Whether to be relieved or disappointed, he was unsure. But what Mark slowly began to realize was that he had survived the attack. He attempted to open his eyes; the swaying of his surroundings forcing them to close again. Mark waited a moment before slowly opening his eyes once more, waiting for his vision to clear. His surroundings unfamiliar, the young man worked to slowly sit up; sharply inhaling as his injuries protested. A set of cold hands suddenly took him by his shoulders, trying to stop him.

"No, you must stay still."

Mark turned his head to see Rosaline beside him before relaxing and allowing her to push him back down. He closed his eyes, waited for the pain to lessen, and then looked back up at her. "...How long has it been?"

"You slept all day… I worried you would not wake up."

"...I'm not so sure I'm glad I did…"

"Do not say that! You should not have survived!"

Mark nodded, letting out a deep breath.

"...We are sorry this has happened. My grandfather will see that the man who did this is punished."

"I thought your grandfather said I was a liar."

"...That is true. But Rafael broke our laws and will be punished like anyone else."

"Why did he attack me in the first place? Who is he?"

"He is the brother of Alejandro, the man who died. Rafael was the man who spoke at your judgement… he wanted you to be hanged."

"Oh… I guess that would explain a thing or two."

Rosaline nodded before offering Mark some water. As she held his head and held a small bowl to his lips, the small voice of a child suddenly called from another room.

"¡Mamá! ¡Mamá!"

"Un momento amor."

As Mark finished the water and the vessel was put aside, he watched in confusion as Rosaline left the room. She returned a few moments later; a child no older than two in her arms.

"...You have a family?"

Rosaline smiled, nodding. "This is my daughter, Celestina." She set the child down, who, intrigued by this stranger in her home, began walking towards the mat Mark was lying on. "¡No, no, Celestina!"

"It's alright." Mark reached out and offered his hand to the toddler. The action reminded him of his injuries, but also caused him to notice that the chain around his wrists was gone. "...Thank you for taking off the shackles."

"I tried to stop them from putting the chain on your leg, but my grandfather said it must be done if you stayed here."

As Celestina apprehensively took his hand, Mark looked down to realize that he was indeed chained to the wall, but shook his head. "I'm just glad the other one is gone. The iron was rubbing my wrists raw." He looked around some before asking, "What about your husband?"

"...My husband is dead."

"...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No," she interrupted, replacing the frown on her face with a soft smile. "Do not be sorry; that is life." Rosaline watched as Mark looked between herself and her daughter, and could see the question in his eyes. "You wonder how old I am, no?"

"You don't have to tell me, it's none of my business."

"I will be eighteen in the fall. When my parents died, I was brought here to live with my grandfather, but Juan, he quickly asked for my hand. We were married almost three years ago. ...Juan wanted a boy, but he was so happy when Celestina was born." Rosaline's smile slowly began to fade as she went on, "...But a year ago, he left to find the lost cavern. He wanted money to leave this place; he wanted to be a banker in the big city. ...They found him a few days later, deep in the mine. They say he fell… they did not even allow me to see him when they brought him home."

"...Rosaline, I… I can't imagine…"

She took in a deep breath, slowly letting it out before looking towards him again. "...Mark, I know what it is to lose the one you love; so that their child is all that remains for you. Your father must be enfermo en el corazón; sick at heart. ...My grandfather says you can stay here one more night after this. I have the key to the chain. Rest now, and tomorrow, after the sun has set, you must go."

Mark's being filled with hope; only for him to realize why he couldn't leave. "...But what would they do to you?"

"Do not worry about me."

"But you would be breaking the law, wouldn't you? They would have to know you had helped me. Wouldn't they have to punish you?"

"But-"

"What would happen to Celestina? Wouldn't they take her away from you? ...Thank you, Rosaline, but I can't ask that of you."

The young woman reluctantly nodded, sitting down as she pulled her daughter into her lap.

"...Unless you came with me. You could come to my country and-"

"No," she adamantly answered. "This is my home, these are my people. This is the home of Celestina's father and I will not take her away from here."

Mark nodded in understanding. He thought for a moment before asking, "...Do you know where the key to the cage is? If you brought it to me with the food and then went to your grandfather's, they couldn't say it was your fault… they wouldn't know how I got it, and your grandfather would be able to say you were with him."

"...No, that key is always with one of the men. ...If only there was any way to…"

"To what?"

"...Many years ago, when my parents lived, my father kept the money in a locked box. When he lost the key, my mother opened it from the inside with a strange piece of metal. If I find it and bring it to you in the cage, can you open the lock?"

"...I can try. ...If they put the shackles back on me though, I don't know how much I'll be able to get done before someone hears all the noise from the metal clanking."

"...Perhaps we can prevent that."

"How?"

"No one stayed long enough to watch me tend to your injuries. I will make a sling for your arm. If they think your arm is broken, they will not need to chain you."

"Do you really think that would work?"

"As long as my grandfather does not look at your arm, they will not know any different."

"...And if he does?"

Rosaline shook her head. "I will make sure he does not."


Sunday, June 12, 1892
San Perres, Mexico


Early that morning, Rosaline roused Mark and handed him a shirt. "This belonged to my husband, I think it will fit."

"...Are you sure?"

"Your shirt is in tatters now, it will not do you any good. This only sits in my chest."

"...Thanks." Mark started to put on the shirt, grimacing in pain as he worked the muscles in his back. Rosaline stepped forward to help him, buttoning the shirt before putting Mark's arm in a sling.

"Remember, if they touch your arm, it is in pain."

"Don't worry… no matter where they touch, I won't have to do any pretending."

"I will bring you food for your journey, but I cannot bring a canteen… they will see."

"Thank you, for everything."

"I pray that you find your way home."

"I will."

Shortly after sunrise, two men arrived to escort the prisoner back to the cage. One of them taking his free arm, Mark fought the pain as he was led through the village.

Locked in the cage again, Mark was relieved that the first part of their plan had worked. However, he began to wonder if he was going to have the strength to make the trek through the desert.

Minutes turned to hours as the day drug on. Mark watched in anticipation as the sun sank lower in the sky; inching its way towards the horizon. Finally, the sun set. ...But the later it got to be without any sign of Rosaline, the more worried he became.

At long last, a voice came from the darkness.

"Mark?"

"Rosaline? What took so long? Is something wrong?"

"They kept me in town. Here," she answered, pushing the food and pick between the bars.

"...Maybe we should wait. I don't know how well I can travel, and if they're getting suspicious of you…"

"No! You must go tonight! They talk about hanging you; that is why I am late!"

"Hanging me? But your grandfather-"

"My grandfather will listen to the people if this is what they believe is right. I must go, and you must leave!"

"Rosaline-"

"No, Mark! This is the way! Please, go!"

"...Thank you."

Rosaline nodded, briefly hesitating before walking away. Mark made his way to the door of the cage and set to work.

An hour later, the door to the cage finally swung open. Mark quickly gathered the food Rosaline had brought and wrapped it in the sling before crawling out of the cage one final time. He cautiously looked around, retreating to the shadows of a nearby building.

Mark saw two men walking down the street towards a cantina. He waited for them to enter the crudely built shack before creeping along the alleyway; finally cutting across the village square towards the livery. BlueBoy happily snorted as he recognized his master.

"Hey, boy… ready to go home?"

Not realizing how difficult it would be, Mark saddled BlueBoy before leading him to the doors of the livery. He peered into the street before pushing the door all the way open and stepping outside. One foot in front of the other, Mark quietly made his way through town, breathing a sigh of relief when he reached the village gate.

"¡Eh, tú, para! ¡Detente ahí mismo!"

Gunshots ringing out behind him, Mark grabbed his pommel and pulled himself into the saddle. "Hyah!" The rider dug his heels into BlueBoy's flanks, directing the horse through the gate. He ducked to avoid being hit as more men began firing towards him, angrily yelling threats.

The constant gunfire eventually slowed; the occasional shot still echoing through the night. But just as Mark thought he had reached safety, two final bullets were fired, each finding their way to their intended target.

BlueBoy started to slow as he felt his master lessen his grip on the reins. Mark again kicked his horse in an effort to keep him running, verbally urging him on.

"Don't stop, boy; keep going…" The angry voices behind him growing muffled and distant, Mark went on, "Don't stop… we can't stop…"


Wednesday, June 15, 1892
Bonito, New Mexico


Lucas reluctantly threw his saddle on Razor, closing his eyes as he let out a deep breath. The rancher ran his hand down the horse's neck as countless questions continued to echo in his head.

"Señor McCain?"

He looked up to see the owner of the livery making his way towards the stall.

"Here is your change."

Lucas nodded in appreciation, accepting the coins and pushing them into his pocket.

"...We hope you find your son."

"...Thank you."

Lucas rode out of town, his heart filled with grief. How could he return home again without Mark? How could he be entertaining the idea that Micah was right; that his son was dead? ...How long would he continue to search before he discovered the truth?

'There will come a time when we can all be together again.'

The words played over and over again in his mind. He knew what his son had meant, but he didn't want it to be true. Mark had to have been wrong. He couldn't… he couldn't be gone.

Late that afternoon, Lucas found himself on the edge of North Fork. He had no desire to go into town; to face the people, to be stared at as some spectacle. And yet he urged Razor forward, holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, someone had sent word about his son.

The rancher dismounted in front of the jail, stepping inside the marshal's office to see Micah at the desk; Amos standing beside him.

"...Anything?"

The marshal looked up, gravely shaking his head as he turned a paper face down on the desk. "...No one's seen any sign of him?"

Lucas sank into a chair as he answered. "...Not a trace."

"When are you going out again?"

"Saturday. ...Razor needs to rest."

"It's alright to say it, Lucas-boy. You need the rest, too."

The father stared across the room for a long moment, unable to voice a reply as a sense of hopeless grief again overcame him. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and started towards the door.

"...Why don't you stay in town tonight?"

"...No, Micah. The ranch… it's our home. That's where Mark is. I'm going home."

Micah nodded in understanding. "I'll be out tomorrow."

"Amos, if you hear anything…"

"I'll have someone ride out to your place right away."

The marshal watched as his friend silently left the office. He let out a heavy sigh, looking back down at the desk and turning over Joseph Allen's wanted poster.

"You have to tell him, Micah. It's cruel letting him hold onto hope like this. ...We both know Allen wouldn't have left Mark alive."

"...It's going to destroy him."

"So will finding Mark's body. You need to tell him… he needs to be prepared."


Late that night, Lucas found himself staring across the room at his son's bunk. Every so often he could almost make out Mark's frame, only to be reminded that it was a figment of his imagination.

The man finally turned onto his back and lifted his gaze to the ceiling; resisting the tears that threatened to fall. He couldn't give in; he couldn't admit defeat. He could grieve his son's absence, but he wasn't ready to grieve his son's death. ...He would never be ready.

A loud crash suddenly emanating from the kitchen, Lucas jumped out of bed and grabbed his rifle. The rancher crept to the bedroom door, cracking it open to see a dark figure standing beside the water pump.

"Alright, hands where I can see them," he ordered, cocking and shouldering his rifle.

"...I can't."

Lucas froze, his heart skipping a beat.

"...Mark?" he dared ask; afraid speaking his son's name would somehow change everything.

"Pa… I… I c-can't…" Mark couldn't finish.

Lucas strode to his son's side, catching him before he fell to the ground. "Easy, Son, easy…"

Mark sharply inhaled as his pa helped him sit down at the table; trying to relax as he settled into the chair. Lucas reached for a match and lit a lamp, unprepared for the amount of blood that was revealed.

"Mark, what happened?!"

"...Got sh-shot…"

"I can see that!" Lucas yelled, worriedly looking his son over as he removed the makeshift bandage from his son's side.

"...B…Bleeding's s-stopped, but…" Mark again took in a deep breath, shifting his weight before slowly letting it out. "...In my b-back. ...One's s-still… in m-my back…"

Lucas gently leaned Mark forward before finding a bullet hole just underneath his left shoulder blade. He carefully set him back again, cupping Mark's face in his hands; looking deep into his son's tired eyes as their gaze drifted to the floor.

"Mark, look at me. Son, look at me!"

Mark followed the order, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"I'm going to hitch the team. You have to stay awake, Son. Do you hear me?"

Mark nodded, again grimacing in pain. Lucas hesitated before reluctantly tearing himself away from his son. He ran outside to hitch the team; a task that seemed to last an eternity.

Upon returning to the house, Lucas again knelt down beside his son, looking into his bruised face. He helped Mark to his feet; his heart breaking as moans escaped his son's lips.

When they reached the buckboard, Mark realized his pa intended to load him into the back of the rig. He shook his head, weakly resisting.

"Up-p… up f-front."

"Mark, you should lay-"

"I n-need to s-stay awake… p-put me up f-front."

Lucas hesitated before doing as his son asked. He then ran around to the other side and climbed up into the buckboard; urging the team forward.

"Do you have any idea who did this to you?"

Not having the presence of mind to realize his pa was really asking about Allen, Mark thought back to the night he had made his escape. "N… no…"

"How long has it been?"

"...H-Has what b-been?"

"Since you were shot!"

"...I… I d-don't know. ...A f-few days, m-maybe?"

"Days?! Son, what happened? Where were you?"

It was then that Mark began to remember why he'd disappeared in the first place, and why his pa could never know the truth. "I… it's-s a l-long st-ory…"

"We have time!"

"P-Please, Pa… late… later…"

Hearing the pain in his son's voice, Lucas conceded for the time being.

It was an agonizingly long drive into town. As they pulled up to the doctor's office, Lucas began yelling for the marshal. A confused Micah stepped out onto the boardwalk, looking around.

"Lucas, what are you-" He stopped short, watching as the rancher helped his son out of the buckboard. "Mark?!"

"Go get Doc!"

"But how-"

"Now, Micah!"

As the marshal took off running, Lucas slowly helped his son inside. He got Mark settled on the table before lighting the lamps around the office.

"P-Pa?"

Lucas strode back towards his son. "What is it?"

"Water, c-can I have s-some… some…"

Lucas nodded, kicking himself for not getting water sooner. As the worried father helped Mark take a drink, he continued to look his son over; the better lighting illuminating even more injuries.

Lucas could see how hard Mark was fighting his heavy eyelids. Worried his son might lose consciousness before the doctor arrived, he asked, "What else does Doc need to look at?"

"My… my back…"

"He'll get the bullet out, Son. Where else?"

Mark weakly nodded. "My b-back. And… and m-my… ribs…"

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Lucas watched as his son shook his head, too weak to explain. "...Alright. Just hang on, Mark."

Several minutes later, Lucas finally saw the doctor and marshal rush inside the office. After getting a brief explanation from the rancher, Doc Burrage asked him to help turn Mark onto his stomach. The doctor then tore open the young man's shirt to find a series of abrasions and bruises in addition to the infected bullet wound.

"Doc?" the father worriedly asked.

"Lucas, Micah, I need more light; see what other lanterns you can find."

Mark heard his pa quickly leave the office, his voice stopping the marshal before he could follow.

"Mi… Micah?"

"What is it, boy?"

"Af… after you're d-done, please… please get P-Pa out of h-here. He… he d-doesn't need t… to wa-tch."

Micah looked to the doctor in askance, unsure if he would need assistance.

"Mark's right. Bring the lanterns back and then take Luke to your office; I'll get you when I'm done.


Thursday, June 16, 1892
North Fork, New Mexico


Lucas looked up at the clock to see that it was four minutes after two. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy sigh as he closed his eyes.

"I don't understand what's taking so long."

"Give it time, Lucas-boy. Doc's doing everything he can to make sure Mark will be alright." Micah walked to the stove and poured two cups of coffee before offering one to his friend. "You still haven't told me where you found him. I thought you were staying home tonight?"

"I was… I did. Mark just showed up at the ranch."

"Did he say anything? Where he's been? What happened?"

Lucas shook his head. "Most I know is that he was shot a few days ago. He said it was a long story… he was in too much pain to talk about it." There were a few moments of silence before he continued. "...I should have been out there. I should have been looking for him…"

"So what? He could come home to an empty cabin? Lucas, if you hadn't been home tonight, who knows if Mark would have made it to town?"

The rancher thought on Micah's words, eventually accepting what he didn't want to with a slow nod. The door to the jailhouse unexpectedly opened; both men standing as the doctor stepped inside.

"I've got the bullet out; cleaned up the other injuries as much as I could-"

"Will he survive?" Lucas interrupted; voicing the question that had plagued him for two weeks.

The doctor hesitated before answering. "...Luke, I don't know. I hope the fact that he's held on this long is a sign that he'll be able to push through. ...But he's weak. I don't know if he'll have the strength he needs to heal. It's not just the bullet wounds… you saw the other injuries. And then traveling who knows how long through this heat… I just don't know."

"When will you know?"

"...One, two days. By then we should know which way he's headed. ...He's still unconscious, now would be the best time to move him to the back room."

The three men returned to the doctor's office and carefully moved the patient to the other room. After they got Mark settled, Lucas found himself staring down at his son's unbandaged injuries.

"...Doc, what could have done this?"

Burrage stepped closer to the rancher, again looking over the wounds. "...I can't say for certain. Something hard, flat… something with a sharp edge. The other, older injuries are more consistent with him having been in a fist fight. But those… someone came at him with something. ...Luke, did he tell you anything?"

Lucas shook his head.

"...Well, there's nothing we can do now besides wait. Come morning, we'll have to see how he's doing."