Galen stared at the reflection in the mirror and smiled slightly, content in the old adage that a uniform could improve the looks of any man.

"Lenny?"

Adams looked up in the mirror, his pale blue eyes meeting the younger ones so like his own. "Hmmm?"

"How long'll you be gone?"

The elder Adams turned to face his brother. "I don't know, Charlie. It could be a right long while."

"I want to go with you."

It was not a plea, but a demand.

"You're too young, baby boy."

"I'm not too young, Galen," Charlie growled, "and don't call me a baby! I'm twelve years old!"

Galen put his wide hands on Charlie's shoulders. "I know how old you are, Charlie, and when I leave, you'll be the man of the house. You're going to have to care for mama and Gladys."

Charlie eyed his brother's uniform. "How come you're already an officer and you ain't done nothin' yet?"

"Haven't done anything, Charlie," Galen sighed. His little brother glared impatiently, causing Galen to smile. "It's because I've studied medicine for two years, Charlie."

"But you said yourself that you ain't a--" Charlie caught himself and corrected, "you aren't a doctor yet."

"I guess the army figures I've got enough training."

"Soon as I can, I'm volunteerin' too."

Galen's eyes flashed fear and anger. "The hell you are, baby boy."

"I told you not to call me that," Charlie's changing voice crackled as he broke away, heading for the bedroom door.

Galen put a large hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Charlie, please..." The younger boy shrugged out of his grip, and he sighed. "I don't mean it badly. I just..." Adams turned his brother around to face him. "You're my little brother, Charlie, and I don't wanna see anything happen to you; can you understand that?"

Uncomfortable with his older brother's candor, Charlie stepped toward the window, and stared out. "I don't want you to go, Lenny." Charlie implored softly, "I don't want you to leave me."

Galen could hear his younger brother's sniffles, despite Charlie's attempt to muffle them. He stepped closer, enclosing his arms around the twelve year old. "I'm not leaving you, Charlie; I just can't stand by and do nothing while the north and south tear each other apart."

The twelve year old turned, impetuously wrapping his arms around his older brother. "Promise me nothing will happen to you, Lenny. Please promise me..."

Galen held his brother close, swallowing hard. "Oh Charlie, I can't promise you that."

"Please Lenny," Charlie cried, "Please..."

"I can't lie to you..." Charlie's sobs stabbed into his heart, and Galen felt a pang of regret in his belly. He rubbed his hand softly over the thick curls on the back of his little brother's head. "Don't cry, Charlie."

"Promise me, Lenny," Charlie's muffled voice repeated, "Promise me you'll come back and everything will be okay."

And against his gut and better angels, Lt. Galen Adams kissed the top of his brother's head and whispered, "I promise, baby boy, I promise you."

"Charlie," Doc muttered, "Charlie..."

Dillon stirred from a restless sleep and moved closer to Adams. "Doc?"

Doc moaned, licking his parched lips. "Guess I'd have to leave you someday..."

Matt wiped a wet compress over Doc's fevered forehead, and grasped the physician's outstretched hand tightly in his own. Adams continued to mutter incoherently about Charlie, but all Dillon could do was sit helplessly by and watch him deteriorate...

From the moment he stepped onto the edge of the family property, his insides began to shake. He hadn't seen them in four years. He hadn't seen them since he'd become a full-fledged doctor. He hadn't seen them since he'd been incarcerated in Libby Prison. He hadn't seen them since he'd suffered unspeakable cruelties at the hands of the Confederates: he hadn't seen them since he'd become a man.

Galen walked down the large curving path toward the small yellow farmhouse nestled next to the large red barn, and he could feel the perspiration that had broken out across his brow. He let out a long sigh of air, trying to calm his bedraggled nerves, but the anticipation of seeing his family was almost more than he could bear. As he approached the little house, he took in every detail of it; each and every crack in the wall, the slightly marred paint and even the dilapidated white eaves filled him with a joy he had thought lost to him forever. He gripped his small knapsack tightly in his large hand, and ran for the front door.

"Mama! Gladys! Charlie!" He yelled, "I'm home!" Galen pulled the front door open, expecting to see them sitting at the old wooden table, but the house radiated an eerie stillness. "Mama? Mama! I'm home!" He quickly looked through the other small rooms, and was disappointed to find them empty. "Damn..."

He set his bag on a chair and looked around, spotting the coffee pot sitting on the stove. He walked over to it, expecting to find it warm at least, but the old tin pot was stone cold. Frowning, Galen headed for the barn outside.

"Gladys? Mama? Charlie!" He yelled, "Where is everybody?"

And then he saw them.

Shuddering with each step, Galen walked slowly toward the old oak tree nestled around the far side of the barn. Tears stung his eyes as he knelt in front of the two wooden markers, and the harsh reality that both his mother and sister had been dead for more than a year struck him as swiftly as a blow. The deep voice from behind caused him to start.

"Galen."

Deeply stunned, Doc stood and faced the owner of the basso voice; a towering man of at least six foot two; a man with a shock of dark wavy hair, square chin and pale blue eyes.

"Charlie?"

"Hello, Galen," Charlie said as he continued on his way into the barn.

The elder Adams recovered from his stupor and followed his brother. "Charlie...come back here." He followed the young man into the barn and growled at him as he saddled his horse. "I've been gone for four years, I come home to find the graves of my mother and sister, and all my little brother has to say to me is, 'Hello Galen?'"

Charlie didn't miss a beat as he answered, "What else did you want me to say?"

Galen grabbed his younger brother and pulled him around, gripping him hard by the arms. "I want you to tell me what happened to mama and Gladys for a start," he snarled.

Galen stared into the deep pale eyes that he knew were his brother's, but nothing else of the young man standing before him resembled the boy he had left behind.

"Cholera, almost a year ago," Charlie finally stated.

As soon as he'd answered, Charlie turned back around to finish saddling his horse.

"Charlie," Galen growled, "Stop turning away from me. What is the matter with you?"

The young man faced his brother once again. "What's the matter with me? Since the day you left until the day she died, mama continually let me know that I would never be able to fill your shoes, big brother. No matter how tall I grew, or how much money I could earn in town gamblin' it wasn't good enough for mama." He glared into his big brother's eyes. "But money's money, Len, and no matter where it comes from, it pays for needs. I took care of both of them like you told me; but my way was never good enough for mama."

His emotions spiraling, Galen tried to assimilate all of it. His voice turned soft with sadness, "The farm, Charlie, it looks like it hasn't been cared for in a long while."

"I'm not a farmer any more than you are, Galen. I stayed until you came back, and now you're here, so now it's my turn."

"Your turn?"

"To see the world. To experience life. To go out and make my way in it."

Galen took his brother by the arm. "Charlie, you aren't makin' a lick of sense."

"It's simple, Lenny, You're back to take care of things, so I'm leavin'."

"Leaving?"

"Yes. I'm a gambler, and a damned good one. Good enough to make a living at it."

"You call gamblin' makin' a living, do you baby boy?"

Charlie glared hard into his brother's face. "Don't call me that. As you can see, I'm all grown up now. And I'm a helluva lot bigger'n you."

"Taller maybe, bigger, I don't think so."

Charlie opted to swallow down the insult. "Look, I'm sorry this isn't the homecoming you were expecting, but it's the way things are."

"And you're just gonna run off, goin' God knows where, doin' Satan knows what?"

"Yeah, that's about the size of it."

"What about the farm?"

Charlie shrugged. "Work it, sell it, I don't much care, I'm done with it."

"I forbid you to go," Galen growled.

"What?"

"You heard me, Charlie, I forbid you to go. Now you unsaddle that horse and come into the house and we'll talk this out."

But instead of acquiescing, the baby brother he adored more than life itself laughed at him. "You can't forbid me nothin', Lenny. I'm a grown man now."

Trying to swallow down his hurt, Galen forced his timbre to remain steady, "You're sixteen, Charlie. Your voice has changed and you've grown tall, but you're sixteen."

"Sixteen or sixty, who's gonna stop me?" Charlie laughed, glaring down at his much smaller brother. "You?"

Galen felt his face flush with anger as he balled his fists into his hips. "If I have to, yes."

"We'll just see about that..."

And before Galen knew what hit him, Charlie lunged at him, knocking him to the ground, his big fists pounding mercilessly into his older brother's body...

Dillon gently restrained Doc's upper body from thrashing. "Easy ol' boy, easy does it."

"Charlie, please stop..."

"Doc," Dillon said gently brushing a hand over the doctor's brow, "It's me, Doc, it's Matt."

After a long moment, Doc's eyes slowly opened. "Matt," he muttered tiredly.

"Yeah." Dillon wiped Adams' face down with a cool cloth. "You've got a pretty bad fever, and it's making you delirious. You've been calling out for your brother," Dillon stated matter-of-factly.

"Was I?" Matt nodded, so Doc continued, "Well, I'm not surprised." He studied the disturbed face of the man he loved like a son. "You don't like Charlie much, do ya?"

Dillon stared hard into the sea of soft pale blue. "I don't like or dislike him, Doc, I just don't think much of the way he treats you."

Adams could feel the anger radiating out from Matt's chest. "You want to hurt him, Matt?"

"Let's just say that it would be best if he doesn't show his face in Dodge, and leave it at that."

"He didn't mean it, Matt. He didn't mean for this to happen."

Dillon's face flashed granite anger. "Don't you dare make excuses for him to me, Doc. Not to me. I almost lost you because of what he did--" Matt's shimmering blue eyes glossed over with a sheen of moisture, his voice rising with emotion. "Don't you understand what he did to you? What he almost did to all of us?"

Adams swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Matt. I don't think I realized what all this cost you until just now."

Dillon wiped away the fresh beads of sweat that had formed on Doc's brow. "Why don't you close your eyes and try to get some rest?" Adams' eyelids fluttered and Matt ran a soothing hand over his forehead. "That's it, just go back to sleep for awhile."

"You stayin' right here?" Adams' tired voice asked.

"I got nowhere else to go. Besides, it's almost daybreak, and I have to start diggin' us outta here; I don't wanna be stuck in here with the likes of you indefinitely..."

Doc grasped Matt's hand with his own, "You ain't no prize yourself, Mr. Marshal, no sir." He sighed with exhaustion and mumbled, "Can't think of one damned reason why I'm so proud of you; I must be turnin' feeble in my old age."

Dillon smiled slightly. "Yeah, that must be it."

Doc's heavy eyelids stayed open long enough to glare into the marshal's amused face. "Oh, pshaw!"

Matt carefully set Adams' right hand down, patting the top of it. "Get some rest, Doc. I'll be close by if you need me."

The fleeting levity that had colored Doc's voice was gone as he said, "Get the fever down, Matt," he unsuccessfully tried to swallow down his concern, "I'm awful warm..."

"I know," Dillon's worried voice responded. "I need to get you back to Dodge."

Adams drifted into an uneasy sleep, and after watching Doc for a minute or two, Matt turned his attention to the task of breaking through the wall of ice.

"It's comin' on this side, Mr. Dillon," Chester yelled as more snow and ice tumbled through the tunnel the two of them had been digging from opposite ends of the wall for the past four hours.

"It's weakening here too," Matt responded as he continued to chip the snow with his gun barrel, occasionally pushing on the loose patches of ice with his shoulders, shoving it toward Chester's side of the wall.

Goode dug as hard as he could with the butt of his rifle, and finally a hole the size of a melon opened up on the outside. Chester peered through it and came nose to nose with the marshal of Dodge.

"Wull forevermore, Mr. Dillon, if I'da known you was that close I wouldn't have shoved so hard with the butt of this rifle! I coulda given ya a black eye!"

Matt's face filled the gap in the wall. "Just keep widening this passageway, Chester. I need to check on Doc."

"How's he doin', Mr. Dillon?"

Matt shook his head. "He's got a pretty bad fever, and although he hasn't complained much, I'm sure he's in a lot of pain." Dillon sighed slightly. "We need to dig a passageway large enough for a man's body to fit through it lying down."

"You're plannin' on pushin' him through here?"

"Feet first, Chester."

"Wull forevermore..."

Dillon pulled his upper body back into the cavern and he heard Chester begin to chip away at the hole with his rifle. Matt bent down next to the small doctor covered with two coats and realized Adams was shivering.

Alarm filled Matt's voice, "Doc? Doc!" But the physician didn't respond. Dillon looked at his fingernail beds and saw that they had turned blue. "Damnit!" He quickly moved back to the hole in the wall of ice. "Chester, I need your coat."

"What?"

"I need your coat."

"Well now, Mr. Dillon, my coat ain't gonna fit you, not--"

"--Chester, it's for Doc. Hurry up."

Goode reluctantly slipped out of his coat and passed it through the hole in the wall. He watched Dillon move over to the old doctor and cover him with it, and then Matt built up the fire, gently drawing Adams' body closer to it. The marshal examined his friend and discovered that his lips were bluish and his flesh felt like ice.

"Mr. Dillon?" Chester's muffled voice questioned.

Matt looked up toward the open area of ice pack. "I think he's going into some kind of delayed shock, Chester, he's very cold."

"I-is he gonna be all right?"

"I don't know. Keep digging, I'm gonna try and warm him a little."

"Yes sir."

Matt began briskly massaging Doc's legs, trying to get his circulation moving to bring his core temperature back up. He moved up and back, and then rubbed his hands over the right side of Doc's chest and arm, warming the doctor's good hand between both of his. Adams groaned and Dillon repeated the process until Doc came around slightly.

"Doc? Can you hear me?" Adams moaned, his respiration becoming more rapid by the second. "Come on ol' boy, I need you to tell me what to do to help you."

"R-raise my legs," Doc said weakly.

Dillon moved the nearest large rock over and lifted Doc's legs on top of it. "What else?"

Adams fought the foggy confusion trying to close in on his mind. "Keep the blood flow moving to my heart."

"What do you mean?"

"What you were doing before," Adams said through chattering teeth. He shivered harshly. "God it's so damned cold..."

Matt once again took up the chore of briskly rubbing Doc's legs, chest and arm, until he heard a strange sound coming from the wall blocking the entrance. He looked over in time to see Chester pull himself through the small pathway, tumbling head first to the floor of the cave.

"Chester," Matt called, "are you all right?"

Goode stood up, and limped toward Matt. "Yes, Mr. Dillon, far as I can tell. That hole's large enough for you and Doc now." He looked down at Adams. "How is Doc?"

Matt glanced at the small man and said, "A little better than he was awhile ago. His breathing's evened out a bit and he isn't shivering so much." Dillon tightened the coats around Adams and stood. "Let's get him out of here, Chester."

"Mr. Dillon, it's started to snow again outside."

Matt sighed. "Is it heavy?"

"Not yet, but by the looks of it, it will be. And the wind's startin' to pick up too."

Dillon nodded. "Then let's cover as much ground as we can. You get back through that wall. I'm gonna carry Doc over and put his legs through first so I can support his shoulder."

Goode nodded and quickly worked his way through the makeshift tunnel to the outside, where he stood and faced the hole. Matt gently picked Adams up, trying not to touch his left side, although Doc moaned in pain despite Dillon's best effort. He carried the small man to the tunnel in the wall and aimed him feet first through it, trying his best to support him from his lower back and not his shoulders. Chester gently eased Adams' feet through his side, and Matt crawled on his belly behind, trying to keep any weight off Doc's upper body.

But Chester's hands slipped from the cold as he tried to grip Adams' waist and the little doctor's upper body banged into the the ice wall as he slid to the ground, causing him to howl in agony from the blow.

"Mr. Dillon!" Chester screamed, "Mr. Dillon!"

Matt shot himself through the icy tube head first as fast as he could, bending down next to Doc. He pulled Adams into his arms, leaning his right side into him, taking the weight off the damaged shoulder. Doc's breath emitted in short gasps of pain, intermixed with moans of discomfort. Dillon rubbed a soothing hand over his back trying to calm him.

"Chester," Matt growled, "what happened?"

"He just slipped, Mr. Dillon," his assistant answered. "I thought I had him," his voice shook with guilt, "but he just slipped from my fingers."

Sensing Chester's deep regret, Matt's anger quickly dissipated. "I'm sorry, Chester, I know you didn't do it on purpose." The two men held each other's eyes for a moment, then Dillon said, "Can you go back inside the cavern and pull out the saddlebags and any supplies that are there? We might need them."

"Yes sir," Goode said, thankful that he had something to do other than watch Doc writhe in pain.

Matt returned his attention to Adams and he brushed a soft hand over the back of the man's head. "How is it, Doc? Any better?"

"Hurts like blue blazes," Adams whispered wearily.

"Can I do anything?" Adams shook his head, but Matt could sense there was something. He allowed his hand to continue slowly stroking the back of the old man's head. "Tell me," he demanded softly.

After a long beat, Doc whispered, "I'm worried about Charlie."

Matt closed his eyes and sighed. "After everything he's put you through, and you still care what happens to him?"

"He's still my baby," Doc said sadly.

Chester arrived with the saddlebags. "Mr. Dillon, should I look for branches to make a travois?"

"No Chester," he said looking down at Adams, "I don't think Doc's shoulder can take the bumps of a travois. I'll ride him up in the saddle with me."

"That's gonna be an awful hard ride for you, Mr. Dillon."

"Maybe," Matt said, "but a lot easier on Doc."

After freeing the outlaw's horses and saddling their own, Matt and Chester shrugged their coats on. Dillon held Chester's reins as he mounted Buck, and as gently as he could, Goode handed Doc up to Matt, followed by a blanket. Dillon leaned the small doctor's right side into his chest and wrapped the wool blanket around Adams. He handed the reins of Chester's horse to him, and the two men slowly started down the icy cliffs, being careful to keep the horses as steady as possible. Frigid wind and snow blew hard into them, and Matt kept a tight grip on the waistband of Doc's pants with his right hand, cautiously steering the horse with his other. Adams groaned painfully as they met the trail at the base of the rock formations, and Dillon pulled up on his reins.

"Doc? You okay?" He felt the old doctor nod against his chest, but the fact that the man didn't answer his question told him more. Dillon gently adjusted Adams against him. "Would a shot of whiskey help?"

"No," Doc said, his voice tight with pain.

"Chester," Matt yelled to be heard above the wind, "We need to find some shelter; Doc needs to rest awhile."

Adams gripped Dillon's coat with his good hand. "I'll be okay, Matt..."

But Dillon shook his head. "No, you won't." He looked again at his assistant. "Let's see about finding a glade of trees or some other kind of shelter against this cold."

"All right, Mr. Dillon, I'll ride a ways ahead and double back when I find somethin'. You just take your time with Doc and try not to jostle him none."

Matt watched with mixed feelings as Chester spurred his chestnut into a faster gait. The conditions were less than favorable, and he didn't like the idea of Goode riding up too far ahead for Dillon to keep an eye on him; but then he looked down at Adams, and the grimace on the doctor's face reminded him of why it was necessary for Chester to take the chance.

"Hang in there, Doc," Matt said softly, "we'll find a place to stop soon."

Adams again nodded slightly, but found himself in too much pain to answer.

Dillon followed Chester into a thick glade of trees, nestled up against the side of a large crest of rocks. Goode nodded toward the small man huddled in front of a crackling fire. "That there's the fella I was tellin' you about, Mr. Dillon, his name's Pete Sinclair."

Dillon nodded toward the man. "Sinclair."

"Marshal," Pete acknowledged. He looked at the figure under the blanket leaning against Dillon's large frame. "Need some help gettin' off yer horse, marshal?"

"No thanks, Chester'll do that."

Sinclair stood and walked toward the men. "That there feller's hurt awful bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Dillon said.

Goode reached up to take Adams' right side from Dillon. "His shoulder's all torn up," he said to Pete. "It's too bad he can't doctor himself..."

Dillon and Goode were too busy to pickup on the alarm in Sinclair's eyes. "He a sawbones, is he?"

"Yeah," Chester said, gritting his teeth from the strain of Doc's weight. "You got him, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt dismounted and took the burden from Goode. "Yeah, Chester, I've got him. You see to the horses."

Dillon carried Adams to the fire, and gently set him down, lying him as close as he could to the warmth, folding some saddlebags under his head to take the pressure off his injured limb. Pete walked over to get a better look, although he already suspicioned that the downed man was none other than Charlie's brother. He leaned over Matt and examined Doc's face in the firelight, confirming his assumption.

"Sure looks like he needs a doctor," Sinclair commented.

Matt looked up at the man. "Yeah," he said thinly. His eyes narrowed. "What exactly was it that you were doing out here in the middle of a snowstorm, Mr. Sinclair?"

Pete shook slightly under the scrutiny of the big man, but he hoped Dillon would chock it up to the cold. "Like I told Chester, I was huntin' for a rabbit or if I was lucky, a deer. Ain't had nothin' to eat in days. My horse got spooked, threw me, and I wandered into this here glade for some shelter against the wind."

"Uh-huh," Matt said, turning his attention back to Doc.

Chester looked up from unsaddling the horses, recognizing the tone Dillon reserved for a bold-faced lie, but he said nothing. He brought over his saddlebag and began to make coffee.

"You have any jerky in there, Chester?" Dillon asked.

"Might have a little, Mr. Dillon, I'll look." Chester dug around and found a small piece of dried meat, he walked it over to Matt. "Here ya are, but it ain't much."

"It's better than nothing, Chester, thanks." Matt knelt down and gently touched the jerky to Adams' lips. "Come on, Doc, take a little of this." Doc groaned and turned his head away. "Please Doc, you need to eat something."

But Adams wouldn't take any.

"He's in a bad way, marshal," Pete said, licking his lips. "Maybe you shouldn't waste that jerky on him. He don't look like he's gonna make it."

Matt stood up, towering over Sinclair. "We're gonna save it for later when he does feel like eatin' it. You got that?"

"Sure marshal, sure," Sinclair said nervously, "I was just sayin..."

"Well don't say anything more." Matt looked over at Goode. "Chester, if you have anything else to eat, give some to Sinclair and eat some yourself."

"What about you?"

"You hold out my portion for Doc. I'm not hungry."

"How 'bout some coffee then?"

"I'd love some, Chester."

Matt walked over to his assistant and waited while Chester poured coffee for Sinclair, Dillon and himself, then he went back over and sat down next to Adams. Sinclair sat next to Chester.

"He sure is protective of that ol' sawbones."

Chester glared at Sinclair from underneath the brim of his hat. "Doc is family. To both of us."

Sinclair tried to shrug it off. "Makes no nevermind to me nohow."

"See that it doesn't," Chester warned, before he stood and went over to Dillon.

Sinclair watched them for awhile, and decided to get some sleep; he was safe as long as the old doctor didn't wake up and recognize him. Before long, an opportunity would undoubtedly present itself, and Pete Sinclair could rid himself of the good doctor in a way that appeared to be completely natural...