Someone Else's Son - Section II

PART 9:

"Ezra!" Josiah shouted and was off his horse in a second, and attempted to get around Miguel's agitated roan.

"Stop, Sanchez!" Miguel ordered, "Stop!"

 In the growing dark, he could see Ezra was curled on his side beside the Chaucer, his hand pressed to his side, muttering a constant stream of, "damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!"

"Ezra!  Are you all right?  Ezra?"

Ezra gave no sign of hearing, as he continued to curse at the dirt, as Miguel kept them separated, as Chaucer started mincing around in agitation.

"Get away, Sanchez!" Miguel ordered again, clutching at his wounded shoulder as he held the gun on his father.  "Hand over your weapons!" he ordered.  "Hand them over, now!"

Sanchez ignored him, and finally managed to get around Miguel's horse and reached for Chaucer's reins to draw him away from Ezra.  Chaucer jerked away, snorting and stamping, his hooves coming dangerously close to Ezra's head.  "Quiet, horse, quiet!" Josiah tried to soothe, but Chaucer would have nothing to do with it.

A gun fired, freezing Josiah as he felt the unsettling sensation of a bullet flying too near his ear. He spun to face his son. 

"Give me your guns!" Miguel ordered as he aimed his weapon at his father.  "Now!  Quick!"

"Let me help him," Josiah pleaded as he unquestioningly pulled his weapons from their holsters.  "Please." He handed the guns, butt first, to his son.  Miguel had to pull his hand from his bleeding arm to accept the guns.  He tossed them quickly into his waiting saddlebag.  Ezra gasped in the dirt beside his horse who snorted and continued to stamp menacingly.

"Please," Josiah tried again.

"Your rifle," Miguel added, nodding to Prophet.  "Now."

Josiah threw Garcia a furious glance and then strode quickly to his horse and he pulled the weapon from its sheath and then removed his saddlebags.

"Leave those bags," Miguel ordered from his seat atop his horse when Josiah handed him the rifle. 

Ezra still struggled to sit up, breathing harshly.  Chaucer wouldn't stop moving. 

"Lay still!  I'm comin', Ezra!" Josiah assured, hoping to God that horse calmed down.  He turned to his son.  "I need the bags.  They've got bandages to fix him up. That's all I need," he declared.  "Let me help him.  Please!"

Miguel gestured for the bag and Josiah gave it up to him.  Garcia went through it quickly and yanked the cloths from it, throwing them to his father.  "Get me his guns.  Now!  Then you can patch him up." He rooted through the bags for a moment, withdrawing a hunting knife, stowing it with the guns.  Josiah's searched bags were thrown toward Prophet.

Josiah clutched the bandages to his chest and turned toward Ezra again.  Chaucer glared at him balefully and stamped down a hoof again.  He made a noise low in his throat, that didn't bode well.

Garcia laughed.  And Ezra looked up at his faithful steed.  "Behave," he said softly.  Chaucer snorted again, and lowered his head to sniff at his owner. 

Josiah was beside him by then.  Ezra's right side was stained with blood. He held his derringer ready against his palm.

"Ezra, I'm here now," Josiah said, as he pulled off his jacket and folded it loosely before placing it under Ezra's head.  "You're gonna be all right," he guaranteed as he laid one hand on the gambler's shoulder. 

"The guns, old man.  Give me his weapons,"  Miguel's voice came out of the growing darkness.  "Now, or I'll put another hole in him." The gunman changed his aim, trying to find a target, but Chaucer was in the way.

Ezra blinked at Josiah and sighed as the preacher took the derringer from his hand, the Colt Richard's Conversion from his shoulder harness and the Remington from the ground.  When he pulled the Revolving Rifle from its scabbard on Chaucer's saddle, the animal gave an unhappy grunt.  Josiah hurried to his son, handing over the armament.

Miguel whistled as he looked over the weapons. "Nice stuff, fancy man," he murmured.  "I ain't seen the like of these…"Josiah didn't wait, returning quickly to Ezra's side.

"Ezra, you hear me?" Josiah asked softly.

"Every word," Ezra replied, blinking constantly, his hands held to his side. "Forgive me for my lack of response earlier." He sucked in a breath.  "I was a bit distracted and…found conversation difficult.  I was…"

"Keep it that way," Josiah cut him off.  "Don't talk."

The conman smiled.  "A difficult order to follow.  You know how I appreciate a good conversation."

"Try it for a change," Josiah told him, and then added in a softer voice, "Let me see." He lifted away Ezra's hands and pulled back the ruined jacket.  The vest and shirt below were wet with blood.  He undid Ezra's shoulder harness, and then struggled with the blood-soaked cloth and the buttons.   "Gonna get all this out of the way," Josiah explained softly.  "Then see what we have to do."

"It's not so bad," Ezra said quietly, his voice almost dreamlike.  "Skinned me I think.  Hurts like the devil." He panted as the material was pulled from the wound. 

"Shhhh, shhh," Josiah soothed as he worked.  "Gonna be done with this soon." He winced in sympathy as he saw the nasty path the bullet had taken, carving out a channel along Ezra's side.  Not a mortal wound, not terribly deep, but painful as all hell.  He hoped Ezra had a sewing kit in his bags; this would definitely need stitching.

Ezra lifted his head and scowled as he saw the damage.  "Good Lord, I've been striped like a tiger!" Ezra exclaimed before Josiah pushed his head down against the folded jacket.

"Lay still, son," Josiah said softly. "Won't do you any good to move around right now."  He picked up one of the bandages and pressed it against the bleeding wound, keeping his other hand against Ezra's head.  He heard Standish inhale slowly, but he made no further sound.  He watched as the gambler flexed his hands, grasping at his jacket.   "Almost done, Ezra," the preacher murmured. 

"Did I kill him?" Josiah heard Miguel's indifferent voice behind him.

"No," Josiah answered quickly, holding his weight on the wound.  "He ain't gonna die."

"Not today," Ezra gasped.

Josiah pulled back the cloth, and asked, "You have that flask with you?"

Ezra nodded minimally, and fumbled with his pocket until he pulled the pretty silver flask from its hiding place.  "It'd be a shame to waste it all." He licked his lips.  "Do you suppose there's some to spare?"

Josiah nodded and watched as Ezra gulped down a few mouthfuls of the expensive liquor.   He paused and drank again before lifting the flask to Josiah.  "Perhaps you would like to…?"he started, raising his eyes to meet Josiah's.

Josiah carefully took the flask from Ezra, wrapping one warm hand around Ezra's cold one.  "If there's something left when we're done, I'll have a swallow.  You bring your sewing kit?"

Ezra chucked softly.  "How could I be without it? It seems that I'm always tearing something. Usually it's only cloth." He lifted a hand and dropped it.  "It's in Chaucer's left saddlebag, in one of the … pouches along the back.  I think I still have white thread. I'm afraid there's no beige." His eyes wandered for a second and then connected to Josiah's again.  "I hope your stitching is as neat as Mr. Jackson's…Lord help me if you sew like my mother."

"She's a magnificent woman," Josiah said as Ezra pulled his hand free of Josiah's grasp.  "Any man would be happy to be in her company."

"You'd best keep clear of her, sir.  She'll be nothing but trouble to you." Ezra sighed deeply again.  "Why, I recall…"his voice was growing softer.

"I need you to lay still for a bit, son," Josiah stopped him.  "No more talkin'."

Ezra nodded and pressed his head against his pillow.  Through Chaucer's legs, he kept his eyes on Miguel.  Garcia watched in avid fascination, his hand again clutching his bleeding arm.


PART 10:

Josiah sat beside his son and carefully tied a bandage in place.  Against his ribs Josiah could feel the awful pressure of Miguel's service revolver.  Garcia's eyes followed his every movement.

"You ‘bout done, papa?" Miguel asked, his voice more congenial than his actions.

Josiah nodded sharply.  "Done," he said dully and stepped back.  The gun was pulled from his side, but it remained pointed in his direction. 

"Good," the young man said, looking down at his father's handiwork.  "Took long enough.  I figure it'll have to do the job." Garcia now had the silver flask in his pocket, along with Ezra's pocket watch, his ruby ring and Josiah's $20.  Josiah himself had stripped Ezra of his most valuable possessions, not bothering to check the gambler's boots. No, he thought, let the secret vault go untested.  Ezra did nothing as Josiah took the requested items -- watching with a detached expression.

"We'll be goin' then.  We've been here for too long as it is," Miguel said.  "Horses have had their rest."

Josiah looked up in shock.  "We're staying," he stated firmly.  "Ezra and I aren't going any further with you."  He gestured toward Ezra who was resting where Josiah had left him, his torso tied up in a bandage.  It was too dark to see him clearly, but Sanchez was sure that the gambler was watching them.

"I ain't gonna leave a couple of lawmen on the loose," Miguel responded.

"We weren't gonna turn you in, Miguel," Josiah shot back.  Only the presence of the gun kept him from advancing.

"You're lawmen."

"I'm your father!  I told you, I would ride with you to Mexico!  I wanted to be with you, boy!  I was willing to go wherever you wanted."

"Not him," Miguel gestured to where Ezra was resting in the dark.  "That one wanted me dead.  He shot me!"  Miguel added incredulously, rubbing his newly bandaged arm.  The wound was little more than a graze, meant to disarm -- but not kill or seriously hurt.  Josiah had trouble believing that Garcia had meant the same for Ezra.  Ezra's wound came damn close to being a gut shot.

"You were about to commit patricide," Ezra's voice came out of the darkness.  "I couldn't allow that.  I'd made a promise."

Miguel snorted.  "Alright then," he muttered.  "Get up if you can and we'll get out of here." He strode toward the gambler in the low light of the moon. 

Garcia stood beside Standish and stared at him, his gun held at his side, ready to be used in an instant.  He was silent as he observed the gambler.  Neither moved.

Ezra returned the gaze indifferently.  Finally, he spoke, "Might I ask, what about me holds such interest?"

Miguel looked over his shoulder and asked his father, "Is he another one?"

"Another what?" Josiah asked, moving close and trying to keep his voice in check.

"Another one of your bastards?" Miguel growled.  "Is this one that you actually cared about?  Is this one that did everything right?  Was this the good one?  Is this the one you wanted?"

Josiah drew in a deep breath, wanting to say so much, but not knowing where to start.

"I assure you," Ezra answered instead.  "There's no blood between us… except for…" In the dark, he fingered his reddened jacket.  "Your father is an exemplary man, a man of honor.  You should count yourself blessed to have him."

"Blessed?  Ain't nothing that would bless me," Miguel returned spitefully.  "I've never had a decent break.  All my life people 'ave been giving me the worst of everything.  All my life I've fought for the little bits I got.  You!  I bet you've never wanted for nothing."

Ezra blinked at Garcia and then smiled.  "One must learn that desires are seldom achieved, that what we want most in the world is often entirely out of reach."

"Tell me, have you ever been hungry?  Have you ever had to work for anything in your life?"  Miguel's voice raised in anger, and Josiah stepped closer, ready to grab hold of him in spite of the gun.  "Have you ever had your feet kicked out from under you?  You ever get the idea that not a soul in the world gave a damn if you lived or died?  You ever see a world where nobody wanted you?"

Ezra sighed.  "Mr. Garcia," he said finally.  "I see you've had a difficult life -- one that I, most likely, cannot begin to fathom."

"Damn right!  My life has been hell from start to finish!  Never had the luck of someone like you."

"Luck," Ezra responded as he tried to lever himself upright. "Is not to be counted on."

"Gambler!"  Miguel returned.  "Thought you and your type were about nothing but luck."

Standish gasped as his newly stitched side pulled badly.

"Stay still, Ezra," Josiah insisted, kneeling beside him again.

"A gambler must trust in his abilities, must know his opponents, must judge correctly the outcome.  To count on luck is to encourage failure.  A gambler takes responsibility for his part in the game -- win or lose, it's due to one's own skills, one's own choices and decisions.  There is no luck." Ezra grasped hold of Josiah and used him to try to stand.  "A gambler who cannot maintain control of his own game had best take up another pastime."

"Ezra!  Stay still!"  Josiah ordered, wanting to press Standish back to the ground, but not wanting to hurt him in the process.

"Besides," Ezra paused to suck in his breath. "I abhor gambling and…"

"Quit bein' such a stubborn fool!" Josiah demanded.  "Are you tryin' to kill yourself?"

"What will you do to us, Mr. Garcia, if we don't leave immediately?"  Ezra asked as he gained his feet.

Miguel smirked.  "Kill you." He nodded to Josiah.  "I'd like to keep papa with me."

"And if I come along as your prisoner?  Would I live?"

Another barked laugh.  "I'll let ya go when we make it to safety. I'd like my papa to meet my partner."

Ezra nodded.  "You see, Mr. Sanchez.  I'm not trying to commit suicide -- far from it.   I'm trying to keep my skin intact… what's left of it."

"He needs to rest a little longer.  The bullet wound might tear open if he gets on that horse!"  Josiah insisted.

Miguel shrugged.  "I'd rather not kill you, papa.  Maybe this one is my brother?  I don't know… but I'd kill him quick if it kept me from bein' caught.  Get him in the saddle if you want to keep him." Miguel looked curiously at Ezra again.  "Is he my brother?" he asked Josiah.

"No, Miguel," Josiah responded woefully.  "He's not."

"A half brother, maybe?"

"No."

"Are you certain?  I bet you had plenty of women in your day."

"I'm certain," Josiah bit back.

"Maybe he's a step-son, huh?"

"No, no, he's not."

"Maybe some lady just told you that he's your son.  You didn't know for sure so you paid her for his upkeep?"

"No… it's not like that."

"You adopted him?"

"No, Miguel, no." Josiah's voice grew louder as Miguel pestered him.

"Maybe he's a nephew, huh?  A cousin?"

"No!"

"A foundling left at your doorstep?  Maybe someone put him in a basket and floated him down among the reeds?"

Josiah's frown deepened, realizing that Miguel was playing with him.  "No!  He's not… he's not anything…"

Miguel laughed again, his quick fox laugh.  "So that's it!  He's nothing at all." He gestured abruptly.  "Get that 'nothing' on his horse.  We're going."

Josiah placed one hand on Ezra's shoulder, and kept the other below his elbow to keep him upright.  "I didn't mean it like that, Ezra," Josiah said softly. "I just…"

"Mr. Sanchez, you spoke perfect truth.  We're unrelated in any way."

"It just came out wrong."

Ezra smiled tightly as he leaned on Josiah.  "Please, this isn't something to be worried about.  What we need to do is keep our heads and be on our way," Ezra said in a low voice as Josiah helped him toward the horses.  "I'm certain that all will be well, and that we escape this in the end."

When they came alongside Chaucer, Josiah helped Ezra into the saddle.  His torn side made it difficult for him to bend at all and Josiah nearly had to lift him up and place him in the saddle.   Ezra didn't utter a word during the process, breathing deeply and squeezing his eyes shut.  Once he was settled, Josiah patted Ezra on the leg.  "Okay?" he asked.

Ezra nodded, his face paler after the exertion.  "All's well, Mr. Sanchez.  Your sewing is remarkably adept.  I don't believe that I've busted out in any manner."

Josiah smiled, glad for small favors.

"Tie his hands to the horn," Miguel instructed, tossing a length of rope to his father.  "Make sure it's tight." He pointed his weapon at the gambler, suspicious of the man.

Josiah threw Miguel an angry glance and then looked back to Ezra.  The conman sighed and presented his hands to be tied.  The knots had to be redone once, when Miguel decided that the ropes weren't tight enough.  After he was finished with Ezra, Josiah was allowed to mount and then Miguel tied his father's hands.  The group started off again -- under a much different mood than before.


PART 11:

They traveled through the night.  Ezra's horse tied to Josiah's, and then Josiah's to Miguel's.  The outlaw needed only glance to his right to see both of his captives. His father was fairly visible in the moonlight.  The gambler moved through the gloom, but Miguel decided that the wind had been knocked from Ezra's sails and he'd be of little consequence.

Josiah kept a careful watch on Ezra.  The gambler's head would dip from time to time and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, but seemed to be doing well.  Chaucer moved like quicksilver, never jostling his rider.

Once, Josiah watched as Ezra slumped dangerously forward.  "Ezra!"  Josiah cried, wishing he could reach out to stop him.  He heard Miguel bark out a laugh in response.  "Ezra," he said again, and the gambler straightened, nodding to Josiah.

Ezra worked at the ropes almost constantly, stopping when he felt Miguel's gaze upon him and using that time to droop even further.  Let the man think he was half-dead.  If Garcia believed he was too sick to be a threat, then Ezra would use that to his advantage.  Josiah had tried to be kind with the ropes, but had to be retied, and they cut cruelly against his wrists.  There wasn't much room to work, and the gambler was never very good with knots -- still, with a little work he might find a way to get past them.

It was difficult work in the dark, with his side ablaze with pain and his head spinning.  God, he wanted to lie down and rest, but there was no time for making wishes.  He'd have to make due with what had been given to him. He chuckled -- that was the story of his life – making due with what he had.  He'd made a career out of that practice.

He glanced up to see Josiah looking at him curiously, probably alarmed by the laughter.  He grinned widely at the preacher, realizing that he probably looked like a maniac.  He chuckled again and lowered his head.

The night was cold and clear.  As they moved through the late autumn night, Ezra figured that they were due for a long winter.  He shivered in his ruined jacket, wishing that he'd been allowed a blanket at least, but he doubted he could count on any favors from Garcia.  Ezra's pride in the jacket's supposed warmth had long since fled.  Well, it didn't help that it had a hole in it and that he had lost more blood than what was comfortable.

He let his head dip forward again, convincing himself that he was only doing it to throw Miguel off the truth, but he seemed to drift until he heard Josiah bark his name.  How long had the preacher been calling?  Ezra blinked his eyes, trying to find his bearings and then looked toward Sanchez, seeing that concerned look.  He smiled, grinning wider than one really should, and then continued his work on the ropes.

A sound caught him and he listened intently, trying to discern what he was hearing.  Ahead of them, something rushed and burbled.  The Banyon River, he finally decided.  He calculated their journey and figured that they must be nearly to Mexico.  He sighed, wondering what would happen next.  'Nothing good', he decided.

The sound of the water rushing in the distance hypnotized him and he suddenly found that they'd reached it and were at the water's edge.  They paused to let the horses drink.  Nobody was allowed to dismount and soon they were underway again.

They continued onward along the river and Ezra gazed out at the moon-silvered surface.  Something carried in the flow caught his eye and he tried to discern what it was -- it flashed like metal,  a sieve?  He laughed softly at that thought. Funny that he thought of a sieve…it would sink of course.  A sieve would sink.

He smiled, reminded of a poem he had read in his latest acquisition.

He cleared his throat as he recalled the words.  "They went to sea in a Sieve, they did, in a Sieve they went to sea," he spoke out loud. He couldn't help himself. "In spite of all their friends could say, on a winter's morn, on a stormy day, in a Sieve they went to sea!"

"Ezra," Josiah's voice sounded alarmed. "Ezra? Are you okay?"

The southerner closed his eyes, nodding to his horse's gentle gait and continued to speak, "And when the Sieve turned round and round, and every one cried, ‘You'll all be drowned!'  They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big, but we don't care a button!  We don't care a fig!  In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'"

"Ezra!" Josiah shouted.  "Look at me, Ezra!"

The gambler opened his eyes and glanced across at his companion.  "I'm right as rain, Mr. Sanchez," he answered, and then turned to watch the flashing thing disappear from sight.  Maybe it was just a piece of wood, a raft of leaves, a dead thing lost in the current, caught in the moonlight.

"Ezra?" There was no mistaking the concern in Josiah's voice.

"I'm fine, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra replied.

" Far and few," he spoke, " far and few, are the lands where the Jumblies live ."

Miguel chortled.  "He's off his head."

Josiah threw his son an angry look before he returning his gaze to Ezra.  "You feeling hot, Ezra?"

"No, no, not at all." Ezra still watched the water, looking for the more magical things to appear.  He shivered suddenly and closed his eyes, waiting for the shudder to stop. "In fact, rather the opposite." And then, he added, "Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ."

"Your side hurtin' you any worse?"  Josiah persisted.

"I hardly notice it any longer." Standish blinked his eyes, hoping to get his pain under control.

Josiah frowned as he watched Ezra.  "Let me get a look at the bandage." He wished Miguel would slow and let him check the gambler, but all his requests to this point had been ignored.

Ezra obligingly pulled his jacket back with his elbow to expose the clean dressing.  "You see, I'm fine.  Hardly anything has bled through.  Your attempts to put me back together proved to have worked." He shivering suddenly increased, and he let the jacket drop back into place and tried to hug it to him.

Damn!  Josiah thought.  The night had been chilly, but he had kept warm enough on the ride.  He hadn't thought about how cold Ezra might be.  He turned toward Miguel.  "He'll need a blanket."

Garcia shrugged.  "We're almost there.  He'll manage."

"You can let a man have a blanket!" Josiah demanded.  "He's lost a lot of blood and can't keep his heat in.  He's gonna get sick."

"Sick?" Miguel sounded annoyed.  "He shot at me first.  I got a hole in me and you don't see me whinin' about the cold.  He'll last."

Josiah threw Ezra a consolatory glance, wishing that there was something he could do.  Ezra just shrugged and tried not to look so cold, the rhyme still running through his head.

~ And they went to sea in a Sieve ~


PART 12:

"You sure it's gonna be okay?" Buck asked as he checked his saddlebags. "I mean, we could wait a couple days for Ezra and Josiah to come on back.  Those fellas could cool their heels in our jail."

Chris shrugged, leaning against the divider that separated his horse's stall from Buck's.  "Don't know how long they'll be.  Depending on the trial, Josiah and Ezra may not be back for a week…maybe longer.  We gotta get those prisoners moved."

"We won't be gone but two days, Buck, "Vin reminded as he checked over the rented mounts they'd be using for the captives.

"I figure three of us can take care of things for that time, "Chris committed.

Nathan laughed lightly.  "Ain't like there's a shoot-out every day."

It wasn't yet light, but the town was beginning to stir.  Vin and Buck were starting out early, determined to make the trip back and forth from Cedar Ridge as quickly as possible, to keep their time away from town to a minimum.

"Well, seems like nothin' goes well when we start splitin' up, "Buck responded.  "Always some sort of trouble croppin' up.  Remember when you sent me, JD and Ezra to South Bridge while Josiah and Vin were at Clarkston?  Did that go well?  Ended up with JD getting' shot and almost losing Ezra."

Chris chewed his cheroot and didn't respond immediately.  "Gotta get these prisoners out of here."

"South Bridge just brings trouble…"Buck continued.

"Well," Chris responded.  "Josiah and Ezra ain't even made it there yet."

"Chris!" They could hear JD shouting even before he ran into the livery.  "Chris!" He tore through the darkness, heedless of the fact that he was awakening most of the town.  "Look at this!" He barreled into the building, grasping a telegram tight in his hand, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Hold on there!" Buck chided.  "What's the noise all about, kid?"

"Winston just opened the telegraph office.   This was the first thing in, "JD cried, holding the message carefully in his hands.  "From South Bridge."

Chris closed eyes.  This was all like a bad dream.  No!  Nothing could have happened to them!  They couldn't even have reached the town yet.

"Well, what's it say?" Buck demanded impatiently.

"PRISONER GARCIA ESCAPED.   Sheriff MURDERED IN CELL. TRAIL LEADS TO MEXICO.    Possibly working with accomplice.  INFORM FATHER.  Extreme caution." JD lowered the note and looked at his friends.  "Damn," he muttered.

Buck sighed and pressed his head against his horse.  Nathan groaned and Vin scuffed his boots angrily at the dirt floor.  Chris chewed his cheroot into a shapeless mess.

In a matter of fifteen minutes, they were packed and on their way to South Bridge, leaving the prisoners in the care of a trusted townsman.


PART 13:

They continued onward, moving slowly due to the darkness.  Ezra tried to stay alert, tried to work at the ropes, but his head felt heavy, he could hardly think.  It felt as if his skull was filled with cold porridge, with glue, with paste. He blinked, trying to clear his mind.  Only his aching side kept him from sleep.  Bits of odd poetry kept running through his head.

~ And the water it soon came in, it did, the water it soon came in. ~

He yawned and tried to rid his head of Edward Lear.  Damn him! That man could be awfully annoying.  The sky began to grow light in the east.  The gentle banks of the Banyon became sharper as the river dug into the earth, creating a channel.

~ So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet in a pinky paper all folded neat, and they fastened it down with a pin ~

Miguel held up one hand, drawing them to a stop.  The first light of dawn illuminated the area, showing a horse and a tent at the river's edge – someone's camp.   The three horses stood together as Miguel's eyes searched.  He smiled finally and turned to Josiah.  "You want to meet my partner?" he asked.  When Josiah didn't respond, he called out in a low, but deliberate voice, "Kerstin." There was silence.  The horse in the camp snorted and he said again, "Keri?"

Ezra lifted his head and watched… waiting.

~ And they passed the night in a crockery-jar ~

Suddenly someone moved from the tent and stood for a moment in contemplation.

"Kerstin, it's me."

"Miguel?" a voice finally returned, surprisingly feminine.

Miguel smiled and gave his horse a kick, pulling the other two along with him.

"Keri," Miguel grinned broadly as he rode up to her.  The woman came out of the dimness, tiny, blonde and fair, she gazed up at them in wonder.  "Didja get here okay?" he asked her.

"Yes, yes.  I was so afraid, but I did it.  I crossed the river like you said to.  Went down the water so they couldn't follow.  Nobody has come.  We will stay together now, yes?" She had a Swedish accent and a nervous demeanor.

"Sure, Keri."

She looked up to the strangers, and added, "Who are they, Miguel?"

Miguel swung himself out of the saddle.  "Keri, this is my papa, Josiah Sanchez.  Papa, I'd like you to meet my wife, Kerstin  -- your daughter."

Josiah's felt his jaw drop.  He wasn't even aware that Miguel had stepped forward and cut his bonds, freeing him from his place on the horse.  "Keep an eye on ‘em, Keri.  They're our prisoners for now."

She nodded exaggeratedly, pulling a gun from somewhere in her skirts.  "I'll shoot them if they run, yes?"

Miguel laughed.  "Try to spare my papa if you can.  Shoot that one if it comes to that."  He pointed at Ezra, but quickly lowered his hand as his arm pained him.

"Oh, Miguel."Kerstin sidled up beside her husband.  She tenderly rested her hand on the bandage.  "Min älskling, you're hurt."

Miguel groaned as his little wife touched his arm and winced pitifully.  "This one shot me." He nodded to Ezra.  "It's been hurtin' like hell the whole way here.  I'm gonna need somethin' to knock back that pain." The young woman glared hatefully at the gambler.

Miguel handed the knife to Josiah, and smiled broadly.  "See how much I trust you?" he said.  "You can cut down your friend." And he stepped back, as Kerstin kept a gun trained in his direction.

Josiah raised the knife to the ropes, and then paused, noting the blood caked near the handle.  He ran his thumb along it and was quiet.  Where had this blood come from?  Josiah felt himself grow cold as he considered it.  Miguel may have simply prepared some game for a dinner…that would explain it.  But why didn't Josiah believe this?  He stared at the blood, as if it might talk and explain it all to him. 

The man in the saloon – Josiah remembered the tale.  And he looked to Miguel, holding the knife carefully, and staring at the telltale stains.

"Miguel had to kill that sheriff," Kerstin said, noting the preacher's gaze.  "He would have made noise!  He was going to kill my Miguel!"

"What? " Josiah cried in disbelief. "Sheriff Hughes?"

"We had to tie him and kill him!"

Miguel glared at his wife and then shrugged.  "It wasn't like that.  He was coming at me and I had to defend myself."

"Yes, he can't get us now, that devil!" Kerstin responded.

Miguel gestured to the gambler who watched the proceedings with a calculating eye.  "Get him down.  We can't wait all day."

Josiah turned his back on his son and stared at the knife in his hands, digesting what had just been said.  Miguel had killed the sheriff.  How much of his story could be believed?  Josiah kept moving.  The rope was quickly severed and Josiah found himself unable to move just yet.  He stared at the blood-stained hilt of the knife, lost in horrible thoughts.  Finally, Kerstin darted in and snatched the weapon from him. 

Ezra's voice finally reached him.  "Mr. Sanchez, I'm afraid I'll need your help to get down." He sounded almost embarrassed by this statement.  "I'm sorry, but bending is not my strong suit at this moment.  I don't mean to inconvenience you."

Without speaking, Josiah picked Ezra out of the saddle and got him to the ground.  His mind still reeled.  No, he thought – it can't be.  No!  Miguel wouldn't have killed someone so cold-bloodedly!

The young blonde hovered nearby, the knife held at her side. She leapt forward when the gambler was in reach.  "You!" she shouted.  "You shot my Miguel!  You deserve to die, svin!" She spat, hitting Ezra on the shoulder.  Standish grimaced as Josiah tried to steady him.

When she lunged toward the southerner again, Josiah grabbed hold of her, pulling her back, finally freeing himself from his discombobulated state.  "Leave him alone!" he bellowed.

"Don't touch her!" Miguel responded just as quickly, jumping forward and dragging Kerstin away.  She stumbled as she tried to keep her feet, and twisted back toward them as if she meant to try another attack.  Garcia held his weapon on his father stilling any further movements.

Ezra, holding onto the saddle, said, "Let her be, Josiah.  She's distraught. Someone that she cares about is hurt.  Her actions are understandable." He pressed his head against the horse as he tried to catch his breath. 

"You doing okay, Ezra?" Josiah put his hand on Ezra's back to keep him upright.  The fastidious gambler glanced at his soiled shoulder and shuddered in disgust.  Obligingly, Josiah pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned up the evidence of Kerstin's attack.

"Thank you." Ezra breathed slowly.  "I'm not so bad, really."  He closed his eyes and continued to lean against his horse.  "Just the change in position.  Give me a moment, a moment only."

"You get him over here," Miguel ordered.

"My moment is up," Ezra commented.  "We'd best do as he says."

Ezra stiffly walked in the direction that Miguel had indicated with Josiah at his elbow.  Kerstin stood beside her husband, her eyes wide and wild in the early light .

Miguel undid his saddlebags and handed them to Kerstin.  "Put these someplace safe, woman," he said as he pulled the two rifles from his saddle.  "We don't need those fellas getting a‘hold of their firearms." Burdened with the weaponry, Kerstin skittered back to the tent.  When she reached it, she moved slowly and quietly, as if she was afraid of waking something within.  Soundlessly, she set the bags and rifles inside, and then hurried back to her husband's side.

Josiah and Ezra continued where Miguel had directed them.  There was a little dead tree at the edge of camp, which seemed to be their destination. Ezra leaned heavily against Josiah and gasped as they walked.

"Ezra," Josiah whispered, his voice deep with concern.  "Come on, now.  It's not far.  I'll get you settled in a moment and take care of you."

"Not to worry," Ezra said, his voice, too low for the others to hear, sounded stronger than his actions.  "Let's just play along for now.  We'll leave as soon as it proves feasible."

"Set him down there." Miguel pointed to the snag that curled near the ground.  He watched as Josiah helped Ezra to sit.  The gambler seemed barely conscious and rested heavily against the bent tree.

Carefully, Josiah checked the bandage, finding that his stitches had kept the wound shut and it hadn't bled badly.  As he worked, he could feel Ezra shivering beneath his hands.

The gambler's skin was still pale and cold, but the eyes that met his were clear and calm. "Just a scratch," Ezra said softly.  "Be ready."

Josiah nodded tightly and squeezed Ezra's shoulder, hoping that when the time came, they'd both be up to it.

There was a crunch of boots on dirt and suddenly Miguel loomed over them.  "So, is Sand's gonna live?"

Ezra suddenly became more incoherent, mumbling feverously.  His eyes drifted closed.

"Ezra," Josiah called sharply, and prayed that he understood what was an act and what was reality -- with this con artist, it was often difficult to tell.  "I'm gonna try and make you more comfortable, okay?" Ezra shifted slightly as Josiah tried to get him to lie down.

Ezra gripped Josiah's arm until the preacher relented.  He settled for making Ezra comfortable sitting against the tree trunk.  Damn fool!  Josiah thought, knowing that Ezra didn't want to be in an inconvenient position if trouble arose.

Miguel stood above them, the gun always held ready. "So, is he gonna make it?"

"He'll be all right if you let him rest," Josiah responded.  "If you let me take care of him properly."

"Not dead at least.  Keep an eye on him, Kerstin.  If that fancy man starts to move about, shoot him."

She scuttled to her husband, clutching the gun greedily and lifting it toward the gambler who'd became very still -- either unconscious or asleep.

"Ezra," Josiah called softly, resting a hand against his shoulder.  Don't do this to me, son!

Ezra opened one eye and gazed back at the preacher, before closing it again.  Sanchez patted him softly.  He could still feel the shiver beneath his hand.

"Can I have a blanket for him?" Josiah asked.  "There's a couple on his horse. If we don't get this chill out of him, he's not going to last much longer."

"What's wrong with him, huh?" Kerstin asked.  "Why is he so sick?"

"Your husband shot him," Josiah answered evenly as he stood, towering over the small woman.

Kerstin stuck out her chin and muttered, "Deserved it then.  He hurt my Miguel."

"Now, now, now," Miguel said, spreading his arms magnanimously.  "Don't fight.  Papa, you should kiss your new daughter.  Kerstin, kiss your papa."

The two looked at each other warily, but the blonde stepped forward quickly and stood on her toes to give Josiah a quick peck on the cheek.  He returned the sentiment, taking hold of one of her little hands, and kissing her cheek softly.  She struggled, trying to pull the hand away, and when he released her, she jerked from his grip and darted away, the gun still clutched in her other hand.

"There now," Miguel said with a smile.  "We're a family now." He paused, looking content.  "But you haven't seen the best part!  Kerstin!" He nodded to the tent and, after a hesitation, the little wife went inside.

They could hear the woman talking quietly in her own language as she huddled in the tent. Her voice was lilting and soft, floating out of the little tent, "Vakna nu,  lilleman. Din far ropar på dig."  Josiah thought they heard another voice, softer and less distinguishable.  She spoke again, "Hysh, älskling. Inte kommer han tycka om dig om du gråter." She rustled around within the tent and then finally emerged, with something precious clutched in her arms.

"Papa, meet your grandbaby." Miguel gestured grandly to the child in Kerstin's arms.

Josiah inhaled deeply.  The sky was beginning to grow bright and the early morning rays, stretching from behind the child. He clung to his mother, watching Josiah with huge and unsure eyes.

He was dark-skinned, like Amelia, but his hair was light brown, looking almost sun-bleached.  His face blended the races that went into him, creating something strikingly beautiful.  He looked like a doll, like a china doll too precious for play.  He stared back at Josiah with his stark blue eyes.

"I named him after you," Miguel declared proudly.

"Liar!" Kerstin spat back.  "He's named for my father.  His name is Per!"

"Per Josiah!" Miguel corrected, and then added, "…Garcia."

Josiah shook his head in wonder.  He could see shadows of Amelia in the boy's face.  His wide frightened eyes seemed to echo his mother's.  There was Miguel in his cheeks and ears and Josiah could even pick himself out of the boy's features.

"Per," Josiah muttered, trying the name of his grandson. "Per."

The boy blinked his eyes and looked at his grandfather.  His hold on his mother relaxed.

"Per," Miguel said.  "This is your gran'papa.  Give gran'papa a kiss."

"No!" Kerstin shouted, twisting away from Miguel and walking back toward the tent.  "He's mine!  I won't share him!"

"Keri," Miguel groaned.  "I brought Sanchez here so he'd get to see his grandson.  Let the old man see the boy."

Kerstin bit her lip, turning the skin beneath her teeth white.  "He's my baby," she moaned.

"Kerstin!" Miguel shouted, and the woman cringed.

Quickly, she set the boy on his feet and spoke to him again in her native tongue, "Säg ‘hej' till din farfar."

The boy unclasped her neck and rubbed his sleepy-eyes.  He looked suspiciously at Josiah and shook his head and pouted his lips.

"Per!  Come here!" Miguel ordered and the little boy tripped his way toward him.  Miguel scooped the boy and Per gave a cry of alarm that quickly turned into an unsure little squeal as his father spun him around.  Finally he laughed as he spun.

"Papa!" Miguel said with a wide smile.  "Here's your grandbaby!" And he thrust the boy at his father.

Josiah held out his arms as the boy was pressed to him.  Per was timid for a moment, letting Josiah hang onto him while he twisted about to see his mother.

"Per," Josiah said softly, staring into the child's eyes.  "Per, I'm your grandfather." His voice rumbled in his chest and the boy giggled.

"Faffa?" the boy looked to his mother for confirmation and when Kerstin nodded, the boy pressed his head against Josiah and started babbling in a mixture of Swedish, English and pure gibberish.

Josiah wrapped his arms around the small child, tears coming to his eyes. 


PART 14:

"Should be gettin' into town ‘bout now," Buck said as he rode alongside Chris.  "Figure Josiah's findin' out what happened between his son and Sheriff Hughes?"

Nathan nodded.  "Josiah's gonna need us.  He's gonna want someone he can talk to."

"Is that why we're goin' there?" JD asked.  "Why can't Ezra be the one who talks to him?"

Vin laughed lightly.  "I figure Ez'd do that fine.  Don't need us for that."

"Something else then?" JD persisted.

"Yeah, figure Chris has a feelin'."  Vin nodded toward their leader.

Buck smiled and shook his head.  "You thinkin' that something went wrong with those two?  Thinkin' they're in a passel of trouble?"

"Could be," Chris replied evenly.

"Garcia's headin' to Mexico, stud," Buck commented.  "Unless Ezra and Josiah get a sudden inklin' to visit Purgatorio instead of South Bridge, they ain't gonna cross paths."

Chris' gaze stayed on the road ahead.  "Garcia knew that Josiah was coming to see him… and now he's gone.  Might have come this way."

Nathan frowned.  "Why?" he asked.  "It makes no sense."

"The telegram from South Bridge said they found the trail going south," JD put in.

"Maybe he got help," Chris explained.  "Could be it was a false trail."

"Kind of a long shot," Buck supplied.

"Happens sometimes," Vin put in quietly.

"Way I see it," Chris said.  "The two of them got blood between them – father and son.  That's gotta mean something.  I'm figuring that the boy will want to see Josiah.  Kid should go to his father when he's got trouble."

The others only nodded as they all continued on their way.


PART 15:

Josiah sat against the dead tree, and the conman leaned against him, dozing.  Sanchez had finally been able to obtain a blanket for the gambler, but the cold night, the ride, and the wound seemed to have sapped all the energy from Standish.  Ezra would open his eyes from time to time to gaze out at their captors, and then seemed to fall into a light sleep, pulling the blanket close.

Whether he was truly asleep or not, Josiah wasn't sure.  Ezra seemed determined to make Miguel believe that he was in worse shape than reality… or maybe he was playing Josiah -- trying to make the preacher believe that all was well and not to worry.  A soft snore escaped Ezra, hardly louder than his normal breathing.  Ezra was always quiet in his sleep, Josiah knew, even when he had nightmares.

Why do you have nightmares, Ezra? Josiah thought as he wrapped one arm around the sleeping man -- being careful of his wounded side.  Ezra continued to sleep.  Josiah did his best to remain awake.  He had already spent a long night without sleep and was afraid he wouldn't last much longer.

Miguel had found a bottle of whiskey and was doing his best to deaden his pain and finish it off before his wife completed preparing their breakfast.   Garcia had found the biscuit mix, bacon, butter and potatoes that Ezra had packed and those items now comprised the better part of their meal.   It seemed that they were in no hurry.  The dead sheriff would be discovered in his cell, but they were half-a-day away from South Bridge.

The woman fussed around the fire, trying to make a meal for her family, while keeping a hold on the child.  She had snatched the boy from Josiah as soon as Miguel had allowed it and since that time had kept the boy close to her skirts.

Per played with some sticks, talking to himself and staying near his mother.  Suddenly, he stepped back and his small hand came down on the handle of the big iron skillet that Kerstin was about to set on the fire.  She screamed and barely caught the pan, saving their breakfast from the dirt.

Per jumped back, his eyes wide as he rubbed at the sides of his head in distress.  His mother snapped off angrily, "Per! Varför är du alltid i vägen?"

"Quiet!" Miguel shouted. "You'll have the whole country on our tail if you don't shut up!"

Kerstin cringed from him as he slammed down the bottle and swooped in to pick up the boy. The child cried out again.

Miguel stomped across the camp and tossed the boy at his grandfather. "You keep an eye on him."

When Miguel came back toward her, the young woman spoke sharply, "The boy is mine!  I want him here!"

"Shut up, Keri!  God!  Do you never shut up?" Miguel shouted as he returned for the whiskey. "I'm just keepin' the boy from gettin' under your feet.  You stay here and make me my breakfast! You can have the boy back when I say so.  Don't disobey me."

Kerstin glared at the big man and then stooped by the fire again, poking at it angrily.

Per stared back at his parents, but cuddled close against this man who'd he'd accepted so readily.  Josiah sighed softly, with the child in his arms and Ezra sleeping against his shoulder.  There was something familiar and comforting about it all.  In spite of the circumstances, Josiah felt almost happy at that moment.

Ezra stirred slightly, waking, then said in a hushed voice, "He's a beautiful child."

"Yes, yes he is," Josiah agreed.

"He looks like you, "Ezra added. "Truly, a lovely child." He smiled invitingly at the boy.

Per, seeing that Ezra was awake, started to babble at him.  He reached out a hand and grabbed onto Ezra's blanket, saying, "filt." He laughed as he pulled, repeating the word, "filt."

"Blanket," Ezra prompted.  "Blanket."

The little boy giggled and said, "Bank-et."  He smiled sweetly at the two men, drinking in the attention.

"So, Young Per," Ezra responded.  "How do you feel about meeting your grandfather?"

The boy cocked his head and gave no sign of understanding.  "Bank-et,"he said again, and then continued in Swedish, skipping about with words that were probably more baby-talk than vocabulary.

"I don't think he knows much English," Josiah surmised.

Ezra spoke again, unintelligibly for a second, before Josiah realized he was speaking Spanish.  "¿Entiendes español, jovencito? ¿Conoces el idioma de tu abuela?" Ezra's eyes carefully watched the boy, looking for any sign of comprehension.  Per clapped as he mouthed a few of the words, apparently understanding some of it.

Ezra paused for a moment before switching to another language.  "Francais?  Je crois que il n'est pas possible." The boy smiled even wider, but gave no indication he'd understood the works spoken so seriously to him.  Standish tried again with, "Ah, aber die Deutsche Sprache kann eine Möglichkeit sein." Not getting a response, he tried again, "Forse parli italiano? Poco? No?"

"Ezra," Josiah said.  "Are you showing off?"

The conman shrugged.  "It would be showing off if I could actually converse with the child.  I don't know Swedish or anything Scandinavian," Standish said apologetically. "A pity, truly."  A strange and longing look crossed Ezra's face before he tried again with a language that Josiah didn't recognize at all.

"What was that last one?" Josiah asked, curiously.

"Hungarian."

"Hungarian?  How'd you come to know that?"

"Thought it might come in handy."

When Josiah shook his head and chuckled, Ezra added, "I'm hardly fluent in it.  I only picked up a few words.  I knew a gentleman in Charleston who was from that country.  A perplexing tongue."

"How many languages do you know?"

"Know?  I've picked up pieces of about a dozen or so.  Mostly just enough to get me in trouble."

"More, more!" the boy demanded, tugging at Ezra's blanket.  The gambler obliged, speaking always in an animated voice, his eyes fixed on the boys.  Per giggled and romped on Josiah's lap.

When Ezra started into Chinese, Josiah recognized some of it, but wasn't sure if Ezra told the boy, ‘you have a lovely little nose,' or ‘you have a fish face.'   Either way, it made the boy laugh.  Ezra smiled along with Per. 

It was good to see him smile.  Standish was still far too pale, but at least he wasn't shivering as he was before.  He seemed to have gained back some of his energy at least.

Finally, Ezra asked, "Do you believe your son will let us go shortly?" He raised his eyes toward Garcia.  "Now that this little meeting is complete and we're in Mexico, do you believe he'll let us go?  I would be glad to be gone from his company."

"I don't know, Ezra."

"This can't go on for much longer.  We're no longer needed and I believe that, given the right prompting, we might be able to convince him to let us be.  Surely, he can feel safer now that he's left the country."

"Everything's changed, Ezra…"Josiah uttered.

Ezra's voice was quiet and there was enough distance between them that Miguel and Kerstin couldn't easily hear them.  "I was suspicious about the sheriff from the start." He licked his lips and sighed.  "Something about his story didn't sit well.  Justice should be sought… but…"He lifted one hand free from the blanket and let it drop.  Per watched the action with a smile.  "Our situation hardly allows for any action."

"Their deaths are on my conscience, Ezra.  My son… killed them.   If I had only been there in time  -- if I had EVER been there for him, those men might still be alive."

Ezra looked puzzled.  "So, you're responsible for the deaths perpetrated by another?"

"No… yes… it's my fault that he came to that.  I should have taught him better"

"This is not your doing.  If he feels any filial responsibility, he'll let you go shortly … and me along with you.  We'll decide what to do about all this once we return to civilization."

"No, Ezra." Josiah felt his eyes begin to fill with tears.  "I won't be going back," he muttered as he placed one big hand on the child's back.  "I can't leave Per.  I left my son and you see how he turned out.  I won't leave this boy."

Ezra gazed at the boy, watching his quiet and precious movements.  "I see," he started.  "I wish you well on this noble journey.  I'll be able to manage on my own." Ezra pushed off of Josiah and sat up without his support, groaning at the sudden pain.  "…in a fashion," he added hastily.

"I'll make sure you're safe, Ezra!" Josiah shot out.  "I won't leave you.  I swear, I'll see to it that you can get home without trouble, but you have to understand -- I can't leave this child.  His parents…"he trailed off, watching the two.  Kerstin flitted nervously around the fire, constantly tossing anxious looks toward the child.  Miguel stood nearby, drinking as if he sought to drown himself, watching her, watching them, holding his gun always ready.

"…There is something to be desired in their manner," Ezra completed quietly.

"Ezra," Josiah whispered.  "I had the chance to raise Miguel right.  He was just a boy, a few years older than Per." He watched the little child lovingly, remembering when Miguel was young.   Per was studying his pockets, looking through them and laughing as he brought out treasures.  He held up a comb to Ezra and the gambler smiled winningly at the child.  "Miguel was beautiful, like this boy -- just sweet as anything.  I should have stayed with him.  Should have helped raise him.  I should have been his father."

Josiah rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and sighed deeply.  Ezra said nothing, as he leaned against the big man again. 

"There was this wonderful boy, and I left him," Josiah finally declared.  "I packed my bags and left him."

"In his mother's care?" Ezra added.

Josiah nodded curtly.  "Yes, but I shouldn't have gone.  I should have stayed.   If I had stayed, then he wouldn't be like this!  He would have turned out … better. "

Per had found Ezra's sewing kit in Josiah's pocket and studied it carefully.  The babe turned it toward Ezra, to show off the prize.

Standish smiled at the boy and said, "Lovely."  He then turned to Josiah and whispered, "Your absence is what led Miguel to this point?  Your absence forced him to kill defenseless men?  To drag his wife and child through this?"

"I'd think it had a lot to do with it.  I wasn't there for him."

"So he had no will of his own?  Every decision in his life was based on the fact that he didn't know his father as well as he should?"

"Well, it didn't help!" Josiah barked out.

Per edged away from Josiah at his sharp comment, slipping off of his lap and crawling onto Ezra's.  He ducked into the blanket and wrapped his arms around the gambler's torso, heedless of his injury.  The gambler responded by closing his eyes.  Josiah watched the boy's withdrawal with a heavy heart.

Kerstin made a movement to retrieve the child, but a gesture from Miguel stilled her.

Josiah groaned and said in a soft voice, "I aim to do better with Per.  I'll stay with him this time.  He won't follow the same path as his father. It's my fault that Miguel's life ended up like this."

Ezra was silent a moment before speaking, "So a man's father is to blame for everything that has gone wrong in one's life?  Ah, that would be nice, to find a scapegoat for every failing.  Yes, that'll work." Ezra sighed softly.  "Blame the father… someone should be to blame…for everything."

Ezra kept his voice soft as he continued, not opening his eyes.  "A man can pick another's pocket and say that he did it because he could never live up to his father's standards.  He could cheat and steal, then declare that Father was at fault because the patriarch thought he wasn't worthy of his name.  He could live a worthless and pointless life of sin, and claim innocence on the grounds that his father was less than appreciative.  It would be so much easier that way, wouldn't it?"

"Ezra," Josiah said softly, bringing one arm around the gambler.  Standish wasn't shivering any longer, but he still seemed cold. Per peeped out from under the blanket, looking at Josiah in fascination, no longer afraid.

"Yes," The gambler's voice had grown distracted and sleepy. "Why accept the consequences of one's actions?  Just blame someone else."

"Ezra," Josiah said again, hoping to draw Ezra's attention, but he seemed to be drifting off.   Per smiled and laughed, crawling out of his hiding place and back onto Josiah's lap.

"Josiah, I know that I have a free will," Ezra muttered tiredly.  "I'm totally to blame for anything I do.  Everything, in the end, is my own fault.  To blame another is ludicrous." He shifted, leaning more of his weight against Josiah. "You can't blame yourself for the behavior of Miguel, just as my father shouldn't have to accept any condemnation for the way I turned out.  You are, after all, human.  You are allowed to make mistakes." His last words trailed off as he fell back into a slumber.

Josiah sighed.  He kept one arm around Ezra, and wrapped the other around Per, holding them both tightly.


PART 16:

They'd been traveling for hours when the group of five men slowed at the waterhole.  The horses were spent and this was a good spot to pause on the way to South Bridge.

Vin's eyes narrowed as he looked about as they came in.

"What's wrong, Vin?" JD asked, noting a change in the tracker's demeanor.

"Someone's joined ‘em," Vin explained, as he dismounted.  "Big guy."

"Could be that it's just some other traveler, Vin," Nathan suggested.  "Might have been here at a different time altogether."

Vin shook his head.  "Nah, their tracks cross here, ya see?" He squatted down by the signs.  "Someone crossed over Ezra's footprints here, and over there Josiah crosses over the big guy's prints."

"That story in the Clarion said that Josiah's son was a big man," Buck supplied helpfully.

"You don't really think it's him?" Nathan asked, looking from Buck to Vin.  "It makes no sense!  He would've gone to Mexico, not to Four Corners."

"Came out to meet Josiah," Vin decided.  "They all went that way afterwards." He pointed southward.

"Mexico," Chris grumbled.

"Looks that way, cowboy," Vin returned.

"He came out here to bring Josiah with him?" JD asked.  "Why would he have gone and done that?"

"Must ‘ave had a reason, boy," Buck interjected.  "‘Cause it looks like that's just what he done.  Can't figure another reason for Josiah and Ez to take a trip.  Josiah seemed pretty dead-set on seein' his boy."

Chris closed his eyes as he patted his exhausted horse.  "We rest a bit here, but we ain't stayin' long."

"We gonna chase ‘em all the way to Mexico?" JD asked innocently.

"Ain't so far from here, cub!" Buck exclaimed.  "Just got to go south a piece and then follow the Banyon River the rest of the way.  Piece of cake."

Vin sighed and looked to Chris.  "Still got that bad feelin'?"

Chris glanced across the land, wishing he could see all the way to Mexico.  "Yup,"he finally responded.

Vin nodded.  "Me, too."


PART 17:

"Come here, old man," Miguel ordered. "Get yourself some breakfast."

Josiah looked up at his son and shook his head. "I'm a bit indisposed at the moment. " He gestured at the two forms that trapped him.  Ezra was fast asleep on his shoulder, snoring softly.  Per still sat on his lap, pressed up against him and silently playing with his comb.

Miguel quickly crossed the distance and reached for his son.  The boy shied from his father, as if the man were a stranger to him, and uttered a quick little yelp of surprise when the man pulled him from Josiah, dropping the makeshift toy.

"Kerstin, "Miguel said sharply and held the boy to his mother.  Kerstin darted out to take the child.  At the commotion, Ezra stirred and opened his eyes sleepily.

"Problem solved," Miguel stated. "You'd better eat now.  Won't get a chance again once we get movin'.  Bring some over to him if you want."

Josiah set his jaw, unable to move quickly due to Ezra's position.  "The child is terrified of him," Sanchez murmured.

"I'm not so sure," Ezra responded, picking up the dropped comb and handing it to Josiah.  "Per seems more unfamiliar than anything, and Mr. Garcia doesn't seem to understand how to handle a child.  I doubt that they've spent much time together at all." He sucked in his breath sharply as he pushed off of Josiah.

Josiah glanced to Ezra.  "You okay?"

Standish nodded. "You'd better eat what you can," he said softly.  "You'll need your strength." He leaned his weight against the snag, allowing Josiah to get out from under him.

Josiah agreed and said, "I'll get you something."

"Not particularly hungry," Ezra replied with a yawn.

"You'll eat," Josiah stated, a clear demand in his voice.  He pressed a hand against Ezra's head, looking for fever, finding him still more cold than anything.

"Do what he asks," Ezra said softly.  "You're aggravating him."

"Aggravating?" Josiah bit back quietly as he opened Ezra's jacket to look at the bandage again.  He was happy to note that it was still relatively clean.  He'd want to get new bandages soon, check to see how the wound was healing, look for infection.

"Mr. Garcia is with his wife, father and son, both of whom he hardly knows.  He has brought you this distance just so that you could all be together.  I suppose he had some fantastical idea that a beautiful family reunion could be achieved.  I don't think he realizes that he has made this impossible." Standish met Josiah's eyes and said, "He may ask you for something simple, just to see if you would choose to be near him as opposed to me.  You should do as he asks."

"I'll do as I choose, Ezra."

Ezra pulled his jacket shut as Josiah finished and then rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip.  "It would be best if you showed him some… paternal care.  He brought you here for that purpose.  You're his father.  He wants you to be his father again.  I would suggest that you act that way for just a little while longer.  It may prove to free us."

Josiah squatted before the conman.  "I don't feel so terribly fatherly toward him right now, but I understand what you're sayin'." He nodded.  "I'll do what I can."

Ezra smiled at him slyly.  "Be ready," he said under his breath.

Josiah clasped a hand on Ezra's shoulder, then stood.  "You, too," he responded.

"I always am," Ezra responded with a lob-sided grin.

Josiah returned the grin, stretched slowly and then strode toward Miguel.

Miguel watched him with a calculating expression.  "Sit down, Sanchez." Miguel indicated a log.  "Keri will serve you somethin' to eat." The young man looked up at him expectantly.

Josiah glanced to Ezra, but the gambler had apparently fallen asleep again, propped up against the dead tree.  He'd bring a plate to Ezra before they started off again.  It was only fair since the provisions had come from Ezra's pack.

Lord, that man was always off his feed when he wasn't feeling right.  He'd have to get Ezra to eat, but at this moment he decided that Ezra was right, he'd give Miguel his total attention.

"Son," Sanchez said as he sat down on the log beside Garcia.  He put one hand on Miguel's shoulder and smiled with as much pride as he could muster.  The outlaw beamed back at him.  "It's good to be with you, son," Josiah said ardently.  The preacher could smell the whiskey on his son, could see that familiar dullness returning to his eyes.

"Papa," Miguel responded joyfully, placing a hand on top of Josiah's.  "I've been waiting so long for this day." The two big men sat side by side.  The fire burned warmly before them, the river rushed behind them.

Miguel grinned, content with the circumstances and tipped back the bottle again.  He gestured to Kerstin.  "You ready with our breakfast, woman?" She skittered toward them with tin plates, mugs and forks, and then came back again with the big pan.  Soon, Josiah and Miguel's plates were heaped with biscuits, fried potatoes and bacon.

She stood a moment before them, looking humble and unsure.  Sanchez drove his fork into the heap and took a bite.  He nodded appreciatively at the woman.  "It's good," he said and she smiled slightly before snatching at her boy again and dragging him to the other side of the fire where the two of them sat to eat.

The boy's eyes traveled, looking from one man to the other, alighting on Ezra for a while.  "Bank-et!" he stated proudly and laughed.

"This is great… great," Miguel said as he ate.  "Here I am, sharin' a meal with my papa and my boy." He glanced across and said, "I want my boy.  Three generations on one log.  Come ‘ere, Per."

The boy looked cautiously at his father and then turned to his mother, babbling quietly in their shared language.

Miguel's brow furrowed.  "I said, come here, Per." His voice was firm.

The boy snuggled close to his mother.

"Miguel, he's eating.  You wait now, yes?" Kerstin tried.

"Per!" Miguel shouted and jumped to his feet.  He staggered drunkenly for a moment.  "Get over here."

The boy stood, and toddled to his father, looking up at him with huge and unsure eyes, and then glancing back at his mother.  Miguel frowned, seeing the boy's hesitation.  "Per!" he barked and snatched the boy up.

Per cried and pushed his hands against his father's chest.  "Mamma," the boy called, and started to bawl.

"Per!  Per!" Miguel shouted, not understanding.  "I'm your papa!  Don't be scared." He patted the child's back clumsily, but the boy didn't stop crying.  He swung Per around, trying to cheer him, and the child shrieked.  "Per!" Miguel called, stumbling drunkenly as he tossed the child and caught him.

The boy could hardly breathe through his sobbing.  Josiah jumped to his feet.  "Miguel!  Let the boy be!" He reached out to try and pull the child from his arms, but Miguel twisted away.

"He's my boy!" Miguel declared, turning from his father.

Kerstin leapt toward him from the other direction.  "Give him to me!" she shouted, her voice as sharp as a hawk's cry.  "Give him to me!"

Miguel spun away from both of them, stepping back with the child still clutched to him.  Per shrieked uncontrollably, reaching toward his mother and kicking at the father who he hardly knew.  "Mamma!"the boy pleaded through his tears.

"Per! It's Papa!" Miguel insisted, and swung the child and tossed him, as the boy kicked out at him again.  Miguel's feet suddenly hit the steep bank of the Banyon River and he stumbled.  The child sailed out of his grasp.   With a terrible heart-rending cry, Per fell and disappeared into the fast-moving river.

Miguel blundered, still fighting for his balance and against his drunkenness.  Only Josiah's hand kept him from tumbling into the river as well.  Kerstin shrieked, her hands clawing at her hair in pure terror, her eyes fastened on the water where her son had disappeared.  She bent, collapsing into herself, screaming.   Josiah struggled to keep his drunken son from plunging to his death.

A movement beside them was followed by a splash, as Ezra Standish ran across the camp and dove into the water after the lost boy.

KEEP GOING - to the Third Section