Early Tuesday morning, Judge Hanavan's gavel struck the sound box, bringing an enraged Micah to his feet.

"An asylum?!"

"You can take him now, Deputy," the judge stated. "And I suggest you don't dottle."

"Wait just a minute!"

"My decision is final, Micah. Deputy Wilks, please get on your way."

As the deputy began escorting Jackson from the building, Micah rushed toward the judge's bench.

"How could you do this?! Mark could be dead right now!"

"And I thank the good Lord he isn't. I had to do what I felt was right."

"Right? Right? You call letting a would-be killer live out the rest of his days in peace right?!"

"I can assure you, Marshal, they won't be in peace. The man is plagued by a disease that won't give him a moment's rest until the days he dies. Reef Jackson needs to be under the care of physicians equipped to handle someone in his condition, not thrown into prison where he can be a danger to himself and others. I understand your frustration, but I-"

"Frustration? You think I'm frustrated?! That man nearly killed a fifteen-year-old boy and all you're going to do about it is send him off to a hospital!"

"Micah, the territorial prison is no place for that man. But neither is an ordinary hospital. Jackson is going to spend the rest of his life behind bars. The only difference is that he is going to be in an institution- where he belongs."

"You best thank the Lord Lucas will never hear of this! If he knew-"

"Micah, you are free to disagree with my decision, but in the end, it is mine and mine alone to make. I'm just as enraged about what happened as you are. But if Lucas were here, I would have given the same sentence. Because ultimately, it's not you, Lucas, the council, or anyone else in North Fork I'm accountable to. You can kick me off the bench- even run me out of town. But in the end, I'm accountable to the Almighty, and I'm going to sleep just fine tonight knowing that."

Micah glared at the judge before whipping around and pointing at Lou, Nils, and Ben. "Today NEVER happened! I don't want this spoken about EVER again!"

Seething, the marshal stormed out of the courthouse and marched back to his office. Bracing himself, Micah kicked the side of his desk, tears of grief finally forming in his eyes. He was angry with the judge, he was enraged by what Jackson had done; but the person he was most furious with, was himself. He should have known something was wrong. He should have offered to go to the ranch with Mark. He should have ran Reef out of town when he had the chance. ...But he didn't.

Micah sank into a chair as grief, hatred, and bitterness welled inside of him. It was then that a near overwhelming desire for a taste of whiskey confronted the marshal. He started to stand, glancing across the street towards the saloon; the small voice of a ten-year-old Mark stopping him. 'Whiskey make ya work better?'

Again, Micah dropped into the chair. He couldn't fall apart. Not yet. Not with Lucas gone and his boy lying in the doctor's office. Mark needed him, and when Lucas returned… for better or for worse, he would be needing someone to lean on, too.

The marshal pushed himself to his feet and walked towards the stove. He downed two cups of coffee, then made his way to Doc's.

"Morning, Micah," Burrage greeted. "I was wondering when you would show up here."

"How is he?"

"...He's finally asleep again."

"Finally?"

"It was a long night. He kept waking up in cold sweats. I thought he might be getting an infection at first, but he hasn't had any other signs and certainly no fever."

"...You think he's remembering?"

"His body, maybe, but he certainly isn't. He still can't recall anything after Friday night. The mind's a funny thing."

"How are his wounds?"

"The pain is another thing that has been keeping him awake. Like I said, there's no infection, but… well, you know what it feels like to get shot. Not to mention all the poking and prodding I had to do to get the bullets out."

"Can't you give him something for the pain?"

The doctor shook his head. "He's too weak. I'm worried about what medicating him would do."

"...Are you saying there's still a chance… he could…"

"...I never said there wasn't. Him coming around was a step in the right direction, but he's not out of the woods yet. Only time will tell."

"...Is it alright if I sit with him?"

"Go right ahead. I'll be out here if you need anything."

"Thanks, Doc."

Micah made his way to the back room and took a seat beside the bed. He looked over the youth's frame, still taken aback by how pale he was. The marshal had only seen Mark sick a handful of times, but he knew how incredibly painful each event had been for the boy's father. He prayed Mark would at least regain some strength before Lucas returned.

Nearly an hour had passed when Micah saw Mark beginning to stir, becoming concerned as he started mumbling for Lucas. He reached down to put a hand on Mark's good shoulder, calmly responding to him.

"He'll be home soon."

"Pa… Pa, NO!" Mark suddenly bolted upright, gasping for breath as he became conscious of the pain he was in.

"Easy, boy, easy…" The marshal gently pushed Mark to lie down again.

"Mi… Micah? Wh… where's…" The question died on Mark's lips as he remembered that his father was out of town. "...Have… have you heard… fr… from Pa?"

"He wasn't going to be anywhere near a telegraph office, remember?"

Mark uneasily nodded in response.

"...Something the matter?"

"I… don't… know. I… have… have this… feeling…" Mark attempted to sit up, but quickly collapsed back onto the bed as he winced in pain.

"You just rest easy. There will be plenty of time for you to be up and around later on. I'm sure your pa is fine; he's due home any day now. A lot's happened… I'm sure you're just in a little bit of shock."

Again, Mark tried to think back, but he couldn't get past Friday night. "Why… why can't I… remember?"

"...Like I said, you've been through a lot. Just give it time."

"But what… what happ…ened?" Seeing the man hesitate, he went on, "Please, Mi… Micah… I… I want to… to know…"

The marshal let out a heavy sigh as he contemplated the request. Maybe it was for the best to give Mark a story; perhaps it would allow his mind to create a memory that didn't exist. ...At the very least, it would make him doubt any real memories of what had happened. His conscience gnawing at him, Micah slowly nodded. "...There's not a whole lot to tell. You went back to the ranch on Sunday to do your chores. ...Seems you startled an intruder and… and he shot you before running off. I found you that night."

"Wh… why?" Mark asked in confusion. "Wh… who? I… I wouldn't have… done…"

"You don't need to worry yourself over the details. Those are things we'll probably never know. What's important is that he's been caught and he won't ever bother you again."

"How… how long… till I can… get out of… of here?"

Micah gently chuckled. "Like father, like son. I can't tell you for sure, but I don't reckon it's going to be any time soon. Doc said you had a rough night, why don't you try to rest a bit longer?"

"If Pa… if he gets back… will you…"

"Don't worry, I'm sure this will be his first stop."

"...Wake me," he weakly mumbled. "Don't let… let me sleep. I… I want… to know… when he's… when he's back…"

The marshal nodded. "Go back to sleep. You need to rest."

Wednesday afternoon saw Lucas finally bringing the latest additions to the McCain herd onto their land. He let out a deep sigh of satisfaction before urging his horse forward once again and making his way to the homestead. The rancher took his time in cleaning up, more than happy to remove the thick layers of trail dust that had settled on his skin. Walking to the bedroom for a clean change of clothes, Lucas realized just how much he was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed that night. It was going to feel good to have a quiet evening at home. No dust, no cattle, and certainly no outlaws.

In time, the rancher mounted up and headed for North Fork. He stopped by the school first, finding that the students had already been dismissed for the day. Lucas continued on to the hotel and walked inside to see Lou sorting the mail, her back towards him. He tossed his hat onto the desk and rang the bell, using a jovial tone as he called to her.

"Excuse me, Miss, but might you know where I could find the fine owner of this establishment?"

Lucas's smile faded as he watched her entire frame tense; the letters that had once been in the woman's hands now falling to the ground. The rancher slowly made his way around the counter, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

"...Lou?"

She bent down to pick up the letters, looking away in order to hide the tears that welled in her eyes.

"Lou, what's wrong?"

"Lucas." The rancher turned to see Micah stepping inside the building, his expression full of warning. "Lucas, let her be."

"Micah?" Lucas again looked to Lou in concern, then back at the marshal. "What's going on?"

"Why don't you and me head over to my office?"

Torn between staying with Lou and heeding the marshal's suggestion, Lucas hesitated before following Micah outside.

"What's the matter with Lou? Did something happen while I was gone?"

"...She's had quite a shock," he carefully answered. "...We all have."

The men stepped inside the jailhouse, Lucas setting aside his rifle as Micah poured two cups of coffee.

"Well?" he pressed. "What happened?"

The marshal took his time in handing Lucas his coffee, taking a seat at the desk, and gesturing for his friend to do the same. "No one really knows the entire story. ...The good news is the doc says he's mending."

"He?"

Micah took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "...Lucas, Mark… Mark was shot."

Time seemed to stand still as the words fell on Lucas's ears. He blankly stared across the room as he tried to understand what had been said, finally turning back towards the marshal. "...He... what?"

"...He went out to the ranch to do his chores, and when he didn't return…"

Lucas didn't bother listening to the marshal's reply. He stood, dropping his cup of coffee, and ran to the doctor's office.

As the door burst open, Burrage looked up to see a grief-stricken Lucas staring back at him; the man's eyes pleading with the doctor to tell him where his son was.

"Back there," he answered, pointing to the next room. "...Be gentle with him, Lucas."

The worried father hurried through the second door, his heart shattering as his eyes fell on the pale figure lying on the bed. Lucas took long strides towards his son and was soon hovering over him, pushing the boy's hair out of his face.

"Mark," he called in a broken whisper. "Oh, Son…"

No sooner had the words escaped Lucas's lips than he saw his boy's eyes flutter open.

"Pa…?" Mark tried to sit up, grimacing in pain before he let his father gently push him back down.

"Lie still..." Lucas looked him over, appalled by the bandages that covered his head and torso. "Mark… Son, who did this to you?"

"You don't need to worry about that," Micah called, stepping into the room.

"I don't need to worry?!" Lucas demanded, whipping around. "My son was shot!"

"And the man who did it has already been caught and sentenced. It's over, Lucas."

"Caught and… how long ago did this happen?"

"...Sunday."

"Why didn't you send someone after me?!"

"Lucas, there was no telling where you were going to be. We could've sent a dozen riders out and still not have found you."

"I don't care! My son's life was at stake! You-"

Lucas was interrupted as Mark's quiet voice called to him. He turned to see his son trying to sit up again and returned to his side, encouraging him to lie down.

"Pa… it's not… it's not Micah's... fault…"

The rancher slowly let out a heavy sigh, nodding. "I know." Turning back to the marshal, he went on, "...Who was it, Micah? Who did this?"

"...Just some saddle tramp, looking for supplies, I reckon. Like I said, Lucas, it's over. He won't be bothering anyone again."

There were several moments of silence as the rancher stared across the room, a mix of emotions pulling him every which way.

"...Lucas?"

He finally looked up at the marshal and nodded, but they both knew the conversation was far from over. They would finish discussing it later- when Mark wasn't around.

"I'll let you two talk… I'll be in my office if you need anything."

"...Thanks, Micah."

As the door closed behind the marshal, Lucas again turned to his son. "How do you feel?"

"It hurts, but… Doc gave… gave me something a… a little while ago… that helps."

"...Son, I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"...Not your… your fault, either."

"...Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather get some rest?"

"I don't… I don't remember… remember what happened. Last… last I can remember… was Friday."

Lucas carefully sat down beside his son, worriedly looking him over. He reached out to gently touch the bandage on Mark's head, his brow furrowing. "...Are you alright?"

"...I feel better… now that… that you're home. ...I… I couldn't… couldn't shake this feeling… something had happened… to you."

Lucas shook his head. "No, Son, I..." He stopped short, remembering that he had been attacked. "...Well, I reckon you could say something happened. You're never going to believe who was elected sheriff of Paradise…"

The rancher recounted the last week to his son, relaxing as Mark laughed at the story. But as the boy started drifting back to sleep, Lucas could feel the hatred welling inside of him again. He waited to make sure Mark was fully asleep before pulling the blanket over him and then quietly stepping into the front office.

"...How many times?"

"What?" Doc asked, looking away from the medicine cabinet.

"How many times was he shot?"

"...Four." Lucas closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as the doctor went on, "Only two stuck… but they were lodged deep in his chest. One by his shoulder and the other a bit lower."

"...The other two?"

"Grazed his temple and his ribcage, only minor damage there."

"And the bruises on his arms?"

"...I'm still not entirely sure what to make of those. The marks seem consistent with someone grabbing him, but… the assailant would've had to have incredible strength to leave bruises that severe."

"...Doc, he… he's so weak…"

"I know, but thankfully a small part of that is the medication. He was doing better this morning, so I thought it best to finally give him something to take the edge off the pain… it's a fine balance to keep. He'll be a little stronger by this evening, but the pain will be worse."

"...Will he be alright?"

"I think we're out of the woods," he answered with a nod. "It'll be a long few weeks as he recovers, but he'll mend."

There were a few moments of silence before Lucas found his voice again. "...I'm going over to Micah's. If he wakes again, will you get me?"

"Of course. ...I wouldn't plan on him sleeping more than an hour… he's been restless ever since he first woke up."

"I won't be long."

Lucas left the office, ignoring Micah as he entered the jail and walked back to the cells. Realizing no one was being kept there, the rancher returned to the front office, staring down at the marshal.

"Where is he?"

"...I told you, he was already sentenced."

"Where, Micah?"

"A deputy marshal was in the area and picked him up yesterday to transfer him."

"Santa Fe? Yuma? Where?!"

"Lucas, it doesn't matter. It's ov-"

"This is NOT over, Micah! My son was shot. My son was almost killed! I have a right to know why, and I'm going to find out with or without your help!"

"Lucas-boy, you need to calm down and-"

"Calm down?! My son is lying in the doctor's office, recovering from being SHOT!"

"Exactly!" Micah yelled, slamming his hand on the desk as he stood. "Lucas, your boy, whether he wants to admit it or not, has been nothing but terrified for the last three days! He wakes up with two days of his life missing only to be told someone tried to kill him! He's been worried sick about you and can hardly sleep! The last thing he needs right now is you to go riding off after a man who's already been dealt with!"

A heavy silence fell over the room as the two men stared at each other. At long last, Lucas gave in, dropping into a chair.

"...I'll never forgive myself," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He asked to go..."

Micah let out a deep breath as he sat down. "He had school. There was no reason why he should have gone with you. There's no possible way any of us could have known what would happen."

"Fifteen… he's fifteen…" Lucas looked up, grief etched on his face. "Why, Micah? What kind of person would do such a thing? Over a few measly provisions, no less?"

"...There will always be questions we don't have answers to. But he survived. In time, he'll be alright. It's best that for now, we focus on that."

That night, Lucas woke to again find his son gasping for breath, frantically looking around. He got up from the chair and crossed the small room, calmly reassuring him.

"It's alright, Son. It was just a dream."

As his pa helped him lay back down, Mark tried to remember what had startled him awake. But once again, even the memory of his dreams wasn't to be found.

"...I'm s-sorry…"

"You don't need to apologize."

"...Pa?"

"Yes?"

"...After Red Creek… do… do you think… you got all your… your memories back?"

Lucas thought for a long moment. "...I'd like to think I did. But I reckon I'll never really know."

"I… I feel like… like something's wrong… but I can't… I can't remember…"

Letting out a deep sigh, Lucas carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's a mighty frightening thing, having a piece of yourself missing like that. ...Something is wrong, Son. You… you were almost killed. And as a way to protect itself, sometimes… well, sometimes the mind does funny things. You're confused and scared… and I'm sure it's going to take a while for things to clear up… for you to feel safe again. But Doc said your memory will return with time. And hopefully when it does, you'll be able to relax some."

"But… but it's… it's more than that. There… there's something else…"

"...I'm sure in time, we'll get to the bottom of it."