DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters. "The Magnificent Seven" belong to MGM and Trilogy Entertainment. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’d be a happy woman if Vin belonged to me.....but no such luck. I have not made any profit out of writing this, so please don’t sue me. It would not be worth your while.

Author Comment: Another short, fun piece. If I have included any inaccuracies, please pardon them. I hope you enjoy this story. If you have any comments please let me know. I would love the feedback. By the way, I want to thank all of the wonderful people who took the time to comment on my previous stories. SPECIAL THANKS to Mady, Darla, Debbie and Trish. Your time, feedback, corrections and support have helped me to improve my writing.

Vin entered the livery, blowing away on his harmonica and thinking of nothing at all. He was particularly happy today, though he really didn’t know why. Life was good.

The young tracker pocketed the small instrument that he’d been thrashing, for Vin didn’t actually play the harmonica, he crucified it, and moved along the stalls, caressing the muzzles of each of the horses as he went by. There was movement in the cubicle at the far end of the stable. Glancing up, Vin spotted Ezra. The gambler had his back to him. The curious tracker made his way toward his friend, listening intently to the peculiar sounds the other man was making. Wait a minute, it sounded like he was groaning! Vin leaped forward and gasped. The entire front of Ezra’s shirt was splattered with blood!

The tracker shot into the stall and grabbed his friend, applying pressure to his chest where the greatest amount of haemorrhaging was. "It’s alright, Ez, relax. I’ll get..." Vin stopped. "What the..."

"Mr. Tanner what are you babbling about? Unhand me!" Vin removed his arm and glanced down at his red smeared appendage. Ezra’s eyes softened when he noted the look of deep concern on his companion’s young face. "It is paint, my friend."

"Paint?"

"Yes."

Ezra was dressed in a long art smock that was covered in scarlet paint. There were other colors that had carelessly, or more correctly, artistically been splashed there during a creative frenzy, but Vin’s eyes had been drawn to the blood red. Naturally, fearing the worst, he had panicked and desperately sort to offer assistance.

Recovering from the initial shock, the tracker glanced around the stall. Ezra had an easel set up at one end and a small table directly next to it. The table contained a palette of brightly colored paints and a jar accommodating several different sized brushes.

"You’re a painter?"

"Artist, my friend. An artist. I have many hidden talents, Mr. Tanner."

Vin glanced down at his paint smudged hand and then reached out and roughly wiped it on a clean part of Ezra’s smock. "Where did all of this stuff come from?"

"I ordered it through a catalogue and it arrived on the last stage. Come, look," Ezra cried. He had suddenly begun bouncing around like an excited youngster on Christmas morning. My first showing to the public! "Mr. Tanner, feast your eyes on my coup-de-maitre!" Anyone would have thought that he was introducing Vin to the Queen of England. His arm arched in a huge flourish as he revealed his chef-d’oeuvre.

Vin approached the easel and frowned. Pursing his lips, he tipped his head to the left about ten degrees... then twenty degrees, then forty-five degrees. The piece of canvass had splashes of paint all over it, but no definable shapes. "What is it?"

Ezra was beaming with such pride that he failed to notice the puzzlement in his friend’s voice. "Just look at the suppleness of stoke and the linear colors complimenting a modification of significant blending tints."

Vin continued to stare at the ‘mess’ in front of him. "Yeah, but what is it?"

"Clearly the artist has created a bilaterally discreet exposition of harmony and mutual respect for an alternative reappraisal of effervescence." Standish was in a world of his own. "The relationship between the areas of difference and similarity along with the compromise and cooperation of colors is truly extraordinary."

Vin glanced at Ezra and then back at the canvass. "Yeah, but what is it?"

"I beg your pardon," Ezra cried, suddenly remembering Vin was there and only then registering the question. "It is a parity demonstrating and paralleling a complex social structure that is not easily comprehended by those who choose not to have the facility to listen, accept or understand the altruistic conflict some of us must endure just to exist."

"What the hell are you talkin’ about, Ezra? I just want to know what it is?"

"Actually, it is me."

"You?!"

"I call it "Maintenant l’Excellence".

"Huh?

"It is French for Maintaining Excellence."

Vin shook his head. "You’re crazy Ezra. That ain’t no picture of you. It ain’t a picture of nothin’. Just looks like a chook ran across the board with paint on it’s feet."

"It is not meant to be a picture as such!" Ezra snapped, becoming annoyed at Vin’s lack of enthusiasm and appreciation for his obvious talent. "It is supposed to symbolize one man’s struggle to maintain perfection against insurmountable odds!"

"Ohhhh, then you shoulda called it Turkey?

"Mr. Tanner, dare I inquire as to why?" Vin just stood staring back at Ezra with large innocent eyes. The gambler suddenly found himself feeling guilty for snapping at this young man who had so quickly rushed to his aid when he had believed he was injured. "Turkey?"

"Yeah, it’s hard to soar like an eagle when you were born a turkey," Vin laughed. No, Vin didn’t have book learning, but he knew how to use words very effectively. One man’s struggle to maintain perfection, indeed!

"Yes, very amusing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I wish to start on my second piece."

Ezra lifted the painting off the easel and propped it up against the wall of the stall to dry. Then he selected one of the dozen blank canvases neatly stacked on the floor and placed it on the frame in readiness to receive his next masterpiece.

"You know, you should try painting, Mr. Tanner. It frees your spirit and allows you to express yourself in a way that is indescribable."

"You can say that again," Vin muttered, still eyeing Ezra’s first creation.

"Now, I do believe that I should wash these brushes and then I shall return to conceive another piece of artistic wonderment."

"Yeah, you do that, Ez."

When Ezra returned, he was stunned to find Vin standing in front of the easel with a paintbrush in his hand. Stepping up beside his young friend, Ezra’s eyes widened and a half-grin melted onto his face. Vin had obviously been experimenting with the colors and had mixed so many that now they had combined to form an ugly brown smudge in the middle of the canvas. Ezra glanced at his friend’s face only to discover that Vin was looking particularly pleased with himself.

"And I call it..." Vin declared, indicating the letters crudely painted at the top of the picture. They weren’t the most beautifully formed letters, but thanks to Mary, Vin knew how to write what he needed to. The word scrawled above the painted blob was, "Lowdakrap"

Ezra eyed the title intently. "L.o.....w.d.a..krrrra....pp." Ezra sounded out aloud. "Is it a Mexican or Indian word?"

"You keep sayin’ it Ez, you’ll work it out," Vin stated, turning and heading out of the stall.

"Lo..wda..krra....pp," Ezra repeated. "Low..da..krr...ap. Loada.. Kr...app." Ezra started to smile and before he knew it, he was laughing. "Load of Crap!"

© October 2000 Brigitta B. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to MGM and Trilogy Entertainment and thank them sincerely for turning a blind eye so I can borrow them. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.