"Pistol shots, those were pistol shots," Blackjack declared.

"So? Our men got pistols too," Greer countered as he paced back and forth, he was losing it with all the suspense.

"Men? They're boys. Bet they never fired a shot in anger," Blackjack huffed.

"You sent 'em up there," Greer retorted.

"Yeah, I did. Better them than me. If you're so damn impatient, you get on yer horse and go help'em then, I still think we wait...for now," Blackjack pointed out.

"No....not me. I'll stick it out here with you. I just wish to hell we would know somethin'.....if this don't beat all," Greer whined.

A short distance away, Quentin watched the two men. He sat Paladin who stood in a rolling fold in the ground, allowing only his head to stick up as he saw Greer and Jack pace and fume around the wagon. Quentin nodded to himself once he was satisfied both men were he had last seen them. He reined Paladin around and trotted back down the small draw. He turned and sat a moment, his right hand reaching and drawing the Colt from its crossdraw holster, thumbing the loading gate open and spinning the cylinder on half cock to check the loads. He closed the gate and stuck it back in its holster and then drew the comforting weight of his Smith, breaking it open to check the loads in it as well. Checking both were habit, and habits either kept you alive or got you killed.

Quentin then straightened, inhaling deeply and his mind went back. How often had he sat in a secluded spot, surrounded by other troopers...readying themselves for a charge or a raid on a supply wagon train...a lot of times the skirmishes he took part in meant nothing to the epic names of various battles, but so very important to those who survived and died during them. Quentin's eyes slowly came back open and his heels dug into Paladin's flanks. The powerful stallion kicked off, his legs leaping him forward and into a gallop.

The horse gained speed quickly. Quentin held the reins in his left hand, Smith out to the side in his right hand as he leaned over, his head down and almost level with his mount as the horse built speed. As Paladin cleared the crest and leveled off heading for the wagon Quentin let out his pent up emotions in a loud screech. All of his anger and frustration erupting from him in the moment of release. The sound almost helped his horse accelerate as Paladin raced toward a spot past the wagon.

"What the hell?" Blackjack turned to see Cantrell mounted a big stallion charging in their direction but not from where they had expected but on the flank.

He quickly swung his Winchester to snap fire at the mounted rider but must have missed. Without waiting to even lever a new round in the chamber the gunman scrambled then to put the wagon between him and the galloping horse now going by.

Greer froze for an instant at the same sight of this loco man charging them from out of nowhere.

Quentin would have taken pleasure in the round eyes that popped open at his appearance. Lots of white around both Jack's and Greer's eyes as they saw him, low on the hurtling horse covering the distance at a frightening pace. The Smith came up, thumb cocking the hammer and he threw a round at Greer, knowing he probably missed but also knowing Greer was born yellow and was probably already wetting himself.

Greer tripped and fell or he would have tried to run off, losing his rifle on the ground.  He didn't even pause to reach for it but cowered as their tormentor galloped on past.

Paladin followed a line to the side of the wagon, still unchecked in his wild gallop. Quentin's arm shifted forward toward Greer and he thumbed off three rounds, letting instinct and years of practice guide his shots rather than what was in front of his sights.

There was a loud pained scream as Greer felt the bullet bite into the back of his upper leg just missing his knee.

Quentin's mount flashed by the wagon and Quentin's arm and body turned like a turret, aiming back behind him as the horse continued on. Quentin fired again at Jack and then he sent a final round further back toward Greer. Quentin tugged the reins and Paladin curved in a half circle, barely slowing his pace as Quentin shoved his Smith back into its holster and his hand flashed over and pulled the shorter barreled Colt, wheeling back toward the wagon with a fresh pistol in hand, cocking the weapon as he watched for his next target, eyes searching the wagon for his quarry.

Both of his targets were on the move too. Greer had forced himself up, ignoring the pain of the wound and limped toward his horse tethered to a close tree. All he could think of was to run!  Escape! Hell with Blackjack or Billy or anyone! He just wanted to live !

Blackjack was made of sterner stuff and cocked then aimed his rifle at Cantrell, ready to squeeze the trigger. He knew just one good shot could drop that sonofabitch off his saddle and then he could finish him.

Quentin tugged Paladin's head and the horse made an incredibly tight turn as he slowed, The Colt came up and Quentin thumbed off two shots. From this distance the shorter barrel didn't matter as he fired at Jack before Paladin had even finished circling.

The first round just missed but the second one shattered Jack's leftside collar bone. He gave a cry of pain and dropped the rifle, staggered back a few steps but a man like him, who had always lived by the gun and never gave an opponent any mercy, would not quit. He then went for the revolver in his holster.

Quentin slowly walked Paladin closer, his eyes flicking back to Greer before returning to Jack. Quentin held his Colt out straight and covered Jack, hammer cocked as he looked the man over.

"You bastard!" Blackjack snap fired thru the pain.

Quentin felt a sting as the bullet cut a line on his left sleeve, parting the fabric like a razor including the skin beneath. He had already responded to the motion and his Colt bucked, sending a round back at Jack but without the difficulty of a moving horse or target. Quentin knew he had hit the moment he fired, his thumb cocking the hammer again in case another shot was needed.

It was not needed as this bullet struck him in the left chest, ripping into the heart muscle and death was almost instantaneous. Blackjack's head rolled back, his gun falling from his grasp, and he lay flat on his back then with sightless eyes still open.

Quentin looked at Jack only another moment, then his eyes and his pistol came up. "Greer...!" Quentin's voice was flat and emotionless as the word whip-cracked between the two men. Quentin waited for him to turn, arm and pistol as unwavering as his expression.

What with all the shooting, Greers horse stampeded as soon as Greer managed to loosen the reins around the branch, the animal also no doubt sensing the terror in it's master too.  Greer cursed as the beast hastened off, he could not chase it even in the best of times let alone with his leg wound.  There was yet another shot and then silence.  That is until he heard  "GREER!"

The panicked cowboy now turned to see Cantrell facing him, sitting on that stallion of his, brandishing a gun, and seething with barely held in check anger.

"No! No! Now don't go shootin' !  I didn' wanna fire at you, Blackjack made me! He ordered me to. I mean...hell, I missed ya on purpose. Don't kill me, I didn' wanna, give ya my word!" he had put his hands up and figured his last hope was to just maybe talk his way out. Sure as hell, shooting hadn't worked!

Quentin shifted and slid off Paladin, moving around the horse and walking toward Greer. "Quiet!..." Quentin snapped, his voice flat as he stopped a few paces away. "Don't you say another word, you mealy mouthed yellow bastard..." Quentin's control faltered a moment and Greer could see the expression that twisted his face for an instant before he resumed his cold facade.

"There are two men laying dead around here, and they are all your fault. You tried to kill me Greer...and because of your small petty little scheme, people died..." Quentin's voice raised suddenly into a roar. "...AND I HAD TO KILL THEM!" Quentin saw Greer wince but he continued in a lower tone.

"Brendan is back there shot...he might be alright, but that's on you, too..." Quentin gave a slight smile, but the expression did not meet his eyes. "...I had tried to put that life behind me when I came here. I wanted to just be a gentleman rancher...raising my sister's kids...maybe find a good woman, but no...Even here there are men like You, and Jack and even Case...men who suck the life out of everyone and everything around them. People like Billy, and Brendan...the people of Whitefish...and now the people of Kalispell..."

Quentin lowered the Smith and paced a few steps back and forth. "...During my travels I found I couldn't fix every problem I came across. Violence couldn't solve everything, and sometimes the issues were just too big for one man to fix..." Quentin came to a stop and turned to face Greer fully. "But here...now, with everything that's at stake, I've decided that I can fix the problems here, because I have something to protect, and people who need protecting..." Quentin's arm swung up and he centered the Colt on Greer's chest. "Goodbye, Greer."

The Colt roared and bucked twice in Quentin's hand, both rounds hitting Greer dead center. Quentin watched as he grabbed his chest and slowly sank to his knees, before he toppled forward with a heavy finality reserved for the dead. Quentin stood there and looked at Greer's body as his hands automatically emptied the spent shells from the Colt and reloaded it, then slid it back into its holster and did the same for the Smith. Quentin then turned to begin cleaning up the area, loading the bodies into the wagon and then tying the mounts to the rear of the wagon and getting the team back into the harness. He then climbed into the seat and clucked the team into motion, the wagon rumbling back in the direction he had left Brendan and Billy.

Brendan was staring down at Billy's body when he heard the rumbling of the wagon, but his eyes were glued to the ground where his friend lay. His pistol lay beside Billy where he had dropped it from fingers that would not hold onto it anymore. His spine prickled but his senses seemed dulled for some reason. When Quentin finally spoke, he looked up and met the eyes of the older man. 

Some of Quentin's words didn't register with him, but the part about getting away from Evergreen definitely did. Billy had told him to get away, and now Quentin was telling him again. He needed to get away.

"Bodies." He looked down at Billy again and swallowed. "Yeah." He bent down and slid Billy into his arms to pick him up, but realized he couldn't lift him because of his arm. And then Quentin mentioned his arm.

Brendan looked down at his arm and the blood that stained the sleeve of his gaping-open shirt. Funny, he almost didn't remember sliding the shirt back on in the heat of the gun battle. He looked up at Quentin and shook his head slowly. "I'll have someone look at it in town."

At first he couldn't think of who he would have look at it, and then all of a sudden he knew. Caroline. She'd know what to do, or she'd know someone who did. And she would be able to get him whiskey so he could forget.

He knew that he needed to go to town. His eyes snagged on his horse at the rear of the wagon and he took a few steps forward, then paused. "My rifle's over there..." he said, gesturing vaguely at the rise where Quentin had shot him. He meant My rifle's over there and I'm going to get it. Don't shoot me. I want to put Billy in the wagon but I can't lift him. Don't leave him here, but couldn't say all of that. "I'll come into town with you..."

Quentin watched Brendan walk around like a victim of artillery. He listened to the random words he said and watched Brendan start moving in a few directions, but never completing the motions. Finally Quentin sighed and took his good arm to stop him.

"Brendan, stop...get in the wagon and sit. I'll load Billy up, and you can forget about that rifle. Take Jack's. It's better than yours, and same for a handgun. Take one or more of the others. I have a feeling you might need them before this is over..." Quentin helped Brendan up onto the wagon's bench seat then he went over and picked Billy up, carrying him over to the wagon and laying him in beside the other two, covering all three with the canvas that had been in there to cover up the firewood. He then checked Paladin and the other horses tied to the back and they all were secure. He came around and climbed up beside Brendan, giving him a glance and then clucking the team into motion, heading for the nearest trail that led to Kalispell.

Ordinarily Brendan would have bristled at being told what to do and being helped up onto the wagon, but now he was almost glad of it. He didn't have to think. In fact, he was trying not to think: about how close he had come to dying and about how Billy was dead because of him. He was afraid that if he thought about it too much he'd be sick.

"Why...why Billy and not me?" he asked after a while, staring ahead at the trail without really seeing anything. "I came at you first."

Quentin breathed in deeply, then exhaled. "You did, and you got shot for it..." Quentin looked over at Billy as he let the team keep pulling the wagon. "...Billy got shot for what he did also. I am not apologizing for defending myself. You could be laying in the back of that wagon with Billy...or instead of Billy and he could be sitting there in your place."

Quentin rubbed his face tiredly. "Listen, Brendan...people die. People die real easy out here unless you are very careful or very good. You got real lucky today and you better make the most of it."

"Didn't ask for a sermon," Brendan muttered. He looked up at the sky for a minute. The motion of the wagon hurt his arm, but it was also soothing in a way. "How come you're doin' this?" He gestured vaguely at the wagon, bodies, and horses. "How come you just didn't ride off?"

"Because that's not who I am...First of all, that idiot took a shot at me. That was on him and he was going to pay for it. The rest of you were dragged into this by him. Yes, even Jack, although that was a payback several years overdue." Quentin kept watching the road and was quiet for a few breaths. "I made a habit of getting involved. Whether I was asked, or sent for, or I heard about a situation...I would get involved. I always found out about what the particulars were, but once I was as sure as I could be...I would help people..." Quentin then turned to look at Brendan again. "...And this isn't a sermon because I am about as far from a priest as you're going to find in this country. I have some Greers in my past, and more than a few Jacks...and...a few Billys. I would like to think I also have a few Brendans, but I honestly don't know."

It didn't make sense why the man who had shot his friend would try to help him. If Quentin hadn't taken charge, Brendan still might be standing by Billy's body. It wouldn't have been too long before other hands from either Lost Lake, Evergreen, or both ranches showed up to see what had happened, and it wouldn't have looked good to be the only one alive.

Brendan digested this information silently, squinting ahead at the trail to Kalispell. It was still hard to process anything, but his mind was becoming slightly less muddled. Finally he nodded once. "Reckon it's a nuisance gettin' involved sometimes. What...what are we gonna do when we get to town?"

He remembered Quentin saying something about the Marshal, and the horses, and his arm. "There's a gal...works at the saloon...she'll take care of my arm."

Quentin nodded. "If you think that much of her, then she must be the one to help you...saloon it is..."

"Brendan...I'm sure Billy is grateful for what you did. I am glad he had a friend with him at the end." Quentin moved closer before he spoke again.

"I need to bring the bodies back to town so we can clear all this up with the Marshal, but I think you should have anything you wish to keep from any of them, including the money..." Quentin gave Brendan a moment after he said that. "You can also have all the horses and saddles...you can sell anything or everything and keep the money. Use it to start fresh. Get away from Evergreen and become your own person, Brendan. You owe it to Billy to make it worth what happened..."

Quentin looked at Brendan and his eyes caught the stain on his shirt. "I should look at that wound before we get started for town. It looks like it's still bleeding."

Brendan was staring down at Billy's body when he heard the rumbling of the wagon, but his eyes were glued to the ground where his friend lay. His pistol lay beside Billy where he had dropped it from fingers that would not hold onto it anymore. His spine prickled but his senses seemed dulled for some reason. When Quentin finally spoke, he looked up and met the eyes of the older man. 

Some of Quentin's words didn't register with him, but the part about getting away from Evergreen definitely did. Billy had told him to get away, and now Quentin was telling him again. He needed to get away.

"Bodies." He looked down at Billy again and swallowed. "Yeah." He bent down and slid Billy into his arms to pick him up, but realized he couldn't lift him because of his arm. And then Quentin mentioned his arm.

Brendan looked down at his arm and the blood that stained the sleeve of his gaping-open shirt. Funny, he almost didn't remember sliding the shirt back on in the heat of the gun battle. He looked up at Quentin and shook his head slowly. "I'll have someone look at it in town."

At first he couldn't think of who he would have look at it, and then all of a sudden he knew. Caroline. She'd know what to do, or she'd know someone who did. And she would be able to get him whiskey so he could forget.

He knew that he needed to go to town. His eyes snagged on his horse at the rear of the wagon and he took a few steps forward, then paused. "My rifle's over there..." he said, gesturing vaguely at the rise where Quentin had shot him. He meant My rifle's over there and I'm going to get it. Don't shoot me. I want to put Billy in the wagon but I can't lift him. Don't leave him here, but couldn't say all of that. "I'll come into town with you..."

Quentin watched Brendan walk around like a victim of artillery. He listened to the random words he said and watched Brendan start moving in a few directions, but never completing the motions. Finally Quentin sighed and took his good arm to stop him.

"Brendan, stop...get in the wagon and sit. I'll load Billy up, and you can forget about that rifle. Take Jack's. It's better than yours, and same for a handgun. Take one or more of the others. I have a feeling you might need them before this is over..." Quentin helped Brendan up onto the wagon's bench seat then he went over and picked Billy up, carrying him over to the wagon and laying him in beside the other two, covering all three with the canvas that had been in there to cover up the firewood. He then checked Paladin and the other horses tied to the back and they all were secure. He came around and climbed up beside Brendan, giving him a glance and then clucking the team into motion, heading for the nearest trail that led to Kalispell.

Ordinarily Brendan would have bristled at being told what to do and being helped up onto the wagon, but now he was almost glad of it. He didn't have to think. In fact, he was trying not to think: about how close he had come to dying and about how Billy was dead because of him. He was afraid that if he thought about it too much he'd be sick.

"Why...why Billy and not me?" he asked after a while, staring ahead at the trail without really seeing anything. "I came at you first."

Quentin breathed in deeply, then exhaled. "You did, and you got shot for it..." Quentin looked over at Billy as he let the team keep pulling the wagon. "...Billy got shot for what he did also. I am not apologizing for defending myself. You could be laying in the back of that wagon with Billy...or instead of Billy and he could be sitting there in your place."

Quentin rubbed his face tiredly. "Listen, Brendan...people die. People die real easy out here unless you are very careful or very good. You got real lucky today and you better make the most of it."

"Didn't ask for a sermon," Brendan muttered. He looked up at the sky for a minute. The motion of the wagon hurt his arm, but it was also soothing in a way. "How come you're doin' this?" He gestured vaguely at the wagon, bodies, and horses. "How come you just didn't ride off?"

"Because that's not who I am...First of all, that idiot took a shot at me. That was on him and he was going to pay for it. The rest of you were dragged into this by him. Yes, even Jack, although that was a payback several years overdue." Quentin kept watching the road and was quiet for a few breaths. "I made a habit of getting involved. Whether I was asked, or sent for, or I heard about a situation...I would get involved. I always found out about what the particulars were, but once I was as sure as I could be...I would help people..." Quentin then turned to look at Brendan again. "...And this isn't a sermon because I am about as far from a priest as you're going to find in this country. I have some Greers in my past, and more than a few Jacks...and...a few Billys. I would like to think I also have a few Brendans, but I honestly don't know."

It didn't make sense why the man who had shot his friend would try to help him. If Quentin hadn't taken charge, Brendan still might be standing by Billy's body. It wouldn't have been too long before other hands from either Lost Lake, Evergreen, or both ranches showed up to see what had happened, and it wouldn't have looked good to be the only one alive.

Brendan digested this information silently, squinting ahead at the trail to Kalispell. It was still hard to process anything, but his mind was becoming slightly less muddled. Finally he nodded once. "Reckon it's a nuisance gettin' involved sometimes. What...what are we gonna do when we get to town?"

He remembered Quentin saying something about the Marshal, and the horses, and his arm. "There's a gal...works at the saloon...she'll take care of my arm."

Quentin nodded. "If you think that much of her, then she must be the one to help you...saloon it is..."

Quentin's head snapped up at the sound of the shot. He held the wagon reins as it trundled along at a steady pace and his other hand dropped down to the butt of his Colt. He kept listening but heard nothing else. He left the Colt in place and sighed. He could guess what that shot was for so he waited patiently as the wagon covered the distance. Finally he crested the hill and he saw Brendan standing there over Billy. Quentin stopped a few yards away and climbed down. He walked a few steps closer but kept an eye on Brendan. People in his situation weren't beyond doing foolish things. After a minute of looking at the young man, Quentin spoke.

"Brendan...I'm sure Billy is grateful for what you did. I am glad he had a friend with him at the end." Quentin moved closer before he spoke again.

"I need to bring the bodies back to town so we can clear all this up with the Marshal, but I think you should have anything you wish to keep from any of them, including the money..." Quentin gave Brendan a moment after he said that. "You can also have all the horses and saddles...you can sell anything or everything and keep the money. Use it to start fresh. Get away from Evergreen and become your own person, Brendan. You owe it to Billy to make it worth what happened..."

Quentin looked at Brendan and his eyes caught the stain on his shirt. "I should look at that wound before we get started for town. It looks like it's still bleeding."

Brendan was staring down at Billy's body when he heard the rumbling of the wagon, but his eyes were glued to the ground where his friend lay. His pistol lay beside Billy where he had dropped it from fingers that would not hold onto it anymore. His spine prickled but his senses seemed dulled for some reason. When Quentin finally spoke, he looked up and met the eyes of the older man. 

Some of Quentin's words didn't register with him, but the part about getting away from Evergreen definitely did. Billy had told him to get away, and now Quentin was telling him again. He needed to get away.

"Bodies." He looked down at Billy again and swallowed. "Yeah." He bent down and slid Billy into his arms to pick him up, but realized he couldn't lift him because of his arm. And then Quentin mentioned his arm.

Brendan looked down at his arm and the blood that stained the sleeve of his gaping-open shirt. Funny, he almost didn't remember sliding the shirt back on in the heat of the gun battle. He looked up at Quentin and shook his head slowly. "I'll have someone look at it in town."

At first he couldn't think of who he would have look at it, and then all of a sudden he knew. Caroline. She'd know what to do, or she'd know someone who did. And she would be able to get him whiskey so he could forget.

He knew that he needed to go to town. His eyes snagged on his horse at the rear of the wagon and he took a few steps forward, then paused. "My rifle's over there..." he said, gesturing vaguely at the rise where Quentin had shot him. He meant My rifle's over there and I'm going to get it. Don't shoot me. I want to put Billy in the wagon but I can't lift him. Don't leave him here, but couldn't say all of that. "I'll come into town with you..."

Quentin watched Brendan walk around like a victim of artillery. He listened to the random words he said and watched Brendan start moving in a few directions, but never completing the motions. Finally Quentin sighed and took his good arm to stop him.

"Brendan, stop...get in the wagon and sit. I'll load Billy up, and you can forget about that rifle. Take Jack's. It's better than yours, and same for a handgun. Take one or more of the others. I have a feeling you might need them before this is over..." Quentin helped Brendan up onto the wagon's bench seat then he went over and picked Billy up, carrying him over to the wagon and laying him in beside the other two, covering all three with the canvas that had been in there to cover up the firewood. He then checked Paladin and the other horses tied to the back and they all were secure. He came around and climbed up beside Brendan, giving him a glance and then clucking the team into motion, heading for the nearest trail that led to Kalispell.

Ordinarily Brendan would have bristled at being told what to do and being helped up onto the wagon, but now he was almost glad of it. He didn't have to think. In fact, he was trying not to think: about how close he had come to dying and about how Billy was dead because of him. He was afraid that if he thought about it too much he'd be sick.

"Why...why Billy and not me?" he asked after a while, staring ahead at the trail without really seeing anything. "I came at you first."

Quentin breathed in deeply, then exhaled. "You did, and you got shot for it..." Quentin looked over at Billy as he let the team keep pulling the wagon. "...Billy got shot for what he did also. I am not apologizing for defending myself. You could be laying in the back of that wagon with Billy...or instead of Billy and he could be sitting there in your place."

Quentin rubbed his face tiredly. "Listen, Brendan...people die. People die real easy out here unless you are very careful or very good. You got real lucky today and you better make the most of it."

"Didn't ask for a sermon," Brendan muttered. He looked up at the sky for a minute. The motion of the wagon hurt his arm, but it was also soothing in a way. "How come you're doin' this?" He gestured vaguely at the wagon, bodies, and horses. "How come you just didn't ride off?"

"Because that's not who I am...First of all, that idiot took a shot at me. That was on him and he was going to pay for it. The rest of you were dragged into this by him. Yes, even Jack, although that was a payback several years overdue." Quentin kept watching the road and was quiet for a few breaths. "I made a habit of getting involved. Whether I was asked, or sent for, or I heard about a situation...I would get involved. I always found out about what the particulars were, but once I was as sure as I could be...I would help people..." Quentin then turned to look at Brendan again. "...And this isn't a sermon because I am about as far from a priest as you're going to find in this country. I have some Greers in my past, and more than a few Jacks...and...a few Billys. I would like to think I also have a few Brendans, but I honestly don't know."

It didn't make sense why the man who had shot his friend would try to help him. If Quentin hadn't taken charge, Brendan still might be standing by Billy's body. It wouldn't have been too long before other hands from either Lost Lake, Evergreen, or both ranches showed up to see what had happened, and it wouldn't have looked good to be the only one alive.

Brendan digested this information silently, squinting ahead at the trail to Kalispell. It was still hard to process anything, but his mind was becoming slightly less muddled. Finally he nodded once. "Reckon it's a nuisance gettin' involved sometimes. What...what are we gonna do when we get to town?"

He remembered Quentin saying something about the Marshal, and the horses, and his arm. "There's a gal...works at the saloon...she'll take care of my arm."

Quentin nodded. "If you think that much of her, then she must be the one to help you...saloon it is..."