MESSENGER - You're holding your sword.

[There's gentle reproof in the tone. Richie snorts, takes a better grip on his sword.]

RICHIE - You got that right, Einstein.

MESSENGER - But all I want to do is talk.

RICHIE - What about? The weather? Shaq's game? [beat] Or what you're gonna do with my head?

MESSENGER - Peace.

[The word hangs in the air, simple and surprising.]

RICHIE - Good line, pal... but no dice.
 

[MacLeod and JEFFREY, a recently freed slave, are running through the woods. ANOTHER ANGLE: A Confederate PATROL is moving through the trees, on the alert. MACLEOD AND JEFFREY splash through a stream. Jeffrey stumbles and MacLeod slows.]

MACLEOD - Let's stop a minute.

[Jeffrey comes to a stop, breathing hard, resting hands on thighs as he recovers from the run. MacLeod is winded as well. He takes a swig from his canteen, offers it to Jeffrey. Jeffrey is reaching for it when MACLEOD reacts to the sound of a branch breaking. TWO CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS step out from behind the trees nearby, guns leveled at MacLeod and Jeffrey. JEFFREY raises his hands slowly.]

JEFFREY - You got us.

CONFEDERATE - You bet we do.

[He cocks his rifle to fire. Jeffrey's eyes widen in fear. MACLEOD reaches for his pistol. The Confederate Soldier swings his rifle toward MacLeod -- as he expected -- but:]

JEFFREY - NO!

[JEFFREY rushes in front of MacLeod. He goes down hard as he takes the bullet in the leg. TWO MORE CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS emerge from cover. MacLeod and Jeffrey are surrounded. MACLEOD crouches over Jeffrey, stemming the blood, his gun forgotten on the ground beside him. A soldier prods him with a rifle barrel.]

CONFEDERATE - On your feet.

MACLEOD - That bullet shattered his leg. He can't walk!

CONFEDERATE - Then you're gonna carry him. [He points MacLeod's pistol at Jeffrey's head.] Or he's staying here.

[MacLeod helps Jeffrey up.]
 

[A wooden stockade, with high walls, and a fenced off HUT at one end. Through the FORT GATES, several UNION PRISONERS are marched at bayonet-point by thin, predatory CONFEDERATE GUARDS. The new arrivals are mostly intact: uniformed and disciplined, with some walking wounded. Among them -- MacLeod, wearing civvies, helps JEFFREY, a young ex-slave. Jeffrey has a stained bandana tied around a leg wound, and he limps painfully.]

JEFFREY - We don't belong in here, Mr. MacLeod. We ain't even soldiers.

MACLEOD - We'll be okay, Jeffrey. Just stay close. I'm gonna take care of you.

[Jeffrey is too slow, and HICKSON, a tough Confederate Sergeant with a handlebar moustache, prods him.]

MACLEOD - (CONT'D) Let him be. Can't you see he's wounded?

HICKSON - You ride with the devil, you fry with the devil. [beat] Now get goin'. [re Jeffrey] And tell the slave he better hurry.
 

 
JEFFREY - I feel better, Mr. MacLeod. The leg don't hurt any more...

MACLEOD - The nerves are dead.
 

[Culbraith is getting dressed as Hickson enters and stands at attention at the door. He has a dispatch.]

HICKSON - I beg your pardon, sir, but the courier said it was urgent. It's from your brother-in-law.

CULBRAITH - Very well, Sergeant, come in.

[Culbraith reads the dispatch silently to himself. As he reads, his face is covered with despair.]

SAD SOUTHERN VOICE (V.0.) - Dear Colonel, Georgia is burning from Atlanta to the sea. Thousands have died. It grieves me to tell you this, but your wife... my sister... and the children...

[A voice interrupts.]

MACLEOD - (O.S.) Colonel Culbraith.

[Culbraith says nothing. His face hardens into a mask that is beyond pain, beyond hate. MACLEOD stands in the doorway under the watchful eye of a couple of Confederate soldiers.]
 

 
[Culbraith nods to the guards. They level their rifles, back MacLeod out of the hut.]
 

[MacLeod moves back to Jeffrey, sits beside him. Jeffrey is breathing hard, bathed in sweat.]

MACLEOD - I'm sorry.

[It's all he can say. Jeffrey closes his eyes in anguish, knowing the doctor isn't coming, that there's no hope.]

JEFFREY - You tried. You did what you could.

[MacLeod cradles Jeffrey, holding his head up, wipes his fevered brow.]

MACLEOD - It wasn't enough.
 

 
MacLEOD - And if he gets killed doing it?

METHOS - Then nobody's going to be looking for me.
 

 
RICHIE - You're putting me on, right?

MACLEOD - I'm afraid not.

[Richie looks from Methos, to MacLeod and Dawson.]

RICHIE - This guy isn't Methos. He's Adam Pierson.

METHOS - I was for a while. [beat] I gave it up.

RICHIE - I mean, look at him. He's way too...

METHOS - Yes...?

RICHIE - Ordinary.

METHOS - [looks at MacLeod, shrugs] Maybe I should grow a beard.

[He starts away. MacLeod pulls him back. Richie looks to Dawson for help.]
 

 
RICHIE - Are you sure? [beat] I mean, that's what HE said. How do you know it's true?

[MacLeod and Dawson trade looks.]

DAWSON - He's got a point, Mac.

[MacLeod looks to Methos, expecting him to launch into a convincing speech. Instead, Methos shrugs.]

METHOS - I did my part. [to MacLeod] You did yours. [re Richie] And he's gonna believe what he wants to.
 

 
METHOS - It worked.

RICHIE - He didn't know it would.
 

 
[Culbraith reacts to the name. A myth has come to life.]

CULBRAITH - You're not real.

MESSENGER - I think I am.
 

 
MESSENGER - Make the scars any easier to bear? [beat] Your home was destroyed by the Union army. Your family killed... your wife violated.

[Culbraith stares at him, lowers his sword.]

CULBRAITH - Sherman's March.
 

[MacLeod leaves for the new world, telling Darius that he can't be like him.]
 

 
MACLEOD - Why do you think Darius lived on Holy Ground? You don't make peace by throwing away your sword.

MESSENGER - I have.
 

 
MESSENGER - If you would, then kill me first. [He holds MacLeod's eyes.] Choose life, my friend.
 

 
MESSENGER - That's what people think.
 

 
MESSENGER - [smiles the smile of a Gandhi] What else is my life good for?
 

 
METHOS - You don't have to be five thousand years old to have a rap like that.
 

 
METHOS - Richie at least has an excuse. He's young, and the young think with every body part except the brain.
 

[The Messenger is sitting there saying nothing, just looking at Richie.]

RICHIE - What is it? [The silence draws out. Richie grows uncomfortable.] I've been here for twenty minutes and you haven't said a word.

MESSENGER - Go home, Richie.

RICHIE - Why? What'd I do?

MESSENGER - Your sword. [He smiles gently. Richie's hand goes to it.] It's all right.
 

 
MESSENGER - I don't want the temptation or the opportunity.
 

 
RICHIE - Why else am I here?

MESSENGER - Listen to me. If you do this... if you join me... you may die. Others have. [beat] You're risking everything, Richie. Don't let go of that blade unless you're sure.
 

[MacLeod comes out from the kitchen area as Richie steps in from the elevator. Richie's manner is tentative -- he's made a decision, but isn't sure how to announce it.]

MACLEOD - [beat] You hungry? [Richie shakes his head.] Don't suppose you came for a workout either. [beat] So. What happens now?
 

 
CULBRAITH - This is how I am. This is me. I can't be anything else.
 

 
METHOS - So. The Pied Piper gets another one.
 

 
MACLEOD - You got all that from the locker room walls?
 

 
METHOS - Thank you. It's all a matter of anticipation.

DAWSON - Really. Here, have one on me.

[He lifts a brimming glass -- and TIPS it onto Methos' lap. Methos jumps up, drenched.]

METHOS - What the hell was that?!

DAWSON - Just one of those unforeseen dilemmas. [beat] Surprised you didn't anticipate it.
 

[MacLeod and Methos are there. Richie leans against the counter, looking somber and drained. He's been through an emotional wringer.]

RICHIE - I don't even know what his real name was.

MACLEOD - Does it matter?

RICHIE - [shakes his head] I'm sorry he's gone. Maybe he wasn't Methos. Maybe he wasn't right... [beat] But he was good.

MACLEOD - Yes, he was. [in earnest] And for a moment you thought... you hoped real peace for us was possible. [off Richie's nod] Me too.