Dead or Alive

by Bluebird0032

"NO!" Mark boomed; briefly taken aback by the way he had spoken. "...I won't stop. I won't stay here and you can't make me. I haven't seen my pa in five weeks. Five weeks! For most of that, I've had to entertain the idea that he might be dead! But it doesn't matter! Dead or alive, I'm going to find my pa, and I'm gonna bring him home, and I don't care if it kills me!"

Large drops of water still pelting his body, Lucas breathed a sigh of relief as the cattle finally settled down. He surveyed the land, trying to assess how far they had come during the stampede. It wasn't long before the hand he had hired for the summer came riding up behind him.

"How much ground do you figure we lost, Mr. McCain?"

"Five, six miles. Could've been worse, but they sure weren't interested in making things easy on us." Lucas again looked around and peered through the rain, expecting to see Mark ride up at any moment.

"Do you want me to go back for the supplies at camp?"

"I'll go back as soon as things let up a little. You and Mark keep an eye on the cattle."

"How much longer do you figure until we're at market?"

"Another five days at least. If it keeps raining like this, it could be two weeks."

"What do you figure the chances are that…" Austin's voice trailed off as he stared past Lucas.

"That…?"

Lucas was answered by a horse's whinny and turned around to see a riderless BlueBoy approaching them. The rancher's heart dropped as he dismounted and ran to the horse.

"MARK?!" Lucas waited, but no reply came. He grabbed BlueBoy's harness and quickly tied the reins to the pommel of his saddle before mounting Razor. "Stay with the cattle!"

Lucas urged his horse forward, the downpour of rain and booms of thunder drowning out his calls for Mark. He carefully surveyed the land, looking for any sign of his son. The minutes dragged into hours as Lucas searched the several miles of land the cattle had run through that night.

The rancher couldn't stop himself from thinking back to the times he had witnessed men being trampled by a stampede of cattle. It was a sickening, gruesome sight that didn't leave room for survivors. Lucas prayed that whether his son had fallen or been thrown from his horse, he had landed out of the cattle's path.

As the storm began to pass, Lucas again began desperately calling for his son. It wasn't until he was almost back to where they had made camp the first time that evening that Lucas finally saw a crumpled figure in the distance.

"MARK!"

Recognizing his pa's voice, Mark gave up trying to drag himself through the mud. He breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed onto the ground, not realizing the panic it would send through his father's being. The rancher again dug his heels into Razor's flanks before finally jumping down from the horse and rushing to his son.

"Mark, can you hear me?" As Lucas turned his son onto his back, Mark couldn't stop a cry of pain from escaping his lips. "Mark?"

"...My leg," Mark answered, sharply inhaling as he tried to prop himself up on his elbow. "...If this isn't what a broken leg feels like, I don't-" Mark couldn't finish the sentence and collapsed back onto the ground, pain written all over his face.

Keeping a firm hand on his son's shoulder, Lucas looked at Mark's leg, his brow furrowing in concern. "...Son, I'm going to have to set this…"

Mark slowly nodded, anticipating the pain to come. Lucas tightly squeezed his son's shoulder before retrieving his rifle and lariat from Razor. After finding a large stick nearby to use as a splint, Lucas knelt down beside his son and unloaded one of the bullets from his rifle.

"You'll want to bite down on this."

Mark nodded and took the bullet from his pa.

"Mark, this isn't going to be easy…"

"I know," he answered, placing the bullet between his teeth.

Lucas placed his hands on his son's leg, but hesitated, looking to Mark one more time.

"...Don't swallow the shell."

The young man's eyes laughed at the teasing remark, but he was soon screaming in pain as Lucas set the bone. Mark fought to stay conscious as everything threatened to fade to black. The rancher turned to see his son's strained face, surprised he hadn't passed out from the pain.

"...I'm sorry, Son."

Mark didn't hear his father's apology; all he could focus on was the aching in his leg. Hearing how labored his son's breathing was, Lucas again put a firm hand on Mark's shoulder, offering his other hand for his son to squeeze. Mark instead closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Just go ahead and splint it…"

"Are you sure you don't want to give the pain some time to subside?"

Mark again shook his head and opened his eyes to look at Lucas. "I don't… I don't think it's going away any time soon…"

Lucas hesitantly nodded and let out a heavy sigh. Even though it was necessary, he dreaded the idea of inflicting more pain on his son. Using the branch and lasso, Lucas splinted Mark's leg, the young man grunting in pain with every movement his father made.

"...Does that feel any better?"

"...Not really…"

"We can add some padding later; that should help." Lucas looked around for a moment before going on, "We're not far from camp. Will you be alright here if I get the supplies we left behind?"

Mark nodded, pain still etched on his face.

"I'll be right back."

Lucas pulled Mark's rifle from the scabbard and handed it to his son before mounting Razor and returning to their original camp. After packing things up and loading them onto the horses, Lucas returned to his son. He immediately grabbed an old blanket and set to fixing Mark's splint.

"...How does that feel?"

"...It's not much, but it's a little better… thanks."

"...I'm going to look around and see if I can find any branches big enough to make a travois."

"It'd just be a waste of time. ...Besides, it'd… it'd get stuck in all this mud. ...I can ride."

"Mark…"

"We don't really have… any other options. We need to get back. Austin… can't handle the herd by himself…"

Lucas looked at his son for a long moment before letting out a deep breath. "You're riding Razor."

Mark wanted to explain that what had happened wasn't BlueBoy's fault, but he was too tired and in too much pain. They could argue about that tomorrow.

After letting Mark rest for a few more minutes, Lucas brought Razor to his son and helped Mark to his feet. His pa taking his weight, Mark jumped up and put his right foot in the stirrup, Lucas helping him swing his other leg around the horse. Mark brought his head down to rest on the saddle horn, concerning his father.

"Are you alright?"

"Will be in a minute…"

Mark waited for the worst of the pain to lessen before sitting up. Lucas mounted up on BlueBoy, hesitating as he reached for his horse's reins.

"Can you ride, or do you want me to lead Razor?"

"...I can ride."

It was a long two and a half hours back to the herd. Though Mark tried to suppress them, the occasional moan still reached Lucas's ears. The rancher did insist on taking a few short breaks, but he knew that more than anything, Mark just needed to get settled in his bedroll and go to sleep.

When Austin saw father and son approaching, he ran up to them, relief on his face. "Mark, you alright?"

"...Busted my leg," was all Mark could mumble in response.

Lucas dismounted and laid out his son's bedroll before he and Austin helped Mark down from Razor. As Lucas helped his son get settled, Austin asked what they were going to do about Mark's leg.

"Nearest doctor is about a day and a half away at the rate we'll be traveling," Lucas answered.

"Should I ride ahead to get help while you push the cattle on?"

Without hesitation, Mark replied, "Pa… Pa's gonna need help. ...One man can't drive this much cattle at once…"

"What if the two of you stayed put?"

"Then it'd still be two days before Mark got any help, and we'd be in trouble if the cattle spooked again. I don't like it, but heading to Lincoln is our only option. We'll leave at first light."

—1—

Lucas woke at dawn the next morning. He turned to see that Mark was awake; his face was pale and there were dark circles underneath his bloodshot eyes. As the rancher approached his son, he could see Mark shivering.

"Get any sleep last night?"

Mark shook his head. "My leg kept me awake."

"How does it feel now?"

"...It's a little better, but I think we might need to adjust the splint. I think it's a little too tight."

"You should have woken me." Lucas knelt down and pulled Mark's blanket aside before carefully re-tying the ropes. "...Better?"

Mark let out a deep breath and nodded. Lucas looked into his son's face, worried by the strain he saw.

"What happened last night?"

"I was trying to help turn the herd. ...I guess I pulled the reins too suddenly and as BlueBoy adjusted, he must have hit a slick patch of grass. We both fell and I guess I landed just right. ...Did BlueBoy seem to ride alright last night?" The concern Mark held for the horse was evident in his tone.

"He's fine. ...I'm going to start packing things up. Do you need anything?"

Mark shook his head in response before Lucas grabbed his bedroll and draped it over Mark, hoping it would warm him some.

"Never thought I'd be wanting my winter coat in the middle of August," he chuckled.

"Give it a few hours, you'll be asking me to drench you in water."

"Oh, I know."

It wasn't long before Austin roused and started helping Lucas prepare the horses. Though Mark said he couldn't eat anything, Lucas insisted he at least try chewing some jerky. The men were on the trail by sunrise and were appreciative of the warmth that finally came over the land. By midday, Lucas could tell riding was aggravating Mark's injury too much and called for a break. Lucas and Austin again helped Mark down from Razor before Austin went to fill the canteens.

"Pa, can you please put my saddle back on BlueBoy?" Seeing the hesitation in Lucas's eyes, Mark went on, "I'm not used to riding Razor; he walks differently than BlueBoy, and my saddle doesn't sit on him quite right. It's not BlueBoy's fault I broke my leg and I really think it wouldn't be as painful to ride him."

The rancher reluctantly agreed and switched the saddles on BlueBoy and Razor. Returning to his son, Lucas asked Mark if he could manage eating something.

"I can try, but… I feel pretty sick to my stomach."

"Why don't you just start with a biscuit, and we'll go from there?"

Mark agreed, but soon found himself throwing up what little food he had been able to swallow. After Austin returned and Mark had a little time to recover, Lucas asked his son if he wanted to try again.

"I can't, Pa."

"What about some jerky? You seemed to handle that fine this morning."

"Maybe later…"

Frustrated at the situation, Lucas let out a heavy sigh before nodding in understanding. He told Mark to try to get some rest while he and Austin ate.

Thirty minutes later they were back on the trail, Lucas keeping a watchful eye on his son. Mark did seem to be doing better on BlueBoy, but he still couldn't keep the discomfort he felt from showing on his face. It was nearing four o'clock when Lucas heard his son quietly call to him, Mark's voice wavering.

"...P-Pa?"

Lucas took one look at his son and knew they had to stop for the night. Without hesitation, the rancher called out to Austin and told him to start settling the herd down.

"Wait here, we'll be back to help you off BlueBoy."

Mark nodded in reply, slowly letting out a deep breath.

After the cattle were settled, Lucas and Austin again helped Mark down from his horse and made camp, thankful to be able to start a fire this time. Mark was able to stomach a little supper, but it wasn't enough for his father's liking.

Seeing how much pain Mark was in, Lucas worried that he hadn't set the bone properly; something he knew was quite likely considering Austin hadn't been there to hold Mark still. He hoped and prayed that he hadn't done more harm than good.

"...Pa, how far is Lincoln?" Mark asked, interrupting Lucas's thoughts.

"I'd say another ten miles or so. We should be there by mid-afternoon tomorrow."

"...What are we gonna do with all the cattle?"

"Austin will stay outside of town with them."

"But-"

"Mark, you need a doctor. There's nothing else we can do."

"...Well we could just run 'em down the street..."

Lucas smiled, thankful to see the small gleam in his son's eyes… but then he watched it slowly fade.

"...I'm sorry about all the time this is costing us."

"There's nothing you need to be sorry for. It was an accident; an accident we're lucky hasn't happened before. I'm just glad…" Lucas shook his head, pushing away the thought of what could have happened. "...I'm just glad you're going to be alright."

"...The doctor in Lincoln will have something to help the pain, right? Something you'll let him give me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Doc Burrage… he just usually lets people get drunk, but…"

"Yes," Lucas chuckled. "The doctor will have something to give you besides a bottle of whiskey."

—2—

The men turned in early that evening, the throbbing pain in Mark's leg keeping him awake most of the night. Exhaustion finally pulled him into a fitful sleep a few hours before sunrise; the young man waking shortly after his pa. When they were ready to go, Lucas and Austin again helped Mark into the saddle; Lucas noticing how much harder it was on his son that morning.

"Mark, are you going to be alright?"

Mark heard his pa's question, but was waiting for the pain to die down before he responded.

"Mark?"

After a few more moments, he looked up with an exasperated smile on his face and a gleam in his eye. "Do I have a choice?"

Lucas patted his son's shoulder as he replied, "Just a few more hours."

As Mark rode, he did what he could to keep his mind off his leg and the nauseated feeling the pain had created in his stomach. More than once he nearly fell out of the saddle, but Mark kept it to himself. He just wanted to get to town and realized that his pa would make them stop if he knew.

It was almost noon when the three came across a fence, Lucas calling over to Austin to stop the herd.

"Pa?"

"...You need a break from riding, and Austin can keep them pinned against the fence. I'm going to see if I can find anyone."

"But why?"

"They might let us leave the cattle here with Austin while I take you into town. I'll be back."

After explaining his intentions to the hand, Lucas rode down the fence line until he found a gate. Crossing over onto the property, the rancher kept an eye out for tracks, eventually coming upon a woman straightening a fence post.

"Excuse me?"

Startled, the woman jumped, reaching for the rifle that sat leaning against the fence.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you," Lucas apologized, raising his hands as the woman aimed her rifle at him.

"What are you doing on this land, Mister? You're trespassing!"

"I apologize for the intrusion. My name is Lucas McCain; I'm taking cattle to market, but my son broke his leg night before last. We're trying to get him to the doctor in Lincoln. It's just me, my son, and a hired hand. The herd is too big for one man to handle by himself, so we've had to travel at the pace of the cattle. When we came across your property, I thought I might ask if we could let our cattle roam inside your fence while I take my son to town. Our hand would stay here to keep an eye on them, and I'll compensate you for your trouble."

The woman stared at Lucas for several moments, trying to decide if she could trust him or not. Finally lowering her rifle, the woman nodded.

"That's not necessary. Where's your herd?"

"About a mile south."

"Lead the way."

Lucas looked to the woman curiously, not realizing he had raised an eyebrow.

"Well sounds to me like you could use some help moving the cattle. Am I wrong?"

"...No ma'am."

"Elisabeth will do fine."

Lucas slightly hesitated before nodding, then turned Razor around and headed back to where he had left Mark, Austin, and the cattle.

The woman was surprised to find that the man's son was really no more than a boy; sixteen years old at the most. The mother inside of her quickly came out as she realized the young man had been riding astride for two days with a broken leg.

"Mr. McCain, just where is your wagon?"

"Unfortunately with only the three of us, we didn't think we would be needing one. ...It's been a long couple of days."

"I can tell that just by taking one look at him! You two help the boy down before we get to moving the cattle, and then one of you can return to the homestead with me to hook up the team. That boy has no business being on top of a horse!"

Mark tried to hide his embarrassment from being mother henned by a complete stranger, thinking to himself how much the woman reminded him of Lou in her matter-of-fact way of speaking.

After Mark was helped down from BlueBoy, Lucas, Austin, and the woman moved the cattle down the fence line and eventually through the gate. Lucas told Austin to stay with the cattle while he and Elisabeth made their way to the woman's barn. Once they arrived, she showed Lucas where the equipment for the team was before disappearing inside her home. The woman soon returned with a few pillows and blankets before placing them in the back of the buckboard. Once the team was ready, Lucas helped Elisabeth up into the rig before walking around and tying Razor to the back. He then climbed up into the seat, released the brake, and urged the team forward.

"Thank you for your help and letting us use your land. It's much appreciated."

"I apologize for the cold greeting. My husband and boy are away on a drive themselves, and around here…"

"One can't be too careful. You have a son of your own?"

"Yes," Elisabeth answered with a smile. "Though I suppose I can't still call him a boy. He'll be twenty-five come September."

"I don't know if a parent ever stops seeing the little boy in their son, even when they're full grown."

"I certainly would agree. Where are you folks from?"

"My son and I are from North Fork, about fifty miles from Center City. Austin, our hand, is from Arizona territory."

"I believe I traveled through North Fork once… but that was quite some time ago now."

"I doubt you would recognize it… North Fork's a growing community. Railroad just got put in about a year ago."

The woman chuckled as she replied, "Abe was so set on moving the cattle by train once the railroad came along. But then he figured out how much it would cost and… well, as I said, they're on the drive now."

"I think only a few ranchers ended up being able to afford that luxury. It'll be quite a spell before Mark and I can afford shipping the cattle."

"I have a feeling it'll be quite a time before most ranches can afford it. Regardless, it's a wonder how quickly those machines can move, with or without cattle!"

"Just don't get my son started on the subject; he'll be going on about all sorts of inventions he's sure we'll have in no time."

"The ambition of youth," she laughed. "My Caleb is the same way."

Returning to where they had left Mark, Lucas helped his son into the buckboard, tethering BlueBoy beside Razor. Lucas briefly stopped to let Austin know he would be returning soon and then headed to town, Elisabeth as his guide. Once they arrived at the doctor's office, the town doctor took a few minutes to examine Mark's leg before looking up at Lucas.

"Well, Mr. McCain, under the circumstances of your situation I'm impressed with how well you set that leg."

"If I did it right, why is he in so much pain?"

"In addition to the bone itself, it seems that a fair amount of tissue was damaged in the fall. Not to mention all the riding he's done the last two days. I'll give him some medicine to lessen the pain, but I doubt it will completely make it go away."

"I'll take anything at this point," Mark wearily answered.

The doctor chuckled as he started measuring a teaspoon of diluted laudanum. "I have a set of crutches around here somewhere. Take this while I go look."

Mark followed the doctor's orders as the man disappeared into another part of the office.

"Pa, what about the cattle drive?"

"I don't like it," Lucas began with a heavy sigh, "But I'll have to leave you here at the hotel."

Before Mark could say anything, Elisabeth turned to Lucas with raised eyebrows.

"You certainly will not! The boy needs looking after! He'll stay with me."

"Oh, ma'am, I couldn't," Mark began to protest. "With your husband gone and-"

"Just the reason I need someone around the place. There's a shanty adjoined to the house. You can stay there and I won't take no for an answer from either one of you."

Mark looked to his pa, who was surprisingly quick to agree.

"I can't thank you enough."

"It's my pleasure."

"I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, especially with all the storms we've been running into."

"I understand; never know when Abe's going to be home, either. The boy is welcome as long as he needs a place to stay. And you can stay in the shanty tonight with your son and your hand is welcome to stay in the barn. And I suppose with the three of you staying for supper tonight, I best head over to the mercantile. I'll meet you back at the buckboard when I'm done."

"That's really not-" Lucas began, only to be interrupted.

"Don't you tell me you're not missing home cooking! This far from North Fork, I'm sure you've had your fill of jerky and canned beans. I'll be back as soon as I've finished."

With nothing else to say, Lucas thanked the woman as she left the office. Hearing his son chuckle, Lucas turned to look at him.

"What?"

"She's like Miss Hattie, Mrs. Dodd, and Miss Lou all wrapped up in one."

Lucas nodded in agreement, chuckling along with his son.

The doctor soon returned with the crutches and told Mark to stay off his leg for at least another five weeks. "...It will most likely end up being closer to seven or eight, but that depends on how easy you take it. And absolutely no more riding; that's the worst thing you could do for it next to walking on it."

Lucas and Mark finished with the doctor and headed to the buckboard where they waited for Elisabeth to return. Once they got back to the ranch, Lucas dropped Mark and Elisabeth off at the house before taking care of the team and riding to get Austin.

Mark was able to rest most of the afternoon as the medicine began to alleviate some of the pain in his leg. They all enjoyed a well-prepared supper that evening before Lucas did the dishes and Austin tended to the barn chores.

As father and son were preparing for bed that night, Lucas took the opportunity to talk privately with his son.

"Mark, I don't like the idea of leaving you here…"

"I understand. It's not like we can just sit around for six weeks while we wait for my leg to heal."

"...That's part of what I mean. You do realize what part of the territory we're in, don't you?"

"Yes sir," he replied with a solemn nod.

"I want you staying here, at the ranch, not only because I feel better about you being here than in town, but also for Mrs. Grady's sake. ...I know you already have your crutches to handle, but keep your rifle close, and keep an eye out. I also want you to take it easy with your leg, but…"

"I know it can't be easy for her to do everything around here with her husband and son gone. I'll help out where I can. I'll even do the dishes."

A smile crossed Lucas's face as he slapped Mark on the back. "How's your leg doing?"

"I think the medicine is starting to wear off, but it feels a whole lot better since the doctor put an actual splint on it."

"Good."

"...Pa, do you think you and Austin will be able to handle the herd?"

"It won't be easy, but we don't have much of a choice."

"...What's the latest you think you'll be at market?"

Seeing the concern in his son's eyes, Lucas sat down on the cot beside Mark and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Like I said, it won't be easy, but we'll be able to handle it. We've made this trip a half dozen times."

"...Yeah, but only with half the cattle."

"Everything will be fine. We'll be two weeks getting there at the most, and I'll wire you as soon as we arrive."

"...Any chance you'd be willing to stop at Mrs. Riley's cafe and bring me a piece of her apple pie?"

"It wouldn't last the trip back."

"Without the cattle it'll take you what, three days, maybe four to ride back here? If it's fresh it won't go bad."

"I'm not saying it would spoil. It'd get eaten before I was ten miles out of town!"

—3—

The following morning, Mark stood on the porch as he watched his pa and Austin mount up. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach; the same feeling he used to get when he was too young to go on the cattle drive with Lucas and had to watch him ride away.

"Elisabeth, thank you again for everything," the rancher called.

"It's my pleasure. Don't worry about a thing, Mark is in good hands."

"I don't doubt it." Turning to his son as he mounted, Lucas could still see the concern in Mark's eyes. "I'll be back soon."

"...I know ya will. Have a good trip." Mark waved as his pa and Austin rode out, letting out a heavy sigh as they disappeared from view.

"I wasn't thinking," Elisabeth suddenly stated, drawing Mark's attention. "We should have stopped at the telegraph office yesterday to let your mother know what happened. If you want to write the message, I can ride into town."

"Thank you, but that's not necessary."

"You might think it's not, but your mother has a right to know and I can tell you that she will not be pleased if you come home like that without sending word about what happened!"

"...Mrs. Grady, thank you for offering, but my mother died a long time ago. It's just my pa and me." Seeing that the woman didn't know what to say, but that she regretted her words, Mark went on. "Though if she were alive, you'd be right." The young man chuckled as he continued, "I remember Pa telling me once about a time he was two weeks late coming home from delivering a prisoner, back when he was a deputy. He wired and told Ma he had been delayed, but didn't tell her that he had been shot. When he got home… boy, was he in a heap of trouble!"

Elisabeth gently smiled at the story, knowing all too well the fears a wife battled every day. She and Mark both looked up as a carriage pulled into the yard, Elisabeth stepping off the porch to greet the newcomer.

"Alyssa, how wonderful to see you! What brings you out this way so early?"

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Grady, but I just can't get the dress to fit right and I was wondering if I might ask for your help. ...I remember Caleb mentioning you used to be a seamstress?"

"No bother at all, bring it inside and we'll see what we can do!" As the young woman stepped down from the buggy, Elisabeth went on, "Alyssa, this is Mark McCain. He and his father stumbled across the ranch on their way to Lincoln. Mark broke his leg on their cattle drive and is staying here until his father returns. Mark, this is my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Alyssa West."

"How do you do?" Mark asked, removing his hat.

"Fine, thank you," she answered with a smile as the three made their way inside. "How far did you and your father come before stopping here?"

"We've only been on the trail about a week and a half. We live just outside North Fork, a small town about two days from Willow Springs."

"Do you like it there?"

As Mark answered, Elisabeth excused herself to find her sewing basket.

"Oh, yes ma'am. Pa and me travelled all over trying to find the right place to settle. It didn't take much to decide that North Fork was for us."

"Where was home before then?"

"Like I said, we travelled a lot. The only other place that's really been "home" is Enid, Oklahoma. We lived there until my mother passed away."

"I have relatives… well, distant relatives from around there. A second cousin on my mother's side married a man from Oklahoma City. ...Though she got sick and passed away about ten years ago."

"...Smallpox?"

The young woman looked at Mark quizzically as if to ask how he could know that.

"That's what my ma died from; the smallpox outbreak in Oklahoma."

"...It claimed a lot of lives."

Mark nodded, wondering what life would have been like had his mother survived. There were several moments of silence before Mrs. Grady returned to the front room.

"Alyssa, why don't you step into the bedroom and change into your dress? Then I can determine what adjustments need to be made."

The young woman nodded and quickly changed before coming back out to the front room. Mark's brow furrowed in confusion as she walked through the door, not understanding what was wrong with the dress. He thought she looked… well… stunning.

"I think I see the problem," Elisabeth quickly said. "Step up on the stool so I can pin it and then I'll have this fixed in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Mark watched as Mrs. Grady pinned the dress in several places. Alyssa then changed back into her regular clothes so Elisabeth could sew the dress. Twenty minutes later, Alyssa again stepped out of the bedroom, a huge grin on her face.

"Mrs. Grady, I don't know how to thank you! It's perfect!"

"Well you can start by calling me Elisabeth," she answered with a gentle smile. "You are marrying my son, after all!"

"Thank you! Thank you for everything!"

Mrs. Grady and Alyssa visited for a few minutes before Alyssa stated that she had to return to town. After seeing the young woman out, Elisabeth returned to the house to see an interesting look on Mark's face.

"What is it?"

"...That dress."

"What about it?"

"I didn't see anything wrong with it. I don't know if I could tell any difference after you 'fixed' it."

The woman laughed, shaking her head.

"It was a detail few would have seen, but one every bride is well aware of. The last thing she needs to be worrying about on her wedding day is if her dress fits right."

"Do you have any daughters, Mrs. Grady?"

"None that survived infancy… Caleb is our only living child."

"...I'm sorry I asked."

"It's alright… it's simply one of the harsh realities of life. Abe and I look forward to welcoming Alyssa into our family… she's been like a daughter to us for years."

"When's the wedding?"

"First Sunday of September… if those men of mine get back here in enough time," she laughed. "Sometimes I wonder how many extra days they stay in town, just to sleep in those fancy hotel rooms."

"After weeks in the saddle, who can blame 'em? I know I'm always trying to talk Pa into staying an extra night."

"Oh, I don't blame them… but when you're married…" the woman hesitated and again smiled. "You'll understand when you're older."

Mark saw a gleam in the woman's eye, a look he often saw in Lucas when he would talk about his mother. Mark didn't get what was so complicated about marriage that often led to him being told he'd understand when he was older, but he knew better than to argue it.

"I guess I will…"

—4—

The next several days were quiet at the Grady ranch. Mark helped Elisabeth out where he could, but often spent the afternoons resting while she rode the range and repaired fences. After supper each night the two would sit out on the front porch as Elisabeth asked Mark several questions about his life since Oklahaoma. It didn't take Mrs. Grady long to come to recognize not only the bond the young man shared with his father, but also the respect and love Mark held for Lucas. She enjoyed listening to the boy's stories, even if a few of them did sound a bit far fetched.

The fifth evening after Lucas and Austin had left, Elisabeth watched as Mark stared out into the open prairie, a curious look on his face.

"Is something on your mind, Mark?"

"...Would you happen to have any old tin cans I could use?"

"I might have some around here somewhere. Why do you ask?"

"I'm still getting used to my rifle and I haven't had any target practice since we left home. I was thinking I might set up some targets tomorrow. ...If that's alright with you."

"How do you figure on shooting while you use the crutches?"

"It can't be any harder than trying to coordinate myself to do dishes. If my Pa can hit a target blind, I think I can work around a broken leg."

"Blind?" Elisabeth chuckled. "I'm sure there's a lot your Pa can do, but whatever blindfold you put on him, I'm sure he could see through it."

"It wasn't a blindfold. ...Well, there were bandages, but he couldn't see anyway. A keg of black powder blew up in his face and he couldn't see for a while. There was an outlaw gunning for him at the time, and with just the two of us at the ranch, he wanted to be ready."

Elisabeth raised an eyebrow at the youth, still unsure of his account of events. Mark proceeded to tell her the whole story, concluding with, "So like I said, if he can do that, I think I can figure out how to keep my balance and shoot. Pa says the only way to get better at something is to keep practicing and… well, I have a lot of improvement to make."

"I'll look for the cans tonight." The woman hesitated before asking, "...You seem a little old to be just learning how to use a rifle. Especially growing up on a ranch."

"...I mean I know how to use it. Pa used to let me shoot his rifle on occasion. But he waited so long to get me my own… I think it's because he didn't ever want me to have the opportunity to kill someone. But the day came when I think he realized there was no changing what kind of world I would grow up in. That the day might come when I have to defend myself. That if he didn't get me a gun, someone else would. I begged him for a rifle for years, but looking back, I'm glad he waited as long as he did. I didn't understand the responsibility that came with a rifle and I needed to grow up some, first."

"I suppose I can understand. The day Abe brought home a rifle for Caleb… I was beside myself. He was only thirteen at the time and I gave Abe a piece of my mind about the whole business. In the end, I realized Caleb needed to know how to use it. And not just for hunting or protecting the cattle. But because we live in a world full of ruthless, cruel people. Living so close to Lincoln… I knew Abe was right. I just wished he didn't have to be."

"Maybe one day. Maybe by the time I have grandchildren we'll live in a world where men don't have to live by their guns."

"I hope so, Mark. I hope so…"

Mark and Elisabeth sat up and talked for a while longer before turning in. The following afternoon, Mark felt rested enough to get some target practice in while Elisabeth rode the range. He started off quite shaky and missed more targets than he hit, but eventually the young man got his bearings and began making improvement. A little over an hour after Mrs. Grady had left the homestead, Mark saw two men ride into the yard. They both had what Mark considered average height and build; one wore a hat over his light brown hair while the other ran a hand through his black, comparatively long locks.

"Afternoon," Mark greeted, using the crutches to turn towards the men.

"Afternoon," the man with the hat replied, placing a cigar between his lips. Mark noticed it was similar to the kind his pa occasionally used. "Elisabeth around?"

"Mrs. Grady left a while ago to ride the fence line. I can give her a message when she gets back."

"We got… personal business to attend to. We'll talk to her ourselves."

Mark watched as the men rode out of the yard, towards the range. The men's demeanor didn't sit well with Mark, and though he knew the pain riding would cause him, the young man made his way to the barn to saddle his horse. Mark hung the crutches over the saddle horn before awkwardly mounting up and laying his rifle across his lap. Careful to not irritate his injury any more than necessary, Mark followed after the men. The young man found Mrs. Grady and the two strangers in an open plane just below a hill. He stayed on the rise out of sight, but close enough to see what was happening. He quickly realized the men weren't welcome on the land and reached for his .22 as Elisabeth aimed her own rifle at the men, but relaxed as the men seemingly followed the woman's orders to leave. Mark stayed on the range for a while longer to make sure the men didn't return before making his way back to the homestead.

That evening at supper, Mark couldn't help but ask about the men, but knew it best to not let Mrs. Grady know that he had ridden BlueBoy.

"...Two strangers rode up to the house today asking for you, then went riding onto the range," he casually began. "Were they friends of yours?"

"Friends…" Elisabeth shook her head, eyebrows raised. "Just some trouble-making neighbors. Those were two of the Kenner brothers. That family's been trying to buy this land for nearly a hundred years."

"A hundred?"

"This land's been passed down through four generations. Started with my great-grandfather and most certainly is not going to end with me."

"Why do they want the land so bad?"

"There used to be some gold on the property. We didn't know that until Grandpa Bud almost sold the place to the Kenners, but my father stumbled into a cave the day before the papers were signed and found it. Turns out, the Kenners knew all about it."

"Used to be?"

"My grandfather and father mined out what we could find without destroying the rest of the ranch. I don't think there's a lick of gold left on the place, but the Kenners want the property so they can mine for more."

"Doesn't seem to me it'd be worth tearing up such good cattle country, even if there was a little gold to be found."

"The Kenners aren't ranchers, they don't understand the value of a good piece of land like this. It makes me sick every time I see the wasteland their hundred acres turned to."

"They give you much trouble?"

"Oh, not too much. Just a lot of heated arguments and empty threats. I sure will be glad when they finally get tired of pesterin' me and Abe and decide to move on."

"I know what you mean. We've had plenty of people try to pressure Pa into selling our ranch, but he wouldn't ever budge. It's the McCain ranch and it's gonna stay that way a long time."

"Just as long as you make it back there."

"...What do you mean?"

"You keep riding that horse of yours and your leg may never heal enough for you to go home."

Mark stared at the woman incredulously, his mouth gaping open.

"How… how did you…"

"Oh, now don't tell me your mother never told you a woman has eyes in the back of her head."

Elisabeth chuckled as Mark raised an eyebrow at her.

"If you're going to try sneaking around, you best learn where things go. You put your saddle on my sawhorse instead of the one nearest the door."

"...I was just worried about those men. I didn't have a good feeling about them."

Mrs. Grady smiled in appreciation. "Thank you, Mark. But please be mindful of the doctor's orders. He doesn't give them just to hear himself talk."

"Sometimes I wonder…"

Elisabeth laughed, shaking her head as Mark took another bite of chicken.

—5—

Sunday arrived and Elisabeth hooked up the team so she and Mark could attend church. She noticed that the young man was quieter than usual that morning and soon found herself asking if something was the matter. Elisabeth waited a few moments, but didn't hear a response.

"Mark? ...Mark?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, sitting up and turning towards her. "Did you say something?"

"I asked if something was wrong; you seem distracted today."

"...I guess I am…"

"Care to talk about it?"

Mark looked at the woman for several moments before slowly replying.

"...There's been something about you this entire time I couldn't put my finger on. Something… something that's made me… it's given me this strange feeling."

"That doesn't sound very good," she quietly laughed.

"But it is. ...I finally realized what it was. When you came out this morning in your Sunday dress, holding your Bible… it made me realize that you remind me of my mother. I don't have many memories of Ma… but I remember some things. I remember sitting on her lap on the way to church, her holding Pa's Bible in her hands… I remember she used to sing as she did her work, the way you do at times. And though they are things I don't rightly remember, there are things my pa's told me about her, that I can see in you. It just took the right moment for me to realize that I was remembering Ma… that… I guess I've felt closer to her in the last week."

A gentle smile crossed Elisabeth's face as Mark spoke.

"Well then I'm even more glad you and your father came along and decided to stop at the ranch. I lost my own mother at a young age… and I know how special those moments of memory are."

"...Do you ever worry that one day… you'll forget her… completely?"

Elisabeth paused thoughtfully before answering Mark's question.

"...I do hope that I never forget the memories. But the important thing is that we remember them in our hearts. That we remember the "feeling" they brought to us, and the way we felt about them. As long as we do that, no matter how many details about their eyes or hair or the way they spoke we may not be able to recall, we won't ever forget them."

When they arrived at the church, Mark was surprised by just how small and old the building was. It looked as though it was going to collapse at any given moment and Mark wondered just how many people were supposed to fit inside.

As the young man used his crutches to carefully step down from the rig, an older gentleman shuffled up to Mrs. Grady on the other side of the buckboard.

"Elisabeth, do you know a Mark McCain?"

"I certainly do," she answered as the boy came around the horses. "Right here. Scottie, this is Mark; he's staying with me for a while. Mark, this is Mr. Benson; he runs the telegraph office."

"Oh, didn't see you, sonny. I believe this is for you." The man handed Mark a piece of paper as he went on, "Came in late last night or I would've sent one of the boys to ride it out to Elisabeth's place. Figured I could just bring it this morning instead."

"Thank you." Mark opened the telegram and read the message.

'Mark McCain

℅ Elisabeth Grady

Lincoln, New Mexico

Arrived.

Start back Monday morning.

Lucas McCain

Roswell, New Mexico'

"From your father?" Elisabeth asked.

"Yes ma'am; he arrived in Roswell and will start the trip back here tomorrow."

"I'm glad they made it alright. Scottie, would you care to join us for lunch this afternoon?"

"I could certainly use a break from my own cooking; if you can even call it cooking. Thank you much."

The three made their way inside and sat down together on one of the aged, rickety benches. Mark looked around, subconsciously counting cobwebs and observing the chipped paint on the stained glass windows. It didn't take long for him to come to understand why such a small, poorly maintained building was being used; there were only a dozen people who attended church that morning, the preacher and his wife included.

After the service, Mr. Benson followed Mark and Elisabeth back to the Grady Ranch. Mark did the best he could to assist the old man with the horses once they arrived, but found himself to be of little help. The two soon made their way inside and Mark began setting the table as Mr. Benson struck up a conversation with Mrs. Grady. As the afternoon wore on, Mark enjoyed getting to know the elderly man and was soon getting his fill of war stories.

The three began a game of cribbage after lunch, and just as Mark was taking a lead around the third corner, a knock sounded at the door. Elisabeth rose to answer it, surprised by who she saw standing on her porch.

"...Deputy Wiston," she hesitantly greeted. "What brings you my way?"

"...Mrs. Grady… I think you best come into town."

"Town? Why?"

Mr. Benson began shuffling towards Elisabeth as Mark grabbed his crutches and began hobbling towards the door.

"...It's your husband and son. They were found halfway between here and Roswell…"

"...Found…?" Elisabeth asked in a whisper, her throat tightening.

"It appears it was a robbery gone wrong. Caleb is still unconscious at the doc's."

"Un… unconscious…" Elisabeth breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned against the doorframe. "Then they're alive… they're alright…"

"Mrs. Grady… Caleb is very unstable. Doc Taylor was still working when I left. Abraham… ma'am, I'm sorry. He was dead when they found him."

A sob caught in the widow's throat as tears burned in her eyes. Sinking to her knees, Elisabeth shook her head, clasping a hand over her mouth. As Mr. Benson put a hand on Elisabeth's shoulder, Mark looked to the deputy.

"...Do you know who did it?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not. But whoever did this is probably long gone."

"You can't just let them get away!"

"That's for the sheriff in Picacho to see to; it's his jurisdiction."

Mark continued to stare at the deputy incredulously as the man turned his attention back to Mrs. Grady.

"Ma'am, Abraham's personal effects will be at the jail when you want to collect them." With that, the deputy tipped his hat and walked away; mounting his horse and heading back to town.

Mark moved aside as Mr. Benson helped Elisabeth to her feet and walked her to the sofa.

"Son, you stay with Mrs. Grady, I'll hitch the team."

"Yes sir."

It was a quiet ride into Lincoln; Elisabeth was lost in her grief, Mark didn't know what to say, and Scottie knew better than to say anything. When they arrived at the doctor's office, a crying Alyssa rose from her seat and rushed to Elisabeth. Mark watched as Mrs. Grady put her own grief aside and pulled the younger woman into her arms, gently consoling her.

"He'll be alright; he'll pull through."

"I want to believe that," she cried in a whisper. "But what if he's not alright? What if…"

"Hush now, child…" Elisabeth put her hand under Alyssa's chin and tenderly lifted it. "That's no way to be talking. Caleb loves you and is going to fight with everything he's got. You have to believe that; you have to have faith."

"I can't lose him!"

Elisabeth again pulled Alyssa into her arms as she softly spoke, "We won't lose him… we won't…"

Hours passed before the door leading to the back room of the office finally opened. They all stood, anxiously awaiting the doctor's words.

"...He's still alive, but… I don't know what will happen. I was able to finally get the bullets out, but he lost a lot of blood. We'll know better by morning."

"May I see him, please?" Elisabeth asked, a mother's desperation in her voice.

"You can both go back for a few minutes; but I have to warn you… it's not a pleasant sight."

The women nodded in understanding before making their way to the back room. As the door closed behind them, the telegraph operator turned to the doctor.

"Abe over at the parlor?"

The doctor solemnly nodded in response before turning to Mark.

"How's that leg of yours doing?"

"Still hurts, but it's not bad. ...Doc, I know you said you're not sure… but Caleb…"

"You want my honest opinion?"

Mark nodded.

The doctor stepped closer to Scottie and Mark, lowering his voice, "My educated guess would be that he won't survive the night. It would take a miracle for him to recover."

"...If Elisabeth needs me, I'll be down at the parlor helping Sam. I'll let him know to be expecting Caleb."

"Thanks, Scottie."

Mark watched as the man shuffled out of the office; disbelief shadowing his face.

"Something wrong?" the doctor inquired.

"...It's like he doesn't want to even hope that something will change."

"He's just accepting what will probably come to be. All of us have known Caleb his whole life. Scottie and I were both there the day of his birth. No one wants to see him die… but when the apple is ripe, it will fall."

Mark looked at the doctor for a long moment, not able to grasp how numb these people were to death.

"...If Mrs. Grady asks, will you let her know I'll be back in a while?"

"Where are you headed? You're supposed to be taking it easy with that leg."

"I'll stay off it. I won't be more than an hour."

Mark left the office and using his crutches, walked across town until he arrived at the church. He stepped inside, surprised to see the reverend pacing the back of the building.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone would be here."

"That's quite alright," the man answered with a pleasant smile. "Simply taking advantage of the quiet to talk with the Lord. Can I help you with something?"

"I was just looking for somewhere to pray, myself. I'll go somewhere else."

"You're more than welcome to stay… if the creaking of the floor doesn't bother you."

"No, sir." Mark took a seat on one of the benches. "...Reverend, do you ever think it's too late to pray?"

The man thoughtfully considered the question for a moment before answering with a question of his own. "Do you think you could come up with a request too difficult for the Almighty to handle?"

Mark grinned, nodding in understanding.

—6—

That evening, Mrs. Grady decided to stay at the doctor's office with her son. Scottie offered to drive Mark back to the ranch and help with the evening chores, Mark politely declining Mrs. Grady's invitation for him to stay at the hotel at her expense. Mr. Benson told the young man he would return the following morning before he left Mark alone at the homestead.

It was a quiet evening at the ranch; Mark spent some time sitting out on the front porch, looking out at the night sky. He thought about how much he missed his long talks with his pa, and how much he was looking forward to having them again. Reflecting on the events of the day, the young man thought on how grateful he was to still have his father in his life. He also considered what the doctor had stated that afternoon. He had said that when the apple was ripe, it would fall. Mark knew what the man had meant… that what would be, would be. But he didn't know if he necessarily agreed. Yes, there are times to let the apple fall… but that wasn't always the case. Life was more than happenstance… it was action and reaction; it was cause and effect. Sometimes you have to intervene, or the apple you need will simply stay on the tree and rot away. Mark prayed that the doctor's seemingly hopeless approach to Caleb's struggle for life wouldn't leave the man to rot away.

The young man turned in late that night; his mind wide awake. He couldn't help but remember the look in Mrs. Grady's eyes when he had left town. She put on a smile for Alyssa, but Mark saw past it. The woman was shaken to her core, pained by the loss of her husband… her best friend. Mark remembered what it was like when his mother had died. That same look had been present in his pa's eyes and had stayed there for a long time. There were moments it still appeared, but now it was mingled with acceptance and hope for the future. He prayed that one day, it would be the same for Mrs. Grady.

It was well after midnight when Mark finally drifted off to sleep. The young man was eventually pulled into a strange dream, which dropped him in the middle of North Fork. He looked around to find himself surrounded by horses. Up and down the road they walked, their hooves clomping down the street. "Set it on fire," he heard; looking down to see a torch in his hand. "Leave the horses," another voice told him. "Fire?" Mark asked, looking for those speaking to him. "Set what on fire?"

But no answer came. He only heard someone else ask about the smoke. 'Smoke,' Mark thought. 'If they're setting something on fire, I need to warn Miss Hattie… her lungs can't handle all that smoke.' The boy dropped the torch and paid no mind that it seemingly disappeared. He ran to the general store and was greeted by Hattie Denton. "Mark what can I do for you?" Before Mark could warn the woman, a cloud of smoke suddenly surrounded them. They both began coughing as the smoke rose; soon turning everything so black Mark couldn't see. He clutched his chest as he fell to the ground, a warm orange glow suddenly appearing. It was then that Mark realized what was happening.

He woke on the shanty floor, violently coughing as his lungs filled with smoke. Mark pulled himself across the floor to grab his rifle, crutches, and saddlebags before crawling out of the small building, dragging his leg behind him. Once a safe distance from the house, Mark collapsed onto the ground, raggedly coughing as he tried to clear his lungs. Having partially caught his breath, he turned and looked up to see the house engulfed in a fire, the flames reaching high into the night sky.

In the hours to come, Mark helplessly watched as the Gradys' home burned to the ground. He kept hoping it was all a dream; that he would wake up and find himself back home with his pa. No broken leg, no robbery gone wrong, no fire; no widow mourning the death of her husband, no bride-to-be anticipating the death of her groom. But it wasn't a dream. He was trapped in someone else's nightmare.

When the fire finally died down enough, Mark unsteadily made his way to the well and began throwing buckets of water on the remaining flames. About an hour passed before the last of the embers were finally quenched. Retrieving his rifle and saddlebags along the way, Mark made his way to the barn and wearily threw himself onto the haystack. He slept until the rooster's crow and milked the cow before walking outside, shaking his head at the devastating scene. Mark considered saddling BlueBoy and riding to town, but his leg was giving him too much trouble. All he could do was wait.

Mr. Benson arrived several hours later, shocked by the sight that greeted him. He desperately began calling for the McCain boy, relieved when the young man came walking out of the barn with his crutches.

"What on earth happened?! Are you alright?"

"I woke up last night and the house was on fire… by the time I got outside, it was too far gone. I couldn't do anything."

"What'd you do, leave a lamp lit?!"

"Mr. Benson, I made sure everything was extinguished last night before I went to bed. ...I think someone set the house on fire."

"What makes you think someone would do a crazy thing like that?!"

"...I was asleep… but I was dreaming, too… and I heard horses and voices saying to set things on fire. I think someone was here last night and that it worked itself into my dream."

"But who would do something like this?!"

Mark simply looked at the man with a raised eyebrow, knowing it wasn't the first ranch in the county to be burned and that it probably wouldn't be the last.

"I mean to the Gradys," Scottie grumbled. "They'd never hurt a soul. Always kept to their own business."

"...I know Mrs. Grady said they have some neighbors that are wanting them to sell out."

"The Kenners? They've done a lot of things to try to get this land, but they wouldn't resort to burning down the Gradys' home!"

"...Maybe they figured with Mr. Grady having passed…"

Scottie shook his head. "This is a matter for the sheriff. We best get into town."

Mark didn't say much on the ride into Lincoln. He was exhausted and too preoccupied trying to figure out what exactly he was going to tell Mrs. Grady. Mr. Benson stopped the buckboard in front of the jailhouse and walked inside with the young man. Mark explained what had happened to the sheriff, but didn't know what good it did; the man didn't seem too interested in riding out to the ranch.

"Sometimes accidents just happen," the sheriff stated with a shrug.

"Sometimes," Mark agreed. "But I don't think this was an accident. There was nothing on the property that would have started the fire."

"Embers from neighboring properties might have been blown over."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Well I don't. If you'll excuse me, I have actual crimes to get to the bottom of."

Mark stared after the sheriff as he stood and walked out the door.

"How can he just sit there and-"

"Mark, sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone."

"But-"

"If Elisabeth wants him to look into it, she'll get him to, one way or another. We best let her know what happened."

"...Have you heard anything about Caleb?"

"I stopped in this morning; Doc said he's holding to his own."

Mark and Scottie made their way down to the doctor's office and waited in the front room as Doc Taylor went to get Mrs. Grady. When she came through the door, Mark could tell she had gotten little sleep the night before and had shed her fair share of tears. Regardless, the woman smiled and pleasantly greeted the men.

"Scottie, Mark, good morning. Mark, were things alright at the ranch last night?"

Mark swallowed hard, trying to find the words to say.

"Mark?"

"Mrs. Grady… there was a fire last night. I woke to a room full of smoke and by the time I made it outside… everything was up in flames."

Elisabeth looked at Mark for a long moment. Her expressionless face turned to confusion as she sat down.

"...I assume you're alright?"

"Yes ma'am. And the barn didn't catch fire; the animals are fine."

"Those can be replaced, anyway..." Mrs. Grady turned her gaze to the window. There was a long silence before she turned back to Mark and Scottie. "Do you have any idea how it started?"

Mark sat down and explained what had happened the night before. When Elisabeth didn't say anything in response, Mark felt compelled to continue.

"...Mrs. Grady, I know I was dreaming, but I also know the fire couldn't have been just an accident. Like I said, I tried telling the sheriff, but…"

"Oh, I'll be giving him a piece of my mind… but I'm sure any evidence of foul play was destroyed in the fire. ...Mark, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you could've been…"

"It's not your fault; I was the one who insisted going back to the ranch, anyway."

"You of course will be staying at the hotel now until your father gets back; I'll be sure to arrange things with Mr. Hugh this afternoon."

"I can-"

"It'll be good for me to do something besides sit here and worry. Then maybe you and I can go back to the ranch this afternoon so I can see the damage for myself."

"Elisabeth, I don't think you need to..." Mr. Benson began, but was stopped by the look the woman gave him. "...I best be getting back. Walt will be wondering what happened to me."

"Thank you for everything, Scottie."

—7—

"Austin, I sure appreciated your help this season."

"Not as much as I appreciated the work. Tell Mark goodbye for me, will you?"

"Still sure you want to move on? There's plenty of folks needing full-time hands in North Fork."

"Thanks, Mr. McCain, but I can't stay in one place too long."

"You're welcome at the ranch any time you're in the territory."

"If I'm ever your way, I'll be sure to stop by."

"Have a good trip."

"You too."

Lucas turned Razor around and dug his heels into the horse's flanks, looking forward to seeing his son again. He spent most of the morning on the main road, nodding and waving to the few passersby. Determining that he could save half a day by straying from the usual route, the rancher directed Razor across the open plains.

A lonely stillness hung over the land that day. Lucas's gaze drifted to the distant mountains as he smiled at the memory of Mark waving goodbye. The rancher longed to hear his son's voice again and wished Mark could have been riding beside him. The boy's conversation would have been a welcome distraction from the quiet. In contrast, gunfire abruptly pierced the desert silence. Lucas plummeted from his horse as a bullet tore into the man's leg. He struggled to a straying Razor, pulling his rifle from the scabbard as another shot rang out, this time striking its target in the back. Again collapsing to the ground, the rancher painfully lifted his head, attempting to make out the figure approaching him. Bewilderment shadowed Lucas's face before another bullet was discharged from the perpetrator's firearm; 'Mark,' being the father's last conscious thought.

—8—

Rain. It seemed almost fitting for such a solemn occasion. Wednesday morning, Mark found himself standing across the grave from Mrs. Grady as Reverend Parker made his final remarks. The young man thought back to the day he had met Elisabeth. There had been so much… so much life in her eyes. She didn't seem to have a care in the world and had a vibrancy about her. It was such a stark contrast from the widow that now stood in front of him. Her face seemed so pale against the black of her dress; her eyes no longer glowed and they looked tired. But not just tired… dead. Though Mark hadn't been able to meet Mr. Grady, he grieved for the pain this tragedy had brought the man's wife. He grieved for the hurt the man's death caused Alyssa, and he grieved for the horrifying reality Caleb would wake to… if he ever did wake up. Mark wished his pa was there. Not to say or do anything, but just to be there. Just so they could be together. ...Just to have the assurance that he wouldn't be in Caleb's position any time soon.

After the funeral, Mark and Elisabeth quietly returned to the doctor's office. Doc Taylor informed them that there had been no change in Caleb's condition before taking his leave to make a house call. The silence in the office went unbroken for several long moments before Mrs. Grady turned to Mark.

"...I need to place an order for materials if we're going to have the house rebuilt by winter. Would you mind taking a list over to the mercantile once it stops raining? You can tell Henry just to put it on my account. I… I'd like some time with Caleb."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

A sob catching in her throat, Elisabeth shook her head and turned towards the doctor's desk where she began writing a list. When she was finished, the woman left the pen and paper on the desk before disappearing behind the door; not daring to look at Mark.

The young man walked forward and lifted the list from the desk, looking it over with a heavy sigh. Mark then took a seat and waited for the rain to stop.

One hour turned to two; the doctor returning before Mark realized that the storm had no intention of passing anytime soon. Bringing the list and his rifle with him, Mark used the crutches to walk down to the store.

"Can I help you?" a man asked from behind the counter.

"I'm here for Mrs. Grady, she said she needed to order some materials and that you could put it on her account."

"She's really rebuilding?"

"...Wouldn't you?"

"Not in this town." The man took the list from Mark and briefly looked it over. "Most of this I can have gathered up by tomorrow if someone wants to pick it up around back. The lumber will be a special order, take about two weeks to get here. And the kerosene, that'll have to wait until my shipment next month."

"She just needed the one canister… you don't have any?"

"Naw, the Kenners cleaned me out last Saturday. All ten canisters."

"...The Kenners?"

"Neighbors of Elisabeth and Abra… neighbors of Elisabeth."

"...I know they live next to the Grady's ranch, but… did they say what they wanted all of that kerosene for?"

"Jeremiah didn't say. I just figured they were stocking up for winter before the ranchers got back from market."

"Thanks…"

As Mark started to leave, the proprietor called out after him, "Eleven o'clock tomorrow, I'll have this order ready!"

Mark mindlessly nodded before walking out the door and quickly making his way to the livery.

"Mr. Freedman?"

A man stepped from one of the stalls, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Mark, what can I do for you?"

"Would you mind hooking up the Grady's team for me? I have to go back to the ranch."

"In the rain?"

"A little rain never hurt anyone; it's important."

"Should you be handling the team with your injury?"

"It's my leg, not my arm. I've been handling a team most of my life; I'll be fine."

"If you're sure…"

"Thank you."

Mark was soon pulling into the Grady's yard and bringing the horses to a stop. Only using one of the crutches, the young man made his way to what was left of the house and began his search. He had been around the building what felt like twenty times before finally finding an empty kerosene canister. Knowing this wouldn't be enough for the sheriff in town, Mark continued his search, carefully surveying the ground for anything the rain hadn't washed away. He finally gave up and started making his way back to the buckboard when something caught his eye by the barn door. Underneath the lip of the roof, protected from the rain, Mark found a partial cigar. The same kind of cigar he had seen one of the Kenner brothers smoking just a few days before the fire.

—9—

Elisabeth was at her son's side silently praying when a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," she called, forcing a weak smile on her face. It quickly disappeared as a man stepped into the room. "Jeremiah, what do you want?"

"Just to talk," the man casually replied as he closed the door behind him.

"There's nothing for us to discuss, so I suggest you take your leave."

"Come now, Elisabeth. We've been friends a long time, no need to get all hostile."

"Friends? That's laughable. I can't remember a day of my life being on good terms with you."

"...There was sixth grade."

"Oh yes, sixth grade… at the end of which you locked me in the smoke house."

"Well you did let my frogs go."

"As I told you then, that was your brothers, not me."

"Elisabeth, let's put this age old feud aside. You can't run the ranch on your own and-"

The woman stared at him incredulously.

"If I didn't know you better, I would think you're joshing me. My husband's been in the ground for hardly six hours and you come in here to try and take my land away?"

"Take it away? By no means." The man took several more steps towards Elisabeth. "You have to start thinking about your future. We'd give you a fair deal. Take all that troublesome land off your hands…"

Her disgust showing on her face, Elisabeth stood and walked towards the man, pointing a finger at him.

"Jeremiah Kenner you and your family will never own that land! I don't care what it takes, we'll keep the ranch running! You can threaten me, you can burn my home to the ground, you can offer me all the money in the world; I won't sell!"

"Be reasonable, Bess…" The man roughly grabbed her arm and began walking forward until Elisabeth was pinned against the wall. "This doesn't have to be difficult…"

"You get your hands off me!"

Jeremiah cupped his hand over Elisabeth's mouth as he began manipulating her arm beyond its natural position.

"You don't seem to understand. We really don't want to hurt anyone, but our patience is wearing thin. You rebuild, we'll burn it down again. You run cattle, someone's gonna start rustling. Your son tries an' fill his pa's shoes… he might just end up filling his pa's grave."

Elisabeth stared at the man in horror; a crooked smile appearing on his face. He slowly released his grip on the woman before tipping his hat.

"I'll be by tomorrow with the papers."

The man started walking away, but froze as Elisabeth replied.

"I won't sell. Not now, not ever. You stay away from my property and my son, or so help me-"

The man spun around and charged Elisabeth, slamming her into the wall and grabbing her by the shoulders.

"That was a mist-"

"Let her go," a voice ordered.

Elisabeth looked up, her eyes filling with relief as she saw the sheriff standing in the doorway, gun drawn. Jeremiah released his grip on the woman, slowly turning around.

"Preston, I think there's been a misunderstanding here…"

"No misunderstanding. Jeremiah Kenner, I'm arresting you for arson."

"Arson?! How could you come up with such a ridiculous accusation?!"

"The same way he could have you charged with attempted murder," Mark answered, emerging from behind the lawman.

"Attempted murder?!"

"The boy was at the ranch when you and your brothers set it on fire."

"We didn't kn…!"

"You didn't know what?" Sheriff Preston inquired.

"You… you can't prove anything! ...Because we didn't set no house on fire!"

"We'll see what a judge and jury have to say about that. Give me your gun."

The man hesitated before following the sheriff's order. As Jeremiah was escorted from the office, Mark hobbled toward Mrs. Grady.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes…" The woman shifted her gaze from the door to the young man. "Mark, what happened to you? You're soaked to the bone!"

"I went out to the ranch for a while."

"You did what?! By yourself?! Mark McCain, you should know better than to-"

"And I found the evidence you need to charge the Kenners for setting your house on fire."

The woman tried to maintain her disapproving frown, but her attempts were met with Mark's mischievously innocent grin.

"You are going to have quite a bit of explaining to do when your pa gets here," she chuckled.

"I reckon so… if he ever does get here. I hope all this rain doesn't wash that main bridge out. That'll set him back at least another day."

"Oh, I think it'll be alright. One day of rain has never washed that bridge out."

"I hope you're right…"

"No sense in worrying about it. Even if it is washed out, he'll still be here by the week's end. Now, why don't you and I head over to the hotel and get something to eat?"

"...What about Caleb?"

"...No sense in me sitting here, fretting, either. Doc will let me know if something changes."

—10—

"Ralph, look over there!"

The man turned to where his brother was pointing to see a prone figure on the ground beside a grouping of boulders. He dismounted and approached the body, holding two fingers underneath the man's jaw.

"He still alive?"

"Shot up like that, he won't be much longer. Let's get out of here." The man turned around and again mounted his horse.

"We can't just leave him there!"

"And who are they gonna blame when two strangers ride into town with a dead body? It ain't none of our business."

The younger brother strode towards the injured man and knelt down beside him. "If we shot him, why would we bring him into town? And he ain't dead yet!"

"We've got fifteen miles yet to cover today. I'm not riding an extra ten miles just to deliver a body."

"...What about that surveyors' cabin we stayed at a few years back? It's only about a mile out of the way, we could at least take him there so he'd have some shelter. Someone will eventually find him."

"He'll be dead by nightfall either way. Just let the apple fall."

"Go on if you want, I'll catch up later."

Grumbling to himself, Ralph dismounted once again and joined his brother at the man's side. "This is just a waste of time," he complained.

"And yet you're still here."

—11—

Mark woke Saturday morning to find that it was still raining. He had hoped that after three days the weather would finally clear, but the rain continued to fall from the sky. After reaching for one of the crutches, Mark made his way across the room to the wash basin and splashed some water on his face. He looked up into the mirror and let out a heavy sigh, knowing each day of rain would delay his pa's return even longer.

The young man changed and grabbed his rifle before hobbling down to the lobby of the hotel where he was greeted by the clerk. They made some small talk before Mark started to make his way to the hotel's cafe, but he suddenly stopped as he saw Alyssa run past the window. As quickly as he could, Mark followed after the young woman and watched her disappear into the doctor's office. A few moments later he entered the same building to see the doctor sitting at his desk.

"...Caleb?" he asked in concern.

A smile crossed the doctor's face as he answered, "The boy decided to finally wake up."

"He'll be alright, then?"

"I ain't God, but as far as I can figure it, if he's held on this long there's no reason he won't recover."

Mark breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped into one of the waiting room chairs.

"Where's your other crutch?"

"Easier to carry my rifle with just the one."

"Easier for you to fall and hurt your leg again, too."

"I'll be fine."

"That's what they all say…"

Mark sat in the front room of the office for quite some time. He didn't know what exactly he was waiting for, but he reckoned he didn't have anything better to do. It was a quarter before ten when Elisabeth stepped into the waiting room, surprised to see Mark there.

"How long have you been here? You should've come back!"

"I didn't want to intrude. I'm glad Caleb's alright."

"Intrude," the woman chuckled. "Come on, I want you two to meet!"

"Really, I don't mind waiting until he's feeling better."

"Nonsense. Come on!"

Mark slowly stood and followed Mrs. Grady into the back room. Caleb and Alyssa both looked up as they entered, smiles on their faces.

"Well now, you must be the Mark McCain I've heard so much about," Caleb stated, extending his hand.

Mark shook the man's hand as a small smile appeared on his face. "Good to finally meet you, awake."

"Based on what Alyssa and Ma have told me, it seems I have a lot to thank you for."

"I don't know what you mean," Mark answered in confusion.

"Well, seein' after my mother and the ranch, getting do-nothin' Preston to actually arrest those mangy Kenners…"

"Well if it wasn't for your ma opening up your home to me in the first place, I wouldn't have been there."

"Thank you just the same. How much longer are you figuring you'll be here?"

"Well my pa should've been back Wednesday or Thursday, but it's done nothing but rain since the…" Mark caught himself before going on, "...Since Wednesday morning. Hopefully he'll be here tonight or tomorrow."

"Well it certainly seems as though the weather is coming around," Elisabeth commented, gesturing out the window.

Mark looked outside to see the sun finally breaking through the clouds and nodded, subconsciously relaxing. His pa would be back soon.

—12—

Micah looked up from his desk as the door to his office swung open.

"Amos," the marshal greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"Got a telegram for you from the Marshals Office in Denver. I've been waiting two days for you to get back, they keep wiring for an answer."

Micah took the telegraph from Amos and read it before letting out a heavy sigh. "Doesn't look like I've got much of a choice. Tell them I'll leave in a few hours."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks."

The marshal shook his head before pushing himself up out of the old chair. He strapped on his gun belt once again and checked his shotgun before walking down to the livery.

"Nils?"

The liveryman came out from behind one of the stalls, wiping his forehead with a rag.

"Oh, hey Micah. Here for that badge?"

"I wish I was. I just got orders to deliver a prisoner up in Denver. I'll be gone another three weeks or so. Will you help Ben keep the order until Lucas or me get back?"

"Sure. You don't think Lucas will be longer than you, do ya?"

"Not unless he and Mark decide to take a hunting trip up in the hills. But after all that time in the saddle, I'm sure they'll both be ready to get home. I'd expect him in another week or so."

"We'll take care of things until then. Have a good trip."

"Thanks," Micah replied; sarcasm in his voice.

—13—

Mark waited with eager anticipation all through Sunday, hoping to see his pa turn up in town. That night, Mark was disappointed to be taking the stairs to his hotel room alone, but knew it would be the last time. Even if the bridge had been washed out, his pa would be back by the following evening.

Mark slept well that night and woke early the next morning. With more excitement about him than usual, the young man made his way down to the cafe for breakfast. He then had plans to spend some time at the livery and headed for the front door of the hotel, stopping when he saw a newspaper on the table in the lobby.

'Ten Dead: Murders Increase with Cattle Sales'

Mark grabbed the newspaper and sat down to read the article. It went on to report a series of muggings on main roads across the territory, several of the dead ranchers having been found near Roswell. He read through the names of the deceased, relieved to not see 'Lucas McCain' on the list, but quite conscious of the fact that his pa was overdue. The excitement he had felt just a few minutes before was now replaced with concern as Mark slowly walked to the stables.

"Mark, I was wondering when you would come by again. How…" The liveryman hesitated as he got a good look at the boy's face. "What's wrong? Is it Caleb?"

"What?" Mark looked up, shaking his head. "Sorry, Mr. Freedman. I'm a little distracted this morning."

"I can see that. Is everything alright?"

"Well… my pa was supposed to be back last Wednesday or Thursday. With the rain I expected him to be delayed, but he really should've been here by last night and… did you see the paper this morning?"

"Haven't had a chance."

"...Ranchers are being robbed and killed on the way back from market. And with what happened to the Gradys..."

"Don't worry too much, like you said, the rain just delayed him, I'm sure."

"I hope that's all…"

"How's the leg?"

"Just sore. Doc Taylor had a look at it Friday and said it was healing well."

"That's mighty good to hear." The man smiled as he watched Mark feed BlueBoy a sugar cube. "You're going to spoil that horse of yours."

"Going to nothin'. He's already spoiled." The horse snorted as his master scratched his neck.

"How long have you had that horse?"

"Oh, about eight or nine years now. I raised him from a colt… my pa bought him for me when we were living in Texas."

"I thought you folks were from Oklahoma territory?"

"We were, up until my mother died. We spent a few years traveling around, trying to find the right place to call home before finally settling here in New Mexico."

"It's a rough country, but well worth it."

"Yes sir, it is…"

Though Mark kept telling himself not to worry, he got more anxious with every passing hour. After supper at the doctor's office with the Gradys and Alyssa, Mark sat in the hotel lobby, staring out the window. The sun eventually set, and in time, the cafe closed. A few hours later the clerk locked the front door and went to the office, but Mark continued to wait. Shortly after three in the morning, Mark watched the last person leave the casino. The young man finally gave in and headed to his hotel room.

Climbing those stairs was something Mark had done countless times that week. He had learned how to best maneuver his way up and down the staircase with ease. ...But this time was different. This time, he felt a heavy burden weighing him down. This time, Mark knew his pa should have been with him.

—14—

Elisabeth entered the hotel and looked around the cafe before returning to the lobby and greeting the clerk.

"Good morning, Howard. Have you seen Mark McCain this morning?"

"Who?"

"The boy on the crutches."

"Oh, him. No, I haven't seen him."

Elisabeth thanked the man and took the stairs to the second floor of the establishment before knocking on the door of room number twelve. A few moments later the door opened, revealing an exhausted Mark on the other side.

"Mrs. Grady," Mark greeted with a faint smile, allowing the woman to enter the room.

"Are you alright? You look exhausted!"

"...I just didn't sleep well last night. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I was just concerned… you've usually stopped at Doc's by now and Phillip said you hadn't been by the livery. ...Mark, what's the matter?"

"...Did you see the paper yesterday?"

"I did."

"Pa didn't come back last night."

"We knew that with the rain…"

"It stopped raining Saturday morning. He really should've been here that night. I thought for sure he'd get back last night… but he didn't. I'm worried something happened to him."

"I'm sure your pa is fine. Maybe something came up."

"My pa would've wired."

"Maybe he couldn't?"

Mark shook his head and walked to the window, looking out onto the street.

"I can feel it. Something's not right."

"...Give him another day, maybe his horse threw a shoe."

"And if he doesn't come back?"

"We'll cross that bridge IF we get to it."

The hours dragged by as Mark waited for the day to pass. He didn't know why he was humoring Mrs. Grady; he knew something was wrong and that his pa wasn't going to be riding into town.

Rising with the sun the next morning, Mark walked down to the Sheriff's office where he had to wait another hour for Preston to show up.

"...Can I help you?" the sheriff asked as he entered the building.

"Sheriff Preston, my pa's overdue coming back from market. Something's happened."

"What makes you say that?" The sheriff tossed a newspaper onto the desk and sat down in his chair.

"Because at the absolute latest he should've been here Monday, if not Saturday or Sunday. If something delayed him longer than that, he would've wired. And with all the robberies taking place…"

"You're just over concerned. It's understandable after what happened to Abe."

"I'm not over concerned! Something is wrong!"

"Give it another week and-"

"A week?!" Mark didn't wait for the sheriff to reply and turned around, headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To find my pa!"

Preston quickly strode towards the door and held it closed.

"Boy, it's nothing but wasteland out there. You'd wind up getting yourself lost, and probably killed with that leg of yours. It'd take weeks for a whole search party to do a thorough search of the area, and you have a trial to testify at Monday after next. You aren't going anywhere!"

"Then do something! Trial or not, I don't care! Something has happened to my pa!"

"With all this rain-"

"He's had plenty of time to get back here, even with the rain! You may not care about my pa, but I'm sure you care about your job!"

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that unless you want Senator Borden and a few others knowing about all the head-turning you do around here, you'll do something to help find my pa!"

Preston laughed at the boy's threat. "Like anyone would listen to you."

"It just so happens that I saved the man's life last year! You willing to bet your badge I'm not telling the truth?"

The sheriff looked down at Mark; irritation on both their faces.

"Fine," Preston gave in, returning to his desk. "It'll be a waste of time, but if you insist on being so stubborn about this, I'll wire the sheriffs and marshals between here and…"

"Roswell."

"And ask them to do a search of the main roads. But I'm sure just as soon as I send out all those wires, that sodbuster pa of yours will come riding into town."

"Believe what you will, but I'm telling you something's not right."

Mark left the office, anger and frustration boiling inside of him. Why didn't anyone believe him? Why didn't anyone seem to care? Mark turned to see his reflection in the window of the mercantile. ...Was that why? If he looked his age, if he wasn't hobbling around on a crutch like a helpless child, would they take him more seriously?

Mark returned to the hotel, collapsing on the bed once he reached his room. A wide range of questions and worries raced through his head as he looked up at the ceiling. There were so many things that could've gone wrong and Mark felt guilty that he couldn't be out there, looking for his pa. He didn't agree with Preston on much, but he knew his leg wouldn't let him get very far. He had no choice but to wait.

Mark fiddled with his hat as he let out a deep breath. 'Where are ya, Pa?'

—15—

Lucas had faded between consciousness and unconsciousness for several days; never awake long enough to get his bearings. At last, the rancher was able to force his eyes to stay open, allowing him to take in his surroundings. He was face down on a cot in a rather small cabin. From where he lay, the man could make out the fireplace, a table and chair, and a few cabinets. Lucas painfully sat up before struggling to his feet. He stumbled to the table, quickly collapsing in the chair. He looked down at his blood-stained jeans and tore at the bullet hole in the material, revealing an infected wound. Surveying the shack again, Lucas used the table to push himself up and stumbled towards the cabinets, relieved to find canned and dried goods. He quickly ate what he could, knowing he was prone to lose consciousness again soon.

His hunger pains having been resolved for the time being, Lucas painfully crossed the room again and carefully sat down beside the hearth. Using what little wood was left, the rancher kindled a small fire before giving into the darkness again.

—16—

It was a painfully long wait as Mark anticipated news about his pa. Day after day, Mr. Benson had to tell Mark that there had been no word from any of the towns they had wired.

Saturday, Doc Taylor released Caleb to stay at the hotel and helped Mrs. Grady and Alyssa get him settled before leaving to make his rounds. Elisabeth told her son she would return in a few hours, giving Caleb and Alyssa time alone to talk about the weeks to come. The woman then headed down the hall and knocked on Mark's door.

"Come in."

Elisabeth pushed the door open to see Mark sitting by the window, staring down the street.

"Scottie is busy today, would you like to accompany me to the ranch so I can tend to the stock?"

Mark shrugged before grabbing his crutches and walking towards the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Mark turned back and looked at the rifle. He didn't want to take it. He couldn't. It hurt too much.

"No, I think I best leave it here. Doc Taylor prefers I use both crutches and it's harder when I'm trying to carry it."

As Mark turned back towards Mrs. Grady, she looked into the boy's pained eyes.

"Mark, are you alright?"

"Like you said, no sense sitting here and worrying about it. We better get to the ranch if we want to be back by sundown."

It was a quiet ride to the Grady ranch. Mark offered to milk the cow while Elisabeth saw to the other chores; leaving the barn as soon as he was finished. Once Elisabeth completed her tasks, she stepped outside to see Mark a short distance from the homestead, staring into the open land. She approached the boy, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder.

"...Mark, won't you talk to me?"

Mark continued gazing across the field, finally finding his voice in a quiet whisper.

"...My pa left me once, a few years ago. All our cattle had died. He left me in North Fork to find some work. He promised me he'd come back, but he wouldn't let me go with him. I lost faith in my pa. I hadn't heard anything for most of two months and figured he'd just as soon move on and start over without me. I thought he didn't want to come back. And when it was all over, I thought nothing could be worse than what I went through in those weeks. …But while most of me had given up on my pa… while I thought he had just left me… there was still that small hope buried deep inside all the hurt feelings and confused thoughts. A hope that maybe, just maybe, my pa would change his mind. That maybe, one day, he would come back and love me again. I was scared and confused and I was wrong for losing faith in my pa. I know now my pa won't ever stop loving me. But what's worse than everything that happened in those two months is being stuck here, knowing that my pa can't simply change his mind and come back. Knowing that he should be here, and wants to be here, but someone or something is stopping that from happening. Knowing that… that that something could be…" Mark couldn't finish. He had thought it over and over again, but he couldn't bear to put it into words.

"I'm sure he's going to be alright…"

Mark turned around with anger on his face. "He'll be alright? Just like your-" He stopped, horrified by what he had almost said. "...Mrs. Grady, I apologize. That was uncalled for."

"...I understand. Mark, no matter what happened, you can't give up. You can't lose hope. Your father will be found and you'll go home together."

Without voicing a reply Mark nodded, but the woman's words did little to alleviate his fears.

Once they returned to town, Scottie informed Mark that four of the six lawmen between Licoln and Roswell had finally responded.

"Did they find anything?" Mark desperately asked, stepping down from the buckboard.

"I'm afraid not. ...But on the bright side… they at least… didn't find…" The telegraph clerk hesitated to say it. "...Well, anything."

Mark let out a heavy sigh as he nodded. "...Thank you, Mr. Benson."

Mark returned to his room where he stayed the rest of the evening and the majority of the next day. Sunday night, Mark couldn't fall asleep and quietly slipped out of the hotel. He walked the streets of Lincoln, wishing more than anything that his pa was there with him.

The young rancher wandered for several hours before exhaustion finally caught up with him. Mark was getting ready to return to the hotel when he suddenly heard a voice behind him.

"Son?"

The boy's heart leapt at the sound of Lucas's voice; but it sank as he turned around and realized that no one was there. He was imagining things. His pa was still missing. He was still alone.

—17—

Early Monday morning, Mark made his way to the telegraph office.

"Mark, I was just headed over to the hotel. The last two marshals answered; they didn't find anything."

"...So that's it? That's all anyone's gonna do?"

"Not much else to be done," Preston declared from behind Mark. "He'll turn up eventually."

Mark shook his head in disgust. He waited for the sheriff to finish his business at the office and leave before turning to Mr. Benson.

"I'd like to send a telegram to Marshal Micah Torrence in North Fork."

"You think he'd come all the way here?"

"I don't think, I know. He and Pa are as close as brothers."

"Write it out, I'll send it."

Mark took the pencil and paper from the clerk and wrote his message before giving them back. "I'll be back in a while to check for a reply."

Mark returned to the telegraph office several times throughout the day to no avail. He didn't understand what was taking so long. With all the cowhands traveling through North Fork, Micah wouldn't dare leave town.

The days slowly dragged by, Mark becoming more and more irritated. It wasn't until late Thursday evening that he finally received a response.

'Mark McCain

Lincoln, New Mexico

Micah transporting prisoner.

Can't find him.

Will keep trying.

Amos Blaine

North Fork, New Mexico'

Mark slammed his fist on the counter before crumpling the telegram and throwing it in the wastebasket.

"I'm sorry," Scottie offered.

Mark turned around and hobbled out of the office, his eyes burning with tears.

—18—

Monday couldn't come fast enough. Mark gave his testimony at the trial and slipped out the back door while the jury deliberated. He left a note under Mrs. Grady's hotel room door before returning to his own room to gather his things. This time there was no hesitation in taking his rifle. Mark knew he would be needing it.

It had been just over four weeks since Mark had broken his leg. And while he knew it wasn't even close to being completely healed, Mark knew it was healed enough that he could use it if he had to. Even if it hadn't been healed enough, Mark didn't care anymore. He needed to find his pa.

Mark headed for the livery and awkwardly saddled BlueBoy before tying down his saddle bags. He then put his rifle in the scabbard and hung one of the crutches over the pommel. Mounting the horse was still a bit difficult, but Mark eventually managed and was soon headed southeast out of town.

The young rancher was typically a friendly rider; waving or tipping his hat at those he passed. But today was different. Mark kept his eyes set on the horizon, ignoring those he met on the road. His thoughts were on his pa, and on those who had refused to do anything about his disappearance. Fear for his pa's life and rage for those who had ignored his pleas for help burned inside of the young man. He had spent all weekend trying to get help from the people of Lincoln, but few seemed to care and those who did show some concern couldn't offer any assistance. Even Mrs. Grady, who understood Mark's concerns, had stayed up late the night before insisting that the boy couldn't strike out on his own. Mark had left the woman with the impression that she had gotten through to him, but he had known full well what his plans were.

It took the remainder of the afternoon and a good portion of that evening for Mark to ride to Hondo. He headed straight for the saloon, ignoring the strange stares he received.

"Aren't you a little young to be here?" the barkeep inquired.

"I ain't here to drink. I'm looking for a man, Lucas McCain. About a foot taller than me, blond hair, blue eyes, and carries a Winchester rifle. I need to know if you've seen him or overheard any conversation about a man fitting that description."

"...None that I can recall. ...Son, you got no business bounty hunting."

Mark didn't answer the man and left the saloon. He made his way to the doctor's office, asking the same questions and leaving in the same abrupt manner. He continued on to the livery, the sheriff's office, and finally, the hotel. Without having found anything, Mark registered for a room, took BlueBoy to the stable, and retired for the evening. He didn't bother changing and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Though Mark hadn't done anything physically demanding that day, the mental and emotional strain on the young man was too much. He wanted nothing more than to escape the countless possibilities of what could have happened to his pa, and yet he was left no choice but to face them.

Mark thought back to that last morning with his pa. He remembered the feeling that had developed in the pit of his stomach as he got ready to say goodbye. He remembered the way his pa had looked at him. The warmth and tenderness of the big man's eyes. Mark yearned to look into those eyes again; to know that his pa was still alive. He couldn't live without his pa… not again.

The young man continued to stare up at the ceiling as his heart continued to ache. His chest tightened as he thought about the possibility of coming across his pa's dead body.

Finally, Mark had enough. He couldn't go there; he had to hold onto the hope that his pa was still alive. Pushing the thought from his mind, Mark got underneath the covers and held a pillow over his head, trying to drown out the noise from the saloon.

—19—

Mark was on his way to the next town early the following morning. He again followed an alternate route, knowing that the main road had already been searched and that it was regularly travelled that time of year.

Three hours after leaving Hondo, the young man arrived in Picacho. Mark was much calmer that morning as he walked into the sheriff's office and was greeted by a short, stocky man wearing a deputy's badge.

"Top of the morning to you."

"Deputy." Relying heavily on his crutch, Mark approached the desk. "I'm looking for a Lucas McCain. About six and a half feet tall, light hair, blue eyes, and he carries a Winchester rifle."

"...You talking about The Rifleman?"

"Have you seen him?"

"No," the man laughed. "No one like that's come through here in years. You got a score to settle? You seem to be a little young to be looking to gun someone like that down."

Mark's brow furrowed in confusion until he remembered that he was carrying his own rifle.

"No, nothing like that. He's overdue returning from Roswell."

"That's right… I remember now, we got a telegram a while back asking about him. You must be from Lincoln."

"...If he does happen to show up, will you tell him I'm making my way to Roswell?"

"Well sure, but who am I supposed to say is looking for him?"

"Sorry," he apologized, shaking his head. "I'm Mark McCain. I'm his son."

The deputy stared at the boy with a raised eyebrow. "His son?"

"Yes sir. Have a good day."

Mark left the office and hobbled down to the livery, doctor's office, and hotel. He finally stopped at the saloon to speak with the barkeep before mounting BlueBoy and leaving town.

The lone rider spent a good portion of the day searching the hill country between Picacho and the Riverside Stage Depot. With each passing hour, Mark's heart sank deeper and deeper until he almost felt numb. Memories of Mr. Grady's coffin flashed through the boy's mind; the thought of 'Lucas McCain' being written on a headstone taunting him.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, Mark rode into Riverside. He wearily walked inside the depot and headed to the counter where a man of Micah's age stood.

"Can I help you, young man?"

"I'm looking for my pa. He's been missing for a couple weeks, should've been headed from Roswell to Lincoln. Tall, carries a Winchester rifle… would've been on a horse, not the stage."

"...I'm sorry, I don't recall anyone fitting that description. ...You traveling alone?"

Mark nodded. "Do you have any rooms upstairs?"

"Seventy-five cents a night, and that includes boarding your horse in the stable."

"Thanks, mister." Mark slapped a few coins on the counter and started for the door, but the man's voice stopped him.

"...I have to tend to the stock, anyway; I'll get your horse. Why don't you sit and rest a spell? The missus should have supper done shortly."

"I can-"

"Son, take a seat. By the looks of you, you need it."

Mark hesitated before thanking the man and sitting down at one of the tables. The depot manager headed outside and led BlueBoy to the barn. After tending to the animals, he returned inside to find the boy asleep at the table. The man walked to the kitchen and called to his wife.

"Mary?"

"Yes?"

"We got a guest for supper."

"Just one? No one else on the stage?"

"Stage passed through hours ago; they decided to keep going. Boy rode in, says he's looking for his father."

"His father? And he was alone? Just a boy?"

"Well, I figure him to be sixteen or so, but a boy just the same."

"A boy of that age shouldn't be riding this country alone!"

"Maybe we can talk him out of it over supper… provided he wakes up in time."

"Wakes up?"

The man motioned for his wife to follow him. Cracking open the kitchen door, they both looked into the front room to see Mark resting his head on one of the tables, dead to the world.

"You leave him be until he wakes," Mary ordered.

"I will."

Mark didn't sleep long and was soon enjoying supper with the couple who had introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Porter. The beginning of the meal was a welcome distraction from Mark's concerns, but the conversation eventually turned to his reason for being in Riverside.

"Thomas told me you're looking for your father?" Mary inquired.

"...Yes ma'am. We were taking our cattle to market when I broke my leg. He left me in Lincoln and was supposed to be back a few weeks ago… no one's seen or heard from him since he wired me, saying he was headed back."

"Are you sure he wasn't simply delayed?"

By the fire that flashed in the young man's eyes, Mr. and Mrs. Porter knew the question had angered him; yet he respectfully answered Mary's question.

"No ma'am. It's been too long for that and my pa wouldn't wait this long without sending word. Besides that… I don't know how to explain it, but I can just feel it. Something happened to him."

Thomas hesitated in asking, "...Have you tried wiring back home? Perhaps someone back there has heard something."

"I did. I wired our marshal to ask for his help, but the telegraph clerk responded saying Micah was transporting a prisoner and they couldn't find him."

"...Do you really think your father would want you out here alone?"

"I don't really care what my pa would want right now. When he's with me and well he can dictate what I do, but I'm not going to just sit around and wait to find out that he turned up dead somewhere." Mark looked down at his plate, surprised by what he had said. He knew that to the Porters, his statement must have sounded cold and harsh. But Mark knew that the words he had spoken were laced with fear, grief, and pain.

"What about your mother?" Mary softly asked. "She must be worried sick about you."

"...My ma's dead. Pa is all I have left."

"I know you're mighty worried, son," Thomas replied. "But why don't you stay here for a few days? We can wire around and-"

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Porter, but we already tried that. I appreciate your hospitality, but I'll be leaving first thing in the morning, and I'd kindly ask you not to try and talk me out of it."

—20—

The night was young and a man dressed in black sat at a saloon table, contemplating his hand. An easy smile appeared on his face as he pushed his hat back and looked up at his opponent. "I'll raise you another fifty."

"You seem pretty set on going broke tonight."

"You ready to put your money where your mouth is, Cade?"

"I'll do better than that."

The man silently chuckled as his opponent challenged him with another hundred dollar bill. He matched the cash, shaking his head. "I'm calling your bluff."

"Sorry, mister, no bluff. Four of a kind." A crooked smile crossed his face as he laid down four aces and a queen.

"Straight Flush." The man in black began collecting his money, but froze as the sound of a rifle being cocked echoed behind him.

"Where is he?" a voice demanded.

The man's opponent curiously looked around before asking, "You talking to me?"

"Don't you try me, Austin. That's his billfold you're playing from and the hand at the livery saw you ride in with his horse and rifle."

"Boy, I don't know who you are or who you're looking for, but you sure haven't found him." The man started to stand; only for his hat to be shot off.

"You wanna take a wild, wild guess at who taught me how to handle this rifle?"

"Look, kid, I already told you…"

"Looks like we're gonna be taking a walk down to the marshal's office, then."

The man facing Austin watched as he suddenly went for his gun. The saloon owner instinctively drew and fired, striking his target in the chest. As Cade fell to the ground, a boy rushed to him and grabbed the man's shirt in balled fists.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!"

The dying man laughed at the anger in Mark's eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have left a loose end…"

"WHERE IS HE?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"TELL ME WHERE!"

The man only replied with a smug grin.

The owner of the saloon watched as the youth let Cade drop to the ground and ran from the building, heavily limping. The man in black slowly approached Austin, shaking his head. "You picked the wrong people to cross, Cade."

Austin's brow furrowed in confusion, but his expression quickly turned to one of pain as the proprietor stepped on the man's bullet wound.

"You tell me where you left him."

"Borden Hill!" Austin yelped. "Five miles outside of…" The man gasped for breath as the pressure from his wound was released, unaware that it would be his last.

"Jake, you're in charge until I get back."

The man in black collected the money and billfold that were laying on the table before walking down the street to the stables. He saddled his horse and mounted up, then followed after the boy. It only took a few minutes of hard riding before he saw a figure riding in the distance, leading another horse behind him.

Mark knew someone was approaching him, but he paid it no mind. His only thought was to keep looking for his pa.

"You left the money," a voice called out behind him.

"I don't care."

"I'm sure Luke would."

Mark pulled hard on BlueBoy's reins. He turned as the rider came up beside him; bewilderment crossing his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Bannock didn't work out too well. Mark, what happened? Sounds to me like your pa got himself caught up in a witch's brew."

"Pa didn't come back from selling our cattle. I've been on the trail all week. I saw Pa's horse at the livery and… and I thought I had finally found him…"

"How does Cade figure into all this? Sounded to me like it wasn't the first time you'd met."

Contempt was evident in the young man's voice as he spoke. "It wasn't. Austin's been working at the ranch all summer. ...All summer…"

As Mark started forward again, the man reached out and grabbed BlueBoy's bridle. Anger flashed in the youth's eyes, warning him to let go.

"What happened to your leg?"

"Doesn't matter, it's fine. I'm going after my pa."

"Boy…"

"I'm not a boy!"

"Yes, you are. Doesn't mean you ain't a young man, but you've still got a while yet of being a boy. And I'm sure that's a time your pa wants you to have. By the looks of you, I'd be willing to bet my saloon you haven't ate or slept right for a long time. You need to rest. Let me look for your pa while you stay in town and-"

"NO!" Mark boomed; briefly taken aback by the way he had spoken. "...Mr. Jones, I won't stop. I won't stay here and you can't make me. My pa is out there, somewhere. Somewhere he shouldn't be. I haven't seen my pa in five weeks. Five weeks! For most of that, I've had to entertain the idea that he might be dead! But it doesn't matter! Dead or alive, I'm going to find my pa, and I'm gonna bring him home, and I don't care if it kills me! I'd rather die trying to find him than live without him! I tried that once and I can't do it! He's my pa, and I'm not stopping until I find him!"

Lariat stared at Mark for a long time. He still had Margaret's looks, but boy, did he ever have that wild fire of Lucas's burning inside of him.

"...Well then, if that's your intention, I suggest turning around."

"...Turning around?"

"We can still get a few miles in before making camp. Cade said he left your pa a few miles outside of Border Hill."

"...We?"

Lariat nodded before circling his horse around BlueBoy and Razor.

"Mr. Jones…"

"Boy, if you're gonna yell at me like your pa, you might as well call me Lariat like your pa," he interrupted with a smile.

Mark kicked BlueBoy and caught up with the man. "...Thank you."

"For what?"

"You're the first of a hundred people to take me seriously… to help me."

"Just returning a favor."

"...No you're not."

Lariat looked at Mark again thoughtfully. Lucas, Margaret, even the boy, in his own way… they all meant too much to him for this to be 'just' a favor.

"...No," he slowly replied. "...I reckon I'm not."

—21—

Lariat grew concerned at how restless the boy was that night. Anytime he woke, the man could hear Mark tossing and turning in his bedroll.

At Mark's insistence, they broke camp shortly after dawn. The boy was quiet all morning and didn't seem too interested in making conversation. The two rode in silence, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble.

Shortly before noon, Lariat noticed how unsteadily Mark was riding. The man urged his horse closer to BlueBoy, catching Mark before he fell out of the saddle.

"Alright, that's enough. Let's rest for a while."

"I'm fine, just wasn't paying attention."

Lariat took BlueBoy's reins from the boy as he replied. "Dismount, son. We should give the horses a break anywise."

Mark hesitated before nodding and stepping down from BlueBoy. He made his way to a grouping of boulders and sat down, taking a drink from a canteen.

"How long ago did you break your leg?"

"How did you know I broke it?"

"Between the way you're walking and the fact that you're lugging that crutch around, I figured it was a decently safe bet."

"A little over five weeks ago. Cattle stampede during a thunderstorm."

"You're lucky you weren't trampled."

Mark slowly nodded. "...Pa left me in Lincoln so he could finish the drive..."

Lariat looked at the boy curiously, surprised by the tone Mark had used. "...You're not trying to blame yourself for this, are you?"

"...I guess I was. I thought that if I hadn't broken my leg, maybe I could've stopped whatever had happened. That something must've gone wrong, because I wasn't there. Or maybe if we hadn't taken the time to get me to Lincoln, Pa wouldn't have run into trouble on the way back."

"But now?"

"...Now I know that it wouldn't have made a difference. Whatever Austin did to Pa… he would've done to me… he tried to do to me…"

"We don't know he shot Luke. He could have just as easily left him stranded."

"No… Pa wouldn't have just let him take the money or his rifle without putting up a fight."

"Your father's not as young and reckless as he used to be. I have to think he would have the common sense to know those things could be replaced."

Mark raised his shoulders in uncertainty, his shallow eyes dropping to the ground. This was why he didn't want to stop. This was why he didn't want to talk. Behind all the anger, underneath all the worry… deep down, Mark didn't even feel pain anymore. A numb emptiness had begun consuming him and it was easier to ignore the gaping hole in his heart than to admit how utterly hopeless everything appeared. He had to believe his father was still alive; it was the only thing that kept forcing him to get up every morning. ...But he was afraid that when he did find his pa, he would discover that his only reason for living was dead.

Sensing Mark's struggle, Lariat thought for a few moments before going on, "Don't you think Cade would've been bragging on killing "The Rifleman" if he had?"

"Austin didn't want a reputation. He had all summer to force my pa into a gunfight, and could've gotten quite the crowd, too. He just wanted the money."

"...Don't give up, Mark."

"I can't."

Another twenty minutes passed before Mark asked that they continue riding. Lariat looked the boy over and could see that his eyes were sharper.

"Alright. But you start tiring again, you let me know."

Just under six hours later, they arrived at Border Hill. Mark went to the doctor's and the hotel while Lariat checked with the sheriff and the liveryman. When they met back at the horses, it was apparent neither of them had found anything.

"We'll stay here tonight and start searching the area tomorrow. Sheriff's agreed to get a few men together."

"Can't we get a few hours in tonight?" Mark's eyes pleaded with the man standing beside him.

Lariat took in a deep breath and slowly let it out as he nodded. "I'll let the sheriff know not to wait on us tomorrow morning."

As Mark waited for the man to return, he rested against the hitching post, keeping his weight off his leg. He knew he had to start being more mindful of the injury; its relentless throbbing had gotten progressively worse all week. He shook his head and looked up; the young man's gaze being drawn to the outlying mountains. He recalled another time he had been looking at those same peaks. Lucas had walked up behind him and rested his big hands on Mark's shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze. 'Ready to go home?' he asked of his son. 'Ready?' Mark had laughed. 'After the month we've had, I don't know if I'll ever want to leave home again!' The young man closed his eyes, uncomfortably shifting his weight as he remembered his response. He'd give anything to trade last year's cattle drive for this one. He'd give anything to be on the trail again with his pa again.

"Let's go," Lariat called, interrupting Mark's thoughts. "We'll look until dark, then the sheriff said there's an abandoned shack not far from the river we can stay the night at. About five miles west from here."

Mark nodded, using his crutch to take the two steps to BlueBoy.

"Your leg acting up?"

"I'm fine."

"That's not an answer."

"Some. It'll be fine until we find Pa."

"...Mount up, then. We're burning daylight."

Mark nodded and pulled himself up into the saddle, thankful Lariat understood his need to keep looking.

—22—

It was well after sunset when Mark and Lariat pulled their horses to a stop in front of the old cabin. Lariat told the boy to get a fire started inside while he tended to the horses. Mark nodded as he slid out of the saddle; grabbing his rifle and saddlebags before hobbling inside. He threw his things onto the table and reached inside a saddle bag for matches, suddenly noticing the empty cans as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. Reaching again for his rifle, Mark looked around the shack to see the outline of a figure laying on a cot. The boy quietly backed out of the cabin and hurried back to the horses.

"Lariat, there's someone in there!"

"Well did they say anything to you?"

"No, whoever it was is asleep."

"Guess we'll find somewhere else to camp. Grab your saddlebags."

"But what if they wake up?"

"Considering all the racket you were making before, I doubt anything'll rouse 'em now."

Mark nodded and turned back towards the shack, hesitating before tactfully returning inside. Mark reached for his saddlebags on the table, accidentally knocking a can to the ground. He jumped as it bounced across the cabin floor and landed a few inches from the cot. When the frame under the blankets didn't stir, Mark relaxed his tense muscles and let out a deep breath. He looked back to the table and carefully lifted the saddlebags, revealing patches of blood-stained wood. The boy's brow furrowed in confusion as he again looked across the room at the large figure.

"Pa…" Mark dropped everything and ran to the figure, dropping to his knees as he pulled the blanket back. "PA!" Mark put a hand to his father's cheek. Lucas was burning with fever as his body violently shook from chills; his breathing shallow and tight. "Lariat! LARIAT!"

Hearing the panicked calls, the man ran inside the building. "Mark, what's the…"

"It's Pa!"

Lariat rushed to Lucas and Mark, his eyes still adjusting to the dimness of the room. He looked around the shack and found a lantern, retrieving it and returning to the cot. As he lit the lamp, its light illuminated Lucas's ash-colored face. Mark's chest tightened as he saw the overwhelming amount of blood that covered his pa, the cot, and the floor. Lariat carefully looked his friend over, finding two infected bullet wounds and a flesh wound on the man's head. He handed Mark the lamp and tore outside, coming back with a canteen.

"Mark, you force as much of this water into your pa as you can." Lariat shoved the container into the boy's hand and ran from the cabin. "I'll be back with a doctor!"

Mark unscrewed the lid of the canteen and held it to his pa's cracked lips; but as he tilted the container, the water merely trickled down the man's chin. Mark staggered across the room for his saddlebags, returning to his pa's side and using them to prop Lucas's head up. The boy's hands shook as he forced his father's lips apart and poured the contents of the canteen inside of Lucas's mouth, praying he wouldn't choke. The man swallowed, sparking hope inside of his son. Mark wanted to say something, to beg his pa to open his eyes; but a sob caught in his tightening throat, preventing him from uttering so much as a whisper.

When the canteen was empty, Mark rushed outside and retrieved another container from the horses. He again held his pa's lips open, mouthing words of encouragement as tears trickled down his cheek.

After Lucas had finally finished the second canister, Mark attempted to get Lucas to open his eyes, but to no avail. Torn between staying with Lucas and getting more water from the stream, the young man hesitated before again running from the cabin, heavily limping.

Mark returned to his father's side and tore one of the shirts from his saddlebag into strips. After pouring water over the material, Mark gently laid pieces of cloth over his pa's forehead, replacing them as Lucas's temperature sucked the cold from the fabric.

Mark looked around the small shack and wondered how long his pa had been there. He wondered how long it had taken his pa to find the shelter that the cabin provided. Looking down at the can beside his boot, Mark wondered how long it had been since his pa had eaten. ...He wondered if his pa was going to survive. The boy swallowed hard as he looked into his father's gaunt face. Lucas's eyes were sunken and dark circles had formed underneath them. Mark dared to again look at his pa's leg; the angry wound causing his stomach to turn. Looking up at the ceiling, he took Lucas's unnaturally thin hand in his own and said a silent prayer.

Time had seemed to stand still until Mark finally heard a team arrive. He turned to see Lariat and another man rushing inside, the doctor pushing the boy away so he could examine his patient. Mark balled his sweaty palms into fists as he intently watched the doctor. Suddenly feeling a hand on his shoulder, Mark stepped away from Lariat; pushing away the now painful memories of his father's gentle touch.

'Him? Gentle?' Mark had once asked of his mother in a dream. Yes, gentle. In those strong arms had always remained a gentle embrace; those seemingly firm hands had always held a tender touch.

"I can't tend to him here," the doctor declared, turning to Lariat. "Help me get him in the buckboard. Boy, the door."

Mark followed the physician's order and opened the door before following the men outside. After Lariat and the doctor had Lucas situated, the young man climbed into the back of the rig. He sat down behind Lucas, cradling his pa's head in his lap the entire trip to town.

As they came up to the doctor's office, Lariat dismounted from his horse and helped the doctor carry Lucas inside. They took him to one of several rooms inside the clinic, laying him on a table. The doctor set to work without saying anything while Lariat nudged Mark back to the waiting room. He watched as the boy dropped into a seat, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair and holding his head at an angle. Worry had etched itself onto Mark's face; wrinkles lining the youth's forehead. Taking a closer look at the boy, Lariat noticed he was visibly shaking.

"We found him… he'll be alright."

Mark half nodded, half shook his head in response. His heart was still thumping against his chest and the swelling in his throat had yet to resolve. He didn't know what to say; his brain was too muddled to think about anything except his pa's bloody form.

Over the course of the next three hours, Lariat paced the office. He took long, haphazardous strides, keeping a watchful eye on Lucas's son as the boy sank deeper and deeper into the chair. A nearly deafening silence hung over the office as they continued to wait.

Finally, Mark's bloodshot eyes darted towards the door of the waiting room as it swung open. He started to stand, but the doctor motioned for Mark and Lariat to sit.

"I won't lie to you," he solemnly began, "He's bad off. I was able to remove the bullets and clean his wounds, but he already has a bad infection that's set in. His fever is dangerously high and it doesn't look like he's eaten in quite some time."

"What are you saying, Doc?" Lariat asked.

"I'm saying I've done all I can. All we can do now is wait. Mister, I would appreciate your help moving him to another room."

Lariat nodded and helped the doctor carry Lucas to a room with a proper bed. Mark had followed and assisted in getting his father settled before taking a seat at his side.

"Boy…"

"Doc, a word, please?"

The doctor hesitated before stepping aside and meeting Lariat at the door.

"It's been five weeks since that boy's seen his father. Him being here can't hurt anything; he won't cause you any trouble. Let him stay."

The doctor briefly glanced across the room before turning back to Lariat.

"...Alright."

As the door to the room closed behind the men, Mark carefully took his pa's hand, gently turning it over. He ran his fingers over the hard calluses, hesitating on top of the ones that had come from the Winchester.

For the first time in nearly eight hours, Mark found his voice in a coarse, nearly inaudible whisper.

"Please, Pa… don't die now..."

—23—

Exhaustion finally took over, giving Mark a few hours of sleep that morning. He woke to see the doctor tending to his Pa's leg and sat up, stretching his frame.

"How is he?"

"Well he ain't dead. This man-" The doctor stopped, realizing he was talking to just a boy; a boy who had to be worried sick about his father.

"It's alright," Mark assured, seeing the regret in the man's eyes. "...This isn't the first time I've seen him shot up. After three weeks of no word, I… I somewhat had to expect I might… find him… dead…"

"Well, we know he's fighting. He wouldn't have held on this long elsewise."

"How long… how long until we know?"

"Know what?"

Mark shuddered as he asked the question. "...If he's gonna… die?"

"...There's not much of a way to tell. ...Son, I'm not saying he will, but just in case… you best send for your mother."

"Ma… Ma's already waiting for him."

"...I'm sorry."

Mark hesitated before asking, "...There is someone back home I need to wire… would you mind… next time you leave the office…"

The doctor nodded and handed Mark a pencil and paper. As the physician continued to clean and re-bandage the rancher's leg, Mark wrote his message. The doctor finished examining Lucas and replaced the cloth on his forehead one more time before pulling the sheet back over the man. He then took the pencil and paper back from the young man, his curiosity piqued.

"That's all?"

Mark nodded in response; the doctor shrugging and tucking the note in his pocket.

"Now, about your leg."

"My leg?"

"Your friend told me it had been broken and that you were having trouble with it. Let me take a look." The doctor knelt down beside Mark's chair and started examining the leg. "How'd you break it?"

"My horse slipped in the rain."

"How long ago was that?"

"...A little over five weeks ago, I guess."

"Why isn't this splinted?"

"It was, but… in looking for Pa… it just got in the way so I took it off. I didn't pay attention to it like I should have."

"I assume it's been a while since you've used a pair of crutches?"

"I was using one off and on. But last night I didn't care about trying to use it… I just wanted to help Pa."

"I'm going to splint this, and then unless you want to permanently destroy your leg, I suggest you use the pair of crutches I give you."

"Yes sir."

"I also know it's been some time since you've seen your pa, so I won't keep you from sitting with him. But Mr. Jones and I discussed it, and you will be staying at the hotel at night."

"I can't leave him."

"You need rest. You're not going to get an adequate amount sleeping in that chair."

"I don't care."

"Boy, you're pure exhausted. You've pushed yourself to your limit and you have to understand that your body can only take so much."

"No, Doc. You have to understand. It's not that I just won't leave him. I can't." Mark sat up straight and looked the doctor square in the eyes. "In losing my mother, I learned just how much I need Pa. I realized that there's nothing more important than us being together. Living together or dying together, I don't care. But we have to be together. You said yourself you don't know if he's gonna die or not and I can't walk away knowing that I could be leaving him to die alone." The doctor opened his mouth to respond, but Mark stopped him. "No, he wouldn't know any different. But I would. If I leave him, it would also be like I'm giving up. Like I don't expect him to wake up. I know he could die, but I ain't ever gonna give up on my pa again. And in the same way that I can't leave him to die alone, I can't walk away knowing he could wake up at any moment. I've waited weeks to talk to my pa again and I'm not stepping foot out of this office until I do."

The doctor took in a deep breath and stared at the unwavering young man. He finally sighed, shaking his head. "...I'll bring you something to eat from the hotel. Later we can set a cot up in the corner. ...Your father must have quite a time with that stubborn streak of yours…"

"...Where do you think I got it?"

The doctor smiled along with his patient. "I'll be back in a while."

"...Thank you, Doc."

"You're welcome."

Later that morning, a knock sounded at the door and Mark turned to see Lariat enter the room. The man set two rifles in the corner of the room and tossed Mark his father's hat.

"Where did you find it?"

"Caught in some bushes. It'll need cleaning, but…"

"Thank you."

"Doc said there wasn't much change in your pa. How are you holding up?"

Mark shrugged as he fiddled with the hat.

"...He also told me you're refusin' to leave the office."

"I can't."

"Do you really think Lucas would want you just sitting here, worrying about him?"

"I'd worry even more over at the hotel."

"Your pa would want you to rest. Take away the fever and you almost look as sick as he does."

"I'm just tired."

"And you haven't been eating right, and that leg of yours…"

"I broke it, that's all. I wasn't shot and it's not infected."

"Just the same..."

"I'll rest easier here. We can keep talking about it all you want, but I won't change my mind."

"Alright," Lariat sighed. "...Mark, I have to leave for a few days."

"Leave? ...Why?"

"I got a wire. The sheriff back in Hillsboro has some questions about the shooting."

"...But you were defending me."

"He knows that, the barkeep explained. But we have to talk just to keep things above board. There's been a few too many shootings in my saloon. If this could wait, I wouldn't even consider leaving. But I don't really have a choice. The sheriff wants this all taken care of as soon as possible."

"...I understand."

Lariat started to say something, but hesitated. He looked at Mark's eyes and debated whether or not what he had in mind should be said.

"...Pa always has said things would be a whole lot simpler if people just came out and said what they were thinking. That way nothing can be taken wrong or misunderstood. He's always been straightforward with me and… I'd appreciate it if you'd just say whatever it is that's on your mind. Nothing you say can be worse than what I've been thinking the last week."

Lariat looked at the young man, nodding his head as an understanding smile crossed his face.

"...If anything happens, Mark, you know where to find me."

"...Thank you. ...Thank you for everything."

—24—

Micah let out a contented sigh as he dropped into his desk chair. It sure felt good to be back home. The marshal put his feet up on the desk and leaned back, giving in to his heavy eyelids.

"Micah, it's about time you got back!" Amos declared, charging into the office. "I've been wiring all over New Mexico and Colorado for you!"

Without opening his eyes, the marshal yawned, "What's so important? Can't it wait?"

"It's Lucas and Mark!"

"Lucas and Mark?" Micah pulled his legs from the desk and sat upright. "What do you mean?"

"Read these." As Amos handed the marshal the telegrams, he went on, "First one came in a few weeks ago and the other came in yesterday morning."

'Marshal Micah Torrence

North Fork, New Mexico

Pa missing.

I need help.

Mark McCain

Lincoln, New Mexico'

Micah put the first wire on the desk and read the other.

'Marshal Micah Torrence

North Fork, New Mexico

Found Pa.

It's not good.

Mark McCain

Border Hill, New Mexico'

Micah stood, pulling his saddlebag from the desk.

"What are you going to do?"

"Tell Nils and Ben they get to keep those badges a while longer."

Micah was on the ten o'clock train and arrived in Border Hill early the next morning. He asked for directions to the doctor's office before making his way across town, still trying to decide what he was going to say to Mark. As the marshal entered the clinic, he was greeted by a man in his mid-fifties standing at a medicine cabinet.

"Good day to you, sir. How might I help you?"

"You've been tending to a Lucas McCain?"

"...I have."

"He here or somewhere else?"

"Who wants to know?"

"The name's Micah Torrence. I'm the marshal in North Fork and-"

"You're the one Mark had me wire. ...But his message didn't say anything about you coming all the way-"

"It said enough. The boy with his pa?"

The doctor nodded and gestured to the door behind him.

"End of the hall, room four."

"Thanks, Doc."

Micah hurried down the hall, but hesitated as he came to the door. He let out a heavy sigh before softly tapping his knuckles on the wood.

"...Come in."

Micah closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concern. The pain and worry in Mark's voice was evident. Taking in a deep breath, the marshal pushed open the door. Lucas laid in the bed, bandaged, thin, and pale. Mark sat next to his father; his bloodshot eyes and tired face turning towards Micah. The lawman stepped forward and put a hand on Mark's shoulder. He gave it a tight squeeze, looking down to see the boy's splinted leg. His gaze returned to Lucas's frail body as he shook his head in disbelief.

"...Mark, I'm sorry. I was out of town delivering a prisoner. If I had gotten your telegram, I would have-"

"I know, Micah. That's why I wired you." Mark's voice held understanding and revealed the small amount of comfort he felt in having Micah there. "...I'm glad you're here."

"What happened?"

"...Austin Cade shot Pa. He stole his horse, his rifle, and the cattle money… and then he left him for dead."

"...Where were you?"

"Back in Lincoln. I broke my leg during a stampede and Pa had to leave me there. He wired a week later and said he was going to start the trip back that Monday. ...But he never returned."

"Where's Cade now?"

"Dead." Mark's voice held nothing but anger, hatred, and contempt as he spoke. "Tried shooting me and wound up getting killed."

"...You killed him?"

Mark could hear the horror in Micah's voice and quickly shook his head. "Lariat Jones… a friend of Pa's… he came to North Fork a few years ago…"

"I remember well."

"Lariat was there and killed him."

"What was Mr. Jones doing there?"

"He owned the saloon I found Austin in. He was in the middle of a poker game with the man."

"...What has the doc said about your pa?"

"That he must be fighting or he wouldn't be alive. ...Pa had two infected bullet wounds and his fever hasn't gone down at all since we found him."

"We?"

"Lariat rode with me after the incident at the saloon."

Micah hesitated as he looked Mark over. It was obvious that Lucas's condition was taking its toll on the boy. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared deeply into Mark's eyes.

"...Do you want to talk about it?"

Mark looked away from the marshal as his eyes watered. Micah was the one person he could be honest with; the one person he could be vulnerable with. He had let the others see his anger and determination, but the marshal was the only person Mark would dare share his pain and grief with.

"...Micah, I can't lose him," he quietly answered. "...He can't die. I…he's everything to me. If he dies… I… I couldn't… I wouldn't be able to go on... I need him to wake up."

Micah reached out to put a hand on Mark's shoulder as the young man tried to keep the tears from falling.

"I've gotta believe he'll wake up. ...But what if…" Mark's voice broke as a tear escaped his eye.

"Worrying about what could happen is going to give you nothing but trouble."

"...He can't leave me, Micah. He's all I got left. I… I'm not ready for him to die..."

"You said yourself that he was fighting. Don't lose hope… don't lose faith."

"...It's not faith or hope I've lost. But I've never…" Mark hesitated, lifting his eyes to look at Lucas. "...I've seen Pa bad off, but this… he's never been like this. What if he doesn't have the strength to keep fighting?"

The grandfatherly figure pulled Mark into an embrace as tears rolled down the boy's cheeks. "I know your pa wants to come back to you just as much as you want him to. Lucas loves you with every ounce of his being and he's not going to give up."

"...What if it's not up to him?" Mark asked, slowly looking up at Micah.

"...I think your pa's taught you well enough that you know the Good Lord won't make a mistake."

"I… Micah…" Tears caught in Mark's throat, preventing him from going on.

"It'll be alright… just remember that he's fighting…"

—25—

"Why don't you come with me to get something from the restaurant?"

"No thanks, Micah."

"Boy, you need to eat."

"There's cash in my saddle bag," Mark replied, gesturing. "Would you mind bringing something back?"

Micah let out a heavy sigh as he shook his head. "I'll bring you back something, but I'm buying. Your pa wouldn't like this."

"...I don't like him laying there."

"You know what I mean."

"Not until he wakes up. I won't leave until he wakes up."

"...I understand. What do you want?"

"I don't care. Whatever you end up ordering is fine."

Micah stared at the young man's stooped posture for a long moment. "...Mark…"

"...He's fighting," the boy answered, turning to the marshal with a tight, uneasy smile. "I know."

Micah smiled back and nodded before walking out the door. He returned a short while later, handing Mark a bowl of oatmeal.

"How long were you on the trail looking for your pa?"

"Only a week. I had a trial to testify at in Lincoln. ...No one else seemed that concerned about Pa not coming back, so I wired you. When Amos wired back and said he couldn't locate you I wanted to start looking, but I knew I had a responsibility to testify."

"What happened that pulled you into a trial?"

"It's kinda a long story, but…" Mark suddenly stopped talking and shook his head.

"What is it?"

"Mrs. Grady… I need to let her know I found Pa…"

"Mrs. Grady?"

Mark nodded. "When we were first headed into Lincoln we came across her ranch. She let us leave the cattle there and went into town with us… ended up offering for me to stay with her while Pa finished the drive. Neighbors of hers set her house on fire."

"Why?"

"Wanted her to sell out. They've been trying to get that property for generations. ...That's why I had to testify."

"If you write out the telegram I'll wire her later."

"Thanks."

"...What happened to Mr. Jones?"

"He said he'd be back in a few days. Had to talk to the sheriff about what happened in his saloon." Mark quieted as he turned back towards his pa. "...I don't remember ever seeing him so… so frail and sick."

"He's strong though. He'll pull through."

"...Do you really believe that, Micah?"

"I have to believe it, just like you do."

Most of the afternoon was void of conversation. Micah understood the boy's struggles and was dealing with a few of his own, watching his best friend lay there half dead. While Mark and the marshal appreciated each other's presence, the silence was welcome.

It was nearing ten o'clock when Micah said he was going to turn in for the evening. He collected his hat and saddlebag before turning back to Mark. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. And I expect you to put that cot to some use."

"Have a good night."

"I mean it, Mark."

"I know you do."

Micah shook his head, mumbling as he walked out of the room, "You're as stubborn as your pa…"

As the door closed behind the marshal, Mark turned back to Lucas. He again replaced the cloth on the rancher's forehead, closing his eyes as he felt the heat still radiating from Lucas's body.

"Wake him up," Mark desperately prayed. "Please wake him up… he doesn't have the strength to wake up on his own…"

—26—

Two days later, Micah walked into the hotel lobby as he stretched his back; the clerk calling to him as he passed the desk.

"Marshal Torrence?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Telegram for you, came in just a few minutes ago."

"Thank you." Micah took the piece of paper from the clerk, his posture stooping as he read the message. Shaking his head, the marshal folded the telegram and tucked it inside his pocket before making his way to the doctor's office.

"Morning, Marshal."

"Doc," he greeted in reply. "...You check on Lucas yet this morning?"

"No, but I was just getting ready to." The doctor stood from his desk, but Micah gestured for him to wait.

"How good do you think his chances are?"

"...Hard to say. He's held on this long, so that's something to consider. But going this long without making any improvement… I really don't know-"

The doctor was interrupted as Mark suddenly ran into the room. "Doc, it's my pa! I think his fever broke!"

The doctor and Micah looked at each other before following Mark back to room four. As Micah waited at the foot of the bed, Mark and the doctor made their way to either side of Lucas. The physician ran a hand over his patient's sweat-covered face; a smile crossing his own.

"Doc?"

"Looks like your pa's going to be just fine."

A relieved smile came over Mark's face as the physician started looking over Lucas's injuries. Upon completing his examination, the doctor said he hoped Lucas would wake by evening.

"...It could be longer, but a little extra sleep won't hurt him. I'm going to make my rounds. I'll leave a list of places I'll be in case you need anything."

As the door closed behind the doctor, Mark turned to Micah; his smile fading as he saw the marshal's face.

"...Micah, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Mark… I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"...I got a telegram this morning. Ben and Nils got banged up in a brawl last night. ...They need me back in North Fork."

"...I understand. ...Micah… thank you for coming."

"I'm glad you wired." Micah gave the young man a hug and a good slap on the shoulder. "You tell your pa I said for him not to give you any trouble. And don't you go givin' the doc any trouble about your leg, either."

"Who, me?"

Micah smiled at the gleam in Mark's eye. "Let me know when you're headed home."

"I will. Bye, Micah."

Mark continued to attentively sit at his father's side, carefully watching for any sign of his pa rousing. Yet as evening turned to night, the relief Mark had felt was slowly being replaced by worry once again. The young man tried to force himself to stay awake, but was eventually pulled into a deep sleep as he again rested his head on the edge of his father's bed.

In the early hours of the following morning, just as the sun's rays began to lighten the room, Mark woke to see his pa rubbing his throat.

"Pa?" Mark sat up, putting a hand on his father's shoulder. "Pa?"

Hearing his son's voice and feeling Mark's hand grasp his shoulder, Lucas tried to open his eyes. He succeeded in raising his heavy eyelids, only to briefly see his son's outline before closing them again.

"Pa please," Mark's voice pleaded. "Please open your eyes!"

Lucas desperately wanted to do as his son asked, but exhaustion won over and pulled him back to sleep.

"Mark?"

As Lucas's hand fell back to his side, the young man turned to see the doctor entering the room.

"He was awake… he looked at me… he…"

"It's alright," the doctor assured; placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's progress. I'll be at my desk if you need me."

The minutes dragged into hours. Mark anxiously waited to see his pa stir, but Lucas remained still. Well over an hour after the doctor had left to make his rounds, Mark stood up and used his crutches to walk across the room. He stared out the window, down the busy street. Everywhere he looked, the young man found himself observing parents and their children. A father and son working together at the blacksmith's, a mother walking her daughter into the dressmakers; a husband and wife following their brood of children into the general store.

"...Mark?"

The young man quickly spun around, only to find his father still laying motionless. Again, his mind must have been playing tricks on him. Mark hobbled back to his pa's side and eased into the chair. He looked into Lucas's face one more time before turning away, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead.

"Pa, please wake up… please..."

The reply that came was so quiet, Mark almost didn't hear it.

"...I'm awake, Son..."

Mark's head shot up to see Lucas holding his eyes half open.

"...Pa… Pa?"

"I'm awake…" Lucas again closed his eyes as he felt Mark's hand on his shoulder, but this time, he reached up and gently touched his son's forearm.

Mark swallowed hard as he put his other hand to Lucas's face, still afraid he was imagining things. He stared at his pa for a long time before he saw Lucas reaching for his throat with his other hand.

Shaking his head, Mark finally found his voice again. "I'll get… get you some water…"

Lucas nodded as he felt his son pull away from him. Soon, Mark's hand came behind his head and lifted it as a glass was placed to his lips. Mark kept forcing water into his father until Lucas finally shook his head and weakly looked up at his son.

"...Trying to drown me?" he teasingly whispered.

"Sorry, Pa… I…" Mark put the glass on the nightstand, fighting the tears he could feel building up behind his eyes. Turning back to his pa, Mark asked Lucas how he was feeling.

"Tired… sore. Hungry."

Swallowing his emotions, Mark answered, "...S-Serves you right for sleeping so long."

Mark and Lucas both cracked uneasy smiles as the door to the room opened.

"Well! Look who decided to join us! Mr. McCain, I'm Doc Stanley."

"Doc," Lucas greeted; his voice still hushed.

"How do you feel?"

"I was shot; how do you expect me to feel?"

The doctor let out a booming laugh before setting to examine his patient. He was pleased with what he found, but warned Lucas it would be a long recovery.

"When do you think I can take him home?" Mark asked.

"If you're planning on riding home, not until the both of you are fully healed."

"Both of…" Lucas's voice faltered as he remembered his son's leg. "We'll be taking the train."

"In that case, I'd say about a week or so; if you have your strength back, Lucas. Speaking of which, I better get the two of you something from the hotel."

"I'll do it," Mark volunteered. "There's a few wires I need to send, anyway."

"And just how do you figure on bringing any food back?" Lucas asked.

"...Guess Doc would have to do that."

"Go ahead, Mark. It'll give me a chance to finish with your pa. Nothing heavy for him, though. We'll start simple."

"Alright. ...Be back soon, Pa."

Mark grabbed his crutches and made his way out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, the young man collapsed against the wall; tears of relief flooding his face.

—27—

That afternoon, Lucas watched as his son set two empty bowls on the nightstand.

"Do you want some more water?" Mark offered.

Lucas shook his head as Mark sat back in his chair.

"...Son, the doctor said you brought me in?"

Mark knew what his pa was getting at and nodded as he replied. "...But before you say I should've waited or that I shouldn't have been riding, I need you to hear me out. You were weeks overdue, no one was doing anything, and I couldn't get ahold of Micah. If it were the other way around, you wouldn't have just sat around and… Pa... you… you should understand by now that I couldn't wait any longer. It was hard enough having to wait for the trial and if I had stuck around for even just a few more days, you… you would have…"

Lucas reached out to put a hand on his son's knee, stopping him. "...I do understand, Mark. ...But what trial?"

Mark took in a deep breath before he explained what had happened to the Gradys.

"...You mean to tell me you were in there when they set the house on fire?"

"I just got some smoke in my lungs, that's all."

"Mark…" Lucas's face fell, regret and concern in his eyes.

"It was weeks ago, Pa. I'm fine."

Lucas shook his head before moving on. "...After the trial, what happened?"

"Well, I spent most of the week searching alternate routes between Lincoln and Roswell. ...I eventually found Razor and your rifle… and Austin in Hillsboro." Mark hesitated, knowing his pa wouldn't like the next part.

Seeing his son's apprehension, Lucas was at first concerned; but he soon released the tension in his face. "...Mark, whatever happened, I can see that you're still alive. I have a feeling I'm not going to be thrilled with what you're about to say, but you can tell me."

"...He was playing cards in the saloon, so I… I went in there with my rifle and started demanding to know what he had done to you. ...He acted like he had no idea who I was… and so I was going to take him to the sheriff. ...But he went for his gun. ...Lariat Jones shot him."

"Lariat? What was Lariat doing there?"

"He owned the place and was the one Austin was playing with. He helped me find you and bring you here, but he had to go back to Hillsboro to take care of some things. He said he'd be back in a few days."

Lucas looked at his son for a long time. His assumption had been right; he wasn't thrilled about what Mark had said. But he understood why he had done it.

"...Son… I hope there's never a next time. But if there is, you get the law, first. If… if Lariat hadn't been there…" Lucas turned away, shaking his head. He didn't want to think about it.

Mark had hoped he would be able to tell his pa everything… he wanted to be honest about what had happened. But he could tell his pa wasn't ready to hear it. He wasn't ready to say it.

"...I'm sorry, Pa."

Lucas looked at his son again. "...I'm glad Lariat was there."

"Me too." Mark waited for a brief moment before continuing. "...We found you the next night and brought you back here. Like I said, Lariat had to leave. But I had wired Micah again. ...When I initially wired him, Amos said he was transferring a prisoner and that he couldn't find him. Micah finally got back to North Fork, got my telegrams, and came here. He would've stayed longer, but there was trouble back home. He had to leave after your fever broke yesterday." With the slightest grin, Mark added, "And he told me to tell you not to give me any trouble."

Lucas weakley smiled in return, but he could see the sadness in his son's eyes. "...What is it?"

Mark was quiet for several moments before answering. "Pa… I… I can't tell you how glad I am that you're alive. I didn't know… I never gave up, but… I…"

"It's alright, Son." Lucas patted his son's knee. "I had doubts, myself."

"...Do you…" Mark hesitated in asking.

"Remember what happened?" Mark nodded. "Some. I left Austin in Roswell. Or I thought I had. Started back to Lincoln and decided to cut across some of the open land to save time. I suddenly felt the pain in my leg from the bullet and fell from Razor. The second one hit my back as I tried to get my rifle. I looked up and I saw Austin raise his gun one more time before I blacked out. ...I remember waking up at a cabin of some sorts… I have no idea how I got there. The rest of it… it's all a blur." Lucas studied his son for a long moment. "...Mark, are you sure there's nothing else bothering you?"

Mark carefully contemplated his response before opening his mouth. "...I think there are some things that are just going to take a while for me to come to terms with."

"...When you're ready to talk about it, then, you let me know."

"Yes, Pa."

At that moment, the door swung open; Lariat Jones walking inside the room with his charismatic smile.

"Well, I hope you had a nice nap!"

"Lariat," Lucas chuckled in response. "I hear I have quite a lot to thank you for."

Lariat shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I was just along for the ride. Mark's the one who saved your life."

"And you saved Mark's life."

Lariat looked at the boy, surprised he had told Lucas.

"...He would've found out, sooner or later."

"Glad I was there," Lariat said as he turned back to Lucas. "You feel as bad as you look?"

"That and then some. Doc said we could go home in about a week, though."

"If your strength was up," Mark reminded.

Lucas nodded before turning back to his friend. "Your sheriff didn't find a few hundred dollars on Cade, did he?"

Lariat looked to Mark and smiled as he answered, "No, that was laying on my poker table. Mark and I sorted it out."

Lucas looked between the two curiously before shaking his head. Lariat visited with Lucas for a while longer before taking his leave so Lucas could get some rest.

"I'll come by this evening."

"See you then."

As the door closed behind his friend, Lucas looked to his exhausted son. There was the least bit of sterness in Lucas's eyes, confusing Mark.

"...Pa, did I do something?"

"...Yes and no." Lucas took in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. "I won't sit here and lecture you, because I know I wouldn't have done any differently. But I can tell just by looking at you that you haven't slept right in a long time. I'm not the only one that needs some rest and I want you to put that cot over there to some use. The doctor said you haven't slept in it since it was brought in. It's not sitting there for decoration." Lucas weakley lifted his hand and put it on Mark's. "I'm going to be alright, Mark, and I want you to get some sleep now."

Mark gave his pa's hand a gentle squeeze and nodded. "...Alright." The young man collected his crutches and used them for support as he pulled the sheet over Lucas. "...Pa?"

Lucas looked into his son's eyes and smiled. Though the words never found their way out of Mark's mouth, Lucas knew what his son was thinking.

"I love you too, Son."

—28—

Lucas woke that evening as the doctor was checking on him. He looked across the room to see Mark still asleep on the cot, then out the window to find that the sun had set.

"Doc, what time is it?"

"Just after seven," Lariat called as he walked inside the room, carrying a tray. "Figured I'd wait to have supper with you and Mark, but I didn't figure on you sleeping so late!"

"Sorry." Lucas shook his head before the doctor helped him slowly sit up.

"Mr. McCain, I like what I'm seeing. Just don't push it and get any wild ideas about getting out of this bed."

"I won't, you can be sure of that."

"I'll be in the front room if you need anything."

As the doctor left, Lariat put the tray down on a table. He started towards Mark, but Lucas said to leave him. "...He needs the sleep. I'm surprised he didn't make himself sick, he was so exhausted."

Lariat nodded and handed Lucas a bowl of soup before sitting down in the chair with his own meal.

"You're looking better than you did this afternoon."

"I'm feeling better..." Lucas slowly answered, his gaze drifting towards his son.

"Something the matter, Luke?"

The rancher turned back to his friend as he replied. "...I don't know. I'm worried about Mark. He said that he had some things to come to terms with. I know it's more than that… but after everything I've dragged him through the last few weeks…"

"You can't blame yourself. The only person you can blame is that two-bit hand you hired."

"Maybe. ...But I couldn't push Mark for answers. Do you know what's bothering him? Did something happen that he wouldn't want to tell me about?"

"Well considering he told you that Cade could've gone and killed him, I don't really know what else there is that he would want to keep from you. Are you sure it's not just him getting over what happened? When we found you in that cabin… it wasn't pretty, Luke. Even after we got you here and cleaned up, he was quite rattled by how sick you were."

"No, this is different. Something is eating at him."

"Sorry I can't be of more help. ...By the way, I was asked to bring a telegram for Mark." Lariat pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and started to put it on the nightstand, but suddenly turned towards the boy.

"What is it?"

"...Something Mark said to me after I killed Cade. ...I know you said whatever is bothering him is more than him being worried about you, but… maybe it's not."

"What did he say?"

"I tried to get him to stay in Hillsboro, to rest. I told him I'd find you. But he refused. He said that whether you were dead or alive, he was going to find you and bring you home, and that he didn't care if it killed him. He said he'd rather die trying to find you than to live without you. The fire inside of him..."

Lucas's eyes shifted to where his son lay. He wasn't the least bit surprised by what Lariat had told him, but the words still humbled and quieted the man.

"...Thank you for telling me."

"I don't much figure on ever getting married and settling down, but if I do, I'd sure hope for a boy like Mark."

"...The greatest gift Margaret ever gave me."

—29—

Mark again stirred in the cot, pulling the sheet over his head to block out the sunlight that poured into the room.

"How much longer are you going to let that boy sleep?" he heard the doctor ask.

"As long as he needs to. I know my son, and he'll rouse when he's ready."

Mark heard the door to the room close and tried to fall back asleep, but eventually realised it was useless. "...What time is it?"

Lucas looked up to see his son sitting up on the cot, running a hand through his hair.

"Close to noon I reckon."

"Noon?!" Mark stared across the room at his pa. "As in… it's tomorrow?"

Lucas laughed at his son's question as Mark got up from the bed. "Pa, you should have had someone wake me."

"You needed the rest."

Mark hobbled across the room and took a clean shirt from his saddle bag before sitting down beside his pa and unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing.

"Lariat brought a telegram over for you," Lucas said, gesturing.

"...He already leave?"

Lucas nodded. "We said goodbye last night."

"Pa, how come he never comes to visit?"

"...Memories, I suppose."

"Memories?"

"Memories of life before the epidemic. Memories of what things used to be like. ...Maybe it's the reminder of what he could have had."

"...You mean if Ma had married him instead of you?"

Lucas again nodded.

"What happened between the two of them? And how did you end up… well, being such good friends?"

"It was as simple as your mother realizing she didn't really love him. Lariat and I… we exchanged some blows over the first few months of me and your mother courting, but he soon realized that your ma's happiness was what was important. He started courting your ma's cousin a while after that and during the war he and I learned to depend on each other."

"Ma's cousin? Wasn't that… a little… strange for the four of you?"

"No," Lucas chuckled. "It was a small town. I even took your ma's sister to a dance… once."

"Was that the time Uncle Noah dropped a frog down the back of her dress?"

"How do you know about that?"

"He told me about it when we visited."

Lucas chuckled as he shook his head, but his laughter slowly began to fade.

"...Pa?"

Lucas looked into his son's eyes, his face becoming serious. "...Lariat told me what you said… that you didn't care if trying to find me... killed you?"

"...And I meant every word."

"I know you did. ...Son, are you alright?"

Mark hesitated in answering his father. "...I don't know. I… Pa, I was scared. More scared than I've probably ever been in my life. I… I know you're alright… but seeing you so close to death… I think it'll be a while until I can rest easy."

"I understand. ...Just as long as you know we can talk anytime you need to."

"I do."

As Mark finished buttoning his shirt, Lucas patted his son's knee. "Well, are you going to open that telegram?"

"Oh, yeah." Mark reached for the wire and read it over. "...It's from Mrs. Grady. She said she's glad to hear that you're recovering and said Caleb is back on his feet. The wedding is set for this Sunday."

"Wedding? What wedding?"

"Caleb's wedding. He was supposed to get married… I guess two weeks ago now. But him getting shot kind of put a hold on things. Mrs. Grady also said we're welcome to come for a visit any time, but knows we'll be anxious to be getting home."

"Home," Lucas chuckled. "That'll be a welcome sight."

"That's for sure."

—30—

The end of the week came, and Doc Stanley gave his approval for Lucas to travel home as long as he used a cane until his leg was fully healed. The tall rancher slept for most of the trip, but Mark's mind was too busy for him to sleep. He stared out the train window as the countryside rushed by, that night in the saloon playing over and over again in his head.

Micah and an overly-concerned Lou met the McCains at the train station. As Lou rambled on about the scare Lucas had given them, Micah tied Razor and BlueBoy to the back of the buckboard, laughing. Once the horses were secure, the marshal walked up to Lucas and Lou; no one noticing as Mark quietly climbed into the rig to be alone.

"Lou, you act like he asked to be shot."

"Well he might as well have! You men, always thinkin' ye're invincible! Travelin' off by yerselves! Payin' no mind to stay on the well travelled roads! If I wasn't so relieved ta see ya alive, Lucas McCain I swear…"

Lucas and Micah laughed, causing the fire to glow even brighter in the woman's eyes.

"Thank you for your concern, Lou," Lucas sincerely replied. "And especially for all that cooking. Mark and I definitely won't be going hungry."

"I wish the two of ya would stay in town until at least one of you can walk on yer own!"

"Mark's leg is almost completely healed and mine's only an inconvenience. We'll be fine."

"Sure you don't want me to drive you home, Lucas-boy?"

"Thank you, but we can manage. We'll see you two later." Lucas looked around for his son, only to realize Mark was already in the buckboard. He climbed up into the seat beside his son and watched as Mark released the break and slapped the reins.

It was a quiet ride home, father and son exhausted from the long trip. When they pulled into the yard, Mark realized their mistake in not taking Micah up on his offer. His pa couldn't lift more than his rifle without hurting his back, and Mark's leg was giving him more trouble than he let on. But the horses had to be tended to.

"I'll take care of the horses, Pa. Why don't you go in and lay down?"

"Sure you can handle it?"

"Doc Stanley even said I could start putting some weight on my leg. I'll be careful, but it'll be fine. I'll put one of Lou's stews on the stove when I'm finished."

"Alright."

It took Mark quite a while longer to tend to the livestock than he had figured it would, but he was finally headed inside to warm up supper. The stew didn't take long to warm, but Mark let his pa sleep for quite a while before rousing him. There wasn't much conversation to be had over supper; Lucas and Mark knew they were both exhausted, and Mark's thoughts kept drifting back to Hillsboro.

The young man lay awake in his bunk for a long time that night. He tossed and turned, but no matter how comfortable he got, sleep wouldn't take him. He looked across the room at his pa, who had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow. Mark's tired eyes burned as his gaze lifted to the ceiling. He didn't understand why he couldn't forget what had happened. ...He didn't understand why he felt this way towards his pa.

—31—

Lucas woke to hear his son gasping for breath. He turned to see Mark fumbling for a crutch as he sat up in his bed.

"Mark?" he voiced in concern.

"I'm fine..."

Lucas's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched his son hobble out of the room. Reaching for his cane, Lucas followed his son outside and stepped onto the back porch just in time to witness a creamy, orange liquid spewing from his son's mouth. He stepped forward and put a hand on Mark's shoulder as worry furrowed the rancher's brow.

"You're not fine; how long have you not been feeling well?"

Mark shook his head to avoid his father's hand as Lucas attempted to feel his son's forehead.

"Must just be from supper last night. It didn't really settle well."

"You're sure you're not sick?"

Mark nodded as he leaned against the side of the house.

"...Come inside, I'll get you some water."

Although Mark seemed to quickly recover from the incident, Lucas kept a close eye on his son all day. Something was off; something Lucas was going to get to the bottom of.

The days passed, Mark using his crutches less and less until he finally didn't need them any more. One afternoon while Mark was riding the range, Micah dropped by the ranch for a visit. The marshal and rancher visited for a while discussing the town, politics, and other pleasantries before Micah finally had to ask.

"What's bothering you, Lucas-boy? You're distracted."

"...It's Mark. Something isn't right. ...When you came to Border Hill, did he tell you what happened?"

"He did. …Hasn't he told you?"

"He has, but… Micah, he's holding something back. I can't even begin to figure out what it could be; all the pieces of what he said happened fit together just fine."

"...How much did he tell you about him confronting Cade?"

"I know Cade would've shot him if Lariat hadn't been there, if that's what you're getting at."

Micah nodded. "...Sure he's not just dealing with what happened? That boy was shaken to his core after seeing you half dead."

"I know it was hard on him… I know it's still hard on him. But we've talked about it plenty of times. There's something else. And I want to respect him, I don't want to push him… but I'm worried that he won't ever come out and tell me what's bothering him."

"...Give him a few more days. Let things settle down. If he doesn't say anything… it won't hurt to simply ask."

—32—

The next morning, Lucas woke to the sound of splitting wood. Pulling on his jeans, the rancher unsteadily walked to the window and peered outside of it to see his son hard at work. Keeping a steady rhythm, Mark would pick a log up, set it on the chopping block, take a step back, and split the log in two before repeating the process. Lucas watched his son for some time, unsure if he had ever seen Mark split so many logs in one swing. The father grew concerned as he studied Mark's face. It held a wide array of emotions, anger being the most prominent.

When Mark ran out of wood, he threw the ax aside and walked to the barn, soon returning with BlueBoy. Lucas grabbed his cane and hobbled outside just in time to watch his son ride away. The rancher let out a heavy sigh, following Mark's trail on foot.

In time, Lucas heard the steady bang, bang, bang of his son's rifle and came over the rise to see Mark using the acorns of an oak tree for target practice. The young man's muscles were much too tense, but he still hit his targets. As more worry lines etched themselves onto Lucas's face, he apprehensively walked up behind his son. The rancher allowed his cane to drop to the ground as he firmly planted his hands on Mark's shoulders.

"Wasting bullets isn't going to change anything." Lucas momentarily hesitated before tenderly asking, "...What's wrong, Son?"

A lump swelled in Mark's throat as he felt his pa tighten his grip on his shoulders. He again shouldered his rifle; his vision blurring with tears as he prepared to pull the trigger.

Lucas watched as his son fired again, this time missing his targets.

"That's enough, Mark." Leaving one hand on his son, Lucas reached forward with the other and pushed the barrel of the rifle down. "What happened?"

Mark's heart was pounding as he swallowed. He pushed back the tears, finding a wavering voice to answer his pa with.

"...You almost died." Mark bit the inside of his cheek as his chin quivered. He opened his mouth again, but no words came out.

"...Son, we've talked about this," Lucas answered in confusion. "We've talked about this over and over again. I didn't die, I'm alright; we're both alright. ...I thought you had accepted that."

"I… I did, but…" Mark suddenly shook his head and sat down, dropping his rifle and placing his head in his hands.

Lucas knelt down beside his son, looking to Mark in concern. "...But what?"

"Pa, why does it have to hurt so much to love someone?! You almost died, and I couldn't do anything about it, and I'm reminded of that every time I look at you!"

"...Mark, you did do something about it. You saved my life!"

"I got lucky and found you, that's all! And I almost didn't even manage that much! After burying Mr. Grady, I… Pa, all I can see is… is losing you one day and… and I know… I know I can't stop it, but part… part of me wants… wants to run away from that pain… and… and I…"

Lucas let out a heavy sigh as he put an arm around his son. "...And you feel guilty, because that means part of you wants to run away from me."

Mark looked up at his pa, tears in his eyes. "I don't want to feel this way, Pa. I… I just get so sick thinking about it. It's… it's like…" Mark couldn't find the words to express what he felt.

"It's like the more you love, the more part of you doesn't want to?" Looking into his son's eyes, Lucas knew Mark was too scared to admit it. "Son, I understand. I might feel the same way about you, if I hadn't learned my lesson with your mother."

"...What do you mean?"

"About a month before your ma and I got married, your ma got caught in the middle of a fight between me and someone from my past. ...She almost got killed. She insisted it wasn't my fault and tried to get me to listen to reason, but I called off the wedding. A big part of me was afraid for her safety… I was scared my past would get her killed. But another part of me became afraid to love her, because I was scared of losing her. I was afraid of the pain the unknown might bring. ...But what I finally realized, with some help from your grandmothers, was that running away didn't stop me from loving her. It didn't keep me from worrying about her. It just meant I was farther away from her and in less of a position to do something if anything did happen to go wrong. ...Mark, there's a part of love that has to hurt, but it's also a part of what makes our bond so special. Running away from me, or any problem, for that matter, isn't going to help. Most of the time running away just makes the problem worse. If you were honest with yourself, you would recognize that you can't change how you feel. You would recognize that nothing can stop the love between us. …Son, I love you, and there's no reason you need to be afraid of loving me. Because no matter what happens, it's that same love that binds us together. Dead or alive, it doesn't matter, because nothing could stop a force that strong."

"...I… I guess not, but…" Mark again looked deep into Lucas's eyes. "...Pa, I'm glad that for now, you're alive."

"That makes two of us."

Mark quieted as he thought back to a time when he had nearly died. He wondered now if he had really visited his mother… if such a thing could be real… or if he had dreamt the whole thing. "...Pa, did you have any dreams while you were unconscious?"

Lucas thought for a long moment as he looked out across the land, a small smile appearing on his face. At the time, everything had felt so real. Seeing his wife… meeting their unborn child. …But would he have truly been given a choice if it was God he had spoken to?

"...Yes, Son… I reckon I did…"