Chris read through the paper's contents and raised his eyes to stare at the Judge. "If this is true…."

Cries of pain diverted Josiah and Rafe into the dining hall. The room already smelled of sickness and death. Scouting around the room, Josiah located a supply of brandy and handed one bottle to Rafe and took a second himself. They made the rounds among the wounded, hoping to ease their suffering.

"This one's dead." Rafe Mosely's voice was tired.

Without a word Josiah picked up the dead man and left the room. Rafe didn't follow. Instead he leaned against the wall, sank slowly to the floor, and raised the brandy to his lips. He ignored the hot tears cutting trails through the grime on his face. Rafe focused only on the warmth of the brandy as it coursed through a body he doubted could ever be warmed again.

Taking off his coat, Arlington sank down onto the feather bed. He was in the house of Eagle Bend's illustrious mayor, Horace Phipps. The pain in his side had become more insistent and he sipped from the laudanum bottle the doctor had given him. He knew Middleton would talk, but he hoped the gunmen of Four Corners wouldn't be disposed to look for him at his present location.

"They'll be coming." Pete Whitman stood staring out the window. The Bar GA foreman exuded nervous tension even standing still. He didn't like remaining in town.

"I know." Arlington closed his eyes and lowered his head to the pillow. "Go keep a lookout. Wake me if it becomes necessary." He listened as the bedroom door opened and then closed. His side throbbed unmercifully and he again thought of his late partner.

Grant had turned on him. Not all at once, but a gradual betrayal that had ended in the attack on the Bar GA. He had tried to conceal his nephew's presence from Arlington and, after Larabee's wife and son were dead, had convinced Arlington to allow Chris Larabee to live--insisting he was no longer a threat. He hadn't been, until Oren Travis had been appointed a Territorial Justice. With Larabee in Four Corners, employed by Travis and aided by fellow gunmen, his threat potential became enormous. The proof was in Fowler's failure and death.

Out of curiosity, he had traveled to see the gunman for himself a few months after Larabee had settled in Four Corners. The memory still haunted him. He was not normally a superstitious man, but the moment he had seen Larabee he had felt the hand of death. The premonition had nearly come true. He would see to it that, once he was safely away, Mr. Larabee rejoined his family.