Red had been in his secluded spot for several days, gaining strength, making a plan. He had found the second new shirt he had purchased in White Rock in his saddlebags and put it on. Finishing the last of his coffee and bacon, he fed several dry biscuits to the buckskin then saddled up. No more running. Fennell was gone, Ludlow and Barnes dead, along with half a dozen of their like. That left Stone and Mead, hard core killers who knew their business and would never back down. Along with them were the local hired guns who all wanted a piece of the reward on his head.

Swinging into the saddle Red moved off the way they had come in, keeping a sharp eye out. The summer sun was hot, making the air shimmer around him as they climbed higher into the mountain peaks. It was past mid-day when he spotted a dust trail in the distance. Reining in, Red sat for a while, his keen eyes following the dust as it moved across the landscape. Occasionally he would lose sight of it as the riders dipped out of sight, but they always reappeared, moving ever closer to him.

They could have no way of knowing he was here, but they were working the country, turning over every rock for a sign of his passing. The buckskin waited patiently until Red determined that the group consisted of six hired guns, faces and names he did not know, led by Burton Mead and Joss Stone. They had ridden together in the past and made a dangerous combination. Each man had made his name in bounty hunting, but once partnered up they made a reputation for ruthless manhunts bringing back more dead bodies than live ones.

Going at right angles Red guided the stallion down the slope, moving slowly so as not to create too much dust. Reaching the shelter of the trees he kept the horse at an easy pace, swinging in a loop that would bring him up behind the killers. They must have changed course though, because when he pulled up under the shade of low hanging branches and brush, they crested a hill not a hundred feet from him.

Instantly freezing, Red could only hope the buckskin would remain silent. The stallion's head was up, ears pricked, but he watched the other horses move by in silence, as if understanding that was what his rider wanted from him. The mercenaries were talking in low tones amongst themselves.

"If he ain't dead, he's gone to ground, hidin' like a snake in the grass. We'll flush him out and take his hide back to Tuscan. Then we'll have ourselves a celebration!" This was from one of the faces Red didn't have a name for.

"You best check that binge until we pin him down. He's a tough wolf from the high hills, and plenty of men faster than you have tried to nail his hide to the barn door and been killed for their trouble." The speaker was a very thin man with a hatchet face and watery blue eyes. The first spat with disgust, his face contorted with contempt.

"Let Red Rivers try to bring the lot of us down! I'd like to see the day!"

Red swung the stallion from cover with the Henry rifle in his hands.

"Turn around then, mister, and draw if you dare!"

The surprise was complete. Men were grabbing for their guns as the rifle in Red's hands thundered. The braggart let loose with a thin cry toppling from the saddle, the hatchet-faced man getting off one shot before a bullet slammed him backwards, his last breath a gasp of pain.

Red kicked the buckskin forward and plunged right into the midst of them, dropping the rifle into the bucket and going for his guns. Another man toppled as he struggled to get his pistol clear of leather. Red was swinging the stallion around when something bit deep into his left shoulder, numbness instantly shooting down his arm. Dropping the revolver back into the scabbard he turned lightning fast, using his right hand only, the gun bucking in his hand.

He heard the bullet scream as it ricocheted off a boulder then a sledgehammer blow knocked the breath from him. Red felt the warmth of blood spread across his shirt. He jerked the horse around and put two bullets into the man who sat between him and Burton Mead. Mead's guns were out and up, but he was not fast enough on the trigger. Red's bullets knocked him from the saddle as Mead got off one shot. He fell with a look of utter disbelief on his face, dead when he hit the ground. It was a lucky chance Mead's bullet hit Rivers' gun belt and bounced up, tearing an open wound along his ribs in passing. It almost took him from the saddle.

Chambers empty, Red went for the rifle despite the tingling numbness in his arm. Never was he panicked, but calm and steady. As the dust settled, thinking he had them all, Red swayed slightly, his mind whirling when he heard the distinct sound of a metal chamber snap behind him. Throwing himself from the saddle he hit the ground rolling, coming to a stop the rifle up and ready. Joss Stone had left the confusion and circled around behind Red, taking his time to set the rifle's sights on Red's back. Only Red's instincts saved his life, the bullet meant for his back sending a flaring lance of pain through the muscle of his leg as he fell.

With shaking hands Red worked the lever action Henry, the rifle bucking, flames shooting up into the rocks. The bounty hunter quivered on his feet, but did not fall, two bright red stains blossoming on his vest. He staggered slightly but braced up against the rocks, his gun lifted. He pulled the trigger one last time as Red's third bullet reached him. Stone's head snapped back as the slug took him between the eyes.

Red lay flat and still, breathing heavily, his body raw with hot pain. His blood was leaving him with every beat of his heart, and he was shaking. Against so many, he'd not really expected to live. That last bullet had torn through the muscles of his shoulder and gouged a deep path along his back in passing. His arm was completely numb and limp. Digging down deep, he tapped into an inner reserve of strength only those determined to live possessed. He wasn't ready to die!

He'd made a promise, and he meant to keep it.

Pushing up to his knees he used the rifle as a crutch and pushed to his feet. Blazing hot sun made his head swim. Throbbing pain along his skull buckled his knees, the world turning on its side. The ground slammed into him, and he smelled the hot dirt, the sweet mildly metallic scent of his own blood. Dry grass tickled his cheek as his vision darkened.

'It would have been something,' he thought suddenly, 'to have seen Faith again'.

Red opened his eyes to the cool darkness inside a wooden building, firelight flickering on the walls. Hearing voices his hands automatically went for his guns, but searing pain streaked through his left shoulder, and he found his gun belts missing. Trying to sit up he gasped in pain, becoming aware of a large man sitting just next to him, a shotgun laid across his knees. Rivers frowned slightly, a shadow of recognition flickering across his face.

"You're shot up bad, mister. It'd be best if you'd just lie still. You'll start to bleedin' again."

"Where am I?" Red was surprised to hear the flimsy weakness in his own voice. Must've come nose to nose with the Devil this time.

"Line cabin on the 33 Connected. Couple of the boys riding by heard enough exchanged lead they figured a war was going on. When it got quiet, they found you shot to a rag doll. You weren't dead, and was mutterin' somethin' about faith, so they brung you back here." The speaker indicated another man who sat by the fire, drinking coffee. "Our man here dug the lead out of you and patched you up. He knows somethin' about doctoring, or you'd have up an' died two days ago."

"Two days...how long have I been here?"

"Near a week." The speaker was frank and direct. "You lost a lot of blood, almost died. Still might."

Lying back, Red thought about that for a moment. Being alive was an unexpected boon, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He had little choice but to lie still, being weak as a kitten. Meaning to ask after the buckskin, his guns, or them on his trail, his lips moved but no words came out. Eyes rolling back, he slipped into unconsciousness before he knew it.

When next he woke, the man doctoring him was changing the bandages with care. Another man sat by with a loaded gun in his hand. The look on his face stirred a bell of warning in Red, but he was too weak to do anything about it. When the fresh bandages were applied the man stood aside and the speaker from the previous exchange sat, holding out a hot cup of coffee.

Struggling to sit upright, gasping with discomfort, Red gratefully reached out for it and took a careful swallow, then another. The coffee was good, very good, and it infused him with clarity of mind. He suddenly recognized the man.

"You're the one who warned me off the 33 Connected some days ago. Why are you involving yourself in my fight? Are you drawin' cards?"

"No way, Red, we're out of it. You were more dead than alive, and the boys say they found the bodies of six men shot to rags. You got sand, mister, full of bullet holes, and still alive. You earned this second chance."

By now the entire country would know of the manhunt going on. People would either sign up or stay clear. He finished the coffee and lay back, smiling mirthlessly.

"Second chances are for greenhorns. This here was my fifth attempt at death."

"Keep tryin' and someday it'll take." The statement was said without threat or concern and Red did not even blink. "I figure introductions are only fair, as we have the advantage." The man smiled with little humor.

"That gent there that patched you is Chet Evans, that there," he nodded at the one who stared with too much focus at Red, "that's his brother, Rocky. That quiet one in the shadows," the man indicated a silent figure Red had not noticed "that's Nolan Tyler, and I'm Kelsey Stubbs, ranch foreman."

Red let his eyes drift over the men in the small cabin, but again his gaze went back to the one called Rocky Evans. Something was not sitting easy with him, and the feeling of impending danger settled into Red's stomach and would not leave.

~~~

For days Red did nothing but sleep, waking only long enough for the occasional cup of coffee and a bit of food. He had lost a lot of blood, taxing his already weakened and strained body. Evans proved to be skilled at his work, and the pain subsided from his wounds each time he woke. Being young and strong, Red's recovery stared to come quickly.

Of them all, Stubbs was the only one who spoke with him. Chet Evans never said a word all the while he worked over his patient. The others went about their work as if he weren't there. It was obvious they'd been told not to interact with him, but Red didn't mind. It was enough they took the bother to help him at all.

When he finally felt strong enough to attempt standing, he found that he could with minimal trouble. The open air and being young and tough sped along his recovery. Moving slow, he went to the doorway and looked out across the open range around him. In a pole corral about twenty feet from the doorway he saw the distinctive face of the buckskin.

Taking measured steps, Red moved out into the sun, his body stiff and sore. Limping slightly on his leg, the knitting muscles shook in weakness, but he went on. The stallion moved to greet him as he reached the poles, reaching his head out to meet the man's hand. Being near wild, he was the only horse in the corral.

"I'm glad to see you unhurt fella. That woulda cost me a world of misery if'n anything had happened to you back there." As he spoke, he scratched the stallion's ears and down his muzzle.

The warm sun felt good, so he stayed outside until his body began to shake, warning him he'd be face down in the dirt again soon. The healing flesh along his side and back stretched, burning with every move. Fearing the wounds would open and start bleeding again he turned for the bunk house. Making his way inside, he collapsed on the cot, his muscles quivering badly. That small effort had taken everything out of him, and he slept, not waking again until the next morning.

Stubbs was there to greet him when Red opened his eyes. A plate piled high with hot food was held out right under his nose.

"Figure you're on the mend enough to need this."

Nodding in appreciation, Red devoured the food, his mending body starved and craving sustenance. Putting the empty plate aside he accepted the coffee held out to him. Stubbs watched carefully as the gunslinger took long grateful swallows.

"It won't be long before they figure out you're here and bring the fight to the boss' door. I aim to see you're gone before that happens. I heard you made it to the corral yesterday, so I figure you're about ready to ride."

"I owe you boys a great deal. I got nothin' with which to repay you at present, but I aim to settle my debts."

"Forget it." Stubbs stood back as Red got to his feet. "You bein' gone will be payback enough."

"I need my gear."

"We set it aside. Come on." They went outside, the foreman slowing to keep pace with the recovering man. "I hear that you're a good ranch hand when you take the notion. What happened to make you a gunslinger?"

Normally a person would never ask such a question, feeling that a man's private history was his own affair. But Stubbs was making a valid point, and Rivers felt no resentment over the inquiry. Considering it for a moment, his mind turned to the few times he'd worked a range. His reputation always caught up with him.

"Sometimes Stubbs, a man has little choice. A gift can just as easily be a curse, just depends on whether a man will fight to live or let himself be cut down." Turning vivid blue eyes on the foreman his features were serious but not hard. "I'm a peace-lovin' man who just wants to live, but I don't take to bein' pushed. I reckon I got into the habit of pushin' back harder than necessary.

"A man can put up with a lot, but when his character gets questioned...you know as well as I do it can ruin a fella's life. We can't afford to be labeled a coward, a thief, or a liar. So I solve it however they want it solved, and it usually ends up in gunplay. Too bad for them, I'm a mite faster than the average fella. My graveyard is a little crowded, but no one can call me anything less than fair."

"Not really fair when you know how good you are with them pistols."

"They know it too," Red countered firmly. "I don't force a fight on anyone who didn't hunt trouble with me first."

"That's a hard way to look at life." The foreman made a quiet observation, but the young gunslinger shrugged.

"Life is hard."

The lean-to beyond the corral was wide and cool. In the corner was a thick blanket thrown over a pile of gear, and Stubbs pulled it aside, Red's things protected underneath. Getting to the saddle bags he pulled out his last shirt, carefully put it on and slung on his gun belts. He automatically checked the cylinders, loading them quickly then dropped them into the holsters. Tying down the scabbards he settled his hat on and turned to face Stubbs. He held out a hand and the older man took it as they shook solemnly.

"I wish you luck, but to live through who's left out there, you're gonna need more on your side than you."

"You never know," Red replied cryptically. "Maybe all I need is a little Faith to see me through." He was remembering her dark gray eyes, the clean fresh scent of her skin. He had something to live for.

"Don't take it wrong, Red, but I'm hoping I don't see you again."

"Wouldn't do me any harm either," he retorted with a wry grin. "Much obliged."

Stubbs helped saddle the buckskin and got Rivers into the leather. He stood back and watched the gunfighter make steady progress into the land beyond the 33 Connected. 'None too soon' he thought to himself. Stubbs had not been comfortable with the way some of the hands had been eyeing Rivers. Some men would do anything for money.

Some five miles lay behind him when Red got the feeling he was followed. He swung the buckskin around and surveyed the area behind him. His keen eyes picked out the settling dust that indicated his pursuer had just dodged off the trail to avoid being seen. That old feeling of anger welled up inside Red, so he moved the stallion forward, back toward the hidden man. Sick and weak like he was, he wasn't in the mood to play cat and mouse.

What had he done to deserve any of this? Did he not try to live and let live? Those that picked a fight with him and died for their trouble was their own doing!

The waiting man must have heard the stallion's footsteps because a chestnut gelding suddenly burst from the brush, Rocky Evans in the saddle, gun in hand. His dark eyes were greedy and eager. He was not going to risk a draw, but he had heard about the money reward, and wanted it badly. To be known as the man who killed Red Rivers! He lifted his pistol toward the gunfighter-

Red's hands dropped without thought, years of living by the gun spurring his muscle memory into action. Hands moving in a blur, twin bullets exploded from the barrels, plowing into the base of Evans' neck, knocking him backward off the gelding. He fell into the brush, only his boots in sight and Red waited while he heard the man gurgling for breath. He felt a callous wrath inside, anger at the waste of life.

Evans had a steady job, a warm bed, square meals, and honest pay. Thrown away for a reputation, one that would've pushed him first in line to those wanting one for themselves. An endless circle of violence and bloodshed. Kneeing the stallion closer, he gazed down into shocked, glassy eyes.

"You're a blasted fool for tryin' it," he told the dying man.

He made no move to help, knowing by experience there wasn't anything that could be done. Replacing the spent shells, he slipped the pistols back to their place. When the gurgling stopped Red swung the buckskin around only to find his path blocked by the quiet man in the wide brimmed hat, what was his name? Tyler? They stared at one another for a long moment.

Red saw something in the other man's eyes, something that told him Tyler would be a terror to tangle with. Without moving, his muscles coiled and primed for swift action. Cornflower blue eyes sharpened as they focused on the ranch hand. Would he try it? Deep inside himself, Travis was hoping he wouldn't.

"I saw what happened." Saying it quietly, moving his sorrel out of the way, Tyler allowed Red to pass. "I'll tell them the truth, an' see they don't come after you."

"Much obliged."

"Ain't doin' it for you." Steely eyes flicked to the gunfighter's face. "She deserves to have a measure of happiness."

"Am I steppin' into your range?" Red asked quietly, knowing nothing of Faith's past, really. If this fella was sweet on her – but Tyler shook his head.

"Just do right by her. If you live through this."