Riding back to his little ranch, Jack herded his cattle into the fence and locked it back up before taking Mark inside his house. Laying Mark down on his couch before the fireplace, he fetched his medical supplies. He wasn't a doctor, but he didn't want to take him into town only to get him killed. Setting the supplies down, Jack noticed blood soaking Mark's pant leg. Leaning over him to see how bad it was, Jack froze as a gun clicked beside his head. Swallowing, Jack didn't move a muscle but told Mark calmly. "You're hurt. I'm trying to help." Jack heard the soft click of the hammer being disengaged. Risking a peek at him, Jack saw him lay the gun down over his chest weakly. Mark looked awful as the gun slipped from his fingers to clatter to the floor. Working quickly, Jack's shook as he unbuckled Mark's gun belt, chaps, and pants. Pulling them down enough to expose the wound, he took a sig from his whiskey bottle to steady himself before pouring some over his tools and Mark's wound. The second the whiskey hit his open wound, Mark jerked and snapped out through clenched teeth. "MOTHER FUCKER!"

Leaning back from him, Jack took another swig of the whiskey, letting Mark settle back down. Resting his weight on Mark's leg, Jack slipped tweezers that he normally used on his cattle into the wound to retrieve the round bullet. Mark tensed and grunted, gripping the couch as he bitterly snarled out. "Fuck! You're a goddamn butcher!" Removing the bullet, Jack set it aside and calmly told him. "I could have left you out their to die." As Jack started to stitch up the wound with a fishing hook, Mark whined out in anguish. "I'm beginning to wish you had. OW! EASY!" Rolling his eyes, Jack cut the string with his boot knife and tied it off. It wasn't perfect but it was one of his better sewing jobs. Wiping the blood off Mark's leg, he began wrapping a fresh bandage around it. Mark's heavy breathing slowed as he finally relaxed, upon asking him. "You do this a lot?" Jack glanced at the crackling fireplace, before answering honestly. "On occasion. Mostly on cows. Had a few get attacked by coyotes and sometimes storms spook them, causing them to get cut up on the barbed wire fencing. Sometimes the need a little stitching after a rough birth."

Darting his eyes over to meet Mark's, he teased out innocently. "They don't thrash and complain as much as you." Chuckling lightly, Mark tiled his head back on the arm of the couch, grumbling out to the ceiling. "If cows could talk, I'm sure they'd agree with me." Scoffing, Jack scooted closer to Mark's chest and asked him timidly. "Can you take off your... clothes off. I need to see the rest." Mark glanced down at his pants that were practically around his ankles, before sitting up stiffly. Mark started to remove his clothes and Jack found himself helping whenever Mark winced or stopped. The chainmail was the hardest for him to remove and Jack was surprised by how heavy it was. Coaxing Mark back down with a gentle hand, Jack dipped a rag in hot water. Mark's bicep had a bullet wound, but his chest was covered in nasty looking bruises. Cleaning the blood that was running down Mark's arm, Jack asked him curiously. "I've never seen anyone in the U.S. wearing chainmail..." Mark avoided his eyes when he told the ceiling grimly. "My mother immigrated over. My dad was a U.S. solider. Heard about them in his travels. Saved his life more than once. When he died. He gave it to me."

Picking up the bottle, Jack went to pour it on Mark's wound, but Mark snatched the bottle and took a swig from it. Handing it back, Mark tried to relax, and he braced himself for it this time. Smirking, Jack poured it over the wound and Mark arched on the couch with a strained groan. Using the tweezers again, Jack tried to distract Mark by saying a little impressed. "Good thing you were wearing it. It saved your life." Exhaling heavily, Mark grumbled out restlessly. "I've got to go back and warn the mayor. Get my deputies together and stop him." Huffing, Jack removed the bullet and told him firmly. "You can't go anywhere. You're not fit to ride, let alone take on the Marshal's men. You need to rest." Mark looked at him with seriously eyes, retorting gruffly. "The wicked don't rest. So, neither can I. Patch me up and I'll be on my way." Starting to sew up his arm, Jack told him a little smugly. "The wicked don't rest because they are always being pursued. A lawman that doesn't rest... is often gunned down." Mark reached out with his good hand to tap the brim of Jack's hat up in order to see his eyes better. Then locking eyes with him, he told him nicely. "The longer I wait. The farther away they get and the more people they hurt."

Jack lowered his eyes to Mark's wound, stating matter-of-factly. "They believe you are dead, Sheriff. They aren't going anywhere tonight. And tomorrow, they'll most likely be planning to hang the outlaw. So, you don't have to rush." Mark shook his head, telling him coolly in return. "No. They'll be after the mayor because of what I said. And that outlaw... he knew about the Marshal. He came here for him... I wanna know why." Jack finished sewing up the wound, when Mark suddenly told him in a soft voice. "The cattle that was out there... were they yours?" Jack nodding, grimly answering under his breath. "Yes. Out of five hundred heads... I've lost twelve. That includes my young bull. My barn is gone... half my potato fields are burned..." Drifting off, he wrapped up Mark's arm in silence. For a moment or two, only the sound of the crackling and popping fire could be heard between them. Shaking his head, Mark finally told him sympathetically. "I'm sorry." Shrugging, Jack told him in a slightly broken voice. "It's not your fault. Sometimes the world is just... cruel."

Mark sat up with some trouble and looked around the messed up cabin. Narrowing his eyes, he uttered out to Jack. "They did this too?" Standing up, Jack coaxed Mark back down as he told him calmly. "Don't worry about it. Get some rest." Mark shook his head, resisting Jack's hand on his shoulder. Swinging his legs down, Mark tried to pull his pants up as he told him. "Thank you, but no. Did you find my horse?" Jack moved around to the kitchen, replying sadly. "No. The Marshal used it to haul the outlaw away." Walking up to the cabinet's, Jack pulled out some herbs for tea and a cup. Moving back to the kettle over the fireplace, Mark asked him hopefully. "Can I borrow your horse?" Pouring hot water into the cup, Jack smirked as he told Mark nicely. "Drink this first and then I'll let you go." Mark winced as he reached out for the cup but managed to accept it. The water hadn't boiled yet, but it was warm enough for a soothing tea. Mark tossed it back like a shot, setting the cup down before rising to his feet. Jack quickly moved closer to him and grabbed him just as his injured leg buckled.

Setting him back down on the couch, Jack exhaled out to him. "You can't go like this..." Mark stubbornly tried to get up again, until Jack's brushed his hand over his bare chest lightly. Even such a light touch made Mark seize up in pain. Kneeling in front of him, Jack pushed his hat up more and told him like a father to a child. "You're no good to us like this. I'm sorry, Sheriff. But I can't let you go." Mark groaned with disappointment. Then reaching out to grab the paper and pen on the side table, Mark began to write and told him in a comprising tone. "Fine. I'll stay. But you have to take this to my deputies and the mayor in the morning." Smirking to himself, Jack pried off Mark's boots and his pants to allow him to be more comfortable. Draping the gun belt on the chair, Jack folded up Mark's clothes to set them on the seat. Seeing the hole and blood in Mark's pants though, he took them away to clean them in the sink. Mark wrote two separate notes and set them aside, before laying back down and panting out. "Fuck... I can barely grip anything now." Walking back over, Jack laid out Mark's pants to dry, before getting him some more tea.

Filling the cup, Jack kneeled next to the couch and held it out for Mark to drink it. Mark resisted at first but gave in when it hurt too much to move his dominate arm. Mark tried to gulp it down, but Jack forced him to sip it out of habit. Lowering the cup, Jack noticed his own hands shaking and took a minute to push down his emotions. So much had happened today that he felt vulnerable. Mark's finger tapped his hat to get his attention, before asking very softly in a deep voice. "You took care of someone?" Getting up, Jack set the cup down and quickly turned away as he strained out. "My granny." Cleaning up the cabin a bit, Jack tried to keep himself from crying. While Mark pressed him gently. "Recently?" Shaking his head, Jack stopped sweeping to say without looking at him. "No. Before I left Ireland. I took care of her and when she passed... I came here. To start over." Mark sat up to peer over the couch, asking curiously. "Why did you come here? Why not stay with family?"

Sniffling, Jack admitted in a shaky voice. "Because... I just felt alone there. My parents are older and never had much time for me. My siblings are older and have their own lives. Granny was... Well, she and I were close. Even when she forgot who I was..." Jack cursed as a tear rolled down his cheek, forcing him clear his throat and add in a strained voice. "Why are you here?" Mark inhaled slowly, before telling him openly. "I don't know. My mother was taken to work in the mines after my dad was gunned down... She died during the mine collapse and my brother went missing. I had nowhere else to go. So, I stayed here." Wiping the tears away from his eyes, Jack mused lightly. "I never would have guessed that about you." Mark huffed, laying back down as he chuckled out gruffly. "Seems this town is full of surprises..." Jack tidied things up a bit more around the cabin, then checked on his animals. By the time he returned, Mark was snoring softly on the couch. Taking down a blanket, Jack draped it over Mark to keep him warm. Then after locking up, he ventured into his bedroom to sleep on what remained of his bed.

Back in town, Nathan clenched his teeth down hard on the cloth gag in his mouth. His arms were shackled up against the wall in the sheriff's office and he felt like crap. Sitting in the Sheriff's chair, the Marshal chuckled out to the mayor in a hushed voice. "Relax. It's all taken care of. By this time tomorrow all our loose ends will be tied up... or... HUNG up." The Marshal flashed Nathan a smug grin. The mayor periodically peeked out the windows of the office and paced around as he snapped out softly. "You're being too reckless! You need to rein in your boys if we are going to make this work. I told you hiring a bunch of reject kids was a bad idea. Now look!" The Marshal propped his dirty boots up on the desk, grunting out as he lit a cigar. "Don't worry about them. The kids are temporary. They have almost outlived their usefulness. I can easily hang them alongside this vermin and give the rest of the town peace of mind." The mayor huffed, slamming his hands down on the desk as he growled out. "And how do you plan to do that when you've deputized half of them?!"

The Marshal lazily met the mayor's eyes, blowing a puff of smoke at him when he answered. "My real deputies will be here tomorrow. As planned with the money. I'll gun the kids down. I told you not to worry. This isn't my first rodeo. You just uphold your end of our deal." The mayor swatted the Marshal's boots off the desk, then pointed a finger in the Marshal's face to say in a frightening tone of voice. "Don't threaten me, Marshal Fenwick. Don't forget. It's MY family that has pulled yours from the mud! We do things MY way or so help me, Fenwick. You will wish I'd hung you with HIM! You pull another stunt like you did with the Sheriff and I'll gut you like cattle and serve you to your wife!" The Marshal blew smoke away from the mayor now and respectfully told him in a confident voice. "I made this mess and I'll fix it. None of this will affect your plans. I assure you. Trust me." The mayor reached out to grab Fenwick's bandana around his neck, pulling him closer before he sneered out darkly. "I don't trust wild dogs... I muzzle them and put them down. Fix this. Quickly."

The mayor then took the cigar from him with his free hand and lowered it down onto Fenwick's shoulder just beneath his bandana. Nathan heard the flesh sizzle and saw Fenwick struggling to keep his composure. Locking eyes with him in challenge, the mayor told Fenwick darkly. "Hang your loose ends and bring me the body of the sheriff, Marshal. Or I'll be forced to tie up MY loose ends." The mayor then released Fenwick and put the cigar into his mouth. Relighting it, the mayor made his way to the door, added around the cigar. "See you in the morning, Fenwick. Don't disappoint me again." The mayor stomped out the door and the Marshal waited a minute or two, before angrily flipping the desk. The Marshal then turned to look at Nathan, the fire in his eyes igniting. Storming into the cell with him, Nathan tensed and braced himself. The Marshal grabbed his jaw, sneering into his face. "In a few hours. You'll be nothing but a ghost. A distant memory. You'll haunt me no more!" Nathan kept his eyes on the Marshal and shook his head defiantly. He would haunt him even beyond the grave.

The Marshal trembled with anger when he saw how unafraid Nathan was of him. Nate knew nothing hurt James Fenwick more than being intimidating. Lifting his chin, Nathan muffled out through the cloth gag. "Traitor." Even muffled, the words cut deep. Without hesitating, the Marshal unleashed his rage on Nathan's ribcage and face. Every punch knocking air and pained grunts from Nathan. It was going to be a long painful night. To Be Continued...