"Boy howdy, it'll be good to get back home," Heath said as he handed his bag to the old porter at the train station.

He turned and picked up Victoria's bag and handed it off as well.

"Well, Little Brother, don't think just because you put in a little time in those Cattlemens' meetings that you can take it easy when we get back," said Nick.

"A little time?" said Heath. "I thought those fellas were gonna talk all night... don't think I've ever sat in one place that long." He put his hands on his hips and stretched his back, groaning.

"Good, then you won't mind ridin' those broncs I've been savin' for you up in the north pasture." Nick said. "Bet you won't be sittin' them very long." He winked at Victoria.

"It'll sure beat ridin' that chair I've been in the last couple days." Heath grinned.

"Well, I hope you won't be too busy to help Audra with that new colt," said Victoria, "I'm sure she's anxious to start working him."

"If I know her she'll probably have him half saddle broke by the time we get back," said Nick. "You know she's not one to wait for us when she wants something done."

Victoria smiled, thinking of her strong-willed daughter. Yes, she thought, Audra was a skilled horsewoman in her own right, and she wouldn't think twice about starting that colt without her brother's help. She worried though, the colt was big and strong and could easily be dangerous if Audra wasn't careful. She hoped that Jarrod would talk her into waiting until Heath got home to help her with it.

Victoria sighed. She was tired and longed for home too. It had been nice visiting with her friends the week that they'd been away, but she found herself glad to be heading back. It was early in the year, just hinting at spring, a good time to travel. It was too early for the demanding work of planting, and seeing to new calves at the ranch, yet late enough that the cool weather had finally started to give way and hint at few warmer days. The nights were still bitterly cold in the higher areas, and there was still the chance for spring snow there, but it was warmer in the Valley.

Heath and Nick had traveled with her, both of them intending to attend the Cattlemens' Association meetings. But, seeing that Heath could handle things on his own at the meetings, Nick had decided to visit friends' ranches in the area with Victoria.

Heath was pleased, at first, to be trusted to represent the family business by himself in the midst of the most influential ranchers in the state. However, by mid-week his pleasure had turned to weariness and he suspected that Nick had deliberately pulled one over on him. Heath was stuck sitting up half the night in smoke filled meetings with pompous braggarts, while Nick viewed fine horses and sampled vintage wines at the ranches. At least he'd get to try some of the wine, Heath thought, as he watched them load a few cases supplied by their generous friends into one of the box cars.

They handed the last of their luggage to the porter. Looking down the line of train cars, Heath noticed a couple of cavalry soldiers standing near one of the box cars. Two more men in blue uniforms were boarding one of the passenger cars.

"A lot of security for a trip to Stockton," he said to the old porter.

"Yep, they got boxes of sumpthin' special loaded in there." He nodded toward the car with the soldiers standing outside it. "Oh, they won't tell us what's in there," he said, but I got it figgered out fer myself." He winked at Heath.

"How's that?" Heath asked.

"Don't you see it?" the porter grinned, "those blue boys are jumpier 'n a long tailed cat in a room full 'o rockin' chairs." He leaned toward Heath, "I betcha they got gold in them crates," he whispered.

"Well, then," Heath said, playing along, "we better hope nobody robs the train and mistakes our cases of wine for those crates or we're gonna be real unhappy," he smiled.

They walked back down the platform and waited to board the train. Ahead of them, a young cavalry private was standing in line at one of the cars.

When the private saw them coming, he stepped aside, and speaking to Victoria said, "Please ma'am, after you."

"Why thank you," she said, smiling.

She accepted his hand, which he'd offered to assist her in stepping up onto the train. Then he stood aside and waited, allowing Nick and Heath to step up after her, then climbed the stairs himself. As they stood and waited to be seated, Heath turned and smiled at the young man and introduced himself.

The young man responded, "Private William Mitchell, nice to meet you Mr. Barkley."

Private Mitchell was slender and not too tall, with sandy hair and the hint of a few freckles across his nose. He was suntanned and wiry, strong for his slim build, and made a pleasant impression in his clean blue uniform.

The young man's politeness and eagerness of youth made Heath smile. He watched as Private Mitchell and a second soldier, also very young looking, took their seats.

They walked down the aisle, passing a distinguished-looking gentleman banker Victoria knew from her business dealings in Stockton. He smiled and tipped his hat as they passed. She smiled back and nodded at him. Nick and Victoria found a seat together on one side facing the rear of the train. Heath took a seat on the other side of the aisle from them across from two finely dressed pretty young ladies. They smiled shyly as he sat down, and he glanced over at Nick who had already noticed them.

"Why you sly...." Nick said, looking over at Heath. "There you are with two lovely ladies to look at all the way home, and here I am sitting across from a couple of cowboys. No offense intended, of course," he said, turning to the two men seated across from him.

"None taken," one said, looking up from his newspaper.

"No!" Nick said, looking from one to the other. "It can't be..... Alan Redlin? and Russ? Russell Avery?"

The men looked at him. "Yeah?" said one, a little unsure.

Then, recognition dawning, the man Nick referred to as Russell Avery said, "Hey, Nick? Why Little Nick Barkley, is that you?"

Heath could see that Nick was obviously happy to see these two men. He could hardly contain a snicker at how red Nick turned at the 'Little Nick' reference in front of the ladies. He looked over at Nick and smirked. Nick shot him the meanest scowl he could come up with, but it quickly turned into a wide grin as he turned back toward Alan and Russ.

"By golly but its been a long time." Nick said, then, remembering his manners, he said, "You remember my mother..."

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Barkley, its nice to see you," said Alan. Russ nodded and put his hand to the brim of his hat.

"And you as well," she said politely, looking from one to the other.

As she looked at them, she reflected on how they had changed since she had seen them last. Alan, with his wavy black hair and piercing dark eyes, and Russ with his mouse-brown hair and thin mustache, their features hadn't changed much, just seemed hardened by time and life. They both had that weathered look of the cowboys, men who spent most of their lives working outdoors in the wind and sun.

"It must be ten years," said Nick.

"Pretty near," said Alan, "why you were just a gangly youngster back then."

"He seems to have grown some, wouldn't you say?" said Russ, looking Nick up and down.

"He certainly has," said Alan.

"Oh," said Nick, "the one with the blonde hair and the smirk on his face over there is my younger brother Heath."

"Heath," said Alan, tipping his hat, and nodding in Heath's direction.

His brow furrowed, "Funny, I don't remember you having a younger brother."

"Heath came to live with us after you boys left the valley," said Nick. "So what have you been up to since we've seen you? And what are you doing on a train to Stockton?"

"We're here on business," said Alan, "and to tell you what we've been doing for the last ten years would be a very long story." He glanced at Russ, who nodded in agreement.

"And speaking of business," Alan said, "I'm sorry, but you must excuse us, there are a couple of gentlemen in the next car that we promised to speak with about that."

"Well you must come out to the ranch and visit while you're in Stockton," Nick said.

"We might," said Alan. "Of course how long we have depends on how successful our business transaction goes."

"I'd sure like you to see the place again, come out as soon as you're able," said Nick cheerfully. "You do remember where it is?" he teased.

Alan and Russ nodded and smiled, then excused themselves to Victoria and Heath, and walked out the back door of the car. Nick's eyes were merry as he watched them go. Victoria looked over at Heath, who still appeared amused. Heath got up, crossed the aisle, and slid into the seat across from Nick and Victoria that the men had just left.

"So, 'Little Nick,' seems to me you never mentioned these fellas before," Heath said with a teasing grin.

"Oh, I'm surprised that he hasn't told you about them," Victoria said. "They used to be ranch hands at our place. Nick followed them around so much that sometimes I had to keep him in the house just so they could get some work done."

"Now Mother," Nick said, blushing, "they taught me to ride, to rope, just about everything.... after...." he paused.

"After your father died," Victoria said. "Yes, Jarrod was off to school, and those two boys, well they were a few years older than Nick, they came to work at the ranch one summer. Nick spent a lot of time with them." She looked at Nick. "I remember how sad you were when they left the ranch."

"Well, they were growing up," said Nick, somewhat wistfully, "they wanted to seek their fortunes, find adventure. Can't fault them for that."

Back in the smoking car, two men stood off to one end talking, their voices low.

"Our information was right," he said, "except for the two officers, this detail's mostly green."

"Yeah, seems they figured the rest of the transport route was more at risk - saved the experienced troopers for the second leg."

"Good, when we take care of those two officers, we'll just have the privates to deal with."

"It'll have to be done soon, before the train gets to the pass."

"I know. I figured a way. Shouldn't be too hard once we've been going for a while."

After a few more chops with the axe, the tree split with a loud crack and fell across the tracks. They looked to the north. In the distance they could see the grey puffs of smoke from the train rising up through the trees in the valley.

"Here she comes! Right on time."

"I hope they got the job done right, or we could be in for quite a fight."

"It'll get done. We should have no more than maybe four or five left to deal with - remember, it's not the whole company on the train, the rest of that cavalry detail is waitin' for 'em in Stockton."

"Somebody better tell 'em not to hold supper. They'll be waitin' a long time!" they laughed.

The train chugged up a long gradual incline, the course of the tracks lined with scrubby sage and tan rock outcroppings. As it reached the higher elevations, the track leveled out, and the train traveled on a long slow curve cut into the rocky slopes, passing over cold rain-swollen streams and through grey-green pines.

Coming upon a long straightaway, the engineer looked ahead down the tracks and saw the obstruction. He hadn't been going very fast, having just made the curve, but he knew it would take quite a distance to stop. He eased the brakes on gently, then more firmly, hoping not to jar the passengers too much as he brought the train to a stop.

"We're stopping," said Victoria, "I wonder what's wrong."

"Probably just something on the tracks." said Heath.

He leaned back in his seat with his hat over his eyes, unconcerned. He had been trying to catch a little nap, but the chatty passengers behind him had kept up a running banter he had been unable to shut out.

Before the train even came to a full stop the robbers were upon it. Two men climbed aboard the engine and subdued the men there. Three more quickly entered the two passenger cars and secured them before the startled passengers even realized what was happening. Two more climbed on to the box car being guarded by the soldiers and surprised the ones who had stepped out to see why the train had stopped.

The robbers had moved swiftly, aiming handguns and rifles at the terrified passengers, making sure there was no interference with their operation. So the old porter was right, Heath thought, they really must be shipping gold on this train.

The gunmen ordered everyone to move to the front of the car, trying to keep the passengers controlled where they could see them. Keeping their guns trained on the passengers, the gunmen had ordered everyone to give them their weapons. Nick and Heath reluctantly took off their gun belts, and handed them over. After disarming the two young soldiers, they shoved them toward the front with the rest. The gunmen took the weapons and tossed them back to their associates. They searched the banker, and found a small pearl-handled derringer in his coat. They took it and shoved him backwards up the aisle and into a seat.

Motioning to Nick with the rifle, the gunman ordered, "Get them hands up!"

Nick raised his hands. Seething with anger, he looked for a way to overpower the men.

"All right now get up there! Move!" the gunman demanded.

He jammed the rifle barrel into Nick's ribs and shoved him back. He fell backwards into a seat. The other man grabbed Victoria's arm and started to shove her forcefully. Despite the rifle aimed at him, Heath stepped forward and grabbed the man's arm and wrenched his hand off Victoria. The gunman behind Heath raised his rifle butt high and viciously slammed it down on the back of Heath's head. Heath dropped to the floor.

"Now! Anyone else got any ideas? The gunman yelled, looking around.

"I didn't think so," he grinned.

Nick gripped the sides of the seat angrily, desperate to leap and take on these men, but with the guns pointed at him and his mother, he held back. The other passengers cowered and avoided eye contact with the robbers.

"Now you folks stay put," he said, "or my friend here will make sure you do. Permanently."

The gunmen backed down the aisle toward the rear door of the compartment. They exited backwards out the door, leaving one man standing guard. Nick and Victoria moved toward the aisle, where Heath was lying on his back, unmoving. The guard raised his gun.

"My son is hurt," said Victoria, "please, let us help him."

The guard nodded. They went to Heath's side. Nick kneeled on the floor, and put his hand behind Heath's head thinking to prop him up. The back of Heath's head felt wet, and Nick withdrew his hand. Victoria gasped. It was covered with blood.

"Damn," Nick cursed through clenched teeth. He shook his head, trying to contain his anger.

Seeing the blood, the banker reached toward his pocket. The gunman tensed and pointed the rifle at him. "Hold it, Mister," he said.

"I was just going to give them a handkerchief," the banker said.

With one hand raised, he slowly reached the other hand into his pocket and withdrew a clean white cloth. He carefully handed it to Victoria.

"Thank you," she said.

She gave it to Nick, who put it behind Heath's head. Nick held the handkerchief firmly with one hand, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of Heath's shirt with the other, hoping to make it easier for him to breathe. He looked from Heath back to the gunman, angrily hoping there'd be a chance to go after him.

He looked back down at his brother, and then wondered how Alan and Russ were faring. They had not been brought into this car and he feared for their safety. From what he remembered, he thought they could handle themselves in a fight, but he knew these gunmen wouldn't tolerate resistance. Even so, Nick imagined that with their help, he could probably do something about these robbers.

At the box car, the robbers had taken down the two soldiers who had ventured out when the train stopped. A third had remained inside, but at the sound of the scuffle outside, he had leaned out to see what was happening. He never saw the knife coming. The robber had hid out of view, and taken the young man by surprise.

"That was a stupid move soldier." The gunman dragged the dead trooper out of the boxcar, letting him fall to the ground.

The body rolled over once and came to rest face down a few feet from the tracks. The robbers tied the other two soldiers and dragged them up into the car, shoving them into a corner.

"You won't get far Mister," one said. "The Cavalry will be all over you. You'll hang for this."

"Only if they catch me." The gunman grinned.

They found the crates containing the gold bars and handed them down. Although they were small, the crates were very heavy, and it took two men to handle them. They also found the Barkleys' cases of wine and gleefully passed them down to the wagon.

"Hurry up," one of the men yelled.

"Did you get all their guns?" he asked as he saw the other gunmen coming back from the passenger cars.

"Yeah."

"Didja kill anybody?"

"Nope, 'least not yet," he grinned, "but there's a couple of folks up there that'd sure like to see us dead I reckon."

"Well, I was thinkin' about that, what if they follow us."

"Not likely. We're miles from nowhere, they don't have any horses, and won't get any until they get to Stockton."

"Just the same, I think we need a little insurance."

"Insurance?"

"Yeah, just in case any of them get any bright ideas about trying to follow us, or in case we missed any guns those passengers are hiding."

"What do you want to do?"

"We need hostages," he said.

"Anybody in particular?"

"Well I sure as hell don't want any women. Nothin' but trouble, all whiny and cryin'."

"Well, there's a cowboy that we knocked out up in the front car. Davis hit him pretty hard. I don't think he'd give us any trouble. And there's a couple of young soldiers up there. Maybe that'll back off the Cavalry boys if we got one of theirs."

"All right, go get 'em. And make it quick, we're about ready to pull out."

The two men walked forward to the car where the Barkleys were.

Nick had picked Heath up off the floor and put him down across the seats. The handkerchief he held to the back of Heath's head was soaked with blood. Victoria reached to her purse, looking up at the gunman. He watched her closely, and raised the end of the gun barrel toward her as a warning. She reached in and slowly pulled out a handkerchief, beautifully embroidered with flowers and her initials. She made sure the man could see what she had reached for. She handed it to Nick and he applied it with the other.

"I think maybe its stopping," Nick said, checking the bleeding gash on his brother's head.

Victoria looked at him, slightly relieved, but still very concerned. "I wonder how much longer they're going to hold us here," she said quietly.

"I don't know," said Nick, "but we need to get him to a doctor. They hit him pretty hard and he's not showin' any signs of coming around."

She nodded, looking down at Heath. She searched his face. He was pale and there was no sign that he was regaining consciousness.

The door opened to the back of the car, and three gunmen joined the one guarding the passengers. The men had their handguns drawn. They stepped forward and one pointed his gun at Private Mitchell.

"You," he said, "come here." The private remained seated, surprised. "Get back here, now!" he ordered, cocking the gun.

Both soldiers stood up.

"No, just you," the man motioned with the gun.

Private Mitchell slowly walked toward the gunman. His fellow soldier tensed, and for a moment, Nick thought he was going to leap. It was obvious suicide, though, and the soldier stayed where he was. When Mitchell reached them, one man shoved him back by the door and held a gun to his side. Nick started to rise in the young man's defense.

"You. Get over there, over to the side." The gunman waved his gun at Nick and motioned him away from Heath.

"But.....my brother...." he said, looking back at Heath.

"Forget about him, now move!"

The gun was cocked, and Nick could tell they would not hesitate to shoot.

"You move or I'll shoot her." He pointed the gun at Victoria.

Nick raised his hands and moved over to the side near the window of the car. He put himself between Victoria and the gunmen. As one held Private Mitchell at gun point, the other kept aim at the passengers. The remaining two walked forward toward the front of the car. The young ladies held each other and hid their eyes, weeping in fright as the men walked past them.

The men continued forward, then stopped where Heath was. They started to pick him up.

"What are you doing? Leave him alone!" Nick shouted.

"Back off, Mister!" the robber said, pointing his gun at Nick. "We need a little insurance, and these two are going with us."

"No, you can't, he's hurt!" Nick leaped forward and grabbed one of the men holding Heath.

The commotion distracted the man guarding Private Mitchell. Mitchell reacted, and tried to grab the gun. They struggled. The ladies screamed. Nick punched the first man holding Heath and the man went down hard dropping Heath to the floor. As Nick went for the second man, the gunman near the door fired. The shot creased Nick's right thigh. The leg gave out and he fell, striking his face on the back of the seat as he went down.

"Nick!" Victoria cried.

The second soldier jumped over Nick in the aisle and leaped toward Mitchell and the gunman. The man struggling with Mitchell swung hard and his fist landed solidly on the young soldier's jaw. Mitchell went down instantly. The gunman saw the second soldier coming at him and fired. The shot hit the soldier's arm and he staggered, falling back into the laps of the two young ladies, who were now crying hysterically with fear. The gunmen recovered and all pointed their weapons at the passengers.

"Nobody move or you're all dead!" the gunman yelled. "You two, shut up!" he bellowed at the young ladies. The girls stopped crying and cowered, whimpering, trying to hold on to each other despite the injured young soldier in their laps.

"Get them out of here," he said to his associates, nodding at the unconscious private and Heath.

They dragged the two out the back door of the car. Reaching the top of the stairs leading off of the car, the first man who was dragging Heath stopped and dropped him on the stairs. The second man stuck his boot on Heath's shoulder and pushed. He tumbled down the remaining steps and landed on the gravel beside the tracks. They shoved the young private off the same way, walked down the steps, then dragged them to the waiting wagon.

"Now you folks settle down, unless any more of you want to be shot. Y'hear me?" the gunman said to the passengers. "We're gonna leave you all now but don't get any wise ideas about following us, or we're gonna kill some hostages, got it? If we see any of you or any blue coats after us they're gone," he said looking at Nick.

He waved the gun menacingly at all of them, then turned and went out the door. He ran to the waiting gang, mounted his horse, and they rode away from the train. Victoria moved to where Nick was sitting in the aisle holding his leg. She looked at him, worried.

"I'm all right Mother, its just a crease," he said looking down.

His pant leg was ripped from the force of the bullet and a bright red stain was growing around the tear. Victoria untied Nick's neckerchief and re-tied it around his thigh, above the wound.

"This'll slow the bleeding," she said. She brushed his hair back from his forehead and put her hand on his cheek. The area around his left eye was red and starting to bruise where he had struck the back of the seat. He winced at her touch.

The banker carefully helped the soldier up off of the ladies' laps. The young man stood up, blushing and apologizing despite the pain in his arm.

The banker turned and looked out the window, watching as the robbers rode out of sight.

"They're gone," he said. "They've got your brother, Mr. Barkley, what are you going to do?"

"He can't do anything," said the young soldier, "and neither can I - we've got no horses. No way to catch up with them. The only thing we can do is get to Stockton as soon as possible, my unit is there - we'll go after them."

"Then lets get this train moving," said Nick.

He tried to stand, holding on to the back of the seat. The leg burned and felt weak, but it held. He took a step and wavered.

"Now hold on Mister," the soldier said, "you need to stay put and take care of that leg, I'll go see about getting us moving again."

"Your arm......" said Victoria.

"It'll be all right," he said. "I need to go and see about the others."

"I'll go with you," the banker said.

The banker and the soldier left the passenger car and headed for the engine. They found the engineer and the stoker tied up but otherwise unharmed in the wood storage bin. Once untied, the railroad men walked to the front of the train and started to work on clearing the tracks. Their two rescuers then walked back toward the rear of the train.

"Where are the rest of your men?" the banker asked as they made their way back.

"I think there's one of them," the soldier said, pointing to the uniformed man laying face down in the dirt beside the box car.

They reached the dead soldier and the private bent down to check him.

"My God," he said, "they killed him."

They both looked up at the half-open door of the box car, walked over, and hesitantly peered in, afraid of what they might find. They saw the two soldiers tied up in the corner but alive. They climbed in and released them.

"Where's the lieutenant, and Sgt. Walker?" one of the soldiers asked the rescuers.

"I haven't seen them for a while," the private said. "I don't think they're on the train anymore."

"I have a bad feeling," said the other.

"Yeah, me too," he replied, "we'll search the rest of the train, and this area for a little ways off the tracks. If they're not here there's nothing we can do about it right now. We have to get this train moving."

They split up, and some began a search around the train for the missing officers. The rest walked back to the front of the train and helped get the tree off the tracks. The young soldier checked the second passenger car. There were no casualties, but he noticed that the two men he had seen talking to Nick and his mother that morning were gone. When he went back to the first car, he told Nick they were missing. The news only increased Nick's anger and impatience to get to town where he could get what he needed to track the robbers down.

As the train got under way again, Victoria looked down and noticed her handkerchief on the floor in the aisle. She reached down and picked it up. Turning it over, she saw her embroidered initials covered with her son's blood. She held it to her eyes and wept.

CHAPTER TWO

The going was rough for the robbers. They had to travel slowly with the wagon over the rocky ground of the high country they were in when they left the train. After traveling for several hours, they headed into somewhat lower elevations, and the ground evened out as they made their way through. They eventually arrived at an old dilapidated farm. It appeared long-abandoned and in terrible disrepair, but the house and barn still stood and were sturdy enough to keep out most of the elements.

Heath and Private Mitchell were brought into a small room in the back of the old farmhouse. The men dumped the unconscious Heath on the floor next to the wall, and Mitchell, now awake, was tied to a structural support post in the center of the room. The door was then shut behind them and locked.

The young private was afraid. He'd joined the cavalry to get away from the small farming community he'd grown up in. The youngest of five brothers, he had always been protected, never had much of a chance to prove himself, to stand out. Then, as now in the cavalry, he had never really had to take on much responsibility.

The cavalry took care of him, told him what to do. He was comfortable with that, but he also longed to prove himself. He'd been through all the training, but had never seen any action of any kind. At least up until now. This was, in fact, his first real assignment, escorting the shipment on the train. Now, here he was, captured, a failure on his first mission.

As he sat there, he reflected on his short time in the unit. He had enjoyed hearing the stories of the veteran soldiers' adventures - reveling in the glory, the color and excitement of their tales. Surely there was no glory here, sitting with a throbbing jaw, tied to a post in a miserable old farmhouse.

At least, he thought, he was better off than the other poor fellow they'd dumped in here with him. He looked at Heath slumped against the wall. He'd seen them strike him pretty hard with the rifle butt, and there was a dark stain on the back of his shirt collar.

As he sat watching, Heath began to stir. He tried to look up at his surroundings and was greeted with a sharp pain in the back of his head. He looked over and saw the young private tied to the post, watching him. As his vision cleared and his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room, he recognized the young man from the train. The events of the day came back to him.

"Private...Mitchell is it?" he said to the soldier.

"Yes, that's right, William......um, my friends call me Will. And you're Mr. Barkley."

"Heath'll do."

Heath leaned his head against the wall.

"Ow!"

He reached back and felt the gash on the back of his head. The blood had dried and his hair was matted. He had quite a knot.

"They hit you pretty hard, you ok?" asked Will.

"I think so," Heath said. "You got any idea where we are?" Obviously they weren't on the train anymore, and he'd guessed they'd been taken as hostages.

"Well, I was kinda in and out for a bit," he said, rubbing his jaw, "but I know we're at some old farm somewhere."

"Have I been out long? Any idea how far we are from the train?" asked Heath.

"Not sure, I was out for most of the way I think. I do know that its been a couple of hours though, it was almost sundown when they put us in here, and from the position of the sun, I'd say we're east of where they stopped the train."

"Well, that could put us in a lot of places Will."

"Sure could Mr. Barkley.....I mean Heath. Hey, don't worry, "he said enthusiastically, "Major Owens is a great tracker. When he finds out what happened, well, I'm sure he'll have us outta here in no time."

"I hope you're right Will, I sure hope you're right."

Heath's head was pounding and he felt dizzy and slightly sick. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, this time being careful to avoid leaning on the tender part. He knew that it would be a very long time before help came, if it came at all.

He assumed they were miles from Stockton. There were no horses on the train, and no way that anyone could have followed far on foot. The train would have to travel the rest of the way to Stockton before a posse could be rounded up. And then, how would the posse even know where to start looking? No, waiting to be found was not an option. They would have to find a way out of here on their own.

He wanted to plan an escape, and tried to start thinking of options, but his head started to spin. His thoughts on figuring a way out faded as the dizziness grew stronger. Unable to resist, he slipped away, unconscious again.

The train continued on its way toward Stockton. Victoria was devastated, her normally strong countenance shattered. She looked at the empty seat across from her, and then down at the blood stained handkerchief in her hands. She gripped it tightly, and felt as if she were holding on to some part of Heath, that if she let go....Nick put his hand on her arm, interrupting her thoughts.

"Mother, Jarrod's meeting us at the station. As soon as we get in we'll go after them."

She looked at him, then down at his injured leg.

"Don't worry about that, I'm ok." he said, seeing her look.

The bleeding had stopped and he had been able to remove the neckerchief that she had tied there.

"Oh Nick, what if they've already...." she put her head on his shoulder, crying, unable to say the words.

"Listen," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her squarely. "I know. I'm worried too. But we can't think like that, we've got to hope that he's all right and that we'll find him."

He put his arm around her shoulder and she settled back in her seat. Leaning into his side, she put her head on his shoulder and he held her there.

He looked out the window at the landscape sliding by. He played over in his mind what had happened, and the guilt pained him. How could he have let them take Heath? There should have been some way to stop them. Heath was hurt, he should have offered himself instead. If he had moved quicker maybe. If only some of the other passengers had helped.

His friends were missing too. They must have taken Russ and Alan as well. Was he going to lose them again along with his brother? He shook his head. No, this kind of thinking was not going to get him anywhere. He needed to think about what to do once they got to Stockton. He shoved the dark thoughts out of his mind and tried to think constructively.

He wondered where the gang would be headed. He knew they had gone away from the tracks heading east, and they were still north of Stockton. That would put them in the higher country. Rocky and rough going, especially with a wagon. He knew the area vaguely, had once looked at some timber operations up that way. That was good, he thought, in that terrain they'd have to be traveling slow for a while. Probably looking to hole up somewhere for a day or two. Maybe they did have a chance to find Heath. And, with the cavalry involved, he was sure there would be no lack of manpower for a search.

It was sundown by the time the train reached the outskirts of Stockton. Looking out the window, Nick noticed blue uniformed riders cantering alongside the train. He figured they must have ridden out from Stockton to see why the train was so late. He looked up to see the young soldier walking down the aisle, approaching him.

"Sir," said the soldier, "I'm sure my commanding officer, Major Owens, will want to talk to you when we get in, if you don't mind."

"And I want to talk to him." Nick said, standing up, and holding the back of the seat for support. "My brother Jarrod and I will want to ride with you when you go after them."

"I understand, Sir, I'll let him know," he said formally. Then, softening a bit he said. "I'd be proud to have you with us."

On the station platform there was a flurry of activity as the smoke from the engine came into view. Jarrod and Audra had been waiting nearby with the carriage. As train pulled into the station and slowed to a stop, worried relatives lined the platform, craning their necks to see if they could catch a glimpse of their overdue loved ones.

"Oh Jarrod, here it comes," Audra said.

"Finally, I wonder what's kept them so late," he said.

He looked around, and noticed several uniformed cavalry men moving toward the platform. He recognized Major Owens and walked toward him. Audra followed.

"Major Owens," Jarrod said, extending his hand. The major turned and Jarrod saw the serious look on his face.

"Jarrod," he said in recognition. "Good to see you."

"Everything all right?" asked Jarrod.

"I don't know yet," he said. "You have family on this train?"

"Yes, my mother, and brothers. What's wrong?"

"Maybe nothing, maybe everything," he said, "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me."

He touched his finger to the brim of his hat, then walked away toward the platform, leaving the two of them concerned and confused.

"What did he mean?" asked Audra.

"Not sure," said Jarrod, "lets get over there."

The train came to a stop and the passengers disembarked. Jarrod and Audra stood back, watching for their mother and brothers. Something was wrong. They noticed the troubled looks on the faces of the passengers getting off the train. Then they saw the two young ladies step off and run to their waiting relatives in tears.

Alarmed, she looked at Jarrod, questioning. "Jarrod......?"

He looked back at her, then at the train. They stepped forward and were relieved to see Victoria coming down the stairs.

"Mother!" called Audra.

Victoria looked over at Audra and Jarrod, then they saw her turn and look back. As they followed her gaze, they saw two men helping Nick down the steps of the train. Jarrod stepped forward and grabbed Nick's arm to support him as he reached the bottom step, noticing the bruised eye and the bloody tear on Nick's pant leg. Victoria hugged Audra.

"Nick, what happened?" Jarrod asked.

"Train was robbed," Nick said. "They've got Heath."

"Got Heath?" Jarrod looked back at the steps of the train, as if expecting to see Heath, Nick's words not registering.

"They took him off the train Jarrod," Nick said, "him, a cavalry soldier, Russ Avery, and Alan Redlin. Hostages."

Jarrod looked at him seriously. There was a bad bruise on Nick's face, and the leg wound looked like a gunshot. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Nick put one hand up to his eye and said, "I'm ok, probably looks worse than it feels. And the leg's just a crease."

"And your arm?" Jarrod asked.

"My arm?" asked Nick. He looked down at his arms. The end of one shirt sleeve was covered in blood.

"Heath's," he said, shaking his head.

Jarrod looked at him, worried.

"He's hurt, Jarrod," said Nick. "I don't know how bad. He's got a head wound, they hit him from behind with a rifle butt. He was still unconscious when they dragged him off the train."

"Mother," Jarrod said, turning to Victoria, "you're all right?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm fine, Jarrod," she said, "but Heath, he's out there with those men."

"We'll find him," Jarrod said, stepping forward to hug her, "we'll find him."

Audra took her mother back to the carriage, and arranged to have someone bring their luggage from the train later. Jarrod and Nick tracked down Major Owens, and talked him into allowing them to join the cavalry's search parties. As Nick was injured, the Major was reluctant at first to permit him to go with them. But, seeing the determination in the young man's face, he relented.

They had no horses and no guns. Nick and Jarrod decided to ride back to the ranch with their mother and Audra in the carriage, get what they needed from the ranch, and meet up with the search parties outside of town.

On the way to the ranch, Victoria was tormented by dark thoughts.

"Nick," she said, "do you remember what they said? They said they'd kill the hostages if they saw anyone following."

Jarrod turned to her. "Mother, I'm afraid they may kill them anyway. Our only hope is to find them before it's too late," he said.

It was dark by the time they got home to the ranch. Jarrod and Nick had Ciego get their horses ready while they went inside for their guns and supplies. Audra and Victoria rushed to the kitchen and quickly made sandwiches and packed them. Victoria insisted on treating Nick's leg wound and bandaging it before she would allow him to leave. Even with that delay, they were ready to ride in short time.

"Please be careful," Victoria said, kissing them goodbye.

She and Audra watched them ride off into the night, each saying a silent prayer after them.

Jarrod and Nick joined up with the cavalry as Major Owens was giving orders and splitting the large group of men into smaller search parties. The brothers decided to separate, each going with a different group. Jarrod looked around at the men and was surprised and pleased to see there were not only blue uniforms there. He saw that some of his friends and neighbors were also there forming a posse.

"Thank you, Jacob," he said riding over to a man who owned a neighboring ranch.

"No thanks necessary, Jarrod," the man said. "Your brother's a good man, been good to my family. We'll get him back." He nodded encouragingly at Jarrod, then wheeled his horse and moved off with the posse.

At the Major's command the groups split up and rode off into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

Heath remained unconscious the rest of the night and through the next morning. Will had dozed a little, but woke fearfully at every sound.

It was mid day when Heath finally stirred. His head ached, but some of the dizziness had subsided. He looked at Will, who looked back at him and smiled.

"Glad to see you're awake," he said. "I was gettin' real worried 'bout you. They came in and gave me some water a little while ago."

Heath ran his tongue over his lips. He was thirsty. "Will," he said, "do you know how many of them there are?"

"Hmm, I'd say maybe six or seven."

"Do you know where they are?"

"There's one outside the door here, and I would guess maybe there's another watching the others."

"Others? My family?" Heath tensed, concerned for Nick and Victoria.

"No, those two fellas that were talkin' to you and your brother on the train."

"Russ and Alan?" Heath asked.

"Yeah, I think that's them, I'm guessing they've got them here somewhere too, I'm sure I saw them when I came to once on the way here. Things were kinda fuzzy though, and I passed out again after that."

Heath, sighed. He reflected on how happy Nick had been to see Russ and Alan again. His joy at seeing them showed just how important they must have been to him for that short time they were in his life after the death of his father. With Jarrod away at school, they must have been older brother figures Nick could look up to during that difficult time. Heath hoped they were all right.

The search parties looked all through the night, and covered many miles. But the distance was vast, and the terrain was rough. There were many places to check.

The sheriff had not joined the searchers, choosing instead to ride with his deputy to the ranches in the area, giving descriptions and warning the citizens. He'd also wired his counterparts in the surrounding towns with the information. He checked back in town frequently, hoping to receive word from them.

At daybreak, Jarrod's group was only a few miles from town. He'd been thinking for hours that this hit or miss approach at the search was futile. He decided on another way, and rode back into town to his office. With the help of his clerk, he dragged out maps and records of the properties in the area surrounding the valley, and started to search. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but hoped that maybe he'd find some clue that would lead him to their location. He spent the rest of the day and into the night pouring over the records.

Nick's group searched the whole day and long into the evening. Then, with the loss of the daylight, they decided to make camp. Camping with the cavalry reminded him of his days in the military during the Civil War. There was a similar feel in the air this night, as then. A feeling of urgency mixed with frustration and fatigue.

Nick walked over near the fire and tossed what was left of his cup of coffee into the flames. The liquid hissed and spattered as it hit the hot pieces of wood in the fire, and a small puff of steam rose into the night air. He stood, holding the empty cup, and stared at the burning embers. Lost in thought, he felt, rather than saw, one of the soldiers move to stand next to him.

"Pretty long ride today, Mr. Barkley, you should probably get off your feet, rest that leg of yours," the man said with concern.

Nick didn't answer. He watched the flames dance, and the little ashes rise in the hot air above the fire. The firelight illuminated his worried face, showing the concern for his brother.

"You know, I met your brother once," the man said. "A long time ago."

Nick turned to look at him, interested.

"It was before I joined the cavalry, a few years back. I was down on my luck, couldn't find any work, started driftin. One night I was riding along on my half-lame horse, headin' for the next town, hopin' for work. Hadn't eaten anything but jackrabbit in days. I came across his campsite out in the hills. He was out after wild horses, managed to catch several of 'em, and had been workin' on gettin' 'em gentled."

Nick smiled at the thought of Heath out alone, chasing the wild ones, remembering how much his brother enjoyed that. He pictured that wonderful look that Heath got on his face when Nick had suggested they go after some horses last summer.

"Well that night I wandered into his campsite, cold and half-starved, and he fed me and invited me to stay the night by the fire. That next morning, he asked if I would help with those horses, you know, get 'em into town where he was gonna sell em'. He had a real nice stallion there, and a few good lookin' mares. Well, he had fed me, and I was on my way to the next town anyway, so I said I would go. I didn't help much, my horse got so lame, but I don't think he really needed my help at all."

The man reached down and tossed another branch on to the fire, sending embers floating up against the chill night sky.

"Well, to make a long story short," he continued, "we got the horses into town, and your brother went off to the livery to see about the sale. I stopped into the mercantile to see if they knew of anyone that was hiring. I talked to them for a while, practically begged for a job, but they said no one was lookin', especially for a cowboy with a horse on three legs."

The man grasped Nick's arm and pointed to a stout bay mare staked a few yards away.

"You see that mare?" he said.

Nick looked to where he was pointing. The light from the fire illuminated fine strong lines and a pretty head.

"Nice," Nick said, appreciatively. The man nodded.

"When I came back out of that store to where my horse was tied, that mare was snubbed to my saddle horn. She was the best of the lot he had caught. Never got the chance to thank him. I looked for him, but he'd already gone. I sold my horse, got enough for him to keep on goin'. Got work on a ranch, that mare's pretty handy 'round steers, then eventually ended up with the Cavalry."

The man smiled and looked at Nick.

"Oh, your brother, he probably wouldn't remember me," the man said. "I only spent a little time with him...but it was enough to change my life."

"What's your name?" Nick asked the soldier.

"Bowers....Carl Bowers," the man answered.

"Well Mr. Bowers, when we find my brother, I'll tell him I met you. I'm sure he'll remember," Nick said. "And Carl?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." Nick said gratefully.

Bowers nodded. "Better get some rest," he said, "for tomorrow."

He smiled and walked away, and Nick limped over and eased himself down, leaning back against his saddle on the ground. The man's words echoed in his mind...'only spent a little time'... 'changed my life'. Mine too, Nick thought, mine too. He closed his eyes and his exhaustion pulled him into sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

Will and Heath had passed the day quietly. No one from the gang had checked on them in hours. Of course, as the room had only a tiny window, too small to escape through, and the door was locked, there was little chance of them getting out. They spent the time speaking softly of their homes and families.

Heath was feeling a little better. He was very thirsty by now, but his head didn't seem to ache quite as much and he decided to try to stand. He was surprised that they'd left him untied, but thought they must've figured he was still unconscious. Using the wall for support, he rose to his feet. The room started to spin and his knees felt weak. He refused to give in to the nausea and dizziness and leaned against the wall.

He looked around the small room and noticed dim light from outside coming in between a couple of the wall boards. He walked over and knelt down on one knee, leaning against the wall with one hand for support. He could see outside, the sun had gone down and it was starting to get dark. He grabbed one of the boards and wiggled it slightly. It was loose. So was the one next to it. The other boards felt secure though, and he didn't want to try too hard for fear of making a noise that would attract attention. He stood, wavered for a moment, then walked shakily over to Will.

"Will, do you think you could fit through there if I can remove the boards?"

The private smiled, "I think so, but......"

He stopped, the noise of footsteps was heard outside the door. Heath scrambled over to where he had been, and lay down against the wall. He motioned a silent 'Shhh' to Will, and closed his eyes. They heard the lock turn. The door opened and two men walked in.

"I think this one's still out," one said.

"We'll see," said the other and he kicked Heath hard in the ribs.

Heath clenched his teeth and stifled a yelp of pain.

"Maybe they hit 'im too hard," the other laughed.

"How 'bout you soldier boy?" he laughed, "they hit you too hard too?"

The man grabbed Will by the chin and squeezed the bruised jaw. Will jerked his head away from the man's grasp.

"Aww, what's the matter little man? All alone without the rest of your troopers? Afraid you'll end up like this guy?"

He turned to Heath and viciously kicked him again. The kick lifted him half off the floor, and Heath felt the air whoosh out of his lungs from the impact but he still made no sound. The man laughed again and shoved the heel of his boot into Heath's chest, turning him on to his back.

"Hey Al, the boys sure did a good job on this one," he called toward the adjoining room.

"Shut up!" his associate said, "this one's a Barkley, remember?"

"Oh, it don't matter, ain't like they're gonna tell nobody."

The man walked over to Will, and looked at him menacingly. Will's hatred of the man was reflected in his eyes.

"Listen soldier boy, don't you go gettin' any ideas, y'hear me? You're a long way from any kinda help out here so don't go plannin' on bein' the little hero."

He patted Will's cheek and stood up, looked at Heath again and said, "Check him again in a little while - if he looks any better, tie him up."

They turned and left the room, closing the door behind them. The lock clicked shut, and laughter could be heard through the door. Heath groaned and rolled over, holding his side, breathing in short gasps.

"Mr. Barkley? Heath, are you ok?"

"Uhnn," he groaned, "been better," he gasped.

Holding one hand to his side, he propped himself up to a sitting position against the wall. He coughed, and it hurt to breathe. He leaned his head back wearily.

"Will," he said, taking short breaths, "they're not going to let us go. I know you think your Major might find us, but I don't think we can wait. They probably only took us so nobody would follow them from the train....don't figure they'll need us much longer." Heath winced as he tried to straighten up.

Will's eyes were full of fear, but Heath saw he was trying to put on a brave face.

"Listen," Heath said, "I think we can get those loose boards off and get you outta here before they come back. You can go for help. You up to it?"

"Well, sure, I think so, but what about you?"

"I, ah, don't think I can squeeze through there. And anyway, I think I'd slow you down, he said, patting his side."

"I can't just leave you here."

"Look, you've got a good chance to get away and get help. I can try to distract them here for a few minutes while you make a run for it."

Will nodded, and Heath crawled over behind him and untied the ropes that bound him to the post. They both moved to the spot where the loose boards were. Heath wiggled one board and it gave easily. He set it down inside and peered out through the opening. It was nearly dark out. There was no moon, as clouds obscured the sky. He saw no one outside. From the laughter he heard, and the smell of alcohol on the ones who had come in the room, Heath figured most of the gang were inside drinking, celebrating their success. 'Probably with our wine,' Heath thought sourly.

He assessed the surroundings. There was a corral with a few horses tied to the fence, then beyond it, an overgrown field bordered by the tree line of a scrubby, wooded area.

"Ok," he said, turning to Will. "If you can get out of here without being seen, take a horse and get to that tree line. You should be able to make it from there, there'll be cover."

Heath tugged on the second board. This one wasn't going to give so easily. His side burned where they had kicked him, and he felt short of breath. He looked at Will.

"You ready to run?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, 'cause I think they're gonna hear this."

As cautiously as he could, Heath pulled on the loose board. His ribs ached and he felt like he didn't have the strength. It moved, first a little, like it was going to come easily after all, then it stuck. Will grabbed the other side and pulled. It gave way with a loud squeak and a crack of the rotten board.

"Hey! What's goin' on in there?" came a voice from the other side of the door.

"Go Will!" said Heath.

They heard the footsteps and the sound of the lock turning. Will started to squeeze through the narrow opening sideways, getting his right arm and leg through before the door burst open. The first man came in the room and saw Will trying to escape through the hole.

"Hold it!" he yelled, and ran toward him.

Heath threw himself at the man and brought him down. The man hollered for the rest of the gang and Heath shut him up with a punch to the jaw. Another man came in and grabbed Heath, slamming him against the wall, striking his face. The first man rose to his feet and held Heath back against the wall while the other man punched him.

"Will, get out of here!" Heath gasped.

"I'm trying! I'm stuck!" he cried.

"Damn!" Heath cursed.

Somehow, Heath found the strength to keep his feet. One of his attackers moved off and grabbed Will's arm, trying to pull him back inside. Heath took a wild swing at the man in front of him and luckily connected, dropping him. He moved to help Will, and grabbed the man holding him. The man turned, and saw nothing but Heath's fist before it knocked him away.

Heath doubled over in pain. His efforts had left his sides feeling like they were on fire and he could hardly breathe. With his back turned away from the door, he didn't see the third man come into the room until the man grabbed him by the shoulder and hit him hard in the side of his head. Heath's knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. He turned, his vision blurred, and he reached out and grabbed the man's legs, toppling him. The man's boot caught Heath in the face as he fell, splitting his lip and smashing his cheek. Heath could taste the blood in his mouth as his head hit the floor.

Will continued to struggle to squeeze through the opening. His shirt caught on some nails. Heath pulled himself to his knees, gasping for breath. He staggered to his feet as a fourth man appeared in the doorway, holding a gun. He aimed it at Will, and Heath heard the click of the hammer being drawn back.

"No!" Heath cried.

He lurched forward, hoping to knock the gun away, but the man on the floor grabbed his legs, stopping him short. The gun fired with a tremendous crack. The bullet struck Heath, and the impact sent him sprawling. The sound of the shot brought the rest of the gang running to the house from their positions outside. As Heath fell toward the wall, he reached out and shoved Will through the hole. Will's shirt tore and the nails scratched into his flesh, but he was out.

The coldness of the wet grass where he landed startled him, and he could see his breath in the chilly night air. He gathered himself up and hesitated. Looking back through the hole he saw Heath lying face down on the floor. He took a deep breath, turned away, and ran for the horses.

The horses panicked at his sudden approach in the dark. Some tore away from the fence and ran off. Will was able to grab one. He quickly untied the others that hadn't already run away and scared them off, then he swung into the saddle. He turned and looked once more toward the farmhouse, then spun the horse around and galloped toward the trees, tears streaming down his face.

Inside the farmhouse, the men that Heath had taken down picked themselves up off the floor, groaning and shaking their heads.

"What's the matter with you?" an angry voice yelled from the other room. "Get after that boy!"

They stumbled outside and saw the empty fence rail where the horses had been. The men scattered in the dark to look for them.

Heath was lying face down on the floor in the little room. He thought about pushing himself up but it felt like his right arm wouldn't work. He knew he'd been shot, and now, with the initial shock wearing off, he could feel the pain in the area of his upper right chest and shoulder. He heard footsteps next to him, and he tensed, waiting for the blow that was sure to come or worse, to be finished off by one of the gunmen.

Instead, he felt their hands grab his legs and they dragged him across the room to the post where Will had been tied. As they did, the chain around his neck from which his lucky coin hung caught on one of the uneven floor boards. It broke and slid from his neck. His blood left a red trail from where he'd been shot near the wall to where they now sat him up against the post. Heath lifted his left hand to the wound. It was bleeding badly and he was starting to feel faint. He looked ahead of him and saw the worn brown boots of someone standing in front of him.

"Tie him up," a voice said.

His shoulders were shoved forward and his hands were wrenched behind his back. The pain was incredible, but, not wanting to give them any satisfaction, Heath held his breath to keep from crying out. He made no sound, but could not stop his tears from welling up from the pain. They tied his wrists with stiff rope, then roughly sat him upright against the post. They took another length of rope and tied his ankles. Heath tried to steady himself, 'breathe slow' he thought, 'try to stay awake'.

Suddenly, he felt cold steel under his chin. The man lifted Heath's head up with the end of the gun.

"I wouldn't count on help if I were you cowboy," the man said. "Your young friend isn't gonna get far before we find him."

Heath did not reply. He already knew that a rescue for himself was unlikely, and was just glad that Will had a chance. The man flipped the end of the gun away, and Heath's head fell to his chest. He closed his eyes and felt a tear run down his cheek. He could feel himself weakening and could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. He wondered why they hadn't killed him yet. That was the last thought on his mind as the darkness of unconsciousness came.

Will's flight through the trees was painful. He ducked to avoid the larger branches, barely seeing them in time in the dark. The smaller ones struck him, scratching his face and body, tearing at his clothes. His pants were ripped from his knees scraping against the trees as the horse raced through the woods. The air was cold, but he didn't feel it as he galloped, his heart pounding.

Coming to a clearing, he reined the horse to a stop. He didn't hear anyone behind him yet so he paused to look up at the sky and get his bearings. No help there, he thought, the sky was clouded over and the chill air smelled like rain. He figured his best bet was to guess on the direction of where he thought the railroad was, then head south towards Stockton. He knew on that course he'd either reach Stockton or he'd find the railroad tracks and make his way from there.

It took the robbers some time to find the horses, and even then, they could only catch two of them quickly. Two men mounted up and took off toward the trees, but they were far behind Will, and the going was rough in the dark. After getting hit hard by branches several times, they realized that a breakneck pace was not possible, and that haste might make them miss Will's trail. As they slowly made their way through the damp woods, they felt the chill of the night settle into their bones.

After some time, Will came through the woods to a cleared area, where it looked like some logging had been done. He picked his way carefully through the debris and fallen logs, choosing his path deliberately, not wanting to lame the horse. He knew that there must be a logging road somewhere near, and tried to watch the ground for marks where the teams would have dragged the trees to the road. It was tough in the dark, but with slow careful going it wasn't long before he found some ruts and was able to follow them.

He was careful to stay off the road at first, fearful that his pursuers would know of it and guess that he'd come that way. He stopped the horse and listened. Hearing nothing but the sounds of the night and the horse's heavy breathing, he continued on.

The start of the logging road was rough and he took it slow, giving his mount a chance to rest. Steam rose off the horse in the frigid night air. The footing improved as he followed along and he hoped that meant he was heading for a more populated area, a town maybe or even, he dared to hope, Stockton.

He was exhausted and sore. Several times he felt himself sway in the saddle and had grabbed the horn to stay on. He'd taken quite a beating from the tree branches, and the cuts and scratches stung. Soon, the road leveled out, and after one more check behind him, he urged the horse into a gallop again.

His pursuers hadn't fared so well. They had lost his trail in a rocky area that showed no hoofprints to follow. They had dismounted and searched fruitlessly in the dark. They were cold, and still suffering the effects of the wine they had guzzled.

"We ain't gonna find him out here," one said, "lets go back, I'm freezin'."

"Redlin will kill us if we go back without him," said the other.

"Well what does he 'spect us to do? If that soldier finds his way in to Stockton we sure ain't gonna follow him in there. I say we go back and get our share and git outta here afore that boy brings the soldiers back."

"He'll have our hides for sure."

"Why? - it wasn't us that let 'im git away."

"Ok then you explain that to him."

They turned their horses and headed back for the farm.

The skies grew heavier, and as Will galloped the horse he felt cold rain drops on his face. They came faster, and it became harder to see. He slowed the horse to a canter along the road. He topped a small ridge and then, off in the distance, saw the lights of a town in the valley ahead. 'That's it!' he thought, 'that's got to be Stockton.' He urged the horse faster again as the rain pelted him, the stinging drops keeping him alert as he fought off his body's exhaustion.

Heath became aware that the blackness was fading and he fought to clear his mind. It was like being far under water, struggling for the surface. Water, he thought, yes, he must be under water, it hurt so much to breathe. He weakly tried to move his arms and the bite of the rope on his wrists woke him further. Slowly he realized he was still in the little room in the farmhouse.

As his head cleared, the pain in his chest and shoulder returned full force. His hands felt wet, and he realized it was his own blood that had run down his side and arm to his hands on the floor. He had no idea how long he'd been out, a few minutes, or a few hours. He felt sick and light-headed. His thoughts turned to his family, and he prayed that Nick and his mother were really all right. Will hadn't said they were hurt, but then Will had been taken off the train unconscious, like he had. There was no way of knowing what had happened after that.

He became aware of voices, and realized that the door to the little room was half-open and he could hear his captors talking. His eyes were badly swollen from the hits he had taken in the fight to help Will escape. His vision was fuzzy, and he couldn't quite make out their faces, but as they spoke, their words became frighteningly clear to him.

"It's too bad the boys grabbed Nick's brother, you know. I was kinda thinkin' of taking Nick up on his hospitality when we were finished here." The man laughed.

"And why not?" said the other.

"What do you mean 'why not?', I was kidding."

"I'm serious, why not? The Barkleys don't know we're involved. They didn't see us."

"Yeah? Well they know by now that we aren't on the train."

"So? What if they think we're hostages? Sure... and the more I think of it, what better place to be than with the high and mighty Barkleys at the ranch while the cavalry is combing the countryside for the train robbers."

"So what are you going to do with Nick's brother?"

"Well, I haven't decided yet. I mean, he hasn't seen us, he might even be useful in corroborating our story, if he lives."

"What if Nick gets suspicious?" Russ said.

"Then I guess our little rich boy just might have an accident. I could kill him pretty easily. You know that ranch is a big place, and things like that do happen," said Alan grinning.

Heath couldn't believe it. Alan and Russ, Nick's long lost friends were involved in the train robbery. And now they were planning to kill Nick. Nick who trusted them, who invited them to stay at the ranch. The thought of these men going to the ranch and harming his family sickened Heath. His own helplessness was agonizing.

"You'll never get away with it," said Heath, his head swimming.

Alan turned, surprised, "Well, our guest has awakened," he said. "I thought you were out cold, and I'm sorry you had to hear that Heath."

Alan got up from the table and walked through the doorway of the little room. He came over to Heath and crouched down in front of him. He put his right hand around Heath's throat, and held Heath's head up so he could look in his eyes.

"Of course we'll get away with it. Your brother trusts us. Didn't you see how happy he was to see us?"

"Nick's....not stupid," Heath said between ragged breaths. "He'll figure you out.....you hurt him.....and...I'll....."

"You'll what? Bleed on me?" Alan laughed and pushed Heath's head back against the post.

"Listen son, I've done a lot, and been a lot over the years. I think I can play the part of the long lost friend rather well," he said, glancing back at Russ.

"And its a shame, you could have helped... been some use to us. But, I can see that you've got other ideas 'bout that. I guess I should finish you right now," he said, squeezing his hand on Heath's throat, pressing him against the post.

Blood ran from the corner of Heath's battered mouth as his head was tilted back. He struggled against Alan's grasp, but the ropes binding his arms and legs held tight. Alan increased the pressure, pressing harder... harder... stopping Heath's breath, holding.........

Then, he hesitated. "But, you know..." he stopped, looking at Heath's body.

Heath gasped as the pressure was released, his head dropped to his chest, and he began coughing. The blood was still slowly trickling down his arm and side, his shirt was wet, and a little pool had formed on the floor behind his hands.

"...I don't think I'll have to go to the trouble, son, you're 'bout near dead now."

Still holding Heath's throat, he shoved him hard to the left and Heath fell over on to his right side. He felt the blackness return, then nothing.

CHAPTER FIVE

It had been some time since the two gunmen rode out to search for Will. The others had found some of the horses and were also out searching. As they waited for the men to come back, Alan and Russ planned.

Pretending to be hostages could work. They didn't need Nick's brother for that. Earlier that day, on the ruse of scouting to make sure there was no posse near, they'd already seen to sneaking a good portion of the gold away from the farm and hiding it without the knowledge of the others. If the plan worked, they wouldn't have to be running, looking over their shoulder the rest of their lives.

They decided to chance it, to stay put and let the cavalry find them at the farm. If the rest of the gang fled the farm in fear of being found, and the cavalry didn't come, then Alan and Russ would be left with a sizable amount of the loot. If the gang stayed with them and they were found, it was likely there would be a shootout with the cavalry. They could almost assure the success of the soldiers, with the unprotected backs of the gang in front of them.

The first two gunmen who had been searching for Will returned to the farm. They'd been gone for hours and Alan and Russ stepped outside when they heard the horses coming up. Alan saw they were alone.

"You kill him?" he asked.

"Sorry," the one said. "We lost him, and figured we'd better get back here. We'll have to pack up and go before he brings the cavalry back here."

It was almost too good, Alan thought.

The first slight hint of light was touching the sky as Will galloped into Stockton. The town was still asleep, and the wet muddy streets were deserted. Even the saloon had long since closed its shades. Will headed for the sheriff's office, where dim lamp light shone through the window. He dismounted, sliding and half-falling down the side of the horse. He hung on to the saddle to land on his feet. He threw the horse's rein around the rail outside, and, his strength nearly spent, he stumbled up the step and practically fell in when he opened the door.

The sheriff had fallen asleep at his desk, having poured over wanted posters all night, trying to match them to the descriptions he had from the witnesses on the train. He woke with a start at Will's entry, and, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, sat in disbelief at the picture before him. Will was wet and bedraggled, his uniform torn in shreds. He had bruises, cuts and scratches on his face, and there were twigs and pine needles sticking out of his hair.

The sheriff stood up and said, "Son! What in tarnation happened to you?"

"Please Sir, where is Major Owens? I must speak to him at once."

"Why, he's out in the hills with the search parties, what's happened to you?"

"I'm Mitchell, Private Mitchell, Sir. I must find him...."

"Mitchell!" said the sheriff in amazement. "The same Mitchell who was taken off the train by the robbers?"

"Yes Sir," said Will, "I escaped."

As the words left his lips, his knees buckled, and he started to sink to the floor. The sheriff just made it around his desk in time to catch Will and put him in a chair. He called for his deputy, who had been asleep on a cot in one of the jail cells and sent him off to find the Major and bring him back to town. Relieved, Will finally gave in to his exhaustion and laid his head on his arms on the sheriff's desk.

Major Owens and his party had broken camp early, and were headed back to town for fresh horses and supplies. They were not too far out when they saw the rider coming. At his fast approach, some of the men put their hands on their weapons, until they made out the deputy's star on his vest. As he reached them, he excitedly rode up to the major.

"Major Owens sir!" he said.

"Yes deputy what is it?"

"We've got one of your boys back at our office, a Private Mitchell!"

"Mitchell!?" said the shocked Major.

"Yeah, the sheriff sent me to fetch you, seems Mitchell escaped from those train robbers, and knows where they're holed up!"

The major ordered his troops up to a canter, and they headed in to town. When he entered the sheriff's office, Owens found Will sitting in a chair, with the sheriff trying to dab liniment on the cuts on his face.

At the major's entry, Will leaped to his feet, wobbled at bit, then stood at attention. The major was startled at his appearance. He'd been through a terrible ordeal from the looks of him. He ordered Will at ease, had him sit down, and asked him what had happened.

Will tried his best to remember the details, being careful to report on the location of the old farm and the descriptions of the men that he had seen. As he described his escape, he felt his lower lip quiver, and he bit it to keep from crying in front of the major. He told them how Heath was shot while helping him, and he noticed the crestfallen look on the sheriff's face.

"Private, how badly was he was hit?" asked the sheriff.

"I honestly don't know Sir, he was down, but I don't know how bad."

The sheriff sat back in his chair, leaned his head back and sighed heavily. The major frowned, thoughtful. It was unlikely that men like these robbers would leave a hostage alive, and they certainly wouldn't treat one that was wounded. He'd known Jarrod Barkley for years and he felt bad with this news about his brother. Jarrod's family would be devastated.

When Will was finished, the major stood up and walked to the door, ready to take his men out to the farm. Will was right behind him.

"You're in no condition to ride, Soldier," said the major, turning to face him. "You need to stay here and recover."

"Sir, please..." said Will. "Heath Barkley helped me escape. Sir, he saved my life. If there's a chance that he's still alive.....you have to let me help."

The major looked in Will's desperate eyes. Heath Barkley had taken a bullet meant for the young private. Owens had been through the War. He understood that kind of debt.

"All right, I'll tell you what," he said, more fatherly than formal. "I've ordered a few of the men to bring in the other search parties. I'm taking some men to that farmhouse now, but I'll need you here when those parties come in to tell them where we are. Mr. Barkley's brothers are with those search parties. If you feel up to it, when they come in, you can follow us out there then."

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," Will said.

"And Mitchell."

"Yes Sir?"

"Get yourself another uniform."

"Yes Sir!" said Will, his cheeks turning red as he suddenly realized how he must look.

It was almost daylight when the rest of the gunmen abandoned their search for Will and returned to the farmhouse. They were wet and shivering from riding in the cold rain. They huddled by the fireplace, trying to get warm. One reached for some coffee, another paced the room nervously. He stopped near the half-open door to the room Heath was in and looked inside.

"Hey Redlin," he said, "I think your 'guest' here is dead."

They turned and looked at Heath's still form, lying on the bloody floor.

"I figured he would be," said Alan.

"Listen," Alan said, turning to Russ, "I want you and Davis to get rid of the body. If the cavalry does find us, I'd rather not have a dead Barkley here."

"What do you want us to do with him?"

"I'm sure you can think of something," Alan said impatiently, "look, take him a couple miles out from here and bury him."

Daylight found the search parties up and going, making their way through in the light rain. Tracking skills were nearly useless, as the rain had washed away most traces of hoofprints. The soldiers kept on searching doggedly, scouting for anything that might lead them to the gang.

Nick's group had mounted up early, just as the sky was turning light. They spread out to cover more area, but kept each other in sight.

At the farmhouse, Davis and Russ hitched up the team, grabbed some old shovels from the barn, then they carried Heath out of the farmhouse and dumped his body into the wagon. They threw a blanket over him, in case anyone came upon them, and headed down the road. They turned off on to an old rutted muddy path that looked like it had had little use in years. The going was terrible, and the horses slipped and stumbled on the rough footing.

They kept going, traveling as far from the farmhouse as they could, figuring that if someone did stumble upon the grave, they wouldn't immediately make the connection and guess where the gang was.

After some time, they came to a place where the land swept away evenly from the road into an overgrown grassy meadow, beyond which a small hill rose to a ridge topped with a few scattered trees. They turned off the rutted path and into the grass, startling birds, which fluttered up against the grey sky, surprised by the presence of people.

Nick's group rode along in silence. They waved occasionally, to signal changes in direction, but spread out as they were, there was little opportunity to talk. Nick didn't mind. In fact it was better this way, he thought. It was too hard to make conversation when the only thought on his mind was that his brother could be out here somewhere dying.

If only Heath hadn't been hurt, Nick thought, he might have a chance. Nick smiled inside as he remembered some of the really tough scrapes and close calls they had had together, that they had always gotten out of somehow. Yes, he thought, if Heath had recovered enough from that blow to the head, he might just find a way out.

Nick held on to that hopeful thought as he rode along further. He came across what looked like an old rutted roadway. From the looks of it, it hadn't been used in years. Overgrown with weeds, just the wagon ruts remained, cutting into the earth. Nick looked at it, and decided to follow it a little way to see where it led.

He turned Coco toward the road, then checked back over his shoulder to see where the rest of the searchers were. A movement caught his eye, he was being waved in by one of the other riders. He hesitated, and looked once more down the old road, then turned and rode back to the others.

Nick never saw the two men watching from the tree line on the low ridge above him,

"Good thing you decided to look over there," Davis said, looking down at Nick and the other riders moving away from them down below.

"Yeah," said Russ, "I had a bad feeling."

"What're we gonna do? Look how close they are," said Davis.

"We're gonna get outta here, that's what."

"But we're not finished, it's not deep enough."

"Doesn't matter now, if we stick around here any longer those riders will find us and we will be finished."

They scrambled down the hill and off the ridge. They went to the wagon, threw the blanket aside and grabbed Heath's body. They dragged him across the wet grass and dropped him beside the shallow grave. Russ stepped up beside him, pushed with his foot, and he rolled into the wet muddy hole. Davis grabbed a shovel and started to throw dirt in on top of him.

"Forget that, lets get out of here," Russ said, jumping on to the seat of the wagon.

He turned the team around, and Davis had to run to catch up and jump on as Russ drove back to the muddy road toward the farm.

With the retreat of the riders below, and the rumble of the wagon fading off in the distance, the meadow became quiet and peaceful once more. The birds settled back to their places in the grass, with just the patter of a few drops of rain and the sigh of the cool breeze to break the stillness.

Nick reached the rider that had waved to him. "We've been called back in," said the soldier.

"Why?" said Nick.

"Maybe somebody's found something," the rider said hopefully.

They kicked their horses into a gallop, and headed back toward the rest of the group.

Nick rode his horse hard toward the waiting group of soldiers. He hoped that them waving him in meant that that the gang, and his brother, had been found. He reached the group, and one of the soldiers rode up to him excitedly. It was Carl.

"Nick, good news! Private Mitchell, you know, the one that was taken with your brother, he escaped from the robbers, he's ok, he's at the sheriff's office."

Nick's heart leaped, "And my brother?" he asked.

"I don't know, that's all they told us," Carl said.

"Lets get to town,"Nick said, already spurring his horse forward.

Nick raced his horse toward Stockton, covering the miles quickly, and outpacing the rest of the men. When he made it to town, he charged up the street to the sheriff's office, and barely had the horse stopped as he flew out of the saddle then ran in. He nearly knocked over Will as he burst through the door.

"Mr. Barkley, you're here, good, let's ride," Will said, moving toward the door.

Before Nick could speak or move, the sheriff came in the door. "Nick, Jarrod's at his office, I let him know. He's on his way here and wants you to wait for him."

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Nick said to Will.

"On the way," said Will. "The Major's already headed out there."

"Out where?"

"To where the robbers are," said Will impatiently.

"What about Heath?" Nick asked. "Do you know how my brother Heath is?"

"They still have him, Mr. Barkley," Will said, gravely.

Will's last glimpse of Heath lying on the floor of the farmhouse was still very fresh in his mind, but he chose not to tell Nick about it then. He didn't know if Heath was still alive or not, and feared that he wasn't, but he didn't want Nick to worry any more than he already was. He held out hope that they might get back there in time.

CHAPTER SIX

Russ and Davis returned to the farmhouse with the wagon. It had taken longer to get back than they had planned, but the road was rough, and they had stopped every so often and checked back behind them to see if the soldiers were following. Davis walked into the farmhouse. Several of the gang were sitting at the table.

"Looks like its time for us to head our separate ways, boys," he said to the men. "Cavalry's just a ways down over the ridge."

The men rose to their feet. "How far?"

"Oh, a few miles, I guess. They were heading the other direction when we last saw 'em, but I figure its only a matter of time 'fore they come snoopin' round here."

The gang members got their things together, and started to pack up to leave. They went into the barn and dragged out the crates that the gold bars were in, and prepared to divide up the loot.

"Hey," said one, "something's funny about this crate. I think somebody 'round here's already helped himself to a larger share."

They dragged the crates out and counted the bars, then counted once more to be sure. There were indeed some missing.

Heated accusations ensued, escalating until finally, someone threw a punch. It sparked off a vicious brawl that brought them outside the barn, and they scattered around the buildings. The men fought with knives, axe handles, and pitchforks, what ever was in reach. Then several gang members grabbed their guns and took up defensive positions around the farm, none staying very far from the barn and the crates.

Russ took a bad beating from two of the men and lay unconscious outside the back of the farmhouse. Alan had fared a bit better, but had received a bad blow to the leg from an axe handle and was now limping. The men squared off around the barn, and with guns drawn, no one allowed anyone else near the gold. In brief moments, their entire organization had fallen apart. None trusted the others.

One of the men decided to end the standoff, and made a move for the barn. He made it to the doorway, and a shot rang out. He stumbled forward into the barn and fell, face down near the crates, a hole in his back. Another fired at the spot where the first shot came from, and a gun battle began.

Alan and Davis had secured better positions in the farmhouse, and Alan had been able to pick off some of the gunmen. He was preparing to fire again, when he heard the hoofbeats of horses, and the shouts of the men. The cavalry had found them. The fighting continued, only now, the robbers outside turned their guns to the soldiers.

The gang was out-manned and out-gunned by the soldiers, and it wasn't long before the last gunman fell and the major ordered a halt to the shooting.

By the time Jarrod and Nick reached the farm it was all but over. They had heard the shooting as they approached the area, but it was finished when they and the rest of the men arrived. As they rode in, Major Owens' men were searching the place for survivors and collecting the dead. The newly arrived men, including Will, reported for orders and joined the men already working at the scene. Nick and Jarrod rode up to the farmhouse, dismounted, and tied their horses to the fence rail.

Will had just stepped inside the house as two of his fellow soldiers were picking Alan up off of the floor. He was bruised, and he limped when he took a step but otherwise seemed all right.

"Nick, they found one of your friends," Will called outside.

Nick entered the farmhouse and saw the soldiers helping Alan to his feet.

"Alan, thank God you're all right," Nick said, helping him to a chair.

The soldiers lifted Davis off of the floor. He was too dazed to put up a struggle, and was unaware that the recent blow he'd taken to the back of the head had been Alan's doing.

"Where's Heath?" Nick asked, looking around the room.

Alan looked down, unable to meet Nick's intense look.

"Alan, my brother, where is he?" Nick said, grabbing Alan's arm.

"Nick..." Alan said, hesitating, "I don't know where he is but......" he stopped.

"But what?"

"I...I think he's dead Nick."

"Dead?" Nick said, stunned. He looked at Alan, his eyes pleading, "No! He can't be."

"I'm sorry Nick, but they had him in that back room and I heard them." He paused and glanced toward the room. "I heard a shot."

Nick followed Alan's look toward the small room. The door was open slightly and Nick walked over and opened it wide. As his eyes adjusted to the poor light in the room, he stopped, horrified. He saw the blood. So much blood, staining the boards beneath the post, marking a path across the floor where something was.....dragged.....he looked away.

Nick turned and saw Davis with the soldiers. Suddenly, he recognized him as the one who had struck Heath on the train. He crossed the room in an instant and leaped for him, grabbing his throat.

"Where's my brother?" he demanded, "Where is he? So help me...." Nick shouted.

The soldiers grabbed Nick, trying to pry him off. They couldn't, and Nick's grip on Davis strengthened.

"What have you done with him?"

"Nothing....It wasn't me that killed him," squeaked Davis. "I only helped bury him."

Nick's anger exploded. "I'll kill you!" he cried.

"Nick! What are you doing?!" yelled Jarrod, entering the house with the Major. Nick ignored him. It took the soldiers, Jarrod and the Major to pull him off. Davis fell to the floor, choking.

They held on to Nick, and he stood, his breaths coming hard and fast. He struggled against their hold.

"Damn you let me go!" he blasted.

"Nick hold on! Stop it!" said Jarrod fighting to hang on to his brother's arms.

Nick couldn't shake all of them. He finally relented and stopped struggling. He stood, breathing hard.

"All right, all right, let me go." He looked from Jarrod to the Major. "I said let me go," he said angrily.

Jarrod felt him relax a bit and nodded to the major. They eased their grip on him but stayed close.

"Now what's going on? Are you ok?" Jarrod said.

"I'm all right," he growled. "You shoulda let me kill him."

Jarrod looked across the room, expecting to see his blonde brother somewhere around. Soldiers were checking the condition of the gunman and of Alan, but Heath wasn't with them. He watched as the soldiers walked the gunman, now a prisoner, out the door.

"Where's Heath?" he asked Nick.

Nick's angry eyes flashed. "Heath is..."

He paused and looked at Alan, who looked down. He turned to Jarrod, took a deep halting breath, then his shoulders dropped resignedly. He wavered and for a moment Jarrod thought he was going to collapse. Jarrod put his hand on Nick's shoulder, steadying him, his eyes questioning.

"He's dead Jarrod, we're too late," Nick said, looking into his brother's eyes. "They murdered him."

Nick pointed toward the door where they had just taken Davis out. "That piece of garbage you just pulled me off said he helped bury him."

Stunned, Jarrod searched Nick's face for some sign of uncertainty. Seeing nothing there but pain he grabbed both of Nick's shoulders with his hands.

"Nick are you sure he was telling the truth?" Jarrod asked.

Nick lowered his head and nodded toward the back room. Jarrod released his hold on Nick's shoulders, walked to the doorway and looked. In the dimly lit little room, he saw the marks on the post and the dark stains on the floor below it. There were even marks on the wall.

As he stepped into the room, he saw the faint glint of a bit of metal on the floor. He walked over and bent down to look. It was Heath's coin on the broken chain. He reached down and picked it up. It too had dark stains. Jarrod closed his eyes and sighed bitterly. Blood, he thought. There was too much blood to dare to hope that somehow Heath had survived.

He turned away and walked back to Nick. He reached out and took Nick's hand, placing the coin and chain in it, then he closed his hand around Nick's fist.

"Jarrod....what?....." Nick opened his hand. He recognized what he held and clenched his fist in anguish. He looked up and stared past his brother toward the small room. Jarrod put both arms around Nick and held on. He turned Nick away from the room.

"We have to find him, Jarrod, and bring him home," Nick said sorrowfully.

"I know," Jarrod said sadly.

Jarrod walked Nick over to the table and sat him down. Nick leaned on the table and put his face in his hands, the chain dangling from between his fingers. Jarrod sat down next to him, numb. He watched as Private Mitchell slowly walked over and leaned on the door frame, facing into the small room. He had his back to Jarrod, but Jarrod could see that his shoulders were shaking.

Footsteps sounded on the porch. "Major Owens, Sir," a soldier said.

"Yes?" said the Major.

"Sir," he hesitated, looking at the brothers.

"We found Mr. Avery, he's alive out back, pretty beat up though, and Sir...,"

"Yes, private?" the Major asked.

"Sir, we found the gold, and....another dead man in the barn."

Jarrod stood up. He felt Nick's hand on his shoulder then Nick took a step forward toward the door. Jarrod reached for Nick's arm to hold him back.

"Its another one of the gang, Sir, shot in the back," the private reported.

Jarrod and Nick sighed, but the discovery gave them little relief.

"Nick, you said that man we pulled you off of told you he helped bury Heath," said Jarrod.

"Yeah," said Nick sullenly.

"Major, that man knows where our brother is. We need to find him."

The Major ordered, "Private, have that prisoner brought back in here."

As they waited, the Major said to Nick and Jarrod sympathetically, "Look, you boys need to be with your family right now. And you Nick, you need medical attention. You should go back to town. I'll get the information from the prisoner and send my men out to find your brother." He lowered his eyes and said more softly, "We'll bring him home to you."

Immediately he knew that he might have saved his breath. It was clear from the stone cold expressions on the brothers' faces that they had no intention of leaving.

The prisoner was brought in. He looked around the room at Alan and the others. Alan glared at him. It took little persuasion for Davis to convey the location of where he had taken Heath, but Alan's stern look warned him against saying much more.

One look at both Nick and Jarrod told him he was safer in the hands of the cavalry. He cooperated as much as he had to. He had little doubt that the Major wouldn't mind letting the brothers get their hands on him if he refused. But he revealed little else. The Major decided to save further questioning for another time, as he wanted to help the brothers start searching immediately.

A light rain was falling as two wagons were brought up to the house. The first, driven by a soldier, carried Russ and Alan towards town and the doctor's office. Alan was able to sit up and ride with the driver. Russ, still groggy, lay in the back of the wagon.

Jarrod insisted on driving the second wagon with Nick riding on the seat next to him. On horseback, Major Owens and Will escorted them as they headed out the old road away from town, following the directions they had from Davis.

The rain stopped as they rode along. It was late in the day and a cold grey mist hung in the air. The dampness was bone chilling. Jarrod saw the grim determination on Nick's face. In fact, Nick was so tired he was shaky, and blood had begun to seep through the bandage on his leg, but Jarrod knew there would have been no talking him out of going so he hadn't tried. He knew Nick needed to do this as much, maybe even more than he himself needed to. And, although he didn't speak of it then, Jarrod knew that Nick was blaming himself.

Jarrod was having his own problems with guilt. Perhaps things would have turned out differently, Heath may still have been alive, if he hadn't gone back to his office. Maybe with him there, his search party might have found the robbers. He now felt like he had abandoned them, and in doing so, his brother.

The methodical approach hadn't helped this time, and Jarrod reflected on how often he was critical of Nick's habit of jumping before thinking things through. This time... maybe this time a headlong approach would have made the rescue in time.

The going was slow, as the old rutted road was rough and muddy from the rain. They traveled without speaking for some time, listening to the steady footfalls of the horses, and the clinking of the chains on the harness, each fighting their own demons of guilt and despair. The soldiers rode alongside, quiet, their grim faces revealing their heartfelt sadness for the two brothers.

The wagon creaked and rattled as it rolled over the uneven road. They traveled what seemed like several miles, and began to worry that the gunman had lied to them about the location. They decided to push on just a little farther. They rounded a turn, and came over a small rise in the road which gave way to some overgrown pasture land.

"Oh my God," Nick groaned.

"What is it, Nick?" asked Jarrod.

"I recognize this area. We were searching around here early this morning. I was near this road." Nick's heart sank at the thought of how close he had been hours ago.

In the wet grass they saw wagon tracks leading off the old road toward a low ridge and tree line. It was as the gunman had described. Jarrod reined the team off the road, following the tracks. They went for a short distance and there, not far ahead, they saw it.

It was just a small pile of earth, barely noticeable from across the field, but obviously freshly turned. With no pull of the reins from Jarrod the team halted, sensing his hesitation. Major Owens rode up alongside them, dismounted, and tied his horse to the wagon.

"Please," he said gently, "let me and the private here...."

"No, he's our brother," said Jarrod coldly.

With that he set the brake, and he and Nick stepped down from the wagon. Upon impact with the ground, Nick's injured leg nearly collapsed underneath him. Owens stepped forward, reaching out to help. Jarrod's steely glare warned him back, but concern flashed in his eyes when they met Nick's.

"I'm okay," said Nick, shrugging off any assistance.

Alone, the brothers walked the few yards across the field toward the mound of fresh dirt. Jarrod, slightly behind, held on to Nick's arm as much to steady himself as to support Nick. As they approached, they saw that the pile of dirt was next to, rather than covering the hole. They realized that the gunmen must have not had time, or not cared, to finish the job.

As they neared, Nick could just begin to see down into the shallow grave. He stopped. There could be no doubt that there was indeed someone there. Although he thought he had prepared himself for the worst on the way there, his eyes blurred with tears as he could just see past the rim of soil the familiar color of Heath's tan pants.

"Oh Heath," he groaned.

Jarrod stepped up beside him and looked down into the hole at the still form. His breath caught in his throat and he thought he was going to be sick. Heath was lying on his left side in the cold, wet mud, a few shovelfuls of dirt carelessly thrown on him. His feet were bound and his hands tied behind him. Even through the mud Jarrod could see the bruises on his face. The once-blue shirt was now torn and darkly stained with blood and mud.

Through his hot tears, Nick's eyes focused on the tousled blond hair, and for a moment he wasn't standing here in this nightmare, he was back home again, watching his brother work one of the horses. This isn't real, he thought, this can't be.

Jarrod's movement snapped him back to reality.

"Come on Nick, let's get him home," he said sadly, stepping down into the hole. His boots sunk into the wet earth.

He looked up at Nick who stood frozen, looking dazed. Jarrod, thinking to lift Heath up to him, bent down and put his hands behind Heath's shoulders. As he touched him, Jarrod thought, my God, my poor little brother, he isn't even cold yet.

Isn't ...cold....yet... but... dulled by grief, his mind felt slow. Wait... but its been hours...he thought, why.... wouldn't.....he be.....?

On instinct his hands moved to Heath's throat. He felt...there...again...yes...

"Nick! God, Nick!" he cried.

Startled, Nick responded, "Jarrod, what....?"

"He's still alive Nick, Heath's alive!"

The wagon carrying Alan and Russ made its way into town. Russ' grogginess eased somewhat, and he sat up in the back. Alan climbed over the seat and into the back of the wagon. He held Russ' shoulder to steady him.

"What happened?" Russ asked him, looking up at the blue-uniformed back of the soldier driving the wagon.

He looked at his hands. No shackles. Beside them, no guards. They must not be prisoners, he thought.

"Alan, where are we going, where is everybody?"

Alan motioned for Russ to be quiet. "We'll talk later," he said, glancing up at the driver. "You're going to the doctor's."

Unable to just sit at home and wait for news, Victoria and Audra had come into town to check on the progress of the search. They had just stopped in to speak with the sheriff. Before they got the chance, they saw the wagon passing his office on its way to the doctor's. Recognizing Russ and Alan in the back, Victoria called for Audra and the sheriff to come with her. They reached the doctor's as the soldier and Alan were helping Russ out of the wagon.

Following them inside, Victoria noticed Alan limping and Russ's bruised face. She stepped forward and, after the men helped Russ lay down, she helped the nurse put a blanket on him. The soldier stepped back outside, and as the doctor began his examination of Russ, Victoria and Alan joined Audra and the sheriff in the waiting room.

"So they got you out of there all right then," the sheriff said. "Yeah, pretty much," Alan said, turning to look at Victoria.

The sound of a groan came from the doctor's examining room.

"Russ?" said Alan as he hobbled to the doctor's side.

"How is he?"

"It'll take some time and rest," the doctor said, "but I think he'll be all right. He's got some pretty bad bruises, and he's going to have one heck of a headache, but he'll pull through. As for you, we need to take a look at that leg of yours."

Relieved, Alan said to the doctor, "In a bit. I need to speak to the ladies here."

He stepped back into the waiting room and walked up to Victoria and Audra. He looked at Victoria, and could see the question on her face before she spoke.

"Alan, my sons......." she said.

He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Jarrod and Nick will be along soon."

His omission of Heath's name was too obvious.

She looked up at him. "And Heath? Alan, what about Heath?" she asked.

There was no easy way to tell her. He took her hand tenderly with his right hand, the same one he had used so brutally on her son's throat only hours before.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Barkley," he said, as gently as he could, "your son Heath ... is dead."

"No!" Audra screamed. "No, you must be wrong, he can't be!" she cried. "Oh Mother, no!" she moaned turning away from Alan to hug her mother.

Victoria held Audra tightly, and looked over her daughter's trembling shoulder at Alan. There was no doubt in his eyes.

"Nick and Jarrod are out with the cavalry now...they're going to bring him back," he said softly.

"Oh No. He just can't... he can't be," she said. She turned, closed her eyes and held Audra as tightly as she could. The tears came, and Victoria felt Audra's body shaking with sobs.

Uncomfortable with the emotion in the room, the sheriff stepped out on to the porch. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and grabbed the railing. He leaned heavily, looking down at his hands.

Sighing, he looked across and down the muddy street. He saw people walking, going about their business. He knew he couldn't protect them all, not all of the time, but this family...he should have been able to do something more for them. He shook his head, and closed his eyes, feeling utterly useless.

Inside, Alan guided Victoria and Audra to the couch. They sat, still holding each other. He limped over and dragged a chair close to them. Sitting down, he looked at them, and then had to look away past them, out the window. Audra's body shook with deep sobs, her beautiful eyes were swollen red from her tears. Victoria, who had looked so regal when he saw her on the train, looked defeated and small. Her elegant features now seemed aged and tired. He put a gentle hand on her arm. She looked up at him when he spoke.

"Mrs. Barkley, its getting late. Jarrod and Nick may be some time yet, I think maybe you and Audra should have a more comfortable place to wait, I can see if there's a room for you at the hotel."

Victoria straightened, trying to regain her composure. Looking at the devastated Audra, she said, "Thank you, maybe you're right."

"I'll arrange it," said the sheriff from the doorway.

He had just been coming back in, and overheard the conversation. He was grateful to have something helpful to do for them. And he wanted them to be somewhere else when he got the chance to ask Alan and Russ about what had happened.

"I do want to get Audra settled down," Victoria said quietly to Alan, "but, I'll be back in a little bit, I want to talk to you, I need to know....."

He knew she would ask.

"I understand," he said. "I'll be here lookin' in on Russ."