With a quick glance up and down the street, the man turned the corner from the rear of the still-closed mercantile, and walked with long quick strides toward the hotel. It was a short distance. The whole settlement consisted of a just a handful of buildings lined up on a mud-rutted street. At this elevation, farming was futile, and the mines had petered out long ago. The town thrived, for the most part, on folks passing through. It was a good stop-over point, and provided supplies and a place to rest for weary travelers.

The man slung the saddlebags from where he was carrying them on his forearm to the top of his shoulder and shrugged under their weight. After one more glance behind him, he trotted up the hotel's steps and walked inside. The other guests had begun to straggle down for breakfast, and he gave them a quick look as he passed the doorway to the dining room on his way toward the front desk.

The clerk recognized him and smiled his toothy smile that he used for all of the guests, whether he cared for them or not.

"Mister Smith!" he said cheerily. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you leave earlier, Thomas must have taken care of you. Out for an early morning ride? Gotta be watchful now if you're out ridin' alone, first snow's due. Can come on real quick-like, get you in some real trouble if you're not prepared."

The man narrowed his eyes at the clerk. "The key?"

"Oh, why yes, Mr. Smith, of course." He turned away to reach for the row of hooks which held the keys to the rooms. He let his smile fade to its natural frown as he faced away from his customer. He didn't like making small talk to the man any more than the man liked hearing it.

His customer shifted under the heavy saddlebags and reached inside his coat. He pulled out a wallet and thumbed through it thoughtfully. He extracted several bills, which he placed on the counter as the clerk turned to him with the key.

"This should settle it. We'll be checkin' out in a bit," he said. "I'll leave the key on the dresser."

"All right, Sir." The clerk glanced back to the line of mail slots behind him. "There aren't any messages for you, Sir."

"Wasn't expectin' any," came the flat reply.

"Well, Mr. Smith," the clerk said, his smile returning as he picked up the money, "if I don't see you when you leave....it's been a pleasure having you with us, do stop again when you....."

The man's words trailed off behind him as he turned and climbed the stairs, then padded down the carpeted hallway toward his room. As he reached forward to place the key in the lock, he paused. The soft sound of muffled sobs caught his ear. He shook his head slowly as he turned the key. It was still fairly early and he'd hoped the boy would have still been asleep.

He pushed the door open and walked into the room, then closed the door behind him and put the key in his pocket. The boy sat up on the bed, the indentation from his head on the pillow was marked by a damp spot from his tears. He wiped his sleeve across his face and looked at the man with round, reddened eyes.

"All right Kid - what's got you lookin' at me that way?" the man asked gruffly.

The boy's lower lip quivered. "I thought you....... never mind." The small voice wavered, and the boy turned his face away and looked toward the window.

"Come on now Kid - talk to me. What's this about?" The man tossed the saddlebags and his hat on the end of the bed, then walked to the side to stand in front of the boy.

The boy looked up at him. "I saw you..... early this mornin' when you rode outa here so fast....I thought... maybe you wasn't comin' back." A sniffle punctuated the child's words.

"Now Kid...did I say I wasn't comin' back?" the man asked.

"Well, no...but....but you didn't say you was either."

The man sighed heavily. "Ain't we talked about this before?"

The child hung his head and looked down at the floor.

"Well ain't we?" the man asked.

The boy didn't look up. "I recollect sayin' this before, but I can see it needs sayin' again." He leaned closer to the boy. "I ain't always gonna tell ya what ain't none o' your concern."

He put his hand under the child's chin and lifted it gently with one finger. "Didn't I tell ya that already? Huh?"

"Yes," the boy sniffled.

"'Yes', what?"

"Yes, Sir." Through thick dark lashes, the warm brown eyes looked up at him, still glistening with tears.

"That's better. I knowed my sister done taught you some respect Boy." He looked at the sorrowful young face, with the cheeks still flushed from crying.

He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're my sister's boy - my own kin, right? I ain't gonna run off and just leave you without sayin' nuthin' - hear? I ain't like that good for nuthin' Pa o' yours." He patted the boy's shoulder, then straightened. "I didn't have time to tell you where I was goin' this mornin', and I didn't wanna wake you. Had some business to take care of, that's all, understand?"

He reached forward and ruffled the brown hair. A small smile curled the frown from the boy's mouth. "Now dry them tears, you're almost twelve...ain't right for a boy your age to be cryin'."

The boy wiped his hands across his eyes and the man nodded. "All right then. Now I want you to pack up your things 'n' get down to the liv'ry. Saddle up that cayuse of yours. We're ridin' outa here."

"You want me to get Ol' Blue for ya too?" the boy asked.

"I got me a new horse, sold Ol' Blue to the liv'ry man this mornin'."

"A new horse?" The boy's eyes lit up. "What's 'e like? Is 'e fast?"

"Like the wind Boy....like the wind."

The child's eyes widened.

"Is he at the livery? What color is he?"

"He's a bay, and he ain't at the liv'ry - I got him tied round back o' the storehouse behind the mercantile."

The boy looked at his uncle curiously, and watched as he crossed the small hotel room floor to the wash stand and stuffed the towel into the saddlebag.

"What are you waitin' on Kid, get movin'. I'm already packed. Mount up and meet me behind that store, I'm gonna get us a few supplies then we're headin' out. We'll have breakfast on the trail."

"Where we goin'?"

"You'll find out when we get there. Now git, it's a long ride and I wanna be there before sundown."

The boy pulled his coat on and grabbed a few articles of clothing off of the chair beside the bed. He shoved them into his own saddlebag, then scrambled out of the room.

After the door closed, the man unbuckled the leather strap on one of the saddlebags and pulled open the flap. He withdrew a gunbelt and laid it on the bed. He unbuckled his own tired-looking belt with its worn oily holster, and slid it, along with his old pistol, inside the bag. He buckled the one he had taken out of the bag around his hips and stood in front of the tall mirror in the corner of the room.

"Not bad," he said softly.

He smoothed his hand on the grip of the fine revolver and drew it out. He assured himself that it was loaded, then snapped it closed. He faced the mirror and aimed the weapon at his reflection. With a small grin he clicked his tongue against his teeth, then slid the gun back into the holster.

He walked to the window and lifted one hand to pull back the curtain, then drew the other hand through his hair. It was still damp from the sweat of his hard ride earlier. He looked up and down the short row of buildings, then watched as the boy ran across the muddy street toward the livery. He started to take his hand away from the curtain and noticed a dark stain on the cuff of his shirtsleeve.

"Damn," he swore quietly and walked to the wash basin.

He dampened the small cloth there with water from the pitcher, and rubbed it against the stain. A tint of red marked the end of the cloth as he rubbed, but the stain on the cuff didn't fade. He gave up and rolled up the sleeve to cover it. He pulled the room key out of his pocket and flipped it to the top of the dresser, then picked up his things and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

The autumn-dried leaves rattled against the window panes of the sheriff's cottage, then swept along the porch, brushing against the faded whitewash of the boards before continuing down the street. Fred Madden glanced toward the darkened glass as he walked from the kitchen into the front parlor of his little house with a plate in one hand and yesterday's newspaper in the other.

He settled into his big sturdy chair in front of the fire. A storm was brewing, and he was happy to have finished his evening check of the buildings and shops in town before it came full force. The sun had set. It was dark outside and he couldn't see the skies, but he could hear the tempest building in the howl and the hum of the wind. He put his feet on the ottoman in front of the chair, and balanced the plate of stew in his lap as he unfolded the paper.

He groaned. It was too dark in the room for him to read. He carefully lifted the plate, brought his legs off of the ottoman, and set the paper and his supper down. He walked to the mantle and picked up a match, struck it along the rough stone of the fireplace, then brought the little flame over to the oil lamp on the table next to his chair. He lit the lamp, then turned the wick up and down, adjusting it so the light was just right, then sighed and settled back into the chair.

He started to lift the plate back to his lap, then realized he had no fork. His groan this time was more of a growl, as he set the plate back down and went to the kitchen. He returned with the fork, and looked at his plate, the paper, the room, and the fire. All was in order as he settled back down in the chair. He unfolded the paper, and speared a piece of now-lukewarm beef with his fork.

"Sheriff! Sheriff Madden! You there?" came a shout at the door, accompanied by the sound of an anxiously thumping fist.

He winced. "Now what?"

"Sheriff!" the banging came again.

"I'm comin'! Hold your horses!" he yelled. "A man can't even enjoy his supper," he growled under his breath and set the paper and the plate down once again.

The wind pushed a few leaves from the porch inside as he opened the door. The young clerk from the Stockton Telegraph office was standing there.

"Tarnation man - its nearly nine o'clock, I thought you closed up hours ago," he said.

"I did," said the clerk. "Or rather, I was goin' to. I had a few messages folks wanted sent, and I got em' out to the couple o' operators I know keep later hours. Ya' know, Pete - the feller over in Sacramento, well he's up late, and then there's Stoney over in......"

"Would you get to the point!" the sheriff said gruffly.

"Oh....yeah, sure.....here - I figured I'd better get this here. Came in from Placerville for you." The young man thrust a paper toward the sheriff.

The neat squared letters of the young man's careful handwriting brought the words of the message off the page to the sheriff's eyes.

"You all right, Sir?" the clerk asked as he watched the man's expression change.

"Yeah, Son," he said in a serious tone. "What time did you say this came in?"

"Uh, I didn't say, Sir.....but it was just a little while ago."

"You did right by bringing this over here."

He folded the paper and shoved it into his vest pocket, then turned and reached for his slicker and hat, which were hanging from a peg near the door. His supper was forgotten.

"You goin' out there?" asked the clerk.

"Yeah."

"Tell 'em I'm sorry - huh?"

"Yeah."

He grabbed his gunbelt and pulled his hat down hard on his head, then went out the door and jogged down the short path to the little barn out back to get his horse. Large raindrops began a steady patter on the barn roof as he went inside and reached for his saddle.

Victoria looked up from her book. She'd been lost in the depths of the story she was reading, but the intermittent spatters of rain against the windows now caught her attention.

She carefully placed her silk-tasseled bookmark between the pages to save the place, and closed the leather-bound volume. "I hope Heath isn't trying to make it home in this weather tonight," she said.

"I expect," Nick said as he walked up next to Jarrod, "that he's resting comfortably at that little hotel we found on our last trip up to the Rafter T."

He picked up a glass and held it for Jarrod to pour, then walked to the window and gazed out. His view in the dark rainy night was limited to the reach of the light as it reflected off of the wet leaves of the foliage near the house. He turned back toward the center of the room.

"He's got to have dropped off those mares by now. He's probably just takin' his good ol' time gettin' back. Probably hopin' I'll finish that well by myself," Nick grumbled.

"Now, Nick, you know very well that Heath is the last one around here to avoid work," said Victoria.

"Well, Mother.... he knows that those parts for the pump were due in here this week, and he knows I wanted him to help me get started on that well right away. But where is he?"

The sweeping motion Nick made with his hand as he spoke added emphasis to his words. "He shoulda been back today, and coulda made it back yesterday if he'd tried. Right now he's probably sittin' there at the Sweetbriar Inn, bein' served the best apple pie in California by a pretty young lady named Alicia."

"Nick, are you forgetting that when the opportunity to make that trip presented itself, you said you were too busy?" asked Jarrod. "As I recall, that isn't the easiest country to be traveling this time of year, with the first snow due. I'll bet our younger brother will be glad to let you have the honor next time."

Nick looked back to Victoria, who still had a concerned frown on her face. "Don't worry, Mother, Heath wouldn't head out into this storm. He'll probably pull in sometime tomorrow afternoon."

The horse's hooves beat out a wet staccato on the dark rainy road as Sheriff Madden rode the long miles from his warm dry home. The wind-whipped rain soaked his skin, but the chill was already deep inside him. At that moment he would rather have been anywhere else, had any other job, and he dreaded the task ahead of him.

He enjoyed his work, and couldn't imagine doing anything else. He liked helping people, and liked the thrill of the job, but when it came to the need for someone to bear bad news, the task always seemed to fall to him.

He rode through the imposing front gate of the Barkley ranch, and up to the rail in front of the house. It was late, and though a blaze of light still shone out from the tall windows it did nothing to lift his spirits as he stepped down from his horse and wound a rein around the post. He approached the front door and pulled his hat from his head to hold it dripping in his hand. He knocked on the door and waited. After a moment, the latch clicked, and the door swung open.

"Fred!" Jarrod said with surprise. "Come in, come in." Jarrod's brow was wrinkled with concern as he led the man into the foyer and closed the solid wooden door against wind from the storm.

"Fred? What are you doin' out here?" Nick asked as he walked out of the parlor.

The sheriff knew they must be able to read the look on his face.

"Fred? What is it?" Victoria asked with concern, moving close to Nick's side.

"Victoria, maybe....maybe you should sit down," he said.

"Just out with it Fred, what's got you here so late on a night like this?" Nick said impatiently.

"I just don't know how to tell you..." He reached in under his wet slicker to his vest and pulled out a paper. "This wire came for me tonight." He handed it to Jarrod. "Its from Sheriff Johnson in Placerville....says Heath ........well, you have it there Jarrod." He looked down at the hat in his hands.

Nick watched as Jarrod scanned the page. The lawyer's face paled like grey stone.

"Jarrod?" Victoria asked.

Jarrod glanced up from the paper to the eyes of his mother and brother. "It asks Fred if he can get word to Heath's family....says that he was shot during a bank holdup."

"Oh God no." Victoria raised her hand to her mouth.

"Jarrod, is he....?" Nick hesitated, afraid to voice his fear. "Does it say how he is?"

Jarrod nodded solemnly as he handed the paper to his younger brother. "It says we need to come immediately.....that his condition is grave."

Nick took the page from Jarrod and scanned it quickly, then closed his eyes and lowered his head. He closed his hand, crushing the message in his fist.

"I'm sorry folks. I'm real sorry," said the sheriff.

The sun began to send little funnels of light through gaps in the thinning grey clouds. It sparkled in the ruts in the muddy street and in the puddles alongside the tracks at Stockton's railway station.

Nick stalked the edge of the platform impatiently, looking for some sign of the early morning train. Despite the late hour and the weather the night before, his first impulse had been to mount up and ride out immediately after receiving Sheriff Madden's news. Jarrod had pointed out that by taking the early train the next morning, they could reach Placerville sooner and Victoria could go with them.

The rest of the night had been painfully long. Unable to sleep, he'd watched the storm pass, watched the clock tick off the hours, and waited for morning. He had started to feel that it might have been better if he had ridden out. At least he would have felt like he was doing something, rather than standing around.

He walked back to stand next to Jarrod and pounded his leather-gloved fist into the palm of his other hand. "It's half-past!" he growled. "What could be keeping it?" He turned to pursue the uniformed man walking into the station office. "I'm gonna have a talk with that......."

"Nick." Jarrod grabbed his arm and nodded toward Victoria. She stood off, a few feet away from them, staring down the silver lines of track.

"I think someone else needs our attention a little more," he said quietly.

Nick cocked his head at his brother and drew in a breath to say something, then thought better of it and let the breath out slowly. He walked up behind Victoria and put his hands on her shoulders. She turned toward him. The strain of the sleepless night was evident on her face.

"There's coffee in the station, Mother. Why don't you come in with me and sit down, I'll get you some. It's chilly out here, it'll warm you up," Nick offered.

"I'm all right," she said. "I just wish your sister was here. I'm afraid she won't get to see him....if he...." She lowered her eyes, and Nick looked to Jarrod for help.

Jarrod stepped closer and took Victoria's hand. "She's not that far away, I sent a wire to her Mother, with any luck, she'll be able to make it to Placerville sometime tomorrow."

Victoria looked up at him and nodded, then turned her attention back to the track. "With any luck," she said quietly.

After a little while, rolling grey clouds appeared in the distance and the engine came into view. It rolled in slowly and squealed to a stop in front of the platform.

They boarded for the trip from Stockton to Sacramento, and once there, waited briefly then made the connection for Placerville. The train left the Sacramento station on time. As it strained into the higher elevations, the skies grew cold and cheerlessly grey with thick clouds that threatened snow. The smoke from the locomotive added to the grim view from the railroad car.

They had traveled the first leg of their trip in relative silence, and continued on that way toward Placerville. Victoria sat next to Jarrod, with her hand curled quietly around his arm, and her shoulder leaning against him.

Nick sat across from them with his face turned toward the window. The drab olive and tan scenery slid by outside, but he was only vaguely aware of it. Instead, the brief words from the wire Sheriff Madden had brought them flashed in his vision. His brow furrowed, and his eyes squinted unseeing at the dull landscape outside. The wire said that Heath had been shot, but shot how? and why? How did he get himself into the middle of a bank robbery? and why was he in Placerville when he was supposed to be heading back from the Rafter T?

He turned his eyes from the window to his mother and Jarrod, certain that their thoughts were echoing his. He watched as his mother fingered the lace edge of a little handkerchief she held in her hand. She looked down as if she was contemplating every stitch.

Nick looked back to the window and his thoughts returned to the wire. So little information. What did it mean by saying Heath's condition was 'grave'? He knew that it meant it was serious, but wondered if they going to rush there to find Heath sitting in bed, recovering and scowling at some doctor's ministrations. He smiled briefly at the vision, then his smile slowly faded. Maybe they wouldn't find him recovering.....maybe they wouldn't make it in time at all. He looked back to Jarrod and found his brother's eyes studying him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jarrod asked quietly. Victoria looked up at Nick as Jarrod spoke.

Nick looked from one to the other, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked down at his hands. "I shoulda gone with him....told him I was too busy... shoulda gone instead of him. Big Nick Barkley, too important, too vital to the ranch to take a few days and help deliver those horses."

"Nick, don't," Victoria said.

"Its all right, Mother," Jarrod said softly. "He needs to get it out."

Jarrod leaned forward in his seat. "Nick, you know Heath was perfectly capable of handling those horses alone. There was no reason for you to go, and every reason for you to stay home and run things there."

"Your brother's right," Victoria said.

"I just don't understand," Nick said. "What was he doing in Placerville? That's miles out of his way, and in the other direction from the way he would have come home." Nick stared at his hands. "God how I wish I'd gone with him."

Victoria reached across and put her hand on top of his. Nick looked up to his mother's hopeful expression. "You can tell him when we get there," she said.

Nick nodded slowly and sighed. "I just hope to God I'll have the chance."

Sheriff Mark Johnson heard the sharp whistle of the train as it approached the Placerville station and he walked briskly toward the platform. He turned his collar up against the chill in the air as he climbed the steps and then watched as the passengers disembarked. The stress of the last twenty hours was written into the lines on his tired face.

He felt bad for the family he was there to meet, but was also still stinging from dismay at the small number of riders he'd been able to scare up to go after the men who had robbed the town's bank. He wondered how his deputy was faring in the pursuit while he was back here in town. In addition to looking for more men, he'd also had witnesses to interview, statements to write, and apologies to make for having been unable to stop the carnage. The robbers had killed the bank manager, shot up the street, and seriously wounded the innocent man whose family he was waiting for.

He'd left the posse to come back to town, to appeal to the local citizens for more help. So far his efforts this morning had been fruitless. There were far too many who had seen the callous way the robbers had fired at folks who had been no threat to them. Most of the bullets had missed, but barely, by inches from what folks had said.

He sighed wearily, and squinted, trying to see through the dirt-flecked windows of the train, watching as the passengers made their way to the exits.

Nick stepped off of the train first and scanned the platform. His eyes quickly found the sheriff by the star on his coat, and he walked with quick strides in his direction. Jarrod helped Victoria off the steps, and found the porter to have their bags sent to the hotel.

The sheriff noticed the tall dark cowboy striding toward him and stepped forward to meet him.

"Are you Sheriff Johnson?" Nick asked. "We were told you could tell us where my brother is."

"You must be Mr. Barkley. Yes," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Mark Johnson. Sheriff Madden wired, said to expect you. Your brother's over at Doc Bennett's place, I'll take you. We can talk on the way."

Jarrod and Victoria joined them, and they finished brief introductions as the sheriff led them off of the platform and turned toward the center of town.

"How is my son?" Victoria asked.

"I'm sorry Ma'am, I don't know," the sheriff said. "Looked pretty serious last night, but I haven't talked to the doc since then. I stopped by this mornin' but he was workin' on him and I didn't want to interrupt."

"What happened, Sheriff?" Jarrod asked.

"Nears I can gather from what the witnesses said, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time - just walkin' across the street when that gang hit the bank. Seems they went in quiet but came out shootin'... with no warnin'. I think they were tryin' to clear the street so they could make their escape."

"Then my brother was trying to stop them?" Nick asked.

Sheriff Johnson slowed his pace and turned to look at Nick. "He never got the chance....they shot your brother in the back, Mr. Barkley."

Nick felt a chill sweep over him. He hesitated, his breath caught in his throat, then he shook his head slowly and quickened his steps after his mother and brother as they continued on toward the doctor's office.

"I got my deputy out after 'em now with a posse," the sheriff said. "I'll be joinin' up with 'em in a little while. I've gotta round up a few more men."

With a nod of his head, the sheriff indicated a change in direction, and they turned off of the main street. "Its up here just a little farther."

"Oh, here... he had this on him," the sheriff reached into his coat and drew out a leather wallet and handed it to Nick. "We found his name and the name of your ranch in Stockton on those receipts. That's how I knew to wire your sheriff."

Nick turned the wallet over in his hand and opened it as they walked. He had a dim flash of hope that it wasn't really Heath's. He looked past the cash and folded receipts, then his eyes found the family picture. A lump formed in his throat. The wallet was Heath's. He closed it and swallowed hard as he slid it into his coat pocket.

The sheriff continued. "We took his horse to the livery, and I've got his gun over at my office. You can pick it up there later if you want."

"This is it," he said as they reached the doctor's office.

"Doc Bennett..." the sheriff called out as he pulled open the front door. "Some folks here to see you."

He held the door and the Barkleys walked in as the slender, grey-haired doctor stepped forward from the center hall toward the front parlor which served as his waiting room.

"These are the brothers and mother of the man you've been treatin', Doc....the Barkleys."

"Please folks, come in," the doctor greeted them gently. His clear grey eyes held a serious look. "Its good that you're here. A man should have his family around him at a time like this."

"Doc...." Nick stepped forward, "the sheriff said he was hurt bad."

The doctor nodded solemnly. "Yes, Mr. Barkley, I'm afraid so." He removed his glasses and folded them, placing them into his vest pocket as he spoke. His tone left no room for doubt as to the seriousness of his brother's condition. "A wound like this, in this location....." he slowly shook his head, "...it is extremely difficult."

He sighed, wishing he had better news for them. "He's bleeding internally, I've gone in twice to try and repair it, but the damage is severe. I could not remove the bullet."

The doctor looked at the desperate faces of the family before him, knowing they were looking for something from him...something he just couldn't give.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said, ".... he's dying."

He watched their expressions fall.

"There's nothing you can do?" Victoria pleaded.

The doctor shook his head. "I can try and keep him comfortable, try and manage the pain, but I'm afraid that's all."

"Another doctor then..." she started.

"There is no other doctor," said the sheriff, "and Doc Bennett is very qualified...."

"It's all right Mark," the doctor held a hand up to the sheriff. "Folks, I am an experienced surgeon, though I know that doesn't give you much comfort right now. There isn't another doctor in these parts. You could send for one, but there's probably not enough time to get him here, and there's very little he could do. Frankly I'm stunned that the young man's held on as long as he has."

"We want to see him," Nick said.

"Yes, of course, follow me." The doctor nodded and started down the hall, then indicated the room to the left with his hand, and allowed the Barkleys to file in ahead of him.

Nick followed a few steps behind Victoria and Jarrod. The sound of labored breathing reached him before they turned the corner past the door frame. His thoughts whirled inside his head. He hesitated, and his legs felt wooden.

Take a step Nick, his mind echoed. He's been in trouble before, bad trouble, and he came through, didn't he?

He looked ahead of him and saw his mother enter the room.

Take another step Nick. Doctors have been known to be wrong. What's the matter with your knees?...your legs ain't so weak you can't walk right.

Jarrod turned the corner in front of him.

Swallow Nick. Breathe. And don't you dare cry. You want him to see you cry? You want him to see you're afraid? Is that the last thing you want him to see?

He turned the corner into the small bedroom, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

"I've kept the light turned low in here," the doctor said from behind him. "I figured it was more restful that way while he sleeps off the anesthetic ....course he hasn't regained consciousness enough yet to notice."

The doctor patted Nick's shoulder. "You folks stay as long as you like, if you need me I'll be out front speaking with the sheriff."

Nick nodded to the doctor, then shuffled forward into the windowless room. He looked down sadly at the back of the blond head.... at the motionless figure lying on his stomach in the rumpled sheets of the bed. Even in the low light from the lone oil lamp, he couldn't help but notice the dark stain that marked the center of the bandaged back.

"Oh Heath," Victoria's choked voice ended in a sob against Jarrod's chest as her oldest son put his arms around her and held her close.

Nick walked slowly in front of his mother and brother, and circled to the other side of the bed, to the direction the blond head was turned.

"Heath? oh Heath.....what happened Little Brother?" Nick said softly as he approached the side of the bed.

Jarrod and Victoria drew closer as Nick leaned over and reached a tentative hand forward to touch.

"Heath, it's Nick, can you hear...." Nick's eyes widened and he visibly stiffened. "DOC!?!"

Nick's shout made Victoria and Jarrod jump.

"DOCTOR!" Nick yelled at the top of his voice.

The doctor ran into the room as Nick stood up straight. "What is it Mr. Barkley?"

Nick pointed at the bed and glared at the doctor.

"WHO the hell is THIS?!?!"

"No, it ISN"T!" Nick growled. He turned and took a step back as Victoria and Jarrod rushed to join him at the side of the bed. They stared at the stricken man. He was indeed blond, and had nearly the same build as Heath but the similarity faded as they saw the man's face.

"It isn't," Nick repeated, more to himself than anyone else as a smile of relief crossed his lips.

Victoria looked up at Jarrod. "Its not Heath!" She looked over at Nick. "Oh thank God.... its not Heath!" she said. Jarrod and Nick smiled and hugged her. It was a strange celebration at the bedside of a dying man. The doctor was stunned. "Oh, Mrs. Barkley, I'm so sorry....I....." he turned to look back over his shoulder. "Mark.....I thought you told me you found identification on this man."

The sheriff spoke from the doorway. "Folks, if this man is not Heath Barkley, I think we'd better talk."

"Yes, I agree," Jarrod said, pulling back gently from his mother's embrace.

"We'll go to my office," the sheriff said.

The glow of the happy discovery faded from Nick's face as they left the doctor's office and walked the short distance with the sheriff. He glanced at Jarrod, who he realized wasn't smiling either, and had a tense set to his jaw. They entered the office and the sheriff closed the door behind them.

Nick turned and glared at him. "What was that man doing with my brother's wallet?"

The sheriff frowned as he walked behind his worn wooden desk and opened the lower drawer. He pulled out a gunbelt and set it on his desk in front of them.

"This belong to your brother too?" he asked.

Nick stepped forward and picked it up. The feeling of relief he'd had just a few minutes before was replaced by a cold dread which washed over him as he held the familiar-looking gunbelt in his hands. He drew the revolver out of the holster.

"Yeah," he said in voice thick with worry. "It's his."

The sheriff looked at Victoria. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Barkley, for bringing you out here, and giving you a scare like that." He looked at the brothers. "I'm really sorry for all of you." He turned back to Victoria. "Even though that's not your son over there at Doc Bennett's, I think you still have good cause for worry."

She nodded. "That man robbed my son," she said.

"Or found his things," the sheriff said evenly.

"Found his gun?" Nick said tersely. "Heath would never give up his gun, unless......" He shook his head slowly. "I pray I'm wrong, but I'm betting that horse you've got at the livery is his too. Come on Jarrod, we'd better find out."

They turned to leave the office, and the sheriff stepped forward from behind the desk. "Mrs. Barkley, a moment, please?"

"Yes, Sheriff?" she said.

"If you'll give me a description of your son, Ma'am....and any information you have on where he was going, who he might have seen, I can send out some inquiries. It may help you find out what happened to him."

"Yes, of course," she said. "That's a good idea." She turned to her sons. "You go ahead, I'll stay here and take care of it."

Jarrod and Nick walked back toward the center of town and found the livery. They saw no one around, and Nick pushed open the large wooden door of the barn. A low rumbly nicker sounded out from the third stall as Charger recognized the tall cowboy in the doorway.

Nick felt his dread and fear growing as his suspicion proved true. He walked forward to the stall and the horse leaned his head over the half-door and nuzzled him. "Hey... Charger," Nick said as he stroked the warm brown neck, "I sure wish you could talk, boy....what happened to Heath, huh fella?" "Here Nick, I found his gear," Jarrod said.

Jarrod picked up the saddlebags, marked with the Barkley brand, and started to look through them. Everything appeared all right in the first one, extra clothing, a few supplies. "There's nothing unusual in this one," he said. He started to open the second one as Nick walked over to inspect the saddle.

Jarrod pulled open the second bag. "Nick, there's a gunbelt in here, and an old revolver." He pulled them out. "They don't look like Heath's to me."

Nick lifted his head and glanced at the gun in Jarrod's hand. He shook his head. "That's not his." He turned back to the saddle and smoothed his hand over the seat toward the horn. He stopped cold and drew his hand back.

"Jarrod....... come here."

Jarrod felt the concern in the tone of Nick's voice and put the saddle bags down. He moved to his brother's side.

"Look at this," Nick said.

Jarrod looked down to where Nick was pointing. His heart sank. Dark stains marked the front of the saddle. "Its dried blood, Nick, all over the horn, and all across the pommel here."

"Uh huh," Nick nodded.

Jarrod raised his eyes to Nick's. "That man at the doctor's office was shot in the back... and the sheriff said he was walking across the street, not riding.

"Uh huh," Nick said. "I'm glad Mother didn't come over here to see this. This blood didn't come from that man at the doctor's." The anger swelled in Nick's voice. "Looks like we know how he came to have Heath's wallet, and his horse and gun. He murdered him for them."

Nick straightened and turned toward the door. "I'm goin' back over to that doctor's office and I'm gonna finish that sonofa......"

Jarrod grabbed Nick's arm. "Nick, you can't! You better pray for that that man's recovery."

"Recovery?" Nick asked angrily, glaring and pulling his arm from Jarrod's grasp.

"Nick, we don't know what happened, or even where.....we'd better hope that man regains consciousness, if there's a chance he can tell us something."

Nick walked back toward the sheriff's office and Jarrod followed, carrying the saddlebags over his arm. They entered and found Victoria in the office alone.

"Mother, where's Johnson?" Nick asked. Jarrod walked in behind him and set the saddlebags on the floor next to the sheriff's desk. Victoria noticed the tension in Nick's voice.

"He's gone over to the telegraph office to send Heath's description to some of the other towns in the area. What did you find at the livery?" she asked.

Nick glanced at Jarrod. "Charger's there, Mother, and....," he hesitated, "...we found Heath's gear." He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

"What is it you're not telling me Nick?" She stepped in front of him and grasped his arm. She saw his chest shudder as he inhaled.

"Mother," Jarrod said gently. "We found blood on Heath's saddle, and we don't believe that it came from the man we saw at the doctor's."

She looked up at Nick and he nodded in agreement. Her face paled at his confirmation of what Jarrod had said.

The door to the office swung open and the sheriff came in. "I got those wires off," he said. "You boys find anything?"

"Yeah we found something," Nick said. He turned away from Victoria and walked toward the sheriff, stopping inches in front him. His eyes narrowed. "We found that you've got a murderer over there at that doctor's office. We found my brother's horse, his gear, and his blood all over his saddle. I want you to interrogate that man, find out what he did with my brother!"

"Interrogate him?" the sheriff asked. "You saw the condition he was in, how the hell am I going to interrogate him?" He glanced at Victoria, "Excuse me, Ma'am."

"That doctor's gotta be able to do something!" Nick said angrily. "We've got to know!"

Jarrod moved closer to Nick. His brother's anger was quickly rising and the sheriff was the only available target. "Sheriff, was there anything else," Jarrod asked, "any more information from the witnesses that might help us?"

"I was about to tell you," he took a step back from Nick's angry stance, "I ran into one of the witnesses at the telegraph office, the owner of one of the stores here in town. He said that man might have had a kid with him."

"A child?" Victoria asked.

"Yes Ma'am. He said he remembers seein' a boy, maybe ten or twelve years old, comin' into his store with that fella, just a little bit before the shooting."

"Maybe that kid knows what happened to Heath," Nick said.

The sheriff nodded. "I've asked some of the fellas to check around town for him. Was there anything with your brother's gear that might help pinpoint where he was?"

"I brought the saddlebags over here with me - I haven't gone through them thoroughly yet," Jarrod said.

"Empty 'em out here," said the sheriff. "Lets have a look."

Jarrod unbuckled the flaps and emptied the contents of the bags out onto the sheriff's desk. "This gun and gunbelt don't belong to my brother," Jarrod said. "But the clothing looks like his, and he could have purchased these supplies."

They looked through the pile of items. Nick picked up a piece of folded paper. "Looks like he made it to the ranch, this is the copy of the bill of sale for those mares, Rob Jordan's signature's on it, he's the Rafter T's foreman."

Jarrod picked up a towel among the clothing, it had the word 'Sweetbriar' embroidered on it. "Look at this," he said, turning to Nick. "Isn't that the place you said you and Heath stayed on your last trip to the Rafter T?"

"Let me see that," Nick said. "Yeah, that's the name of the place Jarrod, but Heath wouldn't steal some hotel towel."

"No, Nick, Heath wouldn't take it....but maybe that man did - after he had these saddle bags. At least we know what direction he came from. They might have even stayed there at the same time."

"Then that's where we're headed," Nick said. "It's about a half-day's ride from here."

Jarrod turned to Victoria, "We'll send a wire up there. We're going to need help, we can ask them to start looking."

"You can't," said the sheriff. "The wire up that way has been down for a couple days now. They've got a crew headed there to repair it, but it may be another day or two. I'd send somebody with you to help, but with those bank robbers on the loose, every spare man is committed to the posse. I'm sorry Mr. Barkley,"

"That's a big piece of country to cover," Nick said. "There are a lot of miles between the Sweetbriar and the Rafter T. I still say we gotta find a way to get somethin out of that..." he eyed Victoria and held his words back, "... man at the doctor's."

"Sheriff, will you see if the doctor can do something, ask him if there's a chance that man will regain consciousness?" Jarrod asked.

"Look," said the sheriff. "I'll ask the doc... you can come over to his office and wait while I talk to him," he looked at Nick intently, "provided I can trust your state of mind. Even if the man can speak, he may not be willing to talk about this. I'll consider him in my custody and I'm not going to let you touch him. I will not allow any problems at Doc's. I want your promise that you won't try, even if we find that he has harmed your brother. If you can't, then you'd best stay here and wait for me."

"Nick, maybe you ought to stay here with Mother," Jarrod said carefully. "I can go over there with the sheriff."

Nick's head snapped around and his eyes widened. He drew in a sharp breath in disbelief at what Jarrod had said.

"We'll all come with you, Sheriff," Victoria said firmly as she put her hand on Nick's arm and heard him slowly release his breath.

"Then I'll have your weapons please, Gentlemen." The sheriff held out his hand. "Just to be sure. I'll lock them up here and return them to you once this is over." Nick frowned and reluctantly handed over his revolver, and Jarrod set his on the desk.

"Thank you," the sheriff said as he locked the guns in the drawer. "I realize this is very hard."

They walked back to the doctor's house and went in. "Wait here," the sheriff said as they stepped inside. He went down the hall alone and found the doctor in the back room tending to his patient. The wounded man was now turned and lying on his back.

"'He'll breathe easier like this," the doctor said, "I've finished packing that wound."

"Doc, is there any chance, anything you can do to bring him around?"

The doctor looked at him questioningly. "He's asleep - the anesthesia I gave him earlier should be wearing off. Smelling salts might bring him around. Won't be good for him though."

"Does it matter? You said he's dying."

"Well, yes," the doctor frowned, "but I don't intend on hurrying it along."

"Doc, at the very least, it appears this man robbed Heath Barkley, and there's a pretty good chance he hurt him. He may have even killed him. I need to find out if I've got a murderer here, and Mrs. Barkley needs to know where she can find her son."

The doctor stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, his breathing's improved somewhat, heart rate's a little stronger. I can try, he may come around."

"Do what ever it takes," the sheriff said. "Oh, also... one of the witnesses said when this fella was shot there was a kid with him, disappeared last night, you seen him?

"Now that you mention it, there was a boy hanging around here this morning. I caught him looking in the windows, figured it was just one of those youngsters playin' hooky from the school yard. I sent him on his way."

"Where did he go?"

"I didn't notice."

"Keep an eye out for him, let me know if he comes back."

The doctor succeeded in waking his patient, and as the man blinked his way into consciousness the sheriff stepped forward toward the bedside.

"What's your name, Son?"

As the man's vision cleared, he noticed the silver star. He eyed the sheriff suspiciously. "Smith," he said flatly, then turned his head toward the wall. "What happened ta me?"

"You were shot. The bank was held up yesterday. You got caught in the middle of it."

A wry smile crossed the man's face. He turned his head and his face contorted with pain. "How bad?" he asked the doctor.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said. "I can try and keep you comfortable, but....I'm afraid that bullet did a lot of damage, there's not much I can do."

The man leaned his head back into the pillow and looked up at the ceiling as the doctor's words sunk in. Moments passed, then he closed his eyes. "How much time?" he groaned.

"A day, maybe two," the doctor said. "Is there anyone you'd like me to notify, Mr. Smith?"

A wrinkle crossed the man's brow and he opened his eyes, searching the room. "The kid, where's the kid?"

"Some of the witnesses said you might have had a boy with you... he disappeared after the shooting, probably scared off. We're lookin' for him, is he your son?" asked the sheriff.

The man shook his head, "No," he said. "My sister's kid, but she's dead. Doc, are you sure....I.....ain't gonna make it?"

"I'm sure," the doctor said sympathetically.

A distressed look crossed the man's face. "You gotta find the kid, I gotta talk to him. See....I got some money now.....I was gonna send him East - got another sister there. I was planin' to tell him, he don't know I was gonna send him there."

"We'll find him," the sheriff said. "But I have some questions for you Mr. 'Smith'."

The man clenched his teeth. "Ya got anything for this pain, Doc?"

"Yes," said the doctor, "I'll get the Laudanum."

"Wait, Doc," said the sheriff. The man opened his eyes and stared at the sheriff.

"What is this?" the man growled.

"I said I got some questions," the sheriff said.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? Maybe I don't have no answers."

"Oh I think maybe you do."

The man pressed his hands down on the mattress and clutched the sheets. He tried to shift in the bed, but the pain was too great. He brought his head off the pillow and gasped. "Where's that medicine Doc?"

"Mark....?" the doctor asked from the doorway.

"Well?" the look on the sheriff's face made it clear to the man that the doctor's administration of the pain medicine was dependent on his cooperation.

He flopped his head back onto the pillow. "What d'ya wanna know?"

"For starters, why don't you try telling me your real name?"

The man opened his mouth to deny, but stopped at the sheriff's stern look. "You got somethin' on me spill it," he said.

"All right," the sheriff said. "Your name's not 'Smith' and don't bother sayin' its 'Barkley' either."

A confused look crossed the man's face, "Barkley?...what?.....oh," he said, "the wallet." He shook his head. "Shoulda got rid o' that," he said more to himself than to the sheriff. "So you got a wallet, so what? I found it." The sweat began to bead on the man's forehead as the remnants of the anesthetic wore off.

The sheriff folded his arms across his chest and looked at the man patiently. "I can wait," he said.

The man's eyes turned to the doorway, where the doctor stood with the medicine in his hand.

"All right, so I robbed him, is that what you want?" he said angrily.

"Better......." the sheriff looked to the doctor. "Doc.....you can get that ready."

The doctor stepped forward to the bedside and poured the liquid onto a spoon. The sheriff held up his hand to the doctor. "Your name, Mister?"

The man in the bed sighed. "Barnes......Irv Barnes."

The sheriff nodded to the doctor, and he proceeded to give the painkiller to the man.

The man closed his eyes in relief as he swallowed.

"Now, that painkiller don't last forever. Are we gonna have to do this each time, or are you gonna come clean?" the sheriff asked.

The man looked at him blankly.

"Look, Mr. Barnes, I'll be straight with you. I got a family here in town, a mother and her two sons name of 'Barkley'. They're kin to the man whose wallet you stole. I know you had his gun and his horse, too. My suspicion is that ya did more than just rob him, 'cause there was blood on his saddle. Now murder is a capital offense, and I got evidence against you, but we both know you're gonna die on me before you'll ever go to trial. My hope is that you'll want to meet your maker with the knowledge that you told that family what happened....where they can find that fella. At least give 'em that."

The man chewed on his lip and stared at the sheriff thoughtfully. "I need to see the kid," he said. "You get the boy, then maybe we'll talk." He closed his eyes and turned his head toward the wall, ending the conversation.

The doctor stepped forward and put his hand on the man's forehead, then checked his pulse against his pocket watch. He looked at the sheriff. "You'd better find that boy soon, Mark."

Nick could not remain still, and paced the carpeted floor of the doctor's parlor as they waited for the sheriff to return. He felt like he needed to do something, anything, or he was going to explode. "I'm gonna have a look around for that kid," he said.

He stepped out the door, then off of the porch and started to walk down the street. He took determined, purposeful strides, covering the ground quickly with his long legs. Then he slowed his steps and stopped to think. If I was a kid, alone, and the person I'd been with was hurt....where would I go?

He turned off of the street and slowly walked back toward the doctor's house. He peered around the side. There was a small garden, now brown from the onset of cold weather, and a small barn. He glanced around the back of the house, then walked toward the barn.

He found nothing in front of the barn, and headed for the back. As he rounded the corner, a small movement caught his eye. A young boy was sitting on a crate near the wall with his face buried in his hands. Nick moved quickly, it took several moments before the boy heard him coming and raised his head. He jumped to his feet, but Nick grabbed his arm before he could run.

"Lemme go!" the boy cried. He tried to pull from Nick's grasp.

"No, wait kid, I won't hurt you," Nick said. He looked at the scared brown eyes. "Come on now, talk to me, who are you - how come you're back here cryin'?"

The boy frowned and looked at him with distrust.

"All right, if you won't talk to me you can tell the sheriff, then."

The child's eyes widened with fear, and he struggled against Nick's hold. Nick practically carried him back to the front porch of the doctor's office, and then dragged him in the door and sat him down forcefully on an upholstered bench in the parlor. He kept one hand on the boy's shoulder to keep him from running.

"I think I found the kid, but he won't talk to me," Nick said impatiently.

"Oh, Nick, look at him," Victoria said. "Can't you see that he's frightened?"

Victoria bent down to the child's eye level and held out her hand. She smiled, "Its all right Son, we'll help you."

The child looked into Victoria's eyes as she stroked his arm with her hand. "You've been out all night haven't you, Son? You must be cold and hungry." The boy nodded, keeping one eye on Nick.

"Jarrod, we need to get him warm, get him something to eat," she said. She looked back at the boy.

He sniffled. "I wanna see my uncle first. He's in here somewhere," he said with a trembling voice. "I'm afraid... I think he's dyin'. I ...I want to see him, but the man chased me away this mornin'."

"You know, I'm afraid for someone too," Victoria said, "someone very important to me, and I think your uncle might know where he is. Maybe you know, too." She adjusted her skirt and dropped to one knee in front of the child. "We'll ask the doctor to let you see your uncle, all right? And then maybe you'll help us too, hmmm?" The child looked at Victoria and nodded slowly.

The sheriff walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway toward the waiting room.

"We got the kid," Nick said.

"Good, I'm glad you found him," he said.

"What'd you find out, Sheriff." Jarrod asked.

"He's conscious, he wants to see the boy. Then he might be willing to talk."

The sheriff moved toward the boy, but he cowered and leaned toward Victoria. The sheriff stopped.

"Would you take him down the hall, Mrs. Barkley?" he asked.

She nodded and stood, then held out her hand and the boy took it and walked with her. She led him down the hallway, and the doctor took him into the room from there and closed the door. She turned and came back to the waiting room.

"I did speak with him," the sheriff said. "I recognize his name too, Irv Barnes - known to run with the Coleman gang. Pretty rough bunch. He's admitted to the robbery, but nothing more."

"I'll get it outa him," Nick growled. Jarrod put his hand on Nick's arm as the sheriff tensed.

"Now - Mr. Barkley lets get something clear - I'll remind you that I consider that man to be in my custody - I understand your feelings about him right now, but I'll tolerate no violence against him."

Long minutes passed, then they heard the door to the bedroom open.

"Mark," the doctor called out. "He wants to talk to you."

The sheriff went back down the hall as the Barkleys waited. After a few minutes, he returned and looked at Nick and Jarrod thoughtfully.

"Sheriff?" Jarrod asked, noting the man's serious look.

The sheriff frowned. "He says he'll talk to you....not me alone, don't think he trusts me, I think its the badge." He paused and stroked his jaw. "Frankly I think its a bad idea, but maybe you do have a right to hear about whatever happened straight from him."

"We've got to know," Jarrod said.

"Now, I don't want any trouble. Are you sure you can handle this? No matter what he says?" the sheriff asked. "If not, I'll go back and try to speak to him again."

Jarrod and Nick both nodded, and Victoria stepped forward beside them.

"He's agreed to talk to just the men, I'm sorry, Mrs. Barkley."

Victoria stood alone in the waiting room as the sheriff led Jarrod and Nick down the hall and into the bedroom. The doctor was standing beside the bed and eyed Nick warily, he could see the tension and anger in the set of the cowboy's jaw.

The boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, with his hand resting on the man's chest. His cheeks were flushed and wet from tears.

Jarrod and Nick walked slowly across the room. The sheriff motioned for them to sit in chairs that the doctor had placed near the end of the bed. The man watched them with interest.

"Sheriff says you wanna talk to me. I must be real important." The man smiled.

Nick stared at him. The man could have passed as Heath's brother, in the low light, if you looked at him at the right angle. Had a sort of lopsided grin too, through the stubble of beard on his face. Nick's stomach soured at the thought. Shouldn't have even thought of that - there may be some similarities on the outside but there could be no comparison with his brother's heart.

The man looked up at the child. "You're gonna have to leave me for a little while Boy - I'm gonna talk to these men - stuff you don't need to hear. You can come back and sit with me when we're done."

The child fell upon the man's chest and hugged him, and he raised a weak hand to the boy's head and patted it. "Its all right Boy, go on now. I'll see you in a little while."

The child sat up and wiped his arm across his eyes, and allowed the doctor to lead him toward the door.

"Come on, Son," the doctor said. "We'll go to the kitchen, my wife can fix you something to eat."

The man's eyes followed the boy as the doctor led him out of the room, then he turned back to look at the brothers.

"Mr. Barnes, this is Jarrod Barkley and his brother Nick," the sheriff said.

The man gave a half smile. "Maybe I should stand and salute," he said sarcastically.

Nick bristled at the man's attitude and Jarrod tensed, knowing that he might have to grab for Nick to keep him from attacking the man. He moved his chair slightly closer to Nick and addressed Barnes. "Sheriff Johnson said that you were willing to speak to us about our brother," he said.

The man glanced at the sheriff, who stood silently next to the bed with his thumbs hooked on his belt.

"Doc says I'm dyin'." He raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "Yeah, I'll talk to ya. Might even earn me some favor - you know.......up there." He looked back at the sheriff. "One condition," he said.

"What condition?" the sheriff asked warily. "You didn't say anything about a condition, Barnes."

The man nodded toward the Barkleys, "I got witnesses now.... 'fore I say anythin', I want your promise you'll see to the boy - make sure he's not left to fend for himself when I go. He's not a bad kid, he's young... still got a chance."

Suddenly, the man began to cough. Hard, body-shaking coughs racked his body. The doctor walked into the room with a glass of water and held it to the man's lips. He sipped some, and the coughing settled. He shifted in the bed and winced.

"This dyin' business....its....." he gasped, unable to continue, and the doctor set the glass down and reached for the bottle of Laudanum. He gave a spoonful to the man, and after several moments, they watched his body relax. The doctor picked up the glass of water again and held it in front of the man but he waved it off. He blinked groggily, then looked back at Jarrod.

"The kid," he said in a raspy voice. "He's my sister's boy. She passed away a few months back. His Pa ran off 'n left 'em years ago. I'm the only family he's got, 'sides my other sister. She's in Philly. I never had no money - no way to support a kid - so I did what I had to do. Pulled outa the gang - couldn't run with 'em no more, not with the kid around. My sister's address is there in my coat pocket.... figured on gettin' enough money together to send him to her." The corner of his mouth turned up. "Just never got enough..... till yesterday."

He swallowed and turned his eyes toward Nick. "Listen......the kid - he ain't got nuthin' ta do with what happened with your brother - that's the truth. He weren't nowhere around there."

"Nowhere around where?" Nick seethed. "What happened to my brother?"

"Promise you'll see to the kid?" the man asked again. "See that he gets to my sister's? Else he'll end up like me, ya know?"

The man really cared about the boy. Nick could see it in his eyes.

The sheriff nodded. "I'll see that he's taken care of. Now tell us what happened."

The man studied the sheriff's face, as if wondering if he could be trusted to carry through the request. Then he sighed. "If the doc's right, I'm gonna die before you can prosecute me anyhow.... guess its better to die here than in prison, or at the end of a rope."

He turned his head and looked past Jarrod, at no point in particular, as he recalled what had happened.

"I first seen him, your brother, in that little town.....all laughin' and smilin' with that gal - like he thought he was really sumpthin'." The man scowled as he remembered, then cocked his head and looked at the brothers.

"You ever seen that gal? The one at the hotel there? The Sweetbriar, that's it....mmm-mmm." He chewed on his lip distractedly. "No reason a'tall she should pick him over me, no reason." He sighed.

"Yep, he rode in there all tall and straight....fancy pistol, fancy horse...figured he had money, so I kept close. That night I heard him tell the gal he was headin' for Stockton at first light. Only really one way from there - through Shadow Pass. Next mornin' I watched for him - saw him head for the liv'ry to get his horse. I had mine saddled already, an rode out a few miles ahead of him. Found a spot back in the rocks, aimed my rifle, 'n' just waited." He shrugged his shoulders. "Easy."

He glanced at Nick's ashen face. "Ohh, he probably didn't feel nothin'..... least not fer too long after."

Jarrod felt like a terrible weight was pressing on his chest. His heart ached. The man had confirmed his worst fear. Heath was dead.... murdered in cold blood. The robber discussed it so casually, as if it was nothing. He shook inside with a terrible desire to leap up and strangle the man. He glanced at Nick out of the corner of his eye. As the man was speaking, he'd kept one hand ready, expecting at any moment to have to snatch Nick's hands from the man's throat. But now when he looked, he saw only devastation in Nick, and his brother's expression revealed the same aching feeling that he had himself. Nick sat in stunned silence with his head low, and his hands clenched. Jarrod reached a quiet hand over to hold on to his brother's elbow, and felt Nick flinch at his touch.

The sheriff narrowed his eyes in disgust. He stepped closer to the bed, then the thought occurred to him to just turn and leave....leave this despicable man to whatever the Barkleys wanted to do to him. Against his own feelings, out of duty, he stayed where he was, watchful and torn.

The robber continued speaking, apparently unmindful of the grief he had wrought. "I took his stuff, then came back for the kid. Got into town here that afternoon....yesterday it was....I was gonna get me and the kid some grub, and arrange to get him to Philly when them boys hit the bank." He shook his head wearily, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillow.

Nick pictured the sobbing young boy, who minutes before had been draped across this man's chest. Then he felt the hate burning inside of him. The man was a killer by his own confession, a thief who had seen his brother's murder as nothing more than the means to an end. He had no remorse, no regard for the life....that very special life he had taken from them... his kind, brave brother.........

"DAMN YOU!" Nick cried. The pain and anger rumbled in his voice as he rose to his feet. He leaned forward and clutched the rail at the foot of the bed so hard his knuckles turned white. "If its money you were after why'd you have to kill him?"

The robber's brow wrinkled and he opened his eyes. "Don't know if I set out ta kill 'im exactly... not at first... but he saw me." He shrugged without emotion and looked at the pained faces of the men before him. "I couldn't let him go for his gun."

The man's speech slowed, and his breathing grew more labored. "Kinda ironic, ain't it?" he said. "Me takin' your brother like that, then those boys that held up the bank takin' me. God's way, I 'spose - eye for an eye or sumpthin', guess that's what they say - I was ne'er too good at that Bible stuff."

"Where is my brother?" Nick said in a low thick voice.

The man shifted uncomfortably in the bed, wincing from the pain. "I left him close to the ridge... 'bout a mile south o' the Nells Road crossin', up in the pines. You wanna find his body, you best hurry - first snow's due real soon up there."

His eyes had taken on a glassy look, and he turned toward the sheriff, blinking slowly. "If that's all you want.... send the boy back in here. I got some things to discuss with him."

The sheriff nodded to the doctor, and he left to get the boy from the kitchen.

Jarrod and Nick stood numbly, and the sheriff looked over at them and nodded toward the door. He escorted them out of the room and followed them into the hall, closing the bedroom door behind him.

"You know I was hopin' that maybe he robbed your brother and just stole his horse...I was prayin' that he hadn't killed him. I'm really sorry," the sheriff said. "You fellas gonna be all right?"

Jarrod nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat, and the sheriff patted him on the shoulder. "I'm gonna finish up with the doc, and find a place for that kid to sleep tonight," he said with a heavy sigh. He turned down the hall toward the kitchen.

Nick leaned against the wall in the hallway, unsure of his legs. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and leaned his head back, then closed his eyes against the tears and felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. His body began to shake, and his voice trembled. "It hurts so bad, Jarrod..... I want to go back in there and take him apart."

Jarrod held his younger brother tighter. He swallowed hard. "I know you do, Nick, I know you do," he said sadly. "So do I, but its not gonna bring him back."

"It was so easy for him Jarrod....why the hell was it so easy?" Jarrod wrapped his arms around Nick's shoulders and Nick leaned on him. "God, Jarrod, he just shot him and left him out there to die. It didn't mean a thing to him, not a damn thing."

He turned his head and saw Victoria leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway with her face in her hands. Jarrod saw her too.

"Mother?" Jarrod said. She looked up at him. "You heard?" She stood in the dull light of the hallway, looking frail and small. They moved to her, and embraced her as she shook with sobs. They held her, and each other, for long moments, then Victoria pulled back to look thoughtfully at her grieving sons.

"You have to go," she whispered.

"Mother, we can't leave you here by yourself," Jarrod said. "We'll go when Audra gets here."

"No," she shook her head and drew back, looking at them intently, "I want you to go now. I don't want him out there like that.....alone. "

The doctor's wife had stepped into the hall from the kitchen and looked at the family with sympathy in her eyes. "Mrs. Barkley, my husband told me what happened. I'll go down with you and help you get settled in the hotel." She looked at Jarrod and Nick. "If you're going to go, I'll stay with her... make sure she's all right."

Victoria looked at the kindness in the woman's eyes. "Thank you," she said gratefully.

Reassured, Nick took his mother's hand. "Mother," Nick said, "if you're sure.....Jarrod and I can head out as soon as I track down some horses and supplies." He looked at her serious expression as she nodded, and he drew her into a firm hug, holding her for long moments, then drew back and kissed her cheek. He released her and moved off to find the sheriff to enlist his help in obtaining what they would need.

Jarrod lingered behind, hating to leave her. "Are you sure you'll be all right until Audra gets here?" he asked.

She nodded, and he pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket and helped her dry the tears that wet her cheeks. He hugged her tightly, and closed his eyes with his chin resting against her shoulder, then he drew back and smoothed her hair away from her face.

She placed her hand on his cheek, and he slowly drew away and turned to follow Nick, to gather what they would need to bring their brother home.

Slim shafts of light filtered though the fringed boughs of the tall pines above him, and one small golden ray found its way down to warm the man's cheek. It's touch radiated a bit of heat that seemed to warm something inside him. It fanned the flame of life, and he began to stir.

Awareness began to surface, bringing his mind from the black cold of unconsciousness, and he remembered where he was. He knew what had happened, and as the realization struck him, so did the pain. He gasped as he tried to move.

He opened his eyes slowly, and squinted at the sunlight breaking through the canopy of green. His body was stiff from the cold, and ached as he slowly rolled from his back onto his side. He coughed, and could taste the dirt that had mixed with the blood in his mouth. He remembered his tumble to the ground. He looked at his hands and slowly opened them. There were pieces of Charger's mane between his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt the sharp pain in his side.

All right Heath, yeah, it hurts... hurts like hell, but if you can feel it, you must still be alive.

He'd tried so hard to stay on his horse after he'd felt the burn of the bullet. He'd nearly come off at its impact, but then had leaned forward, gripped the saddle, the mane, anything to hold on. He'd tried to urge Charger on, to escape, but the horse didn't understand. He had only felt his rider waver so terribly, and had slowed to a stop underneath him. After desperate agonizing moments, Heath had lost his battle to stay on and had tumbled to the rocky ground and rolled down the small incline.

He'd heard the footsteps of his assailant approaching, crunching and sliding in the loose rock on the slope. He'd been stunned, unable to move, and had waited helplessly for the final blow. The gash on his cheek still stung, and his head ached from where the robber had kicked him with the side of his boot to see if he was alive. It was a good thing that he hadn't moved. The robber had thought he was dead, and he was lucky the man hadn't shot him again to be sure.

He became aware of the wetness of his shirt against his body, and pressed his hand against it. Poor solution for stopping blood loss, he thought grimly. His arm was painful and stiff too, and he realized that the bullet had creased him there before entering his side.

A vision came into his mind, a remembrance of fallen soldiers from the war. He recalled how some of their bodies had looked in the aftermath of battle, like someone had tried to remove their clothes. Soldiers who'd taken a bullet to the belly knew that a gut shot was most likely fatal, and they'd frantically torn at their clothes as they died, pulled at their shirts to see where the bullet had struck. His whole side and abdomen ached and he drew his blood-stained hand away to try to look. Pain seared through him as the injured muscles burned from his efforts to bend forward and see, and he gasped and let his head fall back to the ground.

Spots of filtered sunlight on the rocks around him moved as the breeze stirred the pines. As the wind picked up he heard a soft noise, like the sound of a woman's sighs on the wind. Murmurs and whispers found him through the branches. He lifted his head painfully and tried to look around, and wondered how long he'd been out. From the slant of the light, it looked like it was long since his ride out from the Inn that morning.

Gathering his strength, he clenched his teeth and managed to roll from his side to his stomach, then drew himself onto his knees. He leaned on his one good arm, and clutched his damaged arm against the pain in his side.

Ok, he thought, so I can crawl - but where?

The town was miles behind him, and the settlements ahead weren't any closer. He remembered crossing some sort of a road not too far back... maybe less than a mile? With any luck he might make it there and someone might find him.

With any luck....

He grimaced, remembering the 'Barkley Luck' that Jarrod spoke of.

Heath, he thought, looking around at the lonely forest, its startin' to feel like your luck's 'bout run out.

He brought one leg forward, then wavered and fought to stand as the tall pines around him swam in his vision. He took two shaky steps, then fell forward onto his knees. His side felt like it was on fire and the tears welled up in his eyes as his breaths came fast from the pain. He knew he wouldn't get far crawling, and fought to stand again.

Successful this time, he stood, then walked with halting, staggering steps, holding his side. He kept the sun on his left to be sure he was going the right direction. He went on slowly, making his way as the sun dropped lower in the sky, and continued to pray that he could make it as far as the road.

The shadows began to lengthen, and the insistent chill increased. His quickening breaths made smoky clouds in the icy air, and he felt his body begin to tremble from the cold. It was mild at first but within minutes, the shivering became much more severe.

He stopped and leaned against a pine and with a shaking hand, turned up the collar of his coat. At least the gunman hadn't taken that too, he thought bitterly, remembering the feel of the man's hard hands on his body as he'd rolled him over and robbed him. He shivered, watching the sky, knowing that nightfall would bring brutal cold in these elevations. Cold with no shelter... nightfall would surely bring death.

He struggled farther, moving from side to side, leaning on the stout trunks of the pines for support as a fine sparkling snow began to fall.

Snow.......the first snow of the season had always been magical when he was a child. It seemed to make everything right somehow, decorating the worn shabby town, and hiding the flaws of his mother's poor little house. Possibilities had seemed endless when the world was afresh with white.

Sometimes he missed those thoughts, that child's mind that was always full of hope. First snow had meant wonder and fun then, as had a lot of things in life before he'd seen the darker side of the world.

First snow.....the child's view had faded, as an adult it had only meant dread. Dread of the sad cold death..... of the cattle trapped in high mountain pastures.... of the unwary traveler crossing the Sierras too late in the fall.

As the pale flakes trickled down, an unearthly quiet settled over the land with a pause and a hush. He heard no sound but his own breathing, now raspy from the hurt and the cold. He stopped next to one of the trees for a moment, fighting his growing exhaustion. He wrapped his arm around the old pine and rested his bruised cheek against the trunk.

How easy it would be to sink down and rest....right here, right now, he thought. He tried to shake his head and only succeeded in adding nausea to his increasing pain. The effort did nothing to ease the weariness as he leaned against the tree with his tortured arm pressed firmly against the hot ache in his side.

He was determined to move, and shoved off from the tree to stagger toward another. He misjudged the distance and pitched forward, clumsily reaching out to catch the next trunk. He fell against it heavily, his weakening legs betraying him. He fought hard to stay on his feet, but felt his knees giving way.

The bark scraped against his coat as he slid down the rough surface to the damp soil. He leaned his shoulder against the trunk, feeling the cold from the earth against his tired legs. He let his head fall against the tree, and he looked toward the sky. The snowflakes tickled his lashes, and melted as they touched his cheeks. The sun was sinking slowly to his left, and it's bright rays shone through the gaps in the thickening grey clouds, tinting their edges with orange.

The gleam of the dying sunlight felt warm on his cheek. The tears welled up in his eyes from the cold, and he shuddered as he drew in another breath. He was so desperately tired, his eyelids so very heavy. Despite his will, his body was failing. A single tear crept slowly down his cheek as he saw the beauty of the setting sun. It dropped low in the western sky and set the clouds ablaze. He fought to stay conscious.... just to see it....just for a little while. If he could have nothing more now, he wanted to see it through, to see the sky painted with its glorious colors one last time.

Heath's thoughts turned to his family as the shroud of unconsciousness hovered near. How would they ever know what happened? Would he let go...let slip away all that he'd fought so hard for, and those that he loved, so easily? His brow furrowed. No, he wouldn't...couldn't, give up like this....not now, not while the breath was still in him. Not without one more try at reaching the road.

He leaned on a shaky hand. His legs felt stiff and cold, and it was hard to force them to move. Holding his injured arm against his side, he crawled from the base of the tree. He raised his head and blinked as he felt the snowflakes in the breeze against his face. He tried to look ahead through his teary eyes, wondering how much farther the road could be.

Something fluttered in the corner of his vision, white, like the snowflakes that had started to swirl in the little gusts of wind, but larger. He squinted, trying to clear his vision. The whiteness appeared to be moving like waves in the wind. He shook his head, disbelieving. Two women were standing in front of a little cabin on the treed slope, hanging out linens to dry in the chill air. It had been the waving of the white cloth in the wind that had caught his attention.

Something wasn't right about the picture. What were they doing here? Why hadn't he noticed the cabin when he'd passed by here before? Then he thought...maybe he hadn't passed by here at all... maybe he was turned around, hadn't been headed for the road after all.

However strange it seemed, the sight rallied his last bit of hope.... a cabin in the woods, and help. He didn't know where it came from, but he found the strength to move once more.

His cold-numbed limbs protested, but he forced them to work. With a groan through his clenched teeth he half-walked, and half-crawled toward the cabin, and focused on reaching its steps. He fell against them heavily, and lay there for a moment, catching his breath. He didn't see the women anymore. He tried to look around, wondering where they had gone. He felt the cold solidity of the wooden steps beneath him, and crawled up to the door.

He drew himself to his knees and leaned against it. It creaked loudly and fell open. The wind swept swirls of snow in with him as he dragged himself inside. He glanced around fuzzily at the room - simple faded curtains covered the windows, and there just a few pieces of furniture. He wished that his vision would clear.

Though he hadn't seen the women move inside, he felt a hand guide him to a little rough-hewn bed in the corner. He stumbled toward it and collapsed onto it as he reached its low edge. He rolled onto his back, breathing hard from his efforts.

He struggled to keep his eyes open, but visions swam in his head. He wasn't sure if what he was seeing was really in front of him or not. Two women hovered over him, but their faces blurred into others..... Victoria, Nick, the girl at the hotel, and the robber. Voices rang in his ears and mixed with other sounds....the gentle unintelligible whispers of the women in the cabin, the laughter of the man who had shot him and left him to die, the sound of Charger's hooves galloping on the rocky ground, and the echoing sound of his whinny as the man rode away.

He grasped the edge of the thick wool blanket on the bed and clutched it toward him as he tossed and turned. The visions continued as the wind wailed outside and night darkened the windows of the little cabin.

Heath reached toward his side. Though he was barely awake the ragged ache quickly peaked into a sharp stab ....causing him to groan and turn to press his arm firmly against it. As he did he felt weight of the wool blanket that lay across his body. Its scratchy edge brushed his cheek when he moved. He weakly pushed it aside, and struggled to sit up. The low bed sat in the corner of the room against the wall, and, using the wall for support he managed to push himself to a half-sitting position. His tortured muscles would allow no more, and he leaned back with his breaths coming short and fast.

He pressed his shoulders against the wall, then wriggled, trying to remove his coat so he could see the condition of his wounds. The blood from the injury to his arm had dried and bound the shirtsleeve to it. He gasped as the movement of the coat sleeve caused it to tear free.

He pushed the coat aside, leaving it next to him on the bed, and clenched his teeth as he leaned back and began to tug his shirt from where it was tucked into his jeans. Without bothering to unbutton it, he pulled it up past his stomach to see how bad the wound was. The burning sensation in his side was growing stronger, he felt it more now that he was out of the cold wind and had rested. As he leaned forward to look, he heard a cry as if from a great distance. He realized it was in his own voice, and his body began to tremble. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall with a thump.

"Shhhh, now..." a soft voice came with the feel of a tender hand on his forehead. His eyelids felt heavy as the touch of her hand slid over them.

"What's happened to you?" her voice was filled with sadness. He felt her touch the gash on his bruised cheek.

"Been shot," he gasped.

"Ohhh, no" she said.

He trembled, and the sound of his own ragged breathing seemed to fill the room.

"Don't be afraid, you're young... strong," she said.

"Think I'm dyin'," he whispered.

He lay silent for a few moments. The effort of merely taking a breath seemed exhausting. Though the shelter of the cabin had saved him from the cold night, he was still sinking, he knew it, and his thoughts turned to home. His family would have expected him back by now ... were probably just now wondering where he was.

He took a shuddering breath, "I wish..."

"What do you wish?" she said as she gently stroked his cheek.

"...my family... to tell them... they mean so much."

"And haven't you done that?" she asked.

"Not in so many words," he whispered.

"I'm sure they know."

"I hope they do." He sighed heavily. "I didn't tell them."

"You will," she said reassuringly.

He shook his head weakly, "Got to get ...the bullet out....or I'm gonna die."

A gust of wind whistled past the corner of the cabin, and was the only sound he heard for long moments. He could feel that she was still there, but when he tried to raise his head and look at her, the room blurred and he leaned his head back against the wall to ease the sick feeling.

"You have a knife?" she asked.

"On my belt..." with a trembling hand, he reached to the sheath and slowly withdrew a short-bladed knife.

"Are you sure?" he heard another female voice ask.

"It has to be done," came the gentle reply.

From their tone, he got the impression that the ladies were older than he was. Not so very old, but he wasn't sure...their quiet voices seemed to mix with the soft mournful sounds of the wind outside. He felt a hand over his as he held the knife. He tried once again to raise his eyes to see her, and felt the gentle touch on his face once again. "Don't worry, it will be all right," she said.

She began to hum softly, the sound of it was familiar and comforting.

"I.....I know that..." he whispered, "been a long time....."

"Relax," she said, and her voice rose softly with the song.

And are we yet alive, and see each other's face? Glory and thanks to Jesus give for his almighty grace.

His side ached and he struggled to stay conscious. "....we used to sing that.... when I was young......"

His breaths came faster as he felt the pressure of the sharp edge of the knife blade. It was there against his side now, stronger, deeper. He gasped, then clenched his teeth. The pain was too great, he would have to pull the knife away. Just as he thought it was more than he could bear, he felt his mind following the lilt in her soft voice and the hurt eased a bit as she continued to sing.

Preserved by power divine to full salvation here, again in Jesus' praise we join and in his sight appear.

He felt one more fierce pain in his side, followed by a warmth. It was done, and he knew that the wound was bleeding from her efforts. She would have to have something to put over it, to stop the flow. He tried to think, he still had a clean handkerchief in the pocket of his vest. He started to reach for it, to tell her, but all he could feel and hear was the song ....yes, he remembered the song as the darkness began to envelop him.

What troubles have we seen, what mighty conflicts past, fightings without, and fears within, since we assembled last.....

"See," she said, placing her hand on the blond head, "...it wasn't so deep...you can rest while I have a look at that arm." She reached behind her head and untied the ribbon from her hair. "We may need this to bind it."

He tried once more to look up at her, to touch her, then his eyes closed, and his arm dropped to the side of the bed. With a small sound, the knife fell to the wooden plank floor and the spent bullet came to rest beside it.

They'd spoken little since leaving, but the pounding of the horses' hooves had filled the silence between them. Though they'd separated themselves from the town, leaving the dying gunman and their grieving mother behind them, they could not outdistance their own heartsick feelings. Widening the space, having Placerville disappear in the hills, helped a little at first, but it brought them closer to facing the awful reality of what the gunman had done. They'd given the horses only scant breaks along the way, and the weary animals were blowing hard when they finally slowed. Even Charger, their brother's fine horse, who was much fitter than the livery horses, was breathing hard. Nick led him behind the dun gelding he was riding. He carried their hastily-gathered supplies, ropes, and several woolen blankets which they would use to cover their brother's body.

Nick glanced back at the strong bay at the end of the lead rope behind him and swallowed the lump that kept rising in his dry throat. His brother's final ride on this horse that he'd cared so much for would be tied over his back like.....Nick shook his head and looked to the ground in front of him, trying to push back his thoughts.

They came to a split in the trail, a place where the level, sand-colored track of earth and grass they'd been following gave way to a steep rock-strewn path.

Jarrod pulled up the rangy sorrel he was on and came to a stop. "Which way, Nick?" he asked as his brother reined to a halt beside him.

"We'll head straight up there to the pass," he said, pointing to the northeast. "I think we've still got enough daylight to make the ridge."

Jarrod nodded, and they set off again at a more reasonable pace, given the increasing roughness of the terrain. He watched his younger brother thoughtfully as they rode. The shadow of pain in Nick's eyes revealed how shaken he was. He wondered how their mother was faring. He had a picture of her in his mind, her small frame firm and straight, her expression strong. She'd been a portrait of strength as she'd stood in the street outside the hotel and watched them leave. After his father's death he'd grown to understand her so much better than when he was younger. Jarrod certainly was his mother's son, and he'd come to realize how alike they were....both acting out similar roles in the family...as the voices of reason, the ones that the others could turn to for stability. But there had been times that he'd found her alone, weeping when she'd thought no one was there. He knew then, that like him, she didn't always feel that strength inside.

He was well-practiced at keeping up his own strong outward appearance. He choked back the thought that it might really be fear that kept him from letting down and allowing his emotions to flow. Nick's volatility was the embodiment of what Jarrod wished to keep in check. It was that lack of control that his brother sometimes exhibited that he feared in himself. He'd lost his control after Beth's death, and the experience had made him all the more determined to stuff down those feelings and not to lose it again. But now, another loved one was lost, and to the same kind of senseless evil that had taken his father and his wife. He felt his emotions rising as a tremble in the pit of his stomach, and the sour taste in his mouth made him wonder just how he was going to react when they found Heath's body.

Near the end of the long day, they reached the ridge that the robber had described. Nick was vaguely familiar with the area, having passed through it once with Heath on a trip to the Rafter T the year before. Jarrod followed as Nick carefully wound his way around old rockslides and fallen pines.

A fine mist began to fall from the iron-grey clouds, further dampening their miserable spirits. As they climbed higher toward the ridge, the misty rain gave way to a few scattered flakes. Soon, little white swirls eddied in the breeze around them. They rode past the rock outcroppings of the ridge, then along the edge of the pine forest. They scanned the ground, looking for tracks, but the earth revealed little to help them. The few places that weren't unyielding rock were already being dusted with snow.

Nick felt the bitter hurt and disappointment of his brother's loss as a growing chasm, hollowing out inside him as they searched. All the plans and dreams he'd built with his brother in the short years since he'd come to them, as their trust in each other had grown, were now ground out like the dust on the trail beneath him.

He scanned the ground, the low brush, and the rocks, catching his breath and feeling a pain in his heart at the sight of every grey-green shadow or form that resembled Heath's sage-colored coat. He turned his collar up against the wind and felt his gloved hands growing numb from the cold. He looked around at the lonely landscape and shivered. He prayed that his brother had not suffered long in this desolate place alone.

The thickening grey clouds hung low above them and lessened the waning daylight. Fatigue and despair shadowed the brothers' faces as they continued to search. They had covered nearly all of the area of the pine forest near the ridge and had found nothing.

Finally, Nick pulled his horse to a stop. "This is the ridge!" he cried. "It has to be! And the pines.....we should have found him by now." He turned in the saddle as Jarrod stopped his horse beside him. "That man lied to us!" he said angrily. "What if we're way off? We might never find him."

"Why would he lie Nick? He was dying," Jarrod said. The weariness of his spirit came out in his voice.

"Why would he LIE? Jarrod....why would he KILL?.....why would he do ANYTHING?" Nick growled angrily and clenched his teeth. He pulled heavily on the horse's reins to turn and face his brother. Then he noticed Jarrod's dismal look, and remembered that he wasn't the only one who was frustrated and grieving. He took a deep breath and looked into the dusky blue eyes. "I'm sorry Jarrod.... I sure don't need to be lashin' out at you."

Jarrod shook his head. "Its all right Nick," he said. He raised his eyes to the threatening skies and frowned at the diminishing light. "Listen, its getting late. I don't relish the thought of trying to head back through that pass after dark with the snow coming like this. Maybe we should ride farther north, up to that Inn, then come back in the morning when we've got better light. We should be able to get some help there too." "Let's try just a little longer," Nick said. "We can get to that last of the ridge up ahead there, then, if there's still no sign, I....I guess we can go," he said dejectedly.

They rode a little farther, crossing the trail back and forth, looking over the edge of the slopes and back against the rock outcroppings. After a few minutes, Nick stopped and turned back to where Jarrod was following behind. He shook his head. "I can't do it Jarrod..... I'm not headin' off this ridge without my brother. I couldn't sleep in some hotel, knowin' he was still lyin' out here somewhere."

Nick's eyes were dark and intense. "Nick," Jarrod said, "If that's how you feel, we'll stay out here, but we're going to have to find shelter somewhere for the night. This weather looks like its going to turn ugly."

Nick nodded, and pulled the rein against his horse's neck to turn. "Maybe we'll find a niche - back in the rocks - something to get out of this wind."

They went a few hundred yards further, and in the sinking grey light they noticed a weathered cabin built against the west face of the ridge. It was in poor condition, and appeared to be abandoned. The bitter wind whipped at a pale frayed feed sack which hung over one of the windows. The glass panes were cracked, and the door was hanging on one hinge.

Jarrod eyed the roof line of the cabin suspiciously, wondering how sturdy it was, as he rode behind Nick toward the old structure.

"It doesn't look like anyone's been around here in years," Jarrod said as Nick walked his horse up near the shabby wooden steps.

"It'll do," Nick said. He stopped and dismounted, then dropped one rein to ground-tie his horse. "I'll see how bad it is inside." He glanced down to place his foot on the first step. As he did, a gust of wind blew away the light dusting of snow. He looked harder, then blinked in disbelief.

"Jarrod..." He dropped to one knee and stared at the step, then raised his hand to the next one. "This looks like.........there's blood on these stairs!" he gasped.

He looked back and his eyes met Jarrod's. Jarrod jumped off of his horse as Nick turned and rushed to climb the steps. He shoved the door open and scanned the room quickly, then his eyes fell to the bed in the corner.

"Jarrod! He's here!" Nick yelled as Jarrod bounded up the steps behind him.

Nick crossed the room quickly and bent his tall frame over the low bed. "Oh God," he gasped. He brought one knee up on the bed close to his brother's side and leaned over to put his hand on the cold, pale cheek. "Heath?" There was no movement, no response.

"Nick?" Jarrod asked.

"I don't know," Nick said as he quickly pulled the gloves off his cold-numbed hands and reached forward to place his fingers against his brother's throat. His heart sank as his touch revealed nothing but stillness.

"Please....." he whispered. He leaned forward and put his ear against his brother's chest.

Jarrod held his breath. A few moments passed, then Nick lifted his head away from his brother's chest. He stroked his hand gently through the blond hair, then looked back over his shoulder. Jarrod saw the answer in his eyes.

"Jarrod, I don't know how, but he's alive."

Jarrod sat down on the edge of the bed beside him as Nick turned his gaze back down. He noticed the blood-spattered coat on the bed, and drew back the tattered wool blanket covering Heath's body. His eyes fell to the large dark stains that marked the pale blue shirt and the top of the tan jeans. A ragged hole marked the place where the bullet had torn through the fabric.

"Jesus," Nick said.

"How bad, Nick?" Jarrod asked

Nick could only shake his head. Fear clutched at him as he reached down to open Heath's shirt. His hands shook as he pulled at the last of the buttons. He felt Jarrod leaning over his shoulder, and wondered which of them would be up to trying to remove a bullet.

His eyes widened as he pulled the shirt back and found the square of white cloth underneath. He lifted the blood-stained handkerchief carefully and frowned. "Jarrod, it.....looks like this has been treated."

Jarrod moved to step around to Nick's other side, to get a better look at the wound, and he glanced down at the floor next to the bed. A chill washed over him as he saw a knife and a bullet sitting in a tiny pool of dried blood on the old wooden floor.

"Nick," Jarrod said. "Look at this." He pulled on Nick's arm and drew his attention downward.

Nick looked back to Jarrod and followed his gaze. "What the....?" He stared harder, then shook his head in disbelief.

"No..... dear God, Jarrod, you don't think he could have done this himself. Look at him...he couldn't have. I know our brother is tough, but ..." he glanced around the room. "... look at this place! There's nothing here. How the hell did he survive?"

"I don't know, Nick. Maybe somebody came along." Jarrod said.

"Helped him, and then left him here like this? With no water? Nothing?" Nick asked.

"I don't know, Nick. I just don't know."

Nick looked down and checked the wound again. "He's not bleedin' now, but it looks like he's lost a hell of a lot....and he feels like ice. He's not gonna last much longer unless we do somethin' to get him warm. Do you think we can take a chance that old fireplace won't burn this shack to the ground?"

"There's only one way we'll know," said Jarrod. "You stay with him. I'll get some wood, and those blankets."

After a few minutes Jarrod returned with some dry limbs, then broke them into pieces and coaxed a cheery blaze out of the old stone hearth. He untied the bundle of blankets they'd brought and rolled them out in front of the fire. He felt a chill as did. The very blankets they had brought to wrap their brother's body in to bring him back might now help save his life. He shook off the feeling and finished laying them out, then helped Nick carry Heath close to the fire's warmth.

They wrapped him in the blankets then settled him in front of the fire. Nick sat on the floor next to him, cradling his head and shoulders across his lap while Jarrod headed back outside. He found a shed-roof off of the side of the cabin and secured the horses underneath for the night, then carried the rest of their supplies and gear inside.

It was still chilly in the cabin, and the icy wind whistled through the cracks in the window panes. Jarrod worked to cover them, then took the blanket from Nick's bedroll and placed it around his shoulders.

Nick looked up at him gratefully. "Thanks," he said.

Jarrod nodded. "Any change?" he asked.

Nick shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid for him, Jarrod. I think we're gonna lose him, he's barely breathin'." He stroked a hand through Heath's hair, and frowned as he noticed the dark bruise and the gash across his cheek.

Jarrod kneeled beside them and tugged the blankets so they were higher around Heath's shoulders. "Heath, its Pappy... Nick and I are here with you, you're safe. We want you to fight Boy, don't you let go. Nick and I are counting on you. Don't you let us down."

"He's still so cold," Nick said.

Jarrod nodded. "There's no telling how long he was out in that weather before he got himself in here. Then, it isn't a whole lot warmer in here than it was out there."

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" Nick asked.

"We can pray, Nick. We can pray."

Jarrod stood up and dragged Nick's bedroll over to him, then brought his own near the fire. He sank down onto it and watched as Nick continued to hold their brother long into the night, speaking quietly to him and watching for some improvement in his condition.

Nick looked at the sad gash on his brother's face, and his closed eyes. Those eyes that could light up with friendship or fire in an instant, and convey his brother's feelings without him ever saying a word. Nick remembered how they'd sparkled with love for his family.

"Come on Little Brother," Nick whispered, "please.....Oh, God, please don't let him die."

Nick shifted his legs underneath his brother's shoulders and leaned over to adjust the blankets. As Nick moved, Heath's eyelids fluttered, and Nick heard a change in his breathing. "Jarrod, I think maybe he's coming around," he said hopefully.

Jarrod moved nearer, and smiled as he saw their younger brother's blue eyes slowly open in the soft glow of the firelight. "That's it," Nick said.

Heath squinted at his brother's face hovering over him, hardly daring to believe that what he was seeing was real. He felt the touch as Nick rubbed a hand on his shoulder. "Nick?" he managed a whisper.

Nick beamed. "Hey there Little Brother," he said softly.

Heath's eyes turned toward his older brother, then back to Nick.

"Yeah, we're both here," Nick said. "You're gonna be all right now."

Jarrod pulled himself to his feet and moved to get the canteen. "Nick, what kind of supplies did you bring?" he asked as he started to dig into the things Nick had purchased.

"I just told the man to throw in what we'd need for maybe two days on the trail - you know, makins' for coffee, a little food."

"Is there any sugar?" Jarrod asked as he continued to rummage through the pack.

"Maybe," Nick said. "Why?" Nick thought for a moment, and remembered buying something he'd been sure they would need. "Jarrod, there's whiskey, get that....."

"No," Jarrod said. "Whiskey might make him worse. My old general in Washington told me - whiskey feels good at first, but makes you colder. He'd led many winter campaigns, said if you need to bring a man around after he's been stranded out in the cold, try some sugar water, said it helps."

"Ahh, here it is," Jarrod said. He pulled a tin cup and the little wrapped paper package of sugar out and brought them near. He poured water from the canteen into the cup and stirred in some of the sugar with his finger. He set the cup near the fire for a few moments to warm the chill from the water.

Nick placed his arm around Heath to bring his head and shoulders up so he'd be able to drink. He felt Heath's muscles tense as he tried to sit up, and a small raspy cry came from his throat. "No, Heath, let me do it," he said. He watched the pain shadow his brother's face. Heath closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth as Nick raised him up. Nick cursed inside as he saw the hurt even this small movement had caused his brother.

"This won't do much for the pain, but it should help you feel better," Jarrod said. He handed the cup to Nick.

"Come on Heath take some," Nick said softly. Heath took a small swallow, then another, and was able to finish it. Nick lowered the empty cup. "Good," he said. He handed the cup back to Jarrod. "Better make some more, Jarrod. He probably hasn't had any water in a while."

Jarrod nodded and mixed another cup of water and sugar, then set it near the fire.

"How....how'd you find me?" Heath whispered. His eyes looked past Nick to Jarrod's concerned face.

"Its a long story," Jarrod smiled, "one best told when you're feeling better." He picked up the cup and held it for Heath to drink. When he'd finished it, Heath turned his head slowly, his eyes scanning the room. "Where'd they go?" he asked.

"Where'd who go?" Nick asked.

"Ladies..." he blinked drowsily, "nice ladies...."

"Ladies?" Nick smiled. "Little Brother, what ladies are you talkin' about?"

"... live here..." He searched the room with his eyes again, and his brow furrowed. "What happened to the cabin?"

"Easy now," Nick said gently, seeing the confusion in his brother's eyes. "We never saw any ladies, Heath. This place was deserted, you were here all alone. We were out lookin' for you - never saw another soul."

"They were here," he insisted. "... talked to 'em... really... gave me this." He winced as he raised his injured arm from beneath the blankets. Jarrod looked closer, there was a faded blue ribbon wrapped around a cloth on Heath's arm.

"Where'd you get that?" Jarrod asked.

"Maybe that gal at the hotel..." Nick said.

"No," Heath shook his head weakly.

"Heath you're hurt bad, lost a lot of blood. You could have been delirious."

"Know what I saw...." Heath said sleepily. The soft crackle of the fire was comforting. He was finally beginning to feel warm, and knew he was safe with his brothers near. "Funny....my mama always wore a ribbon that color," he said softly.

"Rest easy," Nick said. "You can tell us about it later."

Heath's eyes traveled between his two brothers. They were there, somehow they were really there. The corner of his mouth turned up in a little smile as his eyelids drooped and sleep began to relax the rest of his face. "Nick....Jarrod... somethin' I shoulda said..." his voice faded as he drifted off "...never told you.... how much I lo....."

Nick glanced up at Jarrod who smiled and slowly shook his head. Nick put his hand on Heath's cheek, assuring himself that his brother was just asleep. "We know, Little Brother..... we already know."

Nick smiled, then watched as Jarrod rose from where he was kneeling beside them, and moved to arrange his bedroll and blanket. He settled in near them beside the hearth.

"If he's strong enough, we'll have to try and get him to up to that little town tomorrow, where we can care for him better." Jarrod said.

Nick nodded, "I can rig up a travois in the morning. Shouldn't be too rough a ride with this snow, as long as we wrap him up real well."

"The telegraph might be up by the time we get there. I'm hoping we can wire Mother and Audra. If he can travel, we'll get a wagon, get him to that doctor in Placerville as soon as possible," Jarrod said.

Nick nodded again in agreement, then looked down at Heath. A little color had returned to his complexion, and he appeared to be breathing easier. He looked back at his older brother.

"Jarrod, you know, in Placerville, at that doctor's..... if you hadn't been there, I think I could have killed that man."

Jarrod raised his eyes and nodded. "I wanted to myself Nick."

"What stopped you?"

Jarrod cocked his head a bit to the side and narrowed his eyes. "I think the more difficult question is what stopped you Nick? I'm pretty certain that I couldn't have stopped you, if you'd really tried." He paused in thought. "Then...the way I was feeling I might not have tried."

"I'm not sure, Jarrod, I felt like I wanted to, like I should want to.....then, I think part of me gave up...I... I thought Heath was dead, and there was nothing I could do ...I don't know.... I just don't know."

For a few moments, Nick stared into the fire and watched the bright sparks of ash rise with the smoke. "Do you think he's gone? ..Barnes, I mean?"

"Probably," Jarrod said.

"Its too bad about that boy," Nick said, still watching the glow of the embers. "All alone, mother dead, no father..... sorta like Heath here, before he came to us." He turned to look back at his older brother. "You ever wonder, Jarrod?"

"Wonder what, Nick?" Jarrod said. He turned onto his side and propped up on one elbow.

"How Heath woulda turned out? If he'd lost his mother sooner, when he was younger maybe, been raised by somebody like Barnes... like his uncle back in Strawberry?

Jarrod thought for a moment. "Well, that hard life he's had sure would have been a lot harder Nick. I'm sure of that. We can thank his mother for raising him to be who he is...who we have here. But I also think there's more to a man than his environment...oh, certainly I think upbringing has a lot to do with it, but there's something else...something inside who makes him who he is."

Nick nodded. "Jarrod, what do you think about what he said - about the two women I mean - you think maybe there's somebody living around here?"

"I guess its possible, but we didn't see any sign of anyone - not even any tracks."

Jarrod looked down at the cobwebs that still decorated his sleeves from his efforts to secure the window covering. "They sure didn't live here from the looks of the place, but it would explain how that bullet was removed. We can ask when we get to town, see if they know of anyone around here."

"Well, whatever happened, it sure seems like he had some kind of guardian angel, to have survived this," Nick said.

"Nick," Jarrod cautioned. "He's in bad shape. I'm afraid he's not out of trouble yet."

A smile played on Nick's lips as he looked down at his sleeping blond brother. "Sometimes I wonder if this brother of ours is ever gonna be out of trouble, Jarrod. But this time, I think he'll be all right.....I know he will."

Late that night, the awful howl of the wind subsided and the first snow of the season came to an end. The silver moon put a magical glow on the fresh blanket of white covering the old cabin roof.

Comforted by the sound of his brother's even breathing, Nick leaned back against his bedroll near the warmth of the hearth and dozed with Heath's head still resting in his arms. Jarrod watched them both before drifting off himself, at peace with the feeling that his brother was safe, and anticipating sharing the good news with their mother and sister.

A few hours later, as the darkness gave way to dawn, golden shafts of light filtered through the tall frosted pines, and the shapes of two women appeared on the rise overlooking the little cabin.

The taller of the two reached a comforting arm around the other's shoulders.

"His brothers are fine men, they love him and they'll take care of him. He'll be all right...... you don't have to worry about leaving him now, Leah."

"Yes, he will be all right, I know that he will, but I'll always worry, Rachel.... and you know I will never leave him."

They lingered for a moment, then walked off into the trees, leaving no tracks in the sparkling drifts. The wind swirled the crystalline snow through the air behind them, and their forms melted into its glistening depths.

~ end ~