A/N Thank you to everyone who reviewed my previous chapter. I always try to make sure and send a personal thank you to everyone who makes the effort to review, because it really conveys my sincere gratitude. As I've said before, ad nauseum, this story goes on because of you and for you. Good news! Lots of trivia. And man this is a whomping big chapter. It just kind of .. got away from me. It's by far the longest chapter yet.

Special thanks go out a lot of directions for this chapter. First, thanks to Tempest, for helping me correct a few typoes and grammatical errors that slipped through to publishing back in Chapters 1 and 2 (those chapters had not been beta-ed at all). Thanks to Matt, Pearl, and Norma from PM for their invaluable input on fever and wound care during the 1880s. This chapter has not been independently Beta-read at all, so if any errors slipped past, please let me know.

Chapter 10: Prudence

By the time they got finished feeding and watering the animals for the night, it was almost midnight and Joshua felt like an old horse that had been rode hard and put up wet. Hauling the buckets of water from the pump to the barn was by far the worst part of it. Both Hollander and Gardner had water pumps just outside the barn, the bunkhouse and the ranch house, so drawing water had been far easier the whole way around at those ranches. The Evans ranch just had the single water pump and a well, both of which were a fair piece from the house and the barn.

He accompanied Mark back to the ranch house long enough to check on Will, whose condition had not changed for better or worse since before supper. Alice had prepared another poultice and watched in silence as he checked on the wound and changed out the bandages. The boy's skin was a little warm to the touch, but the tea was working to keep his fever at a manageable level for now.

"We'll know better how he's doing in the morning," Joshua told her. "Just keep in mind, a fever ain't all bad, as it means that his body is working up a sweat tryin' to heal itself."

She stifled a yawn and immediately apologized, "Sorry." Mark was sitting in the rocking chair dozing.

"Nothing to be sorry for, it's been a hell of a day," he replied, yawning himself as he walked to the front door. "If he wakes up or looks like he's getting worse..."

A tired smile touched Alice's lips, "I'll come get you immediately. Goodnight, Joshua… and thank you again, for everything. If you hadn't been here…" she bit her lip and shifted her gaze away from his.

"Hey now, if I ain't allowed to throw around the 'what ifs', then no one gets to. Especially not you," he gently interrupted her before she could finish that line of thought, and then added, "G'night," heading off toward the barn.

He was in the hayloft a few minutes later, already on the verge of falling sleep on a pile of hay, when he heard the barn door open.

"It's just me," Mark quietly called from below. "Ma made me bring you a blanket."

Unbidden, a smile appeared on his face at Alice's concern for his well being. It was cold outside, but between the heat rising from the animals bedding down in the stalls below and raising the temperature in the barn to a comfortable level and his own exhaustion, he was reasonably sure he'd have no trouble falling asleep, but even so...

It took longer than he would have expected for Mark to climb the ladder to the loft, but when the boy appeared, he had the blanket draped over one shoulder, and saddlebags weighing down the other.

Mark's expression was slightly guilty. "I shoulda given this to you earlier, but I forgot," he admitted as he unslung the leather satchel and held it out.

Joshua sat up, staring at the saddlebags for a moment before he took them and unbuckled the straps to withdraw the Hand of God. He'd stowed the Colt pistol in Will's bags before settling the injured teen in the saddle securely enough to get him home.

"Ain't that your old gun?" Mark asked unnecessarily, even though he already knew the answer. The gun was even more recognizable than the man who'd carried it.

"Yeah."

"Is it true, that it's got a curse on it, or did you just tell people that to scare 'em?" the boy asked curiously.

A humorless smile touched Joshua's lips as he looked up at Mark, replying, "It started out as a way to intimidate people, to add to the 'Legend of Ben Wade' I was writin' for myself. Make lawmen even more afraid of crossing me." He paused, shifting the black pistol from one hand to the other, "Given how things have been turning out recently though, I gotta say I'm starting to wonder if there is really a curse on this gun."

Mark hastily assured him, "I didn't touch it. I mean, yeah I opened the saddlebag and saw what it was, but I didn't touch the gun itself. Figured there weren't no sense in taking chances. Do you think it would have cursed me too?"

"The only person that ain't touched by the curse on this gun is Ben Wade himself," Joshua told him wryly. "At least, that's what I've been telling people for years."

Mark's brow furrowed in thought at his words. "But that'd mean that you could be cursed by it too, right? Cause you ain't Ben Wade no more." A yawn escaped him and he blinked owlishly, saying, "I'm goin' to bed. Night," as he went back down the ladder.

Joshua stared at the black Colt pistol for a few moments before he removed all of the bullets from the gun. Then he wrapped it up in his handkerchief and tucked it away under the far edge of the saddle blanket he was using for a pillow.

He fell asleep almost instantly and woke up at dawn, when the animals in the barn began stirring restlessly, eager for their food. Joshua had just climbed down the ladder when Mark appeared, a pail in hand to milk the Evans' milk cow Pansy before breakfast. He went up to the house to check on Will. While Alice was in the kitchen cooking their morning meal, he changed out the teenager's bandages, closely examining his injury for signs of infection. The wound was red and slightly inflamed, but at least the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

Breakfast was a fairly quiet affair. Mark yawned almost nonstop through the entire meal, and both Alice and Joshua seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. The only conversation topic that really came up during the meal was when Mark asked when he'd be going to the Bar-H to the rest of his gear.

He delayed his answer long enough to take a sip from his coffee before stating, "There ain't no point in me goin' back there, since I doubt anything in the tack room would have survived the fire."

"What fire?" Alice asked, frowning.

Mark stared at him. "There was a fire? You didn't mention no fire yesterday. Did the barn catch on fire?"

A wry smile appeared on his face and he pushed his eggs around on his plate with the fork. "I set the barn on fire before I rode out," he admitted, glancing up to meet Alice's eyes, gauging her reaction.

She regarded him speculatively, and from her expression, it was as though a puzzle piece had suddenly fit into place. "Atkins was in the barn when you set it on fire. You said you didn't kill him," she accused.

Joshua shrugged, reminding her, "I also said he was alive when I left, and he was. He wasn't shot, or tied up, or even locked in a grain room. He was layin' on the ground, breathing, and yes, I probably broke his nose, but I didn't kill him."

"So…" Mark started, taking a bite out of his biscuit and chewing it slowly before continuing, "do you think he made it out before the barn burnt down?"

"I doubt it, and I couldn't give a shit if he died," he stated bluntly, impatient with the turn of the conversation. To his eyes, Atkins had been no better than Hollander.

The boy gasped audibly at his curse and immediately looked at his mother to see her response.

Sure enough, Alice gave him a fierce frown. "Mr. Mason, please refrain from using that kind of language at the dinner table."

Joshua stared at her in disbelief for a moment before grating out, "Yes ma'am. Your table, your rules." He hunkered down over his plate and focused on cleaning his plate, and the others did the same.

The rest of the meal passed in a somewhat strained silence, and when he finished, Mark carried his plate over to the wash bin. "I'm gonna get started on my chores," he announced and hurried outside, eager to escape the tension that lingered in the house.

After draining the rest of his coffee, Joshua stood more slowly, still mildly irritated at being scolded like a child. Even so, he had to give Alice some credit… she was a widow woman doing her best to raise her children right, instilling them with a sense of decency and good manners, and apparently that meant no cussin' at the dinner table. Well, he supposed that still left plenty of other places he could cuss if he wanted to. He put his plate and fork in the bin as well and collected his hat off the back of his chair.

Alice was up from the table as well, standing by the wood stove and pouring water into a tea cup. "Joshua," she said.

Sensing he was about to get a talking-to, Joshua paused in putting on his hat and looked at her expectantly.

She turned to face him. "If you work for us, I'm going to have to ask that you exercise a little prudence in regards to your interactions with others. I know that Tom Atkins was the one to waylay you, most likely on Glen Hollander's command, and I get that you feel some sort of retribution was in order. But at the same time, well, for instance, when we go into Bisbee to pick up supplies and the like, I'd really rather not have to worry about you killing someone for picking a fight, or insulting you, or even insulting me. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes ma'am."

Satisfied with his answer, Alice went back to stirring the tea.

Joshua stared at the back of her blonde head and at the clearly visible bruises on her neck, just above the fabric of her muslin dress, from where Hollander had choked her. He walked up to stand right behind her, not quite touching.

She stiffened at his close proximity, but didn't stop stirring the tea, even when he grimly spoke with his lips a few inches away from her ear, "You know, when I was locked in that grain room, and Atkins was on the other side with a gun pointed at me through the door, I think he honestly regretted keeping me there. Not because he felt bad for what he was doing, but it meant that he couldn't be where he wanted to be—here, with Hollander, taking his turn with you."

She froze, inhaling sharply at his words and he ruthlessly continued, "So I'm thinking I did act prudently by doin' what I did, not just in beating him until he was unconscious and leaving him there to die, but burning the barn down in a way that would make his death seem like an accident if the law comes to investigate. So you tell me, Alice, would it have been more prudent for me to leave him be and let him live, so that he had a chance to come here or get revenge some other way for what happened to him, or to Hollander?"

Alice had no answer and Joshua stepped away from her to walk toward the door, settling his hat on his head before he went outside.

He spent the early part of the morning close to the ranch helping with the duties typical to ranch life, feeding and watering the cattle and horses again, cleaning the barn, checking the corral fences for repairs and the like. A subdued Alice gave them a cloth sack filled with biscuits leftover from breakfast, meat, cheese and some carrots to take with them for lunch out on the range.

Joshua saddled up Dawson with Will's saddle, and he and Mark drove the cattle out for the morning, and Alice watched them depart from the porch.

The ranch was barely even out of sight before Mark asked curiously, "Did you and Ma get into an argument after breakfast or something?"

Joshua gave the boy a sidelong look before answering, "It was more a discussion than an argument."

"Uh-huh." The boy gave him a look of pure skepticism but let the subject drop.

Compared to the events of the previous, the day passed in relative peace and quiet. The creek that fed precious water to the Evans land was now free-flowing, so the torrential rain must have been sufficient to knock out the poorly made dam, or possibly been overrun by a flash flood. Mark pointed out the best grazing areas around their range and talked amiably about anything and everything that came to his mind. Despite Joshua's usual reticence, when Mark left after lunch to return to the ranch for his afternoon chores, he found he missed the boy's lively chatter. He was a bright kid with a natural gift for tracking that far surpassed his own.

Mark rejoined him late that afternoon and together they drove the cattle back home. Alice's mood had improved significantly by the time they returned, largely due to the fact that Will had woken up enough to use the chamber pot and drink down some beef broth before falling into an exhausted sleep again. He stirred, opening his eyes when Alice led Joshua into the room. She took her son's hand in hers and gave him a reassuring smile while Joshua checked his wound. The bran applications were keeping the swelling and fluid drainage down, but it was even more red and inflamed than it had been earlier that morning and despite Will's apparent improvement, it seemed infection was setting in.

"I think the bran's done about as much as it's going to do at this point, so we're going to start using a bread and milk poultice," Joshua announced quietly, looking at Alice. "You ever made one of those?"

She nodded immediately, "Yes… I'll have Mark go ahead and milk Pansy before supper so I can start the milk to boiling." Alice bent down, brushing a kiss to Will's pale forehead and assuring him, "I'll be right back."

"How bad is it?" Will asked hoarsely, watching as Joshua loosely covered the bullet hole again.

He shrugged, a slight smile appearing on his face as he sat down in the chair by the bed and assured the boy, "I've known men who've survived worse wounds than this one." And that was true. But he'd also seen men die of infection from wounds that seemed to be little more than scratches.

Will's eyes shifted from Joshua to the doorway his mother had exited the room through. "How 'bout Ma? I mean… is she all right?"

He gave the boy a stern look and ordered, "Don't you be worryin' about her at all. She's doing fine… well enough that she lit into me this morning for saying 'shit' at the breakfast table."

A weak chuckle escaped Will at that and he grimaced in pain at the effect that had on his chest wound. He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying to tamp down the pain. When it had apparently reached a manageable level again, he smiled faintly. "I bet she did… she really hates it if anyone cusses at the table. Has she gotten on to you yet for putting your elbows on the table while you eat?"

"No, not yet," he admitted with a wry grin. "I'll be sure and watch myself from now on though, now that I know."

"That'ssa good plan," Will slurred, his eyes drooping as he started to drift off again.

The smile faded from Joshua's face and after a moment's hesitation, he reached out to rest his hand gently on the boy's forehead. It felt hot, and a thin layer of sweat beaded his skin.

At the touch, he opened his eyes again and focused on Joshua. "You ain't leavin', are ya?" he mumbled sleepily.

"I ain't goin' nowhere," Joshua reassured him, brushing the boy's damp hair off his forehead before withdrawing his hand.

Satisfied, he fell asleep.

"Supper's on the table," Alice spoke quietly from the doorway.

He nodded to indicate he heard her and slowly rose to his feet before brushing past her to go wash up for supper.

Like breakfast had been, supper was a fairly quiet affair. Joshua was careful to avoid putting his elbows on the table during the meal, a feat which required far more concentration than he would have imagined. He glanced over at Mark to see how he managed it, noting how the boy instead occasionally braced his forearms against the edge of the table for support.

Mark caught his look and also held up his fork as well to indicate the differences between their grips on the eating utensil. Where he held the fork resting lightly against the inside edge of his palm, Joshua tended to envelope the whole thing in his palm.

A cough emerged from Alice's end of the table, but when he looked sharply in that direction, she was taking a sip of water and her eyes were downcast, hiding her expression.

He decided the best course of action was to give up on the fork for now, and just focused on keeping his elbows off the table. Any improvement was better than none, right?

After supper, Alice applied the bread and milk poultice to Will's wound while Joshua held him down as he twisted in agony. The milk-soaked bandage was uncomfortably hot to the touch and made her hands red and raw, but she never once complained, though she seemed on the verge of tears at what she was forced to put her son through in hopes of helping him get better.

When the day's work was finally done, and Joshua wearily climbed up to the loft and settled in to sleep on his makeshift bed of hay. He had a dream that night—really more a nightmare than a dream. The Hand of God betrayed him, first by backfiring at a critical moment in a gunfight, and then by not firing at all. When Byron McElroy was closing in on him with a hangman's noose in his hand, he had to resort to using the black gun as a club. It did finally fire, only the bullet hit him square in the chest, and it was as though he physically felt the impact of the bullet, not a sting but a jolt of pain that caused his muscles to seize up the way they had when that railroad construction camp foreman had strung him up and tortured him. So there he lay, dying, and Byron's gloating face shifted to Mark's, mournfully informing him, "Like I said, you ain't Ben Wade no more."

He woke up, sweaty and clutching his chest, a quiet groan of pain ringing in his ears. When the groan was followed by a muffled shout, he initially thought he was still dreaming, until he remembered that his dreams generally didn't have the added reality of smelling like manure, the quiet whicker of horses, or particularly stiff pieces of straw poking him through his shirt.

Joshua rolled to his knees, pulling his unremarkable Colt pistol from where he'd laid his gun belt and hurried down the ladder, jumping the last few feet to the ground. He set off toward the house at a run, and as he got closer he could hear Will's indistinct voice. Alice was saying something as well, and her tone wasn't one of fear, but the quiet and reassuring murmur of a mother trying to soothe her child. There were no signs that anyone other than the Evans family was in the house, but still, he entered the house warily, though he kept his gun lowered.

Mark was leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, knuckling his eyes sleepily. He blearily regarded Joshua as the man entered the house and spared enough energy to lift one hand in greeting before resting his head against the wall. "Why you got your gun?" he asked around a yawn, blinking with confusion.

"I heard shouting," he explained simply, entering the bedroom.

Alice was sitting on the bed with Will and in the process of dipping a cloth into a bowl of water. She was barefoot and clad only in the simple cotton chemise she'd apparently been sleeping in. When she saw Joshua, her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, but she stoically remained by her son's side. "He's burning up," she said quietly, wringing out the cloth and pressing the cool fabric against the boy's forehead.

Will's eyes were scrunched shut and he shook his head and loudly said, "I ain't never walkin' in your shoes…nothin' but a coward…"

Joshua put his gun down on the dresser and went around the bed opposite Alice, reaching out to touch the boy's head. His skin was unbelievably hot to the touch. "Has he had any tea since supper?"

She shook her head, flipping the cloth to the cooler side and putting it against Will's cheeks. "No. It'll take me some time to brew the tea…" He began thrashing again, mumbling incoherently this time and she worriedly asked, "Should we draw a bath?"

Giving Will a bath in cool water was almost certainly the quickest way to bring down his raging fever, and Joshua knew it as well as Alice. "Yes. Here, let me take those," he said, holding out his hand for the bowl of water and rag.

Nodding, Alice pushed both into his hands and climbed off the bed. "Mark, drag that tub in here and start filling it with water," she ordered, crossing her arms over her chest as she left the room.

The cloth had already been heated clear through, and Joshua wet it again to place against Will's head over and over while both Mark and Alice, who was now wearing her dress again, worked together to fill the small tub with water. When it was full enough, he shouldered the delirious teenager, who was now grief stricken and sobbing, "Pa, pa, you did it, you got him on the train…" up and out of the bed.

Alice and Mark maneuvered his feet into the tub and the instant the cool water touched his feet, he yelled and kicked out, knocking his brother back with a grunt. Alice barely managed to avoid the same fate. Fortunately between the fever and blood loss, he was pretty weak, and that ended up being the one and only outburst of motion. They got him sitting in the small tub, wearing nothing but his skivvies, and began pouring cups of water over his head and shoulders, doing their best to avoid getting his gunshot wound wet in the process.

Mark brought Will a dry pair of undergarments and a towel and watched as the two adults worked on lowering his fever. After a few minutes, he was shivering, though he still seemed to be incoherent. It took some coordination on all their parts to lever him up and out of the tub to dry him off, and redress him. By the time they got him back in the bed, Joshua was soaking wet himself.

Alice left the room long enough to get the willow bark tea and returned also bearing the shirt Joshua had been wearing when he'd carried Will in. "It's stained, but only just," she said, handing him the cleaned and dry shirt before making her way to Will's side.

"Thank you," he said, shucking off the wet fabric.

She nodded as she levered Will's head up and tilted the cup, giving him small sips that he swallowed reflexively.

Mark was examining the bare-chested Joshua as he shook out his clean, dry shirt and noted with some surprise, "You ain't ever been shot?"

"I've been shot. Once." Joshua pointed out the long narrow scar that ran across the flesh of his left arm. "Got that one in Contention when we were running for the train."

Alice glanced up long enough to see the scar before turning her attention back to Will.

"Wait, all those robberies, like what… ten or fifteen stagecoach robberies?"

"Twenty-two," Joshua corrected.

Mark rolled his eyes, "All right then, twenty-two robberies and you only been shot the one time?"

He shrugged, slipping his arm into the sleeve. "I was very lucky… and very very good at it." It wasn't bragging, but frank honesty. He had been extremely good at planning and executing stage coach robberies. Possibly even the best ever.

"Why'd you do it?" Alice asked without looking up at him, still focused on getting William to drain the rest of the teacup.

Joshua finished slipping the shirt over his shoulders as he answered, "At first? I did it for the money." A rueful chuckle escaped him and he buttoned up his shirt, continuing, "Isn't that what people say? 'It's always about the money.' Stagecoach seemed like an easy target. Only got the two men on it, guarding a load of cash, and one's got his hands full driving the wagon. Plus, robbing the railroad stagecoaches meant there'd be no bystanders or passengers who might get caught up in it."

"And that first robbery, knowing we pulled it off, that we'd succeeded and gotten all that money, that feeling…," Joshua whistled low, shaking his head at the memory. "It was exhilarating. It was the most exciting and satisfying thing I'd ever done in my life. Better than a winning night of cards in the saloon, better than a glass of expensive whiskey, better than s…" he glanced at Mark and drew up short of completing that sentence, but his gaze lingered on Alice, wordlessly conveying to her exactly what else it had been better than. "But here I had all this money, more money than I thought I could ever spend, and I wanted to go out and do it again, not just to get more money, but to feel that, that powerful feeling again. After about the fifteenth job, even that started to get old, and then it became more about outsmarting the railroad bosses, just to see if I could pull it off one more time. For the men in my gang, it was always about the money though." Charlie Prince's face appeared in his thoughts, bloodied and battered with that startled look of hurt betrayal after he'd been shot, like a faithful dog that'd been kicked by its master. He mentally amended his statement. For at least one person in his gang, it had not all been about money.

Mark had such an expression of tacit disapproval on his face, it almost made Joshua laugh out loud. "But you don't do that any more."

"No, I don't do that anymore," he readily agreed. "Even before I got caught, I had planned for that Bisbee stagecoach job to be my last. And it was."

William had finished drinking the tea, but as Alice stood up he began talking in disjointed sentences again. "I don't wanna move out West, Pa… can't we…..'im some medicine…that'll fix him… good as new, like a penny…."

"He's still got the fever, but it's not nearly as high as it was," Alice said, worriedly looking from her son to Joshua. "I think we should do another milk poultice."

All levity had left Joshua's face and he nodded, reaching out to check Will's temperature. While his skin felt slightly cooler to the touch than it had, he was already sweating again, despite the bath they had given him such a short time ago. "We need to start giving him more water, or broth… anything he'll drink and keep down. With how much he's sweating, right now he's burning it away faster than we're giving it to him."

"I'll go get him some water," Mark offered and quickly left the room.

Joshua knew that whatever they did to treat him these next few hours would almost certainly determine whether or not William lived or died. He looked grimly at Alice's frightened face and saw in her eyes the same awareness of how dire the situation had become. "He'll be all right, because we're not going to let him die," he said with stubborn determination.

Alice exhaled slowly and her expression was resolute as she steadfastly agreed, "No, we're not."

Despite the fact that he'd had the Bible memorized since he was eight years old, Joshua had never been a praying man, mostly because he felt it was rather hypocritical to be asking for God's help when he was going around breaking so many of His commandments. But he decided right then and there was as good a time and place to start as any. He promised God and himself that if the Lord would let William live, he'd walk a straight and narrow path from that moment forward, and would never break the law again… unless it was for a really good reason, of course.

His fever persisted not just through that night, but through the following night as well. Joshua and Alice were both exhausted, not just from the task of caring for Will in addition to performing their usual duties, but from lack of sleep, since he frequently shouted during his delirious state and woke up everyone in hearing range. Mark took to sleeping in the barn on the second night in hopes that the distance would make it possible for him to sleep in relative peace while Joshua and Alice alternated shifts in caring for Will, catching every wink of sleep they could.

The boy's decision to sleep in the hayloft turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The second night of his fever, Alice was laying down to sleep in Mark's bed while Joshua sat in the room with the feverish teenager. She heard the low mutter as his ramblings started and when they got louder she abruptly realized he was describing from his own perspective the shock and horror he had felt upon discovering her unconscious body following Hollander's rape.

"…her neck… what's he done to her?... oh God, please don't let it be… please please please please please no…gotta pull her dress down before Mark sees… Oh God, Pa, why weren't you here? You shoulda been here to protect her….shouldn't have left her alone… Where were you, Joshua? Didn't you know what he was gonna do to her?...shoulda stopped it... I'll kill him for this… kill him kill him dead just like shooting a jackrabbit…."

She wept silently into the pillow, heartbroken in the knowledge that her son felt so much at fault for what had happened to her, when it had not been his fault, any more than it'd been Joshua's, or—and now she admitted it to herself for the first time, that it wasn't her fault. The blame for what had happened to her lay with no one but Glen Hollander, and he was dead.

When she woke up later that morning and went into her room, she found Joshua sitting upright in the chair, hollow-eyed. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and that, coupled with the lack of sleep he'd endured the past two days, made him look worn and haggard. In all fairness though, she was fairly certain she didn't look like the belle of the ball herself.

He looked in her direction when she entered the room, but she found she couldn't quite force herself to meet his eyes. "You heard him last night," he said roughly, and it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes." Alice bit her lip as she bent over Will, feeling his forehead. The fever was still present. "Do you think Mark heard?" she asked, willingly meeting his weary eyes as she voiced one of her biggest fears.

"No, I don't," he immediately replied, shaking his head. "He wasn't talking all that loud."

The topic was dropped as the subject of their discussion entered the house, cheerful and appearing far more well-rested than the two adults. He announced that he hadn't woken up a single time that night, much to Alice's relief. She went through the rest of the day feeling rather like a puppet with broken strings, reeling this way and that as she endured the grueling task of washing clothes while Mark and Joshua took the cattle out for the day.

Will had another period of delirious conversation with himself that afternoon, and this time centered around the moment at which he'd confronted Hollander, apparently in Joshua's presence. "…he's gotta die, gotta die, gonna kill him like he ain't nothin' but a jackrabbit… no, no you said, you said killin' a man was no different…I want to be the one to kill him, he's gotta die… once you kill someone, you can't take it back… the gun in his boot…" He gasped sharply, so suddenly that Alice herself jumped in reaction, and she realized that must have been the moment when he'd been shot. His voice was almost sulky when he spoke again, quietly, fading fast, "… but I wanted to kill him…"

The boy's words remained in her thoughts the rest of the day. From what she gathered, both Joshua and Will had confronted Hollander at the same time. But when Will was about to shoot the landowner… had Joshua tried to talk him out of it? That's what it had sounded like. Then Hollander had pulled out the Derringer, the 'gun in his boot' to shoot Will, after which Joshua had killed Hollander.

Alice figured that sooner or later, she'd get the full story from Joshua, or Will for that matter, when he woke up. She refused to even consider the possibility that her son wouldn't wake up.

His fever finally broke just before bedtime that night, right after she'd finished her bath. For the first time since he'd been shot, Will slept restfully. His skin was still startlingly pale, but he'd stopped sweating, shivering, and babbling incoherently. His skin also no longer felt like it burned to the touch anymore. Joshua returned to sleeping in the hayloft while Mark and Alice slept together in the boys' bed.

The following morning when he appeared at the house, she shoved Dan's shaving kit into his hands as a none-too-subtle hint, and told him that breakfast would be ready by the time he finished shaving. He feigned insult, but she could see glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he accepted the shaving kit, and then helped himself to the clean shirt and trousers that were hanging on the line from the previous day's washing.

When he appeared about half an hour later, presumably after washing in the creek, he was clean-shaven and back to looking more like his usual self—like his Joshua self, at least.

Will still hadn't woken from his deep sleep by the time breakfast was served, but the atmosphere had still improved vastly from the previous couple of days. They were running low on some supplies and Alice knew they'd need to make a trip into Bisbee soon. Going to town was a bit of a to-do for their family, and she eyed Mark's shaggy hair critically. She'd have to give him a haircut before they made the trip, and now that she thought about it, Joshua could use a trim as well. Especially since his short hair was part of his 'disguise', such as it was.

After breakfast, she washed the dishes while Mark and Joshua went about tending the morning chores. It was Tuesday—Ironing Day—and given the small amount of items she bothered ironing, that made the day a welcome break from the hard labor of the previous Wash Day.

She'd just set the iron to heat up on the fire when she heard the sound of horses approaching the house. It was still too early yet for them to be taking the cattle out on the range, but visitors were extremely unusual, especially at this hour of the morning. Alice walked to the front porch and watched as two men rode in from the south. Mark and Joshua had already emerged from the barn and were walking in their direction.

Alice recognized both men, though she couldn't stop the surge of anxiety that filled her at their presence. "Marshal Thompson, Deputy Young," she greeted them both in kind with a smile.

Joshua and Mark had already crossed the relatively short distance between the house and the barn, and stood slightly to the right of the porch, watching the two men. Alice noted with some relief that Joshua didn't have his gunbelt on. Not that she expected him to come up guns a-blazing or anything at the mere sight of the lawmen, but still, a quick glance at the former outlaw indicated to her that he was as taut as a bowstring, though he greeted them with an easy, "G'morning," that Mark echoed.

"Howdy, Miz Evans," Marshal Eugene Thompson returned as he dismounted and tipped his hat in her direction. He was a very average looking man in his mid forties and with balding sandy brown hair and a long drooping mustache.

By contrast, Deputy Mitch Young was handsome, with warm brown eyes and thick black hair. He was also, well, young, probably no older than twenty five, by her estimation, and about as green as the day was long. He climbed down from his horse and turned to tip his hat in respect as well. "Morning, Miz Eva… good God almighty, what happened to your neck?" he blurted, staring at her with dismay.

The smile froze on Alice's face and involuntarily she raised one hand to somewhat block the view of her neck. She had not even thought about the bruises, which had faded slightly from black and blues to mottled green, when she'd seen the two men ride up. Mark and Joshua never mentioned her neck, and she couldn't see it herself unless she was sitting in front of the looking glass.

'Oh, for Christ's sake, Young," Marshal Thompson said disgustedly at his partner's lack of tact. He was a good man and did a decent job at keeping the peace in Bisbee. Examining her closely for a moment, he shifted a sharp gaze from Alice to Mark and then Joshua's unfamiliar face. "Everything all right? Where's your boy, Will?" he asked, resting a hand on the butt of his revolver. The simple gesture was done with casual grace, but Alice knew that if she'd made any indication of being in danger, that gun would immediately be brought to bear on Joshua.

Mark seemed to have come to the same realization and fidgeting, slipped around from Joshua's side to stand directly in front of him.

"Will's been pretty sick and is laid up in bed, but other than that, everything's fine." Alice reassured the lawman with a smile, and gestured with one hand toward Joshua. "Marshal, have you met Joshua Mason? He's a friend of Dan's and got in town a few weeks ago."

"Don't reckon I have," Thompson said, sizing the other man up briefly before he held out his hand. "Marshal Gene Thompson, at your service. This here's my deputy, Mitch Young," he added with a glance at his companion.

The men all exchanged handshakes. "Pleased to meet you, Marshal, Deputy," Joshua greeted each man in kind with an easy and relaxed grin that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"I apologize for bein' a little suspicious, but with Glen Hollander bein' found dead, his barn burned clear to the ground and a dead body in that, well, we're tryin' to err on the side of caution," Thompson explained. "Had you seen him recently?"

Alice nodded stiffly. "Yes. Mr. Hollander came by here a couple of times last week, most recently on Friday."

Thompson and his deputy exchanged a significant look at her words. "You say he was here on Friday? You or your boys see anything unusual? Because apparently at some point between leaving here and makin' it home, he got hisself shot and killed. One of his men found the body a few miles to the south. At first glance, it looked like he'd got himself caught up in a flash flood, but when the undertaker cleaned him up, well, bullet holes ain't generally part of bein' in a flash flood."

"I killed him."

Alice gasped and turned to find Will was making his way across the short distance from the bedroom door to the porch, using anything and everything in his reach for support so that he didn't collapse. He'd pulled on a pair of Dan's trousers that were way too large for him and were only held on his thin frame by the suspenders. The teenager's skin almost as white as the bandages he had wrapped around his chest, and a dull red circle in the fabric indicated exactly where he'd been shot.

"I killed Glen Hollander, for what he done to my Ma," Will grimly said again and when he reached the doorjamb, he could go no further and leaned there, his head lowered and panting with effort.

"Will! You should be in bed!" Alice worriedly said, hurrying to his side and slipping an arm under him for support. Joshua was at the boy's opposite side a breath later and together, they helped him into the nearest place for him to get off his feet—a rickety chair on the porch that Mark helpfully moved closer.

Marshal Thompson watched as they got Will settled in the chair and when the boy could sit up right again, he said, "Son, I respect what you done for your Ma, but killin' a man, especially a man as powerful as Glen Hollander, that ain't no small matter."

Will's jaw had a stubborn and unrepentant set to it and his voice was harsh when he spoke again, "You look at her, at her neck, and tell me if you'da done any different if he'd done it to your own Ma."

Both men glanced at Alice and she stiffened at their inspection, but tilted her chin bravely. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

Young and Thompson exchanged another look and then the Marshal shook his head. "No, you're right, son. I reckon I'da done the same damn thing if someone'd laid their hands on my Mama like that," he said bleakly.

"It's that gun, I'm tellin' ya, Marshal. He never should have got that gun," Young muttered in a low voice.

"What gun?" Alice asked blankly and out of the corner of her eye, saw Mark glance quickly up at Joshua.

Sighing through his mustache, Thompson shook his head and gave his deputy a quelling look. "It seems Hollander went to some auction and picked himself up some gun that used to belong to Ben Wade."

Deputy Young was nodding vigorously. "The Hand of God, that's what it's called. A black custom made Colt with a gold crucifix in the handle. They say it's cursed, that no one can use it but Ben Wade himself. But Hollander got it anyway and he was dead less than a day later, on account of that curse."

Alice very nearly rolled her eyes. She was far too practical a woman to believe in curses, and Hollander hadn't been killed because of the gun he carried, but because of what he'd done to her.

"I'm sure it's just coincidence," Marshal Thompson said and then admitted, "Though it is pretty bad luck that his barn burned down the same day. Ya'll don't happen to know anything about that, do you?"

"His barn burned down?" Will blinked and quite clearly had no prior knowledge of that event.

Both Alice and Mark darted quick looks Joshua's way at mention of the fire. The sharp-eyed Thompson witnessed that and leveled a steady look at the other man, "You know something about that, Mason?"

He hesitated before answering, "Just that it burned down. When I first got to town, I actually signed on with Mr. Hollander as a cowhand, and was workin' for him until last Friday. Once I found out what he did to her though," and here, he jerked his chin at Alice, "I didn't want no part of that. I got caught on this side of the flash flood and Mrs. Evans hired me on, seeing as they were short-handed anyway, with William laid up." It was the best kind of explanation to give—one that had so much truth in it that it all but buried the little lie hidden amidst it. "How'd the fire start, anyway?"

Thompson smoothed down the corner of his mustache, confessing, "We ain't rightly sure, to be honest. Possibly the building got struck by lightning during that storm that passed through. There was a body in the rubble, and since no one's seen hide nor hair of him since the fire, it seems like Tom Atkins got caught up in it. We think after the fire started, he went back in there and set all the horses free, but the barn collapsed on him before he could get out."

Young nodded admiringly, "Yeah, it was pretty brave of him, goin' back in there to set the horses free so they didn't burn up."

Joshua glanced down at the ground and adjusted his hat, finally stating in a tone approaching dry amusement, "He was a good wrangler."

"Yup, that he was." Thompson gave the other man an appraising look. "That he was." He cleared his and asked Alice, "I wonder if I could have a word or two with you in private?" punctuating his request with a reassuring smile.

"Of course, Marshal Thompson," she readily agreed, and followed the tall lawman a short distance away from the others.

He turned to face her and tugged at his whiskers for a moment before speaking. "You say Mason was a friend of Dan's?"

Alice immediately nodded and arched a brow at Thompson, calmly inquiring, "Why? Is there some sort of problem?" Inwardly, her heart was racing with worry that he'd recognized Joshua.

"No, no," he shook his head, peering beyond her to where Joshua stood watching them from the porch. "It's just, Hell, I don't know. There's something about him that just is kinda, well, I can't quite put my thumb on it. He seems awfully edgy around Young and me, and usually a man ain't twitchy around lawmen unless he's got something to hide. Also, did you see his face when we were talking about Atkins? I near 'bout thought he was gonna smile when we were talkin' about how Atkins died in that barn fire."

Carefully considering her words, she explained, "He, ah, had a couple of run-ins with some corrupt lawmen a few years back, and it's made him a bit suspicious of the law in general." Alice smiled warmly up at Thompson, "Now I know you and Deputy Young are both honest, but, well, you know how it goes. Honestly, I think that whole ordeal with the Earps up in Tombstone put a lot of lawmen in a bad light."

Thompson snorted at that. "That's God's own truth and I can't blame anyone for that. Just talking about that whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"And regarding Mr. Atkins, well…" she pursed her lips, "Mr. Mason's told us he didn't much like working with the man. Apparently Mr. Atkins showed far more concern for his horses than he did for the men working under him."

"Tom Atkins was a surly old bastard—pardon my language." The Marshal straightened, "Well, if you're sure about this Mason fellow…"

"I'm sure," Alice stated very firmly. She turned to look back at Joshua and a slight smile touched her lips. "He's a little rough around the edges, and at times, he's got a rather dry sense of humor, but he'd never do anything to harm us. In fact, if it weren't for him, Will probably would have died from his wounds. He was the one who removed the bullet."

"Didn't want to take any chances with Doc Hall, eh? I can't say as I blame you. God forbid me or Deputy Young ever get shot up, cause I think I'd rather take my chances with gangrene than that drunk ol' coot." Thompson looked around the ranch one last time and nodded with satisfaction, tipping his hat in her direction in a gesture of gentlemanly respect. "Well, I think we've finished our business here. Thank you kindly for your time, Mrs. Evans."

She barely stifled a sigh of relief and followed the tall man back toward the house.

He rejoined his partner and mounted back up on his horse. Bidding the others farewell, the Marshal gave a nod as he addressed each. "Will, hope you get to feelin' better soon. Mark, take good care of your Ma an' your brother. Nice meetin' you too, Mr. Mason," Thompson said, and as an afterthought added, "Just want you to know, all lawmen ain't as trigger happy as them Earps. So long as you obey the law, you won't find yourself in any kind of trouble with us. Come on, Young."

Deputy Young offered them a jaunty salute as he clicked his tongue at his horse and trotted off after the Marshal.

Will could barely even muster enough energy to wave and sat slumped in the chair. "I'm hungry," he mumbled wearily and on cue, his stomach growled loudly. The return of his appetite was a wonderfully welcome sign that he was finally getting back to normal.

Smiling, Alice ducked under his arm to help him back into the house.

Joshua levered the injured teen up from the opposite side and cocked an eyebrow at her from over the top of Will's head. "What was that he was saying about the Earps?"

She laughed outright at the question. "I'll explain later."

Trivia

Bread and milk poultices are another home remedy still used occasionally even to this day. It's supposedly very effective against infections and sometimes even works better than modern antiseptic creams.

The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral is one of the most familiar and iconic gun battles that took place in the Old West. Despite the numerous positive twists put on the gun fight by modern culture and film, the circumstances surrounding it were highly debated. Many at the time claimed the brothers Wyatt, Virgil, and Morgan Earp and their friend Doc Holliday were spoiling for a fight and in fact, fired the first bullets that set off the whole thing. After the gunfight, Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday were formally charged with murder, though the case never went to trial as the presiding judge felt there wasn't evidence to convict.

Marshal is a military rank used in many countries. It has numerous uses and references in the United States, including Federal Marshals (like the one Tommy Lee Jones portrayed in the movie The Fugitive), Air Marshals to protect commercial airlines in flight, and my own use of it in this story. In general, in this area of the country at the time this story was written, a Marshal would be about the equivalent of a town Sheriff or a constable.

Let's talk CSI: Old West. I have no idea regarding the extent to which law enforcement would investigate a murder or any other crime circa 1880. Marshal Thompson's investigation of Hollander's death seemed to be both reasonable and logical, given Glen Hollander's wealth and status in the community.