Looking across the wide street to where Buck led Molly and Josiah past Whedon's Mercantile, Chris grew increasingly wary. It was still over an hour until dawn, but even in that early hour there should be some sign of activity. There was an occasional lit window, but no sign or sound of anyone going about their business. He could almost feel the guns trained on them. Vin sidled up next to him.

"We’re in trouble."

Chris didn't bother to reply. Instead he scanned the rooftops and upper windows, hoping to see movement. It was a motion closer to the ground that finally signaled the start of the gun battle. Buck Wilmington suddenly threw himself onto the boardwalk and fired up the street. The tongue of flame from his pistol gave away his position and an answering shot wrenched a scream from Buck's throat and sent a sickening feeling through Chris' gut.

The sound of Vin's rifle firing tore through the night a millisecond ahead of the lead bullet that ripped its way into a shadow on the balcony above where Buck lay unmoving. The shadow slumped but still returned fire until Molly and Josiah riddled both the balcony and the shooter with shots from down below.

Silence returned as each side listened for movement and waited for the smoke to clear. After what seemed like hours, he saw Josiah move to check on Buck's condition. He saw the preacher shake his head as he looked up at Molly. A bullet splintered the post near Chris' head as he began to walk out into the street. He trained his gun on the area he had seen a muzzle flash and fired. Across the way Molly had fired as well, her shot toward the now open doors to the saloon on Chris' right.

Running down the boardwalk with Vin on his heels, Chris burst into the saloon and opened fire on the two men inside. The first one went down in a spray of blood as a bullet passed through his neck and tore through the carotid artery. His hands clutched the wound as he sank to the floor, his companion turning to run out the back before a bullet from Vin's rifle ended his escape.

Nathan called out a warning before entering. "Josiah's gone inside the store. Took Buck with 'im. Don't know where Molly got to." He broke a window with his pistol barrel. "Can't see nobody."

After making sure both of attackers were no longer a threat, Vin walked angrily toward the saloon's front. "Shoulda known. Arlington's probably been gone all along." His gaze suddenly locked on the balcony across the street. The same balcony earlier used by Arlington's gunman. "Larabee. You'd best take a look."

Chris was trying to focus, trying not to think about Buck. "What?" Joining the men at the window, he looked to where Vin was pointing. "I'll be damned. We live through this and I'm gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch." He watched as Buck Wilmington took up position with the dead man's rifle. The moonlight glinted off white teeth as Buck grinned and waved at them before ducking out of sight. Catching sight of Josiah in the mercantile, Chris added, "Josiah, too."

Shifting his weight to his right leg, Buck winced in pain. The bullet had passed through his left buttock and lodged in his thigh. Although he could still walk, the wound made concentration difficult. Forcing the pain aside, he assessed his new vantage point. The view from the balcony was a good one, he realized. The moon was still high enough in the sky to illuminate the street below and the boardwalk opposite.

Casting a glance at the dead man he shared his perch with, he started in recognition. He hadn't noticed when he had taken the rifle from unresisting hands, but Eagle Bend's Sheriff lay dead not three feet away from him. Reaching out his hand, Buck picked up the open box of cartridges that sat like an island in a dark pool of blood. He fed several into the rifle, replacing the ones that had been fired at Vin.

Movement to the right of the saloon caught his eye. Someone was slowly making their way down the boardwalk. A shot from his side of the street sent the man crouching behind a water trough, but Buck still had a decent target. The rifle jarred his shoulder as he sent a shot downward into the shadowy figure. For a few moments nothing happened, then he saw the man's pistol drop into the water and his body relax against the side of the trough. Dead or dying, it was one less foe to worry about.

Molly had taken up position in an alley bordering the dressmaker's shop. It was two doors down from the mercantile where Josiah and Buck had taken refuge. She had fired and missed the man who had been working his way toward the saloon, watching as either Buck or Josiah had successfully taken him out.

When Buck had gone down Molly had first thought him dead. It wasn't until she had asked Josiah that she had learned otherwise. Now the question was how badly was he hurt and could he still fight. There was no way to know how many men Arlington had been able to round up for the ambush. They needed all the help they could get.

A sound behind her froze Molly's body and her thoughts.

Dropping to a crouch as she spun, she heard the click of a hammer falling home but no accompanying shot. Her assailant's gun had misfired. Hers did not, and the man yelped in pain as she sent a round into him. She fired again. She fired a third time even though he had already begun to fall. He was all but dead by the time he struck the ground.

Replacing the spent cartridges, Molly fought to get her breathing under control. She had allowed someone to get the drop on her. By all rights it should be her that lay dead in the dirt of the alleyway. Holstering her gun, she pulled the shotgun from its scabbard. When she was a small child she had owned a doll that she held onto whenever she was frightened. These days she derived her comfort from twin barrels of steel.

More shots sounded from across the way and she peered around the corner and noticed the cloud of gunsmoke that hung in front of the saloon doors. Someone was pulling themselves across the boardwalk fifty yards past Whedon's, trying to find concealment behind some barrels and crates. The man's gun was still where he had dropped it in the street. Another threat had been neutralized.

The pounding of the departing horses' hooves faded and Ezra pulled at the rope securing his wrists. His shoulder sent out a blinding flash of pain and he ceased his movements. Focusing his efforts elsewhere, he called out, "Rafe!" When no response was forthcoming, he tried again. "Rafe! Are you all right? Rafe?"

No sound had come from the rear of the stable since Arlington and his men had left. The deputy had tied up the young man, so Ezra was reasonably certain he was still alive. It occurred to him that perhaps Rafe was better off unconscious--he wouldn't be subjected to the fears and doubts that were plaguing Ezra himself.

As more gunshots split the night, he closed his eyes and tried not to picture his friends stretched out and dying in the street. The pain of helplessness far surpassed the pain of his injuries, including the fresh facial bruises bestowed upon him by the deputy before the man had left with Arlington. Ezra was beginning to feel put upon. The sound of another shot prompted him to push aside the pain and work at the rope again.

Buck lowered the rifle. Nathan had crossed the street and drawn a shot from somewhere to Buck's right. He hadn't seen the exact location, but had fired in the general vicinity in an attempt to discourage the shooter from repeating his action. He could hear the door to the room behind him opening and in a moment was joined on the balcony.

"How bad?"

"Hurts some, but I'll live." Putting the rifle down, he looked over his shoulder as Nathan sliced through the canvas of his trouser leg. In the dim light he could barely make out the hole in the blood-coated skin of his thigh. Nathan continued cutting cloth until the other wound was exposed to the air.

Despite the gravity of their situation, Nathan grinned wide and wickedly. "All this is over, you might just think about movin' on. You ain't never gonna hear the end o' this."

"I'll worry 'bout that later, if you don't mind."

Nathan had brought a bed sheet with him from the mercantile below. He cut and ripped the cloth into bandage strips.

"Chris and Vin alright?"

"Not a scratch between 'em." Nathan began wrapping the leg wound.

"Don't that just figure." Buck grunted in pain as Nathan tied off the bandage. "You heard the horses?" The sound of several horses galloping had sent shivers of dread through his body as he thought of Ezra and Rafe.

Nodding his head, Nathan examined the buttock's wound.

"Leave it alone. It ain't bleedin' much and you'd have to bandage damn near all of me to cover it." Buck move his wounded leg experimentally. "Feels better. Thanks, Nathan. So…what's Chris got in mind?"

Slowing their mounts to a walk, Arlington and his men headed south. The wound in Arlington's side bled slightly and the pain was sufficient that he had turned to his supply of laudanum for relief. As a warm numbness took hold, he thought back to the town behind them. He had no more illusions where Larabee was concerned. The man had the Devil's own luck and it was entirely possible for him to survive the trap Whitman had arranged.

Glancing at the man who rode beside him, he smiled. Tar's return from Mexico had proved timely. Not only did he arrive with the news that the hacienda was ready for occupation, he had proved invaluable in keeping the livery out of Larabee's control.

"Sun's gonna be up soon." Tar's eyes were on the lightening sky over the hills on their left. "We'll be easy to track. An' those boys won't be bothered by the Mexican border, I don't think."

"No, I shouldn't imagine they would be." Arlington agreed. "Let us hope they are in no condition to give chase." He looked over at Tar and saw the skepticism in the man's eyes. "And assume that our hopes are in vain."

"Could be our string's played out." Tar suggested.

There was no answer to that, so Arlington did not respond. The fear he had felt when he first laid eyes on Chris Larabee had not only returned, it had grown substantially. He could not remember ever having been as close to panic as he was at that moment. He silently vowed that if the fates decreed his time was at end, he would not go alone into the abyss.

Turning away from the window, Vin caught sight of Chris descending the staircase. "Anything?"

"No one's moving, but we can't stay in here forever."

Vin looked back out into the street. The sun was coming up and still there was no movement to be seen. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn the town was deserted. "We best be goin' then."

Pushing past the batwing doors, Chris strode out onto the boardwalk. Vin walked behind him as he stepped down into the street. No gunshots. The two men crossed over and entered Whedon's without incident. The siege appeared to be over.

Greeting them just inside the entrance, Josiah smiled warmly. "It would appear the wolves have abandoned their prey." Before they could ask, he added: "Nathan is helping Buck down the stairs."

Moving close to the window, Vin kept watch as the sun finally broke free of the horizon and cast warm rays onto the buildings across the way. The noise from the stairs caused him to look over his shoulder as Nathan and Buck came into view, the latter with a bandage around his left upper thigh. Buck's face was white as a sheet and sweat dripped from his brow.

"How bad?" Chris asked.

"Bad enough. He ain't gonna be sittin' a horse anytime soon. Be best if he goes back to the ranch an' stays with J.D.." Nathan hesitated. "Ezra an' Rafe oughta go with him."

Vin met Chris' eyes. They had all heard the horses leaving the livery.

Flies swarmed around Whitman's corpse and several tried to land on Ezra's bloody face and wrists. Jerking his head to dislodge the pests, he cursed as the fire in his shoulder spread to his neck. The sun was full up now. He was beginning to fear the worst about the fate of Chris and the others.

Forcing himself to ignore the flies as they continued their assault on his wrists, he concentrated on listening. He was rewarded with a groan from Rafe Mosely. "Rafe?"

"Ezra? What happened?"

Saved from answering by the arrival of the rest of their group, Ezra smiled broadly as they walked into his line of sight. The cut lip opened up and blood flowed anew, but he scarcely noticed.

It was Chris who cut the rope that bound his wrists--wrists that were a bloody mess from his attempts to escape. Although he knew Larabee would deny it, Ezra swore he saw sympathy and respect in the gunman's eyes in the brief look they exchanged.

"Where's Tar?" Chris' voice was harsh, suggesting he already knew the answer to his question. He didn't wait for a response but instead turned and kicked a board free from the nearest stall. The cursing was in Spanish as well as English.

Vin emerged from the rear of the building with Rafe in tow, the younger man rubbed the junction between his neck and shoulder. A large swelling marked the spot where he had been struck.

Looking around slowly, Ezra started to ask, "Where's Mol…."

"No one came out to take a look. Guess it's over for now." Molly walked through the double doors and smiled as she saw both Ezra and Rafe on their feet. "Guess we all made it."

Ezra looked from Chris' angry countenance to Rafe's confused one and sighed in resignation. He was beginning to believe this nightmare was without end.

Slapping the reins against the horse's hindquarters, Nathan drove the buckboard away from town. Ezra sat next to the healer and Buck lay stretched out on his stomach in the back. Rafe rode his horse alongside, looking decidedly unhappy with his newfound aches and pains.

Chris watched them go and turned to finish saddling his black gelding. Nathan had protested, but only briefly. Ezra had said that Arlington left with three men--Tar, the deputy, and one who was as yet unidentified. With Arlington wounded, the odds were in their favor. Nathan would be of more use helping Dr. Middleton care for the wounded.

By the time he had guided his horse outside, the others were already mounted and ready to ride. There was still no sign of the residents of Eagle Bend. Chris would have bet money that as soon as the dust of their horses settled, the streets would be filled with people. Without a word he turned his horse and led the way out of town.

When Tanner drew up alongside, Chris threw him a worried glance but said nothing. He had nothing left to say. Memories of Sarah and Adam came to him unbidden as he rode, stoking the fires of rage that had been a part of his nature ever since their deaths. For over three years he had longed for this day, needed this day. Now that it had arrived he was almost afraid.

He no longer knew how to be the Chris Larabee that had existed before April 15th, 1875--the day his life had, for all intents and purposes, come to an end. It remained to be seen what sort of man would emerge from the shards of his past, once freed from his vow of vengeance.

Rocks slid down the hillside, dislodged by Arlington's horse as it walked along the trail that worked its way down to the border between Arizona and Mexico. They would stop once they had crossed over into Sonora. He needed to rest. The wound in his side was becoming increasingly uncomfortable but he dared not deaden it with more laudanum. His wits were already dulled from pain and exhaustion.

Riding into a small arroyo just inside the Mexican border, he let Tar help him down off his horse and walked unsteadily over to sit leaning against the trunk of a mesquite tree. He watched wearily as Deputy Parker and Felipe picketed the horses. Tar knelt down next to him and checked his bandage.

"You're bleedin' again, Richard."

"I'll be fine. Worry about Parker. I don't trust him." Parker had arrived in Eagle Bend two months earlier and had become an immediately favorite of the local citizenry. He had opened a Faro game at the Sandpiper Saloon and earned a reputation as a fair and even-tempered dealer. Although he could not give voice to its origin, Arlington had always had the nagging suspicion that Parker was more than he seemed. The deputation had been the sheriff's idea--a way to keep a closer eye on the newcomer.

"Felipe will watch him, don't worry." Felipe was Tar's twenty-seven year old son and the product of a liaison with a Mexican peasant woman. She had borne him three children, but only one had survived childhood. The woman had died in a cholera epidemic that had also claimed the lives of their other two boys. When Felipe had reached his fourteenth birthday, Tar had taken him from his grandmother's home to live at Arlington's hacienda in Mexico. Since turning twenty, he had been his father's traveling companion.

Arlington allowed himself a small smile. Tar's pride in his son was palpable. He had to admit, the boy had grown into a fine figure of a man. His only fault was the sense of honor that he had inherited from his parents. Tar had entered his employ in 1863, the year Arizona became a territory of the United States. He had needed someone to keep an eye on the region's development and to keep him abreast of the comings and goings of the men who were selected to govern the fledgling territory. Thanks to Tar, he had made sizable profits from mining interests in the Bradshaw Mountains near Prescott and entrance into Arizona's most influential circles, albeit by proxy.

"I'm going to see if I can spot their dust." Tar climbed back in the saddle. "I won't be gone long." With a touch of his spurs he sent his horse back the way they had come.

Closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of the sun's warmth on his face, Arlington drifted off to sleep.