The sun had just settled beneath the horizon when the group of four reached the stream, dismounting and felt their strained muscles. The deputy had surprised them by not proceeding to the closest town and electing instead to take to the mountains. It taken quite a large chunk of the morning to figure out his tactic. The unexpected move hinted of a man who used his brain and studied his choices before making a decision. He’d be in a terrain beneficial to a man on foot and less tantalizing to a man with a horse.

Their leader, a woman whose features had seen better days was sullen and unapproachable. She knew it was only a matter of time before she’d savor the sweet nectar of revenge and wealth. The revenge would be twofold. She’d rid herself of the man who was the child she’d always hated, the blight on their name. The Barkleys would think they were paying for the return of one of their own but she’d destroy her nephew in front of his brother’s eyes. The brother who killed her husband at the ranch in the mountains.

It was only a matter of time before their lives would be changed forever and she’d feel satisfied. The rising and lowering sun wouldn’t be the only thing with a color of blood red when her thirst was quenched.

Shivering slightly under the blanket of leaves, Heath bit back a groan from the pain in his right hip and moved his hand to clear the vegetation from his eyes. Studying the surrounding area from his hidden position, the shirt which was plastered with sweat when he’d fallen into his haunting sleep was now hard and cold. The temperature in the night dropped at least twenty degrees. His hands and feet were laden with cold and he moved his hands under the leaves to his arm pits, trying to warm up his fingers as his eyes studied his surroundings.

Seeing no moving shadows in the area which would soon be lightened by the coming rays of the sun, the blonde rolled out of his hiding spot and moved his hands over his hair to dislodge the remaining leaves. His stomach growled, his throat was parched and he took a deep breath letting it out slowly, watching his exhalation hang in the air like a billowy cloud before he pushed himself to his feet.

His hip was sore and awkward, not wanting to work correctly. The time spent sleeping left his bruised body stiff as a board. His feet ached from the trekking of the day before and now felt like clumps of ice. Trying to restore the circulation of blood into his limbs, he scanned the area while stomping his feet and swinging his arms for several minutes. The blood in his body which felt thickened by the cold slowly increased its flow and when he could feel his limbs again, started out with his jaws clenched against the shooting pains each time he moved.

Continuing down the side of the mountain, he slipped several times on the ground, slick with frost. His smooth soled boots made his continuing journey treacherous and tedious. Reaching a particularly steep section of descent, the blonde sat down and traversed the downward section by the seat of his pants, the frosty grasses and dead leaves cascading him down without a hitch, like a child enjoying a sled ride down a hill of white snow.

Reaching the bottom of the steep section, he looked back up and couldn’t see the spot where he’d come from, the natural shelf cutting off his view and he tilted his head, listening to a sound which caressed his ears. Gurgling of water. Turning towards the sound, he weaved his path around nature’s throw outs and finally reached the small brook. Kneeling down he drank from the mountain water, taking the parched feel out of his throat and drinking til he couldn’t force anymore inside.

Food he could last without but not water. Without water, his insides would start drying up and sucking in all the moisture within his own body, he’d have an internal war inside him as well as the outer war he was currently in. Water was a lifeblood of everything and without it, he’d may as well lay down and let the varmints, animals or otherwise, scavenge his carcass.

Crossing the small brook, he pulled himself up the gravelly bank by grabbing handfuls of bushes and manhandling his sore body upwards. Successful at crawling upwards over the bank, his eyes widened at the bushes of berries he found himself beside. His mouth watered in anticipation but he held off, taking the blue handkerchief around his neck and filling it quickly with the wild raspberries, plopping three in his mouth before carefully tying the ends of the cloth and moving on.

Where there were berries, there was a possibility of animals who would also be seeking out the delicious fruits for breakfast. Only armed with a pistol and knife, the hunted wasn’t about to get into a confrontation with one of the mountains full-time residents. That would be the last thing he’d need to happen and the smart thing was to keep moving. Putting the blue cloth in his shirt pocket, the blond continued across the gully, seeking the other side which was the bottom of his next mountain.

The morning sun had fully risen over the horizon but he didn’t pay homage to the sunrise in the manner which had become a daily ritual. He only saw the path before him, kept going forward and occasionally looked backwards to scan the area he’d left, looking for those who’d be seeking him out.

His body wanted to stop and rest but his will to survive kept his feet moving and his shirt was again plastered with sweat, soiled with dirt and filth from his flight. He had to fight down the desire to turn around and become the hunter instead of the hunted, knowing to do so would be a stupid move and the desire rose up because of those behind him who forced him into this situation.

He didn’t like to be hounded like a dog and sent to scurry off in search of cover, seeking a haven to escape. To act on impulse, to act based on his emotions would be detrimental to him and beneficial to the hunters. His mind needed to detach itself and work separately from the old fears and angers inside his soul. He needed to be almost be two separate people within one shell if he’d make it out of these mountains alive.

Glancing upward, he estimated it to be just past noon and leaned against the hewn bark of a pine tree, his legs wanting to give out from the continuous upward climb. Breathing deeply, he wiped the sweat off his head and not for the first time wished he’d had his hat to keep the sun off him. The difference in temperature was almost laughable. He was perspiring like he was dancing in the fires of hell and then later, he’d be left shivering in the cold from the higher elevations.

Eating the last of the berries, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sliding to the base of the tree. His mind conjured up visions of faces he hadn’t seen for a while except in his dreams, faces he’d consciously left behind. Reaching up and wiping a hand over his face, he felt a pang of loneliness deep within him and he wondered what they were doing at this very moment. Letting the hunger for more than food subside, he absently wondered if that meant he was seeing his life pass before his eyes, wondered if his mind was telling him of a premonition or something.

‘It’s telling ya’ get your ass movin’ up this mountain.’ snorted Heath, angry for letting his mind bring forth the faces of the Barkleys, angry at himself for not being able to keep from his mind what his heart was steeled against. Letting the anger rise in him, he used his darkest emotion to again push himself to his feet and away from the tree.

His hip stiffened from the short rest and he slowly stepped forward up the mountain. Stopping suddenly, his eyes spied the two bears moving in the area he was heading directly into. A mother grizzly and her baby were not a welcome sight to his eyes. No fool wanted to give a mama bear any reason to believe her cub was threatened and he cautiously moved downward, keeping the two animals in sight.

Moving back the way he’d come and then to the south, horizontal to their position and slowly creeping further and further away, his chest barely moved with the breaths he seemed to be holding as he moved away from the larger forest tenants.

Cursing under his breath, Heath moved and walked the contour of the mountain to the south. It was just his luck there’d be a bear in his way. The reason he stayed away from the most southern part of the mountain would be plain to those following. The southern part would be easier for horses to traverse and he wanted to make it difficult for the hunters. They’d have to earn a chance at him the hard way and now, he may just be walking right to them.

For to go too far north wasn’t an option, the northern side was covered with rock walls and some couldn’t be traversed by hand. Some faces of the mountain were sheer rocks from the elements of time cutting and honing them. North to a man on foot wouldn’t be a smart option.

Several hours passed since he’d seen the family of furballs and the hunted was steadily angling his way upwards the side of the mountain. Reaching the ridge, he stopped and glanced backwards from his high advantage point. He could see movement in the distance and he squinted. It looked like two horses trying to follow the path he was taking.

‘Dammit, where are the other two?’ asked the blonde keeping watch on those behind him before shifting his eyes to the side of the mountain he’d be descending. Taking out his pistol, he checked the chambers before sliding it back in its holder, looping the thong over the hammer to hold it in place.

Looking at the slowly falling sun, he estimated he had three hours left before night fell and he pushed upward, starting out with his right leg, grabbing for air when his leg buckled and the mountains echoed with the sound of a report.

The echo in the mountains was quickly forgotten as he unceremoniously tumbled down the hill, the burning flame which buckled his leg started the precarious fall. Seeing stars for a moment, his body relaxed from the stunning of his mind and his tumble was stopped by a scrubbrush. The dry branches breaking from the weight of his body bouncing against it and the ends leaving their mark on him with scratches.

Groaning and shaking his head, the blonde opened and closed his eyes several times, only hearing a roaring in his ears. The roaring slowly subsided and it took a minute for his brain to process what he was now hearing. Horses!

Pulling himself free of the brush which stopped his quick ascent, he ran a sleeve across his forehead, the brown material turned dark from the blood on his face running down the corner of his eye. Reaching for his gun, his eyes turned frantic when the pistol wasn’t in his holster and he searched the hillside for it.

Looking upwards, he thought he saw the weapon and tried to climb to his feet, falling back to hold onto his leg, gasping as it instantly filled with pain. His pant leg was stained red with blood from the bullet which hit his thigh. Quickly pulling off his blue scarf, he wrapped it around the wound and tightened it, hissing through clenched teeth at the inflicted pain.

The sound of the horses appeared to be nearing and he reached under his vest, taking out the knife before half sliding and half crawling down the side of the mountain away from the approaching sounds. His lungs gasped for air and his jaw was stiff against the onslaught but he struggled to get further away. Like a wounded animal seeking a haven from those hunting it, the blond frantically moved away from the hunters.

He could hear the hunters shouting to each other, searching for him and he pushed himself downward. He didn’t see the edge of the small ridge on the mountain side until he’d rolled himself over it, falling down the fifteen feet to the bottom and curling into a ball from his impact with the ground, his knife falling from his hand.

Groaning and biting his lip to stop the sound from escaping, he worked on taking slower breaths to stop the darkness making its way in on the edges of his vision. He couldn’t let the darkness take him or they’d get their hands on him, she’d get her hands on him and somehow, he knew if that happened, he’d be wishing for death long before it came.

Crawling to his knees, he felt the tears gather in his eyes from the almost unbearable pain but he reached out with a shaky hand and grabbed onto his knife. Using a tree to push himself up, he leaned his head against it and took a moment to study the landscape around where he landed. He needed to take a path and stick to it for he knew he couldn’t outrun those behind him now, not with a bullet in his leg.

His back shivered with fear for they could have easily killed him but he could just hear her vile voice ordering to bring him back alive so she, his less than loving relative, could take her pleasure in his pain, like she did when he was an innocent child.

Spying a small game trail almost hidden as it entered the brush, the blond set his eyes for it and pushed off, holding onto his leg and clenching his jaw, the muscle in his face throbbed from its tightness. Stopping, he picked up a small branch with leaves and continued to the trail trying to brush any tracks which appeared behind him but most of the ground was grass and leaves.

Kneeling before the game trail, his ears heard the faint sound of falling water and at the last moment, he moved to the north, keeping to the grass and away from the dirt around the pool of water as he made his way slowly to the beginning of the pool. Reaching the rocks on the side and several attempts later he slid his knife back into its sling, his hands were shaking uncontrollably along with the rest of his body.

Taking a breath, he pulled himself over the wet stones, his injured leg screaming out with each bump, searing his mind with a brilliant display of color with each agonizing touch and he felt the will to continue fighting leave him.

Closing his eyes and laying on the wet rocks, he sucked in air and suddenly heard a soft voice in his ear, “Hurry, my son. Don’t give up, son!”

His head snapped up and his body surged forward with a rush of adrenaline, crawling over the rocks, he lowered himself into the water, the cold against his hot skin making him flinch.

Holding his breath, he found the strength needed and dove into the water, gulping for air after he came up behind the waterfall. Half in and half out of the water, he struggled to pull himself onto a small stone shelf. The shelf made from years and years of falling water eroding away at the great stone, pushing against the hard surface and eventually making a haven behind the cascading curtain of water.

Laying on his left side with his head on the shelf and his arms cradled around himself, his injured body trembled uncontrollably and curled into a ball while the darkness moved in and surrounded him.

“He can’t have just disappeared! FIND HIM!” hissed Martha, her eyes darting side to side in their sockets, the insanity let loose upon her husband’s death rising up and seeking to take control over all reason, her desire for revenge and the planning were the only actions keeping the insanity at bay.

Uncomfortably, Finch shifted his eyes from hers to study the two metal bracelets on his wrist, the connecting chain between the rings of metal had been cut apart by a bullet but they hadn’t been able to get the locks open and the bracelets cut into his skin, chafing the wrists til they bleed and stung with each movement.

Matt Simmons, the dead sonofabitch, had seen him slit another man’s throat and at the time Bradford Finch had kissed his rabbit’s foot when Simmons offered a drink instead of turning him over to the law. Finch, a man known for his eagerness to kill, shivered as he remembered that fateful night and how he’d thought he wouldn’t leave the hotel of the couple alive. When Martha Simmons showed up at the jail and called in her husband’s favor, the lure of the Barkley wealth had him agreeing quite readily. He hadn’t known the man they’d be after would be wily as a fox and comfortable with surviving in the mountains, for Finch himself, knew he’d die if left afoot in the mountains.

Under his lowered head, Finch studied the two men standing off to the side, brothers bound by more than just their name but bound by the lure of a quick dollar.

The Dalton Brothers, Dave and Dirk, were not associated with the infamous Daltons, but tried unsuccessfully to mirror their actions. Grown up with a lust for things they couldn’t get from working in a backwater town, digging in the dirt like their parents who struggled against the elements and cattle operations, they had no conscience for anyone other than each other. They cared only for each other, watched each other’s backs and when approached by the woman who served drinks at the saloon in Dardanelle, they quickly agreed for the Barkley wealth was known all over the state.

Admittedly, both brothers wondered why Thomson who was a half-brother to the Barkleys wanted to work as a deputy when all that fortune was within his grasp. To them, he was even crazier than the woman who was filled with nothing but a deep hatred for the man they were chasing over the countryside.

Now, the brothers were tired and exhausted from riding, tracking, pulling their horses over rough terrain after a man who until yesterday for that one brief moment of time had been as elusive as a ghost. He’d outsmarted them, outran them and outmaneuvered them almost without conscious thought. This deputy appeared to experienced in this type of warfare and the brothers found themselves looking more and more for a way to escape the insane woman bent on revenge. Looking into each other’s eyes, their minds were the same.

It was better to leave the mountains alive rather than find the hole their prey had gone into. To get the deputy out of the corner he’d backed into would be like poking a stick at a sleeping bear.

Wounded or not, they knew someone wouldn’t survive and there was no lure of money great enough for them to take the chance it’d be one of the other two. If they could assure it’d be the weasel or the loony bird, both brothers wouldn’t have hesitated standing back and waiting. But, they knew it would be them holding the stick and poking into the hole.

A quick hushed conversation between the three after she’d fallen into an exhausted semi-coma resulted in the three agreeing they’d be better off if that sorry excuse for a woman perished in the mountains. Leaving her with no provisions, the men walked the horses away before mounting, deserting their leader and leaving their wounded prey in the hole he’d found.

When the sun rose on the second day of not finding her injured nephew, Martha Simmons found herself alone in the mountain range, the men traveling with her deserting her in the middle of the night.

Her scream of anger, mixed with insanity and terror, echoed down the mountain valley, stilling all living creatures and sending them scurrying under cover.

Her dreams had been interrupted consistently the past few days, haunted by a lop-sided grin and twinkling blue eyes. Often she dreamed of a beau sweeping her off her feet or dreamed she were a princess in a far away land, living a life reflected in her childhood fables. Sometimes dreams were replaced by nightmares, horrific reminders of the evils in the world or her family members hurt and in pain.

Often times the nightmares invaded her sleep when one of the family was hurt, but they were always after the event and could be accounted for as her subconscious filling her mind with what if’s.

What if that had happened? What if they hadn’t been able to overcome their fever? What if they hadn’t made it to the doctor? The what if’s often would torment her even though she knew they were recovering and on the mend.

Standing and looking out the window at the darkness lingering over the city of Sacramento, Audra hugged her chest and couldn’t stop the feeling the last few nights of dreams were different, they were telling her something about Heath.

A light knock on her door was heard before it quietly opened and Victoria entered, fully dressed to meet the day. On her way from the water closet, she saw the light under the guestroom where Audra slept and knew the hour was much too early for her youngest to be rising.

“Audra, are you okay sweetheart?” asked Victoria concerned as she made her way over and placed a hand on the cool forehead.

Smiling slightly, the blonde girl nodded and then shook her head in denial. Her eyes confused and questioning. “I’m not sure, Mother. These last few nights, I’ve had these horrible nightmares about Heath.”

“Heath?” repeated Victoria scrutinizing the shadows under her daughter’s eyes. “What kind of nightmares?”

Turning back to the window, the blue eyes of the only daughter stared outward without seeing the world before her, the tears forming and falling unnoticed as her voice trembled, “It’s almost as if I can hear him calling out, his words are…so….painful. Not only physically…but…deep inside him. It’s terrifying.”

Looking at her mother, Audra was stunned to see a look of almost agreement on the tiny woman’s face and not a mask of surprise. “Mother?”

“I heard him, too.” whispered Victoria, seeking out her daughter’s hand and holding on tightly. “I convinced myself it was my mind simply wishing he was calling to us, seeking us out and allowing us, no….me…to remove the pain I caused.”

“The pain we all caused, Mother.” stated Audra.

Shaking her head, Victoria reached up and caressed the tears off her daughter’s silky skin and sighed, “Not you, Audra. I am the one who convinced your brothers it was the only way to deal with Heath’s anger towards Bentell. I was so sure of myself but so very wrong.”

Pulling her daughter to her and wrapping her arms around the young girl, Victoria placed a kiss on her cheek and stood back, “Pack your things Audra, we’re taking the first train back to Stockton. I’ll explain to Mary and Sam. On the way to the station, we can wire your brothers to let them know.”

Standing on the platform of the depot in Dardanelle, Nick found he couldn’t keep his eyes off the mountains in the distance. The majestic of white capped peaks against the blue background was peaceful and dignified from afar. The towering peaks beckoned him, almost as if they were whispering to him, urging and pulling him in that direction.

“Nick, the train is getting ready to leave.” stated Jarrod softly, turning the tortured hazel eyes towards him.

Shaking his head, the hazel eyes turned back towards the mountains on the horizon and whispered, “I’m not going any further, Jarrod. Coco and I are heading there.”

Jarrod followed the trembling hand gesturing towards the distant mountains and he hesitated a moment before questioning, “Why, Nick? I thought we agreed to head to Berlin first.”

“I can’t explain it. I know that’s where we’ll find our little brother.” hissed Nick before taking several shaky breaths. “I…I can feel it…deep inside. He’s…calling me..for us. I..can…almost hear him.”

Jarrod suddenly shivered as though someone stepped on his grave, the feeling of coldness rushed over him and his own eyes gravitated towards the mountains, the snow capped peaks which haunted his dreams.

“Alright, Nick. Get the horses and I’ll wire Frank Sawyer in Berlin. Let him know we’ll start searching from here. Then, I’ll stop and get some supplies for the trail.”

“Jarrod, make sure you get some medical supplies too.” sighed Nick turning to meet the blue eyes of his big brother and reaching over to squeeze the shoulder of his big brother who nodded slightly after swallowing the lump of dread in his throat.

Separating and moving in two different directions, Nick strode to the stockcar, reaching up, yanked down the gate and climbed inside. His body suddenly filled with an urgency which hadn’t been there before and he quickly threw the saddles onto their mounts.

The dream was so real it woke him from a state of complete darkness, the faces of those he’d left behind seared into his memory were brought forth, fresh as the last time he’d seen them.

His eyelids closed when he realized it was no more than a dream, no more than his mind playing a wishing game with him, torturing him with longing, tempting him with what he knew he’d never have again.

All perception known as time, night and day, was replaced with a never ending cycle of shaking, tormented thoughts and pain. The cascading water, the falling liquid meeting the serene pool of its counterpart was the only constant rhythm filling his world, drowning out all other sounds.

The coolness of the stone shelf felt deliciously soothing to his heat inflamed face each time he struggled upwards to consciousness. He only had snatches of awareness of these times. Forcing his trembling fingers to clean the wound in his thigh. Forcing his weakening form to the edge of the shelf to take in a sip of the cool mountain water to replace the moisture leaving him from the fever and blood loss, forcing himself to keep the tissues of his body damp with the necessary element.

His thoughts during these higher levels of consciousness were scattered and strewn across his mind like a child blowing away the fuzzy parts of the dandelion. His throat was sore and he thought he’d heard his voice calling, wakening him from the darkness by calling their names but he was unsure. He was having trouble recalling in his state of confusion and fogginess what was reality and what wasn’t.

He lay back after forcing himself to drink and briefly committed himself to simply letting the darkness keep its hold on him the next time it came. He was tired and in the pitch blackness, he couldn’t feel the pain, the pain both from his injuries and in his heart. Perhaps the coward’s way was best, the way to end all torment was to simply give up and let the cards fall as they may.

Yet, somewhere deep inside he knew he wouldn’t, he couldn’t take the way of the coward, no matter how tempting and painfree it appeared. For it was not in him to give up, to let himself surrender or let go. Even with the last shred of strength in his fingertips, he’d hang onto the edge of the cliff until only death could loosen his hold.

His life had always been a struggle, one after the other, small engagements on the battlefields in the war of life. It was deeply engrained in him to doggedly put one foot in front of the other and keep on, heading to what destiny had in store for this bastard child now turned a man.

Was it what he left behind or something in his future? Did he have what destiny decreed for him and then left it behind, never to be found again? Had he unknowingly destroyed what destiny sought to reward him with for the trials and tribulations of his past struggles? Had he folded his hand before he realized the true riches in the pot? Had he already in a sense taken the coward’s way in the past? Had he turned tail and run without putting up a fight because he hadn’t known how to stand up to their challenge? Had he?

Rolling onto his side, blue eyes stared blankly through the falling curtain of water, able to see it was dark once again and without even being aware he was moving, he was suddenly at the edge of the shelf.

It was the primitive need for living, the need to survive taking control, the need to give his all, no matter the cost, moving him and forcing him to act. He’d always given more than he’d taken and somehow this was what made him who he was.

To stay here any longer would be the coward’s way and he knew he’d rather face what was out there then have his soul linger between this world and the next. For to give up would leave a blight of darkness on his soul, a blight which could never be erased.

Taking a breath and slowly letting it out, Heath bit back his groan of pain and forced himself to a sitting position with his left hand. The beads of sweat on his face increasing and he closed his eyes, steadying the swirling world with his palm flat on the rock shelf. His right thigh was engulfed with warmth and throbbed out of tune with the deep bruising on his right hip, the stinging of the crease in his side and the constant drumming in his head.

Wiping a trembling hand across his face after the world stood still, he slowly eased his battered frame into the water, hissing at the coolness touching his scalding skin. Holding onto the rock shelf, he slowly moved to the edge before taking a shaky breath, going under the water and pushing off the rock hidden beneath the surface with his left leg and left hand.

Gliding under the water cascading from above, he kicked with his left leg and propelled himself with his arms to the surface, reaching out and holding onto a crack in the rock wall with the fingers of his left hand. Floating on his back for a moment to gain some air back into his lungs, he moved onto his side and used the line provided by nature in the rock to reach the shallow end of the pool. His body shook uncontrollably from the cold water, his fever and the exertion used to remove himself from his hiding spot.

Crawling and pulling himself up onto the muddy shore, he sank down onto the bank, uncaring of the night air further chilling his wettened skin or the symphony of nature’s orchestra while his chest heaved for air.

Raising his head, he tilted it to the side at the voice he heard in his ears, the deep voice reassuring and reaching through the shimmering fog in his head.

“We’re coming, little brother. Hold on!”

“Nniicc…” whispered his voice barely through teeth chattering with cold and fever.

His hands reached out, grabbing handfuls of the muddy bank and pulled his body forward with his left leg bending and pushing, the toe of his boot digging in and taking himself away from the pool, an inch at a time.

“Duke, what do you mean the boys aren’t here?” questioned Victoria in confusion. “I didn’t know they were expecting to be out of town.”

Looking around at the gathering crowd on the platform, Duke put on his hat and held his arm out, stating for her ears only, “Let’s talk over by the surrey, Mrs. Barkley.”

Hesitating only a moment, Victoria nodded and took the offered arm with Audra following after Duke instructed Turly to get the trunks of the two women. Stopping by the black carriage, the foreman pushed his hat back and sighed.

“Jarrod and Nick left two days ago. Seems the sheriff in Berlin, Nevada has a deputy who was overdue by three days.” stated Duke quietly.

“Why would they need Jarrod and Nick?” puzzled Audra. “We don’t know anyone in Berlin, do we, Mother?”

Shaking her silver head, Victoria replied, “No, I don’t believe so, Audra.”

Holding up his hand to stop the questions he saw ready to spill forth, Duke found the gray eyes of the Barkley matriarch. “The missing deputy is blonde with blue eyes and his name is Heath Thomson.”

Gasping in surprise, Victoria and Audra grabbed onto each other, their eyes sporting matching sets of hope and wonder.

“They went to Berlin to find out if the missing deputy is Heath, ma’am.” informed the foreman.

‘Missing’ reverberated through Victoria’s mind and her head snapped up, “What do they mean by missing? Did the telegram say?”

“It said he was overdue from delivering a prisoner by three days. That’s why the Sheriff from Berlin wired Dardanelle. He was to pick the prisoner up from Dardanelle and transport him to Berlin. The sheriff in Dardanelle wired Sheriff Tucker in Pine Crest and he wired Fred. There’s some mighty rough territory between them two places, Mrs. Barkley. It could be one of the horses was injured,” suggested the foreman.

“Or it could be something else all together, Duke. Something worse.” interjected Victoria, remembering the haunting dreams of the past few says.

“Mother, what are we going to do?” whispered Audra, her stomach clenching as she recalled the dreams of her blond brother. “I know it’s him. I know it!”

“Mr. McCall!” shouted the telegrapher, Hank Johnson, tipping his hat to the women. “Afternoon, Mrs. Barkley. I got a wire for you, Mr. McCall.”

Taking the paper and handing the man a tip, Duke opened it and handed it to Victoria. Scanning the written words, she reread the paper again and looked up into the eyes of her old friend.

“Duke, find out when the next train going east is leaving. We’ll need two tickets, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” nodded Duke, returning to the depot and entering.

Turning to Audra, Victoria sighed, “Jarrod and Nick stopped in Dardanelle. They’re starting their search from there.”

Holding onto her mother’s hand, Audra let out a shaky breath and offered, “Heath’ll be fine, Mother. Maybe one of the horses did go lame.”

Smiling at her daughter, Victoria patted her hand and watched their foreman approach.

“Leaves in twenty minutes, Mrs. Barkley. I got two seats and Turly put the trunks back on the train.”

“Thank you, Duke.” smiled Victoria in appreciation. “Please wire Dardanelle and leave word for the boys to let them know we’ll be arriving. They may be out searching but when they get back into town, the wire will be there.”

“I will, ma’am.” assured Duke, adding as she turned to go. “Mrs. Barkley, he may not want to admit it and he may fight it but that boy belongs on the ranch. You bring him home, okay?”

Stopping for a moment, Victoria gazed into her foreman’s eyes and nodded firmly, “I will do my damn, uh, my best, Duke. You can bet on that.”

Keeping his eyes on the departing women until they boarded the train, Duke smiled and shook his head while whispering to himself, “I believe you will do just that, ma’am. I believe you will.”

...Continued