Vin Tanner observed the scene beneath him closely, watching every move the men made through the telescope of his sniper’s rifle. He didn’t notice the heat of the sun or the aching of his muscles, which had been forced to stay in one position for a long time now. It was his job to do so. And he knew that the lives of his friends depended on him doing his job.
In the building the sharpshooter was surveying the bust appeared to run smoothly. Chris Larabee, leader of ATF’s Team Seven, and Ezra Standish, their best undercover agent, were going in as buyers of a larger amount of high tech weapons and thanks to the convincing skills of one Ezra Standish Chris didn’t seem to have any problems.
“Everything fine up there, Vin?” a low voice in his headphone whispered. Buck Wilmington and the rest of the team were monitoring the scene via wire, but they could just listen, not see.
“Yeah,” Vin confirmed, when a sudden movement caught his attention.
“Shit,” he cursed, watching as one of the sellers slowly reached for his gun, preparing to aim at Chris’s unprotected back. Vin didn’t think twice, honestly he didn’t think at all, as he raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
The rifle gave a innocent ‘click’.
“Rifle is jammed! Go in!!” Vin yelled into the mike as he realized within a split second what was happening.
//Shit, Shit, SHIT!//
He worked on his rifle frantically, hearing the shouts of Buck and the others as they were running into the building, the sounds of several shots, cursing profoundly, while his mind was racing. Why the HELL had this GODDAMN thing have to have a mind on its own right NOW? Why had it jammed anyway?
God, Chris …
Vin held his breath as it hit him. He hadn’t been able to fire in time, and most certainly none of the others had as well. The vision of Chris Larabee’s bloody and lifeless body on the concrete floor flooded his mind.
But there was no sound of an ambulance…
“Vin? Do you copy? Vin?”
Buck’s voice in his earphone pulled him out.
“Yeah?” he answered breathlessly.
//Don’t tell me … I don’t wanna know… //
“You all right, pard? Been calling you for almost a minute now.”
“I’m fine … “
“Good. Seems you missed the ‘all clear’ sign there. C’mon down, time for a celebration.”
Celebration?
“Coming.”
Vin reacted automatically, packing his rifle back into the bag. He would have it checked over after this mess; he wouldn’t be able to trust it without it. Noticing his trembling hands, he paused for a while inhaling deeply, trying to get his shaking nerves back under control.
“Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“Chris and Ezra okay?”
“Yep. They’re waiting for you, and so are we. What’s keeping you?”
“Almost there, Bucklin.”
They were waiting, for him. Whatever for?
But at least it meant they were alive, both of them.
Vin hurried down the stairs, sending a short prayer of thanks to whatever higher being must have protected his friends.

“Vin.”
Chris grinned at him broadly, giving him a short clap on the forearm.
“Hell of some shots there, pard.”
Vin frowned. What was Chris talking about?
“I always said Junior here’s the best. Well done, Vin.” Buck beamed at him.
“What the hell are you all talking about?”
That earned him a puzzled look from his fellow agents.
“We are talking about these ingenious gunshots that saved both our lives, Vin. That miscreant behind Chris was about to give an attack sign, for his fellow goons to end our existence on Mother Earth for good.” Ezra stepped at Vin’s side. “I owe you one, Vin. More than one.”
 “Wait a minute. Didn’t you hear me call you to go in, Buck?”
“Yep, after you shot ‘em three times.”
Three times??
Geeezus …
“Vin!”
He felt a strong grip on his forearms, as Chris grabbed him, helping him to sit down.
“Damnit, Vin. You’re scaring me here. What’s wrong? The heat?”
“Chris … “ he managed to whisper, looking up into a pair of real worried hazel eyes.
“What is it?”
“I didn’t fire.”
“What?”
“I didn’t fire. Saw the guy behind you, aimed. Rifle jammed. I did not fire a single shot!”
“Then who …?”

Chris looked at his best friend, saw the color drain completely from his face and he swayed slightly. Larabee grabbed his obviously shocked sharpshooter and sat him down into the open door of their surveillance truck.
“I didn’t fire.”
“Then who …?”
He looked up at the roof where Vin had been stationed throughout the bust, where they had trusted he was watching their back, interfering if necessary, should things go out of hand. Like today.
Only that today their sharpshooter hadn’t been able to watch over them.
Chris sucked in a sharp breath.
“I want a complete ballistic on that bullets.” he ordered sharply.
“And someone check out that rifle.”

* * *

Vin Tanner woke with a start, feeling his heart beating like a drum in his chest. He looked around, panting heavily like he had been running the whole night, not being sound asleep in his own bed. But, he noticed with a sigh of relief, that was exactly where he was. Home, where he belonged.
“Geez, that was one hell of a nightmare.” he murmured as he slowly got dressed. Chris would most certainly already wait for him.
Then he noticed something.
“Shit.”

 Chris looked up from his breakfast as Vin sat down at the table. He frowned at the sight of his friend. Vin looked pale and tired, as if he hadn’t slept too well the other night. He poured him a cup of coffee and the other man took it with a short nod.
“You look like shit, Vin.”
“Thanks. Just what I wanted to hear, cowboy.” was the wry reply.
“Care to tell?.”
Chris watched his friend closely, as Tanner sipped at his coffee. If the man wanted to talk about it he would, if not … Larabee shrugged inwardly. Then there would be nothing he could do about it.
“Had a dream.”
Chris took another bite of his bacon and waited. Vin Tanner having dreams wasn’t that unusual. Vin Tanner being disturbed about his dreams was.
“So?” he probed carefully. “What was it about?”
Vin frowned.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yep. And Ezra, and Buck. And the others. Just …  it wasn’t really you.”
“Now you got me curious.”
“Well, I’s on that rooftop … at least I think it was a roof. It was kinda scaring … never saw buildings like this. Then I saw you and Ezra, saw somebody aiming a gun at your back and I … I fired. Three times, three down. Got ‘em good, right between the eyes.”
“And? Seemed to be one dream, but sorry, pard, don’t see your point here.”
“Chris, I think I was dreaming … but my rifle barrel was still warm this morning. Could still smell the gunpowder. “
“And?”
“There were no bullets, no bullet holes. I didn’t fire.”
Chris looked intensely at the slightly pale tracker who was now crouched in the chair opposite him. He poured the man another cup of coffee.
“Y’know, “ the gunslinger said slowly. “Heard that there are more things between heaven and earth than one would think of.”
The tracker nodded a thanks and sipped at the bitter brew.
“Yeah, heard that, too. Saw one ‘r two of ‘em as well. Maybe it was a spirit walk.”
“There’s way to find out?”
“Only if I want ta.”
“Do you?”
Vin hesitated for a brief moment, his blue eyes getting a far-away glance. Then he shook his head.
“No. Sometimes one should just take what the spirits give ‘im.”

*  *  *

Chris Larabee slowly shut the manila folder that was delivered to him one hour ago. It was the ballistic report on the three lucky bullets that had saved his and Ezra’s lives. He had to admit to himself that this thing was absolutely spooky. It had almost made the ballistic experts go ballistic themselves, and, after Chris had read the report for the first time and had called them, they had insisted the results were correct. Yes, the bullets had been fired from where Vin had been standing, same angle, direction, heights. But they hadn’t been fired from his sniper’s rifle.
The report said that the bullets were at least a hundred years old. And the rifle they had been fired from had been as old, a Winchester.
Somehow Chris found he didn’t doubt it.
He leaned back in his chair, looking out of the window. But he wasn’t looking at the skyline. His mind was wandering back to the other day, back to the moment Vin had almost collapsed at his side and he had looked up to the roof where Vin had been stationed. He remembered the figure he had seen there, for a split second, remembered the old cavalry hat, a buckskin jacket flapping in the wind… and a Winchester. And he remembered a nodded greeting before the lone figure slowly blurred and vanished, returning to whatever time and place he had come from.

“Chris?”
The familiar voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
“That the ballistic report on the bullets?” Vin asked curiously.
“Yep.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Go ahead.”
Chris watched as Vin read the report, his frown deepening with every sentence. Out of the blue the frame of his friend seemed to blur, melting together with another one. Long auburn locks, blue eyes sparkling under the brim of an old cavalry hat, a lopsided grin… It was gone the moment Chris blinked.
“Cowboy? What’s this all about?” Vin asked puzzled, pointing at the report. Chris sighed deeply, took the folder out of his friend’s hands.
“Some things, Vin,” he muttered and tossed the folder into the bin, “just aren’t to be explained, just be thankful for. Who knows, maybe we have been visited by a ghost?”
“A ghost.”
“Yep. C’mon, let’s go to the saloon.”
“You’re buying?”
“Yep.”

As they walked out of the office, heading toward the elevators, Vin noticed the strange way Chris shot him a glance once in a while.
“What?”
“Hm … say, Vin, ever thought of wearing a buckskin jacket?”
“Me???”

~ fini, so far ~

to be continued in “… Ipsos Custodes”