The Family

Chapter 2

…

Deeks felt disconnected from the world around him as he tried to navigate his emotions. He felt hollow, his mind ebbing and flowing with distant memories of his first interaction with George Atwood. The man had been like a rock. Solid. Confident. Steadfast. And he had been remarkably empathetic, and that had surprised Deeks. Beneath that outwardly rough demeanor was a deep well of kindness, something Deeks had little experience with growing up. After waking him from a nightmare, the man had recognized the abuse he'd suffered as a child. It had not changed the man's opinion of him like he thought it would, and he hadn't judged him for any of it. During that initial visit George had spoken with him about the guilt he had carried with him to Wyoming, reasoning with him honestly and helping Deeks realize that his guilt was misplaced. His acceptance and support had been a revelation and had led to him becoming a member of a family he had never expected to have. Now that man he cherished like a father was missing, and he struggled to control his tumultuous emotions as he watched Soldier lead George's buckskin back toward home. Controlling the fear that he had lost that wonderful old man was exhausting and futile.

"Get your head in the game, Cuz," Elan said sharply, and his fog of memories evaporated, leaving only his fear.

"No more lapses in judgement, okay?"

"You're not going to let me forget the gun thing, are you?" Deeks said.

"It's not like you."

"This didn't start out as an op, Elan. I'm off duty, remember? I came here for a little family visit. To be honest, I wanted to see how it felt to be an ordinary citizen, so I left my weapon at home."

Elan stared at him as he mounted his black horse, his expression quizzical. "You thinking of getting out?"

"Let's go find George," Deeks replied tightly. "My life decisions can wait."

Elan mumbled something in Arapaho and turned his horse toward the track Honcho had traveled. Tension crackled in the air between them, something that added to his uneasiness. He wasn't sure if Elan had been hardened by what The Scarab had done to him and to Lily, or if the experience had awakened a deep-seated fear he wouldn't acknowledge, something Deeks was quite familiar with. Whichever it was, now was not the time to dwell on the question. George had to be his focus, so he pushed his memories aside and began to concentrate on his surroundings.

This was rugged country, the ground littered with stony outcroppings and downed trees weakened and sent to their death by invasive insects and disease. He was amazed Elan could track anything through it, but he shouldn't have been. He was a former Army Ranger, and right now, a very determined and angry one, an emotion they both shared.

…

George rode out the pain as best he could, trying not to cry out as he dragged himself to a downed tree, hoping to use its branches to pull himself to his feet so he could check on his horse. When Honcho raised his head and pricked his ears, he knew the shooters were close. The big buckskin had heard their approach before he did, and suddenly became agitated, pawing the ground and snorting as if he knew the man who shot him was coming.

"Easy, boy," he whispered.

The horse flicked his ears at the command but stayed focused on the sound of voices calling to each other. George weighed his options and almost laughed at how meager they were. He could try for the rifle in the scabbard on Honcho's saddle, but he wasn't sure his weak leg would support him. And considering how skittish the animal was, he might just end up on his ass again. Even if he got the weapon, he would be up against three armed men, and he wasn't that good of a shot. The odds were definitely not in his favor. Once again, he wondered why these guys were so determined to find him. Did they know they'd hit Honcho? Or possibly him? One thing he did know without any doubt was that for whatever reason, if they found him, they would kill him. At this point the why of it didn't matter. If they were decent trackers it shouldn't take them long to cut his trail and find him, especially if they found Honcho's blood. He needed a distraction, and Honcho was all he had.

"Honcho. Go home, boy."

The horse turned to look at him, the familiar command breaking his concentration.

"Git on now, Honch," he hissed, and threw a branch at him.

If a horse could look insulted, Honcho sure as hell did. He grunted softly, but started to move, gingerly at first. But when the second branch hit the wound in his rump, he hopped sideways and groaned, trotting off into the trees without a look back. George watched him go with mixed emotions. He was a good horse, and his last connection to home and safety. It was a painful decision to make, but he had no choice.

He took a deep breath and prayed the men coming for him had average tracking skills. If he was lucky and they didn't get eyes on his buckskin, they might not realize Honcho wasn't carrying a rider. If they followed his tracks, he'd have time to hide. He sure as hell couldn't outrun them. He was in survival mode now, and Honcho was a long way from home.

He spent a few moments muddying his face before crawling under the downed pine, dragging a large branch with him to help mask his hiding place. He pulled another broken pine bough over himself and scooped handfuls of pine needles around his body, trying his best to disappear into the soft ground. Listening intently, the voices calling out became distinct, even though they were far down the slope, the soft wind carrying their words up the hill. George could tell the three men had spread out, and one was heading his way. He was making no effort to be quiet, tromping loudly up through the underbrush. It wasn't hard to follow his movements.

"Found his hat," someone yelled from down by the meadow where he'd lost it when he cut up into the trees. He sounded young.

"Must be gettin' close to the old bastard," another called out.

Both had Southern accents, but neither one sounded like the man who had taken a shot at him, convincing him the man coming up the hill was his shooter.

"Whatcha gonna do when we find 'im, Reese?" The younger man asked loudly.

"Shoot that fuckin' horse for kickin' me," he replied.

"Guess nobody ever told ya it's real stupid to stand behind a horse's ass," the young man chided with a laugh.

"About broke my leg."

"You're lucky he didn't get ya in the nuts, man."

"Shut up. Both of you. Don't make me regret hiring you anymore than I already do."

This was somebody new. He sounded older and had a soft, almost elegant accent, his voice deep and commanding. So now there were four of them, but it was obvious from the sound of the voices that this guy was the one in charge. George felt his odds dropping by the minute. The man who had shot at him appeared suddenly between two pines not twenty yards away. It seemed as if he was looking right at him, and George almost stopped breathing, trying not to make a sound as he waited for his shout out to the others. The man remained silent. He hadn't seen him. The man began to look around, searching for him, occasionally shaking the hand Honcho had bitten. He'd wrapped it, but the bandage was bloody, and George couldn't help but smile. He owed his buckskin a big juicy carrot for sure.

A burning slice of pain down his bad leg made him clamp his teeth together, afraid he might make a sound that revealed his hiding place. He closed his eyes and did his best to ride it out. He was determined not to move, and slowly let out his breath as the pain settled into a dull ache.

The sound of another man approaching distracted him. It was the man he'd determined was their boss. He was stocky and robust looking, his silver gray hair curling around his collar. He wore a black baseball cap too, but this one bore the logo of the Carolina Panthers football team. So, he was definitely not from Wyoming. His Western style clothing looked new and expensive and was probably bought when he got here. He carried no weapon, but still looked formidable.

"Reese found his trail. There's blood, so it looks like one of those idiots hit him," the man said. "Tracks are headed north across the ridge."

"We'll catch him easy, boss, once we get to the ATV's."

"Don't screw this up any further, Jessop," he growled.

"I don't think he saw you, sir."

"I don't pay you to think. I pay you to know, and do what I tell you," the boss snapped. "Find him and kill him and make damn sure his body is never found. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send CJ to get those elk antlers. I'll go back with him. I came here for a trophy, and I'm damn sure not leaving without it. Laurel is decorating western style, and she wants antlers. The damn woman has gone crazy over all this western shit."

"Yes, sir."

"You can take Reese if you want, but I want Cecil on this. He knows what he's doing when it comes to these things. Now go track that old bastard down. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

Cecil? A fifth one? Who the hell are these guys? Once the two men were out of sight, George moaned and took in a deep breath. He didn't pray very often, but he whispered one now for Honcho. They didn't need to kill his horse, but nothing about this whole thing made any sense. They might be able to hide his body but digging a grave for a big horse like Honcho would take some time. If he thought about it from their perspective, if they did let him go, there would be questions because of the gunshot wound. And from what he'd just heard out of this guy, he didn't take chances or want any questions.

"Sorry I got you into this, big fella," he whispered, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. "Run, boy. Get on home to the ranch."

Wallowing in guilt wasn't getting him anywhere, but he waited until he heard the distant sound of the ATVs fade before he started to extricate himself. He had no illusions that Honcho would make it home or that help was on the way. He was on his own. He struggled to pull himself up on his feet, wanting to make Honcho's sacrifice mean something. After they caught up with his horse they would be coming back, and he didn't want to be here when they did.

…

They rode side by side, sometimes far apart, separated by the trees. Elan followed the track Honcho had left while Deeks searched the undergrowth for any sign of George. He was afraid…both of finding him, wounded or dead, and of not finding him at all. Either one terrified him. The further they traveled the more he felt the loss of such a man. He struggled to remain positive about the outcome, knowing George was a tough old cowboy, even with a broken leg. That didn't ease his fears though as they wound their way through the tall ponderosa pine forest full of deadfalls. At one point Elan had narrated what he was seeing from Honcho's tracks. He said the horse was exhausted, but had rarely stopped, which Elan admired. Neither of them spoke of their fears, knowing they didn't have to, because they knew what the loss of the heart of their family would mean. They rode in sadness, but with determination. They needed to find him and bring him home no matter what.

Elan pulled up when they reached a bare ridge where the stream they'd been following tumbled over the cliff edge. A small valley spread out below them, the mountains surrounding it white with snow from last week's storm. It was a beautiful place. A grove of yellow Aspen and russet colored willow followed the narrow stream as it made its way down to a distant meadow below. Coming up the hill was a small, determined herd of elk. They rushed across the stream just below them without even looking their way.

"They look spooked," Deeks said.

"Poachers, probably," Elan said.

"Think George ran into them?" Deeks asked as the last of the herd disappeared into the trees.

"Maybe, but a poacher would have to be a damn poor shot to miss a whole herd of elk and hit a horse. And George wouldn't have gone anywhere near that herd. No. This is something more than a hunting accident."

Elan slid off his horse and stooped to examine the ground next to the stream. "Honcho stopped for a drink here. See the blood around that hoof print?"

"Sonofabitch," Deeks breathed out.

"Listen," Elan said as he stood and sighted down the ridge line.

"ATVs. Think it's poachers following the herd?" Deeks asked. "Maybe it was them. Maybe they didn't realize they hit Honcho?"

Elan pulled his rifle from the scabbard and checked it, nodding at Deeks as he did the same. Lily had told him on the drive in from the airport how edgy Elan had become. He was wary of everything and everybody. Right now, Deeks didn't blame him. He was damn edgy himself and would be until they found George. He climbed down from his horse and the two of them spread out, waiting for the ATVs. Elan was resting his rifle on his shoulder, and Deeks held his against his leg, both able to raise and fire their weapons if they needed to. They had no idea who was approaching, and Elan silently communicated that Deeks should take the lead. He nodded and relaxed his shoulders, offering a slight smile as the vehicles approached. The ATVs were expensive, top of the line models. One carried two men and the other just a single man with a military style haircut. His eyes were sharp and his jaw rigid, and Deeks knew this was the guy to watch out for.

"Wow! Didn't expect to run into anyone way out here," a slick looking man wearing aviator sunglasses called out over the idling engine. "You doing some hunting, or what?"

"Hunting season up here doesn't start till next month. Right, brother?" Deeks said without looking at Elan.

"Right."

"Hey, man. Are you an Indian? Cause I always want to meet one," sunglasses man said with a wide smile.

"Arapaho."

"No kidding? Sounds like you can speak pretty good English," the man said.

"If I want to," Elan replied, plainly angered by the man's ignorant condescension.

"And what about you, man?" He asked, turning his attention to Deeks.

"Speak it every day," Deeks said with a smile.

"Good one," the man said. "Listen…you wouldn't by chance have come across a man riding a buckskin horse, would you?"

"Why?" Deeks asked, struggling to control his sudden anger.

"That's none of your business, friend," the man with the military buzz cut growled.

"You asked," Deeks said.

"Let me handle this, Cecil," the guy in sunglasses said sharply.

"Then handle it, Jessop," Cecil snapped. "We ain't got all day."

Deeks sensed Elan's anger and it matched his own. They obviously thought George was riding Honcho, and he needed to get as much information as he could, so he sent Elan a warning look, and he nodded back.

"Listen, guys. We aren't looking to ruin your day," Jessop said. "We hired this old guy as a guide and he just up and left us high and dry. We paid him a lot of cash, and we want it back, since he didn't earn it."

"Where'd you see him last?" Deeks asked.

"Why do you need to know that?" Cecil asked coldly.

"There are elk camps all over these mountains," Elan said. "If you tell us where you were, we might know which guide it was. They each have their own set up."

"Or we can just keep tracking the horse," Cecil said. "We'll find the old bastard, no problem."

"Sounds like you're in a hurry," Deeks said. "Why not just call the sheriff's office and report him. They'll find him for you and get your money back."

"Listen, asshole," the third man said. "That guy's fuckin' horse kicked me and almost broke my leg. He practically bit Jessop's hand off. So have ya seen 'im or not?"

"Sounds like a smart animal," Elan said.

"What the fuck?"

"Shut up, Reese," Cecil said.

"Why is everybody in this stupid state so damn unfriendly?" Jessop said, his smile gone.

"Maybe because we don't like liars," Deeks said.

"Watch yourself, cowboy," Cecil growled. "Callin' a man a liar can get you killed where I come from."

"That old man called me a liar," Jessop said. "I didn't like it then and I don't like it now."

"Is that why you shot his horse?" Elan asked as he took the rifle off his shoulder.

"They know 'im," Cecil said softly.

"Yeah, we do. That's why I called you a liar," Deeks said, and brought the rifle up.

"If you know where he is, tell us, or you're gonna find yourself in a world of hurt," Cecil warned.

"Is that a threat?" Deeks smiled. "Cause threatening a federal agent is a felony, and I'm gonna take a wild guess that you know what the penalty for that is."

"And you expect us to believe that you two are federal agents?" Jessop said. "A hippy and an Indian?"

"He's the agent, I'm Arapaho," Elan said, his voice hard and full of anger.

"What'd the old man tell you?" Cecil asked.

"Enough to have you arrested," Deeks said. "I doubt you were aiming at his horse."

"What's he to you?" Cecil asked.

"He's family," Deeks replied.

"It was an accident," Jessop insisted.

"Too late for that shit, you idiot," Cecil said, and revved up the ATV. "We're leavin'."

Cecil suddenly gunned the engine, clipping Deeks as he roared by firing a Glock. Deeks hit the ground and rolled away as the man named Reese fired on Elan. He missed, and Elan shot him as the second ATV veered to run him down. Elan managed to leap clear as Deeks stumbled to his feet and fired, hitting the driver and sending the vehicle crashing into the trunk of a tree. Bullets suddenly peppered the ground around him as he scrambled toward Elan, who suddenly went down. Cecil had swung back around and continued to fire haphazardly at them as he roared away and disappeared into the pines.

"Elan?" Deeks yelled and rushed to his side.

"I'm okay, Cuz. Check those guys," Elan said as he sat up and gripped the wound in his arm. "I don't want any more surprises."

Deeks approached the ATV cautiously, his rifle leading the way. The body of the man called Reese lay sprawled on the ground, ejected when they hit the tree. The driver, Jessop, was draped over the steering wheel, his aviator sunglasses cracked and hanging from one ear. He was dead. Deeks searched the ATV and tried to figure out why the men had suddenly attacked them.

"Found a sat phone and a first aid kit," Deeks said as he walked back to help Elan to his feet. "Let me take a look at your arm."

"Guess they didn't like federal agents," Elan said, hissing as Deeks tore his sleeve open.

"Guess I shouldn't have told them I was one."

"I thought it would warn them off too."

"Call Joe on that sat phone while I try to keep you from the bleeding all over yourself."

"They were gonna kill George when they found him."

"Yeah, they were," Deeks said.

"What the hell did George stumble into?"

"Bad guys," Deeks said as he tightened the bandage on Elan's arm. "The good thing is… I think George is still alive and out there somewhere."

"Alone."

"And they want him dead…whoever they are."

"And us, Cuz."

"Yeah…that didn't work out too well for them," Deeks said. "Now, can you ride?"

Elan glared at him and handed him the sat phone. "You call Joe. I'll round up the horses. Then we'll go find George."

…

…