Night Eagle: Homecominghome
by ysone
part 4
~~~ Jim stood in the doorway, his head tilted in concentration. His patience was rewarded a few minutes later with a repeat of the sound he'd thought he'd heard. Gunshots. Far distant, but still on his property. Jim concentrated, using the tricks Blair had taught him to place the distance and direction. East…maybe as far at the river, or the canyon.
Jim moved out onto the porch, leaning against the railing as he considered the possibilities. Hunters, maybe, though few ventured that deep onto Ellison property without him knowing about it. It was Sunday, which let out any of the hands. Most were still sleeping off last night's drunk. The only ones out were up on the western ridge, and what he'd heard had definitely not been an echo from there.
Another possibility presented itself, but it was one Jim didn't care for at all. Blair had been gone for a couple of hours now, but he had been headed for the upper meadow behind the ranch. The shot was to the east. Blair couldn't have been involved.
Somehow, Jim wasn't reassured by that conclusion, but it was logical, and Jim wasn't one to borrow troubles. More likely it was just hunters. He started to turn back into the house, but a flash of movement at the edge of the ranch yard stopped him. His eyes narrowed, studying the immediate vicinity.
Nothing.
Just as he'd decided it was a trick of the morning sunlight, or a shadow of the clouds beginning to roll in, he saw it again. The briefest flash of black, streaking by the very edges of his vision -- and then it was there, just as before…that…what had Blair called it? The Shadow Cat.
Ah, damn…Jim closed his eyes, hoping against hope that the animal would go away. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. Double damn! It was still there and staring at him…almost like it was waiting for something.
Jim closed his eyes again, letting his chin drop down to rest against his chest. It's not really there, he reminded himself. It's just my imagination. Nothing more.
"Just because you choose not to accept it, Jim Ellison, does not make it any less valid."
Blair's earlier words repeated through Jim's thoughts, so clearly that Jim almost opened his eyes to see if the young man was standing there with him. But Blair wasn't there.
And the Shadow Cat was…
And he had heard gunshots…
"You okay, Jim?"
Jim opened his eyes to find Simon standing at the bottom of the porch steps. Though he had been expecting the man, he hadn't heard him arrive. A quick glance around revealed that the cat was gone. Glancing back at Simon, Jim came to a quick decision.
"I'm not sure. I think I heard some shooting coming from over near Cedar Canyon. I think maybe I should ride out that way and have a look."
"Could be hunters," Simon observed.
"Could be," Jim agreed.
"But you don't think so." It wasn't a question.
Jim shrugged. "Can't hurt to check it out."
"Mind some company?"
~~~ The brush off the main trail was dense in places, but Jim had no trouble tracking the signs of movement through it. If the men he currently trailed were hunting, then they were doing a piss poor job of it. The signs he read spoke of little or no stealth in their movements. It was more like a race through the brush…or a chase, Jim realized with a sinking heart.
"These guys aren't hunting," Simon observed, echoing Jim's thoughts.
"Or at least not a four legged prey," Jim said, admitting his fears aloud. "They're moving too fast and taking little time to conceal their movements."
"Where'd you say Blair is?"
Simon's quiet question did little to reassure Jim that he was overreacting. Neither did the flash of black at the edges of his vision.
Jim lifted his eyes, scanning their surroundings. "Meadow up in the hills behind the house. He goes there most Sundays."
"You don't think…" Simon left the sentence unfinished, but Jim knew what he was inferring.
Rather then answer, Jim touched a heel to Soldier, heading deeper into the brush. No point jumping to conclusions. They'd just follow a bit further and see what they found.
~~~ "Damn red skunk's slowing us down, Quinn. Jes' shoot him now and get it over with."
Blair's heart rate quickened at the request, but he forced his face to remain neutral, which wasn't really all that hard, seeing as how the vast majority of his attention was focused on just remaining on his feet. He didn't relish being dragged over these rocks…again.
Quinn held the other end of the rope attached to Blair's bound wrists. The man, though clearly expressing his desire to keep Blair alive for the moment, didn't seem all that inclined to make things any easier for him. Blair had fallen twice, and both times was dragged painfully over the rocks for a good distance before Quinn deigned to stop and let him climb to his feet.
"Anytime you wanna ride on out'a here, Joe, you just go right ahead," Quinn responded, giving the rope a sharp jerk. Blair stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet, trying to ignore the pain shooting up his arms from his abused wrists. "Just make damn sure you keep on riding. I got no room in my ranks for a coward."
"No, boss, I'm with you…don't you worry none 'bout me," Joe rushed to back down.
"Joe's got a point, Quinn," Rooker interjected. He clearly wasn't as intimidated by Quinn. "Ellison's gonna realize 'fore long that something's up with the kid. Won't take him long to find the trail and get after us. We need to put some miles between us, then you can have all the fun you want with the breed without having to worry none about anyone interruptin'."
"You're wrong, Rooker," Blair interjected with more bravado than he felt. "Jim won't give up, and when he tracks your sorry carcasses down, there won't be enough left for the buzzards." At least, that was the hope Blair was clinging to.
"Shut the hell up!" Quinn shouted, giving the rope another jerk. This time Blair did fall, throwing his hands in front of him instinctively. A jolt of agony lanced through his left arm, where the bullet had dug a deep furrow through the muscle of his upper arm. It had nearly stopped bleeding, but this new abuse ripped it open again. Fresh blood soaked his sleeve.
Blair bit his lip to keep from crying out. He'd be damned if he'd give the man the pleasure. At least Quinn had stopped this time. Blair climbed quickly to his feet, not wanting to take a chance he would change his mind.
"Gag him, Wade," Quinn ordered. "Then he can ride double with you. Let's put some miles behind us before nightfall."
~~~ Jim found her in the bottom of a dry creek bed. A string of violent curses ran through his thoughts, but he managed to keep them to himself. Or so he thought, until Simon spoke softly beside him.
"All that and then some," the bigger man agreed. "That's Blair's horse, isn't it?"
Jim nodded grimly, as he dismounted and approached the dead horse. The mare had taken two bullets; one through the head, the other just to the front of the left stirrup. The head wound had been made at close range, leaving little doubt as to the sequence of events.
Closing his eyes, Jim took a moment to forcibly push down the panic and pain that coursed freely through him.
"Kid put a lot of work into this mare," Simon observed quietly. His deep voice was full of sorrow. "Must have damn near killed him to have to put her down."
Jim opened his eyes. "Yeah." There was no time for grief now. He stood and took a few moments to examine the ground around the fallen horse. Boot prints, small…most likely Blair's. They led up the far bank, and from the length of his stride, Jim could tell he'd been running. Jim scanned the surrounding area. Looked like Blair was heading for higher ground. He nodded approvingly and turned his attention back to the immediate area.
Overlapping Blair's tracks were signs of several riders; four by Jim's count. There were no obvious clues, nothing particularly distinctive about the tracks…nothing but the tightening in Jim's gut, and for Jim, that was enough. He knew who the hunters were, and chillingly, he knew what they wanted.
He mounted Soldier and headed in the direction the tracks led, trusting Simon to follow. At the top of the arroyo, he reined in, and under the pretense of doing a visual sweep of the area, he extended his hearing. He didn't really expect to find anything -- it'd been hours now since he'd heard the gunshots -- but he had to try. Just as he'd expected, there was nothing.
Choking back a growing fear of what he'd find at the end of the trail, Jim touched a heel to Soldier and headed deeper into the canyon.
~~~ Ellison had always been good at tracking, but now…Simon shook his head. The man was amazing. Jim was finding signs where logically there should be none. And he seemed so incredibly focused. It was an incredible, almost eerie thing to watch. Simon sat back in the saddle, content to follow Jim's lead.Blair was a good kid, though it had taken a while for Simon to realize and admit it, a point which still filled him with remorse and guilt. God knows he'd given the kid enough grief, none of it deserved.
Simon thought again of the mare, lying dead behind them, and his heart went out to Blair. It had been obvious to him that the boy had put her down to end her suffering, and Simon knew how hard that had to have been for the kid. He'd seen for himself how much he loved that horse.
Jim pulled up, and Simon followed suit, waiting for his friend to examine the trail, if it could be called that. They'd left the denser growth of brush behind as the path moved to rockier ground along the southern wall of the canyon, moving at an angle to the wall but heading ever upward, to higher ground. His route to the mouth of the canyon cut off by the men chasing him, it seemed Blair's intention had been to head for a more defensible position in the higher rocks. The boy had a good head on his shoulders, no doubt about that.
Jim dismounted, surprising Simon. He watched as the man dropped Soldier's reins and took a few steps forward. Jim's eyes were focused on a ledge about a hundred feet up the wall. Shorter pine and cedar grew up higher, where the ground wasn't as steep, but at that level it was mostly rocks, with a sprinkling of scrub brush and an occasional short needle pine making a stubborn attempt to grow from the rocks. Several large boulders dotted the ledge, and Simon could see that it would make a good spot to hole up.
"That's where he was headed," Jim declared. He nodded toward the ledge. "He didn't make it."
Simon's hope sank at the words. "How do you know?"
Jim glanced back down at his feet. "There're signs of a struggle here." His gaze moved along the path to the ledge again, and seemed to focus on a spot about a third of the way up. Simon saw his eyes narrow, then, with a curse, Jim moved quickly forward, scrambling over rocks as he climbed.
Jim reached the spot and knelt, rubbing his hand lightly over the rocks. Simon watched with growing confusion as the man put his hand to his nose…and sniffed it? What the…?
"Blood," Jim announced, adding to Simon's confusion. He could tell that from smelling it? Jim rose and headed quickly back down the slope to Simon and the horses. "I think we've got trouble, Simon."
Simon nodded. "I kind of figured."
"Blair's been hurt, but not too bad, I don't think. There isn't a lot of blood. But Quinn's got him."
"How do you know it's Quinn?"
Jim sighed, running a hand over his lower face. "Instincts," he stated finally, clearly uncomfortable with the admission. He turned back to face Simon. "Who else could it be?"
Simon hesitated, not wanted to voice his thoughts. "Jim…Blair's a good kid, don't get me wrong, and I think most everyone that's had a chance to get to know him can admit that. But…"
"But you think there might still be some harboring resentment toward him," Jim finished for him.
Simon nodded wordlessly.
"No, I don't think so," Jim said, taking in the signs around them again. "This was premeditated. Blair was deliberately driven into this canyon. Whoever did this could have killed him, but chose not to, for whatever reason. Quinn's got more reason than most to hate Blair, at least in his mind."
Simon wasn't entirely convinced. "There's four of them," he pointed out, having read as much in the tracks for himself.
"Then he's picked himself up a couple of men, maybe in some saloon somewhere. Wouldn't take much convincing to get some of those lowlifes to join him for a little 'fun with the Injun'."
Simon sighed to himself, recognizing the truth of the words. He was liking this less by the minute.
~~~ Jim climbed into the saddle and quickly headed back toward the mouth of the canyon, knowing they'd be able to pick up the trail again from there. Panic and a sense of urgency twisted through Jim at the thought of Blair in Quinn's hands. The man would have killed Blair already if that had been his only goal. It was obvious that Quinn wanted the kid alive, and the idea worried Jim more than just a little. Whatever the man had planned, it wouldn't be good, and it could only end one way.
He considered the idea of riding back to the ranch for help. How much of a lead did they have already? Jim did some quick calculations in his head as he spurred Soldier to a faster gait. It had been more than half a day since he'd first heard the gunshots, and Quinn's lead would only grow as Jim and Simon had to slow to keep from losing the trail.
No, they'd have to do this alone, but that was okay with Jim. There were only four of them. Those were odds he was comfortable with.
Jim cursed himself once more for not seeing this coming. He'd known Quinn would be harboring resentment toward Blair, and he knew the man wouldn't hesitate to take revenge should the opportunity present itself. As a precaution, he'd even ridden along with Blair to the upper meadow last Sunday, under the pretense of getting away for the day. He'd spent the day relaxing, napping in the sun while Blair meditated and did…well, whatever it was he was doing. It had been more than a week since Jim had fired Quinn, and he'd allowed himself to relax when nothing had happened and there'd been no sign of Quinn or Rooker around the area.
As he thought again of the blood he'd found behind them, Jim made a silent vow which he had every intention of keeping, come hell or high water. When he caught up with Quinn, Jim intended to kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands.
~~~ Blair didn't know what was worse at this point, being dragged behind the horses, or having to share a ride with Rooker. The smell alone was enough to turn Blair's already queasy stomach. Obviously, the man had never heard of soap. Or maybe it was the greasy, dirt stiffened bandana Rooker had shoved into Blair's mouth. Maybe that's where the smell was coming from. God knows it tasted bad enough to make him ill. Between the God awful taste, the smell and the constant jolting his arm was taking, Blair was having a hard time holding back the nausea.
Then again, maybe that was the fear.
Rooker had spent the majority of the ride entertaining himself by describing all the possibilities in store for Blair, and none of them sounded very pleasant. If he was lucky, Blair decided, they'd just kill him.
Blair sighed around the nasty gag. He didn't really mean that. There was hope, and he had to hang on to it. Jim would find him. He had no doubt the man would. Hell, with his senses, Jim could probably track a bug across a desert in the dead of night, and these guys were definitely not trying to hide their tracks.
Only, chances were, Jim wouldn't realize something was wrong until nightfall, when Blair didn't return to the ranch. So it would be tomorrow, at best, before Jim could even start tracking them. By then Quinn would have a full day's lead. It could be several days before Jim found them.
Blair straightened his shoulders with a firm resolve. That was doable. He could hold out until then.
He would hold out until then.
~~~ Jim pulled up, tilting his head slightly. A minute later, he heard the noise again, and allowed a tight smile. "We've got company," he announced.
"I don't hear anything," Simon said, reaching for his gun. Jim stopped him with a gesture.
"It's all right," he assured the man. "It's Rafe and Henri."
"How do you know that?" Simon's eyebrows inched up his forehead. "Jim, what's going on with you? There's something different about you, something I can't quite put my finger on. You've been acting…strange all day. "
Jim stared at his friend for several long minutes, a million thoughts racing through his mind, but one made it's way to the forefront -- this was not the time for secrets. There was too much at stake for him to have to worry about being careful. Besides, Simon was his friend, and Jim knew he could trust him.
"You're right, Simon, there is something going on, and I think it's time for me to let you in on it, and I will…just…can we do it later? It's something I'd prefer to keep between you and me…and Blair."
"I knew it involved the kid." Simon nodded. "All right, but I'm going to hold you to it, Jim. I want an explanation."
By now the sounds of the approaching pair were evident even to Simon. Jim turned Soldier toward the sound and rode to intercept them.
"Damn, Jim!" Henri exclaimed, reining in as Jim pulled out on the trail in front of the two men. "You scared ten years off of my life."
Rafe drew up, chuckling at his friend. "Stebbins told us about the gunshots you heard. Said you and Simon rode out this way to investigate. We thought maybe you could use some help."
Jim nodded grimly, silently thanking the old man for his meddling. "We've got some trouble, boys, but we've just evened out the odds a mite."
~~~ It had been dark for a couple of hours when Quinn finally called a halt for the night. Rooker shoved Blair from the horse. Blair braced himself, twisting to protect his injured shoulder. He was partially successful, but the fall still knocked the wind out of him and sent a jolt through his left arm.
Blair stayed on the ground for a minute, trying to catch his breath. Around him the other men were dismounting, one -- Joe or the one they called Cap, he couldn't really tell in the limited light -- began laying a fire. Blair shivered, longing for its warmth almost as much as he longed for a drink of water. It had been a long day with no food or water, and Blair was beginning to feel the effects.
Quinn finished unsaddling his horse and handed the reins to Rooker, then headed for Blair. Blair braced himself, expecting a boot in the ribs, but Quinn merely bent and picked up the end of the rope still attached to his bound wrists. He pulled Blair roughly to his feet, where Blair swayed slightly before finding his balance.
Without a word, Quinn led him to a juniper tree with low growing branches and, tossing the rope over one about seven feet up. The rope was secured, and Blair was left hanging, his feet barely on the ground and his hands above his head at an awkward angle. While it was merely uncomfortable at the moment, Blair had a feeling it would be agony by morning. Still, he thought as he watched Quinn walk away, if this was the worse they had in mind, he could live with it.
~~~ "Jim, we've got to stop for the night," Simon said into the near total darkness. "We can head back out at first light. Quinn's not going to be traveling in this either, so we won't lose any ground."
Jim saw the sense in Simon's words, though he was reluctant to admit it. He didn't want to stop. Every hour which passed was an hour that Blair had to spend in the hands of that son of a bitch, and Jim had no illusions as to the torment he was going to suffer at Quinn's hands. He shuddered to even think of the possibilities. But even Jim had to admit the foolhardiness of trying to track them in the darkness. While he could see better than the others, thanks to Blair's careful teachings, it was dangerous for the horses. A misplaced hoof or an unseen gopher hole could be a disaster at this point.
So, reluctantly, he called a halt, and they made a small camp. Supper was a near silent affair of cold biscuits and beef strips, provided by Stebbins' and sent with Rafe and Henri. There was even coffee. Jim made a mental note to thank the old man for his foresight.
"Why do you reckon Quinn didn't kill him out right?" Henri's question cut into the silence, drawing them all from their respective thoughts.
"Revenge," Rafe answered. "Killing's too quick, too clean for someone like Quinn. Not enough suffering."
Jim closed his eyes to the words, knowing they were most likely true, but not wanting to hear them all the same.
"Damn…" Henri swore softly. "Kid doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve any of this crap. He never did anything to Quinn, never even fought back but that one time."
Jim lifted his head sharply, pinning the man with his glare. "What do you mean?"
Henri and Rafe exchanged shamed looks.
"I want to know what you're talking about," Jim growled angrily.
"Quinn and Rooker…" Henri began, trailing off in the face of Jim's expression.
"They'd been harassing Blair," Rafe finished for him.
"What kind of harassment?"
"Accidents…little stuff…you know…"
"Who knew about this?"
"Pretty much everybody," Henri replied, "except maybe Joel."
"And me," Jim added. "You two knew." It wasn't a question.
Rafe ducked his head. "Yeah."
"No one saw fit to let me in on this?" Jim ran the past couple of months over in his head, wondering what clues he might have missed.
"No one cared…" Rafe defended weakly, shame darkening his handsome face. "It was funny, at first, watching the breed get his."
Jim's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Rafe rushed ahead, trying to defuse the situation. "By the time things had changed, Quinn had pretty much slacked off, probably bored 'cause Blair wouldn't fight back. Some of the boys, me and Henri included, let him know, point blank, that we no longer found it amusing."
Some of Jim's anger softened at the admission. He knew that Rafe and Blair had reached some kind of understanding on their trip; Blair had filled him in on that much, although he had kept the details to himself. He also knew that Blair had forged a few friendships amongst the hands. It was good to hear that some of those men had stood up for Blair. He just wished the incidents hadn't been kept from him.
"Why didn't Blair say something?" Simon questioned.
"He wouldn't," Jim sighed, mentally chastising himself again. He should have noticed. "He wouldn't have wanted to make trouble."
"Too stubborn for his own good," Simon observed.
With another, deeper sigh, Jim stood, kicking dirt onto the fire. "I want to be on the trail when first light hits. We better get some sleep while we can."
~~~ Quinn leaned back against a large boulder, letting his gaze stray to the breed. A smirk crossed his narrow features as he took in the dirty, battered Injun hanging by his bloody wrists. The kid's face was a smear of dirt, bruises and dried blood. After a full day on the trail, he'd felt the boys deserved a bit of fun with the prisoner, so as soon as they had set up camp, he turned them loose. He'd kept careful watch to make sure they didn't go too far and kill the bastard. Quinn had his own plans, after all, and while they did involved killing the breed, he was planning a whole lot more suffering beforehand.
Quinn rose, stepping over his sleeping companions as he headed for the breed. The boy lifted his head at Quinn's approach, anger and hatred flashing hotly through his dark blue eyes. Quinn laughed. So much defiance from one so obviously at the disadvantage.
He grabbed the breed's braid, using it to pull his head back to meet his eyes. "I would have thought the boys taught you more manners than that, boy. Seem like you ain't learnt your lesson quite yet. Maybe you need a few more pointers."
A quick hard blow to the stomach brought a grunt from the kid, but the cold hatred in this eyes remained. Quinn laughed again. "Guess you'll have to learn the hard way." He pulled his knife from its scabbard at his waist, turning it so the firelight flickered off the blade. A slight widening of the eyes and a quick sucking in of breath was his only response. Quinn had to admit that the boy had nerve. He'd really thought he'd be begging for mercy by now.
With a quick movement, Quinn brought the knife around, cutting roughly at the thick braid he still had hold of, slicing it through. He laughed as the boy flinched at the movement, clearly thinking Quinn meant to cut his throat.
"Not yet, boy," Quinn chuckled, bringing the knife around to his throat despite his words. "Your time ain't come quite yet." He tossed the braid aside. "But your time is coming. You think on that a while." With another laugh, he flicked the knife, drawing a line of blood from a shallow cut across the boy's jaw, then turned and walked away.
~~~ "You asleep?"
Jim had been waiting for the question. The instant soft snores from Rafe and Henri filled the camp, Simon had spoken. He'd been more patient than Jim had expected, to tell the truth.
"No, I'm awake," Jim replied softly.
Simon sat up, facing Jim in the darkness of the starless night. "You ready to explain?"
Jim took a minute to gather his thoughts before pushing himself to a sitting position. "I don't really know where to start, Simon. So much has changed in the past few months…"
"So I've noticed. It started when you went missing all those months ago, didn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess that's as good a place to start as any." Jim sighed, his focus turning inward. "I don't really remember much about the shooting itself, but with Blair's help, I've recalled a few things. I remember hearing voices and following them…then not much else until I woke up to find Blair tending to my gunshot wounds. I don't even remember being shot."
Simon nodded. "You've told me all of this."
"What I didn't tell you was that while I was injured and Blair was taking care of me, I discovered something…something amazing." He paused, looking away. Would Simon believe him? Or would he count Jim crazy, as Jim, himself, had at first?
"Jim…?" Simon prompted when the pause lasted too long.
"Simon, I know this is going to sound far-fetched, but hear me out, please. You've known me a long time, and I hope you know by now that I'm not prone to nonsense."
"You're as level minded a man as I've ever known, Jim," Simon assured. "Say what you've got to say. I'll listen." Still Jim hesitated. "You're going to think me crazy."
Simon chuckled. "Jim, I thought that the first time I rode up to your place and saw you'd brought yourself home an Indian."
Jim smiled. "So you did."
"So, if you've got an explanation, I'm all ears."
"The voices I'd heard…" Jim paused again, listening for a second to assure himself that Rafe and Henri were still sleeping. It was hard enough sharing this with Simon. "I heard them from several miles away." He stopped, giving Simon time to absorb what he'd just said.
Long seconds ticked by with no reaction. Finally, Simon let out a noisy breath. "My first inclination was to laugh," he admitted, "but this isn't a joke is it? You heard Rafe and Henri earlier, long before I did. And you heard gunshots this morning at the ranch, all the way from the canyon."
"Yeah, I did, and no, it's not a joke."
"So what are you saying? Your hearing is suddenly good enough to hear something from miles away?" There was a note of skepticism in his tone.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Jim said, defensiveness creeping into this own voice. "And it doesn't stop there. My vision, smell, touch, taste, all of my senses are sharper, better."
"Jim…" Simon began hesitantly, "it's not that I don't believe you…"
"It's just that you don't believe me," Jim frowned.
"How does the kid figure into this?"
"He figured out what was going on with me. He helped me see that I wasn't going crazy. I've got to tell you, Simon, for a while there, I seriously thought I was. Everything was…was…well, it was just too much. All of it. Every noise, every smell, every touch…even the light was just too much. I felt like I was losing my mind."
"And Blair knew what was going on with you?"
"Yeah. He explained it to me, though I've got to admit, I didn't buy much of what he was selling, at first."
"How'd he convince you?" Simon asked, sounding very much like he'd like to be convinced himself.
"I could hear his heartbeat. I couldn't deny that."
"His heart?! You heard his heartbeat? You can hear heartbeats?"
"If I concentrate."
"You can hear mine?"
Jim paused a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. A mite fast, but I guess that's just the shock of all this."
Simon was silent for a long time, staring out into the darkness. Jim gave him the time, knowing this was a lot to consider.
Finally, the man turned back to Jim. "This is…it's a bit much."
"I know," Jim acknowledged the truth of the words. "It's still a bit much for me at times."
"So, what makes you…like this?"
Jim sighed, stretching his legs out before him. "Blair is better at explaining all of this. He told me that his people have a legend of what he called a tribal Guardian…someone who was 'blessed' with sharper senses so he could protect his tribe."
"And that's what you are? One of these tribal Guardians?"
"Blair thinks so."
"What do you think?"
Now it was Jim's turn to consider. "I don't think the name matters much. If Blair wants to call me a Guardian, that's fine with me. All I know is that my senses are heightened, and without Blair's help, I don't think I could have handled it. The shaman of his tribe called him a guide, and that's pretty much what he's done. He's been right there with me on this, Simon, teaching me how to use these senses to my advantage, how to see them as a blessing, rather than a curse. I owe the kid more than I could ever repay. I owe him my life and my sanity."
Jim laid back down, pulling his blanket up around his shoulders. "Take your time with this, Simon. It's a lot to think on, I know. I'm still thinking on it, myself. All I ask is that you give me a chance here."
Simon remained sitting for several long minutes, then with a sigh, stretched his long frame out again. Yeah…it was a lot to think on.
~~~ Blair shivered in the dampness of the early morning air, wincing as it re-ignited the pain that had been his companion throughout the long night. His face and ribs were sore from the beating he'd endured at the hands of Quinn's men. But it wasn't as bad as it could have been. They hadn't inflicted any serious damage. The aches and pains of the punches he could handle.
It was his hands and arms that were giving him the most concern. Hanging throughout the night had been agony for a long while, but as the night progressed, his hands had become numb. He counted that a blessing. His upper arm, however, where the bullet had caught him, still throbbed mercilessly. He'd managed to determine that the bullet hadn't done a whole lot of damage, for which he was thankful -- one less thing to have to worry about. The bleeding had stopped. His shirt around the wound was stiff with dried blood. Though the wound itself wasn't life threatening, Blair knew it needed attention.
The worst of it, though, was the thirst. The pain he could handle, even the cold and the hunger, but he knew that he'd have to have water soon, or he was going to be in some serious trouble. He still didn't know what Quinn's plans were, beyond what he'd said last night about making him suffer before he died. Well, if that was Quinn's objective, Blair had news for the man…he had long since reached and surpassed that goal!
A shudder ran through Blair as he remembered the fear he'd felt when Quinn had pulled the knife. It had taken all of his strength of will to keep the fear hidden, but it had been quickly replaced with anger as the man cut his braid. Blair hadn't cut his hair since his mother had died. It hadn't originally been meant as a symbol of his defiance of all things white, but somehow, over the years, that's what it had become. And with one quick swipe of the knife, Quinn had taken it away. It fell in loose curls just to Blair's shoulders now, feeling odd as it swept against his face in the morning breeze.
Blair blinked against tears he hadn't realized were forming. He wasn't going to cry, damn it! He wouldn't! He hadn't cried when he'd been forced to shoot Mak'ha, he hadn't cried when they had beaten him, and he damn sure wasn't going to cry over a stupid little thing like this. It was just hair, for God's sake! It would grow back. Considering what he could have lost, how could he complain? It was only dogged determination that held the threatening tears at bay.
He was just tired and hurting, he decided; that explained why he was feeling so damned emotional all of a sudden. It had been a long, hard night, following a long, hard day. He'd scarcely closed his eyes throughout it, and he certainly hadn't been able to sleep tied up like this. He couldn't afford to, knowing that his abused wrists wouldn't have supported his full weight without a great deal more pain.
He was reaching the end of his endurance, he knew, and he had no idea what still lay ahead of him. He was trying hard to hold on to the fact that Jim knew he was missing by now, and surely would be tracking them down. Jim would find them. He would. Blair just had to hold on to that belief.
But as the men began to stir, and Blair thought of the long day ahead and the miseries it was sure to hold, for the first time, he began to doubt.
~~~ Simon repeatedly found himself watching Jim from the corner of his eye, looking for…what? Proof of what the man had told him last night? If he was honest with himself, he already had all the proof he should have needed. He'd said himself that Jim was different. It was something he'd noticed long before he'd even had reason to suspect something was going on with the man. He'd seen the way Jim was following the trail now, a trail that even Brown, a noted tracker, admitted he couldn't see.
Simon had other questions, too…like how did Jim hear Rafe and Henri's approach long before he should have? How had he found that spot of blood on the rocks from over a hundred feet away? And come to think of it, how had Jim smelled Simon's cigar on him that day, several weeks ago, when Simon had tossed it aside long before he had come up on Jim. There were other things, too, little things, that Simon just couldn't explain away easily. Unless he was willing to admit to this 'Guardian' business.
Was he?
Simon just couldn't say for sure. Not just yet.
~~~ By early afternoon, they found the abandoned campsite. Jim was drawn immediately to a short juniper tree at the edge of the area and the rope that hung there. His jaw clenched as he dismounted, taking in the scene.
The rope had been cut close to the low growing branch it had been tied to. On the ground below the branch were a multitude of footprints. Someone had been tied here, and it didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out who.
Jim kneeled, studying the signs. Judging from the number of prints, Blair had been here a long time -- overnight, most likely. And there was blood mixed in with the dirt and rocks. Not a lot, but enough to worry Jim.
Simon knelt beside Jim, eyeing him worriedly. "It was Blair, wasn't it?"
Jim nodded grimly. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure Rafe and Henri weren't close enough to overhear. The two men were busy poking around the campsite, looking for something, anything that could help. Jim turned back to Simon. "He's hurt, Simon. There's blood here." He pointed to a couple of dark spots on the ground. "It's not a lot, and it could be from his earlier injury." He stood, wiping his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants. "I don't know what Quinn's capable of, and frankly, Simon, that scares me. I don't know what we're dealing with here."
The slight breeze shifted, and something caught Jim's attention. He immediately recognized it, and felt his face pale in reaction.
"What is it, Jim? What's wrong?"
"It's Blair…I can…I…"
"Jim?"
Jim turned troubled blue eyes to meet Simon's concerned gaze. "I smell him, nearby."
"You smell him?" Simon's eyes widened almost comically. "My God, Jim, it's true…what you were telling me--"
"Simon!" Jim interrupted. "Listen to me! I smell Blair…don't you get it?" To hell with Simon! He didn't have time for this. He turned to the nearby rocks, dreading what he'd find, but needing to find it. A quick glance around relieved him only slightly. The smell was still too strong.
Finally he spotted it, laying among the rocks a couple of yards away. He bent to pick it up. It was a braid of hair, severed bluntly and tossed aside. Blair's. This was the source of the smell. Jim closed his eyes briefly, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn't found the body he had expected.
~~~ When Rooker tossed him to the ground this time, Blair didn't even have the strength for a moan. He doubted he could have found enough moisture in his throat to make the sound anyhow. He laid there, oblivious to the movements and noise around him. Again, he'd been offered no food or water throughout the long day. How long could a man survive without water anyhow, Blair wondered. It'd been…what, now? He'd lost track of time. Was it the second day yet? Or still the first? No…no, he remembered it being dark before, so it had to be the second day. It was getting so hard to think, and his head hurt when he tried too hard. Besides, what did it matter?
The voices around Blair were getting louder, harder to ignore. Blair wondered vaguely if it would be in his best interest to try to understand what the men were saying, but decided against it. If it concerned him, he'd know about it soon enough. He allowed himself the luxury of drifting with his fragmented thoughts.
The sound of a gunshot drew Blair's attention back to his surroundings. With single-minded determination, he cracked his eyelids open. It took him a minute to focus, but what he saw still made no sense. Quinn was standing a few feet away, holding a gun and looking kind of funny. His gaze was locked on something on the ground. Trying to see what he was looking at would have involved movement, something Blair wasn't up to at the moment, so he let it go, turning his attention back to Quinn.
Beyond Quinn, stood the other two men…what were their names? Blair couldn't remember, but it didn't matter anyhow. They were looking at Quinn with something akin to terror. Blair tried to smirk, but couldn't find the energy. He knew exactly how they felt.
Quinn was talking again, so Blair concentrated on trying to hear what he was saying, thinking maybe it might be important, after all.
"I'm in charge!" Quinn was shouting. "It's my operation, my call! If you don't like it, you can have the same pay Wade just collected." Rooker…that's who was missing, Blair realized dully. Wonder where he went…To get some water, maybe…?
Blair gave up trying to follow the conversation after a few minutes, letting his eyes drift closed again. It was so nice to lie down.
A sudden, sharp pain in the small of his back brought Blair back to consciousness. He rolled away from the pain, only to be met with another, followed by a sharp curse.
"Wake up, damn you!"
Blair opened his eyes, surprised to see the sun had dipped low in the sky. He must have fallen asleep. Shame he couldn't remember it, he had really been looking forward to getting some sleep. Someone grabbed his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. Blair staggered and would have fallen, but the grip tightened, holding him up.
Blair blinked hard against a wave of dizziness and tried to focus on the face before him. After a minute, the multiple faces before him merged into one. Quinn, and his mouth was moving. Blair shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears.
"You've been causing me trouble since before I ever laid eyes on you," the man was saying. "If it hadn't been for your meddling, Ellison would have died on that mountain, and none of this would have happened. We could have continued just like we was doing and made a fortune, with nobody ever the wiser."
The rant made very little sense to Blair's muddled brain. He concentrated, sensing that it was somehow important. There was something here he should be getting.
"Now look where I am!" Quinn spun Blair around so fast that black spots danced at the edges of his vision. When it cleared, he finally saw what Quinn was ranting about. On the ground before them lay Rooker. He was lying on his back, sightless eyes staring into the night sky, a small, red hole between them. Blair closed his eyes, fighting nausea. That was the gunshot he'd heard. The shouts before must have been an argument of some kind, something bad enough that Quinn had lost it and shot his own partner.
Quinn was going to kill him. Of course, that's pretty much what he had been saying from the start, but Blair had held out hope that Jim would find him. Now, looking at the man's enraged face, Blair knew it was too late.
Quinn released his grip on Blair's arm, and Blair collapsed to his knees.
"If you had just left Ellison on that mountain to die, this could have all been avoided." Quinn raised the gun in his right hand, aiming it in Blair's general direction. "You would have been back in your little village, safe and sound, Wade would be alive, I would be a very, very rich man…"
Blair's eyes widened as the realization finally sank in. He managed a muffled exclamation around the gag.
Quinn laughed, and reached over to pull the gag from Blair's mouth. Blair cried out weakly as the stiff cloth pulled painfully where it had stuck to the dry skin of his lips. He tried to run his swollen tongue over them, but it wouldn't cooperate. He swallowed several times in an effort to speak.
Quinn watched him, an almost amused expression on his narrow face.
Finally, Blair managed to form a few words. His voice was almost unrecognizable, sounding every bit as gritty and hoarse as it felt. "You…shot…Jim."
Quinn laughed, swinging the arm that held the gun around wildly as he spoke. "Maybe you aren't so stupid, after all. I just might have underestimated you, boy. Mr. High and Mighty Ellison was, quite simply, in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wandered too close to my little operation. See, me and the boys," he swung the gun around, indicating Rooker, "we been helping ourselves to a few head of cattle here and there. Nothing grand…not until you look at the overall picture, that is. You would be surprised how quick a few head now and again from so many ranches can add up. Every couple of months we drive them to the railhead over by Verde Basin. It's been quite the lucrative sideline…"
Quinn's face suddenly turned hard. "Least wise, it was until Ellison stumbled across it, and I had to shoot him. Guess that was my own damn fault. I should have made sure he was dead. He looked dead. Damn…" he broke off, his eyes losing focus for a second.
Blair thought back to the way he'd found Jim, easily understanding how Quinn could have mistaken him for dead. Blair had thought the man dead, too, until the Night Eagle had shown him otherwise.
"Imagine my surprise when Fessler showed up claiming Ellison had been found alive." Quinn laughed again. "Hell, me and Wade almost lit out of there right then and there; probably should have. But I got greedy. Didn't see no point skipping out and losing a good thing if I didn't have to. I was pretty sure Ellison hadn't seen me. And as it turned out, I was right. He didn't even bat an eye none at me."
While Quinn was talking, Blair's still somewhat muddled mind was racing. His time was clearly up, and it was beginning to look like Jim wasn't going to make it. Quinn meant to kill Blair right here, right now. Blair's heart started pounding. What had happened to 'making him suffer'? What happened to 'prolonging his death'? He wanted to ask Quinn those questions, but his already dry throat went even drier at the thought of what was about to happen.
Blair looked up, and suddenly, his heartbeat began to slow. His breath evened out, and a calmness descended over him. Behind Quinn, sitting on atop a large boulder, was the Night Eagle. Blair smiled at the bird, grateful for its presence. His spirit guide was here to offer comfort to him in his last moments, then to escort him to the afterlife, just as he had always been taught that it would. A peace settled over him, and his smile grew.
"What the hell is the matter with you? What are you grinning at?" Quinn demanded angrily, bringing the gun around and pointing it at him. If he'd been expecting Blair to beg for his life he was going to be sadly disappointed.
Blair struggled weakly to his feet, finding the strength only through the Night Eagle's presence. He wouldn't die on his knees. He would retain his dignity to the end. Once on his feet, Blair swayed for a moment as his vision grayed. When it cleared, he met Quinn's eyes boldly, intending to look his death in the face. But the sudden cry of the Night Eagle startled him, drawing his attention, then he saw what he had missed before. Pacing angrily at the foot of the boulder was the Shadow Cat…Jim's spirit guide.
Blair's brow creased in confusion. Why would Jim's spirit guide be here to welcome him into the afterlife? Unless that wasn't why they were here in the first place. Understanding dawned slowly in his hazy thoughts.
If the Shadow Cat was here…then Jim couldn't be far away…
The Night Eagle screeched again, a triumphant sound, and Blair knew he'd reached the right conclusion.
And if Jim was coming, then Blair had to hold on until he got here. He had to…
"What are you looking at, you damn fool?" Quinn glanced back over his shoulder, in the direction Blair had seen the spirit guides. Blair didn't hesitate. Summoning strength from God knew where, he threw himself into Quinn while the man's attention was diverted. He hit Quinn hard and low with his good shoulder. Quinn fell back, his arms swinging out in a vain attempt to regain his balance. The gun flew out of his hand, landing several yards away. Blair scrambled quickly for it before Quinn could regain his feet. He managed to get his hands wrapped around it, but there was little strength in his arms. By the time he was able to lift the gun and turn it in Quinn's direction, the man was on his feet and coming at him. Blair struggled with the weight of the gun, tears of pure frustration tracking through the dirt and dried blood on his face. The numbness in his fingers hampered his attempts to pull the trigger. Quinn was almost on him now. He wasn't going to make it.
NO! Jim was coming! He had to do this now…or Quinn would kill him. He had to! He had--
The gun bucked in his hands suddenly, and Quinn let out a scream of pain and anger. As Blair watched, Quinn fell forward, clawing at his hip. His hip…Blair had shot him in the hip. He hadn't killed him. He tried to lift the gun again, but the weight was too much. Besides, Quinn was making no effort to rise. He was writhing on the rocky ground, blood soaking into the dirt beneath him.
Blair took a moment to catch his breath and clear his head. Quinn was down, but not out. He couldn't stay here. He had to move. Using every ounce of willpower he could muster, Blair struggled to his feet, dragging the gun with him in his numb hands. Once the dizziness had passed, he looked around the area. Rooker was lying a few feet away, sightless eyes still staring into the starless sky. He turned away. The rest of the camp was deserted. There was no sign of the other two men, and more importantly, there was no sign of the horses. Panic coursed through Blair. They had to be here, they had to…
He stumbled closer to Quinn, careful to remain out of the man's reach, though it didn't look like he was capable of much harm at the moment. Still, looks could be deceiving.
It took him two tries, but he finally managed to croak out a question that was intelligible.
"Where are…the horses?"
Quinn, his breaths coming in harsh, pain filled gasps, looked up to meet Blair's own not-so-steady gaze. To Blair's surprise, the man laughed. "Gone…they're gone, and you and me, kid, are left here to die together. What an irony, huh?"
Blair lifted the gun a few inches, aiming in the vague direction of Quinn's head. "I have…no intention of dying…with or…without your company."
"Don't seem to have much choice…if you ask me."
Desperation gave Blair strength, and he lifted the gun higher. "Wh…where are they?"
Anger flashed through Quinn's eyes. "Joe and Cap took 'em. Damn cowards lit out the minute I turned my back on 'em. Sons of bitches knew I'd hunt 'em down and kill 'em for it, so they took the horses with 'em."
Blair's strength fled with the news, and he almost dropped the gun, holding on to it only through sheer stubbornness. He backed up a few steps, sliding down to sit on the hard ground.
He had to think, decide what to do, but it was so hard with his thoughts all muddled. He suddenly remembered the spirit guides, and lifted his eyes, surprised and pleased to see them still there, silently watching him.
"Thanks…" he murmured his gratitude to them. "I don't suppose you…two have any…ideas?" It was worth a try.
"Who the hell you talking to?" Quinn asked, his eyes searching the area.
Blair ignored him, his full attention on the vision only he could see. The Night Eagle ducked its head and spread it's wings, taking to the sky. The Shadow Cat, with a glance over its shoulder at Blair, followed. Blair watched dully, only vaguely comprehending what they were telling him.
"You want me to follow you…" It wasn't a question.
"Son…a bitch…" Quinn murmured, his breath coming harsher now. "Lost your…goddamn mind."
Blair struggled to his feet.
"Where…you going?"
Blair glanced at Quinn, easily reading the man's pain and panic even in the dark. "No intention of…dying here with you," he repeated.
"You can't leave…me…here like this!"
Blair glanced at the man's wound and almost felt sorry for him. Somewhere else, with the proper care, he'd probably survive it. Maybe. As it was, he'd most likely bleed to death by morning. There was nothing Blair could do for him. He could maybe make the man a little more comfortable, but he couldn't risk getting that close to him. He might not be as weak as he was letting on. And Blair couldn't forget that if Quinn had had his way, he would be dead by now.
It was out of his hands. Whether the man lived or died was in the realm of a higher force.
He turned away, trying not to hear the other man's increasingly desperate pleas as he walked into the night, following the spirit guides.
~~~ "Which way?"
Jim didn't answer right away. He couldn't. The wrong decision here could mean Blair's life. If he was even still live at this point…
No! He wouldn't give up on Blair, because he knew, instinctively, that Blair wasn't giving up on him. He would be waiting for Jim, holding on to the fact that Jim would be coming for him.
But which way? Which trail did he follow? Because, God help him, Blair's life depended on the right decision here.
He glanced down at the tracks again. The trail they had been following was overlapped with a new trail which doubling back along the old one, only to veer off and head west. Jim counted four horses on the new trail, though two of them were traveling much lighter, their tracks not as deep as before. Did that mean two of the riders were no longer with them? If so, which two?
Jim glanced toward the horizon to the south. Had they left Blair back there somewhere? Alive? He swung his gaze to the west. Or was he still with them?
"Jim?"
He glanced up, to see his companions watching him closely, waiting for an answer. They were counting on him…Blair was counting on him. But how could he make this decision?
Then, from the corner of his eye, Jim saw it…the sign he'd been hoping for, waiting for. A flash of black. With a triumphant grin, Jim turned to his friends again, a new confidence in his expression and tone. "We stick with the old trail."
~~~ Blair stumbled in the fading sunlight, falling once again. This time, he didn't get back up. He couldn't find the strength…or the will. What did it matter anyhow? He hadn't had any water for…how long was it now? He couldn't remember, but it had been a long time. Too long. He couldn't go on without it.
He heard a rustling noise, then felt a warm, moist breath against his face.
Mak'ha…
No, that wasn't right, was it? Mak'ha was gone. He remembered that. He'd killed her.
The breath flowed over him again, followed by a gentle nuzzling. Blair cracked his eyes, surprised to see Jim's Shadow Cat staring intently at him. Visions didn't nuzzle. Did they? No, they definitely didn't…and they didn't breathe, either. That meant the cat wasn't really there. Just the product of Blair's scrambled mind. Wishful thinking.
He closed his eyes with a soundless chuckle. Why couldn't he just imagine up Jim while he was at it? Or a whole damn rescue party? Wouldn't that be better?
The cat pushed gently against his face again. Damn, pesky imagination!
"Wha'?" he murmured irritably, opening his eyes again. Beyond the cat sat the Night Eagle. Or his imagination's version of the Night Eagle. Didn't matter…same thing…
Blair rolled to his back, ignoring the animals for a minute while he got his breath back under control. That accomplished -- somewhat -- he struggled once more to his feet.
Why? Why was he pushing himself like this? Couldn't he just wait for Jim to find him? But if it wasn't soon, Blair knew what Jim would find, and that thought wasn't pleasant in the least. He had to find water first, then he could wait for Jim…and then he could lie down and not have these damn annoying animals pushing him to get up again.
Blair took a step, then stopped, suddenly realizing he'd forgotten which direction he was suppose to be going. He lifted his head, swinging his hair out of his face with a move that almost sent him to the ground again. Once he'd regained his balance, he squinted into the rising sun, finding his imaginary companions. Oh yeah, he was following them. He set off after them, only brief wondering at the wisdom of following his imagination. Did make-believe animals need water? Maybe they'd lead him to water.
Heedless of the absurdity of his thoughts, Blair pushed on, falling again and again, only to rise each time and push on. Somewhere along the line, he realized, he'd dropped the gun, but he couldn't seem to find the energy to really care. It wasn't like he could use it.
He almost missed it, would have missed it, if it hadn't been for his fantasy cat. The animal stopped suddenly. Blair pulled up too quickly and lost his balance, falling once more. His face landed in a spot shaded from the bright morning sun by large boulder.
What'd you do that for, he asked the vision. Or at least he meant to. He didn't think the words quite made it to his mouth. He lay there for several moments, waiting for the motivation to rise again. Slowly, it registered on his sluggish brain that the sand his face rested in was damp. Surprised, he forced his eyes open, raising his head a bit to see where he was.
It was a tinajas…a basin that captured rain and held it until the sun could evaporate it. Sometimes, if the basin was shaded, as this one was, the water would last for a while. And sometimes even then, the sand below would become impregnated with the water. Encouraged, Blair found the strength to push to his knees.
He wasn't imagining it, it was really there. Desperately, he began clawing at the damp sand with his swollen, nearly nerveless hands. It was cumbersome and painful, but he kept at it until finally he was rewarded with a small, muddy handful of water. Without hesitation he fell forward, letting his parched mouth fall into the little pool. It was gritty, full of sand, but he'd never tasted anything so sweet.
In a matter of seconds, the little pool was drained. Disappointed, Blair rolled away. It hadn't been nearly enough, but it would hold him for a bit. He was grateful for even that small mouthful. Maybe the pool would fill again if he gave it time.
His last thought as he drifted off was that he really should have offered some of the water to his imaginary companions.
~~~ Jim no longer saw flashes of black at the edges of his vision, but the black cat itself in all it's graceful splendor, running ahead of them. He urged Soldier to a quicker gait, pushing the animal relentlessly in his urgency to keep the cat in sight.
~~~ It was thirst that brought him awake again. The sun was just beginning to peek over the hills to the east, a testament to how long he had been out. Blair lifted his head, pleased to find that his little, excavated pool had refilled while he slept. He scooted closer and drank until it was empty again. He was alert enough this time to taste the sand and grime in the water, but he couldn't really find it in him to complain. It was wet. It satisfied his thirst. That was all that mattered.
Feeling better than he had for…well, for a long time, Blair pushed himself to a seated position, leaning against the closest boulder. He had to make a decision now that his head was clear enough to actually make some sense. He was still far too weak for his liking, but that was probably not going to get any better any time soon. Did he have the strength to walk out of here? He doubted it. He had no idea how he'd managed to come this far, to be honest. He barely remembered his trek, except for falling down a lot. That he remembered.
And Quinn…
He remembered leaving the man to die alone. Blair closed his eyes tight at the memory. Quinn was probably dead by now…most likely bled to death in the night. It was a terrible way to die…alone…scared…
Blair heard the screech of an animal nearby, and smiled, not bothering to open his eyes. "Still here?" he whispered, wondering if this Night Eagle was his imaginary one or a true vision. In the end, it didn't really matter, both were a comfort.
There were other noises then, but he still didn't open his eyes. It wasn't until something soft and warm touched his face that Blair finally managed the monumental feat.
"Jim…" He smiled weakly at the fuzzy shape over him. 'Bout time he started imagining something more useful than a couple of animals.
Only this fantasy was looking at him funny, the face twisted with concern. And it spoke…
"Yeah, Chief, it's me."
Blair tried to chuckle, but it came out as more of a moan. "Wha' took you…so long?" His voice was raspy, gritty, and it scratched at his throat.
The imaginary Jim smiled back, his concern softening. "Well, you know how it is…places to go, things to do, people to see…"
Blair let his eyes drift closed again. "Glad…" he stopped, swallowing dryly, "…you're here."
"Yeah, Chief, me, too."
"Even…if you aren't…real…Gonna…sleep now…'kay?"
"Go ahead, Chief. I'll be here when you wake."
~~~ "How is he, Jim?"
Jim looked up from his silent vigil beside his sleeping friend. "Still sleeping, Simon. Beyond that…"
Simon knelt beside Blair, letting his large hand lay across the kid's brow for a moment. "He's a mess," he observed, referring to the multitude of bruises and scrapes which were visible now that the worst of the grime had been washed away.
"Yeah," Jim agreed. "But it could be worse." He closed his eyes briefly, easily picturing how much worse it could have been. He had been appalled when he'd finally laid eyes on Blair. They all had. The kid had looked terrible…battered, filthy, bloody, his hands still bound tightly in front of him . They had instantly set up a small camp, and set to tending Blair's wounds.
They'd all been relieved to find that the worst of the mess had washed away with the grime and dried blood, but the kid was still in bad enough shape. It was clear he'd been through quite an ordeal.
"What do you reckon happened?" Simon queried softly. "Where's Quinn?"
It was the same question Jim had asked himself a dozen times already. "I guess we'll have to wait for Blair to wake up and tell us."
"You can't…" Simon gestured vaguely with his hand, "you know…?"
Jim frowned at his friend. "What?"
"Listen for Quinn, or something…"
The frown faded, and Jim dragged a hand across his face. "I've tried. Best I can tell, there's no one out there, at least not close enough for me to hear."
"I don't think we should lower our guard until we're sure, though," Simon said. "If Quinn left him out here for some reason, he just might decide to return, finish what he started."
Jim nodded agreement. "Quick as Blair's up to it, we need to head out. I want to put some distance between us and this place."
Simon glanced back down at the sleeping man. "Kid took a hell of a beating."
Jim agreed, taking in the bruises that colored most of the kid's body. "It's his hands that have really got me worried," Jim admitted, lifting one of the injured limbs and examining the makeshift bandages in the firelight. When he had first cut away the rope binding Blair's abused hands, he'd been sickened at the damage he'd found. Deep furrows circled the thin wrists, cutting almost to the bone in places. His hands had been swollen and dark, still were even now. Jim was worried about how well they would heal, if there would be any permanent damage.
"Don't go borrowing troubles, Jim," Simon said. "Not until you have to. Kid's been damn lucky so far, no reason to think it won't hold. Now go, get some sleep while you can. I'll sit with him for a while."
Jim opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the mule headed look on Simon's face, wisely decided against it. Besides, he was going to need his rest. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He was taking Blair home.
~~~ There wasn't a part of him anywhere that wasn't throbbing painfully in time to his heartbeat, Blair decided. If this is what the waking world held in store for him, he'd much rather just sleep, thank you very much.
But the persistent throbbing wouldn't let him drift off again. Resigned to his fate, Blair cracked his eyes open. A foggy, gray world welcomed him.
There was a commotion near his head, and Blair blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog. Had Quinn come back? No, Quinn was dead, wasn't he? Maybe the other two…Joe and…somebody…maybe they'd returned. Maybe they'd brought the horses back…Or some water. God, he was so thirsty!
Someone lifted his head, placing something to his lips, then a wonderfully cool moisture filled his mouth. Blair closed his eyes, drawing deep of the moisture, relishing the way it soaked into the dried tissue of his throat as it slid sweetly down.
"Take it easy there, Chief…just a few sips."
It was drawn away, then, leaving him longing for more. He moaned at the loss, desperate to have it return.
"Let's see if that stays down first," the voice said. "The last time it came right back up, remember?"
Remember? No, not really. How could he not remember that? He'd been longing for water for so long now, surely he'd remember finally getting it.
Then the voice he'd heard finally registered. And with it, the words…one word…Chief…
"Jim?" He cracked his eyes again, blinking furiously at the film that seemed to be coating them, preventing him from focusing on the shadows above him.
"Yeah, Blair, it's me. And no, you're not imagining me. I'm real." There was a smile in the voice.
Blair remembered the voice being there before, offering words of comfort and encouragement. But he'd thought it was his imagination. Like the spirit animals. He'd wished them all up. The animals…Jim…
"Jim?" he asked again. He had to be sure, since he couldn't seem to make his eyes work just yet. Maybe that was because of the tears he could feel gathering there to slide wetly from the corners and down into his hair. Damn. He was crying. He'd managed to avoid that the whole time with Quinn, and just the sound of Jim's voice had him bawling like a newborn calf.
"Blair?" There was concern in the voice now, and Blair hated himself for putting it there.
"'m okay, Jim," he quickly assured, letting his useless eyes close again. Hurt to bad trying to make them focus. "'m okay."
The hands that had been holding his head moved away. Blair wanted to protest their absence, but he was slipping into sleep again. After a minute, they returned anyhow, sliding softly through his hair. Blair smiled to himself. That was good. Felt good. He wondered absently if Jim had noticed that his hair was shorter...
~~~ It was close to morning when Blair woke again. This time, he was glad to note, the face hovering over him wasn't nearly as blurry as it had been before.
"How do you feel?" Jim asked.
Blair ran his tongue over his cracked lips before answering. "Probably not as bad as I look."
"Thank God for that."
Blair turned his head until he could see the dark man standing over him. Behind him were two more faces. After a minute of blinking he was able to make them out. Rafe and Henri…
"Take the…whole damn ranch…to rescue one wet…behind the ears Injun boy?" he asked, trying to smile.
"Only when that Injun boy is you." Rafe squatted next to him, smiling.
"You feel like sitting up and trying to eat something?" Jim asked, already positioning himself to help Blair sit up.
Blair considered his stomach. He wasn't sure it was ready to handle food just yet, but he knew he probably needed to give it a try. He nodded. Jim slid an arm under him, gently supporting him as he struggled into a seated position, then pulled Blair back to lean against his chest for support.
Rafe handed Jim a bowl, but Blair ignored it in favor of the cup that Simon was holding. "If that's water…I might have…to kiss you." Talking was still an effort, but it was getting easier.
Simon snorted, holding the cup out to Blair. "Kiss me, and you'll have a few more bruises to contend with."
Blair lifted his arms with a lot of effort, but he couldn't seem to make his hands grasp the cup. His fingers were still numb, and his arms were shaking so badly he probably would have just spilled it anyhow.
"Damn…" He dropped his arms to his lap. "Sorry…I can't..."
"It's okay, Chief," Jim assured. "It's going take a while for them to heal."
Simon knelt, holding the cup to Blair's lips and letting him sip at the water. Blair was vaguely embarrassed to have to be tended like this, but he was much too grateful for the drink to give it much thought.
Simon removed the cup much too quickly, but Blair understood the need to take it slowly. He would have to be satisfied with a few sips at a time. He settled back against Jim, thankful for the support, and let Jim spoon whatever it was in the bowl into his mouth. He managed only a couple of bites before his stomach protested, and he had to stop.
"Maybe later," Jim said, handing the bowl back to Rafe.
Blair allowed his eyes to close. He was so tired…
"Blair…you still with me, Chief? Come on, buddy, I need to ask you a couple of questions, if you're up to it."
Up to it? Nah, maybe later, huh, Jim? I'm so tired.
"Blair?"
What? Didn't I say that out loud? He made a better effort to answer. "Tired…"
"I know, Chief, just a minute more, okay? Then you can sleep. I really need your help first, though."
Jim needed his help. With a monumental effort Blair pried his eyes open again.
"Blair, we need to know what happened to Quinn. Do you know where he is, Chief?"
Quinn…Blair's brow puckered as he considered it. Quinn…oh yeah…"Dead."
"Dead? Blair, is Quinn dead?" Jim sounded almost disappointed.
"Quinn killed…killed…um…someone…Rooker…Quinn killed Rooker. I shot Quinn. Other guys took the horses…and canteens…left us to die…but not together." Blair was fast losing his battle with his eyes. "I shot Quinn…left him to die…didn't wanna die with him, so I left. Followed the cat and the bird. Not the vision ones…imaginary ones. Vision ones don't breathe…I don't think…have to ask 'em 'bout that…"
With a sigh, Blair let his eyes close, and this time no amount of effort would get them to open again.
~~~ Jim stood silently beside Soldier, his hat in his hands. He'd found the campsite just as Blair had described it. With one very notable exception.
No Quinn.
Surveying the scene once again, Jim's jaw clenched tight. Rooker was still there, but animals had found the body. What was left wasn't a pretty sight. Jim looked away, letting his eyes find the large, dark stain on the ground that he knew to be blood…where Quinn's body should have been.
Jim studied the signs, but could draw no satisfactory conclusion. Blair had said he'd shot the man, but not killed him. Could it be Quinn wasn't hurt as bad as Blair had thought? Or maybe someone had come back for him. Jim shook his head. Those were possibilities he didn't care for one bit.
He knelt beside the bloodstain, studying the signs once more. There were so many tracks it was difficult to distinguish one from another. Boots, horses…a large cat of some kind. Probably the same animal that had…found…Rooker.
And the one who had most likely dragged Quinn's body away, Jim concluded. He stood. That was the most probable scenario. It was obvious that Quinn had been badly injured, judging from the amount of blood he'd spilled on the rocky soil. There was simply no way the man could have gotten away on his own, and the chances of someone coming up on him were slim to none. Jim dismissed the two riders that had abandoned Quinn and Blair. His senses had been at full alert throughout the night, and Jim was sure he would have heard them if they had returned.
Finally reaching an acceptable conclusion, Jim stood. The most probable scenario was that the same cat which had mauled Rooker's remains had dragged Quinn's body away to…to finish it off. Regardless of the other possibilities, it's what he intended to tell Blair. One way or another, Quinn was dead. And that's all Blair needed to know.
Jim mounted his horse and turned away. There was an evil stench in the air, and he wanted away from it.
~~~ Jim gave Soldier his head, trusting the stallion to follow Simon's lead as they headed back to the ranch. By taking a more direct route then they had taken to find Blair, Jim estimated they'd arrive around midnight. Blair was riding double with Jim, and at the moment, the kid was sleeping, for which Jim was grateful. That was mostly due to the plants Blair had had Jim searching for before daybreak. Something he had insisted would make his ride home more comfortable.
Home. That word had taken on new meaning now. It was a word that had long meant simply a place to live to Jim. He realized now how lacking that definition really was. Home wasn't a place. It was a feeling. A sense of belonging.
He was taking Blair home. To the place where he belonged…where they both belonged.
~~~ Epilogue
Jim did his best to mask his amusement at Blair's attempts to feed himself despite Stebbins' bullheaded insistence otherwise. The old man had taken on Blair's care and recovery single-handedly, scarcely letting the poor kid do a thing for himself. Stebbins had taken one look at Blair when they'd arrived home and instantly declared him "nothing but bones" and had taken it as a personal obligation to "fatten him back up". Blair had half-heartedly protested, but had, in the end, realized it was a losing battle and let the old man have his way.
It had been nearly a week since Jim had brought Blair home…a very busy week! Blair's revelation that it was Quinn who had shot Jim all those months ago had sparked Jim's memory. He recalled, with Blair's help, that it was the familiarity of the voices which he had heard that day that had drawn him to follow them, which had led to his being shot…and his meeting Blair. Somehow, Jim couldn't bring himself to regret that turn of events. Inadvertently, Quinn had brought Blair into Jim's life. Oddly enough, Jim found himself thankful to the man for that one small thing. And it was nice to finally be able to put the mystery to rest. Jim's only regret was that he hadn't been able to tear the man apart with his hands as he'd imagined doing the whole time they'd searched for Blair. He was only vaguely comforted by the knowledge that Blair had been the one to kill the son of a bitch. Jim supposed he'd have to be satisfied with that.
The rustling gang had been broken up and most apprehended, thanks again to Blair's report. Most of the ranchers hadn't even noticed the missing cattle, and those who had, had chalked it up to Indians. It had been the cause of a lot of bitterness. Unfortunately, Jim had a feeling that getting the cattle back and finding it had been white men taking them wouldn't do much to quell that bitterness.
Jim turned his attention back to the argument across the table. Blair was fast losing ground, which didn't surprise Jim in the least. Stebbins could be quite stubborn when he set his mind on something. Blair's bruises were healing -- though still quite spectacular -- and the bullet wound on his arm wasn't far behind. His hands, much to Jim's overwhelming relief, were much better, and while it was true that Blair still had difficulty with a lot of things and most likely would for some time yet, he was able to do a few things for himself now…like feeding himself. He was just having a hard time convincing Stebbins of that fact.
"Can't you do something, Jim?" Blair implored.
"I am," Jim grinned. "I'm enjoying the show."
"I had in mind something more along the lines of assistance."
"Doesn't look to me like Stebbins needs any help."
Blair finally gave up. He sat back with a noisy sigh of defeat. "You think this is funny, don't you, Jim?"
"Very," Jim chuckled. "And I seem to remember a certain little 'wet behind the ears Injun boy' that got a great deal of amusement out of watching me stumble around with a crutch a few months ago."
Blair's expression lightened. "Yeah, that was pretty funny, come to think of it."
Jim opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by someone clearing his throat behind him. He turned to see Joel standing in the open kitchen doorway.
"Problem, Joel?"
"No, not really, but…um…some of the guys…we have something we'd like for Blair to see…if he's not busy, that is," he added quickly, catching the glare Stebbins sent his way.
"Well, he is," the old man declared firmly. "He's eating. Come back later."
"Wait," Blair cried, when Joel turned to leave. "I can eat later--"
"The gol-durn heck you will! You'll finish it up now!" To punctuate his words, the old man shoved another bite into Blair's mouth when he opened it to argue.
Resigned, Blair shrugged in Joel's direction.
Jim stopped laughing long enough to say, "Guess it'll have to wait, Joel."
Blair sulked, but obediently finished every bite of the meal, and then every bite of the huge slab of cake Stebbins insisted he have, even though Blair protested he was too full.
Finally, the plate was clean, the huge cup of milk was empty and Blair was threatening to explode if made to so much as look at another bite of anything. Stebbins let him go with a warning to come right back in so he could get a nap in before dinner.
Blair sighed deeply and gave his word, moving out the door before the old man could change his mind.
"What's with him and food, Jim? I'm beginning to feel like the fatted calf."
Jim laughed, throwing his arm over the young man's shoulders and steering him toward the barn, where he could hear the men waiting.
"So, what's this all about? Do you know?"
"Nuh uh, Chief, but I do believe we're about to find out."
~~~ Blair pushed his hair back from his face as he stepped into the barn. He still couldn't get used to the shorter length. It was long enough to be a nuisance, but too short to pull back. Still when he thought of all he could have lost, his hair wasn't such a big thing, and it would grow back.
He stopped just inside the door of the barn. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dimmer light, he noticed two things right off. Most, if not, all of the hands were gathered, and everyone was looking at him. He glanced at Jim, feeling a blush of embarrassment warm his face. The older man shrugged.
Joel stepped forward, drawing Blair's attention with a small cough. "Blair…the guys and I were thinking…"
"Some of us are better at it than others," someone in the back said, and the group laughed.
Joel sent a mock scowl toward the offender. "That wouldn't be you, Murphy." That drew more laughter. "Anyway," he said, turning back, "we can't help but feel a little guilty about…well, you know, the stuff that happened last week."
"Joel--" Blair began to protest.
The big man cut him off with a raised hand. "Let me finish. I know you don't feel that way, but we do, and that's that. The guys are feeling bad because they knew about Quinn giving you a hard time and didn't say anything about it. I'm feeling bad, well, because I should have known what was going on. I should have seen it. Maybe I could have stopped it before he went too far."
Blair heard Jim shifting restlessly beside him. He knew similar thoughts were going through Jim's mind. They had already discussed it several times. Jim was carrying guilt that wasn't his to carry…and now it seemed the rest of the guys were, too.
"Anyhow, we want to make it up to you is some small way, and this is what we came up with." Joel gestured behind Blair.
Blair turned to see Rafe entering the barn, leading a small chestnut mare.
"I know she's not Mak'ha," Rafe said, "but I picked her out myself. We took up a collection, and Mr. Hanners gave us a really good deal on her. She's got good lines, and she's built for stamina. She's got a tough spirit, Blair. I don't think you'll be disappointed in her."
"She's not broke yet," Joel said, moving up behind Blair and laying a hand on his shoulder. "We figured you'd like it better that way…you know, doing it yourself."
Blair stared at the mare. He realized the guys were waiting for him to respond, but he couldn't seem to speak past the lump growing in his chest. He cleared his throat, then cleared it a second time, but was still unable to say anything.
"It was a nice thought, guys," Jim said into the awkward silence, "but, um, maybe it's a bit soon."
"No!" Blair finally found his voice. "No…it's…she's…I'm just a little overwhelmed, that's all. I…I'm…"
"Speechless?" Jim suggested, amusement coloring his tone.
Blair grinned. "Yeah, speechless." He moved closer to the mare, and Rafe handed him the lead.
"Careful," he warned, revealing a large blue mark on his forearm, "she bites!"
Blair joined in the laughter. The guys moved forward then, surrounding him. He looked up and saw Jim grinning back at him, a contented look on his face.
"Thanks, guys," he said, still looking at Jim. And thank you, Jim, he added silently, for helping me find my home.
~~~