Flashes of Light

Chapters 1-11

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 offers an alternate arrival for Heath, is loosely based on “The Young Marauders,” and uses some ideas from “Image of Yesterday.”

Chapter 1

There they were again. The bright flashes from the ridge tapped out a staccato rhythm of light, each one as momentarily searing as the afternoon sun. As the relaxed figure on horseback turned to look expectantly over his shoulder, an answering set of flashes echoed from the low hills behind him.

“There!” he exclaimed aloud. “Now, which is the leader?” His little black mare pivoted an ear back to listen to him and shifted her weight slightly, as he continued to watch and ponder. With a grim set of his eyes, he removed his hat, wiped the sweat dripping from his light-colored hair on his sleeve, and replaced the weathered Stetson.

Suddenly, he made up his mind, took a deep breath, and quietly gathered the mare into a purposeful lope toward the ridge. The ground, at first sandy and level, became more and more rocky the closer he got to the source of the first set of flashes. When he thought he was close enough to the hidden lookout on the ridge, close enough so the man would be able to recognize him, he slowed the mare to a walk and removed his coiled rope from its tie down. Taking no chances, he waved the rope over his head to ensure the attention, and hopefully the recognition, of the lookout, as he and his horse threaded their way toward the craggy post.

He halted the mare about fifty yards below the highest rocks, sat patiently, and looked directly at the area from which he figured a rifle was being trained on him. Slowly, a hat, followed by a head, shoulders, and a rifle muzzle emerged from behind a boulder above and to his left.

“How’s the horse tradin’?” the man on horseback called out.

The face above him broke into an unmistakable grin, and the grizzled voice behind it replied, “Well look at ya, you ole desert devil! Get on up here and take your beatin’ like a man! Where have ya been?”

“Well,” the younger man responded, “I ain’t been sitting in the sun all day looking at myself in a broken piece of mirror, that’s for sure! Who’s on the other hill?”

“Andrews,” the smiling, gray-haired man replied. “Come on up. I’ll point ya to the camp.”

The horse responded to the slight leg pressure and began a steady climb upward to circle around behind the boulders. Pausing at the top, the rider nodded to the lookout and asked, “Anything happenin’ right now, Mac?”

“Nah, they’re lookin’ for a herd, but I ain’t heard nothin’ from Turk yet,” the man among the rocks replied as he rolled his eyes at the name. “He just told us to make sure we could see each other and signal if we spotted ‘em. Are ya here to stay?”

The mounted cowboy nodded his head, taking in the gear scattered about that indicated Mac was sure here to stay for a while. “Yeah, at least long enough to bust a few broncs for Lloyd and eat some of Francie’s good cookin’.”

“Just head on down through those trees and t’ward that river.” The rider’s eyes followed the hand pointing to a greener area about a half-mile away. “You’ll see the camp, just on t’other side of the water,” Mac added.

“Thanks. Don’t blind yourself, now, ya hear?” Chuckling, the tall blond urged his mount forward.

A little later, he emerged from some trees, and found a place to ford the river. As his horse climbed up the low bank and entered the tree line beyond, he took the precaution of calling out his name to the guard he knew must be there, though he could see no one, “It’s Thomson. I’m comin’ in.”

Hearing no reply, either by voice or by bullet, he accepted the tacit invitation to enter the camp. Moving slowly so anyone wondering who he was could get a good look at him, he reflected on the power of a name, his name, that today had allowed him entry into a guarded encampment and hopefully, would gain him an audience with the boss. “Of course,” he chuckled grimly as he thought to himself, “Its power is limited, because this ain’t exactly the governor’s mansion, now is it?”

* * * * * * * *

The activity in the camp came to an abrupt halt as he entered the clearing. Remaining astride his horse, he waited for the stares and the inevitable questions. He didn’t have long to sit there.

“Well, if it ain’t the noble Thomson himself, come to rub elbows with us lesser forms of horse catching fools? What’s wrong, Boy? Lost your way?” The smaller man’s sneering face matched the sarcasm of his tone.

From his horse, the taller man watched the one called Turk approach. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he asked, “Where’s Lloyd?”

“Who let you in here, Thomson? I bet it was Ol’ Mac. That sorry Scot never did have any sense when it came to the likes of you,” Turk snarled.

“Where’s Lloyd?” he repeated.

“Lloyd’s off chasing some ponies, Heath,” one of the onlookers spoke up.

As the rider started to turn his mare’s head around to exit the way he had come, Turk lunged and grabbed for her bridle. “You ain’t riding outta here,” he snapped. “You found us; now you’ll just have to stay ‘til I say you can go.”

Heath’s legs asked the well-schooled mare to step sideways in a surprise move that forced the small man on the ground to change direction and scramble backwards. The mare continued to crowd the sneering man, while Heath removed his foot from the stirrup and aimed a quick kick toward Turk’s shoulder with his boot. Releasing the bridle, Turk struggled to remain upright. As Heath once more turned the mare away to head out of the camp, he looked over his shoulder at the angry man. What he saw made him whip out his gun and aim it across his body at Turk.

“Don’t!” Heath commanded, watching Turk’s hand slowly fall away from the hilt of his knife. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple of men pointing him south as he nodded his thanks and rode out of the camp in the indicated direction.

Once he was within the trees again, he holstered the pistol. Then, he forded the river, paused to water his horse, and followed downstream toward the south.

Chapter 2

The sun had reached its zenith for the day and was, in fact, half-way to the horizon by the time Heath Thomson spotted the dust rising from a multitude of hooves in the canyon below him. Pausing to determine the most likely destination for the swiftly moving herd, he picked out the quickest, but not necessarily the safest, route to join the men in pursuit of the horses.

As his spirit soared, he shouted, “Let’s go, Gal!” to his mare. For just a few minutes, as he and his horse careened toward the herd and the valley floor stretching out before them, he felt his tension ease enough to allow him to enjoy the chase, to enjoy the feeling of pure freedom.

As he moved with his horse, a whoop of joy welled up and out of him.

The blood pounding in his head merged with the pounding of her hooves as he descended toward the herd, toward the men on their heels, and, unknowingly, toward his destiny.

Then, just as he galloped beside the herd to help move them into the natural holding area at the far end of the canyon, he suddenly swore aloud, sending his anger outward into the dust-choked air, “Dammit!”

In front of him, he had caught a glimpse of a lone rider galloping toward the racing horses, a lone rider directly in the path that the bottle-neck canyon and the pursuing men would soon force the herd to take.

Dust rose and settled again. Hooves pounded on dry earth. But no other measure of the moments ticking by seemed to have any meaning. Time seemed to stop and stand still.

Spurring his horse, Heath yelled and motioned for the rider to get out of the way, but the lone horse kept coming. With a determination borne of desperation, he asked his mare for all she had. She complied with a burst of speed that allowed him to draw even with the herd’s front runners. When asked, his little mare gamely maneuvered the larger leaders to the left and away from the narrowing bottle-neck. Behind him, he could hear the other men hollering as they first tried to resist, then followed his lead and began pushing the middle of the herd to the left. Together, they struggled to turn the thundering herd away from their original direction, away from the lone rider in front of them, away from certain death for that solitary individual.

Glancing over his shoulder, Heath could see Lloyd Garner right behind him as the herd turned. Then, when the maneuver was safely accomplished, Lloyd veered off toward the lone figure. Stunned, the rider was no longer approaching the herd, but sitting stock still in the saddle and staring at them.

And, Heath could now see something else that, in his headlong rush, he hadn’t noticed before. The lone rider, staring straight ahead and obviously in shock at a narrowly avoided brush with death, was a young woman.

With no other way to contain the wild horses, the men brought their own mounts to a walk, and watched as the herd thundered past and galloped away. Murmured expletives and an aura of disgust for an afternoon wasted charged the air, settling around them all like the swirling dust left behind by the departing herd.

After a few minutes of walking, Heath dismounted to loosen her girth and let his spent mare blow. He led her back and forth along a patch of smooth ground, watching her carefully for signs of distress, and pausing periodically to run his hands down her legs to look for tenderness.

Glancing around as he continued leading the mare, Heath saw that Lloyd was talking to the young lady. He offered her some water and, now that the dust was starting to settle, handed her a bandana and canteen to wash her face. From where Heath was, it appeared that Lloyd was calm, even smiling, despite the loss of the herd.

A little later, Lloyd left her as she tended to her horse, and he walked over to Heath. “Thomson!” he smiled and pounded Heath on the shoulder several times, “That was some ride! At first, I was ready to pull out my gun and shoot you. I couldn’t figure out what in the devil you were doing! But, knowing that you always do everything for a reason, I went along. When I finally saw her, of course I understood.”

Noticing Heath’s grim look, Lloyd slowed down from his landslide of words long enough to ask, “Is your horse alright?”

Heath nodded, “Yeah, Lloyd, she’ll be fine. But, I gotta tell you, I went up to the camp looking for you earlier, and I had a run-in with Turk. I’m not sure I should stay.”

Lloyd started shaking his head and said, “I’m glad you’re here, Heath. If you’ll stay, I’ll cut you in for a better percentage than last time. I know he hates you because of your ability with the horses, but don’t worry. This is my operation; I’ll take care of Turk. Why don’t you trail along behind us?” With a flick of his head to indicate the young woman behind him, he explained, “I’m going to escort Miss Barkley back home. Then, you and I can ride into camp together to let him know how it’s going to be.”

Chapter 3

As he followed well behind the two on horseback in front of him, Heath kept an eye on Lloyd. Though he and the girl seemed engrossed in their conversation, every so often she would turn back over her shoulder to look at Heath in the fading light. He could see open curiosity and more than a few questions behind her eyes.

As they rode, the easy rhythm of the mare’s movements beneath him told Heath his little horse was recovered from her afternoon. He patted her muscled neck and praised her, “You’re sure somethin’, Horse. ‘Can’t no other horse come close to bestin’ you for speed and sure-footedness! You’re doin’ your part to keep us safe, but I don’t know how it’s all gonna turn out.”

The only reply from the horse was the swivel of a neat little ear turning toward his voice and the flick of her tail. Heath’s thoughts lingered on Turk’s words earlier that day, and he told himself, “Gonna have to watch my back with that Turk around. ‘Wasn’t countin’ on quite that much vinegar from him.”

When he had decided to catch up to the band of mustangers a few weeks ago, he had known most, like Lloyd, would welcome him, but not all. However, he had not reckoned on the depth of Turk’s dislike. That was going to make his task much harder.

Heath was not so deep in thought that he failed to automatically note the landmarks as he rode or to notice the colors of the sky as the sun settled toward the earth for the night. This was one gorgeous valley! Its greens and browns, its rolling hills, pastures, and trees all seemed to shimmer from the remnants of heat, while brightly reflecting the glow of the reddening sky. Below them, in the fading light, he could make out the impressive layout of barns, corrals, and bunkhouses trimmed in stark white against the dark backdrop of a dense tree line.

A few minutes later, a break in the trees brought a huge, white house into view. He let out his breath in a low whistle of appreciation. Of all the places he’d been this side of the divide, of all the spreads he’d worked since he was 17, he’d never seen a ranch house like that one!

Movement near one of the barns caught his eye. Two riders charged through the open gate and galloped toward them. As they approached, one of them brought his horse to a sliding stop, just inches away from Lloyd’s mount. With that one bold move, everything crashed to a halt.

Not taking his eyes off of Lloyd, the angry cowboy in front of him demanded, “Audra, what in tarnation are you doing out so late? Where have you been? And who are these men?”

“Nick,” the other rider admonished as he approached, “Slow down and give her a chance to answer. You can see she’s okay.”

The young woman turned to the calmer of the two and tried to answer the questions of the other. “Oh, Jarrod, I’m sorry. I was. . . . I went riding and. . . . The horses. . . .” She took a deep breath and glanced over at Lloyd. “Jarrod,” she tried again quietly, “He saved my life.”

The man riding beside her, reached over in front of Audra and offered his hand to the one she had been speaking to. He ignored the glowering, darkly-dressed cowboy closest to him. “I’m Lloyd Garner.” The handshake was returned. “We,” he included Heath with a quick motion of his head, “Were chasing a herd of horses, and Miss Barkley almost found herself a little too close to the action. She was kind of shook up, so we brought her home.”

“Mr. Garner, our family is deeply in your debt. Our little sister,” the one called Jarrod responded, “Has a persistent and well-honed ability to find herself in precarious situations.”

“What my brother means, Mr. Garner, is that, where Audra is concerned, we’re not surprised, and we thank you for your help. There’s some supper and bunks waiting for you both if you’ll come with us.” The taller and darker man called Nick turned his horse toward the buildings below, leaving his last sentence hanging in the air like a summons, not a suggestion.

Lloyd started to protest, “That’s not necessary. We need to head back to our camp.”

“Lloyd, please stay,” Audra reached over and touched him on his arm. “Jarrod, tell him. Mother will want to thank him herself, won’t she?”

Jarrod added, “She’s right, Mr. Garner. Our mother would not be happy if we didn’t insist that you come home with us to allow her a chance to show her gratitude.”

Glancing back at Heath, who raised an eyebrow in response, Lloyd answered for them both, “Thank you, Mr. Barkley. It would feel good to sit at a table for a change and to trade my bedroll for a mattress for one night.”

Relaxing for the first time since the riders had approached so quickly, Audra began talking to Lloyd again. While she chattered, she pointed out the various buildings and shared their functions. Heath could see that the man beside her listened with particular attention when she started telling the numbers of men each bunkhouse held and the capacity of the barns.

With a slight shake of his head, Heath couldn’t help feeling a growing unease. Lloyd had turned on the charm and had become even more smilingly attentive to her than he had been back in the canyon. He was obviously transfixed by all that she represented. As Lloyd’s smile grew, Heath’s concern deepened.

* * * * * * * *

Even when the group reached the barn, Heath continued to hang back. He maintained his relaxed posture, but kept a wary eye on all that occurred.

The one called Nick was the first to dismount. He turned to his sister to assist her if she needed it, but suddenly, Lloyd was there. She smiled down at him and allowed him to help her. Scowling, Nick’s gaze took in Lloyd’s hand under Audra’s elbow as she pointed him toward the front door of the imposing white house.

He turned his scowl on Heath. “Well, come on. This includes you, too.” He tossed his reins to a large man waiting by the barn door and started walking toward the house. “Ciego will take care of your horse.”

He stopped at the sound of Heath’s quiet, but hard voice, “I’ll take care of her myself.”

“Suit yourself.” He stomped off to follow the two in front of him.

“Don’t mind Nick,” the other brother, standing quietly and watching, spoke up. “He was just worried about our sister, and doesn’t know what to do with all that frustration now that she is home safe.” He watched as Heath dismounted with one fluid motion, walked the mare over to loop the reins across a nearby fence, and proceeded to remove her worn saddle. He took note of the bedroll, full saddlebags, and the rifle in its scabbard. “Why don’t you take her inside the barn. You’ll find everything you need there, and you can store your gear until you are ready for it.”

Heath paused and, without turning toward the soft-spoken Jarrod, nodded his thanks. “Come on, Little Gal.” He spoke only to the horse, “Let’s get you tucked in.”

He saw the man watching him as he led the mare into the barn. He did not see him tilt his head and listen to Heath’s quiet chuckle when he saw the clean, spacious, accommodations the horse would enjoy for the night. As he continued to take care of her, Heath noticed that the man had followed him into the barn and was staring at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name before. I’m Jarrod Barkley; please call me Jarrod. You met Audra, and I’m sure you caught that my brother’s name is Nick.” The man reached over the back of the sweaty black horse to offer his hand.

Heath paused in his circular currying motions, eyed the man and the hand, and reached out to shake the latter. “Name’s Heath.” He resumed his ministrations, his eyes looking into those of the man in front of him. He waited, knowing his silence was sometimes the best way to learn more.

Sure enough, the man started speaking again. “When you finish taking care of your horse, if you want to come around to the front, we’d be pleased to have you eat with us. You are welcome to stay in the house tonight.” He hesitated when he saw the sudden flash of light in the blue eyes in front of him.

Jarrod found himself wondering, “Is that amusement I just saw? Is he laughing at me?”

When Heath spoke up, Jarrod didn’t have to wonder any more. “Mr. Barkley, I appreciate the offer, but I would no more be comfortable in that fine house of yours than your family would be with me in it. Gal and me will both be pleased to stay right here in this sweet-smelling barn. We thank you for your hospitality.”

Rather than argue with the young man’s astuteness, Jarrod replied, “Alright, I’ll respect that. I’m going over to the house to check on Audra. Then, I’ll come back and walk with you over to the crew quarters so we can eat with the rest of the men.”

Heath nodded, flashed a half smile with only one side of his mouth turning up ever so slightly, and allowed the light-filled twinkle hiding behind his eyes to shine through. As Jarrod turned away, Heath resumed his circular, one-handed motions and quiet monologue with his horse. Because he was looking down at Gal’s matted black hair, he missed the curious look Jarrod threw at him, as he walked away. However, he heard the pause in the man’s step as he reached the doorway and stopped to look back at the tall cowboy, whose sandy blond head was bent over his horse’s withers. When Heath looked up, all he saw was Jarrod’s retreating form.

As he walked toward the house, Jarrod couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something special about the young man he had left behind in the barn. This was no ordinary wrangler. There was some intangible quality that shone through him, something different.

The feeling only intensified when he entered the house and heard the voice of the other young man, the one who had introduced himself as Lloyd Garner. He was telling the family of his afternoon spent chasing a herd of wild horses, and how he had lost the horses, but had gained an introduction to their beautiful Audra. The voice was not loud, but it was almost overly enthusiastic, almost overly charming. The contrast with the calm, sincere voice he had left behind in the barn was glaring. The more Jarrod listened, the more he decided he would rather hear the true tale as told by the other voice.

Leaning against the mantle, Jarrod continued to watch Lloyd, who had cleaned up some and was enthralling everyone with his stories. He watched his family, as one-by-one, they were swept up in his effusive charm. Even Nick was no longer looking stormy. In fact, he was smiling and nodding as Lloyd told of exploits chasing horses from Sonora to Carson City and across half of California. Mother was obviously enjoying watching Audra; she smiled at her beaming daughter with the dancing blue eyes. While Mother no doubt entertained some inner caution and felt some reserve about where this would all lead, she was probably delighted to see Audra so animated. She must be finding this especially encouraging since her daughter had been so saddened in the last few weeks by the losses the valley had suffered, some at the hands of the railroad at Semple’s and now with the murder of Harry Coleman by a gang of extortionists.

As Jarrod listened, he tried to participate in parts of the conversation but maintain his objectivity. Suddenly, he realized the young man was deliberately trying to charm them all, to win them over. This automatically pushed the analytical Jarrod toward a whole set of questions in his mind, with the leading line of inquiry dealing with “Why?” He swirled his brandy snifter and wondered to himself, “Is he just trying to ensure success if he decides he wants to call on Audra, or is it just ego, or is it, . . .well, what is it and why?” Just as quickly, he realized that if he wanted straight answers, he would have a better chance of finding them out in the barn.

At a slight lull in the conversation, Jarrod ambled over to stand behind Victoria. He leaned down and told her quietly, “Mother, there were two men that brought Audra home. The other one is in the barn taking care of his horse.” At her questioning look, Jarrod quickly put his hand on her shoulder to stop her from rising. “Don’t worry, Mother. You stay here and express your gratitude to Mr. Garner. I’ll see about our other guest. Somehow, I don’t think he would ever feel comfortable in here.”

“Jarrod, you’ll tell him. . . ?” she started.

He interrupted her with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Yes, Mother, I’ll tell him how appreciative we all are for what they both did.”

She nodded.

Jarrod walked over to Lloyd, who was sitting across from Audra, and extended his hand. “Good night, Mr. Garner. I probably will not see you again this evening, but I just wanted to tell you thank you again for bringing our little sister back home safe and sound today.”

Lloyd replied, “You’re welcome, Mr. Barkley. It was my pleasure.” He glanced at Audra, who returned his smile with a slight blush and a beaming smile of her own.

Nick looked at Jarrod with questions in his eyes, but remained standing silently by the fireplace. He was enjoying the stories, but this Lloyd fella was beginning to awaken his protective instincts. If Jarrod was leaving, then he knew he should stay right here, close by.

Chapter 4

As he re-entered the barn, Jarrod saw the neatly stowed gear and the shining coat of the little black mare, but no sign of the man to whom they belonged. Exiting back out through the wide open door, he caught a glimpse of someone standing near the corral. As he approached, he suddenly stopped and watched. With the sinking of the sun, only a little light remained on the horizon. But, it was enough to allow him to see the profile of the tall, well-built cowboy leaning against the fence. Both of his arms were draped on the top rail, one foot was propped on the bottom, and his hat was pushed half-way back on his head. Jarrod could hear a soft murmur as he talked to the two young horses vying for his attention through the fence. While Jarrod could not hear the words, he could tell the horses were listening attentively, drinking in every syllable, every nuance. Jarrod took a deep breath and shook his head slightly.

There it was again, that deep, undefined feeling that there was something about this young man worth making them all look twice. “What is it exactly?" Jarrod reflected to himself. "It is as if, . . . he almost reminds me of someone. There’s just something about him. His bearing screams pride and independence like that of no other ranch hand I’ve ever run across.”

Continuing to watch and listen, Jarrod thought, “It is frustrating. It’s like knowing I’m having a certain dream over and over, but I’m not able to put the details together enough to remember what the dream is really about.” He was determined to get to know this young man and to decipher the intangible questions, to figure out what was nagging at him every time he was around Heath.

He started walking forward again. Heath turned slightly at his approach, flashing that half-smile. “There!” Jarrod thought again, “That’s part of it. That smile. And that laugh I heard earlier.”

Heath spoke first. “Mr. Barkley, did your family raise these two?”

Jarrod took a deep breath and nodded, “Please call me Jarrod, Heath, and yes, we did. They are Nick’s pride and joy. He sees the future of the Barkley horse operations every time he walks by this particular corral.”

They stood in companionable silence, watching the two youngsters. Both stayed close to Heath, who eventually reached out to stroke the offered noses. “If Nick sees you, he won’t believe it,” Jarrod told him. “No one has had time lately to do much except feed and water them, and they have remained pretty aloof. But, they certainly are taken with you!”

Heath chuckled softly, and absently scratched under one flaxen forelock.

Jarrod listened closely to the laugh. Then, he shook his head and asked quietly, “What happened up there, Heath?” The younger man looked over at him quizzically, with one eyebrow raised, and Jarrod added, “I know it sure shook up Audra, and she has been in enough scrapes around horses that it takes a lot to rattle her.”

Heath returned his attention to the colts, but after a moment he began talking quietly, “I don’t know where she entered the canyon. But as we approached the narrow end with the herd bunched t’gether, there she was, ridin’ toward us, toward the herd. The only thing to do was turn ‘em away from the narrow openin’ before they funneled into it, and she was hurt.” He shrugged his shoulders and added, “That’s what we did.”

Jarrod waited to see if he would elaborate. When he realized that was all he was going to get, he decided to ask one more question. “To hear Lloyd tell it, he accomplished this almost single-handedly. Is that the way it happened?”

This time, the answer was much longer in coming. When it finally surfaced, the half-smile was back; but it didn’t reach his eyes. He said, “Lloyd can be pretty impressive when he puts his mind to it.”

Somehow, Jarrod knew that this evasive answer was all Heath was going to say on this subject, so he changed it. “Have you and Lloyd been riding together long? And what’s your role in this partnership?”

For the briefest of seconds, Jarrod saw the light blue eyes in front of him grow dark, and he wondered if he was getting ready to be told it was none of his business. Then, he watched as the half-smile returned and the eyes lightened again. “Mr. Barkley, we only cross paths ever’ so often. He has a group of fellas that ride with him. I just joined back up with ‘em this afternoon. Sometimes Lloyd hires me to help with the horses.”

A noted lawyer in both Stockton and San Francisco, Jarrod Barkley had faced many men in the courtroom and was adept at reading witnesses, juries, colleagues, and defendants. He knew now that he was just being given basic, but truthful, statements. However, he was sure that there was much Heath was not saying. He decided no amount of pushing would gain any more from the immovable young man beside him if, once again, he did not want to say anything else.

Clamping his hand on Heath’s shoulder, he sought for a lighter tone, “Let’s go find out if there’s anything better than beans left for supper.”

When the two entered one of the crew houses a few minutes later, a card game was in full-swing. Each man was handed a plate piled high with beef roast, potatoes, beans, and bread. With a few introductions behind him, Heath pulled a chair over near the wall, turned it around backwards, and propped up the plate on its back. Then, he straddled the seat to eat. Though he watched the game with interest, he remained over near the wall, even after he had eaten.

Jarrod watched his easy manner with the other men who approached him, but noted that he did not initiate any conversation.

When one of the men asked them both to join the game, Heath looked at Jarrod and hesitated. Jarrod pulled his chair up to the table, and motioned for Heath to do the same.

With that twinkle in his eye again, and the lop-sided smile not far behind, Heath drawled quietly, “You’re sure, Mr. Barkley? You’re a good loser, aren’t ya? I’d hate to repay your fine hospitality by settin’ ya back any.”

The others around the room laughed and nudged each other with their elbows. For his part, Jarrod grinned and replied, “If you win, Heath, we’ll consider it payback for your part in this afternoon’s rescue, and if I win, maybe you’ll come and spend a little time working with those two colts out in the corral?”

Heath nodded, and looked into Jarrod’s eyes with seriousness, the drawl gone from his voice. “Mr. Barkley, I don’t see how I can lose under those terms. Either way, I’d be honored to get to know those two colts a little better.”

Jarrod congratulated himself for having successfully uncovered another detail about the cowboy. Not only were horses attracted to him, they were his true passion. Jarrod smiled and asked for the deal.

When Nick approached the bunkhouse a few hours later to find his brother, he was puzzled at the lasting silence. Usually there was laughter or singing or yelling! Suddenly, as he opened the door, the deep quiet was punctuated by a loud roar of excitement. Then, just as quickly, everyone grew quiet again, but crowded around to continue concentrating on three men as they concentrated on their cards. The stranger from this afternoon, the one Nick had not met, was winning. The men parted to make way for the boss as he moved around the room to join a smiling Jarrod, who was standing nearby.

“Watch him, Nick. He is one cool cowboy. He just sits there, letting them work themselves into a hole of their own digging. They do the sweating, the swearing, and the paying!”

“Who is he, Jarrod?” Nick asked.

“All I know is the little bit I can pull out of him and what I can figure out by observing. His name is Heath, horses are drawn to him like flashes of lightning to a solitary tree, he works for Lloyd Garner on occasion, and he plays poker like he does everything else, calmly and with an amazing combination of skill, shrewdness, and joy. Oh, and Nick, I suspect he played a bigger role in our Audra’s rescue today than anyone has given him credit for.”

Just then, their attention was drawn back to the table as one of the hands, a big Texan named Barrett, jumped up and overturned his chair, threw down his cards with disgust, and stalked away from the game. He bellowed, “Get out of my way!” and shoved at the men behind him as he stormed out of the building.

In contrast, the other man, Ryland, pushed part of his stash forward and nodded at Heath, who nodded back. They each gathered their winnings and tidied up the table before standing. Both were pounded on their backs by those around them, while excited comments encircled them. “We haven’t seen poker like that around here in a while,” one man told Heath.

“I’ve never seen it done better,” said another, as the men broke up into small groups and headed out to their respective quarters.

Jarrod called to the clear winner as the room thinned out. “Heath, I don’t think you two formally met this afternoon. This is my brother, Nick. He is the Barkley boss; he runs all the various enterprises; and he does the hiring.”

The two men shook hands, lively hazel eyes meeting cool blue for an appraising look. Then, both turned simultaneously and lifted an eyebrow at Jarrod, a question in their eyes over his last statement, the one about hiring.

“Nick, you won’t believe it,” Jarrod began, “But he has your two colts already itching to follow him out the front gate. I think they would come right into the house and sleep in a bed if he asked them to! I believe you could find a use for him around here if he were so inclined.”

Neither man responded, so Jarrod took Nick by the shoulder and turned him toward the house. Over his shoulder, he said, “Good night, Heath. I enjoyed losing to you, and I think the others did, too. Well, with the exception of Barrett, that is.” To Nick, he added, “Come on, Brother Nick. I’ll let you fix me a drink.”

Once they reached the door of the house, Nick stopped Jarrod. “Why did you say that in front of him? He didn’t even act like he wanted a job, and I don’t know that we need another hand right now.” With his voice rising, Nick continued, “I don’t like you telling me who to hire, Jarrod. I don’t hire drifters, you know that, and worse, we don’t know anything about him.”

“Nick, trust me. You want to hire this young man. There is something about him. He is a cut above the rest. And besides, what do we ever know about anyone we hire? We just ask an honest day’s work from each one of them,” Jarrod replied.

Shaking his head, Nick said in a quieter, very serious voice, “I don’t know, Jarrod, the last few months have me worried, is all. First, the railroad and the shoot-out at Semple’s, then the cattle drive and that trouble with Wallent, now the farms and ranches in the area getting hit by some gang. I just think we have to be extra careful for a while about who we let get too close to us.”

Chapter 5

The sun was too high in the sky to suit Heath by the time Lloyd showed up at the barn the next morning. The horses were saddled and ready; Heath was down by the corral trying to curb his impatience by talking to the two colts. Earlier that morning, he had spent the quiet time between dawn and a glorious sunrise reviewing the last few weeks and his decision to find the mustangers. Mostly, he had needed to reassure himself that he was going about this in the right way. Now he was just anxious to get on with it.

As he had sat that morning, leaning against a gnarled apple tree on the other side of the Barkleys’ corral, he had watched the first traces of early morning light change into the muted pinks and golds that foretold the coming of the sun. But, in his mind, he was not so much seeing the sunrise, as remembering the events of three weeks ago.

As he had sat beneath the apple tree, what he saw in his mind were not the hues of the brilliant sunrise before him, but the nightmarish colors of flaming, searing oranges and ghastly, oozing reds. They were the harrowing spectrum of fire and blood; they were the haunting spectre of death.

Three weeks ago, Heath had been working at the Lansing ranch. When he had returned from the weekly supply trip into Markleeville that Arly Lansing had sent him on, he had found the four members of the Lansing family lying shot to death, while their house and barn still blazed around them.

When he had reported the killings, the sheriff had told Heath of a visit Arly Lansing had received the week before Heath arrived. Many of the farms and ranches in the area had been paying a gang of extortionists “protection money” for a while. In the face of several threats, Lansing was the only one who had had the courage to report his visit from a masked man demanding money to the sheriff. Lansing had also refused to pay.

When Heath had reported that the worst had happened, the sheriff still had nothing to go on about who the gang members were. However, he had surmised that the threats were tied to the signaling flashes of light seen around the hills in the area for weeks.

Heath wasn’t so sure. He knew Lloyd Garner and his band of mustangers were in the area, and from working with Garner off and on in the past, he knew they used mirrors to signal from one lookout post to another. From what Heath had seen, the purpose of the signals was to communicate as the men worked in coordinated groups to round up wild horses scattered between the hills. Maybe the signals the sheriff knew about were made by the mustangers and totally unconnected to the murderers.

Somehow though, it wasn’t such a leap for Heath to think of the mustangers as the same as the murdering gang. While he liked most of the crew that rode with Lloyd, he had never quite trusted the smooth talking leader or a few of his band, including Turk, . . . particularly Turk.

The more he had thought about it, in fact, the more he had suspected that the murderers were the mustangers. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that there would be two groups of men riding in the same area, and he knew Lloyd Garner was a demon about security around his camp. But there was no proof one way or another, and therefore, there was nothing the sheriff could do. Without proof, there was no action, no justice.

After several lengthy discussions. . ., Heath chuckled to himself as he touched a still tender, yellowing bruise beside his right eye. . ., Sheriff Ashton had finally agreed to support Heath’s plan. He wanted to rejoin Lloyd’s operation in order to learn the truth. He would hopefully be able to clear them of the deaths. However, if they were the murderers, then he would find a way to make them pay for what they had done to the Lansings. With his plan, he hoped to either disprove Sheriff Ashton’s theory or provide the evidence to help turn the suspicious flashes of light into the steely fingers of justice.

* * * * * * * *

Standing at the fence, Heath shook his head firmly to clear it of the intrusive visions, and sighed at the mess he had chosen to place himself in. While he was looking for the mustangers and contemplating his next actions, he had not realized how difficult it would be for him to play the part he was expecting of himself now that he had joined them. Now, as reality set in, he was disgusted at the duplicity of his role, of having to lie in order to learn the truth, and of the entanglement of proving his loyalty to the men only to enhance his possible betrayal of them later.

There was nothing more to be done now until Lloyd appeared from the fine, white house. While he waited, Heath did as he had done so often in the past when troubled, angry, or impatient; he turned to the company of horses. He was there, having resumed his conversation with the two exquisite creatures in front of him, when Lloyd found him.

“I’ve never enjoyed such a fine feast this early in the morning before, I can tell you!” Lloyd sang out as he approached the corral. “How about it? Did you get something to eat?”

“Sure, Lloyd. Ya ready?” Heath asked, his tone even and much calmer than he felt. He wanted to just get this whole situation figured out and finished up.

“Well, come on, then. Let’s get back to our camp and go find some ponies!” Lloyd led the way to the saddled horses. As they mounted up, Audra came out of the side door of the house. She waved at Lloyd as they jogged past, headed towards the hills beyond the gate.

* * * * * * * *

“No, You’re wrong!” Turk yelled at Lloyd. “I don’t like it. He shows up just when we are getting ready to fleece these ranchers. I think he’s up to something. It’s always been pretty clear that he don’t cotton to anything beyond the law. What will he do if he figures out what we are up to on the side? You are making a big mistake, Lloyd, to let him stay!”

When the three of them had met up in camp earlier in the morning, Lloyd had informed Turk of his decision to hire Heath Thomson again. He hadn’t said much then, but Turk felt justified in bringing it back up, now that it was just the two of them talking over their evening meal.

“We need him, Turk.” Lloyd responded, a small smile on his face. “I’ve always liked his way with the horses, but. . ., “ he thought for a few seconds, “I tell you what. I want him here to help with this bunch of mustangs. You know he’s too much of a loner to hang around in camp, so he probably won’t see our comings and goings. But, you suit yourself and keep a close eye on him just the same. If he decides to interfere in our side business in any way---just take him out, no questions asked by me. OK?”

“Sure, Lloyd,” Turk responded with an accompanying smile that spread across his face in a pleased smirk. “I like the way you think. For his sake, he better not decide to interfere. If he does, I’ll handle Mr. High and Mighty Horse Handler, Heath Thomson!”

“Now,” Lloyd changed the subject, “Let’s work out the details for the next few days.”

* * * * * * * *

Settling Gal and the two nondescript brown geldings for the night, Heath thought back over the events of the day. Turk had clearly not been happy with Lloyd that morning when he had given the smaller man no choice as he informed him of Heath’s employment. No matter what Heath did the rest of the day, from assisting with corralling the same herd into the bottle-neck canyon before noon, to breaking three young stallions this afternoon, he felt Turk’s angry eyes on him.

“It don’t matter, none, does it, girl?” Heath asked, giving his mare a final pat. “As long as they provide me a couple extra horses for my remuda, and don’t go galavantin’ off to murder any ranchers, I guess he can look at me any way he wants. It won’t be the first nor the last time somebody got it in his head he didn’t like me or mine for no reason that ever made any sense to me.”

So far, he had no indication that any of the mustangers were involved in the murders of his previous boss, Arly Lansing, nor his family. He had not seen anything to indicate that they were engaged in activities other than catching and breaking horses, at least nothing beyond the heavy security that guarded their perimeter. While posting one or two men on watch was nothing unusual for any group, Lloyd Garner’s obsession with this part of his operation seemed senseless—unless he had something to hide.

In fact, this aspect of working with Lloyd made Heath very uncomfortable. Maybe it was all just for Lloyd’s security, but it curtailed Heath’s freedom of movement and only served to heighten his strong need for space. He had only been in his separate camp a few hours, and already, he was feeling closed in. He could not imagine the feelings he would have had if he had tried to stay in their camp for the night. Tomorrow, he would just have to move his camp further away from Lloyd's, outside Lloyd’s security perimeter.

As he settled in, he could not shake the feeling that he was getting himself in deeper and deeper into a situation for which he could not see the possible consequences. Thinking over the next few days, he realized he may have to find a way to not only watch his own back while he tried to keep a close eye on Lloyd and Turk, but possibly keep an eye on the backs of people he did not even know.

Briefly, this thought was followed by pleasant memories of the previous evening, and to his own surprise, he experienced a sharp stab of emotion. “Get some sleep, Heath,” he muttered to himself while shaking his head at his own weakness. “All this worryin’ over the Lansings has made ya think too much about the whole notion of belongin’ to a family and settlin’ in one place. Those people in that big, white house won’t give ya a second thought, Thomson!”

Chapter 6

Within three more days, Heath was feeling like a piece of brittle barbed wire that had been stretched too tightly in too many different directions. He tried to keep up with Lloyd’s whereabouts as the leader of the mustangers set out to court the pretty Miss Audra Barkley. He continually watched over his own shoulder for Turk’s eyes that scrutinized every move he made, and he looked for ways to strike up conversations with some of the other men. The purpose of the latter, though hard on his normally quiet nature, was to try to uncover any hint of a basis for his suspicions. All the while, he worked long hours breaking young horses at a blistering pace.

His suspicions had risen to the level of certainty yesterday afternoon when he had overheard some of the men talking about having to do some hard riding after dark. He heard the name Davis and the general direction of a ranch to the south.

Walking away from the men, Heath quickly realized that he had to make a choice. He was caught between proving the involvement of Lloyd and his followers in the murders of his former boss’s family on the one hand, and actively trying to prevent additional bloodshed on the other. As soon as the thoughts formed, however, Heath made his decision. There really was no choice; though he knew it would prolong his hated involvement with the raiders, he immediately vowed to do the latter.

* * * * * * * *

Nick had just concluded his usual quick rendition of grace at mealtime when everyone sitting around the table raised their heads to a foreboding sound. The bell by the barn was being rung with a vengeance. As the loud clanging began to subside, Nick caught the sound of hoof beats pounding away from the ranch yard.

Grabbing his hat, Nick charged out of the side door with his brain already preparing to bring order to chaos. He reviewed all the steps needed and the orders necessary for fighting a fire in this heat. Half-way to the barn, however, he realized that with all the men gathered in the vicinity, no one was shouting the dreaded word, “Fire!” Instead, everyone was looking at each other and a murmur of questions could be heard as he approached.

Dave McCall, the Barkley foreman, caught Nick’s eyes and held them as the dark-headed, hazel-eyed boss strode through the parted crowd.

“Who rang that bell?” Nick demanded.

McCall shook his head, “We didn’t see anyone, Nick. But there is a note.” He handed Nick a piece of paper and a string that had apparently secured it to the fire bell’s rope. Nick opened the piece of folded paper; it looked like it had been torn from a small notebook.

As he read, his eyes grew wide in alarm. Within minutes, though there was no fire to fight nor imminent disaster to avert here, Nick Barkley was in his element. His swiftly barked orders divided the men into teams of six, and assignments were given for guard duty on two ranches throughout the night and next day. Satisfied that his men could cover all possible contingencies, he turned to his brother and, with a smile on his face, motioned for him to follow back toward the house, the waiting Audra, and his mother, Victoria.

“Nick! What on earth?” Victoria wanted to know as soon as she was sure he could spare the time and mental energy to give her an explanation.

“Mother, I think our recent bad run of luck just took a turn for the better,” Nick responded.

With three pairs of puzzled expressions turned toward him, he led them back to the dinner table with a grin. As they settled around him, and with his fork poised in the air, he looked at them all, smiled again, and said, “We just received a warning about the marauding bandits that have been terrorizing our valley for over a week.”

Everyone froze, looking at him in astonishment.

* * * * * * * *

“Nick, would you kindly explain yourself! I don’t understand how you can bring us all back in here calmly and announce that we’ve just received a threat!” Jarrod’s quiet tone was clearly juxtaposed to his terse words.

* * * * * * * *

“That’s just it, Jarrod.” Nick’s smile grew at unexpectedly receiving the upper hand in a duel of words with his brother. “We received a warning, not a threat. The note,” Nick held it out for them to pass around, “Says that if we are willing to help, we might be able to prevent a raid on Kendell Davis’ place either tonight or tomorrow.”

“What did you do about it?” Victoria asked.

“I sent some men over immediately to warn Davis, with the promise of two crews to rotate out tonight and tomorrow to help keep watch. It seems possible that it could all be an attempt to make us vulnerable to attack here by sending too many men to Kendell, so I set up extra watches for us as well.”

“Well, Brother Nick,” Jarrod finally spoke up, “It seems like we might have gained an ally on the inside of the gang. I don’t know about you, but that possibility makes me very uneasy all on its own. What is such a person likely to want in return?”

Nick responded, as he finished cutting up his steak, “I know, Jarrod, it worries me, too. That’s why I sent one of the hands to go get the sheriff.”

Looking at Nick with appreciation, Victoria voiced the questions they were all thinking, “If it is someone that has decided to help us, how do we account for that? And most importantly, who is it, and is this person to be trusted?”

In a moment of uncertainty, with mounting worry and concern swirling around in their brains, Audra’s and Jarrod’s blue eyes met across the table. For some unknown reason, their unspoken thoughts had instantly turned toward two different blond-headed strangers.

* * * * * * * *

It was an unavoidable fact that ignoring his inner turmoil during the day caused his feelings and thoughts to intrude into the only quiet time he had, his few opportunities to sleep. During the day, Heath attempted to bury his feelings about betraying some of the men he worked around, so he could focus on the work he had been given. But, at night, he was kept awake by his turmoil. No matter how important the outcome seemed, it went against his upbringing to deliberately lie to these men in order to gain their confidence so he could then deliberately betray them.

He pushed the warring thoughts about right and wrong deeper inside himself. Like carefully removing prickly burrs one by one from a much-used saddle blanket, he would wait until later to painstakingly pull out the conflicting issues one at a time and examine them thoroughly.

For now, he was committed to this course of action for reasons he believed to be right and just. Though he felt tired and worn, his sense of purpose continued to drive him. He remained alert for ways to gather the evidence needed to stop Lloyd and his marauders for good.

From what he had observed as he trailed behind the ranch hands riding toward the Davis’ place last night, he knew he had been correct to trust the Barkleys to help. Strangely, this knowledge that he was somehow not alone in his struggle to stop Lloyd helped him balance things in his mind.

However, while he was pleased about the results of his wild ride to the Barkley ranch at dusk the evening before, he had to admit that the added hours in the saddle were taking their toll on him physically.

Setting his thoughts aside once again, Heath took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on his immediate task. The young stallion in the small corral eyed one of Lloyd’s wranglers, the one carrying the saddle toward him, with suspicion. He turned his head as far as the second cowboy’s grip on his lead would allow, and his dark eyes rolled to show the whites around the rims. His nostrils flared and showed red; he attempted to bite the wrangler who hefted the saddle across his back and proceeded to cinch it in place.

As he watched from the fence, the sun beating down on him, Heath knew this large, muscular animal was going to provide a challenge. He winced as the man with the saddle almost caught a hind hoof in the knee when the horse attempted to kick the offending man out of his way. While some part of him was aware he was really feeling pretty done in, he knew he could delay this ride no longer. As he approached the horse, Heath paused to take another deep breath, straighten his shoulders, and focus fiercely as a matter of firmly ingrained habit.

Moving toward the horse’s head, he encouraged the stallion to smell him without taking a hunk out of his chest, all the while talking softly to him. “Whoa, there. Easy, boy. Anyone would think ya’d rather be out on the open range than here inside this fence with me. That’s right, son. Take it easy. We’ll get through this together, you and me.”

Though he felt no relaxing in the horse’s tensely bunched muscles, after a few moments he moved to check the saddle anyway. Still talking quietly to the tightly pinned ears, he expertly mounted and nodded to the men to turn them loose. For a split second, the horse stood completely still. Then, the world tilted, as the explosion of seventeen hands of pure muscle seemed to shake the earth.

For almost twenty seconds, Heath stayed in the saddle and matched his fluid motions to the dynamite beneath him. However, just as he began to think he would be able to cheat the animal out of another ride, the horse surged around the corral with a ground-eating force of renewed frenzy.

Suddenly, there was no where for the energy to go, but out----and the solidly built fence would not allow that.

With a deafening crash, man and horse went down in a heap of muscle, bone, and boards.

Chapter 7

Slowly, the dust cleared.

Nothing moved and silence reigned.

Then, suddenly the horse scrambled to get up. With no room to get clear of the large animal, Heath could not hold back a curse of pain as the horse further ground him into the unbroken wooden post behind him.

When the stallion trotted to the other side of the corral and stood with sides heaving, Heath remained in the dirt.

“Heath! Are you alright?” hollered Russ Atkins, the wrangler who had saddled for him.

“He sure caught ya a good one, didn’t he, Boy?” yelled Midas Elsey, who had just brought in three more horses awaiting the afternoon breaking session.

As they rushed toward him, Heath knew no more broncs would be busted today, fence repairs or no. As they untangled him from the broken boards, he managed to gain his feet without assistance. But as he attempted to put weight on his left leg, a sharp cry escaped his clenched jaw. Allowing himself to be eased over to the shade by two obliging wranglers, he knew the only thing being busted the rest of the day would be him.

* * * * * * * *

Following the events of the previous night, Victoria had insisted that Audra not leave the ranch. Though she had been hoping for a chance to join Lloyd Garner on a picnic on the north ridge, the young woman was now spending her morning fussing over one of Nick’s colts in the near corral. Though she was not happy about the decision, she understood it, and working with the colt was slowly cajoling her into better spirits.

As she was coaxing the flaxen-maned baby to accept her attempts to groom him, some riders came around the corner of the barn. Jarrod and Nick, who had been standing nearby giving her encouragement, turned their attention to the sheriff and his deputy.

“Good morning, Liam, Sam,” Nick spoke up. “We were just waiting for our men to change shifts before heading out to find you.”

“’Morning, folks,” Liam spoke up, including all three Barkleys in his gaze as he dismounted. “I wanted to take a look at that note you got last night. That note and your quick actions, Nick, sure saved Kendell and his family a lot of work and possible heartache!”

“Here ya go,” Nick said, as he pulled the little piece of paper from the shirt pocket under his black vest.

Reaching to take the paper, the sheriff said, “Nick, I’m sorry I couldn’t get over here last night to talk with you. Could you go over what you know, or anything else that occurred since I spoke to Kendell just before midnight?”

“According to our first two crews that we sent over last night, they saw a group of riders heading toward Kendell’s on the old wagon road down from the hills. They weren’t close enough to see how many or who they were. But,” Nick added, “They felt sure it was the raiders since the group split up and headed off in four different directions when they saw our men. Nothing else happened all night or has so far this morning that we know of. Do you know of any other targets last night?”

“No, no one else,” the sheriff responded, “In fact, nothing has changed, except this.” He gestured toward Sam, who pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to Nick.

Jarrod, reading over Nick’s shoulder, gave a low whistle. “It looks like your telegrams hit pay dirt, Liam. That sheriff over in Markleeville noticed the same pattern we all saw. When the mustangers moved in, the raids started, and so did those flashes of light signaling in the hills.”

“Well, let’s go! All we have to do is go round them up like a bunch of their wild horses!” Nick slammed the gloved fist of one hand into the other to punctuate his emphatic words.

“Hold on there, Nick,” Liam held up his hands in front of the impatient man, who was eyeing him suspiciously. “We can’t just ride in there and arrest them based on a suspected pattern. We have to have proof.”

“Now you sound like my Lawyer Brother here, Sheriff.” Nick grinned at Jarrod, who rolled his eyes at his sibling.

Otherwise ignoring Nick, Jarrod asked, “Could I put together a list of three or four questions for that sheriff in Markleeville, Liam? Maybe he could tell us a little more. If he had suspicions, maybe he had started putting together some evidence, too.”

Adding what Jarrod hadn’t wanted to say aloud, Nick said, “And, maybe he could tell us something about the man who wrote the warning note.”

Taking the questions hastily written out for them to send to Markleeville, the sheriff and deputy said their good-byes, mounted up, and rode out toward town.

Still standing within sight of Audra, Nick’s thoughts turned toward his sister and the man she was showing an interest in. Trying unsuccessfully to be quiet about it, Nick brought up the subject of Lloyd Garner. “Jarrod, where do you think Garner fits into all this? He claims to be the leader of the mustangers. Do you think that he is the leader of the raiders, if they turn out to be the same? Or do you think he could be the one who sent us the warning?”

Jarrod hesitated. “First, Nick, I think it is too soon to assume the mustangers and the marauders are the same.”

“Well, if they are part of the same group, it’s possible that other fella,--what was his name?--is the leader, and Lloyd sent us the warning to increase his chances with Audra,” Nick interrupted.

Jarrod continued outlining his thoughts aloud. “Even if they are the same group, there is nothing to indicate that every man is involved. How many men do you think are in that group of mustangers? Twenty or so?”

Nick nodded thoughtfully, Jarrod’s factual tone causing him to check his impatience.

“Finally,” Jarrod continued, “We have only met two of them, and they both seemed to have some good qualities. We have only our impressions to guide us since we know almost no facts about either of them or the group as a whole. I guess it could be that either Lloyd Garner or Heath. . . .”

Jarrod trailed off as McCall approached them to hand Nick a written schedule showing the shift changes for the crews guarding both ranches.

As Nick looked it over, McCall responded to the name he had heard Jarrod mention when he walked up. “Jarrod, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I heard you mention Heath. Do either of you think there’s a chance of hiring him on here? The men sure liked him, well all except for Barrett, and I saw how he seemed to have a natural talent for gentling those young colts.” McCall said the last with a nod of his head toward the colt at the fence with Audra.

Nick and Jarrod looked at each other. Jarrod said nothing, but Nick replied, “I don’t know if he is even looking for a job, Dave. He made it pretty clear that he already has one working for Garner, didn’t he, Jarrod?”

“Yes,” was all Jarrod could say.

“Well, maybe it’s just as well, then,” McCall responded.

When both brothers raised their eyebrows at him, he grinned and continued, “He might give you a run for your money at the poker table if you sign him on here, Nick!”

Jarrod laughed at the sudden change in Nick’s expression, as he choked out, “The schedule looks fine, Dave. I’m going to owe the boys a few rounds when all this is over!”

As he turned to walk away, McCall stopped and added, “Oh, that reminds me, there was one thing that disturbed me a little about Heath.”

Again Nick and Jarrod looked at him and waited. McCall said, “He wanted to buy a bottle of whiskey from one of the men after the poker game the other night. Somehow, that didn’t make sense with the other things I observed in him. Though I like him, I ‘figured maybe I did misjudge him a little.”

As McCall walked away shaking his head, Nick threw Jarrod an “I told you so” look.

As her brothers took their conversation with them on their way to the house, Audra stopped brushing the colt. She had heard more than they probably intended her to. She looked off into the distance, her thoughts focusing on Lloyd and how she could find out the truth about him. Knowing she could no longer give the animal her full attention, she carefully led him into the barn.

* * * * * * * *

It felt so good to just let the cool water from the river rush over his aching muscles. As soon as they got that fence repaired, he knew he was going to have to climb back in the saddle on that same cussed stallion. But, for now, he just wanted to lie here all day.

Heath looked up, awoken from his half-sleep, when he heard a voice nearby. “Hey, Boy!”

“You’re not goin’ back to look at yourself in that ole’ mirror again, are ya?” answered Heath.

“Well, at least I’ve got me a job that looks like work, ‘stead of one that lets me lie around takin’ a bath while ev’ryone else soaks up dust and dirt before dinner!” Mac responded.

“Yeah, well, this bronc bustin’ does have its rewards,” Heath drawled to the old Scot. “Say, Mac, I’ve got a bottle of Irish whiskey I’ve been savin’. If ya don’t take offense at its origins, I could bring it up to your post later. We could share it.”

“I never met a bottle that I didn’t like, no matter the circumstances of its poor birth!” Mac replied enthusiastically.

“Mac, you’re a rare man indeed if that kind of thinkin’ applies to people as well. I’ll come join ya as soon as I can drag myself outta here,” Heath promised.

* * * * * * * *

Walking to his camp and leading his borrowed brown horse seemed like a better option than trying to mount. With each step an exercise in agony, Heath cursed himself for not choosing a soaking spot closer to his bedroll. All the while, however, he knew he would soon have to find a way into his saddle after retrieving his bought bottle of liquor.

A little while later, the bottle safely tucked into his saddlebag, Heath stood looking up at what he hoped was the last insurmountable challenge of his day. “Horse, if I had the energy, I’d move your tack over to Gal, just so the saddle would be closer to the ground!”

He led the thoroughly brown creature over to a rock. There, he shamelessly forfeited his characteristic fluid leap into the saddle for a sorry, shaky maneuver that resembled the first attempt of a newborn foal to stand up on his too-tall, wobbly legs. With a groan, he hoped he would not have any witnesses as he barely managed to pull himself up using the low rock, the stirrup, and the saddle horn.

Turning the horse toward the lookout point where Mac would be waiting, Heath thought about the information he planned to ply out of the old Scot with the Irish brew. He fervently hoped the answers Mac gave him would at least allow him to stay in his bedroll tonight and postpone any more wild rides until tomorrow.

Chapter 8

Just as the afternoon sun showed signs of slipping toward the horizon, Heath knew his longed for quiet night was not going to be a possibility. Pretending to be almost as drunk as Mac, he offered to take over the job of flashing the last few signals toward the distant hills.

“Com’on, Mac, how hard kin it be?” Heath asked in a slurring plea. “I know ya, n’ ya don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no signals. Yer just up here playin’ at signalin’ ev’ry day. I kin do that fer ya.”

Heath attempted to pick up the largest piece of mirror from its place on the blanket by the bottle.

Mac slapped at his hand. “Get on with ya, now, Heath,” he said. “Just ‘fore sundown I got ta’ signal me last time fer the day. The men’ll be on the move, ‘n Bill over there needs me ta get his ‘tention so he can watch the road fer 'em.”

“On the move? Now, Mac, what’re ya sayin’?” Heath asked, poker face relaxed into a drunken-looking smile.

“The boys’re headed out to show that Jamie Drumm what fer. Lloyd says t’others won’t stand up to ‘em if Drumm does na’ have the courage to do so. He’s goin’ to teach him’n his fam’ly a lesson fer not payin’ up. The Barkleys are next fer tellin’ him not to pay. .. ,” Mac shared, his head beginning to nod. Then, he briefly raised back up and asked, “Heath, me boy? Have ya ev’r been to me homeland. . .?”

Mac trailed off, his chin touching his chest as it had several times over the last half hour. This time, Heath had heard enough, so he did not rouse Mac from his snoring.

Instead, with his jaw clenched tightly against any more of his own groans, Heath climbed carefully to his feet and lurched over to his horse. Again, using the rock, stirrup, saddle horn strategy, he managed to make it into his saddle without uttering a sound. However, the throbbing along his whole left side was almost unbearable, and he realized, as he urged the horse to quickly pick its way down from the ridge, that he could barely feel the horse’s movement or even the stirrup on that side. For a moment, as he envisioned the route he needed to take to get to the Drumm ranch, he almost wished he had had more than one swig of Mac’s whiskey.

When he and the horse emerged from the rocky ridge, Heath used the reins like a quirt to assist his ailing body in demanding a gallop. With the darkening sky, an unfamiliar road, and a new mount, he knew it was not going to be an easy ride to the ranch. Wishing for his surefooted and quick little Gal, he was still pleasantly pleased with the response of the borrowed brown and the speed of their headlong gallop.

In his mind, Heath heard Mac’s words again, “He’s goin’ to teach him’n his fam’ly a lesson. . . The Barkleys are next. . . .”

“Maybe I should be headed to the Barkleys’ ranch first. They could use the same plan as before, divide up to protect both places,” Heath questioned himself. But, just as quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it. Mac had said the men would be on the move before sundown. That meant, because of their route relative to his, they now had a head start on him. “Teach him’n his fam’ly a lesson,” repeated over and over in his head. Did this rancher have any children?

Suddenly, all his struggling thoughts between right and wrong, all the worrying about betraying men he had come to know as he worked beside them, all the turmoil about the lies he had told to Garner and Mac, all of it disappeared in a clarifying flash of light.

Suddenly, all the uncertainty was replaced by a lightning bolt of blazing anger at the words, “Teach him’n his fam’ly a lesson.” Heath clamped down on the nightmarish images those words awakened. It had happened three weeks ago, and he had been too late to prevent it. This time would be different. This time he would be there, and Lloyd would contend with him.

As he galloped headlong through the sweltering gloom, he used his dark, remembered visions of fire and blood to fan the flames of his rage. He used his searing anger at the murder of a family he had known to fuel his determination to defend a family he did not. Heath used the repeated litany of Mac’s words, “Teach him’n his fam’ly a lesson,” to invoke a vow of his own, “Lloyd Garner and his pack of coyotes are NOT going ta murder any more women n’ children!”

As he galloped headlong toward an inevitable confrontation, as each hoof beat carried him closer and closer toward his destiny, Heath Thomson never questioned or even wondered where this kind of determination inside himself came from. It was part of him; it seemed to him that it had always been there. Growing up he had needed someone strong enough to provide him with protection, and no one had been there for him. As a child, he had had to fight his own battles, and from a young age, he had learned to fight to protect his loved ones.

As he galloped headlong toward a ranch he had never seen before, the agony that his whole side had become was beyond his awareness. He pushed himself and his mount to their limits. With no more than the brown horse and his visions of the Lansings lying in the dirt to keep him company on yet another wild ride, his only thought was to prevent a terrifying fate for someone else’s child.

* * * * * * * *

As his path across the darkening meadow curved to join that of the main road, Heath could see the men gathered at the front of the house. Even as he wrapped his reins around the saddle horn and drew his rifle, he knew he had no prayer for a successful shot from this distance. Yet, when he saw Lloyd pull his revolver and aim it at a crumpled figure on the ground, he knew he had to fire, even if just to get their attention. To avoid hitting the man on the ground, Heath deliberately aimed high and squeezed the trigger.

Almost simultaneously, the sound of Lloyd’s single gunshot reached Heath. He saw the figure of Jamie Drumm jerk with the force of the bullet. “Too late!” His brain thundered. With each ground-eating stride of his horse bringing him closer, Heath aimed again and fired. He watched as one of the men, who had been headed for the house, fell to the ground.

He heard Turk’s voice call out, “Someone’s coming! Let’s ride!” All of the men he could see ran to their horses, mounted, and turned to escape. Then, a man in a gray shirt came running out of the barn toward a horse. He was pushing a boy along in front of him. With a rough shove, the man knocked the boy to the ground and raised his pistol as if to fire at the defenseless child. Now within definite range, Heath’s shot felled the man where he stood.

Two of the remaining six riders, pistols drawn, wheeled their horses to follow their retreating comrades. But, as they fled, these two wildly returned fire at the man bearing down on them.

Heath felt the impact of a bullet tear him from the back of his galloping horse. As he crashed into the ground with no chance to control his roll, the last thing he heard was the sound of Turk’s laughter. At a full gallop, the six men plunged up the road and through the pasture toward the next ranch.

Chapter 9

Lying in the tall pasture grass near the road, Heath did not see Jamie Drumm crawling toward a pistol and firing at the retreating backs of their attackers. Nor did he hear the crying of Drumm’s wife as she ran out from inside the house and scooped up her terrified son. Neither did he hear the thundering hooves as the sheriff and a group from the neighboring ranches rode in half an hour later.

Closer to the house, the wounds from the beating and the bullet he had taken left Jamie Drumm in no shape to tell the sheriff exactly what had happened or to identify his attackers. His wife, though she tried to offer information, was more focused on helping her husband and comforting her child than on the men who had ridden away. The sheriff sent one of the men to Stockton for the doctor.

With Drumm carried carefully inside, Nick took some time to check the two unidentified men lying in the dirt outside the house. As he looked closely, he was incredulous when he realized they were both killed by identically placed shots to the head.

“Jarrod, Liam, look here,” Nick called to his brother and the sheriff, as he gestured toward the dead men. “What exactly do you make of how all this happened?”

Both men stopped talking on the porch and stood looking around. Liam spoke first, “Well, I’d say there were a large number of horses here, indicating maybe 8 or 9 men. Apparently they beat up Jamie, guess they shot him, maybe afterwards? It looks like he managed to move from here to here, see the blood, and to get his hands on a pistol. He must have killed these two.”

Jarrod nodded his head.

“But wait a minute,” Nick stopped the sheriff. “Look at these shots. They are almost identically placed. Is Jamie that good? Could he make those shots, even this close, especially injured?”

“I don’t know, Nick. What are you trying to say?” the sheriff asked.

“I’m not sure what I’m saying, but something doesn’t seem quite right. Why did the gang leave without finishing what they started?” Nick asked. “They didn’t hesitate to finish the job the last time when they hit Coleman’s farm. Is it possible someone else shot these men and ran the others off?”

“I guess it’s possible, Nick, but I don’t think we’ll know what really happened until we can talk to the Drumms. Maybe one of them can give us some answers,” the sheriff said. “I’ll go in and see how they’re doing.”

Nodding his head, but not yet satisfied, Nick walked around the area. After a few minutes, he realized that one horse had gotten loose and was standing behind their other mounts. Walking over to re-tie the horse, he noticed that the reins were wrapped firmly around the saddle horn. Scowling, he took a closer look and saw blood on the saddle. Now, he was clearly puzzled. Apparently, this was not one of the horses from their group. Seeing Jarrod emerge from the house, Nick motioned to him.

“Look at this, Jarrod,” Nick said as his brother approached. “This horse must belong to one of the dead men. There’s blood right here, but what I can’t figure out is why the reins would be wrapped around the horn like this. No horse is going to stay put like that.”

Jarrod looked closely at the blood-stained saddle. Suddenly, he walked around to the horse’s other side; he noticed the empty rifle scabbard. Jarrod took a step back as an unwelcome thought insinuated itself. He looked up at Nick with shock, “Nick,. . . .” he started, “Nick, I know this saddle,” Jarrod tried again.

Nick returned the long look from his brother, noticing that Jarrod had paled slightly. “What? Whose is it?” When Jarrod didn’t answer right away, Nick continued, “Jarrod, the only time I’ve ever seen anyone tie the reins like that was . . . . ,” he trailed off at the look on Jarrod’s face and waited.

“I was so sure about him.” Jarrod said quietly, “I had him figured differently.” Jarrod’s head dropped. Then, he looked back up into Nick’s concerned hazel eyes and said, “Heath. That’s Heath’s saddle. I took a long look at this particular, worn-out saddle in the barn the other night while he took care of his horse. But,. . . .”

“Jarrod, I tried to tell you he might be part of the gang, maybe even the leader, though, I think it’s more likely that Garner fella leading them all. Come on. We’ve got to tell the sheriff. If he was here, if he was riding this horse, and,” he pointed to the blood, “If Jamie shot him, he might still be around here hiding.”

Leaving Jarrod standing by the brown horse, Nick’s long strides took him to the house in rapid order. A few minutes later, he and the sheriff emerged.

The sheriff called, “You men. Come here!” The men, who had been standing around after riding in with the Barkleys and the sheriff, congregated around the porch. The sheriff quickly issued orders, “We might still have a gang member hanging around here, probably injured. Divide up into groups of two and spread out. We’ve already checked the house, so concentrate on the barn, the other buildings, and both entrances to the ranch. We don’t know how far away he could have gotten, but we think his horse is the brown gelding that Nick found wandering around over by our horses. Be careful. Assume this man is dangerous. He might even be the gang leader.”

With a feeling of dread at the sheriff’s terse words, Jarrod joined Nick and the others as they spread out to look for Heath. As he and Nick emerged from the barn after checking it thoroughly, they heard a shout from down the road.

“Here he is, Sheriff!” Toby Rawls, one of their hands, hollered.

Nick and Jarrod ran with the other men. They were pretty sure who they were going to see before they arrived, but, to Jarrod especially, it was a shock to recognize the very still, very pale figure lying on his side and half hidden by the tall grass.

Jarrod knelt down on the ground beside Toby, and checked for a pulse.

“Is he alive, Jarrod?” Nick asked quietly.

“Yeah, Nick, he’s alive, but all this blood. . . . We need to get him to the house.” Jarrod replied.

“Jarrod, that’s the last place this man is going to go. If he is who we think, then there is no way we’re going to take him into the house with the very people he and his men were attacking!” The sheriff added, “Let’s see if we can get him across a horse. The only place he is going is to jail.”

He and a couple of men left to bring the horses. While they waited, Nick carefully checked the man lying on the ground for broken bones. His hands paused when his touch along the left side elicited a strangled moan. Checking again, he could find nothing that felt broken, so he carefully tugged at the blond’s shirttail to look. Lifting it, he let out a low whistle.

“Look at this. These bruises must cover half of his chest and back!”

“What could have caused all of this, Nick? Do you think the fall from his horse did it?” Jarrod asked.

“I don’t think so. They don’t look exactly fresh, too much bruising already,” Nick replied. “How bad does that head wound look?”

“I don’t know, but he needs a doctor.” Jarrod added, “If he’s been out all this time, that isn’t a good sign. The bullet appears to have gashed him here along his hairline, but there’s also a nasty, swollen cut on the back of his head. I guess he hit hard when he fell.” Jarrod continued his running dialogue, as he tried to wipe away the blood with his bandana, “There is right much blood, but it looks like it’s slowing.”

Just as the horses arrived, Heath started to come around. He began to thrash about on the ground, and, even before his eyes opened, he started pushing the hand holding the cloth away. After a moment, his eyes opened wide, his breathing came in shallow gasps, and he started focusing his struggling on attempts to sit up.

Nick started talking calmly to him, trying to keep him lying down. “Easy there, Boy, you just lie still.” Nick used the same quiet tone that he would to calm a frightened horse, but it was unsuccessful.

“Barkley?” Heath questioned, his vision clearing, his voice rising to an agitated level, “Barkley?----No! Have ta get to. . . . get to the ranch!” He began trying again to push Jarrod away and get to his feet.

“Heath, easy now.” Jarrod tried unsuccessfully to push the struggling man back to the ground. Nick moved to help him, and together they were able to keep him down.

“Heath! Lie still!” Jarrod continued to call. Finally, the dark blue eyes of the one looking down caught and held the lighter blue eyes of the one lying on his back, and the struggling slowed.

Heath’s breathing came in great gasps, as if he had been running a footrace over a vast distance. He closed his eyes and grimaced with pain as his right hand sought his battered left side, then reached to probe his throbbing head. Continuing to draw air in through clenched teeth, he opened his eyes again and tried to sit up.

“Well, since you’re awake, let’s get you on this horse.” The sheriff took hold of Heath’s right arm and tried to lift him. With his other hand, he removed Heath’s pistol and said, “Get up.”

Heath’s legs responded, but he reached out for support. Finding Jarrod’s outstretched arm, he grasped it in a steely grip for a few steadying seconds. Then, as both men tried to assist him, he shook them off and climbed into his saddle. Once he was sure he was going to remain upright, Heath’s concentration turned to the words of the sheriff talking below him.

“Come on, boys, mount up. John, you and Billy come with me. We’ll take this rascal to the jail, while the rest of you try to track his gang.” The sheriff got no further. At the words, “jail” and “his gang,” Heath Thomson whirled the horse, charged across the ranch yard, and, leaning low over the gelding’s neck, careened away from the surprised group of men at a blazing gallop.

Recovering, several men pulled their guns and fired a few shots, but the blond was gone.

With loud curses replacing the retorts of their guns, the men all scrambled for their horses, and gave chase.

As they rode, Nick glanced over at Jarrod. He could see that his brother was deep in thought. He looked like he was reviewing a court battle, hearing testimony and watching events unfold as if for the first time. If Nick knew Jarrod, his brother was trying to understand how he could have so misjudged the quiet stranger, trying to understand how he could have missed the violence and lack of concern for human life that must have been lurking just under the surface.

Though not for the same reasons as his brother, Nick was just as puzzled. The scene at Jamie Drumm’s just didn’t make sense to him, at least not the way the sheriff had it figured. He knew he couldn’t unravel it all now, but something about it continued to taunt him as he rode.

As they galloped, the direction of the chase began to bother Nick as well. He asked himself, “Why is he headed toward our ranch? What is he up to?” Then, as the trail veered across a grassy pasture, Nick’s serious, hazel eyes narrowed considerably. This detour meant he was taking a shortcut either toward Barkley land or the hills beyond. Then, Nick’s eyes caught the signs that a large number of horses had recently headed in this direction, prompting him to really worry. “Is he following his gang? Are they all headed toward our ranch?”

Spurring his horse ahead, Nick hollered back to Jarrod to hurry. Though Jarrod could not catch the words, he could hear the urgency in them. He started to call out to Nick to warn him of possible ambush if he got too far ahead, but what he saw as he crested a slight rise, caused his words of caution to die in his throat.

The dark sky in front of them was tinged a sickening tint of red. Thick billows of smoke, lit from below by a blazing inferno, hung over the valley, over the Barkley Ranch. He spurred his horse, trying to catch up with Nick.

For both Barkley men, any thoughts of the scenes behind them or of the fugitive ahead of them were instantly replaced with an overwhelming sense of alarming foreboding. Pushing their horses harder still, the need to protect their home, their mother, and their sister eclipsed all else.

Chapter 10

When they galloped into the enclosed yard near the Barkley barns, the men found a full-scale war being waged on the flames licking at almost every wooden surface. Even in the dark, the eerie red glow and bright orange flames allowed them to see that fences were smoldering, stacks of hay bales were reduced to embers, and two of the three barns were still burning. While one barn’s flames appeared to be almost under control with only minor damage, the other was in danger of collapsing in on itself at any moment. Men were running everywhere with buckets of water in both hands or with trumpeting, frightened horses grasped by halters and short leads.

Immediately, Nick was pulled into the role of boss, as men started shouting to him, demanding decisions and directions. Jarrod, on the other hand, searched with desperate eyes, trying to locate his mother and sister. He hollered at the hands running past, anxious for word of their safety. Finally, someone pointed him to the back of the corral closest to the house.

A tiny, silver-haired woman with smudges of soot on her face ran to Jarrod’s horse. As Jarrod dismounted, he and his mother hugged each other in a firm embrace. Stepping back, he asked about Audra. Victoria pointed inside the nearby corral. His young blond sister was kneeling near one of Nick’s two prized colts. The animal was lying in the dirt with its head cradled in her lap. He could see from where he stood that she was alright and that someone was already helping her with the stricken colt, so he returned his attention to his mother.

Just as she started to tell him of the hit by the gang, the sheriff and the others rode into the gates. They could all hear Nick shouting, “Liam, get after them! They headed up into the hills.” His emphatic words were accompanied by his use of whole arm gestures to indicate the direction. Obeying, the sheriff and his men gave no more than a cursory look around the chaotic scene before quickly following his directions. Nick hollered out once more, “Toby, you stay. I need you here.”

Jarrod turned to walk his mother into the house in order to make sure she was really alright and help her gather medical supplies. He planned to return quickly to assist Nick in making sure no wayward sparks made their way to the roof of the house.

* * * * * * * *

Long before he had galloped into the area around the burning barns, he had known he was too late to do much to prevent the catastrophe of the fire. Neither was he in time to take on any of the already fleeing gang. They were obviously long gone. However, as he looked around, he realized there was one person he could help, the one person here he was afraid was going to be the most hurt by Lloyd’s actions. He could try to help Miss Barkley.

As he painfully dismounted and began an agonizing walk into the corral, Heath heard her talking to the colt lying on the ground. She was trying to soothe him with both her voice and her words. “It’s okay, little guy. You’re going to be alright. Good boy, you’re a good boy,” she said over and over. The colt’s eyes were open, and he kept raising his head, but made no move to try to stand.

Heath eased himself down next to her and asked, “Do ya know what happened to him?”

She shook her head, with tears streaming down her face, “No, I found him like this. He won’t even try to get up. Please, can you help him?” she asked, with only a glance up at Heath.

“I don’t know, Miss Barkley, but we’ll sure try. We’ll both help him. Can ya see or feel any blood?” When she shook her head, he added, “Let’s see if we can find anything.” Moving gingerly, Heath tried unsuccessfully to feel under the horse, and realized they were going to have to get him up first.

“If we can get him standin’, we can check him out better and maybe get him settled somewhere safer. ‘Tell you what, you provide the encouragin’ voice and the pull from this side. I’ll lift from the other side, okay?”

Again, she nodded at him. She was so focused on the colt, she barely registered that Jarrod was nearby now, talking to her mother.

Moving around in front of the colt, Heath carefully lifted the chestnut head while Audra stood up. She shifted places to stand behind Heath, her eyes watching the colt intently, even in the dark. He talked quietly to the little horse, all the while letting him smell his chest and looking him straight in the wild, white-ringed eyes. To keep him calm, Heath started talking to Audra, but without changing the timbre of his voice at all. “Here we go. I’ll ease him this way, right little guy? Then you take over as I move around behind him. That’s a good fella. We’ll push and pull t’gether, yeah, that’s right. Ready, Miss?” He lifted the colt’s head and neck and held them up while he started moving to the side opposite Audra.

As Audra responded, “Yes, I’m ready,” in an equally soothing voice, she moved in to stroke the colt’s lifted neck and take over control of his lead rope and halter.

Heath got into position just behind the horse. “Now, little fella, let’s get you up. You pull; I’ll lift.” He looked into Audra’s eyes and nodded, while keeping his voice even. “Pull,” he said.

Both of them continued talking to the colt. Audra coaxed from the front, pulling firmly and steadily to give him something to balance against until he could get his legs under him. Heath reached under the colt’s body as far as he could and lifted with both arms. As they continued to encourage the little horse to stand, the only change in the sounds of their prolonged struggle was the momentary gasp from Heath as he suddenly faltered.

With both eyes closed, he went down on one knee, and he leaned his pounding head against the horse’s back. The colt, now fighting to right himself, slammed into Heath’s left side. He staggered under the additional battering, choking on the cry of pain that threatened to erupt. With his blood pounding in his ears, the mere act of trying to draw a full breath caused a fresh onslaught of agony.

Both man and horse fought to find their footing. Not sure which one of them was lifting the other, after an eternity of seconds, both found their legs. Finally, both stood with sides heaving, though Heath was slightly bent over with his hands on his thighs and eyes closed against the white-hot flashes of light burning across his vision.

The sounds around him were beginning to fade as his own blood continued to roar in his ears. As he gasped for breath and for control over his pain, it was Audra's calm voice praising the horse that Heath struggled to focus on. Slowly, out of her line of sight, he reached up with one hand to grab the short brush of flaxen mane to help straighten and steady himself.

When he opened his eyes and glanced up, he saw her looking at him curiously. He realized she thought he had been looking at the colt’s side and that she was asking him a question he hadn’t heard. “Can you see anything wrong from that side?” She repeated, “Do you see any blood or burns?”

Without letting go of the mane, Heath ran a slightly shaky hand over the chest and side of the colt. “I only see one place,” he began. Taking a shallow breath, he continued, “One place that looks like he got singed.” Then, leaning heavily on the habits of a lifetime, he checked out the colt more thoroughly, and he examined the area all around them in the dim light. Trying to take in a deep breath, he said, “Ya know, it looks like he maybe got scared and slid here. See?” he asked as he sucked in air and indicated the gauged up ground around them with one hand. “Maybe some sparks got him, . . . and he bolted, . . . then fell.” Heath took a deeper breath and let it out.

Audra spoke up, “I think you’re right, he was just too scared to try to get up after that. And, all this noise and confusion couldn’t have helped.” She paused for a split second. “You know, we are going to have a tough time helping him get over his fears if that’s what happened. But, at least we got him up, and he’s alright.”

Clamping down on a wave of dizziness, he listened to her. Hearing her use of the word “we,” he wondered if she was referring to him beyond just tonight’s events.

“Thank you for your help with him.” Really looking at Heath for the first time, she noticed the pain in his eyes. “Are you alright?” she asked.

When he nodded at her, she added, “We were a good team, weren’t we?”

Heath decided he liked the sound of that “we.” He nodded again, and this time he flashed his half-smile, letting it momentarily erase the pain in his eyes.

She returned it with a dazzling smile that lit up her face, beautiful even now in the reflection of the flames around her, before she turned her attention back to the colt, “Come on, little fella. Let’s take you somewhere quiet.” As Audra led the colt toward the undamaged barn, she looked over her shoulder at the obviously tired cowboy. She noticed what looked like blood on his shirt collar before she asked, “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

Again, he nodded.

Audra smiled, turned, and led the way with the colt.

Focusing on her quiet voice, fading as she headed toward the undamaged barn with the skittish animal, Heath managed to make it to his horse. He led the gelding to within thirty feet of the barn door before he stumbled and went down.

Chapter 11

“Mother! Mother!” Audra’s cries could not be heard over the noises engulfing the men who worked to subdue the last of the flames. Running between wagons, horses, and men, Audra finally spotted her mother over by the bunkhouse bandaging the blackened hand of one of the crew.

“Mother!” she called again.

“What is it, Audra?” Victoria Barkley asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mother, I’m fine, but I need your help.” Audra’s crystal blue eyes telegraphed her concern to her mother, and Victoria, who was already giving the man instructions about follow-up care, immediately stood up and apologized for leaving him.

As she followed her daughter, Audra said, “It’s that man that brought me back home a few days ago. He’s hurt. Please, he needs help.” Then, seeing the questions in her mother’s eyes, she added, “Not Lloyd, the other one. I don’t even know his name, it’s the one that was with Lloyd in the canyon, . . .” she trailed off .

Victoria took Audra by the arm and stopped her. As she looked hard at her daughter, a frightening picture of a dangerous gang member wounded in the attempt to burn their ranch, formed behind her piercing, grey eyes, “Where did he come from, Audra? Why is he here?”

“Mother, he’s hurt. I don’t know when or how he got here, or even what’s wrong with him. He was helping me with the colt, then all of a sudden he was, well come on!” she pleaded.

The frightening picture faded as she remembered the gentle words she had heard behind her from the corral while she had watched Nick and Jarrod ride in earlier. She nodded to her daughter and increased the speed of her steps.

As soon as she saw the blood, visible on the back of his shirt even in the near dark, Victoria sent Audra to get some of the men, telling her, “Nick has already sent for the doctor to come check some of our hands when he is finished at the Drumm’s place. Go find at least two men to carry him into the house.”

Turning her attention to the still form curled on his side and facing away from her in the dirt, she was relieved, then instantly curious, to see that the holster tied to his right leg was empty. Pushing her questions aside, she said aloud, “Let’s see where that blood is coming from.” Down on her knees in the dirt behind him, she removed a cloth from the bundle of supplies she had been carrying and used it to wipe at the blood streaming from the gash on the back of his head.

Audra returned a few minutes later with Dave McCall, their foreman, and another hand. “Let’s take him into the house by the side door,” Victoria gestured. “Audra, get some blankets and meet us downstairs.” She carried the bandages and led the men as they followed, bearing the weight of the injured man. As they entered the side door, she led them through the kitchen and dining room toward the closest place to lay him, the wood-paneled study.

“Please lay him on his side away from me, so I can clean that wound on the back of his head.” As they complied with her instructions, she stepped in to continue the process of removing the blood in order to get a good look at the gash underneath.

As she started to thank the men behind her, McCall spoke up and asked, “Did you get a look at the crease along his forehead? It’s bleeding, too.”

“No, I didn’t see it yet. This one looked so bad I thought that was where all the blood was coming from,” she responded. “Here,” handing him a cloth, “Please hold that on it while I finish with this one.”

“Morris, you go back out and help Nick,” McCall said, taking the cloth. “I’ll stay here for as long as you need me, Ma’am.”

Audra stayed busy bringing her mother hot water from Silas’ stove, while Victoria struggled to both clean the gash and stop the flow of blood. Finally, she was ready to get a look at the other wound. “Audra, hold this right here. Put pressure on it while we turn him, so I can check the other one. I’ll try to wrap them both at the same time.” Speaking to McCall, she said, “Let’s ease him to his back so I can get a look at what you have there.”

The gasp that escaped Victoria Barkley’s lips as McCall rolled the bloodied cowboy toward her had nothing to do with his wound.

She stood so still for so long, the blood drained from her face, that both Audra and the foreman were beginning to get concerned.

Afraid to remove her pressure from the head wound in order to go to her mother, Audra said, “Mother, are you alright? Mother!”

Shaking her head slightly, but never taking her eyes from the face of the wounded man, Victoria inhaled deeply. Regaining her composure, she reached up to touch the matted blond hair. Then, she systematically began cleaning the wound despite the fresh, oozing blood from the track of the bullet.

All the while, her mind was screaming over and over, “Tom! What have you done? What have you done?”

After a moment, she realized her daughter and her foreman were still looking at her curiously. She said in a small, breathless-sounding voice, “I’m alright, I just wasn’t prepared for, . . . well, I’m alright. You were right about this wound. He has lost an awful lot of blood.”

With her mind somewhere in the past, her hands continued to clean and wrap both wounds. When she finished, she wrung out another warm cloth and began wiping some of the drying blood from his face.

But it didn’t matter; she already knew. While his eyes remained closed, while he had not spoken to her, while she did not yet know anything of his past, each swipe of her cloth more clearly revealed features that she already knew as well as she knew her own face.

She was shaking inside.

With each movement of her hand, the questions assailed her.

How could her beloved Tom have a son she did not know about?

How could this young man that she did not know, look more like the husband she missed so dreadfully than the two sons she saw everyday?

How could you, Tom Barkley?

Then, she realized McCall was speaking to her. “If you don’t need me anymore, Ma’am, I’ll go back out and check with Nick now.”

Though she continued to quake inside, Victoria kept her voice controlled as she answered him. “Thank you, Dave,” she replied without taking her eyes from the resting form before her.

Though she heard McCall’s retreating steps and was aware that Audra was still in the room, she felt there were really only the two of them remaining there, herself and the young man she knew to be her husband’s son. There were only the two of them there beneath the visage of her husband in the large photograph hanging above the mantle.

She did not hear Audra leave the room, nor her return with a pitcher of water and accompanying glasses. “Mother, here, sit down and drink this. You look like you’re about to drop.” After Victoria complied, Audra added, “Please let me stay here with him while you go upstairs to rest.”

To Victoria, Audra’s concerned voice sounded very far away. She remained where she was.

She was still sitting there, on the edge of the marble-topped table, with her eyes lingering on his face and one hand stroking his sandy blond hair, when Audra returned with Jarrod a short while later.

He didn’t ask any questions, only moved to sit beside her on the table before the empty fireplace. He placed his arm around her and pulled her to him. When the tears started falling from her eyes, he just held her tighter and rocked her gently. “It’s okay, Mother. It’s alright, now.”

He motioned for Audra to leave and nodded when she turned in the doorway, asking with her eyes if she should close the doors.

They sat like that for many minutes, before her hand stroking the blond head finally moved to wipe at her own tears. She glanced up at Jarrod as if aware of him for the first time.

“You know, I never had a chance to say good-bye to your father before he died, Jarrod,” she said quietly.

He nodded his head next to her, but she didn’t turn to look at him again.

“When Nick and the men brought him home that day, he was already gone. I always thought that if I had just had a chance to say good-bye, to tell him how much I loved him one more time, that the years of missing him so much afterward would have been a little easier somehow,” Victoria added.

She paused and swallowed hard. Then, she turned her head and touched Jarrod’s face, looked into his dark blue eyes staring down at her with such love. “Jarrod, this is the other man that helped bring Audra home from the canyon, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“You talked to him that night, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, Mother, I did,” Jarrod replied.

“Could you tell me, . . . could you tell me what color his eyes are?” She continued to stare up at him, tears streaming down her face again.

“Blue, his eyes are blue. He has blue eyes a little lighter than Audra’s. . . ” Jarrod trailed off and stopped. He suddenly caught his breath as the puzzling memories of that night came flooding back. Then, as he connected with memories of years gone by, memories of a quiet chuckle, a lop-sided smile, of a hat tilted half-way back on another man’s head, he said quietly, “He has Father’s blue eyes.”

Victoria nodded, smiled, and turned back to look at the man lying unmoving in front of them. “He is your Father’s son.”

As her hand reached out to trace the lines of the still face, she said with anguish, “I don’t even know his name! What is his name, Jarrod?”

“It’s Heath,” Jarrod replied. When she looked back at him for more, he added, “That’s all he ever told me. I don’t know what last name he uses. . . . But, Mother, I never had the feeling that the name Barkley meant anything more to him than any other name. I never had the impression that he connected himself to us in any way.” He thought a moment before adding, “Mother, I don’t think he knows.”

She smiled up at him through her tears, then reached out for Jarrod’s hand.

Jarrod paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “Every time I looked at him, talked to him, listened to him, I had the distinct feeling that there was something very special, almost familiar about him. But, I never connected him to Father. And if you’re so sure, just by looking at him, . . . why didn’t I?” He trailed off and waited.

“He’s a younger version of your Father, much younger than the man you probably remember. As soon as I saw his face, even with all the blood, even before I could see him clearly, I knew. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind. This young man is your brother; he is Nick’s brother; he is Audra’s brother. He is Tom Barkley’s son, and, whether he knows it or not, he has finally come home.”

Continued…