Jarrod sat behind his large desk, looking contentedly at the papers spread all over it. A smile crossed his face as he thought how uneventful had been the last few weeks. Just some briefs that had to be reviewed.

The only interesting event he heard of had been from the Catholic priest, when Jarrod dropped by the church to bring him a donation from Victoria. Father McKee had just gotten back from a visit to the Modoc Indians. In fact, Jarrod soon learned, the Indians had asked for the priest to visit them.

According to McKee, the Modocs were very upset. It didn't appear to be related to the fact that the government had requested that the Modocs leave California. Most of them had already did, or seemed to have obeyed. But what the priest had heard from the natives was different, some of them saying they had bad dreams about some sort of omen coming to them to.

"To do what exactly, I never knew," had answered Father McKee. The priest had then added that the Modocs wanted him to bless the tribe in an attempt to avoid whatever they were afraid of.

McKee, in charge of the Catholic parish for more than ten years now, was an Irishman sent from the East to take charge of the Catholic community of Stockton. Though his Celtic heritage might have made the middle-age priest a little bit superstitious, whatever superstitions he had once had had been eradicated by the priesthood. His knowledge of the Indians was rather impressive, probably inherited by a long tradition of his church dealing with natives.

Jarrod decided to pay a visit to the church by lunch time, then he gave back all his attention to the papers on his desk.

"Jarrod, I am so happy to see you! How are you, and the rest of the family?" asked a smiling McKee as Jarrod stepped into the church.

"Everyone is fine, Father. What about you?"

"I sure would enjoy a few hours rest." He paused, looking around, as to make sure they were alone then he continued. "Did I tell you about the Modocs?"

"You did, Father. About their dreams and this omen they fear, isn't it? I thought everything was back to normal now?"

McKee sighed then sat on the nearest bench, gesturing a invitation to Jarrod to sit as well. "I wish it was, Jarrod. They sent for me again just the day after I went to them. The eldest had a worse dream."

"A dream about what?" asked Jarrod, intrigued, as he sat by McKee.

"They didn't tell me. But I plan to return there to find out." He paused. "You know, they are very upset about all this. It looks like they are getting ready for a battle."

"As long as they obey and leave by the end of the month, no one can attack them, and they know it."

McKee raised his hand. "I know, Jarrod. But I think what they are afraid of doesn't come from the living."

Jarrod nodded. He knew a bit about Indian spirituality and learned to respect the Indians, though the spirituality behind the dreams' meaning eluded him. It seemed just too irrational to base any judgement on. He was also sure Father McKee was able to handle the situation. They both talked a moment about the orphanage then Jarrod excused himself and headed back to his office.

Audra lead her horse towards the creek. It was a very hot day, and some fresh water would just do fine for both her and the horse. She let the horse drink some water, herself washing her face with the cool water. She looked around, searching for some shade from the trees around.

As she walked toward the tree line, something caught her attention in the foliage. There was some kind of horizontal mass of tree branches, something highly unnatural. She cautiously walked closer to find out that this was some sort of hunter's shack. She realized she should leave, who knows where the hunter was at the moment. Maybe very close. She took only a quick look at the camp, noticing a thin cup and a red blanket on a bed of branches.

"Only one man," she thought. She went back to her horse and hurried back to the Barkley ranch, making a point to tell her brothers, Nick and Heath, all about it as soon as she could.

Jarrod returned to his office where he found Ray Daniels of the Land Bureau waiting for him. Jarrod knew the man since he had worked several times with him upon land disputes. Jarrod smiled to Daniels, gesturing in the direction of his office's door. Daniels didn't move.

"I'm waiting for a client, Jarrod." explained Daniels, almost snapping, in a way that meant he wasn't to move before this person's arrival.

Jarrod noticed how Daniels seemed nervous and the way he emphasized the word "person". "Something's in the air," thought Jarrod.

"Who is this person we are waiting for?" asked Jarrod.

Daniels had no time to answer as the door opened at that moment. He nodded to the man stepping in, then turned to Jarrod. "Mr. Saint-Luc, this is Mr. Jarrod Barkley," said Daniels.

Jarrod shook the stranger's hand, while trying to get a good look at the man. What he saw then made him believe that this man's first name was certainly Trouble.

The man was tall, even taller than Nick. Black piercing eyes were accentuated by an impressive aquiline nose. He wasn't wearing a hat, with his long black hair laying freely over the collar of his black and grey checked shirt, a large black belt keeping a button less deerskin vest in place over the shirt. But what got most of Jarrod's attention were the pants and boots. Brown pants with a yellow stripe down the length of each leg, tucked into black cavalier boots. Definitely military pants, though Jarrod. He tried in vain to link this color to an actual army.

"Please come in my office," invited Jarrod.

Jarrod and Daniels walked to the door. The stranger didn't move an inch away.

"Messieurs," started Saint-Luc. Both Jarrod and Daniels turned to face the man. His voice was sound and calm, the words were highly tainted with a strong French accent but the man didn't seem to worry about it. Jarrod thought that no one would dare make any remark about his accent anyway. "Unless they really enjoy a broken limb," he added mentally.

"I must point out that since I am not the one who asked for law advice, I will not pay for your services, Mr. Barkley," said the man, starring at Jarrod with his piercing black eyes.

"Do not worry about that, Mr. Sainte-Luke," answered Jarrod.

A grin, or was it a smirk, crossed the stranger's face.

"Antoine Chabert Joncaire de Saint-Luc. Saint-Luc for short," he echoed, pronouncing his name in French, omitting the final "t" to Chabert and Saint. "And, Mr. Barkley, I do not worry about anything. Bad for one's health," he added, a slight nagging tone in his voice.

They finally proceeded into the office. Jarrod closed the door behind them, eager to learn what brought this stranger to town, and in his office.

Nick and Heath were by the coral planning the next round up. They spotted their sister riding up the road to the house then turning to the stable.

Heath grinned. "Let's see who she's got in her lasso this time."

Both brothers walked to the stable as Audra emerged from it. Heath could not erase this grin of his as he greeted her. "How was your day, sis?"

Audra saw the quick wink Nick addressed to his brother. She knew what they were thinking. That she said she was going to town to look for a new dress, but most of her looking was at men, not dresses. She got a bit mad at the thought of them making fun of her.

"What about your day, dear brothers? I am the one to check over this ranch for squatters? Do I have to chase them away by myself, too?" she snapped.

The intended effect showed on her brothers' faces. Heath's grin vanished, Nick stared at her.

"What squatters?" almost shouted Nick. "What are you talkin' about?"

Audra walked pass them, heading for the house. She thought about not telling them at all, at least for awhile - just to annoy them and make them show her a little more respect. But then Nick would make such a ruckus.... She stopped and turned to face her brothers. "By the Red Creek. There's a hunter's shack. Probably just one hunter though," she said before turning back and walking in the house.

"Let's have a look at it," grumbled Nick.

"Well, Mr. Daniels. Let's get this matter over with. I am not a man to sit indoors and entertain people in social chats," said the stranger as he heavily sat down on the chair Jarrod had offered him.

Jarrod sat behind his desk, nodding at Daniels as an invitation to speak.

"Very well. Mr. Saint-Luc here is a Canadian...," started Daniels.

"French Canadian," corrected Saint-Luc.

Jarrod refrained a grin. "How did I guess, Mr. Saint-Luc, without a *t*?" he thought.

Daniels continued. "Yes, uh, French Canadian. He came to the Land Bureau yesterday to register his rights over land around here. What brings us here now, is the nationality matter. The Bureau cannot proceed further before that question is cleared.

Jarrod nodded, then looked at Saint-Luc. "Being Canadian should not stop you from registering your rights to a property, even in the United States. It could make the process a little longer though."

"I have dual citizenships, Mr Barkley. Which I tried to explain to Mr. Daniels. I think Mr. Daniels just needs your assistance to make sure I am an American citizen."

As he was talking, Saint-Luc reached for a pouch in his pocket. He opened it and unfolded a paper which he handed to Jarrod.

Jarrod took the paper and examined it. It was a normal identification paper stating that the said Saint-Luc had received American citizenship in 1864. The Immigration Bureau seal seemed authentic. He handed it back to Saint-Luc.

"Looks fine to me," said Jarrod to Daniels. Then he looked at Saint-Luc. "May I ask why you wanted both citizenships?"

"I did not really ask for it. They gave it to me. For services rendered," replied the stranger, a grin on his face, knowing he had his audience's attention. "Gave a little hand to some Yankees by war time. Having dual citizenships did ease things at the time. As it will now as well."

On that, he rose from his chair. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have a long road ahead."

He shook Daniels' hand. "I plan to be back tomorrow to register these rights of mine. Is that is acceptable to you?"

"You can drop by anytime tomorrow," answered Daniels.

Then Saint-Luc shook Jarrod's hand. "I might require your services in the near future," he grinned. "I will pay then."

"It will be my pleasure," said Jarrod. "Are you staying in town?"

Saint-Luc shook his head. "No, I have a *friend* to pay a visit to. Good day, gentlemen," he answered. Then he left, leaving Jarrod and Daniels puzzled about the strange man.

Nick and Heath rode up to Red Creek. They rode along the creek for more than an hour, looking around for the camp Audra talked about. In vain.

"Audra wouldn't make such a joke, this hut must be around," grumbled Nick.

Heath quietly followed his brother. He already noticed Nick getting mad as the search went by. Squatters weren't really welcome guests around here, especially hunters, thought Heath. He noticed sunset would come in about an hour.

Nick turned and rode to Heath. "Let's call it off for now. It's gonna be dark in an hour."

"Alright," was all Heath said, feeling a tad tired of all this after a long day's work on a hot day. He turned around and headed back to the ranch with his brother.

On their way back they didn't notice a dark face in the bushes, watching them riding away. Nor did they notice how close they were to the hunter's hut, but now the shade from the trees had made it impossible to spot.

Jarrod rode up the road to the house, his mind still wondering about the afternoon visit he had at his office. After the stranger had left, he tried to learn more about the case, but Daniels had less than nothing to say. "Seems there some things he's not willing to share with me," thought Jarrod.

He dismounted by the doorstep, letting Ciego take care of Jingo, then went in the house. He walked in the living room where Victoria and Audra were sitting. He bent over his mother to gently kiss her cheek.

"How was your day, Jarrod?" asked Victoria.

"Interesting. I went to the church to see Father McKee. By the way, he thanks you for the donation and sends you his best regards." Jarrod paused. "He's concerned about the Modocs."

"How come?" asked Victoria. "Since they came into the valley, no one troubled them from what I know."

Jarrod nodded. "It's not people troubling the tribe. Some of them had visions, or dreams, lately. You know how important dreams are to them. Spiritual matters are in good hands with Father McKee and I trust him to handle the problem better than anyone could."

The door opened, Nick entering first, closely followed by Heath. Nick walked straight to the liquor table, pouring himself a whisky.

"You get the squatter?" Audra asked.

"We'll get him tomorrow," grumbled Nick.

"What squatter? asked Victoria.

Audra told them how she rode by the creek and found this encampment. Nick then related their vain search, planning to get back to the creek first thing in the morning. Heath stayed quiet, as usual. Since Nick wanted to find this hunter, he thought, he was hired for the search. Heath could not help but to have some sympathy for the guy. Hell, he knew a bit about being on your own. And having Nick Barkley on your back was sure not a pleasure trip!

By early morning, Nick got ready to return to the creek. Heath had to follow him. Something was bothering him all the way up to Red Creek. He could not say what exactly, but he trusted his feeling that there would be trouble today. Even Charger seemed nervous and reckless. He patted his gun, making sure to be ready if needed. Instinctively, he rode ahead of Nick, looking around for the hunter or his hut.

It is Nick who finally found the place. Heath rushed to the scene. While Nick was checking the few things under the tree branches roof, Heath paid attention to the camp fire.

"Whoever camped here left a few hours ago," he said, almost wishing the guy had left for good.

"I want this guy," grumbled Nick. "Let's gather some hands to search around and be ready to camp here tonight." On that, he got back on Coco. "Come on, let's move it."

"Nick, wait."

"What now?"

"What if he comes back? He'll see we came here and leave. If you want him so bad, lets keep an eye on here," said Heath.

Nick pondered a few seconds. "I'm sure you're lookin' for trouble, boy. But you're right. Stay here. I'll be back before dark," said Nick.

Heath sighed, watching Nick riding away. "Now Mr. Hunter, you better show up before big brother comes back," he said to himself. Then he got on Charger and started patrolling around. He didn't know for sure why, but he wanted the guy away without further troubles.

Jarrod arrived in town early that day. Not that he had much to do really. Passing by the church, he could not resist paying his respects to Father McKee. And learn the latest about the Modoc affair by the way. There was no sign of the priest in the church, so Jarrod looked around the building. He finally found McKee gearing his horse behind the church.

"Good morning, Father. I see you are getting ready for a ride."

McKee looked over his horse. "Oh, good morning, Jarrod. And yes. I have no choice but to go back to the Modocs. They sent for me again this morning. That sure is a long and boring ride."

"Let me join you then," he offered, almost surprised by his own answer. Maybe that affair intrigued him more than he thought. "We could get back for dinner at the ranch. Mother will be happy to see you. What do you say?"

McKee smiled, "I cannot refuse such an invitation. I plan to leave in an hour."

"Alright. I will be back then," replied Jarrod.

Jarrod went to his office to give some directives for the day, including sending a note to Mother about McKee's later visit for diner. He wasn't yet seated at his desk when his secretary went in to announce a visitor.

"Mr. Sainn-Luke.... ," she babbled, wrestling with the words.

Jarrod nodded. "Let him in." He handed her the note. "And could you have this sent to the ranch? Thank you."

Saint-Luc stepped in and closed the door himself.

"Please have a seat. What can I do for you, Mr. Saint-Luc?" asked Jarrod, trying to remember how to correctly pronounce the name.

"What kind of advice did you give Daniels yesterday?" he snapped. His black eyes seemed more piercing than ever before. Seeing Jarrod so calm seemed to make him cool down a bit. He finally sat down on the chair.

"I thought we had cleared up the citizenship matter yesterday," started Jarrod.

Saint-Luc raised his large hand, stopping Jarrod. "Yes, we did. Now, Daniels refuses to register my rights."

"What if you explain it all to me. That would really help me understand the problem. What rights are you claiming?" asked Jarrod as he leaned back on his chair, ready to learn more about this man.

"Alright. I will try to make it short."

Heath kept on looking around for the hunter. He had a good idea what Nick would do with him in the case he found the squatter. Heath remembered when he was in Northern Montana and had nothing else to eat but fish and small animals. Something Nick never experienced. Gawd, were the nights cold then. Besides, this guy might have no idea he is on a private property, thought Heath.

All this riding around made him hungry. He decided it was time for lunch, so he dismounted, got his lunch from the saddle bag then let Charger rest under the trees shade, near the bushes. He sat a few feet farther. Charger was still very nervous or tired, Heath could not say exactly.

He turned to see what was wrong with his horse. From his sitting position, all he saw was a pair of legs by his side. Then he felt himself thrown forward, face first. He felt an excruciating pain in the back of his head, the blood making its way slowly its way down his neck... then nothing.

"You heard about the French Camp, south of Stockton, right?" asked Saint-Luc.

Jarrod nodded. He heard of it, how the French Canadians came into the county in the 1830's to settle a fur trade for some company. By 1848, when California has been ceded to the United States, most of the traders left to return to their country.

"Good. So I do not have to tell you all about it. The Hudson Bay's Company sent their voyageurs here. For what I know, they all left a few years later, when the company closed business here." He paused. "My father was one of them. He had some rights issued by the Company. Rights the Company had the power and authority to grant at the time, since this land was the company's land. What I am asking you now, is to be my lawyer to make sure my rights are registered."

"I need to see the papers you certainly have to claim your rights. And thus know more about these rights," said Jarrod.

Saint-Luc rose from his chair, reaching for a paper in the inside pocket of his leather vest. He spread it over Jarrod's desk. Jarrod looked at it intensely. It was a very accurate map of the valley, divided in unequal lots with what looked like French names on them. There was the seal of what must have been the Hudson Bay's Company bearing the date 1828.

"When you will read the note on the back, you will learn that this paper grants its bearer, my father at the time, and its heirs, being now me, permanent rights to trap, hunt and fish on his lot."

Saint-Luc pointed at a precise lot on the map.

Jarrod instinctively checked over the emplacement of the Barkley ranch. There was Saint-Luc's finger pointing at it. He didn't show his astonishment when he read "Lot Saint-Luc" on its northern part along the creek.

Jarrod kept silent for a moment. Despite the fact that this stranger came to claim some rights over a part of his family's lands, he had to examine the case. It also crossed his mind that the camp Audra discovered near the Red Creek might be Saint-Luc's. He looked at the man before him waiting for an answer, and thought it was a good thing Audra didn't meet him. At the moment, Saint-Luc had nothing but fire in his eyes.

"So? What do you think, Mr. Barkley?"

"I can understand why Daniels refused to register such claims." He paused, trying to make it clear. "You will understand that this is a very unusual situation and that I would need time to check the land records and the law articles."

"That's why I'm hiring you," snapped Saint-Luc as he took back his paper, heading for the door. "Clear up this matter. I will pay you."

"Wait." Jarrod walked to face Saint-Luc. Oh no, he thought, I am not getting involved in a case that could turn against the family.

"I haven't accepted your case yet," said Jarrod. "Let me look into the situation, then I'll give you my answer."

Saint-Luc glared at him like a man who wasn't used to be denied his requests. "Fair enough. I will be away for the next three of four days to come. Then I will come back to hear your answer. Good day, Mr. Barkley." Then Saint-Luc stepped out, not shaking Jarrod's hand nor giving him a chance to add anything else.

Jarrod closed the door, sighing. Now there was trouble again. Sure enough, some land rights issued by a foreign company to non-American citizens before California was admitted in the United States would not stand a chance before any court. Jarrod already knew there was no legal ground in favor of this stranger's case. He didn't have to check the jurisprudence. He guessed trouble would be coming from the man claiming these old land rights. He would have to handle this Saint-Luc carefully. And to make sure he was actually that stranger who was camped by the creek.

Jarrod shrugged. He would ask his mother at dinner about this French Camp to learn more about it. Maybe she would know something more. Thinking of dinner, he suddenly remembered Father McKee and his promise to join the priest to visit the Modocs and to go back home with him for dinner. Jarrod checked his watch. Not yet eleven, he wasn't late. He looked around at the books on the shelves and the papers covering his desk. It would only take him a few hours to make sure about this matter of land rights. "He's off for a few days he said. No hurry."

Besides, it was the coolest day in a week, a ride would be enjoyable. Jarrod grabbed his hat and stepped out, headed for the church.

Nick arrived to the ranch, looking around for some of the hands. Most of them were away. Sending for them would take too much time. Looking around, he finally noticed two of them by the coral.

"Jack, Matt. Gear your horse up and grab your guns," he shouted.

The front door opened, Victoria walkout out. "Did you catch the hunter yet?" she asked.

Nick grumbled more than he talked. "Not yet. Left Heath up there. We might have to camp out tonight. I want this guy."

Victoria nodded. Since Nick decided he was going to catch the man, there was no point arguing. He was doing his job, after all. She only hoped there would be no trouble. Her sons had such a way for getting into trouble, that sometimes it amazed her. Especially Heath.

"Be careful up there," she said.

"Don't worry. I won't kill him," grinned Nick before departing with the hands.

"I thought you changed your mind," said a smiling McKee as Jarrod entered his lodging.

"I've been detained...," started Jarrod. He didn't finish his sentence as he eyed the parish's logs on McKee's desk. "Tell me Father, how old are these registers?"

McKee looked over the pile of logs. "Why, seems everyone's interested in them lately. These aren't old really. Back to the '40's."

Jarrod raised an eyebrow. "How come, everyone?" he asked.

McKee smiled. "A Frenchman came yesterday asking for them as well. He was looking for information. What a man indeed... Impressive. I think he is related to some of these French traders..."

"Was it Saint-Luc What was he looking for, if I may ask?" cut in Jarrod before the priest could continue what could be a long story.

McKee laughed. "I see you know him as well. Yes, that would be the man." McKee paused. "There would be no harm telling you. You see, when the French traders left, their priest stayed a while as he was also in charge of the mission to the Indians." McKee smiled. "We never let down the Indians."

Jarrod smiled understandingly, eager to know more. McKee continued. "So this priest... what was his name... Anyway. He kept a log for each baptism, wedding or funeral, as required by the Roman Catholic Church. Not that he had many to register after the French left..."

Jarrod cut him. "So you got these registers?"

"Yes, yes. There are sacred in a way. See how this man found out just what he was looking for." McKee proudly opened a very old looking log which was laying apart. A piece of paper had been inserted between two pages.

Jarrod walked closer to read the page. The only thing he recognized was a name, Saint-Luc, in the margin and the date, 1840. An urge to swear he had to refrain as he looked at the words, unable to understand them. He turned to McKee who was silently laughing.

"Don't ask me, Jarrod. I don't know a word of French!" laughed McKee as he stood and clapped Jarrod on the back. "We should be on our way now."

Jarrod nodded, still frustrated, making a point to find someone able to read French when he got back into town.

First, he felt the pain in the back of his head. Then he felt his ribs getting smashed. He knew he was bent and tied over a horse. Worse, this horse was walking. "Alright boy, you looked for trouble again," he thought before opening his eyes. The early afternoon sun blasted his eyes, he had to close them again as it made his headache worse.

What was it he just saw? He slowly opened his eyes again, fighting the pain. Modocs. Modocs warrior he guessed from their attitude. "Now, that's BIG trouble boy," he thought. They weren't talking at all. Heading north. If they had wanted to kill him, he would be dead already. There was no point talking to them now. So he tried to shift to a less painful position. He had to try to rest before attempting any escape. Which he decided to attempt as soon as possible.

It was just a bit past one when they reached the Modoc encampment. At first, the Indians kept starring at the new arrivals. Recognizing McKee, an elder came to the priest, greeting him. Jarrod dismounted and followed the priest and the old man under the trees' shade.

Jarrod looked around at the encampment. Something wasn't quite right. There were only women, children and some old men. But the size of the campfire indicated that was made to warm more than the few Indians he saw around.

Jarrod wasn't paying much attention to the conversation, until an elder came to him. He gestured to Jarrod.

McKee smiled at him. "Jarrod. If you could just show him your right arm."

Jarrod raised an eyebrow, but McKee explained before he asked. "Remember their dreams? I understood they fear a man. They say a man with the... what was it...the Ancient Father's mark. I know, these are primitive superstitions. But just show them your arm and they'll be happy. I did myself, and since then they seem more calm."

Jarrod shrugged and did as he was asked. It seemed senseless to him but after finding no mark on his arm, it seemed to calm the elder who smiled up at him.

Nick swore. They had looked for Heath and called out for him, but there was sign of Heath. But there were other signs though. Indian ponies, for sure, heading north. By the tracks, he thought there was at least six in the party.

Nick looked around. "Three, damn it, only three of us" he grumbled. But there was no way he would stay there, looking for a stupid squatter when Heath was in trouble. Again. That word echoed in Nick's mind. Matt and Jack would come with him. They weren't chickens. He rode to them.

"Okay, boys. We'll follow the traces. Not a word, not a shot before I say so. Keep it low. I want to see 'em before they see us. Got it?"

They rode up the creek. The tracks were easy to follow on the sand. Too easy maybe. Then, passed a bend in the creek, Nick saw him. Standing by the creek, hands on his hips, defiantly. Tall and menacing. Nick stopped his horse a few feet away from the man.

Saint-Luc and Nick stared at each other for long minutes.

Nick and Saint-Luc stared at each other for a long moment. Nick examined the stranger. Sure not a rancher, he thought.

"Who are you? What's your business here?" snapped Nick, leaning over the front of his saddle to stare at the man.

"I see you are in a position to ask," replied Saint-Luc as he glanced over at the two other men, then back at Nick. "My name is Saint-Luc. And my business here, as they say... is none of yours."

"Lemme me tell you something, Mister. I'm Nick Barkley and this is the Barkley ranch. You're gonna move your butt out of here," he shouted.

Nick was furious. He had just found the man he was looking for but now had no time to waste with him. He wanted so hard to kick this stranger. But the ponies tracks in the sand reminded him he had to find Heath. He could not even spare one of his men to guard the stranger.

Nick rode past Saint-Luc, then turned to face him. "You better be gone when I get back." He waved to his men to follow. They started riding along the creek.

"They will not kill him," shouted the stranger.

Nick stopped his horse, riding back to Saint-Luc. "What'd you say?"

"The Modocs. Saw them riding to the north. A cowboy tied on a horse. He was surely alive. I don't know them to carry dead bodies around," answered Saint-Luc, a grin on his face.

Nick dismounted in one swift movement, grabbing the stranger by his leather vest and staring him straight in the eye. Nick desperately wanted to wipe the grin off this man's face. Saint-Luc didn't move.

"I figured it out myself which way they were heading. How do you know they won't kill him?" snapped Nick, losing his temper. This man was really getting to him. "I should just punch his lights out right now," thought Nick. But he needed an answer from him. If this man knew something about Heath, Nick had to know it.

Saint-Luc looked to the north. "Because they came for me."

"Ready to get back, Father?" asked an impatient Jarrod.

McKee was talking with the elders for more than an hour now. What was a cool day by eleven now turned into a very hot one. But it wasn't the only reason which pushed Jarrod to be impatient. He had enough of the Indians for a full year. He should have stayed in town and spent the time checking on that claim.

McKee turned to Jarrod. "A few more minutes, then we go."

Jarrod nodded. He had now turned his attention to one of the kids. He hadn't noticed him until he saw the kid climb down a tree then ran to an elder who had stayed away from McKee and Jarrod.

McKee had seen him as well. As he leaned forward to Jarrod, "Old Grizzly," he whispered, looking in the direction of the elder and the kid. "He bears the name of one of their animal gods. I tried to talk him into religion. He's so obstinate."

Jarrod cut him off. "Are those horses coming?"

"I think so. Some of them went on a hunt. Let me greet them, then we'll leave."

"Listen to me, Mr. Who-ever-you-are. The cowboy you saw is my brother. He would not be with 'em if YOU hadn't dropped by," shouted Nick in the stranger's face, tightening his grip around Saint-Luc's collar. "I don't care what's your business with 'em." Nick paused, menacing. "Got no time to waste with you right now."

"Time will not change anything, Mister ... Cowboy," quietly replied a nagging Saint-Luc.

That was it. Nick could not bear this man anymore. He pushed Saint-Luc away in an obvious invitation to fight.

"I am more brave alone than you with two hands," hissed Saint-Luc.

The only reply he got was a fast uppercut to the jaw, which he tried unsuccessfully to avoid. He fell to the sandy ground of the river bank and instantly found Nick on top of him pummeling him furiously. Sain't-Luc rolled to his side taking Nick with him. But Nick had anticipated the move and continue to roll, managing to get on top again. He smashed his fist into the Frenchman's face. Saint-Luc tried to get away, but Nick's fist met with his jaw again.

Nick stood, looking down at the unconscious Saint-Luc on the sand. He bent to pick up his hat then walked back to Coco, dusting himself off.

"Now let's move it!" he shouted to Matt and Jack who had stayed back during the short fight.

The three men resumed their journey to find Heath.

Heath opened his eyes again, still with the pain in the back of his head. They were still moving. Still heading north. Time to see if an escape was possible. He raised his head slowly, despite the pain it caused him.

Heath vowed to not let them strike him again. But the consequences of falling off a moving horse, with his hands and feet tied, wasn't much more appealing. Maybe they would soon slow down. Within a few minutes they started riding up a slight hill, following a faint path among the bushes. It was now or never for Heath. He knew he would have to land on his feet and roll onto his back, so he would be able to kick any of the Indian that approached him. "But what then?" he thought.

But he had to try something. And the sooner, the better. He felt the horse almost come to a stop. Now. He had to try it now. He slid off Charger, using the saddle horn to slow his fall. He found standing on his feet impossible as he met the ground, so he let himself roll away.

Hearing the Indians shouting, obviously dismounting, he braced himself for the worst. He felt two hands grabbing his blood soaked shirt and turn him on his back. He used his tied hands to hit the Indian who fell to the ground by his side. He looked at the man to see if he had knocked him out, ready to defend his skin again. He blinked.

"Jarrod? You alright?" he asked, puzzled.

Jarrod stared at Heath, rubbing his jaw. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question, brother?

They followed the tracks along the river, until they changed direction towards the hills. Even in the grass, it was easy to follow the traces left behind by a bunch of Indian ponies.

Nick's mind was haunted by the urge to find Heath. And by the Indians. What the hell were they doing around these parts? "Because they came for me" had answered the stranger. Nick shrugged his head. Nonsense. What would the Modocs want with that stranger?

Everyone in the valley had heard about the latest Modoc situation. They had been ordered to leave California and return to Nevada. Their leader, Captain Jack, was said to be heading to the lava beds, way to the north, then to Nevada. The other tribes, like the Patwin and the Konkow, had lived in peace for years on their ranchieras. Nick couldn't think of a reason for this trouble. He only wanted to find his brother.

"What happened?" asked Jarrod has he started to untie Heath's feet.

"Was lookin' for that squatter. Got hit. Not much to say." replied Heath, the pain making him gasp. "We better get outta here fast," he added.

Jarrod nodded. Seeing McKee walking towards them, he shouted. "Get the horses. Heath's wounded, we must get back to the ranch."

"What happened?" asked an astonished McKee, as he reached Jarrod.

But before Jarrod had the time to answer, the warriors circled them. They obviously had other plans for McKee and the Barkleys.

Nick grumbled. Time was slipping by fast. It would be dark in a few hours. They had to slow down in order to not loose the tracks the Indian ponies made. Matt and Jack were getting obviously nervous. Every sound, bird or branch, made them reach for their guns.

They stopped by at the base of a small hill. The tracks were heading into the brush, by a thin and now shadowy trail. There were human footprints in the mud by the trail. That meant that the camp was close by.

Nick waved to Matt and Jack to stay quiet and to dismount, which he did himself.

"We'll have a look up the hill. Matt, you stay here with the horses. If we're not back in fifteen minutes, you come up. Got it?"

Jack and Matt nodded. Matt led the horses into the brush, under the trees' shade. Nick and Jack started up the hill.

The three men had to sit on the ground, menacing warriors staring at them. Actually, Heath wasn't seated. He was rather laying between Jarrod and McKee. His head was so painful. "Ribs, too" he thought. Jarrod touched his brother's forehead. It was so hot. Heath knew it as well. He only wanted some water.

"I'll make it, Jarrod," whispered Heath, as he felt his brother check upon him. "Water would help," he added.

"Let me ask them," offered McKee.

McKee stood. The warriors didn't move. The priest looked at the elder who had greeted him earlier. "Water. Give us some water, please," asked McKee.

One of the warriors ran to face him. Shouting something, he spit on McKee.

"Father!" shouted Jarrod. "There is no need being a martyr."

McKee didn't turn to face Jarrod as he replied, staring at the elder, "Then there's no point being a priest, Jarrod."

Nick and Jack walked under the trees' shade, slowly making their way up the hill. Hearing a cry in the distance, they got a better idea of the camp emplacement. They slowly moved in that direction, making sure to not let anyone notice their presence.

On top of the hill, Nick finally saw the encampment. It was getting darker now. But he could see six warriors around some others seated on the ground. Women were gathering and bringing wood for the campfire aside which two or three elders were talking.

Nick turned his attention to the horses. Three of them were saddled. He looked back at the seated men. One had stood and faced a warrior. He couldn't see who it was from the distance. It wasn't Heath for sure. Nick grumbled to himself, "This was gonna be a hard one."

"Jack. Go get Matt. I won't move, come back here. Fast," whispered Nick.

While he waited impatiently, Nick watched the camp. The Indians had lit the fire. It made it somewhat harder to move closer without being discovered. As soon as Matt and Jack got back, he would have to do something. But what, he didn't know.

After what seemed like an eternity to Nick, Matt and Jack came back. It was almost pitch dark now. Nick tried to find a gap in the web formed by the Indians around the camp fire. The captives, Nick was sure Heath was one of them, were seated slightly apart. But the warriors were all around them.

"What do we do?" whispered Matt, nervousness in his voice.

Nick swore. He had no time to get help. Nor could he risk anything harsh. They were outnumbered by the Indians. He looked again at the camp.

"What now?" Nick grumbled. The elders had stood, facing a far point of the encampment. A few warriors started to shout war cries. A tall, shadowy figure slowly walked toward the campfire, standing just far enough away for Nick to be unable to see the man's face. But Nick didn't have to. He knew who it was: Saint-Luc.

"Thou shall not touch Ondessonk!" shouted Saint-Luc as he stepped in the camp fire light.

Old Grizzly only stared at the new arrival. He must have been convinced or impressed by the voice and sight of the stranger. He waved at the warrior who was standing in front of McKee, menacing the priest. The Indian moved away.

Jarrod wasn't overly surprised to see Saint-Luc there. Nothing would surprise him about this man, he thought. But, he had to take care of Heath first and find a way to get back to the ranch. And fast.

Despite his surprise to see this Frenchman here at the moment, Father McKee kept his mind on what he needed. Water.

"We need water," he repeated.

Old Grizzly waved to a woman. She brought a leather bag to the captives. McKee sat back down with the Barkley brothers.

Jarrod helped Heath drink some of it. He checked the back of his brother's head. From what he could see, there was a bad cut and swelling. His brother needed medical care. Jarrod grabbed Heath's arm, as in a comforting way. But it was in fact to check on his pulse. Heath was shaking a bit, from the cool night as well as from the fever.

From his spot near the camp, Nick could see most of the action. His heart was pumping fast as he thought he recognized Father McKee. One of the two other men sitting must be Heath. Nick couldn't recognize the other man by Heath's side. An Indian woman came to the two sitting men, bringing a leather bag probably filled with water. That was a good sign.

Nick could hear them talking. Damn it, he could not hear what was said though. He put a hand on his gun. It was time to make a move.

Jarrod let Heath lean on him. He wiggled to remove his vest to cover his brother with it. McKee gave a hand in the process. Heath seemed to appreciate the warmth the vest gave him as he soon stopped shaking.

Saint-Luc moved by the fire, all eyes turned to him. By the fire light, he seemed even taller and darker. He removed his leather vest, tossed it away. Then he removed his grey and black checked shirt and tossed it away as well, showing his bare chest.

Old Grizzly walked near him to check on his arm to find out what all the Indians were looking for. Jarrod tried to see as well. Old Grizzly stepped back, saying something that made the other Indians shout in chorus again.

"Onontio," said Old Grizzly. "We saw you coming in our dreams." He paused. "We saw you walking to us, dark clouds behind you. Why are you back?" asked the elder.

Saint-Luc didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked to the warriors, staring at each one, making sure to show them the mark on his arm. He slightly nodded to Jarrod and McKee, acknowledging their presence. Then he walked back by the fire.

"Onontio is back to take care of his Modoc son. You have lost your mind! I see you are killing me!" He pointed at Jarrod, Heath and McKee.

"The Blue Coat is not our brethren. Blue Coat is killing us," calmly replied Old Grizzly. He turned to the three sitting men, then back at Saint-Luc. "Even his horse did not want to carry Blue Coat. Modoc helped him and had him here with his brothers."

It was an obvious lie. Jarrod motioned to stand. He knew the Indians had hit Heath and now he could not stand to listen to such a lie. Saint-Luc saw Jarrod's reaction and stared at him, his eyes filled with fire, commanding him to stay quiet. The Frenchman then stared back at Old Grizzly.

"Blue Coat is killing you. But I do not see any Blue Coat here! What I see, is my son Modoc has lost his mind. His eyes are blinded by blood, his hears filled with mud. My heart is full of unhappiness to see my Modoc son crave for the blood of Ondessonk."

(Note: Onontio and Ondessonk are nicknames given by the Natives to French Governor and Bishop respectively. Naturally, it turned as a nicknames for all French military and religious leaders)

Saint-Luc continued. "Now open your eyes and ears what your Father Onontio says. Remember when we sat together by the fire. Remember how many of our enemies we killed and boiled in the war kettle. Remember how your Father Onontio gave his Modoc son black powder for his guns. How Onontio brought his Modoc son the fire water for his warriors and blankets for his women."

(Note: Fire water=alcohol)

Saint-Luc walked to Old Grizzly. "My son Modoc, remember how we sang the war song together. Remember how we danced, not afraid of any Red Coat. Remember how bravely we fought together. Red Coat won the battle, but Onontio and his Modoc son are not dead." He paused, smacking his bare chest with his fists. "Now you are killing me! You have lost your mind!"

On that, Saint-Luc walked around the fire, everyone listening to his speech.

"Keep your ears open, my son Modoc," he continued. "Hear the cries the wind carries. Listen to them. They are the cries of all the sons of Onontio, of all your brethren. My sons Konkow and Maidu opened their eyes and ears. They listened to the cries the wind carries from the plains. They do not kill the Blue Coat."

Saint-Luc walked to face Old Grizzly. "Listen to your brethren Assiniboines and Crees. Listen to them! They are singing the death song in the Great Plains! Onontio fought with them. Onontio saw them die in the plains. There was clouds. There was Blue Coat. There is NO Blue Coat here! Now you want to kill me, you want to kill Ondessonk. You want to kill yourself!"

Saint-Luc turned to point to McKee. "Let Ondessonk go. Let him take his brothers with him. He did you no harm."

Saint-Luc ordered "Do not let the wind carry the Modoc cry of shame. Let Ondessonk go!"

Old Grizzly stared at Saint-Luc.

"Onontio knows the power of his tongue. I wash my eyes and ears with my own blood. I see anew and hear what Onontio tells his Modoc son. I see the Blue Coat is killing me. I hear my brethren' song of death the wind carries from the Plains. The war kettle is empty. I ask Onontio to fill it anew. Modoc wants his Father Onontio to dance with him. Modoc will fight Blue Coat and wants you to fight with him. Modoc will not die sitting by the fire."

Old Grizzly paused. "Modoc do not want Ondessonk blood. Black Robe can go with his brothers."

On that, Old Grizzly waved to the warriors. They quietly stepped back.

Jarrod had tried to follow the conversation while checking upon Heath. He didn't understand much of what was said though. He looked at McKee, hoping the priest could explain. McKee leaned forward to Jarrod.

"All I know, is that I'm supposed to be Ondessonk. The Modocs keep calling me that name. I think it means priest."

Jarrod nodded. "Who's that Onontio then? Is it Saint-Luc?" he asked.

The Modoc warriors stepped back. Jarrod could not say if they were obeying Old Grizzly or were rather stepping back before Saint-Luc who was coming to them. The Frenchman bent over Jarrod and the two other men. Jarrod glanced at Saint-Luc's right arm but couldn't see any kind of mark.

"Now listen. You get on your horses and you go away. They will not follow you. Not tonight," ordered Saint-Luc.

"Wait a minute. What's..." started Jarrod.

"Shut up. Do what I say. Now." Saint-Luc looked over his shoulder at the elders. He then watched Heath. "This one has to get on his horse. He has more chances surviving a ride than staying here."

There was no time for arguing. Despite the fact that the Frenchman's tone of voice angered him, Jarrod wisely said nothing. He and McKee helped Heath on his feet without a word. Heath tried to maintain his balance but it was difficult for him. His head ached and his ribs were very painful. But, since he was finally getting out of this mess, he did not complain as Jarrod and McKee helped him onto Charger. Jarrod moved to mount behind his brother.

Saint-Luc stopped him."Use all your horses. Or else, they will keep the one without a rider." The man grinned. "It is a long way home for two men on one horse."

Jarrod almost lost his temper. "Now YOU listen to me! My brother is wounded and I won't let him ride by himself!"

Saint-Luc stayed calm as he replied, "Do not worry. Just move out of here with your horses then do what you want." He turned his back to Jarrod.

"Aren't you coming with us?" naively asked McKee as he got on his horse.

Saint-Luc didn't answer. He turned back to face Jarrod once again. "One last thing, Mister Barkley."

He leaned forward to whisper. "A certain man named Nick Barkley is waiting just behind the bushes with two men. Tell him two things."

Saint-Luc poked his index into Jarrod's chest. "First. If he tries anything against the Modocs, he is a dead man and you all as well." He paused. "Second. Tell him that Saint-Luc NEVER gets knocked off by a cowboy unless he decides to. And that I will be back. Now, GO."

Jarrod barely listened to what seemed like threats from the Frenchman. He only got that Nick was around and that made him want to move faster. He mounted Jingo and waved to McKee to ride by Charger's side, him staying on the other side. So they rode away down the hill, helping Heath keep his balance on Charger.

Nick slowly raised from his laying position on the ground. It was time to move. "Enough talkin'," he thought, as if he was addressing the Indians.

"Nick, look," whispered Jack as he pointed at the camp.

Nick watched as the warriors stepped back from the three men on the ground. The sitting men stood, Saint-Luc talking to them.

"Get ready, men," he whispered, checking the bullets in the gun he now held in his hand.

Now the three men were mounting their horses. After a short moment, they started riding away in the direction of the trail. Nick stood. "Let's go. They're off. Let's get the hell outta here," he commanded. They walked back to their horses, waiting to meet with the three men down the hill.

"Please, please!" cut in Victoria. "Your brother needs rest."

"Why, I didn't even shout!" grumbled Nick, pacing by the fire place. "But you'll hear me if I see that man again!"

"Besides, all I understood so far is something about a hunter claiming old rights, whom then turned into some sort of Indian friend. Something about the Modoc Indians and their dreams. Heath being badly hurt and carried to the Modoc encampment..." she shook her head. "Would someone care to put all pieces in the right order?"

Jarrod smiles at his mother. "These are all the pieces. I'm afraid there is no order in it."

From his place on the couch, Father McKee finished a very welcomed glass of sherry. "You forget the mark on his arm, Jarrod."

Jarrod raised an eyebrow as he turned to face McKee.

"Oh yes. The so called mark. They checked on my right arm. They also checked on Saint-Luc's. Later, when he talked to us, I looked for the so called mark on his arm."

McKee cut him. "Wasn't it impressive? Surely Indian made."

Jarrod froze, staring at McKee. "What was? I saw no mark of any kind on his arm."

THE END