Chris watched as Nathan gently lowered his team mate’s fevered hand back onto the bedroll. There was a lump in his throat the size of a fist. Clustered about him was the rest of the Seven. Somber. Quiet. A protective circle around their fallen friend.

"I’ve done what I can. But now..." Nathan whispered. It wasn’t that he was trying to keep his voice hushed. It was just that all of the energy had deserted his body when he had realized what they were facing.

"What are you talkin’ about?" Chris demanded. His voice was touched with irritation, but more than anything else, it sounded hopelessly lost. His men were looking to him to fix this. To save their partner.

"There are surgeons who may..."

"Surgeons! Look around you Nathan! We’re miles from anywhere. You see any #%*!ing surgeons out here!!" Chris’ anger disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Dread and helplessness pushed it aside leaving only the realization that one of his men was dying. Silently, Chris knelt beside the pale, sickly form on the ground. Larabee couldn’t help feeling that somehow this was his fault. They were his men after all. They were here because he had asked... ordered them to be.

"You said that there are surgeons that can help?" Larabee finally asked.

"Yeah. I’ve read about them in my medical books. A surgeon could..."

"You’ve read about this then?" Chris cut him off.

"Yeah. It’s tricky, but it has been done."

"So you’ve read about it and you know what to do?" Chris pressed.

Nathan’s eyes shadowed with abrupt comprehension. "I can’t do it, Chris! It’s too complicated. Hell, I ain’t no surgeon. I ain’t even a real doctor."

"You’re all we’ve got," the Seven’s leader whispered, staring tragically at the silent body that had failed to move, or grunt or complain for the past five minutes. Deathly quiet. No longer aware of the discussion taking place around him.

"I...I can’t," Nathan stated with force. "Hell, even if I was back in my clinic I couldn’t. But out here! I don’t have any equipment. He wouldn’t have a chance."

"You are his only chance."

"I can’t. You don’t understand. This ain’t some simple... It’s beyond my skill. I... I just can’t."

"You’ve got to. If someone doesn’t do something, he’s gonna die, right?" Chris glanced over at the dark skinned healer. Beads of perspiration were collected on Nathan’s furrowed brow.

Slowly, the horrified man rose to his feet. "Chris, I can’t do it. You don’t know what you’re askin’."

"I’m asking you to try and save his life."

The two men stared at each other equally pained. Nathan glanced at his four other comrades. He could see the silent pleas on their faces. They wanted him to do something that was far beyond his ability. This wasn’t just setting bones or digging some nice simple bullet out of the fleshy part of a man’s arm or shoulder. This was going to take surgery. Real surgery!

"Can’t you understand?! I can’t do it. I’ll just end up butcherin’ him!"

"Then he’s going die. You’re the only one who has the skill to save him."

Tears began to cascade down Nathan Jackson’s face. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to hide from the situation he found himself in. How the hell had it come to this? How the hell had he and his friends ended up out in the middle of no where, miles from help, with one of them dying? He cast his mind back. At what point had this whole disaster started?

##########

"So what the hell are we going to do, Colonel?"

"I don’t know. If the rumors are correct, then..."

"I might have a solution, Sir." The Colonel and his Lieutenant turned to eye the loud, coarse sergeant.

"Go on, Gilroy."

"There’s a town called Four Corners about two days ride from here. They hired themselves seven guns a couple of months back. The locals call them, ‘The Magnificent Seven.’"

"You’re kidding."

"Now, from what I’ve heard, they’re damn effective. Real hard noses. Maybe we could convince them to... "

"Not a bad idea, Sargent Gilroy. A couple of hired gunfighters. Could be exactly what we need to take care of this ‘situation’."

"If they are successful, then the job is done, Sir," Lieutenant Parker agreed, enthusiastically licking his superior’s boots.

"And if they aren’t successful, it ain’t our problem any more." Gilroy’s grin was almost evil.

**********

Ezra was walking toward the saloon when he heard Mary’s raised voice from the Newspaper Office. The gambler paused to listen and then took it upon himself to investigate further. Mrs Travis was not one to raise her voice without good reason. Entering the small shop front, Ezra examined the scene with the eyes of one who could interpret a situation with absolute accuracy. The lovely Mary Travis was standing behind a small wooden counter, her beautiful blue eyes dancing with the fire and passion of an unbroken colt. Across from her, a tall well dressed man.

"Mr Webb. It took me over an hour to set and print this for you. An hour of my time is precious. You owe me 25 cents to cover the cost of the paper I used and for the time it took out of my day."

"Mrs Travis, you never mentioned anything about charging me for this favor." Webb’s voice was jovial, his face blanketed with sarcasm. He did not treat women well.

"Favor!" Mary cried.

"Well, good morning to you, Mrs. Travis," Ezra greeted cordially as he approached the counter. "It is a beautiful day outside, but I thought that before I took the opportunity to luxuriate in the basking sun, I should investigate the state of my investment."

Some weeks earlier, Ezra Standish had invested in Four Corner’s local paper. Looking back, Ezra wasn’t even sure how it had happened. Actually, he dared not think about it. It was, without a doubt, the worst business decision he had ever made. But at the time, he’d had good reason to do it and now, despite his continued belly aching to anyone who would listen, Ezra was quietly proud of what he had done. He would go to his grave denying it, but the smile on Mary’s relieved face had made his over generous offer worthwhile.

"Mr. Standish," Mary greeted, curtly.

"Why, Mrs. Travis, you appear somewhat vexed this fine day."

"I am more than vexed, Mr. Standish. Mr. Webb came in this morning and asked me to print something for him, which I agreed to do. Now he is refusing to pay for the job."

"That certainly seems moderately unjust. Mr. Webb?"

"I asked the lady for a favor and she agreed. There weren’t ever any discussion of payment."

"Well, my dear Sir, I’m sure you can understand that Mrs.Travis and I are running a business. Her time is worth money to us. Now, she really can not take an hour out of her already busy day to be performing tasks that do not remunerate her for her time. I’m sure a gentlemen as intelligent as your good self, can understand that."

"I came and asked for a favor and she did it. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like my letter. I’m a busy man. I have to get that in the mail today."

"I see. May I?" Ezra asked, politely taking the two sheets that Mary held. One was a hand written letter to a lawyer’s firm in Denver. The other was the printed version that Mary had just produced. "So am I correct in assuming that this is yours?" Ezra asked, handing the original letter to Webb.

"That’s right."

"And this," Ezra asked, waving the typed sheet, "..is what Mrs. Travis prepared?"

"That’s right," Webb agreed carefully.

"Mrs. Tavis, is this printed on our paper?"

"Yes."

"And you printed it on our press?"

"Yes."

"I see."

Mary glanced at Ezra curiously. What was he up to?

"So the letter that you hold, Mr. Webb, is in fact yours and this copy was produced for you by us?" Webb’s eyes narrowed as he nodded uncertainly. "Did you actually specify a particular way that you wanted the letter presented, or did you leave that to Mrs. Travis’ impeccable discretion?"

"I just asked her to print it."

"Well, isn’t that just absolutely perfect," Ezra claimed, his gold tooth flashing with true appreciation. Carefully, the part owner of the Clarion News folded the typed version of the letter with all the care of a mother tending to her young. Then without hesitation, he tore the piece of paper in half with the flare of a carnival performer. Webb gasped. As the startled man watched, Ezra tore the halves into quarters, placed all of the pieces into his right hand and balled his hand into a tight fist. Discreetly, he reached for Webb’s arm and dropped the ball of paper into the astonished man’s open palm. "Your printed letter, Sir, presented in a fashion that befits your request. Oh, and it is alright, Mr Webb. There will be no charge for our service this time. And should you ever need anything else printed, please feel free to come and use our printing service again. I hope our service has given you every satisfaction. We do aim to please. Good day to you, Sir."

Ian Webb stared at the wad of paper in his hand, looked back at Ezra open mouthed and then dropped his aghast eyes back to the ball of paper. Too stunned to do anything else, the dumbfounded customer turned and left the shop shaking his head as he tried to understand what had just happened. As the door closed behind him, Mary erupted into thunderous laughter.

"What a disagreeable man," Ezra claimed indignantly as he straightened his cuffs.

"Oh Ezra. You are wonderful."

"Mrs. Travis, I would greatly appreciate it if you would relay that comment to Mr Larabee. There are times when I do believe that ‘wonderful’ and its many synonyms are not words he likes to afford me. Particularly, after the unfortunate incident last evening when Mr. Wilmington bumped my arm and as a result my drink ended up decorating our resident gunfighter’s hat. I don’t believe he’ll ever forgive me."

Mary smiled at him. "You touched his hat?"

"Technically, no. The liquid that I had purchased did. But I assure you that no part of my person came into contact with Mr Larabee or his sacred head piece."

Mary Travis shook her head. Why was it that everything Ezra said, sounded like a speech for congress?

Abruptly, she began to giggle as a vision of Webb formed in her mind, without warning. "Did you see the look on Webb’s face when you... if I live to be a hundred I don’t think I will ever forget the look on his face. ‘Here is your typed letter, Sir.’"

The gambler winked at the amused woman, tipped his hat and then headed for the door. Now, what was he doing before he was interrupted?

************

Chris Larabee surveyed the town with practiced indifference. Most of the citizens had gone off to attend the fair in Eagle Bend. Hell, the only people still around were the Seven, the post master, telegraph operator, Mary and a half a dozen other boring people who had declined the invitation to do something out of the ordinary. So things were quiet.

Things had been quiet anyway in the past week. Maybe, just maybe, his job here was done, the gunfighter reflected. After all, the judge had only hired him for a month and that had been up sixty days past. It was the longest he had been in one place for years. With a tired sigh that echoed his boredom, he noted that the mushrooms were all but gone. Yesterday, out of nowhere, a scattering of mushrooms had appeared in the street. How on earth anything could grow out there on the compacted ground Chris didn’t know, but they had appeared on the edges of the street and between the buildings.

Vin had commented that nature was clawing her way back. "If the people left tomorrow, in a couple of months, nature would reclaim this land," he had proclaimed with a certainty only Vin could.

Chris snorted. Looks like nature is about to loose another one. Yesterday, there had been dozens of mushrooms. Today, he could see only one. One lone, solitary mushroom at the other end of the street. Nature’s last stand. Here today, gone tomorrow. Like me.

On his left, there was a scraping sound as the other chair on the saloon porch was drawn back and filled. Chris didn’t turn. He had recognized the distinct gait of the approaching man. He knew the fall of those boots almost as well as he knew his own. Neither man spoke. Both simply sat staring out at the passive street, contented and comfortable in each other’s silent company.

Unconsciously, Chris regarded the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. Vin Tanner. Quiet. Easy going. Loyal. Trustworthy, but also deadly, make no mistake about that. A man Chris had known effectively for less than twelve weeks, but spiritually, all his life. A man who didn’t like killing, but who would do so if there were no other option. Vin’s aim was as sure and true as anyone Chris had ever met.

"What’cha staring at Larabee?" Vin drawled softly from under the brim of his hat. A hat that was pulled down over his face as a silent signal that he didn’t wish to be disturbed.

Chris smirked. Vin also had the uncanny ability to know when someone was watching him. Having a bounty on your head does that to a man. "Ain’t looking at much. Just a dusty pile of rags."

There was an amused chuckle from under the hat. The stubbled chin came up off the chest and the hat was pushed back. "Reckon you’re insulting me, Cowboy. If my belly weren’t so full, I reckon I’d take offence."

"Mrs. Potter been feedin’ you again?" Vin was slight. Scrawny, according to the owner of the local store who had taken it upon herself to ‘add some meat to them young bones.’

"Narrr. Mushrooms. I love’m. Must have eaten a couple dozen this mornin’"

Chris regarded the street again and frowned. "You eat all of them?"

"No one else wanted ‘em."

"I mighta."

"Didn’t think you liked mushrooms."

Again a silence fell between them. Their shared silences certainly outweighed their conversations, but that was the way they both liked it.

"You missed one," Chris grunted, unexpectedly.

"Huh?" Vin sat forward scanning the street. "Where?"

"Five dollars says I can get it before you," Chris challenged, slyly. The serious gunfighter turned his slitted eyes on Vin. His friend’s bright blue ones were still searching the street lazily. Without a word, Chris leaped from the chair and took off up the street, Vin Tanner half a second behind him.

Ezra Standish was only ten feet from the saloon when his team mates vaulted off the porch and took off like the hounds of hell were after them. Chris Larabee almost knocked the gambler down in his haste. Startled, Ezra turned, his gun snapping into his fist, his eyes darting from one side of Four Corners to the other, searching for the trouble that had removed his fellow protectors from their relaxed slouches. But he could see nothing amiss. Bewildered, Ezra watched as his fearless leader dived into the dust, the group’s young tracker coming to an abrupt halt above him.

"Where the hell were you?" Larabee chuckled.

"I weren’t ready!"

Ezra’s right eyebrow arched curiously as their voices filled the street. Normally, one had to concentrate all of their auditory faculties to hear either of them. Both said little and what was said, was spoken in an undertone that made eavesdropping impossible. The hushed tones were even more apparent when they argued or got annoyed. But right now, Ezra could hear both voices very distinctly. He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or not.

"You owe me five dollars."

"You cheatin’ sonofabitch! I didn’t agree to no bet," Vin snapped back.

"You still ran."

"I’m tellin’ ya I wasn’t ready!"

Chris Larabee was grinning as he climbed to his feet.

Buck wandered out of the saloon and glanced at Ezra. He’d heard the raised voices and recognized them. "Problem?"

"I have no idea, Mr. Wilmington. Under normal circumstances Mr. Tanner and Mr. Larabee are most predictable beings, but this little spectacle is somewhat out of character. I dare say that the boredom of not having shot anyone for over six days is finally getting to them."

Buck squinted up the street. His oldest friend was waving something small in front of the face of the group’s unassuming tracker who had his hands firmly attached to his hips, an annoyed scowl decorating his usually calm face.

"What’s he got?" Buck asked out aloud.

"I do believe it is a mushroom. Earlier, I saw Mr. Tanner guzzling the fungi with all the enthusiasm you afford anything in a skirt."

AT THE OTHER END OF THE STREET...

"I ain’t payin’ you one lousy cent. You cheated," Vin argued.

"You ran," Chris pressed. The gunfighter saw something out of the corner of his eye that made his pupils narrow. "Double or nothin’," he challenged.

"What?"

"There."

"Aww, hell!"

Again the two men shot off, this time to the left. Buck burst into a good belly laugh. He watched with amusement as Vin tackled Chris. The wiry tracker then crawled up over the bigger man, his right hand grasping for the valuable prize. At the last minute, Chris grabbed his young friend’s belt and dragged him back. For several seconds the two wrestled in the middle of the street like a pair of eight year olds. Somehow Chris crawled free and dived on the small white mushroom.

"You owe me $10," he announced triumphantly.

"You cheatin’ sonofabitch. I ain’t payin’ you nothin’. You took off when I wasn’t ready again."

Chris Larabee smiled as he pulled the complaining younger man to his feet and handed him the mushroom. A mushroom that Vin thrust into his mouth immediately.

"You could have dusted it off first," Chris grimaced.

"A little bit of dust never hurt anyone."

"A horse could have pissed on it for all you know."

Vin Tanner stopped chewing, his head tipping to the side. "Ya reckon?"

"Hell, a dog coulda shit on it." Without warning, the half chewed mushroom unceremoniously tumbled out of Vin’s stunned mouth. Vigorously, the young tracker began wiping his tongue on the back of his sleeve. Chris Larabee winked at the younger man. "Come on and let me buy you a drink to wash that dog shit down with."

Buck grinned with inner warmth as the pair walked toward him. He couldn’t help it. What had just taken place on the dusty streets of Four Corners was nothing short of a miracle. Before arriving in this no nothing town a few paltry weeks earlier, Chris Larabee had not smiled or laughed for three very long, very dark years. Buck knew that as certainly as he knew his own name. But something strange had happened recently. Something that Buck had honestly believed was impossible. Chris Larabee was learning to smile again. ‘Someone’ had reached into the bottomless, aggressive pit that constituted the hard man’s heart and had unlocked the steel doors Chris had constructed to protect himself. The doors were still there, and more often than not were closed tightly, but they were no longer locked. Now, it was possible to open them, even if only for fleeting moments like this.

"Excuse me, Chris, I was wonderin’ if you could explain just how that activity relates to the protection of this fine town. I didn’t quite understand that last part," Buck cried.

"Shut up, Buck!" Vin and Chris snapped as one.

Buck knew that neither of his friends would ever consider such horsing around under normal circumstances. They had reputations, or at least, Chris did. Today, the streets of Four Corners were completely empty. There wasn't anyone to catch them letting their guard down for a few uncharacteristic minutes. No one, that was, except Ezra and Buck.

Unperturbed by his fellow protecters’ scowls, Buck grinned. "Reckon ya all gave poor Ezra a heart attack."

At this, Chris grinned at Buck. "Ezra should know better than to get in the way of a man and a $5 bet."

Silently, Buck lifted his eyes to heaven in grateful prayer. It was good to see Chris relaxed like this. The truth of the matter was, Buck loved Chris Larabee like a brother. It wasn’t something he talked about or really even thought about, but Chris was his oldest friend. They had been through a lot together and seeing Chris able to smile again made Buck’s heart dance. Happiness had been absent from Chris’ life for far too long. There had been a time when Chris Larabee had known joy, peace and tranquility, but not anymore. Now, he was intrinsically a serious and bitter man, not because he wanted to be, but because life had dealt him a hand that no man deserved. Once, Chris had had a family - the most beautiful wife and dear little son, Buck had ever met. Chris had adored them. Worshipped them both. Their tragic death had changed Chris - changed him into someone he wasn’t. Unlike other men, who suffered loss and either got over it or became empty shells, Larabee had become one hostile, dark, son of a bitch. But Larabee was a good man. Buck believed that. Knew it intuitively. However, Chris was someone to be avoided unless interaction was absolutely necessary. That was, unless of course, he was your friend. But there weren’t many people who could claim that honor.

Buck’s attention was drawn to Larabee’s partner in play. A young man at least ten years Chris’ junior. Vin was cursing Chris with quiet passion. Again Buck smiled. This was the ‘someone’. Why? How? Buck couldn’t answer either of those questions. There had been a time when he had actually been jealous of Vin. A time when he had thought that somehow the scruffy tracker had taken his place in Larabee’s life. Now, Buck understood that Vin occupied a place next to his own. Buck was more than grateful that Vin Tanner had walked into his life. Vin was single handedly converting Chris back to the man he had been before he had doused the flames of his grief with whisky and hatred. It was Vin who had destroyed the lock on Chris’s soul and continually opened the door briefly to reveal the fun loving man Chris had once been. A man who would wrestle in the middle of the street over something as silly as a mushroom. For that, Buck would always be in Vin’s debt. Hell, he liked Vin anyway. Tanner was a genuinely friendly man when he allowed you to get close to him. However,that didn’t explain the fierce need Buck had to protect Vin Tanner. The truth was, Buck knew that the tracker’s continued presence could provide Chris Larabee’s eventual salvation. And that meant more to Buck than just about anything in the world. For maybe then, Buck could lay his own guilt to rest.