Alone again. Just when things were going right, he was alone once more. Left with a stupid note he could hardly read filled with half baked reasons-why. Even so, the kind townspeople of Dodge had made him feel more than welcome, and more than once Joe considered staying. Quint and he had more than a passing friendship, and Joe actually bunked with the blacksmith until he was fully recovered. Their past with the Comanche was the beginning of the camaraderie. They would spend evenings speaking of the old ways in their unique tongue. Even with all the good times Joe had with Quint, somehow it just wasn't the same as the times he had with Chad.

Chad…. Joe had never experienced loneliness so strong until that day he found out that Chad left. He didn't realize how much he actually cared about that crazy boy until he was gone. He wanted nothing more but to follow Chad and find him, but letter was too vague. It simply said:

Dear Joe

I am really sorry for the pain I caused you. It wasn't fair for me to trick you and it is all my fault that you got hurt. Please forgive me, if you can. I hope to one day see you again, but for now, it would be safest for you if I left.

Chad

The paper was crumpled from being crushed repeatedly in anger. Each time Joe would smooth the scrap, as if keeping the note would give him some sort of clue as to where Chad had gone. The moment he had been able to walk, he was down at the stable, asking questions. The manager had little to say: Chad had ridden south, to Texas maybe, with a good-for-nothing saddle tramp called Harper. Fear gripped Joe at this news, for Chad was trouble waiting to happen and without Joe there to look out for him…the large man feared the worst.

It was these fears that drove Joe to leave Dodge. Miss Kitty had offered him a job, as had Quint, but he felt a tie to Chad calling him. The real catch was that he had no earthly idea where to start looking. Where would he go? Quint had asked as much one evening as they sat around the embers of the forge. Joe didn't have a concrete answer, but he felt an unknown force pulling him south, back home.

South is where he ended up wandering, searching, always asking. Chad Cooper? C.J. Cooper? Harper? All these names he offered any person he met, with limited results. With the setting sun always to his right, he rode on and on.

Joe Riley was tired. He had seen hundreds of miles, and if he were to estimate, he was nearing the Mexican border. Chad had expressed interest in seeing Mexico, so Joe decided to look into some border towns. He knew deep in his heart that soon he would have to give up. There was no reasonable excuse why he was still looking for his friend. If Chad didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. Joe knew he was being unrealistic, but he just had to try. Chad was worth the trouble, even if the reckless man didn't believe it himself.

Ahead of him, Joe saw what he assumed to be a creek with the trees growing beside it. He was reminded of the creek where he had taken care of Chad almost half a year ago. He felt the familiar sadness creep over his heart, but he quickly pushed it away.

He could just detect a team of horses and a wagon there with a bit of movement. Joe slipped the thong that held his six-gun in its holster, prepared to fight if necessary. He reached the wagon quickly, his keen eyes making out a boy filling water barrels. At his approach, the boy leapt into the wagon bed, rifle ready. Joe reined in and allowed the horse to drink about 20 yards from where the wagon was parked. After some silence the boy spoke. "What do you want here, mister?"

Joe dismounted slowly, keeping the horse between himself and the rifle. The boy jumped nervously, shouting, "Don't move, mister!"

Joe felt foolish feeling threatened by a mere boy, but just the same held his hands up. "Easy, son, watch where you point that pea-shooter."

"Sorry, but there have been some bad men 'round here lately. How do I know you ain't one of them?"

Joe smiled, trying to appear unthreatening. "Just passin' through, boy."

"That's what they all say."

"I'm no gunman. I'm just lookin' around, trying to find work."

"Oh really? I know what kind of work you're talkin' about."

Joe waved his arms, forgetting to be careful. "Boy, I ain't hurtin' you! Just put that gun down and I'll be on my way."

"You can leave, but I ain't puttin' this away."

Joe found himself becoming angry. He pointed a finger at the boy. "Now, boy, I got places to be, and I don't need to go there with a bullet in my hide." He took off his hat, rubbing at his hair.

"Hold it!" the boy shouted, and jumped out of the wagon. The boy came closer, giving Joe a good look at him. He was about 13 years old or so and wiry. He stopped about 5 feet away, his rifle still held in front of him. "Take out your gun, easy, and take out the bullets. Then get out of here."

Joe wanted to cuss at the boy for being so dang obstinate, but he decided to do as asked if just so he could go on his way. Stepping out from behind Buck, he carefully pulled his gun and started to take out the cartridges, putting them in his pocket. He glanced up and noticed the boy staring, hard, at Joe's waist. He looked down himself, asking, "What?"

The boy's eyes were huge and he looked as though he had seen a ghost. "Where did you get that belt?"

Joe looked up, feeling a shock go through him. "It's been mine…for a long time…." He studied that boy fully and unconsciously took a few steps forward. The boy did nothing to stop him, the rifle sagging in his grip.

It couldn't be…could it? "Do you…live on a farm with a little cabin with a dog run? And a mama who likes to sing in the evening by the fire? And a sister who can spit fire one minute and hug the breath out of you the next?" Joe continued, feeling his heart soar in hope. "Are you…Joey?"

The boy looked at him distrustfully, as if not wanting to believe it. "I like to go by Joe, now—Wait, how do you know all that stuff?" Then realization seemed to come over him. "That belt…," his murmured. His wide eyes searched Joe's face. "You—you're—"

"It's me, Joey. I'm…back."

Ellen finished her laundry for the day, hanging the worn and faded clothes on the line. Hearing a clatter, she quickly went inside the dog run where the shot gun stood. She peered around the corner, ready for whatever came. Dangerous men had been crawling the plains lately, their presence a sign of the trouble ahead. Range war. Rivers were running low during the summer months, and many of the big-time ranchers, friends before, were now becoming territorial on water rights. Ellen and her family were caught in the middle of it all. Their little spread was insubstantial compared to everyone around them, and they were easily lost in all the anger…but that didn't mean a thing when bloodthirsty men were going where they pleased, their hearts black, not caring if innocents were injured.

When she saw that it was only her son returning with the water barrels, she lowered the gun slightly. The boy was not alone. The two stopped in the yard, her son in the wagon and the man on a buckskin. Joey said something to the man before hopping down from the seat to come over to where she was standing. The man remained where he was.

"Joey, who's that with you? Hope it's not some saddle tramp lookin' for work. We ain't got any for him to do."

"Ma, why don't you put that away and sit down here." Joey looked flushed and excited.

"What's goin' on, son? Who is that man?"

"Just sit down, Ma. It might be a shock."

Ellen complied, mostly because she was too confused to do anything else. The man dismounted and walked toward her, his stride slightly familiar. He was tall and lanky yet extremely fit, his muscles rounding out his red shirt. Besides that walk, there was nothing recognizable about him. He reached them in no time, for his steps were long. He removed his hat respectably, revealing straight dark-brown hair. Wait….

"It's been a long time," the man said hesitantly. "But I remember everything about you like I had a picture. You look just the same." He smiled, and somehow, Ellen knew. "The first time we met, you called me by my true name, the one I use now."

Ellen's hands went to her mouth, tears in her eyes instantly. "My boy! My son!" She leapt to her feet but became overwhelmed by emotion and fell forward. Her long-lost son was there, his arms catching her against himself in a desperate embrace.

"I…I didn't even know I was lookin', until I found you," he said brokenly.

"My son, my son," she said over and over, the beat of his heart the only sound in the world she wanted to hear. He was home.

Much had changed since Joe had been at the Riley farm. Yes, it was this family's last name he had chosen. The most extreme change involved the women of the farm. Idabelle had married a farmer and was living roughly 8 miles away. Joe was glad for this, because before he left, she had completely bloomed into womanhood and had even started to make eyes at Joe himself, something he was not at all comfortable with. She was not the only one to marry; Ellen had married just four months ago, to a widower whose children were grown. John was a strong man of character and was a good match for Ellen, who had been a widow for far too long. It made Joe's heart glad to know that she would be cared for from now on.

With this turn of events, Joe felt that he was no longer needed. Before, when he had first come to them, he was the only man. Now, Ellen and Joey had John to care for them. Sure, they would love to have him, but Joe hated to intrude. These feelings were mystifying for the family, for they could not understand why he always went to sleep in the barn.

The urge to continue his search for Chad only increased as he stayed there. Only a few weeks had passed since stopping here, and though he was enjoying every minute—especially when Idabelle visited with her new baby—he knew his time here would not last forever. Joey loved having him around. He would follow him everywhere, mimicking his every action. Joe enjoyed the boy's company; they would spend the long days fishing and working the fields, always finding time for naps in the shade.

The idyllic life suited Joe while at the same time drove him crazy. There was plenty of work to tire him during the day but at night he would lay awake. Gazing up at the stars, he couldn't help but wonder if Chad was doing the same, or if he was already staring up at 6 feet of dirt. These thoughts would drive him mad if they continued, for each time they popped in his head, he had no choice but to get up and walk off some of the anxiety. Each day he would rise with the sun, having gotten little sleep to begin working to drive away the ghosts of the night.

Ellen was no fool; she knew her surrogate son was a changed man. Prison did that to people, especially a gentle soul like Joe's. He was as loving as ever, but there were dark spirits hanging about him. His face was haggard and was beginning to show his exhaustion. She knew he no longer felt like he belonged, but, selfishly she kept him there. She knew that he would never leave unless he knew she would be alright without him there.

The wound that had been there from her husband and son's death had been healed by Joe's, or Wasápe's, arrival, but when he had been taken away, it had been ripped open again. A year she had spent grieving, but soon another stepped up: John. He had purchased a little soddy by the creek…and the rest was history. Now, her wound was healed again, and though she had missed Joe with all her heart, she no longer laid awake at night to imagine his suffering. Deep in her heart she knew that he was being looked after, that someone would take care of him like he had cared for them.

Therefore, she knew that her life would continue without him around, but still she held onto him even though she knew something was bothering him. She decided that she would have to let him go soon or he would drive himself into the ground worrying.

He was out chopping wood one day, and Ellen stopped a distance away to admire him. He had removed his shirt, and his bronze skin was shining from perspiration. He swung the ax, controlling the tool with precision. Each piece of wood was cut into perfect burnable sizes, split just right.

She knew that he was aware of her presence, for no one could sneak up on this man. He carried some of the wood to the pile, only then turning to face her. "How are you, Ma Ellen?" he asked, kindly. In an unconscious action, he picked up his red shirt and started putting it on. She knew that he had been beaten in prison and was ashamed of it. Though the scars were fading, Ellen knew it would be a long time before he willing showed his body to anyone.

"I'm fine, thank you, Joe." It had been difficult for everyone to begin using that name, they were so accustomed to his Comanche one. It had also been rather confusing, what with Joey beginning to go by Joe himself, but they had made do.

He buttoned his shirt but let the tails hang. "Anything I can do for you?"

She sat on a log he had dragged over for cutting. "I just want to talk a spell. Do you mind?"

Even if he had, she doubted he would have said so. He crouched in front of her, perfectly balanced. "What's on your mind?"

She swallowed before speaking. "Joe, I know you've been through a lot since you left here, but I don't think that's what's been bothering you. You left something behind out there, didn't you?"

He shifted on the balls of his feet and looked away. "I was left behind, by somebody…somebody who needs me." He looked back at her. "But it doesn't matter. I found home, and I'll stay."

Ellen felt grieved but said what she had been putting off. "Joe, it honors me that you would call this place your home. You are family, and always will be. But still, you are a free man to go as he pleases. The day when the Rangers took you away I told Joey that it wasn't right to keep you here because it was hurting you, keeping your free spirit tied down. I know you feel obligated to us, but you don't need to be. Joey and I have John, and we have each other. We'll be fine. I know we will. There will always be a place for you here, but right now there's somebody who needs you more than we do. Please, don't take this wrong, but you should go and find that somebody. Go with our blessing."

Joe looked so conflicted yet so relieved that Ellen felt the need to hug him. She did just that, kneeling before him awkwardly and taking him into her arms. He held her for what seemed like an eternity, and Ellen cherished every moment of it. Finally, he pulled away. "Thank you, Ma Ellen. I will write to you," he said, a sad smile on his face. "I learned to do that while I was gone. I tell you that?"

They continued to enjoy each other's company until Joe was finished with the wood. That evening, Joe announced to the family that he was planning on moving on within the week. Joey took it rather well, surprisingly. Ellen suddenly realized how mature her youngest was becoming, and it made her proud.

A few days later, Joe was packed, his buckskin pony standing hipshot in the yard ready to go. Joe bade them all farewell, promising to write.

"Be careful out there," John warned. "Range war is brewing to the south of here, close to the border. Stay away from those border towns. That's where the trouble is."

Ellen watched him ride away, she and Joey standing in the same place as the last time. This time, however, Ellen knew that he was riding to his destiny. It was unmistakable.