Seeing a camp in the distance, Lucas dismounted and pulled his rifle from the scabbard. The rancher stayed close to the shadows as he quietly made his way forward, coming to an abrupt stop as he heard a gun being cocked behind him.

"Drop the rifle and keep your hands where I can see them."

Lucas slowly complied, allowing the man to search him before following the order to walk towards the fire.

"Marshal Fulton, I found him sneaking around camp."

"You can put your gun away," Micah called. "Marshal, I think you'll remember seeing Lucas at the trial. It's his boy they took."

Fulton nodded. "Give him his rifle back. Mr. McCain, I apologize for the cold greeting."

"Your deputy was just doing his job. I didn't want to announce myself without knowing whose camp I had found. …I thought you all split up back at my ranch?"

"We did," Micah answered. "Trails finally came back together. There's a farmhouse about a half mile north of here we think Sullivan and his men are holding up at. Soon as the moon gets a little higher, we'll move in."

"Any sign of Mark?"

"I'm afraid not. …Where's Morley? He said he was gonna ride with you to make sure you didn't kill yourself."

"We tracked Ryker and Mark to a small town a few hours north of the ranch, but lost their trail. Sam went on towards Raton." Seeing the look on Marshal Fulton's face, Lucas asked what was the matter.

"…Technically, Morley is still in custody," Micah replied. "Given his history with Ryker, we were going to make him ride with us, but Doc agreed to keep an eye on him while they were waiting for you to come around. Morley thought the two of you would have a better chance of finding them working away from the posse."

"Looks like he saw an opportunity to run and took it."

Lucas shook his head. "Sam is trying to help. What good would it do him to run? He's just a few days away from being released."

"We'll see about that," Fulton grumbled. "Mr. McCain, I know you're concerned for your son, and I'm not going to try to stop you from coming along when we raid that farmhouse, but I need you to stay out of the way until my men have cleared the area."

"Marshal, Lucas was in the war and used to be a deputy; you'd be better off putting his experience to use."

"He can either come and keep out of the way or stay here. Your choice. We ride out in fifteen minutes."

Lucas shook his head as Fulton walked away. "Stubborn old fool."

"I don't blame him," Micah sighed. "He was in charge of security at the trial… I'm sure Denver isn't going to be too happy with him, even if he manages to get everyone back." A few moments passed as the marshal looked his friend over. "…Are you going to be able to sit back?"

"I'm not going to do anything to rile Fulton. But if he does anything to jeopardize Mark's safety…"

"I'll be right there next to you, Lucas-Boy."

An hour later, Lucas crouched behind a tree as Fulton signaled his men forward. He shouldered his rifle, anticipating gunfire to erupt at any moment. As lawmen breached the building, men began shouting, but only a few stray bullets were fired before Fulton and the rest of his deputies entered the farmhouse. The rancher followed suit, stepping through one of the doors to hear a man reporting to the marshal.

"All here except Ryker, sir."

"What about my son?"

"McCain, I told you…" Fulton stopped and turned around, dismissing his initial irritation. "Well, Deputy?"

"No sign of the boy."

Lucas looked to the nearest outlaw, twirling and cocking his rifle. "Where's my son?!"

Before the man could answer, Sullivan's voice called out from across the room. "Why do you think Ryker took him?" The man laughed, paying no mind as a deputy pushed him into a chair. "You either let us go, or that kid won't live to see-"

Lucas charged Sullivan, grabbing the man's shirt in his fists and lifting him from the chair as several deputies tried to step between them. "You touch that boy and I'll kill you! You hear me?! I'll-"

"McCain, that's enough!"

As the other men pushed the rancher back, Micah grabbed Lucas's arm and led him from the house. "Let Fulton handle him, Sullivan just wants to play games with you."

Pulling away from the marshal, Lucas shook his head, slamming a fist against the porch post. "Micah, I swear, if Fulton doesn't-"

"You know full well that he's going to do things by the book."

"That could take weeks of-"

"Which is why you and I are going to try to find Ryker ourselves. They don't need me here and Fulton's just going to waste time trying to negotiate with Sullivan's men. If we leave now we might be able to get to Carizzo before their telegraph office closes and see if Morley found anything."

Micah stepped off the porch and started towards the horses, not giving Lucas time to argue. Without saying a word to the others, the two mounted up and started riding east.

"How's your head?"

"My head?"

"Doc told me you'd be dead if that bullet had hit any closer."

"Well it didn't. I'm fine."

"And your mind?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're scared, Lucas-boy. I know that. I also know that you'll do anything to make sure that Mark's safe. …And I need to know that you're not going to snap like-"

"Don't say it."

"…Then promise me you won't let it happen."

"Micah…" Lucas stopped, letting out a heavy sigh. "…I'm getting my boy back and taking him home. I won't kill Ryker as long as he doesn't give me a reason to."

"That's all I wanted to hear."

Forty-five minutes later, marshal and rancher walked into the telegraph office at Carizzo. An older gentleman stood behind the counter, shaking his head as they stepped towards him.

"I'm afraid I can't help you tonight."

"Marshal Micah Torrence. We need to send a wire to Raton."

"Sorry, but there's nothing I can do. Equipment is busted; only been able to receive most of the day. Rider should be back with parts tomorrow evening or the day after."

"Have you gotten anything from Raton?" Lucas asked. "Sent by a Sam Morley?"

The man shook his head. "No… just got a few wires in today, and I don't remember anything from Raton or a Morley. Sorry I can't be of more help."

"Well, Lucas-boy?"

"…Let's ask around, see if anyone's seen Ryker. If not, we'll head to Raton first thing tomorrow."

"Alright, we'll camp here for tonight. Get on down."

Mark watched as Reynolds started to dismount, eyeing the tree line in the distance before digging his heels into the horse's flanks. "Hyah!"

"What the- get back here!"

Mark ducked as he heard a gunshot ring out behind him, but didn't dare signal the horse to slow. He again kicked the mare as he pressed himself closer to her frame, closing his eyes in regret when he heard another gunshot followed by the horse's scream. As he felt the horse falling to the ground, Mark pulled his leg from the stirrup to prevent it from being crushed underneath the mare's weight. They landed with a thud, Mark hearing a snap in his shoulder as a sharp pain shot down his arm.

"Kid, I warned you!"

Reynolds reached down and roughly hauled the boy to his feet before ripping his arm out of the sling. Mark cried out in pain as his hands were pulled behind his back and bound together.

"You try one more stunt like that and-"

"Hold it right there, mister."

Reynolds looked up, wrapping an arm around the boy's neck while pushing the barrel of his gun into Mark's temple. "Walk away before I put a bullet in him."

"You should have left the boy where you found him. Let him go and we can all be on our way."

"I'm warning you," Reynolds threatened, pulling back the hammer of the gun. "I've got nothing to lose!"

"If you pull that trigger, he won't be the only one I have to bury."

Mark saw the shift in Ryker's eyes and suddenly thrust his weight downward, breaking free from Reynolds's hold. Ryker screamed as a bullet struck him and returned fire as he fell to the ground. As the men continued to exchange gunfire, Mark worked to pull himself farther away from them, struggling to get out of the ropes that bound him.

"Alright… that's… far enough…"

Hearing a gun again being cocked, Mark stopped and turned onto his back. He looked up to see Ryker staggering towards him, Reynolds lying dead a few feet away.

"Turn around."

Mark stared at the man, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I said turn around!"

The boy slowly obeyed, confusion crossing his face as he felt his hands being untied.

"You… ride north for a few hours… you'll hit Raton. Tell the sheriff to… wire Carizzo… saw your marshal headed… that way this… morning with…"

The man slumped to the ground before he could finish his statement. Mark looked between the two dead outlaws, struggling to his feet and slowly backing away.

An uneasy silence settled across the land as he took in the scene. Finally forcing himself to look away, Mark started towards the horses and retrieved two bedrolls. He used his good arm to cover the bodies, then pulled himself into Ryker's saddle and started north.

As the temperatures dropped and the ache in his shoulder worsened, Mark struggled to stay in the saddle. The boy often found himself drifting off to sleep, jolting awake as he started to fall.

The horizon had just begun to take on a purple hue when the lone rider came to a stop in front of a sheriff's office. Mark lost his balance as he tried to dismount, moaning in pain as a firm set of hands caught him.

"Easy there… looks like you've had a long ride."

Mark nodded, reaching for the saddle horn to steady himself.

"Let's get you inside."

As the two entered the office, a voice called out from behind the desk. "Forget your gun again or… who's he?"

"Don't know; found him out front." The deputy helped Mark into a chair, looking him over in concern. "…Can you tell us your name?"

"Mark… Mark McCain," he wearily answered. "…Carizzo… I need to… to wire…"

"Carizzo?" The sheriff stood from his chair and started across the room. "You live there?"

Mark shook his head. "…North Fork. Our marshal… I think he's in Carizzo…"

"…You wouldn't know a Sam Morley, would you?"

"John?"

"That stranger I told you about that rode in yesterday, he was looking for a boy and said something about Carizzo."

The boy turned towards the deputy as he nodded, sharply inhaling as the sheriff's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"…John, why don't you run for Doc? Then see if you can find out where Morley spent the night."

As the deputy started towards the door, the sheriff asked Mark if he wanted something to drink. "I'm afraid all I've got to offer is coffee."

"…I'll take anything."

"So John told me Morley was looking for a kid who got taken as a hostage. How'd you manage to get away?"

Mark accepted the cup the sheriff offered and took a sip before giving a brief explanation.

"You have any idea how far you've come?"

The boy shook his head. "…All I know is that it was dark when we stopped to make camp last night." A few moments passed before he went on, "…The sheriff in Santa Fe…. he'll want to know that Reynolds is dead."

"Don't worry about that, I'll make sure everyone gets notified."

A few minutes later, an older gentleman entered the office, introducing himself as Doctor Ingle. He quickly set to examining the boy, asking how he had injured his shoulder.

"…Took a few falls. It was finally starting to not hurt so bad yesterday afternoon… but I think I dislocated it again when… when I fell from a horse last night."

"…I hate to tell you this, but we're gonna have to set this again."

Mark let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the palm of his hand. The sheriff and doctor briefly looked at each other before the doctor suggested moving the boy to one of the cell bunks.

"…It'll be easier that way."

Though he desperately wanted to pass out, Mark maintained consciousness the entire time the doctor worked to set his shoulder and place his arm in another sling. Just as they were finishing, the office door burst open, Sam rushing inside.

"Mark, are you alright?!"

The boy slowly nodded, subconsciously shrinking back as the men stared down at him. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Where's Ryker? How did-"

"Ryker's dead," the sheriff answered. "Got mixed up in a gunfight with another outlaw."

"Doc, how's his shoulder?"

"It's tore up pretty bad, but if he don't use it for a few weeks, it shouldn't give him too much trouble. I think what he needs now is some rest."

Sam nodded, stepping into the cell as the boy stood from the cot. "Let's get you over to the hotel."

Mark silently followed Morley out of the office, nodding to acknowledge the deputy as they passed in the street. He could hear Sam talking as they made their way up to his room, but struggled to give the man his full attention. His mind kept pulling him back to the ranch, back to those final moments with his father. I'll be back tonight.

"You go ahead and get some sleep. I'll get a wire off to Carizzo so your pa knows you're safe."

The boy's head snapped up, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"Your pa headed towards Carizzo looking for you and Ryker; we thought we could save time by splitting up. I figure he should get there later today if he isn't there already."

"But…" Mark quieted, his head spinning as he tried to remember the man's conversation with Hansen. "…At the cabin… you said…"

"…Cabin?"

"The man who said Ryker was headed to California… you told him…"

"You were at that cabin?!"

He slowly nodded.

"…Mark, I… I'm sorry; I should have thought to-"

"…You didn't know." A few moments passed before Mark went on, still trying to make sense of everything. "…You said… you said three men were killed at the trial?"

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way. The prosecutor, another witness, and one of the townsfolk."

"…You said you knew one of them?"

Sam nodded. "The prosecutor was a good friend of mine. …It's ironic, really… he and your pa were both good friends of mine… good friends who made sure I ended up in prison." The man let out a brief laugh before starting towards the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Mark sat alone in the silence of the room, fighting the hot tears that burned in his eyes. A mix of emotions welled inside of the boy as he collapsed onto the bed, crying in relief as he buried his head into the pillow.

"You slept through breakfast and lunch, I know you have to be hungry."

Mark shrugged his shoulders, using the fork to pick at his food before looking out the window. "…Maybe we should check at the telegraph office again."

"The operator told me he would let us know if he heard anything."

"…What if something's happened? What if-"

"I'm sure Luke is fine. Probably jumped on his horse as soon as he got the wire and didn't even think to respond to it." Sam waited for the boy to give a hesitant nod before going on, "The sheriff wanted you over at the office before seven, so you better hurry up and eat so we can get over there in time."

Mark struggled to get through supper, his stomach in knots as he worried about his pa. When he and Sam walked into the jailhouse later that evening, the sheriff greeted the pair before offering them a seat.

"Mark, I know you told me a little of what happened this morning, but the folks in Santa Fe are wanting more details about Reynolds's death, and the Marshals want a statement about your time with Ryker."

"…Well I don't really know what else I can tell you about Mr. Reynolds. He killed that other man that was keeping me, then wouldn't give me back to Ryker. Like I said before… they ended up killing each other."

"Did Reynolds ever talk about meeting up with someone else? Mention anyone he was working with?"

"No… but he had worked with Hansen… the man at the cabin. They started arguing about a job they did together and Mr. Reynolds killing someone."

"Did they mention any names or places?"

Mark thought for a few moments before answering. "They talked about a man named Thompson who they worked with. Mr. Reynolds said it was the "Billings" job. …I'm not sure if that was someone they did the job for, or the place they did it."

The sheriff nodded in approval. "Anything else you can remember that might be important?"

"I'm not really sure if this matters, but Mr. Reynolds was going to try to make it clear up to Canada… said he might let me go when we got to Montana."

"Lucky thing Ryker showed back up," Sam commented.

"…I guess so."

Hearing the hesitation in the boy's voice, the sheriff asked if something was wrong.

"…Not wrong. …Ryker had said something about seeing a posse headed towards Carizzo… I guess that's why he was headed back to the cabin. …It's just that if Reynolds hadn't shot him… I doubt I would be sitting here right now."

"I don't think Ryker would have killed you," Sam offered.

"It's not that. I just… I don't like the idea of being indebted to him."

The sheriff shook his head. "You're a long cry from owing that scumbag anything. He killed Ryker out of self-preservation, not the goodness of his own heart. After what I heard from the sheriff in Santa Fe, he would've had no problem killing you if it served his interests."

Mark slowly nodded as he thought back to the previous night. His throat tightened at the thought of Reynolds's arm around his neck, his eyes closing as he remembered the gun's barrel digging into his temple.

"Now, why don't you start at the beginning of this whole mess," the sheriff suggested. "Marshals want to know everything from the time Ryker showed up in North Fork."

It took most of two hours for Mark and Sam to give the sheriff their statements and answer his subsequent questions. As they returned to the hotel, Morley noticed that the boy seemed unusually quiet and asked if something was wrong.

"…Just been a long couple of days, I reckon."

"You still worried about Luke?"

Mark hesitated before nodding. "…I can't help it."

"I understand, but I'm sure he's alright. Your pa's always been able to take care of himself." Sam reached to unlock the door to his room as he went on, "You need anything, you know where to find me."

Mark entered his own room and collapsed onto the bed. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to push away the concerns that gnawed at him. I'll be back tonight. The memory of his pa was a comfort to the boy, but the lack of Lucas's presence left an unsettling feeling inside of him.