And winced. The light was like millions of sharp daggers, poking him in the eyes and into his head. Marty groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, rolling over. The move aggravated his stomach, which was informing him that he had only so long before it would be rebelling with last night's dinner.

"Good, you're awake. I was starting to get a little concerned."

Marty recognized the voice as Doc's, but he felt too ill to bother with visually confirming it, as well as trying to figure out the rest of his current surroundings. His head was hurting too much for him to think.

"Had you managed not to pass out in the woods," Doc went on, "I suspect you might be feeling less ill. Drinking water before going to bed help prevents that, you know. When people drink alcohol, it dehydrates them, and the dehydration is what makes them hungover the next day."

Marty blinked under the blankets. Temporarily ignoring, or doing his best to ignore, the aches in his body, he pulled the blanket back to look at the scientist -- and moaned at the brightness of the early morning sunlight. It took every ounce of self control not to squeeze his eyes shut against it and retreat to underneath the blanket again. "What're you talking about?" he muttered.

Doc was leaning over him, frowning a little. "How much of last night do you remember?"

Marty didn't want to think now; he didn't know if he could. "I dunno," he said, reaching up to rub his forehead. "Was there a party last night?"

Doc nodded slowly. Watching the motion, Marty felt a rather unhealthy sensation of dizziness that turned his stomach. Sweat broke out across his forehead at the realization he was going to get sick, and soon. He sat up, slowly, tentatively. Perhaps his feelings were reflected in his face; Doc took a step back.

"Do you feel sick?" he asked.

Marty didn't trust himself to nod or speak. Instead, he scrambled to his feet, stumbling and nearly falling right on his face from his foot getting tangled in the blankets. He hurried as fast as he could and managed to make it just outside the wagon circle before he couldn't fight it anymore, bent over, and lost last night's meal in the weeds. When his stomach finally settled down, it took all of Marty's concentration to not fall back to the ground and lie there in a ball of misery. He settled instead for leaning against a nearby tree, eyes closed, trying to pretend he was somewhere else.

Eventually, he heard footsteps approach from behind. "Are you feeling any better now?" Doc asked.

"Can we go home now?" he whispered, not opening his eyes. "I think I'm dying."

"Now, Marty, you know as well as I do that that would be impossible. I'm sure in a few hours you'll be singing a different tune." Doc's tone was harsh, which greatly surprised the teen. It almost sounded like sarcasm, which was greatly unlike the scientist, especially with his friends. Marty opened his eyes and looked over at him, seeing a rather annoyed frown on his face.

"Jeez, Doc, what's wrong with you? Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed today? I feel like I should be on my death bed and you're just standing there telling me that things aren't as crappy as they seem."

"Forgive me for being less than sympathetic, but you brought this on yourself."

Marty stared at him, squinting against the early morning sunlight. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You were drunk, Marty." Never before had the teen heard his friend sound so disappointed in him. "How could you do that sort of thing here and now? Don't you know how dangerous it is -- and how stupid?"

"I was drunk?" Marty said. "How's that possible? I didn't drink any alcohol!"

Doc snorted softly. "Clearly, you did."

Marty shook his head hard, though the gesture threatened to upset his still irritated stomach. "Doc, I wouldn't do that," he said. "You should know that. I hardly ever drink, 'cept sometimes maybe at parties, and even then I never go out and get all plastered." He felt mortally wounded that the inventor would think he'd do something so foolish, especially on a trip through time.

Doc looked at him hard a long moment. "What did you eat and drink last night?" he asked.

Things were still a little foggy in his aching brain, but he did remember some of that. "I had some of those hard biscuits and some stew someone made," he said. "And later, Celeste gave me some apple cider."

"And you drank that?"

"I didn't want to, but I did. It wasn't that bad, but it burned when it went down--" He stopped, something suddenly occurring to him. "You think that had booze in it?"

"Probably. It wasn't very uncommon to really use that sort of thing in beverages, since the water quality could be so dicey. You didn't taste it?" Doc sounded skeptical.

"No -- it was heated. I've never had a heated drink before. And the thing had a ton of spices in it. Celeste even had some, and she didn't seem drunk."

"How much did you have?"

Marty had to think again. What memories he did have now were still rather fuzzy. "Not more than two, I think," he said. "I had the one Celeste gave me and the one Buck did. I didn't really want to have another, but he did something... I don't remember what... and I felt that I had to or I'd be in trouble."

Doc sighed. "You accepted a drink from a Tannen and didn't know what was in it?"

"He let his daughter try it first," Marty said, remembering that detail. "I figured it he was gonna do that then it had to be safe."

Doc sighed again. He didn't look as angry now, which relieved Marty, though he still seemed mildly annoyed. "I would've thought you of all people would be more careful with Tannens," he said.

Marty rubbed his damp forehead, his stomach telling him that he wouldn't be able to put off puking again for much longer. What the hell did I drink last night? he wondered. Turpentine? "Why'd he get me drunk, though? That doesn't make sense."

Doc shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps he hoped to humiliate you in public. Do you remember what happened last night after you had the cider?"

"I think Celeste took me for a walk in the woods. I know that I got real lost out there, but that's about it." He paused to swallow hard against the increasing nausea. "How did I get back?"

"I found you, and not long after, you passed out. I'm not surprised you're blacking that out." Doc glanced back over his shoulder at the campsite. "They're loading up the wagons now, and I think they're going to start on their way. We need to get back."

Marty moaned at the very idea of being on his feet all day, hiking. "Can't we just stay here for a few hours?" he asked weakly.

"It's not possible. You'll just have to tough it out."

"You don't have any Tylenol with you? Or Pepto Bismol?"

"No, I didn't think to bring some -- not that it would really help you out anyway. You'll just have to take it easy today and drink lots and lots of water. Time is about the only thing that can cure a hangover."

"Take it easy, my ass," Marty half snorted. "I get a choice between walking in the hot sun twenty miles, or lie in a hard, bumpy wagon all day." He moaned again as both his head and stomach throbbed. "God, I feel like shit."

Doc shrugged. "Sorry."

The scientist had to help him back over to the camp, as Marty's reflexes were still a little off and he felt rather dizzy. He hadn't gone more than ten steps away from the tree when he had to pull away from Doc and lean over to get sick again. His friend waited patiently for him to finish, then helped him continue the walk without a word. The lectures were over, and Marty had a feeling that Doc was going to let the teen's body do the punishing part for his idiocy. Why had he accepted a drink from a Tannen, anyway? Marty supposed he was getting what he deserved, especially considering that this wasn't the first time he'd gotten in trouble by accepting a similar offer.

By the time they returned to the wagons, his head was starting up a fierce pounding that rivaled the nausea coming in peaks and waves. Clara, who was checking that everything was secured on their wagon, looked up at their arrival, her face concerned as she took in Marty.

"How are you this morning?"

"Been better," Marty muttered, wincing at the sour taste in his mouth. "Can I get some water?"

His friend's wife nodded and fetched him a cup quickly. Marty took the first mouthful to rinse, and drank the rest with a speed that surprised him. Then he crawled into the wagon until they were about to move, both to get off his feet and escape the burn of the sun. When he finally had to get on his feet again, or risk feeling even sicker from the rough motion of the wagon, he put his hat on and pulled the brim of it way down over his eyes, the best he could do in a time without sunglasses.

They hadn't been hiking very long before Marty saw Celeste. She saw him, then, before he could catch her eye, she looked away so fast that her straw bonnet nearly flew off her head. Marty didn't get it. He hurried to catch up with her as fast as he could in his achy condition.

"Celeste," he said when he was within her earshot. "What's wrong?"

Celeste glanced at him, her expression both hurt and angry. "Nothin', sir," she said, facing forward again and quickening her pace. Her legs were long; Marty had to almost jog to keep up with her.

"What happened last night?" he asked in a low voice, leaning forward. "What the hell did your father put in those drinks?"

"Ain't nothin' unusual," she said. "I think he put some of his corn liquor in, and I'll admit your drinks were rather strong -- my lips got numbed from that sip I had -- but it's nothin' that could kill you." She paused, sweeping her eyes quickly down his body. "Though I suspect you're not feelin' like that's the case."

Marty felt his face flush at the realization she had known what was in the cider, and not mentioned it at all. "I can't believe you didn't tell me that earlier!" he exclaimed, loud enough for a few heads to turn.

Celeste didn't bother to look at him. "Why?" she asked. "It didn't seem important. An' I figured you wouldn't notice if you were a real man. My pa goes through a bottle before stumbin' around from the drink. I didn't think you'd make a Virginia fence."

Marty ignored the crack about his tolerance and manhood -- frankly, he wasn't surprised it took a bottle to get to a Tannen, between their size, temperament, and likelihood of frequent drinking -- and decided not to puzzle over her crack about Virginia fences in his effort to focus on the more important issues. "I don't care if you think it's not a big deal. I trusted your word that the stuff was safe to drink -- and that included not dumping a ton of booze in it."

Celeste shrugged. "I don't much care what you think now," she said in a cold voice. "Leave me alone, Marty -- an' that's an order, not a request." With that, she kicked up her stride until she was nearly running. Marty was so stunned that he stopped dead in his tracks.

What the hell? he wondered. I just don't get women.

* * *

It wasn't until the evening when Doc first heard about the robbery and got his first real inkling about the dark reasons behind Buck Tannen's spiking of Marty's cider. During dinner, when most everyone was gathered around the campfire, eating and socializing, a woman had broken into the circle, her face a mixture of anger and fear. "My diamonds!" she burst out, her hands clenched in fists at her side. "Somebody took my diamonds!"

Buck Tannen sprung to his feet almost immediately, nearly upending his tin plate all over his lap. "What was that, Mrs. Swenson?" he asked.

The woman -- Mrs. Swenson -- fixed everyone in the circle with a hard, suspicious gaze. "My diamonds, my jewels, they are missing. My great-grandmother was given the necklace by her husband back in Sweden generations ago. They are priceless in both value and to my family." She spoke with a strong Swedish accent, yet her English was remarkably well for some who was probably new to the U.S.

Buck looked concerned, yet his expression did not have any depth to it. It almost looked to the scientist as an act, a mask that was being worn for the train's benefit. Clara must have shared that opinion, for she leaned towards her husband and murmured, "Why do I get the feeling that this news isn't bothering him?"

Doc shrugged. "I think you're right, though," he whispered. "Tannen's not surprised at all."

Their trail leader, meanwhile, continued his questions to the distraught pioneer. "What makes you think someone stole it?" Buck asked Mrs. Swenson. "Was there any sign of that?"

Mrs. Swenson shot him an angry look. "Yes, someone stole it. T'was locked away in a box last night and this evening I saw someone had... how you say... broked the lock and take my diamonds." She sniffed. "I noticed that whoever it was splashed liquor all over the inside of the box. It was not an Indian, as I know you want to say."

Doc and Clara looked at each other. "You don't think--" she began in a whisper.

"--it could be Marty?" Doc finished. "Great Scott, I hope not. But he was missing for a while last night. And even he can't remember everything that happened."

It had been a long day for Marty, one that the inventor was sure he wouldn't soon forget. He had lagged behind most of the day, a look of pale pain on his face. He had stopped once or twice to be sick again before his stomach had apparently rid itself of the last of its contents. Doc had to hand it to him -- he didn't voice a word of complaint during the hike. During lunch, he had picked at his food, doing the same with dinner before announcing he was going to lie down in the wagon in the hopes of easing a "killer headache." That had been half an hour ago, and they hadn't heard from him since.

Meanwhile, Buck Tannen was scanning the circle, his eyes narrowed in thoughtful expression. "Who was it drinkin' last night? I know I wasn't."

Everyone looked at each other, at their family members and friends, and suddenly began to whisper in low tones about what they had done the night before, and where they had been. Doc looked at his wife again.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," he said to her in a low voice.

"Do you think Marty did it?" she asked him.

Doc hesitated. "Ethically, it's not like him at all. But with him drinking last night and his memory loss--" What he was about to say ground to a halt as the pieces suddenly started to side into place.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps he hoped to humiliate you in public."

"Great Scott," Doc breathed. It all fit. Buck Tannen had gotten Marty drunk to set him up for a robbery, and they probably had less than five minutes before all hell would break loose.

Clara turned at her husband's exclamation. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

The scientist grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "We have to see Marty."

They edged away from the crowd unnoticed as the voices from the pioneers grew louder and louder as everyone tried to get an alibi. As they headed to their wagon, Doc happened to glance back and saw Tannen watching them, silently. Buck caught his eye and smiled. The expression sent a chill down Doc's back. It was smug, self satisfied.

They were going to be in big trouble soon.

Marty had lit one of the lanterns in the wagon, though it was just now getting dark out. Inside, they found him stretched out on the floor, a damp cloth resting on his forehead. Marty's eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and deep. Doc knew he was asleep. He looked at Clara as they climbed into the wagon and knelt beside Marty.

"Do we have to wake him?" she asked.

Doc sighed. "I think so," he said. "I have a bad feeling about this." He shook Marty's arm. "Marty? Marty, we need to talk to you."

Marty muttered something and tried to roll over. Doc caught him by the shoulder and shook him again. "This is important," he said in his best no-nonsense voice. Something in his tone apparently got through to the teen; Marty opened his eyes slowly, though not without complaint.

"I just got to sleep," he said, whining the words out. "What gives?"

"Emmett," Clara said softly from the foot of the wagon, where she was peering out between the flaps. "The group is heading this way."

Doc turned around as quickly as he could in the cramped wagon and looked out. Just as Clara had said, it appeared all the pioneers who had been around the main campfire were coming over, led by Buck. The Tannen wore a peculiar expression under the circumstances -- a smile of happy anticipation.

"Damn," he hissed. Marty raised his head at the exclamation, looking at the scientist.

"What's wrong?" he asked, still sounding a little groggy.

"If I'm not mistaking, you're about to be accused of a robbery."

"What?!"

"Are you in there, thief?" Buck called. "Come on out, 'less you gots somethin' to hide!"

Marty sat up and peeked outside between the canvas flaps. He gasped, then turned back to Doc. "What's going on out there?"

"Tannen's got them thinking you stole diamonds last night from one of the pioneers -- he set you up!" Doc explained it all as quietly as he could. "That's why he got you drunk last night, Marty."

Marty leaned back against the canvas wall and sighed, looking miserable. "This is too heavy," he muttered.

Clara peeked outside again and bit her lower lip. "They're getting annoyed," she said, concerned.

"If you don't come outta there, then I'm gonna go in there," Buck warned.

Marty looked up at Doc. "What do we do now?" he asked softly. "You have a way to get out of this... right?"

Doc felt his face flush. "Ah, well, no not really." He paused a moment, thinking rapidly as Marty started to look rather panicked. "Clara, is anyone out there armed?"

His wife glanced outside again. "Not that I can tell," she said.

The answer wasn't particularly encouraging, but it was better than nothing. "I guess we can't do anything now but see what they have planned," he said, not without regret.

Marty groaned softly. "I don't think I'm gonna like this."

Nevertheless, he reached over and pulled back a flap of the canvas back. Before Doc even knew what was happening, the crowd caught sight of Marty pausing in the window. Buck Tannen, standing right before the back of the wagon, reached his burly arms in, grabbed hold of Marty's shirt, and yanked him bodily out of the wagon. Doc was out of the wagon faster than he thought possible, just in time to see Buck throw Marty against the side of the buckboard wagon.

"Where're those diamonds you stole from the Swensons?" Buck demanded, leaning in close.

Marty tried to pull away from him, a task made difficult by the grip Buck had him in, and being up against a solid object. "I didn't steal anything!" he protested, angry. "Lay off!"

Tannen kept a firm hold of him. "Then you won't mind if we search you 'n your stuff?" It was more statement then question.

Marty threw him a look of utter contempt as he continued to struggle to free himself. "Go ahead!"

Buck smiled at the challenging tone in Marty's voice. He called two men over and had them hold the ever struggling teen as Buck personally checked his pockets. Marty scowled at the treatment, his eyes narrowed. Doc didn't blame him in the least.

"Hasn't he an overcoat?" Tannen asked, when his search was conducted and turned up nothing. Marty didn't answer, his lips pressed tightly together in what appeared to Doc as an attempt to deal with his temper. Buck waited only a minute for his answer, or lack thereof, before swiveling his head to Doc. "I know he's got a coat," he said, his eyes as hard and as cold as ice. "Where is it?"

The scientist wanted to help out the Tannen as much as Marty did. "Why would you even want to see that?" he asked. "Marty wasn't wearing it at all last night."

"Don't mean a thing," Buck said. And before Doc could stop him, Tannen shoved Marty into the arms of a couple burly men and climbed into their wagon.

"Tannen!" Doc barked out before he could stop himself. "Get out of there!"

"Sounds like you're hidin' somethin' to me," Buck said from inside, not making any move to leave. "Ah, got it!"

He emerged clutching Marty's overcoat, which Doc thought it had taken him far too little time to locate, considering that he himself really hadn't known where it was. Buck dug through the pockets quickly, frowning intently as he plowed his way through them. When he hit the second one, his expression changed marginally, and a moment later his fist emerged clutching something that glittered in the light of the campfire. The pioneers gasped as Tannen held it up, his pose almost one of triumph, and opened his palm for all to see what lay there. It was a diamond necklace.

"I knew it!" Buck crowed, waving the booty in the air. He swiveled his head over to look at Marty. "You little liar...."

Marty stared at Tannen with wide eyes, his face a little pale. "I don't know how that got there," he said.

"Don't matter," Buck said. "It's there, an' it's clear what's happened." He looked to the pioneers. "We have our man, no doubt. Now what are we gonna do with 'im?" He paused dramatically, staring at Marty for a long moment, then handed the jewels to Mrs. Swenson. "Here're your diamonds, ma'am."

"I didn't take those!" Marty said, sounding angry.

Buck held up his hand, turning so fast that Doc thought he was going to slap Marty. "Quiet!" he barked. "It's so clear that you did it, I don't even know why I'm gonna do this, but 'cause I'm a nice guy, I will. With it bein' so clear that you're guilty, I can go an' serve justice right now by hangin'."

Marty's face went white. Doc felt his own blood drain from his cheeks. Buck smiled at the expression on the teen's face, looking like the proverbial cat that had dined on canary. "But tomorrow we're gonna hold a little trial, so you can tell your side of the story. And we'll let the people decide what's what. But if you're found guilty...." Tannen smiled slowly. "You'll be hung."

A series of emotions flickered across Marty's face -- disbelief, fear, and finally anger. The last one stuck around the longest, causing the teen to draw himself up and pull away, hard, though not quite hard enough to free himself from the grip of the two burly men. "I didn't steal that necklace," he snapped. "Now let me go!"

"No," Buck said.

Marty threw him a scathing glare, not giving up his struggle to free himself. When one of the men lost his grip for a second when Marty elbowed him in the stomach, Buck strode over to one of the wagons close by, grabbed a cast iron kettle, and snuck up behind Marty. Doc knew what was going to happen, but was too late to stop it.

"Marty, watch out!" he shouted.

Marty reacted by looking up at Doc, just as Buck brought the kettle down on the back of his head, making a sickening thump. Marty blinked once, then sagged back into his captor's grip as his eyes felt shut. The two men staggered a bit with the sudden limp weight of him in their arms.

Doc sucked in a sharp breath, both in horror at what had happened to Marty and in anger at this Tannen from the past. Perhaps his face showed the latter; Clara reached out then and touched his arm, gently but firmly, reminding the scientist that losing his temper now and storming over there to give Buck a taste of his own medicine wasn't going to be the most prudent move.

Physical violence Doc could avoid, but he couldn't hold back the words at the back of his throat. "You bastard!" he hissed at the Tannen. "Why did you hurt him?"

Buck looked at Marty's still form for a moment as the men settled him on the ground, then tossed the kettle back into the wagon where it had come from. "It's his fault for not cooperatin' and fightin' too much," he said, sounding almost satisfied with his explanation. "He was makin' it too difficult to get him properly captured."

"I'm sure you wouldn't have done the same at all!" Doc snapped, unable to stop the sarcasm. "This isn't fair and just behavior, even if you think he's a suspect in a crime!"

Buck snapped for a moment. "I did what had to be done!" he yelled, the brunt of his words directed to Doc. "Don't you be accusin' me of not bein' fair! I'm a real fair man, an' I'd treat anyone this way if I thought they were a danger to us. This kid is a thief, an' as one he's apt to other bad behaviors. If he hadn't been fightin', I wouldn't've struck 'im."

"He's not a thief!" Doc said firmly, certain of that to the marrow. "Marty would never do something like that -- even if he was rather inebriated last night!"

Buck rolled his eyes, as if bored. "I believe the facts speak for themselves," he said, calming down a little. "If he's really innocent, it'll show up at his trial. If not...." Buck's lips twitched into a smirk that reminded Doc most uneasily of his descendent Biff. "Well, that's a pity."

Marty blinked once, waking with a start. His skin, bathed in a cold sweat, felt sticky and clammy, and a nauseatingly sharp pain shot through his head from the back. Shadows surrounded him, making it impossible to get a fix on where he was. He moaned softly as he shifted under the sheet that someone had covered him with, wondering if this was the result of another experience with Buck Tannen's cider. He heard a faint movement from his right and a cool, damp cloth brushed his forehead. To Marty's dazed and aching head, it could mean only one thing.