It had taken far too long in Nick’s estimation for Sheriff Madden, the Federal Marshals and a few deputized men from town to arrive.

“Sorry,” Marshal Logel addressed Nick and Jarrod, “we needed to wait for the telegraph office to open so we could send a message back to headquarters with an update.” Nick shot them a hot glare. It was all Jarrod had been able to do to keep Nick from leaving before the Marshals arrived. Jarrod felt responsible and the last thing he needed right now was Nick going on a tear with a dangerous sharpshooter on the loose.

They had all huddled by the barn to discuss how best to commence the search when one of the ranch hands galloped through the gates and reined his horse to a stop.

“Mr. Barkley!” Josh shouted. “We found Heath’s horse!”

“Where?”

Josh Adkins had everyone’s full attention. “We found her on the other side of the fence line above the North Pasture. She was pacing back and forth near the gate like she was trying to make a beeline back to the ranch. Avery is bringing her in, but he’s walking her. She’s lathered down with sweat and all muddy like she had a hard run this morning.”

“Come on,” Nick said. “Let’s go!”

Everyone mounted up and followed Josh toward the North Pasture. They met Avery leading the black mare along the way. She was limping on her right foreleg. Nick swung down off his horse and walked over to examine her. She was still blowing hard. As Josh had said, she was soaked with sweat and lathered beneath her chest and between her back legs. Her legs and belly were splattered with mud. Nick looked over the saddle carefully and was relieved to see no spatters of blood. He checked the saddlebags and found the poncho in one and the fifteen hundred dollars still in an envelope in the other. He handed the money to Jarrod who put it in his own saddlebag.

“You boys say she was on the other side of that fence line?” Nick asked.

“That’s right, Mr. Barkley.” Avery said.

“Well,” Nick addressed the posse, “the way our various fence lines run, there are only two possibilities for her ending up on that side of the fence. She either had to come from the direction of the Tangle Bluff line shack or else from Twin Ridges.” Jarrod nodded in agreement.

“Lead the way!” Marshal Ferguson said.

“Just a minute.” Jarrod said. “Josh, you and Avery take the mare back to the ranch and have McCall bring the buckboard out to Tangle Bluff and, if we’re not there, on to Twin Ridges.”

“Yes, sir.” Josh replied as they rode off. Nick was staring at Jarrod, his expression unreadable.

“We need to be prepared for all possibilities, Nick.” Nick simply nodded as he mounted up.

“Let’s go!”

The line shack at Tangle Bluff appeared undisturbed but the men looked carefully inside and out anyway. When it was checked to Nick’s satisfaction, the search party headed off toward Twin Ridges.

Heath had been carefully making a wide circle around the area of the rocky out-cropping higher on the ridge. He wanted to try to pinpoint Donahue’s sniper’s nest. As he was crawling through some tangle and thorns, he began to notice birds pecking and scratching among the leaves. Both farther up and lower down the ridge, more birds gathered. Heath took a closer look through his rifle’s scope and saw what attracted the birds – grain! Donahue had scattered corn and seeds in small piles in a line down the ridge and now birds had been attracted in flocks. Their presence created a natural early-warning system that would alert Donahue to Heath’s whereabouts. Donahue was certainly a cunning adversary.

Heath needed to get Donahue moving. He knew that luring Donahue into the open would require a change in strategy. Heath was going to have to let Donahue know where he was. From the place where the birds pecked for grain, he could get a clear view of the eastern ridge as well as relatively clear fields of fire through a number of routes that Donahue might take. But Heath also knew it would offer Donahue the same open field toward him as well.

Heath found a rest where a rock protruded up from the ground. He lay quietly listening to the sounds of the forest, hearing the birds’ songs carried on a light breeze that moved through the treetops and rustled the leaves. Heath could also hear a slight wheeze in his own lungs as he breathed in a slow rhythm. He swallowed hard to clear his scratchy throat that felt so irritated and dry. Heath squinted his eyes with each gulp, reacting to the soreness in his throat. The muddy camouflage, which once covered his face, was now being eroded off by the rivulets of sweat that ran down his hot face, revealing his tanned bronze complexion and the flush that now spread over his cheeks. Aww hell! Probably caught a cold from that ride in the rain… Heath thought of his few conscious memories of the ride to the line shack. He knew that the risk of a coughing fit only increased with time. That would put him at a deadly disadvantage. It didn’t appear as though the “Cavalry” was going to come riding in… He’d have to up the ante.

Heath took a stone and tossed it into the flock of birds. The sudden stir of the bird’s wings flying up through the forest echoed to the other ridge where Donahue lay scanning through his binoculars. The gray eyes shifted quickly toward the sound. A cougar or some other predator might have sent the birds scattering skyward, but Heath might have done so, too. Donahue smiled as he slipped from behind the cover of the vine-covered rock and stealthily headed toward another of his sniper’s nests.

Donahue’s got to be there… Heath thought to himself after searching through his rifle’s scope every conceivable hiding place and seeing nothing. From his low, prone position, he could only see the flat front angle that the fallen log and nearby rock on the eastern ridge presented. They represented the best cover from which to view this particular opening through the trees, but there was no sign of a rifle muzzle protruding from behind either object. “But where else could he be?” Heath asked himself.

A large tree grew to Heath’s right and offered enough cover to allow him to climb up and possibly see over the low rock and log. Grabbing branches with his right hand and clutching his rifle with his left, Heath began to work his way up the tree’s trunk. He hoped to climb up far enough to where he could point his rifle’s scope from a high enough vantage point to see if Donahue was indeed lying behind one of the objects.

Heath had climbed up about ten feet off the ground when the small branch on which he’d placed his left foot gave way with a noisy crack. He reflexively started to throw his left arm around the trunk of the tree for a surer hold. The stock of his rifle hit a branch and it was twisted from his grasp. It ricocheted off several limbs before hitting the ground with a thud several yards from the base of the tree. Heath swung by his right hand momentarily before regaining his hold.

The gray-clad man who hid behind the large rock heard the noises and peering through his rifle’s scope saw the flash of movements in the tree. The sudden crack of rifle fire sent a surge of adrenaline through Heath’s body. The bullet sliced through skin and muscle on the outside of his right thigh. The sharp pain caused Heath to lose his hold and he dropped to the ground behind the cover of the tree trunk. Heath’s leg gave way and he sat hard, crunching twigs and leaves beneath him. The flesh wound in his thigh burned like a hot iron and Heath could feel the blood wetting his pants leg.

There was no time to think about that now. Heath had to retrieve his rifle. How long would it take Donahue to chamber his next round? Do it fast! Heath thought. It was harder to get a bead on a moving target through a scope than it was a scopeless, open-sighted rifle.

Despite the sharp pain in his thigh, Heath leapt up and in a fluid motion had moved to the rifle where he paused momentarily to scoop it up with his right hand.

The crack of a rifle echoed through the Twin Ridges again. This time, the red-hot poker lanced through the left side of Heath’s belly. His stomach muscles contracted causing him to “crunch” at the waist and his left hand grabbed for his side, but Heath never lost grip of the Sharps rifle as he crashed into the cover of a thicket.

Donahue had finally had the elusive Heath clearly in his sights, if just for a moment. In his excitement, he had “yanked off” on the trigger: a novice mistake. The hard jerk Donahue had given his rifle’s trigger had bucked the shot wide and low of his center chest aim.

Heath crashed his way through the thicket, snapping branches and ripping the low-lying vines. Pain and adrenaline drove him and for some moments his brain seemed only to scream, “Just run!” Then his brain flashed back to a deer hunting experience, which quickly replayed in his mind.

The large buck was standing still in a clearing in a three-quarter away stance. It was not the broadside he preferred, but still a good position for a clean, fatal shot. He instantly imagined the bullet’s path through the left side of the chest, hitting lung, heart and lung before exiting the right shoulder. Should drop like a rock, he thought. But just as he squeezed the trigger, the deer had caught his scent. The old buck suddenly shifted as it started to bolt. Heath saw the animal’s back arch like a bucking bronco when the bullet hit. He knew that the misplaced gut shot meant he’d now be tracking the buck for a while. Heath remembered how the sounds of the buck’s wild crashing and thrashing in the bush had helped him trail the deer.

Stop! Get a hold of yourself… Heath thought, don’t make it any easier for him! Heath stopped behind the cover of a tree. He knew he must go back to the principles and practices that had served him so well in many a desperate circumstance during the war. None quite this bad… he thought grimly.

Heath decided that moving back up toward the crest of the ridge and southward might give him a better chance at Donahue. Blood had soaked through his pants leg and the left side of the dirty green jacket was bloody as well. Heath knew that time was no longer on his side. He had once held out the hope that if he avoided Donahue long enough a search party might arrive. Now, he needed to move carefully but quickly. Would he even have the strength or steadiness to take his shot when and if the time came?

Heath had made it as far up and southward along the ridge as his waning strength and stamina would allow. He rested for a minute behind a tree.

They say that your life can flash before you in an instant. Heath’s did, and as he sat there contemplating that it could end this very day, he thought of his newfound family.

Mrs. Barkley.

She had chosen to embrace him as a son – her son – from the very beginning. She had been nothing but kind and loving toward him. She might have easily rejected him and his claim and held on to all of Tom Barkley’s inheritance for her own children. Ultimately, everything had hinged on the choice she had made. She was truly one-in-a-million. He regretted that he had yet to say the word to her. “Mother!” he murmured.

Audra.

His little sister was beautiful, a little spoiled, and a bit rebellious at times. But she had always been open and loving toward him. He enjoyed her company immensely. She had lived a life untouched by much of the ugliness he had witnessed. She drank in life with an enthusiasm and innocence. When he was with her, it was like he could recapture some of his lost innocence, too. He could see the world as she saw it, if only for a little while.

Jarrod.

He seemed to have it all: brilliance, education and refinement. But what truly set Jarrod apart were his principles. He was nonjudgmental, fair- minded and possessed an unyielding sense of right and wrong. He was always seeking to right injustice. It’s men like Jarrod Barkley who make the world a better place. He had been so proud to have a man like Jarrod call him “brother”.

Nick.

It was not until just this moment that he suddenly realized that it was Nick that he would miss most of all. It was Nick that he had most longed to truly connect with. For everything there was about Nick that grated on his last nerve, there was another side to the man that never ceased to fill him with admiration and respect. The passion that he brought to everything that he did inspired Heath. He had seen, too, the soft loving side Nick sometimes revealed to the rest of the family. The fact Nick had never warmed to him… Well, there was no pretense to the man. Nick was a straight shooter. Nick had always been brutally honest about his feelings and Heath expected no less. Even though it hurt…

Heath had lived a nomadic existence for so long that he had hardly dared to dream of a home and a family. His mother’s deathbed revelation was the spark that lit a flame within him. Tom Barkley was six years dead, but still he was drawn like a moth to a flame to that ranch. Not for money, though his father had left a rich inheritance. No, it was the wealth of family that he really longed for. Did he have brothers? Sisters? How many, he’d wondered. He longed to know them, love them, live with them. Their labor would be his labor, their fight his fight. He thought of a Bible verse in the book of Ruth that his Mama loved to read: “the Lord do so to me, and more also, if anything but death part thee and me.”

As Heath thought of how much his family meant to him, a new level of determination was born deep within him. It had all been too long and too hard in coming. Had he been given just a glimpse of fulfillment, just a taste, to have it all taken away? Heath wouldn’t give it all up without fighting with his last ounce of strength and resolve. He had been the youngest prisoner of war at Carterson and one of the few to walk out of that hellhole alive. Grown men had dropped like flies. Every morning the first order of business had been to remove the corpses of the men who had died during the night. The men who died were no sicklier, no more malnourished, and no more injured than he. Some even appeared to be in better shape. They had simply quit fighting. Heath had been born with the indomitable spirit of a true warrior. Giving up or giving in was anathema to his very soul. He’d fight Donahue; he’d fight Death itself until his last breath. He still had his one shot, and he meant to take it!

Donahue cursed himself for his mistake. In his excitement at having finally gotten a clear view of his quarry, he had hurried his shot. He’d scored a hit, but he would have preferred to see his target drop immediately instead of seeing him disappear into the brush. From the sounds as Heath crashed through the underbrush, he was headed down the ridge toward the stream and farther northward. All was quiet again, now.

Donahue hurried back to where he’d tied his horse to cross over to the western ridge. He would begin to stalk Heath in earnest now; looking for broken branches and drops of blood. His mouth nearly watered in anticipation. Perhaps he’d find his adversary dead, but he’d once learned first hand that a bear was at its most dangerous when wounded. It was a lesson that he’d never forgotten, so he intended to use all care in finishing this “hunt”. One must retain a healthy respect for the abilities of his foe, Donahue reminded himself. Even at this final stage of the “hunt”, the tables could be turned in an instant.

The sun shone brightly in the early afternoon sky, sending its rays down the ridge at Heath’s back and casting shadows downward toward where two cold, gray eyes squinted back up toward the crest. As Donahue gazed up again toward the top of the ridge, something caught his eye. He glimpsed a man half-crawl, half-drag himself to cover behind a fallen, rotting log. Donahue squeezed his eyes shut and looked again, squinting to see through the blinding rays of the sun. Donahue had taken a position behind a log which was well covered with foliage and felt sure he had not been spotted. “But I have found you, my elusive young sharpshooter. You are about to meet the real Angel of Death!” Donahue whispered with a smile.

In one smooth motion, Donahue raised the Whitworth rifle and tucked it firmly into his shoulder, steadying it with his left hand, which he rested on the log for added support. He would not make the same mistake twice. Donahue concentrated on the sight-post beyond the scope, but his target disappeared in the sun’s glare. The bright flash in Donahue’s eye caused him to tilt and cant the rifle as he tried to pinpoint Heath once more through the short scope and deliver the fatal shot.

Heath’s trained eyes caught the flash of light. Something shiny danced below, reflecting the light. It looked just like someone flashing a mirror in the sun. He remembered Charlie Whitehorse’s teachings, “anything unnatural…” The bright shimmer could only be one thing. Carefully, Heath centered his rifle’s sight-post on the shimmer of reflected sunlight. Heath released his breath and let the sight-post settle on the target, and as it settled, his Sharps .52 caliber rifle cracked down the hill, echoing through the Twin Ridges.

The shimmer disappeared and Heath could now see Donahue’s body where it had been hurled backwards when the bullet struck. At the moment the back of Donahue’s head had exploded in a crimson spray, his suddenly lifeless body thrashed and kicked a dance of the dead before becoming completely still.

Heath made his way down the ridge to the body. Donahue was lying on his back and Heath stared at the face expressionlessly. The cruel, cold look was gone. The right eye socket was shattered and the left pupil was wide and transparent. It looked like a black glass marble. It seemed to Heath as though a man’s soul drained away through his eyes, leaving only clear black pools where life had once been. Heath took no pleasure in this and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he turned his head away.

The adrenaline that had been driving him seemed to drain away as well. Heath suddenly felt very tired. Somewhere back toward the trail, he heard Donahue’s horse whinny. He gripped the barrel of his rifle tightly in his right hand and leaned on it like a staff, his left arm clutched to his injured side. Heath decided to make his way down to the stream for that drink of water he was so thirsty for. It couldn’t be far. Then he’d find that horse. “Just keep moving,” he told himself.

“Jarrod! Look!” Nick was the first to spot the blue shirt draped over the hitching post in front of the line shack. His spurs had dug into Coco’s sides and he was off in a full gallop before a reply could come.

Nick was already off Coco and holding the blue chambray shirt in his hands when the rest of the search party reined their horses to a stop. The door to the shack was open and it was obviously empty but Marshal Ferguson checked inside anyway.

“Donahue’s been here! I found more of his personal effects inside.”

Nick eyed the forest-covered ridge. “They’re somewhere on that ridge. Let’s follow the trail in.”

“Everyone be careful!” Ferguson warned the men. “Donahue is sure to be armed and is very dangerous!”

Nick reined his horse toward the trail and galloped off in the lead without a hint of caution. Nick slowed to a stop when he saw the scattered brass buttons strewn on the ground. Jarrod rode up beside him as Nick leaned forward to get a better look.

“Looks like buttons off a Union Army jacket, Jarrod. And those boot prints look like Heath’s.”

“That would explain the shirt if Donahue made Heath wear a uniform.” Jarrod observed.

“Come on. He’s close. I know it!”

The search party followed the boot prints down the trail until they veered off into the woods.

“Looks like he went in right here.” Sheriff Madden said.

“Wait!” Nick dismounted and carefully studied the slightly odd tracks. “I think he might have back-tracked and went in over here. Why don’t we split up? Fred, you take these boys and check to the left of the path. The Marshals can head on down toward the stream. Jarrod and I will head to the right. If anybody finds anything, fire off a shot.”

Nick and Jarrod weaved their way through the trees. Jarrod scanned the ridge below them while Nick’s eyes strained toward the crest. The elevation began to gradually steepen as they headed north.

“Nick! Look!”

Nick whirled to look in the direction Jarrod was pointing. He could see the body of a man sprawled on the ground beyond a fallen log. The face was covered with blood. Their hearts raced as they hurried down to where the body lay. Nick examined the body and he could not help but smile even at this gruesome sight.

“The boy got him, Jarrod! Heath got him! HEATH! HEY, HEATH! WHERE ARE YA, BOY?”

The forest was silent. Nick’s smile faded when he noticed Jarrod solemnly examining the rifle. Jarrod considered the bloody stock and the lensless scope.

“What’s the only way Heath could have made a shot like this?”

Nick looked puzzled. “What do you mean, Jarrod?”

“Stop and think about it, Nick. Donahue had to be sighting his rifle directly at Heath in order for Heath’s bullet to pass clean though the scope and get him in the eye like that!”

Nick felt weak in his knees for a moment, the silence of the forest was almost deafening as his ears roared. He regained his composure.

“Let me see that rifle, Jarrod.”

Jarrod handed over the rifle and their eyes locked briefly. Nick’s hands trembled slightly as he checked the Whitworth for the presence of a round. Both men breathed an audible sigh of relief when the unused bullet popped into view. Their eyes met again and Jarrod could read the unasked question in Nick’s eyes: “But where is he?”

Jarrod fired off a shot into the air to alert the rest of the search party. His mind was already racing over the best possible options for locating Heath. Should the party split up and just fan out in all directions? Could they make a reasonable guess as to the most likely trajectory of the bullet by the scatter of gore from Donahue’s exit wound? Should they start searching for Heath in the direction the shot had originated from?

As Jarrod stood there lost in thought awaiting the arrival of the Marshals, Fred, and the other men, Nick was pacing around. His eyes were searching the surrounding terrain hungrily, taking in trees, bushes, and rocks; scouring the ground…

That’s when he saw it: a drop of blood on a leaf. The little spatter was no bigger than a raindrop and it was too far away from the body to have come from Donahue’s head wound. Two feet further down the ridge Nick spotted another drop.

Nick’s heart raced as he locked on to the trail. He was so engrossed in his single-minded objective that he did not even think to alert Jarrod. Once he had discovered it, Nick had no problem reading the trail. Heath was moving slowly, the right boot partially dragging. Obviously, Heath was headed down the ridge toward the stream.

The ridge began to drop off at a steeper angle and the footing was becoming more treacherous. Nick spotted the telltale skid marks before he saw the Sharps rifle lying among the leaves. So thoroughly did the prone figure in the dark green jacket covered with dried mud and leaves blend in with the undergrowth that Nick may have missed him altogether had it not been for exposed blood-covered hand.

“HEATH!”

Nick rushed to where Heath lay underneath an umbrella of low-growing bushes. They had stopped his tumble down the embankment and Heath lay there beneath their canopy on his stomach with only his right forearm and hand extending from underneath. His face was turned away from Nick.

“Heath?” Nick was kneeling down beside his brother now. He hoped to see the mud-caked blond head lift and swivel toward him or at least see movement from the right hand. There was no movement or response from Heath. Nick said a silent prayer and grasping his brother under the arms, he pulled Heath from beneath the bushes and flipped him over to his back. Nick felt Heath’s neck for a pulse. The pulse was racing, but it was there. “Thank God!” Nick breathed.

“JARROD!”

Jarrod had already noticed Nick’s absence and had started down the ridge. “What is it, Nick?”

“I’ve found him!”

Jarrod rushed down to where Nick was kneeling over their younger brother. “How is he, Nick?”

“Not good.” Nick replied. He had taken off his bandana and tied it around the bloody thigh to put some pressure on that wound and had pulled aside the front of Heath’s jacket. “He took one in the side, too. Looks like he’s lost a lot of blood. He already feels hot and his breathing doesn’t sound so good. Jarrod, we need to get him back to the ranch fast!”

Jarrod could see the fear and worry in Nick’s eyes. He could hear the strain and concern in Nick’s voice. “You stay with him, Nick. I’ll go get the horses.” Jarrod’s eyes bore the same fear and worry as well as the remorse that had dwelt there since the evening before.

When Jarrod returned to the spot where they’d left the horses, Marshals Logel and Ferguson rode up with Donahue’s horse in tow.

“Donahue’s dead.” Jarrod nodded toward the body. “We found my brother, he’s badly wounded. My brother Nick is with him. We’ll take him back to the line shack until the buckboard arrives.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barkley.” Marshal Logel said. “We’ll take care of Donahue.”

Jarrod looped Coco’s reins around his saddle horn and rode back down to Nick and Heath. Nick remained on his knees beside Heath, stroking the dirty hair and speaking words of encouragement softly.

“We can put him on Jingo and I’ll…”

“NO!” Nick’s head turned sharply and his eyes flashed with a sudden possessiveness. “He’s riding with me on Coco!”

They put Heath’s limp body in the saddle. He moaned a little and coughed once, but that was his only response to the movement. Nick settled in behind his younger brother.

“Got him?” Jarrod asked before letting go.

“I’ve got him.” Nick replied as his strong left arm wrapped around Heath’s chest and hugged him tightly to his own. Nick reined Coco in the direction of the trail leading back to the line shack. Jarrod picked up Heath’s rifle before mounting his own horse and following.

Jarrod and Nick met up with Sheriff Madden and his men as they reached the trail. Heath looked in bad shape, Fred thought, but at least he was still alive. That was more than Fred had really expected.

“We need a couple of you boys to ride to town as quickly as you can and have Doc Merar to meet us at the ranch. Tell him Heath has been shot.” Jarrod addressed Fred as the two men galloped off toward town. “Heath killed Donahue. The Marshals will be along with the body.”

Fred eyed the bloody, unconscious man. “Clearest case of self-defense I’ve ever seen in my life!”

They arrived back at the line shack just as McCall was pulling up with the wagon. One of Fred’s deputies ran into the line shack and grabbed several blankets and a pillow off one of the cots. He and McCall made a bed in the back of the wagon as Jarrod and Nick carefully eased Heath off Coco’s back. They laid Heath on the makeshift bed and wrapped a couple of blankets around him.

“You want me to ride back here, Nick?”

“No, I’m going to.” Nick was already settling in beside Heath.

The Marshals rode up leading Donahue’s horse. His body was draped over the animal’s back with the ankles and wrists tied to the stirrups. The Marshals had tied a blanket over the body and the blanket was saturated where it contacted the bloody head. Drops of blood dripped to the ground.

“I don’t think Jack Donahue ever expected to die game in one of his own hunts.” Marshal Ferguson said. “I sure hope your brother makes it, boys.” Jarrod and Nick nodded a silent “thank you”. Marshal Ferguson had just voiced their most fervent prayer.

The Marshals, Sheriff Madden and his deputies rode off toward town as McCall and the Barkley brothers headed back to the ranch as quickly as they could.

Heath was trying to follow the sound of the voice. The words were spoken by a voice soft and low; a voice that was strangely familiar. How had he gotten so turned around? He hadn’t found the stream or the horse. Now, he was alone in the woods on a moonless night. The dark forest was silent, but every now and then, he could hear a voice carried gently on the wind. The few words he heard from time to time brought a message of hope and reassurance. “… You’re going to be all right… I’ll get you home…” The words were spoken with such feeling and resolve that he knew they were spoken from the heart. Just keep moving, he thought, go toward the sound of the voice. He just wanted to get home after this ordeal. The source of the voice could finally take him there.

When the wagon pulled up in front of the white-columned house, Dr. Merar’s buggy was already there. Dr. Merar had been waiting inside with a very anxious Victoria and Audra. He had tried to be of some comfort, but there was very little he could say to the worried mother and sister as they gazed out the window hand-in-hand. The time had come to see for themselves what awaited them in the back of the wagon and they rushed outside to meet it.

“Heath!” Victoria cried as she peered over the side of the wagon. The dark forest reverberated with the sound of a voice he recognized. Heath’s eyes flickered open briefly. He wanted to call to her. “Mmmm,” he moaned. His lips were pale and his complexion wan where rivulets of sweat had washed the dirt on his face away. Victoria reached over and stroked his hair, which was stiff with dried mud. Audra covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a gasp. As Nick peeled away the blankets, Howard Merar climbed into the back of the wagon to do a cursory examination of his patient.

The young man was covered with dirt and leafy debris. His body was already hot and feverish. “Audra, go tell Silas to draw a bath. Make sure the water is no more than lukewarm. The first order of business is to get him cleaned up, then I’ll do what I can to clean out these wounds.”

Nick and Jarrod carried Heath straight up to the bathroom. By the time they had Heath’s clothes stripped off, Silas had the bath ready. Heath began to moan and thrash when his body was immersed in the tepid water and they began to bathe him. “Be still, Darling… You’re home now… We’ve got to get you cleaned up… Be still…” His mother’s voice had reached him again. Heath calmed and relaxed as he tried to focus on her words. Victoria shampooed Heath’s hair and gently washed his face while Dr. Merar, Jarrod and Nick lathered and scrubbed the rest of his body. The water quickly became dirty. “Drain this water and run some more!” Howard said. Heath was scrubbed and rinsed again before Dr. Merar was satisfied. After the third bath was run, the water was clear other than a bloody pink tinge.

Victoria laid a clean blanket on the bathroom floor. “We’ll towel him dry, Victoria,” Howard said, “if you’ll let Silas know we’ll be ready for the bandages and those instruments we boiled in Heath’s room in a few minutes. He can bring up the poultice, too.”

Jarrod and Nick carried Heath to his bed and placed several clean towels beneath his right thigh and lower back. Dr. Merar had carefully washed his hands and laid out his instruments, clean sponges and antiseptic.

“Turn him on his right side, boys. I’ll deal with the more serious wound first. He’ll need anaesthesia when I clean out and debride those wounds. Jarrod, if you’ll do the honors. Wet that cloth with chloroform and hold it over his nose and mouth. Not too much… you don’t want to put the whole room to sleep! I’ll let you know if it’s wearing off and he needs any more.”

Dr. Merar began washing the wounds on Heath’s left flank with some soap and a dilute iodine solution. “Why anybody would want to keep fighting the Civil War after all these years is beyond me!” He passed the bullet probe carefully in through the entrance and out the exit wound. “Good! I don’t believe the bullet hit any internal organs in the abdominal cavity. Heath’s lucky.” Dr. Merar said. “I just need to clean this wound out.” The doctor folded a small piece of moist gauze into a wad and grasped it firmly with long forceps. Dr. Merar carefully pushed the wad through the length of the wound, bringing a small amount of dirt and fiber debris with it. He grasped the wad on the exit side and pulled the forceps back out the entrance wound. Dr. Merar reloaded another wad of gauze and reflected on his own recollections of the Civil War as he worked. “During the war, we didn’t know anything about antisepsis. Careful hand washing wasn’t practiced before operations. We’d go from patient to patient with dirty hands and dirty instruments, wearing bloody, pus-covered aprons. Just about every wound got infected. Hell, we thought it was a milepost on the road to recovery! ‘Laudable pus’, we called it. We were working under what light Science had shed at the time… Joseph Lister began advocating antisepsis for surgery in 1865. There we go! I think I’ve got this flank wound cleaned out about as well as I can. Turn him on his back, boys, and I’ll clean that leg.” Howard turned to Victoria. “I’ll be ready for that poultice soon.”

He had instructed Silas to take powdered charcoal and mix it with boiled water into a paste. Victoria spooned a generous layer of the moist paste in between two layers of thin cloth.

“I’m just glad that crazy fool didn’t want to duel it out with muskets and those damn soft-lead Minie balls!” Howard continued. “Those bullets weighed an ounce or more and mushroomed or distorted like hell on impact! That they made large, ugly wounds goes without saying. And the damage they did to limbs and bones… seventy percent of the wounds were to limbs. My God, amputation was the only alternative we had! Wounds to the head, chest or abdomen were a virtual death sentence.” Dr. Merar shook his head. “What a waste! I’ve never believed that war was any way to carve out our nation’s future.”

Dr. Merar covered the wounds with the poultice and bandages to hold them in place. “Clean around the wounds and put on a fresh poultice two or three times a day. The charcoal paste will absorb any pus or fluids from the wounds. I’ll check back in tomorrow. Start with sips, but let him have all the fluids he’ll take once he comes around. I don’t have any magic potion for that fresh cold. Chicken broth and your herbal tea will do as well as anything, Victoria.”

The one constant in Heath’s bedroom throughout the entire evening had been Nick. While the other family members were in and out at various times, Nick had refused to leave his vigil.

“Nick, I brought you up a sandwich along with Heath’s tea.” Victoria said as she placed the tray down on the dresser top.

“Leave it. I’ll get it later.”

“Nick, I know you didn’t eat any breakfast this morning and you were riding hard most of the day. Why don’t you eat something and get some sleep? Even though none of us got any rest last night, you look particularly tired. I’ll sit with Heath tonight…”

“No, Mother. I’m staying! I have to be here when he wakes up.”

Nick’s eyes held not only a firm resoluteness, but also a need. Victoria’s mother’s instinct told her that he sought to finally close the chasm that had existed for four months. Victoria smiled. Yes, when Nick claimed a thing, it became his in every way. He was now ready to claim his brother.

Victoria placed the back of her fingers against Heath’s forehead and cheek to satisfy herself that his fever was no worse. “Alright, Nick. Make sure Heath drinks his tea. Wake me if you need anything.” She paused and kissed Nick’s cheek before making her way out and softly closing the door.

He was making his way through the forest. He was getting closer to the sound of the voice. When he broke from the tree line, he was standing on a grass-covered knoll. In the distance, down below him in the clearing, he could see the front lines of Union and Confederate troops. He decided to try and make it to the boys in blue. Two lines of cannons fired at the opposite line simultaneously. Gray-white smoke billowed from the cannon barrels. The smoke did not dissipate, but hung low over the battlefield like a thick fog. He was disoriented again. Which way to the Union lines? He couldn’t see either front line anymore. The thick smoke made him cough and choke.

“Come on, Heath! Cough… Cough it up!” The voice reached him again and it seemed so near now. He kept fighting his way through the smoke. It was beginning to clear. A mist-shrouded form was very near. The source of the voice that had led him through the dark woods was beginning to take shape.

“Nick?”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up! How ya feeling?”

“I’ve felt better…” Heath said weakly.

“Well, you’re lucky to be feeling at all! How about some water?”

Heath nodded. He was absolutely parched.

“Whoa, now, Little Brother! Take it slow. You can ride farther at a trot than at a gallop! Doc said to take it in sips.”

Heath wasn’t quite sure why it was Nick of all people who was with him. Had Nick really called him “Little Brother”? Nick patiently held the glass as he slowly sipped all the water down. While Heath rested from his efforts, Nick gently wiped his face and brow with a cool, damp cloth.

“We’re not done. I promised Mother I’d get a cup of her herbal tea down ya. It’s for that chest cold you got. Come on, now. Let’s get it all down!”

Heath took a sip from the bitter cup. “Aaaagh!” As bad as it tasted it ought to be good for something, he thought. He didn’t want to finish it, but Nick seemed determined to get it all down.

“Bad, Nick!”

“I know. I won’t touch the stuff… I like enamel on my teeth.” Nick smiled, satisfied that he’d carried through Victoria’s instructions. “Lay back and rest a bit. I’ll clean those wounds and put on a fresh poultice in a while.”

Heath gave Nick a slight nod. Nick could see gratitude in the blue eyes but they seemed perplexed as well. Nick cleared his throat and looked his brother in the eye.

“I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here. I wanted to be here, Heath. I needed to be here. It’s time to set things straight between us. I should have done it a long time ago, Heath. I couldn’t let go of my anger. But when I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong! I shouldn’t have been blaming you for what Father did. You’re the innocent party in that whole mess and the one who suffered the most because of it. I’m sorry to say it took almost losing you to make me see the light. The strange thing is, I’ve always wanted a brother who was just like you. Then you come riding in here, a finer man than I’d even dreamed of… and I tried to run you off! The night you disappeared, I realized I wanted to be your brother! I was afraid I’d never get the chance again. I prayed to God to give me another chance to be the brother I should have been. To be the brother you deserve. When we found you alive, I wanted to start being that brother as soon as possible. I’ve been right by your side ever since. I don’t break my promises, especially not to the Almighty! I had to be the first person you saw when you opened your eyes.”

Victoria quietly opened the bedroom door. She paused and listened as Nick’s words drifted toward her. He sat in a chair next to Heath’s bed, his back blocking her view of Heath’s face. He was dipping a cloth in a basin of cool water and wringing it out before wiping his brother’s feverish skin. Nick was talking nonstop; his tone was soft and comforting.

“… Hank Watson has been bragging he’s got some of the best livestock on the entire West Coast. I’ll have Jarrod wire him to hold on to them for us. I still want first pick, but I ain’t going till my partner can come with me. No sirree! Hey, you know what else? He claims he’s got one of the best stallions in these parts! A big bay named Charger. If he’s half as fine as ole Hank says, I aim to buy him. Hank doesn’t even know he wants to sell that horse yet but by the time I get through with him, he’ll do it. You’re going to see a master horse trader at work! I was thinking I’d get that horse and give him to you, Little Brother. You know, the best horse in this part of the country for the best little brother a man could ever have…”

Victoria moved to where she could see Heath’s face. He was gazing up at Nick with that look only a younger brother can give. There was a little smile on his lips. His blue eyes, focused intently on Nick, were full of emotion and easily read. She could see love, contentment, admiration, respect and an absolute confidence in Nick. Whatever Nick was saying, his little brother believed it like the veritable gospel.

She couldn’t help but smile. It had been the right decision to leave Heath in Nick’s care. He had done more for Heath this night than simply minister to his physical needs. There had been an uneasiness and uncertainty in Heath’s eyes since his arrival. It was gone now. Nick, and only Nick, could have taken that away. Heath was truly home at last.

Victoria walked up behind Nick and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Why Nicholas! I never knew you’d make such an excellent nurse! Good morning, Heath. How are you feeling, Sweetheart?”

“I’m good.” He said simply but his eyes rested on Nick for a moment before shifting back to her. Victoria knew exactly what he meant.

She leaned down and kissed Nick’s cheek. “Thank you for taking such good care of your brother. Now you’re going to go downstairs for breakfast and then you’re going to get some rest. Now go! It’s time for a shift change. Ask Silas to bring up the chicken broth and more herbal tea.”

Nick handed the cloth to his mother and pointed his finger at Heath. “Don’t go anywhere cause as soon as I get something to eat and a little nap, I’m coming right back. McCall’s all set to run this ranch for two solid weeks without me!”

Heath started to laugh at Nick’s words as Nick walked out the door, but he only managed to start coughing. Victoria frowned at the wet, rattling cough. She stroked her fingers through the blond hair. “My herbal tea will help break up that congestion. It tastes very bitter, but it works wonders. I think I’ll make up a chest rub as well - it smells ghastly but…”

“Awww, Mother!” Heath couldn’t help keep the pleading out of his voice.

“Heath Barkley, don’t you ‘Awww Mother’ me…” Victoria paused as the word hit her and tears welled in her eyes. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “On second thought, it’s about time young man!”

“Past time… Thought I might never get the chance to say it. Or to tell you that I love you, Mother.”

“I love you too, Heath, so very much. Never doubt that you are any less mine than my other children. You are the child born of my heart.”

Jarrod had been checking in on Heath throughout the day. He wanted some time alone with Heath when he wasn’t sedated from a dose of laudanum or snoozing after his herbal tea. When Jarrod opened the door, Heath turned and smiled at him. His eyes were clear and lucid. Audra looked up from her book.

“Audra, would you mind if I sat alone here with Heath for a while?”

Audra closed her book and gave Jarrod a knowing smile. She rose and placed a kiss on Heath’s forehead. “Thanks Sis.” Heath said. As she walked by Jarrod, Audra grasped his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Thanks, Honey.” Jarrod said. Audra quietly closed the door as Jarrod took a seat in the chair by Heath’s bed.

Heath didn’t understand the haunted, troubled look that clouded Jarrod’s eyes. It was unsettling to Heath and Jarrod could see the confusion building in Heath’s eyes.

“Heath, there’s something I need to tell you and I’d like you to please just hear me out. You deserve to know the truth about how Donahue found you after all these years. It was my fault, Heath…”

“No, Jarrod…”

“Let me finish. You’ll understand once I’m through. You see, after the fight at Sample’s place I felt you deserved due consideration. I voted along with Mother and Audra to let you stay on but I wasn’t completely convinced. I hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to conduct a full-scale background investigation the next day. Pinkerton’s man in Washington, D.C. had a fellow by the name of Ira Taylor pull your Army records. Donahue had been paying Taylor to locate Union Army veterans as well. Donahue had given Taylor some facts about you, Heath, but he didn’t know your name. It wasn’t until Taylor pulled your records for the background investigation that he was able to match a name to those facts. Federal investigators were hot on Donahue’s trail for a whole litany of other crimes. Two Federal Marshals missed arresting him by only hours. They rode out to the ranch that evening to inform me of Donahue’s intent. That night you didn’t come home, Heath… I hope to God I never have to live through another night like that! I kept thinking that you could be dead and how I would have had a hand in my own brother’s death. And when I say ‘my own brother’, I mean it Heath. I came to have absolutely no doubts about you and the irony of it all is it’s not because of anything that was in that damned report! I have all the evidence I need right in front of me. I don’t believe I could have ever forgiven myself if… I’m sorry Heath, sorry for my role in helping that monster find you.”

“Jarrod, there’s nothing to forgive. You had no way of knowing about Donahue. I’ve always believed that everything – everything – happens for a reason. Donahue was a cold-blooded murderer. He was insane and filled with hate. The man would have never stopped killing, Jarrod, never… If ever there was a killer that needed to be stopped, it was Jack Donahue. I never lost faith on that ridge that I could do it. I got no regrets, Jarrod. I don’t want you to have any either.” Heath’s eyes were solemn and sincere. Jarrod could also see an unwavering conviction burning in them as well.

“You’re right, Heath. Donahue has been involved in murders and lynchings spanning all the way back to the war. I got a telegram from the Marshals today. The Attorney General is pleased that Donahue’s decade-long crime spree has finally ended. The boys in Washington think you deserve a medal.”

Heath gave Jarrod a little half-smile. “Well, knowing the government,” he drawled, “they’d just find an excuse to take it back.”

Jarrod winced. Poor choice of words, he thought. But the amusement in Heath’s eyes at his own little joke showed he’d taken no offense. The wheels were already turning in Jarrod’s mind. Perhaps one day, with the right political connections, the Army brass might be willing to consider re-opening the matter…

“And Jarrod…” Heath’s words snapped him from his thoughts. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“What you said, about not having any more doubts.”

“I meant every word, Heath. I’m very proud to call you ‘Brother’. I brought the Sharps rifle home. One day, I’m going to gather your children and all your nieces and nephews around and I’m going to take that rifle out and tell them the role you played as a Union sharpshooter in the Civil War. If I know you, you’ll never tell! I guess your big brother will have to claim the bragging rights. At least that Pinkerton Report will have served one good purpose!”

Heath smiled shyly, but his eyes sparkled at Jarrod’s words.

“And when you’re up and around again, how about we take some time and do a little fishing? Let Pappy show you how it’s done. We may even let Nick tag along.”

“I don’t know…” Heath said poker-faced. “After all, this IS a working ranch! Sweat – everyday- no dry shirts around here, Pappy! I got a job to learn…”

Jarrod dissolved in laughter at Heath’s delivery of the familiar “Nickisms”. Heath couldn’t help but laugh himself.

“You’re a great addition to the family, Brother Heath.” Jarrod said as he rose to leave. “I’ll see you as soon as I get back from San Francisco.”

Jarrod quietly cracked open the door to Heath’s bedroom. Nick was there as he was every evening: with a book, or cards, or the checkerboard. Jarrod smiled as he listened to them banter back and forth.

“Hah! KING ME!” The whole bed shook as Nick bounced up and down where he was sitting.

“Stop it, Nick! You’re messing up the board! Besides, it makes my belly sore.”

“Then you better quit losing, Little Brother. Stop whining and crown that king… there you go! It’s a wonder you even made it through Basic Training.” Nick teased. “Your move.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were nothing but a baby!”

“Baby! Nick, when I reported for Basic Training I was already hard as woodpecker lips!”

Jarrod opened the door and walked in. They both looked at him and smiled a greeting.

“Well look who’s back from San Francisco. So, Counselor…” Nick said. “Did you get that land dispute business straightened out with Montero’s lawyer?”

“No, Nick. It’s rather complicated and it looks like it may take months to resolve.”

Nick shook his head. “I thought that you’d have that business finished in an hour or two. What kind of deprived Law education did you get anyway?”

“Yeah.” Heath chimed in. “What other classes did you skip?”

Jarrod grimaced. They had formed an alliance and he was sure that this was only the first of many times that he would be on the receiving end of their jabs.

“Why Brother Heath, I’ll have you know I graduated summa cum laude.”

Heath smirked at Nick. “And what did you graduate, Nick? SOME… COME… LOUD?”

“Watch it, Boy! I ain’t the dumb cowpoke in the family that got the brawn and none of the Barkley brains. When I was a boy, the teacher always said I was special and she hoped I’d go a long way…”

“Well, Nick, I expect she’d have been satisfied with the next county.”

“You ain’t funny, Woodpecker Lips! And it’s still your move.”

Jarrod laughed. Perhaps they wouldn’t be on his case so much after all…Maybe, just maybe, they’d wear themselves out going after each other.