Luke pulled up the buckboard in front of Hattie's store and jumped down, looking around for Mark. His heart missed a beat as he saw the boy come around the corner of the Madera House. Mark was staggering as if he couldn't see where he was going and Luke ran to him and scooped him up in his arms. "What's wrong, son?"

The boy struggled. "Put me down! Put me down, I say!" One whole side of his face was bruised and Luke headed for Doc Burrage's, kicking open the door and depositing the boy on the examination table.

Burrage came in from the other room. "Lucas, what in tarnation?"

"I don't know, Doc," said the big man anxiously. "Look at Mark's face."

The boy stared at Luke. "Why, you must be his father!"

Luke grabbed Burrage's arm. "He's not in his right mind! Do something!"

"Of course I am in my right mind," the boy sighed. "You are Mr McCain, Mark's father. I would know you anywhere from his description."

The big man sat down hard, while Burrage put his hand under the boy's chin. "Now, Mark, let me have a look at you."

"See here, there is no time to waste." The boy pushed Burrage's hand away. "I am not your son, Mr McCain. My name is Richard Van Allen and I am traveling to San Francisco with my father Alfred. I grant you there is the most extraordinary resemblance between your son Mark and myself, but I assure you I am not he."

Luke and Burrage exchanged glances. "He doesn't sound much like Mark, Lucas."

"No, he doesn't." The big man came over to the boy and examined his face. "What are you doing in Mark's clothes?"

"Mark helped me carry my valises...my suitcases...into the hotel. We had a chat about our respective lives, then I suggested trying on his clothes, while he attired himself like me." Rick's voice faltered. "I thought it would be amusing to come down as we were, and have my father and myself dine with you and Mark. We went outside so he could show me his horse, and when we were returning to the hotel we were waylaid by two men. They seized Mark and when I tried to resist, they struck me down." He took a paper out of his pocket. "They gave me this."

Luke grabbed the note. The paper was greasy and the writing was rough block print.

We have your son. It will cost twenty thousand dollars to get

him back. Wait in the saloon for us to get in touch with you.

"Twenty thousand dollars!" Luke's head swam. "I don't have a thousand dollars in ready money!"

"I don't think they meant for you to pay it, Mr McCain. I believe they took Mark in error, intending my father to pay the ransom to get me back."

"Where's your pa now?"

"He went to the bank to get some cash. He might be at the hotel by now."

"Well, let's go!"