********

One hour later, the dozen claim jumpers were tied in their saddles, a little bruised, but still breathing. Buck had been true to his word. Unfortunately, neither Josiah nor Ezra had made any promises and if it hadn’t been for the quick actions of the scoundrel, several of their opponents may well have gone home across their saddles rather than in them.

Shortly after, Vin was carried up the hill and deposited on a travois. Buck, Ezra and Josiah were sent to guard the prisoners, while Nathan continued to fuss around his very lucid and petulant patient. J.D. had disappeared back down the side of the steep hill and Chris was standing several feet from the rest of his team, reloading his revolver just in case they ran into further trouble.

Nathan climbed to his feet and made his way over to the Seven’s quietly fuming leader.

"Chris, he’s ready to go, but his head is making him sick and he’s pretty tired from the blood loss."

"Well get back over there and look after him. What the &*%@ are you doing here talking to me?!"

"I’m tellin’ you because his head is pounding, his vision is blurred, he feels sick as a dog and I reckon any normal man would be feeling pretty lousy!........And probably a little scared." The last part was whispered. Chris’s eyebrows drew down.

"He said that?"

Nathan shook his head. "No, but the only thing I can get out of him at the moment is curses and abuse. And we both know Vin well enough to know what that means." Chris nodded and headed over to his wounded friend.

Dropping down beside the travois, Chris watched as Vin turned and began blinking steadily. Trying to clear his vision enough to make out who was beside him.

"How you doin’, pard?"

"Fine."

Chris pursed his lips. "You remember what you said about Ezra yesterday. Out at the mine when we were rescuing the Judge?" Vin looked confused. "You said that if bullshit were worth anything, that Ezra’d be a rich man."

"Yeah. So?"

"So, how you feelin’, Vin?"

"Okay, dammit. I feel okay!"

"Yep, and if bullshit were worth anything, you’d be a &*%@ing millionaire." A loose smile danced onto Vin’s pallid face. It dropped almost immediately as another wave of nausea swept over him. Chris reached for his hand and held it firmly.

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Reckon I feel like shit," Vin conceded.

"Yep, reckon you do. But Nathan says you’re gonna be fine." Chris watched his friend’s face shadow. Again Vin began blinking vigorously.

"I can’t see proper." And there it was. It wasn’t the pain, or the nausea, or the blood loss, or the battle to stay awake. It was his eyes. Vin Tanner’s whole existence centered around his eyes. He’d spent the past couple of years looking over his shoulder, just waiting for someone to collect the bounty on his head. It had been his eyes that had saved him more times then he cared to count. There was also the fact that that he was a tracker by trade and a tracker’s most important resource was his eyes. He was the group’s sharpshooter and a man couldn’t shoot if he couldn’t see clearly. Chris watched as Vin began blinking again, this time viciously. Every second Vin had his eyes open his fears were being reinforced, the older man realized. The blinking was his friend’s vain attempts to fight the distress and try to rectify the affliction that had befallen him. Chris knew he had to do something to ease Vin’s anxiety. Removing the black bandana from his neck, Larabee folded it tightly and then placed it across Vin’s eyes.

"Whatcha doin’?"

"Quiet," Chris ordered. Gently he tied the piece of material around Vin’s head. "What can you see?"

"What do you mean, what can I see?! You’ve just blindfolded me." Realization was already settling by the time Vin finished speaking. Chris had just removed the source of his torment.

"Close your eyes and relax. But don’t go to sleep."

"I ain’t tired anymore."

"You’re full of shit, Tanner." The two men fell silent. Chris watched Vin’s Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed. "You’re eyes are gonna be fine, cowboy. You heard what Nathan said."

"Yeah, but I couldn’t see his face to see if he were lyin’."

"You know Nathan wouldn’t lie to you about something like that."

Vin sighed. "Hope not. Or J.D. may have to take my position permanently."

"He really make the shot?" Chris asked, consciously changing the subject.

"Yep."

"Lucky shot?" Larabee pressed.

At this, a smile touched the sharpshooter’s face. "Poor kid was shaking so bad, I reckon....hey where’s my gun?"

"Nathan and I took it out of your holster earlier so you’d be more comfortable."

"You got it?"

"No. We must have left it down near the boulder. Relax, I’ll go get it."

"Chris," Vin’s voice had become serious. "I’m sorry that I......."

"Oh no you don’t. Ain’t gonna let you weasel out of this one, cowboy. The moment you’re well enough you and I are gonna have it out. You don’t follow orders. You jump in front bullets. You don’t have the sense to tell the guy you’re with that you’ve been shot. Yep. We’re gonna have a long talk the moment you’re strong enough."

Vin Tanner’s face flashed with annoyance. Chris couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew exactly what those haunting pools, that could look straight through a man, were doing. "I’m real sick, Chris," Vin claimed in a weak voice. "Nathan said that I shouldn’t be upset by anyone for at least a week." Chris Larabee grinned down at his sly friend.

"Bullshit."

"Aww hell," Vin muttered in defeat.

The Seven’s leader beckoned Ezra over. "Take his hand," he ordered passing Vin’s wrist over and placing it in Ezra’s manicured fist. "We can’t see his eyes no more so he’s gonna keep a firm grip of your hand so we know he’s awake. I won’t be long."

"Take your time, Mr Larabee. Mr Tanner and I have a great deal we wish to discuss. Isn’t that right, Vin?" The wounded sharpshooter grinned. He wasn’t sure exactly when it was that Ezra had started using his first name. He’d noticed it about a week ago. Whether the gambler was doing it consciously, or the word just slipped out unintentionally, Vin couldn’t be certain. Obviously the formality that Ezra insisted upon, in order to keep others at a safe distance, was becoming more difficult to maintain, the closer he became to his companions.

"Ez, could you do something for me?"

"And what might that be, my friend?"

"Nathan took my revolver earlier. Could you let me have yours?"

"Of course, but why?" Ezra inquired curiously.

"Because if Chris starts lecturing me again, I’m gonna shoot his damn head off."

Ezra Standish chuckled. "And you think that Mr Larabee’s lecture is a distinct possibility."

"More like a &*%@in’ certainty."

"In that case, Mr Tanner, I would be more than happy to carry out the deed for you."

"Well that’s real nice of you Ezra," Vin laughed.

*******

Chris walked up to Nathan, who was waiting fifteen feet away.

"His eyes," the Seven’s leader informed the healer without any further explanation. Nathan nodded. "I covered them. Should help him relax." Larabee paused and then stared into Nathan’s face harshly. "His eyes are going to be okay, aren’t they?"

"Vin’s vision problems are temporary, Chris. The bullet only grazed him. His head bled a lot and is all fire painful, but it ain’t serious."

"You’re sure?" Chris grilled again.

Nathan reached out and placed his hand on the unsettled man’s shoulder. Chris didn’t look distressed, he looked angry, but Nathan knew what was going on behind those cold green eyes. Chris Larabee was hurting for Vin. He was a man who had shut the world out to prevent this sort of pain, but Vin had infiltrated Larabee’s defenses. No, he’d more than infiltrated them. He’d smashed them to hell. Chris was now more than willing to acknowledge that Vin was his best friend. He would never have admitted that a couple of weeks ago, not even to Buck who was his oldest friend. Not even to himself, if the truth were known. But at some stage over the past month, the self-enforced loner had come to realize that it was futile to deny something that everyone seemed be aware of. He cared about Vin. Hell, Nathan knew that Chris cared about all of his team, but Larabee and Tanner had something that few people in the world could boast. Theirs was a spiritual bond. Not the type of friendship that saw them need to spend their every waking moment in each other’s company. Not the sort of friendship that made demands on either of them. It was friendship in its purest and simplest form. It was the personification of understanding, loyalty and trust. Nathan Jackson was humbled by it. And if he were honest, he was jealous that he himself didn’t share such a connection with another.

"Vin is gonna be fine. Good as new in a week. Our biggest problem is gonna be keeping him awake on the trip home. He’s a lot stronger now, but he’s still exhausted."

"Stronger? You sure?"

"Yeah, I’m sure. There appeared to be a lot of blood, but considering the fact that he had two wounds, he’s done pretty well. We were lucky that J.D. was able fetch me so quickly. Things could have been a whole lot worse. Besides, his infernal stubborn nature kicked in about half an hour ago and has given him a strength other men don’t have. He’s doin’ real well. A lot better than I thought he would be at this stage."

"Good," Larabee snarled. It was not the relieved response that the healer had been going out of his way to secure.

"Chris?" Nathan inquired, a little confused.

"He’s stronger, huh? Well that’s real good to hear. Don’t worry, Nathan, I’ll keep that sorry bastard awake on the trip back. I’ve got quite a bit saved up that I want to say to him."

Nathan watched his leader go. "Ookkkaaayyy," the healer muttered.

"Yep," Buck agreed approaching his dark skinned friend from behind. He’d overheard most of the conversation. "Reckon Vin is in for one hell of an earful on the way home. Poor bastard. I feel sorry for him." Buck watched Chris head for the ridge. "Chris, where you goin’?"

"To get Vin’s gun."

"J.D. went down there to find it," Nathan called. When Chris continued on his path, the healer stepped forward to reiterate his warning, but Buck stopped him. Larabee was a man of few words, but those words would mean more J.D. than all the gold in the world. The scoundrel knew what Chris was up to. And he was grateful.

********

J.D. stood allowing the breeze to buffet his tired body. He was standing in the spot where he had made the shot over three hours earlier. The young man’s eyes were fixed on the site where the fuse had been. His mind was empty.

Chris approached the boy silently and stopped directly next to him. For several seconds neither moved. Finally, J.D. looked up at his solemn leader.

"This where you made the shot from?" Chris asked. His voice was so soft that J.D. had to strain to hear him.

"Uh-huh."

Larabee gazed across the gorge and muttered, "Hell of a shot." The Seven’s leader glanced at the young man. "Reckon Vin better watch himself. Looks like we may have a replacement sharpshooter waiting in the wings." At this, J.D. shook his head.

"It was a fluke," the youth admitted quietly. "I ain’t naive enough to think that I could ever do it again, Chris. It was a one in a million chance and I was just fortunate that today was the day luck smiled on me." J.D. sighed. "Don’t reckon I’ll ever make a shot like that again if I live to be a hundred."

"Probably not, but don’t sell yourself short, kid. The bottom line is that you made the shot when you had to. You may never shoot that well again, then again, you may never need to." J.D. nodded and then grinned.

"Kinda makes you realize how good Vin is though, don’t it. I mean, I ain’t never seen him miss."

"We all have special gifts, J.D. Two of Vin’s are unerring eyesight and a steady hand. But you’ve got determination and a willingness to learn. They’re gifts a man can’t acquire. He has to be born with them." J.D. stared at his leader, his jawing hanging open. He’d never heard Chris talk like this. Talk so passionately and so emotionally. Larabee became aware of the boy’s stunned reaction and grunted. "Come on. I want to get home before dark." The companions turned, but at the last possible minute both glanced back over their shoulder for one final look. It was a good 120 feet to the other side. A good 120 feet and a wick only a quarter of an inch wide. Chris reached out and patted J.D. on the shoulder.

"Yep. A hell of a shot, kid! One hell of a shot."