Johnny cornered Scott in the stable, rubbing Remmie down. Scott was always meticulous in the care of his horse – Johnny had once teased him that he tended his horses as if his life depended on it, to which Scott had soberly responded that during the war, it had – but this evening Remmie was being groomed with a vigour that threatened to wear his coat thin. It was easy to see something was eating at his brother.

"How did things go out at the Morgan ranch?" Johnny asked.

"I'm afraid Dougal's thinking of leaving Toogie with the Barwells," Scott told him.

"Well, wouldn't that be the best for Toogie?" responded Johnny.

"What, for him never to know his own family? His own name? How could you say that, Johnny?" Scott challenged, almost with anger in his voice.

"Because I know what it's like to be dragged around from place to place, one town to another," his brother declared. "Never anything familiar because you never stay long enough to get to know anything, not places, not people. Only one person you really know, only one to call your own. Even if that person is your blood kin, it's not enough, Scott. And if you lose that person, you're all alone…" Johnny's voice faltered, then he steadied himself and went on. "Scott, you keep saying it's important for Toogie to know his name. Why do you think that matters so much?"

Scott took a moment to answer. "I suppose it's because I didn't know my name until I was twelve years old," he said finally. "I was brought up as Scott Garrett and never questioned that. My grandfather never mentioned either of my parents and I assumed they were both dead. It was only when I met a friend of Murdoch's, a man named James Harper, at my tutor's home that I found out my father was living in California and that my name was Lancer.

"It was a shock, discovering I wasn't who I thought I was. Pretty devastating, too, that Grandfather had – well, not lied, I suppose, but hadn't told me the whole truth. He meant it for the best, of course. He wanted to shield me from knowing that my father wanted nothing to do with me." He paused. "It's not something you would ever have thought about, Johnny. I know you grew up without a lot of things but at least you always knew who you were, always knew your name was Lancer."

Johnny's response surprised his brother. "No, I didn't," he said. "I never heard the name Lancer until I was about ten or eleven. I knew I had a gringo father, that was all. Mama never talked about him until one day someone mentioned Murdoch Lancer. We were in a store in Tucson and a man was talking to the storekeeper about a horse he'd bought from Murdoch. Mama got real upset and dragged me out of the store. She was crying. She got hold of some liquor that night, got drunk and told me about my father, told me how he'd thrown us both out.

"I wasn't even certain if she'd been married to him or not. She didn't say either way. I guess I always had thought I was born out of wedlock – that's what everyone assumes about a mestizo. She always told people that she was married but I didn't know if it was true or if she was just trying to seem respectable. She never wore a wedding ring that I remember; don't know whether she sold it or threw it away. And she never called herself Lancer, we were always Madrid. So I never knew for sure until that first day here when Murdoch said they got married, like it was something taken for granted. Even then, I didn't know if I should believe him."

He gave a wry smile. "The morning we went to the lawyer's in Morro Coyo to sign the partnership deeds, I snuck a look in the Bible in the library and saw it written down there and my birth as John Lancer. Had to believe it then, but it still took some getting used to." He paused then added, "Not having my father's name didn't bother me when I was growing up. Around the border towns it wouldn't have made much difference anyway whether I was a right-born mestizo or a bastard mestizo.

"I'm proud to be a Lancer now but if I had to choose between a name and a home for a kid, I'd choose the home."

Sounds like you were cheated out of both, little brother, thought Scott, but he didn't say it out loud. He would never criticize Johnny's mother – he didn't think of her as his own stepmother. He knew that Johnny had loved her and knew, too, that his brother's disillusionment must be deep enough without any words from himself.

So now he just said, "You're right, a child needs a settled home, but we can help Dougal make a home for Toogie. And you do know blood is important, Johnny. You got Wilf Guthrie to take Alice back because she needed to be with her own family, her uncle. This is the same."

Johnny shook his head. "No, Scott, it's not the same. Alice knew Wilf, had grown up knowing him as family. Did Toogie know Dougal when he saw him?"

"No," Scott admitted. "Toogie must have been too young when he last saw Dougal to remember him now."

"So Toogie would be starting all over again with a stranger if Dougal took him away. I just can't see it being right, Scott. If a kid's happy, why risk changing that?" Scott heard the vehemence in his brother's voice and relented.

"There's not much point in you and me talking about it, anyway," he declared. "It's up to Dougal to decide what to do. All we can do is help him – and Toogie – as much as we can."

Supper that night was at the long dining table.

"We were at sixes and sevens yesterday," Murdoch Lancer said to Dougal. "We're getting back to normal, now."

Dougal looked at the damask tablecloth and the fine china and glassware as Maria served the meal. So this was normal for the Lancer family, he thought. He hadn't realised until earlier in the evening that they had help in the house. Maria and Juanita, it appeared, had been away for a few days helping at the wedding of Juanita's cousin. Now they waited on the table. Teresa, in a silk dress, was seated on Murdoch's right. She looked a far cry from the ranch girl of the last couple of days.

Scott poured the wine and he and his father entered into a discussion about it, comparing it with one they'd had a few nights before. They seemed to use a lot of French words. Dougal had heard French spoken when he was working in Louisiana but he suspected the few words he'd picked up on the New Orleans wharves wouldn't be suitable for the dinner table. Johnny chipped in with a story about his visit to the family who owned the vineyard and Teresa added a few words about the daughter of the family, whom she'd known at school in Sacramento. The talk drifted onto other people the Lancers knew: owners of large ranches, a railroad president – seemed Mr Lancer was even acquainted with the Lieutenant Governor. They weren't bragging either, that's what struck Dougal, they were just having an ordinary talk about – for them – ordinary people.

When the meal was finished they rose from the table and moved to the sofa and armchairs around the fireplace. Dougal noticed Scott hold Teresa's chair with a courtesy that seemed to come as a matter of course. That was the sort of man Teresa was used to – a cattle baron's son with polished manners. Jelly had mentioned that Scott had gone to Harvard. Johnny would have gone to a good school too, Dougal supposed, although he didn't have Scott's Eastern way of speaking. Dougal had never gone to school; his mother had taught him and Ewan to read and write at home, that was all.

Juanita brought coffee in and Johnny poured brandies for the men.

"I'm a tequila man myself," he told Dougal with a grin as he handed him a glass, "but Scott and Murdoch are doing their best to drag my standards up."

"I've had some mighty fine tequila down in Mexico, myself," Dougal replied, "but this looks pretty good." It was, too, certainly compared to his only other taste of brandy, some strange stuff served up in a dive of a bar in Baton Rouge.

"Dougal, Jelly tells me that you didn't let Toogie know who you were today," Murdoch Lancer began. Jelly had told him a lot more; the whole story of the visit, with indignant amazement at Dougal for not making immediate claim to his nephew. Murdoch's heart ached for the young man.

"That's right, Mr Lancer," Dougal replied. "I didn't want to unsettle him when I wasn't sure yet what I should do."

"What's there not to be sure about?" Jelly snorted. "Seems to me you're fussin' way too much, Dougal. You're Toogie's closest kin and he belongs with you. Nothin' hard to be sure on about that."

"I have to think about what I can give Dougie, Jelly. He's got everything a kid needs, right where he is," Dougal summed up the doubt that was twisting him.

"Almost everything," Scott interposed. "His name and family are what you can give him, Dougal – don't underestimate that."

"Dougal, what do you think your brother would have wanted?" Murdoch asked.

Dougal looked across at him. The bandage across the older man's eyes made his expression hard to read but his voice held an empathy that touched a chord. And perhaps his words held the key to finding the right answer – the right thing to do for Dougie.

"That's it, Mr Lancer. That's what I really have to figure out, isn't it?" Dougal spoke slowly but felt as if his burden was lifting.

"It's an obligation you owe to Toogie, above everything else – to stand in place of his parents and to follow, as far as you can, what you believe their wishes would be," Murdoch gave his advice. "If you do that, then you'll have done right, whichever way you decide."

Dougal woke early the next morning. It was still well before sun-up and the other men in the bunkhouse were sleeping soundly but moonlight was streaming through the window. Dougal dressed quietly and slipped out of the building.

The crisp cool air and the silence seemed to help his thoughts run clearly.

Teresa – he'd been a fool, he faced it. He'd first seen her as a girl working on a ranch but she was a lady, a daughter for all intents and purposes of a wealthy house. When she married, if it wasn't to one of the Lancer sons it would be to someone like them, a son of one of the wealthy Central Valley cattle barons or maybe a professional man, educated and moving in the best circles.

He looked across at the elegant hacienda that Teresa knew as her home. That was what she was used to and even if he had a chance, it wouldn't be fair to try to win her, then offer the little he could in exchange for all she would have to leave.

And Dougie? Should he take him away from the home where he was happy? His nephew had lost one family already; how could Dougal make him lose another? That would be no act of love. In the clear light of the dawn, Dougal knew what his decision had to be. He would give Dougie the gift of an undisturbed life with his new family. He felt, deep down, that that was what Ewan and Betsy would have wanted for their boy.

"I'll be moving on today," Dougal announced as he sat at breakfast with the Lancers. Scott drew in a sharp breath and was about to speak but Johnny got the question in first.

"What about Toogie?"

"I'm going to leave him with the Barwells," Dougal replied. "The little feller has a home and a family. It'd only make him unhappy if he had to leave all that and tag along with someone he don't even remember. Best he stays where he is." Dougal hoped he was keeping his voice steady.

"It's a good decision, Dougal," Johnny assured him. "A little kid like Toogie, staying where he's happy is best; you're right."

"Would you let Pete Barwell know for me, Johnny?" Dougal asked. "I think it's better if I don't go there myself again," he added soberly.

"I'll ride over today," Johnny promised.

"You don't have to go away, Dougal," Scott put in. "Even if you leave Toogie with the Barwells, you could stay nearby, be close to him. You can have a job here on Lancer or we can help you find work closer to Green River, if you like."

Dougal shook his head. "No, it wouldn't be fair on the Barwells. They'd always be wondering if one day I'd change my mind, or if folks would find out who I am and start gossiping. Wouldn't be right to do that to a family.

"There's one thing I thought of, though… " he hesitated, looking towards Scott and Murdoch. "I was thinking maybe I could write a letter for Dougie, for him to read when he gets older. Tell him all about his own ma and pa, and his brother and sisters and our family. I could leave it with Pete Barwell to give to him when he grows up. What do you think?"

"Dougal, I think that's an excellent idea," Murdoch responded. "It will give Toogie the knowledge of who he is when he needs to know it – when it can be a blessing, not a worry.

"You can trust Pete Barwell to give the letter to Toogie when the time is right," he added. "You go write it now; you can use my desk. Johnny will take it with him and give it to Pete. Scott," he directed, rising from the table, "help me out to the verandah. I'd like some fresh air. I promise to sit quietly, like the doctor ordered!" he assured his family with a smile.

Murdoch's hand on Scott's shoulder, the two men went outside to the bench on the shady verandah. For a few minutes the father and son sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, then Scott asked abruptly, "Is he making the right decision, Murdoch?"

Murdoch knew he meant Dougal, and knew he meant more than Dougal.

"How can any of us know whether it will turn out right or wrong? He can only do what he thinks is best," Murdoch replied.

"And is it best? Do you really think it will good for Toogie in the long run?" demanded Scott.

"For Toogie, it will be good in some ways, bad in others," his father answered. "Dougal's just hoping that the bad will be outweighed by the good and he's doing what he thinks he must to make that happen. I hope it turns out to be right for Toogie but I don't know. There's only one thing I know for certain." He paused and Scott waited.

"For Dougal himself, it's the worst decision he could have made."

Scott felt ashamed. All along, he realised, he'd been thinking only of Toogie, because he thought only of how he himself felt at the way Murdoch had abandoned him. Never a thought had he given to how this must be tearing Dougal apart – and how little thought had he ever really given to the impact that abandonment must have had on Murdoch?

Even after coming to know Murdoch and forming a bond of both affection and respect, he'd still believed that in those early years Murdoch Lancer had been indifferent to his son, uncaring. Now, hearing his father's words, he wondered if that idea was wrong. Had Murdoch cared? Had he suffered in those years? Was that feeling for his sons that would make him worry if they were late getting back from a cattle drive no newly-come thing but a love that had been there all the time?

And just as Dougal had his reasons now for leaving Toogie, had Murdoch had reasons for leaving Scott in Boston, without a word or sign for so long?

What was he thinking? Of course this man whom he'd come not just to love but to respect and admire must have had reasons, and good ones, for the decision he had made. Perhaps it was time for Scott to start trusting that, whatever those reasons might have been, Murdoch had intended only the best for his elder son.

And Dougal?

"Maybe Dougal will come back some day, when Toogie's grown up," Scott suggested. "It wouldn't be too late then, would it?"

"I hope he does, Scott," Murdoch replied, "because you're right – for some things, as I've learned, it's never too late."

Pete Barwell watched as Johnny rode onto the Morgan ranch. He'd been watching all morning, waiting for someone from Lancer to come with news. But the younger Lancer boy was smiling as he jumped off his horse.

"Hey, Pete," he called. "I got a message for you…"

When Johnny had gone, Pete put Dougal's letter carefully in the deed box, then went to the door and looked out at his children playing in the yard.

"Toogie!" he called. The boy came scampering up. "Yes, Pa?" Pete looked down at the child who was now his own.

"I've been thinking, son. You're getting to be a big boy now. You've got responsibilities, helping me look after your ma and your sisters. It's time you had a man's name. Toogie was alright when you were just a little boy but now you're older, I think we'll call you Dougal."

Toogie looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Dougal. I like that. It's a good name, isn't it?"

"Yes, son," his father smiled. "It's a good name for a good man."

Dougal bade farewell to Murdoch Lancer as the rancher sat in an armchair in the Great Room.

"There'll always be a welcome for you here on Lancer, Dougal," Murdoch assured him.

"Thank you, Mr Lancer, that means a lot," Dougal replied. A welcome in a place such as Lancer, and from a man such as Murdoch, was something to value, he thought, even if he was never able to come back.

Scott and Teresa went out with him to the corral where his horse was saddled and ready. Jelly was waiting there too, to bid Dougal goodbye.

"Why not change your mind and stay? There's always a place for a good man on Lancer," Scott urged again. Dougal shook his head.

"No, it would be too hard, being so close to what I can't have. Best if I move on."

"Well, you just remember you've got a friend in Jellifer B. Hoskins if ever you need one," Jelly declared.

"That goes for all of us, Mr Renslo," Teresa added, smiling.

"Thank you, Miss Teresa, that's good to know," Dougal smiled back.

He looked into her eyes for a moment. No, it would be far too hard, staying so close to what he knew he could never have. He mounted his horse and with a final wave, rode off.

Scott and Jelly watched him out of sight, then turned to get on with the day's work. Teresa stayed still, gazing in the direction Dougal had gone.

"Teresa?" Scott spoke to her. "Anything wrong?"

"What?" Teresa looked round at him. "Oh, no, I was just thinking… it's a pity he didn't stay… he would have been a nice friend to have… I must go feed the chickens," she added hurriedly and moved off, quickening her pace as she went.

"Them chickens was fed not more'n two hours ago," Jelly declared as he watched her heading around the corner of the barn. "Strange notions women take, sometimes."

As he reached the white arch at the entrance to the ranch, Dougal turned in the saddle and looked back for a moment. But that was pointless, he knew, looking back always was. He faced forward again and urged his horse on, through the arch and along the road.

Here, he'd just been passing through but somewhere ahead, maybe, there was the place where he could put down those roots of his own.