Damn it was hot. It was hot enough to  peal the paint off the rough-hewn boards that made up his new assignment. Wild goose chase more like. Here he was, out in the middle of nowhere, looking up rumors because he'd managed to get on the bad side of the council. That and he broke one of the cardinal rules. Don't interfere.

 Well, it was interfere or watch some madman butcher more children. He was bound by the man he was, and couldn't let something like that continue. So Joe slipped an anonymous note to his assignment, and got caught. The only thing that saved his neck was that he didn't directly contact his Immortal. That little stunt did get him a one-way stage ticket to this town, out on the edge of the Mexican border, baking in this heat.

He rubbed at the joint that led to his wooden leg, thinking again how he got caught up in the whole Watcher mess. A man saved his life. A man who was already dead, a man Joe KNEW was dead. As he lay in the field hospital, listening to the cries and moan of agony from around him, his own adding to the cacophony, his delirious mind replayed the scene over and over again.

As he started to heal, he'd managed to convince himself that the colored soldier that saved his life was just a figment of his imagination. When the ache in a leg that no longer existed plagued him, his mind drifted to thoughts of God, and he thought, that maybe the man was angel. Then he'd been contacted.

A man, a doctor came to him and asked him about his experience. Then he revealed the truth that was hidden from so many people, that there really were more things on heaven and earth, then were dreamt of in his philosophies. Immortality. A select few individuals who wandered the earth, never dying, never aging, but living many different lifetimes,  till their head left their neck.

What a dream it had seemed like, it was a reason for living, a reason for a one legged man with no future to continue trying. To record an unacknowledged history, to discover the people behind countless legends, it gave him reason to exist.

That was many years ago, and he'd been fortunate. His last assignment was a good man, an honest man who believed in the good of mankind and who tried to help people, in spite of the harsh realities he encountered. Joe had even had the opportunity to get to know the Immortal personally, though never closely. They had become casual friends, the confines of his oath allowing Joe no more than that. Still, it had hurt to leave that behind.

But the masters called, and he had to answer. The bastards. While he had been supported by many of the field workers, he'd been hung out to dry by the council itself. That bunch of paper pushers said he shouldn't have interfered, that by giving that note to his Immortal, he'd broken the rules, and this was his punishment.

There was news of a group of men, seven to be exact, who were making a name for themselves as lawmen. Tales of their exploits where becoming well known, though how much was truth and how much was fiction, was why he was sent to the small town of Four Corners. The tales that filtered back East, were full of narrow escapes from death and encounters where normal men would be cut down under the hail of bullets. Yet these men survived and protected this town.

Chris Larabee, the reluctant leader, was a fast draw, a cold stare and an aged soul. Vin Tanner was a good man given a raw deal in life, and a man who could track an ant across solid rock. Buck Wilmington was a good shot, a good friend and knew every woman in the territory personally. JD Dunne was more than willing to tackle anything asked of him, and too young to know better. Josiah Sanchez, a preacher of sorts, was known to get more than a little Old Testament at times, but also willing to listen to a total stranger's problems. Ezra Standish, a gambler lawman, would win the shirt off your back and then sell it back to you, even if he had to give you the money to do so. And Nathan Jackson was willing to put a lifetime of hurt behind him and stitch up anyone who needed it, no matter who you were and who you were shooting at earlier.

After a few months in this town, he'd seen the truth. These men weren't mere mortals, they were larger than life, and already a legend. But he didn't think they were Immortal. Watching this diverse collection of men, seeing the pain and anguish of a friend hurt, the guilt of sending men into situations that could lead to injury or even death, Joe almost wished they were. Life might be easier for them, knowing that the bonds of death didn't hang so heavily over their heads. When one bled, they all bled. 

Pulling himself up from his chair behind the bar, he went to collect the empty glasses that littered the bar top. His thoughts were morose today, and he didn't want to think anymore. Even though every step chaffed at the joint between the false leg that gave him some mobility and the left over stump that ended just below his knee, it was better than allowing his mind free reign today.

*****

The first death was shocking enough. JD looked positively green as the seven regulators surrounded the decapitated corpse, while more than a few of the others were swallowing more than necessary. There was something so undeniably wrong about a body with no head. There had been a storm that night, driving every sensible person indoors, so no one had seen anything. It seemed the only two people outdoors last night, was the dead man and the man who killed him.

While patrols of the town were stepped up, there wasn't much else the lawmen could do, and after a few weeks, they relaxed. Until the second death. This one was more bizarre, the body found about an hour's ride out side of town, the area surrounding the body scorched from lightening, even though the sky had been clear. Two headless bodies in under a month had the entire town spooked. Old tales and legends were revived, of headless horsemen, ghosts, and men who couldn't die.

There was always two of the seven patrolling the town at any one time, three during the night, when these deaths were believed to occur. When the third body was found, that of a pretty, young women, panic spread like wild fire. That all three were strangers didn't really register with the townsfolk, and wild accusations started to fly. After the forth body, the lynchings began. Anyone new was a target, usually being beaten and then set on a horse and sent on their way. When a traveling salesmen was found hanging from a tree one morning, the lawmen had had enough.

Then entire town was basically placed under house arrest. If you went outdoors, you'd better have a good reason or you would find yourself kindly and courteously escorted back to your place of residence. After a week free of lynching and mysterious corpses, the vigil was eased, a curfew the only remnant of the scare. After a month of relative quiet, everyone started to relax. And through all this, Joe watched, frustrated and angry at his inability to act.

Someone witnessed the fifth death, a duel that ended in death and a storm of frightening intensity. The survivor was taken into custody, as much for his protection as that of the townsfolk. When Joe found out that the man in the jail was one Duncan MacLeod, he'd had enough and made a decision.

That afternoon, a telegram was sent out to Boston, the American headquarters. It was short and to the point: I Quit stop Joe Dawson full stop.

*****

When Chris entered the saloon, he was surprised to see the other Seven the only people in the tavern aside from the current owner. When he'd gotten the message that the man wanted to talk to him, in regards to the current prisoner, he was intrigued. He noticed the owner make his way to the table the others sat at, a bottle of whiskey joining the other drinks already present.

As Chris sat down, a shot was filled for him and the relative stranger started to tell a story. On one hand, Chris was annoyed at what he perceived as a delaying tactic, but something made him stop and listen.

"As long as there have been people, there have been tales of people who were... more than what they appeared to be, people who were more than human. They look just like everyone else, but they do not age and you can't kill them, unless you know how." The owner, Joe, now filled his own glass and looked around as if gauging his audience.  He drink disappeared in a swift gulp, and the man continued.

"One of these men was a Scotsman. He was raised to be the chieftain, to follow in his father's footsteps and become a great leader of his clan. But as with many things, it was not to be. He was banished from the clan when he died and came back to life. He was accused of witchcraft, and his father disowned him, sending him out in the world. He was young and unaware of the destiny fate held for him.

"He met his cousin, a man who was also more than he seemed. Connor taught him who and what he was, that he was Immortal, that there were others out there like him, and that he shared something magical with all others like him. Something called the Quickening. It is the essence of what they are, it is what makes them what they are, and it is what draws them to fight. It's what draws them to the Game. A Quickening can only be released when they die, and in order to die, their heads must be removed from their necks. The power of the quickening goes to the victor.

"There are rules to the Game. Only one on one, never on holy ground, and never in public. There will come a time, when all Immortals will feel drawn together, the Gathering will begin, and in the end, there will only be one.

"It was a lot for this young man to absorb, that he was different, that he would watch others live and die, while he remained unchanged. But he learned, how to fight from anyone who would teach him, and at the same time, he learned when to fight. He was a careful man who chooses his battles carefully.

"His legend is still told, all over Scotland, and a few others are found in different places. He was a great man, he *is* a great man.

"And he is sitting in your jail.

"You can keep him in there if you want, hanging him won't hurt him, and I'm sure he could find a way out of any prison you might send him to. But the truth is it was self-defense. He wouldn't fight unless he had to, and even then..." Joe's voice trailed off, as he seemed to become lost in things only he could see.

This gave Chris a chance to gauge the reactions of his men. JD had a slightly confused look on his face, as if he understood the words, but didn't want to believe what they were saying. Buck simply caught his eye, nodding in understanding. They'd both seen more than a few weird things during the chaos of the Civil War, this explained only some of them. Ezra's face was as blank as always, though his eyes were hooded with past memories. Nathan had accepted everything with a calm understanding. Josiah was nodding to himself, finding nothing outrageous in the tale they'd been told. Vin was simply leaning back in his chair and taking it all in, seemingly undecided, one way or the other. Joe shook himself out of his musings and continued.

"In all likely hood, mind you I'm not sure, the person who killed the first four is lying in the pine box at the undertakers. Duncan prefers to stay out of the Game and doesn't fight unless challenged. Then again, I'm just an old man, who's seen too much, and likes to tell tall tales over a good bottle of Whiskey.

"Just... step outside and see another world. We are all bound by who and what we are, but that doesn't mean we can't choose who we want to be." His voice was passionate with his belief as he urged the seven gunslingers to look beyond what they knew of reality, and to believe him. Then he gave them an easy smile.

"You won't have to worry about any more bodies showing up, for a little while at least. Duncan will pass through, and I doubt there are any other Immortals in a hundred mile radius. You could let things slide, and give a good man a break.

"Or you could hold him for trial, he won't say anything, and short of beheading him, there's not much you can do to him that will bother him all that much. I actually doubt he'd be convicted of anything. It  was self-defense, which I'm sure your witness will corroborate. Do what you think is right. I just thought you deserved to know a bit more about the person you're holding."

*****

Half an hour later they were all still sitting around the table, in the same quiet that the bar owner had left them. It was early afternoon, and the bar would normally be starting to fill as people fled from the heat of the outdoors. But today, no one ventured onto the cool depths of the saloon, whether by instinct or if they had been warned, it didn't matter. It gave the men a chance to absorb the incredulous information.

"He's crazy." JD broke the silence. He'd been trying to find a way to put his beliefs forward without putting them so bluntly, but he was not one for words. "I mean, there's no way that that can happen right? People are born, people live and people die, that's the way of life. People just don't not die."

"They die, they just come back." Everyone stared at Nathan as he spoke, but he kept staring at the glass in his hand. "The man who traveled with me in the Underground Railroad, Joshua, I saw him die. He was shot as we was leaving. I carried him along as far as I could, but I was just a kid back then, and we didn't get far. I felt him die and the overseer was chaining me back up and then there was Joshua. He helped me get away, leaving the overseer behind in his own chains. Later on, he said it was a kind of magic. I wouldn't have made it north without him." There was obviously more to the story, but everyone could see the pain dancing in the healer's eyes. They would leave him to quiet his personal demons in peace, as some things were not meant to be spoken of.

"But…"

"Kid, there are more things in this world than what you read in those dime novels. A lot of weird things happen, and this ain't the strangest." Interpreting the nod from Chris as permission to continue, Buck finished his train of thought. "Chris an me saw this kid of a Reb, kept runnin' into the guy all through the war and after. Don't know if it was coincidence or what, but somehow we were always runnin' into each other.

"I coulda sworn I saw him go down more than a few times, one time it looked like he got half his head blown off. Maybe that was him, maybe it wasn't. Last time we saw him was in a bar in Mexico. He just nodded at us and disappeared. It had been some time since we last saw him, and he looked just as young as the first  time we saw him across the battle field."

"Buck, that's impossible."

"Lot's of things shouldn't be possible, but they are. Who's to say what's impossible and what isn't. We live in a world that has given up its belief in the miraculous. But just because we don't believe, doesn't mean it can't happen." Josiah gave them all a wide grin.

"There's a lotta legends 'round here 'bout a lotta different things." Vin leaned forward and filled his empty glass. "They gotta come from somewhere."

"Who knows how long it takes for fact to become fiction. A word here, a phrase there, and a simple tale is transformed into legend. Look at us, just cause some of the things they say about us aren't true, doesn't mean it's all false," Josiah said.

"Ezra, what do you think?" Chris looked over at the conman. So far Ezra had been keeping his own council. While he seemed to be following the conversation, it seemed to be more by habit, than anything else.

"I believe that... whether you believe the fine owner of this establishment or not, there is a strong argument for self defense." His words were practical, but there was a hidden anguish that he kept to himself.  A sudden grin crossed his face. "Besides which he was right, we are all bound by what we are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" JD leaned forward.

"Simply that we will do what we do because of who we are. I have no doubt that the man in our jail was simply defending himself. Because of that, there is no need to hold him for a trial and attract more attention to our small hamlet. Yet with the state the town is in at the moment, it would be unwise to simply let him go. I'm sure we can come up with a suitable compromise."

"But what about the rest of it?" JD thought that there was always more to what Ezra said than just the meaning of his words.

"I believe the evidence of my eyes."

*****

A ripple of fear swept through the community when the prisoner escaped. It was quickly calmed when the Vin revealed that the tracks lead straight to Mexico and the other lawmen all agreed that the man would never come back. After all, his face was well known now and soon would be plastered on wanted posters. As soon as they made a report to the Judge that is.

It was interesting how busy they found themselves after that. A trail herd came through with all the hands blowing off steam, somebody tried to rob the bank, and then there was the usual bar brawls and patrols. Somehow that report was put on the back burner, after all the man would never come back, and the crisis was over. After a few months, life had returned to normal.

*****

Passenger, by Powderfinger
copyright 1998 Polydor Records, Australia

Caged, you hold so tight until your knuckles show.
Escape as far away as you could ever know.
You sink them all down and watch them float up,
'Til the wheel has spun around.
You will be bound by what you are.

You stand in the corner
With your face stripped of colour,
For what?

Chorus
If you want to be a passenger,
Climb aboard with me we're leaving now.
Step outside and see another world,
Only if you want to be a passenger.

Chained - so many places you'd prefer to be
Than framed by a picket fence and salary.
You sink them all down then watch them float up,
'Til the wheel has spun around.
You will be bound by who you are.

You're tied to the corner
With your hope twisted under
In knots.

Chorus x 2