Disclaimer: Well, there's not much to disclaim. None of the characters are Louis', they're all mine but he is my inspiration.

Chapter 1

In which the Jackson Brothers come to Black Jack

and find their Uncle

For the brief moments between the moon's set and the sun's rise the world was silent, grey, and empty. It was just a little cool in that usually hot Colorado desert and a man had to tighten his bandana and pull down his hat against the slight chill. Someone not accustomed to this country would be tempted to take a sip of water to sooth his suddenly dry lips and swollen tongue.

The four riders that topped the ridge almost at the same instant the sun did resisted this temptation, knowing that they would need the water later on when the sun was at its peek.

They rode single file, for the trail was narrow and, though their horses were all mountain bred, there was always the danger that one could stumble on a loose stone.

The first man rode a big black gelding. He was a dark man with bronzed skin and dark brown hair. He was tall, taller than the others in his group. He had a lean body, like that of a jungle cat, and his face and attitude showed absolutely no emotion though one could almost sense the uncontrollable passion hidden just beneath the surface. Only his large green eyes moved, roaming the surrounding terrain. Jonathan Jackson was a strong, silent man, and hell-on-wheels with a gun. He wore two .44 peacemakers low on his hips and an old Winchester rested in his saddle boot. He was mysterious and deadly.

Sean Jackson was not as tall as his brother, but much broader in the chest and shoulders. He had sun-bleached hair that had once been sandy brown. He reminded one of a big grizzly bear. He only carried one gun, a Manchester 73, which he held across his saddle bow. He had big hands and thick arms and legs. He was a brawler and, like Johnny, didn't talk much. His big palomino was just like him, slow and stocky, but a good, solid horse.

Giovanni and Ian Jackson made up for their brothers' silent natures by being quite talkative. While Ian was very outward and friendly, Van was obnoxious and sarcastic. And while Johnny and Sean had spent the better part of their life roaming the western deserts and mountains, Van and Ian had grown up in the east becoming very different men than their brothers.

Van was easily the handsomest Jackson brother. He had wavy black hair and grey eyes so light they were almost silver. He had attended the best possible schools and knew almost everything there was to know about everything. He also took advantage of the luxury he lived in and could never shake the habit of wearing the finest and most expensive clothes, or using the best gear, and riding the finest horse. Johnny had spoken to him about it, but he insisted on riding a full white horse, something wise men never did in the west. He also had a flashy pair of Colts, but they were mainly just for show.

Ian Jackson was hot headed and feisty and had never liked school much. He had flaming red hair and never wore anything that wasn't checkered or brightly colored. His horse was a large, clumsy red dun which was even less useful than Van's white horse, but Ian liked him. Ian, like Van, was showy with his guns, but he could still shoot fairly well when the need came for it. Most of the time, however, he would get too excited and botch everything up. He was the youngest of the four but a great kid to have around when you were in trouble.

The Jackson brothers were the sons of Buck Jackson. Buck had come to New York City to get out of the western life for a while and had met and fallen in love with one of the city's prettiest, and also wealthiest, girls. Buck Jackson and Angela Moraine were married not four months after his arrival, after which he promptly swept her back out west to his ranch in Colorado.

It had not been at all like she'd expected, but Angela was willing to have a go at ranch life. But after seven years and four boys, she had developed a terrible hatred for the west. When Ian was scarcely a month old Angela packed up herself and the boys and went strait back to New York. Her family welcomed her back with open arms, saying she had been a foolish girl to just up and run off the way she did and that she could now take proper care of herself and her sons.

Buck never forgot Angela Moraine, but he never went after her either. He told himself it was because he loved her too much to put her through the misery she'd obviously been suffering, but it was more than that. His pride had been hurt as well as his heart, but it had taken years for both to heal.

At first the city life excited the two oldest Jackson boys. But they soon began to miss the west. And after a few years of the harsh boarding school their mother shipped them off to, they decided they were not cut out to be "gentlemen" as their mother put it. When they were 12 and 13 they ran away from the boarding school, stowed away on the first train out west and before their mother even got word of their disappearance, they'd already reached Independence, Missouri.

She tried to find them and even forced herself to write their father. She never saw Johnny or Sean again. She died the year Ian turned 16, and it was he who had the idea of going west to look for their brothers. Van refused saying he had to finish his schooling. Ian let it rest but as soon as he graduated began pestering him again. At last Van had given in. The poor boys stood out like polka dots on plaid and it wasn't long before Sean and Johnny heard about them. They'd found them wandering around in the Texas panhandle and they had stayed together ever since.

That had been a few years ago now, and the four brothers had been pretty much on the roam, working in a mine here, on a ranch there. At the moment they were on their way to a small town somewhere in Colorado. A week before a letter telling about their dearly departed father had finally found them. It said that Buck Jackson had left them his ranch and they'd better hurry up and claim it. The brothers thought it would be an interesting venture and started out quite excited. After six days of hard riding, however, all four were beginning to feel the strains of the journey.

Just as his horse came over yet another ridge, Johnny pulled up to a halt. Sean drew up beside him, but Van had been looking behind him at Ian and almost ran into them. "What's the idea?" he barked, jerking on the reins to stop his horse just in time.

"See somethin', Johnny?" Ian asked coming along side him.

"Not yet," his brother replied. "But I think Black Jack's about ten miles over there somewhere," Slowly and methodically he pulled out some binoculars and looked out across the desert.

"Can you see it?" Johnny didn't even seem to hear Sean. He simply handed the glasses to him and started his horse again. After taking a short look, Sean handed them to Ian who in turn gave them to Van before taking off after their brother.

Van scoffed at the bulky glasses thinking how could he see something seven miles away. He took a look anyway and about fell off his horse. A cluster of buildings could just be seen in the distance. Even now Van was still getting used the west and had forgotten that you could see and hear a lot further out here; something about the air being clearer or something. He waited only a second before starting his horse again.

"If we're so close," he called after Johnny, "how come you got us up at," he consulted his gold pocket watch, "four o'clock in the morning?" When no one answered Van took up his reins and started after his brothers with a huff. It was only a few moments later when he rounded the next bend to find them gathered around something on the ground, their horses, forgotten for the moment, standing idly searching for something to eat. When he drew nearer he was able to distinguish what it was that had caught his brothers' attention.

A big man, probably even taller than Johnny's six foot three, was lying face up on the ground, four bullet holes glaring up at them, two in his body and two in his head. "Good Lord," Van whispered. "Who would do a thing like this?" The other three ignored him. He still believed that the white man was a civilized human being.

"I wonder who it is," said Ian. Johnny and Sean carefully turned the body over to examine him. The man was good looking with dark brown hair and a thin mustache. His eyes, which stared lifelessly up at them were a pale blue, almost gray. His hands were large and calloused despite the store-bought clothes he wore. The tracks of a large horse led away down the trail towards the town. His hat, a nice black leather one, lay a few feet away and was covered with dust.

"I wonder how long he's been here," said Sean. Everyone looked expectantly at Ian. He was the swiftest of the outfit and was a natural at tracking. He could create a whole story out of only a few facts.

"Well," he said, speaking slowly for one of the very few times in his life. "Looks to me about maybe half a day, judgin' by the dust and tracks. Don't reckon many people come this way."

Nobody said anything for a few moments. Then, suddenly, but not hurriedly, Johnny said, "It's Uncle Brett."

All three turned to stare at him but it was Van who cried, "Uncle who?"

"Uncle Brett," Johnny repeated. "Look at him. He looks a lot like you, Van."

"Like me?"

"He sure does," said Ian, his whole face lighting up with a grin.

"I also remember Dad a lot better than you to. This fellow looks very similar to him."

"Well, I'll be, he shore does," was all Sean said.

"So," Van started, still a little uncertain about the man's identity. "What do we do with him?"

"Take him into town, I reckon," Sean answered. "I can carry him on my horse."

"Yeah, looks like his horse is long gone," added Ian.

Without another word the four puffed and heaved until they got the big body of their uncle onto the back of Sean's palomino then mounted their own horses and continued on down the trail. It took them little over an hour to get to the town, which was just beginning to wake up. When the four rode down the street people were just starting to open up their doors and windows.

But as soon as they saw that they had strangers in their town and that they were carting a dead body a crowd quickly began to gather. By the time they'd reached the small building that served as a jail and sheriff's office it looked as if the entire town had come out to escort them.

The four dismounted just as a big, bulky, bear of a man stepped slowly out of the building. His clothes and hair was somewhat mussed, as if he'd slept in them and just gotten up; his head was bare.

His eyes were blinking rapidly in the morning sun and he was buckling on his gun belt when he came out. When he saw the strangers in front of him he stopped short and regarded them with suspicion and caution.

"The name's Jackson," Johnny stepped forward and held out his hand. "Johnny Jackson. These are my brothers Sean, Van, and Ian."

"Swin Barker." The sheriff took the hand but shook it stiffly and dropped it immediately. "Now, you fellas wouldn't happen to be related to Buck Jackson, would ya?"

"He's our father," said Ian.

"He was your father," Swin corrected. "At least until about two weeks ago. "Guess you got my letter about the will, huh?"

"That's why we're here," Van spoke up.

"You're letter?" cried Ian.

"Before he died Buck's instructions were that I was to try to contact you before reading his will. We still haven't opened it yet. How long you fellas plannin' on stayin'?" Before they answered he stepped aside to look at their horses. Only then did he notice the body. "Say, who's that?"

"To your first question," Johnny offered. "It seems our Dad has left us his ranch. We might just plan on settlin' here." The sheriff shifted uneasily. "As to the second, that's our dearly departed uncle, Brett Jackson." A murmur rippled among the crowd at the name and the sheriff started as if he'd been slapped in the face.

"Brett?" he said quietly, his face an unreadable mask.

"A friend of yours?" asked Sean.

"Yes, and a right good one too."

"Who did it!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"We don't know," said Johnny.

"We found him on the trail about ten miles out of town," Van added.

"Ian here says he was shot sometime last night," Sean explained.

"I'll be the judge of that." The four turned at the soft voice to see a large, fat man making his way through the people.

"Who are you?" Ian demanded, slightly affronted.

"My name is Mark Washington. I'm a doctor." Reluctantly Ian stepped aside and allowed the doctor to examine the body. "I think the boy's right. This man was shot only a few hours ago," he said after careful examination. "But who's to say that they aren't the ones who did it?" Again the crowd broke out with mutterings and murmurings, only this time there was a large sense of suspicion in the air.

"Now hold, on," Van moved quickly to stand in front of Washington. "You don't know anything about us, so how can you just stand there and accuse us of this?"

"It's because we don't know anything about you, son," this was from Swin Barker.

"You don't believe this man, do you, sheriff?" Van's voice was a mix between incredulous and shock.

"This man happens to be one of our most substantial and upstanding citizens, Mr. Jackson," Swin replied somewhat coldly.

"So was Uncle Brett, I assume," Johnny replied quietly.

"Of course," this from the doctor.

"What about our Dad?" Sean asked.

"Both of them were," Swin answered quickly.

"Well, I've been told we take after dear old Dad," Ian said with a smile.

"Sheriff," Johnny said, so softly that only Swin and his brothers could here. "We didn't kill our uncle. I swear that on the grave of my Father." Nobody said a word for about ten seconds.

At last Swin sighed and said, "All right. But I'd still like for you fellas to, you know, stick around town until we clear things up."

"Thank you, sheriff," said Sean.

"We'll even help ya, if we can," Ian added.

"Oughtn't we to find a place to stay first?" asked Van.

"The best place in town is the Black Deck Hotel and Saloon, just across the street," Swin offered. "Buck was the owner but it's still open."

Johnny looked over at the building then said, "Thanks."