Ezra retired to his room. He sat down at his writing desk and began to compose a letter to his mother, Maude Standish. In it he explained that he had always loved her and he was sorry if he had proved a disappointment in recent months. He kept it short, not trusting himself with a longer message. Blotting the ink and folding the paper neatly, Ezra tucked the letter into an envelope. Dipping his pen into the inkwell, he proceeded to write…'If I should die….'

Once finished, Ezra attempted to get some sleep. He was not surprised when it evaded him. The thought of riding into Eagle Bend and then to the Bar GA filled him with a sense of dread. He couldn't see how any of them would live out the next few days.

According to Rafe there were over thirty armed men guarding Gerard, and an unknown number of other employees who might or might not offer resistance. In Ezra's view, the odds were not in his party's favor.

It never occurred to him to refuse to join his friends. He blamed Chris and Buck. Chris for trusting him and Buck for befriending him. The combination had sealed his fate. He had been less close to Vin Tanner, but when he'd learned of the man's death he realized just how much he himself had changed. He wanted to avenge his friend, and he wanted it badly.

Cleaning and oiling his guns, Ezra went over the plan in his mind. The odds were not inspiring, but it was hardly the first time they had defied the laws of probability. Ezra slowly smiled as he ran a hand over his deringer's rig. Suddenly he began to think they might have a chance after all.

Chris had left the saloon for the livery. Saddling his horse, he mounted and rode out of town. He rode north until the road reached the mountains, then turned off onto a small trail headed up to a ledge that overlooked Four Corners. Vin had loved the spot. Dismounting, Chris walked over to sit on the large rock where he had seen his friend sitting on many an occasion. Pulling his duster around his shoulders, he took a drink from the bottle he had brought with him.

Closing his eyes against his pain, Larabee tried to remember the first time he had met the ex-bounty hunter. Mary Travis had been trying to save the life of a black man. Chris smiled at the memory. Not just any black man. Nathan Jackson had been on the verge of being lynched. Chris had considered stopping the proceeding, but the odds were a little one-sided. When Vin Tanner had volunteered his services, Nathan's rescue was assured. One glance across a dusty street had told Chris all he had needed to know. Tanner was someone he could trust, someone who hated injustice as much as he himself did.

Another sip of whiskey and another memory. Vin defending Chanu when no one else believed in the Indian youth. Chris had been a bit leery himself, but had trusted Vin's instincts. In the end, Tanner had been proved right. More often than not, the tracker's gut feelings were incredibly accurate. Chris picked up a rock and dropped it over the ledge, listening to it clatter on the way to its new home a hundred yards below.

Vin had been able to see things that Chris had not. Chris had been able to put the information to good use. Together they had made a successful team. A team that fate had seen fit to break up. Feeling a new stab of pain, Chris took another pull at the bottle. The burning liquid coursed down his throat, deadening all sensation.

Removing his gun from its holster, Chris ran a loving hand over its length. His uncle would pay a steep price for what he had done. For Chris' father, for the Travis's, and for Vin Tanner. No easy death. With luck, the man would suffer for days. Pulling the hammer back to the half-cock position, Chris rotated the cylinder slowly, taking comfort in the sound.

Buck had watched Larabee ride out of town before heading back to the saloon. He had a good idea of where his old friend was headed, and although there was a slight chance of one of Gerard's people following, Buck decided against guarding Chris' back. Molly was the more likely target of the two.

He glanced toward the Undertaker's shop. When Nathan and J.D. had first returned to town after their encounter with Gerard's gunhands, Josiah had suggested that someone be sent out to retrieve the stage and the dead men's bodies. The only man in town that any of them knew had experience driving a stage was Billy Foley, who currently operated Four Corners only freighting business. He volunteered his services as soon as asked, taking along one of his drivers to help. Foley had come into the saloon after returning to town, reassuring Chris that both the stagecoach and the bodies were back in town. Buck winced when he realized that not all the murdered men had been returned home. Somewhere in the desert lay the body of Vin Tanner.

As he approached his destination, a shot rang out from the saloon's interior. Buck broke into a run, bursting through the doors with his gun drawn and cocked. He relaxed when he realized it was nothing more serious than Curly Carmichael firing into the ceiling again. The man buried lead into the wall or ceiling at least once a month.

"Easy, pardner. Let me have the gun. There you go. Nice an' easy." Buck carefully took the gun from the drunken tailor. He suspected Curly had been reading dime novels again, it was usually what prompted his saloon escapades. Buck grabbed the man by his collar and led him outside. A night in jail was all Curly needed.

Rafe had grown increasingly restless as night had fallen. He ended up going to the saloon in hopes of finding one or more of the seven peacekeepers within. Heading straight for the bar, trying to appear calm and confident, he noticed Molly Travis was still leaning against it. He wondered if she had been standing there for hours or had left and returned. Judging by the bottle, it was the former.

"Ma'am." Rafe leaned on the bar next to her.

Throwing him an amused glance, Molly responded. "Have a drink, kid." She poured him a shot from her half-empty bottle.

Noticing the photograph Molly had in front of her, Rafe took a closer look. "I've seen them. Those men with the Judge. Two of them, anyway."

Molly slowly exhaled. "Two?"

"Those two." Rafe rested a finger first on Richard Arlington and then on Gerard. "At the Bar GA."

"You're sure? You saw both of them?"

Rafe stared into her brown eyes. "I'm sure. They were on the north side of the house. They're why I figured it was where Gerard's rooms were. That one," he pointed to Arlington, "was called Ashford. Who's the other one?"

"This one," Molly tapped the photo, " is Marcus Gerard. This one is Richard Arlington. I thought he'd gone east somewhere. Guess I was wrong about a lot of things if Arlington is here in Arizona." Looking around the room, she spotted Buck Wilmington lounging against the back wall. "Rafe. Go find the others."

Chris had watched the sun setting, saying goodbye to Vin in his own way. He led his mount down the mountain and onto the road to town. Full dark had already fallen, but the moon was bright and the path easy to follow.

The closer he grew to town the more tired he became. For three years he had sought vengeance for the killing of his family, and now that the time was at hand he could feel nothing. No pain, no anger, no joy. Vin's death had numbed him to the core.

He was dimly aware of his horse's movements beneath him, of the coyote's yips and the nightbird's call. The smell of woodsmoke drifted from a house on the edge of town, but Chris barely registered its presence. His existence had become focused on one thing and one thing only--the attack on the Bar GA.

Carl Larabee had taken Chris' entire family from him. In two days time he would exact payment from his uncle, and then send the man to the hell he so richly deserved. The thought of revenge brought a cold smile to his lips.

By the time Chris made his way into the saloon, the rest of the group had reassembled. He swore a silent oath as he moved to join them. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what had happened in his absence.

"Gerard's not alone." Molly tapped the photo as Chris seated himself across the table from her. "Rafe saw Richard Arlington at the Bar GA."

Larabee frowned. "Arlington. You didn't tell us anything about him."

"Didn't see any reason to. I thought he'd gone east." Molly stared hard at the photo. "Now I'm wondering if I've been hating the wrong man all these years."

Nathan cleared his throat before speaking. "You thinkin' maybe this Arlington was behind it all?"

"Richard Arlington was a brilliant lawyer. He didn't try cases in court, but he was the best researcher I've ever seen. He could find witnesses that no one new existed and evidence that no one else thought to look for." Molly smirked. "He was also the only one of the Judge's partners I didn't like. If he is behind Gerard, there's more to this than revenge against my father. A lot more." Molly pocketed the photograph and took a long sip of whiskey.

"And what, pray tell, gave you cause to dislike him?" Ezra asked.

"Because he's the coldest son of a bitch I've ever met. And I've met a few." Grinning across the table, Molly added. "Makes Chris here seem downright friendly and sociable."

"So he's a killer. The killer." Josiah leaned back in his chair and looked at each of his friends. "Does that change our plans at all?" His gaze rested on Molly.

"Hell, I don't know. The odds against us just went way up, but I can't see what we can do that would improve them any." Molly glared at Rafe. "Anything else you haven't told us?"

Rafe reddened. "Not that I can think of."

"It changes one thing." Everyone looked at Chris as he spoke. "Now we've got two men that need killing instead of one." He stood wearily, looking around at the faces of his friends. "We leave at dawn. Get some sleep."

Flames ate hungrily as Tanner fed more wood into his campfire. The fire was as much from habit as from necessity. The night was warm and he had no coffee to boil or food to cook. Reaching up to touch the makeshift bandage on his head, he once again marveled that he was still among the living.

When Vin had first regained consciousness, he had carefully checked himself over for injuries. He discovered a pair of bullet holes. One to the back of his head and one to the front. He had heard of such things--bullets travelling beneath the scalp instead of entering the skull. He had never believed the stories. Wincing as he touched the back of his head, finding the mass of dried blood, it occurred to him that he owed an apology to the man he had scoffed at.

Going over the sketchy plan once again, Tanner briefly regretted the necessity of keeping his friends in the dark. He knew they thought him dead, or they would have looked for him. When he had woke up with only his horse nearby he had feared that Nathan and J.D. had both been killed. Vin rode back to the stagecoach and was gratified to find only three bodies instead of five. It was then that he knew for certain that, in his friend's eyes, he was considered dead.

He had been about to ride back to town when it occurred to him that his "death" could serve a useful purpose. With a little subterfuge, it might be possible to infiltrate Gerard's stronghold. Vin had turned to follow the tracks of Gerard's hired guns.

As he watched the flames dance, he considered what he needed to do next. He would ride to within walking distance of Eagle Bend, picket his horse and cache its tack along with his coat, hat, and mare's leg--the things that identified him as Vin Tanner. There was one more thing that people would have remembered about him. Vin drew his knife and began cutting off his long hair.