Chris awoke abruptly. Before he knew it, he was sitting bolt upright. What had dragged him from his slumber with such determination? He rose to his feet quickly, grabbed his revolver and moved to the window to study the moonlit area.

Adrenaline flooded his system. His chest pounded. A very real sense of urgency drove him cautiously onto the porch, his revolver in his fist.

He sent out his senses… listening… scanning the area with wary eyes.

All was quiet and still.

Reaching up with his left hand, he massaged his temple. It wasn’t throbbing. It was more like something heavy was sitting on his skull, crushing it.

Turning, Larabee re-entered the shack and listened. Everything appeared fine, yet the very essence of his being was insisting something was wrong. He moved to the window and again peered out at the disappearing murkiness. Dawn wasn’t far away.

Chris noted that the pressure in his head was building. Why did he have a headache? He hadn’t overindulged in drink for weeks. Bubbling nausea danced in his stomach – something all too familiar after binging on whiskey. But he hadn’t. All he’d had yesterday was coffee.

Chris turned and picked up his pocket watch from the small bench next to the bed. Squinting, he could just make out the time – twenty past five. The inscription drew his attention. “Darling Christopher.” Sarah had given him the watch on their first wedding anniversary. She had used the money he had been saving for a stallion. When she’d given the gift to him, he’d tried to look like he wanted it, but he’d been livid. Now, he thanked God she had wasted their savings on a trinket like this.

Abruptly, a sense of Vin overwhelmed him.

Chris moved outside again. “Vin?”

Nothing.

“I must have been dreaming,” he muttered. Vin had been on his mind a lot lately.

Damn Eli Joe. Things would be so different but for that mongrel. If only Chris had aimed that day. Instead, he’d simply responded to the horror in front of him. The knife had arced. Something had snapped inside him. He’d reacted. That had not happened before. Normally, despite his speed on the draw, he consciously aimed and shot. That day he hadn’t. Why?

Following the incident, Vin had mounted Peso and ridden out. Normally, Chris would give him space, but he had followed.

“I’ve got your back.”

“Not asking you to ride shotgun for the rest of my life.”

“I know.”

“Don’t want you to.”

“I know.”

“You aren’t listenin’ are you, you stubborn cuss?”

Once more, Chris was overwhelmed with a sense of Vin, but the headache was easing. In that moment, Chris recognised it was Vin’s headache, not his. That, of course, was ridiculous. Then again…

Larabee snorted. He wasn’t one much for naming animals. Until a week ago, she was just ‘the black mare’. Then Buck and J.D. had visited and much to Vin’s amusement, the pair had set about ‘naming’ Chris’ stock.

Chris took another step. The horse slowed and walked to a stop, watching him carefully. “Easy, girl. No one is going to hurt you.” Chris took another step. The distant roar of a mountain lion filled the air. Ebony reared. Chris held her firmly. She twisted to the right, wrenching his shoulder. Pain radiated down his arm and numbed his fingers. He gripped the rope with his good hand, looking off in the direction of the cougar.

It took half an hour to settle the horse, but finally she was calm and he returned her to the paddock.

Chris scanned the area, a rifle hanging by his side. His shoulder throbbed with vengeance; the joint having overextended. However, the swig of whisky he’d taken was beginning to dull the discomfort.

He sensed the approach of a rider.

“Vin comin’ in.” Peso trotted through the trees, his buckskin rider alighting and gingerly rotating his shoulder.

“Just out stretching my legs. Ended up here.” It was a lie and they both knew it. Chris studied his friend carefully. They’d never needed explanations before so why did Vin see the need to give one today?

Tanner stared at him intently. If anything, he looked confused. “You alright?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

Vin cursed. “Nothin’. Just… had this feeling that you were in trouble.” He started massaging his shoulder.

“Hurt your shoulder?”

“Must have. Don’t remember doing it. I know I’m not makin’ sense. Just had this feeling you were in trouble.”

“You been drinking?”

“Stuff you, Larabee.” They exchanged an easy smile.

“Well, now that you’re here, can you take a look around for a cougar? Heard one about thirty minutes ago. Wasn’t close, but scared the black mare.”

“Sure. Never known there to be so many around.”

Chris had dismissed the incident three months earlier as co-incidence, but now - now he knew with absolute certainty, Vin had an excruciating headache.

Larabee glanced out the window. The pre-dawn glow was appearing. He could go out and get an early start on the fencing, but… the sense of urgency returned.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

With a soft curse, Chris scooped his boots off the floor.

**********

Sunrise announced itself in Four Corners with pink hues and the return of an agitated rider. Chris guided his horse into the livery. Frowning, he noted that Peso was in his stall moving restlessly. By now, Vin would usually have headed out to exercise the free-spirited animal.

Concern swamped the urgency.

Chris was certain.

Something was wrong.

Without removing Pony’s saddle, Larabee strode from the building only to run into Buck.

“I know what you’re thinking. Why am I up at this ungodly…”

“You seen Vin?” Chris interrupted.

“Don’t think he’s up yet.”

Chris turned sharply and headed for the alley that housed Vin’s wagon, his boots stomping out his rising alarm.

“Chris?” Buck called after him. “What’s up?”

As he approached, Chris waited for the end of a revolver or rifle to poke out from behind the canvass flap. “Come on, Vin.” Nothing moved. “Damn.”

Larabee banged on the buckboard lightly. “Vin?” Pulling back the canvass flap, he peered inside. Vin was on the cot on the left, laying on his side. “Vin?” His friend failed to move or respond.

Chris climbed up into the wagon, crouched beside Vin and gave him a gentle shake. “Vin?” Carefully, he rolled the unconscious man onto his back and patted his face. “Vin?”

Dammit it to hell! Inexplicably, he’d known something was wrong. A shrill whistle pierced the air. Buck’s roguish face appeared instantly.

“Get Nathan.”

Buck flicked his concerned eyes to Vin and then darted off to do so.

“Vin,” Chris repeated. The tracker’s face was pale, his lips colourless but he was breathing. Larabee quickly scanned for signs of an injury. He placed his hand on Vin’s brow, but there was no sign of fever. “Vin?” Again, he gently patted his friend’s face.

Chris glanced toward the street at the sound of pounding boots. Nathan pulled the flap back and climbed up into the cramped area, Chris shuffling backwards out of the way.

“What happened?” Nathan demanded.

“Was some sort of brawl in the saloon late yesterday afternoon and he was hit with a bottle.”

“Did he lose consciousness?”

Chris realized he had no idea. “Ezra was there.”

“Do you want me to get him?” Buck asked, his head again thrust through the flap.

“I need more light.” Buck lifted the cavass, flooding the small wagon with morning sun. Nathan’s practised fingers disappeared amongst Vin’s hair. “Hell.”

“Nathan?”

“He’s got an egg back there the size of my fist. Was he drinking last night?”

“No,” Buck responded. “He had a headache. Was just drinking water.”

“And none of you had enough sense to come and get me!”

“Nathan, he was fine. Really,” Buck insisted.

“I want to speak to Ezra,” the healer stated, gently rolling Vin onto his side so he could examine the injury.

Buck shot off to carry out the request, at the same time, summoning additional help as he race past the church. “Josiah! Vin’s wagon!”

Chris eyed the swelling as Nathan parted Vin’s hair. The red and purple bruising spread down the back of his friend’s neck.

“It’s bad?”

“He must have taken one hell of a blow. We need to get him up to my clinic. We’re going to need…”

“I’m here, Brothers,” Josiah stated, calmly. “Pass him out to me.”

*********

Buck curled up his fist and banged on the door. “Ezra!”

The response on the other side was muffled with sleep and annoyance. “Mr Wilmington, I say this in the nicest possible way, GO AWAY!”

“Ezra!”

“Unless there is…”

“Vin’s hurt!”

The door flung open almost immediately, Ezra framed in the morning light.

“Yesterday, did…” Buck’s voice deserted him. “Why are you wearing a dress?”

“It is a gentleman’s nightshirt.” They stared at each other. “You said Vin’s hurt? What happened?”

“Just found him unconscious in his wagon. They’re carrying him to the clinic.”

“What? But he was okay. I mean…”

“I know. Nathan wants to talk to you. Hurry up and get dressed.”

*********

Ezra strode into the clinic, nodding a greeting to Chris. This place, like most others in Four Corners, had changed considerably. What had once been little more than a room where Nathan lived, unless he was treating someone, now had two beds specifically for patients, a bookcase with a dozen medical books and a table with simple medical equipment laid out on it. Taking pride of place was a stethoscope Ezra had purchased. Apparently, it was for Nathan to use with the gambler exclusively, but all knew it was a gift from one friend to another.

Ezra lowered his gaze to Vin who was in the bed on the right, Nathan leaning over him.

“How is he?”

Nathan paused and looked up. “Describe to me what happened.”

“It was just some simple rabblerousing and then a coward struck him from behind with a bottle.”

“Full… empty?”

Ezra looked from Nathan to Chris and back again. “Umm… full, I think.”

“Did he lose consciousness?”

“No.”

“Not even for a moment?”

Ezra licked his lips, suddenly consumed with guilt. “I… no. He was conscious. Nathan, he got back on his feet and apart from a headache, said he was fine. I did suggest that he come and speak to you, but you were out of town and…”

Nathan patted Ezra’s arm. “It’s okay. Thank you.” The healer returned to his patient.

“Then his current condition is a result of the blow he sustained yesterday?”

Nathan gently turned Vin’s head and parted the hair to show Ezra the egg.

“Hell, I… I…”

“Not your fault, Ezra,” Chris stated quietly.

“Yes, but I was there. I should have… I mean…”

Chris clapped the struggling man’s shoulder.

“How bad is it?” Ezra asked with faltering control.

Nathan glanced up. “I think some ice may help with the swelling. Can you get me some?”

“Yes. Yes, we have some in the saloon. I won’t be long.”

Ezra strode out of the room. On the verandah, he paused and squeezed his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. Glancing back into the clinic, Ezra shook his head with consternation and then went to collect the ice.

**********

Chris watched as Nathan secured the ice in a bandana and placed it behind Vin’s head. The rest of the boys were gathered along the porch outside.

Jackson rose and stretched his back.

“Nathan?” Up until this point, Chris had said very little.

“We just have to wait now. There’s a good chance he’ll be awake by lunch and complaining because I’m insisting he stays here for twenty-four hours.” Nathan smiled reassurance at the other man. “You all go on now. I’ll sit with him. Will let you know as soon as he wakes up.”

Chris exhaled deeply. “Thanks, Nathan.” He turned and joined the others.

“We heard,” Buck stated. “So, it’s only a matter of time before he wakes up. That’s good.”

*********

Over the next few hours, each of Vin’s friends visited to check on him but his condition did not change. He was no better, but no worse either. Nathan assured them that Vin’s breathing remained smooth and strong which was positive and repeated, ‘we just have to wait’.

Up until lunch, Chris had spent the morning on the porch of the Standish Saloon, whittling, his eyes lifting periodically to the clinic. With each passing minute though, Chris’ jaw clenched a little tighter and his whittling became more aggressive. After the fifteenth well-meaning local had asked how Vin was and passed on their best wishes for a speedy recovery, Larabee had retreated indoors before he shot someone.

Now, he sat staring at the bottle of whisky on the table, compliments of the establishment’s owner. Lunch had also been sent over but sat in front of him untouched.

Chris had indulged in one shot of soul-numbing liquid, but the Red Eye was calling to him. There was a darkness growing inside him, fed by memories dredged from his past. The ache he felt inside was familiar. Images of Sarah and Adam were interspersed with ones of Vin. He hadn’t been there when his wife and son had needed him. Yesterday, when Vin had needed him, where was he?

Chris glared at the bottle. He knew that if he started drinking at this time of day, it would be difficult to stop. His soul throbbed. With a curse, he picked up the bottle and poured himself a second shot.

To his right, he heard Buck shoulder through the batwing doors. He knew it was Buck, despite not checking. Wilmington’s normal jovial greetings to the saloon girls were absent as he strode across the room, ignoring all in front of him. When he reached Chris’ table, he dropped into a chair.

“All is quiet out there.”

Chris pushed the shot of whiskey across to this friend.

“Not for me, Pard. I want to keep a clear head.”

Chris grimaced. Buck wasn’t having a go at him, just stating a fact.

Wilmington slammed his fist into the table. “Chris, he was okay last night. Was playing cards and joking around with us. I swear that if I thought…”

Chris raised his hand. “I know. I spoke to him before I left.” Vin had seemed fine. There had been no indication there was a problem; certainly not a problem that would leave Vin in the condition he was now.

“Nathan has put more ice on the back of his head. Says he might be unconscious because of the swelling putting pressure on his brain.” Buck shook his head. “He doesn’t sound real sure. Is trying to work out when Vin lost consciousness.”

Chris frowned. “Twenty past five.” The words popped out of his mouth without cognizant thought.

“What?” Buck asked, confused.

Chris glared at his long-time friend, rose and marched out of the saloon. Others made themselves scarce. The black duster may be gone, but the gunfighter persona was back. Chris Larabee was not a happy man.

Nathan, seated on a chair beside Vin’s bed, nodded to Chris as he entered. “Still no change. His breathing is still smooth and strong. I’ve been able to squeeze some water into his mouth, but he isn’t swallowing.”

“How important is it that you know when he passed out?”

Nathan eyed Chris curiously. “Must have happened some time overnight. I’m just trying to work out a timeline so I can…”

“It was about twenty past five this morning”

Nathan’s right eyebrow ached.

Chris held his gaze. “Don’t ask me how I know that I just… he knew he was in trouble before he passed out. His headache was bad. Crushing.”

“It was the swelling putting pressure on his brain… twenty past five?”

Chris stared down at Vin, watching as his bare chest rose and fell. A blanket was tucked around him up to his waist. There was some bruising appearing on the side of his face now. “I woke up this morning and I knew something was wrong.”

Nathan nodded. “Can you sit with him for a while? I want to go to the privy and get something to eat. If his breathing changes or he wakes up, come and get me.”

With that, the healer rose and headed for the door. He paused on the porch waiting for Chris to sit. Larabee remained standing, staring at his friend. With a shake of the head, Nathan left the pair alone.

When he returned ten minutes later, Chris hadn’t moved a muscle. “No change?”

Chris glanced at the healer. “Nathan?”

“Too early to tell, Chris. We need to wait.”

Larabee cursed passionately and then spun on his heels and stormed out of the clinic.

Nathan sank down into the chair. “Vin, for his sake, you better wake up soon.”