The first day of the cattle drive had been filled with silence so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Oh, don't misunderstand me, there was plenty of the normal sounds coming from the moving cattle and the men driving them. The silence I speak of came from my family, those of us Barkleys on the drive.

You should be made to understand right up front how important that drive was to me. I was 21 years old that year, and had finished my first year of college. All of my life, I had looked forward to going along on a cattle drive with my brothers, looked forward to finally being adult enough to ride beside Jarrod and Nick and be thought of as a man.

Jarrod, my oldest brother was 32 that year, and a well respected lawyer. He seldom went on cattle drives, as the running of the Barkley ranch fell to my brother Nick, who was at that time 28 years of age. Jarrod went on a special drive each year with Nick, and I had anticipated the year when I could go along since I was a small boy.

My joy at riding with my brothers was dampened and dampened severely by the time we departed for Texas from our California ranch. Jarrod, the fairest, most intelligent, most level headed, most understanding person I knew, a fellow who had taken care to see that I got the proper education and the proper counseling since the death of our father when I was 15, was preoccupied that first day, as were we all.

Nick, my robust, tall, handsome, roughshod yet gentle at times, totally outspoken cowboy brother, was my hero. Nick seldom waited for his opinion to be asked before he gave it to you, but yet he could be so kind and gentle, so savvy about what was bothering a person, I loved and respected him dearly. He was also quiet that first day, completely uncharacteristic.

I felt as if I'd taken a blow in the stomach. My dreams of this time were in shambles, destroyed because of the presence of someone who had been asked, reluctantly, to join us. His name was Heath, and two weeks earlier, he'd shown up at the ranch, claiming, with what appeared to be some justification, to be our father's son by a woman not our mother.

Feeling cheated out of the companionship I'd hoped to have with Jarrod and Nick, I took this Heath fellow to task after we had made camp that first evening. "I believe your story, Heath, and I believe Jarrod does, but I'm not sure Nick does. He'll never accept you."

Heath gave me a sideways glance, then went back to building a fire. "I can't help that now, can I?

"Tom Barkley was my father, the same as he was yours and Jarrod's and Nick's. Take me or leave me."

I felt bad for what I was saying, but because I was still somewhat childish and I was frustrated at the turn of events, I continued to gouge him. "I wanted this drive to be different, you know? I wanted to ride with my brothers, and be accepted as one of them."

"Well, what do you think I want?" Heath asked. "At least you know they care for you, know who you are. All you have to do to be accepted on one of these drives is to grow up. Me, it probably won't matter what I do, they, and you, will always question me."

I felt worse than bad by that time. I tried to make amends. "Like I said, Heath, I believe you and--"

"I know," he began, "And Jarrod does, but Nick--- Ouch!"

"What happened?" I asked, but I could see very well for myself. His finger, the ring finger on his left hand was bent over and would not straighten. Now, you might wonder why I could so readily see that. I'll tell you why. Because this characteristic was common to all Barkleys. Without warning, any of us might experience the problem. I'd had it happen to me many times, as had Jarrod, Nick, and even our sister, Audra. It was inherited from our father, and I could remember many times when he would be working and cry out in pain, and his finger would be out of joint.

"It's my darn finger," Heath said. "Happens to me all the time. It jumps out of joint."

"I know," I said.

"You know?"

"Sure. We all have it. Father did, and we all inherited it."

I could not tell if Heath was going to laugh or cry. He did neither. "Well," he said, "What do you know?"

"I know," I replied, "That Nick can fix it for you."

"Fix it? It has to be soaked in hot water. That's how you fix it."

" No, Nick learned years ago how to snap his own back in place, and then he learned how to do the same for the rest of us."

Heath looked skeptical. I called Jarrod and Nick over from where they were tending the cattle.

They took their time but both came.

"Heath's finger is out of joint," I told them.

An ironic smile crossed Jarrod's lips. "Well, now, what have we here? Proof positive of a Barkley, wouldn't you say, brother Nick?"

My bull headed, fiery tempered, quick to spout off without thinking hero of a brother, stared at Heath's finger, then raised his eyes to look at the face of the newcomer among us. Nick's expression was a mixture of wonder, irony, acceptance, stubborn resistance, hate, like, and maybe, just a sprout of love. "Give me that finger, boy, one snap and you'll be back on the road."

Heath raised his hand so that Nick could get a grip on the finger. "Take it easy, will ya?"