Becoming Brothers

Chapters 9-15

by Redwood

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

This story is a sequel to “Flashes of Light,” which tells of an alternate arrival for Heath. The family is made up of the typical characters, except for the fact that Eugene does not exist.

Chapter 9

As they rode toward the ranch, Nick kept a close eye on the quiet figure beside him. At first, Nick contented himself with a steady walk, but Heath quickly overruled that. Without a word, Heath moved his horse up into a smooth lope. Nick kept pace with him.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, they rode in silence. Though Heath didn’t look completely relaxed in the saddle, he didn’t look to Nick like he was struggling too much.

However, not long after that, he quickly realized Heath was having more difficulty than he and his poker face had let on.

The well-trained Modoc pony suddenly reacted to the subtle signal of tightened muscles and came to a complete stop. When Nick caught the sudden change out of the corner of his eye, he quickly wheeled his horse back around to face Heath. The pain he saw reflected in Heath’s face let him know the extent of his struggle just to stay in the saddle.

Coming along side, Nick reached over and put his black-gloved right hand on Heath’s forearm. Every muscle was clenched tight, and Heath’s breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes were tightly closed.

“Heath? Heath!” Nick said, getting louder. “What can I do?”

With a slight shake of his head, Heath said through a clenched jaw, “Nick?”

“Right here, Boy.” The big brother in him responded, “Come on, let’s get you over to the trees and out of that saddle for a little while.”

“No, Nick.” Heath said carefully, “Might not get. . . back up. . . . Just wait.”

“Okay, Heath. Here, drink this.” He handed over his opened canteen, tapping Heath’s shoulder to get his attention. Heath reached for it and took one swallow, opening his eyes as he returned it. Nick added, “Let’s take it slow, huh?”

After a few moments, Heath asked, “Nick, promise me somethin’?”

“Sure, Heath,” Nick responded.

“Just promise me ya won’t ride double with me again. Ya might ruin my reputation.”

“Boy! I outta pull you off that little cow pony and teach you some respect right now! Here I was concerned about you, and you’re worried about your social standing in the community!” Nick bellowed.

Heath winced at the loud shouting, but offered a one-sided grin. He nudged his mare into a steady walk.

Turning his horse again, Nick joined him, and they continued toward the ranch.

This time, Nick tried to make conversation. “Heath, you know, with all that happened the other day and today, I never did hear Liam say anything about the ransom money Jarrod took up to Oak Flats. Did you?” Not giving any room for a reply, he continued, “I guess Jarrod took care of it, must be what he was going to deal with before he came back home.”

When he got no response, he tried asking a direct question, “Heath, why didn’t you just tell the sheriff about being deputized, show him your badge, you know at the ranch when he first said he wanted you to come in for questioning?”

Glancing at the younger man beside him, Nick was beginning to wonder if Heath was even hearing him. He tried to watch a little closer, growing concerned that he hadn’t seen Heath open his eyes in several minutes. Nick knew the Modoc would just keep walking along with Coco and wasn’t especially concerned about her, but with the doctor’s warning echoing loudly in his head, he was worried that Heath might get dizzy and fall out of the saddle.

“Heath, what are you going to do about that bronc that bested you, huh?” Nick finally asked, trying to get a reaction, any reaction. When he didn’t, he reached out and put his hand across the loose reins to stop the little mare.

“I’m okay, Nick,” came the instant reply, the eyes still closed. Nick turned loose and both horses continued walking forward.

“Alright, Heath, alright,” Nick responded, “But, I’m right here. If you need me, lean this way. I’ll catch you, Little Brother.”

After a few moments, he heard a response. “Little Brother,” Heath mumbled. “Kinda like the sound’a that.”

“You know, I’ve always been Jarrod’s little brother, and I’m Audra’s big brother, but . . . Whoa, there!” Nick struggled to stop both horses and keep Heath from toppling out of the saddle as he suddenly slipped to the left toward Nick.

Keeping one hand on Heath, Nick threw his own reins over Coco’s head. He slipped out of his saddle by throwing his left leg over in front of him and sliding down to the ground between the two horses.

“Heath!” Nick said loudly, “Heath, stay with me, Boy! Hang on, stay in the saddle another minute.” His words were having little effect; he struggled to center the blond and keep him astride the horse. Then, successful only because of the small size of the mare, he clucked to her to get her moving again and reached up toward her bridle to turn her to the left and the trees beyond. They made slow progress with more and more of Heath’s weight leaning heavily on Nick from above. Finally, he halted the mare, and eased the unconscious man from the saddle as gently as possible.

As he lifted Heath from behind and under the arms, to drag him backwards toward the shade, Nick grunted, “It’s a good thing you don’t have jingly spurs like mine, Boy, or I wouldn’t be able to drag your heavy carcass two feet.”

Leaning Heath against the closest tree, Nick told him, “Stay right here, Boy. Don’t go wandering off to go dancing or anything. I’ll be right back with some water.” He kept up his end of the conversation, even knowing the blond was probably not hearing him at all.

Nick walked back over to Coco and praised the horse for staying put. As he reached over to catch the reins of the Modoc and lead them both closer to the trees, a shot rang out.

At virtually the same instant, Nick Barkley spun partially around and fell heavily to the ground, unmoving.

* * * * * * * *

Sheriff Forrest was not handling the delay well. With a knowing grin, Jarrod realized that the sheriff’s antagonized pacing reminded him of Nick Barkley, and he watched in some amusement as the sheriff began gesturing wildly with his arms and yelling at some stragglers just joining them.

After duly deputizing the men in the group, the sheriff led the eight men out of town in the direction some of the townsfolk had indicated. Checking his watch, Jarrod figured the escaped men had about a thirty-minute head start on the sheriff. Knowing the family needed him to come home so they could spend time discussing their future together, Jarrod had declined to ride with the men any further than along his route to the ranch.

At first, they pushed their horses hard, figuring the fleeing men would do the same. Then, as other roads converged with their original course, they had to slow to double check for matching tracks.

Jarrod knew his mind was not really on the pursuit since he was not planning to be with them long. Instead, he was thinking hard about his family and about Heath’s part in that family.

However, when the tracks took a turn toward the ranch instead of continuing on, he immediately noticed. The feeling of foreboding he had experienced that morning returned with full force. Spurring his horse to carry him closer to the front of the group, Jarrod wondered why the fugitives would go this way.

Were they headed back toward the camp the raiders had had in the hills beyond the ranch? Surely they would not return to the same place! He continued to hope that they would not, however, stay on the same course. Their current route led directly to the ranch and his family.

After a few more miles, the sheriff slowed the posse again. Jarrod looked ahead and saw what appeared to be a lone horse by the trees in front and to the left of them. Proceeding with caution, the men drew their guns. They kept a sharp eye toward the tree line and the cover it offered for anyone wanting to hide there. Just as the sheriff called for a halt, Jarrod’s eyes widened, and he spurred his horse forward.

“Nick!” he yelled, as he charged toward the easily recognizable Coco and the motionless figure on the ground just beyond the horse’s hooves.

Dismounting and kneeling beside his fallen brother, Jarrod turned Nick over with a plea in his heart. “Nick,” he breathed when he saw the blood on the dark vest, but felt the rise and fall of the sturdy chest underneath it. “Liam, send someone for a doctor! Send him to the ranch. We’ll take Nick there.”

“Nick, come on,” Jarrod said, “Wake up.” He pulled off his brother’s bandana and stuffed it in the shoulder wound. Then, he pulled Nick into a more upright position, and leaned him forward to check the back of his arm. Sighing with relief at the clear exit wound, he asked for some assistance.

“Hey, Smitty, could I have your bandana?” Jarrod asked of one of the men walking toward him.

“Sure, Mr. Barkley, and here’s some water for him.” The older man handed over the bandana and squatted beside Jarrod, holding the open canteen.

Jarrod pushed the neatly folded cloth over the exit wound and tried again to get Nick to come around. “Nick. Nick! Can you hear me?” Shaking his head, Jarrod said, “How about helping me get him in the saddle. I’ll ride behind him.”

Smiling sadly to himself as they prepared to ride toward the ranch, Jarrod said aloud, “I just hope you don’t wake up until we get you down from up here. I can just hear you if you find out Pappy had to hold you all the way home!”

Then, changing his tone to reflect his serious concerns, Jarrod said, “Never mind, Nick, you just hurry and wake up. We need to make sure you’re alright, and to figure out what happened to your little brother.”

As Jarrod turned his horse for home, Liam came up beside him leading Coco. At the questions in the lawyer’s eyes, the sheriff said quietly, “Jarrod, if you and that Sheriff Ashton didn’t have me convinced about Heath, I’d have to wonder if he wasn’t part of their escape attempt. But, I know now that he wasn’t. You’ve got enough on you right now, but you need to know that it looks like somebody left some blood over by one of those trees. My guess is that it’s Heath’s. His horse is gone so I can only figure they took him with them, why, I don’t know--unless they came after him for the part he played in getting them caught.”

Then, the sheriff looked over at the men with him. “Jarrod, if I send one man with you, can you get Nick home okay? I need the others. I’ve got to find these no good scoundrels. They’ve shot two men today and, now they have another hostage.”

Jarrod looked straight into the sheriff’s eyes and said, “I’ll get Nick home. You keep the rest with you and find the men that did this. I just hope they still have a hostage by the time you find them. I have a bad feeling that they want more from Heath than a live body to hide behind.”

Liam nodded his understanding, handed over Coco’s reins, and turned his horse toward the tracks cutting across the pasture.

With a heavy heart, Jarrod, his arms steadying Nick in front of him, started toward home. All he could think of was that when they had headed out this morning, his mother’s biggest fear was that Heath would tumble from his horse and aggravate his injuries. Now, he was returning home with one brother shot and the other missing. “Hang on, Brother Nick, we’ll get you fixed up and find that brother of yours somehow.”

Chapter 10

Twice, years ago, he had been caught in mine cave-ins. Even in the dark then, he could remember the sound of timbers crashing around him, the roaring in his ears as the ground shook, and the feel of dirt that settled in the aftermath. But, this was different. Before, he didn’t remember rocks hitting him one at a time, over and over in the same location, first his gut, then his chest, then his head.

Slowly, between gasps of pain and blows that stole his breath, he realized the pain raining down on him was not caused by a cave-in, not falling timbers, not from one rock at a time.

Coming around slightly, Heath couldn’t remember where he was. He knew the voice, but he couldn’t understand how Mac could be here among the trees with him while Turk was pounding him with his fists. As the last blow knocked him back against the tree, Heath realized it was Mac who was hitting him, Mac’s voice that he was hearing, and he suddenly remembered that Turk was already dead.

Though he caught Mac’s use of the word “betrayed” over and over, Heath was unable to focus on any of the other words. Instead, he concentrated on providing enough resistance to keep Mac’s fists from going straight through him. “Mac?” Heath tried to ask, between the blows, “Mac?”

“Oh, me boy,” the angry, graying man spat the words at him, “Ye jes do na understand, do ye?” Pulling Heath up by the front of his shirt, he looked into the anguished blue eyes. “Ye betrayed us, Heath Thomson.”

Just as the next blow to Heath’s stomach landed and almost lifted him off the ground, he caught a glimpse of Nick lying near Coco about fifteen feet away.

“Nick!” Heath yelled.

He pushed himself away from the tree and tried to pull himself toward the man on the ground. His attempts to holler the name of his injured brother a second time were viciously cut short. All the air in his lungs was forcefully removed by Mac’s boot connecting with his chest.

As Mac lifted Heath’s head by grabbing a handful of bloody, blond hair, the hate behind his cold eyes and cruel blows spewed forth with a vengeance, “Ye turned us in and shot up yer friends, Thomson. Fer that, yer gonna pay. Do ye hear, me boy? Oh, yer gonna pay!”

Throwing him back to the ground, Mac kicked Heath in the left side. The pain inside him burst outward, like dynamite exploding in an enclosed mine shaft. Flying bits of debris coursed throughout his body, the deafening roar of the explosion crashed through his head, and the inescapable cave-in that followed crushed him into oblivion.

* * * * * * * *

“HEATH!”

Jarrod grabbed Nick by his good arm and forced his awakening brother back down on the bed. “Nick, it’s okay. Nick, can you hear me? It’s okay.”

Victoria wiped the sweat from his face and ran the wet cloth through his soaked, black hair. “Lie still, Nicholas, it’s going to be okay, Son. The doctor will be here soon.”

Nick began thrashing around, his head moving back and forth rapidly, Then, suddenly, his eyes jerked open, and he lay there panting for breath.

“Hold still, Nick, the doctor’s coming. It’s okay. You’re home, Nick,” Jarrod added. “Calm down, you’re okay, now.”

Nick’s eyes slowly focused on Jarrod, and he managed a weak raising of one eyebrow in return. “Jarrod?”

“Right here, Brother Nick. I’m right here.” Jarrod responded.

Slowly, Nick’s eyes moved to the other side of the bed, where his mother was ringing out a cloth into a large bowl. “Mother, how’s Audra?”

Puzzled, she said, “Nick, Audra’s fine. She’s right downstairs, but she’ll be here in a minute.”

Looking at Jarrod, she suddenly realized that Nick must be thinking about the kidnapping, not realizing all that had been resolved a few days ago. “You brought her home, Honey. She’s fine.”

Smiling, Nick closed his eyes, then he said, “You did good, Boy. Got her home.”

At first, Jarrod thought Nick was talking about himself, then he realized he was repeating something he must have said to Heath after they had found Audra and brought her home.

Suddenly, Nick’s eyes flew open, and he tried to sit up, “HEATH!” he yelled again, thrashing around as Victoria and Jarrod struggled to hold him still.

“Nick! Stop it, Nick!” Jarrod demanded. “Look at me!”

The hazel eyes opened slowly and his wild thrashing calmed, but the worry Jarrod had seen before was still there. “Where is he, Jarrod?” Nick choked out.

Quickly deciding that Nick was probably not too delirious to understand the answer now, Jarrod said, “We don’t know, Nick. When we got there, we only found you. He and whoever shot you are gone. Do you remember anything?”

Nick’s eyes closed again. Then, they heard him say quietly, “Didn’t know them. But . . they shot me. They were beating him into the ground.” Then his eyes opened wide, “Jarrod,” he said with deep anger in his voice, “They’re going to kill him. We have to find him!”

“We will, Nick. Take it easy, you can’t go anywhere. There was a jail break after the two of you left town. There are four of them now, and apparently, they took Heath as a hostage. Liam’s got some men, and they’re out there looking for him right now.” Jarrod added, “Just rest, Nick, they’ll find him.”

He tried one more time to push himself up off the bed. With a moan that he tried unsuccessfully to swallow before it left his lips, he fell back and lay still. With his eyes focused on the ceiling above him, Nick saw in his mind the images of a man standing over Heath kicking him again and again, taunting him angrily because he had betrayed them.

Nick closed his eyes, but all he could see were the pain-filled blue eyes of his brother calling to him, trying to get to him, wanting to help him.

“Jarrod,” Nick whispered, his eyes still closed, “Jarrod, he thinks they killed me.”

* * * * * * * *

When the debris settled, there was only pain inside his head. The repercussions from the dynamite exploding inside him left blinding, unceasing agony all up and down his body. His only awareness of anything beyond himself was of the damp, cool earth beneath him.

When he tried to open his eyes, the sharp, splintered pieces of pain descended upon him, plunging him back into nothingness.

* * * * * * * *

Frustrated, Sheriff Liam Forrest had no choice but to divide his men into three groups. Beginning at the point where the trail they had been following suddenly ended, he sent them out to search for tracks, any tracks, that might give them a clue as to which way the fugitives had gone.

They had been trailing the men for four hours with no sign of them except the path cutting across the stubby, dry grass and along the dusty wagon roads. Pushing hard, they had expected to glimpse the riders long before now. However, the men before them had turned toward the hills at the first opportunity, using the rockier ground to their advantage for losing the pursuing group behind them.

Liam would soon have to make a decision as to whether to push on and plan on camping along the way tonight, or to stop and return to Stockton for more men, rest, and supplies.

* * * * * * * *

Doc Merar shook his head at the sleeping figure in the large, wood-paneled bedroom. “Nick was lucky this time, Victoria. His arm did not sustain any long-lasting damage.”

“So he’s going to be alright, Doc?” Jarrod spoke up.

“Yes, Jarrod, the bullet passed through, missed anything of vital importance, and we got to it in time for the thorough cleaning to really help.” The doctor nodded as he closed his bag.

“I hesitate to say ‘Nick’ and ‘rest’ in the same breath,” the kindly man chuckled, “But that is exactly what he must do. He shouldn’t try to use that shoulder for a week, and he needs to stay in bed for as long as you can keep him there, at least a couple of days.”

“Thank you, Howard, we appreciate you coming back out here so soon,” Victoria replied.

“That’s quite alright, Victoria,” he replied, “I had planned on coming out this afternoon anyway.” The doctor picked up his bag and headed for the door. As soon as he reached the doorway, he said, “I’ll just look in on my other patient while I’m here.”

Victoria and Jarrod looked at each other, and Jarrod quickly followed the doctor out into the hall. “Doc. Doc, wait a minute,” he trailed off as he saw the man reach the doorway of the room where Heath was supposed to be.

Puzzled, the doctor turned back to look at Jarrod. His dark brown eyes were blazing with indignation. “Jarrod! Where is my patient? He should be in this bed. Where’s Heath?”

Stepping forward and taking the doctor by the arm, Jarrod walked him back the other way, toward the staircase. “Doc, I only wish I knew.” Jarrod continued, “He and Nick were together, coming home from the sheriff’s office before lunch. You were right, by the way, Liam wouldn’t give us any more time before expecting Heath in his office to answer questions.”

The doctor started shaking his head again, as they walked down the stairs to the sitting area beyond.

“There’s more. We think Nick was shot by the gang members that broke out of the jail today, the same ones that shot Jason. We can only assume they took Heath with them.” Jarrod offered Howard a drink and took a swallow of one himself.

In a quiet, very agonized voice, he added, “Nick indicated that he saw them beating Heath. There was blood on the ground by a tree, blood that probably wasn’t Nick’s.”

The clock in the hall could be heard over the silence between the two men.

Finally, Doc Merar said, “Jarrod, Liam's deputy, Jason, is going to be alright, and Nick, with some rest, will be okay, too. But, those men aren’t going to have to be taken back to Markleeville to be convicted of murder if the sheriff doesn’t find Heath soon. Liam will be able to arrest and hold them for the same crime here.”

Looking up into the troubled blue eyes staring back at him, he added, “Jarrod, it may already be too late.”

Hearing a gasp at the doctor’s blunt words, Jarrod looked up and stared into the sad, grey eyes of his mother and the brimming, blue ones of his sister. Both women were standing at the foot of the stairs, but Audra didn’t stay there long. With an unmistakable sob, she fled back up the staircase and towards her room.

Chapter 11

The second time he came around, he could hear the slow, distinct, rhythmic dripping of water somewhere in the dark behind him. The sound coincided with the pounding of the blood in his head, the pounding of the pickaxe in his brain.

Opening his eyes just a slit, he could see nothing but crushing darkness. The smell of damp earth and rotting timbers triggered a memory, but it was no more than an instant, fleeting image with neither context of time nor circumstance to give it substance. Even without moving the side of his face from the dirt, even without enough light to make out any objects or details, even through the dusty haze inside his aching head, he knew he was inside an unused mine.

His struggle to take in a deep breath was constant now. His lungs were searing with the repercussions of the explosion still shaking him from the inside out. For long moments at a time, the sounds of the dripping water were muffled by the rasps of his breathing.

Suddenly the search for air turned to wracking coughs. Without conscious thought, he instinctively brought his knees up to his chest and his arms up to his ribs. As the coughs tore at his chest, he wondered for a split second about the rough rope that bound his hands together in front of him as he lay tightly curled up on his right side.

Without warning, however, his body was wrenched by dry heaves that robbed him of all wondering, all thought. As he fought with the agony that stretched into prolonged minutes of gut-crushing assault, he became part of the darkness all around him once more.

* * * * * * * *

By the time the teams of riders straggled back toward the clump of small, green trees on the edge of the dry pasture, Liam Forrest had reached the conclusion that this was a search that was going to stretch on for days. Reluctantly, he reassembled the men and turned them toward town.

Despite his own weariness, he knew he would not be joining the men there for another hour or so. Before he could head for his office and hear an update on his wounded deputy, he knew he first needed to inform the Barkleys of his lack of progress.

For the second time in two days, he dreaded having to face them with bad news.

* * * * * * * *

“Mother! Mother!” Audra’s worried voice broke the quiet of the still house.

Jarrod charged into the room with Victoria close behind him. “What is it, Sweetheart?” she asked as she entered. “Oh, Nick!”

Seeing her son’s shaky, yet successful attempts to get to his feet both scared and angered her.

“Nick!” Jarrod said emphatically, “Sit back down, before we have to pull you back up in that bed by your spurs!” Guiding his brother to the mattress behind him, Jarrod was frightened at the paleness of the determined face before him.

“Nicholas, lie back down this instant before you start bleeding again,” Victoria demanded. When he started shaking his head, she added, “Nick, I said!” just for good measure.

Her last statement cut through the thick ‘Frisco fog rolling through his brain, and he lay back down on the pillows.

Audra brought him a cool, damp cloth, which his mother applied to his forehead. She sat down beside him and physically attempted to ensure his compliance.

“Jarrod? Did they find him, yet?” Nick inquired in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

“Not yet, Brother Nick,” the lawyer responded. Then, trying to find words of reassurance for them all, he added, “When they do, I promise you’ll be the first to know. You just rest easy. I’ll personally wake you up to give you the good news the minute he comes in the door downstairs.”

With Nick’s eyes closed and partially covered by the cloth, the other three in the room exchanged worried looks. The sheriff had left only a little while before, leaving them with nothing more than his promises to continue the search in the morning.

* * * * * * * *

He could feel the coughing tearing him apart on the inside. It seemed that every other attempt to draw in air resulted in another round of agony. The hacking, ripping through his chest, was compounding the pain slicing through his head. But none of that mattered. He couldn’t stop the coughing, because he refused to stop searching for enough air to fill his lungs, so the pain continued.

The dampness reminded him of his fiery thirst. His mind struggled to make sense out of where he was and why. If he could just remember why, he might be able to figure out the rest. As he moved slightly, the crushing pressure on his side caused the image of a falling horse to flash through his mind. He remembered the pain of finding himself caught under the animal and landing with a post against his back. But, his confused brain told him, that had happened on a hot, dry afternoon with the sun beating down on him, weighing on him as heavily as the thrashing horse. That had very little to do with this place.

A sudden cough attacked him again. The pain shattered into sharp fragments that stabbed through his head, and he cried out.

The sound of his own agony echoed around the chamber he could not see. Another memory, triggered by the reverberating cry, resounded through him. This memory was of the pride and the fear of planting a charge against a rock wall in semi-darkness, of lighting a fuse that singed his fingers and blinded his vision, of scurrying back the way he had come to avoid being caught in the resulting explosion. In the echoing inside his head, he saw the small boy he had been and the terrifying task that had been asked of him, day after day, in darkness like this.

With his eyes tightly closed to push back the pain in his head, he fumbled with bound hands and stiff fingers to find a match in his torn shirt pocket, a match like those he had used as a boy earning money by setting charges deep inside a mine. Locating one, he felt around on the ground he could not see. Easily finding a half-buried stone among those scattered in front of him, he struck the match. The instant light from the tiny flame seared his eyes, but before it burned down to his fingers, he could see enough to make out a remnant of a torch laying across some of the rocks, several feet beyond his head.

As the next vicious assault of coughing burned through him, he tried to focus on staying conscious. Afraid that, if he gave in to the blackness again, he wouldn’t remember the important piece of wood when he came to, he struggled to breathe and hold himself together with his arms and his knees.

With each cough, the total darkness seemed broken by sparkling dots of light flitting across his vision like fireflies on a hot summer evening. The warmth of the memory merged with the warmth inside him as he panted for breath and felt the sweat of a slowly stoked fever envelope him.

Finally, with the coughing subsided, he was able to push himself forward several inches at a time in the direction of the torch. Each movement of his arms, shoulders, and legs sent fresh surges of pain coursing through him, and he heard his exertion reflected in his own agonized groans. Pausing for breath after several minutes, he waited for the coughing to shake him again.

Instead, he was seized by a return of the dry heaves that left him unable to move, except for his hands that wiped away the remnants of thick mucus pushed up out of his lungs by the uncontrollable nausea and its aftermath. Panting for breath again, he pushed his throbbing head into the dirt to quell the pain and dizziness that overtook him.

Sometime later, he again inched forward, using his shoulder and elbow to pull him ahead, with his legs and feet to push. Unable to see the rocks, he could only guess where they lay and try to avoid as many as he could. He made slow, but steady, progress in what he hoped was the right direction. Lying still to catch his breath again, he heard his own wheezing and knew he could not go much further.

Reaching up and outward in the dark, he sought the piece of wood that could make the difference between remaining in this place and any hope for escape. As his hands closed on his objective, a weak lop-side grin turned up one corner of his bruised mouth. He pulled the torch toward him and maneuvered it so the smoother, already burned end, was nearest him. Then, he struggled to remove another match from his pocket and, striking it on a rock, held its small flame to the torch. Holding his hope in his shaky hands, he watched as the torch lit, at last filling the darkness with more than the sound of his own raspy breathing.

* * * * * * * *

The barn, once a place of comfort and good memories, was now a place of loathing and long shadows. As Justin Drumm closed the door to the porch behind him and walked slowly toward the yawing mouth of the tall, grey structure, he wished for the third time that he didn’t have to go back in there alone to finish his evening chores.

When he crossed the threshold, fear gripped him and he stopped dead in his tracks. An unexpected noise to his right only fueled his fright, and he dropped the bucket he had been carrying. Drawing himself up to his full height, he spoke sharply into the growing gloom, “Who, who’s there?”

The fact that there was no reply did not really make the eight-year old feel much better. Grabbing a shovel from the closest wall and all his courage from deep within, he stepped fully into the barn, and faced the next noise head on.

Suddenly, his narrowed eyes widened and a smile spread across his fierce face. “Oh, it’s just a horse!” He breathed a sigh of relief as his nightmares of the man in the barn grabbing him and hauling him out into the bright afternoon several days ago, faded into nothing more than memory.

“What are you doin’ here, Horse?” he asked. Then, he joked, “You’re a might small to be causin’ any nightmares, ain’t you?”

As he walked forward, the little black mare, who was calmly munching on hay she had strewn across the floor, twitched one tiny ear back at him. When he reached up and touched her neck, she turned and nuzzled at him. “Well, you’re a friendly little thing. Where’d you come from, all saddled like that?”

Noticing the dark spots on her right shoulder below his hand, he touched them. When his fingers came away smeared with almost-dry blood, he asked, “Who hurt you, Girl?” Then, he rubbed at the sticky drops and was surprised to see no wound underneath. Thinking hard, he checked the saddle and saw a bloody streak on the pommel.

As he turned to lead her to an empty stall, he noticed she was favoring her left foreleg. After tying her reins so she wouldn’t tangle herself, Justin closed the stall door and ran for the house.

Chapter 12

When Nick awoke this time, he was relieved to see Jarrod sleeping in the closest chair. He smiled as he remembered the many times his brother had done this same thing for him, staying with him through a night of illness or injury so his parents, or more recently just his mother, could get some much needed rest.

In the early morning grey, he could picture one particular time when Jarrod had stayed with him through an injury they had been trying to hide from their parents. He had awakened Jarrod to return to his room before anyone else had gotten up, thanking him for coming in to check on him and staying. Jarrod had done it, despite the trouble he would have gotten into if Victoria had found out. Nick had twisted his knee during a fight at school with Matthew Irving over a girl, and Jarrod would catch it as surely as Nick if she found out he knew but didn’t tell her. It was funny, because now he couldn’t even remember the girl’s name.

Smiling at the memory, Nick’s hand found the nearly-dry cloth that had earlier been placed over his forehead and was now laying beside him in the bed. He wadded it up in a ball, and with his good arm, tossed it at Jarrod to wake him. “Good morning, Big Brother. It’s time to get us both up and out of this room.”

Rudely disturbed from a dream he couldn’t quite recall, by an object he couldn’t at all identify, Jarrod looked around and tried to figure out why he was so stiff. “Brother Nick,” he said with some disgust. “You’re looking better than I feel!”

As he struggled into his pants, Nick said, “I am better. Come here and help me with these boots! ‘Can’t seem to get them on with only one hand.”

“Nick,” Jarrod’s voice warned, “You’re not going anywhere. You don’t need boots and spurs to lie here all day.”

Looking up at him, Nick stopped his frustrating attempts. The calm determination stopped Jarrod cold. “Jarrod, I’m going downstairs whether you help me or not. So are you going to sit there, or are you going to help me?”

A short while later, both were sitting at the table having an early breakfast, when Victoria entered the dining room. The surprise on her face was evident as she stopped halfway across the room.

“Nicholas,” she said, her eyes flashing with the building storm, “What is the meaning of this? You are supposed to be in bed!”

Turning slightly toward her, he said, “Now, Mother. I’m not planning to dig fencepost holes just yet, but I am feeling much better this morning. In fact, I had a much better night sleep than Brother Jarrod, there. Maybe you should be sending him back to bed instead of me.”

Her eyes softening as she heard the strength and determination in his voice, she glanced at Jarrod, whose laughing eyes and answering nod further relaxed her.

Settling in her chair, she reached for the coffee pot and said, “You must be doing much better than Howard imagined. He said you would need to be in bed for a couple of days, and you look like you have done just that!”

Nick looked up at her and caught the merry glint in her eye. Looking down at himself, he realized how disheveled his appearance must be. As he smoothed his hands down over his uncombed hair, he gave her a wide smile and chuckled.

A loud, repeatedly impatient knock at the front door discontinued the conversation. Knowing Silas was engaged in the kitchen, Jarrod headed for the front of the house. His shout back to them of, “Mother, Nick!” propelled both of them to their feet. Thinking Nick might need her assistance making it to the door, she instead found herself struggling to keep up with him as they both responded with action.

Reaching the open door, Nick cried, “Heath!” as soon as he saw the little black Modoc standing near the gathered men. Looking around, however, he quickly realized his new, blond-headed brother was not among them.

“Nick,” Jamie Drumm said haltingly, “Is she your horse? My boy found her in our barn.”

Walking over to look at her closely, Nick shook his head, “No, she’s not mine, but she belongs to my brother, Heath.” Running his hands over the little mare, he immediately bent over to check the clearly injured leg. His worry deepened as he realized the now-dried blood was not hers. As he stood up, a wave of dizziness crept over him, but he was able to cover it as the attention of the group was turned back to Drumm.

“Jamie,” Jarrod spoke up, “Come in and tell us what happened. Please!” Jarrod gestured to the front door.

Nick spoke to the three ranch hands standing there. “Would one of you ride into town to see if you can figure out where the sheriff is? If you can find him or find out where he is, tell him we might have some information for him that will help the search. Meet us at the Drumm’s place.” After taking a few steps toward the door, he stopped and said quietly, “Oh, would one of you take care of Heath’s horse and saddle mine and Jarrod’s? Thanks fellas.”

After determining that Jamie had not taken time for breakfast, Jarrod ushered him into the dining room and served a few items onto a plate while he asked some questions. “Jamie, when did Justin find the mare?”

“Just before dark last night. She was in our barn when he went to do his evening chores. Because of her leg, I left the saddle at our place. But,” he lowered his voice, “Jarrod, there’s a bloody smear on the pommel and an empty rifle scabbard.”

Jarrod ignored Nick’s grumble that he knew was just to fill the anxious moment, “That boy and his rifles!”

Instead of responding, Jarrod asked, “Jamie, is there anything else you can tell us?”

“Yes,” he said as he stared at the plate set before him. “Because all my gates were closed save one, she had to have come in from the east---unless she had been following fence lines for miles.”

Victoria, who had quietly been listening, recovered herself and reached over to pour him some coffee. “Thank you, Jamie, for coming to tell us. I know you’re not completely well, yet. We are so grateful for this news.”

Nick, still standing, added a question, as he gripped the back of his chair with whitened knuckles, “How did you know that she might belong here? She’s not carrying our brand.”

Avoiding the intense hazel eyes staring down at him, Jamie looked over into Victoria’s expectant face instead. Jamie said quietly, “When he came to check on us yesterday afternoon, Doc Merar told us that your husband’s son, Heath, is the one that ran those raiders off before they could kill my son and me. Then, he told us that Nick,” he nodded and looked at the man towering over him from across the table, “That you had been shot and that Heath was taken by those men. Doc said they had broken out of jail and shot a deputy, that they would probably kill your son,” he stammered, “I mean, your husband’s. . . . .”

“No, Jamie,” Victoria’s voice was strong and allowed no room for disagreement from any source, “No, you’re right. Heath is my son, too. But Howard’s wrong when he said Heath is going to be killed. With help from people like you, we are not going to let that happen.”

“Mrs. Barkley, if there’s anything I can do, you just say the word. What that young man did,” he started shaking his head, “My Justin told me about the way Heath rode in with two hands on his rifle, shot those two men, and got hurt himself running off the others. He saw it all. He knows Heath saved us.” Flashing a brief smile, he added, “He wants to meet your son, Mrs. Barkley. So do I. And, I aim to have that chance to say thank you.”

Patting his arm, but unable to speak, Victoria, stood and walked to look out the window behind her.

Nick moved in close and pulled her into his chest with one arm. As she leaned against him, she whispered, “Nick, he’s out there, somewhere. Now that we’ve found him, I refuse to believe he is dead, and that we’ll never have a chance to get to know him.”

“We’ll find him again, Mother.” He leaned down and said into her ear, “Don’t worry, we’ll find him and bring him home to you.”

Straightening once more, he said into the room behind him, “Jarrod, I’m going. Don’t even bother with trying to talk me out of it. My horse is already saddled. Either you’re going with me or you’re not, but you’re not stopping me.”

The only responses in the room were a nod from the blue-eyed lawyer and the scrape of Jamie’s chair as he stood to join them.

* * * * * * * *

They lay in wait as the slow moving freight cars approached. The two men looked back out over the heat-seared, yet still fertile, valley. The greens of the early morning blended with the golds and browns below them, distinguishing groves of fruit from pastures from planted fields.

“How long do ye reckon they’ll keep looking for his carcass?” Midas hollered, looking over at Mac, just as the engine passed them.

“Not long, they are prob’ly na’ any too worried ‘bout a drifter lad like him. But us? I’d bet they’re going ta be wasting many an hour scouring the land nearby trying to track us.

“What time did you say their eastbound train comes through here?” Midas asked.

“As long as those two lads leave him stashed deep in that old mine and make it here by around 2:00, they’ll be able to catch the next train through. The sheriff, fine lawman that he is, will think that with Heath along, none of us will have wandered any too far away.”

“That’s why this idea of yourn is such a good’n. Splitting up and going in two different directions on the trains! Sure a whole lot easier on these tired bones, too.” Midas said, with a large smile on his leathery face.

“Aye ‘n it was worth dragging him along. It’s sure ‘n I had a good time with ol’ Heath before we split off. Nothin’ left of him now but broken bones and bruises!” Mac laughed and punched Midas on the arm.

Midas joined him in his laughter, then added, “Yeah, leaving him for the scavengers in that mine was the best move, but you know, Mac, she ain’t gonna see it that way. Atkins said she was screaming for his hide. Now, she’s gonna have yours for leaving him behind, even dead though he’ll be by nightfall.”

“Well, me Boy, we’ll jes have to come to an understanding on it, will we not? Do ye na’ think she will enjoy hearing of his slow, painful demise? Either way, it could na’ be helped when the horse went lame. Here’s our chance, let’s go!” Mac hollered as he started jogging beside the barely moving boxcars, the engine working to pull the load up the hill and out of the valley.

As he pulled himself up into the boxcar headed west and away from the valley, Mac put his head back and laughed. “Heath, me boy, I hope ye rot there in that dark, damp mine!”

Chapter 13

Carefully, one stone at a time, one inch at a time, he struggled to surround the base of the torch with enough rocks to hold it up, to keep it from falling over, to prevent it from going out.

There.

The torch continued to burn above him, its smoking light filling one small area of the much larger, cavernous space.

Now Heath knew he had to free his hands. Trying to move his pounding head as little as possible, he lay on his side and surveyed the remaining rocks within easy reach. Most of these rocks were thicker, rounder, than what he needed. But, somewhere, if he could just keep his eyes open long enough, he knew he would find what he needed—a flatter, sharper rock to use to shred the rope wrapped around both of his wrists. . . .

There.

Taking a few extra breaths first, he began using his right shoulder and elbow to pull himself toward it. While the pain in his head screamed at him to stop, his mind willed him forward. Looking only at the rock, thinking only of the freedom it could give him, he continued inching toward it.

Some part of him knew if he stopped now, if he couldn’t get free, if he couldn’t get himself out of this place soon, he would die here.

Finally, he could reach out with both arms, and he could touch it. Using his fingers, he worked it out of the dirt and pulled it toward him. Grasping one edge, he turned the rock in his hands to find the sharpest side. Then, carefully, he slipped that edge between his hands until it met the resistance of the rope. Working the rock between his palms, his fingers clasped tightly around the other edge, he was able to move the sharpness across the rope.

He quickly realized he was going to need more pressure on the ropes than his bound hands could supply. Without letting go of the carefully placed rock, he struggled to adjust his body so he could push down on the rock from above, hoping to use his own weight on the ropes to provide the needed leverage.

However, as soon as he began the laborious process of trying to raise himself up, the pain in his head overwhelmed him. Moans mixed with frustration as he brought his bound hands, rock and all, up to his forehead and leaned over, face down in agony. Tucking into the pain, he drew his knees up under him and bent forward with his head toward the damp earth. Dry heaves shook him once again, as the nausea from the change in position assaulted him.

When he could, he spit away the rest of the thick mucus the heaves had pushed up from his lungs. From somewhere in his memory, he remembered that the clearing of his lungs was actually a positive benefit of the punishment his body was enduring from the nausea. But, dammit, it was hard to get past the shaking and the pain!

As his gut quit clenching, he was able to breathe a little easier than before. Lifting his head, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, then slowly released it. Feeling much better, he let out a sigh of relief, and he held up both hands, rock and all, to wipe his mouth with his filthy sleeve.

Suddenly, as he brought his hands back down, his eyes were riveted to his arm. In the dim light of the torch above him, he could see the dark smear of blood that was now streaked across his shirt. Using his other sleeve, he deliberately wiped at his mouth again.

“No!” his mind screamed. The single word echoed through the vast darkness as he repeated it aloud. “No,” he whispered. Slowly, he eased back to sit on his heels.

The pain in his head begged him to give up, entreated him to lay back down in the dirt and let go. “No,” he whispered again, sending the pain’s pleas away.

He had seen enough injured men over the years, men hurt in mine cave-ins, men crushed by stampeding cattle during drives, men gut shot during the war, and men badly beaten in barroom brawls, to know that blood coming from anywhere inside him was a very bad sign.

With the crushing pain of his head threatening to push him back down, pounding him into the damp earth, he struggled with his knowledge, with what he knew was happening. But, he refused to give in.

“NO!” he whispered again to the dark.

With his eyes tightly closed, he knew he had to keep trying to get out of here. He couldn’t give up now. He wouldn’t.

He knew he was no longer alone. He knew now that there were folks who cared. He knew he wanted a chance to see them again. He knew he needed time to learn again about what it meant to be part of something bigger than himself, to be part of a family. He knew he wanted to belong with them. More than anything, he knew he wanted this chance.

“NO!” he screamed silently into the pain behind his eyes. “No. I will not die here, in this place, alone.”

Leaning forward again, he braced the rock in his hands against another, half-buried rock on the ground. Then, with his flagging strength galvanized by his determination, he rocked forward pushing against the rope around his wrists. Steadying the vertically-placed rock with his hands, he pushed back and forth trying to fray the binding.

As he worked, he concentrated on pushing the pain away. From somewhere deep inside came an unbidden memory of many nights spent in darkness years ago, nights spent concentrating on counting the minutes until sunrise, nights spent focusing on any pleasant memory he could find. The memories then had given him an escape, a way to avoid the pain of continually cruel whippings and repeated severe beatings at the hands of prison guards who could care less whether he lived or died.

As he worked, he remembered. He remembered how he had learned to focus on memories, to focus on the sound of Hannah’s voice singing her mournful songs, to focus on her hands moving up and down on the tin washboard as she scrubbed some miner’s laundry, to focus on the sun glinting off the water as he primed the pump for her to refill her bucket, pushing the handle up and pulling it down with all the strength in his small body.

Back and forth. Up and down.

Back and forth. Up and down.

With his thoughts a mesmerizing litany from far away and long ago, he had no warning. Suddenly, sharp daggers of pain shot up through his hands and arms, straight into his pounding head as he fell forward and caught himself on his hands.

Slowly, as he pulled his mind back from a bright, sunny afternoon and into the dark dampness of this place, he realized the palms of both hands were now flat on the dirt, tiny points of pain shooting through them as circulation quickly returned. Though he could now feel the blood running down his wrists from the constant scraping of the rock, he laughed out loud. What had seemed like only moments of thinking about helping Hannah years ago, must have really taken much longer.

Fragments of frayed rope now lay on the ground, and his hands were free.

* * * * * * * *

The sun was completely above the horizon as they turned their horses toward Jamie’s place. The morning was heating up already. With no clouds in sight and the sky a sizzling blue, it was obviously going to be a scorching afternoon.

Following the two men in front of him, Jarrod knew Nick’s strength for this task was going to begin waning in a few hours. With his mother’s caution reverberating in his ears, the older brother knew it would fall to him to convince Nick to stop before he caused himself serious damage. He knew the signs to watch for, and he knew the importance of frequently forcing Nick to stop long enough to change the bandages and drink more water than normal.

He knew what to do, he just wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish any of it. Nick Barkley was not an easy man to make do anything he wasn’t inclined to do on his own.

Eyeing the determined posture of his younger brother, Jarrod remembered a conversation a few days ago between the two of them and Heath. It was the morning of the same day they had helped Audra escape her kidnappers. Jarrod’s own words were haunting him now, words that had indicated that none of them were interested in trading one Barkley for another. At the time, he had been trying to assure Heath that he was a Barkley and to convince him that he should be very careful. They didn’t want to lose him to regain Audra.

Now, here they were in the same situation again, but this time, he wanted to caution Nick and remind him they didn’t want to lose him in order to find Heath.

Somehow, though, he wasn’t sure it would do any good to tell Nick. Somehow, Jarrod was quite sure that, though Nick had denied the truth of Heath’s relationship, denied what was right in front of him, a little longer than any of the rest of them, now he was the one that had reason to be the most convinced. In the few short days since Heath’s arrival in the valley, Nick had figured out and had witnessed more of Heath’s qualities through his actions than the rest of them combined. And with Nick, actions were everything.

Shaking his head, Jarrod remembered Heath talking of keeping his promises the other day. Now he wondered how in the devil he was going to be able to keep the one he had made to his mother just that morning. “Nick, Old Boy,” Jarrod said aloud with only Jingo’s ears to hear him, “You and I might have to find out just who is the Pappy out here today, you or me!”

Looking ahead, some riders caught Jarrod’s eye. The sheriff and his men were waiting on them at the crossroads. “Good,” Jarrod added aloud, “Now you won’t be the only one in charge, Nick. Maybe that will give me an edge.”

“Nick!” Sheriff Forrest yelled. “What in blue blazes are you doing here? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Nick rapidly explained to Liam about Jamie returning Heath’s horse and the lead that had given them about where the men must have taken his brother. Jarrod hung back and listened to the words, but his eyes were concentrating on watching Nick to see how he was doing physically.

Satisfied, Jarrod edged his horse closer.

“Liam,” Nick was saying, “Judging from where you left off yesterday, and knowing that pony had to have come in from the east, don’t you think it’s reasonable to think they headed toward the old mines that criss-cross further back from this area?”

“Yeah, Nick,” the sheriff responded, wiping the sweat from his brow. “That idea seems as likely as anything else we’ve thought about checking. Either there or one of your line shacks. Don’t you have one or two up that way?”

“We do, two of them,” he replied. “What if we split up? Then, we’ll meet back at Jamie’s at dusk.”

Sheriff Forrest nodded; then he pointed at four men. “You boys come with me. We’ll try the line shacks, starting with the closest one and then go up to the other one. Where, Nick, up by the spring?” At Nick’s nod, Liam added, “Let’s go.”

With one of the sheriff’s men and the Barkley hand that Nick had sent after the sheriff earlier that morning, Jamie, Jarrod, and Nick headed into the hills beyond.

During the steady ride to reach the first of the mines, Nick reluctantly remembered the only other possible destination this far east in the valley, the tracks of the Coastal and Western. However, he avoided that thought for now, knowing that if the men planned to jump the train along the slow, hilly curves, they would probably get rid of Heath long before that.

As the already rocky route grew steeper, Nick reined in on the old wagon road they had just reached, and split them again.

With an urgency underlying his tone, Nick said, “Jeff, you and Ben take that way, and the three of us will go this direction. There should be two mine entrances further up that road, one about a mile, the other another mile beyond.” As the men turned their horses, Nick added, “If you see them, one of you can keep an eye out and the other can ride back to get us. We’ll do the same. That way, we can cover more ground, but have enough strength in numbers against those men when we’re ready to go in after them.”

“Right, Nick.” Ben replied before pushing his horse into an easy lope, with Jeff behind him.

“Nick,” Jarrod said, “Before we go on, let me take a look at your shoulder.”

“I’m fine, Jarrod,” his scowling brother replied, turning his horse.

“No, Nick!” Jarrod responded, reaching over and placing his hand on Nick’s arm. “Let me see, now.”

Growling and fuming something about lawyers and doctors, Nick allowed his brother to pull back the vest and his already half-unbuttoned shirt.

Satisfied that there was no more bleeding visible through the bandage underneath, Jarrod nodded, “Now, drink some water. All of us need to in this heat.”

Nick took a long pull at his canteen, knowing Pappy was right, but hating to give in to him. He said, “Jarrod, you sound like a mother hen trying to protect her brood from a few pitiful rain drops. I’m fine. LET’S GO!”

With a smile, Jarrod said, “After you, Brother Nick.”

Chapter 14

Lying on his back, the only sounds he could hear were the occasional sizzling of the pitch-covered torch as it burned, and the constant, but shallow rasping of his own breathing. When he had first awakened, he had opened his eyes and struggled with the dull, almost distant pain that shadowed every slight movement of his head, every chilled flinch of his body. At first, he had had no notion of how long he had been there, or why. Now, as he lay still in the dim light, he stared at the torch’s brightness, remembering.

The brightness reminded him of the searing flashes of light made by Mac’s mirror, catching and reflecting the sun from his post up high in the rocky ledges. It reminded him of the brilliance of the red, early morning sun and the time that he had shared watching the sunrise with Mrs. Barkley. It reminded him of the bright flashes of rifle fire in the darkening woods as he struggled to find his way back to the river, to find his way back to Audra, to Nick, to find his way home.

“Home?” he said softly. “Home?” Then, too tired to move his lips, too winded to expend the breath, he simply thought about the idea, wondering if that was what he had been searching for during the last few years without really knowing it.

His thoughts turned to the Barkleys, the family he had met only days ago, but to whom he already felt a connection strong enough to span years, years long past and years still to come.

With a small, crooked smile, he pictured each one of them.

He saw Audra with her shining blue eyes and flowing blond hair, her dazzling smile and tear-streaked face, her determination and her caring.

He pictured Mrs. Barkley, her fierce, loving grey eyes, her hand touching his arm, touching his face, willing him to see in himself what she saw, to feel the love and the offer of belonging.

He imagined Jarrod, his piercing blue eyes, his questions cutting straight to the heart of each issue, his strong arms worth leaning on, his glances full of concern, and especially his early smile of recognition.

Finally, his memories collided head first with thoughts of Nick, his larger than life exuberance, his stubborn pride and honest, forceful actions leaving no room for misunderstanding, and his gruffness belied by his deep compassion.

“Nick,” He said into the barely relieved darkness. “NICK!” Then he closed his eyes and thought on all that could have been, all that the two of them could have shared. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t feel, didn’t care what happened next.

Then, rolling over on his right side toward the torch, he opened his eyes, and he again watched its burning light. With a single tear pushing its way from the corner of his eye, he looked at the light and thought about the brother he would never have a chance to know.

He knew part of the ache inside him would never be quenched. For, with Nick’s death, Heath had lost the chance to learn what it would be like to be a little brother to the man he had so desperately wanted to get to know.

With his heart breaking from the loss, with his eyes closed tightly once more against the anguish and the agonizing pain that cut through his head and his heart, he whispered, “Couldn’t stop ‘em, Brother Nick. ‘Just couldn’t get ta you in time ta help ya’. I’m so sorry!”

This time, as the coughing crashed through him again, consuming his air, stealing his vision, and preventing his memories, he focused on the one name that he knew would forever elude him, “Nick!”

* * * * * * * *

“Nick!”

The shout turned all three men around. Even before the rider stopped, all three had wheeled their horses and were charging toward him.

“Nick! We think we’ve found them,” the Barkley hand continued, “We think they’re inside one of the mines. Jeff’s watching the entrance. Come on!”

The four men rushed back up the road in the direction from which Ben had come. Dismounting at his signal, they joined Jeff Hastings, who was crouched behind some rocks over a hundred yards from the entrance to an abandoned mine shaft.

While Nick checked out the strategic situation, Jarrod watched him.

Though it was obvious to Jarrod that Nick wasn’t in the best physical shape right now, he could see the gleam of determination in Nick’s eyes, rather than the expected spectre of a pain that couldn’t be masked. In fact, the only sign of discomfort was a slight sheen of sweat on his face and neck. Without a word, Jarrod handed Nick a full canteen, tapping him on his back several times with it before his irritated brother would turn to take it.

Satisfied, Jarrod retrieved the canteen as Nick returned it, after drinking several large swallows.

“Jeff,” Nick whispered, “How many do you think are in there? I only see the one horse over there in those trees.”

“Don’t know, Nick,” came the reply, “Haven’t seen anybody yet.” Then, he added just to be sure the typically hot-headed rancher understood. “Could be anyone in there, I guess. Don’t know for sure it’s them.”

Nodding, Nick turned to the others. “Jamie, you and Ben stay here on this side with Jeff. Jarrod and I will ride back and work our way around to get to the other side of the entrance without being seen. Then, we’ll wait for a while. If nothing else, we’ll scare up that horse and see if someone comes out to check on what has happened to it.”

Just as they turned to head back to their own mounts, Ben, who had been moving around for a better position to cover them, spotted someone lying near the entrance.

* * * * * * * *

A sound accompanied his arduous climb up the precipitous slope as he fought his way out of the blackness. When he finally opened his eyes, he could see the small circle of light still cast by the burning torch in the darkness of the old mine. Struggling to push himself up and off the damp, dirt floor, he clenched his teeth to prevent the threatening groan from escaping. The disorienting dizziness hit him, as he breathed rapidly to shove it away, to push himself up and past it.

Listening hard, he concentrated on the sound that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. Pushing himself up to his feet, he staggered toward the torch. As he reached out to pull it from its upright position supported by the mound of rock, he noticed that the smoke was being pulled toward an unseen opening, pulled like a thirsty herd drawn irresistibly to a distant waterhole. Holding the burning torch high, he reached out to lean on a rotting timber, before he struggled on in the direction indicated by sound and smoke.

There.

The sound he had heard again confirmed to him that he was not alone.

Reaching up to push the heel of his hand into the side of his head as a bright hot arc of pain threatened to send him to his knees, he suddenly remembered. Not only could he see Nick Barkley lying on the ground near his horse, he could now envision the leering face of Mac. The grizzled mustanger was standing over him, telling him he had betrayed them all. Then, he remembered Mac kicking him again and again, pulling him back up toward his angry face, only to punch him in the gut over and over. He remembered the others; Russ, Midas, and Andrews; standing around watching as Mac battered him into the ground. Finally, he had a vague recollection of being tossed over his saddle and of his horse being led away. In his mind, as he looked back at where he had been, he could see a blood-covered, Nick Barkley, still unmoving, still lying on the ground behind them.

One thought remained, as he pushed himself away from the timber he had been leaning against for support. One thought drove him. More than his own survival, more than any search for home or family, he was seized by the need to finish what he had started. He would find the men that had done this, the ones that had killed Nick, and he would make sure they did not kill again.

As he doused the burning torch in the dirt at his feet, he felt no more pain. Easing around the sharp corner of the shaft he knew would lead to the mine’s entrance, he only felt renewed determination and anger to stop the mustangers, to stop all of them this time. Treading steadily and carefully around fallen beams and jagged rocks, he focused on his quarry and remained oblivious to any pain.

He concentrated fiercely on reaching the now visible entrance, and the man whose profile he could see outlined by the faint light of the early morning beyond.

* * * * * * * *

The five men spread out and moved in cautiously toward the mine entrance from their safe cover of rocks and small trees.

With all of his thoughts focused on finding Heath, willing him to still be alive, Nick could hardly keep himself from running forward across the open, rugged ground between their position and the body he could see just inside the entrance. “What if it’s that boy?” his mind screamed. Then, he pushed the thought away, “No!”

Finally, just as he was ready to throw caution to the wind and break from cover, Jarrod said quietly, “Nick, there’s another body over here.”

Carefully, with one eye on the entrance, Nick joined Jarrod to look closely at the man lying near a jittery horse. Then, as they once more edged toward the opening, Nick said softly to them both, “Bullet wound, dead center. A marksman’s shot.”

Though the thought gave him hope, he would not allow himself to feel relief yet, not until he had checked the first man they had spotted.

Finally, after pausing to wait for any sign of life or of resistance, and after finding none, Nick rushed toward the opening. Counting on the others to cover him, he wove in and out of the rocks. The exertion caused him to fall to one knee by the dead man at the entrance, but he motioned Jarrod to join him inside the mine.

“Jarrod,” Nick said, his tired voice thick with pent up worry combined with overwhelming relief, “It’s not Heath; but, he’s not here.”

Helping Nick stand once again, the older brother clasped the younger on his good shoulder. “Nick, I don’t recognize the other one, but I think this man,” Jarrod said, indicating the dead fugitive nearby, “Is the rider who picked up Audra’s ransom. That’s his paint pony over there in the trees.”

“Yeah, but where are the other two, and where’s Heath?”

“I don’t know, Nick,” Jarrod replied, “But I think we should check the mine, at least a little ways in.”

A chill passed through Nick, as his fears returned. He watched as Jarrod picked up a fallen, recently-used torch and prepared to light it.

Jarrod’s attention was momentarily diverted from his task. He stared at the torch. “Nick,” he said quietly, “There’s blood here.”

While Jarrod proceeded to light the torch with a match from his pocket, Nick checked the body again. “Unless it came from his bullet wound, I don’t see any wound on him that would have been made by that piece of wood.” Then, he took in a sharp breath and let it out, trying to stop the worry from consuming him. All he could think about was the doctor’s warning concerning Heath and the danger of any more injury to his already badly battered brother.

With his own worry focused on the immediate problem of Nick, Jarrod looked carefully at his hazel-eyed brother. Quietly, he asked, “Are you alright? Do you want me to go in and let you rest here?”

Wishing he could choke back his words as soon as he had said them, Jarrod wanted to immediately duck out of the path of the steely barbs of irritation that Nick sent glaring back at him. Nick grabbed the now brightly lit torch from Jarrod’s hand, kicked at an empty whiskey bottle lying nearby, and stalked forward into the darkness of the mine.

Jarrod watched for a moment before following the light and his weakening, but still steadfastly determined, brother.

* * * * * * * *

The closer he got to the growing light at the opening, the closer the constant pain came to consuming him again.

The changes in light intensity, first from carrying the brightly lit torch beside him, then from being plunged again into absolute darkness, required more adjustment from his eyes than the pounding agony inside his head, throughout his body, would allow.

Despite his set jaw, despite his single-minded focus, and despite his steely force of will, his injuries won out.

Easing silently toward the profile of the man filling the entrance, ten feet still separated Heath from his adversary----ten feet that meant the difference between success and failure, ten feet that might as well have been ten miles.

With no warning, savage sparks of searing fire sliced through him, and the blond silently crashed to his knees. Momentarily blinded by the pain, he fought the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him.

The man ten feet away, gun drawn, had been intent on covering his partner from the entrance as he readied their horses. He turned at the quiet, thudding noise of something behind him, something falling heavily. In a split second, his eyes wide, he realized that their prisoner, the man they had left bound, beaten, and bloodied deep in the mine----the man they had left for dead----was still alive and trying to escape.

Then, seeing the closed eyes and the face locked in agony, he knew this man was no threat. Sauntering over, Russ Atkins sneered down at the captive, “Ya just couldn’t die without a little help from me, huh?” He grabbed Heath by the hair and yanked his head back. The smell of whiskey followed him as, laughing, he backhanded the nearly unconscious man with the butt of his pistol.

The ugly gash to Heath’s right cheekbone and two slits of his glittering, icy eyes staring back at him were the only replies Atkins received to his cruelty.

Surprised and slightly unnerved that the man before him did not cry out, Atkins pulled his arm back to deliver another blow. So focused was he on the face below him, waiting for the pain he was inflicting to be reflected back in expression or outcry, he failed to notice the battered man’s hands.

As the wooden torch swung crashing into his knees, his gun fell from his hand, and his taunting laugh swiftly changed to a yelp of agony.

Dropping the other end of the torch, Heath fell sideways and lunged toward the gun.

“Andrews!” Atkins, choked out, calling to his partner. The other man let go of the saddle he was holding and charged toward the entrance.

Half rising to his knees, Heath fired once, killing the running man instantly.

Then, he turned his head just in time to see the club-like torch descending from behind him. Twisting away to protect his head, the solid piece of wood connected instead with Heath’s left side, and he crashed to the rock-strewn earth.

Just before the darkness collided into him, he brought the revolver up again with his right hand and fired at the furious man behind him.

When the sun’s leading edge suddenly broke free from the low hills binding it to the eastern horizon and its first rays were cast over the rocky expanse surrounding the abandoned mine, no one moved.

Chapter 15

Following the slow dripping sound of water, Nick continued picking his way forward. The blackness all around, the rock-strewn ground littered with old timbers, and the smell of rotting wood and burning pitch invaded his normal exuberance, threatening to fill him with despair. With each step further into the side of the hill, he felt the weight of the earth above him, descending upon his aching shoulder, upon his worried heart.

Suddenly, he stopped. Leaning heavily on the crumbling timbers, he sought assistance from the rough-hewn wood placed there years ago for the sole purpose of support.

“Jarrod,” he said wearily. “He’s not here. Those men, he shot them. We have to get out of here and find him.”

Taking the torch from Nick’s hand, Jarrod looked into the tired face. “Nick, you don’t know that. I want to go just a little further. I think you’re right, but let me be sure.”

Receiving a slight nod, Jarrod handed Nick the canteen he’d been carrying, and turned the corner just beyond. As he entered the larger area beyond, he held the torch high overhead. “Nick!” Jarrod yelled, as he turned back to share the light with his brother.

Together, they returned to the cavernous area. “Look at this,” Jarrod said, pointing to the ground.

Jarrod picked up some pieces of frayed rope and examined them closely after handing Nick the torch. “These ropes aren’t old, Nick, and I don’t think whoever was tied with them was cut loose with a knife. I’m guessing somebody used a rock or blunt piece of metal on them.” Looking up into the worried, dark eyes, he added, “I think Heath was here, Nick. He must have found a way to break through these ropes and get away.”

“Yeah, and somehow, he got the drop on those two back there. Let’s go!” Nick said, his voice rising. “He’s out there somewhere, either trying to get home or go after those other two.”

“Right behind you, Brother Nick.” Jarrod said, with a smile at Nick’s use of the word home. Then, he handed the torch back to the worn and worried man who was leading the way once more.

As he ran to catch up with the quickly retreating, very determined back, Jarrod shook his head and muttered to himself, “And if I know anything about the Barkley blood in him, if he’s still on his feet, I don’t have to wonder which choice he made!”

* * * * * * * *

The colors of the sunrise were not as vivid as they had been yesterday. The rose-colored, wispy clouds that hung motionless in the eastern sky seemed to absorb the usual brightness of the sun’s showy climb away from the awakening earth.

He shivered.

Somehow, the sunrise was colder, less welcoming than the one he remembered from yesterday. Maybe it was the fact that he was alone again, rather than in the company of someone he had grown to respect in a very brief time, someone he wanted desperately to see again.

Moaning, he rolled from his back to his side, and the chill gripped him tightly. As he shivered again, a cough tore through him, smearing the growing light across his vision, smudging the distinct pinks and grays with streaks of darkness.

When his vision cleared finally, he wiped his mouth and saw again the dark red droplets of blood that told him he was running out of time.

Pulling his knees up toward his chest, he rolled up onto his legs and forced his feet under him. Leaning back on the balls of his feet, he stuffed the fallen pistol in his belt and struggled to stand.

The dizziness and pain that thundered through him caused him to cry out. He staggered toward the wooden supports on the right side of the entrance and clung to the decaying timbers. Then, bending forward slightly, he placed his hands on his knees and kept his shoulder against the wood. Leaning there, he closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths. The action triggered the hacking cough again, and the colors of the sunrise danced across his closed eyelids.

His right hand reached for his left side, and his hand came away sticky with more blood. However, the slow ooze offered only a minor distraction from the sharp pain he found underneath. Several ribs now seemed to be cracked or broken and the icy, hot agony stabbing into him made him wonder if he could even stand, let alone mount a horse.

Eyeing the distance to the picketed horses beyond, he drew himself up and staggered forward.

Driven by the vague memory of hearing Mac ask Russ if he had checked the train schedule, he knew what he had to do, where he had to go, as he struggled past the dead man near the trees.

Driven by the vision of Mac and the others leaving Nick to die, alone, on the side of a dry, dusty road, Heath caught hold of the only saddled horse, his objective clear.

Placing one foot in the left stirrup sent fresh, sharp spikes of pain through his side.

Reaching up for the saddle horn and pulling himself up to throw his right leg over, nearly finished him.

Leaning heavily forward onto the horse’s neck, Heath focused all of his thoughts on breathing and staying conscious. Then, sitting up slowly and with great deliberation, he willed the dizziness away, pushed back at the blackness that crowded in on his vision from the outside edges.

Wiping at the thin trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth, he deliberately focused on thoughts of Nick. He let the anger and the agonizing sense of loss create a smoldering fire inside him. Burning away all thoughts of the pain he was in, he fanned the flames of fury as he looked inward to see again the image of his fallen brother. He watched him bleed, and he cried out as, all over again, he tried to reach Nick, all to no avail.

The rage held him up in the saddle, the rage flicked his reins and booted the horse forward, and the rage determined the direction.

Riding not toward safety and shelter, not toward a home and what remained of a new family, the rage inside pointed him toward the east and the train tracks beyond.

* * * * * * * *

The dark-haired young woman stared at the graying, unshaved man standing in front of her, talking to her, cajoling her. Listening to his excuses, she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head at him, her dark eyes glittering with each word he spoke. Finally, unable to contain her anger any longer, she lashed out at him physically, scratching the side of his neck with her nails.

“Dammit, Woman!” Mac yelled. “Why in the devil did you do that?” He grabbed his neck, and drawing his hand back, saw the blood with which he was now marked. His own anger rising to match hers, he reached out and grabbed her by the thick mane of dark, wild hair hanging down nearly to her waist. With his hand tangled in the hair at the back of her neck, he propelled her forward until she lost her balance and fell into his solid chest. Yanking her head back, he leaned down and kissed her deeply.

Then, letting her go, he first pushed her away, then reached out to twirl her around by the arm to face him. “Francie, don’t ever be showing me your claws again. If ye do, I promise ye I’ll return the favor, you little hellion.”

Finally, turning his back on her, he stomped into the other room. Grinning broadly at Midas Elsey, he nodded and said, “She’s still angry about losing her laddie, Lloyd, first to that blond girl, then to Heath’s bullet. She might even still think she loves Lloyd, but she’ll soon be getting over him!”

Then, with a laugh, he added, “She’s mad about us leaving him there in that mine and not giving her a chance at him before we killed him. But she’ll get over that, too, soon enough. But,” he said, touching the side of his neck, “Maybe we would have all enjoyed his death even more if we had’a drug him back here for her to finish off. Too bad. Maybe we let ol’ Heath off easier than we should’a!”

* * * * * * * *

Sunrise was several hours past, when Victoria Barkley finished snipping the last of the roses she intended to bring inside for the dining room table.

She returned to the house through the kitchen’s side door and began removing one stem at a time from the long, flat basket whose handle she had been carrying over her arm. Each stem was plunged into a sink half full of cool water, and she skillfully removed the thorns, as well as an inch from the end of each, while holding the green stem under the water. Without conscious thought, she then placed each rose in a tall crystal vase already three-quarters full of the cool water.

Suddenly startled, she realized Audra was standing behind her, touching her shoulders. She turned and looked into the compassionate, blue eyes of her only daughter. Audra reached up to touch Victoria’s face.

“Mother,” she said softly, “Are you alright?”

Victoria took a deep breath and nodded, “Yes, Sweetheart, I’m fine. I was just thinking about the boys.”

Looking at her quizzically, Audra murmured, “Mother, please sit down with me.” Taking her unresistant mother by the hand, Audra led the way. Once they were both seated in their customary chairs at the nearby wooden table, Audra said, “Mother, you were preparing your roses, then you stopped and seemed to lose all track of time with the last one still in your hand. Why don’t you go upstairs and rest. I’m sure you didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll finish the roses and help Silas with lunch.

Looking down at her hands, Victoria realized she still held the last rose that Audra mentioned. The dusky pink of the flower had reminded her of the colors of the dawn the morning before, the sunrise that she had shared with Heath under the tree by the barn.

“Audra,” she replied softly, “Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine. I just let my worry for the boys distract me for a little while. I shouldn’t have said what I did to Nick this morning. He shouldn’t be out there in this heat; he should be here in bed like Howard said. I made it too easy for him to go. But,” she added with a catch in her voice, “I need Heath to come back to us. Having him here, knowing his connection to your father, I,” she paused and took a deep breath, “I can’t explain it, but somehow I know that I need him here, we need him here, as much as he needs to be here with us.”

Victoria placed the rose on the table and closed her eyes.

Reaching out to hold her mother’s hand, Audra waited.

“Somehow, I’m not sure how, but I know, Audra,” she said, her grey eyes opening and welling with tears, “I know that if Nick and Jarrod don’t find Heath soon, if they don’t all three come back very soon, only two will be returning to us.”

* * * * * * * *

“Nick!” Jarrod called out, “Nick, for the love of heaven, please stop!”

Exasperation made Jarrod raise his voice and holler again, “Nick Barkley, STOP!”

The dark horse, and the darkly-clothed man riding him, came to a halt. Nick did not turn, but Jarrod could read the irritation and disgust in his brother’s stiff back and slightly raised chin as he approached.

“At least he stopped,” thought Jarrod. Grumbling almost to himself as he pulled up even with Nick on the trail, Jarrod added, “I thought for a minute there I was going to have to shoot you myself to get a chance to work on your bullet wound!”

Then, any humor gone from his voice, Jarrod demanded, “To those trees, Nick. Dismount over there.”

As Nick opened his mouth to protest, Jarrod said, “Nick, either you do as I say or the four of us will tie you to that saddle, and Jamie will take you and Coco back to his place.”

The look on Jarrod’s face dared Nick to test him.

Silently, Nick turned his horse to the meager shade cast by the small stand of trees nearby.

The lack of resistance was enough to convince Jarrod of what he had suspected for the last hour or so. Nick was hurting, and he was getting weaker. Shaking his head, Jarrod followed as he wondered that Nick could even stay in his saddle, let alone continue to ride as if yesterday’s blood loss had had no effect on him.

Just before he reached the trees, Jarrod turned to Jamie and said, out of Nick’s earshot, “Will you ride back to your place and bring a wagon and team? I have a feeling Nick’s not going to last much longer. But, even if his stubbornness keeps him going, I’ll try to convince him that he should go back with you because he’s starting to slow us down.”

Nodding, Jamie turned his horse and galloped away.

“Where’s he going in such an all-fired hurry?” Nick asked grumpily as he settled against a tree. “Hey! Be careful, Pappy! That hurts!” he added as Jarrod jostled his wounded shoulder while trying to help Nick remove his vest.

“Sorry, Nick.” After unwrapping the bandage, Jarrod poured water on a cloth his mother had provided him and wiped over the area of the wound, front and back.

Nick did not make another sound, not even in pain. But, neither did he question Jarrod about Jamie again.

Instead, he gazed out over the land to the east, wondering if there were anywhere out there where three men might have gone except for the train tracks another few miles beyond. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his mind of the nagging worry that, if the tracks were the destination, then they were going to find Heath---but find him dead, killed by two fugitives who no longer wanted to be slowed by dragging a hostage along with them as they tried to jump a train.

The only thing that gave him any hope was that the two men in the entrance to the mine had died from identically-placed, dead-center shots, the shots of a marksman. Maybe Heath wasn’t still being held by the remaining two marauders----but where was he?

Offering his rebandaged brother the canteen, Jarrod asked, “Nick, how much further do you plan on going? We haven’t seen any sign of them, so what makes you so sure we’re going the right way?

“I’m not sure, Jarrod, but I’m afraid they’re headed to the best place to catch one of the slow moving trains headed out of the valley,” Nick said wearily. “I just know that we have to hurry, that he’s running out of time, and,” he added with a slight groan as he grabbed the extended hand to pull himself up to a standing position, “The closer we get to the railroad without finding him alive, the greater the chance we’re going to need that wagon you sent Jamie after---for him, not for me!”

As his brother stalked toward his horse, Jarrod could only turn and watch him walk away with blue startled eyes. His wide open mouth prevented any response.

To be continued…