This was originally going to be two chapters, but neither one would've been very long so I'll just post it as one. :) Enjoy! And thank you cma and BettyHT for the reviews! A lot more is revealed in this chapter, but unfortunately it still has a cliffhanger of sorts, but not as bad as others. I don't know how that keeps happening. lol

~CHAPTER 22~

Travis wisely stopped trying to free himself, but the arm and knife stayed as he was taken deeper into the woods. Soon he heard the stamping and snorting of several horses. The arm was suddenly released, and he was finally able to stand straight and see around him. What met his stunned eyes was an unusual assortment of lawmen and Indians, Paiute by the looks of them. They were nestled together in a small opening amidst the thick clusters of trees deep in the woods, the barn practically out of sight. Turning suddenly, he noticed his captor to be a tall Indian. It appeared as if some of his captors had just arrived. Several were still mounted on winded and sweating steeds. One of the white men, whose silver badge glinted the word Sheriff, dismounted and came quickly toward him. All eyes were turned toward him, and he felt an increasing sense of foreboding, his palms growing cold with apprehension and his mouth dry from fright.

The Indian, whose knife was still pressed hard against Travis's spine, spoke in hurried Paiute to another, possibly even taller, redskin who had also just dismounted and was following close behind the gray-haired lawman. After some amount of information was passed between the two, the leader spoke. "He say he come out for wood."

The Sheriff, who came even closer, nodded, his bloodshot eyes piercing Travis's. "So you're one of the ones we've been trackin' for months," disgust and contempt could be heard clearly in the man's words, and they made Travis flinch under their effect and want to back away, but the knife halted any retreat. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

"Now you tell me. D'you have the Cartwrights in there?" Roy asked, poking him in the chest several times for emphasis before pointing back in the direction of the barn.

Not wanting to press his luck trying to talk, for he found he couldn't get his tongue unclamped from the roof of his mouth, Travis just nodded.

"They alright? Unharmed?" With a second nod, a look of sudden relief swept over the lawman's face. "Who's your leader?" he asked suddenly.

"Th-the boss..." Travis stuttered.

"What's his name?" Roy demanded.

"A man by the name of McWhorter. You wouldn't know him; he ain't from around here."

A hint of a smirk could be seen behind the Sheriff's salt and pepper mustache. "And how many of you are there?"

"But..." he was about to proclaim his innocence when the knife made its presence known again, causing him to arch his back as the steel hand on his arm squeezed harder.

"How many?" Roy persisted.

"S-six."

"Including you?"

Travis again nodded.

Roy looked away in the direction of the barn. A shiver of apprehension crept down his spine as he looked through the mist-shrouded forest to just glimpse the outer edges of the barn, where he'd been told, almost the second he arrived, the gang had holed themselves up. Wavoka came up beside him, waiting, listening. "Well Wavoka, looks like you were right. I jus' don't know how to thank yuh." Roy looked down a second before saying, "I'd understand if you'd go back now. My men and I can handle it from here. This ain't exactly your fight."

"Cartwrights help Paiute many time. We stay," Wavoka declared.

Roy nodded before looking back through the woods. Even though they had more men, the situation was no less dangerous. With one of the men taken, they had to act quickly, but Roy was unsure of just what to do. It was still very much a hostage situation, and Roy was reluctant to take any course of action that might injure his friends. Turning back to his men, he noticed Travis and gave the order, "Take him back with the horses and make sure he stays there."

Much to his relief, the knife finally came away from Travis's back, but several men appeared behind him now. His heart in his throat, Travis struggled against the arms that started to pull him away as he realized what they were planning to do and knowing he would have no part in it. "Wait, no! I can help you." A gun was shoved into his throat this time, a warning for him to hold his tongue.

"Sure you can. You've already done enough." Roy turned his back on him.

Travis paled even more. After all the inner turmoil he had to conquer to finally come to the decision to help, being unable to do so now was not an option. It meant everything to him now, his freedom, a pardon... wasn't that what Mr. Cartwright had promised? "No, it's true." He somehow found his hands tied behind his back now, but he fought harder to make himself be heard. "I want to help you... help them. I'm not with McWhorter anymore. I don't wanna have anythin' to do with him."

Roy stopped and turned again, his eyes slits of distrust. "And just why would I believe you? You're only talkin' like that because you're caught now, or more'n likely you're figurin' on gettin' back in there and warnin' your buddies that we're out here."

"No... well, I mean... Mr. Cartwright said he'd help me if I helped him." Travis was so confused, he wasn't sure if his own words were helping or condemning him further.

"You speak to Ben Cartwright? He tell you this?" the Indian leader at Roy's elbow spoke.

"Yes," he nodded emphatically. "I tell yuh, I was gonna help 'em."

"Why?" Roy asked.

Travis's breath caught. Why was he doing it? "I don't want this life no more. The Boss, he's... he's gone mad. What he's done to the Cartwrights is wrong; he'll hang for it. Every single one of 'em in there'll hang for it, but not me." Why should they trust me? Give them proof! "Listen, if you go bargin' in there, the first thing McWhorter's gonna do is kill your friends. You need me!" He pleaded, slightly sagging into the arms holding him. This was his last chance. Even as he thought of it, his hopes of ever making things right again waned. He turned pleading, frightened eyes to Roy and the Indian leader who stood next to him... his last chance to make things right were in their hands.

He couldn't tell what the Indian was thinking, but the Sheriff's thoughts were all too clearly reflected in the fire that burned in his eyes.

"After all these months of their sufferin' at your hand, you expect me tuh just let you go back in there, pretty as you please, when the Cartwrights' lives are at stake? What kinda fool do you take me fer?" The problem was, Roy wasn't sure what he was going to do. The situation was closing in on them, and he had to do something soon; but just the thought of taking a wild chance like this was out of the question. Still burdened with the sense of his own mistakes that now had placed the whole family in danger, he wasn't about to gamble with their lives on the word of this outlaw.

Just then, Wavoka stepped forward. Travis tried stepping back away from the sheer intimidation the Indian evoked, but he was firmly held in place. He came within a foot of the young man's face, peering deeply into his eyes with his own dark penetrating ones, as if he could see through to his very soul. They stayed that way for a matter of moments, Travis's brow beading profusely with sweat from the close scrutiny, when Wavoka calmly broke the gaze and turning back to Roy, spoke in a hushed voice, "I believe him."

"Wade," Hank kicked at the snoring man in his bedroll, receiving no answer but another snore. "Wade! Get up. You got guard duty in the loft." The grizzled and scarred man, with a glare at Hank and a quick flick of the covers, yawned once as he stumbled to his feet before grabbing his rifle and heading toward the ladder leading to the floor above. He was just ascending as Hank trudged over to another sleeping bundle. "Jess, check on 'em."

Jesse, reveling in the few hours of uninterrupted bliss he'd been able to capture, grumbled as he asked, "Why do I hafta? Clint should do it, he's the one that belted 'em that hard in the first place."

"Because I told you to. Now go do it," Hank repeated before going over to the water bucket on the rickety table in the middle of the room for a drink.

A chuckle sounded from a deeper corner of the room. "I mighta not had to hit 'em that hard, but it sure felt good doin' it. Besides, didn't get me in no trouble with the Boss. Pr'olly enjoyed it just as much as I did. Haven't landed into somebody like that in a long time." Another low chuckle rumbled from Clint's throat as his pulled his worn leather hat lower over his eyes and hunkered down into a more comfortable position under his blanket. Jesse grumbled at him as he glanced at the door where the boss was no doubt making up his next plan of action. Now that they had all the Cartwrights it was just a matter of time before all the money, the land, everything he'd signed on for would be his, and he could taste the sweet pleasure of success at hand. It was just a matter of time he thought as he passed by the doorway on his way to the tack room, before the boss would come through again and for good this time.

After taking a long refreshing draught from the ladle, Hank splashed the remaining water on his face before glancing around the room. The wood pile was still low. He'd sent Travis out a while ago to replenish it. It couldn't have taken him this long. He listened as the slight wind outside awakened the old boards and rafters, causing them to creak and groan in protest. He should've been back by now, Hank thought. He was halfway risen from his chair to check on it himself when the stable door reopened revealing Travis, his arms full of wood.

Hank sank back into his chair as Travis turned and closed the door behind him. He stayed there a moment with his back to the room, repositioning some of the pieces of wood before turning and sidling past him. "Nippy out there."

Trying to still his shaking hands, Travis tightened his grip around the wood he was carrying as if that act alone would give him the needed courage. Travis couldn't help but steal several glances at Hank as he passed him on his way to the wood box, but the older man did not notice him as he took out his whittling knife and proceeded to strip down a piece of wood he'd picked up from the stick-strewn floor.

As Travis reached the wood box at the back of the room, he silently let out the breath he just then realized he'd been holding. Hurriedly wiping the sweat from his brow, he started filling the box, occasionally stealing glances at the two storerooms housing their respective captives. How could he have gotten into this position? Just the thought of all he still had to do was making the cold barn as hot as an oven, one that was slowly draining the life out of him. He rehearsed the quickly made-up plan in his head again and again, still aware of the responsibility and the possibly misplaced trust laid on him by those anxiously waiting outside.

The Sheriff's eyes widened at the Indian's words. "What in Sam Hill are you talkin' about? We can't do that!"

"This one is young and afraid," Wavoka nodded toward Travis. "But he speaks truth. You must believe him."

Roy shifted his eyes to the prisoner for a moment. With an unbelieving scoff, he hung his head and walked a few paces away, his hand reaching up to stroke his chin and smooth his mustache in an anxious manner. If he was wrong, the Cartwrights would die. The question was, would his friends have a better chance of surviving if he didn't trust him. His forehead crinkled and a dry smile creased his face as he thought of Ben Cartwright and an old saying he had about the red man and his ways. "Listen to their judgment, what little they give of it... sometimes they understand us better than we do ourselves." Roy could hear his old friend say it to him even now over a chess board during one of the many discussions two old coots like them would often share.

All of the men were silent behind him. One of the many creatures of the forest called out for its mate while Roy still gazed ahead, unseeing. "Sheriff?" a member of the posse finally spoke up.

Saying a small prayer that he wasn't making a mistake that would cause him to lose that old friend, he turned and with a resolve he didn't really feel, walked past Wavoka and up to Travis. His gray eyes scanned him a moment before he grunted to his men, "Untie him and go gather some wood." As his hands were released, Travis rubbed absently at his wrists, never taking his eyes off the Sheriff as he spoke again slowly, his voice threateningly low, his eyes piercing daggers. "Now you listen to me, and you listen good. If you double-cross us or the Cartwrights get hurt in any way, I don't care where you try to hide, I'll personally hunt you down and see you hang for it." He stopped a moment as if to let his words sink in. "Now... here's what we're gonna do."

The words of the Sheriff sent another chill down his spine, bringing back to mind the consequences from all sides if he should fail.

The sound of one of the storeroom doors opening almost caused him to jump. While he quickly finished filling the wood box as he was told, he noticed Jesse coming out of the room. At the same time, the door of the tack room in the front of the barn opened slowly to reveal McWhorter, his spine straight, ears tuned to Jesse's report.

"Well?" Hank questioned without turning around from his reclining position at the table.

"They're fine. Gave 'em some water, but they're still half out of it." Jesse's answer sent a chill tingling down Travis's spine, and he saw McWhorter's eyes turn dark as he threw an annoyed glare in Clint's direction. The big man shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and without a word needing to be said, McWhorter disappeared into his room once again.

Travis turned back to the box, his fingers gripping it hard enough to turn the knuckles white. What must they have gone through to keep them out this long? His breath catching, he suddenly wondered if it would affect their plans to get them all out of there. He knew that his very life depended on whether he was able to keep up his end of the deal. If only he could run, run away and not have to think about any of them anymore, but he couldn't. He was dead if he ran; he was dead if he stayed true to McWhorter. The decision about what to do was no longer his, and even if it was, with a sudden pang of conscience that quite shocked even him, he wasn't sure if he could leave them. The look of pure agony on old man Cartwright's face haunted his every thought, made him wonder how a family could become that close, made him, in fact, long for the family he'd never known and wonder what twist of fate led him to the kind of life he had in the first place.

Trying to push the self-pity and fear from his mind, he glanced around the interior of the barn and saw all the men settling once more. He soon had to put the plan into action. Steeling his courage, he took something out of the box that had been inconspicuously hidden amongst the logs, before closing the lid and walking over to the left storeroom. They had no reason to stop him. Any of them would look in on their prisoners either by order or of their own volition, but that fact didn't relieve the sense that all of the eyes in the room were boring into the back of his skull. Finally reaching it, he opened the door and entered...

"Mr. Cartwright... Mr. Cartwright?" An adamant voice came through to Ben, and he slowly raised his head from where it had been resting on his knees. His tears had long since dried and faint streaks on his face were now the only testament to them. His vision was somewhat blurry from having his eyes clamped shut in misery for so long, and it took him a moment to recognize the young man to whom he had spoken… when?... could it have just been the night before, or perhaps that very morning?... what was his name?... Travis.

"Mr. Cartwright, I need you to listen to me."

"My sons... they alright?"

The lad's brow furrowed. "Yes, and we're gonna get you all outta here. The Sheriff has his men outside, but I need you to listen to me."

"Roy? He's here?" Ben asked in confusion, constant worry for his family making his mind slow to grasp anything else.

"Yes, now I don't have much time. I need you to do exactly like I say." Ben listened in shocked but rapt attention as the young man quickly conveyed the plan Roy had divulged to him. Travis constantly glanced at the door, making sure to keep his voice low enough to have no fear of listening walls. When he was done, he looked back at Ben. "Remember, wait for my signal."

Before Ben could even think to say anything else, he uttered, "Th...thank you."

The grateful utterance took Travis by surprise. "Don't thank me." He grunted back at him before putting his hand into his pocket. "Here." He leaned over and shoved something cold and hard into Ben's hands. "Use that to cut yourself loose when the time comes. Can't risk doin' it now."

Ben nodded. "Just one thing, Travis... why are you doing this?"

Before he could answer, the door suddenly swung open. Travis, startled into action, suddenly brought his right hand up and back slapped Ben across the face. "Don't you ever talk like that to me!" he yelled as he stood up, sweat beading on his face. Even though the slap wasn't very hard, Ben still snapped his head to the left as if the impact was much greater.

Hank stood leaning in the doorway, still whittling away on the piece of wood. "He giving you trouble, Trav?"

"Naw. Just annoyin' me." Hank grunted with amusement before he turned from the doorway, leaving it open. Travis's shoulders visibly slumped a bit before he took one last look at Ben and then followed Hank into the other room, securely locking the door behind him.

Ben felt the smooth handle of the hunting knife in his hands and slowly leaned his head back against the barn wall, his heart pounding as he rehearsed the plan over and over again in his mind. There was nothing left to do now but wait...