Chris stared at the envelope in his hand, unwilling to read the words his uncle had written. The man had killed his own blood--nothing he could say would absolve him of his crimes. Nor would his death.

The room the parlor adjoined was a study, not a bedchamber. Presumably the door set into the west wall led to the bedroom, but the study was furnished with a large desk, several chairs, and a very large and heavy desk. It was on the desk that Chris laid the letter his uncle had left him, noticing as he did so that a copy of the Clarion sat off to one side.

Picking up the newspaper, Chris read the lead story's heading--Murderers Caught. It was the article detailing the capture of Stephen Travis' killers, Frank Ellis and Ben Wheeler. Looking through the rest of the stacked paperwork, Chris found the deeds for banks, hotels, saloons, and liveries from over a dozen towns. Frowning he looked up at Oren Travis, a question forming on his lips. It died there. Now was not the time. Now they needed to take care of the wounded and sort out what still needed to be done. Finding Richard Arlington topped the list.

Movement from the doorway caught Josiah's eye. He stood and quickly helped Nathan onto his feet and into a nearby chair. He turned back to see Buck lowering J.D. down onto the settee. J.D.'s eyes were closed, but his movements let them know he was conscious. Josiah closed his own eyes as he realized that the boy was shot in the breast.

"I'd like t' look him over," Nathan said quietly.

Buck looked over at the healer, taking in the rough bandage Josiah had applied. "No offense, Nathan, but I don't think there's anything you can do for him, hurt like you are."

Nathan started to protest but sat back instead. "Vin's gone for a doctor."

Snorting, Buck corrected the healer. "Molly beat him to it. Vin's checkin' on Rafe." Looking around the room he asked worriedly, "Where's Chris?"

Leaving Nathan's side to squat next to J.D., Josiah answered Buck's question. "Through there." He nodded toward the door to the study. "With Judge Travis." He looked closely at J.D.'s wound and felt a heaviness descending. If the boy was truly lung shot, his chances were not good and his recovery, should there be one, would be long and difficult. He patted the young man's shoulder gently before rising to his feet.

"And how is our young friend?" Ezra's voice was edged with more than his own pain. The green eyes looked everywhere but at the injured man.

"He's gonna be fine." Buck's firm insistence ended the conversation.

Staring at Vin's handiwork, Rafe had to suppress a smile. "That ought to keep them." Vin had led the six men back into the bunkhouse and tied them to the beds by their hands, feet, and a rope around their midsections.

Rising wearily from tying the last man, Vin agreed, "I reckon. Now we got t' check the rest of 'em." He walked past Rafe and out of the building.

Following Vin outside, Rafe watched as the former man-hunter checked the bodies scattered nearby. He noticed that Vin stripped away each man's weapons and checked for any sign of life. By the time Vin was kneeling next to his third man, he had reached his first. As he retrieved the abandoned revolver, he heard a groan. Bile rose in Rafe's throat as he realized the man was gut-shot and still very much alive.

"Water." The word came out as a gasp.

Rafe ran back to the water barrel next to the bunkhouse, filled the dipper and carefully carried it back to where the man lay bleeding into the dust. In his short absence the Bar GA hand had expired. Rafe stared down at the dead man for a long time before moving on to the next body.

Five wounded and two dead. Vin turned back to check on Rafe. The boy was checking his fourth man, using his neckerchief to try to staunch the blood flow from an arm wound.

"Doc's on the way." Vin left his man and headed over to join Rafe as the younger man stood and looked around. "I got five hurt and two needin' coffins." He looked down at Rafe's bloodied sleeve. "Make that six hurt."

"Two dead, two…" Dropping to his knees, Rafe supported himself on his good arm as the contents of his stomach spilled out onto the ground.

"It's OK, kid." Vin helped Rafe to his feet. He knew that the boy was beginning to absorb all that had taken place that morning and that before long he was going to need to talk or get drunk. Maybe both.

"I'm alright."

"Sure y'are." Stooping to pick up Rafe's fallen hat, he handed it back to him. The boy was pale but Vin could see he was determined to do whatever needed to be done. His eyes flicked down to the injured forearm, fresh blood seeping into the material of Rafe's shirt. "Right now I need someone with two good arms. I'd appreciate you tellin' Chris for me."

Standing in the doorway between study and parlor, Larabee took in the view. Josiah was washing the blood from Ezra's face, Nathan was looking miserably from one man to the next, and Buck was standing in the doorway that led to the hall. Chris couldn't see J.D. from where he stood. The back of the settee was toward him.

He kept his eyes on Buck until his old friend returned his gaze. He could see both anger and fear in Buck's expression, and the latter reassured him that J.D. was still among the living. It was just now hitting home that they might lose one of their own before the day was over.

"I'm going to go look things over," Chris announced.

"You do that." Buck's voice was cold with anger.

"Might be a good idea to set up a room with beds. Make it easier for the doc when he gets here." Josiah suggested.

Nodding his approval, Chris stared at the back of the settee. "Good idea. I'll see what we got to work with. Place like this oughta have a good sized dining room."

Turning back into the study, he found Judge Travis going through the documents piled on the desk. "Judge?"

"I'll stay here and sort through these papers. If you could give me a hand moving Joseph to the other room?" With a jerk of his head, he indicated the bedchamber.

Chris called for Josiah and the two of them moved Gerard's body, placing it onto the bed. "How's J.D. doin'?" He looked down at his uncle while he waited for the answer. He wasn't sure he trusted his expression at the moment.

"Not good, Chris. The bullet hit a lung. He's still alive and that's something, but he needs a doctor." Bowing his head, Josiah began to offer a silent prayer for the soul of the dead man.

"No prayers," Chris spat out. "Not for him. He's already in hell where he belongs."

Turning to look at Chris, Josiah hesitated before speaking. "Maybe. And maybe you're wishin' that you'd been the one to send him there? Angry you were cheated out of your vengeance?" Josiah's gaze dropped once more to the dead man. "What's done is done. Maybe it's time to think about the living."

"Not yet. Not until Arlington's in hell with him." Chris spun on his heel and left the room.

Molly slowed to a trot as she reached the edge of town. The ranch house was a good five miles from Eagle Bend and she had managed to avoid thinking about Marcus Gerard the entire trip. Instead she had worried about the injured men and Richard Arlington's whereabouts. She knew he was probably either already safely in Mexico or heading for the nearest train station. It didn't matter which. She'd find him eventually.

The last time she had passed through Eagle Bend the doctor's office had been near the west end of the main thoroughfare. It still was. She reined up and dismounted, securing her horse absentmindedly as she read the name on the shingle. Charles P. Middleton, M.D.. It was even the same doctor as she remembered.

Before she could knock on the office door it swung open and a man appeared. He was on the far side of forty, with light brown hair and had the clearest blue eyes Molly had ever seen. Middleton drew up short upon seeing he had a visitor. When recognition set in, Molly noticed the momentary panic the man tried to conceal.

"Hello, Doctor. What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost." She took a step forward, backing Middleton into his office..

"As I live and breathe, Molly Thompson!" He smiled nervously as he looked her up and down. "You aren't injured, are you? Or sick perhaps?"

"Not this time, Doc. But some of my friends are." Molly watched as sweat began to roll down the man's forehead. "I need you to come with me." She scanned the room behind him, but saw nothing that would suggest the reason for the doctor's uneasiness.

"Are they ill or injured? How many 'friends' are in need of treatment?" Wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, Middleton visibly calmed. Only a tightness around the mouth betrayed his tension.

"One man's lung-shot and a couple more have been beaten pretty bad. There may others shot, but I'm not sure how many of them will be needing you." Molly waited for the doctor to go further inside to collect his medical bag. She fully intended to follow and investigate the cause of the man's nervousness.

Middleton's saddlebags, as it turned out, were kept on the floor next to the office entrance. He stooped to retrieve them as he exited, closing and locking the door behind him and then pocketing the key. He looked at her and frowned. "In that case, we should be on our way quickly." He began to head for the stables. Looking back over his shoulder he asked, "And where is it that we are going?"

Molly watched him closely as she answered. "The Bar GA." Middleton's body tightened perceptively. "I'm guessing you'd know it. Mr. Gerard and Mr…." Molly paused, having to dredge up Arlington's alias from her memory. "Mr. Ashford are important men in town, aren't they?" She slid her Colt free of its holster. "I imagine they pay well. Maybe even enough to buy loyalty."

Blood drained from Middleton's face as Molly cocked the gun. He looked from the muzzle to her face and quietly answered her question. "My only loyalty is to my oath. I would never withhold treatment from anyone who needed it."

Easing down the hammer, she holstered her gun. She didn't completely trust the doctor, but she believed he meant what he had said. If he was on the Bar GA payroll, it must cut deep against the grain. Everything about the man, both now and when she had first met him years before, bespoke of integrity and honor. She found it difficult to believe he would willingly defend someone like Arlington.

By the time they reached the livery, color had returned to the doctor's face. He seemed angry as he saddled his mare, informing the hostler that if someone should need him, he could be found at the Bar GA.

They led their horses outside the stable, halting just outside the big double-doors.. Hoisting herself into the saddle, Molly watched Middleton do the same. He glared at her for a moment before his gaze softened. "I will help your friends, Miss Thompson. I promise."

Nodding her acceptance of his statement, Molly felt a wash of sympathy for Middleton. In many ways he reminded her of her father, which was why she was so certain he had been hiding something back at the clinic. Whatever it was, it could wait. She guided her horse out into the road and pointed its head in the direction of the ranch.

Richard Arlington moved aside the curtain that served as a door between the front and rear rooms of Middleton's office. He watched through the window as the doctor and Molly entered the livery, deciding to exit through the building's back door. He still had enough influence in Eagle Bend to insure a few days rest before departing the region. Should Larabee look for him in town--unlikely but possible--no one would reveal his location. Those who couldn't be bought had long since been replaced.

He caught his breath as pain shot up from the wound in his side. Middleton had insisted the wound would heal in time, but that he must rest for a few days before attempting to travel. For the hundredth time that day, Arlington cursed his former business partner. It had never occurred to him that Grant would attempt to kill him. The man had been a coward. The only time Grant had ever killed was when he had shot Jacob Thornton, and that had been the result of blind panic. Arlington had underestimated the late Joseph Grant.

He had also underestimated Chris Larabee, Larabee's friends, and Molly Travis. He was used to having control over all the pieces on the game board, but these particular pieces had refused to follow the path he had laid out for them. Nothing had gone according to plan. In retrospect, killing Larabee's family, without killing Larabee himself, had been a costly error in judgement.

Overconfidence had resulted in his current situation, but he knew he could start over without much difficulty. He had money and land under several aliases both in the Territories and in the States. Richard Arlington would disappear completely for a year or two before resurfacing under a new name and beginning to rebuild his empire. All he needed was two days rest.