Chapter 13

The next morning, Jarrod and the sheriff ran into a group of men herding cattle. Not a lot of head, maybe thirty or forty, and maybe only six or seven men. Surprisingly, they were moving north.

"This is them," Jarrod said.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"How? Do you see your man?"

"There at the front, heading toward us."

"What do you think? Did they steal this cattle?"

Jarrod nodded again.

"All right," the sheriff said. "Let me do the talking."

Jarrod nodded.

The man in the lead saw Jarrod and the sheriff and looked uncomfortable, but he came away from the others and the herd, out of the field they were moving in and toward the newcomers. He eyed both men carefully, sullenly.

Sheriff Madden made sure his badge was showing as he tipped his hat and said cheerfully, "Good morning. Nice herd you have there. Where are you headed?"

"Sacramento," the man said.

"I'm Sheriff Madden from Stockton. We're headed to Modesto to pick up a prisoner. Didn't I see you boys in Stockton a couple days ago?"

The man nodded once. "Sold a herd up Sacramento last week. Picked this one up yesterday." He didn't say how he picked it up.

Jarrod noticed a couple of other men move away from the herd, flanking him and the sheriff on both sides. Jarrod made sure the man they were talking to knew what he was seeing. He made sure the sheriff knew it too.

Sheriff Madden did see it. "Well, we'll just be moving on," he said. "Good luck with your drive."

The man they had been talking to nodded once. Jarrod and the sheriff turned their horses and continued on south.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sheriff Madden asked Jarrod, "That's our man, huh?"

"Yes," Jarrod said, "and we're not alone."

Sheriff Madden hadn't noticed that. "Riders?"

"Two, maybe three, not far back," Jarrod said. "They may just be checking to see if we keep on going."

"Well, let's play it that way, but if you hear trouble – "

"I'll let you know fast," Jarrod said.

Now that he knew they were there, Sheriff Madden could hear the riders following them, too. He and Jarrod picked up a little speed, to see if the riders would stay with them. They did, but not for long. In only a couple miles, both men heard the riders suddenly gain a lot of speed – but moving away. "Sounds like they're heading back," the sheriff said.

He and Jarrod slowed down again, Jarrod saying, "Hmm."

"We're not too far from Salida," Sheriff Madden said. "Let's go see the sheriff there."

Jarrod nodded, and again they picked up speed. Salida was not far away, but before they ever got there, they both heard a lot of riders heading their way from that direction. They stopped when they spotted them. Sheriff Madden knew right away he was looking at Sheriff Oliver of Salida and six other men, and Oliver knew him. They all stopped.

"Fred," Sheriff Oliver said in greeting. "Believe it or not, we're after a group of cattle rustlers."

"I believe it," Sheriff Madden said. "We are, too, and they're a couple miles further north of us."

"You ran into them?"

"This is Jarrod Barkley. They tried to hit his herd a few days ago but couldn't get away with anything. Shot his foreman, though. We were just coming to get you to get some help getting these guys."

"Let's go, then," Sheriff Oliver said.

They all turned north and began to ride at a decent but not too fast a clip. Sheriff Madden deferred to Sheriff Oliver and asked, "How do you want to do this?"

"Head on," Sheriff Oliver said. "I'd rather not scatter the cattle, but I brought the men to round them back up if we need to."

"Anybody hurt when they stole the cattle?"

"No, but they took every head a local small rancher had, and I nearly had to put him in jail to keep him from coming with us. He's hopping mad."

Riding beside Sheriff Madden, Jarrod overheard the conversation. He wasn't so sure that hitting the rustlers head on was going to do more than scatter everybody and every head of cattle all over the countryside, but he silently resolved that he would get the man who shot McCall. That kid was not going to be getting away. Whatever happened to the rest of it was up to Sheriff Oliver and Sheriff Madden.

And Jarrod realized something then. His determination to get the kid who shot McCall was fueling his return to normalcy. Whether it was by helping his brain or just helping him to cope, he didn't know, but he was sure it was happening. The fog was lifting.

In only a few miles, they were in view of the cattle and men off in the field. Sheriff Oliver kicked his horse into a gallop, and so did the rest of the men. They were doing as the sheriff said they would – hitting the rustlers head on. And it did send them scattering, rushing away from the herd in every direction. Men chased them, and the cattle ran but did not stampede. As soon as the men were out of the way, the cattle stopped, looking around, losing interest.

Jarrod saw the man he was after taking off like wildfire, heading toward the road. Jarrod flew after him as fast as his horse would take him, tearing through a break in the underbrush and into the road, not far behind the man who was trying to get away. Pushing harder, Jarrod got within about fifty feet of the man before a bend in the road took him out of sight. When he rounded the bend, Jarrod slowed. He saw the horse, riderless, on the side of the road nibbling some brush there. The rider was nowhere in sight, but Jarrod knew he was here. There were rocks and bushes and trees that he couldn't see two feet into, but Jarrod knew the man was here. Jarrod stopped, dismounted, listened –

And he realized now that he was actively listening. He wasn't waiting for the sounds to come to him anymore – he was concentrating, listening, and that wouldn't work. Alarmed, he nearly went spinning. Then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he knew in his soul where he was. He wasn't out of place anymore. He was in the here and now, and it happened with all the sucking feeling that he had experienced when he "died" but was sucked back into his sick body. The fog was gone, sucked off into the air, but so was the sense of calm, and so was the sense of hearing and seeing without trying. The heightened senses that had proven so helpful were gone, and the old attentive Jarrod was sucked back into him.

Not now! Not now! he thought. And then it was too late to start relying on his old, plainly human concentration. The man he was after jumped from a rock and was on top of him.

Jarrod felt his gun torn away from him, and the man on top of him had his own gun in Jarrod's face. Reflexes took over. Jarrod pushed it away, but the man held onto it, and then they were rolling in the dirt, the man trying to get the gun back on Jarrod, Jarrod seizing the man's wrists, both of them, with everything he had in him. They fought, the gun went off harmlessly. The man tried an elbow to Jarrod's ribs, but it only caught him slightly. Jarrod tried his own elbow to wherever it would hit and got the man below the belt. The man growled and cried and rolled over, losing the gun. Jarrod jumped up, grabbed both discarded guns as fast as he could, and stood over the man.

Man. He was just a kid. He moaned, doubled over in the dirt. Jarrod kept his own gun and threw the kid's gun away into the bushes. "Get up!" Jarrod snarled and pulled the boy to his feet.

The horses had moved, but not very far. They were just looking now, watching as Jarrod dragged the boy to his horse and got him up into the saddle. Jarrod used the kid's own rope to tie his wrists and anchor them to the horn of his saddle. Wordlessly, Jarrod got up onto his own horse and started them both back to where the others were.

But as he moved the boy along ahead of him, Jarrod came to know that the sense of not belonging where he was had completely left him and was not coming back. He was centered and sensible. But the sense of calm had left him too, and so had the feeling that he could hear and see better if he just let it happen. Because he couldn't let it happen anymore. It just wouldn't happen. Now he was completely anchored to the world he hadn't belonged in just ten minutes ago.

And he was mad. Mad at this kid for shooting Duke McCall, mad at him for running, mad at him for fighting him, mad about everything, especially the change that had come over him when it wasn't welcome. As he rode on, the anger rolled over him. By the time they reached the sheriffs, the lawmen had secured everyone else, and the men who had come with Sheriff Oliver were rounding up the cattle that had scattered. Jarrod dismounted, pulled the ropes loose from the saddle and pulled the boy straight down onto the ground, covering him with his pistol. He felt like kicking the kid because he was almost as angry as he'd ever been, but he didn't do it.

"You all right?" Sheriff Madden asked.

Jarrod nodded. "I'm all right. This is the man who shot Mac."

Sheriff Oliver said, "You take him back to Stockton. We'll take care of the rest of these."

Two of the men who had been herding cattle for Sheriff Oliver. rejoined him He nodded to Sheriff Madden when Fred gave him a look that asked if he had the help he needed.

Jarrod pulled the kid to his feet and shoved him back on top of his horse, tying him up to the horn again. Jarrod mounted up as Sheriff Madden fetched his horse, and soon they were on their way back to Stockton.

In virtual silence. They rode the rest of the day and through the entire night, slowing down for the darkness and resting every now and then. Sheriff Madden was concerned about Jarrod, not because he was silent, but because there was an anger and a sullenness about him that he could feel through the air but really couldn't see until they rode into Stockton at sunup. They took their prisoner to the jail and locked him in. Sheriff Madden closed the cellblock door before he turned to Jarrod and said, "You haven't said a word since started hauling this kid here. Are you sure you're all right?"

Jarrod nodded. "I'm fine, Fred. Just – tired, angry. I'm gonna head home and get some sleep."

With no further explanation, Jarrod left, mounted up, and rode home.