Preface

One of the many advantages of fan-fiction is being able to see multiple authors' perspectives concerning one particular event. In the case of the author, it allows us to come at certain precedents from various angles. More than once, I have tackled the subjects of Lucas's past, Enid, and Lucas's decision to leave Oklahoma. Once again, I find myself wanting to approach those scenarios from a slightly different point of view (or rather, in this case, multiple points of view).

While I may repeat some of the themes I have alluded to in previous works, many of the details I give in this series will directly contradict precedents I have set in my other stories. As with many of my tales, these accounts are not meant to be connected with anything I have previously written. There will also be times at which I have to pick one of the many contradicting "facts" from the five seasons of The Rifleman as my measuring stick for the rest of the story. Where I can, I will try to stitch together the plot holes left by the script writers, but this is not always possible.

This story will be much different than anything I have written before, presented in a unique style I hope readers will come to enjoy. I know many of you adore the father-son relationship that made The Rifleman the success it was (and still is today), and in time, that relationship will be reintroduced. But first, I find it important to come to an understanding of what made the character of Lucas McCain the loving, committed father he was. The Rest of the Story offers just one possible prologue to the McCain saga.

Chapter 1: Colonel Charles Black
(Season 4, Episode 7 - Knight Errant)

"You sure you'll be alright for a few hours, Mark?"

"You all go ahead, it's been a long few weeks. Just stay outta trouble!"

"No promises!"

Shaking his head, Mark laughed as the men rode off, leaving a small cloud of dust behind them. He stepped towards the fire and started a second pot of coffee as the cattle continued to sing in low, melodic moans behind him, bringing his thoughts back to the ranch. Remembering the instructions his father had given him, Mark retrieved a small notebook from his pocket and reviewed the figures he and Lucas had discussed. If prices had held over the last three weeks, the cattle would go for nearly eight-hundred dollars during the auction.

As longer shadows began to fall across the Texas prairie, Mark set out his bedroll in anticipation for the hands' late return. He then walked the herd, gently humming to ease the thirsty cattle's nerves.

"Easy girl," he called, approaching Gemma. "No need for you to go get all worked up. Just a few more hours… then you can have all the water you want." The rancher reached out to run his hand across the cow's neck, jumping as a booming voice rang out behind him.
"You there!"

Mark turned to see the fire illuminating the outline of a short, stout man standing with his fists firmly planted on his hips. Twirling his rifle as he went, the young man approached the figure, squinting to make out more detail. Still at a distance, he called, "Can I help you?"

"I was prepared to ask the same of you," the Irish tongue gruffly answered. "Don't ya realize I could shoot ya on this very spot fer trespassin'?!"

"I sure am sorry, mister. I thought this was Mr. Lagard's spread and-" Mark stopped short, recognizing the man as he walked to the other side of the fire. "Colonel Black? What are you doing here?"

"What'am I doing 'ere?" The man's voice rolled across the land as a chuckle roared through him. "Son, I live here!"

"You live here? Well I sure am sorry; like I said, I thought this was Mr. Lagard's place and he said-"

"No need for ya to be sorry, 'tis I who should extend the apology. Last year Don and I decided to purchase this property as a joint venture, and if'n he has welcomed you, then welcome you are. Though I do often wonder why I agreed ta such an arrangement! I should have known that snake would leave all the work to me!"

Mark smiled at the man's complaints before asking if Don was around. "…Or'd he get lost somewhere in the fifteenth century?"

Once again, the colonel's laugh bounced across the prairie. "No, not this time… that 'tis, I certainly hope he has not. He set out with the intention of deliverin' our herd to the market in Houston."

"You hear anything about prices recently? I've been on the trail three weeks, and last I knew, it was a dollar for every hundred pounds. The way things have been the last few years, I'm sure hopin' it hasn't gone down none."

"Down? Ha!" The man slapped his worn, golden gloves across his thigh. "Boy, we've got a beef scare on our hands! In the last two days, prices have gone up fifteen cents! Now if'n you strategize properly, you could direct the rate right up ta one-thirty!"

"No kiddin'?"

"Do I look ta be a man of tale-bearin' to ya?"

"No sir! I sure can't wait to get home and see the look on Pa's face… when…" The young rancher quieted, hesitating to go on.

"Speaking of Lucas, where is he? Don't tell me the old renegade left ya to tend ta all his business?"

"...No sir. Pa… he…"

"Well speak, boy. Cat hasn't got your tongue, now does it?"

"I'm sorry," Mark apologized. "...He couldn't make it this year."

"And he sent you out alone with a herd this size? You must have fifty head!"

"...It's really only forty, but I'm not alone. The hands just rode into Spring for a few hours to blow off some steam."

"Just so long as they keep themselves in line and don't leave ya with this mangy brood!"

Mark uneasily chuckled, shaking his head. "Justin keeps 'em out of trouble… most of the time, anyway."

"Well it really 'tis a shame that yer father isn't here. I woulda had the two of ya out to the house! And if Lagard had told me you were coming, I would have-"

"We're just passing through… only needed a place to camp for a few hours. We'll be pulling out at first light. Thank you, though." Reaching for the pot, Mark asked, "Can I offer you some coffee?"

"Now I certainly couldn't refuse that!"

"I'm afraid I can't offer you any cream, but there's sugar if you want some."

"Sugar," the man scoffed. "No faster way ta ruin a cup of coffee- or a man, for that matter- than ta put sugar in his drink! What has your Pa been teaching you?" The colonel shook his head, a short laugh escaping his lips. "Now I remember the first time yer father had a taste of coffee; I would have thought he was deathly ill, the way he looked! But we got him accustomed to it right quickly, we did."

"...How did you and Pa first meet? The war?"

"Oh no, see, Lucas and me, we knew each other a long time afore the war broke out." With a twinkle in his eye, the colonel went on, "Yes, 'twould have been at least a good five months before the war began that our paths did cross. And yer father… aye, did he have himself in a fix…"

It must've been the day after Thanksgiving… Thanksgiving of eighteen-sixty, mind you. That was the first time we had celebrated anything since my father's passing that spring. I hadn't seen much need fer it… all those fixings seemed like a waste of hard-earned money to me. But Brigid, my sister, insisted that a good celebration was just what mother was needin'. I did hate to admit that she was right… we all needed a reason to enjoy ourselves, and we at long last had an opportune time to do just that. Of course, Thanksgiving came and went, meaning life returned to its mundane routine the next day… or so I thought it 'twould.

Our family had a small cattle herd, composed of about ten heifers that grazed the farmland we leased from our neighbor, Mr. Fellingho. The day after Thanksgiving, I was tending to the stock when I heard a commotion echoing up over the rise. Paid it no mind at the first, but then I heard yer pa's helpless voice carry over the hill.

"Why you mangy… no… no not over there!" His voice was in an amusin' panic as he continued to holler, "Get back over here! No, not that way; this way!"

I tapped my boots against Ailfrid's flanks and guided 'im up the rise, a long, bellowing laugh coursin' through me as I reached the crest of the hill. Yer Pa was at the bottom of the valley, running in circles, chasin' after the most spirited flock of mutton I ever did see. He'd start after one just to see another strayin' further away, then he'd go chargin' after that one only fer another half dozen to scatter as he ran past them. It 'twas wildly entertaining, and had I not felt so sorry fer the lad, I might've just let 'im figure it out 'imself. But after a few more minutes of watchin' yer pa make a fool of himself, I mosied down the hill and started towards 'im. He was so preoccupied with them sheep, I don't think he realized he had company 'til my lariat was settled tightly 'round 'im. His head whipped up, and he glared at me with a rage in his eyes the devil 'imself 'twould be afraid of!

"Mister, you're asking for trouble! You get this thing off me or so help me, I'll-"

"Now don't you go gettin' yer dander up," I laughed back at him. "You keep chasin' them sheep around, you ain't gonna do nothin' 'cept wear yerself out." I dismounted and started making my way towards your pa, but even as I started loosening the rope, he didn't seem too pleased with me.

"And just would you know about sheep?!" he demanded. "I've gotta get all these mangy, flea-carrying varmint over to the Dixons' by sunset, so unless you've got a mind in you to help-"

"That's exactly what I'm aimin' ta do if'n you'd let me."

Yer pa looked at me as if I were the Dullahan itself. I'm not rightly sure if he hadn't ever been offered help by a stranger afore, or if he just thought I had lost me head for offerin' to assist a man herd sheep. Whichever way it 'twas, he didn't answer me, so I told him to take my horse a few feet off and watch as I bunched the flock. It took a while to get them back together, but by the time I had Ailfrid's reins in my hands again, your pa was a mite more welcoming.

"...Thanks, mister. I sure appreciate it."

"Tweren't nothin; tweren't nothin' a'tall! Now just what did Ol' Man Dixon do ta trick ya into takin' on this troublesome brood?"

"...Well I was the one who offered. I was at the shipping yard when they arrived… couldn't get work from nobody else, and Mr. Dixon said he'd pay me half a dollar to take them to his place."

"You ever handle sheep before?"

"...No, not exactly. But I helped our neighbor herd cattle last summer… didn't think it'd be that much different."

I don't think I've ever laughed harder in my life than I did that day. Your pa didn't have a blessed clue about what he'd gotten himself into, and I think by that time, he was just startin' ta understand that he might've not made the most enlightened decision. I shook my head and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Different? Ha! You'd a had more luck trainin' a cat to run after game than you would tryin' ta bunch a flock like you would a herd of cattle!" Still chuckling, I looked around and asked him if he had a horse.

"No… had to sell her off a few weeks back."

"Just as well, sheep be just as accommodatin' on foot. Now you wait here, I got one more heifer ta track down, then we'll take these here over to the Dixons'."
"...Mister, I appreciate the help, but I can't pay you, and-"

"I wouldn't let you pay me. I got me some words to have with William fer settin' ya up with this flock, and I certainly ain't goin' ta let you scatter them again after all the work that went into gettin' 'em bunched up! Now, do ya think ya can hold 'em 'til I get back?"

I think it bruised yer pa's pride a bit, havin' me question his capabilities, but after a moment I saw the fight leave his eyes.

"Yeah… I can manage. Thanks, mist-"

"The name's Charlie. Charlie Black. And just who might you be?"

"Lucas… Lucas McCain. But most folks back home call me Luke."

"Well, now! I shoulda known there 'twas Irish blood in ya!" Yer pa opened his mouth, most likely ta tell me he was a Scottsman, but I didn't give 'im the chance and went right on talkin'. "There might be hope for ya yet. Wait here, I'll return shortly."

I took my time in gettin' back to yer pa. Part of me was hopin' to come over that rise and find yer pa chasin' after them sheep again. But he had done what I said and watched me while I was rounding them up, so I found him handling the flock like any first-year hireling would. I was a mite impressed, but there was no need to mention that to yer pa.

"So, ya managed not to lose 'em. Not too bad. Though I might suggest makin' yer movements a mite more subtle. Sheep are skittish creatures… they don't like anything fast and they don't like anything too bossy."

"...You have a flock?"

"My uncle did, back in the Old Country. I didn't take to workin' in the potato fields, so I worked for 'im whenever I could."

As we started out towards the Dixon place, I gave yer pa some more unsolicited advice about shepherding. He thanked me, but I could tell it didn't settle too well with 'im that he needed so much help. He did better as time went on, and afore we were halfway to the Dixons', we could keep the sheep in line without sayin' a word t'the other. This left ample time for me ta ramble on about my experiences in the Old County, but in time, I questioned yer father about his beginnings.

"Ya sure aren't from here, I can tell that by yer voice," I chuckled. "Where do ya come from?"

"I'm from a small settlement in Oklahoma… about eighty miles from the Kansas border."

"Oklahoma? What're ya doin' in Indiana?"

"...You ever heard of the Jamison gang?"

"...Jamison, Jamison, Jamison... rings a bell."

"Well it should." There was a fire in yer pa's voice as he went on, "They rode the border and down into Oklahoma this summer… burning farmers out… terrorizin' settlers. And I had to watch as a lifetime of my pa's work went up in smoke. Land won't be good for nothin' for a long time yet, and bein' the last one at home… well, I thought I might as well go out and look for work… send money back to my folks. Didn't think I'd end up so far east, but… guess that's just the way the wind blew."

"...You say yer the last one at home. Don't ya have any family that can help?"

"No… they all got families of their own to feed. 'Sides, my pa'd hardly take money from me, let alone one of them."

"Stubborn pride… it can be the death of a man… but t'offen all he has left."

There 'twere only a few rays of sunlight left by the time we got them sheep ta Dixon's and I had it out with the old man about handin' a flock like that off ta yer pa. William just laughed, tellin' me it'd learn the boy a thing or two about gettin' inta things he didn't have a blessed clue about. After yer pa got his wages, he started off towards town, but I asked him what he thought he'd do with himself that evenin'.

"I don't rightly know," he answered me with a shrug. "Reckon I'll find somewhere to eat and then look for a good place to hunker down for the night."

"Well now, there's no sense in you wanderin' around when we've got both to offer ya. Why don't ya come home with me this evenin'?"

"…I appreciate it, but I've been too much trouble to you as it is. Man's gotta find his own way, and he don't do that by takin' charity all the time."

"Now who said a thing about charity? McCain, if ya ain't careful, that stubborn pride'll be the death of ya. 'Tis a good thing fer a man to be able ta do fer himself, but he's also got to know when it's alright ta enjoy the hospitality of a friend."

Again, your pa looked at me as if I had turned into the Dullahan. He stared at me for a long time, and if'n I didn't know any better, I'da thought he hadn't been offered the hand of friendship afore. In time I realized he didn't know what to say, so I clapped my hand over his shoulder, and leading Ailfrid behind us, we started fer home.

The homestead was bustlin' with activity when we arrived. Mother an' Brigid 'twas tryin' ta get supper prepared while the yougin's ran rampant through the house. Mother was so preoccupied with'n her stew, I don't think she saw that I had brought company home. As soon as we stepped foot in the house, she told me to take the children out ta the yard and see to it that they didn't cause too much trouble with each other. The youngsters, on the other hand, saw yer pa straight away and wanted to know who I had brought home. We got them settled on the porch and I started introducing them to yer pa, startin' with the oldest and workin' my way down.

"Lucas, that there's Darragh and Cillian… the two troublemakers of the fine. Over there you've got Patrick and Finn, and Owen…" I stopped then ta look around. "Say, where'd Owen scamper off ta?"

Finn stepped forward, stretchin' 'imself to his full height as he answered, "Owen got in heap a trouble an' got sent ta bed afore the sun got hidden away."

I nodded, then turned back to yer pa. "And that there on yer lap is Alma."

"Don't forget about Brigid!" Finn declared.

"I didn't forget about Brigid," I chuckled. "I'll introduce Lucas to 'er and mother when we go in fer supper." I looked to Darragh and Cillian as I went on, "Now just what trouble did Owen happen to get 'imself inta, and how is it that you two just so happened to get yerselves out of it?"

Everyone got real quiet just about then, and no one seemed too interested in tellin'me just what had happened. I eyed Darragh carefully, warnin' 'im that he'd had better start talkin' before he got 'imself into more of a fix. Then they all started explainin' at once, and by the end of it, I still wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but I knew Darragh and Cillian 'twould be havin' a long talk with our mother after supper that evenin'.

'Twasn't much more 'an fifteen minutes later when we heard Brigid come out, hollerin' at us to make our way inside. But she suddenly stopped short, starin' at me an' yer pa as the color drained from 'er cheeks.

"Brigid, this 'ere is Lucas McCain. I found 'im out by Beaver Creek tryin' ta herd Ol' Man's Dixon's new flock… man woulda been there all night if'n I hadn't came upon 'im. I figured he might just be able to use some of your good cookin' and a place ta sleep for the night."

Bridgid opened her mouth ta answer, but nothin' came out. Mother came to 'er rescue, warmly greetin' yer pa as she stepped out onto the porch. "Well, Mr. McCain, it 'tis such a pleasure ta have ya. Brigid, why don't ya go an' set an extra place at the table? The rest of ya wash up an' take yer places."

Lucas didn't have much of a chance to eat that night. He had hardly gotten the first spoonful of stew in his mouth afore gettin' hounded with questions from every which way… with the exception of Brigid's end of the table. She stayed quiet the whole evening, stealing a glance at yer pa every now and again, and pretending not to notice when his gaze shifted towards her.

"Well it really 'tis a shame you hadn't been 'ere a few months back," Mother declared. "Charlie surely could've used an extra pair of hands this summer… takin' the cattle clear across the state and bringin' back that troublesome herd of heifers! Now if'n ya find yerself 'ere in a few month's time, I'm sure Charlie could hire ya on to help with the cattle... I think eight or nine of 'em heifers should be ready to birth come March, isn't that right, Charlie?"

"If'n they all make it through the winter," I told her. "Though I'm sure Lucas 'ere will be long gone by then."

"What kind of work are ya lookin' fer, Mr. McCain?"

"Don't rightly matter much to me," Lucas answered. "Just so long as I make enough to send back to my folks."

"Charlie, isn't Mr. Lagard lookin' fer someone to hire?"

"...Last I went inta town he still was. Lucas, ya ever work much with sidearms?"

"Fixed up my brothers' old rifles around the farm… couldn't really tell ya how much good I am at it… just needed somethin' for target practice."

"Well, as long as you've gotta mind to work an' a heart to learn, I'm sure Mr. Lagard might give ya a chance. And between them heifers and the fields, I could use a hand with the chores around 'ere if'n you're lookin' for a place ta bunk. The barn ain't much, but it's a roof over yer head, and as ya can see fer yerself, ya can't get better cookin' anywhere else!"

I expected yer pa to accept the offer right off, but I could tell somethin' wasn't settlin' right with 'im. So I told 'im he didn't have ta make up his mind right away. Mother must've caught on as well, because she went and changed the subject afore another word could be said about it. After supper that evenin', yer pa helped me bed down the stock before we set up a cot for 'im. I could tell he was still strugglin' with somethin', and I finally sat down beside 'im.

"You know ya certainly don't owe a thing to us if ya have a mind ta move on."

Yer pa looked down at the ground, kicking a clump of dirt with his boot. "It's not that," he quietly answered. "...It's… when I left, my pa and me weren't on the best of terms. He said I was a fool for goin' off and that I'd never make it on my own… that I'd always find myself takin' hand-outs from folks and that I'd become nothin' but a saddle bum. ...It's more than the fact that I don't want him to be right… it's that I don't want to be that kind of man. I don't want to take charity… I don't want to owe nothin' to nobody… not even so much as a favor."

"…Lucas my boy, ya can't avoid people bein' kind t'ya. But a favor 'tis really not a favor if it's expected ta be repaid. And as fer takin' charity, I don't see anyone offerin' it to ya. I'd find it a right-good exchange of services if ya stayed on 'ere, and Mr. Lagard, if he decided ta take ya on, 'twould be gettin' a good return on his investment in ya so long as ya stuck around fer a few months. I'm tellin' you, let that stubborn pride yer father passed onto ya go afore it slams the coffin shut on ya."

Yer pa looked up at me again, takin' his time in thinkin' through everythin' I'd told 'im. At first, I thought he was about ta turn me down. But then I saw the slightest shift in his eyes, and I knew I'd found a friend in yer pa. A friend who had a mind ta stay put fer a spell.