EPILOGUE

Ben Cartwright hooked his finger in the book he held and thought about the words he had just read on the printed page.

oooooo

It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

oooooo

With a sigh, he put the book down and ran a hand across his eyes.Four weeks had passed and his sons were on the mend. Adam had been granted permission by Paul Martin to leave his wheelchair behind a few days before and was on his feet again, though his eldest had said that if he'd known his legs and Little Joe's throat were going to sort themselves out at the same time, he might have stayed in it so he could have wheeled himself away faster. Joe was an endless tide of questions, some of which he had managed to find the answers to while his boys had mended.

The tragic story he'd recalled about the Navarra family was indeed the source of all their woes. Even though the Mexican-American war had ended in 1848, its repercussions were felt to this day. Danel Navarre had managed to hang onto his land and money after the war for a few years – early on they had even done some business together – but he had lost it in time, and then lost his life to a mob of men whose brothers and fathers had fallen in the war and who were looking to take his treasure in recompense. They set fire to Navarra's home, released all his cattle, stole several horses, and kidnapped Danel's young wife and son. Danel's wife had been a beautiful woman; a typical dark-eyed Spanish beauty with olive skin and flashing black eyes. Her hair had been a wave of shimmering black that curled lightly at the ends. Her son's hair was curly as well; a mass of black spirals that, from what Ben remembered, had rivaled his own son's.

When the raid took place, Josépe Navarra would have been twelve years old just as Joe was now. There was some question as to why the boy had simply not been killed, considering the outlaws intentions for his mother. But for some reason he wasn't, or at least so it was believed since neither of their bodies had been found.

Until now.

Ben thought of Hoss and smiled as he remembered his reconciliation with his teenage son. He'd apologized for the hasty words he spoke when Joseph was injured and Hoss, being the gentle soul he was, had easily and readily forgiven him. The boy was still quite shaken by what had happened. He knew now that he had stumbled on the Navarra's bones all those years ago while exploring the lake cave with his brother, but had not understood what he'd seen.

Shyly, the boy told him he'd thought it was a ghost.

The older man's dark eyes went to his youngest son where he lay sleeping on the settee, his tousled curls showing above the blanket he had covered him with. Unlike Hoss, Little Joe didn't think he'd seen a ghost. He was convinced of it. Just as he was convinced that the black mare that had nearly killed him had, in reality, saved his life. The boy had taken a second blow to the head in the cave-in, so it was doubtful that much of what he remembered was true. Still, Joseph told them about how the mare had sought him out, and how she had rescued him from the Stanleys. He explained how she had led him to the shaft that he and Hoss had discovered all those years ago so he could escape.

Sadly, such tales were proof that the boy's memory was faulty. He hadn't had the heart to tell Joseph the truth. When they'd finally had time to explore the chamber Hoss and Adam had been trapped in and examined the stone wall created by the explosion, they had found the black mare – they had found Mystery – buried under a ton of rock.

Ben sighed. According to Virgil Stanley, whose story rivaled Joseph's for being fantastic, he and his brother had taken Mrs. Navarra and her son to the cave after they'd killed her husband. Earl Stanley was an evil man and he had his way with her – in front of the boy. Josépe had attacked him and been killed, and then the outlaws had murdered the woman too and left the mother and son's bodies in the cave, believing no one would ever find them. The money they had taken from the Navarras they had buried nearby with the intention of returning several years later to dig it up and divide up the spoils. After that, they rode away on the horses they had stolen.

One of the animals was Josépe's, a sleek black mare named Beltza, which was the Basque word for 'night'. Virgil said when they emerged from the cave, after killing the woman and boy, the horse went mad. It broke free and ran off into the night, they thought to disappear forever. But no matter where they went, there Beltza was. Virgil said sometimes the mare was alone, and sometimes there was a dark-haired woman riding on her back. He believed the spirit of Mrs. Navarra and the horse became one at times and that she watched them, waiting for them to return to the scene of their crime.

Virgil said it slowly drove his older brother mad. Earl came to believe that they had to give the woman what she wanted in order to be rid of her. He'd made a wristlet of some of the gold coins and put it on her skeletal wrist, so she'd have her treasure. Then it had become fixed in his mind that he had to restore her son to her. Earl had chosen Joseph since his son resembled the boy and was about the same age and it seemed the mare was taken with him. He intended to kidnap Little Joe, ask for ransom, and then – using Joseph to lure the horse into the cave – seal them both in forever before leaving Nevada for good.

Ben shuddered.

It had been close. Very close.

"Pa?"

The older man stirred. He smiled at his son's gravely voice. Paul said it would mend in time.

"Yes, Joseph?" he asked as he went to sit on the table beside him. Of course, he had to shift Rogue out of the way first. The dog hadn't left Joseph's side since they'd brought him home.

He'd have to do something about that soon.

"I've been thinking."

The older man held back his smile. Adam would say that was a dangerous thing.

"What have you been thinking?"

Joe scooted up and then took hold of Rogue's brown fur as the dog rose and leaned on him. "We never figured out why the black mare shied when I said her name. You know – Mystery?"

Ben had thought about that – quite a lot – and he'd come up with an answer. The thought of how he arrived at it still chilled him. He was a practical man. Grounded. He was deeply spiritual, but he had no belief in the supernatural, in things like shape-shifters, banshees, and ghosts. The West was littered with such beliefs and they made men weak and sometimes dangerous, like Earl Stanley.

Still, if Joseph asked, he would be hard-pressed to explain what he was about to say in any other way.

Ben reached out and touched his son's curls. "Do you know what Mrs. Navarra's Christian name was, son?"

Joe's head shook. He still used gestures to save words when he could.

"Terese."

Ben had asked around, being careful to conceal how he knew what he knew of the woman. Terese Navarra, her neighbors said, had been a lovely vibrant women, loved by all who knew her. When young her sisters had given her a pet name, much as his boys did when they called each other 'older' and 'middle' brother. Terese had been the one who appreciated beautiful things, who loved to dance and sing. She was apparently quite fastidious in her appearance, so much so her sisters always addressed her with the title' 'miss', even after she married.

Miss Terese.