PART 1:

"So, what's it say?" JD asked, leaning in as Ezra stiffly unfolded the telegram.

Ezra frowned for only a moment before he grinned widely. "Success!" he declared. "Our compatriots were able to round up the last of the Burgess gang. They're currently under lock and key with the Red Wash officials."

"Hey, that's great news," JD said, slapping Josiah on the back. Ezra beamed and Josiah nodded thoughtfully. "How'd it turn out? They okay?" the kid asked.

"It seems that they had no trouble," Ezra said. "They'll be at our current location tomorrow. Mr. Larabee asks that we remain here in Sweet Haven until then."

"We shouldn't get started for home?" JD clarified. "We got our guys locked up now with Sheriff Abbott. We could start out. I'm sure Buck and Nathan could use some help back in Four Corners."

Ezra shrugged. "All is well at home and Sweet Haven is along the trail that Misters Larabee and Tanner will be assuming. We'll be stayin' put until they arrive." He clenched one of his scraped and bruised hands with a frown. "A day might make it easier to grip Chaucer's reins in any case."

Josiah shook his head. "You should know better than to take on a man like Reid Burgess."

"If I'd known I was going to be attacking on a brick wall, I would have come better armed – with a battering ram, perhaps. Dynamite?" Standish shook his head. "For what it's worth, I was simply trying to subdue him. Travis wanted the men returned alive."

JD nodded. "At least you didn't get hurt any worse," he said.

Ezra looked doleful. "My hands are my bed and butter," he said as he tucked the note into the pocket of his red jacket with a wince. "Next time, I'll try bullets instead of fisticuffs."

Originally, five of them had hunted down the five members of the Burgess gang, but they'd separated when the gang split in two. On the second day of searching, Josiah, JD and Ezra had surprised their men at a watering hole. Two of the members gave up easily, tossing down their weapons and throwing up their hands. Reid, one of the brothers, wasn't going to give up so quickly.

Ezra went after him, trying to take him down with a series of blows to the head. Reid had taken the abuse without flinching. When Ezra tried one more pop to the chin, Reid had batted Ezra away like a fly.

By then, Josiah was upon him.

Following Josiah's thrashing, Reid had given in and was compliant for the ride. He went to his cell with the others as meek as a lamb. Josiah could be terrifying when his anger was sparked.

But since they'd entered Sweet Haven, Josiah's mood had shifted. He seemed sadder and more withdrawn when he should have felt easier with their charges finally locked up. JD didn't understand it.

"So, we're here for the day," Josiah voiced dully.

"Yes," Ezra said. He looked up one length of the street and down the other. "Gaming possibilities seem bleak. The saloons don't seem up to my usual standards."

JD glanced into a nearby doorway. "Seems kinda quiet."

"I understand the streets are usually busier with travelers coming up from Ridge City," Ezra said. "It must be an off-season for them." He sighed and added, "In any case, this town is not known for its gamblers. They're geared more toward the artistic types. It will be a long day for me."

Aw, Ezra," JD moaned. "There's plenty to do here. Look at all the shops."

Ezra rolled his eyes, and nodded to the saloon beside them, a place called Blake's. "I'll start here," he said. "Doin' my best to get some sort of profit out of this endeavor." He moved his battered hands with a wince. "Perhaps they have some ice? I fear I may have difficulties shuffling."

"Sure you didn't break anything?" Josiah asked.

Ezra nodded thoughtfully. "It'll keep me honest if nothing else." He grimaced as he pulled his flask from his pocket. "I can refill this at least. It was a waste to spill such good malt over these torn knuckles."

"I think you busted out what teeth Burgess had left," JD said.

"The human mouth is a filthy place," Ezra said. He looked to Josiah and said, "You seem unnaturally quiet this afternoon, Josiah. Anything amiss?"

Sanchez shook his head sharply, obviously not wanting to talk about it.

Ezra seemed to accept the response. "Until later," he said. He smiled as he touched the brim of his hat, and moved through the doors of Blake's Saloon.

JD and Josiah stood at the heart of the town, chock-a-block full of little storefronts where artists sold their wares while a few people meandered in the street.

Sweet Haven had become an artists' colony in recent years. It existed amid red cliffs and stunning landscape, drawing in artists of all sorts. They came to paint and sketch, to sculpt and design. Few left once they'd spent any time here. The artists enjoyed finding kindred souls amongst the townspeople and delighted in the chance to live among them.

They must have received just enough customers to remain alive here.

"Come on, Josiah," JD said. "Let's go check out some of this stuff. I bet we can find some really nice things. Maybe someone would like something as a gift." He drew out his last line, thinking of Casey.

Josiah sighed deeply. His expression was melancholy as he gazed from one shop to the next. "I'd rather not," he said. He glanced to Blake's Saloon to follow Ezra inside, but instead turned to a darker looking establishment called The Green Way. He disappeared within without another word.

JD frowned and scuffed his foot for a moment or two against the boardwalk before he headed down the street, looking for something interesting in all the little shops.

.

By the time Josiah emerged from The Green Way, the morning was over. The day crept into a long afternoon. The proprietor had tried to entice him with a strange looking drink, but Josiah demanded a bottle of whiskey. He'd spent the day finishing it off.

He walked unsteadily, but dedicatedly down the street. He'd been hiding for long enough. It was time he confronted his demons.

The shops were pleasant little places, filled with all manner of pretty things. One store sold painted shelves and tables, another was filled with wood carvings of all sorts, another held pottery, then sculptures, followed by bronze figures and other stores held paintings – so many people were painters.

He paused a moment, and then stepped into the first painter's shop. The walls were covered with landscapes, portraying this beautiful place. The surrounding hills were lovingly rendered in watercolors, the many shades of red leaping from the canvas. The artist sat at his easel at the back of the room, touching up his latest work. His face was chiseled and rough. He tried to start a conversation with Josiah, but Sanchez hardly heard him as he quickly moved through the place and out again.

The next painter filled her shop with flowers – rich and colorful bouquets, one would think she lived in a garden. So much life filled that little shop. The artist was bubbling with excitement as Josiah strode in. He spent only a moment in her beautiful world before he moved on to the next.

The third painter filled her shop with people. It was here that Josiah paused. Portraits covered the walls, beautiful lovingly rendered images. He gazed into the eyes, so perfectly recreated that they almost seemed to ready to blink. The people were posed in their best dress, leaning or standing or sitting, their heads turned toward the best light, their expressions mild. There was beauty in every face – fine featured and generously remembered.

They were so familiar.

He sighed as he stared at a perfect little girl, dressed in a pinafore and holding a kitten in her lap. She seemed so sweet. The little cat rested its mischievous head on her hand. Her eyes were lowered and filled with gentle kindness.

Hannah had painted like this. His sister, before she'd been lost, had painted with such grace, such emotion and empathy. When they were just children, she'd loved drawing and would sketch his likeness all the time.

He'd never considered himself a handsome man, but in her eyes, with the skill of her hands, he looked like an Adonis.

Later, when she discovered painting, she brought vibrancy to those drawings. She had such an incredible talent, instinctively knowing all the tricks to bring depth and lushness to her works. She always painted portraits – filling her life with beautiful people.

When she painted, her father's wrath could not touch her and she could forget how her brother would abandon her.

She'd always had a wildness, a lack of good sense, a self-destructive personality. She could storm and rage, acting out every immoral impulse that crossed her as if she couldn't quite contain them within her. Josiah could see a terror in her eyes then, as if she wanted to "be good," as if she wanted to be happy and was doing everything possible to find that moment of pleasure.

She just couldn't help it.

For what it was worth, he'd tried to help her – sometimes. He'd purchased paints and brushes and canvases for her. It was one of the few things he'd managed to do for her.

When she painted, she was calm. The wildness left her. He wanted to help, to keep her on a path that led away from her wicked ways.

Then, even that little joy had fallen to pieces – everything had been taken from her. Today, in Vista City, she painted madly, trying to find that calm center again, but finding only tumult. The endless saints that paraded against the walls did nothing to alleviate the pain that crashed around her. They had a harshness to them, a bleakness. They lacked the joy of her earlier work.

"Hello?" he heard a timid voice call from the back of the shop.

Josiah blinked in surprise, and turned to find a petite woman moving toward him, her head lowered and her hands behind her.

"I'm the artist. Is there something I can help you find?" She bit her lip. "Would you like to commission a portrait?"

"I, ah…" Josiah stumbled, not ready for the intrusion, and the woman kept her head down.

"I'm sorry," Josiah said. "I…. No, I don't need a portrait. I was just – looking." He shook his head, trying to clear it.

She smiled tensely. "Everything is for sale," she said, and gestured to the back wall of the studio. "I just sold my best painting this morning."

Josiah looked to the empty spot on the wall – a rectangle of un-faded paint marked the location where a frame once existed for a long time. Not knowing what else to say, he stated, "Congratulations."

She nodded keeping her head down and her eyes averted. "I hope I did the right thing," she said softly. "I'm not supposed to say anything, but I sold it for much less than it was worth. He told me he would make it worth the sacrifice."

Josiah grimaced, remembering what had happened with Hannah's beautiful artwork. A swindler had taken everything. Anthony Largent – she'd said he was tall, handsome and well-dressed. Largent had visited the home while everyone else was away. He told her a story about how he was opening an incredible gallery and needed to fill it with the best artwork available.

The trickster had strung her along with flattery and promises of fame and fortune. He'd take her works with him to sell at amazing prices, would give the proceeds back to her – every penny. He sold her a dream, and she'd believed every word.

He took her paintings – her joys – and loaded them into his wagon, singing his lovely songs about how quickly he'd sell her work. She'd be the talk of the nation – and insanely rich.

Hannah had helped him, lovingly loading everything into his cart, cushioning frames with their best quilts, listening to his tales, her heart leaping with the possibilities. She could buy her own home! Have her own studio and paint all the time. She'd be admired and loved by all. She'd no longer be the crazy child of Preacher Sanchez, she'd be no longer under his rule. She'd be able to live her life as she pleased.

She'd be free.

She waved sweetly as the charlatan left with everything, and then she returned immediately to her room to fill it again with beautiful people – because certainly, he'd be asking for more paintings in no time at all.

That was the last they'd ever heard of Largent. Josiah had tried to track him down, but it months had passed by the time he'd returned to their home. The trail of the crook was long cold. Hannah held out hope, but finally, accepted the fact that she'd been cheated.

She burned all of her new paintings and her madness truly settled in.

"Are you okay?" the painter's voice cut through his thoughts and Josiah blinked fiercely, trying to clear his head and feeling the effect of too many whiskeys.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You said you sold it for less than it was worth?"

She nodded. "He swore me to secrecy." And she smiled impishly. "But I could never keep a secret! He told me that he was sending it to Chicago. That he had a gallery or something and would sell it there." She frowned as she tried to remember it correctly. "He'd buy it from me, and then someone would tell me to send more paintings and I'd be famous." She smiled then. "I just had to sell him the first one at the lowest price I could allow, but after that I'd be rich."

A rage took over Josiah. "This morning?" He jerked his head toward the door. Was Largent in town? Would he finally be able to get his revenge?

"Yes," the painter responded. "Not long ago. He seemed eager to be on his way. He asked me which paintings were my best, and then he chose the one he wanted and told me all about his plan."

"Was his name Largent?" Josiah asked, hardly able to spit out the name. "Anthony Largent?"

She shook her head. "No," she said. "It was Standish. Ezra Standish."

In a swift movement, Josiah left the gallery, thundering down the main street of Sweet Haven, toward Blake's Saloon. When he found it devoid of one red-jacketed gambler, he remained long enough to indulge in a shot or two of whiskey to steel himself, and then went back to the galleries.

Many of the shops had empty spaces where a prominent piece had once been displayed. The artists confirmed that an Ezra Standish had been through, that he had purchased a piece, but they refused to divulge any further information. They'd been sworn to secrecy.

That son of a bitch.

Josiah didn't linger long. He kept moving, kept searching.

What the hell was Ezra trying to do to these people?

When he asked at one shop, the artist demurred. She looked uncomfortable, and looked toward her husband for support.

The man came to his feet when Josiah asked his questions, saying, "I know that bastard was up to no good! Betsy! I told you not to listen to him!" He faced Josiah, saying, "I'm going with you. We'll find him and he'll get what's coming to him." And he left his wife's gallery to join Sanchez in his search.

It proved fruitless in the end. Standish was nowhere to be found. Apparently, he'd completed his swath of destruction in Sweet Haven and had gone into hiding. They returned to The Green Way, and Josiah found a table.

Mike, Betsy Garner's husband, signaled the bartender. "I told her!" he said once the bartender nodded in response. "I told her not to sell to that son of a bitch!"

Josiah frowned, clenching his hands on the table. He'd find Ezra and talk to him, get him to explain what was going on.

He needed to get to the bottom of this. He wasn't about to let anyone else get away with destroying another artist.

Never again.

.

"Hey, Erza!" JD called as the gambler exited the telegraph office.

"Mr. Dunne" Ezra greeted, smiling congenially.

"Where you been?" JD asked.

"Here, there, everywhere," Ezra said, pointing this way and that.

"The tables weren't kind?" the kid asked, using one of Ezra's favorite phrases.

With a put-upon sigh Ezra responded, "The tables were nigh on dead, so I sought a different kind of gambling for the day." He cocked his head. "And you? Were you able to procure anything for a certain someone?"

JD blushed slightly, and then shrugged. "There was this lady who made necklaces out of wire and stones – pretty stones." He pulled a little cloth bag from his pocket. "She made this up special for me." He dumped the contents of the package into his hand so that he could show Ezra.

He'd picked out the stone with Casey in mind, a pretty greenish agate, and the artist had fashioned a setting out of copper wire, twisting and turning it into an intricate pattern around the rock and then set it on a delicate chain. He hoped Casey would like it. It was difficult to find the right gift for her. She always denied wanting anything fancy, but was disappointed if he was too practical in his giving. He hoped the simple-yet-intricate mix of stone and copper would please her.

Ezra leaned in to examine the purchase. "Well chosen," he declared. "This was from Mabel Corey's shop?" he tried. "She does impressive work with metals."

"Yeah, Mabel," JD responded, surprised that Ezra was aware of the woman's name. "She was really nice and didn't mind making this special."

"You did well, JD. I'm certain this will be well received."

"Well, yeah," JD said, trying to hide his smile as he carefully returned the necklace to the pouch. "It's not much but…"

"It's perfect," Ezra assured. "I wish you'd accompanied me earlier. I could've used your eye, and your hands. Toting some of my purchases proved difficult and I had to count on the artists to deliver some items to the shipping office."

"You feeling any better?" JD asked.

Morosely Ezra shook his head. "Stiff," he said showing his hands that were still black and blue, with red scraped knuckles. "Another reason to avoid the tables for now." He gestured down the street. "Perhaps we should look for Josiah and see to getting some supper before night sets in. It's been a long day."

"The restaurant at the hotel looked good," JD said looked about. "Josiah went into The Green Way at first, but then I saw him going in and out of all the shops. He was looking pretty hard for something."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps he too has a paramour that deserves her own work of art?" He cocked his head. "I cannot recall any lucky lady catching his eye recently." He shrugged. "Where did you see him last?"

"It's been a while since I saw him," JD told him. "No telling where he is now."

"I suppose we should start looking where we parted ways this morning. Perhaps he's at The Green Way?"

JD had no idea, but it was a good place to start.

.7.7

Josiah sat at his table beside Mike and watched as the bartender balanced a fancy spoon over a delicate looking glass. He topped the slotted spoon with a lump of sugar, then poured green liquor over it. He gestured to the glasses with a flourish, and then stepped back from the table.

Josiah frowned, not wanting 'fancy', but once he took a gulp of the licorice-flavored drink. It tasted strange, almost familiar, but he'd never tasted anything like it before. As he smacked his lips, he wasn't sure if he even liked the concoction, but Mike was drinking with gusto.

He took another gulp and another, feeling the effects of the drink sinking into him almost immediately. Before he knew it, he'd almost finished the glass and lifted a hand to signal the bartender for another.

The bartender nodded as Mike snickered. "I see you like the local drink."

Josiah finished the dregs, feeling a numbness reaching him like hands. Numbness was welcome.

"It's good enough," he muttered as the bartender came for his glass. "Keep them coming."

He'd had four of the green flavorful glasses by the time the doors parted and the gambler came in with the kid. By then, he could hardly see.

And the whole time he drank, Mike Garner kept up a diatribe, detailing exactly what should be done to the man who'd cheated the fine artists of Sweet Haven.

.7.7.7

"Ah, there he is," Ezra said as he pressed open the batwing doors to the Green Way. He frowned, looking over his shoulder at JD. "He appears to be occupied," he said quietly. "Let's get a drink at the bar and allow him a moment to finish up."

JD peered into the dark corner where Josiah was situated behind a table with another man. They were both talking loudly. He couldn't make out what Josiah was saying, but neither looked happy, and the other man seemed to be trying to press a point about something. Josiah was staring at his glass.

"I suggest we give Mr. Sanchez a wide berth for now," Ezra said, directing JD to the bar and then following close behind. He pulled a coin from his pocket and set it on the bar as he reached it. "Whiskey," he said. "The good stuff, if you may. For my compatriot, a glass of your best beer." He glanced to JD. "I wouldn't chance the milk."

JD nodded, and accepted the mug when it was placed before him. Ezra downed the first whiskey and then touched the glass, requesting another.

The bartender nodded, but he was already occupied, pouring a drink for one of the patrons. JD watched in fascination as he placed a fancy glass on a plate, then settled a spoon over the top of the glass, and then a lump of sugar. He poured green liquor over the sugar and into the glass.

"What's that?" JD asked Ezra.

The gambler raised an eyebrow at the ritual. "La fée verte," he said. "The green fairy." And then he added, "Absinthe. I've heard about it, but never seen it served before. I hear it's gaining popularity in Paris, but I'm amazed to see it here." He looked around the room. "It is popular with artists. I suppose someone has imported it."

JD screwed up his face as he watched the patron take the glass and sip at it. "It looks weird," JD said. "I'm sticking to beer."

Ezra laughed and watched as the barkeep poured his drink. "And I believe I'll stick to whiskey. It seems less chancy."

He was just reaching for his refilled glass when a screech of chair legs against wood made both of them turn.

"Standish!" Josiah barked, coming at them quickly.

Ezra turned, giving JD a shove toward the bar. "Josiah," he said cheerfully. "How very good to see you."

JD tried move, but Ezra rudely stepped in front of him, pressing him into the bar.

Josiah didn't look right. His eyes were bloodshot and dark. He staggered as he walked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he bellowed.

"What am I doing?" Ezra repeated. "Enjoying a drink with my friend. Come join us, Josiah. The first round is on me. Invite your companion. The more the merrier."

The other man shadowed Josiah, as big, drunk and angry-looking as their friend.

Josiah put one hand on Ezra's shoulder and jerked him away from the bar, shoving him against the nearby wall. "Explain yourself!" he shouted, loud enough to silence the room.

"I have spent much of my youth livin' in southern climes and have traveled a good piece of this country since then," Ezra said, smiling winningly. "But the south will always be dear to me."

The other man loamed just behind them. "Do it," he said. "Just like we were sayin'. Do it."

Ezra's gaze took in the man for an instant, but he returned to Josiah, smiling as always. Josiah glared in return.

"I am a gambler by profession and find law-keeping an interesting hobby," Standish continued glibly.

"You got to do it," the man hissed into Josiah's ear.

JD watched Josiah carefully. He hardly looked like himself. His blood-shot eyes were hard and fixed on Ezra. He wavered, hardly able to stand.

"Josiah?" JD called softly wanting to reach out for him, but Ezra countered him, unkindly putting out an arm to shove him away.

Ezra went on, "My current residence is in the dusty berg of Four Corners, but I have been sent on an errand with my fellow lawmen to apprehend members of the Burgess gang. We were successful and are currently biding our time in town, awaiting…" he let out a yip as Josiah suddenly slammed an arm against his throat, trapping him against the wall.

"Hey!" JD shouted, finally free of Ezra. "Josiah!" He grabbed onto Josiah's arm, trying to peel him off Ezra, but he was like iron.

"You have no right!" Josiah shouted into Ezra's face, and JD watched as Josiah pressed on him. Ezra's hands went to Josiah's arm, trying to free himself as he was lifted off the ground.

"Josiah! Stop!" JD cried. "Stop it!"

Ezra's eyes were wide and he tried to kick Josiah.

"Get him!" The other man said. "That's right! Teach him a lesson!"

JD tugged harder, trying desperately to get Josiah away from Ezra, but Sanchez kept pressing his arm against Ezra's throat, shoving his weight against him, ignoring JD completely.

"What did you think you're doing?" Josiah shouted. "What right do you have cheating good and honest people? What right?"

"Josiah! Stop! Stop it!" JD couldn't get Josiah to let go, and Ezra's face had gone bright red as he tugged at Josiah's arms and struggled to get free.

"You goddamn son of a bitch!" Josiah nearly spat out the words.

Nothing was working. JD tried to wrench the arm loose, but even with two of them trying, they couldn't budge Josiah.

"You are an immoral and worthless swindler!" Josiah shouted, his face nearly touching Ezra's. "You don't deserve to be amongst good people! You're a filthy, cheating piece of garbage! You'll never change! Never!"

Ezra was trying to say something, his lips moving but getting no air. He was turning blue.

"Josiah!" JD shouted. "Stop! You're hurting him! Please! Please, Josiah, stop it!"

The other man kept shouting, "Get him! Make him pay! Kill the bastard!"

He had no choice. JD stepped back and pulled his guns, cocking both at the same time as Josiah suddenly stepped back. No longer pinned, Ezra fell to the ground with a clatter.

"Get away from him!" JD ordered, keeping his aim on Josiah. He felt light-headed. He couldn't believe that he'd just drawn on a friend. He couldn't believe that watched Josiah nearly choke the life out of another friend. "Get away, Josiah Sanchez!" he shouted again.

Josiah staggered backward, not even looking at JD and his guns. His eyes were on Ezra, who was struggling to sit up as his hands went to his neck and he gasped, trying to draw in air.

JD wasn't sure what he saw in Josiah's eyes. Was it disgust?

"Get out of here," the other man urged, giving Josiah a shove. "Go!"

And with that, Josiah turned, stumbling with each step as he made his way through the door. The other man followed.

And for a moment, everything was quiet.

TBC - uh, oh. Josiah's got a bee in his bonnet