Rising and walking to the open window, Heath wondered if the dreams would ever stop for good. It had been a long time since they had come, but this week had given him some of the worst nightmares he had ever had.

"Bentell," he thought. "It's because I have to see Bentell again."

The cowboy drew on a pair of jeans and put on some socks. Tossing a shirt over his shoulder, he picked up his boots and padded down the back stairs to the kitchen. To his surprise, he saw Silas already working there.

"What's got you up so early?" the cowboy asked his friend.

Silas smiled as he looked at this youngest son of Tom Barkley.

"Well, Mr. Heath, I just couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd get a head start on the day. But what's got you up at 4:30?"

"Same here, Silas, but I wish you'd stop calling me Mr.! Makes me feel stupid."

This ongoing complaint of Heath's always made Silas smile. That smile was wiped away as the cowboy walked over to the cabinet to get a glass. Reaching up, his muscles rippled, and Silas could see each scar from the whips stand out. He shook his head in sympathy but carefully made no mention of his thoughts. After all these years with the Barkleys, Silas was a master at getting them to talk, and this newest Barkley was no exception.

"You lookin' for somethin' to go with that glass of milk? I've got plenty of food here."

"No, Silas. I'm just thirsty, and a cold glass of milk sounded really good. Don't tell Nick on me; I'd never hear the end of needin' a glass of milk because I couldn't sleep!"

"You'll be leavin' today for the logging camp, isn't that right?"

"Yep. Thought I'd get away early, but the more I think about it, I'd rather leave a little later and spend one night on the way."

"Reckon you'll enjoy that, Mr. Heath. You always do seem to enjoy bein' out under the stars."

"When I was a kid, Hannah and Aunt Rachel and my mama taught me about the stars. Hannah told me the stories about the Big Dipper; now that she's all I have left, I like to look up there and just think about those days sometimes."

"She was a runaway, wasn't she?"

"Sure was. The Dipper pointed her true, though, and she ended up safe in Strawberry. At least as safe as anyone ever was in a mining camp."

"Yes, suh. That Dipper sure was a wonderful thing. I know I sure am grateful for it."

Both men were quiet, thinking of the years of war between brothers and the signals that the runaway slaves knew to trust. Heath broke the silence by awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Well, Silas, ain't nobody happier that the Dipper helped you get free than me. Seems like yesterday when I came here, but these last two years--well, I sure enjoy some home cookin' after all the fancy stuff we eat most of the time."

Both men laughed as they thought of their mutual love for corn pone, fritters, ham, and collard greens.

"Tell you what, Mr. Heath. The day you come back from that loggin' camp, I'll fix you a batch of grits and gravy like you never seen before!"

"Boy howdy, Silas! That'll get me back here double quick. And it's Heath, not Mr." With a quick grin, the cowboy hopped outside, putting his boots on as he went. Silas shook his head and smiled.

"Yes, suh, Mr. Heath. Sure will be glad to see you get back from spendin' time with that Mr. Bentell. Reckon you'll sleep better, too."

Heath took a rare break from work and jumped up on Charger's bare back, glorying in the feel of such a horse. Looking around at the breaking dawn, he paused in wonder at the sight of the colors of the sky. As the pink grew to a fiery crimson, the cowboy urged Charger to a full gallop. Both man and horse were one; Heath urged Charger on, barely moving over his withers as the horse went straight out. The joy of the morning shone brightly on the cowboy and his beloved mount as they raced the dawn.

Coming back, Heath met Nick at the stables. "What's the matter, boy? Lose your saddle? Or have you gone savage on us?"

Heath grinned at Nick from atop the tall stallion. "Nope, just wanted to see if it felt as good as I remembered."

"And did it?"

"Sure did, big brother. Sure did."

He took Charger into the stable and began to groom him. He brushed extra hard on the places he knew Charger loved, and the horse snorted in satisfaction. Heath had walked him most of the way back to cool him down; settling the horse with a blanket over his back, he walked out to meet his brother.

"What time you leavin'?"

"Not sure. Maybe after breakfast."

"Thought you might leave early."

"Didn't think it was that urgent, Nick."

"It's not. Bentell isn't too worried; he just wants a Barkley up there to get the feel of things. He's not happy with the attitudes of some of the men and with the threats he's received."

"Reckon I can understand why," Heath muttered.

"Heath!"

The cowboy stood stock still and waited for the tirade he expected to come from his impatient older brother. He was surprised when no more words came. Slowly, he turned and looked at Nick. "Yeah?"

"Nothin'. Just--you all right with this trip? All that stuff--it's over, right?"

Heath looked at Nick for a minute, hoping that hot words wouldn't come pouring out. Over? No, it would never be over. Oh, he had come to terms with the fact that the sadistic commander of Carterson was now a logging camp supervisor. He had even come to terms with the idea that Bentell might have thought he was doing the right thing at the prison. But Heath knew different. He had lived it. Bentell didn't weigh ninety-five pounds at the end of the war, but Heath had. Bentell had no whip scars on his back, but Heath did. There were times Heath wondered if anyone would understand the scars that were on his soul. But life changed, and the cowboy knew well that he had to work those problems through on his own.

As these thoughts raced through his head, he nodded at Nick and said, "Sure, big brother. Sure, it's over."

Blond head and dark head went together into the house. Jarrod Barkley had overheard most of the conversation, and he wondered just how much Heath wasn't saying as he assured Nick that it was all settled.

"Well, Brother Heath, these past two years have educated us all," the lawyer said aloud. "It's hard to believe that two years ago, I didn't know you existed. How things have changed!" With a smile, he went into the dining room to share breakfast with his family.

The entire family teased Heath about his deliberately late start. They knew his love for the out-of-doors and especially how he loved to sleep outside. In a rare burst of openness, he had told Victoria that when he could lie out and look up at the stars, he found peace. Laughing at a quick reply Heath gave Nick's teasing, she reached out and covered his hand.

"And when will you be back with us, Sweetheart?"

With eyes full of tenderness and love, Heath looked at this woman he called Mother. "Don't know exactly. Two days to get there, and two days back, not to mention how long I'll need to stay."

"TWO DAYS BACK!" Nick sputtered. "BOY, THIS IS--"

"A working ranch," the entire family chorused. Nick gave his trademark glare and deep bass grumble and slapped Heath's hand as the younger man reached for the last biscuit. "If you're gonna leave me here to do the work of two men, I need to eat for both of us!"

As the laughter subsided, Jarrod grew serious. "Heath, Bentell is concerned about some of these threats we've gotten. Do you think there's any connection with Carterson?"

Heath's face grew still for a moment. A muscle moved in his jaw as he once again fought to control his hot tongue. Looking into his coffee, he said, "That's always a possibility, I suppose. But Barkleys aren't too popular right now anywhere, the way I understand it."

"If you're referring to the land grant arguments or the mining rights, I agree with you. But if there's a need for us to be concerned about Bentell in particular, then--"

"Then what?" Heath flared. "Then you want to remind me that Carterson is history and I'm a Barkley now? That Bentell works for us? That I have to protect him and support him? That I have to let it all go and smile at him like it don't matter at all what he did?"

Shocked, his family stared at him. His face turned red as he realized he had revealed his thoughts. The joy of the dawn left him as he struggled to know how to heal the breach his hot tongue had ripped in the peaceful fabric of the family.

"I--I'm sorry. I didn't sleep well . . . " his voice died out.

"Letting go takes time, Sweetheart. I know you're doing your best, and we are all, every one of us, behind you completely. We trust you to make the best decision with the problems at the camp, and I, for one, am already eager to see you ride back home."

With gratitude, Heath looked at the petite woman who had so smoothly interceded to give him time to calm down.

"I truly am sorry, Mother."

"I know, Sweetheart. I know."

"Well, time's gettin' by. Let's get you saddled up, boy, or are you going to ride bareback all the way to the camp?" Nick clapped Heath on the shoulder as he stood. The blond cowboy bent and kissed Victoria gently. She clung to him briefly and then let him go with a smile.

"I'll send a rider down when I get up there and see what's going on. That way, you'll have a better idea of when Nick will get his best worker back!"

With a twinkle in her eyes acknowledging Heath's joke, she said, "Then we'll hear from you within the next two days?"

"Better make it three. Don't know how long it'll take to get a feel for what's happenin."

"All right. But make sure we do hear, Sweetheart. All right?"

Heath agreed as he left with Nick to go on what he believed would be a simple trip. He had no idea that he was to live out his nightmares in real life.

The problems referred to at breakfast had received wide publicity throughout California. The Barkleys owned over 30,000 acres of prime California land, and Jarrod was angling to buy more. They also were involved in mining, as well as shipping and several other concerns. A San Francisco paper had recently run a series of articles on the Barkleys' wealth, featuring Tom Barkley as a robber baron and the rest of the family as wealthy aristocrats who didn't care how they got more money as long as they got it. The stories insinuated that Tom and Victoria had manipulated the law to get their land, and they also implied that much of that land rightfully belonged to the people of California. Public opinion of the Barkleys was at an all-time low.

After discussing the matter, the family decided it was unwise to fight back. Jarrod summed it up by saying, "The more we protest, the more ammunition we give them. I vote we ride it out and just hope that a new scandal comes their way soon." Although it went against Nick's grain particularly, the family closed ranks and ignored the pointed comments that were sent their way. The pressure of riding herd on Nick's temper as well as his own made Heath glad he was getting away, but the trip's objective made his escape feel like a two-edged sword. Facing Bentell meant facing his past again, and that was never easy.

Riding Charger slowly toward the mountains where the logging camp was located, Heath talked to the horse in a way he was never able to talk to people. He talked about his nightmares, his new life as a Barkley, and about the beautiful scenery they were traveling through. At peace with his solitude, the cowboy never thought to look behind him.

"Just look at that uppity bastard, ridin' that purebred stallion like he has a right to. When we gonna take him, sir?"

The voice that replied was deep and mesmerizing. "Tonight, Samson. Tonight."

Samson Jones and the other man beside him laughed in anticipation as they followed the man they knew only as the captain. They hated Heath, even though they didn't know him. The captain had seen to that. He filled them with story after story of how Tom Barkley's woods colt rode a fancy horse and slept in a soft feather bed and lived the good life in a mansion filled with luxury. Heath had become a symbol to them of all that they had longed for. They had come to believe that only by following the captain's plan would they ever gain the riches they pictured Heath enjoying.

The captain used his hypnotic voice to fill their minds with poison. He pointed out how Victoria Barkley seemed to favor the blond cowboy; he painted pictures of Heath laughing at the poverty and despair he had come from. Yes, they couldn't wait to get their hands on the no-good bastard; they'd show him a thing or two! They had no idea they were pawns in a deadly game that the captain was playing. They had no idea of the depths of hatred in the captain's soul.

As Heath made camp that night, he whistled happily. "Well, Charger, we may have to be with Bentell tomorrow, but tonight, it's just you and me, boy!" As he squatted down by his campfire, a sound caused him to turn. The sudden blow took him by surprise. Pain exploded in his head. The cowboy fell to the ground, barely missing the fire. Three men grabbed him and threw him over Charger. They quickly stamped out his fire and cleared the campsite. In their frenzy to get on their way, they overlooked Heath's wallet, which had fallen out when he was lifted on to Charger's back.

The horse whinnied nervously and shied. He smelled blood, and while he recognized Heath's smell, the cowboy wasn't talking to the horse and petting him like he usually did. As they traveled, the stallion continued to balk. In frustration, one of the men who had taken Heath captive slashed at the horse with his whip, and Charger reared in fright. Heath moaned as he fell off the horse and rolled helplessly down the hill.

"You fools! You know that bastard babies this horse like it's his own brother! He's never even used spurs on him, let alone hit him with a whip. Now go get that SOB and get back up here. We've got a long way to ride!"

The other two men hurried down the hill, searching for Heath. Their frantic pace left many marks as they slid. Heath had come to rest against a rock. They grabbed him and dragged him back up the hill. Once again throwing him on Charger, they tied him tightly to the saddle and rode away. The stars shone down on the stallion and his helpless burden as they traveled to their destination.

Cold. He was so cold. And dark. He'd never seen such dark. Why couldn't he move? Was he blind? Heath jerked against the chains that held him fast. Panting, he rolled his head frantically back and forth, causing tears of pain to trickle under his blindfold. Where was he? What had happened?

The feeling of cold steel paralyzed Heath. The metal went down his bare chest and around to his back. Suddenly, the bite of the knife cut deeply as his captor followed a whip scar with the point of his blade. Heath caught his breath and stayed still, waiting to learn where he was.

"Very good, very good indeed. You learn quickly. That is quite promising."

The voice poured over Heath like molten gold. The velvety tones carried only menace as his captor continued.

"You are helpless. You are completely dependent upon me for your life. If you do not obey me, I will take your life as quickly as I would that of an ant. Do you understand me?"

Heath opened his mouth to speak, only to feel the knife push deeper into his back. He nodded.

"Yes, indeed. Very promising. You do learn quickly. Now, here are the terms of your survival. In a moment, I will unchain your left hand. You will not reach up to your head to remove your blindfold. You will not ever touch that blindfold. If you attempt to regain your sight, I will take your sight from you permanently. Do you understand me thus far?"

Heath nodded.

"Good. Very good. You may feel around with your freed hand. You will have five minutes to find the water and food that is beside you. If you do not find it, you will go thirsty and hungry until the next time you are freed. Do you understand me?"

Heath nodded again.

"You have a chain around your waist. It is locked in place. You cannot remove it. I, and only I, have the key. The other end of the chain is attached to this post. It, too, can only be unlocked by me. Your hands will be freed twice a day. If you wish to maintain any dignity at all, I suggest you move to the limit of the chain to take care of the rest of your needs. But you will not use these times to gain any advantage of sight. Do you understand me?"

Heath nodded again.

"Good. Now, do you have any questions before we begin our experiment?"

"Why--why am I here? Where am I? Who are you?"

The voice cut through his questions like a whip. "Stupid questions! You will be punished for your stupidity if it occurs again. You are here because you are an experiment. I own you now. If you wish to maintain your worthless life, you will obey me. If you do not, you will die."

As Heath waited for more information, the captain looked at the picture of Tom and Victoria Barkley. Their laughing faces were turned to the right, and they were looking at another man, who was laughing with them. The captain grew pale with anger. Fighting for control, he finally gestured for one of his men to unlock Heath's hand.

As Heath felt around him, he knocked over the jug of water. The bread was lying in the dirt, almost beyond his reach. He heard men laughing as he strained to reach it. Feeling the mud on his bare torso, he realized that there would be no chance of a drink of water until the next time he was unchained. Successfully obtaining the bread, he put it to his mouth, only to hear the word "Time!" and feel it torn from his hand. He was quickly chained again and left alone to the darkness.

Jarrod rode home that night with worse news than before. The campaign against the Barkleys was heating up. Other papers were taking up the cry, and the lawyer was growing concerned.

"Mother, it's almost as if someone behind the scenes is directing these attacks. They seem to be specifically directed at whatever activity we are most involved in. Take the land grant issue: When I was negotiating to gain the lease of more land, that lie exploded. It died down--a little-- and as we sent out our ships, the shipping scandal blew up in our face."

"I'm sure that many people resent the wealth your father worked to hard to gain, Jarrod. But it seems almost unbelievable that any one person would have so much hatred that he would wish to destroy us."

"Yes, you're probably right and I'm seeing villains that don't exist. Well, let's hope Heath is enjoying his time at the logging camp. At least they're not getting the daily papers up there!"

Victoria smiled absently as she went to check on supper. Her mind was ranging back through the years, trying to think of any person who might hate her and her family so much. She shook her head in annoyance and helped Silas finish setting the table. Matt Bentell looked down the road again. He wondered just where Heath was. The messenger had said he would arrive either late Tuesday or early Wednesday, yet here it was Wednesday noon and the man had not arrived. His wife came to join him.

"Still not here, Matt?"

"No, my dear. It's most unlike him to show up late."

"I wonder . . . "

"What?"

"Oh, Matt! I know he says he's able to deal with the past, and I know that we're all supposed to be friends now. But sometimes, when he just looks at you, I wonder--"

"Now, Martha, he has good reason to struggle. Those were terrible times for him."

"They were terrible times for you as well!"

With a smile, Matt hugged his wife. "Agreed. But why are you bringing all this up?"

"Matt, what if these threats are because of Carterson? And if they are because of that horrible time, how far will Heath go to protect you?"

"He's a fine young man, Martha. He'll do what he needs to do. There's no need to fear. In fact, I think I'll ride down the trail a bit to meet him."

"Be careful, Matt!!" She walked with him to his horse and held on for one last hug.

As Matt Bentell mounted his horse, Heath stirred. He had been fading in and out of unconsciousness, and his head hurt still. Testing his bonds again, he found the chains held fast. His feet were unrestrained, but he could feel no boundaries when he moved his legs. Dark, cold, and in pain, he fought to keep control.

"Very good. You are beginning to adjust." The voice poured over Heath again. How long had he been there? Had he ever left?

"Have you found your time alone to be restful?"

"Not particularly," Heath replied.

"Have you thought of intelligent questions, or are you still filled with mundane affairs?"

"I have questions."

"Try me."

"You say this is an experiment."

"No, I said you are an experiment."

"Experiments have purpose."

"Very good! Go on."

"What is the purpose of this experiment?"

"An intelligent question. The answer is twofold. One part of the experiment is to see how delightful revenge can be, and the other--the other part is a study in blood."

"Revenge? Against me?"

"Stupid! I told you that punishment would come for stupidity. Samson, teach him."

The battering finally ceased. Heath lay on the ground, his arms still shackled above his head. His breathing finally slowed and he stirred.

"Have you learned?"

"I don't know."

"Ask again."

Heath grimaced in pain as he struggled to sit up. He felt blood trickling down his face and dripping on his chest.

"Will you tell me what you mean by a study in blood?" He waited for the pain to begin again. To his surprise, a laugh came.

"Well done! Cautiously phrased, yet still trying. You are indeed going to be an interesting study."

"Will you tell me?"

"I will give you a hint. What happens to stamina and endurance when thoroughbred blood is corrupted by mongrel blood?"

Heath's head snapped up. Disregarding the pain, he turned blindly to face the direction of the voice.

"Ahh. That reached you. It will indeed be interesting to see what it takes to break you."

"And if you succeed?"

"Then I will discover how sweet revenge can be."

"That will come when you kill me?"

"You no longer have life except what I grant you. But anticipate this: Once you are a broken shell, I will return you to the Barkleys. There we will see what they will do with a parody of a man. And my revenge will be all the sweeter."

Heath's mind whirled. The knife traced its way down his back again. The voice filled his mind with loathing and fear.

"Another question."

"Ask."

"Do I know you?"

Laughter filled his ears. The knife paused before it began its hateful caress.

"A basic question. It does not matter if you know me, for I own you now."

"If it does not matter, then why don't you tell me? Why can't I see you?"

"I believe that there was a phenomenon noted with prisoners of war who survived. It seems that to live through the brutality, they learned to leave the torture--almost to go into a mental trance. Is this true?"

Confused with the change of subject, Heath did not answer. The knife bit deeply.

"Answer me."

"Yes, it's true."

"And you were in Carterson for how long?"

"Eleven months."

"Then you are skilled in this behavior?"

"I was then."

The voice came even closer. Heath felt the man's breath on his face.

"Listen to me. You know how easily we captured you. If you use that little trick here, I will bring Miss Audra Barkley here, and you will be allowed to regain your sight. You will watch as we break her; you will hear her screams, and you will see her face as she pleads with me for mercy. You will never forget the agony she will suffer, because it will be your fault. Do you understand?"

Heath nodded.

"There is a difference between believing and understanding. Part of my job is to make you a believer. Let's start now."

The knife bit deeply into Heath's shoulder. It traced a line and then returned to trace two half circles. With a final, savage slash, the knife bit through the design and slid off his back. Heath choked back his pain and waited for the voice to continue. Instead, his left hand was unshackled and he realized it was his feeding time. Frantically, his hand searched for the water; this time he reached the jug. Draining it, he tossed it aside and felt for the bread. The laughter of the men as he scrabbled through the dirt filled him with a cold determination: No matter what, he would not be broken. He would survive, and he would remember.

Abandoned again, the minutes passed like hours. Confused, hurting, not knowing where he was or even whether it was day or night, Heath fought to retain control. He forced himself to picture what Jarrod, Nick, Audra, and Victoria were doing and wondered if he could last until they found him. As the time passed, he focused on survival.

Perplexed, Bentell rode back to the camp. With no sign of Heath, he was confused about what would be best to do. Finally, he decided to wait one more day. If Heath didn't show up on Thursday, he would send a rider to see what had delayed the cowboy.

As the noonday sun grew hotter, Nick paused and straightened his back. He had known he would miss Heath, but whenever the younger man was gone, Nick realized anew just how much help and support his brother had become. Nick thought he was a good worker, but he believed Heath could beat even him. "Well," he thought, "maybe he'll be back by Monday--Tuesday at the latest." His reverie was broken by the sound of pounding hooves and Audra's voice calling his name.

"What is it, Audra?"

"Jarrod wants you at the house. We have a visitor."

Nick needed no urging. He jumped up on Coco and rode with his sister to the house. Throwing the reins to Ciego, he ran inside.

"JARROD!"

"In here, Nick. We have a situation."

Nick charged into the study. Jarrod stood behind Victoria's chair. To her right sat a well- dressed man. Audra entered quietly and stood beside Jarrod.

"Nick, this is Jonathan Dexter. Mr. Dexter has an interesting proposition for us."

"Well?"

Dexter smiled at the tall cowboy. Disdainfully flicking at imaginary dust on his trousers, he gazed at Nick.

"Mr. Barkley, I represent an organization which is interested in acquiring the mining rights your family claims you hold. I believe, if the papers are accurate, that you have suffered some financial setbacks recently."

"If you mean that we've lost money because of lies and rumors, that might be true. But what does that matter to you?"

"I am authorized to offer your family a large amount of money to surrender mining rights."

"You mean to sell," Nick replied.

"That is correct."

Victoria interrupted. "And just why would you want to own our mines? You've already admitted that you know we're losing money right now."

"That problem will be solved. Better management, cheaper labor. . . "

Jarrod poured himself a drink. Offering one to his guest, he inquired, "Mr. Dexter, would you be suggesting the possibility of bringing in Chinese workers?"

"That would be up to the group I represent."

Nick glared at the man. Taking the drink Jarrod handed him, he tossed it down in one gulp. "Dexter, our mines are not for sale. And if they ever go up for sale, I can guarantee we'll never sell to you!"

"Well, Mr. Dexter?" Jarrod smiled down at the man. "Now, you've heard from all but one member of the Barkley family. Do you believe us yet?"

"For now, Mr. Barkley. For now. But situations change. You may reach me at the Cattlemen's Hotel in Stockton when they do. Don't worry; I'll show myself out."

The discussion after he left lasted a long time. Victoria was the one who brought up Jarrod's suggestion from the day before.

"Mother, I don't know. It does seem to be an idea we need to investigate."

"But who would want to hurt our family so? Who would do such a thing?" Audra's face was worried as she asked the obvious questions.

"Honey, when people are wealthy, they automatically become a target for people. We're easy to attack simply because of who we are and what we do."

"Yes, Jarrod, but this attack is different from the others we've survived. I don't know any time when it's been so personal before, do you?"

"No, Mother, I don't. And that's why I retained an investigator in San Francisco to see if we can find the source of the problem, before the problem grows to the point where we can't handle it at all."

All heads nodded in agreement.

"Jarrod? With those threats to the logging camp, and now this, do you think we need to check on Heath? If this is someone's personal vendetta, he'd be pretty isolated up there."

"Well, Nick, if anyone can take care of himself, it's Heath. I don't think we need to worry just yet. He promised to send a messenger as soon as he knew something; let's wait and see."

Nick nodded reluctantly. "All right, Jarrod, but if that messenger he promised doesn't come on time . . ."

"I'm way ahead of you, Brother Nick. You and I will ride up there together. Satisfied?"

Nick agreed and left to finish the day's tasks. Jarrod and Victoria began the long process of going through the records Tom Barkley had left, trying to find names of people who might be holding grudges against the family. Audra was assigned the task of going through the storage rooms in the attic to find any records or information that had been moved up there.

"Mother, I applaud your husband's wisdom in selecting you as his wife," the lawyer said as he pulled out yet another book of records.

"Thank you, kind sir! And why would I be receiving this compliment?"

"Because, lovely lady, you kept impeccable records for him! If you had any idea how difficult it is to trace someone's past, you'd understand why I'm so grateful for your levelheaded business skills."

Both laughed as they bent their heads over the books. Victoria's face became animated as she shared stories of each transaction with her oldest son. He watched her relive the memories of the past with a smile on his face. "If for nothing else," he thought, "this shows me that their marriage was a true partnership."

As if she could read his thoughts, Victoria stopped talking and smiled at Jarrod. "It was a hard life at first, but it was always a good one."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"Regrets? About marrying your father? Oh, no."

As Jarrod's gaze instinctively turned to the family photograph, Victoria covered his hand with hers. "No, Jarrod, not even that. Oh, I've had my angry moments, but the depth and completion Heath has brought us more than makes up for the pain."

"Nick and I were just talking the other day about how hard it is to remember what it was like before he came. It's been a good two years."

"Oh, yes, Jarrod, it has! Now, let's get back to work here."

"You know this is going to take several days, Mother."

"Then we'd better keep on, hadn't we?"

"Mother?" Audra's sweet voice interrupted the two. "Mother, why haven't I seen this photograph before?"

She held out a photograph to her mother. Victoria reached out and took it. Biting her lip, she tenderly traced the laughing face of her husband. Jarrod looked over her shoulder.

"I've never seen that one, either. It's a wonderful picture, Mother."

"Yes, it is. The photographer was most upset; he wanted us all to be very serious."

"Who is that with you and Father?"

As Audra and Jarrod waited for their mother to answer, they were very surprised to see tears well up in her expressive eyes.

"Your father couldn't stand having this photograph around. The man with us was one of our closest friends. His family and mine were very close, and Adam and your father became very close friends."

"Then why didn't he like the photograph?" Audra inquired.

"Because Adam died, Audra. He died a terrible death very soon after this picture was taken, and your father couldn't bear to keep the photograph out."

"How did he die?" asked Jarrod.

Instead of answering, Victoria bowed her head. As she fought to overcome her grief, Audra walked over to her and hugged her.

"Mother, I'm sorry. I had no idea this would cause you such pain."

"Oh, Sweetheart, don't be sorry. We had good years of friendship."

"Mother, why was Father so upset? He had good friends die before, didn't he?"

"Yes, Audra, he did. But Adam--well, Adam was murdered in your father's place. Now, we shall say no more about this. If I remember correctly, we were looking for business records. Let's put this away, Audra, and let's stop looking down roads that point to nowhere." With that, Victoria turned back to the record books.

Heath lost all sense of time and space. All he knew was pain and hunger. His reality was defined by the voice; the agony that came when he was physically punished for "stupidity" seemed minimal to the effect the voice had on his mind. It swirled in his brain, occupying every sense he had. The voice whispered of his stupidity, his worthlessness, and his eventual collapse. He tried desperately to concentrate, to resist, but the voice conquered him.

In an effort to gain some control, he moved restlessly. The voice stopped whispering.

"Yes?"

"Will you answer another question?"

"Try me."

"This experiment in blood--it's because of my mother and father?"

"That is part of the truth."

"What is the rest of the truth?"

"That is part of the experiment. Before you are broken, you will know. And you will see the truth. Then you will be free."

"Free?"

"Free to exist as a broken mind that will never be strong again."

"And if I don't break?"

Laughter came. It echoed through Heath's mind.

"Everyone breaks. Are you enjoying the darkness?"

"No."

"And the chains?"

"No."

"Yet, all through the world, people with broken minds are experiencing restraints like this. They cannot see the out of doors; they cannot even move without permission. They are put in institutions to be chained like animals, to be treated--"

The voice broke off. Heath listened intently. For the first time, he sensed that the owner of the voice was not in control. Then the laughter came again.

"Very good! A point to you. Samson, why don't you and your friend help him celebrate his victory?" A hand grabbed Heath's hair and jerked his head up. "And remember the rules; if you slip out of awareness, I will know. And you will watch your beautiful sister die in agony, and it will be your fault. Do you believe me?"

Nodding his head, Heath braced himself for the pain he knew would come.

Supper that night was an unusually quiet event. Victoria seemed occupied in thought, Nick was exhausted, and Jarrod's mind was full of the business deals and partnerships he had researched. Audra tried to bring up topics of conversation, but she was met only with monosyllables. In exasperation, she sighed sharply and said, "I should have gone with Heath!"

Nick and Jarrod looked up sharply. "And just why do you say that, Audra?"

"Well, at least he answers me!"

"Brother Nick, I've heard it all now. Our little sister has just said that Heath is a better conversationalist than you and I are!"

"Audra, you need your head examined. Heath could live happily in one of those monasteries where they never talk at all! What do you mean, he'd answer you?"

"Well, Jarrod, I've tried to start a conversation all during supper, but no one has helped! Heath may not say much, but he's never rude!"

"You're right, Audra," the lawyer replied. "I guess we're all more worried than we knew we were."

"Speakin' of that, Jarrod, I thought I might go ahead and ride on up towards the logging camp in the morning. If Heath has sent a message, I'll get it sooner and we'll know where we are."

"And just what time would you be thinking of leaving?"

"Oh, about 4:30 or so--avoid the heat as much as possible."

"Do you want me to go along?"

"No, Pappy, you stay here. You and Mother know much more about all those dusty record books of Father's; I just want to make sure that things are all right with Heath."

As Jarrod and Nick talked about the trip to the camp, Matt and Martha Bentell were talking about Heath's absence.

"Matt, I don't understand why you're so worried about him!"

"I just don't know, Martha. Maybe it's because I know Heath really doesn't enjoy spending time up here, so he gets it out of the way as soon as possible. He's never late; in fact, he's usually early."

"Is that all that's bothering you?"

"That's the main thing, dear."

"But there is something else, isn't there, Matt?"

Matt chuckled as he put his arm around his wife. "You do see right through me, don't you? It's only that two of the men have disappeared. Hawkins hasn't seen either of them since sometime Monday."

"But men are always leaving, Matt. That's the nature of this job."

"Yes, that's true. But they rarely leave without collecting their pay. Samson Jones and Fred Carter did."

"And you're worrying about your men, aren't you, Matthew?" With a smile, she kissed his forehead and persuaded him to go to bed.

Nick's hopes were unfulfilled. Things were not going well with Heath at all. Trying to reason through what was happening, he decided that his best chance at gaining a glimpse of his surroundings would be during one of the times he was allowed to have both hands free. When he was allowed to move, he put his plan in action. Pretending to stagger, he lifted his hand to his head, trying to move the blindfold. The whip hit his arm and pulled it back.

"Which bone would you like broken?"

Heath froze. He felt the blood dripping from his arm. The voice persisted.

"You were breaking a rule."

"You have no proof of that. The blindfold is still in place," Heath hotly replied.

"You were breaking a rule, and now you are lying. Very well. Two bones. Which bones would you prefer?" The question was asked as carelessly as Victoria would ask a guest how much sugar he wanted in his coffee, yet Heath knew the menace was real.

"You won't choose? Very well. Take off your boots."

Heath stood, pondering what to do. Pain exploded throughout his body as he was knocked to the ground. His face was slapped twice.

"Obey me."

Heath did not move.

"Samson, you and Carter have a special treat in store for you. This upstart has dared to defy me. Take off his boots."

Heath heard the men move and felt his boots leave his feet. The cowboy was jerked back upright.

"Now, you will learn. Samson, break his right ankle."

Heath waited. Not being able to see his attacker seemed to intensify his stress. He felt, more than heard, Samson come near. Gauging his chance as best he could, he raised both hands and delivered the most powerful blow possible. His body ached with the impact. Samson fell.

"That was most unwise."

Part of Heath agreed with that statement, but he was feeling too triumphant to bother. Instead of passively waiting, he had taken action and had at least bruised the enemy. No matter what the voice said, he wasn't as helpless as he had believed.

"Carter, Samson is stirring. Help him up."

Heath backed away from the noises he heard. He knew it was futile. He was still chained, and he was still blind. But he instinctively moved from the pain he expected. The chain soon held him fast as he strained to retreat.

"Now, Samson, break his right ankle."

This time, Heath had no warning. His right leg was pulled out from under him; as he fell, Samson twisted the ankle until Heath thought he could not bear it. Finally, he heard and felt the crack of the bones. Biting his lip, he moaned as the white-hot pain raced through his body.

"That is one bone. Would you like to choose the other?"

Heath could not have answered if he had wanted to. All his attention was focused on surviving the waves of pain as his mind dreaded what he would hear.

"Very well. I believe the collarbone would be a good place, Samson."