"And just what are you doing up at this hour?"

"I'm coming with you."

"Audra, don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly. If everything is all right, I'll have had a chance to see Martha and visit with her. If something is wrong, I can ride back here for Jarrod and you can help Heath. Nick, I'm not a little girl. I want to go."

Nick looked at his little sister. The sun caught the highlights in her hair as her blue eyes blazed at him. Her resemblance to Heath this morning was stronger than their similar coloring; the set of her jaw and the tilt of her head were exactly like his when Nick had displeased him. It was rare to see that look, but Nick had learned in the past two years not to cross Heath when he looked like Audra was looking now. Laughing, he agreed to take her.

"Did you leave a note for Mother?"

"Yes, I did. So let's go!" With that, the two spurred their horses toward the road Heath had taken. As they rode, they began to relax and enjoy themselves.

Victoria read the note to Jarrod at breakfast. Both of them shook their heads at Nick's indulgence of Audra's whims, but neither was too worried. As they walked back into the study, Jarrod looked carefully at his mother.

"Did you have a bad night, Mother? You still look tired."

"I didn't sleep well, Jarrod, but I'm all right."

"Mother, you've been in a different world since Audra brought you that photograph. Would it help to talk about it?"

Victoria smiled at her oldest son. "Help? I don't know if that's the appropriate word."

"You said that this Adam was murdered in Father's place, Mother. That brings up a lot of questions in my mind."

"I imagine it does. Very well." Victoria took a deep breath and began. "As I told you, Adam's family and mine were very close. At one time, our parents thought we might marry, and I'll admit that the possibility crossed my mind as well. But then I met your father, and there was no question; I knew we were meant to be together. Adam and I talked, and we agreed to stay friends. Your father and Adam grew close as well.

"Adam had an older brother. Michael was brilliant. Everyone expected him to become President or do something wonderful with his life. He could enter a room and just say hello, and all eyes were on him. His voice was compelling; once you heard it, you never could mistake it." Victoria paused as her eyes filled with tears.

"Mother?"

"I'm all right, Jarrod. Perhaps it is time that I talked about this. As I was saying, Michael had planned for Adam to marry me, and he hated the fact that I chose your father. He was very domineering and felt that Adam should have fought for me. The week before I married your father, he came to the house and made a horrible scene, accusing me of mixing my thoroughbred blood with your father's 'mongrel Scottish blood.' Adam and his family were embarrassed, but Michael refused to be swayed.

"Well, as you know, your father and I married and came West. Adam stayed in the East, but we kept up a correspondence. What Adam never shared with us was Michael's hatred. Whenever Adam would receive a letter from Tom or me, he had to hide it from Michael. What we also did not know was that Michael had problems." Again, Victoria's voice faltered and tears fell freely.

"Problems, Mother?"

"Yes. Michael had strange ideas always, but he became obsessed with his own importance. If anyone dared to cross him, he would go into a rage and do terrible things. Since we were so far away, we had no way of knowing any of this, and Adam chose not to share it. He also chose not to share the fact that Michael had fixed his hatred on your father and blamed Tom for his lack of success.

"As you know, the first years were very difficult. Strawberry was the turning point. After that, we prospered. After we built the house, we invited Adam to come back to visit. He came a few years before the War. What Adam did not know was that Michael followed him.

"We had a wonderful week. It worked out that all three of you were away; you were at school, and Nick and Audra were visiting your Uncle Jim. That wasn't planned, but it made our reunion very memorable. My only sorrow was that Adam could not meet you.

"Your father and I had a habit of riding out together each morning. One morning, Tom had to go into Stockton early to pick up some things, and Adam rode out with me instead. Tom had taken a wagon, so Adam rode your father's horse. As we rode, Adam shared some of the problems Michael had caused. I was horrified; I remember stopping and reaching out my hand to him. And as I did--as I did, he fell. I don't even remember hearing the shot; I just remember his blood spurting and covering my hand. The next thing I knew, Michael was there, beating his brother with a rock. As he hit Adam's face, he shouted terrible things--words I never want to hear again. I tried to pull him off, but he just threw me aside.

"He killed his brother, Jarrod, but he thought he was killing Tom. I don't know when I realized what he was thinking, but I remember screaming, telling him he was hurting Adam. Finally I got to my horse and rode for help. When we got back there, Michael was sitting by his brother's body, just smiling. He looked up at me and said, 'Now you can marry the man you were meant to be with.'

"He didn't resist being taken into custody. Instead of a trial, he was committed to an institution, where he still is today. All his family's wealth, all their status, all his brilliance, wasted. Michael is an inmate in an institution, and Adam is dead. And that, my dear, is why your father couldn't stand to have the picture out; every time he saw it, he knew again that Adam died in his place."

Victoria's tears flowed freely as Jarrod held her close.

"I'm sorry, Mother."

"There's no need. I think it was a good thing to talk about it. Adam was a good man and a good friend."

"May I ask one more question?"

"What would that be?"

"What was Adam's last name?"

"His last name was Wyatt."

Jarrod's eyebrows went up. Everyone knew of the Wyatt family and their wealth.

"I assume that Adam and Michael were the only children?"

"Yes, they were the only ones. I believe the money was put in trust to care for Michael."

With a gentle pat, Victoria excused herself to go and wash her face before they began the task of going through the rest of the old business records. Jarrod watched her ascend the stairs and then made a careful note to check on something when he rode into town.

When Heath did not arrive on Thursday morning, Bentell was sure something was wrong. He sent a trusted rider down to the Barkley ranch to find out what had happened. Still disturbed about the disappearance of the two men, he included that information in the note he sent with the rider and then went about the business of the day.

Audra and Nick enjoyed their ride. Stopping for a break at 10:30, Audra asked Nick where Heath might have camped the night before.

"Only one place I know of. It's called Twin Forks. Where the path breaks, there's a brook that runs down from the mountain, and Heath loves to stay there."

"And how do you know this? Were you spying on him?" Audra teased.

Nick laughed. "No, he actually told me about it when we were on a cattle drive. One night he got real talkative; must have said at least ten sentences!"

Both laughed as they mounted their horses. Audra determined that she would recognize the campsite without Nick's help. Enjoying the feel of the breeze, she began to understand why her brother loved to be alone on these roads. "Wonder what Nick would do if I just took off? No one minds when Heath does it; just because I'm a girl doesn't mean that I shouldn't get to try things like that, too," she mused.

As Heath regained consciousness, he found himself wondering just how long he had been held captive. Forcing his mind to concentrate, he fought to think of a way to keep some track of time. His hands were freed twice a day; counting back, he realized he had only been a prisoner for two days at the most. "So it's most likely Thursday, and that means Bentell is lookin' for me. He knows I'm never late. Wouldn't that be a joke, Heath Barkley? If Matt Bentell is the one who sounds the alarm about you after you've hated him all these years, you'll feel like a fool." He froze as he heard the sounds of his captors coming back.

"Have you learned to obey me?"

"I've learned."

"You will thank me soon."

"For what?"

"Once you realize that I own you, once you believe that I control your life, you will be grateful for the existence I grant you, and you will thank me."

The idea of gratitude for the torture he had undergone was so ludicrous that Heath couldn't suppress a smile of disbelief. "That day will be a long time in coming," he muttered.

As his left hand was unchained, he found a new type of torture. With his left collarbone broken, the act of lifting the water jug to his mouth was impossible. His hand shook so badly that most of it spilled. Tears of frustration and rage spilled out as he fought to get the jug to his mouth. The laughter of his jailers filled his ears. He knew before the hated voice called time that he would spend another day without food because he could not feed himself.

He found himself thinking that if the blindfold could just come off, he could stand anything. Not being able to see was a prison of its own. He knew that the chains restrained him, but his fevered brain focused on the blindfold until he was ready to beg for its removal. Catching himself, he tried to focus again: "Come on, Heath. You've been hungry before for lots longer than two days. Now hang on. Think; there's got to be something you can do."

"Are you planning ways of escape?"

"Not exactly."

"What is the worst part of your captivity?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Usually, at this stage, it is the deprivation of sight that seems to be the worst. Most people beg to have the blindfold removed. They promise me anything, just so they can see me."

As Heath heard the voice say what he had just been thinking, he was chilled. Fighting fear, he tried to sit up. To his surprise, hands assisted him.

"Have you been thinking of questions?"

"I've tried."

"Ask."

"From what you've said, this is not a new situation for you. How many people have you done this to?"

"Very good. Quantify your experience and your misery will be shared by others, thus lessening your own pain. You reason well."

"You haven't answered."

"You are the last. After you, I will be satisfied."

"Will you answer another question?"

"Ask."

Heath thought carefully. The last thing he wanted was any more pain, but he was searching for understanding. It seemed that if he could understand why he was a captive, maybe he could handle it better.

"Does my family know anything about all this?"

The laughter came. "You have no family; I have told you that. You are mine. The Barkleys know nothing yet, but they will."

The hated words came, describing to Heath what type of future awaited him. The voice described him waiting for death, his mind gone, his will broken. Swirling through his mind came picture after picture of Carterson, and gradually, he fought again to separate memory from reality. Determining once more to survive and to remember, he struggled to block out the words that spilled over him and was grateful for the silence when his captors left.

This time, he forced himself to stay awake. Using the senses he had left, he tried to determine where he was. From the cold temperature and the occasional sounds of creaking timber and falling gravel, he decided he must be in an abandoned mine shaft.

"Great, just great. Not hard to find at all in these mountains. Be no problem for Nick and Jarrod--or Bentell. Only thing easier would be to find a needle in a haystack."

Recognizing that these thoughts were only adding to his problems, he tried again. "Come on, Heath. You've been hurt worse than this before. Forget the pain--or just stop thinkin' about it. Now, try to use what brains they haven't beaten out of your head and figure out what to do."

He strove to make sense of all that the voice had told him, but it was too hard. No matter how hard he tried to take control again, all he could focus on was the pain and the fear. Gradually, he surrendered to oblivion.

That afternoon, about the same time that Jarrod left the ranch to go into Stockton, Audra reined in her horse. "Nick, is this the spot?" she called to her brother.

"Yep. This is it. That's odd, though."

"What's odd?"

Nick frowned as he dismounted. "Heath hates a mess. He's always after me to pick up what I've dropped when we're on a trip and have to camp out. It's not like him to leave a campsite this sloppy."

Audra dismounted and looked around. As she walked over to the edge of the brook, she saw a brown object on the ground. Bending down and picking it up, she stared at it in surprise.

"Nick! Come here and look at this!" She handed Heath's wallet to her older brother. "Do you think he's been hurt?"

"I don't know, Audra. I might not have noticed dropping something, but Heath always knows where everything is. I can't think of anything that would keep him from noticing that he's missing his wallet. Come on, let's get on up to the camp!"

As they mounted their horses, the sound of approaching hooves caused them to wait. The rider from the camp came into sight. Recognizing Nick, he came to a stop.

"Just the man I was coming to see, Mr. Barkley. Mr. Bentell wanted to know if Heath was all right. He sent this note to you, sir."

"Heath isn't up there yet?" Audra asked in dismay.

"No, ma'am. He was due yesterday, and Mr. Bentell seemed kind of worried that he hadn't shown up."

"Mr. Bentell isn't the only one who's worried. Can you ride on down to the ranch and tell my brother Jarrod what's goin' on?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Barkley. Do you think Heath got thrown?"

"I can't imagine that happening, especially not with Charger. No, I don't think that's the problem. Audra, why don't you ride back down to the ranch?"

"He's my brother, too, Nick! I want to help!"

Sighing in defeat, Nick simply nodded to the messenger and started back on the trail. "Wish the tables were turned," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, little sister, Heath spent so much time with those Indian scouts that he can track a butterfly through a flower garden. Come on. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Audra had never seen Nick Barkley look so stern. As he spurred Coco on, she rode beside him, but Nick did not acknowledge her presence. His total focus, she realized, was on finding Heath. And she feared for anyone who had hurt their brother if Nick was the one to find him.

Nick said nothing during the rest of the journey to the camp. Audra stole glances at him but didn't dare try to speak. The look on his face frightened her. As they came into the clearing where the houses were, Nick slid off his horse and stalked to Bentell's house. A few seconds later, he came out with Bentell, who ordered the emergency bell to be rung. Loggers came from everywhere. Nick allowed Bentell to divide them into groups and organize their search areas. Standing behind Bentell, his arms folded, his face fixed in a scowl, Nick was enough to intimidate anyone.

Audra went into the house to talk with Martha. She was worried now, not just about Heath but also about Nick. She found herself longing for Jarrod's calming influence. As a logger brought Nick a new mount, Audra came out to talk with him.

"Nick, let me go with you."

"Audra, it was stupid of me to let you come this far. Stay here." With that, Nick spurred his horse and rode out with three other men.

Audra stared after her brother. Martha came out and put her arm around the girl's shoulders, trying to comfort her. To the older woman's surprise, Audra was angry, not upset.

"I should be with him!"

"Audra, that wouldn't be a good idea! If Heath is hurt, they'll bring him back here; if he's been--"

"If he's been what? Killed? Do you think I don't understand what's going on here? Of course I know he could be dead! Or someone could have taken him. I know all that. But he's my brother, too, and I can't just wait here and roll bandages and wave smelling salts around when I feel faint! Martha, don't you see? Nick is so mad he'll kill anyone who might have hurt Heath. Maybe I can keep him calm!" With that, the girl mounted another horse and galloped out after Nick.

Jarrod sent two telegrams to San Francisco as soon as he arrived in Stockton. Instructing the clerk to make sure he got replies immediately, he went on to his office, where he sat for a long time, thinking. Suddenly, with a look of determination, he went back to the telegraph office and wired San Francisco again. Leaving the clerk with orders to bring replies to the ranch, he mounted Jingo and rode back home.

Night had fallen by the time the messenger from the camp arrived on the ranch. Victoria was ready to leave immediately, but Jarrod wanted to wait.

"Jarrod, your brother is missing! Nick expects you to come and help him!"

"Mother, I know that. But we can leave in the morning just as well."

"Jarrod, I don't understand you! We can travel tonight and . . . "

Victoria was interrupted by a knock on the door. Whirling to answer the knock, she almost fell over Silas.

"I'll get it, Mrs. Barkley," he murmured in his soft voice.

"Thank you, Silas." Victoria turned back to face her son.

The butler had to clear his throat twice to interrupt her still passionate denunciation of Jarrod's plans to wait.

"Yes, Silas! What is it now?" she snapped.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mrs. Barkley, but it's a telegram for Mr. Jarrod. The man says it's urgent."

Jarrod grabbed the telegram and ripped the envelope open. As he quickly read the contents, his face grew sober.

"Mother, I'd like you to sit down and listen to what I have to say. We need to talk."

Looking at her son's grave countenance, Victoria sank to a chair and waited to hear what Jarrod thought was so urgent. As he talked, her face grew pale.

Cold. Cold and dark, so very dark. Heath thought he could handle the cold and the pain if he could just get rid of the dark! In frustration, he rubbed his head against the ground, trying to move the blindfold. The only result was to reopen some of the cuts his captors' blows had made. To calm down, he began to talk to himself.

"Heath, you gotta settle down now. You've been cold before. You've been hurt before. Guess all that soft livin's got you down. Two years of three meals a day and a soft bed at night, not havin' to fight to stay alive . . . yep. That's what's wrong, Heath Barkley. You're gettin' soft. Ain't no way you're gonna get out of this mess by thinkin' about your belly or how bad your leg hurts. You've survived worse'n this. Nick will come, you know he'll come. Oh, God, why can't I see? Please, God, let me see!"

Laughter greeted his heartfelt plea. The voice mocked his fear and pain.

"Giving in already? I at least thought you'd last a week."

"Go to hell."

"Now, now. Petty and banal. I expected more of you."

Heath waited silently.

"Are you frightened?"

Heath remained silent.

"Speak to me! I command you, and I have taught you to obey me! You will answer me when I speak, do you understand?"

Heath remained silent.

"You will answer me! I own you now; you have lost her forever. You cannot expect to believe that she will still love you once I am finished with you. Yes, you will obey me and once I return you to her, she will see . . . and she will do what is right."

The knife caressed Heath's throat and slid up his face to the blindfold. The blade slid underneath. He felt the pressure as his tormentor lifted the blade. For a wild moment of hope, the cowboy thought the blindfold was to be cut away. Then the blade slid back down and the laughter began again.

Rough hands pulled him up to a sitting position. The captive recognized the signal to play the questioning game again.

"Well, have you thought of a question?"

"Yes."

"Ask."

"What woman are you talking about?"

"That is something you already know, fool!" The blows were not as painful as before. Heath recognized the change; his tormentor was alone.

"Where are your friends?"

"Friends?"

"Samson and Carter."

"Oh, them. I need them no more. They have been . . . dismissed."

"Did you kill them?"

"They are in a happier place now. They feel no pain; they are free."

"So you murdered them."

"Murder is a term for commoners. It does not apply to me."

"What type of term does apply?"

"Enough of this! You will notice soon that there are some changes in your situation."

"For the better?"

"Ahh, you are trying again. Feeble wit, but a nice effort. You will be alone for a longer period than usual. Because of this, I am giving you food and water now. Soon, you will be granted your wish; you will see."

Heath waited to be unshackled, but instead he was startled at the feel of the water jug at his mouth. The feel of the water was bliss to his parched mouth, although the taste was very bitter. The bread was dry and stale, but the cowboy was grateful for it anyway. Finishing with a last swallow of the odd-tasting water, he felt oddly grateful to the man he had come to hate.

"Do you remember my telling you that you would thank me?"

Again, Heath was chilled at the man's perception. The tormentor went on, describing what would happen as Heath grew more and more grateful to him. As the cowboy listened, he started having a problem with breathing. It felt as if there was pressure on his chest. He was nauseated, and he broke out into a sweat, although he was still so very cold. Laboring to breathe, he still heard the laughter, but now it was coming from inside his head. It was as if the laughter had turned to different colors, all swirling in a kaleidoscope of confusion.

Trying to fight against the strangeness, Heath found himself looking at his dead mother's face. Suddenly, her face dissolved and another, evil face took its place. This creature laughed at him, taunted him. It became Bentell, Chavez, Risley; all three mocked him at once while the laughter consumed his soul. Heath tried to run from them but he could not move. Snakes spewed forth from the colors of the laughter; fangs lunged at his heart. With his eyes forced shut by the blindfold, no matter where he turned his head, the images were on the screen of his mind. He retained enough sanity to know that he had been drugged, but he could not fight off the effects.

His captor watched with gloating satisfaction as the cowboy writhed in his chains and shouted out incoherent pleas for help.

"Too bad it had to accelerate; I was enjoying this one." He bent over and drew the knife down the helpless man's chest, leaving beads of blood behind. "Watch and wait. Soon it will be over." With that, he left the man to his tortured dreams.

Nick had chosen to take his crew through the mountain paths instead of the common access road. In his mind, a less-traveled road would be the way anyone would to convey a prisoner. The men rode slowly, each watching the trail for any signs of previous travel. When Audra rode up, she and her brother exchanged heated words. Finally, in exasperation, the blonde girl shouted, "Look! We're fighting, and we're wasting daylight. Now you can throw away more time and force me back to the camp, or you can let me go with you!"

Nick looked at her in surprise. "Guess you're right. But you stay with me, Audra, and if you get tired, that's just too bad. You got that?"

"I've got it," she replied, and spurred her mount as Nick rode out. The tall cowboy was looking at the road ahead and ignored her. He drove his crew until it was so dark that it was impossible to see. Finally, one of the men persuaded him to make camp for the night. Nick was impatient, but even he realized that they could miss a vital clue that might lead them to his brother.

He had the men and Audra ready to ride by three forty-five the next morning. Spurning the offer of breakfast, he mounted his horse and began the search again as the first tinge of dawn touched the sky. Fighting off memories of Heath riding in on Charger just three days before, the cowboy forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

It seemed to Audra that they had been riding the same road, looking at the same scenery, forever. As the path led to the main trail, the girl looked out to her left and frowned.

"Nick? Nick, did you see this?"

"Audra, I told you to be . . . " The cowboy broke off his tirade as he looked where Audra was pointing. He jumped down from his horse and looked at the edge of the hill. Suddenly, he started down the hill, sliding and stumbling. Reaching a rock, he bent over and looked upward.

"Something's rolled down here, not that many days ago. Looks like someone else came down and dragged it back up to the trail."

"You mean someone, don't you, Nick?" The cowboy looked up to see that Audra had followed him.

"I don't know, Audra, but I think we're on the right path now."

Standing there, Audra and Nick looked at each other. Nick's face could have been the model for a granite statue. Audra looked down and then back at the rock.

"Nick, look at the edge of this rock. Why is it so much darker than the rest of the stone?"

Nick took Audra's arm and tried to turn her away.

"It's blood, isn't it? Nick, tell me! Is it Heath's blood?"

"Audra, I don't know. It looks like blood, but it's dried. It's been here a while. Whatever it was, there are bloodstains going back up. Whatever or whoever it was that was dragged must have been alive still."

A shout rang out from above. One of the men was waving at the two. Nick carried more than helped Audra as they plunged back up the hill.

"What is it?"

"Mr. Barkley, there's a trail off to the side here. Looks like someone took it, and not too long ago."

New hope blazed in Nick's eyes. Impatiently, he boosted Audra back on her horse and vaulted up on his. Riding up the trail, he focused all his senses on watching to see any sign of Heath. The trail twisted and turned. About half an hour after taking the path, Nick's horse snorted and began to rear. As he forced the horse to make the next turn, he was greeted by the sight of Samson and Carter, throats slit, gazing with empty eyes at a sky they would never see again.

A startled cry escaped his throat. His first thoughts were of his sister, but it was too late. The rest of the crew had come up behind him, and as he looked up at the pretty blonde, she was transfixed by the corpses.

"Audra, look at me!"

Nick forced Audra off her horse. He turned her head into his shoulder and began to rock her back and forth as if she were a child. Gradually, she began to cry softly.

"Oh, Nick, I thought . . . for a minute I thought . . . "

"I know. I know, Honey. So did I. But it's not Heath. Audra, can you look up at me?"

Her blue eyes met his hazel gaze.

"Audra, I want you to stay here until we've done what we need to do. Turn around, Honey, and don't watch. All right? Promise me?"

His face was gentle and tender as he cajoled her. Guiding her back around the turn, he hugged her one more time.

"Now, stay here, Honey. Don't move until I come back. All right?"

Audra nodded. She tried to force a smile as she gently pushed Nick back to his loathsome task. He kissed her forehead and went back around the bend.

"Mr. Barkley, these are the two missing men. Jones and Carter, sir."

"Looks as if we know now why they're missing, don't we?"

With that bleak query, the cowboy began the distasteful task of searching the men's pockets. In Samson's shirt pocket, he found a familiar tobacco pouch. Holding it in his hand, he thought of all the times he had seen Heath roll--or try to roll--a smoke. Remembering his fight with James Callahan and Heath perched by the wagon, thinking of the fight with the railroad and Heath trying to roll a smoke afterwards, he crushed the pouch in his hand. Raising his head, he stared at the trail ahead, willing his brother to appear.

"Mr. Barkley, sir? Carter just had this notebook in his pocket, nothing else."

Nick took the notebook and opened it. The only entry was in a crude scrawl: "Captain, Tuesday morning, Twin Forks."

"All right, fellas. We're on the right path. You two--let's use your bedrolls and cover them. Smith, you go on back to the camp and get Bentell and his crews up in this area. The rest of you, come with me."

After the bodies were covered, Nick guided Audra back around the bend. Forcing her to look only at him, he told her of his certainty that they were on the right trail. The sudden joy in her face died as she realized the awful truth: Just because they were on the right trail didn't mean that there would be good news at the end of it.

As she looked at Nick, she saw the same awareness in his eyes. This time it was the girl who provided the strength and encouragement for her brother.

"Well, big brother? Come on, let's go find him!" With that, she spurred her mount and began to ride again.

Jarrod and Victoria's discussion lasted long into Thursday night. Her shock and disbelief led inevitably to feelings of guilt on her part.

"Jarrod, I just can't believe this. It never occurred to me that Michael would ever be free. It's because of me that Heath is suffering! I don't think I'll ever be able to live with this."

"Mother, we don't know that he is suffering. We're not even sure that Wyatt has him. After all, it's not too likely that Wyatt would even know about Heath, is it?"

"Jarrod, you don't know how his mind works. I told you how intelligent he is. And as for whether he has Heath, I'm sure of it. And if he has Heath, then Heath is suffering. Heath would be the only son of mine he would take."

"And why do you say that?"

"Jarrod, Michael Wyatt hated your father. That hatred caused his downfall and the death of his brother. If what you have found out is correct, then we have to face the fact that Heath is the Barkley man who most closely resembles his father. Both you and Nick have the Davis coloring and characteristics."

"Well, Mother, even if it's true, our job is to help Heath now, and we can't do that if we're so busy worrying about him that we can't think, now can we?"

Jarrod's gentle reminder served as a catalyst for another flow of tears. He had never seen his mother so unable to cope, and his feelings of frustration and helplessness multiplied with each tear. Finally, he reached out and drew Victoria into a loving hug. She turned to him and sobbed into his shoulder for a few more minutes.

"I'm sorry, Jarrod. It's just that all these memories have surfaced at once, and with Heath missing, your news about Michael, and what I saw him do so many years ago, I'm just not coping well. Please, forgive me. Now, what do we need to do?"

"I wish I could say I knew. My only thought is that tomorrow morning we need to find out just what relationship Mr. Dexter has with our friend Michael Wyatt."

"Dexter? Do you think he's representing Michael?"

"My parents paid a large amount of money to a college which taught me never to trust a coincidence, Mother. And Dexter's appearing on the day Heath disappears seems to be quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

"All right, Jarrod. But Nick is expecting you at the logging camp."

"I know that, and there's no place I'd rather be. But I think I can help Heath better here for right now, and I think you need to stay here as well."

"Why?"

"For one thing, Mother, if this whole thing is to gain some type of revenge against Tom Barkley because you married him, then the next logical person for Wyatt to focus on would be you! And I also think, since it's unlikely that either one of us will sleep tonight, perhaps we should go back through all the newspaper stories and problems we've had and see if we can figure out if the dates coincide with Wyatt's disappearance from Philadelphia."

Victoria stared at her son. Nodding wearily, she led the way to the study, where they worked through the rest of the night.

"Well," Jarrod said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "It seems that there are even more coincidences."

"All right, Jarrod. But what do we do with the knowledge?"

"I wish I knew." As Jarrod finished his sentence, he rose and went to the window. Leaning on the sill, he dropped his head and whispered again, "I wish I knew."

This time it was Victoria who was strong. She rose and walked over to her eldest son. Linking her arm through his, she said, "Then we'll just have to ask God to give us the wisdom."

As they stared out unseeingly at the beautiful scene before them, Silas came to the door.

"Mrs. Barkley? Would you and Mr. Jarrod like to freshen up now, or would you like breakfast?"

"What? Oh, Silas, thank you. We're not too organized here, are we?"

"Reckon you and Mr. Jarrod have a lot on your minds right now, Mrs. Barkley." The servant's soft voice caused Victoria and Jarrod to look at him keenly. The lawyer walked over to the older man and put his hand on Silas' shoulder.

"We're going to bring him back here, Silas. We're going to find him and bring him home."

The three walked together to the kitchen, where they sat together at the table and discussed various plans and ideas. Finally, it was settled. Both Victoria and Jarrod went upstairs to change. As Silas began to clean up, he almost dropped a glass. Clutching it in his hand, he looked upward and said, "Bring him home, Lord. Bring him home!"

At the hotel, Jarrod was surprised when the clerk said, "Oh, yes sir! Mr. Dexter said you'd be coming in today."

"Is that a fact?" Jarrod raised an eyebrow at his mother as they both ascended the stairs. Knocking on the door, he was seized with a sense of foreboding. Quickly shaking it off, he put on his customary "lawyer's face" and smiled as Dexter opened the door.

Dexter was adamant about not revealing the name of his employer. All he would say was that he was honor bound to keep his word, and he had sworn not to give the name out to anyone. At the end of their meeting, he bowed them out and stood in the doorway, smiling.

"That man makes me feel like I've been talking to a snake!" Victoria's pithy comment made Jarrod smile.

"Well, he's as slippery as one, that's for sure."

As they started to leave the hotel, the clerk called out. "Mrs. Barkley? This just came for you."

Jarrod walked over and picked up the envelope the clerk was holding out. Victoria opened it; as she read, her breath quickened. As she held it out to Jarrod, her hands shook. The note read,

"Victoria,

It truly has been too long. There is something you will find interesting in the lawyer's office. I look forward to seeing you soon."

They quickly hurried to the office. On Jarrod's desk was a large box. Ripping it open, he stared at the contents. Victoria put her hand to her mouth as she cried out in horror. In the box were Heath's shirt, vest, gun, and boots. His shirt and vest were covered in blood.

Lifting each item out, Jarrod found another note underneath the clothing. Opening it, he read aloud, "You will find information you need at the logging camp. I suggest you arrive soon."

Before they left, Jarrod took the contents of the box to Sheriff Madden. Leaving him with the names of the investigators he had hired and the rest of the information, he and Victoria rode together to the ranch, where they prepared for immediate departure.

The first sign Heath had that the drug was wearing off was the muscle cramps. Each spasm brought him back more clearly from the hell he had suffered for almost ten hours. As he tried to find a place of physical rest, the voice came his way again.

"Did you enjoy your sight?"

Heath remained silent.

"Now, now; pettiness is beyond us now. Do you know about the Mescalero Indians?"

"No."

"They have an unusual method of worship. It involves the ingestion of a substance from the peyote cactus. They claim the substance helps them to have clear vision of what their Great Spirit wants for them."

Heath was silent.

"Would you like some water?"

"How do I know it won't be full of that poison again?"

"Poison? What a dramatic word! Do you think you were in danger?"

Heath moved restlessly. He felt his left hand drop as the shackle was unlocked. A great lethargy still plagued him. He felt carefully for the water jug and tried to lift it to his mouth. Feeling as if he were moving through a wall of honey, he found he could not perform this simple task. As the laughter came, the jug left his hand and he felt it at his mouth. Fearful of the contents, he tried to avoid swallowing, but the jug was tilted so far that he had to swallow or choke. As he finished the water, he wondered what new things were in store for him. A part of him realized that one hand was free, but he couldn't force himself to try to attack his tormentor. He tried to be angry, but this strange lassitude consumed him. Fighting to overcome the exhaustion, he decided to try questioning.

"How much longer will you keep me here?"

"You have very little time now."

"And what will happen?"

"Are you still thinking you have a future?"

"No."

Heath shocked himself with that instinctive answer. He realized he was in great danger. Willing himself to fight again, he struggled to sit up. This time, no help came. The fear of what he had said galvanized his pain-wracked body enough to allow him to succeed at sitting. His left arm dangled at his side.

"And what have you learned about the joy of revenge?"

"I still don't know what I've done to you to deserve this."

"And here is the one who vowed to gain revenge on Matt Bentell of Carterson; here is the one who was consumed by his hatred. Now, the tables are turned, and you cry innocent! Do you find it strange to be in the position of victim?"

Heath thought carefully about what his captor said.

"The difference between you and me is that I knew why I hated Bentell, and so did he. You're doing all this to me, but I still don't know why."

"I have told you."

"You've told me you want revenge, and that you want to conduct an experiment." As Heath spoke, his heated words began to give him energy. "You've told me you want me to be broken, to be a shell of a man, and that once you break my mind and my will, you will be free. And I ask you again, free of what? How have I hurt you? What could I have done to deserve this?"

"Bentell had law on his side, yet you desired revenge. He was obeying his orders."

"Southern law."

"You were in a southern state, subject to southern law. Bentell had to contain you. It was his job. Yet you desired only evil for him. Confess: It would have caused you pleasure to hear of his going through the experience you are having."

"He had no right to--" As Heath began to defend his anger toward Bentell, he found himself wondering what to believe. As much as he determined never to forget, as terrible as Carterson had been, he had learned that his hatred consumed only him. When he realized that his family would not yield, would not allow him to live in hatred, he hid the memories inside, locked away in a place that was his and his alone. Victoria had tried to get him to talk about that time, to open the Pandora's box of evil, but he chose to keep silent.

But pushing the memories down hadn't taken them away. He was all right as long as he didn't have to see or think of Bentell, but the nightmares came whenever he had to be with him. He was supposed to have forgiven, to be working on letting it go. Yet was the voice true? Would he have found pleasure in knowing that Bentell was in his place? Was he capable of this cruelty, the cruelty he claimed to hate in Bentell?

"You're beginning to doubt now, aren't you?"

"I don't know."

Heath felt his hand being lifted to the chains again. As he heard the snap of the lock, he realized that he was very close to surrender. It took all his will to decide to fight again.

"You are a most interesting subject." The knife slid down his back as the voice whispered. "You are worthy of being my last experiment; I will be satisfied soon."

The cowboy moved to escape the hated feel of the steel blade. Again it moved across his back, biting deeply as the scars resisted its movement. Heath realized that the pain was becoming familiar and easier to bear. Coughing deeply, he wondered what would come next. Fear gripped him as he heard his deepest fears brought to life through the words of his tormentor.

"Can you imagine a world where you never see? Picture your escape; imagine the possibility of being freed from me. You reach up, you rip off the blindfold, and you discover that you are truly blind. How will you feel? What will you do? What worth does a blind man have on a ranch where everyone must be involved? Will you be an object of charity with no way of contributing to life? Is that what is in store for you?"