The stage slowed and came to a halt as Vin and Nathan approached.

"Howdy boys." Carl Ackerman called down from his perch. His partner, Cassidy, nodded and spit tobacco juice onto the dirt alongside the stage. In the year they had known the shotgun, Vin and Nathan had yet to hear him speak.

"Carl. Cassidy. We're here to collect Missus Travis and her boy." Vin dismounted and walked up as Mary was opening the door to the stage.

"Larabee told us, and that's as far as it goes, yessir. We ain't seen ya. We don't rightly recall how we came to lose the lady and her youngin'. Don't you worry none." Ackerman grinned, exposing two rows of yellowed teeth. As Mary walked into view, Carl tipped his hat in respect. "Ma'am."

Cassidy handed down Mary's satchel and the stage drove off. The Travises had been the only passengers. Only the stage driver and shotgun would know about the unscheduled stop.

Nathan led the extra horse they'd picked up at Nettie's over to where Mary stood with Billy. Vin was busy packing the satchel contents into saddlebags, and tying the nearly empty bag to the rear of his horse's saddle. Nathan helped Mary into the saddle and lifted Billy up to ride in front of her.

"We'd best be goin'. The village is a ways from here." Nathan hauled himself into his own saddle, and watched as Vin followed suit. The small group turned back the way the stage had come, an hour ride would bring then to the Seminole camp.

The hours dragged by in the saloon as Chris, Josiah, and Molly finished off Ezra's reserve and were forced to return to the house whiskey. At some point in their conversation, it was tacitly agreed that they would use Carl Larabee's current name--Marcus Gerard--when discussing the man.

Chris and Molly both grew quiet, lost in their respective memories, and Josiah eventually lost the battle with his curiosity. "How old were you when Gerard was found out?" He sipped his drink as he watched Molly pull herself back to the present.

"Nineteen."

"And when you started bounty-hunting?"

"Twenty-two." Molly frowned.

Sanchez nodded.

"You know, J.D. actually asked. He came right out and asked why I do it."

"Can't say as I'm surprised. J.D. doesn't yet understand that a person's business is private." Josiah took another sip, eyeing the woman sitting opposite.

"You're wondering if Jacob meant something more to me than just my father's partner?" Molly smiled sadly. "It's not what you're thinking. He was married to my closest friend less than a year before he died. Elizabeth's father had her committed to an asylum before Jacob had been dead a year. She was diagnosed with melancholia. As far as I know, she's still a patient. In some ways, Gerard killed her along with Jacob."

"So you took up man-hunting hopin' to find him. To get revenge for your friend and your father." Chris tilted his head and looked at the woman.

"Hell, I figured the bastard was long gone. But I was hoping if I could bring in some of the other scum out there, maybe I could sleep nights." Molly laughed softly. "Still can't."

Chris thought back to the aftermath of Fowler's death, to the empty feeling that had followed. "I can understand that. It's not the same as getting Gerard."

"No. It's not." Molly concurred.

"After Marcus Gerard is caught, what will you do then?" Josiah asked.

Molly and Chris stared at Josiah. Neither one had an answer.

"You couldn't start a fire to save your miserable ass." Buck fumed.

"Pardon me for assuming that you had brought matches. I should have realized it would be the one thing you would most certainly forget." Ezra pulled the blanket tighter about his shoulders.

"Right. Blame me." Buck furiously rubbed two sticks together, trying to remember the last time he had seen someone successfully start a fire with the ancient technique.

"Have no fear on that account."

"Bet Rafe's got a nice little fire goin'." Giving up his effort, Buck leaned back against his saddle, placing his hat over his face to keep the cold at bay.

"Indeed." Frowning at the thought, Ezra opened his mouth to make a suggestion, only to have the comment cut off by Buck rolling to his feet.

"That boy can't be too far up the way." Grabbing his saddle Buck headed towards the grass where their horses were picketed.

"For once, Mr. Wilmington…we agree."

Chris woke to a pounding head and the taste of whiskey in his mouth. He thought he remembered Josiah helping him to his room, but he couldn't be certain. Molly had retired early, the drinks having taken their toll on her, but Chris and Josiah had drank the night away. He was still wearing his clothes, his boots, and his gun. He must have passed out as soon as he was on the bed.

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, Chris started to get up. His feet met something soft and he had his gun drawn and cocked before the familiar voice greeted him.

"Mind not stepping on my chest?" Josiah slowly sat up beside the bed, bloodshot eyes focusing on the gun. "Or shooting me?" Using the bed for support, Sanchez pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the door.

Holstering his Colt, Larabee rubbed his own tired eyes. "Sorry, Josiah. Didn't know it was you." There was no answer from the preacher as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Staggering to the washstand, Chris poured water from the pitcher into the bowl and proceeded to wash his face and hands.

"Vin and Nathan back yet?" Chris sat down at Josiah's table in the saloon. The hour was too late for breakfast, but neither man wanted food quite yet. Coffee was a more immediate need.

Josiah shook his head. "J.D. is riding out to meet them. That boy's got enough energy for two men."

The bartender brought Chris a cup of steaming coffee. "Red was in here a while ago looking for you. Wire from Judge Travis came in this morning."

Chris nodded his thanks for both the coffee and the message. Red Hays was the town's telegraph operator and postmaster. Sipping his coffee, he met Josiah's worried gaze. They hadn't expected to hear from the Judge until the next day. Two more sips and Chris set down his cup and rose from the table. "Might as well see what the Judge has to say."

"Shit." Larabee stared at the telegram, reading it for a third time before leaving the telegraph office and heading back to the saloon.

The familiar perfume of whiskey and sweat wafted out of the saloon in Eagle Bend, bringing smiles to the faces of both of the men who paused outside its doors. Exchanging a long look, they entered and headed for the bar.

A quarter of the tables were occupied--surprising, as it was barely past ten in the morning. Buck and Ezra glanced around the room, ignoring all but the bartender. They especially ignored Rafe standing at the far-left end of the mahogany bar.

"Morning gents. What can I get you?" The barman inquired.

"Couple of beers." Buck smiled broadly. He recognized the man as Clive, the murdered bartender's replacement.

As the mugs of beer were set in front of them, Ezra fished out one of Molly's silver coins and set it on the bar. The gambler smiled very slowly as the barkeep's eyes went wide. "Is there something wrong?"

"We don't accept foreign money here, mister." Clive's voice was louder than necessary. Out of the corner of his eye Buck saw Rafe looking up from his drink, casually looking over his shoulder toward the entrance.

Ezra handed over the two bits for the beers. "Of course."

"Don't 'spose you know a Mr. Gerard do ya?" Buck asked pleasantly, knowing that he and Ezra were standing in the midst of a snake pit but hoping none of them were in a biting mood.

"Can't say as I do. Excuse me, I have work to do."

"One more question, if you please." Ezra's eyes gleamed wickedly. "How much did it cost to effect repairs after our last visit to your establishment?" Taking a long sip of beer, he watched in amusement as Clive tried to keep his anger under control.

Buck finished his beer and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. "Guess we'd best be on our way." He turned to Ezra. "Unless you have another question eatin' at ya."

Standish shook his head to indicate he hadn't.

"All right then." Belching loudly, Buck turned and walked out onto the boardwalk.

Sighing loudly, Ezra turned to the still fuming man behind the bar. "You see what I am forced to endure. Good day." Touching the brim of his hat in salute, he followed Buck outside.

The bartender watched through the windows as both men mounted their horses and headed down the street. He turned his attention to one of the front tables and the man who sat there. With a jerk of his chin, he sent one of Gerard's men off to trail the Four Corners gunmen. As the man left, another rose and approached the bar. After a few minutes discussion with Clive, the second man also departed.

"Can I get another beer here?" Rafe called out.