They took a long nooning to give the mares a chance to rest. Gave him a chance to lie down for a while and absently listen to Nick talk about all the work he had waiting back at the ranch for the two of them, gathering cow-calf pairs and branding. Moving the pairs up into the high mountain meadows for the hot summer months and, of course, cleaning and repairing irrigation ditches. He let the words roll over him like a warm, easy breeze, the sound making a safe feeling in his head until he woke, not realizing he'd slept.

"Hey, sleepy head, we should get going, still got two hours ride to that lake." Nick was sitting at their little fire drinking coffee. Nick poured a second cup and offered it to him as he sat up and ran his hand through his hair and across his face. No idea how he had managed to sleep, but feeling better than he had since leaving Jackson.

"Thanks," he said, taking the proffered cup. It was strong and rich tasting. He smiled to himself and wondered, did Barkleys have different, richer coffee than the rest of the world? He thought he might be carrying this 'Barkleys are different' thing a mite too far when he started thinking their coffee was richer than other folks. He drank his coffee and studied the skyline all about their little nooning spot, looking for any telltale dust. The day was still and quiet and he saw nothing but a pale blue sky and a clear horizon already shrinking with the rising foothills.

Half an hour later they were back in the saddle, headed east across rolling open grassland. The mares were moving more freely now that they were getting closer to their home ground, forgetting their sore feet in their eagerness to get back to their herd. Two hours of riding changed the ground they were covering from rolling hills to much steeper hills and Nick began to lead them around the steepest parts and through the draws, the terrain always rising toward the Sierras.

"We'll be there another half hour or so. Just down this draw, nice little meadow with good year-round water and shade. Wouldn't be surprised to see the herd there." Nick had been riding silently for almost an hour, apparently running out of words. He enjoyed the quiet but found he sort of missed the talking. All that information just pouring out of Nick had been amazing.

He pulled up at the start of the draw, looking down the trail steeply flanked on either side by hills rising up perhaps sixty seventy feet. He again scanned the sky all around, looking for any sign of dust, not expecting to see it after having looked so often and seen nothing. Nick had already started down the draw and was perhaps thirty feet ahead when he stopped and looked back at him.

"WHAT?"

He just shook his head at Nick. The mare he was leading at the end of her rope trying to follow Nick's two mares down the draw.

"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? Shaking your head? Speak, boy, what now?" Nick's exasperation was evident. It was a warm day, not hot but he knew he was sweaty and hot and ready to get where they were going. He was sure Nick, being a less patient man, was even more eager to get to his lake and drop the mares so he could head back to the ranch and the warm bath he'd been talking about for the past two days.

"Not going down that draw," he told him, thinking his sitting there not following him was pretty obvious indication he had no intention of following him into that ravine.

"It's the way to the lake. We need to take these mares to the lake. We leave them here, they might not go the two miles down the ravine." Nick's tone sounded like he was speaking to an idiot. He was spacing his words out and saying each one a little clearer and louder than really necessary, not yelling yet but getting near that point.

He looked around again, up at the sky for dust and along the ridgelines he could see. The further east they had traveled, the less he liked the ground they were riding. He wanted to know where that dust had gone that followed and never caught up. He looked at that ravine again and shook his head.

"Swing around and come in from the south," he suggested, making no move toward Nick.

"It's five miles out of our way. I've been this way a hundred times; it's tight and narrow through here, but the horses don't mind." He could see Nick trying to figure out what his problem was. He wished he could tell him. He just wasn't sure. He wished now he'd said something when he'd seen the dust in the morning. Maybe gotten Nick thinking a bit more about riders they couldn't see who wouldn't pass two cowboys leading three-foot sore, pregnant mares.

"Not that much out of the way. Need to go south anyway, get to the ranch."

"You got a reason you can't ride down this trail?" He thought Nick was really trying to meet him part way on this.

"Yeah." He thought on how he could explain dust on the horizon four hours ago and the hair standing on the back of his neck. "Feels like a trap."

Nick sat still, studying him, and then he looked down the trail into the ravine already shady with afternoon shadows cast by the steep banks on either side.

"Okay, long way around it is."

He thought that was mighty good of Nick to listen, consider his point and he gave him a smile. Tried to think was there something else he could offer him. Some talking he could give him, Nick setting such store by talking. As they rode along the edge of the big hill headed south, he tried to think if he had something he could say to Nick wouldn't lead to troublesome questions.

"Before Mr. Walker in Corning, I worked three months driving cattle up to Klamath."

Nick looked at him, surprised he guessed, by this information so he gave him a small smile; let him know he was making conversation, sharing information. Nick just laughed and shook his head. Scanning the hill off to their north, he tried to work his way around why Nick thought that was funny. Decided he must need more practice on this talking with his brother business.

They'd ridden perhaps an hour on their new course and were again headed east on steeper ground, passing over the shoulder of the big hill the ravine would have cut through. The mares now certainly knew they were home and were beginning to pull some on the lead lines. Nick let his gelding pick up the pace to a slow jog and he followed along beside him, both men trying to stay ahead of the mares to avoid the dust. There was a big stand of cottonwoods just a dark spot a mile or more ahead of them that Nick pointed out as being the lake.

"Let's leave them here," he suggested to Nick, slowing Gal back down to a walk.

"Nah, we'll take them all the way. See if the band has been there and water the saddle horses."

He knew that was the smart thing to do. Hadn't had a good watering spot all day and the horses all wanted a long drink. He pulled Gal a small distance further from Nick's gelding, trying to keep an eye on the rocks on the steep ground off to his north while also watching the approaching cottonwoods. Unable to resist the uneasiness any longer, he pulled his rifle from its scabbard, knowing Nick wouldn't like it.

"NOW WHAT?"

"I don't know," he had to confess but he kept the rifle across the pommel of his saddle and slowed Gal to a walk. "Dust behind us most of the morning," he tried to explain and could see Nick starting to answer when the first shot rang out and Nick flew out of his saddle.

He knew the cottonwoods were too far away for that shot, had to have been the rocks above them. He dropped the mare's lead line and kneed Gal hard. He needed to get away from Nick, to spread the target for their assailants. He let the mare run thirty feet, bullets pocking the ground around her as she ran, before dropping off her and rolling on the ground. No cover here. He needed to not let the attackers get off many shots or they'd be dead.

He rolled over twice and finished flat on his stomach, his rifle pointed up hill. As he'd expected, their attackers had risen from hiding to follow his flight on Gal. He could see two men standing and one kneeling. He shot one of those standing, rolled to his feet and ran back the way he'd come. Figured the shooters would expect him to move in the same direction he'd been traveling. He got off another shot running and was pleased to see another man fall. He cut back again, making up the hill now, looking for a target, seeing none. After fifty feet of running, he slowed to a walk, winded, pulled his rifle close to his stomach to try and cushion his sore ribs.

The fall and roll from the saddle had reminded his ribs they were broken and they hadn't forgotten with his running around. He could hear hooves ahead of him and figured at least one of the attackers had run off and, as he listened, decided there were two horses running. He had to choose: get to the top of that hill, see if he could catch sight of the runners, or make sure of the men he'd shot. He decided he didn't want those wounded ambushers behind him and took his time climbing the hill.

First man was dead. Second one was shot through the left shoulder but up high, feeling considerable pain but not hurt too badly. He pulled the wounded man to his feet and forced him down the hill at the end of his rifle, anxious to get back to Nick. See how badly injured he was. Afraid what he might find.

Nick was already on his feet with his gun drawn by the time he got to the bottom of the hill. "Hit my canteen," Nick said. "I've got splinters in my leg but nothing that'll kill me."

Nick came limping over to them, "YOU WANT TO TELL US WHY YOU WERE TRYING TO KILL US?" Nick said glowering at his wounded prisoner.

"Let me look," he told Nick.

"It's okay."

"Let me look."

"WHY WERE YOU SHOOTING AT US?" Nick continued to berate the prisoner as Heath tried to get a look at Nick's leg.

The man just looked at Nick, his right hand supporting his left arm, his face white and strained from the pain or the shock of his wound. So far he hadn't said a word. Heath helped the man sit down on the ground and turned back to Nick, who was standing over the prisoner no doubt attempting to intimidate with his greater size.

"WELL? YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US!"

Thinking that had been exactly what the man had intended, he disregarded the useless conversation. Nick sure did like to talk all around problems, he thought. Talk them to death. "Turn around so I can look," he told Nick again

Giving an exaggerated sigh, Nick half turned so he could see the side of his britches liberally smeared with blood still oozing out of several holes in his pants. He glanced at it, walked over to Gal and rummaged in his saddlebags for his spare bandage. Then grabbing his canteen, he walked back over to the bushwhacker he had forced down the hill.

"Let me look at your shoulder." The man made no protest as he opened his shirt, too sore to put up much of a fuss. The bullet was still in his shoulder, he thought probably stopped by the big bone there and the fact that it had been a long shot and uphill. Not much force left in the shot at that distance. He made a ball of the end of the bandage, pushed that into the wound to stop the bleeding and then used the rest of the long strip of cloth to bind it in place. He gave the man a drink from his canteen, which he accepted greedily.

"Lie down there for a little while 'til the bleeding stops." He helped the man lie back on the ground and left him there. He walked over to Nick who was half leaning against his horse, picking pieces of the shattered canteen out of the leather of his saddle.

"Sit down, Nick." He put his hand on Nick's shoulder and turned him gently away from the saddle. "Sit down, let me take a look at that leg."

"It's okay."

"Take off your gun belt, let's get a good look." Nick allowed himself to be led away from the horse and consented to sit down on the ground. Pulling his knife out of his boot, he carefully cut the fabric away from the worst of the bloody section of Nick's leg. "Not too bad." He pulled out the biggest splinter.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOUR KILLING ME!"

"Boy Howdy, Nick, a lousy splinter." He pulled out another splinter while Nick was yelling.

"STOP IT."

"That's the worst of it."

"Hurts."

He patted Nick on the shoulder. "Long way from your heart."

Nick laughed.

"I'm going to go get their horses."

Nick nodded to him absentmindedly, still examining the cuts on his leg. He smiled to himself as he walked toward Gal, his left arm around his stomach cushioning his sore ribs, his rifle in his right hand.

The climb was steep and the day was hot. He stopped at the top of the hill to look around. There were two horses ground tied on the far side of the hill, forty feet down from the crest. He looked away further and could see a cloud of dust in the distance. He watched the dust, hard to tell which way it was traveling. He looked around and could see nothing else of any interest.

He gathered up the reins of the two horses and led them back over the hill to the dead ambusher's body. He knelt down, rolled the body over and on to his shoulder, managed to heave him up on to the back of the horse and then stood for a moment to catch his breath. He tied the dead man's hands and feet to the stirrups and remounted Gal. He rode back up to the top of the hill and looked off toward the dust. It was moving in their direction, four or five minutes he thought.

"Rider coming," he said, pulling up beside Nick who was still messing about pulling the last of the metal splinters out of his saddle. Nick reached across his saddle, pulled out his rifle as Heath stepped out of his own saddle and let the reins drop to the ground.

He walked over to check on his outlaw with the shoulder wound. The man opened his eyes when he squatted down next to him. He handed him the canteen and waited while the man took a drink. By the time he had returned the canteen to the horse, he could see the dust of the approaching rider clearly from where they were standing. A few moments later it was possible to see the horse and rider. "Looks like one of our horses," Nick said, squinting into the dust. "Yeah, that's Barrett," Nick added as he shoved his rifle back into its scabbard.

Heath smiled dryly. His day was now complete. Ignoring the incoming rider, he checked the cinches on the all of the horses. Nick went over to meet Barrett who was drawing rein and approaching at a walk mindful of the dust. Heath walked one of the horses over to the wounded outlaw and helped him mount. He unbuckled the throatlatch and cut a rein as he had done on the outlaws' earlier in the week. He figured pretty soon half the bridles in California would only have one rein. He stood beside the horse absently stroking his neck as he listened to his brother and Barrett talking.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was riding out to check the mares. I heard the gunshots and rode in as fast as I could. What happened?"

"You see any other riders?" Nick asked. When Barrett shook his head no Nick explained, "Bushwhackers took a shot at us." Nick pointed his head up the hill. "Heath managed to get two of them."

Barrett looked over at him and the two men gazed assessingly at each other. "Huh. Surprised to hear that," Barrett sneered, winking at him.

"What do you mean by that?" Nick asked, bristling.

He half smiled at his brother. He was enjoying this brother-to-the-defense thing every time Barrett came after him. He could get used to being a little brother.

"Nothing boss, just meant long shot up to those rocks is all." Barrett backed away from his sneer.

"Well, we still need to get these horses to water and then head into Stockton with this prisoner," Nick said mollified.

Nick mounted his horse and he followed suit. While Nick rode beside Barrett, talking to the hand about activities on the ranch over the past week, he rode behind them, leading one of the mares and the gelding with the dead man tied to his back. He watched Nick and Barrett talking and thought about Barrett riding up, thought about him looking up into the rocks and commenting upon what a good shot he'd been to hit the dead ambusher. He took his rifle out of the scabbard and rode with it across the pommel of his saddle while he scanned the woods ahead. He didn't see anywhere else for someone to be hiding, except those woods around the waterhole that Nick was riding straight towards.