Ezra could feel his body fighting against the incredible strain it was being placed under, but he didn't care. He wouldn't allow himself to give in and slow down. He pushed against the pain, intent on winning his race against the setting sun.

His entire being called out for reprieve, but he fought back with every ounce of willpower; knowing that everything he cared for was counting on the outcome of this mental battle.

Though time had seemingly stretched on for an eternity, his endurance was finally rewarded. At last, he saw the landmarks he had been urgently seeking. The signs that silently confirmed his destination drew near. The orange glow of the setting sun still stretched across the vast sky. It would remain long enough to illuminate his path until he arrived.

A new sense of hope propelled him forward. He felt the electric energy of a second wind surge through him and his pace quickened, as he closed in on what had appeared to be an impossible goal only moments before.

The abstract dream of crossing the finish line, had transformed into a concrete reality, and his doubt was replaced with a rising sense of victory.

"I'm almost there. I'm going to make it!"

He pushed into a full out sprint as he crested the hill overlooking the camp. Ezra looked out over the valley, his eyes scanning the makeshift camp. It was littered with dozens of tents and a few ramshackle sheds. After a moment, his eyes landed on his own tent. He desperately wanted to stop and catch his breath.

He felt if he pushed himself any harder, he might meet the same fate as the legendary Marathon Man. He imagined collapsing into sweet oblivion. Instead, he pushed forward. Urgently making his way towards his humble dwelling.

As he stumbled into camp, he heard the raucous sounds of merriment. As was customary following a hard day's work, the miners were gathered together; drinking, gambling, laughing, and shouting. Ezra felt a sudden clash of emotions. The sounds were familiar –– and yet, strangely foreign.

He had been through so much in such a short time, that it felt like the memory of living in camp had occurred in another lifetime. He felt a deep yearning to join the others at the campfire and become part of the comradery. He longed for a sense of normalcy and community.

After everything he'd been through, he deserved to at least have a meal and warm himself by the fire. He was keenly aware of his growling belly and his mouth salivated at the thought of a nice juicy bit of meat or even just a piece of bread. Not to mention the tantalizing appeal of a nice strong drink. The draw was incredibly powerful. He wanted nothing more than to embrace a few well-earned creature comforts and drown out all his sorrows and troubles with a nice bottle of whiskey.

He struggled against the itching need for a time, but ultimately pulled himself away from the temptation. He couldn't allow himself to be deterred from his goal. If he gave in and began to drink, he wasn't sure he would have the discipline to hold back. He was overwhelmed — and the appeal of drunken oblivion could not be overstated.

Though he found it agonizing, Ezra turned away from the spectacle and focused again on the task at hand. As he passed a group of miners along the path to his tent, he was stopped suddenly.

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"Ezra, is that you?" The words were heavily slurred.

Ezra recoiled from the stench of the alcohol on the man's breath.

Stepping back, he looked at the man; squinting to make out his features in the waning light. His voice sounded familiar, but Ezra hadn't quite been able to place it. Studying the figure in front of him, Ezra recognized the strange man as Micah. Due in part, to his generally unkempt appearance. Especially his dark semi-long hair that always stuck out from his bowler hat; accompanied by his unmistakable wisp of a beard.

Micah stared at him wide-eyed.

"Ezra? You... you look ghastly..."

He shook his head.

"Terrible! If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a walking corpse!"

"Ironic coming from you." Ezra thought sardonically. Under better circumstances, this may have warranted at least a smirk from Ezra, but at the moment, it was all he could do to suppress a glower and maintain a neutral expression.

"Where have you been?" Micah said, sounding almost accusatory.

He didn't wait for a response.

"We haven't seen you and Vincent for days. We thought you was dead."

Ezra sighed. He didn't have time for a meaningless conversation with a drunkard who probably wouldn't remember the details of their conversation, come morning.

"You're not far off." he said, waving it away. "It's a long story. I'll have to tell you about it later. Now if you'll excuse me."

He pushed past Micah and continued on toward his tent.

"Hey!" Micah shouted. "I was talking to you."

Ezra ignored him and quickened his pace, despite his excruciating fatigue.

"You worthless, blue bellied, redneck!" Micah shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "I was talking to you."

The string of insults instantly turned nearby heads, and a flurry of surprised whispers rose up among scattered groups of adjacent partiers. One of the groups of men recognized Ezra and called out.

"It's Ezra, he's back!"

"Ezra!?" Another called out. A few more joined in.

"Ezra!"

He ignored the group, gritting angrily at the insults and Micah's drunken idiocy. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to deal with a rowdy drunken crowd who wanted to pester him with a bunch of questions and dig at him for details. He didn't have time to explain himself.

He hated how nosey people could be and he wished he could avoid it completely, but he knew this was highly unlikely. Despite his previous experience, and usual cynicism, he'd still held onto the hope that with a shrewd and careful approach, he could manage to skirt around it mostly unscathed.

Now it would be impossible to avoid. He begrudgingly accepted he would have to deal with the sudden slew of attention he had inadvertently garnered, but now was not the time.

Vincent's chances of survival were already dismal, and his situation was only becoming more dire with each passing moment. He had to ruthlessly cut through all distractions and come up with a plan of action right away.

All the commotion had gathered the attention of the crowd and word of Ezra's return quickly spread throughout the camp. The crowd began to follow him as he ran toward his tent. Some followed more closely than others, but the scattered members of the camp came from all directions and coalesced into a mob of curious onlookers.

It wasn't often that something out of the norm happened at the camp. An abundance of gold was noticeably lacking and as a result, the company as a whole, was chronically desperate for something new and exciting.

A supposed dead man emerging from the wilderness at the edge of dusk certainly qualified – and the mob began to buzz with excitement as they inched forward eagerly. Their excitement tempered only by caution.

At long last, Ezra arrived at his tent. He immediately burst through the door and dug through his stash with haste, searching for ammo. He replenished his ammo pouch, grabbed his bowie knife and then made his way to the nearest water barrel to fill up his canteens.

Some members of the group closed in on him and began to ask him questions. He ignored them, continuing his preps as fast as humanly possible.