The approach to Gopher's Creek was fairly straightforward through rolling high plains, semi-arid land with scatterings of brush and stunted trees, little good forage for animals. The green swath cut by the creek was a meandering line spotted from one of the hilltops. Above the bend in the creek was a line of higher hills, foothills to the mountains beyond. The ridge of the first taller hill, cut away by old floods into a bluff like appearance, overlooked the spot known as Wheeler's campsite.

Vin turned Peso aside just before the crest of that last roll of the plains before the creek, keeping below the horizon line. He took an animal trail back into some rougher looking arroyos and vanished from sight. Both men left behind were sure that while they could no longer see Tanner, that he would not lose sight of them.

Chris rode beside Ezra now as they headed over that crest and down toward the creek. It was running low but still deep enough to splash up on their stirrups as they forded the water on horseback, ending up on the ridge side of the creek. Ezra dismounted and made a show of taking pleasure in the fresh water, pounding his clothing, raising a large cloud of dust, flapping his arms widely. Chris, still on his ride, sat there leaning over the pommel of his saddle and stared, not quite open-mouthed at the antics of the little gambler.

"Ez?"

Ezra sighed dramatically and raised his eyebrows at the taller man. "Mr. James. I have just come from riding through bone-dry and spit-sparse terrain, I am enjoying the fresh water and cooler air of this succulent spot." He let a small dimpled smile of smugness grace his features as his green eyes met Larabee's greeny-hazel ones.

Chris had a sudden desire to shout with laughter. Ezra was so perfect just now. He seldom saw the conman in action, unless he was Ezra's target so this was a different side of the man, confident - almost arrogant, maybe even cocky, and as bright as a new-minted coin. He liked what he saw. With a smile that he hid in his collar as he swung from the saddle, Chris joined Ezra by the creek.

They let both horses drink their fill before tethering them to a line back from the creek, near some large quaking trees that loomed tall over the watercourse. In the dappled sunlight, the two men set up a small working camp, gathered water-rounded stones to make a campfire ring and wood fall for the fire. Chris was the first to pull a looped line from his saddlebag and put a tiny metal hook on the end of it.

"Chris?"

Larabee jerked up in surprise at the sound of his first name, pricking his thumb with the fishhook. Damn! He grimaced and grit his teeth, trying to pull the end from his digit. Then two smaller hands were there, pushing away his larger one and tugging the injured one downward.

"Ah'm so sorry!" Ezra's rich southern vowels ballooned in his chagrin at causing the small mishap. What did I do now? How did this happen? Ezra was flustered beyond belief. Things like this never happen to the rest of the men, well, except maybe for JD and he had his youth and brashness as an excuse. I don't have one. "I didn't mean to startle you. Here, let me get that out."

Chris stood stone still, watching Ezra hunched over his hand. The pain receded as he absorbed the feel of those light, delicate touches to his hand, his rough calloused hand. "Ouch!" Damn, that hurt! Even Ezra couldn't make the pain go away when working the sharp bit of metal back out of his thumb, but he did do it cleanly, swiftly, and without fuss. Chris realized that Ezra had paled considerably in the past few minutes, that and his panicked apology were clues enough. Oh, shit, he blames himself for my clumsiness. "Ezra, I'm the one to say I'm sorry, it was my own fault I did this."

Standish looked doubtfully up at the bigger man. "I fear my form of address is what was the trigger. I only meant to speak thus as part of the roles we are playing." He looked back down at the hand still cradled between his own two. "The bleeding's nearly stopped." He brought the hand up to his mouth and then in a move he would later stare at, in absolute amazement and mortification, he began to suck on the bleeding thumb.

Oh, my god, what the hell is he doing now? Chris had been shocked into mishandling the fishhook when Ezra called him by his first name, but that was nothing compared to now. Ezra was actually sucking Larabee's thumb. And, then in a moment of sheer disjuncture from reality, Chris found that the rest of his own fingers on that injured hand curled, quite naturally, around Ezra's chin and jaw. He found those curling fingers touching skin still soft and smooth after nearly half a day's ride. Chris knew that Ezra had shaved that morning, hell, the man was religious about it, he'd seen that on the trail often enough. And now, those fingers were stroking that oh, so soft skin, feeling the bones beneath, feeling the jaw work as the man sucked him. Chris' eyes began to lose focus and drift half-shut, his knees began to bend, and his center seemed to be in the thumb of his left hand.

Ezra's eyes actually did close as he lost himself in the sensation of a part of Chris inside of his mouth. Oh, god, I must be dreaming, this can't be real. Then Chris began to respond, began to stroke Ezra with the fingers that half-cupped his chin.

Someone moaned.

Two sets of eyes opened wide and Ezra let go of Chris' hand, the thumb slipping out, wet but no longer bleeding. Chris opened his mouth to speak and nothing more than a half-hearted croak emerged on the end of an exhalation. What the *hell* was that?

Ezra was beginning to look as green as his eyes. What in the world was I thinking? Oh, please! Thinking? There was NO thinking involved in this, Ezra-child! Beginning to shake, he backed up a step, both hands going to his mouth now in almost-horror at what Chris would think of him now.

Larabee, though, was belatedly realizing he'd just missed a golden opportunity. His Green Eyes had briefly surfaced and instead of welcoming him, he'd gaped at him. Then, even when he HAD begun to respond, he'd not been deliberate enough, not shown enough of his feelings. No wonder Ezra was now doing the staring, eyes wide with some unhappy emotion. Damn, now how do I fix this?

"Ah, thanks, Ez." He tried a slow grin on. "Feel a bit like Androcles' lion here."

Ezra relaxed. It was alright! He was forgiven! He stood a bit straighter and a smile lit his own face in answer to Larabee's. "Well, then, should Ah bandage your 'paw'?"

Chris held up the thumb. "Nope, think it's fine as is, thanks to you."

Shit, did it again! He could see the disappointment flash briefly in those surprisingly open eyes before Ezra nodded and turned away.

Mentally chastising himself for hoping for too much, Ezra set himself to the task of setting out the bedrolls. He hesitated at the second one. On each side of the fire or the same side? He looked over at where Chris was now fastening the fishing line to a longish branch he'd cut from one of the younger saplings edging the shade trees.

With a few quick strokes of his knife, Larabee had trimmed the pole and was now ready to cast his line and hope to catch some supper. With a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Ezra was standing with his bedroll in hand, by the campfire, looking hesitant. A closer look told him that Ezra had one bedroll set up and was clearly hesitating over where to put the second one. "Put them on the same side of the fire, Ez. That way we can see each other without going fire-blind in the night looking across the flames. Never easy to see into the shadows if we did that." There that made some sense -- he hoped. All he really wanted was that the two sleeping spots be close together. He really didn't care what excuse was used to get them that way. However, Ezra wasn't questioning him, just setting up the second set of bedding beside the first.

Oh, this is just dandy. Right beside him. Well, I will get absolutely NO sleep tonight. Ezra finished folding the second blanket. On the other hand, he'll be right there. Right next to me. A small unbidden smile warmed his eyes. Something to remember for later. He let his fingers brush, ever so swiftly and gently, over Chris' blanket. Very close.

"Got one!"

Ezra looked up in surprise, swinging around to face the creek. There was Chris, his glorious blonde angel, standing there in the streaming sunlight, flashing the most adorably proud grin and holding up a glittering, wiggling freshwater trout. The scales shimmered silver in the sunlight as the fish dangled from the suspended line. Oh, I will remember this too! This picture of him laughing and smiling -- at me!

"You, dear sirrah, have provided a most excellent basis for our evening repast!" Ezra stepped away from the campsite and held out his hand. "I'll remove him from your keeping and start on dinner whilst you try to catch his cousin." Ezra enjoyed the silent flicker of surprise in the gleaming hazel eyes. Oh, yes, Chris, I still have a few surprises for you. Some are even nice ones.

Larabee expertly flicked the hook free of the creature's mouth and passed it over, fingers caught under the gills on one side. He'd somehow expected Ezra to be squeamish at the sight and touch of a freshly caught fish. Far from it, the man seemed ready to play cook. Damn, I wouldn't mind if that gang takes a while to notice us. 'course, Vin's out there too, but, Chris perked up a bit, he knows where I want to go with Ez. With a considering look at the retreating back of the coatless Ezra, now just in rolled up shirt sleeves, he turned and tossed the hooked line back into the water. Gotta go slow.

Ezra was feeling delightfully domestic. With Chris, I could get used to this. He gazed around the lightly wooded glade and down toward the shallows of the creek. With squinting consideration, he looked over the available wild herbs, evaluating them with an expertise that would have left both Nathan and Vin gaping in surprise. Of course, he'd learned to identify herbs when he lived with a chef in New Orleans as a callow youth foisted off on the dear man by Maude for nearly six months. It was a happier than normal memory. Jean-Paul had been tolerant, amused, and pleased when the young boy began to watch closely, then try some of the kitchen magic the Cajun chef regularly worked for one of the best hotels in the city.

He plucked some greens from the edge of the stream, and some fine wild onions from nearer to the woods. His hunting knife, which rarely saw the light of day in the company of the seven, flashed as he gutted and cleaned the large fish. This was going to be very tasty, he'd see to that. Unselfconsciously, Ezra shoved his sleeves even further up his arms, both bare since the derringer had seemed an inappropriate choice for his new persona.

Chris had caught a second fish within a few minutes, gutting this one himself since he'd not do any more fishing now. Bringing the freshly cleaned catch to the fireside, he discovered that Ezra had a medium fry pan heating on the rocks. Loose scales clung to Ezra's forearms, the sheen of the silvery bits highlighting the musculature that was usually hidden from view. Chris yearned to touch the firm, strong limbs. Instead, he set the second fish down beside the one that Ezra was sprinkling with what looked like some new greens. Just then both men heard a twig break back in the glade.

Through the shadow broken sunlight, the waiting men watched as a form gradually took on substance, became a traveler leading his horse. Now, as if realizing that others were near the stream ahead of him, a voice hailed the camp. "Halloo the camp! Alone and coming in peaceful."

Chris dropped his temporary fishing pole at his feet and called an answer. "Come in unarmed and welcome."

Then the stranger was out of the shadows of the trees and in the clearing, his horse looking rather fresh for one who'd presumably been traveling for a while. The tall thin man had a straggling mustache that made his face seem longer than the already horse-like features were. He stood before them in an odd collection of old clothing, some patched, all looking in need of cleaning, Ezra thought with distaste. Larabee saw the iron beneath the mild manners and kept a wary stance. "You need some coffee?"

With a sigh, the other answered. "Sure would like some, haven't had a decent cup in a spell. Name's Gant, Ralph Gant." He offered the last slowly, watching as if to see the reaction of the other two men.

Ezra instantly recognized the name and then, more slowly, the face. He cursed his constant headache that left him with blurring vision in waves that he could not control. At the moment, the other man was a rather fuzzy creature. He looked down at what had been a clear pan full of fish and herbs and now was a brownish spotted blur. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground beside the campfire.

Chris, who'd been about to respond to Gant, looked over in alarm as Ezra paled and slowly sat down, looking rather dizzy. "Ezra? You feelin' poorly again?" He ignored Gant as he squatted beside the small gambler, putting a hand on the damp, chilled forehead. He needed to get some of Nathan's tea into the man. The last few days, Ezra had seemed fine, or maybe, just hidden it well. With Vin present, it was easier to be distracted. Had he just not seen this? Chris worried as he pulled the buckskin packet of medicine from his saddlebag. A small pan of water was quickly put on to the campfire, and then, when a pinch of the tea was added, and Ezra settled down on his bedroll, looking rather drawn and quiet, Chris finally turned back to their visitor.

Gant had remained quiet, watching as the smaller of the two men suddenly faded in front of them. Before the bigger man, all dressed in dark clothing, could answer Ralph, the one he called Ezra was down. The interaction that followed told Gant a lot more about these two men than any searching conversation might have. They were good friends, cared about each other, that was clear. The big'un seemed to be a bit worried about the other who wasn't doin' too well.

Larabee broke the small silence. "Name is Chris James. This here is my friend Ezra Sutler." He didn't volunteer any more, remembering Ezra's coaching to remain vague.

"Sutler there don't seem to be doing all that well."

"Building fell on him a few days ago." Chris damned his errant tongue. He hadn't meant to say that. He cast another look over at Ezra whose eyes were now closed. No change.

"That's a bit hard on the body," Gant admitted curiously. "How'd that happen?" He settled down by the fire on his heels.

Chris wished for Ezra's glib tongue and looked rather desperately over at his partner. Ezra responded. Likely been listening all along, Chris decided as the southern tones shone in rounded syllables once more. "More mah fault than mah friend's. Ah underestimated mah explosives." Ezra managed to convey a shrug without moving. "Ah can promise that won't evah happen again."

Larabee hid a smile by ducking his head to check the water, now steaming, the tea herbs discoloring it as they steeped in it. He just had to think about the rough band of men and what they had done lately to lose the smile. He looked up into assessing brown eyes. "We got enough food, if you want to stay for a meal?"

"Right kind of you, James." Gant nodded. "You sound like you're from the Midwest?"

"Kansas, once upon a time." Chris felt comfortable with this role thanks to Ezra. "Ez is from the deep south, though."

Gant smiled slightly. "Yeah, I figured that out." He stood and stretched. "I'll just unsaddled my ride for a bit, let her graze." He sauntered off as Chris watched him.

Turning back to Ezra, Chris did not like the way the man still looked so wan. "Ezra?"

"Chris, it's just the concussion acting up. I'll be fine in a bit, I'm just sorry I didn't prepare the meal for you yet." Chris was touched by the regret that colored Ezra's tone. He wanted to do that for me. Chris strained to hear the quiet voice, fading slightly now. "I don't think I'll manage any food myself now. You share with our new friend. I think I'll just rest a while."

"Ezra!" Chris sat down beside his friend and slipped an arm under the smaller man's back, lifting him up against his chest. "Don't sleep yet, Ez, I have some willow bark tea for you -- it'll help with the pain."

Standish blinked at the concern in Larabee's voice. For me? He looked up, owl-eyed, trying to stay awake. The sudden confusions and vision distortions making it difficult. "I'll try to stay with you."

Gant, coming back and overhearing the low conversation, hunkered over the campfire and grabbed at the pan with a bit of cloth lying there. "Got a mug for this? I'll pour it in for you."

Chris nodded his thanks and jerked his chin to the side where Gant spotted the small pile of items dumped from a saddlebag. He pulled out a mug and put the tea in it carefully, then handed it over to Chris James. James took it with a muttered, "Thanks," and turned to face his ailing friend again.

Gant studied the pan of fish. Looks like this is ready for the fire. He shifted it over on to the flames, adding the rest of the chopped greens from the small mound by a flat end of wood that had obviously been the temporary chopping board. He poked through the small hoard of cooking supplies and came up with a sack of salt, adding a pinch to the frying fish. He tossed the small wild onions into the pan that had held the tea, adding a bit of salt and water. Put that on the flames too. This would be right tasty he thought. When he looked up, it was to see the other two men still sitting together, Chris watching him silently, while the smaller man, Ezra, seemed to have nodded off, his head resting on Chris' shoulder.

"Seem to be right close friends," Ralph ventured carefully.

"Yeah." Chris looked down at Ezra, who had drunk down the tea without complaint, clearly knowing it was from Nathan. Ezra had closed his eyes then and quietly drifted off to sleep. Chris had cursed himself and Judge Travis for sending this man out on a job when he was still recovering from an injury. Of course, Travis hadn't yet heard about the explosions and the attempted bank robbery when he'd come into the saloon that day from the stage. But later, before they'd left Four Corners, he'd been told and still hadn't said anything. If anything, he'd looked rather strangely at both Chris and Ezra but didn't comment.

Wonder if Mary done poisoned the well? Chris wanted to spit at that thought but turned his thoughts outward instead. Too late for recriminations, we got us a situation to deal with here.

"Thanks for setting the dinner on the fire."

"Least I could do, seeing as how you offered to share it."

Both men were silent then, waiting for the fish to finish, the onions adding a pleasant scent to the air, as did the herbed fish. Gant pulled the cooking pans from the fire and hunted up some tin plates. "Don't bother for Ezra. He told me he won't be able to keep any down just now."

Ralph shrugged and divided the small meal into two portions. He handed one plate with a metal fork to Chris, took another and sat down on a handy rock. Chris put the plate on his lap so he could eat single handed, his other arm still holding a sleeping Ezra close to him. This feels so natural. I like this. He ate with contentment.

Meal over, Gant volunteered to wash the pans and plates down at the stream. Chris agreed gratefully, he was focused again on Ezra who was feeling hot, got a slight fever. Larabee didn't notice Ralph leave, too busy setting the small gambler on to the blankets and tucking him in. Need to get some fresh, cold water, wash him down, get him to drink some too. He rose and pulled a shirt from his saddlebag, headed down to the stream.

Chris found Ralph there, scouring the pans with river sand and rinsing with water. "Ezra's running a bit of fever. Figure I better keep him cool, make him drink."

"Lucky you're here at a fresh water stream." Gant could see that the other man was distracted, might be a good time to get some more information as he'd intended when he'd come down to check them out. "You boys headed anywhere particular?"

"Nope."

Damn man seemed to like saying nothing. Gant tried again. "Not much out this way."

"Why we're here. Needed to get away from crowds for a bit. Was getting hot and uncomfortable for both of us."

Gant nodded wisely. "Same with me. I'm meeting up with some boys, will ride with them for a spell. If you're not too particular, you could join up?"

Chris wondered how he should answer. Decided to stray on the side of caution. "Maybe. Have to meet them first." He looked back over his shoulder. "Got to make sure Ezra's ready too."

"Noticed he's still wearing the Gray."

Chris nodded slowly. "In his heart, he never really left the south or General Lee."

"Like that, huh?" Gant didn't say any more but these old boys looked like promising candidates for his band of men. Gant himself had been a scout with the Confederate cavalry but after a bad defeat in an overmatched encounter, he decided to try his hand at guerilla tactics. He'd heard of Quantrill and quickly decided to emulate the man. It wasn't hard to gather other malcontents, hearts pinned to the South, but unhappy at the bitter defeats.

When the South officially surrendered at Appomattox, Gant and his followers did not admit defeat. They continued to wage war with small raids. Gradually, as the years went by, their honor bound motives blurred and their targets became more those of profit than those of revenge. But still, by keeping to certain standards, they had protected themselves and kept safe. Never would a Yankee ride with them. Never would they ride to harm those of the South, lessen they be black. Simple rules that kept the group together and free of betrayal.

Now it looked like they could add at least one, maybe two -- here, Gant looked doubtfully down at Sutler -- more men to the group. It had dwindled of late, a few deaths, and a few just rode away, claiming age, aches, and just plain exhaustion.

"If you stay here a day or two, I might be able to introduce you to my friends."

Chris figured they had done it. They were in. As easy as that. "Don't look like we'll be ready to go anywhere for a spell, anyway." They were back at the campsite by this time and he knelt by Ezra, wiping the sleeping man's face with the cold, wet cloth. When Ezra stirred, he helped him raise his head enough for drink some of the fresh water from a canteen. "Easy there, Ez." He let the water trickle into the waiting mouth. "Drink slow."

When Ezra had had enough and started to refuse more water, Chris eased him back down on his blanket and covered him up, wiping his forehead once more. Leaving a hand resting on his man's chest, feeling the even rise and fall of breathing, he faced their guest. "Got to warn you, we ain't welcome in some towns. Bit of a dust up here and there."

Ralph grinned. "Same here. Ought to get along right well."

The afternoon passed quietly after that. Chris stayed awake, bathing Ezra's face, later his arms and chest when the fever got higher, finally spiked and then began to lessen. Larabee watched as Gant set up a bedroll on the other side of the fire, lying down and taking a nap, at least, that's what it had looked like. Don't much fancy that man, he's too smart. Too confident. Larabee felt the hairs on the backs of his arms rise but this is what they were here for, nothing to do but wait, hope Ezra would get better and that they could get this over with. He looked down at the sweet, sweaty face that lay, half-turned, into his thigh. Sweet Green Eyed man, you have me, if only you knew it. He gently brushed his fingers through the damp curls that framed that childlike face.

"Angel?" The soft whisper had Chris hunching down.

"Right here, Green Eyes." Chris smiled, rubbing a knuckle across one cheek that bloomed with the blush of departing fever. "You just rest, I'm keeping watch." He called me angel again! One of these days, I'm gonna get that out of him when he isn't sick, Chris vowed with a smile.

Ezra sank into sleep with the sound of that wonderful purring voice, calling him Green Eyes and saying he'd be watched. Safe with his angel, Ezra slept.

Ezra dreamt of a battlefield veiled in gun smoke, the cries of the wounded keening against their fates. He yearned to leave this place, to be rid of war and all the misery and death it brought. He struggled with the huge cannon that was his to command, his men strained to follow his orders as the direction of battle moved closer and fellow confederate soldiers fled back through the ranks, through their battery.

Cavalry troopers came next, lathered mounts jumping over the carillons with squeals of pain at abused and bleeding flanks. Some were rider-less, others becoming so as they crested the gun mounts. An officer fell beside Ezra, his long frame like a scarecrow's. Ezra caught him under the arms and dragged him clear of the gun's rebound path. Dark brown eyes, lit with anger and pain, looked up into his tired green ones. A straggling mustache outlined the man's upper lip.

Ezra was pulled back to the moment by the scream of one of his powder boys, then he was adjusting the sight on the cannon and stepping back with a cry of "Fire!" Sharp acrid smell of smoke mingled with the taint of blood and made steady stomachs sick. Then the tall cavalry officer was by Ezra's side. "Captain Ralph Gant at your command, sir!"

Ezra flashed a bright dimpled smile, his teeth white against his smoke-darkened face. "Sir, Captain Ezra Sutler, sir!"

The smells faded, the smoke seemed to gray more and fill his vision, the sounds of battle muting until finally he floated in a subtle haze of dream-sleep. Gant's name emerged again. "It's Gant's Guerillas!" The angry cry coming from one of the scouts that drew savage rein on a sweating mount, dragging the poor steed down on its haunches as it spun and dashed back out toward the skirmish going on up the road. Ezra ordered his battery of cannons deployed in a curving arc to face the road, form an anchor for his company of men. The troops ahead were fighting a pitched battle with their own side, with renegades who still wore Gray and swore they were loyal to the South but who did not flinch from raiding the dwindling supplies of the Army of the South as they fought for their own survival. Ezra struggled to ensure that all the guns were loaded and each sight aimed just so. There was a blast of trumpet and then the sound of massed horses charging up the road toward them. "It's Gant!" the cry went up and some men fled, to Ezra's dismay. He pulled his pistol, but his own crews held fast, more loyal to their officer than to the cause. They'd stay by Sutler to the end, he had long since earned their respect, obedience - and loyalty.

Chris wakened to the quick movements and struggle of the tired man at his side. He'd somehow fallen asleep beside Ezra, intending to stay watch. He stole a look across the smoldering remains of the campfire. It was early evening and their visitor, Gant, sat there, back against his saddle having evidently brought his gear to the fireside. As an obvious courtesy, he'd not set up directly across the fire, but at an angle so that he could be seen without the smoke interfering. He sat with his feet crossed at the ankles, smoking a short cigar and watching the other two men.

Chris didn't bother to speak, his attention pulled back to his partner, as Ezra moaned softly and cried out something incomprehensible. "Ez. Ezra, wake up now, it's alright." He put hands on the small man's shoulders and held tight, squeezing firmly. He was rewarded by the opening of those green eyes, confused and sleep-muddled now, but still stunning. He smiled into their hazy depths. "Hey, Green Eyes, take it easy, was just a dream."

Ezra locked onto the hazel eyes of his secret love and was reassured. It would be alright now, Chris was here. Why had he had that dream? It had been so long since the nightmares of that unfortunate war had left him, to reappear now was disheartening. Not totally unexpected though, after all he was dressed in Confederate Gray and pretending to be still tied to that dreadful time emotionally. No, it was more than that, it was -- "Gant!" the name came out as a hissed cry.

Across the way, Ralph sat up a bit. Something was going on here, the sick man had just called out his name. He knows me somehow. Gant shrugged and sucked on his cigar, waiting. His men weren't far and were alert for any signals. He wasn't in any danger.

Chris was puzzled and simply rested one hand on Ezra's cheek. "What is it, Ez?"

Standish was trying to sit up, the dizziness and blurred vision gone again. He fought off Chris' hands so that he could sit up straight and face the man he sensed across the campfire. "Gant!" This time he spoke clearly, loudly.

"Yeah?" Ralph wasn't too sure what the man called Sutler wanted, but he seemed a bit upset.

"Captain Ralph Gant?"

"Sir, you have the advantage of me." Gant didn't rise, but he pulled his legs up, to sit cross-legged and face the pale man leaning on the dark clad Chris James.

"Captain Ezra Sutler, Battery Commander, sirrah, at yoah service, sir!" Ezra had managed a salute with that last. He sagged back against Chris now and waited. He really didn't need the physical support anymore but was not above using the opportunity to be close to his companion. Alert now, rested and feeling better, Nathan's teas were good, no doubt about it, he was ready to return to the 'game.'

Gant narrowed his gaze, studying the small man sitting there with a proud, defiant look. "Yes. I do remember you. Think I lost my seat just above your gun while in a final losing battle?"

"You fell to earth at mah feet. Nearly got yourself run over by a firin' cannon."

"You pulled me free of it. I remember you now, Captain." Gant did in fact remember. The young captain, fighting on so valiantly in the face of defeat. He even remembered envying the younger man's staunch willingness to hold his post no matter what. "You look a bit different now, Captain."

"Captain no more." Ezra laid a hand on Chris' nearest thigh, possessively. Felt his leader tense then relax beside him. He does trust me! Ezra fought to keep his attention on the man across the fire. "The South betrayed me in the end. I've been wandering a bit since then."

"War's been over for years, Sutler."

"For some Captain Gant, for some."

"For me, it has, and I too am captain no more. Though," here he paused to study the two before him once again, "though I think I've fared a bit better than you."

"No, sir, if you are alive, and I am alive, we have BOTH of us fared better than our unfortunate compatriots who languish now, most assuredly in unmarked communal graves. Abandoned like so much rotted refuse from the fields of battle, never to be called fields of honor in my hearing!" Chris slipped an arm around behind the man at his side, circling tautly muscled shoulders that trembled with feeling. He was shocked at the bitterness and anger emanating from Ezra. The gambler usually seemed to let nothing bother him deeply and now this was like a festering wound just lanced and leaking vile, putrefying hate. At whom was it directed, he wondered uneasily, holding tightly to his companion now.

Gant had listened with growing interest and sympathy for this fellow compatriot. "Seems like we've traveled the same path, Sutler."

Ezra didn't answer, staring into the low flames that sparked among the remnants of the fire. Gant followed his gaze, then got up to his knees to feed the fire and prod it back to life with a long stick. Settling back, he found that Chris James now sat against a saddle and had gotten the smaller man to sit in front of him, so that now he sat encircling Sutler with his longer arms. Chris spoke next. "Ezra don't need you, though, he don't need anyone except me."

Gant cocked his head and met the steady green gaze of the former gunnery commander. "Like that, is it, Sutler?"

Ezra had to back Chris' play even though he didn't like what the older man had done. By admitting to such a close relationship, no matter how untrue, he was showing a weakness that could later be exploited. The trouble was that Larabee just didn't have the mind to appreciate that, he couldn't see down the twisted paths that were second nature to the gambler and conman. "Yes." What else could he say? Ezra felt the quick hug from Chris and wondered. Turning to the their adversary, he continued. "Chris and I have been together for a while now, but two alone find the world a difficult place."

"I was telling your partner about my men. A group of like-minded boys who ride with me. We're meeting here in the next few days. If you want, you'd be welcome to ride with us." He looked sharply at the supine shape of the small ex-Confederate officer, adding, "If you have recovered enough by then."

"Ah shall be fine. Just a minor inconvenience at the moment. Mah doctor had informed me the affects might linger for a week that is nigh on done now. This last little relapse was likely in fact the very last." Chris looked down doubtfully at that but kept his mouth closed. Very wise, Mr. Larabee, let the master work.

Chris saw the spark of amusement glitter briefly in those telling green eyes of his little siren and thought that he'd really, really like it if Ralph Gant would just ride on out, now. Of course, if wishes were horses -- he sighed and thought about how he could manage to keep Ezra in his arms as long as possible. Don't want to ever let him go.

Vin had inserted his lean body into the dry brush of the neighboring hillside, his tan buckskins blending with the dry landscape. He had ground tied Peso some distance back and was sprawled out on his belly as he watched Chris and Ezra through his spy glass. By the time he'd found this spot and scouted out the hidden gang camp up on the ridge, they'd been right, there were about thirty men up there just now, he'd decided to watch and wait for now. Weren't really that big a bunch but no telling if this was all of them. He'd seen the one sneak down the ridge and approach Chris' and Ez's camp though a screen of trees.

The meeting seemed to go well enough until Ezra collapsed. Vin cursed under his breath. That damn concussion from the grange roof landing on the man's head. He knew that Nate had warned it was still on the mend, but Ezra had seemed so natural on the ride here that he and Chris hadn't had any sign of Ezra being still sick. Now they had sign. Vin curled on to his side and continued his watch.

Gant offered beans from his saddlebags for dinner. Chris added some hardtack that could be softened in the beans, help flavor them. Ezra, who'd been feeling himself for a while suggested they might like some biscuits. The other two men had eyed him in surprise but he pulled a small bag from his tack and added water from the canteen to it in a small bowl. He'd melted a bit of lard on the bottom of a pan and now put some flattened rolls of the dough on the pan, edging it close to the fire. By the time the beans and beef were stirred and heated, Ezra had flipped over the small mounds of now golden pastry, and had six medium sized biscuits ready and warm.

The men feasted on the beans, beef and sopped it all up with the soft, warm biscuits. "You been holding out on me, Ez?" Chris asked quietly as he gathered the tins to take down to the creek to wash.

Ezra blushed and smiled cheekily. "Never pays to be without a surprise or two, mah friend." He was dusting his hands on his trousers carelessly. This was definitely a different Ezra, more relaxed in some ways, less finicky for sure, but also strung out some in other ways, Chris was going to have to watch him.

Gant sipped at the coffee and accepted a nip of whiskey from Sutler to add to it as James went off to do the pans and tins at the creek, saying Gant had done it at midday, was his turn now.

"You been a long time on the trail, Sutler."

"Please, Ralph, if I may?" Ezra paused and accepted the nodding permission, "I feel as though we've known each other for years, it seems hardly right to continue last names, call me Ezra. And, Chris will answer better to that than his last name. He has some problems because of distant family members."

Gant nodded knowingly, "Thought that might be a connection, him being from Kansas and Jesse and Frank James being from there too."

"He hasn't seen them in a long time and doesn't like to talk about them," Ezra warned.

"Can understand that." Ralph turned at the sound of Larabee's return. "Hey, Chris, everything alright down there?"

Larabee entered the clearing, one eyebrow raised at the use of his first name in such a friendly fashion, must be Ezra working his conning again. Chris shrugged, "Seemed quiet enough to me."

Gant looked out into the night, knowing the campfires on the ridge would be invisible from down here by the creek bed. "Maybe tomorrow I'll ride out and look for the boys. If I find 'em, should we head back this way? You two want some company?"

Ezra exchanged a look with Chris. It was the older man's place to answer, even though Ezra knew this man a bit. This was why they were here. "Sure. Why not?" Larabee let his voice reflect his solidity and his lack of worry over this new development.

Agreement reached, the men settled in for coffee and then sleep, Chris making sure that his bedroll was between Gant's and Standish's. He was only trying to keep things calm, he defended himself silently. Sure you are, Larabee, his 'self' answered him smugly.

Morning saw Larabee and Gant waking instantly with Standish half-up on his knees in bleary alertness at the sounds of a mule deer barging through the brush and trees, heading for the water and then startled to find the campsite in its path. "What? What?" Ezra's gun was out but pointed ground-ward as he looked around in confusion.

Larabee, who was holstering his own weapon, grinned at the befuddled man. "Ezra, it was just a deer. Put away your gun."

"And thus be deprived of venison?" Ezra was staggering to his feet by now, looking ready to chase the meal on legs to the ground.

Gant nearly laughed aloud. The little guy was full of surprises, probably how he survived the war, he thought more soberly, returning his own gun to his tie down. "Don't think it hung around long enough for you to find it now, Ezra."

Standish whirled to face Gant, his gun coming up momentarily before recognition set in. By then, Chris had put a hand up over Ezra's gun hand and forced the barrel sight away from Gant's direction. "Easy there, Ez, Ralph's been with us since last night."

Ezra dropped his hand the rest of the way to his side and looked apologetically over at Gant. "Sir, I am sorry for my brief lapse of manners."

Gant grinned. "No problem, long as your partner there keeps you on a tight rein."

Ezra glanced down at Larabee who still sat on his own blankets. "Yes, well, he tries."

The tall thin outlaw stood now and offered, "I'll fill the coffee pot with fresh water."

The other men didn't object, so he strolled down to the creek, pulling a small flat piece of polished steel from his waistband. He could signal the boys from down by the water, if he crossed to the far side.

Vin crawled back to his vantage point. He'd slept the darkest part of the night, his senses on alert for any strange noises but it had been peaceful, quiet. He stretched carefully so as not to give away his position as he raised his eyeglass for a peep. He just made out the stranger walking off towards the water with the coffee pot in one hand. Ezra and Chris were folding up their bedrolls back by the campfire.

He lowered his eyeglass to swipe at his eyes when he heard a distinctive click beside his ear. Vin froze, a curse full blown in his mind, but saying nothing.

"Good boy, now you just stay right still, boy and you might just live to see another sunset."

The rough voice did nothing to sooth Vin's fear. How had anyone snuck up on him? Passing Peso? The man was good, better than he was, Vin acknowledged.

Gant was pleased to get a return signal from the heights as he stood knee deep in the water looking above the creek-side glade. They'd been keeping watch and would send down some men now.

He returned to the simple camp to find that both Chris and Ezra had tidied away all the things except for coffee and mugs, the bedrolls tied behind the saddles still sitting royally in abandon on the ground.

Joining these two, he set the coffeepot on the fire and added the ground beans that Ezra offered wordlessly. No one was talking now. Not an uncomfortable silence though, just three taciturn men. Gant smiled, yep, they'd fit in perfectly with his bunch.

As they were finishing their coffee, the clatter of several horses on the stones of the creek bed warned the trio that their space was about to be invaded. Chris and Ezra both drew their weapons and moved back to more protected spots among the fallen trees. Ralph smiled and stood waiting, the other two men eyeing him suspiciously.

Then the new comers were in the camp, their horses dwarfing the small space as they twisted about trying to find room to maneuver. Gant called out, "Dismount, boys!"

The group of six men climbed off their mounts and stood facing Gant, in a loose half-circle. One, with dark red hair and bright blue eyes, stood forward. "Hey cap, everything alright here?"

Ralph grinned and clapped his hands together. "Just great, Bart, and I think we got us some new recruits, too." He gestured to the half-hidden men to come out of hiding. "Like you boys to meet Chris James and Ezra Sutler. They've said they'd ride with us."

The one called Bart nodded but the rest of the men simply eyed the strangers distrustfully. They were indeed a rough looking bunch, Ezra decided as he slipped his gun back into its holster. If half of what the good judge said they'd done was true, then he was looking at some truly evil men, murderers. Thieves. Vandals. Ezra put on a bold face and walked up to Gant's side. He made a show of looking over the men that were staring down at him, once again, he was the shortest man in sight, he sighed. "These are your 'boys,' Ralph?"

Gant hooted a laugh and slapped his thigh. "Some o'them, anyways." He glanced over his shoulder to see Chris James had yet to put down his weapon and was looking at the intruders with caution. "Hey, Chris, these boys belong to me, no need to worry none." He watched as James slowly re-holstered his weapon and came forward to stand just behind Ezra without touching.

There was a loud "Halloo!" followed by new noise coming from the opposite direction on the creek bed from where these men had come. With great splashing and then clattering of hooves, two more men arrived, with, Chris saw, Peso on a lead rope, and, his heart sank, Vin Tanner draped, hopefully just unconscious, over the saddle, tied in place.

Ezra watched the drama unfold with a tingling sensation. This was the old days come to life, a con in progress, a new twist that had to be accommodated. Only this time, the new twist was the body of one of his friends. The two men who brought Vin Tanner's body into the clearing drew to a halt only a few feet from where Gant stood, arms now folded as he frowned at them.

Both of the men were dressed in clothing very similar to Tanner's buckskins making Ezra think they too were scouts or trackers. The older looking of the two men spoke. "Circled round like always. Found him spying on ya, looked from his dry camp as if he'd been doing it since at least yesterday."

Ezra spoke up now, hoping to salvage something. "Vin Tanner." Everyone swung around to look at him and he felt a strong hand clench at his shoulders. Trust me on this Chris, he thought hard to his companion without sparing a backward look. "That man is a bounty hunter. He's been after us for a bit, thought we lost him back yonder." Ezra gestured vaguely in the direction from which they'd come. He'd already decided that it would be best to indicate they'd traveled the same path, he could only hope these two men in front of him weren't good enough to tell that Tanner had led them part way.

"Shoot him then, cap?" The younger tracker looked ready to do the deed but Ezra interrupted again.

"Ralph, no, wait. He's got a price on his own head, over five hundred dollars alive. Besides, Chris here has some personal 'business' to settle with him. Let us have him?"

Gant looked over at James who stood like stone behind the smaller man. He does look angry, Gant thought, might be a way to get some loyalty if I give him something for nothing. "We won't slow down none, once we hit the trail, Ezra, you sure about this?"

"If we can't keep him up with us, Chris will dispatch him."

Gant checked again on the dark clad gunslinger who nodded agreement.

"Alright, he's yours for now." He watched as Chris James walked stiff-legged over to the body of the bounty hunter and checked the bindings, checking the man as well, then taking up the lead of the horse and leading it over toward where their other mounts were still tied down. Man sure don't say much, Gant decided, turning back to Sutler. "Ezra, I'll introduce you to the rest of the boys once we make camp, you and Chris saddle up."

Standish exhaled lightly through his nostrils, keeping his face congenial and cooperative. Chris had been a powder keg from the moment Peso entered the clearing carrying Vin's body. It was all he could do to derail that train before they had a major wreck.

For now, things were at least under minimal control, and, Ezra decided, it was up to him to see that they remained that way. Chris would be useless now that he was hovering protectively over his best friend. Ezra chided himself on the sudden hollow feeling in his chest. Meaningless. Imagined. Self-delusional. He stiffened his spine and blinked back a drift of sadness at the sight of the tall blonde now so far from his side. It had felt good to have Chris beside him, there for him. Well, he still was, just had another priority now, which was as it should be, Ezra reminded himself brutally. After all, Vin was their friend, and he was hurt and captive, he needs Chris -- and me.

Since their camp had essentially already been taken down it was the work of only a few minutes for the three men to saddle their mounts and move out with the rest of Gant's men.

Pulling into the ridge camp, a subtly familiar bivouac, Ezra looked around curiously. They were high above the meandering watercourse of Wheeler's Campsite now, with Gopher's Creek unseen but suggested by the fringe of willows and old growth trees that created a great green swath along its path. The camp was laid out with simple two and four men tents, four around each campfire, the fires running in line along the crest of the ridge. They'd be impossible to spot from below because of the width of the ridge and the trees that marched up the rolling back of the hill. Low scrubs edged the bluff face that cut away down to the creek below. It had taken a switchback trail to reach this height from the camp below.

The riders dispersed once they'd ridden into camp, dismounting and leading their animals to the remuda lines at the far end of the camp, leaving Gant with his newest recruits and the captive, still dead to the world. One of the other riders had led Gant's horse away.

Ralph Gant stood looking out over his men and their camp. Disciplined and quiet, it spoke of good management. He let a little pride swell his chest for a moment before turning back to the new men. "We have some extra tents at the moment. I'll give you a four-man tent. You can stake out your prisoner in it with you." He waited for objections but the two men in front of him remained stoic, nodding. "Carlton!" he called to a passing young man, barely out of his teens. He waited for the youth to come to him before issuing orders. "Set up the extra four-man over by Bart's tent. Show these men how to do it, where to put their horses, where to get supplies. Ezra, Chris, this is Carlton, he'll take care of you." With that Gant strode off, intent on meeting with his second in command, Bart McMurray. They'd a few things to settle before the next raid.

The young man was a washed out blonde with stringy hair and a pimply face. He shrugged at the two newcomers and led the way to a campfire with only three tents. Chris ground tied the horses and started for Vin, but Ezra caught his sleeve and shook his head. Chris frowned, damn it, he needed to tend to Vin, why was Ezra stopping him?

Ezra saw the stubborn set of Larabee's jaw and leaned in close, chest-to-chest and stared up at the dark hazel eyes. "Chris, you must wait just a little longer or we will kill Vin by revealing all. Please."

Larabee met those telling green eyes and sighed. He could read the troubled sincerity there and knew Ezra was right. When did the man get to be so smart? Guess he always was. He flicked a glance over at the motionless tracker still bound to the saddle of his own mount. Wait, Vin, we'll get to you soon. The tension he felt made him wonder about his feelings for Ezra. Sure he respected what the man had just done down by the creek, saving both Vin and him, but now, he seemed so bloodless, so unfeeling. While Chris felt himself torn with worry over his friend, his brother Vin. How could Ezra not feel the same? Damn it Larabee, you know why not, Vin and you have a very special thing going, ain't like Ezra has anything like that. And that made a sharp pain shoot through him. He nearly ducked at the sudden bolt to his stomach.

Thoroughly confused, he watched silently as Ezra assisted the pimply youth in setting up the simple box tent that could sleep four men according to Gant. It reminded him of the army tents from the war. Ez was going to kiss the kid's goddamn ass in a minute, Larabee thought grimly, watching the conman's slick antics. The kid was actually laughing and sharing whispered comments with Standish now. This was the same sour faced kid who'd met Gant with an expressionless look. Ezra surely did have a gift. But, damn it, they didn't have time for this, Vin didn't have time. And just as he thought that, Ezra gave the young man a pleasant slap on the shoulder and a last remark, still unheard by Larabee. The kid wandered off and Ezra was swinging around to Larabee, his face dropping the mask of amused pleasantry for one of earnest concern.

"Come, Chris, let's get our things inside, and the prisoner." He spoke fairly loudly now, anyone near by could hear. Larabee made a bee-line for the unconscious form draped over the saddle. It was only a moment's work to cut the man free and pull him off. Vin's dead weight carried Larabee nearly to the ground, but Chris was up and hefting the lean tracker on to his shoulder immediately. Standish stayed out of the way, then moved in to remove saddle bags and personal weapons from their gear. He dumped everything just inside the tent. He could see that Chris already had Vin on the ground and was trying to rouse him.

"Chris?" Ezra waited until the other man turned around. "Keep your voice down, be careful. Here are our saddlebags, and Tanner's. I'll take the horses over to the remuda lines and unsaddle them."

Chris waved a hand of acknowledgement before turning back to his friend. "Vin? Come on, pard, wake up." He knelt there worried about the tracker whilst another part of him wanted to go, follow Ezra, make sure the conman was safe, had someone to watch his back. But Vin needed him right now and Ezra seemed in perfect control, the con man running his con. Chris sighed. When did things go so wrong? Get so complicated? He grit his teeth as he pulled Vin's lax body close, supporting his head on one leg as he wiped away the blood from a bad gash on the side of his head. He reached over and pulled a canteen close, then Ezra's saddlebags. The guy was bound to have extra clothes, might not be his fancy stuff, but he couldn't abide bein' dirty so there'd be extras. Delving in one-handed, he retrieved another plaid work shirt. This'll do. He tore off a strip from the bottom and moistened it with water from the canteen, preparing it for the ex-bounty hunter's head.

As he worked, two bright blue eyes blinked open and a soft voice asked, "Chris?"

"Hush, Vin. You're alright. We got you." Larabee tried to be reassuring but wasn't sure how convincing he sounded. Just then Ezra came back into the tent, carrying horse blankets.

"I thought these might help with the ground." He noticed that Vin was finally awake and smiled. "Well, hello there, Mr. Tanner! How are you faring?" He came over and squatted down beside the pair, but at a slight distance. Chris frowned. He recognized what Ezra was doing and didn't like it but wasn't sure what to do about it -- again.

Vin stared at the gambler, his mind clearing. "Got caught." He turned to look up at his best friend. "Sorry, Chris. They was better'n me, snuck up on me."

Chris touched the frown away from his friend's countenance. "Not your fault."

"Yes, well, now that we've settled that," Ezra cleared his throat and sat back on his heels, keeping his poker face firmly in place, "you need to know that you are our prisoner, Mr. Tanner. We recognized you immediately when Gant's men brought you in. We knew you were the bounty hunter that had been following us. Gant offered to kill you for us, but I pointed out that you had a bounty on your head, if caught alive, and that Chris James here had some personal business to conduct with you." He knew it was a lot but he'd purposefully kept his vocabulary down to the common level, needing Vin to understand and absorb the information quickly, even in his possibly concussed state.

Tanner had listened attentively as Chris tied off the bandage he'd been creating. "Got it, Ez. So I'm your prisoner now." He cocked an eyebrow up in amusement at Larabee, one side of his mouth quirking as well.

"So see that you hop to it if I give you an order." Chris managed mock anger towards the tracker, smiling.

Ezra rose gracefully to his feet and backed away, knowing he was intruding on a private moment. He wasn't sure why he felt such a sense of loneliness just now, but he pushed it away and set to organizing the rest of the bedding. He'd sleep by the opening of the tent, he could sleep light when he needed to, another surprise, Mr. Larabee, he thought, wondering why he felt so sad. He kept his back to his two friends, unable however to keep from overhearing Chris' soft reassurances to Vin that he'd be fine, that Chris would protect him. Ezra hunched his shoulders and tidied the already orderly row of their few belongings. Then, with a pain he could no longer deal with effectively, he stood and went to the opening. "I think I shall see what there is to see of the camp. Do not worry, I shall not wander far and will be back with news of dinner and our situation within the hour." With that, not looking back, he slipped out into the gradually, increasingly busy camp.

Ezra emerged from the tent, dropping the canvas fold down to provide privacy for those still within. He fought off the sense of loss. No time for that, for those feelings. He'd been promised nothing. Nothing. He rolled his shoulders to try to ease his growing tension. Focus, focus. Trouble was, just being here was what was at least part of what was making him so tense. First Travis, wanting him to impersonate an embittered ex-Confederate soldier, then Gant, who turned out to be the leader of this lawless bunch -- and who had personal history - however limited - with Ezra, and then, just the whole ambience of the camp. It was like stepping back in time. Something he really had no desire to do. Not a choice, mah friend, so make the best of it. He tugged his kepi down over his brow and started back toward the head of the camp, walking slowly, letting the other men get a good look at him, and incidentally, getting a good look at them.

The first things he noticed were the deep lines on all the faces, carved there by time and anger. No one was smiling or laughing. The men were somber, depressed. Sullen almost. Tired. Many were his age or slightly older, they would have been, like him, very young during the war. Perhaps idealists? Or renegades. No matter, Gant had obviously collected them, kept military standards to a certain extent, somehow, even after all these years, keeping the group cohesive. Ezra's respect for the other man grew grudgingly. He didn't believe in any 'cause' associated with the Old South anymore, and, he doubted that Gant did either, but, whatever the motivation, he had honed a tight knit group together. Ezra wondered if they still called themselves Gant's Guerillas. Not that it mattered.

"Sor."

Ezra stopped and looked across the campfire he'd been traversing. A lumbering giant of a man, almost brutish looking, was standing stiffly at attention, facing him. The conman felt a brush of ghostly recognition raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Was this fate? He knew this man, or a younger version of him. "Harry?"

"Sor. Cap'n Sutler, sor." The big man saluted, then dropped his stance and strode across the small squared clearing, to envelop Ezra in a bear hug of elephantine proportions.

"Harry!" Ezra was speaking into a suffocating chest as he was lifted off his feet. "Harry! Let me go!" His muffled order must have penetrated for he was gently released and lowered back on to his feet. Standish looked up in wonder. "My god, Harry Walton! I thought you were dead."

"So'd the rest of the army, cap'n. When I got woke up proper, weren't nothing but dead to be seen or smelt," this last said with a look of disgust. He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Figgered I was dead as far as the army was concerned, so I slipped away." He got a far-off look on his face, staring out toward the sky, then his soft blue eyes met Ezra's as he continued. "Met up with Gant soon after. He 'convinced' me I was better riding with him than being an outright deserter." Harry sighed. "Once started, was easier to just keep on riding."

Ezra stared at the man. Some things were not being said. He hadn't seen his corporal in years but could still read the man. He didn't like being here or part of this. Not that that excused him, but still. Ezra found he could not look at the world as only good men or bad, since he himself was some of each. At least he hoped he was good as well as bad. Wonder what Josiah would say? Or Nathan? He sighed. Moral dilemmas were not his cup of tea, nor was this the time nor place to practice philosophizing. It was, however, the perfect place to build an alliance or two. "Harry, my friend and I were invited by Captain Gant to join this group. He has not yet provided any details however." Ezra left it there and waited to see what he'd hear.

Walton suddenly seemed very interested in the ground, kicking at a loose pebble. "Sor, yes, sor. 'Spect he'll tell you soon, sor."

Ezra, alerted by the renewed formality, looked over his shoulder to meet the bright blue eyes of Bart, Gant's second. "Ah, Bart?"

"Bart McMurray." The redhead nodded as he walked forward. He looked toward Walton who swiftly moved back away from them. "Ralph would like to speak with you and James."

Ezra nodded. "I can come now, Chris, however, is still detained with our prisoner. Perhaps I can be of service to Mr. Gant first?"

McMurray's eyes never left Ezra's face, as if sure to catch out any falsehood just by studying the man closely. Good luck, mah friend, bettah men than you have had no fortune there. When Ah do not wish to be 'read', I can be impenetrable, Ezra thought with comfortable certainty, not pride. Mother dear taught me well.

"Maybe so." McMurray led the way along the edge of the large camp to the far end where a single, larger tent had been erected. McMurray heard light whispering murmurs as they walked. The little soldier who walked so tall beside him was made of tough material, that was clear. Those they passed looked on with a glimmering of respect, something Bart had not seen in those washed out eyes in years. The men were noticing. If Walton remembered Sutler, and it was clear he did, then there might be others. Even those not knowing the man seemed to recognize something special here. Could be good, could be dangerous. He'd let Gant know. Leading the way inside, he waved Ezra on.

Gant looked up from his camp table. He saw a look of uneasiness on Bart McMurray's face. Wonder what that's about? Then he spotted the smaller of his two new men. I'll speak to Bart later.

Ezra flicked an evaluating look around the tent. A few folding chairs were scattered about the medium sized 'room.' A Spartan cot was set up in one corner. Ralph Gant stood over a table with a large map on it.

"Sutler. Come on in." Gant looked over Ezra's shoulder at McMurray. "James?"

"Sutler here said he was still busy with the prisoner."

Gant turned his gaze upon the small Confederate captain. "Ezra?"

"Ralph, Chris's with the prisoner, Tanner." He deliberately continued to use Gant's first name, having seen how the men called him captain or cap. We had similar ranks when it mattered. I see no reason to give him more respect than others yet, courtesy yes, the rest would wait, Ezra decided coolly. "I can get him here if it is necessary, but I can also relay to him your words just as easily, Ralph. We are partners."

Gant nodded. That he'd already seen. Fine. "See here, you know this territory at all?"

Ezra nodded, "Yes, some. Been riding in and out of it a bit."

Gant gestured to the large US Army ordinance map. Ezra raised an eyebrow at the map. Now where did you come by this, I wonder? He walked over to the table to look closer. Gant was bent over the map, his finger planted firmly on the hills north of Wheeler's campsite. "We're here."

Ezra could see the main trails all marked, the small towns and even the larger ranches. "Yes." No point in volunteering anything needlessly.

"We're within a few days ride of several towns." Gant's eyes had turned cold, dead, as he looked up and met Ezra's. Suddenly, Ezra had no trouble believing that this man was capable of ruthless viciousness. "What we do, Ezra, is pick a place, ride in and take everything of value, making sure that we leave no one in any condition to follow."

Standish waited a beat. Time this right, Ezra, or you shall be looking up out of a six-foot hole. "Your purpose being?"

"Survival. We got to survive, Ezra, if we are to help the South to rise again."

Ezra bent over the map and pretended to study it. He felt his tension increase to an almost painful level. The South to rise again? Ah, a trace of insanity here. Not good. "What about the army? They are strongly encamped in these territories. There are many forts, patrols."

"We keep off trails. Ride cross-country. Got real good scouts. Mountain men and Indian hunters. We keep to disciplined plans and we are in and out without leaving any extra sign."

The con man could see how these men had managed to evade capture or even identification all these years. They were basically still campaigning against an enemy that did not know it was still at war. Ezra drew in a breath, this was going to require his finesse. And Chris' force of will, and, the fortune of the Seven. He just hoped it would be enough. His musings were interrupted as a long thin finger dropped down on the map.

"I figure this town is our next likely target."

Ezra's face never changed, not even a muscle in his jaw or neck gave him away as he stared at the name of the small town. Four Corners. Indeed, where else?

Vin watched Ezra slip back out of the tent, looking hollow-eyed. He was getting better at reading the gambler and recognized that hurt look. It was as if Larabee never even noticed that Ezra left. That ain't right. Got a feelin' things have been going hard on old Chris lately, he decided. Chris was still murmuring reassurances at him but Vin was feeling better, figured he didn't get concussed by the blow to the side of his head, just knocked out for a spell. He looked up at Larabee.

"Chris, fer chrissakes, stop. Listen to yourself!" The irritation in the tracker's tone stopped the gunman cold.

"What?" Larabee stared down into impatient blue eyes.

"Chris, you just damn near drove Ezra outta here."

Larabee looked up and around wildly as if he's spot his other man lurking in a corner of the tent. "But --"

Vin pushed himself up to a sitting position and knocked his hair out of his eyes with his still tied hands. "Hey, I ain't complaining that you wanted to make sure I was okay, but the way you done it." He shook his head. "I thought you were having feelings for Ezra?"

"I am, I do." Chris sat up away from the tracker now, watching him warily. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright." He slowed as he spoke, finally staring away from Vin, toward the tent opening, draped closed now. "Damn," he said quietly.

"Yeah." Vin sighed. Then he offered his tied hands. "You think we can take this off? I can rig a knot that will make it look like I'm tied up."

Larabee leaned forward and untied his friend, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. Vin flexed his hands and shook out his wrists, then took up the piece of rope. With a few twists, he had fashioned a figure eight with a double slip-knot center anchor. He could slide his hands in or out of the two looped openings easily, but when on, it appeared to be a securely cuffed knotting.

While Tanner was busy with the rope, Larabee pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the front of the tent, only to stand there staring blankly at the flap of canvas. In his mind's eye, he was reliving the events just passed. He saw himself hovering anxiously near Vin, barely able to conceal his worry, as Ezra smoothly got them situated within the camp. He saw himself lost in his efforts to revive and treat Vin, ignoring Ezra's efforts, Ezra's comments, actions, and -- feelings. Damn. He kicked himself mentally. He saw Ezra slipping away from the tent again, saying something about seeing the lay of the camp and being back soon, not to worry about him. Saying it as if it needed saying because Larabee, horse's ass that he was, was not saying it. I didn't even ask how he was feeling. Damn it, the man collapsed yesterday. Now I don't even check on him. Hell, I don't even know if he's hurting right now. Larabee stirred restlessly, suddenly anxious to be with Ezra, make sure HE was fine. Chris shut his eyes. I am a damn fool. He swallowed a painful knot in his throat, his main concern shifting from Vin to Ezra. Hell, am I supposed to chose now? Damn it, no! One's my best friend, but the other -- Ezra, I'm hoping to make you much more than just a friend. Was hoping. Damn it.

Vin relaxed back on the blankets, watching his friend, easily reading his body language, nearly following his thought process, the tension and posture were so clear to him. Man's gonna bust a gut if he don't settle down some. "I'll be fine here, after all I am all tied up," he offered. "Why don't you go find Ez?"

Chris Larabee turned to look back at the tracker. Vin could see something in those hard hazel eyes. Almost like the man was reinventing himself, he thought intuitively. The blonde nodded once, a decisive gesture. "Yeah. Think I should go check on Ezra." He flicked a look around the tent. "If anyone comes in, you're asleep, make sure your tied hands are in plain sight." The firm, blunt words, the assurance in the tone, told Vin Tanner that Larabee, the leader of the seven, was back. The hesitant lover, the worried friend, had been set into the background, or maybe re-absorbed, re-integrated into the man. Whatever had just happened, Vin realized that this was the Chris Larabee that he, and Ezra, and the Territories needed right now. Ezra maybe most of all. Vin smiled as Larabee disappeared out under the tent flap. Things would git better now.

Chris' long, dark shape moved away from their tent, his eyes sharp and assessing as he inventoried the immediate area, noting the remuda lines only one more campfire over. No sign of Ezra. He started down the line of campfires, seeing the orderly rows more clearly this time. His earlier panic over Vin's capture and condition eased now. The newly recognized feelings he had for Ezra began to strengthen as he moved through the busy camp, taking in his surroundings and searching quietly for the small con man. Where are you, Ezra? No sign of him but no sign of disquiet in the gathering of men either. Like he'd vanished without a trace. Chris found his hand resting on his gun butt as he moved yet more purposefully ahead.

At the far side of the third campfire, Chris ran into a wall in human shape. Stopping and looking up, he met the amused eyes of a rather ugly looking giant. He was ready to take a step to the side to continue when the big man laid a hand on his shoulder, pinning him in place. "You with the cap'n, sor?" The deep woods, southeastern voice was low and quiet.

"With Gant?" Chris tilted his chin up to better confront the giant.

"No, sor, Cap'n Sutler, sor." The respectful way the giant spoke made Chris pause.

"Yes. We ride together."

"My name is Harry Walton, sor. I rode with the cap'n once." The wistful tone wasn't lost on Larabee who relaxed.

"A while back?"

"Sor, yes. During the war. Corporal Walton, then, sor." Harry dropped his hand and straightened. Then he cast a look over his shoulder and lowered his head to speak more quietly still. "He's with Gant and McMurray right now, in the headquarters' tent."

"But you don't want to go there," piped up a younger voice, cracking on one or two of the words.

Chris started, so intent had he been on the big man, and swiveled to look at the callow blonde youth that had helped Ezra set up their tent earlier. Cal? Something like that. His blank look must have been enough for the boy spoke again.

"You're Chris James, Ezra told me. Name's Carlton Winger." He shoved his long stringy hair back with a gesture reminiscent of JD Dunne. Chris felt a pull at his heart. He missed the others, a new feeling. Now, time to get to Ezra before the man got himself into too much trouble.

Larabee looked back and forth between the giant and the thin, shorter youth. "Nice meeting you both, but I gotta go find Ezra."

Carlton spoke again, stepping forward dangerously into Larabee's space. The gunman tensed but waited. The younger blonde twitched nervously. "Some of the men are getting restless. We been on this trail for a long time."

"Some of us for years," added Walton, his hands becoming fists at his sides. "Getting tired of following Gant."

Carlton's head never stopped moving, eyes in constant motion, alert for some threat that Chris couldn't see. "I only been with 'em a year or two, but we done some things." The boy trailed off, looking pale and unhappy, dropping his eyes momentarily.

Walton nodded. "With the cap'n here, we might could stop this, break his hold on us, Sor."

Larabee rocked back on his heels. This was unforeseen. For some reason, Ezra had made a convert out of the boy Carlton, and, had found an old friend from the war. The two seemed ready to turn coat on this gang. He was cautious though. "You'd do that?"

"I'd foller the cap'n anywheres. Done told that to some of my chums here, too, Sor." Harry smiled, his face cracking like a crevasse growing across a plateau. "He could lead us, Sor, iffn he had a mind to." The last was said rather sadly.

Chris was charmed. For some reason, the allegiance these two so very different men were giving to Ezra was like lighting up a new room, letting Larabee see his friend in a new and fascinating way. Before he could speak, Carlton was looking up at Walton with mouth agape, a look of worry clearly writ on his face. "You think he might not?"

Harry ignored the boy and looked down at the gunman. This man gave off an aura of danger all by himself. A blonde but not like any Harry had ever met, he seemed chilled and dark, his hazel eyes hard. The hand resting ready on the big gun at his hip was another signal. Walton wasn't dumb, this man could be a challenge to Gant too. If he really was a close friend of the Cap'n's then the hope Harry'd felt on seeing Sutler had an even better chance.

"Ezra Sutler was the best officer I ever served with, Sor, back during the conflict. He always looked out for his men first. Had the courage of ten. Always led from the front, got dirty with us. Bloody." A dreaming look drifted across the large face. Then the blue eyes sharpened and met the watching hazel ones. "Only, I think it hurt him. Seeing so many boys die, no matter what he did. And the killing? If you ask me, he didn't like that one bit, even though he was the best there was at it, Sor. Was real good with those big guns of his." Walton cricked his neck to look around the camp, they'd been standing there for several minutes now and were beginning to draw attention. "Look, Sor, I'll walk you up to the main tent, where Cap'n Sutler is. Just think about it. Tell him for me, I'll go with him when he's ready to leave."

Carlton quickly flashed a gap-toothed grin and nodded. "Yep. I heared what Harry had to say about Ezra. I'll follow him too." Then the boy moved back and away from the two taller men.

Chris was thinking fast now. Open rebellion was appealing, a good way to cut the underbelly of this beast, but they'd have to find out first just how many men were ready to break out. If it was just the corporal and the boy, then he and Ezra would have to stick to their original plan, and find a way to free Vin and send him for the others. He started walking again, following Corporal Harry Walton, one of Ezra's men, on through the camp. He felt a warm glow of pride for his Ezra. The man was a mystery that continued to unravel for him, new bits of his past revealing much more than the clever con man had ever let on in his short time in Four Corners. It didn't change Chris' new feelings, but, if anything, deepened them, making him even more ready to find a way to convince the smaller man that his place in the future was tight by Chris' side.

As they walked, he noticed the undercurrents of the campfire groups. The men shifted and whispered as he and Walton walked by. Several looked up at the giant, one or two nodding almost secretively. Chris' worry for Ezra hadn't lessened but his concern was beginning to shift. Somehow, these men were finding new hope with Ezra's mere presence. Not a bad thing, unless it bit back at Ez. I'll be there, cover your back, Ezra, he vowed, quickening his step. You won't be alone again. Finally got my head on straight thanks to some hard talk from Vin. He wore the certainty like a mantle, the new strength it gave him caused him to move ahead so that he was keeping pace with the larger man. Those they passed were watching with interest. This new man had the mien of a warrior, a leader. And, he was the friend of Captain Sutler, the other new man to the camp. Heads turned, eyes brightened.

Buck sniffed at the shifting wind from his tilted chair in front of the jail. Smelled like a storm comin' in. Vin hadn't come back yet, and no word from Chris and Ezra. Josiah appeared on his left, coming from Potter's store, heading for the saloon.

"Hey, Josiah!"

Sanchez stopped and looked over at Wilmington, then changed direction and moved toward him. "Brother Buck?"

"Been a while now, what do you think about Chris and Ez, Vin?"

Sanchez didn't answer right away. If the tall rangy lawman was beginning to worry, then there was probably cause. He thought about Ezra who'd still been concussed when they rode out on Travis' mission. He hadn't liked it then, he didn't like it now. "You want to do something about it?"

Slowly, Buck nodded. "Think I do."

"Hey, Buck! Josiah! What's goin' on?" JD was a quick charged energy bolt that sizzled the air with his constant excitement, sheer enjoyment in life.

Buck leaned forward and stood up from the chair, grasping the wood rail on the front side of the porch. "Josiah and me were thinkin' of heading on out, look for the others."

"But weren't we supposed to wait for word, wait here?" JD didn't sound like he objected, just wanted to make sure he understood.

Buck nodded. "Yep." He turned to look at Josiah. "Might have a need for Nate, you never know."

"So, what you're saying is -- is you're going out after 'em?" Dunne sounded curiously excited. When no one answered him directly, he continued, "No way you're leaving me behind! I'll get some supplies and extra ammunition, meet you at the livery in thirty minutes!" And, he was off and running, leaving the two older men behind to stare at the spot he'd been standing.

Josiah seemed to return to the present first, shaking his head with a smile for the exuberance of youth. "Sounds like we better hurry or we'll be the ones left behind!"

Less than an hour later a very tense Mary Travis and an angry Judge Orrin Travis stood outside the Clarion, watching the remaining four of their seven peacekeepers ride out of town.

"Mary, I'm not sure what you think was going on with Chris and Standish, but I'll tell you this, those seven men are closer than any band of brothers I've ever seen." Orrin squinted into the dust to watch the four riders slowly disappear down the road. He sighed. "Devil take the man," he hesitated, then with a quick telling look at Mary, added, "or woman, who tries to stand between any of 'em." With that pithy comment made, Travis nodded and walked down toward the restaurant for his mid-morning coffee, leaving Mary Travis behind, staring at the now empty road.

Chris and Harry Walton had nearly reached the last and biggest tent in the camp when new riders appeared at the head of the trail. Three men on horseback rode in single file. They pulled up in the open space before the big tent. Walton leaned toward Chris and muttered. "Watch that'un. That's Jeb Morgan and his son, Sam. Don't know the other feller, but the Morgans are bad business. Act as part of our scouts and spies."

Chris heard all this as a bad feeling rolled through him. Please, Ezra, don't come out of that tent yet. He stepped to the side, clear of Walton and brushed back the side of his dark duster, freeing his holster and gun clearance. The third man he knew. Jimmie Baxton of Stewart James' place. Crap. And the man had an attitude and thought he had the hands to go with it. The seven had had their share of bad times with Baxton, and now it looked like they were about to have more.

"Holy Shit!" Baxton, dismounting had just noticed Larabee. "Morgan, you know who you got in this camp? That's Chris Larabee of the law of Four Corners!" Baxton leapt to the side, drawing his gun even as he spoke. Chris didn't see he had a choice, dipping and swaying as his hand and arm drove down for his own gun, then up, firing as he came to bear. A second shot, from Baxton, sounded just seconds behind Larabee's. Baxton pitched over dead with a bullet through the heart. Chris grabbed his right arm, holding tight to slow the bleeding of the small graze on the fleshy part of the arm. He kept hold of his gun in his right hand, leveling it half way up from the ground, not quite aiming at anyone. He watched to see what would happen next.

Ezra heard the shout of a familiar voice, identifying Chris, followed before he even had time to react, by the sounds of two gunshots. NO! CHRIS! Ezra drove his fingers, claw like, into his thighs as he sat beside Gant, reviewing the ways into Four Corners. Their conversation ended abruptly with the shots. Both men and Bart McMurray ran for the tent opening and burst out on a deathly still scene.

Chris Larabee AKA James stood weaving slightly in the open area, gun in one hand, blood streaming from beneath his other hand where it pressed with white knuckles on the arm wound. He was being covered by two armed men, one much younger than the other but with a clear family resemblance. "Jeb, what happened?" Gant demanded as he came to a stop beside the confrontation.

"Jeb, what happened?" Gant asked again when no one answered immediately.

Even as Gant spoke, Ezra hissed, "Chris!" and moved swiftly to Larabee's side, hands going to the bloody place on the blonde's sleeve where Chris' hand pressed tightly. Ezra ignored Gant and the others, pulling a rough handkerchief from his pocket and tying it tightly around Chris' arm.

As Standish worked, Gant watched, and listened to a low-voiced explanation from Jeb Morgan who came to stand next to the marauders' leader. Sam, Jeb's son, still held his rifle aimed directly at the blonde and bloody stranger. Nodding his understanding, Ralph walked over to the two new men and motioned for Walton, who was standing nearby to take Larabee's gun. As soon as Harry did, tucking it in his own waistband and stepping back, Gant began.

"Alright, who are you? Chris James or Chris Larabee?"

Ezra, who had by now spotted the body of Jimmie Baxton, understood what had happened. He flicked a quelling green-eyed look up at Chris who stood looking shocked and unhappy. Speaking before the silence became too obvious, he said, "Ralph, Chris is both. His real family name is James, but he has been in and around the Territories using the name Larabee." Ezra smiled gently up at Chris, raising one hand to stroke the blonde's cheek in a clearly possessive manner. "He has done very well for himself, he is very quick." The smirk on Ezra's face had Chris blushing and looking at the ground and Gant looking suspicious and, then, understanding flooded his countenance.

"You and him." Gant remembered the tender, caring moments back in that small camp at Wheeler's and Chris' admission back then.

Ezra turned to face Gant, putting himself between Larabee and the other tall man. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Harry standing alertly, one hand on Larabee's gun. He swallowed. He really did not want to start a gun battle here. They might win the initial skirmish but they would not win the battle, no less the war. Not like this. "Yes." He leaned back against Chris who automatically caught him with his undamaged arm wrapping around Ezra's waist, high up. Ezra placed his hands on the arm and smiled. "He even did a stint as the law in Four Corners, so he can probably fill you in with more information. Unfortunately, he and Mr. Baxton there did not get on too well." Ezra decided not to embroider too much so he stopped talking and waited.

The older of the two men who'd just ridden in leaned forward to mutter in Gant's ear again. Ralph nodded and relaxed, signaling the other man to lower his weapon. "Jeb here says Baxton called Chris out, said he was Four Corners' law, and then shot at him before he could even answer. Jeb said if your man hadn't been so damn fast, he'd be dead."

Chris felt Ezra's shudder right through their joined bodies and squeezed the smaller man slightly, trying to convey reassurance. Ezra showed nothing visibly to Gant except relief. "Yes, as I said, Chris is very fast." He cricked his neck to look up and back at Larabee. His eyes were a soft and sultry green in invitation. Come on, Chris, we need to put on a little show here, Ezra silently urged.

Larabee felt his heart speed up and hoped to hell he was reading Ezra right as he leaned down and in to capture those sweet looking lips in a possessive kiss. He felt Ezra's response as the lips below his parted and suddenly he was supporting nearly all of Ezra's weight as the smaller man sank back against him more completely. He pushed a bit to hold up the little gambler and deepened the kiss, probing with his tongue, tasting Ezra for the very first time. A thrumming sensation seemed to speed up his very heartbeat as he spread his legs slightly and snugged the compliant form of the gambler tighter still against him, his second arm, despite the wound, coming up to wrap also around this small, precious form, his hand flattening and sliding up Ezra's chest to wrap around the slender column of throat. He could feel the rapid pulse fluttering beneath his palm.

Gant looked away as the twosome got lost in each other, clearing his throat and waving Jeb and his son toward his tent. He looked back just as Chris let Ezra up for air.

"Boys, you might want to take that inside." He smiled and shook his head. "And I'd like you both back in my tent to talk."

Ezra nodded but twisted slightly to grasp the blonde's injured arm. "Can I see that this is taken care of first, Ralph?"

Gant paused at the threshold of his tent. Looked over at Harry who still stood by, waiting. "Walton, might as well give James back his gun, then go get our bandage kit, bring it here."

Harry ducked his head once in acknowledgement and then plucked Larabee's weapon from his belt, handing it butt first to Chris. Larabee reached out with his good arm and grasped the gun's handle only to discover it was still firmly held by Walton. By this time, the two Morgans, McMurray, and Gant had all disappeared within the tent and Carlton was dragging Baxton's body away. The rest of the gathered men were already beginning to disperse again. Harry bent in close to Chris over Ezra's head and muttered, "You be more careful, Sor. Don't want to see my Cap'n hurt nor anything." The warning in those cold blue eyes was even clearer to Larabee than the words or tone. Harry would not take it kindly if Chris hurt Ezra in ANY way. Chris found himself smiling as he stared back at the big brute and let his chin rest against Ezra's head for just a moment.

"I will." He let his own hard hazel eyes answer more fully and could see that Harry read the message there easily. Yes, his Green Eyes was safe with him now and that was the way it was going to stay.

Just then the two tall men heard a gentle throat clearing down below their line of sight. Harry stepped back to look down as Chris pulled his chin back to cock his head and glance down at Ezra. Standish shook his head at his two protectors. "Gentlemen, please. Ah can look after mahself just fine. Now, if Ah may?" He moved out of Larabee's arms; Chris letting him go reluctantly. "Harry, the medical supplies if you please? Chris and I shall be in Gant's tent. Chris? We need to move if you can?" He looked worriedly at Larabee's still bloody sleeved arm, ignoring Harry who he'd dismissed with that casual but authoritative command.

Harry left with a snap of heels together and half salute. Chris stared down at his small friend. This was certainly a different Ezra than he'd been privileged to see before. He found he was totally captivated by the combination seducer and soldier, neither of whom he'd 'met' before. "Chris?" Ezra's bright green eyes were becoming more worried by Larabee's lack of response.

"Sorry, Ez," Chris nodded with a shy smile, "I can move, it's just a scratch." He followed as Ezra turned to lead them back into Gant's tent, but caught up in a large stride to whisper down into one sweetly shaped ear, "Later." Then kissed Ezra just under the ear, a tiny kiss that ended in a lick. Hum, tastes so good, salty and spicy, Ezra was going to make an excellent dish, served cold, warm, or sizzling hot. Chris smiled to himself. Somehow the mission had lost much of its interest for him. He didn't miss Ezra's reaction to his advance and that excited him too.

Ezra started as if he'd been shot himself, then took a quick step ahead of Larabee to widen the distance between them. Ezra found himself feeling both relieved and confused. Relieved that Chris had played along so well, helping to extricate them from a perilous moment. But, he was confused as well. Chris was no actor, his 'performance' had too much of a feel of truth to it. The way the tall blonde had held him, moved with him, hell, the feel of an aroused member pressed tightly to his ass! The way Chris had kissed him. It was the first time they'd ever kissed and it was all Ezra had ever dreamed it might be, ever yearned hopelessly for it to be. It was all that, and more, because Chris had been gentle, tender, possessive, and loving. Ezra had held to only a forlorn hope before, when Mary had told him that Chris cried out Standish's name during lovemaking; Ezra's hope now blossomed, grew, swelling into a huge feeling of incredible happiness. Where before he hoped, now he let go of his restraint and recognized that he was hopelessly in love, head over heels in love with the wicked blonde gunman who led the Seven.

Ezra didn't dare look back. He cares for me. He isn't a good enough actor to do what he just did and not mean it at all. No, he really does have feelings for me! Ezra desperately wanted to find a private place to explore this new possibility. Grimly he focused on the tent flap. Not now and not here. Not like this. I shall keep my angel near, though, very near. Entering the shade of the tent's interior, he led Chris toward the table where Gant sat with the one he'd called Jeb.

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