Morning gave way to afternoon and afternoon to late evening before Lucas heard a soft moan. He turned from the window and stepped towards his son, watching as the young man struggled to open his eyes.
"Mark? Son, can you hear me?"
The creases that lined Mark's forehead deepened before he let out a deep breath, partially opening his eyes. "...Pa," he weakly greeted.
"Thank God…" Lucas breathed a sigh of relief, dropping into a chair beside the bed.
"...That bad, huh?"
"That bad? Mark, we didn't know if... you..."
"...I'm sorry, Pa."
Lucas ran a hand over his face, a dozen questions running through his head. "...Son, what happened to you?"
"...I… I know you want answers... but I… I can't give them to you. Everything I did was to protect someone... to prevent someone from getting hurt. ...And in order to keep protecting that person... I can't talk about what happened."
Lucas looked deep into his son's eyes. He could see the apprehension, the worry... the guilt. Not knowing how else to broach the subject, the rancher pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it.
"...Dear Pa, if you're reading this, I reckon an apology is in order. I'm sorry for disappearing like this; for deceiving you and Micah like I did. But I had to do what was necessary to help someone. ...I can't explain everything, but what I can say is that I had the opportunity to… to protect an innocent man. ...A man who, through no fault of his own, was put in danger as a result of something I did..." Lucas paused, swallowing the lump in his throat before looking up at his son. "...I can't tell you how hard it was to read this letter. To realize that my son was gone, and that he might... that he might not come back. ...But the hardest part was when I realized the truth. ...When I realized that my son had possibly gotten himself killed... trying to protect me."
Mark closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of defeat.
Lucas hesitated before continuing to read the letter. "...That is something I'm sure you can understand, and I hope that one day... it is something you can forgive." He waited for his son to look at him again before going on. "...Mark, I understand you trying to protect me. And as upset as I want to be with you, there's nothing to forgive. ...But I want to know why you didn't tell me what was going on. Why you didn't give me a chance to protect myself. ...Why you didn't let us come up with a solution, together."
"...Pa, I wish I could have. I... I knew how much this was going to hurt you. But the risk was too great. ...Four times, someone had stepped in and out of our lives, almost killing you, without leaving so much as a trace. I couldn't risk letting them make an attempt on your life one final time. And that's exactly what would have happened if I hadn't followed the instructions I was given; if I hadn't disappeared... if I had let you in on what was going on. ...I'm sorry, but I didn't have a choice."
Lucas thought on his son's words for a long time before finally shaking his head. "...What happened after you left the ranch Sunday night?"
"...I had been given instructions to go to the border pass, alone… unarmed."
"...So that's why you left your rifle with Jeffrey..."
He slowly nodded. "I couldn't leave it at the office or the ranch. If you or Micah found it, I knew you would know something was wrong. ...He was waiting for me there."
"Who was waiting for you?"
"...Joseph Allen."
"Joseph All- the one who rode with the Evans Gang?"
Mark nodded. "...It's a long story… one I can tell you more details about later. ...But as far as I can tell, his initial intention was to have me tried and hung for murder. ...Fortunately, I think I ended up with a life sentence."
"You think? How could they have sentenced you?! What proof did they have? How…" Lucas stopped, staring at his son in disbelief. "...You broke out of prison?"
"Not exactly. Allen took me to some isolated village in Mexico. I don't even know if they had the right to hold me like they did under Mexican law. ...Only one local spoke English… I couldn't understand what was going on during the 'trial.' She was told to ask me a few questions and before I knew it they were locking me up. I would say Allen framed me, but after talking to Rosaline, it sounded like all he had to do was accuse me and I was as good as guilty."
"...Rosaline?"
"She's the one who interpreted at the trial… she's also the reason I got away; she helped me escape."
"...But how did you wind up shot?"
"On my way out of town, someone saw me leaving. I thought I was far enough out, so I sat up in the saddle and that's when I got hit."
"How long ago was that?"
"...I don't really know. I think it might have been Saturday or Sunday when I left town, but I've sort of lost all sense of time. ...What day is it?"
"Thursday, the sixteenth." Lucas looked down at the letter again, hesitating before asking, "...Did Clay know?"
"...Not when I wrote that letter. I wasn't going to tell him; he wasn't supposed to know. ...But Clay wouldn't let me go without explaining. ...I'm sure you feel like he should have told you what he knew, but he was only doing what I had…" Mark quieted, his brow furrowing in concern.
"...He was honoring the promise he made to you. Clay's always been a good friend to you, and I-"
"Pa, Clay thinks I'm dead!"
"...What?"
"Clay knew I didn't think I'd make it back alive; he knew that was why I gave him the letter! If I didn't come back, it was supposed to mean I was dead!"
"So that explains it…" Lucas thought back, beginning to understand why Clay had reacted to everything the way he did. The young man thought he knew for certain what everyone else was hoping wasn't true. "...I'll ride out to his place first thing and tell him."
"He thinks I'm dead! Can't you go now?"
"Mark, it's almost midnight. I'll leave first thing in the morning."
"...Midnight?" Mark started to sit up and look around for the clock; his injuries forcing him back down. "...What are you doing awake?"
Lucas softly smiled as he answered. "Praying somebody would get it together and wake up." There were a few moments of silence before he found his voice again. "...Mark… next time…"
"...We're better off just hoping there isn't a next time. …We both know neither one of us would ever do any differently."
Friday, June 17, 1892
The Jensen Homestead, New Mexico
"Clay, please, try to eat something."
"I'm sorry, Abi…" He shook his head, pushing the bowl away from him. "I'm just not hungry."
"You have to stop this; you're going to make yourself sick! It's not your fault!"
"I should have gone to Lucas… I shouldn't have let Mark go alone…"
"You did what Mark asked you to; you did what you thought was right!"
"Then why does it feel so wrong?!"
Before Abigail could answer, a knock sounded at the door. Tossing his napkin aside, Clay rose to answer the door; unprepared for who he saw standing on the porch.
"...Mr. McCain?"
Looking into the man's face, Lucas could see the pain, grief, and guilt. "...He's alive, Clay. He's at Doc's."
The young farmer stared at Lucas, confusion shadowing his face. "...What?"
"He woke up late last night. It'll take time, but Doc says he'll be alright."
"...He's alive? ...Mark's alive?"
The rancher nodded, the relief still showing on his face. "He wanted me to ride out here last night, but it was almost midnight. Take my horse; I'll hook up your team and drive Abi into town."
"...Are you sure?"
"Go ahead. ...I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about."
"Well don't just stand there!" Abigail declared.
Finally able to move his legs, Clay ran down the porch steps and mounted Razor. "Thank you, Mr. McCain!"
He raced into town, hardly letting the horse come to a stop before jumping down and rushing inside the doctor's office.
"Where is he?"
"Back room," Burrage answered, pointing behind him.
Clay ran past the doctor, nearly breaking down the door as he tried to enter.
"Mark McCain, I oughta give you a…!" The young man stopped short as the door closed behind him.
"...Good to see you too."
Clay took two apprehensive steps forward; concern etching itself onto his face.
Several moments passed before Mark hesitantly broke the awkward silence. "...You alright?"
"Am I alright?! Mark, I thought you were DEAD! Worse than that, I thought I had LET you go and get yourself killed!"
"...I know. ...Thank you."
"...If you had any idea…" The young man turned his head in an attempt to hide the tears that burned in his eyes.
"...Clay, I'm sorry for what I put you through. If it had been anyone else, you would have been the last person I would have gone to. ...But it was my pa; I had no choice… no one else I could trust. ...I understand if you can't forgive me, but I-"
"Forgive you?" Clay looked towards his friend; a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "...There are a lot of things that can be forgiven, Mark. ...But what I can't forgive is you not warning me about the shivaree."
A look of confusion settled on Mark's face before Clay cracked a smile; a few more stray tears slipping down his cheeks.
"I can't tell you how glad I am that you're alive. I… I didn't know what to do. Everyone was looking for you and I… I thought for sure you were… you were dead." Clay sat down on the edge of the bed, looking Mark over. "...What happened?"
The young rancher gave a short laugh; sharp pain again radiating through his chest and back. "...Do you want the short version, or the long version?"
"All of it, Mark. ...I want to know everything."
Mark quickly set to telling Clay what had happened, giving him quite a few more details than he had given Lucas. But by the time he had finished explaining, Mark could see the question in his friend's eye.
"...What is it?"
"Allen… he's still out there, isn't he?"
Mark took in a deep breath, slowly letting it out as he nodded.
"...What happens when he goes back and finds out that you're gone?"
Mark thought for a long moment; realizing for the first time that him escaping could have put his father in danger again. "...I don't know, Clay… I don't know."
Sunday, August 7, 1892
North Fork, New Mexico
"...Mark, think about your father."
"I am." The deputy sat forward, looking at the marshal. "For two months, this has been bothering me. I know you were expecting me to get back to helping you, but I can't in good conscience sit around and wait for Allen to show up again. And putting aside my personal grievances, the man is still wanted. Think about what he did to North Fork; you want him to go terrorize another town?"
"You could be out there for months and still not find any trace of him. What if something were to happen to you? Where would that leave Lucas?"
"What if something were to happen to him? Micah, I'm sorry, but I can't let this go without at least trying."
"Doc gave you a clean bill of health just yesterday! You really think you should be out there?"
"You said it yourself: a clean bill of health. Doc said I could return to all normal activities."
"Chasing a madman across the territory isn't normal!"
Mark let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in the chair as he shook his head. "...Micah, I came to you hoping you would understand and give me just a little more time off. ...But I didn't come for your blessing. I'm going to do this whether or not I have a job waiting for me when I come back."
The marshal looked at the young man for a long time before responding. "You'll have a job waiting for you, Mark. That's not my concern. I'm talking to you as a friend, not your boss. I'm talking to you as someone who doesn't want to see you, or your father, get hurt. And if you go out there, chances are, you both will."
"Allen needs to be brought to justice. He needs to be put behind bars again before he goes and does this to somebody else. ...Before he comes back and tries to finish what he started."
"...Is there anything I can say that will make you change your mind?" Micah watched as the deputy shook his head. "...Guess there's not much use in talking about it anymore, then. ...When are you going to tell your pa?"
"...I don't have that one quite figured out yet."
"The cattle drive is in a week, you better…" The marshal quieted, his face becoming stern. "Mark, I want your word that you will tell your father, face to face, before you leave. You can't just up and disappear again."
"I know; I won't." Mark looked up at the clock and stood as he realized the time. "I have to get going. Clay and Abi are expecting me for dinner. ...Thanks, Micah, for everything."
Mark left town and headed to the Jensens'; arriving just as Clay was returning from the fields. The three enjoyed their evening, but Mark knew that Clay could tell something was off. The men made their way to the barn after supper with the excuse that chores needed tending to. They quickly set to their tasks; Clay soon breaking the silence.
"...It's getting to you, isn't it?"
"...What?"
"That Allen is still out there somewhere."
Mark answered with a simple nod.
"...You're going after him, aren't you?"
"I can't not go after him. ...It's driving me mad, not knowing where he is… not knowing when he might show up again. Knowing he's free to wreak havoc on someone else's life."
"...Let me go with you this time, please. You can't go out there on your-"
"No, Clay. You have a wife to think about. You have fields that are gonna need every last minute of your attention to make it through the rest of the summer. ...I can't drag you out there with me. I'd never forgive myself if something happened."
"Mark…"
"This is my fight, not yours. I appreciate you being willing to go with me, but your place is here with Abigail."
The young farmer shook his head in frustration, driving the pitch fork into a hay bale. "You can't keep doing this! Two months ago, you almost wound up dead! I thought you were dead! Allen is gone! It's not worth it! Why can't you just leave well enough alone?!"
"Because it isn't well enough! You weren't there, Clay! You weren't there to see the terror they caused the town! You weren't there to see them murder Preacher Jamison and Deputy Washington! You, my pa, Micah- none of you were there to witness the torture Allen put me through four years ago or the nightmare he put me through two months ago! I can't stand the thought of him doing that to someone else! It makes me sick every time I think about the fact that he could come back here and do the same or worse to my pa! The man needs to be brought to justice and I can't move on until he is!"
Several moments passed as a heavy silence settled over the barn. Clay thought back, remembering the stories he had been told when he returned from his grandparents' that summer. He remembered the faded bruises on his friend's face; the look in Mark's eyes on the rare occasions that someone would ask what had happened.
"...Clay, this is something I have to do. I knew you weren't gonna like it. I don't need you to like it. ...But I do need you to understand. I need you to understand why I'm doing this, and I need you to understand why I can't have my best friend getting mixed up in all of it. I've seen too many people killed because of the Allens. You can't be another one."
Clay let out a heavy sigh before looking back up at the deputy. "...I wish I could chalk this up to one of your crazy ideas. That I could just blow you off and not care about what happens. ...But we've been through too much. And even though I can't honestly say I understand… Mark, I respected your decision last time, and I'll respect it again. But I won't be the one to tell your pa. I can't take news like that to him again. Ever again."
"I know," he answered with a nod. "And I'm sorry you had to do it the first time. I promise you won't have to do it a second."
"...Remember when we were kids? How we thought all the gunfights and hold ups and outlaw gangs were exciting?"
"Yeah..." Mark shook his head in disgust. "Real exciting…"
Sunday, August 28, 1892
Las Cruces, New Mexico
Mark threw his saddle bags onto the chair before falling onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, at a loss for what to do. Three weeks had somehow turned into one night. He had less than twelve hours to find a way to explain to his pa why he wouldn't be going home with him. The problem was, Mark wasn't sure he could.
The minutes crawled by until finally, the door opened. The young rancher sat up to see his pa walking inside, setting his rifle in the corner of the room.
"Sure you're not hungry? They had apple pie on the menu."
"...Yeah, I'm sure."
Lucas sat down on the bed opposite of Mark and started pulling off his boots. "You get that money wired back home?"
Mark nodded in response and stood, turning his back to his pa as he walked to the window. Lucas eyed his son curiously, setting his boots aside.
"...Something on your mind?"
"...Yeah," he sighed. "...I guess you could say that."
"You care to talk about it?"
"Not really." Mark hesitated before turning around, resting his back against the window frame as he shoved his thumbs into his pockets. "...But I promised Micah I would, so I reckon I better."
"Micah? Son, what are you talking about?"
"I know Micah and Clay think I'm loco… and you probably will too by the time I'm done explaining. But I can't keep doing nothing. ...I had convinced myself that the reason I was doing this was for other people… for the law. And that's still a part of it. …But after I talked to Clay… I realized that no matter how hard I try, I can't make this not personal. It's not revenge I'm looking for… but I need to see Joseph Allen behind bars again. After what he did to North Fork, to you, to me… I can't stand the thought of him being free to do whatever he pleases. He needs to pay for what he's done… and that won't happen until someone is willing to track him down and bring him to justice."
"...And you feel that someone should be you?"
Mark sighed as he shifted his gaze to the floor before looking at Lucas again. "...I honestly don't know if it should be me. ...Like I said, I can't make this not personal. But it's been three months since the man escaped from prison and no one else has been able to find him. ...So that someone is going to be me."
Several moments of silence passed before Lucas stood and strode towards his son, carefully studying his face. "...Mark, I don't blame you for wanting to go after him. It's only natural after what you've gone through."
"Pa-"
"And as much as I want to stop you," he firmly interrupted, "...I know that look. And I know it means that there is nothing I can say or do that will change your mind. ...I think you're being foolish in wanting to go after him alone… but I've been in your position enough times to understand why you're not crazy."
Mark looked at his pa in surprise; relief flooding his face. "...Thank you."
"Son, I'm going to say this once and there will be no further discussion. I know I can't stop you from doing this, but I am not going to let you do this alone. I told you once that the time would come when you would be standing beside me, the two of us together as men. That time has come, and there is nothing you can say or do that is going to take me out of that picture. Do I make myself clear?" Lucas waited for a response, refusing to break his stern expression.
Mark hesitated; struggling between the guilt of what he might be pulling his father into and the relief of knowing that his pa was going to be there to have his back.
"...Guess it's no secret where I get 'that look' from." A brief moment passed before Mark nodded. "...Thanks, Pa."
Tuesday, August 30, 1892
Near San Perres, Mexico
"But Pa!"
"Mark, if you got caught they would have you strung up in no time! You stay here until I get back."
"What is something that happens?"
"Nothing is going to happen as long as you stay here! If I'm seen it may raise a few eyebrows, but you step anywhere near that village and someone is bound to recognize you. Stay put."
"If you're not back in one hour…"
"Give me an hour and a half. The last thing I want is you jumping the gun and both of us ending up under arrest."
"An hour and a half. That's all."
"I'll be back."
Lucas mounted Razor and rode a short distance before picketing his horse and continuing on foot. He followed his son's directions, arriving at an old house on the edge of town just as the sun disappeared below the horizon. The rancher hesitantly rapped on the back door; several moments passing before his knock was answered by a young Mexican woman.
"...Señor McCain?"
Lucas's brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you-"
"Quickly, before someone sees you." The woman took hold of the rancher's arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him.
Lucas removed his hat, eyeing her curiously. "...I would assume you're Rosaline?"
"I am. Your son, Mark, he is alive?"
"Thanks to you, he is."
She smiled in relief. "Your son is a wonderful man. He told me much things about your home… about you."
"I can't thank you enough for helping him… Mark wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you."
"I could not let my people kill him. He did not deserve death. He is home now, resting?"
"He's actually about a half mile from here. We-"
"Here?! Why would he be so… so stupid? My people want to kill him!"
"I know; that's why I told him to wait at camp."
"...Why are you here? You and your son should not have come; it is dangerous for you."
"We're looking for the man that brought my son here. His name is Joseph Allen… do you remember him?"
"I remember," she spat. "He is an evil man."
"Has he come back since Mark left? Does he know Mark escaped?"
"No. He has not been here since they first locked your son in the cage."
"We came to take him back to prison in our country, where he belongs. After checking here, Mark wanted to go to La Gregoria; that's where he said Allen was headed next. But I need to know if the law is looking for my son… if they are, I can't let Mark go into the city."
"No," she answered, shaking our head. "Our men do not go to the city until winter. But you must still be careful… there is much trouble between our people and yours. There has been too much trouble with white men… our people do not trust you."
Lucas nodded. "Believe me, I understand."
Rosaline gently chuckled, piquing the rancher's interest.
"...What is it?"
"You and Mark… you speak the same. Not your voice, but your way of speaking… the way you speak with your eyes."
Lucas thought on the woman's words, passively nodding.
"...You should not stay long. Someone could see you. Do you need food for your journey?"
"No, thank you. I-"
Lucas was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the sound of a man's voice.
"Quickly, back there!" Roasline pointed to a curtain and quickly ushered him into the next room.
As the fabric was again pulled across the opening, Lucas turned to see a baby in a cradle. He was drawn towards the child, gently smiling as he remembered Mark at that age.
The rancher's memories were interrupted as Rosaline let someone in the house. He listened carefully to their conversation, understanding enough to realize it was the young woman's grandfather. Several minutes passed before Lucas heard the man leave and Rosaline called for him to come back out.
"You must go now, my grandfather will return soon."
"Thank you, Rosaline. We owe you a great debt."
"Please tell Mark I am glad he is well. ...I hope you find Señor Allen."
"We will."
"Goodbye… be careful."
Lucas left the home and started back towards Razor, hesitating as a structure in the distance caught his eye. Well aware of how exposed he was, the man carefully approached the cage he was beginning to realize his son had been kept in. No more than six feet long and not quite tall enough to sit up in, the steel prison brought back memories of a crudely built pin the rancher had been locked inside of several years before. But his experience had only lasted two days; he couldn't imagine being trapped in that cage for two weeks. In time, Lucas forced himself to walk away, knowing he was in no position to confront those responsible for the imprisonment of his son.
Late that night, Lucas woke to see Mark sitting by the fire. He hesitated before getting up and making his way towards him.
"Can't sleep?"
Mark jumped, relaxing as his pa sat down beside him. The young deputy shook his head as he subtly turned away from Lucas.
"...Son, you take after your ma in a lot of ways. One of those ways is that you're always careful about how what you say or do might affect other people. And a lot of the time, that can be a good thing. There's a lot of trouble I could've kept myself out of if I'd had a bit more… tact. ...But sometimes, that can be to your detriment."
"What's your point?"
"...If you're not talking about what's bothering you because you don't want to, I'll respect that. But if you're not talking about it because you still think you're somehow protecting me, let me tell you right now that you're not. There's something weighing on you, Son. And that's not something you have to carry alone. From what little you told me… from what I saw the night you came home, I can only imagine what you've been through. And I'd feel a lot better, knowing you're not trying to deal with that on your own."
Several moments passed as Mark stared into the flames, attempting to push away the memories he had spent so long trying to forget.
"...Son, whatever you're feeling, there's no shame in-"
"I know." Mark sighed before reaching down to stoke the fire. "...It's not that."
"...What is it, then?"
"...For the last two months, all I've been able to think about is bringing Allen to justice… but in turn, that's brought back a lot of… painful memories. Dealing with what's happened this summer has been one thing. But I knew what I was walking into… I had accepted what was going to happen. But what happened four years ago… I still don't know what to do with that. After the trial, I just wanted to forget it had ever happened. And I tried to… but it's just left this hole inside of me, like something's missing. I thought finding Allen and bringing him to justice would fill that void. But the closer we get to finding him, the more I realize sending him back to prison isn't going to make things right again. It's not going to change what they put everyone through… it's not going to change what they did to me. And for the first time… I'm realizing that I'm going to have to face what happened. After the Evans Gang came to town, I was feeling too guilty about Preacher Jamison's death to think about anything else. And after the trial… like I said, I just wanted to shut everything out. ...If I'm honest, I think I was too scared to realize how much anger and… bitterness I had festering inside of me. I was too scared about what could happen to try to deal with what had happened. And now I'm here and… I don't know if I'm ready to face Allen. Because when I think about him… all I can remember is the nightmare he and his brother put me through. All the beatings, all the threats, all the violence I witnessed. ...I don't understand why now of all times it's shaking me up so much. I didn't feel this way when I got his note… when I left town… when he talked to me after my own 'trial.' It's over… it's in the past. I'm older and I have more experience. I'm much more capable of taking him on now than I was four years ago. ...And yet I'm more scared now than I've been through this whole thing." He hesitated before looking up at Lucas. "...Does that make me a coward?"
"Son, I'm going to tell you what I told you when this whole thing started: I didn't raise a coward. And realizing the gravity of the situation you're in doesn't make you one." Lucas let out a heavy sigh as he put an arm around his son's shoulders. "When the Evans Gang took over North Fork; when Joe Allen came back and took you hostage a second time, I'm sure you were scared. But those were situations you already found yourself in the middle of. You didn't get to choose whether you were involved or not. ...Earlier this summer… had the situation been reversed, it wouldn't have been a choice for me, either. There's no way on earth I would have not gone to meet Allen. But this time, … and I think it's safe to say, for the first time, you feel that you do have a choice. A choice that's that much harder to make because of what you've already endured at his hand. There are a dozen excuses you could give for not going after Allen… no one is asking you to do this. But you still are. Being scared of the man that's almost killed both of us multiple times doesn't make you a coward, Son. It makes you a man who's willing to stand his ground, even if he's shaking in his boots while he does it. And that's a man I can be proud of."
There were a few moments of silence as Mark looked back down at the fire. "...Pa, are you angry with me?"
"Angry with you? For what?"
"Going after Allen. ...The way you looked when I told you…"
"I wasn't upset that you had decided to go after Allen. I wasn't expecting it to be quite so soon, but I knew that if he wasn't caught, you would eventually do it. That's not what bothered me."
Mark's brow furrowed in confusion before he looked up at Lucas. "...What then?"
"That you didn't ask me to go with you."
"...This isn't your fight, I-"
"Mark, what's your last name?"
"...McCain?"
Lucas nodded. "This isn't my fight, Son. This is our fight."
