Man of Justice

I do not own The Big Valley or any of the original Barkleys.

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time Nick got to the part where Jarrod and Tom were reunited he'd grabbed a few rocks and thrown them, along with busting a few boards…and he was doing it all again. Heath might have wanted to tell him to stop it and continue the story only he sat patiently waiting for the latest fit to be thrown. When he finally stopped, Nick sat back down and sighed.

"Father could have made it home from Pair of Dice in a week but he took ten days, sending telegrams along the way to keep us from worryin' too much. For a long time I resented that, only looking back on it," Nick gave a half hearted chuckle mixed with a sound of lingering bitterness, "it was probably for the best. It was hard enough handling that adjustment period with warning and preparation time, I'd have hated to see what would have happened if they'd come straight home." He leaned back and slipped back in the storytelling mode, backing up to what Jarrod had told him, years later, about the return trip.

Tom and Jim saddled their horses while Jarrod mounted his horse bareback, even if he'd had a chance to take one of the Shoshone's *"saddles" he had chosen not to. It made a part of Tom cringe. It's not that he hated the Indians; far from it. After all, he and Victoria had helped more than one Indian and other people out many times. Still, this was his son and he was white. He said nothing though as the three headed out of camp.

The silence between father and son was more than a bit uncomfortable. The few times Tom did try to talk to his son he only got two reactions; Jarrod looking away, or seeing pain in his son's eyes as the boy couldn't seem to find the English words to reply to Tom. Tom was confused. He realized his assumption at the trading post had been wrong, but he couldn't imagine that Jarrod would forget the language that fast either. It wasn't until Jim stepped in and spoke up was he able to see at least a portion of the problem. "Mr. Barkley," Jim spoke slowly and carefully, "Boy's been immersed in the language of the Shoshone and heard no English in that time-remember Mr. Hopkins admitted on the occasions your son showed up at the trading post he was always speaking Shoshone and Mr. Hopkins, knowing the language, responded in it. Remember how he reacted at the trading post? Ten to one he understands every word we're saying. You just got to give him time to get the right words to come out of his mouth. Not only will his English be rusty, but I'm sure he has other issues he'll have to deal with." He wasn't about to guess just what all those issues might be.

That statement had been verified when Jarrod had actually given the man a quick, and it was extremely quick, smile before slipping back on his unreadable mask been wearing ever since he rode up to the Trading Post. Seeing Jim's point and Jarrod's lightening fast smile, Tom accepted the man was right. As fast as they could have gotten to Chico, Tom decided not to push it, and they wound up camping out the second night also.

Jarrod sat up and, thinking the men were asleep, stood up and noiselessly moved across the opening field and climbed up on a medium sized boulder. The night air was felt well, but he felt restrained and unsettled. He looked at his clothes and realized that, while it had been wise of Straight Arrow to keep the loincloth, he just had to get the blasted shirt off. It didn't take him two seconds to have the shirt lying on the rock and letting the air cool his skin off. Two voices seemed to fight inside his head, one telling him he was a Shoshone and the other telling him to let things go and act white again. With his world being turned upside down yet again, Jarrod left the shirt where it was and let the breeze, which was picking up just enough to play tag with his long hair, and took comfort from the familiarity of the wind.

Tom, who had not been able to sleep, rolled over and watched as Jarrod moved through the clearing, climbed the rock and removed his shirt. He shook his head slightly. He remembered, when Jarrod had finally agreed to go back to the white world, how his son had admitted the only reason he was not dressed the same as Straight Arrow was because he knew there was a high chance he would indeed be leaving the world of the Shoshone. "It's the wrong time of year for anything but loincloth and moccasins in their world." Mr. Hopkins had explained. A part of Tom wanted go over and tell his son to put his shirt back on… that they weren't working out in the fields and that he needed to be wearing it. The other half kept telling him to leave it alone and let his boy decide when it was time to return to the ways of his heritage.

"Let him be." Jim shocked Tom by speaking the moment that he had decided that Jarrod had had enough time by himself and started to stand up. "Unless you want to chase him away, believe me…" the man paused and then added softly, "I know."

That rattled Tom to the core and he quickly lay down again. "You lost someone to the Indians?" He asked softly. He was shocked; Jim had never said a word. Then again, Jim seldom said anything; he was always on the quiet side.

"A sister, seven years ago, found her but my parents pushed too hard, they weren't patient as they were warned to be. She fled back to her Paiute family. My parents never saw her again and I," he paused as his voice broke, "saw her only once, she was with her Paiute husband. She was happy, but she was also sad. Don't do that to Jarrod." The man said nothing more.

Tom lay awake until he heard Jarrod lifting his own blanket up and lying back down. Lying under the night stars and bright moon, Tom vowed he would not lose his son again. "I will be patient." Only when Jarrod had slipped his shirt back on and made it his way to the bedroll Tom had bought for him was Tom able to relax and go to sleep.