The sky had begun to lighten when Chris Larabee entered the livery stable. He was surprised to find Ezra already inside. Normally the gambler was among the last to arrive. Judging from the look on the man's face, Chris suspected he had not spent the night sleeping.

"Chris."

"Ezra."

Throwing a blanket over his gelding's back, Chris went about the business of saddling the horse. The stable door creaked open to admit J.D. and Rafe. Rafe looked like he was ready to burst with excitement. Chris shook his head in amusement. Before long, if he still lived, Rafe would know better than to long for battle.

Josiah arrived quietly, followed by Buck and Nathan. Each man kept silent as he prepared for the coming journey.

It was Buck who finally asked the question that was on most minds. "Where's Molly?"

Ezra spoke up. "Outside. Miss Travis was ready to begin our sojourn before, I suspect, most of us were awake." He thought back to the look in the bounty hunter's eyes. "She is waiting on us, gentlemen. She is most definitely waiting on us."

Leading his horse outside, Chris tossed back over his shoulder, "Let's not keep her waiting."

One by one the men filed out into the morning light. Molly had climbed into the saddle the moment Larabee had appeared, eager to be on the road. The seven men followed suit and the group turned as one.

None of them noticed Casey Wells standing in the shadows, watching as they rode out of the town and into an uncertain future. Silent tears ran down her face as she watched until J.D. was long out of sight. She turned and slowly walked toward the Potter's store. Gloria Potter had more than once kept the young woman on an even keel where J.D. Dunne was concerned.

"What the hell do you want?" Two hundred and fifty pounds of grizzled foreman greeted Vin Tanner at the Bar GA.

"Lookin' for work" Vin said, his normal soft drawl replaced by a deeper, harsher tone.

Pete Whitman had not become foreman of the Bar GA by accident. He scrutinized the man in front of him carefully. He took in the ragged hair hanging over his forehead, the lack of a gunbelt, and the torn and filthy clothing. A drifter, down on his luck. "What can you do? You ever punch cows? Work horses?"

Vin smiled tiredly. "Prefer horses. I worked some as a stable hand and a wrangler. Mostly up in the Dakotas."

"Dakotas? You ever heard of a Mr. Tolliver, owns a big spread up that way?"

"Can't say as I have." Vin suppressed a grin. He was being tested. Unless there were two Tollivers, the ranch in question was in Texas. "The biggest spread I heard tell of was owned by a man name of Justin Granger. Never had no call to meet the man, but caught sight of his daughter once. Mighty fine little gal, that one." Vin gave silent thanks to Buck for recounting his conquest of Miss Elsie Granger when she and her father passed through town several months past.

Whitman nodded, satisfied. "I guess we could try you out with the horses for a spell. It won't pay much, but we got the best grub this side of the Mississippi. You got a name?"

"Wells. Name's John Wells."

Buck rode directly behind the group's leaders. Larabee led by right, Travis by determination. It was her father held captive and she would be damned if she did not lead the rescue effort. He watched their stiff backs for some time before Ezra Standish trotted up next to him.

"What is that heathen saying? Today is a good day to die?"

Buck rolled his eyes. "We won't be gettin' there today, Ezra. Tomorrow's soon enough."

"I am simply pointing out that there is an excellent chance that not all of our party will survive the upcoming battle." Ezra stared hard at Larabee's back. "We should be prepared for that eventuality."

"Just what are you gettin' at?" Buck looked suspiciously at the gambler.

"Merely that, if tragedy should befall us, we should be prepared. Nothing more than that, I assure you." Ezra fiddled with his reins.

"Prepared how?"

"If Judge Travis should not survive, and you will agree it is a distinct possibility, the rest of us need to consider what we will do next." Ezra looked slightly embarrassed. "With our benefactor dead, we will be in need of employment."

"Ezra?"

"Yes?"

"Go away."

Tanner had spent most of the day getting the lay of the land. He was certain that Chris and the other men would be arriving soon, probably at dawn tomorrow. The largest concentration of men was in the bunkhouse where he himself had been assigned a bed.

He had quickly noticed that the men it housed were better acquainted with their firearms than with livestock. Gerard had his own private army.

One option after another was discarded until Vin decided that the only course of action was also the simplest. One wall of the bunkhouse was lined with racks of rifles, shotguns, and a wooden crate containing boxes of cartridges. Hoping that there would be no reason for anyone to test the weapons before the attack came, Vin put aside mucking out stalls in the stable in order to fill the rifle and shotgun barrels with sand and mud. He tamped down the wet earth and wiped the barrels clean before replacing the guns in the racks.

He managed to disable fully half the weapons before he heard footsteps approaching and hurried to the pitcher and basin to wash up, drying his face and hands as one of Gerard's hired guns entered the room. It was nearly time for the evening meal so Vin's presence, in and of itself, would not be cause for alarm.

The man glanced at Vin briefly before removing his gunbelt and lying on his bunk. Vin recognized him as one of the men who patrolled the outside of the main house. Tanner had already decided that the house guards were his top priority once the raid began.

Rafe tried to see through the thick smoke. The men of the Bar GA had dispersed after the fight, leaving him to stumble and crawl through the smoky courtyard in search of his friends. Panic filled his mind as he realized that even the moans that had led him there had fallen silent. There was no sound, none at all.

He found J.D. first. Soulless brown eyes stared up at him, the slack jaw and pale skin confirmed what Rafe had feared. J.D. was gone. So were Buck, Nathan, Josiah, Ezra, and Molly. He found them all sprawled nearby, their lifeless bodies bloodied and broken. Rafe searched for Chris. He found him propped against the courtyard wall, blood streaming from a chest wound.

"Chris…."

The dying gunman raised tired green eyes. "Go home, kid. Go home and live."

Rafe watched as the light left Chris' eyes. Dead. All dead. He threw back his head and screamed.

Larabee watched as Rafe fought his way through a nightmare. He thought back to nightmares of his own, nightmares that followed the deaths of Sarah and Adam. Nightmares that were, in part, memories. He saw Rafe's eyes work their way open, saw the boy fight to replace the dream with reality.

Turning to look at Chris, Rafe asked, "Is it time?"

"It's time."

Lying back on his bedroll, Rafe closed his eyes.

Chris had slept soundly until Buck had awakened him for his watch. He and Mollie had chosen to stand last watch. She had been watching Rafe as well, doubt plain on her face. He wondered if she doubted Mosely's ability or the wisdom of bringing him along. Or both.

Mollie met his eyes and he nodded slightly. They began waking the other members of their group, smiling as Ezra complained at length over being disturbed at such an early hour.

No one spoke much. They had talked last night, banter interspersed with more serious discussion, and there was nothing left that needed saying. The time for talk had given way to the time for action.

The seven men and one woman mounted their horses in the pre-dawn light. The horses had picked up on their rider's anxiety and were snorting impatiently. Absently stroking his gelding's neck, J.D. swallowed hard and looked briefly at Buck before turning his attention to Larabee.

Chris looked slowly around the group of riders, registering the looks of grim determination that each face displayed. He turned his horse east toward the Bar GA, less than a mile distant. "Let's do it."

The stretch of open ground that separated the tree line from the south side of the main house seemed impossibly wide to J.D. Dunne as he and his friends began to run across it. Buck and Ezra had split off to fire the barn. The rest of the group needed to be on the roof before the alarm was sounded. The south end of the building housed the kitchen and storerooms and its roof was several feet lower than the rest of the structure.

Holding a gun in each hand, J.D. drove on. He watched for any sign of movement from the house, any sign of a guard. He saw none. Dunne began to sweat from both fear and exertion. There should have been a guard.

Swinging the barn door wide, Buck Wilmington smiled as he walked into its dim recesses. "Hello?"

His answer took the form of a stream of vulgarities, which tapered off into a weary command. "Get your own damned horse." The voice came from a room to Wilmington's immediate right.

"Real sorry there, pard. Can't do that." Buck drew his gun and used it to motion the man outside. "My horse ain't here, for a start. Then there's the part where I burn this here barn down and cause a ruckus." Using his gun butt as a club, he knocked the man unconscious as he drew even with the barn doors. Looking up from the sprawled form, Buck was in time to see Ezra shaking his head in disgust. "What?"

Rather than answer, the gambler produced a box of matches from his coat pocket. "As you can see, I came prepared on this occasion." Even in the dim light Buck could see the glint of the gold tooth as Ezra flashed a grin.

Buck produced an identical box from his own coat. "Let’s get these horses out of here."

Chris boosted Rafe onto the roof, handing up Molly and Buck's rifles in his wake. Rafe carried additional ammunition in his coat pockets. The men in the bunkhouse would be hard pressed to reach the house unharmed.

At Josiah's urging, Chris reached the rooftop next, followed by J.D., Molly, Nathan, and finally Josiah himself. Chris glanced one last time at Rafe before moving with Molly to the north end of the courtyard. Josiah and Nathan would cover the west hallway--the guest quarters, if Rafe's information was correct. J.D. would cover the eastern corridor containing the dining room and library, as well as the front entrance. Buck and Ezra would back J.D., once they had made it through the kitchen.

Reaching their destination, Chris and Molly crouched at the roof's edge with their weapons trained on the courtyard below. Now it was up to Buck and Ezra. Chris pushed the image of his uncle's face from his mind. They were here to rescue Judge Travis--revenge was of secondary importance.

"Fire!" The cry reverberated throughout the bunkhouse. Several men ran out half-clothed and unarmed, looking around to try and determine just what it was that was on fire. Smoke rose from the barn and the men began running in that direction.

A shotgun was snatched from the rack by a more cautious hand. The man broke open the gun to insert a shell and discovered the packed mud in the barrels. Checking the next long gun he found it similarly disabled. After checking another three, he gave up and turned away in disgust. "They're all spiked," he announced to the rest of the bunkhouse occupants.

Rafe tensed as men began to stream from the bunkhouse. The first few men ran directly to the barn without pause. Rafe released a held breath. Ezra and Buck had reached the house and it would be only a minute or so until the dynamite blast signaled the beginning of the assault. At that point, the bunkhouse hands would turn their attention in his direction. Rafe wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath.

Ezra lit the stick of dynamite as he and Buck reached the kitchen door. As he stooped to position it, the door swung inward and revealed a young Mexican woman. The girl's eyes widened in fear as Ezra pulled her clear and drew the door shut behind her. As the trio put distance between themselves and the explosive charge, Ezra wondered if the entire enterprise was doomed to failure.

As the force of the explosion shook the building, Rafe drew bead on the ranch hand closest to the house. The building quieted and he could see the gun the man held. He saw the moment the gun was raised to aim toward the kitchen where, presumably, Buck and Ezra were in view. Rafe slowly squeezed the trigger and felt the recoil as his shot rang out. His target looked surprised as he slowly dropped to the ground.

Before Rafe could reflect on what he had just done, another armed man demanded his attention. Then a third. As his fourth bullet found its mark, Rafe began to feel numb.