Bart's Story:

I don't know how much time passed. I kept drifting in and out. I would have brief moments of awareness where I would see someone moving around and hear a voice but nothing much made any sense and they never lasted long. I was never sure if I was passing out or just sleeping. Eventually, I did come back to myself and the first thing I noticed was the fading light. I also felt kind of hot, stuffy, and in general, uncomfortable.

For several minutes I lay quietly and tried to wrap my head around everything that was happening. I could hear noise in the other room, but it wasn't anything distinct, just a body moving around every now and then; sometimes a muted voice speaking. As far as I could tell, Jim hadn't returned. I realized I didn't have any idea of when he would, either. Just how far were we from Denver, and how long would it take a man to ride there and back again? Thoughts of Jim led me to thoughts of Bret. While there was nothing funny about my current situation, I couldn't help but smile as I wondered how their meeting had gone. Hopefully, it had been civil and uneventful.

Despite what Jim may have thought earlier today about Bret not listening to him, I knew better. I know my brother well enough to know that he would have eventually followed Jim out here regardless. Even if he didn't believe anything Jim said about me and Boucher and this whole mess, curiosity would have gotten the best of him sooner or later and he would have had to find out what was going on. It would have taken time, though. Whether Boucher knew it or not, he had done something when he'd shot me. He'd insured Bret wouldn't waste time trying to figure out Jim's angle. Now I can't say for sure that me taking a bullet was going to make Jim any more believable to Bret, but I'm confident Bret's not going to think on something too hard when there's a chance I'm in trouble. There wouldn't be too much dickering between the two of them today. Bret would probably threaten Jim the whole way, but he would get here as soon as he could. That one fact was really starting to worry me.

I was still hurting, a lot, and I felt kind of achy all over, but my head was clear. In fact, it was clearer than it had been in a while. Clear enough that the reality of what Bret was likely walking into was really starting to sink in. I didn't for a moment believe what Boucher said about Bret; there had to be more to the story than what he was telling me. The problem was Boucher obviously believed it, and so did Charity. I didn't doubt the major had retribution of some kind on his mind; retribution that would doubtless end in my brother's death. The more I thought about it, however, the more certain I became that it wouldn't be as simple as just shooting him. I had a sinking feeling Bret was in big, big trouble, and now, thanks to me, he was headed straight towards it. Intellectually, of course, I knew I wasn't really responsible. Bryce and Jack and Charity had done the kidnapping, and Boucher had been the one to shoot me, but still, I couldn't completely shake off the feeling that if not for me Bret would be safe.

I had a sudden impulse to find out if I would be of any use to Bret if he needed me, although honestly, I didn't feel very confident about it. Steeling myself for what I knew was going to be an unpleasant experience, I shut my eyes and pulled myself upright. The fire in my gut was renewed and utilizing all the self-control I processed I managed not to yell out, although I couldn't stop a groan from passing through my clenched teeth. I had to catch my breath before I went any further, but I was finally able to get my legs off the bed. It turned out that was all I had in me. The simple actions that I would have accomplished without a thought when I was healthy left me weak and shaky, and all I could do was sit on the edge of the bed, hands fisted in the blanket while I told myself to breathe.

I quickly came to the conclusion that I couldn't stay where I was and I would either have to get up or go back down. I was trying to decide which would hurt more when Charity entered the room. "What are you doing?" she demanded, rushing over to me.

I opened my eyes and peered up at her as a chill ran through my body. "I have to . . . ." Well, I wasn't sure what it was I needed to do. I wanted to get up but I knew that was next to impossible right now.

"You're not capable of doing anything at the moment." She gave me a reproachful look before she helped me ease back onto the bed.

I groaned again and squeezed my eyes shut as I once more had to ride out the pain pulsing through my gut. Once the fire had died down I looked back to her and found her watching me with sympathy. Man, she confused me. Did she care or not?

She smiled at me tightly before she reached out and brushed my hair back. Her hand lingered on my forehead and I heard her tut softly. "You've got a fever starting," she said before wiping my face with a cool wet rag.

I grunted in agreement. I hadn't needed Charity to tell me that; I'd already suspected it. Nothing but a fever could make me so hot and uncomfortable and still send chills through me too. The only surprise was that it had taken this long to start. "Need a . . . a doctor." She didn't need me to tell her that, but I was trying to sound sick, maybe even kind of pitiful. I was hoping to appeal to her better nature as it were. I knew she had to have one. I didn't understand everything she had done, but she'd treated me too well to be as deranged and heartless as everyone else in this cabin.

Charity smiled sadly and wiped my face off again. "As soon as this is over I'll get you to one."

I guess that was as good as her nature got. What did she mean as soon as this was over? As soon as what was over? As soon as Bret was here? As soon as Bret was dead? I thought back to what Boucher had said. There was simply no way Bret could have been responsible for what happened, and no one with any sense at all could believe that he was. I looked up at Charity. "You can't . . . believe in all this. In what he's . . . what he's doin'. You can't believe . . . this is right."

"I didn't know he'd do this to you. He just said he wanted you here. He never mentioned shooting you."

I could accept that. I could even almost believe her. But then if he could so easily shoot me, someone even he admitted was innocent, what was in store for the person he thought owed him something? Had Charity thought about that as she'd played a part in luring Bret here? Another chill ran through me, but I wasn't sure if it was from the fever or my thoughts of Boucher. "Has he . . . said anything abo . . . about Bret?" If I could just get some more information; the more I knew ahead of time the better off we'd all be.

Charity bit her lip. "No," she answered after a hesitation.

I didn't believe that. "Charity." I tried to give her a Beauregard look. Unlike Bret, who is almost as good at it as Pappy, I don't have a talent for the look. But there are times I do all right.

"He just said he needs him here." Charity sounded almost desperate, but she still hadn't told me anything. She was either being deliberately evasive, or she really was that naïve. What did she think Boucher was going to do to Bret? Give him a slap on the wrist and tell him he'd been a bad boy before sending him off without supper? There was no way the girl who'd told Bryce what to do could be that innocent.

I took as deep a breath as I could. I was hurting, I was frustrated, and frankly, I was scared. For Bret that is. "He's gonna . . . kill him, Charity. Your uncle's gonna . . . gonna kill my brother."

Charity shook her head. "He hasn't said anything about killing. He just . . . ." Charity snapped her mouth shut and looked away.

"What?" I tried to push myself up on my elbow but quickly abandoned that pursuit. "What's . . . he said?"

Charity sighed. "I don't suppose it would hurt to tell you. You'll find out soon anyway. He's here to see justice done. Your brother should have been court-martialed. Uncle Frank will see that it's done. He'll be charged and judged for his crimes."

The only thing I could do was stare at Charity. Was it possible for her to be so ignorant of the way things worked? Bret was no longer a soldier, and I had my doubts the major was still serving as well. Did she honestly think Boucher had the authority to do anything to Bret? Even if she did believe that, what about me and Jim? I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure it's never legal to kidnap someone or to shoot them just because. And the stage driver? Well, that definitely wasn't legal. Again she was throwing me into a state of confusion.

I couldn't think of a thing to say in reply to the things Charity had just told me so I simply stared at the ceiling, wondering how we were going to get out of this. Maybe Charity knew exactly what was going on and had finally realized how serious it all was. Maybe she was trying to find a way to rationalize it in her mind. Regardless of what she said, I was still convinced Boucher intended to kill Bret, and that's what I had to prepare for.

I was trying to think of some kind of plan when one of those sharp, unexpected pains hit again. I groaned and tried to curl in on myself, wishing that there was some way to take the edge off the pain.

Charity went into that protective mode again and started crooning softly to me. It didn't help much, but I found I preferred hearing her voice to being alone. And gripping her hand gave me something else to think on. "It's all right, Bart," she said softly as the pain started to ease some. "It'll all be over soon." That's exactly what I was afraid of but instead of answering, I found myself just nodding. "Do you need anything?"

"Noth . . . nothin' you can . . . get me," I told her trying to smile.

Something I couldn't identify crossed Charity's face. "Try to go back to sleep," she said. She kept hold of one hand but started running her fingers through my hair with her other, and my eyes drifted shut whether I wanted them to or not.

It could have hours later or maybe only seconds, but there was now a commotion coming from the other room causing my eyes to pop open.

"Put the gun down. The old man won't like you shootin' him." Was that Jack?

"Perhaps we should do as the gentleman says." That was definitely Jim. Did that mean . . . .

"I told you to sit down." That growl could only come from Bryce.

"And I told you to show me my brother." My heart jumped. Bret was here and he wasn't happy. The voices got louder, closer, Bret's coming through the clearest. "Is he in there?"

"You just don't worry about that."

"I do worry about that."

"I told you, you can't shoot him."

The door opened and all four men poured into the room. My eyes found my brother first. I smiled weakly. "Brother Bret. Decide to . . . join the . . . fun?"

Relief washed over Bret's face and he tried to return the smile. "You really can't stay out of trouble can you?" Bret asked squatting down beside the bed and taking my free hand in his.

"What I've been. . . told."

"All right you've seen him. Now come here." Bryce jerked Bret back and, surprisingly, Bret didn't say anything. He didn't resist as Bryce roughly cuffed his hands together either.

"When did he say he would be back?" Charity asked as she stood up.

"He just said tonight," Bryce answered as he handcuffed Jim too.

"I guess I should get something started for supper then." She walked from the room without sparing any of us another look.

"We keepin' 'em in here?" Jack asked.

Bryce nodded. "Nothin's changed," he said looking at each one of us. "If one of you tries anything the other two will pay for it." He gave us a parting leer before he and Jack left, locking the door behind them.

"Charming group of people, aren't they?" Jim said giving Bret a smile.

"The only kind Bart ever finds," Bret replied before sitting down beside me. "The girl is pretty, but I think you can do better, little brother." I grunted in complete agreement with him. Bret suddenly became serious. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I been . . . shot." I'd meant it as a joke but I could see Bret wasn't in the mood for humor. The lines on his forehead deepened as he picked up the rag and wiped my face, muttering an apology for the awkwardness caused by the cuffs.

When he'd finished with the rag he tossed it back in the basin and sighed. "So Boucher's not here," he said looking to Jim.

Jim approached the bed. "Apparently not; I suppose he wants us to wait a little longer."

Another sigh came from Bret as he ran his hand through his hair. Again the cuffs made the action cumbersome.

"Who is he?" I asked ready to get to the bottom of this mess.

"I don't know," Bret mumbled.

"What?" I was sure I hadn't heard right.

"I don't know," Bret repeated louder.

"But . . . ." I looked at Jim. "How . . . ." Back to Bret. "What?"

Bret smiled wistfully and propped his elbows up on his knees. "That's right, Brother Bart. I've never heard of Major Boucher. At least not until Buckley told me about him a few hours ago."

For some reason, that didn't make me feel any better. Actually, it made the knot in my stomach grow. How do you fight a man when you don't know who he is, or what he has against you?