A Trust Betrayed

Chapters 21-30

by Redwood

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

Chapter 21

He reached the end of the path, and he paused behind the last rock to try to discern the shapes in front of him in the dark.

Where was Heath? If he were defending the area, he should be on the edges behind the rocks, there to the left.

Nick could see no one there, no glint of the rifle he had heard as he had made his ascent.

Where was Heath?

Cautiously, he stepped closer, toward the open area surrounded on all sides by huge boulders.

Suddenly, he saw two figures----one lying in the dirt, the other kneeling in front of the first.

Then, incredulously, Nick realized Heath was bringing his pistol up to shoot-----at him.

“Heath!” he called, as the bullet went wide, hit a rock beside him, and careened off into the night. Nick dove for cover behind the same rock. “Heath! It’s Nick!”

With a high-pitched whine renting the air, another bullet sailed over his head.

Nick crawled backward and out of his brother’s sight.

Suddenly, Nick heard another noise, the sound of boots on the rocks above him. He edged over to his right, trying to get a clear line of sight on whoever was climbing around up there. He had to get to the man before he could get a shot off at his brother.

But, before he could work his way around, he heard the sharp crack of Heath’s gun again, and heard the body above him crash down onto the rocks below.

In the silence that followed, Nick’s impatience got the best of him. He eased around the rock and tried again to figure out what Heath was doing. His mind, full of unanswered questions, was working furiously.

How was he going to get Heath to stop shooting long enough to get to him, to help him?

* * * * * * * *

There were two of them, Heath was sure. One was higher up in the rocks than the other, but both were coming in from the left. Blinking hard and shaking his head to clear it, Heath aimed at the open place he figured the lower one would come at him from.

As the dark figure emerged, Heath was momentarily stunned that the man would come out so openly. And, . . . there was something else about him, . . . . Heath brought his shaky hands up, the pistol grasped firmly between both, and he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the rocks beside the man, who dove back for cover. Shooting again, Heath knew that if he was wrong, . . . .

Until he could be sure, his only hope was to keep this one pinned down while he finished off the other.

Then, . . . .

Suddenly, as the man higher up used the opportunity to make his move, Heath was ready. He fired. The man disappeared, and he heard the body hit the rocks below.

Now, where was the first one? And, what was he up to? He had to be sure. . . .

The renewed roaring in his ears, the sound that blocked out all others, warned him that his body was about to betray him. He knew he was going to pass out. He was almost out of time to defend his brother. He struggled to his feet, tucked the pistol in his holster, and grabbed Jarrod under his good arm. Then, pulling hard, he tried to drag the larger, unconscious man toward the boulders, out of the line of fire-----just in case he was wrong.

He managed only a few feet before the dizziness washed over him again, and he gave up. He felt the intense jarring in his back and his head as he fell heavily back to his knees. He waited there, in front of Jarrod, trying to breathe. Slowly, he pulled the heavy pistol from his holster once again, and remained there, weaving slightly back and forth, sitting on his heels and guarding his brother.

The pounding of his head merged with the roaring in his ears. He closed his eyes briefly.

He knew the blackness was closing in on him. The pistol slipped from his grip.

Jerking his head up and his eyes open again, he was aware of a large man approaching them, gun in hand.

Struggling to his feet, he growled at the encroaching figure, “Don’t touch him!” and he charged the man, hitting him in the chest with all of his weight.

As they both crashed to the rocky ground, he thought he heard his name, before the blackness claimed him.

He never heard the worry in the voice that called to him, nor felt the concern in the hands that shook him.

“Heath!”

* * * * * * * *

As Nick extricated himself from beneath his brother and, then, knelt over the battered blond, he found the bloody head wound. “Heath!” he called quietly, trying to rouse him. Getting no response, he quickly moved to the other figure lying on the rocky ground, the one his brother had been protecting so fiercely.

“Jarrod!” An amazed Nick quickly felt for a pulse and heaved a sigh of relief. Checking the bandaged arm, he determined that the bleeding was stopped.

Then, moving back to Heath, he got down on one knee, slid one arm beneath his brother’s back and the other beneath his knees. He struggled to stand; then, he carried the slightly smaller man the ten feet or so necessary to lay him on the ground next to Jarrod.

Finally, swallowing hard at the emotions that welled up inside of him, he quickly covered both of his brothers with the blankets scattered about.

Leaving them there side by side, he took up a position on the perimeter of the small, high clearing, just inside the rocks and overlooking the trees. He watched for movement and waited for gunfire from below, but he also turned often to scan the rocks behind and to each side. Being unsure of what he was up against was frustrating. He had no way of knowing who was shooting at his brothers, why they were under siege, nor how many more guns might be out there.

As the long minutes of uncertainty stretched into almost an hour, he began to relax. Nothing had moved and no more shots had been fired. He rubbed his face. His squinted eyes were very tired now from lack of sleep and from continually trying to make sense of the shadows in the darkness below. Finally, he decided to try an experiment. Aiming at the ground between the road and the trees, he fired off a couple of shots, just to see what results he would get.

Again, he waited.

Nothing moved. No return shots were fired.

Removing his hat and raking his gloved hand through his disheveled dark hair, he shook his head and said quietly to himself, “You’ve got two choices, Nick Old Man, go down there and check things out, or look after your boys and hope no one else is out there.”

Shaking his head, he tried to recall the last thing he had heard as he had climbed up the rocks, just before Heath had taken a shot at him. Who had fired last? Heath from the rocks above? Or, someone from the trees below?

Heath. He was sure the last volley of bullets had been fired from the rocks. Heath must have finished off anyone else within the trees with his last few shots, then taken out the only remaining man who had been working his way in from behind.

Pistol in hand just to be safe, Nick returned to his brothers. He needed to know how bad off they were, and he needed answers to determine how safe their position here really was. For the next few minutes, he moved back and forth between them both, trying to wake first one, then the other.

Though he was unsuccessful in his attempts to rouse Heath, he was beginning to reach his older brother. “Jarrod. Jarrod!” Nick lightly tapped on the very pale face, trying to elicit a response. His frustration mounting, he added, “Jarrod, will you wake up and tell me what in blue blazes is going on?!”

Nick sighed with relief when Jarrod blinked a few times and opened his eyes slowly.

“N-i-c-k?” he asked, his confusion adding to his pain.

Raising the groggy head enough to get two small sips of water down him, Nick then lowered Jarrod back onto the blanket. “Jarrod, what happened?” Nick’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, his worry for his brothers and uncertainty over the situation weighing down on him. “Tell me! Is there a bullet in your arm?”

“N-i-c-k?” Jarrod responded, trying to push himself up.

“Be still, Jarrod. It’s okay. Just rest,” Nick pulled his brother’s head up to rest it on his own outstretched legs and stroked the sweaty, dark hair. He grimaced with the obvious pain Jarrod was in and tried to rein in his need to know what was going on. Clearly, neither brother was in any shape to tell him right now.

“Heath?” Jarrod asked, opening his eyes wide and trying again to raise himself up. “Where’s Heath?” His voice rose in agitation at not being able to see his youngest brother.

“Whoa, there, Pappy. Just lie back. Brother Heath is right here next to you. He’s resting.” Nick’s words had the desired effect, as Jarrod lay back and blinked hard, taking in a couple of deep breaths.

“He’s alright?” Jarrod asked after a few silent moments had slipped by. “He’s hurt, Nick . . . . Don’t let him tell you. . . don’t let him tell you he’s not.”

“He’s resting, Jarrod. He’ll be fine.” Nick’s deep voice shared reassurance that he did not feel. The questions taunted him. Was Heath alright? What had happened to him? What had happened to both of them?

Chapter 22

“Here. Drink some more water, and then I wanna take a look at your arm.” Nick helped Jarrod raise his head up enough to drink several more small sips. Then, he slipped out from under him and placed Jarrod’s head back on the blanket. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage, and checked the entry and exit wounds. “Anything been used to clean this?” Nick asked.

After a few seconds, Jarrod responded slowly, “No, don’t think so. No time for that.”

Nick nodded and headed over to Heath’s worn saddle bags lying in the dirt. Rummaging through them, he produced a slender bottle of liniment with a couple of inches of liquid remaining in the bottom. He returned to his older brother and sat down beside him. “It seems our little brother is wising up. He’s started carrying his own supply!” Then, with more seriousness, he said, as he removed his gloves, “This is gonna hurt, Jarrod. Hang on.”

The liquid, poured directly over the wound, front and back, caused Jarrod to feel as if his whole body had first been plunged into an icy mountain stream, then spread out to bake in the brutal, blazing desert sun. A groan escaped his lips, as he rolled his head toward the freezing, burning pain. Then, eyes raised and locked on the unconscious face of his younger brother lying beside him, Jarrod concentrated on what he could remember of the last few hours and tried to forget the agony he was in.

As the pain slowly began to subside into a more reasonable, but steady, throbbing, he closed his eyes and saw again the actions of the blond as he moved from boulder to boulder, heard again the continual firing of Heath’s rifle. He saw again the image of his younger brother fiercely kneeling beside him, ready to shoot anyone who came after him. He heard again his brother’s yell, “That lawyer means a lot to me. He’s my brother!”

“Nick?” Jarrod asked, opening his eyes and staring at Heath’s unmoving features.

“Right here, Jarrod,” Nick answered through clenched teeth and cloth, as he used his hands and teeth to finish tying off the bandage that now covered a fresh dressing on Jarrod’s arm.

“Nick, he defended me. . . . He could hardly stand, but . . . . He kept them away from me.”

“I know, Jarrod. I saw him. Fool kid was almost out of his head. He took a couple of shots at me, too. I’m thinking he killed whoever was after both of you.”

Jarrod raised his eyes from one brother to look into the eyes of the other. “Shot at you?”

“Yeah, there was somebody else up above me in the rocks. He must’ve thought we were both after the two of you. When I saw him, he was kneeling in front of you, guarding you. He was obviously hurt, and he was weaving back and forth. ‘Could hardly hold up that pistol. But, he brought down the man above us.”

Chuckling then, Nick added, “When I got close, he yelled something about not hurting you anymore and charged at me. ‘Knocked us both clean off our feet.”

Then, his voice serious, he pushed his fingers through Jarrod’s hair and asked again, “What happened, Jarrod? Who was after the two of you?”

Jarrod swallowed hard, “Not him, just after me. . . ‘Made some enemies in Coreyville--- with my questions, . . . and he was there. . . ‘Got me out. . . . They must’ve followed us.”

Jarrod’s right hand came up to squeeze Nick’s arm. “He’s hurt, Nick. . . I think they beat him very badly. . . . ‘Gotta get him home.”

“You’re both hurt, Jarrod. Just rest easy. We’ve gotta get you both home, but not tonight.” Then, seeing the worry in Jarrod’s eyes, Nick added, “I’ll take care of him, Jarrod. Our little brother is gonna be just fine. You both are.”

Jarrod nodded and closed his eyes. Nick touched his hair again, and said, “Just rest. I’ll be right here.”

Moving around Jarrod to get to Heath from the other side, Nick used the canteen and the liniment to wash out the jagged gash on the side of Heath’s head.

His brother never moved.

Then, Nick pulled back the blanket and unbuttoned the torn shirt. He sat back and whistled at the bruising that covered Heath’s chest from his collarbone to his belt, and especially his left side. Carefully rolling the injured young man toward his less battered right side, he cursed at the huge dark bruise dominating his brother’s lower back.

“Dammit, Heath! Who did you tangle with?” Touching the almost black bruise, he felt the heat and swelling beneath it, then continued to probe around on the side, and rolled his brother gently back down to push carefully on the bruised chest. Worry at the obvious buildup of blood beneath the surface of the skin, and very concerned about the lack of response from his brother, he asked quietly, “Hell, Boy, what did they hit you with, a fence post?”

Finally, with great care, he worked Heath’s left arm out of his brown leather vest and then finished ripping off the torn blue sleeve, so he could get to the bloody place on his shoulder. More bruising and swelling extended across the shoulder and down to Heath’s forearm. Shaking his head, Nick focused on the bloody wound he was sure had been caused by a bullet grazing him. He applied more liniment and folded the torn sleeve to create a bandage to wrap around the badly swollen arm.

As he sat back to give himself a breather, he noticed the sky was beginning to lighten toward the east. Though he had no idea how he was going to accomplish it with both of them unconscious, he felt an unnamed urgency to get his brothers out of the area and headed for home.

With a pat on the good shoulder of each brother, Nick headed down the back side of the rocky slope to work his way around to the trees. He needed to assure himself that the immediate threat was gone. Using the last remnants of the darkness of the nearly moonless night to his advantage, he stayed behind the rocks as far out as they would let him. Then, he crouched down and ran toward the nearest trees, moving in a weaving pattern across the brightness of the road, in case anyone tried to get off a shot at him.

Once he reached the trees, he stood still against a large trunk and waited. Hearing no movement except what could be attributed to the picketed horses, he crept quietly forward. The first man he came to had a rifle in his arms, but was slumped against a trunk behind him, his chin resting on his chest. Finding no pulse, Nick took note of the single bullet hole in the man’s throat.

Moving forward through the trees, he discovered three more bodies. All three had been killed by gunshots, and all three were either still clinging to or had dropped a rifle nearby. The most surprising thing Nick found was the size of the third man he came upon. The man was huge, a great hulking, solidly-built giant that clearly didn’t need the gun in his hands to be lethal.

Returning to the rocks, Nick walked along the back side of the slope until he found the fifth man, the one Heath had shot from the rocks above. The man’s body was lying among the boulders, but he had obviously been killed by a bullet to the head. Nick closed his eyes for a moment, wondering why Heath’s deadly aim had been off when he had shot at him earlier----but immensely grateful that his brother had missed him.

Then, he turned and walked quietly to the horses grazing nearby. All three were still saddled, and he stroked Coco’s neck in apology. Gathering the reins, he led them around to the less rocky, frontal approach to the protected clearing above him in the rocks where his brothers waited. As he reached the highest point where he could take them, the less familiar of the three horses suddenly shied and pulled back on the reins, sidestepping to get away from something on the ground.

“Whoa, there. Easy, now.” Nick cajoled. He steadied the horse, then dropped to one knee to investigate the dark area on the dry grass. Removing his glove, he touched the spot with his fingers and was concerned to see the blood on his hand. “Jarrod,” he said quietly, thinking that this must have been where his brother was shot.

Standing again, he patted the horse, then moved to check all three saddles. Then, he ground-tied them and climbed through the opening in the boulders to return to the two men above him.

He gathered the gear, including their weapons, and returned it all to the horses. Then, he attempted again to rouse his brothers.

Once again, only Jarrod stirred.

“Jarrod?” Nick asked, as his older brother struggled up on one elbow with a groan. “Can you ride, Jarrod?”

Nodding his head, Jarrod said, “Yes, I think so.”

“Here, let me help you up. We’ve got to get you both to a doctor.” Nick shared Jarrod’s grimace of pain as they worked together, Nick’s shoulder under Jarrod’s good arm, to get him to his mount. Pulling himself up, Jarrod sat astride the nondescript brown horse and worked to catch his breath. Nick, still standing on the ground, one hand on Jarrod’s leg, looked up in concern. “Can you make it?”

Jarrod nodded again, “Yes. . . . What about Heath?”

“I’ll just have to hold him. We’ve got to get him some help. I think he’s bleeding inside.”

Jarrod closed his eyes and sighed. He remained still, holding to the saddle horn and waiting, while Nick returned to the rocks.

“Heath. Heath!” Nick tapped his brother’s face, trying to get him to come around. Giving up, he went down on one knee and pulled Heath up into a sitting position. Then, he pulled Heath up and across his shoulders, his legs hanging down in the back, and both arms draped down across Nick’s left shoulder.

When he reached Coco, he bent down slightly and lifted, using the momentum and the power of his legs to heave Heath up enough to rest him partially across the saddle. Resting a moment, Nick held him in place, then pushed him the rest of the way. Turning him slightly, Nick pulled Heath’s shoulders forward and across Coco’s neck, and he followed this by pushing Heath’s right leg over the horse. Finally, he reached behind him, gathered Gal’s reins, and wrapped them around Coco’s saddle horn, before he climbed up behind his brother.

As he pulled Heath into an upright position resting against his chest, Nick took a deep breath and turned his head to look at Jarrod. “Ready?” he asked.

Jarrod nodded, and he turned his horse toward the west, away from the gradually lightening sky and Coreyville to the east.

Chapter 23

By mid-morning, Nick knew his boys had had enough. Jarrod had remained stoically, silently, in the saddle without complaint or comment for hours, as they stopped only long enough to let the horses rest and the two of them share a canteen.

Neither had dismounted.

But, for the last hour or so, though they had maintained a slow, methodical pace, Nick had been noticing that Jarrod was less and less able to keep himself straight up in the saddle. At their last stop to let the horses blow, he had been leaning almost over on the horse’s neck, held up only by his right forearm resting on the saddle horn.

As for Heath, Nick was concerned that he had remained unconscious throughout the trip. He could feel the heat radiating off of his brother through the still unbuttoned shirt. And, for the last little while, he had been concerned about the mumbling Heath was doing as his head tossed back and forth restlessly against Nick’s shoulder.

For the last two miles or so, Nick had been looking for a cool place, somewhere with water, to stop for a while. Now, he spotted a good prospect ahead, and he slowed their pace.

“Jarrod. Jarrod, hang on. Just a little farther,” Nick said to the brother right behind him and to his left.

Not hearing a response, Nick knew they would have to stop, even if there was no water among the trees.

Sighing with relief a few minutes later, he felt the coolness and heard the welcome sound of running water even before he could see it. Halting his horse as close as he could get to the stream below them, he carefully dismounted while holding Heath in place in the saddle above him. Then, he glanced at Jarrod to make sure he was all right, and he eased Heath down and over his shoulder. Staggering a few steps under his brother’s awkward weight, he dropped to one knee and allowed Heath’s legs to slide toward the brown grass. Then, he eased Heath’s upper body down and carefully rested his brother’s head on the ground.

Quickly, he returned to Jarrod’s horse and led him as close to Heath as he could get him. “Jarrod, throw your leg over. I’ll catch you.” When his brother did not move, Nick said, “Jarrod! I’ve got you now. You can let go.”

With no response, Nick eased Jarrod’s weight toward him and pulled him until his boots were free from the stirrups. Careful of his bullet wound, he grasped Jarrod under the arms and half drug, half carried him the last few feet to let him down gently next to Heath.

As he stood, he rested one hand on his aching lower back and said, “Whew, Boys, we’ve got to speak to Silas about what he’s been feeding you two!”

Then, he turned to take care of the horses, sure his two unconscious brothers would not need him for a few minutes.

Muttering apologies to all three animals, he unsaddled them, and led them up and down in the shade for a little while to cool them down. Satisfied that they would be okay to water now, he returned to the saddles lying on the ground to retrieve the three canteens. As an afterthought, he dug around in his saddle bag and pulled out a clean shirt. Then, he tossed it over his shoulder and walked the horses down along the road a little ways to a wide path down the steep embankment to the stream. Pleased to see the greener grass lining the banks, he left them there to drink and graze, as he poured cool water over his head, filled the canteens, and soaked the extra shirt with water.

Returning to Jarrod and Heath, he gathered some kindling and quickly built a small fire. Then, he boiled some water and jerky in a cup to have available when either of them came around. Next, he removed his gloves and checked Jarrod’s wound. Nodding to himself, he was pleased at the color and lack of heat in the two openings marring his brother’s arm. Rewrapping it, he was just as glad to see the dark blue of his brother’s eyes watching him.

“How long, Nick?” Jarrod asked, after drinking down a cup of water and a few sips of the still weak broth.

“You did real good, Big Brother,” Nick praised with a grin. “I didn’t think you had it in your lazy lawyer’s hide to stay in the saddle that long, especially hurt, but you did! About four hours.”

“No, . . . how long ‘til. . . a doctor for Heath?” Jarrod tried again.

Nick’s smile disappeared. “I don’t know, Jarrod. I don’t think either of the towns between here and Stockton has a doctor. Maybe we should have gone back to Coreyville.”

“No!” came Jarrod’s instant reply, the worry on his face increasing. “I think Heath shot. . . I think he shot Judge Coulter’s nephew. . . in those trees.” Jarrod paused for breath, his eyes closing again with the pain. Then, he added quietly, “Going back. . . would’ve been a death sentence, Nick.”

Patting Jarrod on the shoulder, Nick said, “How do you feel? Do you need anything else?”

Jarrod shook his head and looked up into Nick’s concerned eyes, “Thanks, Nick. Thanks for getting us out of there.”

“Jarrod,” Nick said, “I checked before we pulled out. Heath is the one who took care of everything. He shot them all. There are five of them dead back there, and they all were armed and apparently shooting at the two of you.”

Nick stood up and moved around to the other man stretched out on the ground. The heat was coming off of Heath in waves; Nick could feel it before he even touched his brother’s sweat-soaked face. Raising the blanket and checking the bruises again, the worry washed over him once more. Looking closer, Nick suddenly realized that, in addition to the awful bruises, there was some swelling, just under his ribs, that hadn’t been there before.

As he ran his hand across the swelling, Heath reacted by tossing his head to the side and moaning. Nick immediately tried tapping him on the side of his face, “Heath! Heath, wake up!” His brother did not respond again.

Jarrod’s quiet voice pulled him from his silent worry, “What is it, Nick?”

“I don’t know, Jarrod. Something’s not right.”

Nick closed his eyes and wracked his brain about what else he could do. Reaching for the wet shirt he had brought back from the stream, he pulled him forward to rest Heath’s head against his shoulder, and he wrapped the wet shirt around his back. Then, he let Heath down on the ground and pulled the rest of the wet shirt up and across his chest, side, and gut to try to cool him down, to try to help with the swelling.

Then, to distract his brother, he asked, “I saw some blood on the ground at the top of the slope, just below the rocks. Is that where you got shot?”

Jarrod, who had been lying on his side watching him, nodded, “Yes, . . . soon as we got there. . . . He was about out of it. . . . I went back for his rifle. . . . Somebody shot me from below.” Jarrod’s eyes took on a far away look for a moment as he remembered. “He came and got me, Nick, . . . used the horses for cover, I think, . . . then started shooting so I could make it up the hill. . . behind him.”

Jarrod shook his head. “When I left him, I thought he was out cold, . . . but he came and got me.”

Then, after a few minutes in which Jarrod just stared over at his unconscious, younger brother beside him, he said, “He’s really something, Nick. . . . I think he took a beating because he. . . because he failed to give me one.”

“What?” Nick asked in confusion. “What do you mean, Jarrod?”

Jarrod shook his head slightly, “He went there to find out about Anders, just as I did. . . . He hired on with the very man that committed the murder. . . the murder that they tried to pin on Anders.” Jarrod closed his eyes, the memory fresh, but painful. “Coulter tried to persuade me to quit asking questions. . . . He brought along this giant of a man and . . .”

“. . . And Heath?” Nick finished with sudden understanding, the scene just as painful for him to imagine as it must have been for Jarrod to endure.

“Yes. The big man did the holding, and Heath, well, Coulter expected him to do the rest.”

“And?” Nick interrupted, his voice rising in volume.

“Oh, he hit me, . . . knocked me out cold.” Jarrod’s right hand came up to touch the bruise along his jaw, and he stared up at Nick. “But, it was quick, too quick, I think, for Coulter, . . . . When I asked him what happened to him, Heath never said any more than that name, Coulter, . . . . . . but, I think the man had him beaten for . . . for not . . . .”

This time, Jarrod just stopped, and turned back to look at Heath.

Nick shook his head and looked out across the distance that separated them from the five dead men behind them. He remembered the huge man he had found shot among the trees. If that man had been the one to go after Jarrod instead, . . . . Nick could not finish the thought.

Then, suddenly, it hit him, like a sledgehammer to the gut.

That was exactly why Heath was in the condition he was in. That man must have almost beaten him to death to teach him a lesson. In his own way, Heath had protected his brother by taking the beating that had been intended for Jarrod.

Apparently, Jarrod was thinking the same thing, as he said quietly, “He did that to protect me. And . . . and, I feel so guilty about everything, . . . . I know he must feel like we all betrayed him, Nick, . . . back at the house. . . . We let him down twice now.”

Nick interrupted and completed the thought, “Yeah, Jarrod. I’ve had the same thoughts lately. I think his trust in us was shaken when we sent him off with Bentell. When I really started chewing on it, I realized he’s been different these last few months.” Nick paused and took a deep breath. “Then, this happened with Anders------Once I thought about it from his point of view, I figured he’d left us for sure. I probably would have in his place!”

Jarrod’s midnight blue eyes searched Nick’s hazel. “That’s why you’re here? . . . Following him?”

“No,” Nick answered. “I had no idea he was in Coreyville. I was coming after you because we hadn’t heard from you, and to get you to help me find him.”

At Jarrod’s confused look, Nick added, “You were supposed to send a telegram, remember?” Nick got up to bring Jarrod more of the now stronger broth.

“I did send it, Nick, shortly after I arrived,” Jarrod responded as Nick settled between his brothers and lifted Jarrod up to drink the hot liquid.

Both men were lost in thought, and didn’t realize Heath was starting to stir until Nick felt the younger man behind him grab his shoulder. Then, they heard his angry, ice-cold voice, “Get your hands off him, Bentell! Don’t hurt him anymore! You’re killin’ him!”

Heath, his eyes wide open, was trying to get up, trying to pull Nick away from Jarrod. Unsuccessful, he lay back down heavily, but continued thrashing around, his legs scuffing back and forth in the dirt, and his head tossing from side to side. From the moans that escaped his lips, they knew he was in terrible pain.

Nick quickly helped Jarrod lie back down, then scrambled to his knees to get to Heath. “Whoa, Boy. It’s alright. I’ve got you. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Suddenly, Heath’s eyes opened wide, and he tried again to get up. Then, he yelled, “No!” and glared up at Nick, his eyes wild, “Let go’a him, Bentell! Don’t hurt him anymore. Get away from him!” He closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around the area of the swelling and resumed his frantic thrashing.

Nick caught Jarrod’s eyes, and they stared at each other. Both knew they had had a hand in bringing these memories crashing back down on their brother, and they were very worried about his injuries. Trying to hold him down without hurting his shoulder, Nick finally moved around to reach from behind Heath to pull his struggling brother up and into his chest. “Heath. Heath! It’s alright, Heath. Calm down!”

Nick wasn’t having much success getting him to quit thrashing about, and after a few moments, his frustration was rising. “Even after all that time at the logging camp with Bentell, he still thinks he has to defend everyone from that man!” Nick said to Jarrod through clenched teeth, his brother’s pain and his words tearing Nick up inside.

“Just hold onto him. You’ve got to get him still, Nick! . . . He’s gonna hurt himself more if you don’t get him calm.”

Suddenly, Nick looked at Jarrod, an idea forming, as the blond continued fighting against him. “No more, Bentell! No more!” Heath yelled. Jarrod could see Heath’s eyes; they were angry, and full of pain, but unfocused.

Nick took a firmer hold of Heath, his arms wrapped securely around the heaving, bruised upper chest, and said soothingly, “It’s alright, Heath. Nobody’s gonna hurt him anymore. He’s fine. Look, Heath, see him? He’s alright.”

As the struggles seemed to pause for a moment, Nick continued, “Easy, Heath. Jarrod’s okay, Boy. You got him away from there. He’s alright.”

Slowly, Heath’s eyes seemed to clear. He blinked to focus on the blue eyes in the face in front of him. As he stared straight ahead, he finally saw Jarrod lying on the ground looking back at him. Jarrod responded to the concern he saw in his brother’s sky-blue, agonized eyes, “I’m alright, Heath. You kept them away from me. Just rest.”

Heath began to relax, and he reached toward the man on the ground, “Jar-r-rod-d-d?” he whispered, before clutching at his bruised midsection and slipping back into unconsciousness.

Nick heaved in a huge lungful of air and let it blow out noisily, before he tousled the sweaty, blond hair and touched the side of Heath’s face.

“Yep, Jarrod,” he said, pride, love, and a deep anguish filling his voice, as the feelings filled his heart. “This boy’s really something, alright. He’s hurting, but he’s still a Barkley, and he’s as protective now of you, of his family, as he has been since that day at Semple’s Farm!”

Quietly, Jarrod said, “I agree, Nick, . . . I think he still feels the same way about us, . . . but, I wonder if . . . . Will he ever again believe that we still feel that way towards him? . . After all we’ve put him through. . . . Will he ever trust us again. . .?”

“First, we’ve got to get him home, Jarrod. Then, when we know he’s going to be alright, we’ll find a way to convince him-----somehow.”

The silence settled around all three like the shimmering heat settling into the hard-packed road beyond them. Side by side, the two older brothers watched the younger one in Nick’s arms, and wondered if they would get that chance.

Chapter 24

Nick was glad to see that Jarrod was beginning to show signs of wakening. He had been asleep for over an hour, and he was clearly in need of some cool water. Despite Nick’s attempts to keep both of his brother’s comfortable, Jarrod had a thin sheen of sweat across his brow.

The shade protecting them from the noon sun was beginning to lose its ability to shield them. It was time to either move his brothers deeper into the trees or to get back on the road and try to push for home.

Until Jarrod was awake, Nick knew no decision could really be made. He couldn’t hold them both in the saddle.

The heat radiating off of Heath was slowly sending Nick into despair. He continued to bathe them both with the soaked shirt, rewetting it several times from the full canteens he had brought back up from the stream earlier. Nothing he did for Heath, however, seemed to be making a difference.

Though Heath had not uttered another word, he had gone from heated delirium to shivered silence---and back again---while Jarrod had slept. Nick had been unsuccessful in his attempts to get Heath to drink anything, though he had occasionally taken a chance and dribbled water into his mouth.

“Jarrod?” Nick asked, from his seated position behind Heath. “Jarrod? Can you hear me?”

“Tired, Nick,” was Jarrod’s first reply.

“I know you are, Big Brother, I know.” Though his words were for Jarrod, his immediate thoughts were for Heath.

Nick worriedly tilted his head forward and let his cheek rest on top of Heath’s soaked hair. He knew he had to decide something soon, or he was afraid he was going to lose this brother that his heart had so recently found.

Jarrod struggled to raise himself up on one elbow. He fought a wave of dizziness that swept over him, like an unwelcome breeze of hot, dry air. Shaking his head to move past the grogginess, he said, “How is he, Nick?”

Nick’s face spoke volumes, as he raised his sad, hazel eyes to look at Jarrod. He said quietly, “I don’t know, Pappy. He’s still unconscious, and he’s just so hot.”

Jarrod swallowed hard, the pain in Nick’s eyes leaving him feeling slightly off-balance. “How long to a doctor, Nick?”

“Unless we pick up the pace from before, Jarrod, I think it’ll take us another four hours or so. And in this heat. . . maybe longer.”

“If you’ll get us saddled up, we’ll get him there, Nick. I feel much better, now.” Jarrod encouraged.

At first, Nick didn’t respond.

He wanted them to stay together. He had been worried for a while now that someone from that town would follow them. No matter how he tried, he just couldn’t make himself believe that they had come far enough and that his brothers would be safe here, with or without him.

But, if Jarrod couldn’t ride, . . .

But, if he didn’t get Heath a doctor soon, . . .

He was torn. He certainly didn’t want to lose either or both of them to his own unreasonable desire to put more miles between them and Coreyville, but. . . .

“Jarrod, are you sure? Maybe I should leave you both here so you can rest. I could go on ahead and find some help.”

“I’m ready. Go get the horses.” Seeing Nick’s uncharacteristic hesitation, Jarrod added forcefully, “You’re not going to leave us here, Nick. I can ride. Now, let’s go!”

As he carefully lowered Heath to the ground, Nick looked at Jarrod and nodded. “So,” Nick thought to himself, as he left them and headed down the road to get the horses, “He isn’t completely sure we’re safe here, either.”

Nick picked up his pace.

* * * * * * * *

The sheriff was pushing his men hard. He had gotten wind of the trouble up by Renegade Rocks, and he doubted that any of it was going to bode well for that lawyer that the Coulters were so bent on bringing down. After finding Amy Coulter dead a couple of hours ago when he went out to try one more time to talk some sense into Matt, he had no doubt that he was going to have to make some tough decisions today.

As they approached the trees, he saw several men milling about. “Sure wish I was anywhere but having to deal with this,” he grumbled to himself. “More killing is not my idea of a good way to start the day----not today nor any other.”

Pulling his horse to a stop, he hollered, “What’s happened here?”

Abe Harkins, one of Coulter’s men came over. “Looks like Matt and Jamison, plus a few others, finally met their match, Sheriff.”

“They’re dead?” the sheriff asked incredulously. His disbelief that Matt was really dead overshadowed his instant interest in Harkins’ phrasing, the words making it sound like the man was glad to be sharing this news.

“Yep, and there’s another one of Matt’s men dead, around on the back side of the rocks---that makes five in all. The Judge was here, and he’s gone after whoever did this. Didn’t want our help, and that suits me fine. Somebody’s a right good shot. Looks like no more than two or three horses could’ve been up there. Matt must’ve had ‘em holed up for a while.”

“The talk in town is that Jamison came in the saloon looking for Riles and some others last night to help Matt gun down that lawyer,” spoke up the tall, lanky Deputy Newsome, sitting on his horse beside the sheriff. “You know anything about that?”

“Makes sense with what I saw in there,” Harkins gestured toward the trees. “Riles is one of the men dead, sitting by a tree with his rifle still in his hands, a bullet in his throat. Matt and his men have bullied everyone in three counties for years; but, they must’ve picked the wrong men to pick a fight with this time.”

“How far ahead is the Judge, Abe?” the sheriff asked.

Harkins spit in the dust at his feet and looked at the sun’s early morning rays slanting across the low hills to the east. “Not long. We’ll be here a while yet, Sheriff, getting the bodies situated. Here, you and your men take our horses. You might have a better chance of catching him. His is about worn out.”

“Thanks, Abe.”

A few minutes later, the sheriff turned his new mount toward the west. He had checked up on that lawyer from Stockton, that Jarrod Barkley, in the last few days. And, what he’d found out, about the Barkleys’ reputation for being a fine family, trusted by many, had assured him that the man was as good as his word. He had not been there to make trouble, just to get answers----answers the sheriff had decided he was ready to hear as well.

It was time to make a stand one way or another, with or against, the Judge.

As he rode, he muttered another wish, this time that he would be able to prevent the Judge, a man he had known for over ten years, from making matters worse.

* * * * * * * *

Their canteens now full, Nick had just turned from the stream and gathered the reins of the three compliant horses, when Coco raised his head suddenly and pricked his ears. Nick quickly stroked the dark nose and spoke quietly to the alert animal. If it was trouble approaching, he did not want the big horse to sound off and give away their position.

Leaving the canteens and the horses behind, Nick scrambled up the steep bank above the stream, cutting straight back to his brothers through the underbrush, rather than taking the longer trail around by the road. Struggling to be as quiet as possible, he could hear the still distant hoof beats of galloping horses, well before he could see the road. Edging closer and peering through the brush and trees, he could make out a tall figure standing near their now-dead fire.

He could hear Jarrod’s voice, but the man standing nearby was not one of his brothers---he was sure of it.

Pulling his pistol, he stepped from the thick trees.

Never one to panic in any situation, Nick Barkley narrowed his eyes at what he saw. He fought for self-control as he felt a veritable noose of death settle around his throat, strangling him with fear-----not physical fear for himself, but fear for his brothers and their future together.

Chapter 25

As Judge Benjamin Coulter stared down at the two men lying at his feet, the rage that had been driving him since early this morning suddenly mingled with a vicious desire for vengeance more piercing than anything he had ever felt in his fifty-five years on this earth.

One of these men, probably with help from the other, had killed his only living relative---Matt Coulter----his only heir, his only hope for continuing his name, his only future.

It really didn’t matter which one of them had pulled the trigger. He was going to kill them both; it was only a decision of which one would die first.

Looking down at them, he realized only one was aware of his presence looming over them. Checking closer, the judge realized the man was blinking furiously, his eyes more closed than not, and that this man, too, was struggling.

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod was trying to push himself up off the ground. He did not know this man, but he could guess at who he was. The man’s red, angry face had a slow, menacing smile spreading across it, . . . . and in the man’s hand was a gun.

Despite the pain, he managed to raise himself up on his left elbow, and, without a word, he edged closer to his unconscious brother lying beside him. He felt the hard metal outline of Heath’s pistol wedged between them, its length still encased inside the leather holster strapped to Heath’s right leg.

Laughing, the judge asked, “You that lawyer? The one that’s been so interested in what happened to that schoolteacher?”

Jarrod just stared at the man. But, beneath the blanket, he was working to release the leather loop that held the gun in place.

Suddenly, the man aimed his revolver at Heath, but glanced at Jarrod and demanded vehemently, “I asked you a question!”

“Yes, I’m Jarrod Barkley.”

“Is this Heath Thomson?” the gun jerked, his arm dropping slightly, as the man used the gesture to indicate his target.

“He’s my brother, Heath Barkley. What exactly do you want, Judge?” Jarrod’s voice was stronger as he forced himself to keep the man talking. Hopefully, Nick would hear them and be able to come up with a way out of this.

Distracted for a second by the approach of several horses from the road, Ben Coulter responded, “You two killed my nephew, Matt, my only living blood, and you’re gonna pay with your blood.”

He brought his arm back up and aimed again at Heath.

Jarrod had released the loop and was easing the pistol from the holster, his eyes on the angry judge. He heard the sweet sound of Nick’s spurs and saw the man’s eyes shift toward the third Barkley, emerging from the trees, his own gun already in his hand.

However, Ben Coulter’s pistol never wavered from its target on the ground.

“Drop the gun.” Nick said coldly, his voice leaving no doubt as to the seriousness of his demand.

As the horses behind him came to a halt, the judge said to Nick, “Get back! ‘Far as I know, I’ve got no quarrel with you, Mister. But, these two murdered my nephew, and they’re gonna die for it.”

Instead of obeying, Nick took a menacing step forward.

The judge countered by pulling back the hammer on the pistol and keeping it aimed at Heath’s chest.

“You can shoot me if you want, but he’ll be dead by the time I am,” the judge said, again, indicating Heath with the movement of the pistol as he spoke.

Jarrod tried again, “It’s me you want, Coulter. I killed your nephew.”

“No, one of Matt’s men told me. It was Heath Thomson what did it. But no matter, you’re both gonna die. If he’s your brother, then all the better. You can watch your flesh and blood die before I put my bullet in you. That way, you’ll know all about the hole in my heart that you both put there!”

“BEN!” The sheriff hollered. He eased down from his horse and began walking toward the imposing figure that had ruled the town of Coreyville with a bully’s iron fist for more than twenty years. “Ben, put down the gun!”

The judge did not move his gaze from Heath as he yelled over his shoulder, “Stay out of this, Ollie! This ain’t your fight!”

“It’s nobody’s fight, Ben!”

On the ground, Heath was beginning to stir. He moaned softly, drawing both Nick’s and Jarrod’s eyes. Struggling, he threw off the blankets and exposed his empty holster.

“Jar-rod?” he groaned. “Where’s . . . Bentell?”

He wanted so badly to reach out to him, to reassure Heath that Bentell wasn’t anywhere around, that it was Ben-----Judge Benjamin Coulter-----he had heard the sheriff hollering out to.

Instead Jarrod did what he had to do.

He kept his hand on the gun that remained on the ground, concealed by the blanket.

Jarrod’s eyes returned to the face of the man above them. He saw right away the widening of the feral eyes as the man stared down at Heath, taking in his badly battered chest and bruised, swollen arm.

Then, Jarrod spoke up.

“Your precious nephew and his hired men did that to my brother, Judge. He was just trying to protect me from them.” Jarrod said, bitterly, through clenched teeth. “He’s bleeding inside; he may yet pay for all of this with his life.”

The sheriff hollered out again, taking a few steps toward Coulter, “Ben, Matt killed Horace Ames. He killed his own wife. There’s been enough killing, Ben. Give me the gun.”

As the sheriff talked, Jarrod pushed himself forward again, trying desperately to get between the judge, the man’s deadly pistol, and his defenseless brother. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nick edging closer, his own gun still in his hand, ready to defend them both.

With his attention distracted by the man approaching from the road, the judge yelled, “NO!” as he turned around toward the sheriff and fired wildly.

The sheriff dropped to the ground, a crimson stain coloring one leg of his brown pants.

The judge wheeled back and again aimed the pistol at Heath.

“Now! He’s gonna die, now. . . !”

The shriek ended in the judge’s throat, as simultaneously, Nick and Jarrod Barkley fired into the man’s chest to protect their barely conscious, younger brother.

Chapter 26

Where the sliver of a silver moon had left them little light by which to make their decisions last night, where it had left them little light to guide them then, the searing brightness of the sun today left them little room for decision-making, left them little choice in how to proceed today.

Its heat ate away at them, relentless in its pursuit to rob them of all moisture, merciless in its thirst to suck them dry.

They fought its effects by stopping often to drink, pausing whenever they could in the shade offered by the meager trees along the road. They battled against its effects by stopping in the nearest town for supplies, to look for medical assistance, to look for relief.

“Jarrod,” Nick reached over to grasp his brother’s reins, one hand still holding his own, the same arm balancing Heath’s sweat-soaked body against his chest with some difficulty.

Newsome, the tall deputy who had been sent with them, quickly dismounted and assisted Nick in getting his brother’s horse stopped.

“Jarrod!” Nick called again.

Groggy, but fighting for all he was worth to stay alert enough to remain in the saddle, Jarrod brought his head up and looked at Nick in confusion. “Why. . .why’re we stopping, Nick? ‘Not thirsty yet. Keep going!” He demanded, his only thought to prevent Nick from having to stop on his account, his only concern to get his injured brother to a doctor.

“It’s okay, Jarrod.” Nick soothed, as he climbed down from the saddle while Newsome held the unconscious blond in place. Together, they managed to get both men, first Heath, then Jarrod, down from their saddles and side by side on the straw-strewn ground.

Looking around as he lay propped up against a hay bale in the shade, Jarrod saw the signs of a livery business in disrepair.

He reached over and felt the heat of his brother’s chest.

As he glanced up, he saw Nick talking to a rag-tag man dressed in overalls. Then, he concentrated on pulling Heath to him and on trying to get some water down his throat. Frowning when his efforts did not even elicit a weak cough, he took a swallow from the canteen for himself, and fought down his fears.

Splashing some water on Heath’s chest, he tried to cool him from the outside, since his attempts to do the same from the inside continued to be unsuccessful. Suddenly, he felt a hand weakly brush his arm.

Heath’s eyes cracked open slowly. “Whaddya doin’?” Heath slurred. “Don’need . . . no ‘elp with ma’bath.”

“Heath!” Jarrod’s smile lit up his tired face, as he hurried to lift his brother’s head again, and placed the open canteen against his lips. “Take a sip, slow and easy. That’s right.”

Heath swallowed. Then, he reached up with the same hand and tried to prevent Jarrod from taking the canteen away. After another swallow, in which much of the water sluiced down the sides of his face, he slumped back with eyes closed and a sudden release of his grip on the canteen.

“Hurts-s-s. . . Jar-rod-d. . . ,” he breathed before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Jarrod lay there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, wondering at the extent of Heath’s injuries, hoping that his brother was only sore and exhausted.

But, the heat coming off of him. . . ?

And, the slight swelling, there, all across his stomach. . . ?

Shortly afterward, Nick returned with a team of horses and a small, well-used wagon.

With help from the livery owner and the tall deputy who had accompanied them this far, Nick had been able to set up a canvas cover over his purchased rig to provide his brothers some much needed shelter from the sun for the rest of the way.

Pleased with his arrangements, but worried to find that neither this town nor the next one had a doctor, he was anxious to get back on the road.

“C’mon, Jarrod, let’s get you settled. Then, we’ll load Heath.”

Carefully, Nick helped Jarrod stand and make his way to the back of the wagon. Jarrod stood a moment, looking up at the height of the step, thinking that climbing up was going to be as tough as reaching his mount’s stirrup. Suddenly, he felt himself being raised up from both sides. Once in the wagon, he was able to move further inside on his own.

Then, turning to look at the deputy and Nick, grins covering both of their faces, he said, “Are you two for hire?”

Nick’s smile stayed in place as he answered, “Not us, you can’t afford us! But, you might spend some time thinking about a suitable replacement to assist you in your old age, ‘cause, you know, Pappy, you’re not getting any younger!”

Feigning back injury, Nick turned toward Heath and muttered, “Nor any lighter!”

Jarrod edged back out of the way and said, “I heard that, Brother Nick!”

As the two men carried the dead weight of the blond to the back of the wagon and lifted him up, Jarrod was able to assist by pulling Heath inside, one arm under Heath’s good shoulder and tugging him by the shirt that barely covered him.

Newsome stood back, gasping, and said, “I’d hate to tangle with that boy in a fist fight! He’s a good deal heavier than he looks!”

Nick smiled widely and shook hands with the man, saying, “Thanks so much for your help with him, with them both. If you ever need anything over our way, don’t hesitate to say so. It’d be my pleasure.”

Newsome nodded and said, “I’ll send that wire to Stockton for you on my way out of town.” Then, he turned to Jarrod, “You sure you feel okay about taking care of those bounty hunters without me? I don’t mind riding with you. . . .”

“I’ll meet with the sheriff in Stockton as soon as we get him situated . . . ,” he glanced down at his youngest brother, then back up. With a deep breath, he said, “With what your sheriff wrote out for me, and the wire I’m sure he’ll send as soon as his leg gets seen about, . . . Anders will be free and clear. Those two won’t be able to touch him when they do get out of jail.”

Jarrod reached over to shake the hand of the lanky deputy, as Nick headed around to get their two horses and tie them to the back of the wagon. Newsome would be returning the brown gelding that Heath had taken from Coulter’s barn, even though there was no one still alive to care what had happened to the animal.

Last, Nick loaded their two saddles, pulling Heath’s long legs up to rest over Gal’s more worn one. With his hand, he touched the soft, past broken-in leather of one of Heath’s worn boots and shook his head before turning away to silently swallow his worry. He climbed up and into the seat, his thoughts turning determinedly toward getting his brothers home as soon as he possibly could.

As Nick called to the team and the wagon began to move, Jarrod settled back against the front of the wagon, looking backwards toward the town, and ran his fingers through Heath’s soaked hair. His thoughts were as jumbled in his head now, as the memories of the last twenty-four hours continued to be. He could hardly believe he had arrived in Coreyville only the day before; it seemed more like a life-time of agony ago.

Slowly, he slid down in the bed of the wagon, his bent knees pointing up in the cramped space, and closed his eyes.

The last thoughts he had were about his father and this brother beside him.

He could see again Heath’s protective actions toward him on that rocky outcropping in the dark.

He could see again Heath’s determined, methodical movements as he stood near him, firing sparingly, but apparently very accurately.

He could see again Heath’s lack of acknowledgement of his own injuries, in order to do what had to be done, over and over, just as Tom Barkley would have done.

He could see Tom Barkley so clearly in Heath. They had the same intense stare, the same undaunted, unwavering way of assessing any situation, of bringing their will to bear upon impossible odds, unrelenting in their refusal to give in, to accept an unacceptable fate.

After a while, Jarrod opened his eyes and moved his hand to touch Heath’s hair, worrying that his brother had not stirred again, despite the jostling of the wagon along the less-than-smooth road toward home.

“Yes, Heath,” Jarrod thought, “The man I looked up to all my life would have been just as proud of you, the son he never knew, as he always was of the rest of his children.”

Chapter 27

The lights were blazing through the windows of the stately white house and were visible from the slight rise, from over a half mile away.

Nick let out a sigh of relief, as he slapped the lines across the backs of the tired team. As one, they picked up their trot, and the buckboard surged forward at a renewed pace.

“Almost home, Boys!” he called to his brothers in the back. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jarrod pushing himself up to a seated position.

His eyes on the slowly appearing stars just beginning to grace the darkening sky, the canvas having been pushed back hours ago, Jarrod responded, “You made good time, Nick. . . . ”

Hearing the exhaustion and the unspoken worry in Jarrod’s voice, Nick glanced back at him again before returning his own tired eyes to the road in front of them. He asked quietly, barely audible over the sound of the horses’ hooves and the harnesses’ buckles, “How is he, Jarrod?”

Jarrod’s hands paused in their efforts to rouse his younger brother, as his eyes roamed over the dirty, bruised, and blood-smeared face beside him. “No different, Nick. Let’s just get him home.”

No other words were exchanged, as Nick guided the team between the welcoming iron gates and brought them to a halt beside the white columns flanking the front door. As soon as they stopped, he yanked up the brake and climbed over the back of the seat. Puzzled as to why no one was coming to meet them, Jarrod watched as Nick turned Heath around and picked him up under the arms, half dragging, half carrying him to the edge of the wagon bed.

As he lowered Heath’s shoulders back to the hard, wooden surface, Nick glanced up and looked around. Then, his eyes met Jarrod’s, and he raised an eyebrow. He jumped down, avoiding the saddles, and turned back in time to steady Jarrod, who had just climbed to the ground. “Where in the hell are they?” Nick growled.

Then, he said curtly, “Get the door, Jarrod. I’ll bring Heath.” As Jarrod complied, Nick lowered the two stock saddles to the ground and led Coco to the other side of the wagon. Then, he took a deep breath and reached under Heath’s shoulders with one arm, under his knees with the other, and pulled him close to his chest as he lifted.

Struggling under the weight, he staggered up the low steps and through the doorway. He quickly crossed the wood-tiled foyer, letting his heavy steps and momentum pull him forward, and did his best to ease Heath to the grey settee across the room without hurting him any worse. He left Heath’s lower legs, with his boots still on, extended across the top of the armrest.

Standing again, Nick immediately leaned back over and put his hands on his knees, as he shook his head and caught his breath.

Entering the house behind them, Jarrod heard Nick mutter, “One day I hope to carry my bride across that threshold, Boy. . . . But, I can tell you one thing. I’ll make sure she doesn’t weigh as much as you!”

Still shaking his head, Nick stood up and bellowed, “Mother! Audra! Silas! Where is everybody?”

Though he shook the windows with his hollering, only one of the three responded. “Mr. Nick!” Silas said, as he came running from the back of the house. The older gentleman’s eyes got very large when he came around the corner and observed the condition of all three Barkley men.

Nick, his exhaustion etched across his face, reached out to steady the teetering Jarrod. Then, he pulled his older brother into a nearby chair, and he turned to question Silas, “Where is everybody, Silas? Is everything alright?”

“Mr. Nick, I’m so glad to see you. Miss Audra, she’s out with Mr. McCall and some of the men right now.”

“What? What’s happened, Silas?” Nick thundered.

“Mrs. Barkley went out after lunch today, went riding. She’s not come back. They went to look for her, Mr. Nick, just before dark.” The worry shone through Silas’ brown eyes as he looked from one face to the other.

Nick, running one hand through his hair, quickly used the other to stop Jarrod from rising out of his seat. “No, you stay put!” Turning to Silas he asked, “Have you heard anything from the doctor? We sent a telegram asking that someone bring him to meet us here?”

“No, Sir, Mr. Nick. A telegram, it was delivered, a little while ago, after Miss Audra left, but it was to Mrs. Barkley. I didn’t open it.” He pointed toward the round table in the middle of the foyer floor.

Nick paced rapidly across to the mantle and then returned to place both hands on Silas’ shoulders. “Silas, will you stay with these two brothers of mine? Don’t let either one of them move, and see if you can get some water in both of them------and some food in Brother Jarrod? I’ll see about the rest.”

The older man looked into the deeply worried hazel eyes and nodded, “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, Mr. Nick. I’ll take good care of them.”

Storming toward the door, Nick suddenly stopped and turned around. He stared at the two injured men he was leaving behind, and he clamped down on the anger and fear that wanted to escape from his throat at having to tear himself away from them. Then, he stalked through the still open door, slamming it behind him.

He ran toward the barns and the bunkhouses beyond. Reaching the first of the crew quarters, he threw open the door, took in the tired faces looking back at him, and started barking orders before the men had a chance to even acknowledge his return, “Does anyone know which way McCall went to find my mother?”

“They went North, Nick, is all we know,” Mitchell spoke up. “If you’re going after ‘em, I’ll get a horse and go with you if you want.”

Nodding to the man, Nick said, “Myers, saddle another horse for me, and Austin, you go take care of the team hooked to the wagon around front. Oh, and our horses are tied in back of it, and they need some extra care. They’ve earned a long rest.”

Then, he turned to another man. “Williams, I need you to ride to town and bring back Doc Merar.”

Everyone froze at these words, and Mitchell, who had made it to the door, turned and said, “You think she’s gonna need a doctor?”

Nick shook his head, “No, I hope not. But, my brothers are in the house, and they’re both hurt pretty badly.” He strode past Mitchell and out the door.

The men looked at his retreating back and then at each other, before they sprang into action a split-second later.

Lost somewhere between his thundering thoughts, his worries and his wishes, Nick headed toward the water pump while a fresh horse was being saddled for him. He worked the handle and drank several cups full, before dunking his head and neck under the reviving coolness. With the water dripping off of him creating little puddles all around his boots on the dusty ground, he bent over to place his hands on the edge of the trough. He closed his eyes and pushed away the frightening images of Jarrod’s pale face and Heath’s delirious eyes. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate instead on his sister’s blue-eyed smile and the soft feel of his mother’s cheek against his hand.

But, he could no more hold the pleasant images in his head to replace the ones that shook him down to his boots, than he could keep the sun from setting each afternoon. The pain of the last twenty-four hours without sleep, and without a break from the unceasing worry, was too fresh, too powerful.

To almost be gunned down by his own brother, to unexpectedly find both his brothers in such bad shape last night, to see them threatened with death and feel almost powerless to prevent their cold-blooded murder-----and, now to return home only to find his mother missing on top of it all-----was almost more than one extremely exhausted, very worried wrangler, given to brashness and bellowing, could handle.

The men working feverishly inside the barn paused and looked at each other in instant concern as they suddenly heard an unearthly sound from right outside that made the hair on the backs of their necks stand up in response.

Nick’s voice was raised in an anguished tirade of curses that was half growl, half bellow, and full of heart-wrenching pain.

Wide-eyed, the red-haired Williams turned to the others and said quietly, “I’ll hurry with that doctor, fellas.” As he led his horse to the doorway, climbed into the saddle, and turned toward Stockton, his urgency trailed behind him like the cloud of dust kicked up in his galloping wake.

Chapter 28

Even in the shade of the tall trees by this broad, quiet section of the stream, the heat was oppressive. The little white flowers growing among the grass and the purple-plumed clover seemed eager for water.

For what seemed like an hour, she carried canteens full of water up from the barely moving stream to pour over the wilted foliage, slowly and methodically covering the rectangular area within the parameters of her concern.

Finally, she sank to her knees, oblivious to the dampness she had created over the revived soil. With her feet tucked under her and her hands in her lap, she waited.

She waited for any slight breeze to cool her.

She waited for any birds to renew their cheerful background sounds around her.

She waited for any clouds to drift across the reddening, late afternoon sky and offer additional shade.

She waited in vain.

She waited for the worries of the world around her to fade away, even for a little while, and to leave her the inner peace to appreciate this place and all it stood for.

She waited for the recent events to subside from her memory, even for a little while, and to allow her a respite from the guilt she had carried with her for the last few days.

She waited for the calmness of this place to caress her spirit, even for a little while.

She waited in vain.

She closed her eyes, wishing for rest.

She waited in vain.

As she sank to the ground and curled her fingers in the grass billowing across his grave, she let the tears come.

Then, when the sleep of exhaustion, denied her for several nights, finally came, she saw again the images that had plagued her for months. She saw again the dream that continued to haunt her, the dream that she had only recently begun to understand.

She saw again the two young men as they stood talking and laughing by the corral fence next to the barn. She saw again their similarities, both tall and muscular, both sandy blond, and both blue-eyed with a lop-sided, half-smile all their own.

She saw again the one, long buried in the earth beneath her, as he had once been in his youth, as the young man she had fallen in love with and married years ago.

She saw again the other, newly discovered, but recently betrayed, as he had been on his happiest of days, working beside his brothers or sharing a laugh with them by the fire.

In her dream, she saw herself reaching out to them as the two stood and talked together, wanting to join in on their easy, relaxed relationship. She saw them turning away, walking away from her, excluding her from their closeness, denying her access to their hearts.

When she awoke, the evening air was cooler, and a few stars were faintly visible through the leaves of the trees above her. Sitting up slowly, she looked around in momentary confusion. Then, she ran her fingers through the soft grass beside her and turned to look at the simple marker.

Though she felt damp from the hours on the ground by his grave, she felt somehow lighter, more hopeful, than she had in days. Though she knew she needed to go, that Audra would be worried, she smiled in relaxed relief that she could, at first, neither explain nor understand.

“Tom,” she whispered, through lips that barely moved, with words barely spoken beyond her heart. “Thank you, my love, for all that you have helped me see. I don’t know how, yet. But, I promise you, I’ll make this right with him, somehow. I’ll make this right with your son.”

She stood slowly and brushed herself off. Then, she walked purposefully toward her mare and gathered up the reins that had trailed the ground for hours. As she gracefully pulled herself up and into the saddle, the smile that had been gradually forming burst forth.

She blew a kiss to her memories buried there, and she turned the mare toward home. The dream had driven sleep away from her off and on, repeatedly, for three months. However, it had become more prevalent in the last two or three nights----always the same, always leaving her confused and full of sorrow.

As she nudged the mare into an extended walk, her smile spread.

This time, the dream had ended differently; this time, instead of sorrow, it gave her joy.

Just as the two men had turned away from her, just as she had tried to prepare herself for the onslaught of despondency and despair that she knew would wash over her when they did-----she saw it.

The simple gesture was small, and at first, she was unsure as to whether it had been there every time, and she just had not noticed it before, or . . . .

No, she was suddenly sure it hadn’t been there before. It hadn’t been there because she had not been willing to listen before; she had not been willing to see. She now knew that she was ready to do just that, to listen to him, to see through his eyes. She was ready to open her heart to him, to try to understand, as she had failed to do before----and she knew that her very willingness, her strong desire to do so, had now made the difference.

Now that she was finally ready, she saw the small, but meaningful, gesture that she was sure had not been there before for her eyes to see.

In her dream this time, as the two men turned away from her, the one she knew to be her son, her son Heath, her son as much as the others in every way that counted now, glanced briefly back over his shoulder and extended his hand behind him----toward her.

With ever so slight a movement of his hand, he motioned for her to join them.

She would find a way to let him know she had been wrong! Just as in her dream, she would find a way to walk hand-in-hand with him, find a way to let him know she would never betray his trust again.

When she heard the horses, when she heard her daughter’s voice calling to her, she was still smiling.

Her heart was now filled with hope.

* * * * * * * *

Just as he topped the last rise before reaching the grove of trees where his father was buried, Nick hauled on the reins and halted the large animal beneath him.

There they were, two men, Audra, and his mother, all riding toward him at a slow jog in the deepening darkness. Surging forward, he closed the distance between himself and the tired group of riders.

“Nick!” Audra was the first to spot him, and she called out in surprised eagerness at seeing him again so soon after he had left to meet Jarrod in Coreyville.

Victoria’s smile immediately turned serious as she led the others in picking up their pace to meet him. “Nick! What is it, Son? Is Jarrod alright?”

Nick pulled his mount around and matched his pace to hers, riding next to his silver-haired mother. He looked straight ahead and did not speak for a few minutes, as they all slowed to a walk.

She looked over at him and said forlornly, but forcefully, “Nicholas, tell me what’s wrong!” She reached out and pulled on his reins, trying to stop both of their horses at once. Without looking at her, he complied and halted his horse.

She moved her hand to cover his and tried to make eye contact with him. “Tell me!” she demanded in a tone that left no room for refusal, though her voice was no louder than a whisper.

Nick nodded and glanced over at her. Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked into her steady eyes.

“They’re both at the house, Mother.” At her puzzled look, he elaborated, “Both of them, Jarrod and Heath. I’ve sent to town for Doc Merar.”

As he clasped her hand in his, he glanced over toward Audra, who had stopped her horse nearby. Both women were staring at him, their eyes wide, waiting for him to finish.

“Jarrod has lost some blood; he was shot in the arm. The bullet went straight through, but I don’t know if I got it cleaned in time. . . .” He stopped, swallowed again, then continued, his eyes never leaving hers, now, “Heath’s been beaten, Mother. He looks like H . . . , he looks really bad. I’m afraid he’s bleeding, too, but not so I can find it or stop it.”

At the anguished look that had completely replaced her joyful smile of not so many minutes ago, Nick stopped talking. She maneuvered her hand in his until she could grasp his larger hand firmly. He could see the painful knowledge working itself across her face.

Suddenly, she let go of his hand and kicked her horse, yelling, “Yi, yi!”

As her mare sprang forward and leveled out into a gallop, she headed down the trail that cut across the gently rolling land and toward the house in the distant darkness beyond.

Chapter 29

The clock ticked softly, its steady sound from the brightly lit foyer marking the seconds, measuring the time that seemed to stretch and expand, filling the quiet. The only other noise was that of water draining back into a pale yellow porcelain bowl as Silas wrung out a wet cloth, for what seemed to Jarrod to be the one-hundredth time since Nick had left the house over an hour ago.

The patient, older man sat on the edge of the round, marble-topped table, leaning forward as he wiped at the beads of sweat that emerged on Heath’s face and chest as fast as he removed them.

From his vantage point from the chair they had pulled close to his mother’s grey settee, Jarrod could tell that Silas’ attempts to cool his brother’s rising fever had made very little difference. Heath’s head moved restlessly, and though his eyes remained closed, his lips moved occasionally, as he mumbled incoherently. Though his legs shifted intermittently, up and down on the armrest, he made no other attempts to move around.

After what seemed like an entire day’s worth of quietly ticking seconds after Nick had left, Silas raised his forlorn eyes to look into Jarrod’s worried blue ones.

“This boy, he’s burnin’ up, Mr. Jarrod. I’m afraid for him.”

Jarrod swallowed hard, leaned forward, and quietly reached over to pat the older man’s shoulder. “I know, Silas. I know.”

Just as he had leaned heavily back into the cushions of his armchair, they both jumped at the harsh, unexpected sound of pounding on the front door. Quickly, Silas handed Jarrod the damp cloth and trotted to the door. Before he could reach it, they both heard a man’s voice yelling, “Mr. Barkley! Mr. Barkley!”

Pulling open the door, Silas admitted the red-haired Williams and the kindly Doctor Merar.

Jarrod stood shakily and motioned them both into the room. “How did you two get here so fast?” he asked perplexed. Though the waiting had seemed interminable, he knew the hand had not had time to ride all the way into town and return.

Doc Merar moved past Jarrod and went directly to Heath. He sat in the place recently vacated by Silas and, intent on his patient, ignored the conversation.

Williams spoke up breathlessly, his hat in his hands, “I met him on the road, Mr. Barkley. The sheriff received a telegram and sent him on out here.”

The doctor glanced over his shoulder as he retrieved his stethoscope from his bag and said, “Jarrod, can we get him moved upstairs to a bed?”

Jarrod turned back to the young hand. “Can you go get a few of the men?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Barkley. We’ll be right back.”

As Williams left, Jarrod eased back into his chair with a heavy sigh. He watched as the doctor moved the stethoscope across Heath’s bruised chest, listening intently. Then, he saw the doctor gently move his hands across the swelling in the abdomen, watching for a reaction from his patient.

Heath immediately stiffened, and a soft, but heart-wrenching groan filled their ears. Jarrod reached over to run his fingers through the wet hair, murmuring, “It’s okay, Heath. Just rest.”

Carefully, Howard unwrapped the bandage around Heath’s head. Then, he probed the gash above Heath’s right ear. He checked his eyes, lifting first one, then the other, of Heath’s eyelids. He turned the soaked face to check both ears for discharge. Seeing none on one side, he used the wet cloth beside him to clean inside the right, wiping away dried blood that may have leaked from inside, or may have accumulated there from the gash. Still unsure about whether that ear had had any discharge oozing from it, but knowing he would now have to wait and see, he reached down and took Heath’s pulse, comparing it to the pocket watch he pulled from his waistcoat.

Shaking his head a few moments later, he returned Heath’s hand to his side.

Then, almost cursorily, he unwrapped the light blue bandage Nick had placed on Heath’s arm, the one made from the sleeve of his shirt. Nodding, he prodded around the open wound on the shoulder, and quickly, but gently, probed the bruised, swollen arm for breaks or dislocations of any joints.

Finally, he turned to Jarrod. “The wire the sheriff received said there was a gun battle outside Coreyville and that you had both been injured. Is that a bullet wound?” he nodded toward Jarrod’s arm.

“Yes, the bullet went through, and Nick washed it out with liniment.”

“I’ll check it in a little while. But, first tell me. . . ,” the doctor paused and glanced up as the men from the bunkhouse entered through the front door, closely followed by the rest of the family.

“Doc! How is he?” Nick’s question cut loudly through the room.

Sighing at the demanding voice, Howard Merar said, “I don’t know yet, Nick. I need to understand what happened, but first, I’d like to get him upstairs to a bed.”

Nick motioned for the men to move in, as Jarrod stood to embrace his mother and sister.

Suddenly, Nick stopped. “Doc, did you see his back?”

“His back? No, I haven’t gotten that far. Show me.”

The physician stood beside Nick as the tall rancher carefully turned his brother toward him, trying to avoid touching the damaged arm. As soon as he could see a little of what Nick was so concerned about, Howard moved quickly around to the other side of the settee. Audra and Victoria joined him.

Victoria’s hands flew up to cover her mouth as her eyes grew large at the sight of the huge black bruise covering the lower half of Heath’s back. Audra, unable to contain her anguish, turned away and moaned, “Oh, Heath!”

The doctor leaned over the back of the large piece of furniture and gently probed the affected area, including Heath’s side. They all froze when the physician’s hands elicited a low moan from Heath, while his head and legs started to thrash back and forth, despite Nick’s hold on him.

Then, Howard Merar stood up, looked intently into Nick’s pain-filled eyes, and said quietly, “Get him upstairs, Nick.”

Nick lowered Heath gently and moved around to his head. He motioned for McCall to help him. With the other man at Heath’s legs, they worked together to lift and carry him from the room, the doctor walking beside them up the stairs.

While Silas and Victoria followed them, Jarrod turned to the rest of the men standing nearby. They had gotten enough of a look at his brother that he could see their eyes were wide, before they quickly looked back down at their boots.

Jarrod said, “Thanks, Men, for coming to help.”

As a group, they silently turned toward the door. Then, young Williams held back, his hand on the door, “Mr. Barkley, now I know why Nick was so upset earlier. Is Heath going to be alright?”

“I don’t know, Fellas. Someone will come over when the doc leaves to let you all know what he said.”

As the men quietly walked through the doorway, they all looked at each other and one said, “There’s only one way the doc will be leaving anytime soon.”

Hearing the man, Audra moved around to stand beside Jarrod, her arms going around him and burying her wet face against his non-too-white shirt. Jarrod wrapped his good arm around her and held her while she sobbed.

As he led his sister up the stairs to follow the rest of the family, he moved to the right side of the banister to lean on it for support.

His heart was as heavy as his boots.

He, too, had heard the words, spoken quietly through the closing crack in the door, and he struggled to close his mind against the thought left unspoken, against the images of death that the man’s words invoked.

Chapter 30

Nick stood by the head of Heath’s bed, stroking his brother’s soaked hair, as he watched Howard Merar.

When they had reached Heath’s room, they had turned him face down on the bed, so the doctor could more closely examine the bruises on his back. Only twice, as the gentle, but persistent, hands probed the sites of the repeated blows, had Heath responded. Both times, he had moaned and moved his legs as if the touches were very painful, but his eyes had remained closed.

The heat coming off of his brother was frightening. Victoria continued what Silas had started, using the cool cloths to try to lower his temperature, while trying to stay out of the doctor’s way. Silas had gone to bring fresh water to assist her efforts.

Suddenly, Heath reacted to the doctor’s hands as they touched what must be a particularly painful area of his back, just above his belt. He cried out, trying to move away from the probing. Nick leaned down and started talking in his ear, “Whoa there, Heath. Hold still, Boy. It’ll be over in a minute.”

“Hold him, Nick,” the doctor ordered, as he looked over at Jarrod, who had joined them, “Can you help him?

Patting Audra on the back, Jarrod left her and slowly walked over to the bed and sat down heavily, leaning down across Heath’s legs. Similarly, Nick pushed down on both of Heath’s shoulder blades, while Victoria switched places with him to continue stroking his very damp hair.

When the doctor pushed again on the most swollen area of the huge bruise, Heath struggled wildly, and his growled words rent the quiet room, “Get the hell away from me, Bentell! No more!” His face was turned toward the window, and his eyes were wide open, but he was no more than semi-conscious----seeing things only he could know----and his breathing quickly grew harsh.

Howard Merar spoke up, oblivious to the significance of his patient’s words. “We need to turn him over. Now! We need to get him calm. Victoria, you help with his head; Nick, you take his shoulders---but watch that wound, and I’ll move his legs. Jarrod, Son, you just move to that chair right over there before you wind up on the ground.”

As he and Nick started to carry out the spoken directions, the doctor suddenly stopped and looked at Victoria, who was not moving. “Victoria, are you alright?” Howard asked in concern at her ashen face and the fixed stare that had not moved from Heath’s face.

“Mother?” Nick asked, with realization of what had cut into her so deeply, enough to shock her into stone-like stillness, keeping his voice quiet and controlled. “Mother, turn his head so we can get him over on his back. It’ll be fine.”

Slowly, Victoria blinked and looked up into Nick’s eyes with such sorrow, he felt his worry double in immediate intensity. Then, she nodded and began to work with the two men. When they had Heath settled, she took the wet cloth Silas offered her and continued her attempts to cool him down, before she abruptly stood and moved to the window, tears in her eyes.

Unaware of what had occurred between them, Doc Merar set about checking the swelling across Heath’s abdomen again. This time, he satisfied himself with light touches that did not elicit a response from his patient. But, when he checked Heath’s pulse, his face creased in worry all over again at what he found.

Seeing the concern, Nick stiffened, but moved quickly to comply when the older man said, “Nick, hand me those pillows. Take the one out from under his head. I want to put him flat on his back, except for these under his legs. Here, . . .”

Then, the physician nodded at Nick in thanks for the instant assistance, as Nick’s strong arms lifted his brother’s lower legs up, so the pillows could be inserted beneath as the doctor indicated.

Audra moved to cover him with a light-weight blanket when the doctor turned to his medical bag.

As Nick gently removed the soft, worn boots, he was struck again by the quiet distinctiveness that separated this Barkley from the others. Just as he had noted of Heath’s saddle and of his boots earlier in the wagon, his brother’s life had been so different from his, and even the boots and gear he used everyday bore the marks of those differences.

He pulled the blanket up to cover Heath’s legs, and then moved to his mother. She was standing facing away from the room. Both hands were covering her mouth, as if she were afraid that without them there, she would scream or cry out. Nick placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back a half step against him. He leaned down to place a kiss on her silky, silver hair. Together, they looked at the stars over the nearby barn while they waited for the doctor to finish.

“It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “He’s just delirious, and those memories . . . .”

She said quietly, her voice cracking with the anguish, “Those memories were fading, and now, . . . now, they are so real again. I did that to him.”

Nick knew that to dispute it altogether would just be placating this strong-willed woman, so he simply said, “We all played a part in that----Jarrod and I as well. You didn’t do it by yourself.” Then, he added, with a squeeze to her shoulders, “He’ll be alright. You’ll see.” As he felt her nod her head, he said, “Mother, the doctor needs to concentrate on Heath. But, Jarrod needs you.”

She turned quickly and looked behind them at Jarrod, who was slumped slightly sideways in the leather wing-backed chair, wearily watching the doctor tend his brother, his eyes barely open.

She reached up and squeezed Nick’s hand, then walked purposefully to Jarrod. Together, they got him up and headed to the doorway before he even knew his feet were in motion. Nick reached for Audra’s hand as they went by her, as she stood at the foot of the brass bed. She followed them.

When Nick returned to the room a few minutes later, the doctor had pulled the leather chair close to the bed and was seated, watching the rise and fall of Heath’s chest, his hand back on Heath’s wrist, checking his pulse. Silas, on the other side of the bed, was silently continuing his use of the cold, wet cloths, trying to reduce the fever

“Doc?” Nick asked, as he eased onto the side of the bed closest to the physician.

Howard Merar glanced up at Nick, then back down at Heath. He knew what Nick wanted, so he started with what he felt most ready to explain. “He has a concussion to accompany the gash on the side of his head, more bruises than I care to count, and what appears to be a bullet graze on his shoulder. His fever is too high, and his breathing is more rapid than I would like, though it has calmed a great deal since we got him turned this way, and since I stopped prodding at him.”

The kindly man shook his head. “I thought I would be dealing with a gunshot, Nick. Instead, . . . well, I just don’t understand what I’m seeing. I don’t think that wound on his head is from a bullet. Somebody’s beaten this boy to within a horse whisker of his death. I don’t know how he’s lasted this long, and I’m still not sure of what the outcome’s going to be!”

He glanced up at Nick’s anguished hazel eyes, knowing his honest words were increasing the pain reflected back at him. “We’ll do everything we can for him, Nick. I promise you that.” Then, he paused and took a deep breath before asking, “Can you tell me what happened to him?”

It was Nick’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t know much about it, myself, Doc. When I got to them late last night, Jarrod had been shot in the arm, and Heath, well, he was almost out of his head, but he was still standing over Jarrod, defending him. He thought I was one of the ones after Jarrod, and he even attacked me.”

The doctor turned to look at Nick at this. “Attacked you, as in with his fists? Or, with his gun?”

“Both.” Nick said simply, then continued, “I think he killed five men. One of them was huge, Doc, a giant. I think he’s the one that must’ve beaten Heath earlier, . . . but, if it was that particular man that did this, I don’t know how he survived it either.”

Nick stopped and looked down at Heath, his worries and fears closing his throat and preventing any additional words.

“So, you’re saying that you saw him conscious, after he had already been injured? He was conscious enough to fire a gun, enough to defend Jarrod, conscious enough to physically attack you? You’re saying he has gotten worse since then, much worse?”

Nick nodded, and whispered, “Yes.”

The doctor rubbed his hands through his hair, in frustration and increased worry, then looked back at his patient. Quietly, with concern that he could no longer quite keep out of his well-modulated voice, he asked, “How long has it been since you think he was beaten? And, how long has he been unconscious, Nick?”

Nick closed his eyes, shoving down his fears with great effort, and thought hard, “Doc, I don’t know when he was beaten. Jarrod might know. . . . But,”

Howard held up his hand and stopped him, “Did you see the bruises when you first got to them last night?”

Again, Nick nodded.

“What color were they? Were they still just red marks or were they dark bruises?”

Remembering his anger at seeing the mass of dark bruises when he had unbuttoned Heath’s shirt and wondered what he had been hit with, Nick breathed, “Dark, almost black, especially the ones on his back.”

The doctor just silently stared at Nick, who continued, “It seems to me that he hasn’t been really, completely conscious since before I put him on my horse, just before daybreak.”

At this, the doctor interrupted, his voice rising in disbelief, “On your horse?”

“Yeah, I know, it wasn’t the best way for an injured man to travel, but I had to get them both out of the area before, . . . well before they were full of bullet holes. I put him in a wagon for the second half of the trip here. He came around a couple of times, but mostly he mumbled words I couldn’t understand.”

“And water? Were you able to get any down him?” The doctor asked.

“Jarrod said he did once. I know I tried several times, but no more than a tiny sip or two. He wasn’t awake enough.”

Howard nodded his understanding, then asked, “How long did the trip take? All day?”

“Yeah, we rested for a while mid-morning,” Nick paused at the memories associated with that particular stop; then, he continued, “And, we stopped again when I bought the wagon, but it was almost dark when we reached the ranch.”

The doctor reached out to the anguished man near him, clasping him on the shoulder, “Nick, Son, you did everything you could for him, for both of them. Now, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Nick nodded, but couldn’t speak, the kindness of the words helping him only a small amount in his struggle over his decisions. He knew, if Heath, well, if Heath didn’t get any better, he would always wonder if he could have done anything different that might have made a difference. Maybe he should have taken him back to Coreyville after they shot the judge . . . . But, no, they had been half-way home by then. . . .

The doctor stood up and moved around to the foot of the bed, where he reached under the blanket and replaced one of Heath’s legs on top of the low pile of pillows. Nick, slowly returning from his self-criminations, observed this without really seeing, then blinked and asked out of curiosity, “Usually when Heath is sick, you put lots of pillows under his head and shoulders. Why do you have his legs propped up, Doc, instead of his head?”

Doctor Merar turned to look at the obviously exhausted rancher, to assess how ready the other man was to hear the rest of what must eventually be said. “Usually, when Heath is sick, it tends to be with a chest cold. Propping his head up makes it easier for him to breathe. This is different.”

He paused again, and took a deep breath before continuing, “Nick, from the swelling, here, in his abdomen,” the doctor used his hand to touch the same place on his own stomach, before going on, “I think the beating he took has damaged something inside of him. I’m only guessing, but with the low bruising on his back, I think one or both of his kidneys may have taken the full force of several very powerful blows.”

Nick’s worry waited, like a rock on the edge of a mountain, ready to fall at the slightest touch.

He held his breath.

“I think he’s bleeding from the inside. That’s probably what’s causing the swelling.”

“So, . . . it is blood.” Nick breathed.

“Yes, the only place for it to go is into his abdomen. I think it must be from his kidneys.”

“Well, can’t you take them out if things get too bad, Doc, like you had to take out Ross Melton’s spleen that time?”

“No, Nick, . . . I can’t just take them out. The kidneys are not something he can live without.”

Nick asked quietly, his eyes shifting from the physician back to his unconscious brother’s face, “Will they heal by themselves?”

“They could, Nick. It depends on how badly damaged they are----or I may be totally wrong; it could be something else. We’ll just have to hope that he gets through this, that whatever is damaged isn’t too bad, and that the blood leaking out into his abdomen doesn’t cause an infection inside him.”

At the word ‘infection’ Nick looked up again, “The fever. Is that what’s causing the fever?” Nick asked, his normally exuberant voice getting quieter and quieter.

“I don’t know, Nick. It could be, though I sincerely hope not. It could be just that his body is fighting off the cumulative effects of all the trauma it has sustained.”

Nick raised his eyebrow and looked at the doctor, who tossed him a slight smile, and said, “I know what you want to say. You want to tell me I sound like Jarrod, don’t you? Sorry. But, . . . speaking of Jarrod, I had better go look in on him.”

“But, Doc, what about his legs?” As hard as it all was to hear, he still wanted the answer to his original question.

“Oh, yes, that’s what I started explaining, wasn’t it. His pulse isn’t as strong as I’d like it to be, Nick. I have had some success with this, the raising of the legs. It seems to help prevent the patient from declining as. . . .” he trailed off. Then, he swallowed and used the levity of before to change the subject, “I know, I sound like Jarrod again.” He smiled and stood to leave, again patting Nick on the shoulder.

As he reached the foot of the bed, he turned at Nick’s next words, spoken quietly and with great pain. “Were you going to say that raising the legs keeps the patient from declining as fast? Or were you going to offer me more hope than that?”

Doc Merar’s dark brown eyes spoke for him as he looked steadily at Nick for a moment. Then, he offered all that he could, “We’ll just have to wait and see. He’s lasted this long; he could still pull through.” He turned to leave.

Again, he stopped, as Nick said quietly, in an anguished voice that barely contained the pain in his heart, “Doc, all morning I held him close to me on the back of a horse. All the while I was trying to help him, I was doing something wrong----just in the only way I knew to bring him home, wasn’t I?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, Nick. Getting him medical attention any way you could was the most important thing you could have done for him. And, that’s what you did.”

Then, Nick added, almost thinking to himself, “But, in that small wagon, there wasn’t room for him to stretch out unless, . . . Doc, he rode all the way home with his feet up on top of his saddle. Then, when I carried him in the house, I couldn’t get him upstairs by myself, and Jarrod was in no shape to help, so I. . . . I put him on the settee downstairs with his feet up on the armrest. . . .”

Nick looked at the doctor with anguish in his eyes, but his intrinsic pride would not allow him to ask the question to which he so desperately needed to hear the answer. He looked back at his unconscious brother, wondering how much worse his own decisions had made him, or if. . . ?

Looking at him across the room, Doctor Merar suddenly returned purposefully to stand in front of Nick and said, as he grabbed both of Nick’s shoulders, “Nick! Nick, look at me!” He waited until the dark-headed young man raised his eyes to meet his own, and then he said, “One of the things that has had me puzzled all this time is how he has stayed alive this long in the condition I see before me now. When you told me basically that his condition has gotten worse since you first saw him, that he was able to defend Jarrod and fight with you, that scared me even more. And, it made it that much harder to understand how in the world he is still alive!”

He had Nick’s full attention now. The anguished hazel eyes meeting the concerned brown were unwavering in their need to be told the full extent of what they were facing.

“What you just said. . . . I think you just explained it. It makes perfect sense, now. He is probably still alive precisely because of what you did, getting him here quickly any way you could, but particularly by pulling his feet up in the wagon and, again, downstairs. For the last half-a-day, you’ve had his legs higher than his heart, higher than his head. I’ve seen folks in far better shape than he is right now, just slip away with breathing and pulse patterns like his. He didn’t, and I couldn’t understand it----now I do.”

Taking a deep breath, his excitement at his growing understanding lightening his brown eyes, Doc Merar continued, “He’s still here, Nick. He’s still here because he’s a Barkley, because he’s a fighter and has always been a fighter, and he’s still here because of what you did for him today!”

The ragged breath that Nick took in then, told the doctor all he needed to know about how heavily all of this had been weighing on this particular brother.

Turning toward the door once more, the doctor said, “I know you need some rest, Nick, but would you stay with him long enough for me to check on Jarrod? I shouldn’t be long.” At Nick’s confirming nod, the doctor added, “I know Heath will be in the best of hands as long as he has you here, beside him.”

To be continued…