~ ~ ~ ~

Roy DeSoto sealed the envelopes. One he intended to mail when the stage came through town the day after tomorrow, providing the storm didn't delay its arrival. The other went into the drawer. He hoped she would never have to read that one. Roy missed Jo and the kids. Two weeks ago, they had taken the stage to River Falls, then the train to St. Louis to spend a month with her folks. At least they were safe there, unaware of events that had taken place… that were about to take place.

He turned down the wick of the lamp until the room was almost dark. After a few hours sleep in his own bed, he would head over to the jail before dawn, to take care of his prisoner and begin guard duty. Roy was determined the outlaw was going to stay in custody, and live to be tried -- and hanged -- for his crimes. Legally. There would be no lynch mob in his town. And, no one was breaking him out of jail, either.

There was something about the kid that nagged at him. He needed to settle that, too. Later, though. Roy was dead-tired, and if he was going to make it through the next few days, he needed to close his eyes and forget about the future… if he even had one… for just a little while.

~ ~ ~ ~

Her meticulously orchestrated world had been turned upside down. First, Jack had shown up, and killed a man. Now, Johnny was here. She had thought Dry Gulch was as far away from her former life as she could get. Like a shadow, though, it clung to her, followed her, and now threatened to destroy everything she had worked so hard to create.

Dixie McCall poured herself another drink. Glass in hand, she wandered through the rooms of her small house behind the saloon, rearranging little trinkets, straightening photos on the walls, seeking to restore order, even as the wind outside sought to do the opposite.

She cursed the day she had met Jack Rampart. He ruined lives. Hers. Johnny's. How many others, she didn't know. She hadn't wanted to know. Now, he was about to ruin more. Her friends… good friends, good men like Roy DeSoto, would likely go to their graves because of him. Because of her. She cursed herself. Jack was her one weakness, her Achilles heel. If only she had turned him away that night… if only she hadn't let him share her bed. Matt Jenkins would still be alive. The town could weather the dust storm, but it couldn't weather the violence Jack's men would bring when they came to get him. If only....

Dixie knew she had to do something to stop the madness. She prayed she had the strength to do the right thing. Just this one time.

* * * * * * * *

He awoke with a start and reached for his gun. There was nothing but an empty pillow next to his head. The room was dark. For a moment, he forgot where he was. He heard someone move, and fumbled again for his gun, certain he had left it on the floor, within easy reach.

"Johnny?" she whispered, feeling his panic. "Are you all right?"

"Sally?" He held his breath, listening for the sound again. His hand brushed cold metal. His fingers found the trigger, and curled around it.

"It's just the wind," she reassured him as she crawled back into bed. "I think it tore open the shutters on the store across from here. I'm pretty sure Mr. Hawkins came out and closed them again. I don't hear them banging against the wall any more."

Johnny swallowed hard, not sure whether to feel foolish for letting Sally see him react this way, or to feel irritated that he had left himself so vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," Sally said, snuggling against him. She didn't like the idea that he slipped the weapon under his pillow, but when he kissed her and slid his hand between her legs, she forgot all about it.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," he mumbled, as he pulled her on top of him. He needed her again. Sally knew just what to do, knew just what he wanted. It felt so damned good, Johnny almost wished the morning would never come.

* * * * * * * *

The clock said it was past sunup, but it was impossible to tell. Dark gray particles clouded the sky and blocked the sun, making it seem more like foggy dusk than daylight. Roy looked out the small, barred window of the jail, and couldn't see more than ten feet clearly. Not that there was much moving around besides tumbleweeds.

Towns on the plains were prepared for wind storms like this. Anything that drew a breath generally stayed inside until it was over. Windows were tightly shuttered, doors locked, animals sheltered in barns and stables. Yet, it was Sunday. While people who lived on the outlying farms and ranches would no doubt stay home, those who lived in town would wrap scarves and handkerchiefs around their faces and brave the elements to go to church this morning. Nothing kept the devout from their day of worship.

He didn't know how much time they had. Rampart had been on his way to a prearranged meeting with his gang when Roy had intercepted him. The man had bragged that they knew where he had been, and if he didn't show up, knew exactly where to look for him. His confidence that he would walk out a free man soon rubbed the sheriff the wrong way. Cool and calm on the outside, Roy went about his business of making sure the jail was secure and the rifles loaded. His only problem was what to do with Rampart while he attended the town meeting. Roy certainly didn't want to take him along, but leaving him alone was risky, too.

There were men in town he could trust to keep an eye on the prisoner. But, doing so could put their lives in jeopardy if the gang showed up in the meantime. Roy couldn't ask anyone to do that. It was his responsibility.

There were two hours before the meeting began. Roy poured a cup of coffee, and pulled a chair to his cluttered desk. A stack of wanted posters was piled on the floor, waiting to be organized. He hadn't looked through them in a long time. No reason to. But, in the course of the last eight days, two strangers had showed up, and he wondered again if there was a connection.

Problem was, Roy couldn't figure out why a man like Rampart would have been in Dry Gulch to begin with. A notorious bank robber in a town with no bank didn't make sense. Matt Jenkins murder couldn't have been planned. He was an innocent bystander, in the wrong place at the wrong time. No.... Jack Rampart had come here for a reason, but he wasn't talking about that.

And, what about Johnny Gage? A lame horse was a plausible excuse -- except that Dry Gulch wasn't on anyone's route to California. It was closer to being the end of the line, than a gateway to the far west.

His hand was reaching for the stack of posters when the door blew open, and the wind scattered them to the four corners of his office.

* * * * * * * *

"Doesn't look like a good day to travel." Joe Early watched Gage wear a path in the wooden floor, not sure he had been heard. "Your horse would probably agree with me."

Johnny stopped his pacing to say something, then flashed a humored smile when he got the joke. "I suppose you're right. Sometimes I think my horse has more sense than I do."

"Don't feel bad. Animals have more sense than most of us humans put together. They just let us think we're smarter than they are."

Johnny sat down at the table to work on his barely touched breakfast. "You know, Doc, I… I wonder if I could ask you a favor?"

"As long as it's nothing illegal or immoral, go ahead." Early chuckled at the brief look of confusion on Johnny's face. The kid had a naive streak a mile wide, yet there was something about him that spoke of a person who could take care of himself better than most when his back was against the wall.

"No, it's nothin' like that." Johnny pulled a small, plain-wrapped package from his jacket pocket. "Would you give this to Dixie for me? After I'm gone? I won't have any use for it where I'm headed. Besides, it belongs to her. I've just been holding on to it for a while."

"Why don't you give it to her yourself?"

"I don't think she'd take it from me." Johnny sighed and ran his hand through his hair, anxious to do what he had to do. "It would mean a lot to me if you see that she gets it."

"All right, John, I can do that favor for you. But, would you mind telling me," Joe asked, "how is it you know Dixie?"

"Well, Doc, it's a long story. Maybe you should ask her. After-"

"-After you're gone," Joe finished the sentence for him.

"Yeah," Johnny said solemnly, then pushed his chair back and rose to leave. "It's been good knowin' you, Doc. Take care of her, will you? And say good-bye to Sally for me, too. I sorta promised her I'd be here when she got back. I… uh, don't normally break a promise to a lady, but it's better this way."

"Better for who? For Sally, or for you?" Joe held up his hand before an answer came. "Sorry, that's none of my business." He followed Johnny to the door, and shook his hand. "I still say it's a bad day to travel. I can tell when a man's got his mind made up, though. You take care, son, and if you're ever back this way again...."

"I don't think I will be. But, thanks just the same." He opened the door just enough to slip out and pulled it closed behind him. The wind was raging, cold and thick with dust that stung his face like a thousand tiny needles. Johnny pulled the bandana that hung around his neck up over his nose, settled the gun in his holster, and headed for the jail.

* * * * * * * *

"Dixie, you didn't have to come out in the storm," Roy said again, as he finished the last of the eggs on his plate. "I appreciate it, though. I was hungrier than I thought. I'm sure Mr. Rampart would say thank you, too, if he had any manners."

"You try eating with your hands cuffed and your leg chained to a chair," he replied in that arrogant tone of a man who thought too highly of himself. He purposely let the plate slip from his fingers and drop to the floor. "Maybe that's what I'll do -- tie you up and watch you eat your last meal -- before I put a gun to your head and pull the trigger."

"In some other life, maybe," Roy countered dryly. "Right now, you're going back to your cell, and you're going to be quiet while I clean up my office."

Jack Rampart stared at Dixie while the sheriff unlocked the leg chain from the chair. He was counting on her to understand his unspoken command. She hated him, but he still had the power to make her do anything he wanted. What he wanted right now was his freedom, so he could kill this bastard DeSoto for trussing him up and treating him like a common criminal.

A truculent smile curved the corners of his mouth when he saw her pull out the gun she had carefully concealed under a napkin. That's my girl, he thought. Too bad I'm going to have to kill you, too.

A sudden hard knock on the door jolted them. Dixie quickly hid the gun again. Roy prodded Rampart back into his cell. He made sure it was locked, then put the key in his pocket, and drew his gun.

"Sheriff! It's John Gage. Let me in!"

Ready to turn the lock and open the door, Roy first looked at Dixie. The color had drained from her face, and she looked nervous. He had never seen Dixie look nervous in the three years since she had come to Dry Gulch. It made him nervous.

"Let him in," she whispered hoarsely.

He opened the door, but kept his gun ready as Gage entered the room. The look that passed between him and Dixie set Roy's internal warning signals in motion. Something was definitely up.

"Well, as I live and breathe," Rampart called from his cell. "If it isn't little Johnny Gage. I thought for sure they'd hung you down in Abeline last year. Why, if I'd have known you were still alive...."

"Shut up," Johnny snapped, barely controlling his anger. His hand was poised over the handle of his pistol, fingers twitching, when he felt the barrel of a gun press into his back, and heard the cock of the hammer.

"Hold on there, Junior," Roy warned, as he pulled the gun from Johnny's holster with his free hand. "No one's gonna shoot anyone in my jail."

"Does that include you not shootin' me in the back?" Johnny asked sarcastically.

"It does, as long as you behave yourself," Roy answered, backing away. "Now, I want someone to tell me what's going on here. I feel like there's a party going on, and I haven't been invited."

The air in the room was choked with tension as thick as the dust outside. The only sound heard was the wail of the wind, and the single tick of another minute gone by off the clock on the wall.

Dixie was the first to speak. There was fire in her eyes, and authority in her voice. "Johnny," she said, determined now to protect him like she should have years ago. "Don't do this. He's not worth throwing your life away. Get out of here, go to California, and start over. I'll see to it that Jack never hurts anyone again."

"No, Dix. I'm not goin' anywhere until I see him six feet under," he argued vehemently. "Then, they can lock me up and throw away the key, or hang me. I don't care. All I want is justice. The kind of justice you can't get from a judge and jury."

"I'm still waiting for someone to tell me what this is all about," Roy reminded them. "No one's leaving here until I say so."

"It's private business." Johnny held out his hand to Roy. "Give me back my gun, go to your meeting, and take Dixie with you. I'll turn myself in…. Just… let me do this my way."

Roy blinked his eyes in disbelief. "If I did that, I might as well shoot him myself. I'm a lawman, Junior. I play by the rules. How about you just let yourself into that other cell, while I figure out what to do. And, Dixie… I'll take that gun you've got under that napkin there."

"You may as well go ahead and shoot me, 'cause I'm not letting you lock me up," Johnny said defiantly, taking a step toward Roy. "I've been behind bars twice, and I can tell you… there won't be a third time until Jack Rampart is dead."

When Roy raised his gun again, Dixie stepped between them. "Roy…. Please." Her voice softened when she turned and lightly touched her hand to Johnny's shoulder. "Listen to me. Haven't you already lost enough years of your life because of Jack? He'll get what's coming to him. I promise."

"Yeah?" Johnny shrugged free of her hand. "What were you gonna do with that gun? Shoot him yourself? Or, help him get away? Again."

"Johnny, I thought we settled this the other night. I suppose it's still hard for you to believe me, but… I was going to put an end to all this. It's been three years. I don't know about you, but I'm tired. I want to put this behind me, and be free again."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a bounty on your head," Johnny pointed out. "They already want to hang me, so killin' him isn't going to make my life worse. As a matter of fact, it'll make my dyin' a whole lot easier to know he made it to hell ahead of me."

"Excuse me," Roy interrupted. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear. No one's gonna shoot anyone in my jail. Why don't we all just sit down, and calm down, and I'll listen while you talk."

Roy waved the barrel of the gun at the two chairs between his desk and the jail cell, indicating they should sit. He could keep an eye on all three from where he stood. Johnny pushed the limits of Roy's patience by refusing, until Dixie pleaded with him to end the stubborn stand off.

Gage was a hardheaded handful, but Roy thought he would have regretted having to shoot him. "Before we start, let me ask if either of you has ever shot a man in cold blood before. Looked him in the eyes right before you did it?" Their silence didn't surprise him. "I didn't think so. You may act tough, Junior, but I gotta tell you… you're no murderer."

"I shot a man once." Johnny glared indignantly at Roy. "In self-defense, but I shot him."

"Yeah? What did he do? Draw first?"

"Well. No," Johnny grumbled. "He… he called me Junior one too many times."

Without lowering his gun, Roy pulled a chair around and sat down. Damned if he didn't like this kid. "How old are you?"

"Almost twenty-two. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four," Roy answered.

"Goin' on forty," Johnny muttered under his breath.

"You get old real fast in my line of work," Roy explained. "I think it's time I heard the truth before I get any older. Who wants to start?"

"Go ahead and tell him, sweetheart." Rampart leisurely leaned against the bars like he had the world by a string. "I'd kinda like to hear the story again myself. I'll just listen in and make sure you don't forget any of the important details. Like how Junior there shot and killed his own daddy because of you."

Johnny was halfway out of his chair before Dixie grabbed his arm. "Don't," she warned, pulling him back down. "He's manipulating you. It's what he does. Johnny, we both know Jack killed your father and set you up. Let me tell Roy what happened. Maybe there's something he can do to help."

"I haven't met a lawman yet who wanted to help me. It's too late anyway." With a dark scowl at Rampart, Johnny took his seat again. "Nobody's gonna believe me. After I escaped from jail down in Abilene last year, the bounty on my head changed to dead or alive. Sheriff down there wants me to pay for making him look bad."

Roy exhaled in frustration. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that? I can't judge what I don't know, though. Dixie…?"

"Won't do you any good," Rampart continued to nettle from his cell. "Jury only took twenty minutes to decide he was guilty, and a judge already sentenced him to life in prison. Would've sentenced him to hang if he hadn't been so young. Sheriff, do you know who his daddy was?"

"No, but I don't suppose there's any stoppin' you from telling me."

"Why, he was one of the most beloved heroes of the War between the States Texas ever had. Owned the biggest cattle ranch in the state. Most Texans thought Alexander P. Gage was destined to be their next governor. What they didn't know was that the man had more skeletons in his closet than you've got wanted posters. But, Johnny-boy here knew the family secrets. Hell, he was one of them."

"That all true?" Roy asked. Getting an affirmative nod from a grim-faced Johnny, he sat back in his chair, trying to recall if he had heard anything about the murder. News of something that high profile usually made its way through the grapevine, especially if the person held responsible was a fugitive. It didn't ring a bell, though.

"I'd like to hear the rest of the story from one or both of you." Roy glanced from Johnny to Dixie and back to Johnny again. Gage looked like a firecracker ready to go off. Maybe he wasn't the best one to do the talking at the moment. "Dixie?" Roy prompted with a glance at the clock. "We're running out of time."

Dixie's heart ached for the young man sitting next to her, for all that he had suffered. Beneath the wafer-thin tough-kid veneer, beneath the deeper layers of hurt and anger, lay a loving spirit and a gentle soul. All Johnny had wanted from his father was money for a decent burial for his mother, a simple headstone to mark her grave. That he was caught up in an elaborate web of lies, deceit, blackmail, and murder was all Jack Rampart's doing. Johnny deserved justice for the youth and innocence he had lost, for the time spent behind bars, and on the run for a crime he didn't commit. She had failed to stand up for him back then, and owed it to him to do it now. Hopefully, time hadn't run out.

"Roy, I… I don't think this is the time or place to go into detail. You and I.... We've been close friends for three years. I'd like to ask that you trust me when I tell you that Johnny is innocent. Jack was using Johnny to blackmail his father, and using me as the go-between. You see, I was engaged to marry Alexander. But, it wasn't for love. I was at the end of my career, looking for the home I never had. Alexander wanted a showpiece on his arm as the governor's wife. We were a perfect match. And, the matchmaker was Jack Rampart. Fool that I was, I… I was in love with Jack, and didn't see what he was doing until it was too late."

"It wasn't your fault," Johnny said softly. "You said yourself, he manipulates people. It's what he does."

"Go on," Roy urged quietly. "What happened?"

"Jack talked Alexander into believing that Johnny was going to threaten to expose how he came by his wealth after the War. Making public that he had an illegitimate son by a saloon girl wouldn't have done much for his candidacy either. But, Alex refused to pay blackmail money. Jack was furious. He killed Alexander and framed Johnny. He threatened to kill me if I ever told the truth. I ran, and left Johnny behind to pay the price." Dixie dabbed at the tears that welled in her eyes. "Johnny, I'm sorry. If I could go back and change things, I would."

"But, you can't. What's done is done." Even though Johnny had lived with the nightmare every day of his life for the last three years, hearing it told again was like a knife in his gut, but he couldn't hold it against Dixie. "I never really blamed you. You were one of the few people who ever treated me like I was somebody special. Besides my mother."

"You are special." Dixie smiled affectionately at him. "You made me sing again, didn't you? Roy, can you help him? For me?"

"Maybe. But, there's one thing I need to know. What brought Rampart to Dry Gulch? No bank to rob here, no politicians to blackmail."

"Alexander had told Jack that he had given me a key to a box in a bank vault. Inside that box was supposed to be a lot of money, and the deed to the ranch -- and his instructions that the ranch was to be mine in the event of his death. Jack thought I had the key. I didn't know anything about it. I wouldn't have wanted the ranch anyway. If it belongs to anyone, it belongs to Johnny."

There was a loud rap on the door. "Roy?" It was Joe Early. "Folks are waiting at the church."

Roy got up and opened the door wide enough to talk. "Go on ahead, Doc. I'll be there in five minutes." The posters scattered on the floor fluttered around again in the breeze as the clock struck eleven. He made a decision, and hoped to hell it wasn't going to be the biggest mistake of his life.

"Dixie, I'd like you to come to the meeting with me." He paused, giving Johnny a long look, before handing his gun back to him. "I want you to keep an eye on the prisoner."

Johnny hesitantly took the gun. "You're leaving me alone with him?"

"I am. And, I expect him to be alive when I get back. I want your word on that."

"You're trusting me?" Johnny wondered what DeSoto had up his sleeve. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful, or suspicious.

"Let's just say I consider myself a good judge of character," Roy explained as he helped Dixie on with her shawl. "I'm countin' on you not to prove me wrong about you."

Johnny was torn, waffling with indecision. He had spent three long years waiting for the opportunity to kill Jack Rampart. It had been the one thing that had kept him going all this time. But, the sheriff was handing him the opportunity to do something even better. To gain an ally who might be able to help clear his name. A chance to live without looking over his shoulder at every turn. "All right," he finally agreed. "I'm givin' you my word."

"That's good enough for me. Let's go, Dixie. And, Rampart," Roy added. "If I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut. Sometimes a man goes against his word if he's pushed too hard. I'd hate to have to come back here and clean up anything more than papers off the floor of my jail."

"Sheriff, you can't leave me alone with this kid." Rampart had lost his swagger. His dark eyes were filled with loathing. "His word means nothing. He's got nothing to lose. He'll kill me the minute you close the door. My blood will be on your hands just as surely as his."

"I'm willing to chance it." Roy glanced at Johnny again. "I think he's got everything to gain by not shooting you. Can't say that I'd blame him much if he did, but he's a better man than you are. He'll do the right thing."

Without another word, Roy ushered Dixie out the door and closed it behind them. They walked in silence toward the church. The devil wind was dying down, but their troubles were far from over.

* * * * * * * *

"Sheriff!" Pete Green shouted breathlessly from the back of the church. He had been on lookout duty, and had ridden hard to get back to town in a hurry. "Six men are headed this way. They're about a half-mile out."

"All right, men," Roy tried to calm the room. "I want you to go home like we talked about. Your first responsibility is to make sure your families are safe. Then, get your rifles and get in position. No one takes a shot if it's not necessary, but at the first sign of trouble, do what you have to do."

"We're behind you, Roy," someone said. "We won't let Matt's murderer get away," someone else assured him.

The church emptied quickly. Roy had to get back to the jail. "Doc, take Dixie to your office. Keep her there till it's over."

"Roy, I...." she protested. "This is all my fault. Isn't there something I can do?"

"No, it's not your fault. Dixie, people are bound to get hurt today. I need you to help Joe when the time comes. Promise me you'll stay out of it."

Dixie knew he was right, and reluctantly agreed. "Roy? Johnny...."

"I'll take care of him as best I can. You've got my word on that. But, Dix. He's not a boy. He's a man, and if he chooses to stay and fight, I won't say no."

Parting company, Roy left the church. As he turned the corner, he could see the men on horseback approaching slowly. They were cautiously scanning the rooftops, and their guns were drawn. He reached the jail at the same time they did. Heart hammering in his chest, his hand gripped the rifle tighter. He fought to keep his voice steady.

"Mornin'," he said politely. "What can I do for you?"

A tall, thin man dismounted his horse, and handed the reins to another. "My name's Sloan. We're looking for a friend of ours. Name of Jack Rampart. You seen him?"

Roy laid the rifle across his arm, praying that Johnny was making sure Rampart kept his mouth shut. "He was here about a week ago. Killed a friend of mine. I went after him, but he got away. I just got back in town last night."

Sloan glanced at the door to the jail. "Then I don't suppose you'd mind if I took a look inside?"

"As a matter of fact," Roy said coolly, stalling for time, "I would mind. I've got a couple of men sleeping off their Saturday night in there. Wouldn't want you to disturb them. They've both got bad tempers. Hard tellin' what they might do if they get riled up."

Six guns were pointed his way. Being slightly outnumbered, Roy changed his tune. "How about I go in first, and let them know we have company?"

"How about we both go in," Sloan suggested. "Nice and peaceful-like. If Jack's not in there, then we'll just step back outside, and finish this conversation out here."

That worked for Roy. Johnny would have overheard and would be ready. Between the two of them, they could disarm one man, and close the door before the others could do anything. "All right." Roy reached for the door, and pushed it open. "After you."

Sloan shook his head. "I'm not stupid. You first."

Turning his back on six armed men was about the most nerve-wracking thing Roy had ever done, but he had no choice. He had to give the men of the town time to get ready. He and Johnny might die… probably would… but Jack Rampart and his men would not ride out of town alive. He stepped inside, and stopped short. The rifles were gone. The jail was empty.

The kid had fooled them all.

* * * * * * * *

Lay down your law books now, they're no damn good

* * * * * * * *

Everyone was on edge. Rampart's men had checked out the rest of the town for themselves, and had come up empty. They had decided to stick around until the storm passed by. The wind was still gusting, but not with the same ferocity it had during the night and early morning hours.

It was obvious they thought their leader was still in town, hidden, and that they'd just wait things out. Roy had no reason to arrest them. He had no proof at the moment they were wanted, and they hadn't exactly broken the law so far. The saloon didn't normally serve drinks until after sundown on Sundays, but after talking it over with the sheriff, Dixie decided to break her rule. It would keep the men in one place while Roy gave thought to organizing a search party.

He didn't like his choices. Besides drawing the attention of Rampart's gang, Roy realized he had no idea which direction to go. The wind would have blown away any evidence of a trail to follow. He couldn't believe he had been so suckered. At first he feared Dixie was in on it, but her shock had been genuine. She insisted Johnny wouldn't have helped Rampart escape. She feared he was taking him somewhere to kill him. Somewhere, where the body would never be found.

Roy wasn't convinced. For all he knew, Johnny had been part of the blackmail scheme against his father. Maybe in return for his silence, Rampart had money waiting for him. Maybe he had been double-crossed. Bitterly disappointed that he could have been so wrong, Roy needed some time to think things through. A walk always helped clear his mind. .

Passing the livery, he heard the sound of restless horses, snorting and kicking their stalls. There was usually a reason for nervous horses. Roy slowly pulled the gun from his holster and opened the side door. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light. A few of the animals were unquestionably spooked, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary -- except for the Paint in the middle stall. He doubted Gage would have left a horse like that behind. Roy quietly closed the door, and moved around, looking, listening. As he went from stall to stall, calming the horses, he kept his eyes on the wooden ceiling above his head, watching for any sign of movement in the hay loft. It was almost too still.

Going for help didn't enter into his thoughts as he carefully ascended the ladder, gun ready. The loft was full of bales of hay for the coming winter. Full of shadows and dark corners. Tense and alert as a cat on the prowl, Roy turned to his right, his finger on the trigger. His back stiffened. The wind? Or, was that a moan? He inched forward, cautiously, listening intently.

A red stain on some loose straw caught his attention. He knelt on one knee to examine it more closely. It was fresh. It was blood. His head snapped up. It was a moan, muffled, but not more than a few yards away. He stepped around another stack of hay bales and almost tripped over Johnny, lying on his left side, barely conscious, struggling for breath. A wood-handled iron hay bale hook lay beside him, covered with bloody gore.

Not knowing Rampart's whereabouts, Roy remained guarded, but crouched down to take a closer look. Though the wound was partially covered by Johnny's arm, the sight of the hook and the blood that drenched his shirt and stained the floor managed to paint a grim, grisly picture in Roy's mind of a lamb to the slaughter.

"Johnny?" he whispered. He watched Johnny's eyes flutter open. He was having a hard time breathing. Roy put his hand to Johnny's shoulder, waiting until his eyes focused in recognition.

"Don't move. Where's Rampart?"

"Don't know. He… he...." Johnny gasped for air, and reflexively clutched his arm more tightly to his side and drew his knees up. "Hurts. Can't breathe."

Roy needed to see just how badly he was injured, but wasn't about to put his gun down until he was sure they were alone. "Johnny. Listen to me. I need to lift your arm a little so I can check you out. I'll take it easy." He met with instinctive resistance, but Johnny's strength was waning. Roy saw what he needed to see, and carefully lowered the arm to its protective resting place.

In his job, he had seen men who had been beaten, shot, stabbed, trampled. He had seen men who had perished from the unrelenting heat of summer and from the bitter cold of winter. He had helped the doctor stitch men up, and he had helped the mortician bury the dead. But, in all his life, Roy had never been witness to such an act of brutal savagery.

Rampart must have swung the hook at Johnny from behind, breaking his ribs and puncturing a lung. The horrific, gaping wound revealed a view of bone and torn tissue and muscle… and blood. So much blood, Roy knew from the doctor's lessons there was undoubtedly organ damage, too. The attack itself must have been vicious enough, but to envision Rampart pulling the hook back out made his stomach turn in revulsion. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain. Yet, Johnny appeared somewhat calm, as though the deadly extent of the trauma hadn't fully registered.

Feeling as though he had to do something, Roy removed his bandana, folded it, and slipped it under the arm, knowing it wasn't nearly enough to stop the bleeding. Johnny paled and groaned when he pressed down on it, and tried to push Roy's hand away.

"Shoulda let me shoot him. You… you may play by the rules, but h-he doesn't." Johnny's jaw was clenched; his eyes filled with pain and anger as he fought to draw air into his lungs. "I'd rather hang th-than die like this."

"You're not gonna die," Roy told him. "I'm going to get Doc Early in here. Just don't move. It'll make the bleeding worse. You hold on.... Johnny? Stay with me if you can." Roy felt him shiver, then Johnny passed out. He checked again, relieved. Johnny's breathing was labored, but he was still breathing. Roy knew he didn't have much time. Maybe it was better that Johnny wasn't aware.

Figuring the quickest way to draw attention would be to fire a shot out the small window at the other end of the loft, Roy rose to his feet with a quick look around that revealed no sign of Jack Rampart. He was about to take aim, when the cold metal barrel of a rifle pressed to the back of his head.

"Drop the gun," Rampart ordered. "Then put your hands behind your back."

Roy knew he was a dead man whether he dropped the gun or not. Rampart was a man without a conscience. He could just as easily blow Roy's head off as a farmer could wring a chicken's neck, and not think twice about it. Roy assumed it was just a matter if he wanted to die this instant, or have a few minutes to make peace with God. If he fired his gun anyway, there was no telling how many people might get killed before it was all over. He dropped the pistol.

"Johnny needs a doctor," he said, with no further thought of himself. "Right now, or he's going to die."

"Stupid kid," Rampart snarled and kicked Roy's gun away. "Got what he deserved. You'd think after all this time, he'd know better than to turn his back to me. Now, you turn around. Slowly."

"I'll make a deal," Roy offered. "You saddle a horse, take the rifles, and go. I won't try to stop you. I'll wait until you're out of town, then go for the doctor."

"You're in no position to make deals, lawman. You're my ticket out of town in case anyone tries to stop me from leaving. I don't think the good people of this town are going to do anything if it means you getting killed."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Roy heard Johnny moan again, and knew he had to hurry. "They know you'd shoot me as soon as you were clear anyway. My way, you've got a head start. The dust will cover your tracks, so we won't be able to follow. Just let me get help for Johnny. He doesn't have much time."

"You think I care?" Rampart sneered. "I'll make you a deal. You get down that ladder and come with me peacefully, and I won't kill Gage right now. That still gives him a fighting chance. You decide. His life is in your hands. You owe him anyway. Now move."

Roy moved toward the ladder, with the rifle barrel pressed in his back. "Why do you say I owe him?" he asked, hoping to distract Rampart for even a fraction of a second.

"He was trying to play hero and save your life. The kid understood one thing. You wouldn't have lasted any time at all if you had holed up against my men in your jail. He knew they wouldn't go for a shoot-out in a wide open place like this, and was counting on you to find us before they did. You did, only too late for him."

Every minute that went by was a minute he was still alive… a minute which bought him time to think of something. Roy started down the ladder, with Rampart standing above him, rifle pointed at his head. He instinctively looked down to gauge the distance to the ground, then heard the grunt of a man getting the wind knocked out of him. Before he could look up, the rifle flew past him, and two men toppled out of the loft. They both hit the hard dirt floor with a thud. Rampart cursed loudly, as he tried to shove Johnny's dead weight off of him.

Roy didn't have time to contemplate how Johnny had managed to get to his feet, or where he had found the extraordinary strength to tackle Rampart so hard. He scurried down the ladder, jumping off before reaching the bottom, in a desperate race for the rifle.

Scrambling on his hands and knees, the outlaw beat him to it. Rampart grimaced in pain. His wrist was broken and he had a hard time getting his fingers to function, but he pointed the barrel at Roy's chest, determined to pull the trigger. Then, he'd settle the score with that damned kid once and for all.

The horses were going crazy, making so much noise, neither one of them heard the door being flung open. Just as Rampart squeezed off the shot, a second shot rang out from behind him. Roy was blown backwards by the point blank impact of the rifle against his chest, his blood splattering the wall behind him as he fell. The bullet fired from the doorway passed through Rampart's back, burying itself in his heart. He was dead before his face hit the dirt.

Dixie stood in the shadows, holding the rifle level, waiting to make sure Jack Rampart didn't move. Her rage was so focused on him, she didn't notice the other two men.

People crowded around outside. Joe Early could be heard asking everyone to stay back until he had a chance to take a look. The doctor stepped inside, and the moment his eyes adjusted to the gruesome scene before him, his instincts told him they were all beyond his help. Their lives were in the hands of a higher power.

"Dix," he said softly, taking the gun from her hands. "It's over." He looked around again at three men laying on the ground, all covered in blood. "Why don't you see to Johnny," he quietly urged. "I'll help Roy."

Sally Jones pushed her way inside and rushed past Dixie to where the young cowboy who had stolen her heart lay, unmoving and quiet as death. She sank to the floor and gently lifted his head into her lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She knew, but didn't want to believe. "Johnny? Oh, God, Johnny. You promised me… Johnny, please. Open your eyes."

She sat there, stroking his hair, calling his name, sobbing softly. Johnny's eyes flickered open, and his hand groped for hers. He tried to say something. His lips moved, but no words came. Dixie knelt beside them, gathering his other hand in hers. It was cold as ice.

She knew what he wanted. "Jack won't hurt anybody, ever again." Johnny was still trying to say something, and she leaned down to try to hear.

"... there… 'head of me."

Sally cried uncontrollably as she cradled his head close, remembering how it had felt to lay in his arms this morning after they had made love for the last time. He had been so tender, so sad. She had somehow known then she would never see him again. "I'll never forget you, Johnny," she whispered through her tears. "I love you."

Dixie wanted to cry, wanted to scream. The last three years of Johnny's life had been hell on earth for no reason other than she had run away, instead of telling the truth. Surely, she prayed, he was going to a better place. Surely she was the one who should be paying for her sins. He had forgiven her, but she would never forgive herself. She would take the responsibility for his death to her grave. "Johnny, I would make it up to you if I could. Some day, I'll find a way."

"I-I know." Johnny drew a ragged breath. His life on the run had ended with a selfless, courageous act of sacrifice for a man he would have liked to have counted as a friend. It was something to take with him, wherever he was bound. His eyes closed, and his odyssey was over. He was free at last.

Joe Early was quietly talking to Roy. The livery stable was eerily silent, save for the muted sound of Sally's sobs, and the plaintive, almost heartbreaking whinny from the horse in the middle stall. Early hoped that John Gage's soul would finally find peace in the next world.

"Doc… Johnny?" Roy mumbled. "He tried to save my life. Make sure people know." Roy no longer felt the burning, tearing pain in his chest. He was numb, cold. It was getting dark.

"I'll do that, Roy. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Roy laid his head back, feeling time slip away. "There's a… a letter. At home, in the drawer. See that… see that she gets that one. Not the one in my office."

"All right. Anything else?" Joe watched as Roy's eyes blinked, and his breathing slowed.

"Tell Johnny.... tell Johnny we'll meet again someday."

"Roy, Johnny's...."

Joe Early didn't finish the sentence. He closed Roy's eyes, and bid good-bye to his friend.

* * * * * * * *

Well, the towns lay out across the dusty plains,
Like graveyards filled with tombstones, waitin' for the names

* * * * * * * *

He hated waiting. Especially in a doctor's office. At least this one had a window, easing the feeling of being confined. Small spaces had never bothered him, as long as he didn't have to stay in them for long.

Johnny gingerly rubbed his right side. The stitches had been taken out yesterday, but the area was still sensitive. The next person who said a flesh wound didn't hurt would hear from him. It had hurt like hell. At least, that's how he thought he remembered it. His recollection of the entire episode was slightly disjointed. Though the bullet had technically only grazed him, it had come too close for comfort. Brackett had said a little to the left and slightly higher, it would have pierced his liver, and maybe broken some ribs and torn through a lung. Johnny wanted to tell the person who had said that life is sometimes measured in inches just how right they were.

Dr. Johnson was late for her own meeting. Johnny checked his watch again, and looked out the window, wondering where Roy was. His sleep had been restless last night, at best. More than anything, he wanted to get back to work. Walking through the emergency room hallway to the elevator today hadn't been as difficult as he had imagined. Perhaps because he had practiced walking through it in his dreams more than once since that afternoon.

"Hey, Johnny," Roy called as he entered the office. "Dr. Johnson isn't here yet?"

Johnny relaxed and put his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged. "No. Her secretary said she was still with Dixie. I guess the session is taking a little longer than she thought it would."

"Yeah," Roy said softly. "I sure hope she's okay. How are you doin'?"

"Not bad. Morton said I should be able to go back to work next week. Lookin' forward to it."

Roy sat down in a chair and made himself comfortable. "I don't want this to go to your head or anything, but I'll be glad when you're back, too."

"Yeah?" Johnny grinned broadly. "You miss me, huh?"

"Well," Roy said slowly, "It's not that I miss you so much… it's just hard to work with a different person each shift. I guess you could say I've gotten used to having you around."

Johnny sat down in the other chair, not bothering to wonder if that was a compliment or a put down. Their lighthearted banter didn't conceal the respect each held for the other. He and Roy had felt a common bond since the day they first met. The shooting in the hallway of the Rampart emergency room two weeks ago had only strengthened their connection.

They had talked at length about it… just the two of them. They had talked about the overwhelming sense of déjà vu Johnny had experienced before he tackled the patient-gone-berserk… just as the man had turned around and taken aim at Roy. They had talked about Roy's fleeting recollection of his life passing before his eyes at that moment. His life, but not his. He didn't know how to explain it. Talking helped. Some of the details had already faded with time. Neither one expected any permanent scars under the surface from the experience, but both had developed a stronger dislike for guns, and a deeper appreciation of their friendship, as a result.

It was Dixie who had them worried. Alone in the treatment room with Jack Rimmer when he had pulled the handgun, she had tried to calm him down and take it from him. He had bolted from the room, and had begun shooting at the first thing that moved. That had been Johnny. Dixie -- always unflappable no matter the chaos around her -- had held herself responsible for their close call. It was as though she believed they had died. No amount of talking could convince her that her actions after that -- disarming Rimmer while Johnny struggled with him -- had ultimately saved their lives.

"So, why do you think the Doc wants to see us again?" Johnny asked, breaking through the silence of their thoughts. "We've already told her everything we can remember about it. It all happened so fast. Roy, do you... do you think Dixie's gonna be okay?"

"I don't know. She said they had been making a lot of progress in their sessions. Maybe there's been a breakthrough. It could be good news, you know," he said optimistically

Johnny leaned forward in the chair, dangling his hands over his knees, still puzzled by it all. "Do you remember the first time we met? It's been what... eight months? Funny...." Johnny paused. Roy would probably think he was crazy.

"What?" Roy was genuinely interested in the interrupted comment, because he was thinking the same thing.

"I don't know. It's just that… that, well. I don't know. I just had a… a feeling we already knew each other."

"Well, we did. In a way. I knew Dixie. You knew Dixie. Then we met when you came to sign up for the paramedic training."

"No," Johnny said. "That's not what I mean. Didn't you...." He anxiously looked up when the doctor finally came in. "Hey, Doc."

"John. Roy. I appreciate your coming in on such short notice."

Johnny shifted nervously in his chair. "Nothin's wrong is it? With Dixie, I mean."

"As a matter of fact, things are good." Psychotherapist Sally Johnson settled in the chair behind her desk, reassuring them all was well. She couldn't reveal all the details of her session with Dixie, yet her professional opinion regarding the controversial subject had just been reshaped. She was eager to explore further.

"Gentlemen," she started, "do you know anything about memory regression hypnotic therapy?"

"Yeah, a little," Roy answered. "You hypnotize somebody, and take them back to a point in their life before something major happened. Sort of as a way of facing whatever caused the problem they're having now."

"Simply stated, but that's correct. It's not a therapy technique I often employ, but I thought it might be of some value in this case. I talked it over with her, and she agreed to give hypnosis a try. To get things started, I asked Dixie to go back in her memory to when the three of you first met."

"Roy and I were just talking about that," Johnny said. "So what happened?"

"Well…," Dr. Johnson hesitated. "I guess you could say we… we got a little more than we bargained for. Do either of you believe in… past lives?"

After all, it is no more surprising to be born twice than it is to be born once.
- Voltaire

Credits & Thanks

Eagles Lyrics - "New Kid in Town" and "Doolin Dalton"

~Nan~ for the idea of an Old West E! story, suggesting the lyrics, and the help along the trail
~Kathy~ for your insightful feedback, anatomy lessons, and Civil War information
~Emergency!Universe~ for everything, including posting my tales from the dark side