Chapter 7: A Tenuous Alliance

Lucas and Micah had searched almost five miles downriver without a single trace of Mark other than the hat they found the previous day. It was only when they'd reached a bend in the river where it widened out and the fast moving current slowed that Lucas found something that give him some hope at last.

"Look here Micah," he said, hurrying to a muddy embankment on the north shore which had recently been disturbed. Several gouges appeared in the mud, as if someone had been struggling up the incline and had slipped. The markings came from a single pair of boot prints but they were too large to be Mark's. However a set of drag lines followed the prints and led to a small area covered in dried leaves.

"Looks like someone was here all right," Micah said.

Lucas knelt down on one knee, his rifle butt resting on the ground. "And not that long ago either by the looks of it." Something of color caught his eye. He brushed the dried leaves aside and picked up the small object in his gloved hand. It was an ivory button. He showed it to Micah. "Mark must have been here all right," he said. "This looks like one of his buttons off his shirt."

"Somebody found him, then?"

Lucas gripped the button tightly in his fist. "Yeah. But who?"

"Whoever it was, he was alone." Micah pointed to a single set of hoof prints heading away from the river. "Trail head northwest."

Lucas nodded. Remounting Razor, he put the button in his shirt pocket feeling both relief and worry. Relief that he finally had a solid lead on his son, but with only one the one set of prints, Lucas wondered what condition the boy was in. But another thought was crossing his mind. Having already run into a determined bounty hunter and a trigger happy group of outlaws in this remote section of wilderness, Lucas also worried who else is son may be with.

Meanwhile, Mark held on tight to Will's waist as the outlaws rode up and down and around one hill after the next. For the most part Will kept stoically silent and after several hours, Mark was beginning to tire. Pretty soon his head started nodding against Will's back and his arms slackened their grip as he started to fall asleep, only to be jerked awake by a sudden shift in the horse's weight.

Eventually, the outlaws were forced to stop and rest the winded horses. The men had ridden hard the previous night, and with Mark riding double, their progress was considerably slowed. They found a small grove of ash trees and hid the horses out of sight.

The stop was none too soon for Mark as he slid wearily down to the ground. With shaky legs, he made his way over to a nearby tree and slumped against it. He was thirsty and his head hurt.

Will walked over and stared down at him. Despite his earlier resolve, he felt concern. Mark was pale and he put a hand to the boy's forehead. It felt warm. Bringing the canteen over, he made Mark drink, offered him some jerky then, told him to rest. Mark didn't argue. Exhausted from his ordeal in the river and the long day's ride, Mark put his head down. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

Lloyd watched the exchange closely before ordering Will to tend to the horses. Roark retrieved a bottle of whiskey from his saddle bag and handed the reins of his horse to Will. "Take care of this one too, boy!"

Will was about to snap something back, but Briggs interceded. "Come on I'll give you a hand."

The convict smiled with satisfaction at Will's annoyance, before uncorking the bottle. But he hadn't even gotten it to his lips before Lloyd yanked it out of his hand. "Hey!"

"I have enough trouble dealing with you when you're sober! Lay off the rock gut!"

"But I'm thirsty!"

Lloyd threw him a half empty canteen of water. "Drink this instead and quit bellyaching! We'll rest the horses for a few hours but I want someone posted to make sure we aren't being followed."

Roark took a swig of water and grimaced as if he were drinking poison. "Well don't look at me, I'm tired!" the outlaw sourly replied. He grabbed his bedroll and laid it out in the shade. With a bit of a groan, he plopped his rounded body on the ground and leaned against a log. "Get the kid to do it. I'm going to catch a few winks."

Lloyd glared down at the overweight outlaw but didn't press the issue. At least, for the moment, he'd be out of Lloyd's hair.

Back near the river, Lucas and Micah followed the tracks of the single rider heading northwest through a stretch of rocky terrain with pockets as ash and junipers. From previous hunting trips, Lucas was a little familiar with the area and seemed to recall there being a number of underground springs in the White Rock area that would offer fresh water. It would be a logical place to stop and Micah agreed that it might be worth checking out.

After scouting a few locations with no luck, Lucas' intuition paid off when they stumbled on an abandoned campsite. Crouched over the remains of a campfire, he felt the ashes on the bottom. They were still slightly warm, indicating someone had been here recently, perhaps as little five to six hours previously.

Upon further inspection they also found several sets of boot prints, including a smaller set, about Mark's size, which made Lucas' heart give a hopeful jolt. "Looks like whoever found Mark must have met up with a least three other men here."

"Could be a group of hunters or even trappers, Lucas. Game is pretty plentiful in this area this time of year."

Lucas nodded, hoping he was right. But on the far side of the campsite, Micah found something else interesting. On the ground something had been scratched lightly in the dirt, partially smeared by a boot print. It looked like the letter "M" with a small "c" anchored in the center point.

"That's the McCain brand. Mark's definitely been here alright!" But it was the three small stones stacked neatly on top of one another that made Lucas frown in concern. He recognized the sign immediately. It was a common Indian symbol indicating danger.

"What do you make of it?" Micah asked.

But Lucas shook his head. "I don't know, but at least I know he's got his wits about him."

After finishing their inspection of the camp and about to leave, Micah and Lucas heard someone say, "Well, well, well, we met again, McCain!"

Lucas and Micah spun about to see the bounty hunter sitting lazily in his saddle, gun drawn and resting lightly on the saddle horn.

"What are you doing here?" Micah demanded.

"About to ask you the same thing, Marshal," Broudy said. "Thought you weren't lookin' for Corbain."

"We weren't." Lucas replied thinly. "We found evidence my son was pulled out of the river by someone. Trail leads here."

Broudy eyed them skeptically and then swung one leg over the saddle and hopped down. "Doesn't sound much like Corbain to stop and help a kid when his own neck's on the line," he commented as he re-holstered his gun and squatted down and examined the remains of the campfire.

"And what makes you think it was him?" Micah asked.

Over his shoulder, the bounty hunter explained. "Found Corbain's trail up river. He and a couple of his men backtracked this way. Came across one of them dead." He stood back up. Looking at Lucas he said, "Guess you got one after all McCain."

Kicking the stones encircling the campfire pit, Broudy rested his hands above his gun belt. "They must have planned to meet up with someone here." He looked up at Lucas. "You think one of them might have found your boy?"

"Perhaps."

Broudy examined the hoof prints. "Tracks are heading towards the mountains. They could be trying to head into Arizona along one of the mountain passes. Lot of wilderness up there and Corbain knows every pass and blind canyon up there." Broudy cocked his head to one side. "If your boy's tangled up with Corbain and his gang, McCain, he's probably in lot of danger."

He watched the big sodbuster's jaw tighten. The bounty hunter smiled ironically. "Seems like we've got a mutual interest in Corbain after all."

Lucas stepped closer to Broudy, his mouth a thin taut line, clearly not amused. "Look here, Broudy," Lucas said, emphasizing his words with a pointed finger at the gunman's chest. "If my son is with these men, I don't intend for you to get gun happy with my boy in the middle!"

Broudy stopped smiling, his eyes hard. He was not a man that liked to be talk to, he usually did the talking. "Well it looks like you don't have much of a choice, McCain," he replied matter-of-factly. "I've been hunting Corbain too long to let him get away now! If he's got your boy and he's still alive….." Broudy saw McCain's eyes flash in fury, "It's for a reason."

"And what do you reckon that would be?" Micah asked.

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Most likely to insure them safe passage, Marshal, especially if they think they're being trailed by the law. Once they don't need him anymore….." He let the sentence trail off.

Lucas clenched his teeth.

"I hate to admit it, but he might be right Lucas," Micah said.

"Whether you or I like it or not, looks like we're after the same prize. Difference is, I know Corbain. I know how the snake thinks." The bounty hunter rubbed the twisted scar across his face, then eyed McCain intently as if coming to a decision. "Look, I'll help you get your kid back, McCain, but I'm making one thing clear now, Corbain's mine!"

After a somewhat heated discussion, Lucas and Micah reluctantly agreed to form a loose alliance with the bounty hunter. Though neither were pleased with the idea, they saw little alternative at the moment seeing how Broudy was determined to go after the outlaw with or without help. In Lucas' opinion it was better to have the bounty hunter nearby where he could be watched than to let him take off half-cocked on his own and possibly place Mark in more danger than he was already in.

"But, I'm going to make myself clear as well, Broudy," Lucas threatened. "You jeopardize my son's safety in anyway and it won't be Corbain you'll have to worry about!"

Rather than being annoyed by Lucas's threat, the bounty hunter seemed amused as he watched Lucas slide the Winchester into the leather scabbard. As the three mounted up and headed out, Broudy thought that rifle just might come in handy after all. His eyes slid to Torrance. As for the old marshal, he might be another problem. Broudy wasn't about to loose Corbain to the lawman. He already had invested too much time and energy in tracking the outlaw down to let the Marshall reap the reward. Besides, he had his own reasons for wanting Corbain alive, for now.

A short while later, the three set off together in search of the outlaw's trail.

After several more hours of riding, Lloyd finally decided to stop and make camp for the night and led the group down into an arroyo concealed in trees. On the way down his mare stumbled on some loose rocks. Lloyd cursed as he was nearly unsaddled.

Once they found a suitable place to make camp, he ordered Mark to fetch some wood for a fire while he checked the mare's foreleg. It appeared to be sound. "And stay where I can see you, you hear?" he barked over his shoulder.

Although exhausted by the long day's ride, Mark complied without argument glad to have some time alone. Will had barely spoken two syllables to him all day and Mark was beginning to wonder if he really had regretted saving his life.

But there was something else troubling Mark's mind. From the bits and pieces of conversation Mark had overheard during the day's ride, it was clear the outlaws were heading for somewhere specific and Lloyd wanted to get there as fast as possible, despite complaints from the other outlaw called Roark. Whatever the case, their current route was fast taking him further away from the river and with it the hope of Lucas being able to find him. Mark's only hope was to keep trying to leave a trail as much as possible without getting caught.

Collecting some sticks for the fire, Mark got another idea. Glancing quickly back to make sure no one was watching, Mark headed a little ways back up to the top of the arroyo and looked quickly about. At last he found just what he needed. Breaking a branch from a small scrub tree he left if hanging then ripped a small strip of cloth from his shirt tail and tied it around the branch.

Afraid of being gone for too long he hastily tucked his shirt back in his pants and quickly went about collecting the rest of the wood before hurrying back towards camp.

He'd almost returned when he was suddenly grabbed from behind. Startled, Mark dropped the wood as Roark spun him about. When he tried to wiggle free the convict gripped his arm tightly. "What are you up to boy?" He growled menacingly.

"Nothing, honest," Mark lied. "I…I was just getting the wood like Lloyd told me."

"You better not be lying to me brat!" Roark threatened, tightening his meaty fingers around Mark's arm even more making him wince.

"You're hurting me!"

A slow smile appeared across the outlaw's face, apparently enjoying Mark's discomfort. In his other hand he held a whiskey bottle and after swirling it around took a large swig. Looking smugly down he jeered, "Afraid of me, ain't ya brat?"

"No. I try not to be afraid of anybody."

Roark laughed. "Liar." He took another gulp of whiskey and then wiped his fat sagging mouth with the back of his hand. Mark cringed in disgust. "You don't fool me ya know. Lloyd may believe that cock-and-bull story about your daddy and that marshal but I ain't that stupid!"

"What do…do ya want?" Mark asked stubbornly.

Roark mouth turned downward, clearly annoyed. "Don't get cocky with me brat! Let's just say I came to give you a bit of friendly advice." He leaned down until he was inches away from Mark's face. Mark could smell the sour odor of whiskey on the outlaw's breath as he spoke. "I still don't know why Lloyd wants to keep you around." Roark eyes narrowed into beady little slits. "But ya better not dare and cross me boy. I ain't going back to prison where there's a noose waiting for my neck! I'll be watching and it'll be my pleasure to get rid of ya, understand!" His shook Mark's arm to emphasize his point.

Mark nodded his eyes wide. Roark released him then watched with amusement as Mark hastily gathered the wood and scurried back to camp. Roark laughed out loud at Mark's retreat and took another swig of whiskey.

Back at the campsite, Mark dropped the wood off then hurried to give Will a hand with the horses, wanting to put as much distance between him and the rest of the outlaws, but especially Roark. His was praying the outlaw wouldn't discover the trail marker he'd left behind.

Will wondered about Mark's sudden skittishness and was about to ask him what was wrong when he saw Roark re-enter the camp and glance over at the boy chuckling. Then he understood all too well. His mouth thinned with displeasure. He'd be glad when Lloyd and Roark were through with their business. Ever since they busted Roark out of that prison wagon things had gone from bad to worse. Over the past few weeks of riding together it hadn't taken long for Will to discover that Roark had a vulgar nasty temper, made worse when he drank, but in Will's opinion he also seemed a little touched in the head too, paranoid about being caught.

The four had barely managed to escape a posse a few weeks ago after one of Roark's drunken encounters in a local saloon had drawn suspicion from the local law. It was the reason Will had been sent alone for supplies when Lloyd attempted to loose the posse out of Branagan and keep a low profile by avoiding any towns.

Grabbing his bedroll, Roark tossed it on the ground. Stretching out his over-sized frame, he gave a weary sigh. Lifting the bottle, he swirled the contents and took another belt.

Lloyd came over and tapped him on his leg with the tip of his boot looking sternly down at him. "Thought I told you to lay off that rock gut!"

Roark squinted one bleary eye up at Lloyd as he wiped his pudgy mouth. "I'm only washing the trail dust away!" He pointed a drunken finger at Will, "You better keep an eye on that brat sonny boy. Found him trying to sneak off."

Will looked quickly down at Mark who tried his best not to look guilty in front of everyone, but especially Lloyd. "I was gathering wood like I was told, that's all."

As Lloyd eyes narrowed hardly on Mark, Will quickly led him away telling Lloyd he needed some help with the horses.

"What's that all about?" Will demanded.

"Nothing" Mark denied.

"I thought I told you to stay clear of Roark?" he snapped. It was clear Will's mood hadn't improved. If anything, he seemed more uptight.

"I was!"

An uncomfortable silence followed as Mark helped Will unsaddle the horses. They then lead them down to a small stream a short walk from their campsite to be watered. "Wait here while I get the canteens," Will told him shortly, barely giving him a second glance.

Mark merely nodded then went over and sat down on a dead log nearby, his legs still a little shaky from his encounter with Roark. He hated even to think what Roark would have done if he'd caught him leaving that trail marker. But it was still a risk he was willing to take if it meant his Pa would be able to find him all the faster.

As Mark sat, he slowly became aware of the sounds of the evening, crickets chirping, the buzz of night insects in the air and the gentle trickle of the stream. It made him think of home and for a few minutes he allowed his mind to drift off into pleasanter thoughts.

When Will returned he saw the far off look in Mark's eyes and curiously watched him for several minutes until Mark became aware of his presence. He sat straight up, his expression at once becoming guarded again.

"What were you thinking?" Will asked. The question startled Mark momentarily. Had Will discovered what he'd done? Mark looked guiltily away and Will frowned at his reaction. "You seemed pretty deep in thought, there."

"Oh." Mark visibly relaxed. He shrugged. "I was just thinking about home."

Mark glanced down at the slow moving stream, his eyes focusing on a leaf caught in a small whirlpool in the stream. Will crouched down and started to refill the canteens. "North Fork right? You said your Pa owns a ranch there."

Mark nodded. "It isn't a very big place, but Pa and I are sure happy there." And they were. Mark wished more than anything he could be back there right now.

"What's special about it?"

Mark looked at him trying to decide how he should answer. Finally he shrugged. "I don't know. Everything I suppose. Riding the range, chasing strays, helping Pa mend the fences, taking care of the stock."

"Sounds like a lot of sweat for very little reward to me kid." Will mocked.

Mark shot him a defensive glance then looked away.

Will sighed. "I'm sorry, Mark, guess that came out the wrong way. Was never much good at making conversation." There was an uneasy silence.

Mark wasn't quite sure how they got into the conversation, maybe Will was trying to make Mark feel more at ease, or maybe he was a little bit interested, but before he knew it, Mark found himself telling Will about their place and how he and his father had first settled in North Fork.

They'd been passing through North Fork when they discovered the old Dunlap place was for sale. It had been just what they were looking for and bought it from Judge Hanoven. But that had only been the start of their troubles as it turned out.

While the horses drank from the stream, Will had stretched out against a dead log. "Why, what happened?"

Mark told him about Mr. Jackford. He was a large cattle baron that had been using the abandoned ranch as open range for winter grazing. He wasn't very happy to learn Lucas had bought the place and his men had tried everything to run the McCains off their land.

Mark's mouth tightened bitterly as he remembered the events. They'd taken Lucas' rifle, then dragged his father around on the end of a rope trying to intimidate him. When that hadn't worked, Jackford's men had burnt their house down. Mark had been forced to watch the whole thing, hating not being able to help.

But few men really understood how stubborn his father could be, especially when it came to holding onto what was his. He'd refused to be run off his own property and went after them. When he returned, he had his rifle back and the next day Jackford's men showed up with a wagon full of lumber and had rebuilt the house. Mark had never been so proud of or so scared for his Pa all at the same time.

"After that, Mr. Jackford left us alone," Mark said with considerable pride.

Mark's story made Will begin to see just what kind of determined man Lucas McCain could be. He wondered if his uncle really knew what he was going up against.

The McCains then got down to the business of running a ranch. Will listened to the pride in Mark's voice as he talked about working side by side with his father. It was something so unfamiliar to him, the exact opposite of his own childhood.

The McCain's shared everything, including the work. By the time he was ten, Mark could already handle a buckboard and team on his own. He knew how to rope and brand the yearlings and how to repair most things that needed to be fixed on a working ranch.

But it was the end of the day he liked best. Once the supper dishes were done, he and his pa would often sit outside on the porch. His pa would light his cigar and they'd watch the sun set along the mountain ranges in the distant until they were a mere silhouette against a silver sky. Sometimes they'd talk and sometimes no words were ever needed.

Will was watching Mark's face as he talked. "Guess you and your pa get along pretty good?"

"Pa's the best man I've ever known!" Mark replied with pride.

"What about your ma?"

Mark stroked one of the horses gently. "She died…. a long time ago. I barely remember her sometimes. It's just been the two of us ever since." He smiled and continued. "But Pa's told me a lot about her. He's got a picture of her at home he keeps by his chair. She was awful pretty."

Will picked up a few stones here and there and began tossing them in the water.

Mark looked at Will. "What about you?"

The young outlaw shrugged. "Not much to tell. I lost my ma when I was pretty young too. I remember a little bit about her though. She always seemed sad. Then about a year and a half ago my Pa got himself killed."

A short silence followed.

"I'm sorry Will," Mark said genuinely.

Will looked away, his face closing over. "Well don't be. Pa and I were never very close to begin with. He was nothing but a saloon drunk anyway!" Despite his feigned indifference there was bitterness in his voice.

A piece of bark bobbed along in the stream. Distractedly Will threw a couple of stones at it. The water splashed and one of the horses jerked its head up, startled. Mark stroked the animal's muzzle and it settled back down to finish drinking. The silence continued.

Mark found the young outlaw interesting, and curiosity finally got the better of him. "Will, can I ask ya something?" When he didn't say anything, Mark continued, "Do ya like being an outlaw?"

Will looked at him strangely, "What kind of question is that?"

"I don't know. Just curious I guess."

Will shrugged. "It's okay I guess. Least it's better than what I had growing up."

Mark gnawed on his lip in thought. "But don't ya ever get tired of always being on the run, I mean. Never having a place to call your own?"

Will scraped the dirt aside looking for more pebbles. "It's not so bad traveling with my uncle, kinda exciting really. My uncle likes living on the edge, taking chances, but he's smart, real smart. He knows how to pull a job without anyone getting hurt." At least that's how Will had always pictured Lloyd. He gathered another handful of pebbles.

"So is that what you like too, living on the edge?"

Will shrugged again, throwing another stone, annoyed to have missed the piece of bark. He hadn't thought about it much, he told Mark. Mark thought maybe he had.

"You're not like them you know." Mark finally said matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean?"

"Hard like them I mean." Will's jaw clench defensively and he hurriedly added. "Don't get mad. What I mean is you're different. You have to be for stopping and saving my life. I'm grateful," Mark said sincerely.

Will threw another stone with force. This time it struck the leaf dead center. "I told you before I'm not looking for any favors. I just couldn't leave you out there to die that's all," Will said flatly.

"But your uncle would have," Mark replied softly.

The sudden rustle of leaves made Will leap to his feet and a second lately, Lloyd emerged. He was looking suspiciously at the both of them. "What's going on here?"

Thumbs hooked in belt, Will replied, "Nothing, Lloyd. The kid and I were just talking."

"We're you now?" Lloyd glanced down at Mark then back at his nephew. "Anything I should know about?"

Will stood stiffly. "No, nothing you'd be interested in."

Lloyd continued to look at his nephew for several long seconds. "I hope not. You would tell me if there was?"

A thick silence followed. Mark could feel the tension between the two men. Eventually Will broke the silence. "Sure, Lloyd, you know I would."

His uncle just nodded as if they'd had a silent understanding, then became all business again. "Grubs ready. Finish up and get something to eat. I want to head out at first light."

"All right."

With that Lloyd turned and walked away.

Once his uncle was out of sight, Will let out an angry hiss. He walked a few paces away and stood with arms crossed staring into the darkness. In the distance a coyote howled soulfully. It was pretty easy to guess there was something going on between Will and his uncle.

After a long silence, Mark finally said, "You don't seem to like your uncle very much right now, do ya?"

Will gave a short laugh, but it was without humor. He turned and stared down at this scrap of a kid who didn't seem to be afraid to speak his mind. He couldn't believe that just last night he'd found him half drowned in the middle of the wilderness.

"You sure like being direct about things, don't you?"

Mark shrugged. "Pa always told me it was best just to say what was on my mind."

Will exhaled slowly. "It's complicated. My uncle and I go a long way back. I owe him a lot."

"Can't be that good if he's turnin' you into an outlaw."

Will's angry stare made Mark think he'd said too much, but then Will relaxed into a tired frown. "Wasn't always that way."

Mark looked at him perplexed. "I'd like to hear about it…. That is if you're willing to talk."

Will looked down at him strangely. He hadn't really talked about his past with anyone. Frankly, no one had ever cared to ask. When he didn't answer right away, Mark thought he had his answer. However a few minutes later he began to speak.

"Like you I was pretty young when my ma died," Will began, "'Cept my old man didn't deal with it or me very well. He started drinking more than usual and pretty soon was blaming me for anything that went wrong with his life." Will let out a humorless laugh. "I remember how he used to tear into me something awful whenever he came home from one of his binges, calling me worthless and no good, beating me until I was black and blue. Then when he sobered up, got all sappy and crying like a baby."

The only bright spot in his life was when his uncle stopped by for a visit Will went on to say. He never knew when Lloyd would show up. And though he never stayed long and often left as quickly as he came, it gave Will something to look forward to in his otherwise bleak childhood. During his stay his uncle filled his head with wild stories, stories full of adventure and excitement, though Will was never quite sure if he believed them all. But more than that Lloyd made Will feel as if someone at least gave a damn about him. His uncle made him feel special whether it was just spending an afternoon fishing at the local pond, or teaching him to play poker with a straight face. He had even once told Will that he was all the family he had left after his ma, Lloyd's only sister had died.

Whenever it was time for his uncle to leave, Will would practically beg Lloyd to take him with him, but he'd always refused saying that his life was no place for a boy.

At first Will blamed his Pa for his uncle's sudden departures. Never having gotten along well with each other to begin with, it was never long before the two of them would end up in at each other throats. Afterwards Will knew it wouldn't be long before his uncle would leave again.

After Lloyd left his pa would tear into him something awful taking whatever treat his uncle had given him and destroying it saying it came from blood money. At first Will didn't understand what he meant but later when Will learned the truth about his outlaw uncle it didn't seem to matter. He simply learned to hide whatever his uncle gave him from his father, including his first gun.

"It was Lloyd who taught me how to shoot," Will told Mark. "He would take me to a secluded canyon and we'd spend the afternoon shooting holes in cans. When Lloyd was away I'd sneak off and practice for hours just to impress him whenever he came back. It wasn't long before I got real good at it. When my pa finally found out what I was doing, he kicked me out, said he wasn't going to have a no account outlaw for a son." He paused. "Then a few days later he got himself killed in a drunken saloon fight. And do you know for what?" Will asked shaking his head bitterly. "Over a damn bottle of whiskey!" He looked out into the darkness.

Will stopped talking as if caught up in the memories of the past. "So is that when became an outlaw, after your Pa died?" Mark finally asked.

He shook his head. "Not at first. I traveled around more or less on my own for a while you know doing odd jobs here and there. But it never really paid much. When I finally decided to join up with my uncle it took me a few months to find him. At first he seemed happy to see me and it felt just like old times, you know. I was excited to be with him. And even though Lloyd kept me in the background, you know mostly as a lookout, it was great just watching him in action. He had just had a way about taking over a place and pulling off a job without a hitch and no body ever got hurt. If we did happen to get chased by a posse, Lloyd always found a way of loosing them." There was a note an adolescent pride in his voice. "He was smart, cunning and his men respected him and at first I found myself wanting to be just like him."

Abruptly Will's demeanor changed. He suddenly looked uncomfortable, even embarrassed.

"Did something happen Will?" Mark asked.

Will shrugged. "Couple of months after I joined, one of the jobs went sour." Will looked somberly down at the ground. "It was my fault. I was supposed to be on look out but I got distracted by an old woman on the street having some kind of spell. She fell down right in front of me. I was too busy with her that I hadn't noticed the two men entering the express office. Next thing I knew gunfire went off inside and all hell broke loose. We had to high tail it out of there in a hurry. Lloyd didn't even have time to get the money." He paused. "One of Lloyd's men got it in the back while we were trying to escape and it took us nearly a week to loose the posse."

"Later, once we were safe, my uncle lit into me something awful; blamed me for getting one of his men killed and the rest of us nearly caught. It was the first time I'd experience Lloyd's fury directly. And he had the right to be. I had let my stupid feelings get in the way of the job."

"Then when we….." but Will abruptly stopped talking as if there was something else much deeper bothering him he didn't want to elaborate on. He looked down at Mark and said instead, "Since then I guess my uncle hasn't trusted me much. Seems I'm always doing something to get under his skin." Distractedly Will rubbed the palm of his hand as if there was some dirt on it that he couldn't quite seem to wipe off. His voice seemed full of bitterness, and something else Mark couldn't quite discern.

"I'm sorry Will. Guess you haven't had a very good life." Then added quietly, "But it's never too late to change. At least that's what my Pa's always told me. He used to be pretty wild himself. Said he'd made a lot of mistakes too, but he changed I guess when he met my ma."

"Yeah," Will said flatly. He stood up clearly not wanting to talk anymore. "It's late. We better get back to camp."

As they started heading back Will heard the leaves rustle again. He quickly drew his gun, but this time it was only a pack rat scurrying through the brush. He gave a relieved sigh and re-holstered the pistol. "Come on," he said, glancing back into the darkness.

Micah sat by the campfire watching the bounty hunter intently. Broudy was stretched out across from them, his back propped against his saddle distractedly fingering the scar on his face.

Lucas poured some coffee into a couple of tin cups and then handed Micah one before settling down next to him. His face was covered in stubble, his eyes looked weary. Out of habit, he took the rifle and set about cleaning it and checking all the mechanisms to make sure everything was in order as he had done so many nights before.

Deep in his own thoughts, Broudy slowly became aware of Torrance watching him. "Got somethin' on your mind Marshal?"

Micah took a sip of his coffee. He took his time in answering. "As a matter of fact I do. I want to know why you want Corbain so bad."

Broudy looked at the marshal closely. "What do ya mean? Isn't a thousand dollar reward enough?"

"Oh, I expect the money is a big part of it, but I'm figuring that's not the only reason." Micah nodded at the bounty hunter's disfigured face. "I take it that scar has a lot to do with it."

Lucas looked up curiously as Micah spoke.

Broudy eyes narrowed. So the old marshal had the knack for trailing a scent. Taking a cigar out of his pocket, he bit the end off, spitting the tip into the dirt. He took his time lighting it.

"Pretty sharp marshal, ain't ya?" Broudy mocked. Then he shrugged. "Guess it don't rightly matter if you know. When I tried to bring Corbain about two years ago, he gave me this," Broudy said, indicating the scar, "plus a bullet in the gut then left me for dead. It took me two days to crawl to the nearest stink hole of a town. Then I spent the next three months flat on my back. Man does a lot of thinking when that's all he can do." The last thing he remembered before Corbain rode away was Lloyd's boot pressing down on his chest, and that cool smile of victory on his face. The dull burning pain the outlaw still felt in his gut at times was a constant reminder of what Corbain owed him. Broudy intended to collect his due and with luck a heafty bonus. "Before I'm through with him, Corbain's gonna wish he had killed me that day."

Micah and Lucas listened intently. "That's precisely what I'm afraid of. You're so caught up in your own hatred, you're gonna get yourself killed and possibly the boy."

"He won't get away from me again," Broudy stated with deadly seriousness, his eyes full of animosity.

Lucas, who had been listening to the conversation, leaned in close to the bounty hunter. "Personally, I could care less what happens between you and Corbain. But when we find him we play by Micah's rule's not yours. My son's safety comes first, understand?"

Instead of rising to McCain's threat, Broudy merely leaned back and gave him that coy smile. "Anything you say McCain."