Chapter 1: The Camp

Mark McCain stood anxiously by with wide eyes as the two large men circled one another, each looking for an advantage over the other. Lucas gauged his opponent. Rough Collins was a big burly man with meaty forearms and a barrel chest as tough as a tree trunk. He smiled wickedly at Lucas showing off the space between two large front teeth. His face was round and almost hidden beneath a large curly beard. As a matter of fact Rough was hairy all over and looked like a grizzly bear ready to attack, arms outstretched, legs set shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent.

"Give it up Luke, you haven't got a chance!" the heavily Irish accent jeered.

Lucas just shook his head, his eyes narrowing, his chiseled face intense. Though Lucas was a good head taller than Rough, the other man was at least thirty pounds heavier.

"We'll see about that."

Suddenly, Rough made his move and the two men were locked together in an arm to arm combat. Each man strained to bring the other down with muscles bulging and teeth clenched.

Seeing the commotion, a small crowd began to gather. Four or five rough looking men made their way into the middle of the compound making no move to interfere but rather seemed to delight in watching Lucas' discomfort. Twelve year old Mark shot them a fierce glance before returning his attention to his father.

The two men wrestled fiercely, neither willing to give up the fight. Rough slipped a leg between his opponents sending Lucas crashing to the ground. The two men were now rolling back and forth, the damp earth clinging to the back of their shirts.

At last Lucas broke free long enough to get to one knee. But before he could stand, he was grabbed from behind as Rough tried to get Lucas in a headlock. Lucas gripped the other man's thick forearm trying to pry it away from his chest. Grunting, he planted his boot firmly on the ground. Exerting all his strength, Lucas pushed Rough away.

The big man fell on his back with a grunt. But Rough was far from defeated and slowly he rose to his feet again. Lucas stood back up breathing heavily.

"You've gotten better, but not good enough, Sodbuster!" Rough jeered, showing Lucas that detestable toothy smile as he circled once again.

Mark watched his father's reaction. Lucas hated being called a Sodbuster. His face closed, his lips thinned.

"And you've got a big mouth."

"So why don't you try and shut it up!"

Lucas took the advance this time crashing into the other man. They careened across the compound landing in a large patch of muddy earth, once again locked in a battle of strengths and wills. Soon both were caked in the black gooey mess.

The men were now laughing and jeering even harder. Mark moved closer, clenching his fist. "Come on Pa, don't let him get the better of ya!" he called out desperately.

"Stay out of the way son." Mark could see the veins bulging on his father's temple and the sheen of white teeth clinched through his mud caked face.

Lucas twisted free and stood back up. Sweat poured down his face leaving a muddy track. Rough lunged at him again. They struggled some more until Lucas felt himself being pressed backwards by the strength of those big meaty arms. But Lucas wasn't about to give up. He let himself fall to the ground bringing one foot up as he went and planting it squarely on Rough's chest. The burly man become airborne as Lucas flipped him over the top of him.

Rough lay on the ground stunned and slightly surprised. But before he could recover, Lucas was on top trying to pin his shoulders into the mud. Rough grabbed Lucas by the face trying to push him away.

Mark raced to his father's side and got down on his knees. "Come on Pa, you can do it!"

The men were going wild seeing Lucas with the advantage. Mark waited with baited breath as his father strained to hold his opponent down.

But then Rough brought his arms up between Lucas' and in the next instant Lucas found himself flipped over onto his back. The table was now turned in the other man's favor. Rough quickly took the advantage and gritting his teeth pressed Lucas into the mud. Lucas struggled to get up, but the other man's strength finally overcame him. Mark pounded the ground three times with his fist counting out loud, but his father was unable to break the hold. At the end of the count Rough released Lucas and fell back in the mud out of breath.

Lucas eased himself up on his elbows and both men started to laugh heartily. Rough slowly staggered to his feet and extended his arm out. Lucas gripped it as Rough helped him up.

The big burly man slapped Lucas hard on the shoulder, making him grimace. The rest of the men came over to congratulate their boss. "Ah ya nearly had me that time, Luke."

Lucas laughed.

Mark walked over to his father, a look of disappointment on his face. "You'll get him next time Pa!"

Rough looked down at Mark and bellowed loudly. "Spoken like a true McCain!"

"Hope I'm not interuptin'" A voice suddenly came from behind.

Mark whipped his head around to see an older man on horseback. A silver star was pinned to his chest. "Micah!" Mark called out excitedly and raced over to greet him."Ah, ya should have seen it! Pa nearly got him this time!" He said proudly.

Rough approached the rider raising his bushy eyebrows as he inspected the badge. "Just good clean fun, Marshal, I assure ya."

Micah looked down at the two men covered in mud. Clearing his throat, he tugged at his ear trying to look serious. "Well, I don't know about the clean part."

Lucas laughed as he examined himself. The muddy shirt was plastered to his skin. He pulled it away from his chest trying to shake the large chucks of black ooze off the material. "Guess we do look like a couple of sow pigs."

Micah dismounted.

Lucas ran his fingers through his hair still breathing a little heavily. He hadn't had this much of a work out in quite some time. "Rough, I like you to meet a friend of mine, Micah Torrance."

Micah extended his left hand. His right arm hung stiffly at his side, the result of a gunfight several years back that had blown his shoulder out.

The burly man approached and wiped his hand on his shirt before greeting him with a crushing handshake. "Pleased to meet ya."

Micah nodded and winced. When Rough let go, Micah shook his hand to get the feeling back.

Rough laughed. "Sorry Marshal, sometimes I just don't know my own strength."

"No need to apologize. Any man that can bring Lucas McCain down a notch or two every once in a while is good enough for me!"

Rough introduced the Marshal to the rest of the men in the small lumber camp before they took off to return to their work. Cocking his head to the side he asked, "Is that a bit of the Old Country I hear?"

Micah chuckled slightly. "Didn't know it still came through."

"Oh, ya can't fool a fellow Irishman."

They headed back across the compound towards Rough's office. Rough was the camp foreman of the rag tag bunch of timber men contracted to cut and provide the ties for the railroad line running through New Mexico. It didn't require much effort to keep his men in line though. Few seemed to want to tangle with the big bear of a man.

"Did you finish your business in Silver City, Micah?" Mark asked as they walked.

"Sure did."

"I ask Micah to swing by on his way back from Silver City if he finished up in time." Lucas explained. "That way we could all ride back to North Fork together." Lucas owned a small ranch about five miles out of North Fork, a small but growing town in the southwest portion of New Mexico Territory. Micah was North Fork's town marshal and Lucas' best friend.

"I'm sure Nels will be none too happy to see me back as well."

"You got him to be acting Deputy while you're gone?"

Micah nodded. Nels, a big burly Swidishman, was the local blacksmith. Occasionally he and a few others, including Lucas, had to act as volunteer deputies whenever Micah had to be out of town. What Micah needed was a full time deputy. It was one of the reasons he'd gone to Silver City. Silver City was the county seat for the area. He was trying to get funding to upgrade the Marshal's office as well as pay for a deputy.

"Well, we'll be ready to head out first thing in the morning." Lucas said. "Mark, why don't you take care of Micah's horse while Rough and I get cleaned up?"

"Sure Pa." Mark said happily as he led the horse away.

Rough brought Lucas over to a large rain barrel that was used to wash up. Both men stripped their shirts and proceeded to remove the mud caked into their skin. The water was ice cold, but it felt good against their heated bodies.

Mark finished tending to Micah's horse then put him in the corral with some feed and water. He rejoined the group just as his father was putting on a clean shirt.

"Did you have any trouble getting the herd up here?" Micah asked.

Lucas shook his head looking down at his son proudly. He put a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Not a one. Got me one of the best cow punchers around, haven't I son?"

"Sure do!"

The father and son team had delivered a small herd of cattle to Rough for his crew and some of the other locals who were grateful for the fresh beef. On the trail ride up, Lucas had given Mark the job of keeping the herd together. It was something he enjoyed immensely, never tiring of chasin' strays or the long hours in the saddle. It had also been a good opportunity for Blue Boy as well. Mark was training the sorrel pony into a cutting horse so the trail experience had come in handy. Mark looked up at his father. He admired Lucas greatly and took every opportunity to prove to Lucas and to himself he was worthy of the name McCain.

"Well I hope you all are hungry. Tubbs got grub cookin' as we speak." Tubbs was the camp cook. Rough crossed his arms then glanced down at Mark. "I heard he was even makin' a chocolate cake for dessert."

Mark's eyes widened. "Chocolate cake!"

Lucas laughed. "Don't need to tell the boy twice. Two things I think this boy likes better than horses is chocolate cake and fresh apple pie!"

"Can I go help Mr. Tubbs Pa?"

"As long as you don't get in his way."

"I won't." Mark said as he raced off.

Lucas merely shook his head. "That boy's gonna drive me out of house and home one day with his appetite!"

"What do you expect? He's a McCain after all." Rough joked.

They finished cleaning up. "How bought a cup of coffee?" Rough asked Micah. "Got a pot still on the stove in my office?"

"Now that's something you don't have to ask me twice about." The Marshal chimed, thumbing at his chest. Micah was well known for his addiction to coffee, a habit he'd acquired after giving up several more unsavory ones in the past.

Lucas tucked in his shirt, then picked up the modified Winchester rifle he always carried with him. It was a beautiful rifle; one Lucas had designed himself with a quick action loop and pin trigger. It could fire seven rounds out of a Henry magazine as fast as any pistol. Lucas carried it with him wherever he went.

The two followed Rough into a wood framed tent draped in canvas. A small pot belly stove sat in the middle of the room with a metal coffee pot on the warming plate.

Just off to the side was Rough's desk piled high with an assortment of papers, surveyor's maps and tools. On top of a particularly large stack of paper an orange tabby cat lay curled up in a furry ball. More items were stacked around the desk in disorganized piles. Rough pick the cat up who let out a disgruntled purr. "Off you go, little lady and earn your keep." The cat stretched out in protest before walking slowly out the door.

Rough rooted around until he found a couple of tin cups and offered them to his guests. "Not much to speak of, but we call it home," he said as he poured Micah a cup of coffee.

Removing another stack of papers from a nearby chair and not knowing what else to do with them, he set them on his bunk in the corner of the room. He offered Micah a seat while Lucas opted to lean against the corner of the desk, holding the rifle easily across his lap.

As they drank, Micah filled Lucas in on his trip. Micah always detested the necessary task. He disliked politics and politicians, both of which seemed to be thriving as much as the gambling in Silver City. He hadn't much luck with funding for a deputy or the jail. "Folks are more than happy to want an outlaw put away, so long as they don't have to pay for his upkeep."

"So what's going on in Silver City lately, Marshal?" Rough asked. News of any kind was always hard to come by.

Micah leaned back in his chair and filled him in. Most of it had to do with how the town was fast growing into one of the largest centers of trade and business in New Mexico.

Rough shook his head. He was a man who would always like the open frontier too much to be cooped up in civilization for long. Knowing Rough, Lucas could only smile in agreement.

"But say, Luke, I ran into an old friend of mine, Marshal Peters, remember him?"

"Isn't he the one with seven daughters?" Lucas asked ruefully.

Micah nodded smiling. "Used to be the Marshal up near Lone Pine. Retired now, arthritis so bad he can barely get around. Came out to see the last one of his daughters get married off." Micah chuckled. "Never seen a man so happy. Anyway, he had some interesting news to pass down the line about an outlaw named Lloyd Corbain."

"Don't think I've heard of him," Lucas replied.

"Hmmm. Well he may have been around here a little before you settled down into these parts. He and his gang were stirring quite a bit of havoc up around Lone Pine about six years ago. Hitting express offices and Wells Fargo shipments mostly. They had quite a lucrative operation going on for a while. He'd use all those canyons up there to hide out and loose a posse. Law had a heck of a time trying to trail him."

"What happened to him?"

"Took off about five years ago, about the same time the locals were having a lot of problems with a band of renegade Apaches in the area. Army had to bring in extra troops to deal with them. I guess Corbain figured the place was getting a little too hot and moved on to greener pastures. Anyway, Corbain and some of his men were spotted crossing back into New Mexico Territory couple weeks ago up near Branagen. Parker thinks he may be heading back to his old stomping grounds."

"What do you think?"

Micah sat contemplating. "Be a fool if he did. His face is too well known by every law man around these parts and half the army to boot. And there's still plenty of wanted poster plastered around to make it a bit unfriendly to show his face. My guess is he's most likely heading south for the Mexican border, but it wouldn't hurt to keep your eyes open just in case. He's been known to hit outskirt camps like yourself if he thinks there may be profit in it for him."

"I'll remember that." Rough said.

Lucas slapped his friend on the shoulder. "A man would be awful stupid though to want to mess with Rough here," he said jokingly.

Meanwhile, Mark sat watching Tubbs, the camp cook, prepare the evening meal. He was a wiry ornery skinny black man. But, despite his somewhat surly disposition, Mark couldn't help but liked him. He had once been a slave in Mississippi. And, like many slaves, after they were freed, had headed out west. He'd been Rough's camp cook for many years and most of the men didn't seem to care what color his skin was so long as their bellies were full. For the most part Tubbs preferred to be left alone but for some reason he seemed to soften a bit when Mark was around. Rough said maybe it was because Mark reminded him of his own son he'd lost a long time ago.

"Well just don't sit there." Tubbs said peevishly. "Go make yourself useful. Bring me back an armful of wood for the stove!"

"Yes sir."

Mark didn't mind Tubbs' disposition and was more than happy to help. He ran out to the wood pile in the back. Some of the logs on top of the pile were still damp from recent rains. But as Mark started moving them aside to get to the dryer ones beneath he suddenly heard a rattling sound that stopped him dead in his tracks. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he looked quickly about. There, next to the woodpile a huge rattlesnake lay within striking distance of his leg. He must have disturbed its rest when he moved the wood.

The large snake was clearly agitated and continued to shake it's rattle in warning, coiling into a defensive pose. Mark tried to inch slowly away, but it seemed to only make the snake more aggressive, forcing Mark to freeze. Not knowing what else to do he shouted for his father.

Lucas had finished his coffee, and he and Rough were heading over to check on Mark. They just approached the side of the cook's tent when Lucas heard his son's panicked cry. He gripped the rifle tightly and rounded the corner with Rough close behind.

The first thing Lucas saw was Mark's back. His son stood frozen. Then he heard the rattle. "Stay still son!" Lucas called out.

Mark turned his head towards his father's voice. "Pa."

The snake coiled up and raised its head ready to strike. Lucas wasted no time. In once fluid move, Lucas brought the rifle up and fired. The snake was shot dead in the head within inches of Mark's leg.

Lucas ran over to his son. "You all right boy?"

Mark looked down at the dead snake and sighed in relief. "I am now. I'm sorry Pa, I didn't even see him. He was hiding in the wood pile."

Lucas put a hand gently on his son's shoulder. "Never mind. I'm just glad you're safe."

Rough let out an impressed whistle. "Mighty quick shootin' there Lucas," he said. "I'd forgotten just how good you were with that rifle."

"Pa's the best there is in these parts, Mr. Collins. He can shoot the head off a dime a hundred feet away," Mark said proudly.

"Mark," Lucas reprimanded a little sternly.

"Well it's true!" Lucas just looked at him sternly. "Yes, sir." Mark said dropping his eyes.

Lucas disliked Mark to boast about his father's prowess. But sometimes Mark just couldn't help himself. He never met anyone that could outmatch his father with pistol or rifle. It was just one of the many things Mark admired about his father.

"Ah don't be too hard on the boy, Luke. He's proud of you."

Before Lucas could respond, Micah and a few of the other men hurriedly showed up alerted by the sound of the gunfire. Lucas explained what happened.

Rough picked up the dead snake. "We've been having problems with these varmints lately." Rough explained. "Just last month a rattler struck one of my men in the arm. He nearly died. A snake this size would have killed the boy for sure." He tossed it aside in the bushes.

One of Rough's men, a half bred Indian by the name of Billy Whitefeather retrieved it. He held up the dead snake admiring it. The Indian was dressed in buckskin pants and a flannel shirt. On his head he wore a beat up cowboy hat with a beaded band and several feathers sticking out the side. His dark black hair hung straight down over his shoulders.

"Now what the heck are you plannin' on doing with that thing?" Rough asked the Indian.

He looked at Mark then winked at Rough. "Rattle snake tail has strong medicine. I make into charm to ward off evil spirits and bring good luck." The Indian set off with his prize.

The sudden danger Mark had felt was now replaced by keen interest. "Can I go watch Pa?"

Lucas was a little wary. Although Rough kept a tight rein on the men, some of them weren't exactly angels.

Rough read Lucas' mind. "It's all right, Lucas, Billy's harmless. As a matter of fact he likes kids. He's got a least a dozen of his own back home."

Lucas finally nodded his approval. "But be back in time for supper."

"I will!" Mark quickly headed off to catch up with the Indian. Lucas was always amazed at his son's ability to bounce back.