What Barrett had witnessed in Nick Barkley’s eyes, he could have scarcely understood. To understand the devastation reflected back in those hazel eyes, Barrett would have had to understand love itself. That mystical power of a spiritual gravitational force that holds two souls so close they become intermingled.

But what little Barrett could appreciate gave him no small measure of satisfaction. He knew of the old expression ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve’ and Barrett had never seen it done more openly than Nick Barkley did in that moment. The deep pain and anguish had been clearly evident to Barrett. That he could play a role in ushering in Death to rip the two brother’s souls apart gave Barrett a feeling he could hardly have imagined. He felt elated with power! For one shining moment, Barrett’s hand had steered the rudder of the ship of Fate that would bring these high and mighty Barkleys low!

Following the mirror flash from the distant peak, Barrett had ridden off in search of Nick Barkley. He had galloped up to his boss almost breathless with excitement.

“Mr. Barkley! Mr. Barkley! It’s your brother!”

“What?” Nick locked Barrett with a fierce stare. “Heath?”

“Yeah, Mr. Barkley. I was up near that finger rock formation and I spotted Heath… ah, Mr. Barkley off in the distance. It looked to me like he was on to that gang’s trail. He was following it by himself! I don’t know why he didn’t do like the sheriff ordered…” Barrett lied. “The trail was headed toward Stockton. But, I don’t figure the gang was headed there. I figure maybe they were gonna hit the Knowles place. I took off after him, Mr. Barkley, to stop him from trailing that gang by himself. But I was too late… they shot him.”

Nick’s eyes flamed with a fearsome rage as well as that awesome devastation. Then he had turned his big Appaloosa and bolted off at breakneck speed without a thought to caution.

Barrett wanted to be on hand to witness the final scene of this melodrama. But it was no mean feat to keep up with Nick Barkley! Nick’s spurs raked the Appaloosa’s flanks and he lashed the end of his reins against the stallion’s shoulders. The powerful Appaloosa’s hooves thundered furiously up ahead as Barrett whipped his own mount to try to keep pace.

Yes, Barrett wanted to be there to see the final act play out. His anticipation only heightened as he tried to imagine the scene. Nick Barkley would cradle his dead brother in his arms with unfathomable grief. Barrett would feign remorse and regret. He would profess his sorrow and swear to his boss that he had done everything he could to save the blond. Nick Barkley would never know the truth.

Who knows, Barrett thought, maybe Nick would decide to keep him on after all. The Barkley Ranch wouldn’t be such a bad place to work again once he no longer had to take orders from a dead man’s dirt!

The crack of rifle fire shattered the image in Barrett’s head. Barrett’s eyes widened in shock and he reflexively reined back his horse as the scene in front of him unfolded.

The bullet ripped through the neck of the racing Appaloosa, severing its’ spinal cord. Barrett was stunned by the sight of the magnificent stallion crumbling in a heap as his legs collapsed under him. Nick was thrown clear as the big horse crashed to the ground and tumbled to a halt. Nick hit the ground hard and his body lay still where he rolled to a stop.

Barrett yanked his horse to a standstill and just sat there for a long moment in utter disbelief. His mind barely registered the sound of approaching hoof beats.

Carlo Lucci and the six outlaws crossed the distance from their point of ambush very quickly. Carlo surveyed the scene and eyed the shaken cowhand and smiled. Barrett involuntarily shuddered. Lucci’s smile and demeanor did little to hide the malevolence that smoldered within him.

“You…you said you’d get Heath!” Barrett stammered, his voice strained.

“No, Mr. Barrett. You assumed we’d get Heath.” Carlo sneered.

“But, Heath…”

“Is probably buying ammunition and rounding up a posse in Stockton.” Carlo ended Barrett’s speculation. “Isn’t that what you asked him to do, Mr. Barrett? You’d better come with us. I don’t think you want to cross paths with the bastard right now.”

There was something about the tone of Lucci’s voice that convinced Barrett this was more than a suggestion. The six outlaws laughed and snickered among themselves at Barrett’s obvious discomfort.

“Our bait, Keller.” Carlo addressed Butch.

“Boyd! Streeter! Get Barkley and tie him across a horse. You two boys will be riding double back to the cabin. Hurry up!” Butch Keller barked orders to his men.

As Lucci and the outlaw gang made their way to the cabin, Barrett’s trepidation grew. He had been misled and played for a fool and he knew it. There were more facets to this game than Barrett had been aware of, and now there was no going back. Lucci was right in that Barrett couldn’t risk running into Heath Barkley. The betrayal Barrett had hoped would never be revealed could not help but come to light. And yet, he did not want to throw in his lot with this bunch. For this one crime, they would be hunted relentlessly. Barkley influence and money would see to that! Barrett thought it best to part company with these outlaws before he ended up stretching ropes with them.

Barrett mustered his courage. “Ah… Mr. Lucci!” Barrett rode up beside Carlo and reined his horse to a stop, as did the other riders. “I figure I’ve done my part. There’s no way I can ever show my face in Stockton again. I thought I’d head up north from here.” Barrett could only hope that Lucci and the outlaws would allow him to leave.

“You are ready to part company so soon?” Carlo gave Barrett another disconcerting smile. Carlo shrugged. “As you wish.”

Barrett breathed a sigh of relief and turned his eyes northward, as he was about to ride away.

“Wait, Mr. Barrett!” Carlo hissed. “You are forgetting your pay!”

Barrett had no time to react as the knife blade was plunged into his heart with lethal accuracy.

Crown’s eyes shone with a triumphant gleam! Hoak had seen this look many times before – from the most mundane business meeting to the corridors of power in Washington D.C.– Crown was accustomed to winning. A smug little smile graced Crown’s lips as Hoak recounted the scene he had witnessed less than an hour earlier.

Clint Sellers had burst through the batwing doors of the saloon at a run. “Boys, you’ll never believe what I just heard!”

Clint had the full attention of Harry the bartender, four men that stood at the bar drinking and the scattered men sitting around the card tables. “I just heard that outlaw gang got Nick Barkley somewhere between here and Big Rock!”

There was a moment of shocked silence. Harry clenched his fists in rage. Though Nick had busted up his furniture on more than a few occasions, Harry had always considered Nick more a friend than a customer.

“You sure about that, Clint?” Harry asked, hoping that somehow the boy had heard wrong.

“I weren’t more than six feet away from Heath Barkley when Jed Kyles rode up and told him the news! Heath went into the Gunsmith Shop for just a few minutes and then lit out of town like a bat out of hell!”

“Well, I’ll be…”

A frenzy of excited conversation erupted in the saloon as the patrons recovered from their initial shock.

Jonathan Hoak had listened with keen interest. He decided to make small talk for a while before taking the news of their success back to Crown. Hoak motioned Harry to pour him another shot. “You think Heath Barkley has gone after that gang?”

“I know it.” Harry stated flatly.

“By himself? What can he do on his own?”

“What can he do? He can track like an Indian. That boy told me he once scouted Apaches for a wagon train. He’s as quick as greased lightning on the draw… I’ve seen it with my own eyes! Ask some of your boys who high-tailed it away from that fracas at Sample’s farm what he can do with a rifle. Nick Barkley told me himself that boy won the Medal of Honor as a sharpshooter during the war!”

Crown easily picked up on the sense of unease that clouded Hoak’s brown eyes.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Mr. Hoak! It is a fait accompli. Events are unfolding just as I planned. Barkley will no doubt attempt to rescue his brother from that cabin and will step right into his own coffin! Even Heath Barkley’s considerable talents are not enough to balance the scales.” Crown chuckled as he thought of the formidable gang of outlaws that Lucci had assembled.

“A war hero, is he? Well, our young war hero has just let emotion cloud his better judgment. Heath Barkley has just violated the first dictum of military strategy – an attacking force should always outnumber an entrenched defending force! He is outnumbered seven, or should I say eight to one.” Crown corrected himself as he reflected for a moment on Barrett’s predicament. Yes, men of that ilk were easily manipulated.

“Heath Barkley is riding into a trap.” Crown continued. “He cannot save his brother or himself! The impulsiveness in his nature that was evident in that reckless race against the train will be his undoing. I judge him to be more like Nick Barkley in that regard. You see, Mr. Hoak, I have used their love for the other to lead them both into a deathtrap. Is it not ironic? I have used the bond of brotherhood that they share to divide and conquer! I predict that the loss of two of its’ scions will take the fight right out of the Barkley clan.” A self-satisfied smile slowly spread over Jacob Crown’s face.

The doubt that had earlier clouded Hoak’s mind evaporated as he stared into a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating blue eyes. Behind those eyes worked a keen, contemplative and precise mind. Yes, even in the cold-blooded, cutthroat world of big business, Hoak’s boss rarely lost.

Butch Keller broke into a gap-toothed grin. “Hey, Boyd! Looks like you don’t hafta ride double no more!”

Kent Boyd slid off the horse from behind Lyle Streeter and walked over to where Barrett lay on his side. He kicked the dead cowboy onto his back. “Might as well take his leg-iron too, Butch!”

The outlaws left the open range and continued on up into the rocky ridges where the trail would be much tougher to follow. It was among these rocks that Carlo Lucci planned to leave the added insurance that Heath Barkley would trail the gang no farther.

“Can you handle this on your own, Brandt?” Lucci asked.

Brandt nodded. “Sure thing, Mr. Lucci. You saw the shot I made on that running Appaloosa! I’ll find myself just the right spot to take the shot and then I’ll meet you back at the hide-out.”

The outlaws left Andrew Brandt to his task and hurried on, traveling as fast as they could over the rough terrain. Lucci intended to have a couple of armed guards at the ready in the cabin until Brandt returned. Just in case…

Heath had rode hard into Stockton and reined his Modoc mare to a stop in front of the Gunsmith Shop. He intended to tell Ellery to get up an order of ammunition for the posse while he rounded up some men.

It was just then that Jed Kyles galloped up and relayed an urgent message about Nick. Heath ran into the Gunsmith Shop for one quick purchase before he again had the Modoc mare stretched to her limit in the direction from which he had come.

Heath swung down from his mare and carefully scoured the ground around the dead Appaloosa. Nick and this big Ap had always been a sight to behold. Ish was almost seventeen hands high, larger than average for the breed, but his markings were classic Appaloosa. His coat bore a perfect white blanket with numerous dark gray spots that started midway his back and covered his hips. The stallion had been a handful from the start. Jarrod once said that when Nick had tried to break the fiery Ap, the horse had bucked and spun like a ‘whirling dervish’. He’d been dubbed Dervish, but Nick just called him ‘Ish’. Nick still preferred dependable old Coco to the spirited and unpredictable Appaloosa. Coco had seemed a bit tired and worn from the long days on the trail, so Nick had chosen to ride the Appaloosa this day. The pair always seemed to Heath to be naturally suited. Heath had thought the stallion to be an apt choice for Coco’s heir apparent. “Good-bye, big fella.” Heath whispered.

Heath’s heart hammered in his chest as he studied the site surrounding the fallen Appaloosa. The skids and scuffs that scarred the ground bore silent witness to the violent tumble both horse and rider had taken. Heath fought back the desperate feeling of urgency that threatened to overwhelm all reason. He must keep his wits about him. His brother’s very life was at stake, as well as his own.

Heath knelt on one knee and touched the horseshoe prints with his finger. There were eight men. One horse was obviously carrying two riders. Another wore shoes with a distinctive marking that Heath had seen many times before. “Barrett…” he growled. “I’ll follow you to hell!”

Heath swung back into the saddle. The tracks led east. Heath could find solace in only one thought: if Nick had been killed outright, the gang would have never gone to the trouble of carrying him off!

Heath found Barrett’s body just as the outlaws had left it. He felt no sympathy at the twist of fate that had overtaken the unfortunate cowhand. Fate can be a cruel mistress. She can take you to the mountaintop only to throw you off a cliff. Heath addressed the traitor who could no longer hear his words. “The buzzards probably won’t even want you, Barrett!”

Heath followed the fresh tracks across open range and up onto the rock-strewn ridges. He moved slower as it became tougher to pick up the trail on the hard-packed ground. The tracks were not so faint that Heath failed to pick up that a lone rider had split off from the gang.

No wonder the outlaws hadn’t seemed overly concerned he would be on their trail, Heath thought. They had left a bushwhacker behind. The sniper would expect Heath to follow the trail right into his gun sights.

Heath had no intention of making himself an easy target. Perhaps this was a fortuitous turn of events. The tracks were getting fainter and Heath feared he might lose them altogether. If he could turn the tables on the would-be ambusher, Heath could find out exactly where his brother was being taken.

Heath decided to double back a few hundred yards and then carefully work his way back along the higher elevations. “We’ll see just how good you really are, Mister!” Heath muttered.

Heath knew how good he was. He had proved it time and again as an Army sniper during the war. Even as a boy among men, Heath excelled above his peers. He had been assigned one dangerous mission after the other because as his commanding officer once said: “Boy, you’re cursed with being a natural.”

Heath left the mare behind the cover of a large boulder. It was just like being back in the war when he commenced his silent stalk. Adrenaline surged throughout his entire being as if to push every one of his five senses to the breaking point. Every color, shape, sound, feel, and smell heightened in intensity. The crisp air brought the faintest sound to his ears and even his peripheral vision seemed to pick up nearly imperceptible movement. When he caught a flash of unnatural color amid the earth tones, Heath knew just like so many times in the past, the prey was his.

The way the two rocks kissed each other made for the perfect rifle rest. Brandt, armed only with his rifle, looked down the weapon’s barrel and waited for Heath Barkley to follow the trail into clear view. He had not bothered to look around and check behind him…

“Don’t move!” A voice from behind called.

Brandt spun around and tried to fire. The rifle dropped from his hands when the .45 bullet ripped into his right upper chest.

“Damn!” Brandt groaned as he sank down against the rocks at his back.

Heath walked over and picked up the rifle with his left hand. There’s big money backing this outfit, he thought, as he tossed the expensive rifle down the side of the ridge.

Heath aimed his pistol at the wounded man’s head. “Where’s my brother?”

“Help me… get me to… to a doctor… and… and I’ll tell ya.”

“Tell me now!” The barrel pointed at Brandt’s head never moved.

“A… doctor…” Brandt’s eyes pleaded as his left hand clutched at his bloodstained white shirt.

“Alright. I’d have to go back to Stockton to get more men anyway. But you’ve got to tell me now! You might be unconscious by the time we get back to town.”

“Okay.” Brandt took a painful breath. “Go east… another… 500 yards to… cone rock formation… then north to timbers… follow old game trail through woods… old cabin right near the bend of Drownin Creek.”

Heath turned and walked away. Sometimes, a good bluff wins the pot.

“Wait!” Brandt wheezed.

Heath threw him an icy, steel blue stare. “You’re on your own, Mister!”

“Please…” Andrew Brandt managed to whisper at the retreating back before he closed his eyes and never opened them again.

The chilly afternoon air combined with the fast ride still stung his cheeks. He had covered the last mile weaving amidst the trees under the cover of the timber. Heath breathed a sigh of relief. Andrew Brandt had not lied. The cabin was exactly where Brandt said it would be. It’s outline blended in well against the curtain of brown and green trees it was nestled among.

Heath ground tied his Modoc mare in the trees still some distance from the cabin. He would make his approach on foot as he had done countless times in the war. Heath untied the leather thongs behind his saddle that securely held the sack that he had purchased from the Gunsmith Shop. His rope and the sack in hand, Heath moved ever closer to the cabin.

The curtains at the windows were wide apart and the light from a kerosene lamp could be seen burning warmly. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney. The two windows on either side of the front door were opened just enough to fit the rifle barrels that protruded from them.

Heath eased amidst the cover of trees and underbrush and silently circled the cabin unseen. Even if the outlaws had left a guard standing on the front steps, it would have made little difference to this experienced stalker. The rear of the cabin was windowless, with a single backdoor. The log cabin had a little built-on room off to one side that appeared to be somewhat run-down as it now had a noticeable lean.

Heath eased to the side of its’ wall and found an area where the clay had flaked out between two of the logs. He peered through the slit and amid the old broken furniture lying on the dirt floor was his brother. Heath took out his knife and quietly worked a little more clay away to get a better look.

Nick was bound and gagged. Heath’s anger boiled at the sight of his brother’s unconscious form. The deep gash on Nick’s forehead up near the hairline and the pallor beneath the bloodstains on his face were worrisome.

“I’ll get you out of here, Big Brother!” Heath whispered.

He moved silently behind the cover of an oak that stood near the rear corner of the cabin. In a small corral out behind the cabin, one of the horse’s ears went up and she eyed him nervously. Heath decided to take a minute and let the range-bred mare get accustomed to his presence. The other six horses hadn’t shown any interest in him at all. Stable-bred and ranch-raised, he reasoned.

That was another reason Heath preferred his little Modoc mare. The Indian ponies had a well-deserved reputation for speed and stamina. As he had told Nick one day, ‘She may not be as big as that long-legged, grain-fed dandy of yours, but Walela will carry me a lot farther and faster!’ Heath sometimes called her by the Indian name she had been given. It meant ‘hummingbird’ for she was also a creature that was small, beautiful and fast! But the tough little mountain-bred Modoc mare would also raise quite a ruckus at the approach of any man or beast. The Indians left their ponies to run wild until it was time to gentle them. The times spent on their own, with no protection from predators except their own watchful care, honed the herd’s survival instincts razor sharp.

The range-bred eyed him warily as he had moved around the tree where she could get a better look at him. A strange man, but not a mountain lion or a wolf. She began to lose interest as well but kept an ear tilted in his direction.

If Heath read her body language right, the mare was no longer inclined to whinny or raise a fuss. He climbed his way deftly up through the limbs of the oak tree that stood near the rear corner of the cabin. Heath eased himself out on the bough of a sturdy limb and stepped silently onto the roof. He made his way over to the chimney with cat-like lightness of foot. Plumes of dark gray smoke filtered through it from the fire that crackled in the hearth.

Heath tied one end of the long rope securely around the mouth of the sack. He lowered the sack down through the chimney, gently giving the rope a little more slack. Heath crouched down behind the chimney and let go of the rope. He’d know when the sack had reached its’ destination. Another lesson Heath had learned in the war: superior numbers can be overcome with superior firepower!

When the sack of gunpowder dropped into the flames, it’s contents exploded violently in the hearth. The room was suddenly filled with a spray of fiery wood, coals, ashes and billowing black smoke.

A glowing chunk of fiery log was blown from the hearth and struck Carlo Lucci on the left side of his face. He lay dazed on the floor.

The other five men in the small cabin, overcome by the deafening explosion, fiery cinders and thick ashen smoke fumbled blindly for the door. They stumbled out the door dazed, coughing and wheezing from smoke inhalation, their stinging eyes red and watery.

“The roof!” Butch Keller, wanted for murder in three different states, wheezed out just as a bullet hit the center of his face and ripped through his brain. Keller crumpled to the ground, his body twitching its death throes.

Two members of the gang were frantically trying to put out the flames that had ignited their shirts, but all four drew their guns and fired wildly. The four outlaws were no match for the steady hand and lethal aim of the clear-eyed man who had taken cover behind the chimney.

Carlo had been crawling toward the front door. The left side of his face was in excruciating pain! He reached up to touch it instinctively and nearly screamed when a layer of his facial skin clung to his fingertips. Carlo heard the rapid fire of the Colt revolver. The shots were coming so fast that they seemed to blend together. Carlo got to his feet painfully and staggered out the back door of the cabin. He had no interest in being part of this shoot-out!

These men of the American West were lethal with guns. Carlo was much more adept at wringing a neck or slipping a stiletto silently between ribs. He retrieved his mount from the small corral and galloped off, his face burning like fire!

Heath slid down the slanted porch roof and leapt to the ground. There was no time to waste! Already, fires were breaking out all over the interior of the cabin. The curtains curled and disintegrated in flames as fire raced up toward the ceiling.

The door to the small built-on room offered minimal resistance as Heath kicked it open.

“NICK!” He rushed to his unresponsive brother’s side. The flames behind them threw flickering light into the room. Heath could feel the heat rising at his back. “Come on, Big Brother, we’ve got to hurry!”

Heath grabbed the larger man under his arms and dragged him toward the front door. Flames were engulfing the old cabin with amazing rapidity. Curtains, bedding and furniture were aflame and fire was racing up the walls to the ceiling. The structure crackled and popped, as it became fuel for the devouring flames. Heath pulled Nick to the safety of the yard just as a burning timber fell and blocked the doorway.

“Nick?” Heath called as he dug his knife out of his pocket. He carefully cut away the mouth gag and the ropes that bound Nick’s hands. “Nick!” he called with more urgency and slapped his brother’s cheek several times.

Nick’s breathing was steady and even, but he did not stir. Heath examined the head wound. The gash started high on Nick’s forehead above his right eye just below the hairline. The jagged laceration extended back into the hair another good three inches. Nick’s face was streaked with rivulets of dried blood. The bleeding had slowed to not much more than ooze.

Heath unfastened Nick’s bandana and tied it around his brother’s head. The makeshift bandage would put a little pressure on the wound as well as cover it during the journey home. Heath hurried to retrieve his mare and construct a travois to transport his brother home.

Heath found two long and sturdy poles lying near the corral. He took the ropes and blankets from the outlaw’s saddles. A Plains Indian-style horse travois could be constructed quickly and easily.

Heath laid the two poles in an inverted ‘V’ and tied them securely. He used the ropes to make webbing that would serve as a litter in the middle. The open end would drag the ground, kind of like a wheel-less chariot. Heath lined the webbing with blankets and carefully moved Nick onto the litter. Heath covered his brother with a couple of blankets and tied him snugly to the travois. Nick had still shown no signs of regaining consciousness and Heath knew there was little he could do but get him to the ranch.

“Whoa, gal!” Heath calmed the mare as he lifted and fitted the closed end of the travois over her shoulders. He tied it securely and swung into the saddle, his legs hanging down on either side of the poles. Heath threw a worried glance over his shoulder at his brother and started on his way.

Heath recognized the three riders galloping in his direction across the open range. When the Barkley brothers and Barrett had not been there to meet up with the remainder of the posse, Sheriff Madden, Billy and Adkins set off in search of them. The men rode up to the lone rider.

“Adkins! Get to town and tell Doc Merar that he’s needed at the ranch. While you’re there, send a telegram to Jarrod in San Francisco and tell him he’s needed at home. Hurry Adkins!” Heath shouted to the cowhand.

Adkins spun around and galloped off toward Stockton. Fred and Billy reined in beside the travois and were shocked by it’s cargo.

“How bad, Heath?” Fred asked.

“Bad.” Heath looked over his shoulder for a moment and then turned his emotive eyes homeward.

Fred and Billy exchanged a quick glance. They had both seen the profound pain and worry in that brief glimpse.

Fred rode up beside the blond. “Heath,” he said gently, “what happened? Where’s Barrett?”

“Dead.” Heath never slowed his pace.

Fred knew Heath was in no mood for an inquisition, but the sheriff still had a job to do. “I need to know exactly what happened, Heath.”

Heath sighed. “Barrett was in on it. He tricked me into going to town and then led Nick into an ambush. The gang double-crossed Barrett and killed him. His body is lying near the ridge. I shot one outlaw up in the rocks. He’s probably dead by now. The rest were hiding out in an old cabin near Drownin Creek. I burned it down.” Heath cast a sideways glance at Fred. “You’ll find five of them dead in the yard. There was one more… I figured he’d been injured and didn’t make it out of the fire. But then when I stripped their saddles of ropes and blankets, I noticed a horse was missing.”

Billy’s eyes had grown wide during the monotone, matter-of–fact rendition. Heath told his story like he was talking about the weather. Billy stared in awe at Heath. Fred was taken aback for a moment as well.

“That… ah… that was a fine job, Heath. You get Nick home. Billy and I will see to the bodies and maybe pick up the last outlaw’s trail.”

Heath didn’t respond. Fred placed a supportive hand on the preoccupied young man’s shoulder. “I hope he’ll pull through, son.” Fred nodded to Billy and they galloped off.

With the help of several of the hands, Nick had been settled into his own bed. Heath and Victoria removed his boots and shirt and covered him with a warm blanket. Victoria replaced the bloodied bandana with a clean muslin bandage. It was her first look at the head injury, and the sight of underlying bone peeking through the long gash filled her with trepidation. She gently cleaned the blood from Nick’s face and spoke to him in soothing tones.

Despite the flow of reassurances that flowed across her lips, Victoria knew this head injury was severe. One look into Heath’s agonized eyes told her that he knew as well.

Silas showed Dr. Merar up to the bedroom. “Victoria. Heath.” Howard nodded briefly to mother and son. “What happened?”

“Nick’s horse was shot out from under him at a dead run…” Heath tried to force visions of the violent tumble that must have occurred from his mind. “He was thrown… real hard, Doc.”

“Have there been any signs of consciousness?”

“No, Howard.” Victoria sighed. “Heath said Nick was unconscious when he found him at the gang’s hide-out and he has been that way ever since.”

“Alright.” Howard’s tone was coolly professional. “Silas, please take these instruments down to the kitchen and place them in boiling water. Leave them in a good five minutes!”

“I got some boiled water cooling right now, Doctor, and lots more on the stove about ready to boil!”

“Excellent, Silas. Bring up several basins along with soap and plenty of clean towels.”

Nick lay semi-recumbent propped up by several pillows. Dr. Merar popped open his gold watch, took Nick’s wrist and timed his pulse. It was rapid, but strong and regular. Howard listened to Nick’s chest with his stethoscope and found no cause for alarm.

The doctor studied his patient’s color. Nick was pale but this was not surprising, as Howard knew scalp wounds could bleed profusely. He lifted Nick’s eyelids. The doctor’s trained eye noted with concern that the right pupil was nonreactive. Howard quickly checked Nick’s ears and was relieved to find no bloody drainage. The doctor removed the head bandage and then turned to wash his hands thoroughly before further examining the deep laceration.

Howard finished his examination of Nick’s head wound and turned to the basin to wash his hands again. He slowly wiped his hands dry deep in thought.

“Howard?” Victoria’s voice cracked. It concerned her that the doctor, and her good friend as well, had not lifted his eyes to meet her searching gaze.

Howard looked into the eyes of his patient’s mother and brother: eyes that pleaded for hope and reassurance. Howard cleared his throat. He wished he had better news. Yet, all his years as a physician had taught him that the unvarnished truth was always the best path.

“Nick’s skull is fractured.” Howard paused to let the words sink in. Victoria’s eyes closed momentarily as her knees seemed to grow weak. Heath instinctively wrapped an arm around her small shoulders and drew her close against his side. Mother and son would draw strength from each other for whatever was to follow.

“Victoria, were this a simple fracture, an undisplaced crack, I would be inclined to watch and wait. But this is a depressed fracture. I am quite sure it is causing underlying pressure on the brain and possibly further damage from a growing hematoma. The surgery to attempt to correct this injury is delicate and dangerous.” Howard paused again to let Victoria and Heath assimilate the grim news. “But there is simply no other choice. I must operate and as soon as possible!”

Dr. Merar washed Nick’s scalp thoroughly with a diluted iodine and soap mixture. He then shaved the hair around the long laceration.

“Heath, you be prepared to give him a whiff of ether should he need it. Just pour a little on that gauze and hold it lightly over his nose and mouth.” Howard instructed. Heath nodded his readiness to the doctor.

“Victoria, you will assist me with the instruments and by dabbing away any blood that pools and obstructs my view.” More gently the doctor added. “Will you be alright?”

“Yes, Howard!” Victoria lifted her chin bravely. “I’ll do whatever I must to help my son.”

Howard nodded to her. He had seen this remarkable woman in action on enough occasions to know that was exactly what she would do. “Then let’s proceed!”

Dr. Merar picked up his scalpel and crossed the laceration’s midpoint with an incision of his own. He pulled the scalp incision flaps back away from the fracture site and secured them with sutures. His view of the skull fracture was now unobstructed. Howard removed a few small bony splinters easily with his forceps. He sighed as he realized there was no room to pry up the depressed piece of bony plate.

“Hand me that T-shaped instrument, Victoria. I am going to have to bore a small hole in the fracture line to gain some leverage to elevate the depressed piece of skull back to its proper position.”

Victoria handed Howard the trephine. It was an odd looking instrument. The business end of the trephine was a conical cutting head that ended in a circle of teeth. There was a perforator pin inside its shaft that was lowered to just slightly below the circle of teeth and locked in place with a side screw.

Howard centered the perforator pin over the fracture line. Holding the trephine carefully perpendicular to Nick’s skull, the doctor turned the handles, which rotated the cutting head. Once a circular groove of even depth was made, he retracted the perforator pin and locked it well up in the shaft. Howard continued to twist the trephine until its truncated cone shape acted as a brake against the cranial walls. Thus, the trephining was stopped short of reaching the brain membrane with the bone disc not quite detached.

Howard handed the trephine back to Victoria. “I’ll need the elevator now.” He pointed out another instrument. Howard used the elevator to lever the small bony disc free. He then used the elevator to pry up the depressed fracture piece by levering the instrument against firm bone.

When the offending piece was back to its normal position, Howard peered at the brain’s protective membrane through the small hole. Instead of lying slack against the brain, the dura mater bulged into the bore hole.

“Just as I suspected…” Howard said. “There is evidence of subdural bleeding. I will need to incise the dura and let it drain. Scalpel again, Victoria.” Howard made a small cut and the hematoma quickly decompressed. “Good!” he breathed. “It appears to be old blood and I don’t see any fresh bleeding. I am ready for that curved needle and silk suture.”

“What about the hole, Doc?” Heath asked.

“In the war, we covered large skull defects with a lead plate. Nature gradually seals these little trephine holes over with a tough fibroid tissue.”

Howard sewed the flaps of the skin incision closed. Once the hair grows back this won’t even be noticeable, he thought, if Nick makes it that far… He covered the wound with a piece of linen with perforations followed by a lint compress and muslin bandaging.

Howard placed the used instruments in a basin to soak. He rinsed off his hands and toweled them dry.

For all his learning, there was still much that the doctor –any doctor- did not know and could not predict. Only a fool would presume to speak good or ill with absolute certainty…

“Victoria. Heath.” Howard eyed the two compassionately. “I sincerely wish I could say for sure that the worst has passed for Nick. In the best case scenario, the surgery has relieved the pressure on Nick’s brain, any swelling will subside and he will recover without any permanent effects. But…” Howard paused. “It is also possible that his brain was traumatized with such force that it will continue to swell unabated. If that happens, there is nothing I can do. This is one of the all too frequent circumstances where I must say only time will tell.”

“How much time, Howard? How long before we know?”

“I can’t tell you that for certain either, Victoria. Nor have I touched on all the gradations between the two extremes. Let’s just focus on the short term.”

“I’ve sent a wire to Jarrod. I expect he’ll be coming in on the morning train. Audra is in Boston. Should we wire her?”

“I’d be inclined to wait, Heath. This situation will have declared itself one way or another before she could get home. With any luck, we may be able to spare her from a lot of unnecessary worry. I’ll meet Jarrod’s train in the morning and give him a ride to the ranch. We’ll have the cross-examination out of the way before I arrive to check on my patient.”

Victoria and Heath kept a vigil by Nick’s bedside through the long night. He remained unconscious. There was no change in his condition.

Heath kept a watchful eye on his new mother as well. She sat in a chair by Nick’s bed, her small hands folded in her lap. Heath marveled at his new mother’s strength and serenity.

A woman who chose the life of a western pioneer needed this inner strength of character. It was a rugged life, fraught with hardships, danger and unpredictability. They did not fight fate, but were at peace with the inevitability that good times as well as bad must one day come to all in their turn. Faith, forged in the fires of adversity over a lifetime, made the acceptance of even death a ritual of calm and dignity.

The silence of the vigil was deafening. Heath longed for some profound or comforting words to say, but none came. Tell me about Nick, he wanted to say. Tell me about what he was like as a boy. Was his personality always so forceful; bringing life and laughter to wherever he happened to be? Heath longed to know more of his brother – all there was to know. How else could he appreciate all that was this special man?

Heath thought of his greatest loss to date: the loss of Leah – his beloved mother. Only seven months past, his heart was still raw and weeping. He cherished the memory of her eyes, her smile, her hair, her smell, her honeyed drawl, her likes and dislikes, and her idiosyncrasies. For to love her was to remember every detail, to remember private and long-past moments together, to remember the nuances that made Leah unique and impossible to replace.

Heath had some old pictures, several letters and personal belongings she had saved in a trunk. But what he didn’t have anymore was Leah. There were no new memories to be made. Perhaps that’s why every memory was priceless to Heath; why he held each in his heart with such tenacity.

But he and Nick had only shared six short months – a mere pittance of time in the course of a lifetime. Heath hoped and prayed there would be more but there was no promise of a tomorrow. That is why Heath wanted to plumb the depths of Victoria’s memories. Somehow, it felt terribly out of place to speak and interrupt her personal musings. Minutes passed. Then hours. They passed the night this way. Perhaps, this quietness was an unspoken rule of the ritual as well.

Jarrod arrived with Dr. Merar in the morning. He gave his mother a comforting hug and gently kissed her cheek. Both she and Heath looked exhausted. The three stood silently by as the doctor finished his examination.

“He is still in a coma.” The doctor’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Although at this stage things are still uncertain, I am encouraged that Nick’s pupil is now reactive. There is still nothing to be done other than supportive care and watchful waiting.” Howard closed his bag and started to leave. “One other thing, since we don’t know how long Nick will be unconscious, you all must try to get sufficient rest – beginning with you two!” He motioned to Victoria and Heath. “I suggest you take this in shifts. Actually, it’s more than a suggestion… consider it doctor’s orders! I’ll be back tomorrow.” Howard nodded to the family. “I’ll see myself out.”

Jarrod squeezed his mother’s small shoulders. “Howard is right, Mother. We could be in for the long haul. I’m going to take the next shift while you two get some rest.”

“But Jarrod…”

“No buts, Mother. Pappy’s orders!” More gently he added, “I’ll let you know immediately if there is the slightest change.”

“Alright, Jarrod.” She patted his arm and made her way to her bedroom.

Before Heath left for his own bedroom, there were details Jarrod had to know. “Exactly what happened, Heath?”

Heath recounted the previous day’s events for his brother.

“I believe that Crown’s plan was to force the farmers to capitulate through a combination of extreme financial hardship and violence and intimidation. Fear is a powerful motivator. When we interfered with his scheme, I believe his plan changed to one designed to remove you and Nick from the picture. Barrett was obviously paid to betray us. But now that Crown’s gang is dead, his only option is to do what he did six months ago. Go off and ‘lick his wounds’ I believe is the way Nick would put it. That would explain the gossip I heard at the depot this morning. Crown’s private railcar is to be hitched to tomorrow morning’s train to San Francisco!”

The light of dawn found Heath finishing up his shift at Nick’s side. His heart began to race. Had wishful thinking and his tired eyes deceived him or had Nick’s eyelids fluttered momentarily?

“NICK!”

A voice was calling his name. Nick could hear it just audible above the terrible pounding that surged through his head with every beat of his heart. He wanted to descend back into the depths of the inky darkness and escape the throbbing pain.

“Come on, Nick… please!”

The voice again... Heath? Getting to Heath was the last thing he remembered before hearing the shot and feeling the white-hot pain in his head that thrust him into blackness. Yes, he had to get to Heath. Heath needed him!

Nick groaned and his eyelids finally fluttered. It seemed to take tremendous effort on his part just to open his eyes. He managed to open them halfway. He blinked. The room was a shifting blur. Nick closed his eyes against the stabbing light and a wave of nausea as the room moved all around him.

“No! Come back, Big Brother!”

Nick opened his eyes slowly. The room was starting to settle down. His mouth was cotton-dry. “Heath?” he managed to whisper.

Thank goodness he recognizes who I am, Heath thought. “Boy howdy, Nick. You sure know how to put a scare in somebody. How do you feel?”

“Awful… my head…”

“Yeah, you took quite a lick. You’ve been out cold for two days.”

“Two?”

“Here’s some water. I bet you’re bone dry.” Heath held the glass for Nick to take a sip. The cool water cleared his head a little.

The days of anxiety had begun to wear on Heath. There was a bit of edge to his voice. “Nick, what were you thinking heading off alone like that? Dang fool!”

“Barrett said… gang got you… thinking… had to get to you, Heath.”

Heath reached out and stroked the stubbly cheek. His eyes brimmed with tears as he thought back on his own reckless single-minded mission. “I know…” Heath wiped a tear that trickled down his cheek. He took his brother’s hand. Nick reached over with his other hand and squeezed his little brother’s hand with both of his with a firmness that lifted Heath’s spirits.

“You rest now, Big Brother. I gotta go let Mother and Jarrod know you’re back with us!”

“Where else would I be, Boy?” Nick mumbled as he lost the battle to keep his eyes open.

The platform was uncharacteristically quiet. The passengers waiting to board the train spoke in hushed tones and tried not to overtly stare at the two well-dressed men. It was a wonder to the small crowd that the two adversaries could maintain the thinly veiled facade of civility and decorum.

“I heard your private car was to be coupled to the train today, Crown.”

“And you’ve come to bid me fare-thee-well, Barkley?”

“Not exactly.” Jarrod’s eyes were an icy blue. “I take it your business is finished in Stockton. Was it not as successful as you’d planned?”

“Actually, more so.” Crown bluffed. “I came to Stockton to transact my banking business and happened to acquire several farms as well. I think the Board of Directors will consider that progress.”

Jarrod’s eyes grew steely. “Would your Board also approve of the gang of killers you hired and the murder of a woman and child?”

“You’re referring to the Worth murders? Tragic. I suppose now any roving band of outlaws that come through the valley will be presumed to be courtesy of Coastal and Western.” Crown sneered. “Contempt before investigation is a very inadmirable trait in anyone, Barkley, particularly a lawyer. Unless you have irrefutable proof, you’d do well to keep your wild theories to your self. I would consider any such public statements as slander.”

“It is too bad that just one member of that gang didn’t survive long enough to give Sheriff Madden a statement. There was nothing random in how they chose their victims, including the attempted murder of my brother!”

“That is something you’ll have to take up with that bastard half-brother of yours, Barkley.” Crown countered through clenched teeth as the train conductor sounded the departure whistle.

“Hopefully, you acquired something more than those farms, Crown.”

“And what would that be, Barkley?”

“Experience, Crown! Show your face in this valley again and the Barkley family will fight you with everything we’ve got!”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I return, because I will be back. Coastal and Western Railroad will complete its southern line to Los Angeles on schedule!” Crown stated emphatically. “As I’ve said before, the day of the Spike and Iron is inevitable, Barkley, no man can beat it.”

The locomotive sounded its’ final call and Crown climbed the steps of his private car, which was coupled at the end of the long train. He paused as he turned the door handle to enter the elegant coach. “Until we meet again, Barkley…”

The train lumbered its way slowly out of Stockton. There was a turn several miles beyond the outskirts of town, just about a mile beyond where the tracks crossed the road. The conductor wouldn’t attempt to get up to full speed until he had rounded this curve.

Once the train had cleared Stockton, Crown allowed Hoak to pull back the velvet curtains of the plush railcar. Carlo Lucci sat at a window, silently staring out at the countryside.

Poor Carlo! Crown thought. The man had to be in tremendous pain. Hoak had done his best to care for Carlo’s injury. There was no way Crown could allow the Stockton doctor to treat Lucci. Hoak had applied more salve and re-bandaged Carlo’s burns this morning. The process had been excruciatingly painful for Carlo. More shreds of damaged skin had torn away as the old bandage was removed.

It was apparent to Crown that the once handsome Sicilian’s face was going to be disfigured by a horrible scar. Already, its’ contraction had begun to pull at the corner of Lucci’s eye and turn up the left outer edge of his upper lip into a permanent sneer. Carlo Lucci would bear the mark of his encounter with Heath Barkley for the rest of his life!

Crown felt a twinge of pity for Carlo. Crown would not go so far as to call Lucci a friend, but he was without a doubt a valuable asset. Yet, even a valued asset is ultimately expendable. And Crown had at the very least one more job in mind for Carlo. He’d see to it that a very discreet physician he knew in San Francisco cared for Carlo Lucci.

Crown poured himself a stiff drink and walked out to the rear platform of the railcar, closing the door behind him softly. He needed a breath of fresh air, and a little solitude with his thoughts.

Heath watched the long train approach the crossing where he sat astride his Modoc mare. He had raced a train approaching from the opposite direction to this very same crossing six months before. Heath wasn’t here to race the locomotive this day. Jarrod had told him of Crown’s plan to leave Stockton. Heath had left Nick’s side only long enough to savor the satisfaction of witnessing Jacob Crown’s retreat.

The locomotive, coal car, freight cars and passenger coaches passed before him until at last came the spacious private car with the Coastal and Western insignia emblazoned on its’ sides.

Heath’s eyes momentarily met those of a young brown-haired man staring back at him through the window. Must be Hoak, he thought instantly.

Then his gaze was drawn to another set of eyes. The man’s face was completely covered with white bandages. Eyes, as black as obsidian, stared back at him through a slit in the bandages. Heath felt a sudden chill as if a freezing gust of winter wind had hit him, making his blood freeze. Cold, implacable hatred, as pure as anything he’d ever seen, looked right back at him.

Heath squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and opened them to find himself staring right into the eyes of Jacob Crown.

Crown recognized the black horse and the young blond cowboy who he had bet against in a race to this same crossing. The sky blue eyes bore the same confident challenge Crown had seen there when the daring young man had turned his head to watch the reaction of the train’s passengers during that fateful race. Jacob Crown had made the rare mistake of underestimating the young man on two separate occasions. That first misjudgment, though it irked Crown, had cost him only fifteen hundred dollars: pocket change to the railroad baron. The second miscalculation had seen six months of carefully thought out planning and preparation laid to waste. Jacob Crown trembled with barely suppressed rage as he locked eyes with the young blond cowboy who had ridden in from nowhere. No man beats the Iron! For though a man might beat the Iron for a while…

“I promise you, Heath Barkley, the next time you cross paths with the Iron, you will be crushed in its wake!” Crown vowed barely above a whisper as the train rolled away. “But until then…” Crown raised his whiskey glass and saluted his young adversary. “Palmam qui meruit ferat – let him who has won it bear the palm.”