I just wanted to say another quick thanks for the lovely comments that have been left by members and guests... Thanks so much for your continuing support :-)

And a quick word on this chapter. There's more mention of terrain, so this is just a reminder that I made it all up! Don't try to find it on a map!

Whilst Clara had been stomping angrily across the meadow away from Adam, he had been keeping a watchful eye on the river which had started to veer away from its previous southerly course. Adam assumed it was a stubborn outcropping of rock which had made the river curve, but it would find its way back, he was sure. It had to. Once they had crossed through the stand of cottonwoods it would be there in its customary place, flowing to the south, just where it had been since they had escaped from Cordell.

His worry over the river was forgotten during the encounter with the cantankerous old miner. But when he and Clara reached the top of the bank above the miner's hut, Adam was dismayed to see the river was nowhere in sight. He ran along the top, Clara trailing behind him, until he spied the river cutting through the land. It had made a ninety-degree turn to the west and was now heading for the ocean.

Adam could only stand and stare, the rifle and canteen suddenly heavy in his hands. Clara looked up at him but in his distraction, Adam didn't notice. She tugged on his sleeve.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Adam's jaw clenched. "The river has changed course."

Clara's brow creased. "So?"

Adam looked down at her and sighed.

"So, the river has turned west. And we need to go south. Across there."

He pointed.

Ahead of them, as far as the eye could see, was a landscape of dry, scrubby earth. Gone was the lush, cool forest. This was hard terrain, void of obvious water sources, and littered with sparse twisted trees and clumps of pale yellow bitterbrush. Adam knew it would be hard on their bodies and their minds.

"We've lost our water, and food will be harder to come by. But that's the way we need to go."

That way was Tahoe, and the Ponderosa.

"We'd better go then," said Clara. And to Adam's surprise she started to scramble down the slope. What had happened to the girl who this morning was professing she couldn't go on, Adam wondered. Heck, right now he didn't care. He had expected a protest, but hadn't got one. He'd settle for that.

So the two fugitives had to abandon the cooler river valleys and continue their journey through the considerably harsher land to the south. At first, Adam could recognise the drama and beauty in the country around him: the bitterbrush was in full bloom and the tiny flowers shone like gold coins in the sunlight. But after several hours, Adam's head was hanging heavily on his neck, as was Clara's, and the walk had become a slog. The sun was unrelenting. Clusters of jeffrey pines offered some escape, but more often than not the only shelter came from the sparse twisted trunks of the cedars growing singly over the dry sloping hills.

Clara was subdued, the dry heat draining the vigour from her body, so Adam let her be. He was too tired to make conversation anyway. Food was becoming harder to come by and both were growing weak from lack of sustenance on top of the never-ending trudge of the trek.

When the sun was a few hours past its zenith, Adam called them to a halt in the shade of a tree and used the miner's knife to prize open the can of peaches. They both closed their eyes at the taste of the sweet fruit and enjoyed the juice trickling down their chins and over their fingers. The juice took away their thirst as Adam was conserving the meagre supply of water he was carrying in the old man's canteen. For now, the syrupy peach juice served to rid them of the spiky dryness in their mouths.

Adam knew they should push on but exhaustion got the better of him, so they both slept until the rotation of the earth took away their shade and they were woken by the evening warmth burning their legs. Clara slept a restless sleep, tossing and turning on the hard ground, and when she woke she was paler than normal. A sheen of moisture made her face shine. Adam frowned as he placed his hand on her forehead.

"You're hotter than you should be."

"It's just the heat."

"I know the signs of a fever, Clara."

"I feel fine, honestly I do."

Adam pressed the back of his fingers against her cheek. There was no mistaking the clammy feel of her skin. He dropped his hand and gave her a hard look. "Are you sure?"

She rose to her feet. "We can't stay here, can we?"

The child was learning, thought Adam. She was ignoring her own discomfort as she recognised their need to keep moving. How different to a few hours ago.

But then Clara made the unmistakable motion of one who was about to be sick. She turned quickly and took a few paces away before doubling over and losing the contents of her stomach. Adam couldn't help but notice the half-digested peaches. Damn it! They should have left the can at the shack; it was too rich a food to have eaten after days of basic rations, and especially not in this heat. She wobbled back to Adam and dropped heavily to the ground.

"I don't feel so good."

He held the canteen of water out to her.

"Drink."

"No, Adam, it's only half full, we need to—"

"Drink."

Clara lifted the flask to her lips and took a sip of water. She handed it back to Adam, who took it with a frown.

"I feel better now. We can carry on."

Adam shook the canteen and felt the weight of the water that swished within it. "You barely had enough to wet your lips. Now come on, take another…" Adam suddenly stopped. Clamping his lips together, he thrust the canteen into Clara's hands, scrambled to his feet and threw up his share of the peaches. He straightened up, wiped his hand over the back of his mouth and looked at Clara through bleary eyes.

"I don't think we're going any farther today."

And as his stomach protested once more, he fell beside her and collapsed onto his back.

"Those damn peaches," he muttered.

~8~

They were both sick again. The peaches had done their worst.

It was a dismal night. The two weary travellers lay under a twisted cedar exposed to the elements. Clara was lucky; she managed to sleep, waking only once to lurch a few feet away and be sick once more. She staggered back to Adam, lay down and was asleep within seconds. Adam wondered whether she had even properly woken.

Adam wasn't so fortunate. He slept a little, but the griping in his stomach and the cold would wake him after whatever sleep he got. Looking up at the night sky, Adam could see a shimmering band of silvery light surrounded by a million stars as the Milky Way hung in the firmament above him. It was mesmerising. Adam found staring into its dark centre distracted him from the roiling ache in his belly and he could ease up on the weight of his hand pressed against his stomach. Magnificent as the sky was, however, the lack of any cloud cover meant the night grew bitterly cold. He couldn't risk starting a fire, not in the open as they were. It would be seen for miles around, a golden beacon in the mahogany night. So Adam had no choice but to curl up, shiver and pray for the dawn.

He was woken by a soft hand on his arm. At some point, and against the odds, he had managed to drift off to sleep. He moved his hat away from his face, and squinted slightly against the new day's light. Clara was on her knees next to him, holding out the canteen of water. Leaning back on one elbow, he took the flask from her. It was heavier than it had been the night before.

"This is full."

"I knew you'd need some water."

Adam sat upright and grabbed her arm. "You can't go wandering off by yourself. It's not safe."

Clara twisted her arm free. "I didn't…well, I did. But I only went to that line of trees over there."

Adam looked at where she was pointing and observed a line of yew trees cutting across the landscape about sixty yards from where they were. Why he'd not noticed them the day before he put down to hunger, fatigue and then feeling so sick nothing had registered with him for a long while.

"I had to go and…" Clara blushed, her gaze flicking to the ground. "Anyway, when I got to the trees I saw a stream. There's water there, Adam, so I came back for the canteen. To get water for you."

Adam looked over at the trees. How could be have missed the signs? A line of sporadically placed trees, but in a distinct line, following the course of a depression in the ground. All the evidence of water, and he had missed it. He then noticed Clara's face properly for the first time. Her skin was clean, the dirt of the previous day washed away. The hair around her face was damp where she'd thrown water over it. He un-stoppered the canteen and let a long delicious draught of water flow down his throat. It revived him instantly. A smile played around his lips.

"You still shouldn't have gone by yourself. Wake me next time."

"There's things a girl's to do by herself, Adam. And anyway, I had this." And reaching behind her, she pulled over the rifle, the barrel scratching through the earth as she tugged it by its stock.

Adam reached out and gently prized her fingers off the weapon. "Clara, this isn't a toy. You don't know how to use it; you could have shot yourself by mistake. Do you have any idea—"

"It's okay, Adam." She reached into her skirt pocket and uncurled her palm to reveal two rifle cartridges. "I watched you load them, so I knew how to take them out."

Good grief, she was a quick learner.

"If anyone, or any animal, had come near me, I was going to club them with it."

Adam shook his head and smiled. "Your mother taught you well." Clara hung her head for a moment but when she looked up, her cheeks were puffed up into a semblance of a smile." Using her shoulder to push himself up, Adam rose to his feel. "How do you feel?"

"My stomach doesn't hurt anymore, but I'm really hungry."

"Me too." He looked towards the sun which was suspended halfway towards its apex and scratched the back of his neck. "We've lost good time."

"I'm ready to go."

He looked at Clara and was once more surprised by her willingness. "What happened to the girl whose feet were always sore, who was always tired and hated the wilderness?"

Clara looked down at her boots. "My feet are sore, Adam, but I guess I've got to get used to it. I have to get used to lots of new things now." She sucked in one cheek, and exhaled heavily through her nose, suddenly looking about six years old.

Adam smiled. "Come on, we'll get some more water and climb that ridge ahead of us. Then we'll know what the day will bring." They began to walk. "And when we get to the Ponderosa, I'm going to teach you how to fire this thing." He lifted the rifle in his hand.

"Why not now?"

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Because I want to make it home in one piece." And with a quirk of his lips, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and together they strode into the new day.

~8~

They laboured to the top of the ridge and were faced with an arid landscape of scrub and sagebrush lying between them and a forest-clad range of hills. And overshadowing the hills were the shallow-topped mountains that ringed Adam's beloved Lake Tahoe. Adam took off his hat and closed his eyes, as relief washed though his limbs. They were so close, so near to home. And yet the mountains would prove a formidable obstacle. He hit his hat against his thigh as he considered the task ahead. There was no point in worrying about the mountains until they had reached the pine-covered foothills. The forest meant food and shelter, neither of which they had at the present time. So with empty bellies, and after a mouthful of water each, they picked their way down the slope and began the long trek across the scrub.

At first they made good time, in spite of the hunger and weakness caused by their bout of sickness. But the sun was unrelenting. It was as though the sun's rays were pushing on their backs, pressing them into the earth, until, before long, their feet were dragging and catching on every tiny rock. The water in their canteen was all they had to fill their stomachs and soon the good spirits they shared on waking became a memory. Clara reverted back to her old self, demanding frequent breaks to restore her sapped strength. Adam replied 'only a little farther, just a bit more'. But in his eagerness to reach the forest, the break would be forgotten, and poor Clara was soon lagging behind. He relented when the sun was at its highest, allowing her to crawl under a shrub and lie down in the prickly shade for a short while. But it wasn't for long and he soon had her on her feet again, trudging across the scrub. They both became irritable, snapping at each other for no reason besides exhaustion. And so they walked and walked and walked, until, in the early evening, when their legs were struggling to hold their weight, and their feet were sore from the hard ground, they finally made it to the forest.

It was growing dark by the time they both flopped to the ground. Clara lay back with her arms stretched out to either side, whilst Adam hung his head where he sat. But they both desperately needed food and warmth, so after he'd roused Clara with several tugs on her arm, they gathered enough wood for Adam to build a fire. He was past caring about where Cordell was and figured they were deep enough in the forest for a fire not to be seen, so he stirred the flames up to a roaring blaze. But his work was still not done. Leaving Clara in their camp, he wandered into the dark forest to set a snare. He prayed it wouldn't be long before they had meat cooking over the fire.

On his return, Clara was sitting with her back to a tree trunk, her arms clamped around her drawn-up knees. Despite the burning heat of the day, the night temperature was dropping fast, and the purple light of dusk couldn't hide Clara's shivers. Adam sat down next to her, held out his arm and after a moment's hesitation, she shuffled over. He pulled her close, vigorously rubbing up and down her arms to help warm her. The dry wood in the fire cracked and spat; showers of sparks leaped up to a darkening sky. Leaning back together against the trunk they nibbled on a handful of berries Adam had found and watched the stars begin to twinkle one by one in the sky.

She shifted position letting her knees fall over Adam's outstretched legs. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet it was almost swallowed up by the noise of the night creatures.

"I'm afraid, Adam."

He kept his eyes on the fire. "Of what?"

There was a long pause, so long anyone else might have thought she was not going to answer, but Adam gave her the time she needed.

"My mama's dead. I'm scared I'll be sent back to live with my father."

"You told me you remember him."

She lowered her head, and looking down Adam could see the firelight reflecting on her blonde hair.

"I have only one memory of him. He was tugging on my arm and shouting. I can still see his face. He was so angry he was spitting, and I can remember the feel of the spit on my skin." She raised her head to look in the fire. "That's the only memory I have of him. But I have lots of Mama holding me as I cried, of being rocked by her. And I can remember being woken in the middle of the night and her dressing me quickly and carrying me down the stairs. That's all though. I was so little, I don't know how I can remember. But I do."

Adam smiled. "Who knows why we remember some things and not others. I have a distinct recollection of sitting in front of my father on a horse, with my hands gripping the reins. If I close my eyes I can see my little fingers holding on tight. I have no idea where we were, where we were going. But it's a very strong image in my mind."

"Were you happy?"

Adam thought. "I think I was. I feel safe when I think of it."

"Is your father still alive?"

The side of Adam's face quirked up. "He sure is. I would have been with him now for the first time in six years if this hadn't happened."

"He must be old."

Adam chuckled.

"I guess to you he would be. To me he's just, well, just pa."

"Do you miss him?"

Orange flames reflected in Adam's eyes as he stared into the fire. He didn't see the flames though but the face of his father. It was not something he had ever thought about, and it was the first time he'd ever been asked. And as he pictured his father's face, he suddenly wanted more than anything to see him again.

"Yes, I do."

Clara was quiet. Adam glanced down to see her picking at one of the many holes in her stockings.

"My father's not a nice man. He's cruel and shouts a lot. He's old now but I don't ever want to see him. He hurt Mama and me enough for her to take me away from him. But Mama's dead…" Clara's voice grew tight from the saliva building in her throat. "And I don't know what'll happen to me. I'm scared because I don't have anyone in the world anymore. I'm all alone."

Adam looked down at her, and with a gentle finger, turned her face up to him. A pair of wet eyes shone back.

"You're not alone, Clara; you've got me. And I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you. You'll come back to the Ponderosa, and you'll stay with me and my family until we sort everything out."

A fleeting thought came into Adam's mind that the Ponderosa would probably be the first place Cordell would look, but he pushed it away. They'd deal with that when the time came.

Clara looked down again. "No matter where I end up, I'll never be happy again. Not now Mama's gone."

Adam shifted position to face her and gripped her arms firmly with his hands. "Don't say that, Clara, because it's not true. You won't feel like this forever, I promise you. You'll hurt, and you'll cry, and tomorrow you might find something will make you laugh, and you'll feel guilty about it, but that's life in all it's up and downs."

"But it's not right to feel happy, not now." Clara hung her head and sobbed, and Adam pulled her close to his chest, letting her cry into his shirt.

"Do you think your mama brought you halfway across the world to a new life, only for you to be miserable? She came to give you a chance, to have the happiness she wasn't allowed. Don't deny her that."

Adam stroked her hair, feeling her shuddering breaths against his body. He suddenly became aware of her slender arms around his waist and smiled.

"You know, some people don't know how to be happy, how to enjoy what they've got. It can be staring them in the face, but they can't see it. Don't be one of those people. And don't be scared of the life your mama wanted you to live."

Adam rested his cheek on the top of her head, his eyes faraway. "Being scared is good when you have a gun pointed at you, or a rattler is shaking its rattle when you step too close. It gives you an edge, makes you sharper. But don't let the loss of your mama make you scared of living, don't let it determine what comes next."

Clara pulled away, calmer but still sniffing, and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. Adam pulled his bandana from his neck and dabbed at her eyes. "Better?"

Clara nodded. She stared at Adam for a few moments then reached her fingers up to his face, hovering them over his fading bruise. "Does it hurt?

"Not any more. Looks worse than it is."

She sighed and dropped her hands. "I'm sorry you got hurt at the hotel. But...I'm glad you're here. With me." She met his gaze and Adam responded with a smile. But then there was a sudden noise in the woodland behind them, a thwack of a branch springing through the air.

Adam's eyebrows rose. "I think that's our dinner." And with a squeeze of Clara's shoulder, he left her by the fire contemplating what he'd said.

As he made his way to the snare, his words to Clara reverberated in his mind. He knew he had been talking about himself for he was as guilty as anyone of letting past events affect him. And in his case, in a destructive way. He had let the failure of his relationship with Laura lead him to measure his own achievements against others, in particular his father's. And he had found himself wanting. For by the time his pa was his age, he had been married three times, was father of three sons and the owner of a prosperous and successful outfit. Adam, on the other hand, was unmarried, childless, and had to settle with being the number two man on the ranch.

So he had left his family, the Ponderosa, the land he loved, thinking he would find what he wanted elsewhere. But it had taken six years of aimless wandering and a twelve-year old girl for him to see that happiness, contentment, peace, whatever it may be, could only be found by letting go of the past and accepting what he had, what he'd always had, was enough. He hadn't truly appreciated his life, or his family, but now all he wanted was to see them again.

And to tell them what a fool he'd been.