A.N. This chapter just stretches on and on... Lol. It's long, but worth it, methinks. Enter Henry and Carter, one of which is very important, and the other is a magical gift. And yes, Flash is Babe's Rex, I just renamed him. No disrespect is meant to the Native Americans. I have quite a bit of Native blood as well, but I didn't put a great deal of research into anything I wrote in this chapter.

This random place in Nevada does not exist, hence my very unimaginative name of City, Nevada. However, the county is real! City is hidden in Elko County, Nevada, the big county in the northeast. City is found near the top of the Ruby Mountains, and the Rivers eventually flow into the Humbolt River.

Demon Mountain, the Twin Rivers, Twin Falls, Mukua Valley and Mukua Lake are my own creations as well. :D

Chapter 9

New Dawn

Roger, while he still felt awful about the unthinkable act he had committed, felt compelled, even now, to spend every last second he could in Anita's presence. She still seemed unsure of herself, and he hated every time she shrunk in on herself. He was determined to bring back what he had so carelessly destroyed.

But time was short, his eight days were marred with a business meeting and several tear filled luncheons with his mother. Bella was no happier with his departure than he was.

Even Anita was more excited than he was. "Go! This is your dream!" she'd said when he expressed his concerns with her. College seemed like such a little thing at the moment.

On the night he was set to leave, Roger made sure to have the perfect night all set up. They ate at the best restaurant the city had to offer, walked the beach under the glittering moonlight, and danced shamelessly to a song only they could hear.

Despite all of that, the timing still felt off, and so, after much deliberation, Roger kept the tiny velvet box hidden in the recesses of his pocket. Anita shined all night, and he was so happy that he'd finally talked her into something so outrageous, but his pocket, and his conscience, burned.

All too soon it ended, and their driver was stopping at the Darling's dark, private hangar. They could just make out the flight crew scurrying through the tinted windows.

They both stepped out of the car, never breaking contact, even when the driver handed Roger the suitcase he was taking with him to Nevada. Silvery tears glittered in Anita's eyes as she pulled him in for a tight hug. He pecked her lips, the farthest he would although himself to go, only to be surprised when she deepened the kiss herself.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips as the separated.

"I love you too," he replied through the growing lump in his throat. "Don't forget me, okay?"

She smiled sadly, snuggling against him. "I promise."

"Good. I'll be back before you know it. Thanksgiving isn't that far away."

"Write me."

"Every day."

They continued to talk between each stolen kiss, until the plane behind them screamed to life. Time froze for a moment as they stared at the thing, and once it restarted, everything had changed.

Goodbye was impossible to say, it only stuck and festered on their tongues. They shared one last kiss, a long, sorrowful bath of wills. Anita cried a bit more, her nose growing red.

At last they parted, Roger stepped backwards quickly, arms still outstretched. His feet dragged him blindly on, towards the plane and up the ramp. A jump later and he found himself in a seat, staring out the window into the darkness. He could see Anita there, right where he had left her, hair whipping in the wind, and waving frantically in his direction.

Roger waved back for as long as he could, long after the world drifted away, and the airport was just a tiny speck on the ground. He eventually fell asleep, one hand pressed against the glass, a gentle fog forming around it with every breath.

o.O.o

Morning came with a bump. The plane bounced roughly on the runway as it landed, waking Roger with a start. Fresh, warm sunlight poured through the rounded windows, lighting up the whole cabin. He stretched first, popping a few places in his back and trying to release the stiffness in his neck before moving to unfasten his seat belt.

Despite the fact that he had only gotten a handful of uncomfortable hours of sleep on the plane, he had to get right to work. A dark, shiny car was waiting for him almost immediately after the exit ramp, one of his father's money men standing next to it.

The early sun glinted off of the man's sunglasses. He smiled, a large, fake grin that all professionals seemed to wear. "Roger, welcome to the middle of nowhere."

"Carter," he said as a way of greeting, helping the pilot put his luggage into the trunk of the company car. "Where are we off to this morning?"

Carter popped one of the back doors open, climbing in after Roger, and pulled off his sunglasses. "Up the valley," he said, gesturing in the general direction they were headed, "to see 'Old Man Johnson' the locals call him." The false façade slipped and a hint of Carter's true disgust showed through.

"What is the city's name?" Roger asked, peering out the window at the few buildings that were clustered together. It was impossibly small compared to the great cities he had seen.

Carter chuckled in the seat next to him. "You call this a city? New York is a city, Paris is a city, this is a blip on the map."

Roger sighed, although he silently agreed. "What would you call it then?"

"No idea, son. But the people of this place seem proud of it, might as well call it by name. Even if it is a pipe dream. City, ha!" Carter threw his head back dramatically when he laughed, shaking the entire car.

Roger held his tongue after that, taking in the strange terrain instead.

o.O.o

It took nearly an hour and a half to reach the tiny house perched on the mountain side. The place was old, and had had an addition build on at one point or another. Roger could see the line where the siding didn't match up all of the way.

All around the sad little house, the fields were lush and green, dotted his white poofs that could only be far off sheep.

Carter walked up to the door and knocked, shaking the door and the whole building it seemed. Ten minutes, and three more tries, passed before an old man came to the door.

Old Man Johnson lived up to his name. His long, thick hair was steel colored, but peppered with white strands, and deep wrinkles crisscrossed his deeply tanned skin. Despite his age however, his presence reeked of power, and in another age he might have been chief of his tribe.

"What do you want?" he asked them, interrupting his study.

Carter made a move to answer, but Roger stepped up at once. "Roger Darling, Jr., sir. We've come about the horses?"

"Oh, oh right," he said gruffly, looking past them to the land beyond the lake. "They spend most of their time over that way."

Roger paused before he continued, giving a little extra thought to his questions. "Yes, sir. My associate here needs to speak with you about purchasing the land…"

"Take it. Everything but this place and my sheep."

That caught both of them off guard. "Sir? That's an awful lot of space."

"Build houses, a park, anything but a damn mine."

Carter's eyes gleamed. "A mine? Are there minerals here?"

Mr. Johnson focused his intense eyes on the other man. "It's Nevada, boy. You have a lot to learn."

"What, gold then?" he continued with a hint of excitement. "Roger, your father's going to want to jump on this."

"Now look here!" Mr. Johnson started in, but Roger stepped between them, trying out the sternest look he could muster on Carter.

"No, Carter. We came to protect a band of wild horses, and to make toys. There will be no mining here, even if Mr. Johnson agreed to it."

"Roger, come now. I was only…" he trailed off, glancing at the old man as if he had only just recalled that he was here.

Roger gave a satisfied nod and turned back to their host. The man seemed to be appraising him. "Mr. Johnson, we've already had a contract drawn up, but if you're serious about this, I can have another one delivered by tomorrow, can't I, Carter?"

"Yes, sir. I can do it as soon as we get back to town."

Both of them waited for the old man's answer, the noise of Carter's impatiently tapping foot being the predominate sound. Suddenly he took a step backward, holding his rickety door open. "Get inside. The both of you."

Roger led the way, taking in the rustic atmosphere. The old furniture didn't really match, and the wood floors were worn. One shelf was covered in a display of various animal skulls. But the atmosphere was cozy and warm. While Carter hovered in the corner, Roger took a spot on the couch, making himself comfortable.

Mr. Johnson groaned as he slid into the old arm chair, and, just a few seconds later, the sound of paws on the wood floors and a deep throated growl. "Flash," he called, holding out one hand. A border collie came into view, he was large, and mostly black, only his feet and a tiny patch on his chest were white. The dog growled again, but took a seat next to his master's chair. "Hush, now."

"You wanted to speak with us…?"

"My land, my people's land, butts up against the national park, up the hill. It is wild, unpredictable, and in need of a steady hand. My son and I are the only ones left of our tribe, and so he will inherit it all if I cannot sell it. I love my son, Mr. Darling, I do, but he lives out in your world now. He hopes to make himself very rich, and I can't handle the thought of him carving a crater into our family's land. Stopping the Twin Rivers and the lake, of having our paradise destroyed for greed." He paused for a breath, pointing at Carter. "You remind me of my boy. Greedy. Power hungry. But you," he stopped again, turning to Roger once more. "You have a good soul. You would treat this land with respect. Money means little to you."

"Yes, sir."

"And your father?"

"He – He is not like me, sir."

"Then the land will be yours. Not in the greedy hands of you father."

Roger let the silence stretch for a respectable length of time, pondering that and how it would affect his father. Once he had decided it was long enough he asked, "How much do you want for the land, Mr. Johnson?"

The old man shrugged, "Whatever its worth, more or less. I have this, hold on now…" He turned to the small table beside his chair and shuffled through some papers in the drawer there. "Here you go."

He held out an old paper, wrinkled and faded. The curling letters at the top was hard to read, but the bold, type-writer letters still stood out.

"The government just gave you nearly 3300 acres?!" Roger asked after scanning the deed.

"This land was claimed by the leader of our tribe in the 1800s. He was a smart man, and knew how to speak this language. The people of City owed him a great deal after their first winter, and so he traded many of our customs and ways for citizen status.

Up here in the mountains, they were free to do as they pleased. We were a mockery among the other tribes, and never were a part of the white men, and so we are a little known legend."

Carter yawned, obviously bored with Mr. Johnson and his long speeches. "This fantastic and all, but we really need to be leaving, Roger."

"Carter, what is the balance left in my personal account?" Roger asked, never looking at the man in question.

Silence stretched while Carter tried to find the sum, and then, "3.2 million, I believe." Mr. Johnson's eyebrows raised the tiniest amount possible; the shock was well hidden, but still noticeable.

Roger smiled reassuringly. "And the school has already pulled out their sum?"

"Yes, of course."

Roger drummed his fingers on the worn armrest of the couch. "Well then. Do you have any outstanding offers, Mr. Johnson?" The old man shook his head, clutching his own armrest tightly. "What is the average price per acre in Nevada, Carter?"

"No idea, sir."

"Hmm," he mumbled, doing some math in his head. "Mr. Johnson, does 1.6 million sound like an adequate amount for your land?"

The old man seemed speechless. Roger hoped he hadn't given the poor man a heart attack. "1.6 million? 1,600,000 dollars?" he said at last.

Roger's smile grew. "Yes, sir. For the land beyond the lake, the mountain top, and anything else you want rid of."

"My sheep need space," he said. His dark eyes had a far off look to them. "And my yard. Thirty acres should do, land that you may come across as you wish, Mr. Darling."

"We'll soon be neighbors, please, it's Roger."

"Henry."

Misty eyed though he was, Henry smile beamed. "1.6 million dollars. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Keep it safe," Roger suggested, grinning as he offered his hand.

Henry shook it. "Those fences are finally going to get fixed. And a new barn. And Zip's cataracts," he said happily, patting his dog's head.

"So tell me," Roger stated in again," how many dogs do you have?"

Henry just kept on smiling. "Four. Flash, Fly, Switch, and Zip."

Roger nodded. "They must work real hard out here. Lots of space."

"There are two types of sheepdogs, Roger. Those that guard and those that guide. Mine do a bit of both, really. Lots of predators in the mountains. Cougars, bears, coyotes, and wolves."

"Wolves?" Roger pressed on, despite Carter's silent protests beside him.

"A few. Someone released those ages ago. Now they come and go as they please. Picking off sheep whenever they can."

"Well –" Roger went to say, but stopped mid-sentence. He grinned from ear to ear as he stood up, "Henry, it was a pleasure meeting you. I suppose we'll be back sometime tomorrow, if that's alright. When would be best for you?"

The old man shrugged, pulling himself up as well, while Flash paced carefully at his heels. "Anytime."

They shared a few more pleasant words as he showed them out. Carter practically ran to their car, rapping on the window to wake up the driver.

Roger waved as they disappeared down the gravel drive. He had much left to do, but, for whatever reason, he felt like he had finally found his place in the big picture.